by Diana Palmer
She shifted restlessly. She didn’t want him asking questions or making assumptions. “My parents aren’t expecting me,” she muttered. “I’m trying to figure out what to tell them.”
“Tell them a hurricane blew over your cottage,” he suggested, tongue in cheek.
“What a cheerful man you are,” she replied, staring at him. “Why don’t you go into comedy for a living?”
“Stop fighting me,” he murmured as she tugged against his firm but gentle hold. “You’ll hurt my ego.”
“It could stand a little deflation,” she said crisply, glaring at him.
Comprehension took the playful expression from his face, leaving his eyes narrow and glittering. He dropped her hand. “She can’t help it any more than I can,” he said, his tone cold and cutting.
“So I noticed.” She reached for the door handle. “Good thing for you both that your half brother is blind as a bat and keeps his nose stuck in his papers. Those quiet types are the ones who go for their guns without asking for explanations. You and Bess would look lousy on the front page of the tabloids, full of bullet holes.”
“Would we?” he asked with surprising mildness. “You seem to find the idea satisfying.”
She grabbed her carryall and slammed the door, about to add something cutting. But just as she opened her mouth, her mother, clad in a flapping red-splashed muumuu, came rushing through the gate like a barefooted, white-haired tornado.
“Darling!” she enthused, grabbing her daughter up in a fierce hug, her blue eyes dancing with glee. “Oh, what a delicious surprise! Your father will be overjoyed! He’s just bought another crawly for his collection and wants to show it off to someone—Who are you?” she added, staring over Elissa’s shoulder as King came around the car.
“Kingston Roper,” he answered easily, studying the tall, thin woman. “You must be Elissa’s mother.”
“Yes, I am. I’m Tina Dean.” Her mother withdrew a little, her blue eyes confused and a little curious. “Is something wrong?”
“King is my neighbor in Jamaica,” Elissa said. “He was kind enough to offer me a lift from the airport. We flew over with his brother and sister-in-law.” She could see that Tina Dean was quietly sizing him up, taking in his tailored suit, his hand-stitched shoes, his silk tie and expensive accessories. She could almost hear her mother’s mind clicking, sorting through what Elissa had told her of her friendship with King and trying to put two and two together about what this obviously wealthy man was doing with her daughter.
“I have some iced tea in the kitchen,” she remarked. “Would you like some, Mr. Roper?”
“King has to get back to Miami,” Elissa said firmly, staring up at him. “Don’t you?” she emphasized.
“Not at all,” he replied with a maddening smile. “I’m in no hurry.”
“Delightful,” Mrs. Dean said with a grin. Her eyes twinkled. “How do you feel about reptiles, Mr. Roper?”
“Well, I used to have a pet horned toad,” he began.
“Oh, Mother, no,” Elissa moaned, putting her face in her hands.
King gave her a curious glance before Mrs. Dean took his hand and led him into the house.
Elias Dean was in his study, where he kept his collection of exotic lizards. He looked up, his thick silver hair slightly receding from his broad forehead, his eyes covered by thick spectacles with wire rims. At the sight of his daughter he beamed and greeted her warmly. Then he turned his attention to their new visitor.
“Well, hello, who’s this?” he asked pleasantly, rising from a terrarium with a big frilled green lizard in one hand.
King offered a hand, apparently unruffled by the “crawlies.”
“Kingston Roper.” He grinned. “You must be Elissa’s father.”
“That I am. Do you like lizards, Mr. Roper? This is my hobby.” He sighed, looking around him contentedly at terrarium after terrarium. “I can’t ever seem to get enough, you know. It’s up to ten curly-tails now, several spring lizards, newts, salamanders … But this is my pride and joy.” He reached for a door and opened it. Inside was an enormous pool with potted tropical plants all around it. On a rock in the pool under a fluorescent lamp was Ludwig, a four-foot iguana who looked like a dinosaur. He stared at them with total boredom and closed his eyes.
“Iguana?” King asked, clearly interested.
