In Harm's Way (13 page)

Now he just had to decide what to do with her.

 

Robin lay still and pretended she had fallen asleep. She really didn't want to open her eyes and look at him. What in the world had she been thinking? She hardly knew this man and here she was lying naked in his arms on an exercise mat in a stranger's house.

She felt his lips press against her temple, soft and warm and comforting. The splayed fingers of the large hand cradling her back caressed her skin almost tentatively. The other hand rested possessively on her hip. “Robin?” he whispered.

Reluctantly she answered. “Hmm?”

“We should go to bed. You'll get a chill.”

She snuggled closer, still disinclined to face him. He would want an explanation, and she had no idea what to say, how to justify what she caused to happen.

He moved away a little, releasing his hold, but still touching her as if trying to soothe her. “C'mon.”

She still refused to open her eyes as she struggled to sit up. He helped her as they got to their feet, then felt him fit the T-shirt over her head. Robin slipped her arms through the sleeves. When she finally forced her eyes open he had put on his briefs. He slid one strong arm around her, holding her at the waist. She might have been a sleepy child the way he handled her.

“I won't discuss this,” she warned, feeling defensive.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice rife with understanding. And regret? Had she heard regret? No, she couldn't ask that.

“Don't patronize me,” she said, hating the awkwardness she felt. He had been wonderful to her and here she was sniping at him. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

“I know. It's all right,” he told her, leaning once again to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. His hand rested lightly at the back of her neck.

Robin drew in a deep breath to fortify herself against his tenderness. All that did was inundate her senses with the scent of lingering aftershave, clean male sweat and sex. Mind-rending sex. Her head swam and she almost stumbled.

He tightened his hold on her, reached down and swept her right off her feet. Robin wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in the curve of his neck. When he put her down on the bed where she had tossed and turned earlier, she was tempted to hold on, to urge him to join her there for the rest of the night. Instead she snuggled deeply into the fluffy feather pillows and curled away from him, still unwilling to look him in the eye.

She had broken their agreement, the one she'd firmly insisted on herself. “Will you still be my friend?” The question escaped before she could stop it.

“Always,” he answered, without pausing to think. “Go to sleep now.” He rested his hand on the crown of her head for a second, then combed his fingers through her hair. “Don't worry, Robin.”

She nodded, unable to speak. If she did, he would know she was about to cry. Robin didn't shed a tear, however. Not until she heard the soft snick of the door when he pulled it shut and she knew he was gone.

The next morning she showered, dressed in the clothes she had worn the day before and sat on the bed trying to read a
dog-eared paperback she'd found in the nightstand. Anything to keep from facing the man she had seduced so shamelessly.

Seduced.
Hardly that, Robin thought with a smirk. There hadn't been much seduction to it, if any. All she'd done was show up and make it clear what she wanted. Yanked that shirt right off and made a perfect idiot of herself. Fine way to go about sealing a friendship. Now he'd think she was the epitome of the image she'd been battling all her adult life. Sex object.

Maybe that's what she was after all. She sure couldn't demand that Mitch respect her mind after last night. Even she doubted her intelligence now.

“Oh, get over it,” she muttered to herself as she tossed the unread book aside and got up. Hiding out here in the bedroom was ridiculous. Certainly no solution. Besides, she was starving.

Determined to brave it out, Robin marched to the door, flung it open and almost ran right into Mitch. He was standing there balancing a tray on one hand, the other outstretched as if he'd been reaching for the doorknob.

“Morning. Brought you some breakfast,” he said with a grin. “Hope you like your eggs sunny-side up.”

Robin's gaze fell to the tray. Sure enough, there were two fried eggs, two slices of toast and a glob of jelly. Two steaming cups of coffee wobbled in their saucers. She backed into the room. “This…this wasn't necessary.”

He brushed past her and set the tray on a small round table beside the window, then plucked up the art deco vanity stool and put it down for her to sit on. “There you go. Service with a smile.”

She stared at him, then at the plate, unable to believe he had cooked her breakfast. She couldn't remember when—or if—anyone had ever cooked her breakfast, even her mother.
Even as a child, Robin had only been allowed fruit or low-cal yogurt to keep her weight below average. By the time she reached adulthood, the fare had become a habit. She had never eaten a fried egg in her life.

Mitch picked up one of the coffees and made himself comfortable on the bed. “Go ahead. Eat.”

Robin sat down and picked up the fork. Tentatively, she cut a section of the white part and tasted it. A bit greasy, she thought as she chewed. She nibbled a corner of the buttered toast. “Very nice,” she commented, since she knew he was waiting for her appraisal.

