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  Settling herself more comfortably, Laine leaned back on her hands and extended her shapely, lightly tanned legs out before her, watching as Nick plucked a sea oat from the sand and twirled it thoughtfully. When he obviously became aware of her intent observation, he turned his head to meet her bemused gaze.

  "You wouldn't let a snob like Dulcie Jacobs influence your decision about the grant, would you?" Laine blurted out, feeling the sudden need to make any kind of conversation. "I mean, she…"

  "That woman's personality will have nothing to do with my decision," Nick interjected firmly. "But speaking of the grant, I think you should know I plan to call in an auditor before I decide anything."

  Laine sat up straight. "You can't possibly suspect my father has been misusing the money your uncle donates!"

  "You're jumping to conclusions. I don't suspect your father or anyone else of anything. An audit's simply a wise precaution."

  "Sometimes I wonder if you really want to award the grant to Latham," Laine said pointedly. "If you're your uncle's heir, I guess a million-dollar grant is just a million dollars less you'll receive from his estate someday."

  Moving with lithe swiftness, Nick turned and grasped the back of her head in one strong hand, forcing her to look up and thus recognize the dark thunderous expression on his face. "And to think I called you fair-minded," he nearly growled. "I think you should know that if you repeated that ridiculous statement in front of witnesses, I could sue you for slander and win, because I'm not heir to my uncle's estate. My cousin Sara, Uncle Phil's daughter, will inherit everything. I didn't come to Latham to guard my own self-interests."

  Laine's entire body burned with embarrassment. She felt a perfect fool. "That was a despicable thing to say and I'm sorry," she whispered contritely. "It was just an idea that popped into my mind and out of my mouth before I really thought about it. I guess it's because this grant's so important for Latham. Maybe you can't really understand that, since you've always had money."

  "Wrong again," he cut in bitingly. "My uncle has money. My parents aren't wealthy, never have been. I worked my way through law school."

  Laine groaned softly, feeling twice the fool now. The tip. of her tongue touched her lips as she gazed up into his piercing eyes. "I guess I have been jumping to conclusions, haven't I?" she murmured. "I'm truly sorry."

  Nick's grip loosened slightly as he said, "Believe it or not, I can remember the time when a million dollars seemed like much more money than it does to me now."

  "Then perhaps you can forgive me for sounding so awful."

  Nick relented. His fingers in her hair became caressing, slipping through the silken strands that framed the appealingly small face upturned to his. "Right now," he said roughly, "I could probably forgive you anything."

  Her heart leaped against her breastbone as the angry light in his eyes flared to fiery passion. "Why?" she breathed.

  "Because you're so…" He didn't finish. When her hands came up to cup his neck, he slowly pulled her to him. With the gentle yet demanding pressure of the edge of his thumb against her chin, he tugged her mouth open slightly to receive his kiss. Deliberately teasing, he brushed firm lips slowly back and forth across hers until her breathing quickened and her arms slipped up around his neck.

  With a muffled murmur of triumph he bore her down onto the blanket, his mouth devouring the soft shape of hers, his tongue tasting the sweetness within. As he probed the tender veined flesh of her inner lower lip, a thrill of delight shot through Laine, so intense that her legs went weak. The evocative weight of Nick's torso pressed her down. The sand beneath the blanket yielded, as did her softness to the hard masculine line of his chest. Still cradling her head in one hand, he moved the other upward over her, following the swell of her hips into the narrow insweeping waist and onward to the rapid rise and fall of firm cushioned breasts. His palm brushed lightly as a feather over one then the other, bringing her body to life with exquisite sensations. With Laine's soft gasp of pleasure, he traced a fingertip around the hardening peaks outlined against the fabric of her dress.

