“Why not now?”
“I’m at the age where I want a place to call home. A place I’m guaranteed to come home to every night.”
She registered the longing in his voice. “Where is home now?”
“Florida and Jamaica.”
“Jamaica in the Caribbean?”
“Yes.”
Now her curiosity was piqued. “How much time do you spend there?”
“Not enough.” A muscle flicked uneasily in his lean jaw. “The house is more than a hundred and eighty years old, and is one of the most intact structures in Ocho Rios. I was able to buy it for a fraction of its worth because the locals say it’s haunted.”
Vanessa went still, her eyes widening with this disclosure. “Haunted how?”
“The house was built in eighteen thirty-six as a honeymoon retreat for the members of a well-to-do British family. Every woman who married into the family and spent her honeymoon at the house died within the first year of her wedding.”
“How did they die?”
Shrugging his broad shoulders and arching a pale eyebrow, Joshua said, “Rumors say they were poisoned. By whom, no one knows.”
“Do you believe in the superstition?”
A mysterious smile touched his mouth. “It wouldn’t make a difference if I did, because I claim no blood ties to the family who owned the house.”
“What did they do with the place?”
“It was abandoned when Jamaica claimed its independence and went into receivership for taxes. I found it unusual to purchase a house with all of its original furnishings still in it. Most former owners sold off heirloom pieces to pay for taxes or other debts.”
Vanessa studied his face, unable to assuage her attraction for the enigmatic stranger she had consented to share dinner with. He was nothing like men she had dated in the past. Most of them had dominated the conversation, bragging about their attributes and successes, hoping to impress her, while Joshua only revealed what she had asked of him. He seemed more interested in her than she in him.
“The house must be quite elegant,” she said, trying to envision the contents of a nineteenth-century West Indian home.
A faraway expression crossed Joshua’s face and his eyes searched Vanessa’s, reaching into her thoughts. “It’s not as elegant as it is peaceful. It’s a refuge if you’re hurting and need a place to heal.”
She laughed. “Do I look as if I’m hurting?”
“No one is exempt from pain—physical or emotional.” This time there was no hint of a smile or amusement in his eyes.
A flicker of apprehension coursed through Vanessa as she remembered the pain of Kenneth’s infidelity—pain which caused her to flee Los Angeles for New Mexico. She had told herself that she wasn’t running away, but no one was fooled by her assertion that she needed a change. Her family never questioned her motives, knowing she had to leave California because the media had begun to follow her. Reporters wanted to know why she had decided not to marry the most talked about, dynamic, young politico in modern California’s history. Photographers camped out in front of her house, or followed her to the college where she taught accounting courses. It was a time when she probably could’ve used Joshua’s Jamaican retreat.
Picking up her cloth napkin, she dabbed at her mouth, drawing his gaze to the spot. A quick glance at the gold watch on Joshua’s wrist indicated it was nearly ten-thirty. She had to be up early the following morning to catch a bus to Puebla.
“I’m sorry to have to end a most enjoyable evening, Joshua.” Putting aside her napkin, she rose to her feet at the same time he circled the table and pulled out her chair.
“Can we have a repeat of tonight?” he questioned close to her ear.
Vanessa glanced up at him, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. He was close, too close to permit her to breathe normally. His pale eyes in his mahogany brown face reflected an eerie magnetic glow that sucked her in and refused to let her go. His gaze was hypnotic, mesmerizing. What spell had he cast over her?
“When?” she asked, her voice a breathless whisper.
“Tomorrow night.”
She hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. She enjoyed his company, but she had not come to Mexico to initiate a friendship with a man, especially a man like Joshua Kirkland, who fascinated and frightened her at the same time.
As he lowered his head, his lips brushed her ear. “Please, Vanessa. I usually don’t have to beg a woman to share a meal with me,” he whispered arrogantly.
Her head came up, her mouth only inches from his. Giving him a saucy smile, she replied, “I take it they usually beg you?”
