Wildest Dreams (The Contemporary Collection)

by Jennifer Blake

  She had never actually lived with a man; never wakened in the morning to find one there, never seen one easing around in the gray dawn light clad only in a towel. It was interesting.

  There were drops of water between his shoulder blades where he had missed them with the towel, and also a few caught in the dark and curling hair on his thighs. She watched in lazy appreciation for the way they shone with the movement of his muscles. And she thought, with a slight flush, of drying them for him.

  He had been more concerned about privacy in Switzerland, she thought; he had dressed in the bathroom, then left the room altogether while she showered and changed. That he had abandoned such maneuvers this morning was a measure of the intimacy that had been established between them. It was disturbing, that sense of intimacy, but she thought she just might be able to get used to it.

  He began to whistle under his breath, a blues rendition of “St Louis Woman,” as he pulled a change of clothing and what appeared to be a small coffeepot from his suitcase. He skimmed into briefs and a pair of jeans, then moved back into the bathroom to fill the pot with water. An instant later Joletta caught the aroma of fresh coffee grounds, followed by the soft sizzle of water beginning to heat.

  Rone stepped back into the room, walking noiselessly to the window, where he leaned one shoulder against the frame. He crossed his arms over his bare chest as he looked out over the rooftops. The dim light gave his features a gray cast, so that he appeared pensive and even a little sad. What could be troubling him? Some business problem? Something to do with being with her?

  Joletta thought of asking him what was wrong, but she didn’t know him well enough to pry into his business. And if it concerned her, she was not sure she wanted to know.

  She stretched, pushing herself up on one elbow. Her voice husky, she said, “Is that coffee I smell?”

  Rone turned his head. His mouth curved in a slow smile as he gave a brief nod. “I hope it’s not too strong for you.”

  “I’m from New Orleans, remember? Coffee doesn’t come too strong for me.”

  He acknowledged that sally before he went on. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Are you? That isn’t too flattering.” The light tone wasn’t too bad, if she did say so herself.

  His smile faded as his face took on a serious cast. “All right, the only thing I’m sorry about is failing to protect you. I would have if I had expected — but at least it can stand as evidence that I didn’t plan what happened.”

  “Oh,” she said, lowering her gaze to the sheet that covered her as she realized what he was talking about. Pregnancy and the ways to prevent it had not crossed her mind. “I didn’t either — that is, I don’t—”

  “I didn’t think so,” he said, coming to her rescue with a trace of humor in his voice. “That can be fixed, if we go looking for another pharmacy?”

  It was subtle, the questioning inflection in his suggestion, the intimation that he was taking nothing for granted. Hearing it, Joletta recognized that she was being handed an excuse for drawing back from the new physical relationship he had established, if that was what she wanted. What could she do except return the favor?

  “We can do that, of course,” she said, “if you think we can find the time.”

  “Oh,” he drawled, “I think we can manage it.”

  She laughed; she couldn’t help it. A moment later she was being tumbled across the mattress as it bounced on its springs from his weight hurling down upon it. He rolled her to her back, lying across her with his weight on his elbows while he stared down at her with some dark exultation suspended in his eyes. She met his gaze for long moments, then reaching up, she slid her fingers along the strong column of his neck to the back of his head, and dragged his lips down to hers.

  The pigeons had converged on St Mark’s Square, hovering in squabbling crowds around the grain sellers, fluttering and circling with the morning sunlight shining iridescent magenta and green on their heads and necks. They scattered in clouds as groups of tourists and Italian schoolchildren crisscrossed the paving stones from the quay to the Doges’ Palace and the cathedral, and they rose with a fluttering of wings like a host of earthbound angels as the two moors on the old clock tower struck the bronze bell to mark the hour.

  Joletta, watching the activity as she and Rone had a cappuccino at the sidewalk café on the square, thought the birds had the same red legs and amorous dispositions as the pigeons of Jackson Square in New Orleans. It seemed comforting, somehow.

