Legendary Lover

by Roszel, Renee

  Was he flirting or wasn’t he? The odds were, he was. He was just very subtle about it. But then, why shouldn’t he flirt with her? She was female. That would be his only requirement. The story would probably be very different if he’d remembered her—remembered he’d already had her. Why did he—of all people in the civilized world—have to show up here, anyway?

  Squaring her shoulders, she didn’t even attempt a smile. “Have a nice stay, Dr. Redigo.”

  She’d turned away and was beating a rapid retreat toward the stairs when he reminded softly, “It’s Cord … and I plan to.”

  IT WAS NEARLY ten o’clock and Tess was bone weary when she climbed the stairs to her room. She’d done a decidedly poor job of avoiding Cord. Everywhere she went, she found him. Everywhere she looked, she met his gaze, his dashing smile. After a while even she began to believe she was following him. That was absurd, of course, but if it seemed that way to her, how must it have appeared to him?

  Finally she’d resorted to hiding in her office, where she straightened the files for over two hours. Her papers were now so well organized that she’d probably never find anything again for the rest of her life.

  Once safe in her room, she decided to go straight to bed. A good night’s rest was what she needed. She hurried into the bathroom to get her nightgown, which was hanging beside the tub. She heard the bathroom door click shut behind her before she realized she was not alone.

  Though there was no water running in the shower, there was no mistaking the male animal that lurked behind the fogged curtain.

  When he heard the clicking of high heels on the tile floor, Cord pulled the clear plastic aside to look out. He’d been rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Sweeping damp, blond strands back from his face, he met her startled gaze, breaking into a grin. “Hello, there.”

  Tess stood about halfway between the door to her room and the hook that held her nightgown. She didn’t know if it would be less embarrassing to make a panicked dash for the exit, or go ahead and get her gown.

  While she hesitated, Cord asked, “Did I forget the schedule, or is a back scrub part of the service?”

  “I—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—” She indicated the hook. “My nightgown,” she explained weakly.

  He looked over at the filmy pink thing and then back at her. “That was my guess, too.”

  “I’ll just get it and go.”

  There was a merry flicker in his eyes. “Whatever you like.”

  Wishing she were dead, she snagged the silk gown and backed out, her mind blazing with the slightly hazy view of his well-endowed masculinity. She couldn’t help but recall the feel of his virile nakedness so many years ago, when he’d made her body glow with unfamiliar delights.

  The experience rattled her, and she lost all desire to sleep. Brooding, disgusted and angry at her wayward train of thought, she decided to take a walk. Her plan was to wear herself out completely.

  The night was crisp and cool with a light breeze wafting up from the lake. There was a bright moon, a disk of gold in the black sky. She inhaled, enjoying the night, as she walked down the flagstone path through the well-kept garden of colorful annuals and shrub roses. Low gas lamps lit her way.

  When she reached the lawn, she turned back, enjoying the peaceful scene of the darkened Jacobean-style house, soft lights glowing from behind lacy sheers of several second-story guest rooms.

  She recalled the first time she’d seen the inn at sunset. What a spectacular sight that had been, the dying sun setting its honey-hewed stone aglow. That had been the only spectacular feature about Lost Cove Inn—aside from its debt.

  When she’d come here after her father’s death, the old home had been in a state of decay. Her aunt Jewel had recently been widowed and was going blind, and the place was in need of efficient management. Though Tess had been only seventeen, she’d spent a good number of her teen years managing business while her father drank up his salary, so she had gradually taken over running the place. She was proud that, thanks to her management, they’d been able to refurbish the inn and were now on the verge of making a profit.

  She scanned the tiled patio, lit by the dim light of one lamp left burning in the drawing room. Virge slouched around dismantling tables while Sugar carried folding chairs toward the kitchen door, bumping and grinding all the way. Having dinner on the patio occasionally had been her idea, and had proved popular with the guests. The extra work hadn’t been quite as well received by Virge, but his grumbling was fairly good-natured.