He got up and came over, taking the fork from her hand. “Like this,” he instructed as he diced up the eggs and stirred them around. The half-cooked yolks spread over and coated the white making an unappetizing mess. He put the fork back in her hand. “There you go.”

Robin considered refusing to eat, but Mitch looked so proud of himself for making it, she didn't have the heart. Well, she had certainly eaten worse-looking things, she thought, recalling sushi. And anchovies. And cottage cheese was not all that attractive now that she thought about it.

She scooped up a bite, determined to enjoy this even if it choked her. To her surprise it was delicious. Or maybe she was just so ravenous anything would taste good.

Nodding as she chewed and swallowed, with another forkful on the way to her mouth, she exclaimed, “Great!”

He beamed and resumed his seat on the bed. “Knew you'd like it. Much better with grits, but there weren't any.”

“That's okay.” She finished the treat, wishing for more. Jelly had always been a no-no. She spread it on the toast and wolfed it down. All of it. If she stayed in Nashville, she could just imagine herself at three hundred pounds in less than six weeks.

“You know I can't eat this way all the time,” she said, taking the last sweet bite and reaching for the coffee. “Or even very often.”

“Sure you can. Thin as you are, you surely don't have to worry.” He set his cup down on the nightstand and leaned back on the bed, propped on his arms.

Robin laughed wryly. “Little do you know about the vagaries of weight control. I've gained almost ten pounds since I stopped modeling. And those added pounds were only due to less stress.”

He frowned. “
Less
stress? What on earth could be more nerve-racking than what you went through with ol' Troy-Boy's stalking and James's fooling around?”

Robin smiled, feeling much more at ease, now that she realized he wasn't going to bring up last night's fall from grace. “Modeling is strenuous. It takes a lot out of you. People think we make outrageous amounts for just standing there in front of a camera or plodding down a runway and back. Believe me, it's hard work. We earn every penny and then some.”

“You don't ever have to do that again, do you?” he asked, looking truly concerned. “Do you want to?”

“Goodness, no! I never wanted to in the first place.” She made a face. “I had what's known as a dedicated stage mother.”

His frown deepened. “I saw a special on TV once where this woman got her little girl all duded up and stuck her in every beauty pageant going. The poor kid looked downright miserable, pasting on that fake smile. Even had to wear a false plate to cover up the loss of her baby teeth. I wanted to horse-whip that mother.”

Robin shrugged and sighed. “Well, Mom didn't go quite that far. I didn't begin my career until I was nearly nine. Some women live vicariously through their children, and I do think
my mother was guilty of that to some extent. She's not happy that I retired when I did.”

“Nine years old?” he asked, his voice nearly quavering with what appeared to be anger. “She made you work at
nine?
”

Robin smiled. “You might have seen me in your Christmas wish book cuddling Barbies. Of course you wouldn't have been looking at the dolls, I guess.”

He grinned, but it looked totally forced, probably just for her benefit. “I didn't look 'em up in the catalog, but you can bet I peeped under their dresses when Susie and Meg left their dolls lying around. Wanted to see if they were anatomically correct. A guy thing, I guess.”

Robin laughed out loud at the image of a mischievous little Mitch sneaking a peek at Barbie's undies. “That's priceless,” she gasped.

His face softened. “
You're
priceless. I love to hear you laugh.” Before she could grasp what he'd said, he rushed past it. “Did you play with dolls? Make kissy-kissy with Barbie and Ken?”

Robin blushed. “Don't all little girls?” Didn't every single one of them dress up their dolls and pretend weddings and happily-ever-afters? Of course, she'd had nothing to base her pretense on other than marriages she saw on television. Her mother and father had divorced when she was four, and she hadn't seen him since.

“You're an only child, aren't you?” he asked.

“Afraid so. Why, do I seem spoiled or something?”

“No, I just wondered what you did for fun. Who you played with. If you ever got your bottom tanned for mischief.”

Robin sighed and pushed her plate back and forth on the tray. “No spankings. Not many playmates unless I happened to get a job that included other children. Even then, there was
little time to play. I was homeschooled at first, had tutors later on, took the GED and managed to get into college. After that I lived with Mother and went part-time until I got my degree.”

Mitch shook his head. “Missed all those beer parties and everything? Rough. You seriously need to play, Robin.”

The thought tickled her. She wished there was snow outside so they could have a snowball fight or something. “I think it's a bit late for that. But I guess I did enjoy that fishing expedition. That counts.”

