Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  Unconsciously, Kelly turned to look at the guest cottage. There was a better view of it from here than from the main house. The same was true of the wood-and-metal boathouse in its covering of trees off to their left. “I saw the other man leave a little while ago in the speedboat,” she said, her tone casual. “I suppose that’s the way you and the others came to the house?”

  “A brilliant deduction,” he told her, his manner openly mocking.

  “I don’t see the point, not if you are posing as residents.”

  “Boats leave no tracks, and are harder to trace than automobiles.”

  “I thought they had to be registered.”

  “Oh, yes, and marked with a registration number — put on with nice stick-on lettering that is easily changed.”

  Kelly glanced at the guest house again, “It’s none of my business, but didn’t the departure of your accomplice leave you in something of a bind?”

  “In what way?”

  “There’s only one of you to watch two of us.” Her attention was caught by the faint sound of a radio coming from the cottage, or was it a television? There was an antenna at the back, poking up among the trees.

  “Your concern for your fellow prisoner is touching. Are you afraid he will get away and you won’t?”

  She turned a cold look on him. “Hardly. If there was any danger of that, you wouldn’t be so nonchalant about it. What troubles me is what you may have done to him to give you such peace of mind.”

  He did not move, did not speak, and yet she sensed the force of the anger that surged through him. He reached out to cup her elbow, and it was as though an electric current had touched her. His voice soft, he said, “Would you believe me if I told you he was up there being mesmerized by game shows and soap operas he never had the chance to watch before?”

  “What keeps him from just — leaving?”

  “He has no car, the boathouse is locked, his heart isn’t good — no walking you see? Besides, it may be he likes the utter relaxation of letting someone else do the thinking, make the decisions, while he is saved from the need to see and be seen.”

  “No,” she said, “I don’t believe it.”

  “Shall we go and visit with him then?” His fingers tightened on her arm.

  It was then that they heard the motorboat. They swung back at the sound, watching the speeding white launch come toward them like a silver streak, its wake spreading out in a wide fan as the boat made a great curve, circling to come into the landing beside the catwalk.

  “I would have thought that to be inconspicuous was what you wanted,” Kelly murmured. “If so, I can’t say much for your choice of transportation.”

  “Sometimes other considerations are more important,” he answered, but there was a brooding quality in his tone. He was still frowning when the other man stepped off the near end of catwalk and came toward them.

  The guard had removed his gun, donned a gold nylon life vest and placed an open mesh cap squarely on his head. Regardless, he looked nothing like a fisherman. Kelly’s eyes widened as she recognized what he held in his hand.

  “Everything checks out,” the guard said, holding out her denim-covered billfold to Charles. “I placed the transatlantic call, but couldn’t reach the party you wanted, some mix-up in the itinerary. I left a message. You should get a cable tonight or tomorrow with the information you wanted, the time difference being what it is.”

  Charles’s narrowed gaze met that of the other man in obvious understanding. “No problems?”

  “No problems.”

  “Did you get the sen — our other guest’s ice cream?”

  The other man snapped his fingers. “Left it in the boat. I’d better get it before it melts.”

  Charles turned back toward the path that led to the main house, his grip still fastened on Kelly’s arm. She did not move, holding back. “I thought we were going to see about the — the old man?”

  “There’s no need now. He has company again.”

  “Company? That’s isn’t exactly what I would call it.”

  “I’m sure, but what’s in a name?”

  Kelly paid no attention to his wry question. “You don’t intend to take me, do you?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he answered, amusement rising in his eyes as he took in her pugnacious attitude.

  “Why?”

  “I told you once that you have an expressive face. It appears your imagination pictures all kinds of horrors being visited upon a helpless old gentleman. So long as you are uncertain whether you are right, you may think twice before you step out of line.”

  Rage flared over her, followed by sudden chill of fear. Under such stimulus, her mind was prodded into action. “On the other hand,” she said quietly, “I might be forced to conclude that if I had seen him I would no longer have anything to fear.”

  “So you might,” he agreed, a gleam in his eyes that might have been admiration, but could also have been expectation.

  It was diabolical. She could take what he was doing to mean either that she was perfectly safe or that she stood in the deadliest danger. The only thing that could give her any hint of which to count on was her own conception of the kind of man she was facing.

  “You abominable, impossible, conniving —”

  “Careful,” he warned, tilting his head on one side. “We have a truce, but if you are the one to break it, I refuse to be responsible for what I might do!”

  Five

  Her best defense, Kelly decided, was to pretend there was nothing unusual going on, to proceed as though she were alone. Toward that end, she announced her intention of spending the rest of the morning sunbathing. Charles applauded the idea, falling in with it immediately and with every sign of good humor. He spread a piece of canvas on the grass where the lawn sloped to the lake, the only place other than the swimming raft where there was enough sun away from the traveling shade of the trees.

  Dressed in her swimsuit, armed with sunglasses, sunscreen, tanning lotion, her book, and her beach towel, Kelly settled on the canvas. Charles, in the brief white suit she remembered vividly from the day before, positioned himself beside her. They lay unmoving, without speaking, soaking in the molten sunlight.

