Serpent in Paradise

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  He nodded, as if agreeing with her. “I should leave. I shouldn’t have come over here in the first place.”

  “Very true!”

  “Then again, perhaps we’re looking at this backward. Perhaps you’re the one who shouldn’t be here. I am, after all, in my own territory. You’re the one who appears to have wandered into the wrong place.”

  “I’m here on business, Mr. Lassiter!” Amy felt her inner tension building. This whole mess had been bad enough until now, but at least there hadn’t been any major problems yet. Everything had gone according to plan. Jase Lassiter, however, was not part of the plan.

  “You’ve just said you’re here to meet a man. Whoever it was has had the poor manners to miss the rendezvous. Why not let me stand in for him?”

  “That’s utterly ridiculous!” Amy got out tightly. “Will, you please leave?”

  Instead of responding immediately, Jase took a long swallow of rum. Amy had the oddest sensation that he was gathering his nerve for the next statement. “I’m told,” he finally said very softly, very deliberately, “that I make a nice souvenir.”

  `What in the world are you talking about?” she breathed, startled.

  “Much more interesting than assorted shells and coconut candy.” He half smiled.

  “Are you suggesting I take you home with me?” she snapped waspishly, not liking her own reaction to the self-disparagement she thought she sensed in his words. What was the matter with her? She had the strangest impulse to offer a measure of kindness to this hard-bitten stranger. It was ludicrous under the circumstances.

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t expect you to go that far,” he assured her seriously. “I was thinking more in terms of an experience. You know, something to chat about when you get home.”

  “I see. Something along the lines of `What I Did on My Vacation’?” Amy muttered furiously. “Forget it. I haven’t come all this way just to have an affair with some sleazy expatriate who runs a South Seas Bar!”

  “Put that way it does sound a little tacky, doesn’t it?” he sighed. But he made no move to get out of his chair.

  “Very tacky.”

  “Are you sure there aren’t any kids or a trusting husband back in San Francisco?” he asked again.

  “Of course I’m sure!” Rather vengefully Amy reached for her glass of burgundy and took a large sip. Then, feeling goaded, she asked, “Why? Would it matter?”

  “It might,” he admitted.

  “You amaze me,” she retorted dryly.

  “You don’t expect sleazy proprietors of South Pacific bars to have any ethics?” he drawled. For the first time there was a hint of steel buried somewhere in the sherry-rich voice.

  Some instinct in Amy recognized the warning for what it was. Jase Lassiter was willing to be pushed a bit but there were limits. “I only meant that I’m amazed it would bother you to have a brief affair with a married woman. After all, I doubt you ever see any of your tourist acquaintances again after they leave the island.”

  He looked at her very steadily over the rim of his glass. “If there was just a husband or a boyfriend involved, I might sacrifice a few of my ethical standards. Especially if the woman in question was making a distinct effort to sacrifice a few of her own standards. But, strange as it may seem, I draw the line when there’s a whole family involved. If you’ve got kids as well as a husband, Amy Shannon, you’re safe from my sexual invitations.”

  Amy couldn’t help it. She began to giggle. The giggle turned into a chuckle and the chuckle into a full-throated laugh.

  “It’s that funny?” Jase inquired curiously.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy managed, making an effort to bring her flash of humor under control. “But not even to save myself from a shabby vacation fling would I make up a bunch of kids waiting at home!’ She forced back the last of the dying laughter and let it fade into a genuine smile.

  Jase stared at her mouth as if temporarily fascinated by the smile. Then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You don’t like kids?”

  Amy shook her head, still mildly amused. “Not every woman is, by definition, maternal in nature. What about you, Jase? Did you leave a wife and a bunch of kids back in the States when you decided to follow the sun?”

  “The wife left me. And there were no kids.” There was a crispness about the way he spoke that told her the topic was closed.

  Amy lifted one shoulder in an attempt to show that she didn’t particularly care to pursue such a personal discussion anyway. Silently, though, she found herself wondering about the life Jase Lassiter had left behind when he’d made his way to the South Pacific. Was his the usual tale of a man who could no longer handle responsibility and had chosen to escape to a world where people didn’t ask a lot of questions or put too much pressure on each other? Or was there some personal tragedy involved?

  “So,” Jase was saying deliberately, “now that we have established that neither of us is betraying a spouse or a family, is there any reason why I can’t seduce you?”

  “One major reason that I can think of,” Amy retorted, “is that I’m not interested.”

  “But you’ve already said you’re here to meet a man.”

  “On business.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser. Tell me about this ‘business.’ , ,

  “No.”

  “Don’t I have a right to know something about it?” he demanded persuasively. “After all, you’re trying to arrange it here in my bar.”

  “It wasn’t my idea. I was told to wait here,” Amy explained stiffly.

  “To meet whom?”

  “Someone named Dirk Haley,” she exploded, annoyed.

  “Who’s Haley?”

  “I thought people out here respected each other’s privacy!” she snapped.

  “A myth. People are people. We’re as curious about each other as people are back in the States,” Jase murmured. “And I am getting extremely curious about you in particular.”