  Tess’s gaze moved upward. Tall gables graced both ends of the inn. The five chimneys that sprouted from the slate roof were smokeless now. She smiled wryly, hoping that by next winter, when they were billowing smoke again, she wouldn’t be.

  Her gaze was drawn down to the center section of the inn that bowed out, the second and third stories adorned with wrought-iron balconies. She noticed that Cord’s lights were out and assumed he must have gone to bed.

  She turned away, her tranquil mood shattered, and headed for the cliffs near the edge of the spruce wood. She escaped there on infrequent nights when concerns of the inn didn’t devour all her time. Tonight she really needed to get away.

  She sat down cross-legged on the cold stone that jutted out over the lake glistening a hundred feet below. The breeze was a little cool through her cotton blouse; crossing her arms before her, she tried to ignore the chill.

  For the first time she saw a ghostly looking cabin cruiser tied up at the inn’s dock. Squinting, she could just make out the name. Something Two. “Co-eel—a—can … cant—”

  “Coelacanth,” uttered a disembodied voice that Tess immediately recognized as Cord’s. She twisted around, surprised that he could have approached so quietly.

  He smiled his uneven smile, and in the moonlight, his teeth shone white, strikingly perfect. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but coelacanth isn’t the easiest word to pronounce.”

  “It’s your boat?”

  He nodded.

  She allowed her eyes one brief trip up and down his trim frame. His thick mane of hair had gone all silvery in the moonlight, and he’d changed into jeans and a white V-necked sweater. It looked like cashmere and it clung like a jealous woman. She wondered a bit peevishly if he had any idea how sexy he looked in the moonlight?

  The night of the hayride there had been no moon. She’d hardly been able to see him at all, and look what had happened! Irritation skidded up her spine, and she turned back to face the lake.

  Determined not to be affected by him, she wisecracked, “Coelacanth may not be easy to say, but the easy words don’t make good boat names. You spend thousands of dollars for a boat, you don’t call it Hay.” She winced, thinking Freud would have had a field day analyzing that slip of the tongue.

  “Hay?” He joined her on the ledge, much to her distress. “As in ‘Hey, you’ or as in ‘bale of hay’?”

  She would have given a lot to take back that word. But since she couldn’t, she hedged, “You’re missing the point.”

  “I got the point. It’s the word choice that fascinates me.”

  Trying to ignore the fact that his knee grazed her thigh, she countered, “You’re easily fascinated.”

  He was silent for a moment before he asked, “Why are you so nervous?”

  She stiffened. “I’m not.”

  “Oh?” She could tell he was looking directly at her. “Then why are you wringing your hands?”

  She hadn’t realized that’s what she was doing. Dragging her hands apart, she clasped her knees tightly. Damn! She needed a cigarette!

  “If it’s about the mix-up in the bathroom, forget it.”

  She clenched her fingers so tightly around her knees that she could feel the imprint of her nails through her slacks. “I wasn’t thinking about that at all.”

  “Then what?”

  She turned to face him, exasperated by his doggedness. “Could we change the subject? Some things aren’t your business, you know.”

&n
bsp; A dark eyebrow arched in surprise. For a long moment he said nothing; he simply studied her. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Her senses were restive. He had a polished, yet endearing charm that was hard to resist. She could detect his cologne, now. It was mellow—an expensive, heady mix.

  “I gather you know what it means.”

  His cryptic remark drew her from her mental wanderings. Confused, she asked, “What?”

  “The word ‘coelacanth.’ Most people ask. Since you didn’t I gather you already know.”

  He’d changed the subject, all right. Unfortunately, she did know what it meant, but she wasn’t going to tell him she’d saved the magazine where she’d read about it … and him. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s the name of the fish I’m studying in the Indian Ocean. The coelacanth was thought to be extinct for seventy million years. About seventy years ago it was accidentally discovered. So far, the Indian Ocean is the only body of water where it’s been found.”

