Ain’t Misbehaving (10 page)

“Are we by any chance talking about Mitch?” Kay asked demurely.

Stix rattled his paper irritably. “Let’s see,” he drawled. “Last Monday I found you both curled up in front of the TV set watching a horror movie.”

“A thriller, not a horror movie,” Kay corrected absently. Mitch had repeatedly rooted for the villain. After which they’d walked the streets of Moscow in the dead of night. Even her navel had been frostbitten, she’d told him when they’d come home. He’d gravely inspected her navel, and thawed it out with his tongue. And then he’d left her, very gentleman-like.

“And last Tuesday you were out. Which of course doesn’t necessarily mean you were with—”

“We were looking for furniture for his place,” Kay said defensively. She hadn’t wanted to go. She’d explained patiently to Mitch that she had no taste. He’d dragged her to Spokane anyway, just in time to see the stores close. At least the restaurants were open, and he’d fed her oysters. A first for her. Their rumored aphrodisiac qualities had worked for him all the way home; he’d had to get off the highway twice to taste various parts of her body. And then he’d left her at her door, very gentleman-like.

“Wednesday, too?”

“Wednesday, too.” On Wednesday Mitch had convinced her he was honestly serious about needing at least a couch. They’d even made every effort to hit the stores while they were still open, but when it came to trying out couches they’d gotten sidetracked.
Mitch
had gotten sidetracked. Comfort for necking was
not
a serious criterion in purchasing couches, and after trying out at least a dozen, they’d returned home empty-handed… Well, Mitch wasn’t quite empty-handed. And to her total shock, he’d left her at her door, frustratingly gentleman-like.

“Thursday you took the entire neighborhood cheering section to hear him speak at—”

“The university.” He’d looked so grave standing at the lectern. Grave and dominating and…fascinating to listen to. Mitch had talked of the mineral resources that had been destroyed over the years as a result of careless mining—the supply of gems alone could be critical to Idaho’s future. They’d finished up that talk at one in the morning at her house, over mugs of Irish coffee, and after that he’d left her at the door, disgustingly gentleman-like.

“Friday you canceled the poker game. You were taking a drive—”

“To Hells Canyon.” An insane place to fool around in winter. She’d been so out of breath from climbing that she was gasping—who would guess he’d take her up on such a crazy idea anyway?—and then they’d both missed the winter sunset, because he’d gotten the harebrained idea he was going to chase her laughter. He’d chased
her,
all right. When he caught her, he’d pinned her down. And when they’d gotten home at midnight, he’d done his usual doorstep routine, which was becoming increasingly maddening.

“And that was only
last
week.” Stix flapped the sports section. “Now,
this
week—”

This week’s activities had begun on Monday night. The not very glamorous activity was making goodies for the school Christmas bake sale;
why
did she continually volunteer for these things? The entire place had been sticky before they were through, and Mitch had cornered her in the back hall…

“Mrs. O’Brien thinks it’s charming. She’s delighted with you. Susan grins whenever your name is mentioned. The boys are counting on an additional regular for the Friday-night poker games. Everyone thinks it’s terrific,” Stix said darkly. “I’d just like a guarantee that you’re not out of your tree.”

“Hmm?” Kay whirled around. How long had she been staring into the fire?

Stix sighed. “You seem to have lost the thread of this conversation.”

“No, I haven’t, you sweetheart.” Kay twisted around and sat cross-legged. “It’s about time we had a talk about these protective instincts of yours. The problem is that you need a home of your own. People to take care of. One of these days you’re going to forget the trip your parents laid on you, and figure out that you don’t have to have a marriage like theirs. This devil-may-care bachelor’s life has gone on long enough.”

Stix looked faintly alarmed. “How did you manage to twist this entire conversation so fast? We were talking about
you.
”

“Samantha isn’t the one, dammit. Liz was, and still is. You think it’s an accident you only go for long, leggy blondes? You and Liz have both been extremely stupid for the last three years. If she’d married someone else, you’d be stuck, but as it is you can at least try one more time.”

Stix rapidly lurched up on his long legs. “Look, I don’t know how you got started on
that,
but don’t be ridiculous—it’s been over for years. The only thing Liz wanted was a ring around her finger and a houseful of kids.”

