Remember When (Foster Saga 1)

“Don’t get dressed, darling. I like looking at you just the way you are.”

“Jessica,” he said sharply, “we aren’t going to go through all this again. It’s over, done with, finished. I told you, I’m tired.”

“That’s a very disrespectful way to speak to your employer,” she said, sliding off the desk and reaching for his cheek.

“Dammit, knock it off!” Cole snapped, jerking his head aside. For the moment, that was the only evasionary tactic available to him. As a last resort, he was prepared to physically force her out of his way, but he really didn’t want to touch her. For one thing, he wasn’t certain whether touching her would ignite her formidable temper or worse—ignite her passion. The bed was behind him, and short of physically lifting her out of his way, he was trapped for the moment. Jessica realized he was trapped, and she moved forward, a smile of victory on her face.

“Jessica—” Cole warned darkly. “You’re married, for God’s sake!”

“I know that,” she replied, pulling off her top and tossing it behind him on the bed.

“I like your husband,” Cole said, trying unsuccessfully to sidestep her.

She gazed at him in wide-eyed wonder as she reached behind her back to unclip her bra. “I like him, too,” she said.

If his predicament hadn’t been so sordid and so dire, Cole would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it: a beautiful woman was stripping in front of him, using her body to block his escape, while she innocently professed to like her husband, whom she was trying to cuckold. “I’m not in the mood for a striptease,” he warned her.

“You will be pretty soon,” she promised, the bra straps sliding down her arms.

“You don’t even know the concept of marital fidelity, do you?” he said, putting his hands on the straps to stop them from sliding off her wrists.

“I’m always faithful when Charles is in town,” she said, her eyes turning hot, her hands sliding up the matted dark hair on his chest. “Only he’s not here tonight, and you are, and I’m bored.”

“Then take up a hobby,” Cole said as he clamped his hands on hers.

She laughed low in her throat, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and began rubbing herself against his thighs.

Cole was not enticed, not excited, and he was losing his temper and patience. “I’m warning you,” he said, grabbing her wrists and yanking them free. “Don’t make this hard for both of us.”

She shifted her hips sensuously against his and laughed suggestively in her throat as she deliberately misinterpreted his words. “No, I wouldn’t say it’s very hard. I’d say it’s very big, but not—”

Fluorescent light suddenly burst down the corridor outside his room as someone turned on the main stable lights, and Cole clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Cole?” Charles Hayward called out in a deep, friendly voice from thirty feet away. “I saw your light on and decided to have a look at our new resident. What do you think of him?”

Beneath Cole’s hand, Jessica’s lips began to tremble and her eyes were huge with panic.

“I’ll be right there!” Cole called out as he pulled his hand from her mouth.

“Oh, my God! I have to get out of here!” Jessica said, her entire body rigid.

She was shaking so hard that Cole would have pitied her if she hadn’t just put both of them in jeopardy. As he knew from Charles Hayward’s past nocturnal visits to the stable, the man would walk down to the tiny kitchenette and make himself a cup of instant coffee; then he’d expect Cole to join him as he walked along the stalls, discussing each occupant. That had become a pleasant ritual for both men over the years, and normally Cole thoroughly enjoyed the visits, particularly when Hayward stayed on and the conversation drifted to other topics. Hayward was well-read and well-informed on a staggering variety of topics . . . that did not include his wife.

“Listen to me!” Cole said, his voice low and fierce as he snatched her discarded shirt and thrust it into her hands. “He’s in the kitchenette, fixing himself a cup of instant coffee.”

“Then he’s blocking the only door out of here!” she panted. “I’m trapped!”

Cole didn’t bother to comment on that. “Don’t panic yet,” he warned because she looked crazy with fear. “I’ll close my door, and he won’t come in here or see you.”

“I have to ge

t back to the house!”

“Cole?” Charles called out. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No. No thanks,” Cole answered, already backing toward the door, using his body to block any view Charles might have of his room and the half-naked, wild-eyed woman standing in the middle of it, clutching her shirt to her bosom.

He left her there, closing the door behind him, and walked, barefooted and barechested into the kitchenette, where Charles had just finished stirring instant coffee into a cup of hot tap water. “Well,” the older man said, looking at Cole with an expectant smile, “what do you think of the polo pony?”

“Not bad,” Cole said; then he forced himself to come up with a lame joke. “I don’t know how well he plays polo, but as a horse, he’s a fine-looking animal.” The polo pony was only a few stalls away from the doorway into Cole’s room, and Cole was instinctively afraid that Jessica was going to try to bolt from the scene of her attempted crime and probably get herself caught in the process. “You might want to have a look at the chestnut mare’s foreleg,” he suggested, walking deliberately toward the far end of the stable.

Charles looked up in concern and instantly followed Cole down the wide hallway. “What’s wrong with her leg?”

“She hurt it when she took a jump yesterday.”

“Who was riding her?” Charles asked, all his sympathies with the splendid hunter-jumper whom he often preferred to ride.

“Barbara,” Cole said.

“That figures,” Hayward said with a disgusted grimace. “I try not to be impatient with Barb, but so far, she’s not good at anything she does. Except talking on the telephone about boys. She does that very well.”

Without replying, Cole opened the heavy oak stall door, and Charles followed him inside. Handing Cole his cup of coffee he bent down to personally inspect the big mare’s bandaged leg. “Not too swollen,” he said. “That liniment you mix smells like hell, but it does a great job. I still think you should become a vet,” he added, straightening much more quickly than Cole would have liked and giving the mare a farewell pat. “I’ve never seen a man who had a better way with animals.”