by Nora Roberts
would like to go up to my room now. I’m very tired.”
He was frowning into his drink. Laine, without a backward glance, walked to her room.
Chapter Three
Laine faced the woman in the mirror. She saw a pale face, dominated by wide, shadowed eyes. Reaching for her rouge, she placed borrowed color in her cheeks.
She had known her mother’s faults: the egotism, the shallowness. As a child, it had been easy to overlook the flaws and prize the sporadic, exciting visits with the vibrant, fairy-tale woman. Icecream parfaits and party dresses were such a contrast to homespun uniforms and porridge. As Laine had grown older, the visits had become further spaced and shorter. It became routine for her to spend her vacations from school with the nuns. She had begun to see, through the objectivity of distance, her mother’s desperation for youth, her selfish grip on her own beauty. A grown daughter with firm limbs and unlined skin had been more of an obstacle than an accomplishment. A grown daughter was a reminder of one’s own mortality.
She was always afraid of losing, Laine thought. Her looks, her youth, her friends, her men. All the creams and potions. She sighed and shut her eyes. All the dyes and lotions. There had been a collection of porcelain dolls, Laine remembered. Vanessa’s dolls, or so she had thought. Twelve porcelain dolls, each from a different country. She thought of how beautiful the Spanish doll had been with its high comb and mantilla. And the earrings … Laine tossed down her brush and whirled around the room. Those lovely opal earrings that looked so fragile in Vanessa’s ears. I remember seeing her wear them, just as I remember listing them and the twelve porcelain dolls for auction. How much more that was mine did she keep from me? Blindly, Laine stared out her window. The incredible array of island blossoms might not have existed.
What kind of woman was she to keep what was mine for her own pleasure? To let me think, year after year, that my father had forgotten me? She kept me from him, even from his words on paper. I resent her for that, how I resent her for that. Not for the money, but for the lies and the loss. She must have used the checks to keep her apartment in Paris, and for all those clothes and all those parties. Laine shut her eyes tight on waves of outrage. At least I know now why she took me with her to France: as an insurance policy. She lived off me for nearly fifteen years, and even then it wasn’t enough. Laine felt tears squeezing through her closed lids. Oh, how Cap must hate me. How he must hate me for the ingratitude and the coldness. He would never believe me. She sighed, remembering her father’s reaction to her appearance. “You’ve the look of your mother.” Opening her eyes, she walked back and studied her face in the mirror.
It was true, she decided as she ran her fingertips along her cheeks. The resemblance was there in the bone structure, in the coloring. Laine frowned, finding no pleasure in her inheritance. He’s only to look at me to see her. He’s only to look at me to remember. He’ll think as Dillon O’Brian thinks. How could I expect anything else? For a few moments, Laine and her reflection merely stared at one another. But perhaps, she mused, her bottom lip thrust forward in thought, with a week or two I might salvage something of what used to be, some portion of the friendship. I would be content with that. But he must not think I’ve come for money, so I must be careful he not find out how little I have left. More than anything, I shall have to be careful around Mr. O’Brian.
Detestable man, she thought on a fresh flurry of anger. He is surely the most ill-bred, mannerless man I have ever met. He’s worse, much worse, than any of Vanessa’s hangers-on. At least they managed to wear a light coat of respectability. Cap probably picked him up off the beach out of pity and made him his partner. He has insolent eyes, she added, lifting her brush and tugging it through her hair. Always looking at you as if he knew how you would feel in his arms. He’s nothing but a womanizer. Tossing down the brush, she glared at the woman in the glass. He’s just an unrefined, arrogant womanizer. Look at the way he behaved on the plane.
The glare faded as she lifted a finger to rub it over her lips. The memory of their turbulent capture flooded back. You’ve been kissed before, she lectured, shaking her head against the echoing sensations. Not like that, a small voice insisted. Never like that.
“Oh, the devil with Dillon O’Brian!” she muttered aloud, and just barely resisted the urge to slam her bedroom door on her way out.
