Daring to Dream Page 10

  shelves with an elegant yet friendly clutter of pretty, useless things. Glass cabinets gleaming with jewelry. Tables and chairs and fussy ottomans. For relaxing, and all for sale. A room fashioned like a huge walk-in closet for clothes. Another little seating area where she would serve tea and flutes of champagne. China and crystal also priced to sell.

  It could work. Not only could it work, it could be fun. An adventure. The hell with the details, the fine print, the sanity. She'd figure it out somehow.

  With a reckless laugh, she dashed into the bedroom and threw on some clothes.

  Josh was dreaming, and dreaming well. He could even smell her, that straight-to-the-glands fragrance that always seeped through her pores. She was murmuring his name, almost sighing it as he stroked his hands over her. God, her skin was like satin, smooth and white, that glorious, generous goddess body growing damp as she clung to him.

  Arched back, trembling and—

  "Ow. Goddamn it." Pinched him.

  He opened his eyes, blinked at the dark. He would have sworn his shoulder ached where fingers had dug. And he could swear that her scent was in the air.

  "Sorry. You were sleeping like the dead."

  "Margo? Are you crazy? What time is it? What are you doing here? Jesus!" He continued to swear, viciously, as the light she turned on speared into his eyes. "Turn that goddamn thing off or I'll kill you."

  "I'd forgotten how surly you are when you wake up." Too cheerful to take offense, she switched off the light, then moved to the drapes, opening them to the lovely muted glow of sunrise. "Now, to answer your questions: I think I may be. It's about quarter after dawn. I'm here to thank you."

  She smiled at him as he stared groggily at the coffered ceiling. The bed was a lake of rumpled linen sheets and the slick royal blue satin of the spread. The headboard was a fantasy of cherubs and fruit, all carved and gilded. Rather than looking ridiculous tucked in all that splendor, he looked just right.

  "Gosh, you're cute, all heavy-eyed and grumpy, and that sexy stubble." She leaned over to give it a teasing rub, then squealed when he yanked her onto the bed with him. Before she could gather the next breath, she was pinned under a long, hard male body.

  A fully aroused male body. There was no possible way to attribute that to imagination this time. Her hips arched in response before she could prevent it. And his eyes went opaque. Instinctively she pried a hand free and slapped it to his chest.

  "I didn't come to wrestle."

  "Then why are you here, and how'd you get into the suite?"

  "They know me downstairs." Good God, she was out of breath, and shaky. And hot. "I just said you were expecting me, and said you might be in the shower, so… the front desk gave me a key." His gaze lingered on her mouth, made her burn. "Ah, listen, I seem to have interrupted one of your prurient dreams, so I can just wait in the parlor until…"

  She trailed off, deciding it was best not to continue the thought, when he caught her wrist and pulled her arm back over her head.

  "Until?"

  "Whenever." His mouth was close. She could almost feel it on hers. Hard and hungry. "I wanted to talk to you, but obviously I should have waited. Until."

  "You're trembling," he murmured. And her eyes were delicately shadowed from lack of sleep. Her hair, those sexy miles of it, spread wildly over the tumbled sheets. "Nervous?"

  She could hear her own labored breaths, knew no one could mistake the desire in the sound. "Not exactly."

  He lowered his head, scraped his teeth lightly over her jaw. When she moaned, he hoped he was making her suffer for even one of the nights he'd burned for her. "Curious?"

  "Yes."

  He cruised up to her ear, and her eyes crossed with lust. "Ever wonder why we haven't ended up like this before?"

  She was having a hard time keeping a coherent thought in her head as he nibbled along her neck. "Maybe, once or twice."

  He lifted his head. The light from the rising sun showered over him. With his hair tousled, his eyes dark, his face shadowed, he looked rough and reckless, dangerously and delectably male.

  "Don't." She didn't know where the denial came from when every nerve in her body was primed to beg for more.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't kiss me." She let out a shaky breath, drew in another. "If you do, we're going to have sex. I'm just turned inside out enough to jump in without giving a damn about an hour from now."

  "You don't have to give a damn about an hour from now." His mouth skimmed along her temple, teased the corner of her lips. "This is going to take longer. A lot longer."

  "Please. A few hours ago… Jesus, Josh… you convinced me that what I do affects other people."

  "Believe me," he murmured, "I'm affected."

  Her heart drummed in her ears, insistently. "I can't afford to ruin another part of my life. I need a friend. I need you to be my friend."

