by Nora Roberts
teeth before moving to the curve of her neck. His fingers traced the low line of the bikini snug at her hips as his mouth roamed her cheek in its journey to hers.
Her lips parted before he requested it, but his kiss remained gentle, the passion simmering just below the surface. His hand touched and fondled, slipping easily under the barrier of her brief top to trail over the curve of her breast. The water sighed gently as flesh met flesh.
What with gentle caresses, the drifting buoyancy of the sea, and the growing heat of the ascending sun B.J. fell into a trancelike state. Perhaps, she thought, mind and limbs lethargic, she was meant to float forever in his arms. She shivered with pleasure.
“You’re getting cold,” Taylor murmured, drawing her away to study her face. “Come on.” He released her, leaving her without support in the sighing sea. The magic shattered. “We’ll sit in the sun.”
B.J. started for the shore with Taylor swimming easily beside her.
On the beach, she fanned her hair in the sun while Taylor stretched negligently beside her. She tried not to look at the strong planes of his face, his bronzed, glistening skin.
He told me how it would be, she reminded herself. Right from the beginning. I don’t seem to be able to do anything about it and if I don’t, I’ll end up being just another Darla in his life. Bringing her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on them and stared at the distant horizon. He’s attracted to me for some reason, perhaps because I’m different from other women in his life. I haven’t their sophistication or experience and I suppose he finds that appealing and amusing. I don’t know how to fight both loving him and wanting him. If it were just physical, I could avoid being hurt. If it were only an attraction, I could resist him.
She recalled suddenly his quick violence of the previous day and realized he was a man capable of employing whatever means necessary to gain an objective. At the moment, she knew he was playing her like a patient fisherman casting his line into calm waters. But ultimately, they both knew she would be captured in his net. Though it might be silk, it would still lead to eventual disaster.
“You’re very far away.” Sitting up, Taylor tangled his fingers in her damp hair and turned her to face him.
Silently, she studied every plane and angle of his face, engraving them on both heart and mind. There is too much strength there, she thought, rocked by a surge of love. Too much virility, too much knowledge. She scrambled to her feet, needing to postpone the inevitable.
“I’m starving,” she claimed. “Are you going to spring for breakfast? After all, I did win the race.”
“Did you?” He rose as she pulled the short robe over the briefness of her bikini.
“Yes,” she said, “positively.” Picking up Taylor’s light blue pullover, she held it out. “I was the undisputed winner.” She watched as he dragged the snug, crew necked shirt over his head then bent to retrieve the towels.
“Then you should buy my breakfast.” Smiling, he held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, she accepted.
“How do you feel about corn flakes?”
“Unenthusiastic.”
“Well.” Her shoulders moved in regret. “I’m afraid my funds are rather limited as I was hauled to Florida without ceremony.”
“Your credit’s good.” He released her hand and swung a friendly arm around her shoulders. They moved away from the sea.
***
By mid afternoon, B.J. felt euphoric. There was a new, charming friendliness about Taylor that made her realize she liked him every bit as much as she loved him.
She was given a thorough if belated tour of the hotel, allowed to wander through the silver and cobalt lounge, linger in the two elegantly stocked boutiques and examine the enormous expanse of the steel and white kitchen. In the game room, she was provided with an endless supply of change as Taylor watched her reckless enthusiasm with tolerance.
Leaning against a machine, he looked on as she steered her computer car to another horrendous wreck. “You know,” he commented as she held her hand for another quarter, “by the time you’ve finished, you’ll have spent every bit as much as that dress in the boutique cost. Why is it, you’ll take the money for these noisy machines, but you refuse to let me buy you that very appealing dress?”
“This is different,” she said vaguely, maneuvering the car around obstructions.
“How?” He grimaced as she narrowly missed an unwary pedestrian and skidded around a corner.
“You never said if you worked out the problem,” B.J. murmured as she twisted the wheel to avoid a slow moving vehicle.
“Problem?”
“Yes, the one you came down here to see to.”
“Oh, yes.” He smiled and brushed an insistent wisp from her cheek. “It’s working out nicely.”
“Oh, blast!” B.J. frowned as her car careened into a telephone pole, flipped through the air and landed with an impressive show of computer color and sound.
“Come on.” Taylor grabbed her hand as she looked up hopefully. “Let’s have some lunch before I go bankrupt.”
On the sundeck above the pool, they enjoyed quiche Lorraine and Chablis. A handful of people splashed and romped in the pale blue water. Toying with the remains of her meal, B.J. stared down at the swimmers and sun bathers. Her gaze swept to include the curve of beach before returning to Taylor. He was watching her, a small secret smile on his lips and in his eyes. She blinked in confused embarrassment.