Joshua’s lids lowered, concealing his enthralled gaze as laughter filled his chest. “Sometimes. But never for food.”
It took several seconds before she understood his double meaning. Placing a slender hand against his chest, Vanessa pushed him gently. “I won’t beg you for either.”
He took her hand and held it firmly as his warm champagne-scented breath swept over her moist face. “I’m not asking you to beg me for anything.”
“Why me, and not some other woman, Joshua?”
A frown settled into his features. Why you, he thought. Because you are a traitor, Vanessa Blanchard. And it’s my job to snare traitors who jeopardize our country’s national security.
“Because I like you,” he stated simply. She was the first woman he’d met who was as stunningly beautiful as she was intelligent, and because she was it made his job easy.
Vanessa had to admit to herself that she liked him. Liked him enough to want to see him again.
“I can’t see you.” Joshua stared at her, disappointment shadowing his features. “Not tomorrow evening,” she added. “I’m free the following evening, if you are.”
A slight smile touched his sculpted mouth. “I’ll make certain I am.”
Their waiter approached the table and handed Joshua a small, leather-bound case containing the bill for their dinner. He glanced at the total and reached into the breast of his jacket and withdrew a billfold. He extracted enough Mexican pesos to pay their meal and beverage—twice.
“Mil gracias,” he said quietly to the waiter, leaving the man staring at the money. Smiling openly at Vanessa, he escorted her out of the supper club and into the lobby of the hotel.
Reaching for her hand, he led her to the elevators. “I’ll see you to your room.”
She tried pulling her fingers from his loose grip and failed. Joshua was much stronger than he appeared. “I can assure you that I won’t get lost between the lobby and the third floor.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Have I not been the perfect gentleman tonight, Miss Blanchard?”
“Well…yes.”
“A gentleman always sees a lady to her door.”
The ornate brass doors of the elevator opened and they waited until a formally dressed couple exited. Vanessa did not miss the surreptitious glance the woman threw Joshua as she walked past with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips.
She stepped into the elevator, Joshua following and pushing the button for the third floor. The car rose quickly and smoothly, stopping at her floor; she opened her small evening bag and withdrew a plastic, magnetic coded key.
“Which room?” he asked, taking the key from her hand.
“Three fourteen.”
Their footsteps were muffled by the thick carpeting as they made their way down the hall. Vanessa stopped in front of the door to her room. Joshua inserted the key in the slot and a small light gleamed a green signal. He pushed the door open and stepped into the entry.
Vanessa walked in and took the key from his outstretched hand. Tilting her chin, she smiled up at him. The light she had left on in the entry gleamed down on his hair, which appeared nearly white in the muted glow. “Thank you for dinner, Joshua.”
Shaking his head, he flashed a warm smile. “I should be the one thanking you.” Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. “Buenas noches.” Winking at her, he closed the door behind him.
> She stared at the space where he’d been, blinking. A slight smile softened her mouth. He was right: he was a gentleman; they had shared a date; there were no strings attached.
Shrugging her slender shoulders, she flicked off the light in the entryway. What did she have to lose by seeing him again?
“Nothing,” she whispered as she slipped off her heels and headed for the bedroom. Nothing at all.
Joshua walked across the lobby of his hotel, heading for the front desk. He asked the desk clerk for his key, and if there were any messages for him. The clerk handed him the key and a white, business-size envelope with the hotel’s logo in the upper left corner and his room number written across the front. He knew without opening the envelope what it contained. Heading for the bank of elevators, he walked into an empty car and pressed the button for his floor.
Three minutes later he opened the door of his hotel suite on the twenty-second floor. There had been a time when he would’ve torn open the envelope to read its contents as soon as he took possession of it, but after years of experience, coupled with an iron will and self-control, he could wait until he entered the bedroom and changed out of his suit, shirt, and tie and into a pair of black sweatpants.
