Destiny Bay Boxed Set vol. 2 (Books 4 - 6) (Destiny Bay Romances)

by Helen Conrad

  He turned for the bottle, but Kathy snatched it up before he could reach it, holding it behind her back.

  “Oh no you don't,” she said, then swallowed hard, wondering what on earth she thought she was doing. He stared at her for a long moment, but his expression didn't change. She waited for anger, scorn, aggression. But he merely considered, cocking his head slightly to the side.

  “See,” he said quietly, “I knew you were the perfect wife-type. You're just doing what's best for me.”

  Kathy's shoulders sagged with relief, and she placed the bottle on the ground behind her as unobtrusively as possible. “At least you're still in condition to listen to reason,” she began, but even as she spoke, she was watching him reach for the full glass she'd set between them on the bench. In seconds he was sipping from it, his eyes laughing at her over the rim.

  “I'll listen to reason,” he agreed. “But that doesn't mean I'll be reasonable.” He downed the drink and handed her the empty glass. “Going to nag me now?” He sounded almost hopeful.

  Kathy was confused—by him, by her own reactions. Righteous indignation mixed with a strange impulse to push back the lock of hair that straggled over his forehead. What he'd once been to her wasn't quite washed away by what he was today. And yet, here he was drinking, destroying himself. Anger won the war of emotions inside her.

  “You were beautiful once,” she said hotly, glaring at him. “You were straight and tall and proud. You had integrity, a shining spirit. We all looked up to you. We thought you were the most wonderful swimmer—the most wonderful boy—ever. You fought hard and clean and you won, smiling all the way.” Her voice choked and she shook her head, waving a hand at him.

  “How can you do this to yourself? How can you do this to . . . to us.” She meant to the young girl she'd once been, to the others like her, the bright new faces lifted toward hope and the promise of a reward for working hard and being a good person. She wasn't sure if she'd expressed all that, and she wasn't exactly sure how to explain what she did mean.

  But she didn't have to explain. He got the picture. She could see that he did by the startled look in his eyes.

  “Wow,” he said softly. “You know what, you're a class-A nagger.”

  Trying to smile, he lifted the empty glass her way. “Here's to Kathy Carrington, a gold medal in the nag Olympics. She knocked me for a loop in one mighty speech.” He shook his head. “I knew I was a loser, but I hadn't realized I was to blame for everything from ring around the collar to the lack of peace in our time.”

  There was a strange and disturbing lump in her throat. She looked away, then back at the party. “I'm going now.” Surely he wouldn't want her to stay after this.

  “No.” He touched her again. His hand was suddenly at the back of her neck, sliding in under her hair, his fingers moving on her sensitive skin. Her head jerked up with the shock of it. He exerted no pressure, but he didn't pull away either.

  “No,” he said again, his moody eyes holding her gray ones. “Don't leave me like this, without a wife. Stay. I need you.”

  She could barely breathe. A sense of his hot, musky maleness swept over her.

  “Why me?” she whispered, almost desperate. “Why did you have to choose me to be your play-act wife?”

  His next smile reminded her of the wide grin he'd had as a boy. “I knew you were perfect the moment I saw you standing there by the pool. You just looked like a wife to me, sort of . . . old-fashioned and disapproving,” he added carelessly.

  Kathy flushed. What did that mean? That she was dull and drab and frumpy? Why would he say something like that?

  Well, who cared? She didn’t buy it. Still, what he said stung. You never quite get over the self-image you have in high school, she reminded herself. It haunts you forever. And you don't like to be reminded.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, hoping she sounded as sarcastic as she felt. She pulled away from his hand and rose from the bench. “I'll just get out of your way. Maybe your bright, shiny little girl friends will come back and take care of you.”

  He quickly sprang to his feet. “No, I didn't mean it that way. Nothing’s coming out right.” His smile was chagrinned. “That always seems to happen when I drink too much. Life is funny that way.”