“Is something wrong?” Battling the urge to wipe her cheek to; see if it was smudged, she lifted her glass and sipped the cool wine.
“No, I just enjoy looking at you. Your eyes are constantly changing hues. One minute they’re like peat smoke, and the next clear as a lake. You’ll never be able to keep secrets; they say too much.” His smile spread as her color rose. Her eyes shifted to the golden lights in her glass. “You’re an incredibly beautiful creature, B.J.”
She lifted her head, her eyes wide in surprise.
With a light chuckle, he captured her hand and brought it to his lips. “I don’t suppose I should tell you that too often. You’ll begin to see how true it is and lose that appealing air of innocence.”
Rising, he maintained possession of her hand, pulling her to her feet. “I’m going to take you to the Health Club. You can get a first hand impression of how this place works.”
“All right, but . . .”
“I’m leaving instructions that you’re to have the complete routine,” he interrupted. “And when I meet you at seven for dinner, I don’t want to see any shadows under your eyes.”
***
Transferred from Taylor’s authority to a perfectly shaped brunette, B.J. was whirlpooled, saunaed, pummeled and massaged. For three hours, she was alternately steamed and sprayed, plied with iced fruit juice and submerged in churning water. Her first instinct was to retrieve her clothes and quietly slip out. After finding they had been conveniently cached out of sight, she submitted, and soon found tensions she had been unaware of possessing seeping out of her.
Stomach down on a high table, she sighed under the magic hands of the masseuse and allowed her mind to float in the twilight world of half sleep. Dimly, the conversation of two women enjoying the same wonder drifted across to her.
“I happened to be staying here two years ago . . . so incredibly handsome . . . what a marvelous catch . . . All that lovely money as well . . . The Reynolds empire.”
At Taylor’s name, B.J.’s eyes opened and her inadvertent eavesdropping became deliberate.
“It’s a wonder some smart woman hasn’t snagged him yet.” An auburn haired woman tucked a bright strand behind her ear and folded her arms under her chin.
“Darling, you can be sure scores have tried.” Her brunette companion stifled a yawn and smiled with wry humor. “I don’t imagine he’s averse to the chase. A man like that thrives on feminine adulation.”
“He’s got mine.”
“Did you see his companion? I caught a glimpse last night and
again today by the pool.”
“Mmm, I saw them when they arrived, but I was too busy looking at him to take much notice. A blonde, wasn’t she?”
“Um-hum, though I don’t think that pale wheat shade was a gift of nature.”
B.J.’s first surge of outrage was almost immediately replaced by amusement. So, she decided, if I’m to be Taylor’s temporary, if fictional mistress, I might as well hear the opinion of the masses.
“Do you think this one will get her hooks in? Who is she anyway?”
“That’s precisely what I attempted to find out.” The brunette grimaced and mirrored her companion’s position of chin on arms. “It cost me twenty dollars to learn her name is B.J. Clark of all things. Beyond that, not even dear Paul Bailey knows anything. She just popped up out of the blue. She’s never been here before. As for getting her hooks in.” Elegantly tanned shoulders shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet either way. His eyes simply devour her; it’s enough to make you drool with envy.”
B.J. raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I suppose,” the brunette went on, “huge gray eyes and masses of blond hair are appealing. And she is rather attractive in a wholesome, peaches and cream sort of way.”
B.J. rose on her elbows and smiled across the room. “Thank you,” she said simply, then lowered her head and grinned into the ensuing silence.
Chapter 11
Refreshed and pleased with herself, B.J. entered Taylor’s suite, carrying a dress box under her arm. Though she had lost the minor tussle with the sales clerk in the boutique, she remained in high spirits. After her session in the spa, she had returned to the shop. Pointing to the gown of silver silk which Taylor had admired, she was prepared to surrender a large hunk of her bank account only to be told Mr. Reynolds had left instructions that any purchases she made were to be billed to him.
Annoyed by his arrogance, however generous, B.J. had argued with the implacable salesgirl. Ultimately, she had left the shop with the dress in hand vowing to see to the monetary details later.
If, she decided, pouring a substantial stream of bath salts under the rushing water of the tub, she was to portray the image of the mysterious lady from nowhere she was going to dress the part. She lowered herself into hot, frothy water and had just begun to relax when the door swung open.
“So, you’re back,” Taylor said easily, leaning against the door. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Taylor!” B.J. slid down in the tub, attempting to cover herself with the blanket of bubbles. “I’m having a bath!”
“Yes. I can see that, and little else. There’s no need to drown yourself. Would you like a drink?” The question was pleasant and impersonal.