“Exactly what you want, you fool. Basically you’re a homebody. You can’t stand to be alone—you’re forever fixing things around here, the kids in the neighborhood gravitate toward you as if you were a pro football star, and you’re lonely as hell. I hate to have to tell you this, but you were
born
to be married,” she said smugly. She handed him his coat, since he seemed to be looking around wildly for it. “As for
me,
”she added firmly, “I can take care of myself. It’s
you
who can’t.”

“
Look,
Kay…”

“It’s easy to dish out advice, but not quite so easy to take it, now is it?” she asked sympathetically as he opened the front door, then turned back with a deliberate scowl.

“I’d just feel a great deal better if I
knew
him,” he said flatly.

“You do know Mitch. And you said you liked him.”

“That was as a man’s man.” Stix stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the ceiling. “Listen,” he said gruffly. “You’re protected and all that?”

Kay burst out laughing.

He glared at her. “Just because you go around teaching it and all doesn’t mean that you’re overflowing in the sense department yourself. You’re a sitting duck for some guy with a really smooth line.”

“Thanks so much.”

“You’ve always opened your door to just
anybody
—witness, myself. People ask you for the shirt off your back and you strip—”

“Not literally,” Kay interrupted.

“That’s a relief. And another thing. You’re too damned honest. Men
lie.
There aren’t many women like you running around, you know, and if you think some guy wouldn’t take all he could get—”

“I think that was a backhanded compliment,” Kay murmured.

“Because if he’s putting the moves to you without some commitment behind it— Are you in love with him?” Stix asked abruptly.

Kay rose up on tiptoes. “Give us a kiss now and be on your way. I’m exhausted after all this advice.”

“
You’re
exhausted?” Stix gave her a peck on the cheek and pushed open the door. “You’re worse than a sister. I can’t
handle
all this responsibility!”

“Out!”

***

Three hours later, Kay was leaning over the bathroom sink, applying makeup. Every cosmetic bottle and tube she’d accumulated over the past ten years was piled on the counter in front of her. Ella Fitzgerald was serenading her from the stereo in the living room.

Ella was bubbling about the lady being a tramp.

Kay stroked some mascara onto her eyelashes, and then leaned back to judge its effect. Stix, she considered glumly, was an extremely amusing man. He was so darn sure she was having a wildly erotic affair with Mitch.

The fact was, Ella should be singing the old one, “Ain’t Misbehavin’.”

She was beginning to think Mitch’s favorite pastime was turning Kay on…and leaving her high and dry.

Shoving the makeup containers back in the drawer, Kay wandered back to the bedroom to slip on her shoes. After deliberating over three other outfits, she’d finally settled on a pale green angora sweater and forest-green skirt. She was comfortable in the outfit, and she wanted to feel at ease when she met Mitch’s parents.

Rapidly, she took a brush to her hair, letting the strands fall loose and smooth to her shoulders. Just washed, her hair always looked streaked, a mane of gold and brown. Tonight, her eyes had a troubled luster—mascara-induced in part, but not all. Her mirror reflection reminded her that the soft angora of her sweater emphasized her high breasts and the simple A-line of her skirt showed off her legs. The effect of the outfit was supposed to be subdued, suitable for parent-meeting.

She did not particularly look like a wanton hussy, which was precisely what she felt like. Good Lord, the man respected her. She ought to be his major cheering section. He showed an incredible sensitivity to her feelings. He obviously didn’t want to rush her into a relationship she might not be ready for; and he certainly must care, or he wouldn’t be around seven days out of seven—nor would he be willing to endure the sexual frustration he was putting himself through.

That was fine. Wonderful.

Only she happened to love that big lug like hell. He was smart and he was funny and he was considerate…and whether he knew it or not, he
was
shy. He was rapidly turning into the same kind of life celebrator she was, just enjoying…being. Doing. It never mattered what they were doing; you’d think he was discovering laughter for the first time. To summarize it all rather rapidly, Mitch was the kind of man you locked up once you found him.

She’d looked too hard and too long to find one of that species. This time love hurt; it mattered so much.

His old-fashioned values about sex were rather sweet…weren’t they?

The doorbell rang. Kay gave herself one last glance in the mirror before heading out.

