Trouble In Triplicate (13 page)

❧

Caine arrived promptly at twenty to nine the next morning wearing white shorts, a white sweat shirt, white socks, and sneakers. "I feel like a walking commercial for Ivory Snow," he grumbled when Juliet opened the door to him. "If Coach Noll could see me now, he'd laugh his head off."

"Each sport has its own dress code," Juliet said with a smile. "For Steelers football it's black and gold and mud and blood. For golf it's bright colors, and for tennis it's white."

"While we're on the subject of sports dress codes, I have something for you." He thrust a box into her hands.

She removed the lid. Inside the box was a white tennis dress with a demure round collar, short skirt, and ruffled panties. Under the tennis outfit were a yellow shirt and a brilliant blue golf skirt printed with bright yellow whales.

"There weren't any hot pink hippos in your size," he said with mock disappointment. "But I thought that canary yellow whales were an adequate substitution."

She stared at the clothes in the box, then at Caine. "But how did you—"

"I called the pro shop at the club after I dropped you off yesterday and arranged for one of the caddies to bring the stuff down to the restaurant last night. I guessed at your size, but I'm fairly certain I got it right." His gaze swept over her. "After all, I'm quite knowledgeable about your figure," he added with a decidedly rakish grin.

She blushed, as he'd known she would. His grin broadened.

"Caine, I—I really can't accept this." She was totally flustered. "These clothes are very expensive and—"

"Would you accept them if they were cheap?"

"I—I didn't mean . . . that is . . ." She paused and took a deep breath. "It's not proper for a woman to accept personal gifts like clothing from a man," she said primly.

He laughed. He was enjoying her confusion. "No doubt your mother told you that, and her mother told her the same thing. Did anyone ever stop to ask why it isn't proper?"

"Well, because—because ..."

"I have an inquiring mind, I want to know. Why is it all right for you to lie naked in my arms in bed and not all right for me to give you sports clothes?" he asked interestedly.

This time Juliet blushed all over. "Will you please shut up? Liwy and Randi are right in the next room!"

"If you put on the tennis dress, I swear I won't say another embarrassing word."

"That's blackmail!"

"Mmm, and so effective too."

Five minutes later Juliet rejoined him in the living room, wearing the tennis dress. "You look cute," he said, nodding his approval. "And sexy." He pulled her into his arms, and his big hand went unerringly to the ruffled panties. "I have this fantasy about you on the tennis courts—"

She quickly pulled away from him, ever conscious of her sisters, just a room away. "I have a fantasy about you on the tennis court." she retorted. "That I teach you to play and then beat you soundly match after match."

"Sorry, honey, it'll never happen. I'm a natural athlete and I'm a helluva lot stronger than you are. Once I pick up a few pointers you're not going to stand a chance against me."

❧

"You didn't tell me you were an aspiring Billie Jean King," Caine said, panting, as Juliet served him another ball, which he swung at and missed. As a professional athlete he was extremely well coordinated, yet though he had picked up the basics of tennis fairly easily, it would take hours of practice before he could win a match against Juliet.

She was a good player, he thought, watching her with a surge of pride. She was quick and graceful and strong. He decided that he was going to enjoy playing tennis with her, even if she did win. And they would play golf together and—

His reverie was interrupted by the appearance of the club's tennis pro, a wiry, classically handsome blond in his early twenties with the most toothsome smile Caine had ever seen.

"You have a really strong backhand," the blond god said to Juliet, favoring her with a flash of those dazzling teeth, "but I'd like to give you a couple of pointers, if I may. ..."

Juliet smiled up at him. "Sure."

Didn't she realize that the idiot was coming on to her?
Caine wondered as he watched the tennis pro instruct Juliet with—he thought—an excessive, unnecessary amount of touching. And she paid attention to his directions and smiled and seemed totally unaware that Mr. Teeth was flirting with her.

Caine wasn't a jealous, possessive man, but he felt jealousy burn through him. The urge to pick Juliet up and carry her away from the court and the other man was so overwhelming that he actually had to force himself not to do it.

"Want to hit a few volleys?" the pro asked Juliet, and she nodded with a smile.

He wasn't the type of man whose ego demanded the constant and undivided attention of the woman he was with, Caine told himself loftily. When Sherry Carson had dumped him for the math professor at that party he hadn't even tried to interfere. But this . . . This was too much. He decided that he couldn't endure another moment of watching the tennis pro lust after Juliet, who was, after all, his woman!

