by JoAnn Ross
Dash wondered if there was a man on earth who could resist those expressive green eyes or that soft, ridiculously kissable mouth. “You know, Irish,” he said, lowering his lips to hers, not caring who might be watching, “I think you may have just hit on something.”
The kiss, because of its public nature, ended far too soon. Lying as she was with her head in his lap, Claren could feel Dash’s rising desire, a desire that equaled her own.
She sat up beside him, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t think I had any business lecturing you earlier,” she said.
He ran his hand down her hair because he couldn’t be this close to her without touching her. “Why?”
“Because I’m suddenly feeling horribly guilty myself.”
“What the hell do you have to feel guilty about?”
She sighed and laid her head on her knees. “Darcy’s dead and his house is a wreck and all I can think about is that I’ve never been happier.”
Dash wondered how happy Claren would be when she learned the truth. “What’s wrong with that?” When she refused to look up at him, he caught her chin between his fingers and gently turned her head.
“Look at me, Claren,” he insisted gently, “because this is important.” When she met his gaze with suspiciously shiny eyes, Dash continued. “I didn’t know Darcy very long, but I do know that all he ever wanted, more than his painting, more than his damn treasure ships, was for you to be happy.”
“I really do miss him,” she said on a soft catch of breath. “So much.”
A single tear trailed down the side of her face. Dash brushed it away with his knuckles. “I know, sweetheart. I miss him, too.”
His touch was so gentle, his expression so caring. As she felt that now-familiar speeded-up beat of her heart, Claren vowed that she’d convince Dash that he was a far better, nicer man than he thought himself to be. If it took her the rest of her life.
“Gracious,” she said with a nervous laugh and a shake of her head, “I can’t believe how I’ve gotten so maudlin.”
“It’s probably the music,” Dash said. “Jazz has a way of getting under your skin, uncovering emotions you didn’t know you had.” The way you do to me.
“You’re probably right,” she agreed, eager to grasp on to any excuse. “But if I keep this up, you’re going to think all I do is cry.” Determined to change the mood before she scared him away, Claren jumped to her feet. “Come on,” she said with a dazzling smile that only wobbled slightly, “I’ll treat you to a double-scoop ice-cream cone.”
Dash wasn’t hungry, but he was quickly discovering that he couldn’t turn down anything this woman offered. He was walking across the lawn, his hand in hers, enjoying the sunshine, the music and the company, when a movement on the edge of the crowd caught his attention.
He’d seen that guy before, in Jamaica, talking with Darcy. That the man had been angry was obvious; later, when he’d asked Darcy about it, Claren’s uncle had brushed the matter off as a little leftover trouble from a recent poker game. But Darcy had been lying. Dash hadn’t known why at the time. But he was beginning to get a pretty good idea.
“I think I’d rather go for a drive,” he said, quickly turning Claren in the opposite direction before the stranger in question could spot them. “You can play tour guide and show me around the peninsula. I’ve always wanted to see a rain forest.”
He’d seemed to be enjoying himself. Puzzled by his sudden desire to leave the festival, Claren decided not to argue. They would be together; that was all that was important.
As they made their way down the hill, Dash risked a glance over his shoulder. The suspect had been joined by another man. One Dash recognized easily; Interpol had been after him for years, along with the CIA, FBI and similar government agencies all over the world. The man was a terrorist, a professional assassin, infamous for being intelligent, efficient and very, very deadly.
As he practically pushed Claren into the front seat of the rental car, Dash decided that it was probably just as well Darcy had drowned. Because he would have been tempted to kill the old scoundrel himself for putting his only relative, a niece he’d professed to love—a warmhearted, passionate and, most importantly, innocent woman—in harm’s way.
CHAPTER 9
DASH QUICKLY DISCOVERED the Olympic Peninsula to be a remarkably unruly land. Deep river valleys, tangles of forests and steep alpine mountains seemed designed to frustrate a hurrying traveler. By unspoken agreement, Dash and Claren kept the pace leisurely as they drove on country roads past farms, fish hatcheries and clam and oyster beds, through lush meadows of wildflowers, over crystal streams born in ancient glaciers and beside cool, tumbling waterfalls. It seemed to Dash that there was either a waterfall or a creek around every bend in the road.
When they stopped for a wine tasting at North Mountain Winery, Dash managed to get a call in to St. John, filling him in on the latest development. Then, after a quick check of the winery grounds to make certain that they hadn’t been followed, he rejoined Claren, who was waiting by the car with a shopping bag filled with the chardonnay she’d enjoyed, crackers and a variety of cheeses.
“I thought we could have a picnic.” She greeted him with a smile bright enough to almost banish the gray clouds gathering overhead.
He looked up at the muted sky. “It looks like rain.”
Claren was not to be deterred from her romantic goals. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll simply have the picnic in the car.” Going up on her toes, she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was a flash of heat. “In the back seat.”
Despite his lingering concern, Dash smiled. “I think I know how Frankenstein felt when his monster ran amok.”
Although he still knew he was making a dangerous mistake, he couldn’t deny that making love to Claren was turning out to be the most fulfilling experience of his life.