“Yes. Isn’t he beautiful?” her father asked. “He was only a baby when I got him. I had to force-feed him the first week with a big syringe, until he took fruits and vegetables on his own. I like frogs, too. I want one of those huge African frogs—they weigh ten pounds. She doesn’t like frogs,” he added with a miserable glance at Tina.
Tina laughed. “You’re just lucky I don’t mind lizards, Elias. Although I did draw the line at that ball python you were ogling. Snakes disturb me.” She shuddered. “Lizards are bad enough.”
“I have to have a hobby, my dear,” he reminded her. “It could be worse. Do you remember that witch doctor we met down the Amazon, the one who collected heads?”
“I withdraw every objection,” Tina promised, hand over her heart. “Would you like tea, darling? I’m going to pour some for Elissa and her … and Mr. Roper.”
“I’ll be out directly,” Elias promised. “I have to feed poor old Ludwig.”
“Poor old Ludwig,” Tina chuckled as they made their way back down the hall to the kitchen, where sliding doors opened onto a deck facing the ocean. “He takes him walking down the beach on a leash. It’s a good thing we have such a loyal congregation.” She shook her head.
“Father is eccentric,” Elissa said quietly, glancing worriedly at King.
He cocked an eyebrow. “My father collected rocks,” he remarked. “And I had a great-uncle who could forecast the weather with jars of bear grease. Compared to that, keeping lizards seems pretty sane.”
Elissa leaned back in her chair. “Go ahead, Mother, tell him what you do in your spare time,” she dared, watching Tina pour amber tea into tall glasses of ice.
King frowned slightly and turned to Tina. “What do you do in your spare time?”
Tina set the glasses on the small kitchen table. “Well, I’m a special deputy for the sheriff’s department.”
“Now, that sounds interesting,” King said, and he seemed to mean it.
“It’s very interesting,” she agreed. She got her own tea and sat down. “I have so much experience as a missionary, you see, it gives me a little insight into people. Some of the folks we arrest are women, and I seem to deal with them better than the men do.” She smiled wistfully. “I’ve been on drug busts and in shoot-outs and stakeouts, and once I jumped a fence and wrestled down a young pusher and held him for the deputies. Yes, it’s exciting and very rewarding. I often look up the people later and try to get to know them.” Her eyes softened. “I’ve managed to get several of them to come to services on Sunday. And we baptized one just last week,” she added, her voice a little husky. “I suppose this sounds pretty saccharine to a worldly man like you.”
“But I’m not,” King said, surprising even Elissa. “I was raised a Baptist in Jack’s Corner, a small town outside Oklahoma City, near my ranch. My father was Apache, but he bowed to some white customs. He found church fulfilling for a time.”
Elissa was stunned at how easily King related to her mother. He’d even volunteered information about his heritage, which he was usually so prickly about.
“Apache,” Tina said, studying him more closely with totally innocent curiosity. “Yes, your eyes are very dark, and you have high cheekbones….”
“Mother,” Elissa groaned, “he’s not an exhibit.”
King chuckled. “Elissa is remembering that I can get touchy about my ancestry,” he remarked with a smile in Elissa’s direction. “I don’t mind honest curiosity. I don’t suppose you see many Indians in this part of the country.”
Tina grinned. “I guess I don’t look it,” she told him, “but I’m part Seminole, on my mother’s side.”
&n
bsp; King’s eyebrows rose. “You never told me,” he murmured to Elissa.
She shrugged. “You never asked about my ancestry.”
He frowned. That was true. They often shared their thoughts and feelings and dreams, and he’d even told her about his family, but he’d never bothered to ask about hers. He felt oddly guilty about that now and inordinately curious to know more about this little spitfire.
“My grandfather had a Seminole name, which he changed,” Tina continued, looking at King. “Is Roper your father’s real name?”
King smiled and told her the Apache word for Man Who Throws Rope. “That’s why he changed it to Roper,” he added.
“Do you like to fish, Mr. Roper?” Elissa’s father asked, coming into the kitchen.
