Ross choked on a bite of fish. “You think I imagined the whole incident? That I’m some kind of crackpot?”
The arch of a blond eyebrow said it better than words ever could. The woman shrugged her silk-clad shoulders. “Either that, or yours is the most inventive approach a man has ever taken with me.”
His jaw dropped in amazement. “Are you accusing me of trying to pick you up?”
She avoided his direct gaze, rested her chin on one hand and admitted, “The thought had occurred to me.”
Ross leaned back in his chair. He blew out his breath expressively. “Good grief.” Then he sat up. “How old are you, anyway?”
Diana Winsted was taken aback but nonetheless answered. “Twenty-six.”
He shook his head. That explained a lot. She was even younger than he’d thought. It must be the sophisticated hairstyle that had been misleading. If all that long, blond silky stuff was hanging loose around her shoulders, she’d probably look about twenty.
The question popped out of his mouth. “You sleeping with Grimmer?”
“I beg your pardon.”
He repeated, slightly louder, “Are you sleeping with Yale Grimmer?”
“Shh—I’m not hard of hearing. Now everyone is staring at us,” she whispered.
He didn’t bother to turn his head to see if anyone was really looking. “Makes no difference to me.”
“It does to me,” she shot back, obviously embarrassed by his outburst.
“Well, are you?”
Her golden-brown eyes flashed with anger. She lowered her voice and carefully enunciated each and every word. “It is none of your damn business.”
She wasn’t.
She was, however, hot under the collar.
Diana Winsted continued, “The next thing I know you’ll be inquiring after my underwear size.”
He zeroed in on her full, rounded breasts. “Thirty-four C.” He dropped his gaze lower. “Panties, a five.” His eyes swept up the length of her lovely body. “Dress, size eight, maybe a ten, since you’re fairly tall. I’d estimate five feet six inches, one hundred twenty-five pounds.”
The expression on her face told him that he was close. Real close.
The aristocratic nose was raised a notch higher. “I won’t ask how you know.”
Ross enthusiastically dug into his Lapu Lapu. It was a minute, maybe two, before he volunteered, “Engineer.”
“Engineer?”
“I was trained as an engineer.”
Her features were a study in skepticism. They said loud and clear, Right. And if you expect me to believe that one, I know of a nice island for sale cheap.
“The fish is delicious, you were right about one thing,” his dinner companion commented, taking delicate bites of her Lapu Lapu and vegetables.
Meaning he was wrong about everything else.
Meaning he was wasting his time.
“Somehow, some way, I’m going to resist saying ‘I told you so.’ But mark my words, you will be sorry one day,” Ross informed her as he finished his meal.
She came back with, “I’m already sorry.”
“About what?”
“If you must know, I’m sorry I ever listened to you. I’m sorry I ever allowed you to sit down and have dinner with me.” She put the linen napkin down on the table and rose to her feet. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. St. Clair, assuming that is your name, of course. I have some unpacking to do and I intend to go to bed early tonight.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” drawled Ross, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee.
“I won’t.” She took one step toward the entrance-way of the restaurant, then threw over her shoulder, “Good night and goodbye.”
“Adios to you, too, lady,” Ross muttered as he downed the last of his coffee.
He stood, dug a few bills out of the pocket of his khakis and tossed them on the table. It seemed he was buying dinner tonight. Then he exited the restaurant, taking his own good time.
What a waste.
All that beauty, all that charm, all that woman wasted on a man like Yale Grimmer. Not that it was any of his business. It wasn’t. Hell, they probably deserved each other. Yale and Diana, a match made in heaven.
He was standing beneath the towering front portico of the Manila Hotel, trying to decide if he should take a cab or walk back to his own lodgings, when he distinctly heard someone call out his name.
“Mr. St. Clair. Ross St. Clair.”
He nonchalantly looked around and saw Diana Winsted hurrying toward him, her high heels clicking on the polished floor of the lobby.
He tried very hard not to gloat. “Yes?” he said when she got closer.
Her breath was coming in little gasps; apparently she’d been running, or the next thing to it. “Mr. St. Clair—”
“Ross.”
“Ross.” She tried to catch her breath. “Maybe your story isn’t as crazy as I first thought.”
A masculine brow was arched into an inverted V. “Come to your senses already, have you?”
“You might say so.” The young woman nervously wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue and wrung her hands in front of her. “It’s my room.”
“Your room?” The tiny hairs on the back of Ross’s neck stood straight on end. Every one of his five senses went on red alert, just as they had that evening on the beach. “What about your room?”
“Someone has ransacked it.”
Four
“Holy—” Ross caught himself just in the nick of time “—smokes!”
The beautiful, sophisticated blonde beside him sighed and agreed in a voice that trembled with emotion, “It’s not a pretty picture, is it?”
They paused in the connecting doorway between the sitting room and the bedroom of the luxurious hotel suite. Chairs were haphazardly overturned. Suitcases were flung open. Drawers and closet doors stood ajar. Clothes were strewn everywhere.
It was, in short, an ungodly mess.
Ross let out a low whistle. “It looks like a professional job to me.”