  Laine strained against him, unable to get near enough as he kissed her again and again, long searching passionate kisses that seemed to demand total surrender. Firm taking lips gently twisted the tender shape of hers; strong even teeth nibbled their softness until even the complete possession of his mouth was no longer enough for him… or for her. She clung to him when he moved over onto his side, turning her with him. And she offered no murmur of protest as he slowly lowered the back zipper of her dress. The night air cooled her overheated skin when Nick pushed the dress from her shoulders, off her arms, and down to drape around her waist. Laine shivered as the top of her slip met the same fate, but when Nick arched her to him and his lips explored the fragile contours of her shoulders, scattering hot kisses into the enticing hollows, her entire body was suffused with warmth again. Her arms went eagerly around his waist, her hands wandering over him, massaging and caressing his broad back. His heated flesh seemed to sear her fingertips, kindling a central consuming fire inside her. She discovered she liked to touch as much as she liked being touched by him.

  Even when her bra was unhooked and the lace cups were slowly peeled away, Laine didn't resist. Yet she caught her breath, overwhelmed with a sense of utter vulnerability as one of Nick's hands curved over her right hipbone, pressing down onto her back again. Her eyes fluttered open, luminously shy while Nick swept a hungry gaze over her. He stroked the perfect curves of her breasts with his fingertips, then traced the roseate peaks and teased the hard nubs with his thumbs. His narrowed gaze captured and held hers.

  She didn't breathe again until he smiled down at her. Then a joyous wonder enveloped her and she lifted her arms invitingly to him, whispering, "Kiss me again, Nick."

  He did. His mouth descended on hers with ravishing force. When she began to give him back kiss for kiss then tried to unbutton his shirt, he gently pushed aside her trembling hand to undo the buttons himself much more quickly. Laine's nails caught in the fine dark hair on his chest as her fingers tentatively explored the taut muscles. With a muffled groan, Nick released her lips, slipped an arm beneath her back, and arched her breasts upward.

  When he lowered his head, Laine breathed an urgent "No."

  "Yes, Laine, I have to," he muttered relentlessly. His mouth enclosed the rose-colored tumescent peak of one breast then the other, again and again, until both were throbbing with exquisite sensation and she was warm and weak and all yielding femininity. Entangling her fingers in his hair, she urged his mouth up to hers again, and she only fully realized exactly what she was inviting when she felt the weight of one of his legs entangling with her own, and she felt his passion surge against her.

  As she trembled violently, Nick tensed, then pushed himself up, away from her. "This has to stop now or it won't stop at all."

  Laine was unwilling to let him go completely. One hand feathered down his back when he sat up beside her as she whispered entreatingly, "Couldn't you just kiss me once more?"

  "For God's sake, surely you know I need a lot more than a kiss from you now," he muttered with some impatience. His expression was grim as he looked down at her. "But it's too soon for you to give me what I want."

  She stroked his arm. "But Nick…"

  "You're not ready for that, Laine," he interrupted tersely. "Even if your father did order you to be nice to me."

  With her swift intake of breath, the color drained from Laine's face with frightening speed. She stiffened as humiliation killed all desire and she jerkily folded her arms across her bare breasts. For a long moment she stared mutely up at Nick, and when she finally managed to speak, her voice was choked. "You heard what Father said to me tonight. You heard him!"

  "Yes." Nick's piercing eyes bored into hers. "I'd started up the stairs and he was standing just outside your room."

  "But you can't think that I… that all this tonight was because…" Her words broke off as he turned his head. For an instant, anger r
eplaced humiliation. He had no right to assume she had responded to him for her father's benefit! Indignant, she sat up, clutching her dress up around her. "You'd better take me home now," she said in a tight, cool voice.

  "Good idea. Get dressed," he commanded, buttoning his shirt as he rose to his feet.

  A few minutes later, by the time they were driving toward campus, Laine was more hurt than angry. Relaxing back in the leather passenger seat, she felt sapped of all strength. Why had this had to happen after she'd discovered she was so attracted to Nick because she truly liked and respected him? Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she winced when she recognized the intractable set of Nick's strong jaw as he stared straight ahead. Though she longed to make him believe he was totally wrong about what had happened tonight, she had no idea how to begin explaining the truth to him. What could she say to a man who actually thought she was capable of prostituting herself because her father was determined to receive a million-dollar grant?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a busy Monday morning. After Laine posted student assistant grades outside the door of her classroom, she began the last official task of the semester—completing data forms for the central computer that stored student records and issued those dreaded semester reports, predominated by all-important grade point averages. The transference of names, student identification numbers, and grades from Laine's records to the proper forms was tedious and required very little real concentration. Laine's mind started to wander, unfortunately to thoughts of Nick.

