“You don’t really think that?” There was a distressed look on her face as she stared at him.
“Maybe not, though I wouldn’t have given two cents for my chances after that episode when we went fishing.”
She looked down at her empty cup, rolling it back and forth in her hands. “I can see how my arriving on the scene might have been an inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience? That’s a gross understatement. We had been here a week with absolutely no problems, everything placid and peaceful as anybody could wish, and then you came. When I found you climbing in that window, I saw red. It seemed just barely possible that whoever was after the senator had connected his disappearance with me. If they had tracked me down, it was likely they would send somebody to check out the place. Women are taking their place in the ranks of crime these days, as in everything else. Why not an attractive girl as a plant, a member of the mob? It almost seemed more plausible than that story you gave me. I couldn’t believe Judge Kavanaugh wouldn’t have seen to it that we would be left undisturbed. I hadn’t counted on his gentlemanly protection of his wife and daughter by keeping them in the dark.”
“I don’t see why not. Wasn’t that part of the reason why you didn’t see fit to tell me what was going on? So the men who were after the senator, if they overran the place, could be told I didn’t know a thing about it, as if that were going to make any difference.”
“I suppose you could look at it like that,” he said stiffly.
“On the other hand, you kept me here because you thought that if you let me go I would run all over the country talking to one and all about the man I saw hiding here. Just as the judge probably thought Mary and his wife wouldn’t be able to keep the secret, if the truth were known. You men are all alike, keeping women in ignorance to protect them, when all you are doing is leaving yourselves, and us, open to danger because of what we don’t know!”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that if I had told you everything you would have stayed on here and, shall we say, added to the local color?”
“I might have,” she admitted. “At least I would have done a better job of pretending to be your — your special friend than you managed to convey without my cooperation!”
“I don’t know about that; I thought we did well enough.”
She ignored that, as well as the smile that went with his amused comment. “While I’m on the subject, you can tell me just what the idea was of saying last night that I could leave today, when all the time you knew those gunmen were sneaking up on the house.”
“I didn’t know; I only suspected after the odd behavior of the boat we saw the evening before. I’m not sure how they located us, unless it was as I said, that they made the connection between me and the senator, then maybe had a tip about George from one of his trips with the speedboat. Yesterday afternoon, when the three of us were in conference, we decided it was time to move; the only question was where. The senator wanted to go home. George was for a hotel in New Orleans. I took a lot of ribbing for proposing we commandeer your apartment. We couldn’t agree, so we put it off until morning.”
“And in the meantime, you set yourself, and me, up as decoys, creating a diversion while the police moved in.”
“It was doubtful which was more dangerous, staying put, or trying to move when we suspected strongly that our cover had been blown. Calling in reinforcements seemed wisest. As for setting you up, would you have gone to your room and stayed there if I had asked you?”
“If there was a good reason.”
“You’ll have to admit, at least, that you had done nothing up till then to make me think you might. That being the case, I preferred to keep you with me.”
“So you could watch me.”
“So I could watch over you; there’s a difference. I sent George for the police early enough so they could get in place before trouble started. I thought you would be safe enough as long as you remained inside. I certainly didn’t expect you to leave the house.”
She would just as soon not go into her reason for doing that. “I suppose you are going to say that what I ran into was my own fault, then?”
“I wouldn’t be so ungallant.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she inquired in bitter disbelief. “And I guess you blame me for all those trips George made in the speedboat, trying to find out who I was.”
“No. It wasn’t a good idea to let him use the speedboat. Neither it, nor George for that matter, blend in with a place like this.”
That was a concession. She made a small grimace. “I thought he was a guard.”
“He was a federal agent at one time, before he became my father’s chauffeur. He asked to come with me to help look after the senator here because he blames himself, at least in part, for my father’s death. It was George’s night off, the evening he was killed. Dad hadn’t planned to go out, but he had a call, bogus of course, and he went, alone.”
“Was he at the farm, or whatever it is, above New Orleans?”
There was a shading of self-blame in Charles’s voice also, she thought
“The plantation? Yes, he was spending a few days there. I had gone into the city for the evening. Calls in the night aren’t too unusual with the kind of agricultural-industrial complex we keep going, but if I had been there, I would have taken the call.”
“Whoever killed him must have known you weren’t there.”
He reached up to rake his fingers through his hair, letting out his breath in a long sigh. “I guess so.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at the coffee cup she still turned in her hands. “I really am, for 1everything.”
“If you mean about my father’s death, I’ll accept that. As for the rest, don’t be. I’m not.”
In a denial of the compassion that sought to weaken her defenses, she allowed a glint of anger to creep into her gray eyes. “Well, you should be! When I think of the things you did, it makes me want to — scream.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
Something in his voice made her aware, abruptly, of the fact that they were alone in the house, and that this was a man she had not known existed only a week before. Moreover, there he sat on her bed, watching her as if he had a perfect right to be in her bedroom. It was also a matter for concern that although she was disturbed by the sheer masculinity of his presence, she wasn’t particularly embarrassed by it. Considering how she would have reacted not too long ago, that was shocking if not too surprising after what had passed between them.
