Black Satin (LS 675)

by Donna Kauffman

  “Ever been so … what?” he asked quietly, his voice low and rough.

  Maybe it was the lack of blaring music and rattled confusion, or maybe breathing the tropical night air after all that smoke had made her light-headed. Whichever, his softly spoken words had a stunning effect on her equilibrium. Did he really care what she thought? “I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved,” she said softly, sincerely.

  This time she knew she hadn’t imagined the flash of awareness. Instinctively, she took a step toward him. For a split second she actually had the crazy urge to reach out and touch him, to place a light caress on his arm or his cheek. Her hand was out of her pocket before she realized the absurdity of the notion. The very last thing a man like Cole Sinclair needed was reassurance or comforting. And given his reaction the one and only time she’d initiated contact with him, he especially didn’t want it from her.

  It went against her nature and profession not to pursue the increasingly intriguing puzzle he presented. But right now, her only concern had to be getting P.J. back.

  “Did you come back because you wanted to talk to me? Have you changed your mind about helping me?”

  “Is that what you were doing with that sorry son of a bitch in there? Asking for his help?”

  “Of course not. At least not how you mean.” She swallowed another dose of the sultry salty air. “I only went up to the bar because I thought I could bribe Repo into telling me where you lived. I was going to—” She broke off when he began to laugh, or at least she assumed that’s what that low, raspy sound raking her nerves was. “It’s not funny! I was almost force-fed a live insect! And it wasn’t my idea to have that iguana try to stick his tongue down my throat. I’m sorry he took it the wrong way, but what did you expect me to do?”

  Cole’s laughter eventually faded, but all the anxiety, embarrassment, tension she’d endured had frayed her patience and common sense to a slender thread. His condescension over what she’d thought of as incredible bravery on her part snapped it.

  She stepped forward and jabbed a finger in the air an inch from his chest. “For your information I do not get my jollies out of slinking into sleazy dives and begging strange men for help. And you didn’t exactly make it easier. I only wanted to ask you a simple question, and you acted like …”

  Her voice faded as her anger turned to stunned amazement. He was actually smiling at her. A real smile. With a full set of white teeth and curved lips and everything. Her heart banged twice—hard—then stopped. Lord, with his features relaxed and so … open, the change was incredible. He was down-right gorgeous. The effect was far more lethal than when he’d pinned her with his meanest glare.

  “It’s been my experience that the more important a thing is, the harder you have to work to get it.” The wonderful smile faded as he spoke. His tone didn’t reveal much either. He reached over and took one of her hands. He’d moved slowly this time, giving her a chance to react, but his touch was so different, she didn’t move.

  Coming from him, gentleness was so unexpected, she simply stared at her hand as he raised it between them. He tilted it so the light from the single parking-lot lamp shone across her palm. He rubbed his thumb lightly across the dense ridge of calluses at the base of her fingers. “How did you get these?”

  It took her a moment to get her breath and another to find her voice. “Pulling in line and nets.”

  His gaze connected with hers, then he shifted his attention to a point somewhere over her shoulder. If she turned her head the slightest bit, the unruly strands of his hair being tossed lightly by the breeze would catch on her lips. She remained still. But she caught the slight shake of his head before he looked back at her. His eyes were solid jet but held a gleam that, if she didn’t know better, she would swear was respect. Either that or desire. She chose the former. She didn’t think she’d survive the latter.

  “You said your students were handicapped,” he said quietly. “You teach them to fish?”

  He continued to trace his thumb over her callused palm, making it hard for her to speak coherently. But his interest actually seemed sincere, and she found her lips curving slightly. Were they actually having a normal conversation? She fought the wild urge to laugh. She doubted there was any activity that when done with Cole Sinclair would ever be considered bland or unexciting enough to be called normal.

  “No, we don’t fish. Actually, what we are doing with the kids has a lot to do with why I need you.”

  He instantly dropped her hand, and Kira felt as if she’d been cast adrift at sea with no anchor. His face was once again an implacable mask. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to grab for his hand, wanting desperately to see the more approachable Cole again. Somehow, when he’d been touching her, she’d felt for the first time as if this whole mess might just be cleared up. That he would take care of everything.

  She didn’t know what she’d said to slam the walls back into place. She’d thought, given his past help with one of her students, that mentioning the children would encourage his curiosity. She clenched her hands into tight fists and looked up into eyes totally lacking emotion. Sensing this was her last chance, she gave up her last shred of pride. “Please, Cole. I’m begging you. Name your price. I’ll find a way to pay it. But you have to help me.” Her nerve running out, she ended on a whisper. “There is no one else.”

  He stared at her for the longest time, drawing out the moment until she thought she’d either scream or be sick.

  He tilted her chin until her eyes met his. Breathing became impossible. Rational thought, a thing of the past.

  “Kira Douglass,” he murmured, then leaned closer, his mouth so close, she could taste the tang of alcohol on his breath. “You have a lot to learn about self-preservation.”

  She parted her lips, wanting—needing—to say something, anything that would convince him. But before her words could form, he shook his head, and she pressed her lips shut.

  “Your car?” He nodded to the small compact behind her.