  Cursing her, he rolled off. "No offense, Margo, but go to hell."

  "No offense taken." She didn't touch him. She was certain that if she did one or both of them would go off like a rocket. For a moment they lay there on the rumpled satin spread in silence, not moving, barely breathing. "I'm just saving us both a lot of trouble."

  His gaze shifted, pinned hers. "You're only postponing it. We'll get back to this."

  "I've been choosing my own bedmates for some time."

  He moved fast, snagging her wrist and hauling her against him. "You want to be careful, duchess, about throwing your lovers in my face just now."

  It was exactly what she needed to break the spell. Her chin angled. "Don't get pushy. I'll let you know if and when I want to play." She saw the change in his eyes and flashed her own. "Try it, just try it, and I'll shred the skin from your bones. You aren't the first man who thought he could shove me on my back and make me enjoy it."

  He let her go because it was a wiser course than strangling her. "Don't compare me to the wimps and washouts you've wasted your time with."

  Knowing her temper was ready to snap, she got off the bed. "I didn't come here to tear up the sheets with you, or to fight. I'm here to discuss business."

  "Next time make an appointment." No longer worried about the niceties, he tossed back the sheets. Her eyes didn't flicker as he strode naked into the adjoining bath. "Since you're here, order up some breakfast."

  She waited until she heard the shower running before she let out a long, relieved breath. Another minute, she admitted, and she might have eaten him alive. With a hand pressed to her jumpy stomach, she told herself they were both lucky she'd forced them to avoid that mistake.

  But as she glanced back at the bed, she didn't feel lucky. Only deprived.

  While Josh dressed, Margo enjoyed the first cup of coffee and picked over the silver basket of baked goods on the linen-decked table in the window nook of the dining area. She relaxed with the view of the piazza, the statues of gods and winged horses in white marble.

  As did any suite in any Templeton, it offered a sumptuous interior as well as the view. A massive Oriental carpet spread over a floor of ivory tile. The walls were papered with roses with golden leaves, the fancy work of cornices and textured ceilings added to the opulence. Curvy settees rich with brocade and tasseled pillows, entertainment centers discreetly concealed in intricately carved cabinets, the little touches of statuary, antique lamps, heavy crystal ashtrays, giant urns filled with flowers, the full ebony bar curved in front of a glass wall—all bespoke that distinct Templeton flair.

  The Art Nouveau style was just rich enough, just decadent enough to make even the most jaded guest sigh. She sighed herself.

  But with Templeton, style went hand in glove with efficiency. A touch of a button on the streamlined white phone in every room of the suite could summon anything from fresh towels to tickets to La Scala or a bottle of perfectly chilled Cristal in a silver bucket. There was a basket of fruit on the pond-size coffee table, the grapes plump, the apples glossy. Behind the bar, the mini fridge would be stocked with unblended
Scotch, Swiss chocolates, French cheeses.

  The flowers, abundant even in the bath and dressing rooms, were fresh, watered and replaced daily by one of the well-trained and always amenable staff.

  She sniffed at the pink rose on the breakfast table. It was long-stemmed, fragrant, and just opening. Perfect, she mused, just as anything with the Templeton name was expected to be.

  Including, she thought as Josh stepped into the room, the Templeton heir.

  Because she was feeling just a little guilty about invading his rooms at dawn, she poured him a cup from the heavy silver pot, adding the generous dollop of cream she knew he preferred.

  "Service at Templeton Milan is still the best in the city. So's the coffee." She passed him the cup when he joined her at the table.

  "I'll be sure to pass your comments along to the manager—after I fire him for letting you in."

  "Don't be cranky, Josh." She slanted her most persuasive smile his way, only slightly annoyed when she saw it didn't make a dent. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I wasn't thinking about the time."

  "Not thinking is one of your most highly honed skills."

  She plucked a berry from the bowl, popped it into her mouth. "I'm not going to fight with you, and I'm not going to apologize for not sleeping with you just because your ego's bruised."

  His smile was thin and sharp as a scalpel. "Duchess, if I'd gotten your clothes off, you not only wouldn't have to apologize, you'd be thanking me."

  "Oh, I see I'm mistaken. Your ego's not bruised, it's just painfully swollen. Let's clear the air here, Joshua." She leaned forward, the confidence in her eyes sultry. "I like sex. I think it's an excellent form of entertainment. But I don't have to be entertained every time someone suggests a party. I select the time, the place, and my playmates."

