by Nora Roberts
The line formed between her brows. “I’m not much on parties.”
“What are you much on besides photography? Books, movies, art, music? This is called the science of getting to know each other,” he told her when she said nothing. “It’s very handy, especially when one person is thinking about sleeping with the other.” He leaned forward, amused when she edged back. “Are you going to share any of those strawberries?”
Jo ordered her pulse to level, and because he was still rubbing her feet, fed him a berry.
He caught the tips of her fingers in his teeth, sucked them in as well. Smiling slowly, he released them. “That’s subliminal sensory stimulation. Or what’s more commonly known as I’m coming on to you.”
“I think I got that.”
“Good. Now, movies?”
She tried to think if there was another man who had ever disconcerted her so easily or so often. The answer was a solid no. “I lean to the old black-and-white, especially film noir. The cinematography, the light and shadows are so incredible.”
“The Maltese Falcon?”
“The best of the best.”
“Look at that.” He patted her foot. “Common ground. What about contemporary stuff?”
“There I head for straight action. Art films rarely grab me. I’d rather see Schwarzenegger mow down fifty bad guys than listen to a handful of people expressing their angst in a foreign language.”
“This is a big relief for me. We could never have settled down to raise five children and golden retrievers if I’d had to face art films.”
It made her laugh, a low, smoky sound he found ridiculously arousing. “If those are my choices, I may reconsider subtitles.”
“Your favorite city, anywhere.”
“Florence,” she said before she’d known it was true. “That bright wash of sunlight, the colors.”
“The buildings. The age and grandeur of them. The Pitti Palace, the Palazzo Vecchio.”
“I have a wonderful shot of the Pitti, just before sunset.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“I didn’t bring it with me,” she said absently, remembering the moment, the slant of light, the quick whoosh of air and noise as a flock of pigeons rose in a wave. “It’s back in Charlotte.”
“I can wait.” Before she had a chance to react, he squeezed her foot. “So, when you’ve finished breakfast, how about taking me on a real tour of the island?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Yeah, I heard a rumor about that.”
“No, I mean that’s turnover day. Most of the cottages turn over on Sunday. They have to be cleaned and resupplied for incoming guests by three.”
“More housekeeping. What the hell did they do when you weren’t here?”
“Kate lost the two girls she had on cottage duty the week before I got here. They took jobs on the mainland. And since I’m here, and so’s Lexy, she hasn’t bothered to replace them yet.”
“How many are on your list?”
“Six.”
He considered, nodded, rose. “Well, then, we’d better get started.”
“We?”
“Sure. I can handle a vacuum cleaner and a mop. And this way you’ll get done faster and we’ll have time to find the least occupied spot on the beach and neck for a while.”
She shifted, slid her feet—her incredibly happy feet, she had to admit—into her shoes. “Maybe I know a couple of spots—if you’re as handy with a vacuum cleaner as you are with reflexology.”
“Jo Ellen.” He put his hands on her hips in a gesture she found shockingly intimate. “There’s something you should know.”
He was still married. He was under federal indictment. He preferred bondage to straight sex. She let out a little breath, amazed at herself. She hadn’t been aware she possessed that much imagination. “What is it?”
“I’m thinking about sleeping with you too.”
She snorted a laugh, backed up. “Nathan, that’s been a load on my mind since you found your way back to Desire.”
HE was so happy to be back, to be so close to her. Just watching her brought him that quick zing of anticipation for what was to come. In his own good time.
He thought he might prolong it. After all, he’d planned carefully and money was no problem. He had all the time in the world. It would be even more satisfying to lull her into complacency, to watch her relax, bit by bit. Then he would yank her back, a brisk tug on the chain she wasn’t aware linked them.
She’d be afraid. She’d be confused. She would be all the more vulnerable because of the calm he’d provided before he rearranged the composition.
Yes, he could wait. He could enjoy the sun and the surf and before long he would know every minute of her routine. Just the way he’d known her habits in Charlotte.
He would let her drift along, maybe even fall in love a little. And what delicious irony that was.
All the while she would have no idea that he was there to control her fate, to grasp his own destiny. And to take her life.
SIXTEEN
“I DON’T see why you can’t take one day off, just one, and spend some time with me.”
Giff put his nail gun down, sat back on his heels, and studied Lexy’s sulky face. It was one of those wicked whims of nature, he supposed, that made that pouty look so damned appealing to a man. “Honey, I told you this was going to be a busy week for me. And it’s only Tuesday.”