  “Hey, there’s a remedy for that.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger as she said it. “Stop drinking. Fixes it every time.”

  He grabbed her hand in his, holding it to his chest, as though to make her feel his heart beating. His eyes looked black here in the shadows. She searched the depths of them, looking for reasons, looking for answers. He pulled her closer and seemed to meld his gaze to hers.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her and her head jerked back when she remembered he was married. Maybe. But he only pulled her closer still.

  “Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  She stared at him, not sure what to do. He was just this side of seriously drunk and there was no telling what he might do to himself. But could she stop him from doing something stupid? What made her think she had that kind of power over him?

  Still, there was no doubt that his voice and his words touched her. She wanted to stay. She couldn’t imagine walking off and leaving him right now. And yet she knew very well that her being with him hadn’t done a thing to stop the alcohol flow. And that walking away was exactly what she ought to do.

  “Jace…” She shook her head, breathing quickly. .

  He closed his eyes and forced her hand to flatten against his chest. Now she could hardly breathe at all. Despite the way he talked, she could tell he still swam, or did something else, because his chest was hard and muscular and massed with the sort of rounded bulges that made a girl’s heart beat a lot faster.

  “Oh,” she breathed, and then her hand was moving of its own accord, touching lightly, almost caressing, and she was trying to find a way to stop.

  Suddenly his hand covered hers and he was whispering again. “Okay, forget the wife thing. Maybe what I really need is a good mistress.”

  That stopped her cold. She’d been feeling sorry for him. He’d seemed hurt, lost. And now this. Was everything in life a joke to him?

  She pulled away quickly and glared at him, but her face felt hot and tears were stinging her eyes. She’d been played for a fool again. Again!

  “Damn it,” she said, fighting the tears back. She was not about to let him see how much his words had hurt her. She had to get out of here. All she wanted was to go and never see this man—this childhood icon with feet of clay —again.

  But before she got a chance to leave, they had company.

  The man was heavy-set, his stomach straining at the buttons of his suit coat, with a full mustache to make up for the bald spot on top of his head. He was breathing heavily from the short walk he'd just made.

  “Jason Harper?” he demanded, sticking out his hand. “I'm Harvey St. John, chairman of the board at Zeb Industries. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I believe we have some business to discuss.”

  Kathy could see that this man was important to Jace. His shoulders straightened, and he did a quick and creditable job of pulling himself together. It looked like business-deal time to her. And an opportunity to get a little of her own back.

  “Why, Mr. St. John,” she cooed, holding her own hand out to the florid man. “How nice to meet you. We've been waiting here, hoping you would come up and join us.” Her imagination ran wild, quickly composing something usable out of thin air. “Jace has just been telling me the hilarious story of how you botched that last deal in Texas.”

  Maybe there really had been a “deal in Texas.” Mr. St. John paled, gaping at her. He took the hand she practically forced on him, looking confused. “And you are? ...”

  Kathy batted her lashes, something she'd never done before, but something she seemed to have a surprising natural talent for. “I'm the lovely Mrs. Harper. Surely you've heard about
me?”

  He turned to Jace and back to Kathy, lips wobbling. “Mrs. Harper? But I thought . . .”

  “Never think, Mr. St. John.” She patted his hand comfortingly, thinking of all the secretaries to whom he'd probably done the same patronizing thing himself. “It only confuses things.”

  She drew back. “Well, I'll leave you two boys alone to talk over your important business.”

  She turned to Jace. “You know, honey, I think I'll run down and call my broker. The London exchange is about to close, and I have a few million shares I want to buy for Daddy for his birthday.” She laughed, batting her eyelashes again. “Jason is so generous. He's letting me play the market with ten percent of the profits off the last poor sap he suckered in.”

  With the flash of a triumphant smile at Jace, who was looking suitably stricken, she flounced away and down the brick path, back toward the party, confident that she didn't have to fear Jace coming after her. He had important things to do now and wouldn't have any more time to play house.