  Satisfied, she sat back and lazily chose a tiny cake from the basket. That, she was sure, should settle that.

  "You might be able to get away with that." She was right, he thought. The coffee was excellent, and put him in a better mood. "If you hadn't been trembling and moaning under me half an hour ago."

  "I was not moaning."

  He smiled. "Oh, yes. You were." Yes, indeed, he was feeling much, much better. "And on the verge of writhing."

  "I never writhe."

  "You will."

  She bit neatly into the cake. "Every boy should have his dreams. Now if we're finished jousting over sex—"

  "Darling, I haven't even picked up my lance."

  "That's a very weak double entendre."

  She had him there. "It's early. Why don't you tell me why I'm having breakfast with you."

  "I was up all night."

  The comment that occurred to him was not only weak, but crude. He let it pass. "And?''

  "I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about the spot I'm in, the options you'd suggested. The first seems the most sensible. Having an agent come in and make me an offer on the furnishings, my jewelry. It would probably be the quickest solution, and the least complicated."

  "Agreed."

  She pushed away from the table, rubbing her hands together as she paced. Her soft suede boots were as soundless on the tile as they were on the thick carpet. "It's probably time I learned to be sensible. I'm twenty-eight, unemployed, with the wolf snarling at the door. I was feeling sorry for myself at first, but now I realize I had an incredible run of luck. I got to go places and do things, be things that I'd always dreamed of. And why?"

  She stopped in the center of the room, turned a slow circle under the ornate gold and crystal chandelier. In tight jodhpur-style pants and a drapey white blouse, she looked voluptuous and vibrant.

  "Why?"

  "Because I have a face and a body that translate well through the camera. That's all. A good face, a killer body. Not that I didn't have to work hard, be clever and stubborn. But the core of it, Josh, is luck. The luck of the draw from the gene pool. Now, through circumstances that may or may not have been beyond my control, that's done. I'm through whining about it."

  "You've never been a whiner, Margo."

  "I could give lessons. It's time for me to grow up, take responsibility, be sensible."

  "Talk to life insurance salesmen," Josh said dryly. "Apply for a library card. Clip coupons."

  She looked down her nose. "Spoken like a man born with not only a silver spoon but the whole place setting stuck in his arrogant little mouth."

  "I happen to have several library cards," he muttered. "Somewhere."

  "Do you mind?"

  "Sorry." He waved her on, but he was worried. She looked eager and happy, but she wasn't talking like Margo. Not his delightfully reckless Margo. "Keep going."

  "Okay, I can probably weather this, eventually I could wrangle some shoots, get a spot on the catwalk in Paris or New York. It would take time, but I could come around." Struggling to think clearly, she traced a finger down a candlestick in the form of a maiden in flowing robes flanked by twin cups holding gold tapers. "There are other ways to make money modeling. I could go back to catalogs, where I started."

  "Selling teddies for Victoria's Secret?"

  She whirled, fire in her eyes. "What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing." He broke open a small roll. "I appreciate a well-sold teddy as much as the next guy."

  She took a slow breath. He would not annoy her, not now. "It wouldn't be easy in my current situation to get bookings. But I did it before."

  "You were ten years younger," he pointed out helpfully.

  "Thank you so much for reminding me," she said between her teeth. "Look at Cindy Crawford, Christie Brinkley, Lauren Hutton, for God's sake. They're not teenagers. And as far as your brilliant solution, the idea of opening a shop is ludicrous. I thought of half a dozen valid reasons against it last night. Over and above the fact that I don't have a clue how to run a business is the larger fact that if I was crazy enough to try I could very well make my situation—a very unstable situation—worse. It's more than likely I'd be bankrupt within six months, faced with yet another public humiliation and forced to sell myself on street corners to traveling salesmen looking for cheap thrills."

  "You're right. It's out of the question."

  "Absolutely."

  "So when do you want to start?"

  "Today." With a jubilant laugh, she dashed to him, threw her arms around his neck. "Do you know what's better than having someone who knows you inside out?"

  "What?"

  "Nothing." She gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "If you're going to go down—"

  "Go down swinging." He caught her hair in his hand and pulled her laughing mouth to his.

  It wasn't a laughing matter. She discovered that very quickly. His lips were hot and clever and had hers parting in sighing response. The lazy sweep of his tongue sent shock waves of need vibrating out to her fingertips.