“I suppose so,” she murmured at last.
“Besides, you aren’t the one with the scars.”
She flicked a glance at the place where his lip had been cut, now nearly healed, then looked away again. “I wish I had left more.”
“Maybe you did, with your play-acting, pretending to be coming around, to be falling for me.”
“I wasn’t the only one! What about the things you said and did on the veranda in full view of who knows how many people?”
He smiled, his dark eyes bright. “Does that rankle, that I didn’t mean it? Or is it the public performance that you object to?”
“I was only pointing out that you aren’t exactly an innocent party,” she said, sitting up higher in the bed. “As to objecting, I don’t suppose I can, that much, since it was in a good cause.”
“An extremely reasonable attitude. I’m glad you absolve me of blame. On the other hand, I’m not quite so forgiving.”
“What — what do you mean?” she asked, suspicion threading her tone.
“I’m talking about our truce. You were supposed to relax and stop fighting me. You trusted me, remember?”
The soft timbre of his voice seat a shiver along her spine. “You can’t condemn me for using the only means I had left to get around you when I had no idea what you meant to do.”
“Do? I told you that you were safe.”
“But you certainly didn’t act like it, and I heard you tell George that you had
plans for me. That didn’t sound like anything I wanted to stick around for.”
He frowned, then his teeth flashed in a grim smile. “I meant to take you fishing, and generally put you on view to make our being here less conspicuous, as three males keeping to themselves.”
“How could I know that?” She slanted him a look dark with resentment.
“You couldn’t, but you still didn’t have to break our truce, especially after you had been warned.”
Kelly tried for a light laugh. “All that is over now. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, but it does.” He reached out to take the cup from her hand and set it aside. His movements were slow and almost menacing.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Why? What difference does it make?”
“You gave me your promise, and you broke it. If I let you get away with this, how can I trust you in more important matters?”
“To me, it was a question of life or death. I don’t like to be melodramatic, but how much more important can it get?”
“It was life or death for me, too; my father’s, the senator’s.” He caught her wrist in his strong fingers, drawing her toward him.
“Charles,” she said with a catch in her voice, “don’t.”
“You smiled at me, all sweetness and provocation, with such a warm glow in your eyes. You brushed against me with such touching innocence, as if you had no idea what you were doing to me. I wanted you. I dared to hope, and you let me because that was what you wanted all the time. For me to hope. That was your greatest mistake.”
“No.”
His arms closed around her, their grip like iron bands. His eyes burned into her with the darkness of desire. She could feel the hard beat of his heart, and the suffocating throb of her own as he pulled her across his lap and, with slow strength, lowered her to the bed on her back. As he hovered above her braced on one elbow, she knew a treacherous weakness, a longing to dose her eyes and accept what would come.
“Please, Charles,” she whispered, and was not sure for what she pleaded.
“There is one thing that may be in your favor,” he told her, his voice taut and low. “When I followed you from the veranda, when you saw the man with the gun, you called out something to me. What was it?”
She stared up at him, trying to think. “It was — I don’t know.”
“I think you do, Kelly. Tell me.”
“I — only told you to go back.”
“You warned me of danger, even when you thought I was a kidnapper, or worse?”
“I guess so,” she answered, lowering her lashes.
“You know so. Why, Kelly? Tell me why?”
Closing her eyes tightly, she shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will, if you know what’s good for — both of us.”
The strain in his tone communicated itself to Kelly. She opened her eyes, seeing the pain mirrored in his dark gaze, and the uncertainty. It was the latter, so out of character for him, that touched her, bringing the shimmer of tears she could not hide.
“Chérie,” he breathed, “dear God, don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it,” she said, her voice breaking. “It seems to be — the way loving you — affects me.”
“Ah, chérie.” He crushed her to him, rocking her slowly in his arms. “It was no act when I said I loved you. Je t’adore, I adore you. Nothing could be more real than that to me. When I said those words I had forgotten everything except what I felt for you and how beautiful you were.”
His mouth found hers then in a kiss that was warm, and edged with tender passion, carefully leashed. His hand cupped her face, and between soft murmurs of love in two languages, he brushed his lips over her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and downward over her throat.
“Charles?” she said, slowly running her fingers over the back of his neck. “If I had not said I loved you —”
He stopped her there, irresistibly drawn to that word on her lips.
“If I hadn’t said it,” she persevered when she had breath, “what would you have done?”
He went still. “I don’t know. I will show you what I wanted to do, had planned to do, after we are married.”
“Are we going to be married?”
“But of course.”
She did not mind at all, she found, the arrogance of his tone, though it would be best if he didn’t know it. “I don’t remember being asked.”
