by Helen Conrad
“Hi, Mister Masters,” she greeted him as any American teenager would. “Did you need something?”
He nodded, not looking at the girl. “Show Miss Davis to the room I had you prepare,” he ordered shortly. Spinning on his heels, he disappeared down the hall.
Lia didn’t seem to find his behavior rude. It’s probably the way he acts all the time, thought Summer gloomily. The girl happily led Summer up the stairs and into a huge, beautifully furnished room that took her breath away.
“How gorgeous!” she exclaimed, circling it in delight. Everything was white and gold and gleaming with the sunlight that poured into the open window as it had into the mother’s room below. “It’s a room for a princess, isn’t it?” she laughed to the smiling girl.
“Oh, yes,” breathed Lia. “It’s my favorite room in this house. I love when I get to clean it.”
“Why is the rest of the house kept so gloomy when it could all be like this?” Summer asked curiously.
Lia made a face. “Mr. Masters is a very private person,” she said conspiratorially. “He wants everything closed so that no one can see into the house.”
“Oh really?” Summer plopped down on the bed and gazed at the girl seriously. “What is he up to that he doesn’t want others to see?”
Lia laughed and shrugged her broad shoulders. Her face lit up when she smiled, and one forgot her plainness in the infectious joy she spun around herself. “I don’t know,” she said gaily. “I never see it either.” She grinned wickedly at Summer. “Maybe he was just getting ready for the day he was going to bring you here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, startled.
Lia’s humorous look left little doubt about what she meant. “The two of you ...” She shrugged expressively.
“I am not here as . . . as . . . Mr. Masters’ girl friend,” Summer insisted angrily. “I don’t know what he’s told you.”
“Oh, no, Miss Davis.” The girl was distressed at her annoyed tone. “He didn’t say anything. I just thought . . . well, he is so good looking, and you are so beautiful ...”
“I am here visiting Karl Benson. Mr. Masters kindly offered to let me stay here in his house. That is all there is to it.”
“Oh.” The girl was disappointed, but not devastated. “Then I guess Valima won’t have to get mad, huh?”
“Valima?” She’d heard that name somewhere before. “Who is Valima?”
But Lia knew she’d probably said too much, and she began a hasty retreat out the door.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she called behind her, and then her bare feet could be heard slapping on the stairway.
Summer closed the door to her room, then walked slowly out through the opening onto the upper, covered veranda. Leaning against the wooden railing, she looked out over the lush, green jungle that spread up onto the flanks of the mountain. The color was so deep, so rich, she could hardly believe it was real.
A noise below drew her attention and she looked down to see Jack striding away from the house. She watched as he walked toward the path that led down to the village road, noting the smooth, athletic physical conditioning he exhibited. Just watching him, she could feel the animal magnetism of the man. He was too vital for her taste. She wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with all that vibrant strength. The less she saw of him during her stay, the better.
She’d just started to turn away when he looked up and met her eyes. It was too late to disappear, too late to pretend she hadn’t been staring after him. She stood her ground, trying to glare just as hard as he was, but when he lowered his gaze and went on, she let her breath out with a gasp and sank down to rest. It was exhausting trying to hold her own with the man.
“Maybe,” a rebellious thought said in one part of her mind, “you ought to try being nice to him. That might actually work.” But she dismissed that, rolling her eyes.
Back in her room, she flopped onto the bed and stared at the birch ceiling. She had always said that men were nothing but trouble, and she couldn’t think of a single bit of evidence against that theory right now. Every man in her life did nothing but complicate it.
Her father had been the worst. Of course, she’d loved him completely. But that didn’t make him any less maddening. She’d been the only child of a Texas oil man and his southern Alabama belle of a wife. She remembered her mother as being very sweet and always there, but never the factor in her life that her Daddy was. When her mother had died of a rare blood disease when Summer was eight years old, she’d been sad, but not heartbroken the way she’d been when her Daddy had his heart attack and left her all alone two years ago. That had been real sorrow.
After her mother’s death, her father had remarried. And then divorced and remarried again. Between stepmothers, there were the girl friends. None of them ever treated her like a real mother would. By the time she was thirteen, they considered her a rival most of all—competition for her father’s attention. They came and they went, but she stayed. She knew she had her father’s heart in a way they never would. She was the permanent woman in her father’s life and she learned that beauty was potent on a temporary basis, but it was cheap currency in the long run.
Her Daddy had given her all the admiration in the world, but he’d never given her the one thing she wanted—faith. Faith in her ability to guide Davis Oil the way a man would. No matter how hard she worked, he never believed she could hold her own against all the sharks waiting to rip apart the weaker members of the oil business.
“You just go out and get yourself a man, honey,” he would tell her over and over again. “Somebody to stand at your side. Somebody to make sure no one tries to bully you. Then I’ll know you can handle this job.”
She’d ignored him, to her regret. But she had never believed he would die so suddenly, and that his will would be so impossible.
