by Day Leclaire
“A boating accident?” Diana asked sympathetically.
“We ran out of gas.”
The New York chippy chuckled. “I gather when you run out of gas in a boat, you’re forced to swim to the nearest gas station?”
Witch! “Oh, no,” Annie retorted blithely. “I just hitch a ride on the first dolphin that swims by. Island girls are taught the knack at an early age.”
Sam winced. “I think that’s our cue to go.” He dropped an arm around Diana’s shoulders and urged her toward a rental car parked beneath a nearby mimosa.
Realizing it was her cue, too, Annie stamped toward the house. Why hadn’t anyone taught her how to saunter? It would have come in real handy about now. Of course, with stiff, wet cotton glued to her skin it would have been a bit of a challenge. But at least she’d have made a graceful exit.
“Oh, Annie?”
She spun around so fast she made herself dizzy. “Yes?”
“Tell Myrtle I might not be back for dinner.”
And with that, Sam and his silk-clad soon-to-be-ex-partner climbed into the car, leaving Annie muttering more of those words that would bring a quick end to her sainthood if she ever muttered them where someone actually heard.
“You don’t understand, Aunt Myrtle.”
The older woman glanced up from her knitting. “What don’t I understand, dear?”
Annie paced to the window and stared out at the night sky. “Sam’s trying to seduce me. He’s admitted as much.”
“I’m sure he’s just teasing. He always was a mischievous boy.”
“No! It’s more than that. He wants revenge because I...” The words caught in her throat and she gripped the sill. “Because I—”
“Asked the Musketeers to intervene on your behalf seven years ago?”
Annie’s shoulders slumped. “You heard about it?”
“Really, Annie. How can you ask a question like that? It’s common knowledge. Secrets don’t keep on Delacorte Island. You should know that by now.”
“You’d have thought so,” she muttered.
Myrtle’s knitting needles clicked for a time. “I also know that your bags were packed to go that night,” she mentioned sedately.
Uh-oh. Annie turned around. “Where... ?”
“Pansy mentioned it.”
Blast Pansy and her big mouth. “What else did my dear sister say?”
“That you and Joe had an unholy row.”
Annie returned to her chair and perched on the edge. “Pops found out I was going to run off with Sam,” she explained.
“Hmm.” Myrtle dropped her knitting onto her lap. “I can understand him being a trifle upset.”
“He’s always hated Beaumonts.” Annie shot the older woman an apologetic look. “Not you, I’m sure,” she lied.
“Oh, yes. He hated me, too.”
Good grief! Was there nothing Myrtle hadn’t uncovered? Annie’s eyes widened in alarm. Surely she didn’t know the rest. “What else did Pansy tell you? Did she say what the fight was about?”
Myrtle’s regard intensified. “I thought you said it was over your eloping with Sam.”
Annie sighed. Maybe she should take up knitting. It would give her hands something to do other than twist together in her lap and betray her. “Yes. Of course.”
“Joe must have said something quite horrible to keep you from going with Sam. I know for a fact you loved him very much.”
More twisting. “Pops convinced me to wait.”
“Now you’ve waited. Seven whole years.” Myrtle picked up her cane and nudged Annie with the tip. “So? Why haven’t you made things up with him?”
“I told you. He’s not interested in making up. He’s interested in revenge.”
Myrtle snorted. “Oh, stuff and nonsense. Say you’re sorry. Give him a hug and a kiss and he’ll come around.”
I’ve already done that, she was tempted to confess. “And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you tell him the real reason you didn’t go with him that night.”
Annie froze. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t fool me, missy. I know Joe Delacorte better than you might think. He said something to you that night.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“He said something that stopped you from going.” A strange sadness flickered within the depths of her dark eyes. “And I’m telling you that if you want to work things out with Sam, you’ll tell him what it was.”
“I can’t,” Annie whispered.
“Yes, my dear, you can. And you will.”
Myrtle didn’t know what Pops had said or she’d never have offered that advice. “I’m not going to marry Sam.”
The knitting needles resumed their clicking. “You’ll have to tell him eventually. You’ll save yourself a lot of heartache if you do it now.”
“I’ll...I’ll think about it.”
Not that thinking about it would change her mind. Because though everything Myrtle had said was the truth, there was one small problem. It wasn’t her secret. And she’d sooner take whatever revenge Sam deemed appropriate than betray those who’d be hurt by her revelation. Of course, it wasn’t her honor that she’d be sacrificing with her silence.
It was her happiness.
“I just don’t know what it is with women these days,” Myrtle muttered.
“Excuse me?”
Shards of light flashed off the knitting needles. “If I were you, I’d track that man down this very minute, rip that black-haired harpy out of his arms and say what needs to be said.”
Annie blinked in surprise. “You think I should?”
“I think you’d better. And I’d be right quick about it, too.”
Annie caught the implication. She glanced out the window again. It was late. Far too late for Sam and Diana to still be talking. Maybe she should take Myrtle’s suggestion, or at least the tracking and ripping part. She wouldn’t mind that in the least. And if she neglected to accomplish the rest? Well, these things happened.