The Olympic rain forest was a world apart, a land of giants.
“There’s no other place in the world,” Claren told Dash, “where so many different species of trees grow so tall.”
Dash could believe it. Ancient, towering, conifers—spruce, fir and cedar and hemlock—pointed skyward like shaggy dark green arrows, reaching for the bits of sunlight that filtered through the mist and snaggled tree limbs. Mingled amid the conifers were stately hardwoods, their graceful arching boughs upholstered with moss and ferns. Red alders—the youngest of the rain-forest trees—lined the banks of streams.
Myriad other plant forms—lichen, moss, grass and ferns—created a splendid confusion of foliage in countless shades of green. Except for the small dirt trail that had been cut through the lush undergrowth, Dash could not see a single square foot of bare ground. Where the forest floor was too occupied for new growth, plants had adapted by forming a second story: shelflike fungi spread over fallen tree trunks, and trunks and branches of trees were shaggy with streamers of moss. Rotting trees, fallen to the ground, quickly became nurse logs, enabling spruce and hemlock seedlings to sprout from the soon-to-be-vanished log that gave them their start. Wrens hid in the tangled branches of the trees, calling to their mates; beavers and otters made their home in the waters; and flying squirrels glided from tree to tree in the forest canopy.
The moist odor of decay mixed with the crisp scent of conifer needles. Surrounding the shadowy glades was a shimmering luminescence, an amber-green light that bathed everything in its soft, gentle glow.
“I can certainly see why Washington’s called the Evergreen State,” Dash murmured. “This is remarkable.”
“Isn’t it?” Claren took encouragement from his uncensored awe and appreciation. Perhaps he’d learn to love this wild, uncivilized land as much as she did. Perhaps enough to want to stay.
“There’s something I have to confess,” Claren said after they’d left the rain forest. They were sitting on the banks of Lake Crescent; the incredible blue water of the forested lake shimmered in the late-afternoon sun like a star sapphire.
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br /> “What’s that?”
“I’d much rather be doing this than cleaning up the mess those vandals left behind.” She spread some cheese onto a cracker. “Where did you say you found the people who are working while we’re having such a wonderful day?”
“Bremerton.” He didn’t add that the crew was actually from the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard.
“I hope you asked how much they charged,” Claren said worriedly.
He ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“I’ve taken care of it.”
“You? But it’s my responsibility.”
“I know a guy who opened up a janitorial service in Bremerton,” Dash said. “He owed me a favor, so I decided to collect.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Claren said. It was also a little too pat for comfort.
“Isn’t it?” Dash heard the disbelief in Claren’s tone and decided the best way to handle it would be to ignore it. “I was planning to drop by and see him after I brought you Darcy’s photo album.”
There was still something not quite right. Something he wasn’t telling her. Refusing to ruin a perfect day with distrust, Claren opted to accept his words at face value. For now. There was, however, one thought that had occurred to her during breakfast. One unpalatable worry that had been nagging at her all afternoon.
“May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Are you married?”
Dash let out a slow breath he’d been unaware of holding. Of all the questions he’d been expecting, that wasn’t one of them. “No.”
“Were you ever?”
“For a while.” Dash refilled her wineglass from the bottle they’d cooled in the icy lake water.
“What happened?”
“It didn’t work out.”
Claren wasn’t about to let his curt tone deter her. “Why not?”
“Does it matter?”
“I think it does,” Claren answered honestly. She needed to know that Dash had merely chosen the wrong partner, that it wasn’t marriage in general that he didn’t like.
Dash dragged his hand through his hair, realizing exactly where this questioning was going and why. The woman didn’t have a single ounce of guile. He knew he could crush the blatant hope shining in her eyes with the simple truth that he was not the marrying kind. But for some reason, he couldn’t do it.
“We wanted different things out of life,” he said. “She wanted wealth and comfort.” And a man she could parade around like a trained poodle.
His answer was not encouraging. But now that she’d gone this far, Claren couldn’t back away. “And you didn’t?”
“No.”
“What did you want?”
Good question. And one he hadn’t been able to answer when Julia had asked it of him. “Freedom, I suppose.”
“Freedom.”
She’d been right all along. He was exactly like Darcy; no woman would ever be able to tie him down. Claren reluctantly accepted the fact that after impulsively diving into uncharted waters, she should not be surprised to discover herself over her head. For now she would try to enjoy herself—and Dash—while she could. There would be times for tears and regrets later.
“We’d better get back,” she said, practically jumping to her feet.
He’d watched the vast range of emotions come and go and decided that she may as well be outspoken, because every thought ended up being written across her face in bold script.
“Whatever you say.”
A part of her wished that he hadn’t been so eager, that he’d suggested booking a room in the nearby lodge. Another part of her wanted to return to Darcy’s house, the one place in the world, other than her family’s horse farm in County Clare, where she’d always felt safe and secure.
It was dark when they pulled up in front of the house. But the lights had been left on, cutting through the nighttime drizzle with a warm yellow welcome.
