Code of Control, page 5
This time, he looked her square in the eyes. “I was thinking more on the lines of later on tonight.”
She slowly set her fork near her plate. “Um…”
“I can’t sit here and pretend what happened last night is not going to happen again, even if I know you’re planning the exact opposite.” He gave her a toothy grin, covered by a wink.
“But it’s…” she started.
Nolan pushed back his chair, stood, reaching for his wine glass. “The hell it’s not! You’re too tempting for peace of mind.” He then downed the remainders of his glass, returning it to the table.
“What am I supposed to do about that?” She, too, had pushed back her chair, intent to rise. His brittle attitude made her no longer hungry for dessert. His faint smile removed any sign of possible anger, however.
“Not a damn thing. I’ll do everything that needs to be done and you just sit back and relax, enjoy the next two weeks. Pretend they’re an impromptu vacation for you.”
“All of this is impromptu,” she argued.
By now, he’d moved over to her side of the table, his hand set on her elbow, bringing her to her feet. “Come, I want to show you something,” he said.
Charlotte’s eyes widened, body tensing. Would this something be in the bedroom? Beads of perspiration gathered on her spine, hopeful to the outcome.
Dammit. She had to stop thinking about him in a sexual way—although, telling her brain this was practically laughable, since her libido had both hands driving that wheel.
“Not that kind of something,” he said, grinning at her assuredly guilty face.
“Um…” she balked.
Very gently, his knuckles touched the bottom of her chin, closing her mouth. “You’re going to be so much fun these next two weeks.”
“Fun?” she yelped. “I’m not a toy you can play with when it suits your mood.”
“In a way…you are,” he said, his head lowering toward her.
Too much wine, great food cooked by an awesome man, even better company, there was something about him that she could not control. An inner ticking she should not ignore, but was willing to do for a mere smile. She allowed his mouth to touch hers, only briefly, before cautiously stepping away from him.
Nolan’s eyes widened by the maneuver, but he said nothing to contradict the motion. Instead, he put slight pressure on her elbow.
“Let’s go outside,” he suggested.
“What’s outside that I should see?”
“God, are you going to ask a million questions before the end of the two weeks?”
“Possibly.”
His heavy sigh reached inside of her, wrapping lukewarm fingers around her heart. “Fine, I want to show you a piece of my heritage, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? She would love to see another side of him some might never have seen.
Nolan led the way, they went out into the heat of a strangely warm spring night, and he walked her over to where a large elm tree stood. “Look at this.” She did not know what she was supposed to be looking at, so he pointed it out. “See this?”
Charlotte squinted, making out a fine marking on the trunk of the tree. She delicately touched the carving. “What is it?”
“My grandfather did this. He was on his way to the granary with a load of corn, stopped to carve this before he left, and my grandmother found it the next day while doing the laundry.”
She touched it again. “It looks like a heart.”
“It is. Says ML, ML Forever.”
“What’s it supposed to mean? Were those your grandparent’s initials?”
Nolan looked away, his head tipped up to the Iowa moonlight. “I’d been told it was a love letter. Told it said my love, my life, forever.”
She gave him an easy smile. “That’s so sweet.”
His grin deepened. “It is, isn’t it? Sadly, it’s not who you think it was for. Gramps had a reputation.”
“He did?”
“That’s what I’ve been told.”
He did not elaborate, frustrating her.
“Another piece to your ongoing puzzle, Mr. Morgan?” she said softly.
This time, when he glanced her way he was no longer smiling.
“No, Charlotte. This is not a puzzle anymore. This is just me outright telling you I want to make love to you. You can balk. You can withdraw and protest; you can even start walking in the opposite direction, telling me how crazy I am. Do what you will, but there is one thing under this Iowa moonlight that I am going to do to you without being stopped, and that is to kiss you. You are not going to draw back, or clamp your lips shut, or pretend you don’t want my kiss. You’re going to stand here, next to this very old love letter, remember what others went through to get to this point, and you are going to kiss me back.”
Charlotte licked her lips, the anticipation urging her on. “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes,” he whispered near her lips.
“Damn. I was hoping you’d say no,” she whispered back.
Nolan kept the downward momentum toward her mouth, smiled, and then kissed her as if tomorrow was never coming.
Charlotte did not balk, she did not withdraw into a shell, did not protest or even put a single thought into her head to groin the man. She stood next to a carving on an ancient tree because of the possibility of adultery and accepted the kiss as if it an everyday occurrence for her. When it was over and he eased away from her, seemingly satisfied with the results, she reached up with both hands, grabbed the poor man by the neck, drew his head back to hers and gave him a kiss he should never forget throughout ten lifetimes—no matter how many wives or mistresses he lands up with.
Five minutes later, breathless, the heat pooled between her legs, she quietly asked him, “Am I sleeping alone tonight? That bed in my room did look lonely.”
“Not on your life,” he rasped out, reaching for her hand. “But I have a ton of work to get done. I already told you this.”
Doused by verbal ice water, she inquired, “Need help? I do have a brain. Been told it’s useful a time or two.”