  Within minutes, they were gilded with a fine sheen of perspiration. It gathered in rivulets, running into Kelly’s hair, dampening the tresses at the nape of her neck, gathering between her breasts.

  “Your sunscreen and suntan lotion aren’t going to do you much good in the bottle,” Charles said.

  Drugged with heat, it was a moment before Kelly could bring herself to form an answer. “I probably don’t need it.”

  “You’ll be as pink as a parboiled shrimp.”

  “I promise I won’t ask you to take me to the hospital.”

  She heard the rustle of the canvas as he sat up, but she lay still. She had almost decided he had let the subject drop when she felt his hands on her face, smoothing across the bridge of her nose and the high bones of her cheeks.

  Her eyes flew open. She met his dark, smiling gaze as he leaned over her. Before she could speak, he said, “Sunscreen.”

  She could attend to the protection of her skin as he thought she should, or she could lie where she was and accept his ministrations. It was the treacherous urge to do the latter that made her sit up and snatch the tube of sunscreen from his hand.

  Satisfied, he lay back down, locking his hands behind his head as he watched her. His appreciative gaze traveled over her curves, accented by a modestly revealing, aqua-blue bikini. When she substituted the tanning lotion for the sunscreen, he followed her movements as she rubbed it over her arms and shoulders and along the length of her torso and legs.

  “Would you like me to do your back?” he asked, his tone dulcet.

  “Thank you, no, I can manage,” she answered, the glance she sent him edged with distrust. She did, too, though not without difficulty. Her chore completed, Kelly lay back down. The scent of her lotion hung in the still and humid air. />
  “You smell like coconut candy,” he drawled, “good enough to eat.”

  The timbre of his voice seemed to vibrate through her. Keeping her voice casual with an effort, she said, “You are welcome to use some of my lotion, if you like.”

  “I probably don’t need it,” he answered, a silky note to his voice.

  It crossed her mind to treat him as he had treated her, by applying a sample of the sunscreen. She was by no means sure that he would object, as she had, to being anointed with lotion and coconut oil, however. He might even enjoy it. In any case, as brown as his skin was, he was doubtless right; he would have little use for it.

  The quiet between them lengthened, disturbed only by the persistent croaking of the tree frog. The sun bore down upon them, bringing a flush of heat to their skin, running like fever in their blood. And then from the man beside her came one soft-spoken word. “Chicken.”

  There was something in what he said, she had to admit, though she gave no sign that she had heard. She was more than a little hesitant to begin her program of appearing to be smitten by his charm. She was also reluctant to risk his reaction to a question that exercised her mind. It was annoying to be forced to concede that he had the power to affect her with such trepidation. It must be resisted.

  “Tell me, just what was that man doing with my billfold? What did he mean, that everything ‘checked out’?”

  “Can’t you guess?” His voice was lazy, unconcerned.

  She turned her head to look at him as he lay with his eyes closed beside her. “You had him verify that I am who I said?”

  “And that you do indeed work for your construction firm, and have no record, not even so much as a parking violation.”

  “How could you find out all that in such a short time?”

  “Computers are wonderful things.”

  “You have to have the authority to use them, first.”

  “It does pay to have friends in high places,” he agreed, his firm mouth curving in the faintest of smiles.

  She was no closer to knowing what to make of him than she had ever been. It was plain, however, that he had no intention of enlightening her beyond what he wanted her to know, or what was self-evident. Setting her teeth in exasperation, she closed her eyes and tried once more to relax.

  They consumed a light lunch of chef’s salad, crackers, and a tall, cooling drink. Afterward, Kelly showered and shampooed her hair. Before she left the bathroom, she pulled on her shorts and top once more, then with resignation, rebandaged her foot. If she didn’t see to it, Charles doubtless would. Before the dresser in the bedroom, she combed the tangles from her hair, then left it to dry naturally, only raking her fingers through it now and then to speed the process. She felt headachy and on edge. Though the air conditioning had been switched on once more and it was cool in the room, there was an oppressive feeling in the air.

  She wondered where Charles was, and what he was doing. Though she could not hear him moving about, she was almost certain he was somewhere nearby. It didn’t matter, of course. She would be glad of a few hours’ respite from his constant presence, if he would allow it.

  She threw herself down on the bed and picked up her book. By furious concentration, she was able to become involved in the story after a time. Slowly, as the effect of the sun and the warm water of her shower wore away, she began to grow cool. The air conditioning was certainly more than effective, for beyond the drapes at the window, the wearing heat of the afternoon could be sensed.

  Rising from the bed, she turned the bedspread down, then lay back down, slipping her feet and lower legs beneath it. She picked up her book again, but her eyes felt grainy and raw from her sleepless night and the sun’s glare this morning. She turned her book face down and let her lids fall, pressing them tightly closed.

  A booming sound echoed over the house. Kelly opened her eyes. The light in the room was dim, bordering on darkness, and the air stale. From her stiffness, and the heaviness that clung to her mind, she thought she had been asleep for some time.