  It should have been familiar. She'd kissed him before, tasted him before. But those casual brotherly embraces hadn't prepared her for the instant, undeniable jolt of pure animal lust.

  Part of her mind tried to draw back, to remember that this was Josh. Josh who had scorned her prized collection of dolls when she was six. Who had dared her to scramble with him on the cliffs when she was eight, then had carried her back to the house when she gashed her leg on a rock.

  Josh who had smirked at her adolescent crushes on his friends, who had patiently taught her to handle a five-speed. Josh who had always been somewhere right around the corner wherever she had gone in her life.

  But this was like kissing someone new. Someone dangerously exciting. Painfully tempting.

  He'd been expecting it. Hadn't he dreamed, hundreds of times, of tasting her like this? Of having her go taut in his arms, her mouth answering his with a kind of banked fury?

  He'd been willing to wait, just as he'd been willing to dream. Because he knew she would be his. He knew she needed to be.

  But he wasn't going to make it easy.

  He drew back, pleased that when her lashes slowly lifted her e
yes were dark and clouded. He hoped to God the same jittery desire that was churning in his gut was churning in hers.

  "You're awfully good at that," she managed. "I'd heard rumors." She realized she was in his lap but wasn't sure if he'd pulled her there or if she'd simply crawled onto him. "I believe they might have been understated. Actually I did sneak outside one night and watch you put the moves on Babs Carstairs out by the pool. I was impressed."

  Nothing she could have said could have been more perfectly designed to make desire wilt. "You spied on me and Babs?"

  "Just once. Or twice. Hell, Josh, I was thirteen. Curious."

  "Jesus." He remembered exactly how far things had gone with Babs out by the pool on one pretty summer night. "Did you see—No, I don't want to know."

  "Laura and Kate and I all agreed she was over-mammaried."

  "Over—" Before he could laugh at the term, he winced. "You and Laura and Kate. Why didn't you just sell tickets?"

  "I believe it's perfectly natural for a younger sister to spy on her older brother."

  His eyes glinted. "I'm not your brother."

  "From where I'm sitting, I'd say that fact saves our immortal souls."

  The glint turned into a grin. "You may be right. I want you, Margo. There are all manner of incredible, nasty, unspeakable things I want to do to you."

  "Well." She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "So much for our immortal souls. Listen, I have to say this change is a little abrupt for me."

  "You haven't been paying attention."

  "Obviously not." She couldn't take her eyes off his. It would be wiser to, she knew. She had survived all the games men and women play by always, without exception, staying in control. Those eyes, gray and cool and confident, warned her that that wouldn't be an option with him. Not for long. "I'm paying attention now, but I'm not ready for the starting gun."

  "It went off years ago." His hands skimmed up her sides, brushed her breasts. "I'm way ahead of you."

  "I have to decide if I want to catch up." She laughed and scrambled off his lap. "It's just too weird, the whole concept of you and me and sex." Then she rubbed a hand over her heart because it was plunging like a mare in heat. "And it's surprisingly tempting. There was a time, not that long ago, I'd . have said what the hell, it'll be fun, and raced you to the bed."

  When he rose, she laughed again and put the table between them. "I'm not being coy. I don't believe in it."

  "What are you being?"

  "Cautious, for once in my life." Suddenly, her eyes were sober, her mouth soft instead of teasing. "You matter too much. And I've just figured out that I matter, too. Not just out here," she said, gesturing toward her face. "Inside. I've got to straighten out my life. I've got to do something with it I can be proud of. I have all these new plans, all these new dreams. I want to make them work. No." She closed her eyes a moment. "I have to make them work. To do that I need to take time and effort. Sex is distracting if you do it right." She smiled again. "We would."

  He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. "What are you going to do? Take a vow of celibacy?"

  Her smile spread slowly. "That's an excellent idea. I can always count on you for a viable solution."

  His jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

  "I'm perfectly serious." Delighted with both of them, she walked over and patted his cheek. "Okay, I'm celibate until my life is in order and my business is up and running. Thanks for thinking of it."

  He circled her throat with his hand, but was more inclined to throttle himself. "I could seduce you in thirty seconds flat."

  Now he was getting cocky. "If I let you," she said silkily. "But it's not going to happen until I'm ready."

  "And I'm supposed to enter a monastery until you're ready?"

  "Your life's your own. You can have anyone you want." She turned to wander