At his death, Sam Davis controlled seventy-five percent of the stock in his company. Those shares were being held in trust until Summer’s twenty-eighth birthday, at which time they would be divided between Summer and her cousin, Skip. If she were married, fifty percent would go to her, twenty-five to Skip. If she were not married, the portions would reverse.
She didn’t care about the money value. There would be plenty for everyone. It was control of the company she wanted. A free hand to run things as she saw fit. If Karl would marry her, she would have that. The business arrangement with Wayne would have given her the same advantage. But, just in time, she’d found out that Wayne was going to insist on more than the business.
Wayne Bullock had been a business associate of her father’s. He had known all about the will, and he’d been ready to marry Summer to make sure things went her way. She’d thought it was the best of all possible solutions, until Wayne had shown his true colors. She smiled now, thinking how desperate Wayne must be right now, not knowing where she was, but knowing he’d screwed up a good thing for himself with his greed. Poor old Wayne.
And Skip—what was he thinking now? Not that he particularly wanted to run Davis Oil. He’d studied agriculture at college right along with Karl and he was now running a breeding ranch outside of Dallas. That was what he loved to do—play cowboy. He would know she’d disappeared by now. And he would be wondering if that meant he would soon own controlling interest in the oil company.
And there was Karl. What would he say when she made the proposition to him? when he found out he could be married to a very rich girl, instead of wasting away here in the tropics? He would jump at the chance. She had no doubt.
The only man who still worried her was Jack. She wished she understood him better.
What a joke! Since when had she ever bothered to try to understand a man? They were what they were, and usually all too open about it. But Jack . . . She wasn’t sure.
He seemed so many different people to her. At first, at the dock on Tutuila, he’d seemed easy going, full of laughter and ready for fun. On the boat ride, he’d changed. First he’d been withdrawn, remote, then
all too aggressive when she had come in from her swim. Now he was cold, mocking her at every turn, as though the more he had come to know her, the less he liked her.
But that meant nothing to her. She had long ago given up worrying whether people liked her. It was whether they feared or respected her that counted. Now if only she could discover a way to force Jack to fear or respect her!
But sleep overtook her before she could think up a plan, and when she awoke she knew seven o’clock wasn’t far away.
Someone had brought up her suitcases while she slept and she rummaged through them now, finding an apricot-colored crepe de chine sundress with a shirred back and a long skirt that clung softly to her legs. She dabbed on a bit of makeup, brushed her shining hair back so that it bounced against her tanned, bare shoulders, and made her way downstairs.
She met Nora, the nurse, in the hallway.
“Hi,” she greeted her brightly. “How is Mrs. Masters?”
The nurse gave her an absent smile. “Not real well. She doesn’t have many good days now.” She shrugged helplessly. “All we can do is try to make her last days as comfortable as we can.” Smiling sadly, she left Summer and slipped down the hall and into the kitchen.
Summer stood where she was, stunned. Last days! This was awful. She had to get out of here. Whirling about as though to race up and pack her bag, she ran into Jack who was just coming in from outside.
He caught hold of her arm, steadying her, but didn’t say a word as she gazed, startled, up into his eyes.
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, pulling herself together.
“So I noticed.” Again, his look dismissed her and he started for the stairs. “I’ll be down in half an hour,” he informed her as he mounted the steps. “I’m sure you can keep Karl company if he arrives before I return.”
At least that was something she could agree with. The sooner Karl made an appearance, the better. Not sure where she was meant to go, Summer wandered through the house, peeking into rooms as she went.
It was a nice house, if a bit dark and gloomy. It had an old-fashioned air to it that could have used a bit of livening up. But on the whole, it looked like a home in which people had once lived happy, fulfilling lives.
She came upon what she assumed was the sitting room. Fresh liquor bottles were set out, with ice and glasses. She found a chilled bottle of white wine and poured herself a small glass of it, then sat down to think.
When should she tell Karl? Her instincts told her the sooner the better. She wouldn’t feel secure until they were actually married.
But she was very sure of Karl. She remembered how he’d followed her around that summer, hanging on her every word, ready to go out and fight a dragon if she asked him to. It had been something of a bore then, but now, looking back, it seemed very sweet and comforting. Just exactly what she needed.
He would be dumbfounded when he found out she wanted to marry him now. She smiled, imagining his reaction, already feeling the joy she was bringing into his life. And she had no doubt he would be ready to shake the dust of this island from his shoes in a hurry. Why, they would probably make it back to Dallas in time to laugh in the faces of people like Wayne.
And then she would begin to run her oil company the way it should be run. No more of this wimpy policy that the board had been following since her father’s death. She was Sam Davis’s daughter, and she would show them that she could take the chances he could, and gain the profits.
There was only one slight shadow to this scenario she had set up in her head. How was she going to like being married? How was she going to get along with Karl? Would it be a lasting thing, or just a six month business deal to conform to the constraints of the will? And how much should she tell Karl?
From the way he’d kissed her at his little house, it seemed his ardor for her hadn’t dimmed much, though the kiss had done very little for her. But then, men’s kisses never did do much for her. Summer had always suspected that this hoopla about love was very overrated. She had a feeling that love was only something people wished they could fall into. It was a nice thing to think about, like fairies and Santa Claus. But in real life, it didn’t have much meaning.