Laine hesitated at the sound of masculine voices. It was a new sound for one generally accustomed to female company, and she found it pleasant. There was a mixture of deep blends, her father’s booming drum tones and Dillon’s laconic drawl. She heard a laugh, an appealing, uninhibited rumble, and she frowned as she recognized it as Dillon’s. Quietly, she came down the rest of the steps and moved to the doorway.
“Then, when I took out the carburetor, he stared at it, muttered a stream of incantations and shook his head. I ended up fixing it myself.”
“And a lot quicker than the Maui mechanic or any other would have.” Cap’s rich chuckle reached Laine as she stepped into the doorway.
They were seated easily. Dillon was sprawled on the sofa, her father in a chair. Pipe smoke rose from the tray beside him. Both were relaxed and so content in each other’s company that Laine felt the urge to back away and leave them undisturbed. She felt an intruder into some long established routine. With a swift pang of envy, she took a step in retreat.
Her movement caught Dillon’s attention. Before she could leave, his eyes held her motionless just as effectively as if his arms had reached out to capture her. She had changed from the sophisticated suit she had worn for the flight into a simple white dress from her own wardrobe. Unadorned and ingenue, it emphasized her youth and her slender innocence. Following the direction of Dillon’s unsmiling survey, Cap saw Laine and rose. As he stood, his ease transformed into awkwardness.
“Hello, Laine. Have you settled in all right?”
Laine forced herself to shift her attention from Dillon to her father. “Yes, thank you.” The moistening of her lips was the first outward sign of nerves. “The room is lovely. I’m sorry. Did I interrupt?” Her hands fluttered once, then were joined loosely as if to keep them still.
“No … ah, come in and sit down. Just a little shoptalk.”
She hesitated again before stepping into the room.
“Would you like a drink?” Cap moved to the bar and jiggled glasses. Dillon remained silent and seated.
“No, nothing, thank you.” Laine tried a smile. “Your home is beautiful. I can see the beach from my window.” Taking the remaining seat on the sofa, Laine kept as much distance between herself and Dillon as possible. “It must be marvelous being close enough to swim when the mood strikes you.”
“I don’t get to the water as much as I used to.” Cap settled down again, tapping his pipe against the tray. “Used to scuba some. Now, Dillon’s the one for it.” Laine heard the affection in his voice, and caught it again in his smiling glance at the man beside her.
“I find the sea and the sky have a lot in common,” Dillon commented, reaching forward to lift his drink from the table. “Freedom and challenge.” He sent Cap an easy smile. “I taught Cap to explore the fathoms, he taught me to fly.”
“I suppose I’m more of a land creature,” Laine replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze levelly. “I haven’t much experience in the air or on the sea.”
Dillon swirled his drink idly, but his eyes held challenge. “You do swim, don’t you?”
“I manage.”
“Fine.” He took another swallow of his drink. “I’ll teach you to snorkel.” Setting down the glass, he resumed his relaxed position. “Tomorrow. We’ll get an early start.”
His arrogance shot up Laine’s spine like a rod. Her tone became cool and dismissive. “I wouldn’t presume to impose on your time, Mr. O’Brian.”
Unaffected by the frost in her voice, Dillon continued. “No trouble. I’ve got nothing scheduled until the afternoon. You’ve got some extra gear around, haven’t you, Cap?”
“Su
re, in the back room.” Hurt by the apparent relief in his voice, Laine shut her eyes briefly. “You’ll enjoy yourself, Laine. Dillon’s a fine teacher, and he knows these waters.”
Laine gave Dillon a polite smile, hoping he could read between the lines. “I’m sure you know how much I appreciate your time, Mr. O’Brian.”
The lifting of his brows indicated that their silent communication was proceeding with perfect understanding. “No more than I your company, Miss Simmons.”
“Dinner.” Miri’s abrupt announcement startled Laine. “You.” She pointed an accusing finger at Laine, then crooked it in a commanding gesture. “Come eat, and don’t pick at your food. Too skinny,” she muttered and whisked away in a flurry of brilliant colors.
Laine’s arm was captured as they followed in the wake of Miri’s waves. Dillon slowed her progress until they were alone in the corridor. “My compliments on your entrance. You were the picture of the pure young virgin.”