  The pigeons were not the only familiar sight. Joletta’s lips tightened as she saw a tall, blond woman striding toward her, threading her way among the strolling groups and the vendors of postcards and head scarves. Natalie.

  Joletta’s main reaction was irritated anger. She couldn’t be surprised that Natalie had found her, not after everything that had taken place, but it was hard to see how the other woman could dare face her.

  She thought of getting up and walking away, of refusing to speak to her cousin. That didn’t seem likely to be helpful. Something had to be done, that much was clear. She might as well make a beginning now.

  Natalie lifted her hand to wave while she was still several yards away. She was boldly fashionable in a Versace dress in vigorous shades of teal and magenta and hot Italian yellow, yet she looked out of place there in the square with its muted colors and timeworn elegance. As she waggled her fingers the dozens of gold and enamel bangle bracelets on her arms made such a clanking noise that the pigeons were startled into flight for a good twenty feet around her.

  “Good morning, cousin,” she called in gay greeting as she came nearer. “I knew you had to show up here in the square sometime; everybody does.”

  Joletta gave her an unenthusiastic hello. Natalie was undaunted. As she came to a halt beside the table she appraised Joletta in a single sweeping glance. “You’re looking well; Venice must agree with you.” She turned toward Rone, who had gotten to his feet as she approached. “Or maybe it’s the person you’re traveling with. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  As Joletta complied Rone gave her cousin a brief nod. His features were a little stiff, as if he was less than thrilled with the interruption. They did not relax as Natalie spoke again with a sly glance at Joletta.

  “Yes, I’d say a definite improvement over the types you usually have in tow, cousin, the bearded artists with nothing to say for themselves and the stuffy professors who talk too much.”

  Joletta seemed to hear an undercurrent of envy in the other woman’s voice. The bright, clear light was not kind to her cousin; it exposed the sallow skin tones under her makeup caused by too many late nights and too much to drink, and etched the lines of discontent between her carefully arched brows with hard shadows.

  Natalie reached for a chair to seat herself without waiting for an invitation. As Rone stepped to hold the chair for her, she gave him a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “Rone,” she said musingly, “it sounds like a name for a cowboy. Are you one?”

  “Not exactly,” he answered.

  “What does that mean? I’m dying to know.” Natalie, catching sight of a waiter, snapped her fingers for service.

  “I have all the cowboy instincts, just no horse.”

  The expression on the face of Joletta’s cousin turned arch. “Which instincts are those?”

  He gave her a bare glance as he returned to his chair. “An impulse to ride to the rescue, the urge to settle problems with a well-planted fist.”

  “A man of action. Dear me.” The other woman propped her chin on her fist as she held his gaze.

  Joletta gave her cousin a hard look. There was something odd about the exchange between her and Rone. Natalie’s tone was openly mocking, and her smile had a predatory edge to it.

  Natalie was the kind of woman who preferred the company of men and did not trouble to hide it. It wasn’t unusual for her to concentrate on whatever man she might happen to be around, or even to attempt to attach any that happened to be available.<
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  Rone’s reaction was unexpected, however. He leaned back in his chair as if he would like to put distance between the two of them, while the muscles of his face were stiff.

  As Rone failed to answer her last taunting comment, Natalie glanced at Joletta, then back to him again. She asked brightly, “Have you two just met, or is this a long-standing arrangement?”

  “What difference does it make?” Joletta answered, her voice tight. “Unless you’re afraid he’ll be in the way?”

  Natalie swung toward her with wide eyes. “You don’t have to bite my head off. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I think you do. I’m surprised you have the nerve to come near me after nearly getting us killed yesterday.”

  “Killed? Me? Aren’t we being just a little melodramatic?”

  Joletta held her cousin’s gaze. “You may not have intended it, but the car we were in caught fire, you know, after the truck ran us off the road.”

  “Just a minute—” Natalie began, a frown drawing her arched brows together.