"We're leaving," Caine announced, striding to Juliet's side of the court. He caught her wrist. "Now." The ball, which the pro had just served to her, bounced off the court.

Juliet stared up at him, and her blue eyes widened in surprise. Why, Caine looked angry, she thought. Furious, in fact. But why? He'd seemed to be enjoying himself earlier. They'd been having such fun. But now . . .

"Come on, Juliet." He half dragged her off the court, enraged with himself for acting like a jealous, possessive fool.

"Caine, what's wrong?" she asked. She sounded genuinely confused, and Caine felt even worse. He knew damn well that she hadn't been flirting with the tennis pro, hadn't even been aware that the jerk was flirting with her. She loved tennis and believed that she'd merely been given a few tips by a pro.

Caine Saxon didn't relish the thought that he was acting like an idiot over a woman. It had never happened to him before. Through all the carefree days of his bachelorhood, his Steeler teammates had admiringly called him "Mr. Cool." If they could only see him now, dragging Juliet Post from the tennis court to get her away from a toothy, smarmy blond who wore three gold chains around his neck! Mr. Cool certainly had met his Waterloo!

They drove back to the Post house in silence. Caine rebuffed Juliet's tentative questions with monosyllabic grunts. If she hadn't figured out that he was behaving like a jealous buffoon, far be it from him to enlighten her. She finally lapsed into an unhappy silence and wondered what had gone wrong. Caine wanted to be rid of her, that much was certain. He didn't want to spend another second in her company.

When he dropped her off at the house they parted on mumbled good-byes. Caine sped off in his Ferrari and Juliet walked slowly inside to join her sisters in the preparations for the dinner party that night.

❧

Eventually, finally, the party did end, and after helping to unload the van at the Posts' house, Olivia and Bobby Lee left for his apartment. A downcast Miranda took a sleeping pill and went directly to bed. Juliet changed into her nightgown, an ankle-length blue cotton one with a peasant neckline and puffed sleeves, and tried to watch an old movie on television. It didn't hold her interest. Her mind was racing, and visions of Caine with some gorgeous, sexy beauty chased through her brain, along with worrisome images of Miranda slipping deeper into depression. Tonight wasn't the first night her sister had taken a sleeping pill to "blot out everything." Suppose she continued to feel the need to do so?

It was after one o'clock when Juliet turned off the television set to sit alone in the quiet darkness. A shaft of pale moonlight from the bay window was the only illumination in the room. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the first chimes of the doorbell. When it rang for the third time she roused herself with a sigh. Liwy had undoubtedly forgotten her key again. She often did.

But it wasn't her sister standing in the doorway.

Juliet stared in wide-eyed astonishment at Caine Saxon.

"Hello, Juliet." His amber eyes caressed her, lingering on the feminine curves gently shadowed by the soft cotton of her gown.

For a moment the urge to return his lazy smile was so strong that she almost did. Almost. Then she remembered his hot date and her blood began to boil. "I'm not Juliet. I'm Miranda," she blurted out impulsively.

He wasn't fooled, not for a moment. "No, you're not. You're not Miranda or Olivia. You're Juliet. My little Juliet," he added softly.

"I am not!" she snapped, and moved to close the door on him.

He blocked it with his body, stepping halfway inside to do so. "You're my enraged little Juliet," he corrected himself.

The sight of him wedged in her doorway, so big and muscular and virile in his black jeans and black polo shirt, only served to increase her ire. He reminded her of a strong, sleek panther with those yellow cat's eyes of his—which were roaming her body possessively. Her abdomen tightened in a devastating explosion of sexual awareness, and she desperately sought to suppress it with the first weapon that sprang to mind—anger.

"You have the nerve to come here after your— your hot date," she said in a low, furious voice, "and expect me to welcome you with open arms? You really do think you're God's gift to women, don't you? You and your boneheaded brother!"

"What hot date? And what has my boneheaded brother done now? Honey, please stop trying to close the door. As you might have noticed, I'm standing in the doorjamb and getting pulverized in the process."

She abruptly turned and stalked into the living room. Caine followed her, talking to her back.

"After we closed the restaurant shortly after midnight tonight I went home, took a shower, changed clothes, and drove over here."

"Your brother said that you had a hot date tonight." She whirled around to glare at him as the infuriating realization dawned. "Me? I'm your hot date?" She got mad all over again.

