by Day Leclaire
By the time they reached the heart of Charleston, she’d gathered the nerve to look around. The reduced speed could have had something to do with her sudden daring, but she preferred to think that she’d gotten the hang of riding a motorcycle. They passed a Greek festival in Marion Park, and she almost asked JT to pull over. Gyros and baklava were two of her favorite taste treats. She resisted, instead taking the opportunity to window-shop as they cruised down King Street before heading toward the City Marina.
At the security gate leading to the ferry, JT showed his resident pass and her reservation receipt before being waved directly on board. The crew fanned out soon after, placing wooden chocks on either side of the vehicle tires to keep them from rolling during the trip. Then a chain fence was fastened across the back, and the ferry rumbled away from the dock and into Charleston Harbor.
Taylor pulled off her helmet, her hair tumbling to her shoulders in total disarray. She frowned. Why was it that every time she got near JT, she ended up looking as if she’d been dragged through the bushes backward? “How long is the trip?” she asked.
“About forty-five minutes.”
“Good. Plenty of time to review your report. Where did you put my briefcase?”
“In the saddlebag. I’ll get it for you.”
“No!” she replied, instantly regretting she’d spoken with such vehemence. “I’ll do it, thanks.” She scrambled off the seat and opened the saddlebag.
JT studied her for a moment. Then he climbed off the motorcycle, too, and removed his helmet, hanging it on the handlebars. “What’s in there you don’t want me to see?”
She avoided his gaze by removing her briefcase from the saddlebag. “I have files that are private,” she said, deciding to be honest. “I’m sure you can understand that.”
To her relief he didn’t pursue the subject, asking, instead, “Any questions about the report?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see…” She slipped the pages from their folder and glanced through them. “I’d like to review your information about the staff. Where’s that section?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He twitched the papers from her grasp, thumbing rapidly through them. “It starts here and continues on the next page.”
She started to take the document when a gust of wind snatched it from his fingers. The papers swirled upward and over the rail, scattering like confetti across the surging waves.
“Oh, no!” She watched impotently as the report disappeared behind a wave. Then she swiveled to glare at JT. “Don’t just stand there, do something!”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do? Dive overboard after them?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You can swim, can’t you?”
He stared in disbelief. “You know something, Princess? You’re nuts.”
“You don’t understand. I need that report. So unless you have an extra copy, start swimming.” She hesitated, struck by what she’d said. “Do you have an extra copy?”
“No.”
“Why not?” she demanded crossly.
“Because I didn’t need an extra copy. Nor was I asked to make one. And since I’m not going into the drink after the original, that leaves us with only one choice.”
“Which is?”
“I guess we’ll just have to wing it.”
“Wing it?” She fought to catch her breath. “You must be joking. I need that report and I need it now. This is serious business we’re talking about here. Winging it may be how you do business, but I don’t wing something this important.”
His expression grew wintry. “You’re making a big deal about nothing.”
“I most certainly am not,” she informed him forcefully. “That report is vital.”
He shot her an impatient look. “Not so vital that I have to jump overboard after it. We’ll re-create it.”
She hesitated, eyeing him uncertainly. “You can do that?”
“Since it’s our only choice, I’ll have to.”
It made sense. Unfortunately. “Well, at least I have the list of questions I drew up,” she said, extracting a second folder from her briefcase. “That should help.”
“Yes. Thank goodness for your lists,” he retorted dryly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Sarcasm, Richmond?”
“Why not? I never met a woman more obsessed with schedules and details and plotting and planning. You have a list for everything, don’t you?”
“Not everything,” she replied, stung.
He snorted. “Bull. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without a piece of paper telling you how, when and where to do it.”
“Of course I would.” Maybe.
“Admit it, Princess. There isn’t a spontaneous bone in your body.”
She pointed at the Harley. “I got on that pig of yours. What’s that called, if not spontaneous?”
“It’s a hog, woman. Get it straight. And I’d call climbing on the back of my Harley something along the lines of being stuck between a rock and a hard place with only one way out. Spontaneous is acting on impulse. It’s doing something without considering the consequences. Doing it without rhyme or reason, just because you feel like it.”
She balled her hands in frustration. “I know the meaning of spontaneous.” Did he really think that she planned every move she made, that she was so calculating? She wasn’t. Her brows drew together. Was she?
“Oh, forget it.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “We’re passing Fort Sumter. You want to have a look, or isn’t that on your damned list?”
“A fat lot you know,” she said, setting her chin at a defiant angle. “For your information, it heads my damned list.”
JT GLARED DOWN the length of the boat rail at Taylor. Lord, but that woman drove him nuts. Arrogant. Stubborn. Sanctimonious. Know-it-all. How was he supposed to get through the next two weeks and still preserve what little remained of his sanity? At least she hadn’t realized he’d deliberately released those papers, or she’d have killed him on the spot. He glanced at her again.