  She could tell he was trying to make conversation—trying to make her feel comfortable. Short of leaving the country, she couldn’t see any way Cord Redigo could put her at ease. But for the sake of appearances, she faked a relaxed pose. Leaning back on her hands, she scanned the lake where the moon’s reflection floated. Though she was dying to ask him to go, she asked instead, “The ‘two’ in the name means you’ve only found two fish, I gather.”

  He chuckled; it was a pleasant sound in the darkness. She’d heard him chuckle before in the dark, though. She swallowed, forcing the memory from her mind as she tried to catch the thread of his conversation. “No, actually this cruiser is the smaller of two that I own. I let Mary use this one most of the time. The big one, Coelacanth One, I anchor off the island of Grande Comore, where I do my research.”

  “Number Two looks pretty big to me.”

  “It’s a twenty-six footer—plenty big to carry the sonar equipment we need. Actually it’s good for most everything but sleeping. If you’re over five ten it’s a little cramped.

  She sat up abruptly, fiddling with a strand of her hair. She didn’t care to picture this man prone. She switched subjects. “We’re all very excited about your research project. Naturally we’d love proof that Champ exists.”

  “So would Mary. She believes in your mythical monster.”

  Tess’s brow knit in confusion. She turned to scan his profile. The deep cleft in his chin was accentuated by the moonlight. She shook off the quixotic thought that she’d once run her tongue along that deep slash. “You sound like you don’t believe in Champ.”

  He turned to face her. “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “You don’t?” Unknowingly, she frowned, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Did you say you don’t?”

  He shook his head.

  She stared at him, incredulous. “You mean you’re here to disprove Champ’s existence?”

  His expression grew earnest. “I’m a marine biologist, a scientist. As far as I’m concerned, Champ is nothing more than a popular piece of local folklore.”

  “Popular piece of …!” She rose to her knees. A nagging little voice told her she was overreacting. He had a right to his opinion. But she’d had a rotten day because of him. She’d had more than one rotten day because of him and part of her had waited a very long time to tell him off. “I’ll tell you what Champ is. He’s our bread and butter, mister!” She emphasized her words with a hearty poke at his chest. “Part and parcel of our identity here on the lake. Most of our guests come here specifically because of Champ.” She leaped to her feet. “What are you trying to do, sabotage us?”

  Cord stood, too. “No, of course not,” he offered gently. “But tell me honestly. Have you ever seen Champ?”

  “I don’t have to see him to know he’s there. Aunt Jewel has, and even now that she’s blind, she can still sense when he’s near.” His indulgent smile did more to fire her anger than any outright argument could have done. “Kalvin has seen him—lots of times.”

  When he elevated one eyebrow, Tess asserted furiously, “He has!”

  Cord started to speak, but she cut him off, lifting a threatening finger. “Don’t you dare say anything patronizing or I swear I’ll—I’ll…”

  “I know, you’ll poke me to death.” He smiled wryly at her, drawing her raised hand into his. “I’m not here to disprove Champ’s existence. I’m here as a favor to my cousin Mary. She’s done a lot for me, and I’d offer to take Bigfoot to the senior prom if she asked me to. But as long as I’m here, I’ll look for hard evidence—one way or the other. Truth can’t hurt anyone.”

  Truth can’t hurt? There was something about the way he stood there, looking concerned, yet distant…. It reminded her of the way he’d looked that night he’d dropped her off at the gas station. Her insides twisted at the reminder and she saw red. “Sometimes, Dr. Redigo, the truth can hurt.” She pulled her hand from his. “It can be vicious.”

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt your business.”

  “My busi—” She blinked, realizing he was still talking about Champ. He had no idea that she’d been referring to the blunt “truth” he’d told her thirteen years ago when he’d said she was just a kid, unschooled about love—and no doubt lacking sexual skill. That “truth” had hurt her deeply.

  His look was intense, questioning as he watched the battle of emotions raging in her face. The concern in his eyes told her that he expected her to explain.

  Her heart was thudding dully. There was nothing more she intended to say. Turning abruptly, she hurried away from him, ashamed of her uncharacteristic show of temper. Tomorrow she’d worry about facing him again. But for now, she was going to have to scour the inn for dirty rugs. She needed something to beat.