“If you mean deep-sea fishing, no,” King replied. “But if you mean dipping a worm on a hook into a creek, yes.”
Mr. Dean grinned. “My sentiments exactly. There’s a nice little swamp about two hour’s drive from here, where you can get some of the biggest bream and crappie you ever saw.”
“We have a spare room,” Tina Dean added, smiling at him. “It’s quiet here; we’re off the main drag. I see that Elissa looks horrified, but we won’t let the lizards eat you, and if you’re as tired as you look, the change might do you good, Mr. Roper.”
Elissa went red. She’d forgotten how outspoken her mother was. She did look horrified. She felt horrified. Don’t do this to me, she wailed silently. He’s in love with another woman, and I want to get away from him.
King turned toward Elissa and saw that look on her face. “If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t,” he said gently.
The soft tone made her toes curl. What could she say? “I don’t mind,” she murmured.
“I must look tired if it shows that much,” he said, winking at Mrs. Dean. “Yes, I’ll stay, thank you.”
“Wonderful!” Mr. Dean chuckled. “We’ll find some lazy projects to keep you relaxed.”
“I’ll fatten you up,” Mrs. Dean seconded, giving him a critical glance. “You look undernourished.”
Elissa could have laughed. He might look trim, but he was very muscular under his shirt. She flushed, wondering what her parents would say if she confessed that she’d watched him swim in the nude from her cottage window. She forced a smile and finished her iced tea while her mother asked about his work. He replied that he was in oil and gas. It didn’t dawn on Elissa until much later how her mother had interpreted that remark.
“To think, a handsome man like that working in a garage,” Mrs. Dean sighed as she made supper.
“What?” Elissa asked sharply.
“Well, he’s in oil and gas,” she explained patiently, “and despite the nice-looking suit he’s wearing, which he might have borrowed, I think his watch and ring are only copies of expensive ones. He’s trying to impress us, darling, to show us that he’d be a good catch for you. I’m very flattered. I like him. So does your father. And there’s nothing wrong with working in a garage. His parents probably own it, you know, and that’s probably their home in Jamaica. They must just let him use it.”
Boy, had her mother gotten it wrong. But Elissa bit her tongue. This was better. They didn’t need to know how rich King really was; it might inhibit them. She liked their response to him, and his to them. She couldn’t bear to spoil it. She’d tell them later, after King was gone.
Her eyes closed. Despite her trepidations, it was marvelous to have him in her home, to savor being with him away from Bess’s influence. She was in heaven. Even if he only stayed overnight, she’d love the house forever afterward, because she’d see him in every nook and cranny of it. And if he married Bess, well, her dreams wouldn’t harm the two of them very much.
Chapter Seven
After supper, King and Elissa went for a stroll along the beach. It was very much like Jamaica at night, the whitecaps rolling onto the beach with a foamy whisper.
“You don’t mind that I’m here, do you?” he asked casually.
“No.” She had changed into shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, and she was enjoying the feeling of the cool white sand on her bare feet. She tossed back her long hair and sighed, drinking in the peacefulness of the setting.
He was still wearing his slacks, but he’d unbuttoned his shirt halfway down and was wearing thongs instead of shoes. He looked very casual, not at all the elegant millionaire he really was.
“I didn’t know you’d been raised a Baptist,” she commented, turning her eyes seaward.
He glanced at her. “And I didn’t know that you had Seminole blood.”
She smiled. “I’ve got a little Irish, too, and a trace of German.”
“I’ve got some Irish myself.” He stopped her, gesturing toward a hermit crab diving into a hole in a small sandy bank. “I had one of those for a pet once. They’re cute.”
“With those claws?” she groaned.
“Claw, woman,” he chided. “Well, one big one and one much smaller one. They don’t pinch that hard.”
“You wouldn’t feel it with hands the size of yours, I guess.”
He slid his hands into his pockets, stretching the expensive fabric of his slacks against the powerful muscles of his legs as he walked. “I like it here,” he said lazily. “I like your parents, too. I can see now why you’re such an independent little cuss. They’re very open and honest.”