"I told Grant I had an important date after closing tonight, Juliet." Caine was clearly amused. "He came up with 'hot' all on his own . . . the bone-head," he added, grinning.

Juliet was not about to be so easily appeased. "We didn't have a date tonight, Saxon. You never asked me. You didn't call all day." She couldn't resist the accusation and was immediately sorry that she hadn't. Those plaintive remarks told him entirely too much.

He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. She attempted to break free, but her best efforts were negligible. Caine Saxon was an extraordinarily strong man. "Did you want me to call today?" he asked quietly.

"No!"

He pulled her closer until she was standing in front of him, so close that a sheet of paper couldn't be slipped between them. His nearness was her undoing. He filled her senses and obliterated her defenses.

"Yes," she admitted huskily.

His strong arms encircled her. "I didn't call because I didn't want to give you the chance to turn me down tonight. I knew from the moment I dropped you off here this morning that I was going to be back tonight."

She attempted to remain stiff and unyielding, then gave up and leaned against the hard, warm length of him. "What made you think I would turn you down?" She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. A wonderful, honeyed warmth flowed through her.

"After the way I behaved this morning? Honey, I gave you every reason to turn me down." His lips brushed the top of her head. "I acted like an unspeakable jerk. Have you forgiven me?"

She drew back a little to gaze up at him. " 'An unspeakable jerk?" she repeated wonderingly. It had never occurred to her that his behavior this morning had been out of line. She'd immediately accepted full responsibility for their silent parting.

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Why did you act like an unspeakable jerk?"

"Because I was so damn jealous of that toothy tennis pro that I'm surprised I didn't turn green."

She stared at him incredulously. "You were jealous because the tennis pro at the club took an interest in my backhand?"

"An interest in your backhand?" Caine gave a derisive snort. "The little creep was interested in a lot more than your backhand, sweetheart. I couldn't stand the way he was looking at you and touching you and wanting you. And you didn't even know it, did you, Juliet? You weren't even aware that the guy was trying to make a pass at you. You were perfectly natural and sweet and polite . . . and that makes me an even bigger clod, doesn't it?"

"An unspeakable clod," she agreed with mock solemnity.

Caine laughed. "That's right."

Their eyes met and clung. Juliet was engulfed by a tidal wave of anticipation and longing as she watched Caine's mouth descend slowly to hers.

His lips hovered just above hers. "I spent the day rehearsing my apology to you, Juliet. Do you want to hear it?"

"No," she whispered. "I want you to kiss me."

He smiled. "In a minute. First I want to reassure you that I'm not a jealous maniac who will go into a fit of temper every time you speak to another man."

"That would get rather tiresome," she said softly.

"This morning I was having a little trouble coming to terms with the fact that you can evoke emotions in me that I'd laughed at in other men. Now ..." His tongue traced along the smooth inner warmth of her lower lip.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Now?" she prompted, touching the tip of his tongue with hers.

"Now I've come to terms with it."

His kiss was deep and lazy and delicious, warming her like potent brandy over a flame. She felt her insides melt as a simmering cauldron of heat flared within the very core of her.

The tips of her breasts hardened against his chest, and he spread his legs to draw her closer into the cradle of his thighs. His big hands cupped her bottom, lifting her, fitting her to him, and she clung to him, her body soft and pliant and clamoring with sensual urgency.

"Caine!" She cried his name when he lifted his mouth from hers and strung a series of erotic little kisses along the graceful curve of her neck. She was swamped by a rush of sensuous memories—of the incredibly wonderful feeling of Caine's callus-roughened palms stroking her smooth bare skin; of his deft, intimate caresses that brought her to the heights of physical rapture; of the honey-sweet glow that had followed as she lay relaxed and sated in his arms.

She wanted it again. And more. Tonight she wanted all of him. The throbbing evidence of his arousal burned like a brand through the material of their clothes, and Juliet felt a heady, feminine delight that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She pressed against him provocatively, rubbing her unconfined breasts against him. Even the thin cotton of her nightgown was suddenly too much of a barrier. She wanted her breasts bare, to feel Caine's hands and lips on the swollen aching softness, on the tight nipples . . .

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa, then sat down with her on his lap. Her arms were around his neck and she gazed at him, letting her desire shine in her eyes.

"Kiss me, Caine," she whispered.