She got up and picked up the tray to carry it back to the kitchen. “What's on the agenda for today?”

He brought his cup, sipping the rest of his coffee as he followed her. “We should probably hang around here. Kick will be home later and we could bring him up to speed about the disk. Damien's still not home, so I guess we'll have to trust ol' NPD.”

“I suppose we should.”

He ran one finger down her arm from shoulder to elbow. Touching her just to be touching, she thought. “It's Sunday and I usually go to my parents' house for Sunday dinner. Want to go?”

An automatic refusal rose in her throat, but Robin refused to voice it. She had already told Mitch she wasn't good at interacting with people socially. He hadn't listened then and he probably wouldn't now. Somehow that made her feel good. Besides, she hadn't done so badly with his mother and sister the last time, had she? He said they had liked her.

Mitch was close to his family, and she had no right to deprive him of their company just because she had a hang-up. “That sounds fine,” she said, wishing she'd put a bit more enthusiasm in it. “Yes, let's
do
go,” she added, smiling over her shoulder.

His delighted expression was reward enough for enduring just about anything. Strange how she kept courting that grin of his. It made her feel light inside. It was as if he were telling her she had done something incredibly wonderful.

A therapist would probably tell her she had a deep-seated eagerness to please and a profound need for praise fostered by some sort of early acquired neurosis. What the hell. Why pick it apart and ruin her mood? She wanted to go with Mitch.

If he didn't like her a little, he certainly deserved an Academy Award for his acting. And the man kept his promises. Hadn't he just proved it by not indulging in a post mortem of last night's insanity? Not one word or look or sly little gleam in his eye indicated in any way that he was thinking about what had happened between them.

It didn't come in a blinding flash or anything, but a tiny, unfamiliar glimmer of warmth slowly stole through her. She barely recognized it as the dawning of trust. Robin promised herself she would nurture it carefully and hope to God it didn't die.

“W
hat are you smiling about?” Robin asked Mitch.

“Just thinking about the kids. My niece turns thirteen today. We're sure to have cake and, knowing Paula, it
will
be chocolate.”

Another five pounds, Robin thought with a sigh as Mitch pulled into the driveway. He had borrowed Kick's second vehicle, a small, sporty truck that looked brand-new.

Mitch parked, reached over and patted her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking,” she replied, her voice sounding sunny even to herself. “Shall we?” She opened her door, not waiting for him to get out and go around.

Never had she made a public appearance looking the way she looked today. In any other circumstance, she would have insisted on staying inside and hiding.

Her clothing was clean. She had run it through Kick's washer and dryer last night, but it was wrinkled. If the man owned an iron, she hadn't been able to find it. She realized she was wearing the same jeans and top she had worn the last time she had met the Wintons. Other than the T-shirt Mitch had purchased for her at that convenience store, this was all she had.

Also, her makeup had been lost with the stolen purse and her face was bare as the day she was born. Her skin was pretty good since she had always taken care of it. She had appropriated a bit of the moisturizer for men Kick had in his bathroom cabinet.

Her hair looked fairly decent after blowing it dry, but her nails were a mess with their week-old chipped polish. She rather liked her shoes, the neat pair of leather clogs she had bought for less than ten dollars. Well, she would simply have to do, whether she looked a fright or not.

Mitch escorted her to the door, then opened it as he had the last time they had come here. “You should knock,” she said without thinking.

“Why?” He looked at her in confusion as if the thought had never occurred to him.

Patricia Winton waved at them from the kitchen door. “Come on through, you two. Everybody's out back.”

Robin couldn't walk straight through the kitchen the way Mitch urged her to. She had to stop, inhale fully and close her eyes to savor the scent. “This smells the way heaven must!”

“Roast beef,” Patricia told her. “I'll give you my recipe.”

“Oh, I could never duplicate that. Not in a million years. If it tastes as good as it smells, I'll find myself dieting for weeks to come.” She opened her eyes and smiled at Patricia. “Because today, I plan to eat my fill.”

“Good for you!” Mitch's mother tossed him a roll across the island. “This girl's great for the ol' ego.”

“I'd drink to that,” he said cryptically, then shook his head as if dismissing the thought. “Got a beer, Mom?”

“Out back in the cooler,” Patricia told him as she opened the oven. “Robin, grab that platter over there for me?”

And just that easily, she was fully incorporated into the effort that was a Winton birthday bash. She perched on a stool at the island and mixed potato salad. She folded napkins. She sipped the wine cooler Mitch provided and made appropriate comments while his mother kept up a running patter about the activities of the grandchildren she was raising.