  2

  Cord awoke when he heard Tess’s bathroom door close. Lacing his hands behind his head, he listened to her move around. He recalled the pink nightgown, and found himself picturing her, both in it and out of it. He grinned; it was a bit early in the day for that sort of thinking.

  While the bath water ran, he let his imagination conjure up a picture of what she was doing and how she was attired. It passed the time pleasantly enough. Finally, when she turned the water off, he found himself straining to hear her splash as she bathed.

  He envisioned her lounging naked in the tub, her olive skin wet and glistening, her sleek black hair twisted into some kind of knot on top of her head, wisps around her face and neck becoming soaked as she soaped her face and shoulders.

  She lifted a leg. He didn’t know how he knew she lifted a leg, but he did. He closed his eyes.

  She had been dressed quite conservatively yesterday, when he’d met her, in beige slacks and a simple blouse that buttoned up to her throat. Even so, the plain clothes didn’t completely disguise her lithesome body, nice hips and full round breasts. She was well endowed for a small woman. Of course she wasn’t his type at all. He preferred leggy blondes who had all the right equipment and weren’t shy about showing it off.

  He was far from being a rounder, but when he met someone who gave him a smile that told him she was available, he sometimes accepted the invitation. He always made sure that these brief encounters were understood to be just that; his work took precedence over everything else.

  It didn’t take Cord long to size up a woman, and he could tell that Tess was not the type who shared herself with a man without the promise of a commitment. He didn’t have anything against that. He respected her for her principles. But this time he was a little sorry about it. For a prim woman, Tess had shown a tempting glimmer of passion when she’d lost her temper last night. He’d had an outrageous urge to take her in his arms and savor the heat of it.

  His mind snapped back to the present when he heard the slosh of the water as she lifted her other leg. He pictured her soaping her calf, her thigh, then moving on up to soap her stomach and breasts….

  He felt a tightening in his gut and r
olled out of bed with a low groan. Maybe she wasn’t his type, but with the assistance of his greedy imagination, she was showing off all the right equipment. He grinned wryly. If only she knew how his thoughts were running right now, he was sure he’d catch another glimpse of her salty temper.

  Rather than listen to her toilette every morning, he decided he’d better plan on being up and gone by—he looked at his watch—six o’clock. There was no point in putting a strain on his … imagination. Shaking off a momentary tug of regret that he wouldn’t be the man to sample the more pleasant side of Tess’s passion, he strolled to his closet. Dragging on a pair of jeans and a soft flannel shirt, he left his room in search of a cup of coffee.

  The kitchen was bright, painted a shiny enameled white. Clean and scrubbed, it reminded him of the inn’s manager. He inhaled the familiar aroma of breakfast cooking, which conjured up memories of his childhood back in Oklahoma.

  Across the kitchen a plump woman was kneading dough, her back to him. She either had a bee up her skirt, or she was doing some sort of pagan fertility dance. He grinned when she burst out singing, “Do—do—do it, baby…” She began to sway around in a circle. She’d danced halfway around when she saw him standing there, languidly rolling up his sleeves and smiling. Her round cheeks pinkened. “Oh, hi, there.” She pushed the earphones down to her neck. “Can I get you something?”

  “Coffee?” He crossed the kitchen in long strides.

  “Sure.” She scratched her chin with the back of her wrist. “Over by the stove. That big urn. I always have plenty of coffee. The boss likes to have a cup first thing, too.” She wiped her floured hands on her apron. “Name’s Sugar Smith. Bring me a cup, would you mind? Pottery’s in the shelf above.”

  When Cord had returned with two mugs of steamy coffee, she shook his hand. “And who might you be, handsome?”

  He grinned at her forthrightness. “Cord Redigo.”

  She jerked her head toward a chair near the corner. A rotund man was asleep there, his head lolled back, his mouth gaping open. “That’s my sweetie pie, Virge. He’s taking a break. Had a busy night.” She nudged Cord in the ribs. “If you get my drift.”