His hands caressed her with long, leisurely strokes. "Let's talk for a while, honey. Tell me about your day."

"Talk? Is that what you do on a hot date?" She teased his jawline with soft kisses, then moved on to his cheeks, his forehead, his ears. "Don't have another attack of nobility, Saxon."

"Sorry, sweetheart, you seem to bring it out in me." He pushed down the elastic neckline of her nightgown and nibbled on her smooth white shoulder. "But if you want to make out on the sofa for a while, I'll indulge you."

She grinned at him. "How generous of you! And how brave!" It was fun to tease him. Exhilarating too. She laughed and hugged him tight. She felt sexy and happy and incredibly close to him.

Caine stared down at her, at her shining blue eyes, her sweet mouth, her softly rounded body curled up in his lap. The impact of her smile, of her touch sent a convulsive shudder rippling through his muscular frame. The emotions she aroused in him defied description. They were different, more intense yet more solid than anything he'd ever experienced before.

It was much more than sexual attraction—he was so familiar with that phenomenon he could teach a course on it!—though the physical chemistry between them was extremely potent. She might tease him about his "attacks of nobility," but he knew he would do anything for her, sacrifice everything for her, do whatever he could to make her happy.

"Oh, Juliet." His hands tightened possessively on her waist. "What have you done to me?"

"The same thing you've done to me?" she murmured softly, hopefully, as she caressed his cheeks with her fingertips. "Made you feel things, think things, want things that you'd never even dreamed of before?"

"Those are the symptoms, all right. So you've got it too?" He stretched the elastic and eased her nightgown to her waist, exposing her creamy, pink-tipped breasts.

Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped her breasts, filling his hands with them, kneading and stroking and fondling. "I've got it bad and that's not good?" she asked shakily, slightly reworking the old song title.

"It's good," he said hoarsely as his lips closed over the taut bud of her nipple. "It's very good."

With a swift movement he laid her down on the sofa and rolled on top of her. His mouth opened over hers and she eagerly welcomed the hot thrust of his tongue into the moist warmth of her mouth. His leg urgently parted her thighs and her nightgown slid upward to her hips, baring the silky softness of her upper thighs.

"You feel so good beneath me," he murmured. "So soft and sweet and responsive." He kissed her again, and her body arched convulsively as a flash of beat tore through her. "I want you, Juliet. I want you so much. Sweetheart, we're going to be so good together. ..."

The sudden crashing noise seemed to come from another dimension, and both Juliet and Caine were slow to react to it. But another, extended series of slamming and banging noises caused Caine to leap to his feet.

"What in the hell . . . ?" He groped in the darkness and stumbled into the coffee table. He uttered an Irritated curse.

Juliet sat up like a shot and tugged at her nightgown. Her state of dishabille made her extremely grateful for the darkness—which was abruptly ended with a blinding glare of light. Caine had flicked on one of the lamps.

A low moan sounded faintly from the hallway. Juliet and Caine exchanged glances. "Stay here," he ordered. "I'll see what's going on."

He strode out of the living room with Juliet at his heels. "Juliet, I told you to—" The sight of Miranda lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs brought his scolding to an immediate end.

"Randi!" Juliet cried, rushing to kneel beside her sister. "Oh, my God, Caine, she fell down the stairs!"

Miranda sat up slowly and stared around her. "What happened?" she asked groggily.

"You fell, Randi. Did you get hurt? Are you in pain?" Juliet gingerly examined her sister's head and arms for any sign of injury. "There's a bump on the left side of your head."

Miranda groaned. "I remember now. I got up to go to the bathroom and I made a wrong turn. First I bumped into the door to Liwy's room and then I made another wrong turn and fell down the steps."

"Good Lord!" Caine stared at her. "You definitely need some kind of light in your hallway to keep this from happening again."

"A light wouldn't have helped." Miranda shook her head, then winced and touched the bump on her temple. "I didn't have my eyes open."

"She took a sleeping pill tonight," Juliet hastened to explain. "They really knock her out."

As if to confirm her sister's words, Miranda closed her eyes and leaned against Juliet.

"She shouldn't be taking sleeping pills," Caine said disapprovingly. "And if she hit her head, we shouldn't let her go to sleep until we're sure she doesn't have some kind of serious injury." He leaned down and lifted Miranda to her feet. "Help me walk her to the kitchen, Juliet. We'll make her some coffee and give her something to eat. She has to stay awake."