“A piano recital? I always wished I could take lessons,” Robin said truthfully as she straightened the stack of sturdy ironstone plates set out for the buffet. “Has Paula studied for long?”

“'Bout two years,” Patricia said. “Since her big night is next week, we'll see if she'll give us a preview and play her piece for us this afternoon.”

“Where is the birthday girl?” Robin asked. She had met the two younger children as they'd dashed in and out, but had yet to see the thirteen-year-old.

Patricia shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Puttin' on makeup. Susan gave her a set of it this morning, and the child's been back in the bedroom playing with it all morning. I shudder to think Paula's old enough to wear lipstick. She already thinks she's grown.”

Mitch and his father entered then, both nursing a beer bottle and laughing at something one of them had said outside. Susan came in behind them carrying a handful of tools. “I fixed that gate so the kids can't open it from the inside. You can let Sheba out to play whenever you want to, Mama.” The little Yorkie in question danced around her feet as if it understood.

Suddenly Mitch let out a whoop of laughter and pointed to the doorway leading off from the dining room. Robin
turned to see what caused his merriment and saw a young girl dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a lacy, stretch tank top. Her face wore a thick mask of garish makeup and a profound look of hurt.

Robin automatically punched Mitch in the shoulder. “Stop laughing this minute. Can't you see she's practicing makeup for her recital? Floodlights leach out every smidge of color, and you have to compensate for that!”

Desperate to repair the girl's self-image, not to mention her heavy-handed application of cosmetics, Robin marched right over to her and stopped, shrugging helplessly. “I'm Mitch's friend, Robin. Would you mind terribly if I borrowed just a tiny touch of your powder? All my makeup was stolen when some jerk snatched my purse.”

The girl frowned up at her as if Robin had lost her mind, but she said, “Okay, I guess.”

“Robin's a model, Paula,” Mitch said with authority. “Now, you listen to her about how to apply that goop or we'll have to put it away until you're older.”

Robin turned around and shot him a nasty look. “And
you,
stuff a sock in it, Mitch Winton. Paula did just fine on her own.” She turned to the girl. “Powder my nose for me and I'll show you a secret I learned in Paris about declumping mascara. Other than that minor smudge, you look smashing.”

She followed the girl down the hall, noting the slump of her shoulders and the dispirited way she trudged. Moved more than she could stand, Robin slipped an arm around Paula's shoulders and leaned down to whisper. “You want to really wow 'em? I'll show you every trick in my book.”

Paula sniffed and looked up. Though her mascara was running now, she was wearing a copy of Mitch's grin. “I had a problem knowing how much to use,” she admitted, keeping her voice low. “Thanks for covering. The stage thing was brilliant.”

Robin gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “I was sixteen the first time I was allowed to buy makeup and try it myself.”

“Sixteen?”

“Mmm-hmm. I worked pretty steadily, and they have people who do your face for you. You would not
believe
the mess I made when I tried to do it on my own. It's not easy the first time, is it?”

“No, it's not!” Paula laughed, Mitch's criticism forgotten. Robin's heart swelled with success. She had made another friend, and it hadn't been hard at all.

 

“That young lady's quick on her feet. I'm impressed.”

Mitch nodded in his father's direction. “Yeah. I'm pretty impressed myself. You don't think I made Paula cry, do you? Maybe I'd better go back there and see. Robin's not really used to kids.” He got up off the kitchen stool, and his mother shoved him down again.

“Don't you meddle. I have a feeling Robin might do a lot more good than you would.”

Susan draped an arm over his shoulder. “Don't feel bad, bro. I was too chicken to offer Paula any suggestions this morning. She's not that keen on my advice since we had our little heart-to-heart about her boyfriend.”

“Dinner's ready,” Patricia said looking from one to the other. “All we have to do now is wait.” She looked toward the door where Robin had disappeared with Paula. “I guess our girls could take a while. Anybody want another beer?”

Our girls.
Mitch's smile felt bittersweet. In the back of his mind he must have had another reason for bringing Robin here today. Maybe he had wanted to see how difficult it would be for her to fit in with his family.

Had it been that hard for her? Was this all an act, a dedicated politeness on her part to pay him back for helping her?
He knew he would have the devil of a time adjusting to life in New York if the situation were reversed.

Their backgrounds were so different. He and Robin had nothing in common. Nothing but a murder investigation. And great sex. He bit back a groan, trying not to recall how perfectly they fitted, how incredible last night had been. How much he loved her.

“It just won't work,” he said to himself.