She stared rigidly out to sea, never once glancing right or left. Even when the breeze caught at her hair, tossing the soft golden curls into appealing disorder, she didn’t budge an inch. She just stood there scowling. Of course, she didn’t wear her hair down out of choice. Hell, no. That could be blamed on him. Again. If she had her way, she’d be buttoned, snapped, zipped and pinned closed from head to toe.
Well, if he did nothing else, he’d find a way to burst her buttons, pop her snaps, zap her zip and trash every last pin in her possession. He shot her another glance, his mouth tightening.
How did she do it? How did she manage to stand there in her elegant church finery looking as delicate and untouched as an angel? Especially when he knew full well what she had on underneath all that finery. An appreciative smile touched his mouth as he remembered the delectable eyeful he’d gotten in his rearview mirror—an eyeful more than a few drivers had also gotten. Well, one thing was for damned sure. Any woman who wore silk stockings and a white lace garter belt beneath such a proper getup couldn’t be all that angelic.
At least, he sure as hell hoped not.
TAYLOR STARED at the gulls wheeling overhead, counting the minutes until they arrived at Jermain Island. JT hadn’t taken his eyes off her during the entire trip. Not once. It took every ounce of willpower not to turn on him and scream, “What? What do you want now?” Arrogant. Obstinate. Spontaneous. Know-it-all. How was she supposed to get through the next two weeks and still preserve what little remained of her sanity?
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, her hands tightening on the railing. Lord, he was gorgeous. The breeze ruffled his dark hair, drawing her gaze to the strong lines of his profile. He looked tough and dangerous and irresistible. She’d never known a man like him— they just didn’t exist in her world. She bit down on her Up. Too bad. It would certainly add color. She peeked at him again.
And spontaneity.
JT CROSSED to Taylor
’s side. “We dock in a few minutes,” he told her. “I’ve arranged for a cab to transport the luggage once it gets here.”
“There’s a cab?” She brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled in relief. “Perhaps I could—”
He didn’t let her finish, but caught her arm and drew her tightly against him. He spoke softly, his voice every bit as hard and unyielding as his expression. “Let’s get something straight, Princess. The people on this island know me. They know the sort of man I am, and they know how I live my life. And whether you like it or not, you’ll have to fit into that life and that life-style. I ride a Harley, I wear jeans and I make my own decisions. I do not allow anyone to yank my strings, not even the daughter of Boss Daniels.”
She glanced around in alarm, hoping no one had overheard. “You’re forgetting that I’m not Boss’s daughter. The name is Davis, remember? And I’m your fiancee.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing, though it’s obvious you have. So let me refresh your memory. You’re with me, which means you ride on my machine.”
“But I’m not like you, JT. I don’t think I can pull it off,” she explained, hoping to reason with him. “I can’t drive up to a classy resort on a motorcycle. I’d feel more comfortable taking a cab.”
“Not a chance. My fiancee arrives on the back of my bike. It’s what the islanders will expect and it’s what they’re going to get. If you want to continue this farce of an engagement, you do it my way. Now I suggest you put on your helmet and climb aboard.”
She stared in amazement. He was serious. Dead serious. “I don’t believe this.”
“You’d better start believing. And fast.”
Forget reason. She’d never run up against a more unreasonable man in her life. “You know something?” she announced, her temper blazing out of control. “I’ve kept silent for a long time now, but there’s a very important fact I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
He released her, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, really. And what’s that?”
“You are a no-good arrogant louse. There. I’ve said it.”
“Gee. I’m crushed. Now that you’ve gotten that off your chest—” he jerked his head toward the Harley “—plant your tail on my bike or I’ll show you just how much of a louse I can be.”
She considered arguing, but one glance at the grim set of his mouth urged caution. “Very well. I’ll do it. But first I want to know why you’re making a fuss over such a minor point.”
“It’s not a minor point. Not to me.”
“Why?” He didn’t intend to explain. She could tell by the stubborn gleam in his eyes. “Come on, JT. I deserve that much. You can’t expect me to jump to your orders without some sort of explanation.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” A long moment of silence stretched between them and then he shrugged. “All right, Taylor. I’ll give my reasons this time, though I doubt you’re capable of understanding.”
She fought another flash of anger. “Try me.”
“Okay. Imagine something if you can.”
Her eyes glittered with barely suppressed fury. “First you accuse me of lacking spontaneity, then question my capacity for understanding, and now I lack imagination?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” He caught her chin and tilted it up, gazing at her with a serious expression. “I want you to imagine you’re in love with me.”
She swallowed, her anger dying as quickly as it had flared. “You’re right,” she said in a husky voice. “It’ll take more imagination than I have for that one.” At his narrow-eyed look she sighed. “Sorry. I’m madly in love with you. You’re my sun and my moon. I don’t breathe unless you give me leave to do so. What’s the point?”
“If you loved me, would you be embarrassed to arrive at the hotel on the back of my Harley?” His hands dropped to her shoulders. “Would you take a cab, rather than be seen on a motorcycle with me?”
