Volcano (29 page)

“I'm quite capable of sleeping on the floor if you think I'll roll off the sofa and wake you up with the noise,” he said dryly from behind her.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Penelope spoke more sharply than she'd intended. Frustration ate at her insides, and fear gnawed around the edges. If she were completely rational, she might recognize that her fear was more of Charlie and her own feelings for him than of their circumstances, but she wasn't ready for rationality.

“I'm not doing this just to annoy you,” he said with patience. “I got you into this mess, and I want to get you out.”

She breathed again. That was the tactic. She just wanted out. Penelope turned, and the intensity of Charlie's gaze almost knocked her over. She saw things there that terrified her. She blinked and looked away. “If you don't think they'll come here tonight, then you don't need to act as guard dog. Take my bed. I can sleep on the sofa.”

Charlie tucked his finger under her chin and urged her head up to meet his gaze. “We're not strangers anymore, Penny. We've managed to share a bed these last few nights without killing each other. And unless you keep rubbers in your bedside drawer, I don't dare touch you in any other way, so you're safe from me.”

She heard his sincerity, ached at his words, but nodded and jerked her head away. “If I had them, they'd be expired by now,” she said wryly. “Take a shower while I clean up here.”

Charlie caught her arm before she escaped. “Your honesty doesn't scare me, Penny. If you want to chase me away, show me your indifference.”

He brushed a kiss across her hair, dropped her arm, and stalked away before she could find an adequate response.

Her
indifference.
What a word. Charlie Smith must be reading dictionaries in his spare time. Rattled and vaguely amused, Penelope gathered dirty cups on the tray and carried them to the kitchen.

As the water pounded in the other room, an image of Charlie naked sprang to mind. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd been naked and writhing in Charlie's arms.

God, she couldn't stand it. She set the tray on the counter and buried her flushed face in her hands. Why did Charlie have to be the one who taught her to like sex? She didn't believe in fast and loose affairs. She believed in her career, first and foremost, followed by family and commitment. She couldn't have any of that with Charlie. They would kill each other before they even talked of wedding bells.

She'd just agreed to go to bed with him. Why didn't she cut her own throat and get it over with?

***

Wrapped in one of Penelope's generous bath towels, Charlie cautiously stepped into the room she'd indicated was hers. He heard her enter the shower he'd just vacated, so he had time to look around. The faint scent of her floral perfume wafted around him, and he felt like a trespasser in this all-feminine territory. Except it wasn't as foreign a territory as he'd assumed, he realized as he switched on the bedside lamp.

One entire wall was filled with crowded bookshelves. He scanned some of the titles with curiosity, discovering a number of the techno-thrillers he enjoyed, romance fiction he wouldn't touch, intermixed with history, biography, and even a few philosophical tomes. Admittedly, he didn't read much, but he saw dozens of books here he wouldn't mind opening on a rainy evening.

More comfortable with that discovery, he scanned the rest of the room. Instead of the pink and lace confections he'd encountered in one too many boudoirs, Penelope favored clean, modern lines and good, solid wood. He ran his fingers over the polished oak of her dresser, nudging the framed pictures of her niece and nephew that were almost the only clutter there. He suspected the silk rose in a crystal vase was a gift from someone she loved, and he hoped it was from the kids or her parents.

The bed with its high back was as sleek and elegantly designed as Penelope herself. A simple cream-colored, quilted down comforter covered the mattress, contrasting with the rich chocolate brown linens. A man could almost live with linens like that, even if—after closer investigation—they were trimmed in champagne satin ribbon. The thick feather pillows were like enormous chocolates, sinfully soft and decadent. Charlie could think of any number of tempting things he could do with those pillows and Penelope in the bed.

Except he'd told her he wouldn't.

Maybe he had time to run back to that drugstore.... Why the
hell
hadn't he thought of it while they were there?

He heard the shower stop. She'd be drying off now, and spraying herself with some of that oily fragrance he'd seen in the tub. She'd come out all sweet-smelling, shiny, and soft, and there wouldn't be a damned thing he could do about it. If he didn't go in there right now, she'd probably cover up all that creamy skin with some hideous man-tailored pajamas. He could imagine how her curves would push at the V neck of the shirt and fill out the boxy trousers, making him ache with desire.

Hell, he'd be better off on the sofa.

Snatching up a pillow and a blanket he found in the chest at the foot of her bed, Charlie hurried toward the door. He met Penelope coming in.

Her eyes widened at the stack in his hands, and she looked at him questioningly. Charlie was grateful the pillows disguised his lower half. As if he weren't already aroused enough, the appreciation he read in her gaze as it settled on his uncovered chest nearly crippled him.

“The bed isn't big enough?” she inquired with a modicum of hurt.

He'd been almost right. Beneath the thick black spill of her hair, she wore a tailored, silky nightshirt in baby blue instead of pajamas. He could see the shadow between her breasts where they rose and fell against the cloth. Charlie bit back a moan and heroically stood steadfast against temptation.

“Not for both of us,” he replied in his best John Wayne imitation. At her puzzlement, he caved. “I'm not holding this pillow because I have a lust for chickens,” he admitted. “Go on to bed, get some rest. I'll sleep a hell of a lot better on the sofa.”

She was a little slow on the uptake. Miss Penelope Albright apparently wasn't too bright in recognizing the temptation she presented to the opposite sex. How she could be so blind to her abundant charms mystified him, but Charlie liked the way she tilted her head and looked at him as if he were the only man in the world.

That realization floored him. She'd not once looked at another man since he'd met her. Not once. Most beautiful women were relentless flirts. Penelope, however, hadn't even smiled at the worldly Roger Henwood, or tried to wrap the pilot around her little finger, or played games with any of the men they'd encountered these last few days. Hell, he knew women who would have flirted with the drugstore clerk. Not Penelope. She didn't even acknowledge their existence. But she was acknowledging his now.