“I have no doubt you would like to offer me to the nearest volcano god, Mr. O’Brian, but perhaps you would allow me to have my last meal in peace.”
“Miss Simmons.” He bowed with exaggerated gallantry and increased his hold on her arm. “Even I can stir myself on occasion to escort a lady into dinner.”
“Perhaps with a great deal of concentration, you could accomplish this spectacular feat without breaking my arm.”
Laine gritted her teeth as they entered the glass-enclosed dining room. Dillon pulled out her chair. She glanced coldly up at him. “Thank you, Mr. O’Brian,” she murmured as she slid into her seat. Detestable man!
Inclining his head politely, Dillon rounded the table and dropped into a chair. “Hey, Cap, that little cabin plane we’ve been using on the Maui run is running a bit rough. I want to have a look at it before it goes up again.”
“Hmm. What do you think’s the problem?”
There began a technical, and to Laine unintelligible, discussion. Miri entered, placing a steaming tray of fish in front of Laine with a meaningful thump. To assure she had not been misunderstood, Miri pointed a finger at the platter, then at Laine’s empty plate before she swirled from the room.
The conversation had turned to the intricacies of fuel systems by the time Laine had eaten all she could of Miri’s fish. Her silence during the meal had been almost complete as the men enjoyed their mutual interest. She saw, as she watched him, that her father’s lack of courtesy was not deliberate, but rather the result of years of living alone. He was, she decided, a man comfortable with men and out of his depth with feminine company. Though she felt Dillon’s rudeness was intentional, it was her father’s unconscious slight which stung.
“You will excuse me?” Laine rose during a brief lull in the conversation. She felt a fresh surge of regret as she read the discomfort in her father’s eyes. “I’m a bit tired. Please.” She managed a smile as she started to rise. “Don’t disturb yourself, I know the way.” As she turned to go, she could almost hear the room sigh with relief at her exit.
Later that evening, Laine felt stifled in her room. The house was quiet. The tropical moon had risen and she could see the curtains flutter with the gentle whispers of perfumed air. Unable to bear the loneliness of the four walls any longer, she stole quietly downstairs and into the night. As she wandered without regard for destination, she could hear the night birds call to each other, piercing the stillness with a strange, foreign music. She listened to the sea’s murmur and slipped off her shoes to walk across the fine layer of sand to meet it.
The water fringed in a wide arch, frothing against the sands and lapping back into the womb of midnight blue. Its surface winked with mirrored stars. Laine breathed deeply of its scent, mingling with the flowered air.
But this paradise was not for her. Dillon and her father had banished her. It was the same story all over again. She remembered how often she had been excluded on her visits to her mother’s home in Paris. Again an intruder, Laine decided, and wondered if she had either the strength or the will to pursue the smiling masquerade for even a week of her father’s company. Her place was not with him any more than it had been with Vanessa. Dropping to the sand, Laine brought her knees to her chest and wept for the years of loss.
“I don’t have a handkerchief, so you’ll have to cope without one.”
At the sound of Dillon’s voice, Laine shuddered and hugged her knees tighter. “Please, go away.”
“What’s the problem, Duchess?” His voice was rough and impatient. If she had had more experience, Laine might have recognized a masculine discomfort with feminine tears. “If things aren’t going as planned, sitting on the beach and crying isn’t going to help. Especially if there’s no one around to sympathize.”
“Go away,” she repeated, keeping her face buried. “I want you to leave me alone. I want to be alone.”
“You might as well get used to it,” he returned carelessly. “I intend to keep a close eye on you until you’re back in Europe. Cap’s too soft to hold out against the sweet, innocent routine for long.”
Laine sprang up and launched herself at him. He staggered a moment as the small missile caught him off guard. “He’s my father, do you understand? My father. I have a right to be with him. I have a right to know him.” With useless fury, she beat her fists against his chest. He weathered the attack with some surprise before he caught her arms and dragged her, still swinging, against him.
“There’s quite a temper under the ice! You can always try the routine about not getting his letters—that should further your campaign.”
“I don’t want his pity, do you hear?” She pushed and shoved and struck out while Dillon held her with minimum effort. “I would rather have his hate than his disinterest, but I would rather have his disinterest than his pity.”