  It would take him ten minutes alone to explain to Mr. St. John that she wasn't his wife at all, and in that time she would have said her thank-yous to the host and be out the door—long gone. And never to see Jace Harper again.

  “Oh please make it so,” she breathed, then smiled as she got ready to talk to Carolyn.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  Take Me Home Tonight

  Kathy walked quickly, losing herself among the guests. She saw the redhead and the blonde who'd been with Jace when she'd first seen him. They waved. They'd hooked onto the professor of drama, one on each arm again, but they weren't about to let this fish go.

  Kathy moved on, searching through the crowd for Mr. or Mrs. Sherman Ives, the couple who'd hosted the party for the board, hoping she'd recognize them when she found them. Everyone at this party tended to look very much the same, all glamorous and expensively dressed. Funny, but that was actually a world she knew pretty well. She’d been born into a wealthy family and lived the good life for years, until the break with her parents that had left her on her own. There were plenty of reasons she regretted that rift, but having money for clothes wasn’t one of them. It had amused Kathy at first, then bothered her a little when she began to wonder if she looked totally out of place.

  Finally she spotted Mrs. Ives and made her way over the lovely curved bridge that went over the connection between the two swimming pools to reach her, enjoying the feel of walking over the water, watching her reflection in the shimmering light. Water lilies floated in the pools, and each blossom seemed to be reaching for the stars. The grounds really were lovely, like something out of a slick magazine. She thought of her tiny apartment and smiled ruefully.

  “Thanks so much,” she murmured when Mrs. Ives took her hand. “Lovely party. Must be going now.”

  “But wait a minute, dear,” Mrs. Ives said, clutching at her hand. “Where's Jason?”

  “Jason?” Kathy looked at her blankly, wondering how on earth their two names could have come to be associated in this woman's mind.

  Mrs. Ives was beautiful. Decades younger than her elderly husband, she was obviously a second wife. Her fingers dripped with baroque jewelry, and her gowns looked Paris-bred. And yet, for all her wealth, there was a hungry look to the woman. She had everything and, apparently, nothing that suited her.

  “Yes, Jason Harper,” she said impatiently. “I saw you slipping away from the party with him some time ago. What have you done with him?”

  “I . . . nothing.” Kathy was a bit taken aback by the intensity of the woman. “He's talking business with someone.” Her chin rose. “And I'm leaving— alone,” she added, for emphasis, just so there would be no mistake.

  An artificial smile took the place of the sharp look on Mrs. Ives's face. “So nice of you to come to our little party,” she said, a line she'd spoken so often by now it sounded as rehearsed as it was. “Please come again.”

  Kathy smiled and turned away, melting into the milling revelers again, then retracing her steps across the bridge and thinking with relief of her little white Mustang sitting outside in the driveway. In just moments she would be back at the motel. Hot chocolate, she decided. She'd make herself a cup and see what the late movie was.

  She was in the middle of the bridge when two arms came curling around her from behind, and the next thing she knew, she was balanced over the water, just inches from a drenching. Her feet were still touching the bridge, but Jace held her so that the slightest shove would send her catapulting into the swimming pool.

  His voice was a low purring in her ear. “What you did back there was not very nice.”

  She gasped, looking down at the ripples just below. “You deserved it,” she countered defensively, grabbing at his arm.

  He leaned her a little further out over the water and she bit back a shriek.

  “Maybe so,” he said. “But I have you in my clutches now. And I think you should pay.”

  “I ... I thought you were busy making business deals.”

  He chuckled. “The hell with business deals. The 'lovely Mrs. Harper' comes first. Didn't you know that?”

  That wasn't really something she had any business knowing. “Jace. . . let me go. ...”

  “No, lovely Mrs. Harper. You owe me.”

  Something in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. He was capable of tossing her into the water, and she knew it. She had a sudden mental picture of what she would look like struggling back out of the pool, drenched to the bone. Fear shivered through her.