  “It was a mean, underhanded trick, the next thing to attempted murder.”

  “You think I had something to do with this accident?”

  The incredulity in her cousin’s face seemed genuine, Joletta thought. But Natalie had always been good at pretense. “I saw you in Paris; I know you’ve been following me.”

  Natalie turned a wide stare toward Rone. He returned it without expression. She swung back to Joletta. “So you think that we — but that’s ridiculous; we’re family! As for following you, I have to tell you this jaunt of yours seems wild to me. I guess you must have found the diary — no surprise, since you knew Mimi and the house — but if there had been a formula in it, we would all know it by now. I figure you stumbled on something that brought you over here, but if there’s a chance in a million of a real lead after all these years, I’ll be amazed.”

  “Then what are you doing in Europe?”

  Natalie gave a small laugh. “I do have a life of my own, you know. I was passing through and decided to see how you were doing.”

  Joletta didn’t believe it, but there was no point in saying so. “And Aunt Estelle and Timothy?”

  “I have no idea where my dear brother is; he took off on his own, though there was some mention of Cascais — or maybe it was Corfu. He thinks this deal is, and I quote, "A waste of good beach time."“ There was real warmth in the other woman’s voice before she went on. “As for mother, the last I heard she was on her way to New York to see Lara Camors. Camors Cosmetics has a great lab, where they not only concoct their own perfume, but can do chemical breakdowns of others. She’s taking a sample of Le Jardin de Cour to be analyzed and duplicated.”

  “It won’t work,” Joletta said, though her voice was strained.

  Natalie made a careless gesture with one hand. “Mother seems to think it will, and she usually manages to get what she wants, one way or another.”

  That was too true to be argued. Joletta said, “You didn’t say where you were going — that you happened to be passing through.”

  It was a moment before Natalie answered as she turned her attention instead to the waiter approaching to take her order. When the man had gone, she said, “Actually, I was to meet a friend for a few days at Saturnia, to recuperate from the winter season with a spa treatment. Something came up, and she’ll be delayed for a few days.”

  “Too bad.” There was a slight shading of irony in the comment.

  “I don’t suppose,” Natalie said with her most sunny smile, “that you would mind if I hung around with you and Rone until she shows?”

  “I doubt you’d be thrilled,” Joletta said. “We’re with a tour group.”

  Laughter gurgled in Natalie’s throat as she turned toward Rone. “You mean with guides and chicken dinners and elderly women with blue hair and polyester suits?”

  Joletta said, “Most of the ladies are in sand-washed silk and parachute nylon, but that’s the idea.”

  “Ah, well,” Natalie said with a shrug, “I suppose if you can bear it, I can.”

  “No.”

  The uncompromising sound of Rone’s voice brought Joletta’s head around. He was frowning as he met her cousin’s incredulous gray-blue gaze. The thought that he would show so plainly that he preferred to be alone with her brought the heat of a flush to her face.

  “I was speaking to my cousin,” Natalie said, her voice rising with annoyance.

  Rone gave her a tight smile. “I don’t mean to be rude to a relative of Joletta’s, but we would prefer to be alone just now. You understand.”

  “Oh, so that’s the way it is?” The gaze Natalie turned on Joletta was measuring. “What a fascinating development.”

  “There’s nothing unusual about it,” Joletta said defensively. Natalie could not know she and Rone had just met, she thought, could she?

  “I suppose not, for some people. But I never suspected you of enjoying this kind of fling, Joletta.”

  “And what kind of fling is that?” Rone asked, his voice hard.

  Natalie lifted her brows as she turned a sardonic look on him. “So protective; I do love it. But really, Joletta and I have so seldom been able to talk, just the two of us. Surely you won’t deny me at least a few hours this afternoon?”

  “Not alone.”

  “Oh, we want you with us, of course.” Natalie’s voice was bland.

  Rone said no more, only looking toward Joletta with a questioning tilt to his head.

