Where the Heart Is Read online

  “As in bed?”

  “As in business.”

  He hesitated. “Whatever you say.”

  “If you aren’t going to believe me, why bother to ask?” Shelley turned toward Billy. “Is that Squeeze’s terrarium in the corner?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I must have put the lid on crooked on my way out this morning. I was late,” he added.

  She had a feeling that being late was a chronic condition with the boy. She didn’t blame him. California’s hot, burnished summer days gave her a case of wanderlust and waking dreams, reminding her of all the wild winds she had felt as a child, all the distant lands and resilient people.

  Automatically she pushed aside the memories and the restless longing that had come to her more and more frequently in the past year.

  I made my choice when I was nineteen, she reminded herself. I chose peace, security.

  A home.

  She had needed the certainty that came from knowing if she called out for help, the answer would come in a language she understood. Even more, she had needed to know that there was one place on earth that was hers and hers alone, that her life was her own, to roam or stay in one place as she pleased.

  And she pleased to stay and build a home.

  “Okay, Billy,” she said in a crisp voice. “What’s the critter’s feeding schedule?”

  “He won’t need anything to eat for about five days. Better make it six.”

  “Is he on a diet?”

  “No, but if he isn’t really hungry, he’ll just ignore the poor mouse until I take it out, and then I make a pet of it and have to buy another one when Squeeze finally starts acting hungry.”

  She made a sympathetic sound. She always felt sorry for the mice, too. But then, she felt sorry for the wildlife that house cats preyed on, and the rabbits and opossums and skunks and domestic pets flattened on the road. Life was incurably messy.

  “Right,” she said. “I’ll be sure Squeeze is hungry. That way it will be quick and clean.”

  Billy brightened.

  “Thanks. I knew you’d understand.” He hesitated, then added, “It’d be nice if you let your kids play with him sometimes. He likes to curl around me while I do my homework.”

  At the word “kids,” Cain’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t have any kids,” she said, “but I’ll let Squeeze out to play once in a while. You can visit, too, whenever your mother lets you.”

  “Can I? Oh, wow! That’d be great!”

  With a wide smile, he went to drag Squeeze’s terrarium out into the room.

  “That’s going to be kind of awkward on a motorcycle,” Cain said.

  “Motorcycle?” The boy straightened eagerly. “Did you bring your motorcycle?”

  Cain started to speak, then thought better of it.

  Billy’s young face assumed blank lines, betraying neither enthusiasm nor longing.

  “I have a dirt bike,” he said, “but Mother won’t let me ride it while I stay with her.”

  Shelley looked at the hunger and hero worship in Billy’s eyes as he watched Cain. She felt sudden, unexpected tears burning behind her eyelids. Her parents had dragged her all over the face of the earth, but they didn’t put her through the special hell that came to a child when his parents no longer loved each other enough to live together.

  “I know about your bike,” Cain said, his voice slightly rough. “That’s why I’m here. Dave and I decided that you’d need some company while he’s in France.”

  “You’re not here to, uh, see Mother?” Billy asked awkwardly.

  “I’m here to see you.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand. She hates anything to do with Dad.”

  Cain searched for neutral words to counter the bitter truth in his nephew’s young voice. Finally he simply put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “We’ll work out something,” he promised. “Until then, can we borrow your helmet?”

  “That one?” Billy asked.

  He pointed toward a battered motorcycle helmet that was barely visible beneath a sandy beach towel next to the bed.

  “Do you have a better one?” Cain asked.

  “Nope.”

  Billy snatched up the helmet, brushed it off, and measured Shelley with a professional eye.

  “It will fit her just right if she takes that stupid knot out of her hair,” he said.

  Cain’s left hand moved so quickly that she didn’t have time to evade or object. She felt the firm, seeking pressure of his fingers an instant before her hair spilled suddenly down her back. Hidden beneath the heavy fall of hair, his hand caressed her nape, then withdrew, leaving behind a tremor of unexpected pleasure.

  Billy fitted the helmet over her head, then lifted it off and stepped back.

  “Fits like it was made for you,” the boy said.

  Shelley nodded absently. She was still feeling the aftershocks of Cain’s hidden caress.

  “What about Squeeze?” she asked.

  “How would you fasten a helmet on a snake?” Cain asked blandly.

  The boy snickered. “Scotch tape?”

  “That’s a thought.”

  Cain lifted the hand that had been buried beneath Shelley’s hair. His nostrils flared slightly as he scented her perfume on his skin. He looked at her intently, wanting to feel the silky weight of her hair again, to taste deeply of her mouth.

  Watching her, he wondered if she had felt the same elemental pull he had when he touched her.

  And then he knew that she had.

  The proof was in the very slight trembling of her lips as she watched him, and the dilation of her pupils as sensual awareness quickened in her.

  In that instant it was all he could do not to take her down to the floor and bury himself in her until a lifetime of hunger and loneliness was only a fading memory.

  “. . . carry Squeeze?” Billy asked.

  Cain tried to gather his seething thoughts. He failed. He could think of nothing but the sweet instant when his body would become a part of Shelley’s, held tightly within her satin warmth.