He detected a distinct gleam of satisfaction in her eyes as she realized why he was running from her bed. If she had feathers, she'd be preening them. Charlie considered dropping the damned pillow, grabbing her, and to hell with the consequences. Only, those consequences had wreaked havoc with his mind all day. He couldn't risk an instant replay.

“I'd hate to be the reason for a gallant gentleman fleeing from the scene of battle,” she said mischievously, touching her upper lip with the seductive tip of her tongue. “I've never terrified a man that badly before.” She trailed a neatly manicured fingertip down the valley between his pectorals.

That did it. He'd never left a challenge unanswered, and he wasn't about to start now, even if his opponent was female. Dropping the pillow, letting the towel slide away with it, Charlie grabbed his daredevil hostess by her baby blue silk waist and hauled her from the floor.

“Charlie!” She whispered the cry near his ear as he kicked the pillow and blanket out of his way and carried her to the bed.

“I'm not one of your wimpy pussycats,” he growled as he fell on top of her. “And I'm not too dumb to know there are ways of making love without making babies. Let's work out a few more of these differences between us.”

Her fingers dug deeply into his shoulders as he pressed her into the comforter and covered her mouth with his, but her protest died the instant their breaths mingled and their tongues touched. If she'd left him any shred of ego at all, he'd believe she'd goaded him into this on purpose.

A moment later, as her knowing fingers wrapped around his arousal and her lips fastened on his nipple, Charlie knew he'd been had, and the pleasure coursing through him mixed with heady triumph. Sinking his hands in silken hair, he took her with him as he rolled over on his back and settled her on top of him. This time, Miss Penelope would have to admit that she was the one who needed this.

He gasped with pleasure at her nipping teeth, and his whole body bucked with the powerful desire to bury himself inside her. Hell, at this rate, she would turn him into that whimpering pussycat....

And he'd die happy.

Before her tempting mouth could slide lower, Charlie rolled Penelope on her back, and, unbuttoning her shirt, applied the same principle she'd used against him. Her suppressed cry of joy relieved any anxiety he might have felt about the equality of this battle of the sexes. The lust was mutual.

With that in mind and her breasts firmly in hand, he slid down her perfumed body until he reached the nub they both wanted him to touch.

He'd gladly writhe beneath her as she did beneath him now. He just wanted to do it to her first.

“I hate you,” Penelope murmured against the sweaty salt of Charlie's shoulder as dawn worked its way through the bedroom window.

“Ummm, I hate you too.” He wrapped his hand in her hair where it spilled across his chest. “I always hate women who give me great sex.”

Great sex. Of course. That's all it was. He was a blatantly physical man. To him, this was just a physical encounter, a release of pent-up hormones, a venting of frustrated testosterone. Really great sex. Nothing more. Oddly, a modicum of relief seeped through her at that realization.

Penelope twirled a hair on his chest, and Charlie tucked her more comfortably into the curve of his arm and shoulder. She'd never had great sex before. So, why shouldn't she enjoy great sex while it lasted, like men did? It wasn't as if she was in danger of losing her heart. Disillusionment had broken that long ago.

Smiling in satisfaction, Penelope draped her bare leg across Charlie's. His hand slid over the curve of her hip to cup her buttock.

Just as she decided they needed to make a trip to the drugstore, her mind hit the hurdle that her senses had obscured.

She couldn't have great sex with Charlie Damned Smith because he thought that gave him a right to tell her what to do.

Punching him in the ribs, she shoved away his arm and leapt from the bed. “I'm going to work.”

She gave him credit for not bellowing and waking Beth. Locking the bathroom door and stepping into the shower, she waited for Charlie to batter the door down. The door remained ominously silent. Penelope regarded it warily by the time she stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around her and wondered if he could blockade her in here.

She dried off and pulled on her warmest, fluffiest robe. Charlie had a way of making her forget her intentions, and she didn't want any distractions when she walked out.

He wasn't in the bedroom. His clothes were gone. Had he left without saying good-bye? She couldn't believe he'd do that to her.

That thought startled the hell out of her. Men
always
did things like that. Why in the name of heaven would she think Charlie was different?

Penelope pulled on a navy cashmere suit and a silk shell, trying to analyze why she believed he was the kind of man who stuck around when things went wrong.

He hadn't run out on her when the dead body turned up on the beach. Another man would have thought of his own neck first.

She was actually admiring the wretch. Where were her brains?

Rotted by sex apparently.

She found Charlie charming Beth over coffee and muffins in the kitchen. He'd retrieved his backpack from the car and actually wore a regular button-down shirt for a change, although it was work-shirt blue and worn over a slightly tattered black T-shirt. She certainly couldn't accuse him of being a clotheshorse as so many men with his looks were. Or maybe he knew work clothes enhanced his rugged handsomeness.

He stood up as she entered the room and, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, caught her waist and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Cool suit, but I like the braid and baseball cap better.”

He was entirely too cheerful. Penny regarded him suspiciously as she poured her coffee. Kisses and hugs at this hour had her totally disoriented. “Have you two been entertaining each other this morning?”

“Charlie said he could partition the kitchen cabinets so I can sort things and find them easier. Do you think the complex will let him do it?” Beth removed a platter of eggs and bacon from the warming oven. “I told him he might as well go ahead and eat these because you wouldn't, but he insisted on waiting.”

“I'll have a bite of the eggs, but I really have to get to the office. I have a lot of explaining to do.” Penelope poured juice into Charlie's glass, all too aware of his masculine bulk as she leaned over his shoulder to reach the table. Every nerve stretched tight as he gave her his best little-boy smile. He was up to something.