“What difference does it make what day it is?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Every day around here is the same as the other.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what difference it makes to me.” He skimmed a hand over the edge of the decking he’d completed. “I told Miss Kate that I’d have this porch addition finished and screened in by Saturday.”
“So you’ll have it done by Sunday.”
“I told her Saturday.” That, to Giff, said everything. But since it was Lexy he was talking to, he worked up the patience to spell out the rest. “The cottage is booked for next week. Since she needs Colin at the campground full-time right now, and Jed’s got this week of school to finish before the summer break, I’ve got to see to it on my own.”
She didn’t care about the damn porch. The floor was nearly finished anyway. How long could it take to put a silly roof on it and screen it in? “Just a day, Giff.” She crouched down next to him, letting all her charm slide into her voice as she kissed his cheek. “Just a few hours. We can take your boat over to the mainland. Have a nice lunch in Savannah.”
“Lex, I just can’t spare the time. Now if I can get this done, we can go next Saturday. I can juggle some things around, and we can take the whole weekend if you want.”
“I don’t want to go Saturday.” Her voice lost its purr and edged toward mulish. “I want to go now.”
Giff had a five-year-old cousin who was just as insistent on having her way and having it now. But he didn’t think Lexy would appreciate the comparison. “I can’t go now,” he said patiently. “You can take the boat if you’re so antsy to get gone. Go do some shopping.”
“By myself?”
“Take your sister, take a friend.”
“I can’t think of anyone I less want to spend the day with than Jo. And I don’t have any friends. Ginny’s gone.”
He didn’t need to see the tears flood her eyes to know that was the root of the problem and the greatest source of her newest discontent. There was nothing he could do about it, just as there was nothing he could do about the raw spot in his own heart since Ginny’s disappearance.
“If you want me to go, you have to wait till Saturday. I’ll get the weekend clear. We can book a hotel room, and I’ll take you out for a fancy dinner.”
“You don’t understand anything!” She thumped a fist on his shoulder as she sprang to her feet. “Saturday’s not today, and I’ll go crazy if I don’t get away from here. Why won’t you make time for me? Why won’t you just make time?”
“I’m doing my best.” Even his patience
could wear thin. Giff picked up the nail gun and shot a bolt home.
“You can’t even stop work and pay attention for five minutes. You just shuffle me in between jobs. And now a stupid porch is more important than being with me.”
“I gave my word on the porch.” He rose and, hefting a new board, laid it across the sawhorse to measure. “I keep my word, Lexy. You still want to go to Savannah on the weekend, I’ll take you. That’s the best I can do.”
“It’s not good enough.” She jerked her chin up. “And I’m sure I won’t have any trouble finding someone who’d be happy to take me today.”
He scraped his pencil over the board to make his mark, then looked up at her with cool, narrowed eyes. He recognized the threat, and the very real possibility that she’d make good on it. “No, you won’t,” he said in calm, measured tones. “And that will be up to you.”
It was like a slap. She’d expected him to rage, to have a jealous fit and tell her exactly what he’d do if she looked at another man. Then they could have had a loud, satisfying fight before she’d let him drag her into the empty house for make-up sex.
Then she would have convinced him to take her to Savannah.
The scene she’d already staged in her head dissolved. Because she wanted to cry, she tossed her head and turned away. “Fine then, you go right on and build your porch and I’ll do what I have to do.”
Giff said nothing as she stalked down the temporary steps. He had to wait until his vision cleared of blind rage before he picked up the skill saw. Temper could cost dearly, he knew, and he didn’t want it to cost him a finger. He was going to need all of them, he thought, if she followed through.
It would take four fingers to make the fist he was going to plow into some guy’s face.
Lexy heard the saw buzz and gritted her teeth. Selfish bastard, that’s all he was. He certainly didn’t care about her. She walked fast across the sand, her eyes stinging, her breath short. No one cared about her. No one understood her. Even Ginny ...
She had to stop a moment as the muscles in her stomach seized. Ginny had left. Just gone away. Everyone she let herself care about left her, one way or another. She never mattered enough to make them stay.
At first she’d been sure something terrible had happened to Ginny. She’d gotten herself kidnapped, or she’d stumbled half drunk into a pond and been eaten by a gator.
That was ridiculous, of course. It had taken her days, but Lexy had resigned herself to the fact that she’d been left behind again. Because no one stayed, no matter how much you needed them to.
But this time ... She shot a defiant look over her shoulder at the cottage where Giff was working. This time she’d do the leaving first.
