Love’s Rocky Road
by
Susanne Sener
 "...Maybe I can help," Cord offered. "It
might be a loose wire."
"You needn't bother."
Still angry at him, she wasn't about to take any help from him. A troublemaker
and womanizer was what Allen had called him.
"I never abandon a lady in distress." Cord rolled up his sleeves
and unbuttoned his shirt to the waist. His exposed flesh glistened with
raindrops. "You're soaked. Get back into the car. I'll see what I can
do."
"I've been having trouble with this thing lately," she grumbled.
"Get in the car and press on the accelerator," Cord insisted.
There was something about his tone that was galling, so much so she hesitated
before doing what she had been told to do.
Cord's brow knitted into a frown. "There's no need for both of us to
get soaked."
Shooting him an angry glare, Tracy slowly slid behind the wheel. She touched
her toe to the gas pedal, expecting to hear the motor roar into action,
though she hoped it wouldn't.
How nice it would be, she thought, if it refused to start despite his expert
administration. This vindictiveness on her part soon caused her to rue her
thoughts. When the car failed to respond after she had pressed the accelerator
several times, she jammed her foot down hard on it and turned the ignition
with renewed force.
Cord loomed up at her side, scowling as he tapped on the rain-streaked window
until she rolled it down enough so that slanting, cold drops stung her cheeks.
"Forget it," he said. "Get in my car. I'll take you home."
"Don't bother. I'll call a cab."
"Right -- and catch pneumonia while you're waiting for it. It's a busy
time of day and it's raining. Leave your car here until morning. You can
call someone then and have it towed to a service center."
"I don't want to impose on you," Tracy said, not bothering to
conceal her annoyance.
"Will you stop protesting and come with me?" he persisted.
It was not a request this time; it was a command.
Gritting her teeth, Tracy climbed out of her car, remembering just in time
to remove the keys from the ignition and drop them into her handbag.
Taking her arm, Cord led her a short distance away to a mid-size sedan and
opened the door. She glanced down at her dress which was clinging to her
full figure like Saran Wrap.
"Your car seats will get wet."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Get in."
"There's a service station several blocks down the street," Tracy
pointed out. "Maybe they're still open and will fix my car for me."
Cord gave her a glance of exasperation. "In the pouring rain? Forget
it. If you don't want to catch pneumonia, get into some dry clothes as soon
as possible. Your car isn't going anyplace."
"Are you always so bossy?" she growled.
"Only when the occasion callS for it. Where do you live?"
"Go down Main Street until you reach Woodland Drive, then turn onto
Willow."
They lapsed into silence. Raindrops splashed against the windshield as the
wipers swung back and forth in a mad effort to keep the glass clear. When
they reached Willow Street, Tracy instructed Cord to take a left. She leaned
forward, peering through the wetness of the late afternoon, feeling as if
all the world were splashing down on her. What was there about this man
that made her so angry, so defensive?
When they pulled up in front of the house, Tracy reached for the door handle.
"Thanks for the ride."
"Is that all you can say?"
"I don't have any money on me. I can write you out a check for your
help."
"I don't want your money," he said. "But I might point out
to you that I don't want to catch pneumonia either. Would you mind if I
came in for a few minutes and dried off a little?"
"I don't think my father is home yet."
In that moment, Tracy remembered she hadn't told him that Carlton Construction
had lost the Dobson project.
When she told him, he expressed his sympathy. "I know your father was
depending on it," Cord said. "I'll bet he was upset."
"I've never seen him so down," Tracy said.
Cord got out of the car and circled to open the door for her. When they
reached the safety of the house and she removed the keys from her handbag,
Cord took them from her and unlocked the door. He stood back for her to
enter, then followed her into the house. Moments after they had entered,
Cord peeled off the shirt clinging damply to his muscular chest and shoulders.
"If you'll tell me where the laundry room is, I'll toss this in the
dryer. I suggest you change your clothes right away, too."
"Anything else?" Tracy asked, her irritation toward him returning
as he directed her.
"Your hair could use a blow dryer," he replied agreeably. "And
I could use a drink if you have some brandy left in the fridge."
Glaring at him, Tracy searched her mind for a biting retort, then decided
not to waste the energy. Removing a half-filled bottle from the refrigerator,
she dropped ice cubes into a glass and poured brandy over them. As he reached
for the glass, their fingers touched. Tracy jerked back as if she had been
burned by hot coals.
"My father's bedroom is down the hall and to the left," she said.
"But before you sit down, you'd better change the rest of your clothes.
Your jeans are soaking wet, too. You'll find a robe in the closet. The laundry
room is off the kitchen."
Their fingers touching was a small happening, but as Tracy went into her
bedroom to change, she discovered she was trembling. She was cold and wet
and completely disconcerted by this arrogant man who had invaded her home
and taken over her hearth. She removed her wet clothes quickly, then slipped
into a pink terrycloth robe and slippers. Hating herself for following his
orders, even though to do was the sensible course of action at the moment,
she plugged in the hair dryer and fluffed her hair into a silver cloud.
Then she returned to the living room.
Wearing her father's bathrobe, Cord was stretched out on the sofa, a glass
of brandy in his hand, with his long legs propped up on the hassock. His
feet were bare; his scuffed cowboy boots lay beside the sofa. He looked
at home, as if he had resided here for years. Pausing in the doorway, she
studied him for several minutes. Her father was a big man, but Cord's broad
shoulders filled the extra-large robe fully. Her eyes took in his strong
profile and the unruliness of the sandy locks she had found so undeniably
becoming since the moment they met.
Noticing a towel draped over the arm of the sofa, she determined that he
must have taken it from the bathroom and dried his hair with it.
"Sit down." Cord patted the cushion alongside him.
"Thank you," she said in what she hoped was an incisive manner.
She felt like placing her hands around his neck and squeezing. What right
did he have to come here and order her around?
"Don't mention it." He flashed her a wide smile. His white teeth
gleamed in his deeply tanned face, making him look younger and boyishly
charming.
Whose house did he think this was? Tracy sat at the far end of the sofa.
Sobering, Cord's gray eyes regarded her intently for a moment. Then before
she realized what was happening, he placed his glass on the end table and
slid across the cushion toward her. She sat mesmerized as he pulled her
into his arms. His hands moved slowly, serpentinely from her shoulders to
her waist.
Responding as if she were in a hypnotic trance, Tracy saw that his eyes
had darkened. She knew she should stop him, but her mind and her emotions
were engaged in a schizophrenic duel. Even though decorum exerted itself,
something far more basic was taking over in a furtive fashion, bewildering
beyond her control. She felt light and boneless at the touch of his hands.
He kissed her mouth first, then his lips moved down to explore the curve
of her throat, the full, warm swell of her breasts. A heady surge of desire
sweeping over her, Tracy pressed herself against him; the curvaceous contours
of her body seemed to have been created to fit perfectly against him. Time
lost all meaning as they clung together, merging as if the same molten metal
were being poured through their veins....  |
Order Form
Back to the Top 