“Hold still, blast it,” he ordered, losing patience with the battle. “You’re not going to get hurt.”
“I will not hold still,” Laine flung back. “I am not a puppy who washed up on his doorstep and needs to be dried off and given a corner and a pat on the head. I will have my two weeks, and I won’t let you spoil it for me.” She tossed back her head. Tears fell freely, but her eyes now held fury rather than sorrow. “Let me go! I don’t want you to touch me.” She began to battle with new enthusiasm, kicking and nearly throwing them both onto the sand.
“All right, that’s enough.” Swiftly, he used his arms to band, his mouth to silence.
He was drawing her into a whirlpool, spinning and spinning, until all sense of time and existence was lost in the current. She would taste the salt of her own tears mixed with some tangy, vital flavor which belonged to him. She felt a swift heat rise to her skin and fought against it as desperately as she fought against his imprisoning arms. His mouth took hers once more, enticing her to give what she did not yet understand. All at once she lost all resistance, all sense of self. She went limp in his arms, her lips softening in surrender. Dillon drew her away and without even being aware of what she was doing, Laine dropped her head to his chest. She trembled as she felt his hand brush lightly through her hair, and nestled closer to him. Suddenly warm and no longer alone, she shut her eyes and let the gamut of emotions run its course.
“Just who are you, Laine Simmons?” Dillon drew her away again. He closed a firm hand under her chin as she stubbornly fought to keep her head lowered. “Look at me,” he commanded. The order was absolute. With his eyes narrowed, he examined her without mercy.
Her eyes were wide and brimming, the tears trembling down her cheeks and clinging to her lashes. All layers of her borrowed sophistication had been stripped away, leaving only the vulnerability. His search ended on an impatient oath. “Ice, then fire, now tears. No, don’t,” he commanded as she struggled to lower her head again. “I’m not in the mood to test my resistance.” He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “You’re going to be nothing but trouble, I should have seen that from the first look. But you’re here, and we’re going to have to come to terms.”
“Dillon, for pity’s sake. Let’s not be any more ridiculous than necessary.”
“Dillon,” Laine repeated, sniffling and despising herself. “I don’t think I can discuss terms with any coherence tonight. If you would just let me go, we could draw up a contract tomorrow.”
“No, the terms are simple because they’re all mine.”
“That sounds exceedingly reasonable.” She was pleased that irony replaced tears.
“While you’re here,” Dillon continued mildly, “we’re going to be together like shadow and shade. I’m your guardian angel until you go back to the Left Bank. If you make a wrong move with Cap, I’m coming down on you so fast you won’t be able to blink those little-girl eyes.”
“Is my father so helpless he needs protection from his own daughter?” She brushed furiously at her lingering tears.
“There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t need protection from you, Duchess.” Tilting his head, he studied her damp, glowing face. “If you’re an operator, you’re a good one. If you’re not, I’ll apologize when the time comes.”
“You may keep your apology and have it for breakfast. With any luck, you’ll strangle on it.”
Dillon threw back his head and laughed, the same appealing rumble Laine had heard earlier. Outraged both with the laughter and its effect on her, she swung back her hand to slap his face.
“Oh, no.” Dillon grabbed her wrist. “Don’t spoil it. I’d just have to hit you back, and you look fabulous when you’re spitting fire. It’s much more to my taste than the cool mademoiselle from Paris. Listen, Laine.” He took an exaggerated breath to control his laughter, and she found herself struggling to deal with the stir caused by the way her name sounded on his lips. “Let’s try a truce, at least in public. Privately, we can have a round a night, with or without gloves.”
“That should suit you well enough.” Laine wriggled out of his loosened hold and tossed her head. “You have a considerable advantage—given your weight and strength.”
“Yeah.” Dillon grinned and moved his shoulders. “Learn to live with it. Come on.” He took her hand in a friendly gesture which nonplussed her. “Into bed; you’ve got to get up early tomorrow. I don’t like to lose the morning.”
“I’m not going with you tomorrow.” She tugged her hand away and planted her bare heels in the sand. “You’ll probably attempt to drown me, then hide my body in some cove.”