As they entered the foyer, both Dash and Claren felt a surge of relief. Dash that St. John’s guys were gone, Claren that the house had been put back in such perfect order.
“Your friend certainly works fast,” she murmured, roaming from room to room in amazement.
“He always was efficient.” That was an understatement. St. John was probably the most thorough man Dash had ever met. Which was why, when he’d insisted the evidence proved Darcy’s guilt—and quite possibly Claren’s—Dash had reluctantly gone along with his former boss’s verdict. In the beginning.
She ran her finger along the top of the mantel, surprised to find not a speck of dust. “He didn’t just straighten up the mess. He cleaned, too.”
“We’ll have to give him a rave recommendation.”
“I’ll do that,” she agreed. “If I knew his name.”
From the way Claren was looking at him, Dash knew that she still hadn’t quite bought his story. Which wasn’t all that surprising since it was so flimsy. He wouldn’t have bought it, either.
“I’d better bring in your stuff,” he said, sidestepping her pointed remark. “So you can get started painting first thing in the morning. After all,” he reminded her before she could utter a single word of objection, “the reason you’re here is to explore your talents.”
With that he was gone, leaving Claren both curious and frustrated.
Although it took several trips, Dash finally got all Claren’s supplies set up in the upstairs bedroom that Darcy had long ago turned into a studio. When she didn’t bother to supervise his work, he decided that he’d finally pushed her a little too far. Obviously she was locked away in her room, sulking.
As he went around the house, making certain that all the doors and windows were secured, he considered that Claren was the most frustrating woman he’d ever met. She was also the most desirable. If things had been different…
Dash swore, wondering, not for the first time, what was wrong with him. He knew what he was. He’d chosen his life with his eyes wide open. There was no room for regrets, no matter how tempting Claren O’Neill Wainwright might be.
Making love to her had been a mistake. One that wouldn’t happen again.
“Sure,” he muttered under his breath, “that’s why you dropped into the drugstore while she was picking out her brushes and stocked up on condoms.”
When Dash walked into his room and found her lying in the middle of the king-size bed, he knew he wasn’t going to turn her away. “This is a surprise.”
Not exactly a pleasant one, she determined, from the look on his face. “I can leave if you’d rather be alone.”
From her tone and the tumultuous emotions he could see in her eyes, Dash knew that she wasn’t any more eager to leave than he was to have her leave. To make love to her once—all right, twice, he corrected, thinking back to that wild coupling in the shower—was one thing. After all, they had been all alone in a motel specifically designed for illicit affairs. To take her again now, knowing that he was betraying her trust, would not only be foolhardy, but it would also be impossibly selfish.
The mattress sagged as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to sleep with you,” he said truthfully, stroking her fragrant, soft shoulder. She’d showered; the scent of gardenias clung to her silken skin. “But I wouldn’t be fair to you if I didn’t warn you that this can’t go anywhere.”
Despite his words of warning, Claren knew that it already had. And heaven help her, although on some distant, reasonable level she knew she was being the biggest fool God had ever plunked down on the planet, she couldn’t help wanting whatever Dash was prepared to offer.
Even as she admitted that, Claren realized that some insane part of her actually believed that Dash was falling in love with her. That he was displaying a typical male denseness when it came to intimate matters and simply didn’t realize it yet.
She sat up, causing the sheet to fall to her waist, revealing her nudity. “I’m not asking for anyth
ing you can’t give, Dash,” she murmured against his tightly set lips as she linked her arms around his neck. “I’m only asking you to make love with me.”
That’s what she was saying. But her eyes revealed something else altogether, hinting at a future together that was impossible. Her lips brushed against his, parting invitingly. Her tongue touched his arousingly, making him forget the promises not to repeat this morning’s mistake, promises he’d been making himself all day.
When her bare breasts brushed seductively against his chest, Dash was lost. For days he’d thought only of tomorrow. For this one brief moment he was going to give himself permission to think only of today.
“Lord help me, I give up.” He took off his clothes, retrieved a foil packet from the pocket of his discarded jeans, tore it open, then joined her in the bed.
“Here,” he said, handing her the condom.
“You want me to do it?”
“That’s the idea.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re a bright woman. You’ll figure it out.”
Her inexperienced hands fumbled to complete the intimate task, stroking him in a way that nearly made him explode. Dash closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and struggled to remember the starting lineup of the 1964 Yankees.
“There.” Claren rocked back on her heels, eyeing her work with a great deal of satisfaction. “That wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought.”
“Maybe not for you,” he muttered as he pulled her astride him. There had been a moment there, between Mantle and Maris, when he’d thought for sure he was going to lose it.
She was ready for him, moist and hot and welcoming. Passion flared in her quickly, as if she’d been waiting for years, rather than a few hours.
Greed overwhelmed, and patience disintegrated. Dash guided the tip of his aroused shaft to that warm, damp place between her thighs, then, cupping his hands around her hips, he surged into her, filling her completely with one long, hard thrust.
“You feel so good,” he growled as he felt her body respond to the sudden intrusion. She sheathed him, surrounded him. “Hot and tight and ready for me.”