“A professional job?” echoed Diana.
He ventured into the bedroom, carefully stepping over a slip in taupe silk puddled at his feet. “Got to hand it to them, they were thorough.” For some reason he thought of the goons on the beach, the ones with the fancy weapons. “What do you think?”
Diana looked at him and threw up her perfectly manicured hands. “What do I think? I think someone has just turned my hotel room upside down. That’s what I think.”
Ross turned and pinned her to the wall with his rock-hard gaze. “Why?”
With an air of innocence that he doubted even a consummate actress could fake, she swallowed and admitted, “I don’t know.”
His gaze settled on a pink nightgown tossed unceremoniously on the floor alongside the bed. Something, some sixth sense, some gut-level instinct, told him that Diana Winsted never tossed anything unceremoniously on the floor. He imagined that everything had its place and everything was in its place before the goon squad had arrived and rearranged her belongings. “Is anything missing?”
She shrugged.
“Do you want me to call hotel security?”
Her expression grew bleak. “I don’t know.”
“The police?”
She said, even bleaker, “I don’t know.”
“What do you want to do?”
In unison, they said, “I don’t know.”
“I suggest we skip the official red tape—it can get pretty sticky at times—and try to determine if anything has been taken ourselves.” Ross bent over and snared a lacy bra from the arm of a chair. It dangled from his index finger by one flimsy strap. “I think we can safely assume that whoever trashed the room wasn’t after your underwear.”
Diana snatched the bra from his grasp. “You seem to spend an inordinate amount of time speculating about my lingerie, Mr. St. Clair.”
He expelled a breath of self-deprecating laughter and said softly, “Yeah, well, maybe it’s b
een a while since I’ve seen pretty things like yours.”
Her eyebrows rose fractionally. She seemed to be biting her tongue. Literally. Then she quickly went about the business of tidying the room.
Ross put the furniture back to rights, then sat down in an elegantly upholstered chair, crossed one leg over the other and rested his hand on his boot. There wasn’t anything to do but watch Diana, so that’s exactly what he did. Every movement the woman made was smooth and fluid, poetry in motion. Whatever else might be true about her, Ms. Winsted was a pleasure to watch, he acknowledged.
She also made him feel like a bull in a china shop.
“Nothing has been torn or damaged,” she reported as the last dress was hung in the closet.
“What about your jewelry?”
“I only brought a few pieces with me on this trip, but it all seems to be here,” she informed him as she went through the pile of necklaces and earrings that had been dumped in the middle of the bed.
“Money?”
“Most of it was in my handbag, although I always keep extra in my suitcase. It’s here, as well.”
“Traveler’s checks?”
“The same.”
She double-checked a leather travel kit that was decidedly masculine in appearance, sorting through the contents and coming up with an engraved silver brush set, diamond-studded cuff links and matching tie tack, a book or two, a carefully wrapped bottle of expensive Scotch and a pipe.
“Thank God, they didn’t steal your pipe,” Ross offered in a droll tone.
Diana stood a little straighter and looked down her nose at him. “It isn’t my pipe.” She went on, “Yale asked me to bring a few of his things that he’d forgotten.”
Ross leaned back into the cushions and slowly stroked his jaw. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s very simple. He was packing in a hurry and he overlooked a few items,” she explained.
“No, no, I don’t mean your boyfriend’s stuff.” Ross wiped away any consideration of Yale Grimmer with a wave of his hand. “I don’t get what it was the thieves were after. If this was your average, run-of-the-mill breaking and entering, why didn’t they take your money and jewelry?” Damn, he was stumped, and he didn’t like being stumped. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Diana sank down on the edge of the mattress and began to methodically refold her lingerie, the gold charm bracelet on her wrist clinking with each movement of her hand. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” She brightened. “Unless it was vandalism.”
Ross shook his head.
“The thieves broke into the wrong room and didn’t realize their mistake until it was too late?”
Ross shook his head again.
“They broke into my room and discovered there wasn’t anything worth stealing?”
“I don’t think so, Diana. The men I overheard on the beach mentioned you by name in conjunction with what they called the ‘merchandise.’ ”
“The ‘merchandise’…?” Her voice trailed off.
“Could anyone have slipped a package into your bags without your knowledge?”
Her eyes grew huge and apprehensive; her voice became a mere whisper. “Are you suggesting that someone may have tried to use me as a courier?”
That’s exactly what he was suggesting, but he said, “Maybe.”
She slowly shook her head from side to side. “I don’t see how. My luggage was locked at home and checked onto my flight as soon as I reached the airport. I have the only set of keys.”
Ross weighed her answer, then inquired, “Do you happen to know a man named Carlos?”
“Carlos? I don’t think so. No.” Diana rubbed her temples. “You’re giving me a headache, Mr. St. Clair.”
“And here I thought I was only a pain in the—”
The shrill ring of the telephone on the bedside table interrupted him.
They both jumped.
“You’d better answer that.”
Diana picked up the receiver and managed a calm enough “Hello?” A frown of concentration settled on her face. “I’m having trouble hearing you. We don’t have a very good connection. Is that you, Yale?” She paused and listened. “I see. Yes, I understand. Where are you now? Port Man-what? Port Manya. Of course I will. Just let me get something to write on.” A pointed look was directed at Ross.