Making his way back to the suite’s expansive living room, he filled a snifter with ice and a lemon-lime flavored seltzer from the wet bar. He took several deep swallows of the cooling liquid before picking up the envelope, which he’d left on a side table. The snifter replaced the envelope. Turning on the table lamp and slipping a finger under the flap, he withdrew a single sheet of paper. Pale green eyes swept over the neatly handwritten notations.
29 April: left La Mérida at 0850—toured Plaza del Angel. 1125—taxi to Bazar Sábado—purchased silver jewelry for female. 1318—dined alone. 1501—returned to La Mérida.
Frustration tightened Joshua’s jaw as he crumpled the sheet of paper in his left hand and dropped it to the floor. The person he had assigned to follow Vanessa did not see her meet with anyone. She toured, shopped, dined, then returned to her hotel for her dinner date with him; how long, he wondered, was she going to play the tourist before she met her contact? And how long did he have before his contemplated seduction failed, and he would have to exercise an extremely conclusive method of extracting information from her?
He walked silently on bare feet on the deep pile of the pale gray carpeting, over to the wall-to-wall windows. Not bothering to close the dark gray, silk-lined drapes, he stared out at the sparkling lights of nighttime Mexico City. Images of Vanessa whirled around in his mind, and he recalled everything about her. He could still smell the natural scent of her flesh beneath her seductive perfume, recollect the velvety feel of her cheek against his as they danced, her willowy, seductive feminine curves pressed against his body, and the sweet, ripe taste of her lips when he kissed her. The kiss had been just a brushing of the lips, and it had taken all of his restraint not to deepen it.
He had spent most of their time together over dinner watching her mouth. The deep burgundy color on her lower lip reminded him of an overripe cherry bursting with sweet, thick juice. Vanessa Blanchard was beautiful and sexy—the sexiest woman he had ever encountered during his travels throughout the world—and he looked forward to seducing her with an emotion so foreign to him that at that moment he was unable to fathom it.
The only other woman he had permitted himself to become involved with had been beautiful as well as innocent. Sable St. Clair possessed an innocence that initially made him want to protect her. Sable did not want his protection; she wanted marriage and children, and at that time in his life he was unable to offer either. She cried quietly, then told him she was leaving, and he did not try to stop her. He had permitted Sable to walk out of his life without a word of protest.
He knew instinctively that Vanessa was no Sable. She did not need him or any man. And that made his assignment even more frustrating and challenging.
Joshua also knew that he could not afford to waste a day not seeing her. Turning away from the window, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the crumpled ball of paper. He had to find a way to meet with her within the next twenty-four hours; he had to find a way to make Vanessa need him.
A satisfied look softened his jaw as he contemplated what he intended to do, and mentally catalogued the day’s events.
Day Two—he shared a kiss, dinner, and dancing with Vanessa Blanchard and secured a promise for another liaison for dinner.
Chapter 5
It was the sound of thunder and lightning that woke Vanessa from a deep sleep, not the hotel’s front desk wake-up call.
Turning over onto her back, she peered at the drawn draperies, unable to discern a hint of light even though it was nearly seven o’clock. She smothered a groan as she threw an arm over her forehead. How was she going to shop and sightsee in a torrential downpour?
Sighing heavily and pushing herself into a sitting position, she massaged her temples with her fingertips. She didn’t need a medical expert to tell her that the dull throbbing in her forehead and acrid taste on her tongue were from the prior evening’s champagne. How many glasses had she consumed? Two? Or was it three?
If it had been three, then she’d exceeded her limit. Champagne usually made her feel giddy while she drank it, but lethargic the day after. And she wondered about Joshua. How was he feeling this morning? She was certain he had drunk more than she did.
The thought of Joshua brought a smile to her face. What was there about him, other than his overall appearance, that drew her to him? It wasn’t just that he was charming when he chose to be; it was something else she couldn’t quite identify.
