Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Well, hell.”

  Mercy was startled by his short, picturesque exclamation of disgust. She was also offended. “If all you care about is sex than you can damn well look somewhere else for it.”

  “You didn’t have any objections to sex last night.”

  She didn’t like the forbidding expression on his face. “In the heat of the moment that sort of thing can happen. It’s very easy, very common for a person to get swept up by a strong, temporary physical sensation that—”

  “Not you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s not easy and not common for you to get swept up by a strong, temporary physical sensation. You were swimming way out of your depth last night and I was the one you hung onto to keep yourself from drowning.”

  “That’s a very colorful image, but it doesn’t change anything!”

  He took two long strides toward her, driving her back against the wall before she could think to dodge. His eyes were gleaming with a rare emotion that might have been anger or outrage or both. When she was backed against the wall he caged her there with a hand planted on either side of her.

  “Do you really think that all I’m interested in is sex?” Croft asked far too softly.

  Mercy made a grab for her composure. “Well, there’s the book, of course. There’s no denying you’re also interested in it.”

  “Don’t you dare mention Valley. Not right now. We are not discussing that damn book. We are discussing us. You and me. And I want to know if you really think my only interest in you is your performance in bed.”

  She flinched at that because she was very much afraid her performance in bed as well as on the carpet had been rather amateurish. Her experience was limited, and she knew it probably showed. “I’m sure this is a very common problem in relationships,” Mercy said desperately.

  “You’re an expert on that subject, too?”

  “Croft, stop it. You’re deliberately trying to intimidate me. I have a valid concern and you owe me the courtesy of treating it with respect and consideration.”

  “Where is it written I have to treat your idiotic concerns with respect and consideration?”

  “My concerns are not idiotic. Croft, we hardly know each other. You just appeared in my shop on Friday, for pete’s sake. By Sunday you had me in bed. That’s moving too fast by anyone’s standards. By my standards, that’s moving at the speed of light. Ι want to slow down, and if you’re serious about coming with me to Colorado, then you’ll have to agree to slow down.”

  “That’s your final word on the subject?”

  “Yes,” she said fiercely, “it is.”

  He stared at her for an endless minute. The shadows in his eyes shifted rapidly, as if he were running through a variety of responses in his own mind. Abruptly he dropped his hands from the wall, shaking his head with grim disgust.

  “How the hell do you do this to me?” he asked in a low voice as he turned away and stalked over to the window.

  The question was so soft Mercy wasn’t certain it was meant for her to hear. He was asking himself and it was obvious he didn’t have an answer.

  “Croft...”

  He ignored her, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out the window. “I’ve just spent a tough thirty minutes trying to clear my head for the day, and in less than five minutes you’ve managed to ruin everything I accomplished.”

  “Uh Croft...”

  He swung around, his gaze accusing. “Damn it, I never lose my temper.”

  “You mustn’t get upset with yourself just because you’re feeling a little impatient with me. You have a perfect right to be somewhat,” she groped for the word, “surprised about the fact that I’ve decided to take charge of this relationship. You’ve got a dominant sort of personality, and for the past couple of days you have been more or less dominating this situation. Naturally, it comes as a shock to hear me say I want to put a hold on the physical side of things, but—”

  He cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand. “Not another word, Mercy. I’m warning you. Unless you want to receive a few surprises and shocks yourself, you will close your mouth and keep it closed until I’ve had my tea and my breakfast.”

  Mercy, who had her mouth half open for another reassuring comment on the subject of expecting too much of one’s self-control, closed it at once. Without a word she watched him stalk into the bathroom.

  They said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She would whip up something extra special for breakfast, she decided. And she would keep quiet while she did it. Croft was obviously going through a period of adjustment and needed the time to think.

  That decision couldn’t stop the silent, laughing grin that suddenly curved her mouth.

  Several hours later Mercy sat in the passenger seat of a rented Toyota and struggled with the large, folded map of Colorado she had picked up from the car rental agency. They had left the Denver airport, following Interstate 25 south according to the directions that had been neatly typed on a piece of paper and left waiting at the rental agency.

  Once away from the big city haze around Denver, a perfect blue Colorado sky had beckoned. The late afternoon sunshine seemed stronger, more intense than it had back in Washington. On the right the massive barrier of the Rocky Mountains paralleled the interstate, challenging more adventurous drivers to leave the freeway and try their luck in a far more primitive environment. Most of the traffic ignored the challenge.

  Croft was driving, his movements relaxed and economical, his full attention on the traffic around him. He had made the decisions at the rental agency, selecting a Toyota Celica for the mountain roads. Mercy watched him surreptitiously, aware of his quiet, focused concentration. He did everything that way, she realized. He had a way of aiming himself and channeling his energy on whatever task came to hand.

  He was not the kind of man to get distracted from whatever he had originally set out to do.