“I think I’ll take my bike for a little spin.”
Myrtle smiled complacently. “I thought you might.”
“Is there anything I can say that will change your mind? Anything at all?”
“Sorry, Diana. Not a thing.”
“A pity.” She wandered to the open window and looked out. “Nice view.”
Sam braced his shoulder against the casing, wishing a hotheaded blonde stood beside him instead of a savvy brunette. “Annie said more or less the same thing the last time she was in here.”
Diana swiveled to face him. “Really?” she asked with a startled laugh. “You two...in here? I assumed from her sign—”
“Oh, her sign’s still valid enough.”
“You must be losing your touch,” she teased lightly. “You had the love of your life in your bedroom and nothing happened?”
“Oh, plenty happened. Just not that.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“The wind blew the door shut so hard the knobs fell off and trapped us in here.”
“How... awkward.” Her gaze swept past him to the door in question. “I assume you fixed the problem.”
“Oh, yeah. I fixed it. Why?”
“Because the door’s—” A resounding crash echoed through the house. “About to slam,” she finished with a wince.
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about—” The knob hit the floor with a familiar clang. “Aw, hell.”
“You were saying?” she asked dryly. “I thought you told me you fixed the problem.”
He glared at the knob. “I did! I spent a full day on it.”
“I hate to tell you this, Sam. But you make a much better Wall Street whiz than a mechanic.”
“Repairman.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. So now what? How do we get out of here?”
“If you were Annie, you’d jump out the window.”
Diana burst out laughing. “Did she really?”
He lifted his right hand. “So help me.”
“And if I’d rather not take such extreme measures?”
“You couldn’t, even if you were so inclined,” he admitted. “I trimmed the tree back from the house so she wouldn’t be tempted into similar heroics anytime in the near future.”
A shapely brow winged upward. “You mean, assuming you ever got her up here again, had the door blow shut and your newly repaired knobs pop off,” she said in a wry voice.
She didn’t miss a trick. “Yeah. Assuming all that.”
“So now what?”
He eyed first the bed, then the chair. Damn. He crossed to the chair and lowered himself gingerly onto the seat. “Now we make ourselves comfortable and wait. I expect someone will show up eventually. Someone always does.”
Unfortunately, rescue didn’t arrive for several hours and it came in a form he least wanted to see.
“Sam? Are you here? Sam Beaumont, where the heck are you!”
He swore beneath his breath. “We’re here, Annie. In the bedroom.”
“Where...?” Feet pelted up the steps. “Sam Beaumont, you son of drunken sea cook!”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Don’t you sweetheart me,” she shouted. “Are you trapped in there with that woman?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. Great. Just great. “Sure am.”
There was dead silence for a full minute. Then a fist impacted the door. Or maybe it was a foot. It was hard to tell. “Damn you, Sam Beaumont! You’ve gone and ruined the wrong woman! How could you?”
CHAPTER SIX
“ANNIE, could we discuss this later?” he requested. “Like after you help us get out of here?”
“Why should I? I think I’ll call the Three Musketeers and let them rescue you. Maybe I’ll even wait until tomorrow so she’s ruined good and proper.”
“Annie Delacorte! I swear, if you don’t stick that knob in the door right this minute, I’ll fall out of that tree and come after you. See if I don’t.”
“Hah! Now there’s a sight I’d pay good money to witness.”
“You just might have the opportunity.”
“Children,” Diana interrupted with a long-suffering sigh. “Please. This really isn’t necessary.”
“You don’t understand,” Annie said dolefully.
Were those tears he heard? Dammit all! Why couldn’t he be where he could see her? Touch her and hold her? Console her with a kiss? Before he could reassure her, Diana waved him silent.
“What don’t I understand, Annie?” she asked.
“He promised. He promised to ruin me and instead he ruined you.”
“Annie?” Diana’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“Yes?”
“You have my word—nothing happened.”
“You don’t understand,” she repeated. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I might believe you. But you’ve been locked up in there with Sam for heaven knows how long.” She sniffed. “I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but you’re not a saint. Everyone will believe you’ve been ruined. Sam has a reputation for that sort of thing. He’s really quite good at it.”
Diana chuckled. “Honey, I was ruined long ago. I think you’ll find it’s sort of like a broken dish. Everyone has a fit the first time it breaks, but they don’t even notice when it gets dropped the second time.”
“Listen to her, Annie. Burnt toast can’t be turned back into fresh bread. No offense, Diana.”
“None taken, lover. Now that we have that cleared up, would you mind letting us out of here, Miss Delacorte?”
“Just a sec. I’m looking for the knob. I do apologize, Diana. I really don’t know what got into me.” She sniffed again. “I’m usually not so unfriendly. It’s just—”
“I understand completely. Would you mind looking a little faster? Sam said the last ferry leaves at ten and my rental car and I would like to be on it.”
Sam groaned. “I know what you’re thinking, Annie. Don’t you dare say it.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Oh, yeah. She was using her sweet, Southern belle voice. It was a dead giveaway. “Don’t try that one on me. Don’t say what you were thinking.”