“Frigid,” Wayne had called her. Well, maybe she was. Suddenly, unbidden, the memory of Jack’s searing kiss flashed through her mind, but she shrugged it away. That had been because of her weakness, and the heat. She had already dealt with that and didn’t want to have to think about it again. It was all explained and could be forgotten.
At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. Unfortunately, there was a small part, way down deep, that wouldn’t listen. That little part of her kept bringing up pictures of his lips, his eyes, the clean cut of his strong hands, and she had a hard time keeping them down.
Karl did arrive before Jack came back down.
“Darling!” he greeted her as she came toward him, a vision of apricot mist. “You get more beautiful all the time, don’t you?” He pulled her into his arms and gazed down at her almost reverently.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she laughed up into his handsome face, and smiled as his warm mouth came down to bestow an affectionate kiss upon her. The kiss was long and earnest, but Summer somehow had the feeling that both of them were paying rather more attention to the doorway, listening for Jack’s tread, than they were to the kiss.
Still, Karl was smiling when he drew away, and she could feel the pleasure he took in her.
“Are you glad that I came?” she teased, looking up at him through her thick lashes.
“Aren’t I just!” he grinned, squeezing her tightly.
“How long do you want me to stay?” she asked coyly, sure of his answer.
“Forever!” he replied, and she felt a warm wave of satisfaction.
“Well,” she smiled, reaching up with a bejeweled hand to run a finger along the curve of his cheek. “It just so happens I’m working on something along those lines.”
Was this the right time? He was certainly primed for it. Should she tell him what she’d come for? Let him have it all right now? If only she knew how long she had before Jack would join them. As she thought of it, she glanced toward the hallway, and heard his steps on the stairs.
But Karl hadn’t heard. He was pulling her into another kiss, and when she tried to stop him, he mistook her warning for more teasing and kept up the attack. When Jack appeared in the doorway, he found them struggling with each other, Summer red-faced from the effort of escape, Karl puzzled, but ardent.
“It would seem that your technique could use polishing, Benson.” The low voice had the effect of a wedge, peeling the two of them apart.
“I’ve seen more willing maidens.”
They turned to face him, and after a poisonous glance, Summer tossed her golden hair back, and gave Karl an encouraging smile.
But Karl never saw it. As she gazed at the sandy-haired man, she was shocked to see the hatred that blazed in his eyes as he looked at his employer. In another second it was gone, covered up by a look of nervous embarrassment. Still it’d been there. She was sure of it. And she was sure that Jack had seen it too.
But now Jack’s attention was all on Summer. He moved closer to her, almost touching her body with his own, his tall, broad-shouldered presence intimidating her. He had changed into a crisp white shirt and a dinner jacket and was looking compellingly attractive. The sweep of dark hair over his forehead cried out for a hand to gently stroke it back.
“Funny,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that had a caress of its own. “I don’t remember you struggling like that this afternoon.”
She stared at him in horror, held motionless by some strange paralysis. His gaze was on her lips, as though looking for evidence of the kiss she’d just endured.
“In fact,” his rich, vibrant tones went on, “I don’t believe you’ll struggle now. Will you, Summer?”
His hand reached out and curled about her chin, his fingers stroking softly along the tender lines of her slen
der neck.
She’d forgotten Karl by now. Jack was all that was in her vision, all that was in her mind, and as his face began to lower toward hers, she raised her lips to meet his kiss, not needing any urging from the hand that held her chin, but moving as though toward some inevitable destiny.
A warning light was flashing in her eyes, a warning siren was screaming in her head, but she didn’t care. For the moment, for these few seconds, her baser instincts drew her on, greedily ready to try again the delicious, forbidden fruit she had tasted that afternoon on the boat.
His mouth was warm, tender, though there was a hint of searing fires banked beneath. Her lips melted against his, moist, responsive. She found herself swaying toward him, sensing a need to feel his body as close as his lips, needing to feel her breasts against him. The same sweet, dizzying wave overwhelmed her again, the same spell that had spun its web around her on the boat in the afternoon, and she had no will to resist it.
His lips moved on hers, laughing, savoring, coaxing out an emotion she hadn’t known she had.
Desire.
She felt it flare, a twisting, shivering thing that quivered through her, running down her thighs, weakening her knees. The sweet, narcotic pull had won, and she was glad in her surrender.
Then he was drawing away, though he still held an arm around her, and she realized that her eyes were closed. Opening them and seeing the mocking smile in his restored her equilibrium in a hurry.
“You see, Benson,” he was saying. “All you need is a little practice. Women are easy prey.”
Fury surged up in her, fury at him for his arrogant use of anyone who happened to be at hand, fury at herself for falling for his seduction, and mostly, fury at taking his joke so seriously that she had made herself into his fool. She straightened, pulling away from him in sharp anger.
“You despicable swine!” she spit out. “How dare you touch me like that?”