  That last thought had been bothering her off and on since that morning. It should have occurred to her earlier, Mercy chided herself. But the night before she knew she had wanted to believe that she had succeeded in distracting Croft on some important level. The bright light of day and several hours of contemplation had reminded her that wasn’t really very likely. It would take a great deal to genuinely distract Croft Falconer, a lot more than the not-very-sophisticated responses of a woman who had practically tripped over her own feet falling into his arms.

  “What’s the matter?” Croft gave her a quick, questioning frown. “Did you make a mistake in the directions?”

  Mercy wrinkled her nose. “No, I did not make a mistake in the directions. We’re almost at the turnoff into the mountains. Just another couple of miles.”

  A reasonably normal level of peace had been restored between Croft and Mercy immediately following the homemade pancakes and pure maple syrup she had served for breakfast. That, however, did not mean they weren’t still occasionally rather sharp with each other. For example, Croft had nearly gotten a cup of tea dumped on his head when he had made the mistake of complaining about having to make do with a tea bag. He had attempted to give his hostess precise instructions on the proper preparation of tea and had found himself looking up at a full mug being held threateningly over his head. He’d had the sense to cease and desist.

  At first she had believed Croft’s continued, periodic brusqueness was a hangover from his earlier flash of male temperament. But now she was coming to the conclusion that it was caused by something else. She had the strange feeling his mind was on a different matter, something more important to him than a recalcitrant woman. The realization made Mercy uneasy.

  “Mr. Gladstone’s note suggests we stay at a particular motel near the ski resort area this evening. It’s one of the few that will be open at this time of year. Tomorrow morning we�
�ll drive on to his home.” Mercy leaned forward, reading the signs that were flashing by overhead. “This is the exit. Turn off here and head toward the mountains.”

  Croft obediently swung the car off the interstate and picked up the narrow two-lane road that led into the steep terrain beyond. The mountains soon rose around them, hemming in the tiny swath of roadway. The sparse vegetation quickly thickened, turning into a forest of dark green that cut off the view of the distant peaks.

  “I’ve never been very fond of mountains,” Mercy remarked conversationally. “Everything always seems so oppressive in them. It always looks as though it’s dusk or twilight during the daytime and at night it’s downright dark. Too dark. And the trees make weird sounds.”

  “That’s amusing, considering the fact that you live in the Pacific Northwest.” Croft was concentrating on the increasingly torturous road. “Washington is famous for its mountains.”

  “I don’t mind looking at them,” she explained patiently. “But you may have noticed I don’t actually live in them. I live near the sea.”

  “So do I.”

  Mercy nodded complacently. “I’m not surprised.” A smile edged the hard line of his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

  “Maybe it’s your interest in watercolors. They always seem more appropriate to seaside painting. Or maybe it’s just that you’re the kind of man who would appreciate the natural drama of living near the ocean. I’m not sure. I’m just not surprised to hear you have a home by the water.”

  “When we’re through dealing with Gladstone I’ll take you to Oregon.”

  She smiled. “It’s a deal.” It gave her a lift to hear him talk about the future. Then she thought about the odd phrasing of the sentence. He hadn’t talked about delivering the book to Gladstone, he’d said when they were through dealing with Gladstone. Mercy’s smile became a frown. She glared at the winding road ahead. “Hadn’t you better slow down a bit? This road isn’t an interstate.”

  “Don’t worry, Mercy. Everything’s under control.”

  She leaned back in the seat and sighed because he was right. The man drove with the precision and expertise of a professional race car driver. Each curve was met and conquered with perfect timing. The Toyota was responding to a master’s touch.

  “You’ve got awfully good reflexes, don’t you, Croft?” It was almost an accusation.

  “Yes,” he said without any trace of pride. It was simply a fact as far as he was concerned.

  Shortly before seven that evening Croft parked the rented Toyota in the lot of a somewhat shabby but clean-looking motel. The structure was on the fringes of what was undoubtedly a lively ski resort during the winter. The two-story motel was probably much more cheerful and welcoming when it was surrounded by crisp white snow and flocks of eager skiers. Now at the end of a drowsy summer day with long shadows already cutting off the waning sun, the place looked dreary to Mercy’s critical eye.

  Croft glanced at her expression as he started to take the luggage out of the car. “We could try to find another place farther down the line.”

  Mercy eyed the handful of cars in the parking lot. “We might as well stay here. It’s getting late and there’s no guarantee any other place would be open. At least they’ve got a coffee shop. I’m starving.”

  Croft hesitated, then shrugged and started toward the tiny lobby.

  Mercy suddenly remembered something. She trotted to catch up with him. “Two rooms, Croft.”

  He said nothing, didn’t bother to look at her. He just kept striding toward the entrance.

  “And I like to be on the second level,” Mercy added forcefully.

  “Any other requests?”

  She didn’t care for the cold tone of his voice. “Yes. See if they have a safe. Ι think I’d like to put Valley into it for the night.”