  “Because I look so out of place,” she finished for him with a groan. “Look, you’ve said yourself that I’m all wrong,” she began forcefully.

  He leaned forward with an abrupt movement that made her jerk backward. She realized that she hadn’t expected restless or unnecessary actions from this man. When he did move, it would be with purpose, and that could be dangerous. Uneasily she eyed his set, unyielding features.

  “You’re all wrong,” he told her ruthlessly, “because there is something rather soft and vulnerable about you. You’re all wrong because you face a man with a straightforward expression instead of cool calculation. You’re all wrong because you look as if you ought to be wearing some man’s ring instead of traipsing off to the South Pacific to carry out an illicit rendezvous. You’re all wrong because there is something rather endearing and rather sexy about you that makes me want to stay when I should leave. And you’re all wrong because I find myself too damned interested in finding out who you’re meeting and why you’re meeting him in my bar. Is he married, Amy? Is this Dirk Haley some married businessman on his way back from a trip to the Orient who had you fly out here to meet him for a few stolen days?”

  “No!” She glared at him, shocked. “I’ve never even met Haley in person. And while you draw the line at dating a woman with a family, I draw the line at dating a man who is married! I realize that living out here probably isn’t conducive to developing an objective view of human nature, so allow me to tell you that your assessment of me is rather far off the mark. Now, if you don’t mind...”

  “What’s your assessment of me?” he interrupted calmly.

  That threw her for an instant. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  Amy shook her head. “You’re not going to just give up and go away, are you?”

  “I belong here,” he reminded her equably. “You’re the outsider. You’re the one who should
give up and go away if you don’t like the atmosphere.”

  “You’re probably right,” she surprised herself by agreeing unhappily. “But I’ve come too far now to just give up and go home.”

  “So tell me what you think of me,” he ordered roughly, sinking back into the shadowy depths of the chair.

  Perhaps it was the combined effects of jet lag and the tension she was under. Perhaps it was because she was feeling taunted, a little goaded. Or perhaps she was simply feeling a bit reckless so far from home. The tropical night, the bar that could have come from the pages of an adventure novel, the baffling man sitting across from her—they all went together to form a slightly unreal scene. Whatever the reason, Amy stared into Jase Lassiter’s beautiful turquoise eyes and told him what she thought of him.

  “I think you are a rather dangerous man,” she said starkly.

  His long lashes lowered slightly, but not before she had seen the flash of surprise deep in his eyes. There was a taut silence before Jase said quietly, “I thought I was a rather seedy, expatriate proprietor of an island bar. Annoying, perhaps, but not dangerous.”

  “Did you?” Amy looked away from him, already regretting her words. “Well, you probably know yourself far better than I do.”

  “That’s debatable. But I do know what I want tonight. Will you come home with me this evening, Amy Shannon?”

  Her head snapped around sharply. He hadn’t moved. He simply lounged there in his dangerously quiet way and watched her.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, I won’t go home with you. I don’t even know you!”

  “You know me better than you appear to know this Dirk Haley you’re supposed to be meeting,” Jase pointed out with whimsical logic.

  “It’s not the same thing at all!”

  “You think he’ll make a better souvenir than I will?”

  “Stop talking about being a souvenir, for heaven’s sake!” she blazed, suddenly angry and not quite sure why. She only knew she didn’t like to hear him deride himself in that way. It wasn’t accurate, anyway. Going to bed with this man would never be as casual as collecting a souvenir! She knew that much with a certainty that went very deep. “Do you have a lot of success with that particular line?” she went on gruffly.

  “Sometimes,” he drawled.

  “How often does the woman involved realize that you’re really the one collecting the souvenirs?” Amy asked scathingly.

  For the first time that night he grinned at her, a devastating, charming, purely masculine grin that made her stare for an instant. She had been right, she thought dazedly. This man really was rather dangerous.

  “In general,” he told her thoughtfully, “I don’t think the woman involved cares a whole hell of a lot what I get out of it. Would you?”

  “Care what you got out of it? Not particularly,” Amy declared with a false heartiness. “But I have no intention of being used. And I’m not in the market for souvenirs of any kind. So why don’t you run along now and find yourself the right sort of tourist?” she added sweetly.

  “That’s very unkind. Don’t you feel a little sorry for me?” he asked blandly.

  “No. Would you rather I did?” she asked mildly. It was true. She didn’t feel sorry for him. One didn’t pity a man who radiated that quiet, contained inner strength. But something about him was drawing her, and she couldn’t quite figure out the attraction. Which only made him all the more dangerous, Amy decided grimly.

  “No,” Jase said reflectively. “I don’t think I want you feeling sorry for me. I think that if I can get you into my bed, I’d like the satisfaction of knowing you were there for some reason other than pity.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to wind up in your bed.”

  He nodded obligingly as if accepting her words without buying the argument itself. “How long are you going to wait for your mystery man tonight?”

  Amy shrugged and glanced toward the door. “Not much longer. I’m very tired. I haven’t had a chance to recover from the flight yet. As soon as I landed I checked into the guest house, had dinner and then came directly here.”

  “And if he doesn’t show up?”