  She was so badly distracted by his mouth, the shape of his lips, and the way they moved when he spoke that she simply nodded. He stepped away from her, and with the return of some personal space, she found her hope begin to build. Had he changed his mind after all? She wanted to ask if there was a quiet place where they could talk, but again he cut her off.

  “Get in, lock all the doors, and get out of here as fast as you can.”

  Her mouth dropped open. He had an irritating tendency to order her around. But the crush of disappointment was even more overwhelming. She stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to do or say as her time with him ran out.

  He uttered a succinct oath and stuck out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

  That brought her back. “What?”

  “Either give them to me or get them yourself. But make up your mind quick.” He glanced back across the street at Repo’s. “I’d say you have less than two minutes.”

  “Before what?” She raised up on tiptoes to look over his shoulder. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She turned back to Cole. “Why do—”

  He heaved a sigh and raked his hand through his hair, making the wild strands flare around his head. “For once, would you please just do as I say?” Apparently deciding as he spoke the futility of the request, he uttered, “Aw hell, gimme that.” He snatched her purse from her shoulder, grumbling, “How you made it this long without getting your throat cut I have no idea,” as he began digging inside the small bag.

  She didn’t know if it was his personal restraint he was referring to, but she quickly decided against asking for a clarification. Still, she somehow knew he meant her no harm. “If you don’t want to help, just say so,” she said irritably. “Just give me my purse back. I assure you I can take it from there.”

  His head whipped up, and he pinned her with such a hard gaze, she dropped her hand. “Do you have any idea how many times tonight you could have become a statistic?”

  She fought h
ard but kept her gaze steadied on his. She wanted to ask him why he cared what happened to her. “The keys are in my jacket pocket.” His eyes dropped to her hips, and she quickly dug her hand in the pocket and produced the small ring. “See?” She held out a hand for her purse, her eyes challenging him to comment on the slight tremble that shook her fingers.

  He tossed her the purse, then snagged the keys in midair as she dropped them instinctively to grab her straw bag. He thrust the largest one in the lock. After yanking the door open, he turned back to her, the key dangling from his fingers. “Get in.” Now it was his gaze doing the challenging.

  Not daring to so much as brush her skin against his, she flattened her palm and reached for the key ring. She quickly slid into the car and blindly stuck the key in the ignition, incapable of more than a mechanical action. Her only thought was to put as much distance between her and Repo’s bar, Key West, and most important, Cole Sinclair, as fast as she could.

  She reached out to yank the door closed, but he grabbed the frame just before it shut. He leaned down, and it took all her self-control to keep from turning her head to face him. “What?” she asked, clenching her jaw against the sudden threat of tears. She felt his sigh against the bare skin of her neck, and her fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel.

  “No Name Key—do you know where it is?”

  Startled by the question, she looked at him and answered automatically. “Off Big Pine, right?”

  He nodded. “Turn at Key Deer Boulevard and go about a mile and a half. Turn right at the green sign for No Name, cross the bridge, and look for a sign to Sandy’s pier. There’s one houseboat, mine. Stay in your car until I get there.”

  Her eyes widened as she scrambled to put meaning to his words. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.” He looked over his shoulder for several seconds, then back at her. “And if you’ve ever done one smart thing in your life, you’ll forget I ever said it. You’d better get out of here.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not worth much.”

  “It is to me.”

  He studied her face for a long moment, then stood up and shut the door. She was about to roll down the window to ask him if his invitation was still open, but he smacked his palm twice against the roof of her car and took off down the alley. She glanced in her rearview mirror long enough to see him duck behind the back of Repo’s ramshackle building.

  Less than a minute later the front door burst open and half a dozen men spilled out, their heads whipping back and forth as they quickly scanned the area. One man stepped forward, and she caught the glint of silver in his hand. Even at her distance, she knew it was Iggy. And he was carrying a knife.

  “Sinclair!” he bellowed so loudly, she heard him even with her windows rolled up. “What in the hell did you do with Elvis?”

  Oh, Lord. Cole had known they’d come looking when Iggy finally came around and realized his beloved iguana was missing. Cole must have known the search for the reptile would delay them. He’d even tried to warn her, but she’d been too bullheaded to realize it. What had Cole done with it? she wondered, figuring there couldn’t be too many great hiding places for a two-foot-long iguana.

  Cole! “Oh my God,” she whispered. He’d gone back there to face them. Alone.

  She didn’t want to take off and leave him, but an equally loud voice told her he could take care of himself and that she’d only make matters worse. She gunned the gas and backed out, hoping at least to draw their attention away long enough to give Cole more time.

  It worked. Too well, judging by the fact that they turned en masse toward the small lot and her car. She assumed they meant to chase her on foot and threw the car into first gear. They pursued her for a few yards, then turned back, racing to the lot on the other side of the building and clambering onto a row of gleaming, nasty-looking motorcycles.

  Uh-oh. She slammed her foot down on the pedal, sand and gravel flying in her wake. She glanced into the rearview mirror, expecting to see a dozen Harleys hot on her tail. What she actually saw made her mouth drop open in amazement, quickly followed by an astonished whoop of laughter.

