“Well…this is the thing. We have some great programs for special kids. But we also miss things because we have to be concerned with the diagnosis of what’s wrong. No child totally fits a pattern. Even a child with limited IQ can have spots when he’s brilliant. Even a child with a definite diagnosis can have other sides to his health, his character, that aren’t defined by what’s wrong with him. I’d like to take that to D.C.”
“Okay. Now you’re starting to scare me.”
“Oh, I realize I don’t have the power to do anything myself. But…I do have money now. I could bring some of the best minds together on my dollar. Look at the best of programs we have, how to work with the multiple dimensions of each child. Being an advocate for special kids… I could actually do that. With some money and some power. I could actually make a difference at a higher level than just an individual classroom.”
Maguire shifted, straightened up. “All right. I admit it. I didn’t dream you’d get here this fast. You’re starting to get it, how you can carve out your own life, now, aren’t you? You’re revving your own engine. This is a good idea.”
“I’m a smart girl, Maguire. You doubted I would come up with good ideas?”
“I never doubted you were smart. I worried that the piranhas out there had beaten you down.” He reached out a hand.
She took it.
“Ready to head back to the hotel? We’ve had a long day.”
They had, but her heart was suddenly thrumming to bluesy rhythms. Maguire might not know it, but his evening wasn’t completely over yet.
Chapter Seven
Back at the hotel, an open-gated elevator sent them to the third floor. Maguire could see that she was beat. He’d wanted her to have that kind of whirlwind day-so busy she didn’t have time to dwell on fears or worries, but not so crazy that she’d get over-exhausted.
This hotel, like others in Monaco, went over the top on gilt and opulence. Not Maguire’s choice of decors, but he’d be looking for the kind of place where Carolina’d feel pampered. The screw-up earlier in the day had been corrected. He plucked her key, 3543, opened her door and stepped in a foot, just to make sure the setup was correct.
The peach satin spread was turned down, a spray of Russian chocolates on the pillow, a dressing gown laid out. A light in the bathroom gleamed on the marble floor; soft lamplight pooled a welcoming glow by her bed. Two dozen peach roses spilled from an ivory vase. A basket of goodies-wine, cheese, fruit, snacks-was tucked on the far table.
Yes. All as ordered. Maguire backed out a step. “Okay, you. To sleep-for as long as you want to sleep. I’m in the next room, 3544.”
Carolina raised her eyebrows. “You’re not in a suite with me this time?”
Maguire had gotten smarter in direct proportion to her becoming more dangerous. “I’m right next door, and there’s a connecting door between us that’s locked on both sides. If you need me, I’m a knock away. But I don’t think you need anyone hovering close the way I was before.”
“You do think I’m stronger,” she said with a tone of satisfaction.
“I do. But you don’t need setbacks.” And he didn’t need to be any closer to that lithe body draped in black that clung in all the right places whenever she moved. “When you’re ready to be out and about tomorrow, just knock on the connecting door. I brought work with me that I can do right in the room, so if you want to sleep all day, it won’t matter to me. If you want to get up and moving, that’s fine, too.”
“That’s it?” she murmured. “No kiss good-night, Maguire?”
He saw the look in her eyes. Had to bolster a breath before coming through with a teasing, “Hey. Behave yourself.”
He let himself into his room, clunked down the key and kicked off his shoes. His mind was chanting mantras. Vanilla. Snow. Milk. Anything he could think of that would remind him of virgin white.
Carolina had formed…an attachment for him. He knew it. He refused to ignore it any longer. But she was vulnerable as satin, good from the inside out.
He’d been tainted from the day he was born.
He’d been in a position to rescue her, to steal her away to a princess life for a few days. Maguire got it. It was easy for her to see him as a knight in shining armor. But he was no knight. And he wasn’t-and couldn’t be-a serious part of her life long term. So it was up to him to make sure she didn’t get hurt.
He yanked off the tux jacket, then the cumberbund and stupid tie. Bleach. Frost. Calcium. Pearls-no, not pearls, that texture and shade of white reminded him too much of her skin.
He needed white words that were, well, wilters. Nonsexual. Like…frost. Whitewash. Toothpaste. He undid his cuffs, then started on the shirt buttons.
Abruptly he heard the knock on the connecting door.
He went over, and unlocked his side. “What? Are you sick or…?”
His voice dropped when he saw her. She’d slipped off the black pants and top. Pulled on a satin nightgown in peach and lace. Her feet were bare, her makeup washed off, and the expression in her eyes was a hundred percent ticked off.
“You said I could have what I wanted. That I needed to be strong enough to stand up for what I wanted. Well, damn it, Maguire. I want my good-night kiss and I want it now.”
Okay. She was cute. But he could turn on the tough button any time he needed to, could get as heartless as he needed to be, any time.
At least usually.
The damn woman.
She stepped up, stepped in, clutched his open shirt in her small fists and took. Her lips trembled, even as they pressed. Her hands were coward-cold. And the swishy lingerie was killer-sexy, but she was ironed-tight against him as if fearing he might actually see any of that soft, vulnerable flesh.
He told himself to think about snow, damn it. Calcium. Milk. All those pure white turnoffs. All those reminders that Carolina was confused, very unsure what she wanted or needed right now.
Only…her hands dropped to his hips. She brazenly palmed his butt, nesting him closer to her. Naturally, his body responded as if prodded by a firecracker. That was her, the firecracker, with the little hot fingers and the little hot tongue.
That tongue slipped between his teeth, found his tongue, retreated. Came back for more. She made a sound, a groan like a she-cat, then rubbed her breasts against his chest as if they were itchy and rubbing against him was the only cure for easing that itch.
White, he told himself firmly.
And then,
She didn’t seem aware that winding herself around him invariably threw them both off balance. There was a moment when they both would have fallen-if he didn’t reach out to steady her. That’s all he did. Put his hands on her arms. Only for that millisecond. But even though he was chanting “white” at the top volume of his conscience…
Armageddon followed.
“Okay.” He tore out a breath. “Okay, now. Carolina, listen to me-”
“No.” That was all she said. No. And then she pushed him. Backward. Into his bedroom. His setup was similar to hers, maybe navy blue instead of feminine colors, but the same king-size bed, side couch and chair, all the usual suspects of an ultraluxurious hotel room.
She didn’t look or care, as if whether she fell against chair legs or table sides was completely beneath her notice right then. Pushing him. That’s all she was into. And when the back of his knees located the bed, she gave him one more little push and then tumbled on top of him, straddling him, leaning over with closed eyes to find his mouth again.
He had to get a grip. Get control. A man like him wasn’t seduced. Ever. Didn’t relinquish complete control with