“Nope. What I do need is for you to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen, make yourself useful with other things until I’m done, and then we can pick this up from there.”
Charlotte suddenly felt as if she was here for his personal entertainment, nothing more. “Sure you don’t need my help doing reports? The sooner they are done, the sooner we can get back to this, um, discussion.”
He turned her around, his hands set on her shoulders. Very gently, he urged her toward the house. “Positive. I promise that when I am done with the reports you will have my full attention—and all of me.”
“I don’t need your attention. I need you to treat me like a partner. So far, you’re not.”
“Due time, sweetheart. Due time.”
“Not a very acceptable answer, Mr. Morgan.”
“Did I not warn you about calling me that?”
“It is your name,” she said glibly. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, Ms. Raven, and it is an overused name that will cease. When you’re here, I am Nolan…friend, confidant, partner…”
“Thankfully, I didn’t hear foe.”
His dimpled grin widened. “I wouldn’t dream of saying foe to a woman who can shoot a man dead to rites at 400 yards.”
They walked back into the farmhouse, Nolan leaving her to the duties of cleanup while he went into the office, closing the door. She was a bit miffed he’d shut her out, literally, and on day one, but she could not complain too much. He did not have to hire her. He could have made a huge production out of how they knew each other, and she would then have had to start over on finding a decent job to suit her needs. OSHIT and Nolan Morgan were the breaks she needed.
Dammit. Why did that break have to come to her from a man who wetted her panties only by looking at her? Never mind the kissing aspect of this non-relationship or the fact his cologne made her drool.
Charlotte jammed as much of the dirty dishes as she could into the dishwasher, cleaned off the dining room table, tidied up the kitchen, and then worked her way into the living room. She snooped through a pile of magazines set on a low table. Outdoor Living, People, National Geographic; the titles made her smile. She never took Nolan to be a man who would read People. Then again, she didn’t know him—yet. The outside yes, the inside not so much.
Three hours later, he still had not come out of his office. She glanced at a clock hung on the living room wall, groaning at what it read. Eleven pm. All was not well in her world. She was bored out of her mind; watched enough late night television to draw tears to her eyes. Perhaps he’d allow her a quick peek at what he was working on.
Charlotte tapped on the closed office door.
“Nolan?”
No answer.
She rapped again, this time louder. “Nolan?”
Still no answer.
Accepting wrath over dying curiosity, she cautiously tried the door handle. He not only closed the door, he’d locked it. Well, if that did not bite! Why lock her out? She was his partner, supposedly. Shouldn’t she have inner workings and access to every aspect of OSHIT?
“Nolan, do you know this door is locked?” No answer came through the wooden panel, but the light still on seeped under the door into the hall. “Do you even hear me?”
Nothing. Nada.
Pissed, she went to her room, slammed the door to make her point, and then threw herself on the bed.
Dammit! She was horny. Was the man stupid? He could have easy access to all of her, said this would happen when they’d kissed outside, and he locks himself into an office for the remainder of the night? What the hell was wrong with him?
Charlotte fell asleep, fully dressed.
Chapter Seven
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, pushing hair off her face.
Charlotte lay face down on the bed, fully clothed, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life, or inside his home in quite a while.
“Charlotte, honey, time for chores.” He pushed on her shoulder. She groaned, mumbling something into the quilt while trying to shove his hand away from her. “Time to get up.” This time, he pushed harder.
Very slowly, she rolled over, her eyelids cautiously opening. “What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Four.”
“Um…four what.”
“Four a.m.—time to get your ass out of bed.”
She turned, looking for a clock that was not there. “Four…a.m.?” she grumbled “Are you nuts?”
“Nope. Now get up and let’s get a move on it. Daylight’s a wasting.”
“A move to where?” she sputtered, throwing her arm over her face and refusing to rise.
He grabbed her by the ankles, tugging. “I mean it, Charlotte. Get up. This is not an option…or spa day.”
“I don’t do four a.m.. Come back when it’s six.” She tried to get her legs out of his grasp and roll over, so he tugged harder.
“Cows don’t wait until six,” he said firmly. “PETA’s not too crazy about it, either.”
“Cows?” Her coherency at the barest minimum, the words sent into the quilt.
“Yes, cows, as in bovine…”
“I know what cows are,” she muttered, most of her words jumbled.
“Good. Then you’ll know what they need right now.”
“Sleep?”
“Milking.”
“I don’t do milking. Already told you this. Go away.”
He grabbed her ankles again, pulled hard, and removed her from the bed the hard way—flipped her over, ass to floor in one fell swoop.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she yelped.
Nolan smiled at her. “Not a damn thing. Get up.”
“I’m up, asshole.” She worked her way to standing. “You’re seriously demented. Do you know that?”
“Asshole and demented? My repertoire is growing by leaps and bounds this morning. Care to add more? There’s still time.”
She ignored this threat, saying, “It’s not morning. It’s still night. And you’re not very nice.” Glaring at him, fists balled, she added, “A guy doesn’t yank someone off a bed to get them up unless expecting castration.”