She knew instinctively that he was all male. Just the way his eyes lit up and swept over her body when she walked across the lobby last night reinforced that. He’d liked what he saw as much as she’d liked what she saw when he came forward to meet her. He’d kissed her, lightly, and later she’d realized that he was as stunned by the gesture as she was.
The telephone chimed twice with two consecutive rings, momentarily shattering her musings about Joshua Kirkland. She leaned over to the bedside table, picked up the receiver, then replaced it on its cradle.
Despite the rain, she decided to continue with her plans.
She had exactly two hours to get herself ready for the bus tour that would take her to the state of Puebla. The travel brochure stated that the trip would take about three hours via the scenic route. The three-hour journey would also include a detour to view two volcanoes, Popocatépetl and Ixtaccíhutal, up close.
Picking up the telephone, Vanessa dialed the extension for room service and ordered breakfast, requesting that it be delivered to her at eight.
Throwing back the sheet covering her nude body, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
At exactly eight o’clock Vanessa answered the door. Her breakfast had arrived. A smiling young woman pushed a serving cart into the room, followed by an older man carrying a large bouquet of pale pink flowers in a towering rectangular vase.
She noticed her name and room number written on the envelope attached to the clear cellophane covering the exquisite bouquet, and her pulse quickened. Only her sister and her boss, Warren McDonald, knew her hotel, and she doubted whether Connie would send her flowers. They had to be from Warren.
“Put them over there, please,” she said to the man laboring under the enormous weight of the vase. She watched as he gently placed the vase in the center of an oval table near the windows. Reaching for the stack of Mexican coins she kept on the top of the double dresser, she handed several to him.
“No, gracias, Señorita,” he protested. “I cannot take your money.”
She gave him a puzzled look. She was not aware that the hotel staff could not accept gratuities.
“El Señor made certain to pay me.”
“Muchas gracias,” she said with a smile.
“De nada,” he returned, nodding and walking out of the room behind
the departing maid.
Vanessa plucked the small envelope from the cellophane wrapping. El Señor made certain to pay me. That meant it was from a man, and that man had to be Warren.
But why have flowers delivered to her when she was on vacation? Why had he continued to pursue her after she told him candidly that she would not become involved with him because they worked together and he was her boss?
She removed the cellophane, finding roses, tulips, lilies, and orchids, all in the same pale pink shade, then withdrew a card from the envelope. She stiffened. The flowers weren’t from Warren. They were from Joshua Kirkland!
Her gaze raced over the neat, precise handwriting, not once, but twice. Closing her eyes, she could still see the words inscribed on the square of vellum: Vanessa—Please accept my humble thanks for the most memorable night I’ve ever experienced in Mexico City. I hope more will follow. Sincerely—Joshua K.—Clarion Reforma Suites—Room 2204.
Opening her eyes, she smiled. There was nothing humble about Joshua Kirkland. If anything, he was arrogant, too arrogant, and very, very confident. He was arrogant, confident, and charming, and the fact remained that she would see him again. At least one more time. First she would eat her breakfast, then call and thank him for the flowers.
She picked over her breakfast, barely eating her eggs and tacos, preferring instead to drink the strong, flavorful Mexican coffee. She swallowed two aspirins, hoping her dull headache would subside. She’d looked forward to the leisurely bus ride to Puebla.
Her gaze lingered on the flowers and she put down her coffee cup and made her way over to the telephone. Picking up the receiver, she asked the hotel operator to ring the Clarion Reforma Suites. The front desk at Joshua’s hotel answered and she asked for his room. The phone rang six times before it bounced back to the desk.
“There is no answer in Room two two oh four. Perhaps you would like to leave a message,” said a man in slightly accented English. She hesitated, then left her name and number.
The pain in her temples had begun to ease by the time she slipped her sock-covered feet into a pair of running shoes. She pushed a lightweight windbreaker with a hood into her leather backpack, along with her wallet, sunglasses, khaki-colored baseball cap and the bottle of aspirin.
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