  The humiliation she had suffered Saturday night still lingered, and she felt a growing resentment toward her father for placing her in such an awkward position. Treating her as if she were a child, he had felt the need to constantly remind her to be nice to Nick and that last indiscreet reminder Saturday night, which had been overheard, had undoubtedly cast both father and daughter in a bad light. Now Nick had reason to doubt that Laine's response to him had been genuine. His respect for her father had to have been diminished. It was even possible that Thornton had lessened Latham's chances of receiving the grant; if so, he had indeed made an unfortunate gaffe. The college would certainly suffer from the loss of a million dollars.

  In actuality, however, Latham's financial health wasn't foremost in Laine's mind. She found herself far more concerned about Nick's opinion of her personally. What he thought of her had suddenly become of great importance and she was dismayed by the strange sense of vulnerability that had overtaken her since Saturday night. All her life she had ignored her own father's vague disapproval of her, but Nick's wasn't so easily dismissed. Perhaps because she felt the utmost respect for him, she needed to know he respected her too. It was fairly obvious that he didn't, though, she thought bleakly, recalling the hard chill she had detected in his deep voice when he'd said good-bye Saturday night. Staring blindly out her window, she slowly twirled her pen between thumb and forefinger, and a fleeting expression of anguish passed over her face. Exhaling a heartfelt sigh that stirred the wisps of hair that swept to the side across her brow, she shook her head, as if to dismiss all disturbing thought, and began to double-check the grades she had transferred from her records to the data forms.

  Five minutes later the forms were securely tucked into a manila envelope, ready to be taken to the administration building. Fortunately, before Laine's thoughts could once again turn to Nick, Marge appeared in the office doorway, her face flushed, her expression harried.

  "Are you finished?" she asked, her eyes brightening when Laine nodded. "Thank goodness. You can help in the nursery then. Polly Deacon started sneezing like crazy, and since we certainly don't want a summer cold epidemic around here, I sent her home. And if Dora doesn't get some help in the nursery, she swears she'll quit."

  Laine laughed. "Can't say I'd blame her. I do need to take these forms to Chandler Hall before I step in though."

  "I'll send my secretary over with them. You go to Dora," Marge insisted. "I just left her, her patience wearing very thin."

  With a nod and a wry understanding smile, Laine followed Maggie from the office then went swiftly to Nursery II. Even outside in the hallway the ruckus inside the room was clearly audible, proving that the children were taking advantage of the situation: Dora was alone and couldn't really watch all of them. When Laine opened the door and stepped inside, however, even the rowdiest of the children immediately lowered their voices an octave or two.

  For the next hour or so a semblance of peace reigned in the room. Though it was never completely quiet, since the confined space held twelve toddlers, aged two to four years, whose collective energy knew no bounds. As Laine watched her six charges fidget ceaselessly while she read them a story, she could only be glad that the infants and very young toddlers were down the hall in Nursery I.

  At ten o'clock Dora reluctantly informed Laine that it was time for outdoor activities, and together they led the children down the hall and out into the fresh air of the playground. Dora organized a game of London Bridge for the older toddlers while Laine presented an assortment of push-and-pull toys to the four children younger than two and a half. Naturally enough, two of the three boys wanted to play with the one plastic lawn mower. A furious tug-of-war ensued. Bradley yanked the mower toward him, then shrieked with ear-splitting shrillness when his rival, Charles, retaliated by biting his arm. Laine intervened, separating the two children as she sternly reprimanded Charles for biting. When she wouldn't allow either Brad or Charles to have the toy mower, Charles promptly flew into a tantrum, stamping his feet as he flailed his arms He accidentally struck Susie, who was innocently pulling a wagonload of plastic blocks past him.

