Then one of the mud balls lofted a little high and off center, just beyond Cole's reach. It hit the water in front of him, detonating like a torpedo, followed by the second and third as he failed to get back into position to catch them.
Four
A spray of droplets covered him. His rolled-up trousers and strong muscled calves were splattered with water, the cuffed sleeves of his dress shirt speckled with mud and damp.
Laughter burst out of Elinor as he stood in the river, a droll expression on his face. Giggling so hard she couldn't catch her breath, she leaned over, trying to breathe between chortles.
A satisfied expression flitted over Cole's face as he bent to wash the mud from his hands.
"I can't believe you," she choked out as her mirth subsided. "I've never seen anyone look less like a millionaire."
Cole lifted his shirt away from his body in short, flapping motions in a futile effort to dry the damp spots.
"It helps to have unusual talents in your climb to the top," he commented, slogging his way to the bank looking like a tarnished angel with the sun touching his blond hair.
"Well, you surely have unusual talents," Elinor agreed as he sat down where she was stretched out on the river-bank. "Although I don't think juggling mud balls has much practical use these days."
He leaned back next to her, braced on one elbow with the fabric of his shirt pulled taut against his muscled shoulders. "Oh, but you're wrong."
Propped above her, his dark eyes suddenly seemed bluer than the sky. "My talent for juggling has just helped me accomplish my primary goal for this afternoon. Don't you feel it? Reckless innocence?" His voice dropped into velvet. "The blood running through your veins, the electricity of possibilities?"
Elinor stared up at him, suddenly aware of the stillness all around them, aware that she'd been waiting all afternoon to kiss him again. Longing for it with an urgency that disturbed her equilibrium and left her dizzy.
Drifting closer, Cole dipped his head to hers. His mouth surged over hers with an elemental passion, sending shock waves through her system. She felt the muscled weight of him, drew in the heady scent of his skin, tasted his soft wooing touch—all in one kaleidoscopic moment. And found herself clutching him like a drowning woman.
As if sensing the raging hunger his touch ignited in her, Cole pressed closer, his hand slipping up to cup her head, sifting through the wisps of hair at her temple. His mouth moved over hers in earthy sensuality, a frank, unpolished mating of flesh.
A haze clogged Elinor's mind. Every breath she took imprinted his scent on her memory. The solid weight of him felt like a homecoming, an ancient rightness. She grasped the fabric of his shirt, reveling in the heat of him beneath the cloth, the life and power that raged from his body to hers like an arc of electricity.
Cole let his thumb drift down her neck, pausing on the slam of her pulse as his mouth mated once more with hers. Elinor opened to him, her body arching to meet his, instinctively striving for more contact.
Naked wouldn't be enough. In that instant, she wanted nothing less than total submersion. Cole Whittier under her skin.
He was real, the way he made her feel, the surge of passion in his arms. Everything else faded, a pale memory, unimportant beside her fierce hunger to lose herself in Cole. She felt the hard thud of his heartbeat against her breast, the thrusting distension of his arousal as he held her to him.
The faint sound of a child's voice, still yards away, hit Elinor with the splash of cold reality.
Jolted, she tore her lips away from Cole's, reaching up to grasp his hand just as he cupped her breast.
"There's someone coming," she panted, adrenaline roaring through her with the urgency of life threat. "We have to get up." She pushed against his unyielding weight.
"Shhh." He brushed back her hair from her face. "It's all right. We're not doing anything."
"They won't know that," she commented tightly, "if you don't get up."
Jeez, she berated herself as she stood up, hurriedly straightening her clothes, the high, childish voices growing nearer. This is a really good way to keep your distance from heartache. Get into a clinch with Cole Whittier right here in front of God and the good people of Bayville.
Elinor brushed the twigs off her skirt and balled up her panty hose in one hand. She had to have rocks in her head to get this involved with a man she couldn't trust. A cluster of kids came around the corner in the path just as she finished making herself presentable.
"Those are Councilman Morris's children," she hissed to Cole. His answering chuckle drew her glare. Stalking back to clear away their picnic remains, Elinor promised herself not to get too close to Cole Whittier.
Elinor reached up to snap off her desk light. She couldn't concentrate to save her soul, and there was no use pretending otherwise. She sat in her darkened office, the only light cast through the open door into the hallway. Restlessness plagued her like a bad reputation.
The lace curtains at the open window stirred and danced in the breeze, the wind as restless as her blood. She rose and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain to draw in a breath of night air. She'd been jittery all day, unable to escape thoughts of Cole.
Turning from the window, Elinor left her office in a surge of nervous energy, slipping out the front door to the wide gallery to find refuge in a comfortable wicker rocker. The air was sweet all around her, fresh with the scent of awakening earth and the flowering of a hundred spring shrubs. A night breeze slid over her sundress-bared arms and legs, soft and seductive against her skin.
The pebbly surface of the wicker felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers as Elinor set the chair in motion and untethered her mind. She'd fought it all day, but now Cole crowded into her consciousness, as pervasive as the drumbeat of springtime.
Their brief afternoon interlude by the river troubled her thoughts . . . and her body.
Night sounds rose and fell around her as she rocked, the busy life of insects and night critters carrying on as if she wasn't there. In the distance, she heard the hush of tires on the black-topped road at the end of her curving drive. The sound approached in the night and died away.
There was an itchiness beneath her skin, a tangled yearning as ancient as the seasons. And every possibility of respite collided with her heart. She wanted, lusted, longed for Cole Whittier. And he was the last man to whom she could bare her soul. Cole worshipped money, the attitude that ruined her father and grandfather's lives.