  “Then I come back tomorrow night. The message said...”

  “What message?” Jase interrupted coolly.

  “Never mind. It’s a private matter.” Determinedly, Amy got to her feet. “But it is getting late and I think I’ve waited long enough this evening. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” She put money down on the table for the two glasses of wine.

  “I’ll see you back to the guest house,” Jase said formally, covering her hand on the table with his own. “And the drinks are on the house.” He folded the bills back into her palm.

  Amy moved nervously. “There’s no need to see me back to my room,” she began quickly. She tried to jerk her hand out from under his. Unexpectedly he released her fingers. The momentum of her own effort propelled the edge of her hand against the half-full wineglass.

  “Oh, no!” But she’d been through this too many times before, and there was no real shock in her words, only a kind of dismayed resignation. The wineglass seemed to topple over in slow motion, the burgundy inside sloshing toward the edge in anticipation.

  Then, miraculously, strong male fingers closed around the bowl of the glass, righting it and stabilizing it before disaster could strike. Amy sucked in her breath. “You’re very quick, aren’t you?” she breathed a little weakly.

  Jase’s mouth went up at one corner as he let go of the glass and stepped around the table to join her. “Are you always this, er, klutzy?”

  “When I get nervous I get a bit awkward,” she confessed, wondering how she was going to get rid of him now. He was already taking her arm to guide her toward the door.

  “Do I make you nervous?” he inquired politely.

  “Yes!”

  “Look at it this way,” he advised, stepping out into the balmy night and forcing her gently along with a firm grip on her arm. “I’m a known quantity. Much safer to have me walking you back to your guest house than to be risking the walk alone.”

  Amy gasped. “Is this a dangerous area of town?” she asked, peering around at the nearly empty street. The quayside buildings appeared suddenly gloomy and slightly menacing in the tropical moonlight. Out on the water a few small sailing boats bobbed at anchor.

  “You’re not in Waikiki, lady!” he growled.

  Amy frowned. “You don’t have to sound impatient with me. Nobody asked you to see me back to my room tonight!”

  “Speaking of which, where are you staying?” he countered neatly.

  “The Marina Inn. Know it?”

  “Sure. The guy who owns it is a friend of mine. You should be safe enough there.”

  “Terrific,” she muttered caustically, aware of the firm grip of his hand. Jase set the pace, keeping her easily at his side. She had the distinct impression that if he had wished, he could have scooped her up under one arm and still proceeded at a strong, even pace. Now that she was beside him, she realized that he was tall and solidly built. Amy felt a little dwarfed by the size and strength of him. Her own five feet four inches appeared rather insignificant next to this sort of masculine power.

  “Relax,” he said quietly, and she knew he had sensed her sudden wave of nervousness. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “No?”

  “No. It’s been a long time since I politely escorted a woman home in the moonlight,” he remarked quietly. “The souvenir hunters usually walk me home!”

  Amy laughed. “I think you’ve been spoiled, running a bar here at the edge of the world.”

  He slid a glance down at her smiling profile. “Possibly. But I haven’t forgotten all the quaint customs of civilization.”

  “Such as?” she challenged, and then caught her breath as he halted alongside the concrete raili
ng that divided the harbor from the shore. When her gaze swung up to collide with his, she knew she had wandered into very dangerous territory.

  “Such as the practice of stealing a kiss in the moonlight on the way home,” he told her huskily.

  Then, before she fully realized what was happening, he leaned back against the sun-warmed concrete of the barricade. Bracing himself, his feet planted widely apart, Jase pulled her into the heated strength of his body.

  Chapter Two

  “No,” he whispered as her fingers splayed against his chest. “Please. Don’t fight me. It’s just a kiss.”

  During the first few seconds of the embrace, Amy had been more concerned with maintaining her balance than struggling. She dug her nails into the khaki fabric of his shirt in an instinctive effort to right herself. Then her head came up sharply, the beginning of an angry protest shaping her expressive mouth.

  In the next instant the words were blocked in her throat as he covered her lips with his own. Amy was suddenly conscious of a variety of sensations, sensations that should have been secondary to the main problem of freeing herself but that somehow predominated in that moment.

  She could taste the essence of rum mixed in with the warmth of his mouth. His hands gripped her forearms, not hurting her but holding her still for the embrace, and the feel of his strong fingers was something she didn’t think she would ever forget. And then there was the indelible impression his body was making on hers as he held her off balance and gently forced her to lean against him.

  Amy was vividly aware of each hard plane and contour of him. Her breasts were crushed against the smoothly muscled chest. Her hips were arched into the hardening line of his lower body, and she felt caged between the strong thighs.

  “You feel good,” he grated against her lips. “So good. Soft. Warm. Very female.” His hands slid up to her shoulders and around to the nape of her neck.

  “You... you said I was all wrong,” she managed, trying for the cool, blasé facade that could carry a woman through this sort of situation. She sensed a certain masculine aggression in him, but the sensual threat really wasn’t worrying her. Not yet. Which made no sense. After all, Amy told herself, she barely knew the man, and what she did know of him should have made her very wary indeed.