Blue Clouds (35 page)

Doug sent her a scathing look. “Let's just get in the car, all right?”

“Not until I know what happened.”

He wrestled internally with the problem, but he wasn't the complicated man that Seth was. He spat out the answer without hedging it.

“I got your old boyfriend locked up.”

Gulping from his coffee cup, Seth stared at the words on his computer screen with disbelief. He couldn't believe he'd written that. He had definitely never intended for the story to take that turn, but the damned characters had grabbed an opening and run with it. The really damnable thing about it was that it made sense. He'd have to go back and rewrite the beginning, add a scene in the middle, shuffle some chapters around....

Shit.

Slapping down the cup, he stood and paced the Oriental in the outer office. Now that he didn't have a computer, he perversely wanted to write on one, and Pippa's was the only one available besides the one he hadn't unpacked upstairs. She must have sprayed hers with her perfume. He could smell the herbal fragrance everywhere.

Pippa. It was all her damned fault the book had done a hundred-eighty-degree about-face. He'd hired her to simplify his life, not complicate it. He should have known better. Hell, even Chad had known better. Or rather, Nana had. A young, attractive female in the house was bound to be an unwanted distraction. A complication he didn't need.

He glanced at his watch and cursed again. Where the hell were they?

How long could a blasted meeting last? He'd sent Doug with them. What could happen between here and town?

Remembering a night when he'd driven from his mother's house toward home and nearly lost everything, Seth battled a moment's terror. The police would have called him if there'd been an accident, wouldn't they?

Maybe he should get out the Jag and hunt them down. But he couldn't leave Chad alone. Nana slept too soundly at the back of the house. He could wake her. But if he did, it would mean he was succumbing to a panic attack.

What the hell was she doing to him?

Phillippa Cochran was just a secretary, an assistant, a nobody who would go away once her job here was done. He'd never worried if Miss MacGregor didn't show up on time.

Miss MacGregor had never been late.

Shit. Double shit. Seth looked at his watch again. Five minutes later than the last time he'd looked. He glared at the glossy cover with the mummy's head on the wall. Pippa had stuck a mustache on it. A mustache.

He grinned. He couldn't help it. She had the sense of humor of a wicked child. Irrepressible, irreverent, hopelessly unsophisticated. He couldn't imagine either Tracey or Natalie even looking at these macabre covers, much less vandalizing them. Miss MacGregor would have heart palpitations.

Pippa Cochran had stuck her tongue out at him and his pretensions.

She'd thrown open the doors and cleared the air with fresh mountain breezes.

She was making him crazy, and not just with lust, although that would do it faster than anything else. His damned hormones had gone into overdrive, and he still hadn't finished the book. The deadline was only a week away.

How could that be? Had Pippa been here over a month already?

The quiet sound of expensive tires cruising up the drive relieved his temporary insanity. They were home. He could go back to work. He had enough adrenaline pumping through his blood right now to rewrite that opening chapter. To hell with women and their complications.

He heard her open the office door a few minutes later, but he was burning up the keyboard with a heroine screaming bloody murder and chasing the gopher. He couldn't look up.

She slipped quietly away without disturbing him.

Which disturbed the hell out of him.

Seth battered the scene into shape, inserted a few more adjectives for good measure, resisted her pull for as long as humanly possible. He printed the chapter, scanned the page, scribbled some marginal notes for Pippa to fix in the morning. He backed up his work, sipped his cold coffee, and scanned the office for something else to occupy his mind.

Cartons of debris lined the walls, waiting to be hauled out by the construction workers in the morning. The glass on one of his art prints had shattered and no one had bothered taking down the print for repairs. He let his mind roam back to the package, searching for the label. He couldn't remember one. He'd just assumed it was from his publisher because all unopened packages on his desk were from his publisher. But this time, there'd been one for Pippa. Which one had he opened?

Summoning the image of Pippa's cheerful smile, her upbeat attitude, her lilting laughter, he couldn't see how anyone could want to harm her. But then, he couldn't see how child abusers did what they did either. He'd grown up neglected, thrust out of his parents' life by their war with each other, but he'd never been abused by people he trusted. Of course, he didn't trust many people, and he'd taken a hell of a beating from the rest of the world, but it wasn't the same. Pippa trusted everyone, never hurt a soul. How could anyone even dream of harming her?

But someone had. She'd been bruised and battered the day she arrived. She still wore the scars inside her. She hid them well, but her wariness when he got too close served as warning. She wasn't afraid of him in particular. She was afraid of reaching out to any man. He couldn't blame her.

So the best thing for him to do right now was go on up to bed, where he belonged. They had no place in each other's lives. He didn't need the complications of a woman. She didn't need the pain he would inevitably bring her. He was a mature, sensible man, not a case of raging adolescent lust.

He turned down the hall toward Pippa's wing of the house.

She answered the instant he tapped on her door, as if she'd been waiting up for him. That possibility knocked the breath and any remaining sense out of him.

She'd removed her makeup, revealing dark circles beneath long-lashed eyes. Instead of making her look washed out as it would many women, the lack of cosmetics created the image of a forlorn waif, with translucent skin and huge eyes. She'd been running her fingers through her thick hair, and the auburn layers had fallen haphazardly. With only a circle of lamplight in the background, she looked tousled and sleepy, and Seth had the urge to bury his fingers in the satin strands of her hair and lead her to bed. The wariness in her expression stopped him.

“Is there something wrong with Chad?” she immediately asked, although she must have known he'd be hollering at her through the intercom from Chad's bedside if there were.