“You want me to leave?” he mouthed.
The blonde shook her head and made a gesture with her hand.
“You want paper and pen?”
She nodded. He rummaged around in the drawer on his side and found what was needed.
Then Diana spoke into the telephone again. “You’ll have to repeat that information, Yale.” She jotted down several words and numbers. “I’ve got it. Asian Air. Tomorrow morning at nine-thirty. The flight to Port Manya. My ticket will be waiting for me at the airport.”
Ross blatantly eavesdropped. It was impossible not to overhear Diana’s side of the conversation.
She was visibly straining to hear the man on the other end. “Yes, I’m wearing it. I never take it off. You know that.”
They must be talking about the engagement ring he’d noticed on her left hand.
“All right. I’ll meet you tomorrow evening at the hotel on Port Manya.” Her back was turned to Ross. “Yes, I… Yale? Yale?” She held the receiver a good foot away from her, stared at it for a minute and finally hung up, announcing, “We were cut off.”
Ross tapped his index finger against his bottom lip. “It’s the telephone system. Sometimes it works.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it doesn’t. Never can tell in this part of the world. Like the electricity. It’s a crap shoot.”
“Thank you for reassuring me,” Diana said with a small stoic laugh.
“I take it the boyfriend isn’t returning to Manila tomorrow, after all.”
“As you no doubt heard, my fiancé has made arrangements for me to join him on the island of Port Manya.”
Ross flicked at a clump of dried dirt clinging to the heel of his boot and watched as it landed on the pale blue carpeting. “Business before pleasure?”
She wasted no time in informing him, “Yale has a great deal of responsibility as a corporate vice president. He can’t simply drop his work to come after me.”
“Which translates into ‘business before everything but business,’” he said curtly.
Her lips tightened. “I doubt if you would understand.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” muttered Ross. He unfolded his long legs, stretched out his feet and nudged the clump of dirt with the toe of one boot. “The man’s a fool.”
Diana responded in a vexed way, “I beg your pardon.”
He didn’t care what it sounded like to her; it was time she heard the truth. “Your fiancé is a damn fool to let a woman like you run around on your own. It only spells one thing—trouble. Big trouble.”
Her eyes were squinted in anger. “What it spells, Mr. St. Clair, is m-a-l-e c-h-a-u-v-i-n-i-s-t.”
He’d been called worse. A lot worse.
He pushed the dried dirt under the bed. Then he gave her a long, measuring look. “You didn’t mention to Yale that your room had been ransacked.”
“I saw no reason to worry him. There’s nothing he could do, anyway.” One by one she fingered the charms on her bracelet, then she looked straight at him. “Besides, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Right.” Ross managed not to laugh in her lovely face. “I noticed you didn’t tell him about me.”
She shot back, in that cultured, sophisticated tone that drove him crazy, “There’s nothing to tell.”
Ross had the most incredible urge to change all that, to take this beautiful and exasperating woman in his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t see straight.
Hell, until he couldn’t see straight.
Maybe then he’d know. Was she cold only on the outside and all hot and sweet on the inside? Was she an ice princess or a woman of passion? What would she taste like? What
would she feel like? What would it be like to make love to her?
Suddenly he had a vision of Diana Winsted, naked, with her long shapely legs wrapped around his body, her breasts pressed to his chest, her blond hair hanging around her bare shoulders, all silky and cool against his hot flesh, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses.
He would leave no stone unturned. There would be no part of her that he would not know intimately. He would bury his mouth in her hair, inhaling her fragrance, even as he buried himself deep inside her.
Feeling the very real and slightly uncomfortable stirrings of sexual arousal, Ross groaned aloud.
This wasn’t the right time, or the right place. And it sure as hell wasn’t the right woman. He’d obviously been out here too long. He’d been away from women too long. Maybe it was time for him to head back to civilization.
The soft touch of a hand on Ross’s arm brought him around. “Are you all right?”
He blinked several times in quick succession and growled, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary, “I’m fine.”
“I believe I’m finished in here,” said Diana, indicating that the bedroom of her hotel suite had been restored to its former pristine condition.
He tried to take his mind off the vision of her nude body wrapped around him like a tight-fitting glove. “Have you ever flown on Asian Air before?” he inquired as they walked to the door.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Puddle jumpers.”
Her forehead crinkled. “Puddle jumpers?”
“They’re small planes that hop from island to island around the Pacific. It’s not what you’re used to.”
She immediately countered with, “You don’t know what I’m used to and what I’m not.”
Yes, he did. Diana Winsted was obviously a woman who traveled first class all the way. Asian Air should come as something of a surprise to her.
Ah, well, she would learn soon enough for herself.
She extended her hand and said politely, “I want you to know I appreciate your returning to the room with me tonight. And I will take heed of your warning about the two men on the beach.”
He took her hand in his, but made no pretense of shaking it. “Watch your back, Diana.”
Not His Wedding! (Silhouette Reissued) Page 3