“Kash? You don’t like to talk about your own life very much, do you?”
“No. It’s not important.”
“Of course it’s important. It’s you.”
“No, I’ve worked very hard to make certain it’s not me, and I don’t think you’d like the details.”
“Try me.”
His gaze bored into her. She almost swayed, hypnotized and bewildered by the myriad emotions there—the guardedness, the anger, but also a shadowed urgency, as if he was trying to understand her and gauge her reaction to what he might say. “Rest,” he said finally, and looked away. The shutter had come down on his thoughts, once again.
“I played a cloud in a third-grade class play,” she told him. “And I was supposed to dance with a boy cloud. But we kept bumping our cardboard costumes together. That’s the way I feel with you right now.”
“I’m sure you made a pretty thunderhead.”
“No, I couldn’t hear on one side because my hearing aid fell out. I stepped on the boy cloud’s feet. He kicked me in the shins. We weren’t exactly Astaire and Rogers.”
“Your poor ear,” Kash said softly. He reached up and pushed her hair back a little, then stroked a finger across the hearing aid and the tender earlobe beneath.
She inhaled raggedly. “I lost most of the hearing in my right ear when I was five. I caught an infection from swimming at a pond. Every other kid in the neighborhood swam there, but I was the only one who got sick. That’s sort of the way my whole life has gone. I’m blessed with being different. Sometimes it’s good—it’s what made me a cartoonist—but sometimes it’s bad.”
Rebecca frowned. “But you probably know all that. It must have been in the research your people did on me.” She said the last sentence grimly.
He gave her an apologetic look that melted her anger. “I know that you’ve been partially deaf in one ear since you were a child, but I don’t know how it affected your life. It must have been hard to adjust. Tell me.”
Rebecca cleared her throat and looked away. “My father wouldn’t let me do anything risky after that. I was overprotected. Drawing helped me fantasize. That’s why I became a cartoonist. My cartoon alter egos can do everything I can’t.”
Sighing, she lay down on her side and pillowed her head on her arms. Now she found herself gazing straight at his taut back, as he sat beside her with his legs drawn up. His shoulders flared into strong arms marked with ridges of veins and muscle. Low on his spine the muscles met in a shallow valley just above the carelessly wrapped cloth covering. She envisioned pressing her palm to that fantastic terrain and sliding her fingers up his backbone, then down, down, until finally they were under the cloth.
Kash twisted to study her. She raised startled eyes to his. In that electric second she suspected he could read each one of her thoughts. Abruptly he reached over and trailed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then unfurled them and slid his hand behind her head. Drawing her up a bit, he leaned down to meet her mouth with his own.
Surprise and arousal surged through Rebecca’s blood. Sleepiness was banished; every nerve in her body scalded her with sensation. Her hands rose to his shoulders, then flattened and slid around him. In that flash of agreement they were in each other’s arms, holding tightly and kissing in wild, abandoned exploration. Why him? Why? her mind cried desperately. Why did this man, who wouldn’t offer her any of the traditional values she’d been raised to love, cause her to lose control after twenty-six years of dedicated self-restraint?
But the frenzied passion of their kisses banished her thoughts and made her hold him even tighter. She explored his back while moaning into the hot caress of his extremely skilled mouth. Rebecca wanted his hands on her body, wanted to feel his lips on her breasts, needed to have him deep in her aching center, filling her, explaining the mysteries she’d always imagined.
He gently slid a hand under the tail of her shirt. With his warm fingers stroking magic into the small of her back, she quivered and felt him quivering in return. That he could be so affected by her awed Rebecca and made her reach for his head, where she petted the smooth, straight hair in gratitude and eagerness.
His caresses were unhurried and intoxicating as he drew his palm around to her stomach. Shivers of desire ran down her belly, and she could barely breathe. The shirt buttons strained over her breasts, and the friction excited her skin. Lost in speechless wonder, she continued to kiss him deeply, until his hand slid upward and gently closed around one of her swollen breasts. With a low moan of pleasure she broke away from his mouth and looked up at him in a daze. His own eyes were half-shut but glowing with reassurance, while his expression was savage with passion and control. The combination excited her even more. As he slowly circled the tip of her breast with his thumb, she quivered and lifted her mouth to his again. A throaty, encouraging sound rumbled in his throat. She thought she’d die with joy.
“You can trust me,” he whispered against her mouth. “Trust me with anything you want, anything you need, anything you want to talk about.”
Anything you want to confess, he meant. The mood shattered like fine crystal. Rebecca jerked her head back and stared up into his brooding eyes. “You want me to talk. That’s why you’re doing this.”
He exhaled roughly, looking troubled. “I want you, period. As for the rest—I mean it. Yes, I want you to talk. If you’ve got something to hide, tell me. Because I don’t want it to come between us anymore. I want this relationship to become much more personal, and it can’t do that until the other problem is cleared up.”
“Much more personal? Isn’t that going against your style? And aren’t you busy enough already?” Sheer frustration and disappointment brought tears from her eyes. “Are you and my half sister having an affair?”
“What the hell—Where does that keep coming from?”