“He's sleeping. The doctor says he can get up and take mild exercise tomorrow. May I come in?” He could see Pippa struggling with herself now, and he didn't push. Whatever this frail thing was that had developed between them couldn't take the pressure of his usual carelessness. He was walking on eggshells here. He didn't know why he was trying so hard with this woman, but for some reason, she seemed worth the effort.

“You were late coming home. I wanted to make certain everything was all right.”

She didn't even attempt to hide her relief. He figured he should be insulted that she accepted his offer of conversation more willingly than an offer of sex, but oddly enough, he understood. Conversation offered no ties that bound. Sex—with Pippa anyway—offered more strings and knots than either of them could afford.

She opened the door completely and Seth wandered into the room she'd made her own. It had once been bland and obviously professionally decorated. Now a handmade quilt splashed hues of gold and brown across the neutral tones of the couch, a handful of wildflowers spilled from a pottery vase he didn't recall seeing before, and colorful paperback books lay scattered across the tables. Framed color snapshots of family and friends cluttered the bookshelves. They must have been in those boxes she'd picked up at the bus station. Fascinated, Seth drifted in their direction. The only family photos he possessed were ones taken by professional photographers at his mother's insistence. He'd probably been twelve when the last one was taken.

The first one he picked up showed a cheerful, plump woman with Pippa's rounded cheeks surrounded by three equally smiling children. The youngest child had big round thick-lashed eyes that would have broken the most hardened of hearts. He studied the charming image of a toddler Pippa with a dangerous tug at a place below his rib cage. He could imagine her having children who looked just like this.

“That's my mom,” she said matter-of-factly, as if there were no one else of importance in the picture. “I don't have anything in here to offer you to drink. Should I find something?”

“No, I'm high on coffee right now.” He gently set the picture down and swung around. “Liquor and you is too dangerous a combination. What happened tonight?”

She offered a fleeting smile and shrugged. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she wandered toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Pippa had a penchant for windows, he'd noticed. She also had the balcony doors open. Good thing they lived on top of a mountain. That would be a dangerous practice in town.

Seth followed her, unable to help himself. He hated clichés, but she drew him like a moth to flame. Or a moth to a spotlight, he thought dryly. She lit the room just as effectively. He wanted to brush his fingers against the soft skin of her cheek. He craved her softness and the shining beacon of her smile. But he didn't deserve it. He, of all people, knew that.

“Doug caught Billy creeping around Meg's house.”

Her calm declaration brought him abruptly back to the moment.

“The hell he did!” That was a helpful reaction. “Did the cops catch him?”

“Billy and Doug had a few words first. Billy was probably a little more impressed by Doug's methods of persuasion than by anything the cops are doing with him. But Doug really shouldn't take risks like that. Billy could have had a gun.”

A gun. Hell, he hadn't even considered that. Cops carried guns. Billy was a cop. Shit, and he'd thought he could protect her by teaching her a few defensive tricks.

“I'll talk to my lawyer. We'll have him locked away so long he won't remember what women are for by the time he gets out.”

“He'll be out before you can reach your lawyer. He'll post bond in the morning. Bond for breaking a restraining order isn't very high. Don't worry. He'll think twice before going near Doug again. Doug worked him over pretty good.”

Seth glanced down and caught a wisp of a smile crossing her lips. He'd wanted to be the one to beat the bum to a bloody pulp and bring that smile to her lips. “How's Doug?”

“The way he tells it, Billy got off only one good lick. I took a look at his jaw. He'll be all right. Billy needed stitches.”

Pippa turned and slid her arms around his waist, shocking the hell out of him. She rested her head against his shoulder. Out of practice and with no instinct for simple tenderness, Seth slid his hands awkwardly around her, pressing her against him. He'd never been much good at affection. It felt good now, just holding her, smelling the scent of her shampoo, rubbing circles against her spine as he once had with Chad.

“I'm glad you weren't there,” she said. “You would have broken Billy's neck with one of those kicks of yours. I don't think I could have lived with that.”

She was probably right. He didn't have much control over his temper. But that she recognized the strength of his anger and the weapons he wielded without his having said a word ripped him loose from his mooring. No one had ever acknowledged his abilities before, not to his knowledge. Everyone he knew took it for granted that he could juggle his father's business, Chad's illness, his writing career, and everything else that came his way without question. He took it for granted himself. But they were heavy burdens, and he liked knowing that she recognized what he could do, even if he hadn't done anything. Her acceptance made him feel almost human, almost good about himself. It was an unusual sensation.

“I wanted to beat him into a pulp for you,” he admitted, stroking her back, feeling her breasts against him, acknowledging the pulse pounding heavily below his belt. He shouldn't be doing this. He'd told himself he wouldn't. He never repeated mistakes. But he couldn't let her go just yet. He brushed a kiss across her hair. She smelled like spring.

“I've had quite enough of men who use their fists, thank you,” she answered dryly. “I'll take brains any day. Figure out what it takes to send Billy home, and I'll be eternally grateful.”

She meant it, too, he could tell. Pippa's soft heart didn't want her ex-boyfriend beaten into a pulp no matter how much he deserved it. Foolish woman. Daringly, Seth brushed a kiss across her cheek. She didn't flinch. She hugged him tighter, as if she could bury herself inside him.

“How grateful?” he whispered teasingly.

“Eternally, I said. I'll talk to St. Peter at the gate.”

He could feel her relaxing, recognizing the easy humor between them. They would always have laughter.

“And if he sent the bomb?” Seth asked, because the devil made him do it.