Yes, his values were sweet—but they had to go.

“Get those two men together and they just never stop talking. Come on, Kay, let’s get out of here and do something intellectually stimulating. Like gossip.”

Smiling, Kay followed Mitch’s mother from the living room, but not before she’d received duplicate winks from both Cochran men. Jane Cochran led her through a long hall, lit by a skylight and made wonderfully warm with dozens of hanging plants. The dining room was done in pastel brocade, and between that and the kitchen was a sort of nook.

“The butler’s pantry,” Jane explained. She reached up to the top shelf of a cupboard, and studied Kay with an examining eye. “I can’t tell if you’re a port or brandy lady.”

“Port would be nice.”

“Good.” Two crystal glasses appeared on the counter, then the bottle. Jane opened the long cupboard below the counter, and two stools appeared. She pulled them out and motioned Kay to one as she poured the wine. “Did you like that shrimp concoction for dinner?”

“I loved it,” Kay said honestly.

“You don’t have to say that, you know.” Jane’s smiling appraisal of Kay was affectionate, but it was nevertheless an appraisal. “I should have trusted my son’s taste instead of fretting all day about what you’d be like,” she confessed. “I’ve also been afraid all evening that I would ask personal questions, like how long have you been seeing Mitch.”

Kay chuckled. “I’ve been seeing your son for almost two months now.”

“And I won’t ask another question, I promise. If I did, Mitch would undoubtedly shoot me,” Jane said gravely. “Anyway, I’m not in the least curious about how the two of you met. Not that my son doesn’t talk to me, but getting personal information out of him is like getting blood out of a stone.”

“And I don’t want to bore you with what you don’t want to hear, but we met at the hospital,” Kay volunteered with a smile. “On alternate Saturday mornings I usually visit the children’s ward.”

Jane nodded. “Mitch has been doing that for a long time. I didn’t understand at first. I thought it would only give him painful memories.”

Kay cocked her head curiously, but Jane motioned her up with the tilt of her glass. “Let’s talk as we walk. I haven’t shown you the rest of the house.”

The house where Mitch had grown up was on one of Coeur d’Alene’s inland coves. The place was two-storied, and sprawled around turns and alcoves and rooms stuck here and there for no obvious purpose. Greenery hung from most windows; very old oils graced the walls, and each room had its own gentle color schemes, from mauve to pale blue to leaf green.

“I could kill my son. That monstrous barn he bought, and he still hasn’t furnished it properly after all this time. I’ve offered to help, but he’s an independent cuss, if you haven’t noticed that already.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kay said wryly.

“Takes after his father. There’s another one who won’t take anything from anyone.”

“I gather that it wasn’t so easy raising the pair of them,” Kay said dryly.

Jane chuckled, and then said honestly, “They expect too much of themselves, always have. Mitch is even worse than his father. All those years—he couldn’t stand taking a thing from us. It used to eat at him, which was so damned foolish. This was the room where he grew up,” she said abruptly, flicking on a light switch.

For a moment, Kay intently studied Jane before glancing into the room. The mystery of his scar and now his mother’s comments—all those years? What years? Startled, she glanced slowly around the room—and then rather rapidly back to Jane.

“I know,” Jane said wryly. “You were expecting a bed and leftover teddy bears. Well, it was Mitch’s idea to put all that stuff in the attic. Even before he made a down payment on that house, he started remodeling this room—over my vigorous protests, I’ll have you know. He claimed his father always wanted a place to putter with stones…”

The room looked like Mitch’s octagonal turret, with a long bench and special lighting, microscopes and alcohol beakers for testing gems in solution… Kay was beginning to recognize the equipment.

“There’s one room that’s specifically
Mitch,
that he couldn’t do anything about,” Jane said with satisfaction. “Come on and I’ll show you.” She glanced back at Kay. “You’re free to interrupt, you know. The men are always telling me I talk incessantly.”

“You don’t at all,” Kay protested instantly.

“Yes, I do. I absolutely love to talk. Aaron calls it gossip, but you know something? It isn’t gossip. I don’t like to tell tales about other people—I just like people. And the things that happen to them… Now watch this step…” At the bottom of the elegant flight of mahogany stairs, Jane had opened a door to another stairway. These steps were carpeted, dark and flanked by a wrought-iron railing.

