A Good Man Walks In

by Ginna Gray

  Travis-watched her go, gritting his teeth. It was a sensible suggestion. Eminently sensible. But, dammit! He was spoiling for a fight! He didn't want to hear sensible suggestions!

  At the end of the pier a lifebuoy lay atop a coil of rope, which tethered it to a piling. Making a frustrated sound, Travis hauled off and kicked the floatation ring as hard as he could, sending it sailing out over the water, the rope unfurling behind like a long snake.

  * * *

  For the next six days their routine remained unchanged; Rebecca arose early, ate breakfast and left the house before Travis emerged and disappeared in the boat. On the seventh day, however, exactly one week after the encounter on Alhaja Verde, he decided he could use a change, and spent the morning in the boathouse, giving the inboard engine on Max Delany's speedboat a tune-up.

  High-speed engines, whether in cars, planes, motorcycles or boats, were one of Travis's passions, tinkering with one his favorite way to relax. After five hours and three skinned knuckles, the boat was running like a top, and he emerged from the boathouse tired, hungry, covered with grease and feeling pleasantly mellow.

  The last lingered only as long as it took him to reach the house. The moment he stepped through the door and his senses were assaulted by the delicious smell of something cooking, his mood took a nosedive.

  The source of the heavenly aroma, he discovered, was a simmering Crockpot of stew on the kitchen counter. As usual, Rebecca was nowhere in sight.

  His mouth watered and his stomach growled. Almost snarling, Travis snatched a can of chili from the pantry, dumped the contents into a bowl and zapped the spicy glob in the microwave. Sitting at the counter, he shoveled the unappetizing concoction into his mouth and glowered at the simmering stew.

  The woman was driving him crazy, just as he'd known she would. Oh, sure, she'd lived up to her end of their bargain. With a vengeance. He rarely caught so much as a glimpse of her. Hell, even when it was her night to use the living room, when he returned in the evenings she always scurried off to her room before he reached the house—as if he were some kind of ogre, or something. It irritated the hell out of him.

  Out of sight or not, he was always aware that she was there. How could he not be? There were constant signs of her presence everywhere—one of her books left on the sofa, a glass in the sink with lipstick on it, a faint drift of perfume in the air, the sound of music coming from her room. The other day he found a pair of scanty lace panties she'd left in the dryer. He sent another black look at the Crock-pot. Worst of all, the smell of her cooking was driving him nuts.

  That had come as a shock. He hadn't expected Rebecca to be able to cook at all. Nor to know how to keep house. The Quinns had always had domestic help. Since her mother's death, when she was five or so, there had been a string of housekeepers to run the Quinn home and see to Rebecca's needs. Yet, if smell were anything to go by, she was an excellent cook. She also kept the living room and kitchen, and what he could see of her side of the house, neat and clean as a pin. By comparison, his bedroom was beginning to look like a disaster area.

  Giving a disgruntled snort, Travis slid off the bar stool and sauntered around the counter. No sooner had he put his bowl and glass in the sink then he stepped on something sharp.

  "Hell and damnation!" He hopped around on one foot, cursing vividly and holding the injured foot in his hand. Finally he leaned against the counter to examine the injury, and uttered a choice expletive at the sight of the small gold earring embedded, post first, in the sole of his foot.

  His inhaled breath whistled between his gritted teeth when he plucked the ornament out of his flesh. He slammed the earring down on the counter and limped through the living room and down the hall to his bathroom in search of alcohol and a Band-Aid.

  Hellfire! living with Rebecca was like living with a damned ghost!

  By the time Travis had showered and doctored his foot the rare burst of temper had subsided and his usual indolent, sunny outlook had returned.

  It was too late to go fishing, but he wasn't in the mood to just he around the empty house. Besides, he was tired of his own company. What he needed was a night in Alhaja Verde. He'd go to Pepe's Cantina, have a few beers, enjoy some of Constanza's great cooking, shoot the breeze with her gregarious little husband. Maybe he'd even dance with a pretty senorita or two.

  Cheered by the prospect, Travis shoved his bare feet into a pair of deck shoes and headed for the boathouse, whistling a snappy tune as he sauntered down the pier with his hands in his pockets, his long blond hair lifting in the Gulf breeze.