She laughed softly, enjoying his company and the cool breeze and the solitude. “You’d really think so if you’d heard what my mother said about you.”
He stopped, looking down at her. “What did she say?” he asked with interest.
“She says that you’re very handsome to work in a garage, which your parents must own, and that that’s their villa in Jamaica. They just let you use it. Your watch and ring are copies of the real thing, to impress them. Oh, and you probably borrowed that expensive suit you’re wearing.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he began to laugh, but not in a sarcastic or mocking way. It sounded like pure delight. “They think I’m a grease monkey?”
“You told them you were in gas and oil,” she reminded him. “My parents don’t know any oil magnates but they know a lot of mechanics.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mused. “I think I like that. Yes, I think I do. I haven’t been treated like a normal human being in my adult life. At least not since I hit it big.”
“You have so,” she retorted. “Do I treat you like a big fish?”
He pursed his firm lips, then smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in the pale light of the half moon. “Not really,” he admitted. “That was one of the things I liked best about you. After I realized that you weren’t chasing after me because I was rich,” he added.
The cynicism in his voice touched her. “Did you really think that’s why I kept hounding you?” She laughed. “How surprising.”
“Women had chased me for years,” he replied. “Once or twice I let myself be caught, but mostly I didn’t give a damn for that kind of woman. It didn’t take me long to learn that you weren’t the least bit interested in my bank account. Then,” he added with a wicked glance as he started walking again, “I decided it was my body you wanted.”
“How conceited,” she remarked airily.
“If you remember, I made one very subtle pass at you, right at the beginning,” he said. “And you backed away with a look in your eyes I’ll never forget. I didn’t understand why you shied away from me. I thought you’d had some bad experience and were afraid of men. That made me even more protective, and I gave up any ideas of seducing you.”
“Until a few days ago,” she muttered.
His head jerked toward her. “Don’t put all the blame on me, honey. You were giving as good as you got in my bed that night.”
She was glad the darkness hid her blush. She stiffened a little as she shuffled along the beach beside him, oblivious now to the clamoring surf. Her legs were getting cold, but she didn’t want to suggest that they go inside. Every second she
could spend alone with him was a delight, even if it had to be spent in the middle of an argument.
“Thank you for that sterling assessment of my morals,” she said lightly, forcing back a surge of fury. “I suppose that makes me what men call an easy—King!”
He jerked her around none too gently and shook her by both arms. “No, it doesn’t make you easy,” he said, his voice cold and curt. “Stop trying to make yourself sound cheap.”
“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?” she asked, hating the slight wobble in her voice.
His lean fingers tightened on her arms, exciting and strong through the flimsy sleeves of her oversize shirt. “I don’t know what I’m trying to do,” he said surprisingly. His hands relaxed, became caressing. He breathed slowly, deliberately, and drew her into his arms. He wrapped her against his taut body, enveloping her in his spicy cologne and his warmth, and laid his cheek on her dark hair.
It was, she thought suddenly, as if he needed comforting. And perhaps he did. He didn’t say a lot about his feelings for Bess, but she was sure that he was confused and wounded by what was happening. He was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to keep from hurting Bess and Bobby, so he’d subdue what he felt for Bess or ignore it if he could. But with the women tempting him and, as he’d said, with his being only human, perhaps he did need comforting. And at the moment, Elissa was his anchor, his safety net, his life jacket. She didn’t mind; it was enough to do what she could to help him through a difficult time. Love made you vulnerable. She knew, loving him as she did.
She slid her arms around his hard waist and pressed her cheek over his heart, enjoying the heavy, measured beat of it in the darkness. “We all want things that we can’t have, from time to time,” she began softly. “Like me, living a fantasy. I’d give so much to be like those women in the nighttime soap operas who have their fun and never have to suffer for it. But I’m too much of a coward to try it. I’d always worry about consequences and about hurting other people.” She closed her eyes, breathing him in. “I always felt so free with you. I could tease, and you never took me seriously. I could try my wings, I could fly, without any danger of falling.”