“If you use sex in your work with me, you must use it with other women too. You must use every tactic that makes your job easier. Because that’s what you’re obviously doing with me. ” She pushed his hands away.
“I don’t—I am not sleeping with my client. And when I say that I want you, I mean it in a purely personal way.”
“And if I don’t spill my terrible hidden secrets to you, would you still want me? No. You’ll find some other way to keep me with you until you can convince me to go home. Is that what all this is about—distracting me until I get tired and leave? I have to know. Maybe this doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me. Why are you trying to make me fall in love with you?”
The word love was like a slap. He froze. Deep surprise showed in his eyes as they searched hers. Rebecca gave a silent moan of despair and understanding. Of course she didn’t mean anything to him. And by being straightforward enough to mention love in connection with lust, she’d complicated their already difficult relationship.
“You shouldn’t be surprised to learn that I take these things seriously,” she said in a pensive voice. “I won’t apologize for that. I know it seems unsophisticated to you, but to me it only seems right to think about who I want to love, and why.”
“There’s no love between you and me, and there never will be,” he said, his voice whiplash sharp. You’d have to know all about me and accept everything about me, just as I’d have to know you. It won’t happen.”
His bitter words stunned her. Any romantic fantasies she’d had about him dissolved in his stony glare. “You’re in no danger,” she said finally. Answering him without giving away her humiliation took tremendous effort. “I wasn’t thinking straight when I used the word. That was the problem—I forgot how much I need and expect from a man. It won’t happen again.”
That only made him look fiercer. But his voice was deadly calm as he said, “I’ve been trying to understand why you affect me so much. I should have been reminding myself that a woman with your background judges every man as a potential husband.”
Completely shaken now, she answered through gritted teeth, “If I were desp
erate for a husband, I’d be married by now. Don’t insult me by thinking you’re a candidate. You seem to be pretty oversensitive on the subject. I’m sorry for the ugly things that happened to make you that way, whatever they were. I’m sorry, but I don’t deserve your bitterness. The world is not as bad as you think, and the best traditions in any culture are built on family and home life, not on misfits like you.”
“And you,” he countered.
“Yes. But at least I know what I want, and I’ll find it someday. I want a home, a mate who’s my partner and friend as well as my lover, and children who know they’re cherished. All the things you find unnecessary.”
“And overrated.”
“I wish you’d known my father. You’d see where I learned my values, and how sincere they are.”
“Your father practiced what he preached?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely. There wasn’t a more idealistic man in the world.”
“He stood for truth, honor, and apple pie.”
“Yes. Don’t make it sound silly.”
“It’s not silly. There are many ways to uphold your ideals. I have mine, believe it or not. And I’m honest about them.”
“So am I. And so was my father.”
“Really? It’s time for a reality check.” Kash pulled her upright and, holding her by the forearms, turned her to face the ominous villa across the canal. “Look at that place. It doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”
“No! Why should it?” As his intentions sank in, she struggled against his grip. “You know something about it that I don’t know! You brought me here deliberately! You don’t ever do anything without a purpose, do you?”
He held her tighter against his hot, bare chest. “Take a good look at it. A very wealthy Thai man lives there. A retired art smuggler and gambler. In his younger years he was the most notorious thief in Bangkok.” Kash paused for effect. “And he was a close friend of your father.”
Rebecca gasped harshly. “It couldn’t be. That’s not the kind of man my father would have liked.”
“Your father was a guest at that villa many times while he was stationed in Thailand with the army. He visited often with the thief and the four beautiful young women who lived—and slept—with the thief. I want you to understand that your father didn’t tell you the truth about his years in Thailand.”
She dug her fingers into Kash’s hard arms, which were now around her waist. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. There must be an explanation. Have you talked to this man? Is that what he told you about my father?”
“Yes.” Kash bent his head close to her good ear. His breath blew swift and rough against her neck. His lips brushed her ear with mocking charm. “He said your father helped him smuggle stolen Thai art objects to the States.”
“No!”
“And that he never married anyone, much less had a child.”
“My father wasn’t a criminal, and he was married to Mayura’s mother!”
“He must have been an incompetent smuggler, if he went home to America and become a small-town minister to make a living.”
“My father was incapable of stealing,” she said in a taut, gritty voice. A fireball of disbelief and anxiety shot through her blood. “Someone lied about him.” Nearly strangling on emotion, she added recklessly, “I can prove it.”
“How?” Kash twisted her around to face him. Defensive, she braced her hands on his chest, though touching the seductive wall of firm muscle and satiny black hair made her want to cry for the tenderness they had shared only moments before. His expression was a shrewd mask, with an underlying urgency that looked almost like pain. His conflicting feelings made her despair of ever understanding him. “How can you prove it?” he asked fiercely.
“We have to go back to the hotel.” Rebecca became icily calm. “I’ll show you. I don’t feel like explaining right now. I want you to see my evidence, first. We’re not doing too well with trusting each other’s word, so why pretend that we ever can?”