  * * *

  "I just love a man with a tattoo," the redhead purred. Giving him a sultry look, she traced the snarling leopard with one long scarlet nail. "It's so manly."

  "Oh yeah?" Travis shot her an amused glance and took a sip of beer.

  "No really. I mean it." She leaned closer and rubbed her breast against his arm. Her eyelids grew heavier and her fingers crept up over his shoulder and threaded through the hair at his nape, the long nails lightly scoring his scalp. "There's something so sexy about it. So...deliriously primitive. And this earring..." She flipped the dangling saber. "Oh, baby." The last came out on a breathy whisper that feathered about his ear.

  Travis grunted and resisted the urge to scratch the annoying tickle. Her perfume, undoubtedly expensive, was suffocating him, and her breath smelted of gin and cigarettes.

  He wondered Why what had seemed like such a good idea a few hours earlier had lost all appeal.

  For the past hour, Bootsie Whatever-her-name-was had been coming on to him with all the finesse and subtlety of a sailor on a three-hour pass, but for some reason he wasn't even tempted.

  She simply didn't appeal to him, he told himself, nor did her life-style.

  Bootsie—Travis shuddered just thinking the ridiculous name—was with a party traveling on one of the luxurious private yachts in the harbor—one of the idle rich, seeking a diversion from boredom. From the moment she and her friends had wandered into Pepe's, loudly demanding service, she'd latched onto him.

  She probably thought, from his appearance, that he was a shady character. Not that he blamed her. So had the slimeballs he'd busted on his last undercover assignment on the Miami docks.

  He liked women. Hell, he adored women. All kinds. Short, tall, thin, chubby, brunette, blonde, young, old—he thought they were all terrific. He enjoyed their company. He liked the way they looked, the way they smelted, the way they talked, the way they walked. Hell, he even found their thought processes fascinating. But when it came to intimacy, he did have certain standards. And they didn't include letting himself be seduced by a spoiled socialite looking for a cheap thrill.

  The trouble was, in the beginning, when the idea of a Utile feminine company had still held appeal, he'd made the mistake of flirting right back. The longer he'd talked to her, however, the more he'd been put off. Now he had to find a graceful way of extricating himself.

  He'd cooled his response, but the subtle approach was wasted on Bootsie. Travis glanced at Pepe, then at Con-stanza, and sighed. He'd get no help from that quarter. For some reason, the Moralleses had been glaring disapproval ever since the redhead had perched herself on the bar stool next to him.

  Bootsie pressed closer, and Travis felt a sharp nip on his lobe. "Travis, honey," she murmured in his ear. "Why don't you and I go back to my stateroom. We'll have privacy there so we can..." She traced the swirls in his ear with the tip of her tongue and made a purring sound. "... really get to know one another. What do you say?"

  Her hand settled on his thigh and began a slow foray upward but Travis caught it and leaned away, breaking contact with the woman's voracious tongue and hot breath. "Sorry," he said with what he hoped with a regretful smile. "But I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because... I'm, uh... I'm involved with someone. Seriously involved."

  Bootsie narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you. If you're involved with someone, what are you doing on Alhaja Verde alone?"


  "I'm not. I'm vacationing here with my fiancee."

  "Vacationing? You?" She gave him a slow once-over, from his sockless feet to his long mane of hair, and a cynical smile curled her lips. "Frankly, honey, you're a good-looking devil, but you hardly look like a tourist. Or the type to have a fiancee."

  Travis shrugged. "Sorry, but I am. And I do."

  "Oh, yeah. Then where is she?"

  "Shopping. You know how it is with us guys and shopping," he said with a sheepish half smile. "She's meeting me here when she finishes.''

  Bootsie took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. She watched Travis, her gaze frankly disbelieving. "It's getting dark out. The market closed a half hour ago. You wouldn't by chance be trying to give me the brush-off, now would you, Travis? If you are, I warn you, I don't give up that easily."