  He stopped abruptly and stared down at her. “Why in hell do you want to do that? You haven’t worried about keeping it in your apartment for the past few weeks. Why start fretting about it now?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Maybe it’s because this place is so rundown looking. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the staff, does it? No telling who’s working here. I’ll bet the locks on the doors are the kind you can open with a credit card. Women traveling alone learn to take precautions, Croft. If some joker decided to prowl my room looking for cash while I was asleep he might accidentally find Valley and take it on a whim.”

  “You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you were sleeping with me.”

  His logic was unassailable, so she decided to twist it. “No,” she agreed tartly “I wouldn’t. You’re not the type to prowl motel rooms going through ladies’ purses, are you?”

  “Not on my good days.”

  The clerk behind the desk proved helpful and courteous, to Mercy’s surprise. After he had assigned them their rooms, he accepted the paper-wrapped copy of Valley and put it in the motel safe. The safe was an ancient thing, but it looked solid enough, Mercy thought. She felt better knowing the nucleus of her business future was safely stowed for the night.

  Over an uninteresting, distinctly greasy meal of hamburgers and fries in the empty coffee shop, Mercy attempted to keep up a cheerful conversation with Croft. But he hadn’t been overly talkative all day and didn’t appear inclined to change the situation now. Once again Mercy had the impression his mind was on other things. It was frustrating. It was also depressing.

  So much for using this little jaunt to Colorado to get to know each other, she decided gloomily.

  By the time Mercy crawled into the lumpy bed and turned out the light that had illuminated the plain, cheaply furnished room, she was seriously wondering whether anyone ever got to know Croft Falconer very well. She doubted it.

  She lay in silence for a few minutes listening for sounds from the room next to hers. Croft had gotten the room next door. The walls were thin but other than plumbing sounds she couldn’t hear any sign of him.

  That was hardly surprising, she told herself. The man moved like a ghost. Mercy fluffed her pillow, turned on her side and closed her eyes.

  Croft stood in darkness watching the shadows outside the motel room window. He had opened the window earlier in an effort to get some fresh air into the musty, damp-smelling room. The pine and fir outside sighed in anguish. Mercy was right, he thought in fleeting amusement. The trees did make weird sounds. They also cut off most of the starlight that tried to filter through them. The darkness on the forest floor was very thick.

  But unlike Mercy he didn’t find the heavy darkness oppressive. He could understand her instinctive reaction. She was a creature of the light. Glowing, transparent, vibrant with color. He, on the other hand, was a creature of the night. He comprehended darkness, knew it on an intimate level, used it, acknowledged it, accepted it.

  Half an hour before Mercy had finally settled down to sleep. He had listened to her rustle around the room, cataloging each sound and noting it as a part of her bedtime ritual. He had paid particular attention when he’d heard her open the suitcase. He could just imagine her taking out a prim, full-length nightgown.

  Then he had listened with a sense of pleasant anticipation as she opened a closet door. She would be taking off the bright papaya-colored shirt she had worn, unbuttoning it quickly and revealing the sweet curve of her breasts. The chill in the room probably caused her responsive nipples to tighten.

  Next had come the jeans. He had heard her step out of them and had drawn a mental image of her nicely rounded rear clad only in filmy panties. In a moment the panties had followed the jeans. He had heard the slight, unbalanced movement she’d made when she had caught hold of the closet door to steady herself while she pulled them off. Then she was naked. He had imagined the way the light brown triangle of curls at the apex of her legs would have gleamed in the dull light from the overhead fixture.

  The
pleasant anticipation had given way to frustration as Croft had listened to Mercy climb into bed. His barely contained desire had made him restless.

  Now, as he stood near the window, he contemplated letting himself into Mercy’s room and joining her in bed. She would be drowsy and soft with sleep, not really in any condition to lecture him on the proper course of their relationship.

  Relationship.

  It occurred to him he didn’t like the word. Probably because he didn’t completely understand it. It was too vague, too imprecise, and it covered too much territory. It was a word he couldn’t fully comprehend or understand a woman’s word. A female could use it and pin any meaning she wanted on it, leaving a man to flounder in search of a definition. Besides, it didn’t begin to describe the bond that existed between himself and Mercy now that they had become lovers.

  He remembered how she had surrendered completely in his arms and told himself that if he pushed just a little, she would do so again tonight. He liked that, liked knowing he could overcome her normal wariness.

  Croft brushed aside the memories of how he had lost his own sense of control. It was easier not to think about that aspect of the lovemaking.

  The tension in his body made him aware of the torture he was inflicting on himself. Deliberately Croft turned his mind to other matters. He was supposed to be working, he reminded himself grimly. The woman had a way of distracting him that was disconcerting and potentially dangerous.

  Valley of Secret Jewels was the important thing at the moment. Croft frowned, thinking about Mercy’s insistence on leaving it in the motel safe. He would have offered to keep it for her, but he had had a hunch she would have refused. She didn’t like the notion that he was interested in Valley. It made her distrust him a little. He, in turn, hadn’t liked the idea of her distrusting him, so he hadn’t even brought up the possibility of giving him the book for safekeeping. It was all very convoluted when he thought about it.