“Don't be an idiot,” his mother said knowingly as she pointed at him with a stalk of celery she'd been about to munch. “She's the one.” His dad nodded. Susan wiggled her eyebrows and grinned.

Later, when they were headed for Kick's truck to leave, Mitch had to wonder if his family wasn't right. He couldn't imagine ever feeling this way about another woman. But did she feel the same way about him, or was it gratitude or hormones that prompted her to come to him last night?

He didn't speak until they were well on their way back to the house. She was smiling to herself, obviously happy with the way things had turned out today.

“Thanks for taking Paula in hand. She looked fantastic after you did whatever you did to her,” he finally said.

Robin shrugged. “She's a sweet girl. Very open. Talented, too.”

“And nuts about boys. Especially that jock, Ty Macomb.”

“Ah, the studmuffin.”

Mitch almost ran off the road. “The what? Did she actually call him that? I'll choke the—”

She interrupted him with a laugh. “No, no. That was just the impression she gave when she described him. We had an in-depth discussion about teenage male perspective as it relates to their current girlfriends' reputations. You needn't worry about her.”

He relaxed a little. “Well, thanks again for whatever advice you gave. You might have saved the kid from getting too involved, pregnant or something.”

Too late Mitch realized what he'd said, the subject he had brought up unintentionally. Or maybe he had subconsciously segued into it and not very well at that. He glanced over at Robin and saw the wry look she was wearing.

“
You
couldn't be. Could you?” he asked.

She turned her head so that he couldn't see her face.

“Robin, if—”

“I will
not
discuss it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You can't just bury your head in the sand. If you happen to be pregnant, it won't just go away.” But it could. If she wanted it to, it very well could end with no one the wiser but Robin and some doctor. “Robin, please tell me you wouldn't…?”

She turned to him, frowning. “No. I wouldn't. Leave it at that.”

Like hell he would. The notion had grabbed hold of him, and wouldn't let go. Mitch realized that the thought of Robin carrying his baby didn't exactly cause any panic attacks. In fact, the idea intrigued him.

“That's not an event a woman needs to go through alone. Would you marry me?”

“Don't be absurd,” she snapped. “I hardly know you.”

He smiled. “Biblically speaking, you know me better than anybody ever has.”

She huffed. “Get real. Like I'd believe you never had sex.”

“Well, yeah, I have, but not that…well, not sex that was that…intimate, I guess you'd call it. Recreational is all.” He hurried on past that gaff. “So, you know me
that
way and we're working on the social aspect like crazy, right? You're an easy woman to love, Robin. I'm half there already. More than half, actually. I'd say about—”

“Shut
up!
” she demanded with a huff. “If you don't, I'm getting out of this car at the next stoplight!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, immediately sorry he had upset her. He was a fool to think she might not mind an unplanned pregnancy.

Mitch knew she hadn't given protection a thought, either, when she'd decided to make love with him. They were both to blame. He just wanted her to understand that he would be there for her if there were consequences.

Hell, he wanted to be there for her whether there were consequences or not and she ought to know that, too.

He made a final attempt. “But just for the record, I think you would make an excellent mother. Could you maybe forgive me enough to—”

He had just stopped for a red light and, good as her word, she popped her seat belt and opened the door. He reached across and grabbed her arm. “Wait! I promise. No more. I won't say another word, Scout's honor.”

She slammed the door, crossed her arms and shot him a look that would curdle cream. That was justified. He knew he had rushed her. Her breathing seemed uneven and her movements restless. She was worried all right. Whether about the chance of being pregnant or his being in love with her, Mitch couldn't tell.

Mitch adopted a blank expression and carefully avoided looking at her for the rest of the ride. Anyway, his mind was too busy planning his strategic campaign.

He needed to get rid of all the outside interference before he could fully dedicate himself to winning her. But then she would be free to leave. It would have to be a simultaneous effort, he supposed. And he would have to work fast.

 

Robin was surprised, but not disappointed to find Kick Taylor still absent when they arrived at his house after dark. Her
mind was too tangled at the moment to deal with the explanations and questions concerning the disk and what she'd found out on the Internet. She might be pregnant, for heaven's sake. Everything else automatically dropped way down on her priority list of things to think about.

But she couldn't talk about it yet. Didn't dare dream such a happy accident had happened to her. What would Mitch think if she admitted she had considered the idea of becoming a mother long before she had ever met him? She'd even gone so far as to check into artificial insemination. The only thing that had prevented her going through with it was the fact that she wouldn't know the donor. She couldn't let herself hope now. That might jinx it.