  “No, Jace,” she said quickly, her voice trembling a bit. “Come on. Don't do it.”

  “Why not?” He was thoroughly enjoying her predicament. “We both know you can swim. Why not give the folks an exhibition?”

  Peeking over his shoulder, she glanced around at the others, surprised that no one seemed to have noticed them on the bridge. If she could just get loose, she might even avoid becoming a laughingstock.

  “Will the dress shrink?” he asked, all polite interest. “We could always take it off first. . . .”

  She twisted in his arms, trying to be unobtrusive and effective at the same time, a goal that was almost impossible to achieve.

  “Come on, Jace,” she hissed, wishing belatedly that she'd worn spike heels. A sharp kick to the instep could have done wonders in this situation. “Have a heart.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What? Quick. What do you want?”

  His face was nuzzling close to her ear. “For you to stay with me for the rest of the night.”

  Her eyes widened at the implications in his velvet tone. His arms still felt hard and confining, but suddenly they also felt strong and seductive. “You're crazy!”

  His breath was hot in her ear. “All right,” he whispered, “we'll compromise.” He leaned a little further. “We'll both jump in.”

  “No!” She clutched at his arm, feeling him sway and knowing how much he'd had to drink. He might do anything.

  “Okay,” said the voice in her ear. “Let's do it a different way. You stay with me for another hour.”

  “Okay, okay” she said quickly, desperate to get her feet firmly under her again. An hour wasn't that long, and it would get her out of this ridiculous situation. “Now let me go.”

  He pulled her back from the edge, but he didn't let her go. Instead, he pulled her around so that she half faced him, still locked in his arms. “You feel good,” he muttered, his face buried in her hair. He filled his senses with her scent. “You smell good, too.”

  She shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with anxiety. Despite everything, she had a wild impulse to melt into his arms and enjoy the marvelous feel of his hard male body. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, almost succumbing.

  But a lifetime of discipline had not been in vain. Strengthening herself, she opened her eyes again and pushed him away. “Let go of me! You can't hold on like this.”

  “Why not? They're doing it.” He gestured toward the c
ouples dancing nearby.

  Strange. She could smell the liquor on his breath, could hear its effect in his slurred speech, but it didn't disgust her as it usually would have. In fact, if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that he was by far the most attractive man she'd been this close to in a long, long time.

  But he didn't give her time to mull over the contradictions in that. “Let's go,” he said, starting off the bridge, taking her by the hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home. I need you to drive me home.” He turned back to look at her, his grin impossibly endearing. “That's what a wife is for. You've got to take care of me.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, finally getting the picture. So that was it. What a fool she was. He'd felt himself drinking too much at the party, had looked around to find a likely candidate to take care of him once he was two sheets to the wind, and his gaze had fallen upon her. Simple as that. She looked old-fashioned and disapproving, after all. So he'd voted her most likely to get him home without picking his pockets. Wonderful.

  Emotion welled up in her, and she didn't stop to analyze whether it was indignation or disappointment. “You know what your problem is?” she demanded. “You don't want a wife. Or even a mistress. You want a mother.”

  “Oh. Is that it?” He looked puzzled, then looked her up and down and shook his head sagely. “No, I don't think so. But thanks for the advice anyway.”

  He took her hand again and began to lead her out through the house. A small quiver of panic came and went in her chest. What was she getting into here? She didn't really know this man. Was she crazy too, or was it just him?

  “Wait a minute,” she said quickly. “I just remembered. Mrs. Ives wants you.”

  Immediately she regretted her wording, but it didn't seem to faze him. He didn't even hesitate.

  “Mrs. Ives has had me,” he said matter-of-factly, opening the huge front door and ushering her out. “Mrs. Ives and her ilk have chewed me up, spit me out, and are now recoiling in disgust at the ugly stain I make upon their carpeted lives.”