  Once more the thudding boom rolled over the roof above her. Thunder. It was going to rain; the judge and the tree frog had been right. Her whimsical smile was banished by a sudden yawn. Despite the time she had been asleep, she did not feel rested or refreshed in any way. Shaking her head, she sat up and slid from the bed. She threw the spread up over the pillows and tucked it under them, then smoothed out the wrinkles. Pausing in the task, she stood listening, thinking she heard the rain already, but it was only the rustling of the leaves of the live oaks overhead in the rising wind.

  Drawn by the sound of the storm, she left her room. She moved through the house, letting herself out onto the veranda. There were rocking chairs and heavy wooden lounges ranged along the inside wall, but she skirted them, heading for a porch swing on the far end. Dropping into it, she positioned herself in the corner and swung her feet up onto the seat. From that end of the house, nearer the cottage, she could see out over the open lake, could watch the storm that was brewing.

  Her attention was riveted suddenly by a movement in the water. It was Charles on the swimming raft. Had he seen her there in the shadowy dimness of the screened porch? More likely, he had heard the closing of the front door as she came outside and realized she was awake. Whatever the reason, he came smoothly to his feet and dived, cutting the water with scarcely a splash. The waters of the lake seemed to catch and hold what little light was left in the evening sky, for she could see the dark outline of his head and shoulders as he cleaved the water with smooth, strong strokes.

  He reached the catwalk and pulled himself up the ladder nailed to its side near the boat landing. The white speedboat was no longer there; it must have been hidden away once more in the boathouse.

  As Charles started along the catwalk, silver lightning flickered in the sky, striking down into the open water behind him. For an instant, the dark outline of his figure was illuminated in eerie light. It gave him the look of a statue cast in ancient, gleaming bronze come to life, with the gold disk at his neck glittering like a baleful beacon.

  Pain, and a strange species of fear half for him, half for herself, moved in Kelly’s chest. The thunder that followed the lightning reverberated along her nerves. There was something in the elemental forces gathering around her that made her feel vulnerable, and at the same time sent the quicksilver rise of excitement like champagne to her head. Watching Charles as he drew closer, she clasped her hands around her drawn-up knees, closing her fingers tightly together to still their trembling. She was going to have to be careful. How much longer she could live on the knife-edge of her emotions without doing something desperately foolhardy, she did not know. That balancing act was the reason she was so affected by the mere sight of the man who was holding her captive; it must be.

  Charles paused just inside the screen door of the veranda. His face was a blur in the dimness, but she thought he was staring in her direction.

  “It’s going to rain,” she said, and was immediately aware of the inanity of the comment, though powerless to do anything about it.

  “So it seems.” His agreement was cool.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to stay out of the water when it’s lightning?”

  “Were you worried?”

  “About you, no. But it did cross my mind that I might be better off with you alive.” Her tone was as casual as she could manage.

  “How is that?” There was a taut sound in his voice.

  “As they say, ‘Better the devil you know —’“

  “I might have guessed,” he said, and moved with swift strides into the house.

  Kelly swallowed against the tightness in her throat, at the same time, narrowing her eyes against the wind that swept across the veranda. The great branches of the live oaks overhead creaked and groaned. The clatter of their leaves was loud in the stillness. From near the lake there came a chorus of tree frogs, mocked by the deep honking of the huge bull frogs. Far out on the lake could be seen the white
frosting of foam as the surface of the water was blown into waves. The porch swing began to move, pushed by the blown gusts that struck the house. As thunder rumbled again, the smell of ozone, sharp and fresh, filled the air. The heat of the day was banished, to be replaced by a cool and tingling freshness.

  Lightning crackled again, illuminating the veranda with its blue-white flare. Kelly flinched and got to her feet, ready to retreat into the house, yet reluctant to leave the fiery display. At the guest cottage, lights bloomed in the increasing blackness of the evening, a yellow glow half obscured by the waving branches of the trees. The chains of the porch swing began to creak as it swung back and forth. Leaves and the torn ends of branches whirled through the air to be plastered against the wire screen that hummed in the wind.

  A footstep sounded behind her, and Charles moved to stand at her side. He had changed into pants and an open-necked sports shirt. There was about him a warm, male smell overlaid by the spiciness of the soap that he used in his shower. As if a signal had been received, the rain came roaring toward them over the lake, churning the water to froth, spattering through the trees, drumming the ground to bring forth the smell of warm wet earth. It pounded on the roof, and struck against the screen in a mighty rush that sent mist fogging in the air, swirling toward them. They backed away to the house wall. In the deafening, wind-swept fury of the storm, it was a moment before Kelly realized that she was shivering with the damp chill, or that Charles had put his arm around her, holding her against him. As if drawn by something beyond her control, Kelly lifted her lashes to look at him. He was watching her in the semidarkness, his face without expression. Slowly, by almost imperceptible degrees, giving her ample time to draw back, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm, and her own molded to them in sweet accord.