  The first bike had moved forward only to topple over, starting a chain reaction that made the huge machines look like nothing more than a bunch of mutant dominoes. Apparently someone had chained them together. And she knew without doubt who that someone was.

  She pumped her fist in the air. “All right!” Her smile faded. Where was Cole? She got her answer a split second later when a loud roar zoomed past her, the power of the machine making her car vibrate. She glanced around just in time to see Cole’s lean body hunched over a sleek black bike as it raced off into the night. Without another look at the bar, she followed him.

  She’d lost Cole’s taillight by the time she’d reached Route 1. She felt strangely abandoned, even though frequent checks in her rearview mirror told her no one had followed them from the bar. She’d gone past Boca Chica and Shark Key and was crossing through the Saddlebunch Keys before she questioned the possible motives behind his invitation. She’d assumed he’d asked because he’d decided to help, or at least give her a chance to explain further. But maybe that was the last thing on his mind.

  A shiver raced along her spine. He’d been so gruff with her about being alone in the bar and so concerned about her safety. Certainly a man who’d put himself at risk to rescue her from apparent danger wouldn’t have any plans of seduction or … worse. Would he?

  Was she as naive as he’d accused her of being? Maybe he figured he was owed a little something for all the trouble she’d put him through tonight. The more she thought about it, the more nervous she became. She was actually going to a houseboat on a tiny mostly deserted key, alone, to meet a man reputed to have done all sorts of illegal things. Not to mention he had a bad-boy appeal so seductive it all but shouted, “Trespass at your own risk.”

  Her foot relaxed on the gas pedal as all sorts of images sprang to mind. His music, almost tangible with pain, echoed through her head as clearly as if she were playing it on cassette. Her heart responded again as it had in the bar. What had happened to put that kind of music into his soul?

  No. Don’t start thinking of him that way. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Cole Sinclair. The scene at the bar had more than proven that. She shook her head, clearing it of all images save one. P.J.

  That was all it took. She pressed her foot firmly back on the gas. “I don’t know what you have in mind, Cole Sinclair,” she said to the dark road ahead. “But by the time we get done, you are going to help me find P.J.”

  By the time she crossed the channel between Little Torch and Big Pine, she’d convinced herself that she could play to his apparent weakness for lost children and damsels in distress to secure his help.

  But on the heels of that plan came the unsettling image of his probable reaction when she told him everything. Much as she hated subterfuge, she’d sensed right off that her best chance was to get Cole involved in her plan before telling him the whole truth. So she’d allowed him to draw some conclusions that weren’t exactly true. If he knew it wasn’t a child she was asking him to rescue …

  No, he had to be fully committed to her cause before she told him that P.J. was a dolphin.

  THREE

  Cole pulled off the side of the highway as soon as he crossed the Saddlebunch 2 channel. He shut his headlight off and waited in the shadows for Kira’s car to go by. If he hadn’t glanced in his rearview mirror as he was pulling out of Repo’s, he wouldn’t have known she was still there. It didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t listened. It irritated the hell out of him.

  Her small sedan flew by moments later. He waited thirty seconds to make sure no one was following them, then pulled back onto the highway. Luckily, the late-night traffic was light, and he was able to get within sight of her car relatively quickly.

  He half hoped she’d keep on going past the turnoff on Big Pine and head o
n across the Seven Mile Bridge back to Marathon. Now that she wasn’t within arm’s reach, he’d been able to go over the night’s events with a clearer mind. Her request was crazy. She was crazy.

  Pleading with him one minute, telling him off the next. He’d even been aware of her watching him while he was playing. That unnerved him the most. Usually when he played, the world ceased to exist. Music was both his escape and his penance. It was the only time he allowed himself to feel. It was hellish torture, but it also provided a vent, an outlet for his grief—and his guilt. And she’d known. It had been in her eyes and in her voice.

  “Damn,” he muttered as he turned in behind her onto Key Deer Boulevard then followed her across Bogie Channel onto No Name. He should have left after he’d finished playing. But he’d made the mistake of looking out of the back room. He saw Iggy grab her arm, and something deep inside him had snapped.

  She slowed after she crossed the bridge, and he zoomed around her and led her past the small wooden sign with the word SANDY’S carved into it and a crude arrow drawn above it. He parked his bike under the single bare bulb at the end of his pier. He didn’t bother locking it up. Aside from Sandy’s small shack, which was situated about twenty yards away and doubled as a rental shop and a few empty boats strung up along a second nearby dock, they were alone. Completely alone.

  Cole walked down the short dock and jumped aboard his houseboat. He shouldn’t have invited her. And she sure as hell had no business following a strange man all alone to such an isolated place. He intended to tell her that as soon as she came on board. He’d scooped up a handful of gym shorts and tossed them past the folding door to his bedroom before it occurred to him he was actually cleaning up for her. He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and stalked to the small kitchen to grab a beer.

  He downed half a bottle in one long pull, then rubbed the cold glass against his forehead. He didn’t want to make a good impression; he didn’t want to make any impression. Hopefully she’d gotten cold feet when he hadn’t waited for her. To further discourage her, he’d purposely left off all the lights but a small one in the main cabin.