His dark eyes seared her with their troubled, intense gaze. Then resignation settled in them, and he looked exhausted. “Trust has very little to do with what’s between you and me,” he agreed, nodding slightly, an elegant but somehow tragic gesture. “And it would have only led to a different kind of trouble. Maybe it already has.”
Without another word he set her away from him and got to his feet. He held out a hand, but she ignored it, wearily pushing herself up, then walking ahead of him, her head high. A tight knot of gloom sat in her chest. “If you don’t want trouble, don’t ever touch me again,” she said over one shoulder.
In an instant he caught her, pulled her backward against him, and placed a hard, lingering kiss on the side of her neck. She whirled around and slapped him, even as he was releasing her. They stared at each other across a sizzling span of anger and amazement. “Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” he said, but seemed more upset than stern.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she replied.
Kash had never felt so emotionally drained. Standing in Rebecca’s room, waiting for her to open the small felt bag she’d gotten from the hotel safe, he hardly cared about the mysterious proof of her father’s story. He kept thinking of the bitter words he’d spoken to her when she’d mentioned love as if she expected to fall in love with him, as if a woman like her could. He kept remembering the shattered look in her eyes as she’d listened to him cut the idea to shreds.
To be loved by someone like her was a fantasy he’d never allowed himself to consider. The kind of love she meant—the lifetime commitment, the bonding, the sharing that went beyond sex and companionship to a merging of innermost dreams—seemed impossible for him. His furious reaction had come from the pain of self-denial and brutal experience.
Kash scowled as he watched her untie the delicate strings that held the bag shut. Her hands were smooth and strong, callused on the right thumb and forefinger from what he assumed were countless hours spent gripping paintbrushes and drawing pens. The nails were short and pearly clean at the tips, with a coat of clear polish. Even dressed in the revealing cotton pants and shirt, with her bare feet grimy and her hair a disheveled, mink-brown jumble, she had an air of nourishing niceness.
“I have a piece of jewelry that belonged to Mayura’s mother,” Rebecca said in a dull voice. “I had two pieces—a necklace and an earring—but those men at the brothel stole the necklace.”
Kash willed his haunting thoughts away. “Your father gave them to you?”
“Yes. They were gifts to Mayura’s mother, and after she died, he kept them. But one of the earrings was taken when the Vatans stole the baby. They took as many of her dead mother’s personal belongings as they could find.”
She slid the earring onto her palm and watched it shimmer in the light of the lamp on the dresser. It had three dangling pieces of sterling, the tiniest no longer than a pea, the largest as big as a penny. Each was inset with an oval of jade, and around the jade was intricate engraving.
When she placed the earring in Kash’s hand, he looked closely and saw endless swirls of flowers, so tiny that only the most skilled hand could have etched them.
“Turn it over,” Rebecca said wearily. “Read the back.”
The largest section was engraved in English with letters so small Kash had to squint to read. To my beautiful wife, Nuan. Mayura’s mother. And there was a date: 1960.
“Not long before he died, my father gave me that and told me the other earring says ‘From your loving husband, Michael.’
Kash closed his hand around the delicate piece of jewelry. “Why didn’t you show this to me before?”
“I was hoping to save it for my meeting with Mayura.” She looked despondent. “It was something very personal, something I hoped she’d recognize.”
“After over thirty years, do you really expect to find the mate to this? It was probably lost when Mayura’s mother died.”
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p; Rebecca raised startled eyes to his. “Do you mean you believe it’s real? You believe me?”
“I believe you, but not your father. I’m sorry.”
She turned away, her shoulders sagging, and hugged herself. “What now?” she asked in a voice hoarse with defeat.
“I’ll show this to the Vatans and listen to their comments.”
“They’ll only say it’s a fraud.”
“Do you know any reason why your father would make up the story he told you?” Kash asked gruffly. He was tired of hurting her. Her pain radiated through him.
She pivoted and met his gaze with a cold, rebuking stare. “The story is true,” she said flatly. “The Vatans are the ones who’ve made up a lie. Please take the earring and leave.”
Kash hesitated, wanting badly to say something to soften her despair, but knowing that his words—and actions—had done nothing but give her the wrong impression of him since they’d met. Or was it the right one? Unsentimental, suspicious, a loner—he was all of those. He was also much more vulnerable than she thought, but only the people who knew him best recognized it. Sometimes when she looked at him with glowing approval in her eyes, he hoped she sensed it.
“Kovit or one of the other men who work for me will be on guard outside, if you need anything or want to go anywhere,” he told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Just phone me,” she replied calmly. “I really don’t care to see you again.”
He nodded, while disappointment warred with grim reality. She’s trouble, he reminded himself. “You’re right. That’s for the best.”
He left her standing in the middle of the room, looking as miserable as he felt.
“I thought you’d come here,” he said behind her.
She jumped at the grim, deep baritone with its aristocratic Dixie lilt. Rebecca pivoted swiftly and looked up into Kash’s shadowed face. He stepped into the flickering gas light of a slender street lamp. It cast charcoal and silver streaks through his black hair.
Rebecca’s heart felt like a butterfly inside her chest. “You let me get away from Kovit. I should have known. You wanted to follow me and see where I’d go.”
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