  "No, really. She should have been here by now." Feigning worry, Travis looked toward the entrance, just in time to see Rebecca push through the door with a shopping bag on each arm. On impulse, he slid off the stool. "Ah, there she is now," he said, and headed for her.

  He strode purposely through the crowded room. Rebecca, her gaze sweeping the dim cantina for an empty table, didn't see him until he was only a few feet away. The shock of recognition flashed in her eyes when she spotted him bearing down on her, and she instinctively took a step back. Her eyes grew even wider when he came to a halt in front of her and grasped her shoulders.

  "Darling," Travis exclaimed. "Where have you been? I was beginning to worry."

  Before she could stammer out a reply, he hauled her up against his chest and caught her mouth with his.

  Chapter Four

  Rebecca stood ramrod stiff within Travis's grasp, her eyes wide and startled.

  His lips rocked over her unresponsive ones for a moment before he pulled back a fraction and muttered, "For God's sake, loosen up and kiss me back, will ya? I'll explain later."

  She barely had time to draw a breath before he wrapped his arms around her and recaptured her gaping mouth in a kiss that she felt right down to her toes.

  She had no choice but to do as he asked; every muscle in her body went weak and trembly, melting like wax as a searing heat poured through her veins. Slowly, the handles of the shopping bags slid from her arms, and the straw carryalls thumped to the floor. Her eyelids drifted shut and she went limp against Travis's chest. Of their own accord, her arms slid around him, her hands clutching the worn T-shirt stretched taut across his broad back.

  Her heart banged against her ribs. Dazed and disoriented, Rebecca clung to Travis, the only solid thing in a suddenly topsy-turvy world.

  A moment ago, she had simply been standing there minding her own business, tired and thirsty, her feet aching from hours of wandering through the market. The only thought on her mind had been finding a table and getting a cool drink before she had to leave to catch the ferry. The last thing she had expected was to be snatched into a passionate embrace.

  From shoulder to knee, she was locked against Travis's body, and her head swam with the smell and feel and taste of him. Her sensory perception was suddenly so acute it was as though her entire body had turned into a bundle of quivering nerve endings. She was aware of his warmth searing her, his hardness and solid strength pressing against her breasts, her abdomen, her thighs, the steely arms wrapped around her, the soft prickle of his beard against her face as his mobile lips devoured hers. Slowly, rhythmically, his tongue stroked into her mouth in an incredibly erotic caress. Rebecca moaned and clutched him harder, kissing him back with mindless fervor as her knees began to give way.

  The kiss may have lasted an instant or an hour; Rebecca had no idea. It was several seconds after Travis raised his head before she realized that it was over. Slowly, as though they were weighted with lead, she opened her eyes to find him studying her with a puzzled expression.

  Before she could form a coherent thought, he hugged her close once more. "I know you're confused but I'll explain all this later. I swear it," he whispered in her ear.' 'For now, just follow my lead. Okay?"

  At that moment Rebecca remembered where they were and became aware of the amused grins on the faces of the people around them. When Travis felt her stiffen, he tightened his embrace. "Please, Rebecca," he pleaded. "Just play along."

  Without waiting for her agreement, he turned and announced loudly, "C'mon, honey. There's someone over here I want you to meet." He headed back to the bar with Rebecca tucked snugly against his side. Too benumbed to resist, she stumbled along beside him in a daze.

  A slender, expensively dressed redhead watched their approach with bored cynicism. When they stopped in front of the woman, Travis gave Rebecca's waist a warning squeeze. "Sweetheart, I'd like you to meet Bootsie... uh..."

  "Wellingford-Tremaine," the redhead supplied. "Bootsie Wellingford-Tremaine."

  "Uh, yeah. Bootsie, this is Rebecca Quinn, the one I've been telling you about."

  Rebecca managed a strained smile and mumbled a few words of greeting, but she was so busy trying to gather her scattered wits she had no idea what they were. She was uncomfortably aware of Travis's arm around her, and his lean body pressing against her side.

  The redhead puffed on her cigarette and looked Rebecca over, from her windblown hair to her simple skirt and blouse, all the way down to her bare legs and sandaled feet "So... you're Travis's fiancee?"

  Rebecca jolted and at the same time Travis gave her waist another squeeze. "Fi-fian—?"