She closed her eyes, a strange shiver rippling through her. If she loved him… Was that so difficult to imagine? He had a strength she admired and appreciated, even when it sometimes kept her from what she wanted. He was intelligent. He had a quirky sense of humor. Even his easygoing attitude was something she secretly envied.
But he’d said love. She shifted uncomfortably, reluctant to imagine that particular emotion in connection with him. The concept held far too much danger. Still… she owed him a certain amount of candor.
Slowly she opened her eyes. “If I loved you,” she confessed in a low voice, “I wouldn’t care how we arrived at the hotel—so long as it was together.”
His grip gentled, his thumbs easing beneath her crisp white collar to stroke the delicate bones of her shoulders. “Are you always this honest?”
“I try to be.”
She could see the doubt in his eyes and wondered at his skepticism. What had she done to make him so suspicious of her? She’d tried to be straightforward, right from her initial approach. And although her means of collecting the data she needed might not be equally as straightforward, the deception shouldn’t hurt anyone. Not in the long run. So why the distrust?
“JT, what’s wrong? Why—”
The ferry rocked beneath their feet, bumping gently into the pier. “Come on,” he said, cupping her elbow and urging her toward the motorcycle. “Time to go.”
Without another word of protest, she climbed onto the bike and slipped the helmet over her head. Her hair would look like a rat’s nest by the time they arrived, but that couldn’t be helped. She glanced toward the docks where the workers were preparing to off-load the vehicles, her interest instantly captured.
The scene before her was typical of other fishing villages she’d visited. And yet there was an added charm to this one, character evident in every line of the well-tended clapboard houses and gardens spread out on either side of the marina.
She leaned forward, speaking above the noisy rumble of the engine. “Did you grow up in the village?” she asked.
He nodded, pointing. “Down that way,” he replied. “On the south beach.”
The mate gestured for them to disembark, curtailing any further conversation. JT accelerated off the ferry and turned onto the road. Ahead of them Taylor could see a heliport, a helicopter taking off just as they approached. She caught a brief glimpse of the pilot and his passenger before the road curved, blocking her view.
A few minutes later they turned down a long drive lined with live oaks. Thick gnarled branches dripping with Spanish moss met overhead to shade the approach, and crepe myrtles heavy with bright pink-and-purple blossoms were scattered between the trees. He slowed and she peeked over his shoulder, catching sight of the resort.
The main building was an old plantation house, and it was more beautiful than she could’ve imagined. The twostory whitewashed brick mansion, with its Corinthian columns and intricate wrought-iron grillwork on the verandas, was gracious and stately, and the moment she saw it, Taylor fell in love. Imagine being a part of the history of this place, being able to call it home. It left her feeling restless, filled with the depressing awareness that her life lacked substance, lacked depth and roots.
JT pulled around to the side of the building and parked. The moment he cut the engine, she removed her helmet and slipped off the seat. She sighed, brushing at her skirt in a fruitless attempt to smooth away the wrinkles. To her astonishment JT swept the curls from her face, tucking an errant strand behind her ear.
“Give me my jacket and stop worrying,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
She blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon? What did you say?”
A slow smile crept across his face. “I said give me my jacket.”
“Not that. Your… your other comment. The one after the part about the jacket.”
“The ‘You look beautiful’ part?”
She stared at him, speechless.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Haven’t any of your corp-exec suits-and-ties to
ld you that before?”
She shook her head, slipping off his leather jacket and handing it to him. “No. They’ve told me what a brilliant mind I have. They’ve told me I’m the image of my father. They’ve even discussed the advantages of a merger.”
“A merger?”
“That’s corp-exec talk for marriage,” she explained, then frowned. “But not once did they tell me I was beautiful.”
“Are they all blind or just stupid?”
She bit down on her lip. “I guess when it comes to the bottom line, looks don’t count for much,” she murmured. “But then, they aren’t supposed to, are they?”
He slid his hand into her hair, tilting her face up to his. “I’ve never been guilty of political correctness, and I don’t intend to start now. When a woman’s beautiful, I tell her so. And you, Princess, are a knockout.” His mouth tightened as though he’d said too much, and he released her, grabbing her hand. “Come on. Let’s register.”
She smiled a secret smile. She didn’t know whether or not she believed him, but it didn’t matter. She’d take his brand of charming deceit over cruel honesty any day. Besides, it made a pleasant change to be treated as a woman, instead of a profit-and-loss statement. It also helped that he could look into her black eyes without flinching. Not many could. Maybe it was because he’d never met Boss, didn’t see the resemblance that seemed to bother most of the men she knew.
They climbed the steps to the veranda together and entered through a huge beveled-glass door. Sunlight streamed into the lobby from the floor-to-ceiling windows that flanked the door and highlighted the oak floor and soft yellow walls. A broad sweeping staircase with hand-carved mahogany railings and spindles offered a tantalizing glimpse of the second floor, practically inviting exploration. With a sigh of reluctance, Taylor turned toward the front desk.