“He does if she’s refusing to cooperate with plans.”
“I was refusing because I was sleeping!”
“Well, from now on, you’re up at four, in the barn by four-thirty, and knee deep in cow shit by quarter to five.”
She ran a hand through her tangled hair, down her face, and then gave him another glacial glare. “Asshole,” she mumbled under her breath.
Nolan stood, took the glare and explicative with a grain and salt, and then made his way to the door. “Don’t forget demented? And for your sake, don’t you dare make me come back in here again.” She’d fallen backwards onto the bed, tossing her arm over her face, groaning loudly.
Twenty minutes later, he had to start the process all over again.
An hour late to the barn, all he heard out of her was “I hate you,” over and over, until his ears rang.
He spent the next hour getting ice daggers into his back while milking the cows. Ice daggers into his chest when he told her she had to muck out the horse stalls. Damn. He could not even begin to describe how she’d looked at him when he told her she had to collect the eggs and make certain there was fresh bedding on the floor in the chicken coop. He’d never met a woman who was so deathly afraid of chickens.
At first, his laughter abounded until the fear in her eyes had the pity growing in him and he’d done the job himself, sending her back into the farmhouse to start on breakfast. She’d pointedly told him to go to Hell on any breakfast making endeavors, she was not his personal chef, and he’d said he would like that hell with a side of bacon near two eggs, sunny side up. She was now sitting at his kitchen table, glaring at him again. She made him scrambled eggs and told him to deal with it.
His eyes trapped her glare. “Stop doing that. It might turn into a permanent affliction.”
“I don’t care,” she argued. “I don’t like you today.”
“You liked me well enough two days ago. I clearly remember how you liked me. And I quote from the wisdom of Charlotte Raven, ‘ Deeper Nolan…don’t stop, please…’”
She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, refusing to eat. “That was before I got to know the real you.”
He set his fork down, slowly. “The real me?”
“Yes. The kidnapping asshole who would force a woman to enter a chicken coop, told she is deathly afraid of them.”
“I did not force you to do anything, and how the hell can you be afraid of a chicken and not afraid of bad guys toting guns?”
“Bad guys don’t have beaks.”
His chuckle grew into almost unbearable. “You’re afraid of beaks? That’s hilarious.”
“No, it’s not.”
“God, Charlotte. It’s just a chicken. Take off its head and it’s dinner.”’
“Chickens are not funny to me, so stop laughing at me.” She got so pissed at him she tossed her fork at his head, Nolan catching it in mid-flight.
“What the hell...?”
“I said it wasn’t funny, and I would appreciate it if you could control yourself. Your lack thereof is starting to wear thin.”
“Another layer to your code of control?” he quickly asked.
Her head bobbed. “In a way, yes.”
Nolan set down her launched missile near his plate, rising from his chair. “Trying to control a man is a wasted effort, Ms. Raven.”
“How so?”
“Some of us can’t be controlled. Or should I say won’t be?”
“I haven’t met any man who could not.” Her eyes turned away from his. “In my experience, men are quite predictable. It’s why I’m so good at what I do.”
“Then you haven’t met the right man,” he warned, stalking toward her. “And you’re only good at your job because a man trained you at it to begin with.”
Charlotte’s eyes rose, her fingers clamped to the wood while he towered over her, breathing rapidly.
“Wow! Arrogant and chauvinistic,” she sputtered. “This day just keeps getting better and better with you.”
Nolan was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about it now. In five minutes, there should be a knock at his front door, he’d have to answer it, and he was not looking forward to it. He’d rather be taking this fire-breathing vixen into the bedroom to teach her a valuable lesson. Controlling a man was a wasted effort.
For the two weeks stuck with her, he was going to prove this to her in spades, whether she liked it or not, and whether it did both irreparable harm.
Chapter Eight
“Okay, where is she?” came booming through the doorway.
Charlotte glanced at the man who dared interrupt a possible clash of the Titans. So engrossed with battling wills with Nolan, she never heard a car pull up outside, nor consequent footsteps over the threshold. Some field agent she would make. A handsome smile, the threat of punishment, and she forgets her training? That could not happen again.
It won’t happen again, she mused, staring at Nolan’s angry profile.
“Come on in, Dev.” He’d turned, moving toward the intruder hidden by shadows, cutting their conversation in two.
Charlotte cautiously stepped toward the man, as well, her gaze absorbing every nuance about him in record speed.
Oh, dear Lord! Two of them?
Nolan’s duplicate stood in the doorway. He turned, gave her a sheepish grin, introducing the man. “Charlotte, this is Devon. As you can see, my twin brother.”
Understatement of the year, Charlotte stepped forward, her hand out. They were carbon copies of each other. “Nice to meet you, Devon.”
He glanced at her extended appendage, gave her a dimpled grin, then shrugged, ignoring the gesture.
“Don’t shake,” he said, dumping his large duffel onto the kitchen floor. “But I do give out satisfying kisses to any and all newbies.” He quickly scooped her into his arms, bent her backward, and planted a wet kiss right on her mouth.