  “Pillowcase,” she said in a strained voice.

  Abruptly she closed her eyes, no longer able to bear the intimacy of Cain’s look. She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the frightening storm of sensuality that was electrifying her body.

  She had never been aware of a man like this, sensing his every breath, the metallic gleam of light caught in his thick hair, the tawny chestnut mustache curling against the most beautiful male mouth she had ever seen—hard yet full, responsive to laughter, hungry.

  Hungry most of all.

  “Pillowcase,” she repeated, her voice husky, her eyes still closed.

  “What about it?” the boy asked.

  “I’ll carry Squeeze in a pillowcase.”

  “Oh. Good idea. I hate the darned things. Mother must have told the decorator I was a girl.”

  With quick motions Shelley turned away from Cain and removed the cover from one of the bed pillows. Immediately she saw why Billy was glad to be rid of it. The powder-blue pillowcase looked more like lingerie than bed linen.

  Doubtfully she looked at the lacy froth in her hand and thought of the long coils of snake.

  “Maybe we—” she began, turning toward Cain.

  There was no time for second thoughts. Boy and man were struggling to unwrap almost four feet of lively, reluctant, stubborn snake. Despite good intentions, Billy was in the way as often as he was helpful.

  “Here,” Shelley said, shoving the pillowcase at the boy. “Hold it open for me.”

  Working with both hands, she unwrapped Squeeze from Cain’s arm. As she did, she couldn’t help feeling the supple texture of his skin and the sliding, muscular strength beneath. But it was his body heat that astonished her. He radiated the vital energy of life.

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t cook Squeeze alive,” she muttered.

/>   He bent until he could whisper against her sleek brown hair.

  “Funny, I thought the same thing when I pulled him off you,” he said. “Hot enough to set fires.”

  Her hands slipped, then got a better grip on the wriggling reptile. Half of Squeeze’s length unwound from Cain’s arms. The other half didn’t.

  “Ready when you are,” Billy said. “I’ll get back to you,” she retorted.

  “Watch that coil,” Cain said, laughing. “He’s going to—too late.”

  Triumphantly Squeeze settled a loop around one of Shelley’s arms. She unwrapped herself with a quick movement that left three-quarters of the snake without anything to hang on to.

  The last quarter was firmly, very firmly, in place around Cain’s arm.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing with a snake like this?” he asked.

  She gave him a disbelieving look, blew hair out of her eyes, and tugged.

  Squeeze coiled suddenly around her arm, regaining lost territory.

  “It could be worse,” he said.

  “How?”

  “He could be an octopus.”

  She laughed, lost her grip, and had to start all over again. She had the feeling that Cain and Squeeze enjoyed the game immensely, especially when her hands slipped.

  “If you stand any closer,” she muttered to him, “you’ll be in my pocket.”

  “Promise?”

  His voice was too soft for Billy to hear.

  “You sure you don’t need help?” the boy asked.

  “She’s doing fine,” Cain said before Shelley could. “Just keep that pillowcase handy. Slide your fingers along my arm under that last coil. Not you, Billy. Shelley. Right. That’s good.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “Ready?”

  “I’m not the problem. The critter is.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Hang on to the critter with both hands.”

  Shelley hung on, Cain shifted his arm rapidly, and Squeeze came undone.

  Billy lunged forward with the pillowcase and scooped up all of the snake that was dangling free.

  “Got him!” the boy said.

  “You could have done that sooner,” Shelley said.

  “How?”

  “Not you. Cain. That trick with your arm.”

  “Just thought of it,” he said blandly.

  His eyes gave him away. They were alive with laughter.

  She knew she should be angry, but he looked so much like his nephew at the moment that she couldn’t be. Shaking her head, she took the pillowcase from Billy and knotted the top so that Squeeze couldn’t escape.

  “That should do it,” she said, smiling.

  But Billy wasn’t smiling when he looked at his pet thrashing around in the lacy prison.

  “We’ll take good care of Squeeze,” Cain said.

  The boy nodded unhappily. “I know. It’s just . . . he’s company.”

  The expression on his face said that he was lonely for more than a snake’s companionship.

  “You’re visiting me,” Shelley said. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  The boy’s eyes said the same thing his tone did. He thought it was just one more adult promise that would be forgotten by tomorrow.

  “I mean it. I’m expecting you.”

  Before she could say any more, Cain tilted her chin and strapped on the borrowed helmet with a few practiced motions. He had an angry look about his eyes, but she knew it wasn’t for her. He, too, didn’t like to think of Billy spending a lonely summer with JoLynn Cummings.

  “How does it feel?” Cain asked. “Too tight?”

  “Just right.”

  Billy followed them anxiously down the hall and out of the elegant house.

  A stripped-down motorcycle was parked in the driveway.

  “Cool,” the boy said in awe.

  Powerful, lean, uncluttered, the bike reminded Shelley of a dark jungle cat crouched to spring.

  Cain mounted the bike in a single lithe motion and looked at her. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

  She smiled slightly. Bracing her left hand on his shoulder, she stepped on the peg and settled into place behind him as though she had done it a hundred times.

  And she had. Motorbikes were more common than cars in most of the countries she had been in.