  "Now, sweetheart, don't be angry. I know we agreed to keep our engagement secret for a while. But hey, you know how it is when people get to talking over drinks. Besides, I'm so crazy about you, I had to tell somebody."

  Rebecca looked up at Travis and experienced another shock when she found him gazing down at her like an adoring lover. A tender smile curved his mouth, and his eyes held a warmth she had never seen before. At least, not when he was looking at her.

  She felt another nudge at her waist and closed her mouth. "I, uh... I see. Well..." She looked back at Bootsie and tried to smile but the result was merely an awkward wavering of her lips.

  "Funny. I'm having a hard time picturing the two of you together," Bootsie drawled.

  "Oh, we're together, all right. In fact, we're spending the summer together at my cousins' beach house. Isn't that right, honey?"

  "Yes. Yes, that's right," Rebecca agreed quickly, grateful for a question she could answer truthfully.

  "Yeah, before we announce our engagement, we thought we'd give it a trial run. You know—see how well we rub along together on a daily bask. Test how sexually attuned we are. That sort of thing," Travis added, nearly causing Rebecca to choke.

  "And how's it working out?"

  The challenge in the woman's voice didn't faze Travis. A grin spread over his face, his teeth a slash of white in the reddish-brown beard. His hot gaze swept over Rebecca in a took so explicitly sexual she blushed. "Terrific," he murmured in a deep, lascivious rumble, and placed a lingering kiss against her temple. "Absolutely terrific."

  "Ay yiyi! I knew you it! I knew it! Didn't I tell you, mi esposa?'

  To Rebecca's horror, Constanza, her round face beaming, bustled around the bar, plucked her from Travis's embrace, and swooped her up in a suffocating hug.

  "Ah, si, si! Mi Constanza, she tell me only the other day that you and the seOorita were..." Pepe paused to close his eyes and kiss his fingertips dramatically. ".. .enamorado. How you say—in love! Ah, Senor! Senorita! Pepe and Constanza, we are muy happy for you!"

  Rebecca sent a frantic look Travis's way, but he ignored it. Other than a brief frown, he seemed unconcerned. He even accepted Pepe's hearty handshake and thumps on the back with an infuriatingly self-satisfied masculine grin.

  "Thanks, mi amigo. But hey, listen. Do me a favor and keep this quiet, will you. If Erin and Elise get wind of it the whole family will know within an hour, and Rebecca and I aren't ready to make an announcement yet."

  "Ah, si.
Pepe understands the affairs of the heart. Do not worry, Sefior Travis. Your secret is safe."

  "Traavis!" Rebecca hissed. "You've got to expla—"

  Snagging her waist again, Travis jerked her close, and she slammed against his side with an oof that cut off her protest in mid-spate. Before she could recover, he bent and planted another hard kiss on her mouth. When he raised his head, he smiled indulgently, but his eyes held a warning she could not miss.

  "Don't worry, sweetheart. You heard Pepe. He'll keep our secret." He flashed his roguish grin at the others and began to maneuver Rebecca toward the door. "You'll have to excuse us, but we're going to head for home. It's a long way back to the island, and Rebecca's tired after all that shopping." He picked up the straw carryalls Rebecca had dropped.

  "But Senor Travis, you must stay for dinner so that we may toast your engagement. Constanza, she will cook something muy especial."

  "Muchos gracias, mi amigo, but we can't. Rebecca left dinner cooking, so we have to get back. Some other time, maybe. So long, Bootsie. Buenos noches."

  "Would you mind telling me what that was all about?" Rebecca demanded the instant they were outside.

  Travis gripped her elbow and, with a nonchalance that Rebecca found stunning, led her down the beach road toward the marina where he docked the speedboat.

  "It's simple. Bootsie was becoming a bit of a problem. To discourage her, I had to make her think I was seriously involved with someone else."

  "That's it? You were just trying to give some rich jet-setter the brush off?" Rebecca exhaled a long-suffering sigh and pressed the fingertips of her free hand to her forehead. "I realize that it would probably have been the first time in living memory, but couldn't you have told her that you weren't interested?"