  When Susie lost her balance, sat down hard, and began to howl, Charles's tantrum abruptly terminated. His big brown eyes met the ice blue of Laine's.

  "Sit down right there on the grass and be still," Laine commanded, and Charles obeyed as she swept Susie up in her arms. The little girl wrapped arms and legs around Laine and buried her wet face in her neck. Murmuring comforting words, Laine stroked the child's back until her sobs began to subside, becoming soft hiccoughing sounds. Even then, Susie clung tightly, pressing her small warm body hard against Laine, especially when Charles tried to make amends by getting up and coming to clutch a fistful of Laine's skirt and gaze hopefully up at her.

  She had to smile forgiveness. And after reaching down to rumple his hair, she glanced up toward the rear door of the building, her heart doing a crazy little somersault when she saw Nick coming across the playground.

  How untidy she must look, she thought, aware that her hair must be tousled and knowing the gentle wind was molding the thin cotton of her skirt against her slim shapely thighs, outlining them. Yet there was nothing to be done to improve her appearance at the moment. Wishing she could feel as composed as she was trying to appear, she watched expectantly while Nick strode toward her, soon diminishing the distance between them.

  Nick stopped directly before Laine, close enough to reach out and touch her—but he didn't. He didn't smile either. He simply swept a disruptive gaze slowly over her until at last his eyes met hers.

  Sheer nervous anticipation prompted Laine to smile at him. "Hi. I didn't expect to see you here," she said as matter-of-factly as possible. "Actually, I thought you were leaving Latham early this morning."

  Nick shook his head. "The trial in Savannah doesn't reconvene until tomorrow, but I'll probably start back before lunch anyway. I wanted to talk to you first, though, if you're not too busy."

  "No, not really," Laine responded, disentangling Charles's fingers from her skirt to clasp his chubby hand. "I'll just take the kids to Dora. Be right back."

  A moment later, Laine returned to Nick. Inclining his head toward an oak tree in the corner of the playground, he placed one hand lightly against the small of her back as they walked toward the shade.

  "That midday sun is hot, isn't it?" Laine said conversationally, using the opportunity to quickly smooth her flaxen hair. "Ah, but it's much cooler here in the shade
."

  Leaning one shoulder against the tree's rough bark, hands in his pockets, Nick looked down into her wide azure eyes, his gaze never wavering, as if he were seeking an answer to some unasked question in their depths. His will was unmistakably strong and growing stronger every second he prolonged the disturbing eye contact. At last he became the victor in the curiously unspoken battle and as Laine averted her gaze to stare instead at the V of smooth bronze skin exposed by his open collar, he spoke at last.

  "I suppose the nursery school's kept open year round?" he asked casually, and when Laine nodded, he continued: "But surely you won't be as busy during the summer sessions as you are during the regular school year?"

  Looking up at his lean tanned face again, Laine shook her head and smiled. "Fortunately, summers are pretty quiet. I'll have one four-year kindergarten class, but only half days, so I'll only have two student assistants. That makes evaluations at the end of the session easy enough. What about you? How's your summer shaping up?"

  "Not too busy this year for once. I planned it that way. I expect this trial in Savannah to end sometime next week, and after that I should have over three weeks free and clear. Barring emergencies, of course."

  "Frequent emergency calls are the price you have to pay for being a famous attorney, I guess," Laine said softly, wondering where this particular conversation was leading. Intuition told her it was leading somewhere, told her that Nick had something more he wanted to say, but an extended silence followed her last remark. Nick was looking out over the top of her head, toward center campus, his expression thoughtful and mysterious. Able to observe him freely, Laine examined the strong clean-cut features of his face and the long masculine line of his body. Virile, superbly fit, he was a man women would always stare at, and Laine found that she was hardly an exception. He was so damnably attractive. Remembering Saturday night, she longed to touch him, to feel his arms go swiftly around her again, but when he finally looked down at her—apparently sensing her intense appraisal—she hastily pushed her fantasies to the back of her mind.