  The bike ripped into life, vibrating with leashed power.

  “Keep a tight grip on that pillowcase,” Billy called.

  “And on me,” Cain added.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Shelley said to the boy.

  “My uncle? He doesn’t need anyone to take care—”

  “Squeeze,” she interrupted.

  “Don’t bet on it,” Cain said, snapping on his helmet.

  “I’m in a madhouse.”

  “No, that’s where you were,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I’m taking you away from all that. Ready?”

  No.

  But Shelley wasn’t about to admit it out loud. She put one arm around his hard waist and held on.

  “Ready,” she said through her teeth.

  With a primal roar, man, woman, snake, and lacy blue pillowcase accelerated down the twisting road.

  Chapter Three

  I need my head examined, Shelley told herself. A nice tame boa in my house is one thing.

  Cain Remington is something else.

  Smoothly he guided the motorcycle into her driveway. A moment later he shut off the powerful engine. All of his movements were both easy and measured.

  She couldn’t help watching him. He was as coordinated as he was strong. He had controlled the bike skillfully and with complete attention. He was always aware of the heavier cars around him and the unpredictability of drivers who believed they were the only living thing on the road. She approved of his skill, just as she had approved of his handling of the snake.

  That was the problem.

  I like him too much. Billy calls him “uncle,” but I don’t think Cain is JoLynn’s brother.

  A lot of women had their children call their lovers “uncle.” It created the illusion of a whole family in a situation where the family was anything but.

  The idea of Cain as JoLynn’s lover didn’t appeal to Shelley at all.

  Any man who thinks JoLynn is a good time is the wrong man for me. I made one mistake like that with my ex-husband. Once was more than enough.

  Wasn’t it?

  Uneasiness licked through her again. She was too honest not to know that she wasn’t listening to her own good advice. Even as she told herself how wrong Cain was for her, she was deeply aware of him as a man, of the hard warmth of his waist beneath her arm, of the rippling power of his back as he reached for his helmet, of everything about him from the clean golden bronze of his hair to the breadth of his shoulders.

  Abruptly she realized that she still had one arm around his waist even though the bike wasn’t moving. She yanked back her arm as though she had been burned.

  If Cain noticed her sudden retreat from physical contact, he said nothing. With the same easy, clean movements he had used to drive the bike, he got off and hung his helmet over the handlebars.

  Feeling awkward by comparison, she climbed stiffly off the motorcycle. The dismount wasn’t made easier by Squeeze. The pillowcase bounced and bunched with the boa’s muscular protest at being sacked up in lace.

  “Settle down,” she muttered. “Ready or not, you’re home.”

  Squeeze kept on trying to find an escape hole in the lace. Or make one.

  Still holding the lively pillowcase, Shelley struggled with the unfamiliar fastening on her helmet.

  Strong, tanned fingers brushed hers aside. The back of Cain’s hand caressed her throat as he slowly, very slowly, unfastened the strap. He removed the helmet with equal care, watching her the whole time, holding her eyes in a smoky gaze.

  The intimacy of the moment was so great that she felt as though she were being undressed by a lo
ver.

  Without looking away, he hung her helmet next to his on the handlebars. When his fingers carefully tucked her tangled brown hair behind her ears, she didn’t think to object.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to her.

  “You don’t scream at snakes,” he said in a low voice. “You don’t curl your lip at motorcycles. What other conventions do you ignore, Shelley Wilde?”

  Sanity returned just before his mouth reached hers. She stepped backward.

  “I don’t kiss strangers, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said curtly.

  His gray eyes narrowed. Then he relaxed, though the intensity of his glance didn’t change.

  “I don’t feel like a stranger around you,” he said. “And you sure don’t feel like a stranger to me.”

  He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

  She took his caressing fingers and wrapped them around the top of the lively pillowcase.

  “Pet Squeeze,” she said. “He doesn’t know strangers from fat shoelaces.”

  Cain laughed and didn’t pursue the kiss he had so clearly wanted. He took the pillowcase in one hand, Shelley’s arm in the other, and walked toward her home.

  Not much of the structure was visible from the driveway. Like many California hillside homes, the building was oriented toward the view rather than toward the street. As the view was at the back of the house, the architect had wasted little effort making the front entrance impressive.

  From the street, the house looked like a rather long, single-story California version of a weekend retreat—fire-resistant cedar shake shingles on the roof, and walls made of huge panels of thermal glass with natural redwood in between. The narrow yard was landscaped with plants that were well kept and very green against the backdrop of tawny wild grass and chaparral. The privacy of the side yards was guarded by six-foot-high redwood fences.

  “Watch your step,” she said. “One of the deck boards is loose. I keep meaning to get it repaired, but . . .”

  Cain hardly heard her words. The instant he followed her through the front door, he realized that he had only seen the tip of the redwood-and-glass iceberg that was Shelley’s house.

  Built into the hill, the house dropped down in three levels from the public entertainment area at street height to the privacy and retreat of the bedroom suite more than thirty feet below. There, the architect had taken advantage of a natural outward curve in the hillside and had designed a swimming pool, patio, barbecue pit, and flower garden.