A cement-floored laundry room led through an organized storage area to another door. When Jane flicked on a light, Kay’s lips parted in surprise. Jane chuckled. “Believe me, installing this was no small feat.”

“I can believe that.” The last thing she’d expected to see was a regulation-sized swimming pool. The scent of chlorine filled her nostrils. Pale blue tile surrounded the pool, and the water was a clear, smooth aquamarine.

“Of course, we built it for Mitch, and we’d planned to drain it after he left, but Aaron and I have taken to going for a swim after dinner every night. My husband claims we’re getting too sedentary,” Jane said wryly. “Do you like to swim, Kay?”

“I…yes.” Kay turned from the mesmerizing color of the waters to smile at Jane.
Of course we built it for Mitch?
“I rarely had the chance to use a pool, but my family went camping every summer, always by a lake. My father used to claim I had webbed feet.”

“Mitch, too. I swear his skin was water-wrinkled all summer. I can remember when he was eleven, I thought he was going to leave home over the issue of a boat. He mowed every lawn in the neighborhood, and then, when he had saved enough money for a little sailboat…we said no. We thought he was too young.” Jane grinned at her. “Mitch was long on harebrained schemes at eleven, not particularly long on judgment. You see all these gray hairs?”

“I don’t see a one,” Kay insisted.

Jane laughed, and they wandered back upstairs, still chatting. Mitch intercepted them in the kitchen—actually, he reached out and snatched Kay from behind his mother’s back. Winding his arms around her waist, he snuggled her against his chest and burrowed a kiss in her neck. “Now, don’t you believe anything my mother’s been telling you,” he growled.

“Take your hands off her, Mitch. You’re not taking her home yet. She’s agreed to stay for a few hands of bridge.”

“Kay would never do that to me,” Mitch informed his mother.

***

They played until ten. Mitch, for all his voluble protests, was an excellent player who remembered every card, to his mother’s annoyance. Every time Jane made one of her more “creative bids,” as she called them, Mitch and his father exchanged amused glances.

Aaron had claimed Kay for a partner, his slow winks and half smiles not quite ethical but certainly helpful to Kay, who hadn’t played much of the game. Aaron was the kind of man who very quietly took care of people.

Mitch was the same way. Though they’d talked of going to a movie after the dinner at his parents’ place, Kay expected that was merely to ensure that she wasn’t forced into more of his parents’ company than she was initially comfortable with. Once he saw she was honestly enjoying herself, he no longer pressed their leaving, but more than once she caught his eye on her, assessing her comfort, waiting for a sign that she wished to leave.

She gave him no such sign, but when the rubber ended just before ten, he stood up and announced that they ought to start for home. Jane looped an arm through Kay’s as she walked her toward the door. “I haven’t had near enough time to talk to you,” she complained. “I never even asked you about your family—big, small, medium-sized?”

“One sister,” Kay responded. “Jana’s younger than I am by eight years. My dad’s an engineer—he worked here at the university for a number of years. Five years ago, they moved to Connecticut.”

“You must miss them, especially around the holidays.” Jane delved into the closet for their coats. “Do you like children, Kay?”

Mitch coughed ostentatiously. “Mother.”

“I withdraw that question.” Jane gave her son a disgusted look. “You know, I was having a lot more fun talking with Kay when you weren’t anywhere around.”

“Were you?” Mitch asked wryly.

“In fact, you can go home and I’ll just keep Kay.” Jane winked at Kay. “Next time, just come without him.”

“And wear earmuffs,” Mitch advised, piloting Kay toward the door.

“I heard that. Aaron, are you going to let your son talk to me that way?”

“Could I get in a word?” Kay asked, laughing. “Dinner was terrific. I had a wonderful time—thank you for inviting me.” Impulsively, she reached over to give both Jane and Aaron a hug, before Mitch’s gloved hand captured hers and drew her firmly out the door and toward the car.

They were both laughing as he started the engine, and shivering as well. Huge snowflakes splashed on the windshield; the night had turned cold, and in the distance the lake was swallowing up the crystal flakes in its still black surface. “I wanted you to meet them,” Mitch said wryly. “But I didn’t have in mind subjecting you to five hours of my mother’s less than subtle questions.”