  Joletta said to the other woman, “We were just going to wander around until after lunch, then we’ll be going out to the islands of Tercello and Burano for the old church and the lace this afternoon. You must have seen it all a dozen times.”

  “Never in such company,” Natalie said firmly, and picked up her coffee cup to drink as the waiter set it before her.

  It was plain that Natalie had some reason for wanting to spend time with them. What it might be, Joletta could not imagine. If her aunt was having the perfume analyzed, then it could hardly matter to Aunt Estelle and Natalie if the formula was discovered in some other way. Unless, of course, they preferred to be in sole possession.

  Her cousin’s interest seemed centered on Rone. It was possible she wanted to discover more about him, to decide just what effect his presence was going to have on the quest. Since it seemed to Joletta that it might be helpful if Natalie and everyone else knew she was no longer a lone target, she ceased to make objections.

  Natalie was determined to be charming. She talked nonstop as they walked through the streets, making brittle, acidly amusing comments about this passerby or that former resident, telling stories about past trips to Venice and elsewhere in Europe, stories liberally sprinkled with titles and nicknames of people she seldom bothered to identify otherwise. She directed most of her comments to Rone. His response was minimal, but the twitch of his mouth now and then showed a ready acquaintance with many of those she mentioned.

  Natalie had little interest in the merchandise in the shop windows that caught Joletta’s attention; the hand-blown glass or the painstakingly carved cameos in unusual gray and aqua stone did not excite her. She showed no appreciation for the fine Gothic carving on the buildings and was impatient with standing on the small arching bridges to absorb the vistas of mysteriously winding canals. Since it was difficult to override Natalie’s strident reminiscences in order to speak to Rone, Joletta began to feel like the odd man out.

  It was not unusual; Natalie had always been able to make her feel that way with her sophistication and background of private schools and moneyed friends. There had been a time when she suspected that Natalie did it on purpose. Now she was no longer sure. It could also be a simple lack of comprehension of how other people might feel.

  Once, Joletta turned into a small shop for a closer look at a collection of porcelain figures by Armani. They were so beautifully done, so gorgeous in their romantic opulence, that she stayed longer than she intended. She lon
ged to own a particular piece showing lovers in a gondola. It was not only fragile for shipping, however, but was far too expensive for her pocketbook. Leaving it and the engagingly kind shop owner with regret, she emerged once more into the street.

  Rone and Natalie were standing some distance away down the sidewalk. Natalie was talking in quick phrases, shaking her finger in Rone’s face while he stood with his head lowered and a look of tight-lipped resignation on his face.

  A frown drew Joletta’s brows together as she started toward them.

  Natalie glanced in Joletta’s direction. The anger was instantly smoothed from her face. She spoke a few final words under her breath even as she summoned a brilliant smile.

  “Is something wrong?” Joletta asked as she walked up to them.

  “What could be wrong?” Natalie said. “Rone has just decided that the three of us should form our own tour group, forget the island trip, maybe stroll along the Rialto, or better still, since it’s so warm, go out to the Lido beach.”

  “Has he?” Joletta said.

  She couldn’t believe it, not after the disagreement they had been through the day before over the same sort of high-handed decision. She looked at him, her gaze inquiring. There was a grim set to his features and his eyes were dark, but he made no effort to defend himself.

  Joletta had discovered a couple of things in the past hour. The first was that she did not want to be with Natalie for any length of time. She had had enough of trailing behind her cousin, watching her monopolize the conversation with Rone. She had also learned that she was a possessive woman. It was a disconcerting insight, but she didn’t intend to fight it. What she intended was to do something about it.

  “Are you sure,” she said, giving her cousin a straight look, “that this was Rone’s idea?”

  “Who else’s? Isn’t it marvelous? We’ll have so much fun!”

  Joletta shook her head. “I’m not so sure. Rone, as you may have noticed, is a southern gentleman; he doesn’t like to refuse a lady, and he’s nearly always polite. But I think he was right the first time around. We will be better off alone.”