She headed for the line of trees. The sun was too hot on her skin, the sand too gritty in her sandals. At that moment she hated Desire and everything on it with a wild and vicious passion. She hated the people who came and expected her to serve them and clean up after them. She hated her family for thinking of her as an irresponsible dreamer. She hated the beach with its blinding white sun and endless lapping waves. And the forest with its pockets of dim shadows and screaming silence.
And most of all she hated Giff because she’d been thinking about falling in love with him.
She wouldn’t now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she thought, as she left sun for shade, she would set her sights on someone else and make Giff suffer.
When she caught sight of Little Desire Cottage, and the figure sitting on the screened porch, she smiled slowly. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. Of him before.
Nathan Delaney. He was perfect. He was successful, sophisticated, educated. He’d been places and done things. He was gorgeous to look at—gorgeous enough that even Jo had taken notice.
She’d bet Nathan Delaney knew how to treat a woman.
Lexy opened the little red bag she wore strapped across her body. After popping a cherry Lifesaver in her mouth to sweeten her breath, she took out her compact, carefully dusted her nose and brow. Her color was up, so her cheeks needed no blusher, but she methodically painted her mouth a young, inviting red. She spritzed on some Joy and fluffed back her hair while calculating exactly how to play the scene.
She wandered closer to the cottage, then looked up with a friendly smile. “Why, hello there, Nathan.”
He’d brought his computer out on the picnic table on the porch to enjoy the breeze while he worked. The design he was tinkering with was nearly perfected. At the interruption, he looked up distractedly. And realized his neck had stiffened up again.
“Hello, Lexy.” He rubbed at the ache.
“Don’t tell me you’re working on such a beautiful morning.”
“Just fiddling with final details.”
“Why, is that one of those little computers? How in the world do you draw whole buildings on that?”
“Painstakingly.”
She laughed and, cocking her head, skimmed a finger down her throat. “Oh, now I’ve interrupted you, and you probably wish I’d scoot.”
“Not at all. It gives me an excuse to take a break.”
“Really? Would you just hate me if I asked to come up and take a peek? Or are you temperamental and don’t like to show your work in progress?”
“My work’s just the beginning of progress, so it’s tough to be temperamental about it. Sure, come on up.”
He glanced at his watch as she turned to go to the steps. He really wanted a couple of hours more to refine the plans. And he had a date at one. A drive up to the north end of the island, a picnic lunch. And some more time to get to know Jo Ellen Hathaway.
Still, he smiled at Lexy—it was impossible not to. She was pretty as a picture, smelled fresher than the spring breeze teasing through the screens. And the short white skirt she wore hinted that she had legs approximately up to her ears.
“Want something cold?”
“Mmm, I’ll just have a sip of yours, okay?” She picked up the large insulated glass on the table and sipped slowly. “Iced coffee. Perfect.” She detested iced coffee and had never understood why people chilled a perfectly nice hot drink.
She ran her tongue over her top lip and sat companionably beside him. Not too close. A woman didn’t want to be obvious. She glanced at the monitor and was so surprised by the complex and detailed floor plan that she nearly forgot the point of the visit.
“Why, isn’t that fantastic? How in the world do you do all that with a computer? I thought architects used pencils and slide rules and calculators.”
“Not as much as we used to. CAD makes our lives easier. Computer-assisted drawing,” he explained. “You can take out walls, change angles and pitch, widen doorways, lengthen rooms, then change your mind and put it all back the way it was. And you don’t wear out erasers.”
“It’s just amazing. Is this going to be someone’s house?”
“Eventually. A vacation home on the west coast of Mexico.”
“A villa.” Images of hot music, exotic flowers, and white-suited servants popped into her mind. “Bri’s been to Mexico. I’ve never been anywhere.” She slanted him a look under her lashes. “You’ve been all over the world, haven’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say all over, but here and there.” A little alarm bell rang in his brain, but he ignored it as foolish and egocentric. “Wonderful cliffs on the west coast, great vistas. This place will look out over the Pacific.”
“I’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean.”
“It can be wild down this way. This area here”—he tapped the monitor—“it’ll be the solarium. Arched glass, sides and roof—motorized roof. They’ll be able to open it for parties or whatever when the weather’s right. The pool goes there. We’re keeping it free-form and building up the west side with native rock and flora. Small waterfall trickling down here. It’ll look like a lagoon.”
“A swimming pool, right inside the house.” She gave a long, wistful sigh. “Isn’t that something. They must be million
aires.”
“And then some.”
She filled her eyes with dreamy admiration and stared deeply into his. “You must be the very best, then. So important. So successful. Designing Mexican villas for millionaires.” She laid her hand on his thigh. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like,