“About not wanting her to miss her ferry?”
“That’s the one. You really need to work on those unsaintly thoughts.”
She sighed. “I’m well aware of that. I found the knob, by the way.”
“I’ll put my end in first. You put yours in next and very gently turn the knob. Okay?”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Sarcasm, Annie?”
“Why, yes. I believe it was.”
An instant later, the door swung open and Diana sauntered out. “You people have very odd ways of entertaining yourselves.” Her green eyes glittered with laughter. “It’s been amusing, girls and boys, but I think I’ll run along and leave you to your fun and games. I assume, Miss Delacorte, that you can give Sam a lift home?”
“I’ll take care of him.” If her smile was any sweeter, it would kill. “Thanks for coming.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Sam told her, giving her another hug and kiss. He murmured something in her ear to which she grinned and nodded. As she started down the steps, he turned his attention to Annie. In another moment they’d be alone, and he waited for that knowledge to occur to her, as well. It didn’t take long.
Her eyes grew wide and she edged toward the steps. “I think I’ve done all I can for one night.”
“You mean caused all the trouble you can.”
“Hey! I wasn’t the one who got locked in the bedroom for the second time in two days.” She gave him a pointed look. “Now there’s an interesting coincidence.”
Anger stirred. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Let’s see. Two different women both trapped in your bedroom using the same clever scheme.” She glared. “You figure it out.”
“Are you suggesting I locked us in there on purpose?” he demanded in disbelief.
“Are you claiming you didn’t?” Wisely, she didn’t wait for an answer but scampered down the steps.
Not that he’d let her get away with it. He charged down the stairs after her. “Don’t even think about leaving without me,” he called.
“No problem,” she snapped over her shoulder. “I won’t give it a single thought. I’ll just do it.”
Not if he could help it. She raced for the waiting motorcycle and hopped aboard. But in the few seconds it took her to rev the engine, he slid on behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Last time they’d ridden together, she’d been the one in back, encasing his hips with her silken thighs. Now he returned the favor, cupping her snugly between his legs and spreading his hands across the flat planes of her belly.
“Take me for a ride,” he whispered in her ear.
She didn’t need further prompting. Gunning the engine, she sped down his drive, avoiding potholes with the ease of long practice. Did she realize how revealing that was? To be so deft, she must have visited Soundings on a regular basis. At least, frequently enough to know the vagaries of his driveway after dark.
They gained the main road running through town and her speed picked up, kicking her hair into his face. The silken strands whipped against his cheeks and he inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo, knowing he should make her return to Myrtle’s for their helmets. Knowing, too, that he should have her slow down. But he didn’t want to slow down any more than she did. He wanted speed. He wanted a strong, balmy breeze cooling his heated skin. And he wanted to feel the powerful rumble of the Harley vibrate through him, echoing the hot pounding in his veins.
She nudged the speed up a notch and he tapped her shoulder. “Enough, sweetheart. Slow it down.”
He didn’t think she’d listen, but then he heard the reluctant checking of the engine at the same instant as he caught the flash of blue light reflecting in her side
mirrors. Damn. Any other time, he’d have been thrilled to see the law officials of Delacorte Island do their duty. But just this once, he’d have been quite happy to have them ignore Annie’s excesses.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the patrol car following them and he saw her mouth a word that caused him to grin. “You’ve done it now, princess.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just Bertie. Now listen, Sam. Don’t say anything to provoke him. He and I have gone through this drill before. He’ll give me a good chewing out about going so fast. I’ll act all pitiful and apologetic. And we’ll be on our way in no time. Okay?”
“Whatever you say,” he agreed with a shrug. It should be interesting to watch her in action, if nothing else.
Stopping along a deserted strip of road, she waited until Bertie came up beside them. “Hey there, Bertie,” she greeted him cheerfully.
“Good evening, Miss Delacorte. Would you step off your motorcycle, please? You, too, Mr. Beaumont.”
“Miss Delacorte? Mr. Beaumont?” she asked with a laugh, climbing off the bike. “That’s a new one.”
“Yes, ma’am. May I see your license and registration, please?”
“My...” She frowned. “What’s got into you, Bertie? You know I never carry that stuff with me. It’s in my purse at Myrtle’s.”
“Yes, ma’am. So you admit you’re driving without a license?”
“Well...sure.” She stared in bewilderment. “What’s with this ‘ma’am’ business?”
He cleared his throat. “Just being polite.”
And by the book, Sam realized. Their situation just got a whole lot more interesting. He propped his hip on the bike, prepared to be entertained.
“Miss Delacorte, are you aware driving without a license in your possession is against the law?”
“Good grief, Bertie! No one on Delacorte carries their license on them unless they’re going off-island. It might get lost or wet or snapped up by a fish or something. Why don’t you tell me what’s—”
“I see you’re also operating your motorcycle without a helmet.”
It finally dawned on her that matters weren’t going quite as expected. “I’m real sorry about that, Bertie,” she offered contritely. “You know I’m normally extra careful about that. But this time I was in a bit of a hurry and—”