Recalling the overheard conversation in the spa, B.J.’s pride rallied. It’s time, she decided, to give him back a bit of his own.
“That would be lovely.” Fluttering her lashes, she hoped her expression was unconcerned. “Some sherry would be nice, if it’s no bother.”
Watching his brow lift in surprise, B.J. felt decidedly smug. “It’s no trouble,” he said as he retreated, leaving the door ajar. She prayed fervently the bubbles would not burst until she had a chance to leave the tub and slip into her robe.
“Here you are.” Reentering, Taylor handed her a small glass shimmering with golden liquid.
B.J. gave him a smile and sipped. “Thanks. I’ll be finished soon if you want the bath.”
“Don’t rush,” he returned, delighted to see her coolness had somewhat rattled him, “I’ll use the other.”
“Suit yourself,” she said agreeably, making sure her shrug was mild and did little to disturb her peaceful waters. Relieved that the door closed behind him, B.J. expelled a long breath and set the remains of her drink on the edge of the tub.
***
For a full five minutes, B.J. stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Silver silk draped crossways over the curve of each breast, narrowing to thin straps over her shoulders before continuing down her sides to leave her back bare to the waist. The skirt fell straight over her slender hips and legs, one side slit to mid-thigh. She had piled her hair in a loose knot on top of her head, allowing a few curling tendrils to escape and frame her face.
B.J. found the stranger in the mirror intimidating. With a flash of intuition, she knew B.J. Clark could not live up to the promises hinted at by the woman in the glass.
“Almost ready?” Taylor’s knock and question jolted her out of her reverie.
“Yes, just coming.” Shaking her head, she gave the reflection a reassuring smile. “It’s just a dress,” she reminded both B.J. Clarks and turned from the mirror.
Taylor’s hand paused midway in the action of pouring pre-dinner drinks. He lifted his cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly as he surveyed B.J.’s entrance. “Well,” he said as she hesitated, “I see you bought it after all.”
“Yes.” With a surge of confidence, she crossed the room to join him. “As a woman of ill fame I felt my wardrobe inadequate.”
“Care to elaborate?” He handed B.J. a delicate glass.
She accepted automatically. “Just a conversation I overheard in the spa.” Her eyes lit with amusement, she set her glass on the bar. “Oh, Taylor, it was funny. I’m sure you have no idea how ardently your . . . ah . . . affairs are monitored.” Describing her afternoon at the spa, she was unable to suppress her giggles.
“I can’t tell you how it boosts the ego to be envied and touted as a woman of mystery! I certainly hope it’s not discovered that I’m a hotel manager from Lakeside, Vermont. It would spoil it.”
“No one would believe it anyway.” He did not appear to be amused by her story as, frowning, he sipped at his drink.
Confused by his expression, B.J. asked, “Don’t you like the dress after all?”
“I like it.” He took her hand, the smile at last taking command of his mouth. “Obviously, we’ll have to have champagne. You look much too elegant for anything else.”
***
They began their meal with oysters Rockefeller and champagne. Their table sat high in the double level dining room, in front of a wide wall aquarium. As the London broil was served, B.J. sipped her wine and glanced around the room.
“This is a lovely place, Taylor.” She gestured with a fine-boned hand to encompass the entire resort.
“It does the job.” He spoke with the smooth confidence of one who knew the worth of his possessions.
“Yes, it certainly does. It runs beautifully. The staff is efficient and discreet, almost to the point of being invisible. You hardly know they’re there, yet everything’s perfect. I suppose it’s elbow to elbow in here during the winter.”
With a movement of his shoulders, he followed her gaze. “I try to avoid hitting the resorts during the heavy season.”
“Our summer season will begin in a few weeks,” she began, only to find her hand captured and her glass replenished with champagne.
“I’ve managed to keep you from bringing up the inn all day; let’s see if we can finish the evening without it. When we get back tomorrow, we can talk about vacancies and cancellations. I don’t discuss business when I’m having dinner with a beautiful woman.”
B.J. smiled and surrendered. If only one evening remained of the interlude, she wanted to savor each moment.
“What do you discuss over dinner with a beautiful woman?” she countered, buoyed by the wine.
“More personal matters.” His finger traced the back of her hand. “The way her voice flows like an easy river, the way her smile touches her eyes before it moves her mouth, the way her skin warms under my hand.” With a low laugh, he lifted her hand, lips brushing the inside of her wrist.
Glancing up warily, B.J. asked, “Taylor, are you making fun of me?”
“No.” His voice was gentle. “I have no intention of making fun of you, B.J.”
Satisfied with his answer, she smiled and allowed him to lead the conversation into a lighter vein.
Flickering candles, the muted
chink of crystal and silver, the low murmur of