“I love her,” Kay insisted.

“I do, too.” Mitch patted her hand. “And I’ll bet you’d hold up well under Chinese water torture.”

Kay chuckled. “It sounds as if you put
her
through torture when you were a kid. The boat, when you were eleven?”

Mitch groaned. “Not that old story.” He shot her a sideways glance. “I was a nice kid. Really, I was.”

“Sounds to me as if you were hell on wheels. The stories
you
told me were tame next to the ones your mother remembers.”

“Hey. Who are you going to believe? My mother or me?”

“Your mother.”

“Talk about fickle. I’m going to trade you in for a more gullible model.”

Kay leaned back against the headrest, smiling. The heat kicked in, puffing through the vents in wonderfully warm waves. Through sleepy eyes, she regarded Mitch. His hands were firm on the wheel and he was battling icy roads, yet his tone was light and his smile relaxed. He hid things so very well.

The evening had uncovered more secrets about him. His parents were affectionate but not possessive or clingy; Kay could see the respect Aaron had for his son. Mitch had hardly been a pampered only child if he’d had to mow lawns at eleven—yet there was the pool.

Kay frowned slightly in the darkness. Something still bothered her about the pool. The Cochrans, for all the comfort and tasteful furnishings of their home, did not strike her as extravagant—and the lake was right there to swim in. Jane had said
of course
it was for Mitch, as if she’d taken for granted that Kay understood…something.

She half turned her head, still studying Mitch. He’d worn a brown sweater and dark flannel pants tonight. Even in the shadows of the car, she could see his strong profile, the deep-set eyes, the slash of a lazy smile when he felt her eyes on him. He was really an incredibly handsome man, yet those deeply etched lines on his forehead were more than just marks of character, and as she looked at the streak of white hair she wondered suddenly how she could have been blind for so long.

Mitch had been ill. Really ill.

The scar, the white hair, the lines, his unwillingness to talk about his recent past, and maybe even the pool had something to do with it. As she continued to look at him, she could excuse herself for not guessing before. He seemed so vibrant, so healthy and dynamic. The Marlboro Man was a sissy compared to the special brand of virility that Mitch so naturally radiated.

“Why so quiet?” he said softly.

“I thought you had enough to do just driving on these icy roads.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured her.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t.” Not as long as he was at the wheel. It was Mitch who had something to worry about, she thought wryly. Because his plan to leave her at her door like a gentleman was about to go awry. She had her own plan.

***

An hour later, Mitch pulled into her driveway. Tension played at the back of his shoulders and arms. The roads had turned increasingly glassy, not that he would have pointed that out to Kay. It hadn’t been the easiest of evenings as it was. After two mentions of Kay’s name, his mother had started pushing to meet her; he’d
wanted
his parents to meet her, but he hadn’t wanted his whole history laid out before her. And, apparently, it hadn’t been.

Perhaps he should have been easier on that score. His mother might be gregarious, but she had respected his desire to keep his heart problems a family secret from the day she’d learned it mattered to him. Still, he was relieved that the evening was over. Shutting off the engine, he glanced at Kay.

She was sleepily curled up on the passenger seat, his temptress. Her lashes curled on her cheeks, all delicate shadows, and her lips looked red and invitingly soft against her white face. She was buried in clothes, her collar tucked up against her chin, not even her soft angora sweater showing beneath the coat. Considering he could barely see an inch of exposed flesh, he wasn’t quite sure why just the look of her turned him on like a power switch.

He’d done his level best to keep his physical distance in the past few weeks. His level best was a failure. Not touching her was impossible…yet the more he touched, the more he felt that barrier of inhibition at the thought of making love to her. Time
wasn’t
helping.

He wanted Kay. He’d rather do without sunlight than stop seeing her; he could barely remember what his life had been like before he knew her. She warmed the wintry places, lit up the darkness, filled the big, empty spaces.

The touch of her inflamed him; even the simplest kiss set off a driving ache that clawed at his stomach and shuddered through him like a demon. He knew if he made love to her that it wouldn’t go well. He’d lose control, because he came so damn close to losing control as it was. She’d find herself with a fumbling, inept lover who would utterly fail her… He couldn’t stand the thought of failing her.