He raised his head so he could look at her, a smile lurking in his eyes. “Do you want to be — knowing my method of assuring I get the answer I want to hear?”
“Would it be so terrible if I said yes?” She shielded her gaze with her lashes, though she did not miss the leap of flame deep in his eyes.
“It would be enchanting.”
“Well?”
“I think I will deny you the privilege, for both our sakes.”
She worked that out in her mind. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”
“If I don’t get a proposal, do I still get to marry you?”
“It’s mandatory.”
“That sounds as if I don’t have a choice.”
“Call it the consequences of breaking our truce. You will never get away from me.”
With the tip of one finger and a feather touch, she traced along his cheek, then, around the chiseled outline of his mouth. “Suppose I don’t want to — get away, I mean?”
He gave a sigh of mock despair. “Is there no way I can punish you as you deserve?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her gray eyes wide, “don’t kiss me.”
It was, of course, an impossible condition.
One
The cruise ship nudged against the dock, tugging at its hawsers with the pull of the Mississippi River current that ran to the gulf. Clean and sparkling white, even in the drizzling rain, the MTS Athena of the Vassos lines towered above the slow moving line of boarding passengers. Maura O’Neal tilted her head to stare up at the ship. The rain dewed the creamy skin of her face and tangled her long, gold-tipped lashes. It ran from the brim of the bright yellow rain hat that shielded her emerald eyes, and traced in rivulets down the yellow poplin of her waterproof cape. A few drops caught in her hair, jeweling the shoulder-length auburn waves. A wry smile curved her mouth. It was a beautiful ship; of that there could be no doubt, but this was definitely not an auspicious beginning for a sunny Caribbean cruise.
The rain was not the only problem that had plagued this sailing. The Athena had been late coming into port; most of the passengers had been waiting since one o’clock for a departure scheduled for two in the afternoon. It was now well after four. Disaster had struck first much earlier, however. It was three weeks ago that Aunt Maggie had stepped off a curb in the French Quarter near their New Orleans apartment in her platform heels and fallen, breaking a small bone in her foot.
Aunt Maggie was no longer young. The injury was not serious, but it would prevent her from walking comfortably for some time. It was useless to hope to enjoy a cruise ship when one could not promenade the decks, the elderly woman insisted. And then there were the shore excursions, always enough to test the stamina of a long-distance runner, to say nothing of his arches. She would not go. Maura must make the cruise alone. Maura knew what information was required and would probably be much better able to collect it without an old woman at her elbow every moment.
Maura’s protestations were given no heed. Aunt Maggie was a headstrong woman. Actually Margaret O’Neal, famous writer of romance novels, she had been enthralling her readers with tales of love and adventure for twenty-five years, and trotting the globe looking for new, romantic locales equally as long. For the past ten years, since the death of her parents in an automobile accident when she was a lanky eleven year old, Maura had made her home with the elderly woman, her great-aunt. For the last three of these, she had acted as Aunt Maggie’s secretary-typist, unofficially after she left high school
and completed a business course at a good college, officially for the past several months.
It was true, however, that Maura’s job included much more than taking dictation, typing manuscripts, and filing correspondence. It was she who supervised the frequent moves her great-aunt found necessary, both for her restless personality and her need for new backgrounds for her books. It was Maura who hunted apartments, saw that the utilities were turned off and on, and that milk and newspaper deliveries were commenced and canceled. It was she who did the general cleaning until a maid could be engaged, and in her spare time combed the book stores and libraries for research material to give her great-aunt’s novels authenticity.
It was this last task that Aunt Maggie had been speaking of in connection with the cruise. For all her success, Aunt Maggie would no more think of taking a trip or vacation without an eye to story possibilities than she would read a book without noticing the author’s style and command of words. Everything was grist for Aunt Maggie’s mill. For this reason, she had fully intended, when she booked this Caribbean cruise aboard the Greek ship Athena, months before, to develop a romance around the voyage. She was determined that nothing should interfere with that plan.
“Really, Aunt Maggie,” Maura had said when she was told she must go alone, “there’s no need for you to pass this up. We can request a wheelchair and I can push you anywhere you want to go.”
“I am not an invalid, Maura, and I refuse to be forced to answer all the asinine questions sure to be put to me concerning my lower limbs and my ability to get about by myself.”
“I know very well how independent you are, not to say stubborn, Aunt Maggie, but I should think a cast on your foot would be self-explanatory.”
“Possibly, but they would still want to know how I came to have it, and how can I say I fell off my shoes? It sounds senile.”
“It will be pretty obvious if you wear one of your three-inch platform sandals on the other foot!” Maura said, smiling.
Aunt Maggie lifted a brow. “Yes, well, I despise old-lady shoes with squatty heels and laces. But before you wander even further from the point, let me tell you I don’t particularly care about this cruise. I am already familiar with the atmosphere of a cruise ship and the Caribbean. There was that trip to the Bahamas we took that became Island Magic, if you remember?”
Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets) Page 16