by Janet Dailey
Within seconds, Josie appeared and stepped onto the breezeway to announce, "M'sieur Ramsey est arrivé."
"Oh, no," Victoria protested in a moan, rolling her eyes heavenward. She closed the book with a snap and swung her bare legs to the stone floor. "What time is it?"
"Il est trois—"
"Only three o'clock!" she exclaimed in a mixture of anger and exasperation. "Damn him!"
"Pardon, il—"
"Dammit, Josie, speak English!" Victoria flared. She didn't want to waste time translating the housekeeper's sentences into English in her head. There were too many things to think about. Number one was the fact that she hadn't bothered to bring a beach jacket onto the terrace with her. "Where is he now?" she demanded.
"In the foyer," the housekeeper replied.
"Show him to the library," she said with quick decision. An impish part of her wanted to meet Dirk Ramsey dressed exactly as she was—which was scandalously—and play the decadent, fun-loving daughter he probably expected her to be. Victoria didn't doubt that she could carry it off, but there was her father to consider. He might see the humor in her act, but she doubted that he would be amused. "I'll use the rear service stairs to slip upstairs to my room and change." Victoria rose from the lounger and impatiently motioned the woman into the house. "Go! And, for heaven's sake, don't speak French to the man. The last thing we need is for him to start printing that dad has a French maid. They'll start imagining Brigitte Bardot instead of—" Victoria had started to finish the comparison with "a woman who looks more like De Gaulle," and thought better of it just in time. She loved the dear woman, homely though Josie was, and didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"But—" Josie started a protest.
"Go! Vite!" Victoria waved her inside. "Let me know when he's in the library so I can slip in through the living room without being seen."
"Oui". It was a snapping affirmative carrying a trace of sarcasm, because the housekeeper hadn't been permitted the last word.
While she waited the interminable minutes for Josie to return, Victoria paced back and forth in front of the sliding doors. She wouldn't have time to shower away the suntan lotion or the perspiration that had collected on her skin. She'd have to be content with a quick wash and lots of cologne. What to wear? It had to be something simple and understated. That blue halter-type sundress she had just purchased, Victoria decided. With it she could wear the chunky ivory bracelets and the matching ivory pendant earrings.
With her every move planned and thought out beforehand, Victoria didn't waste time when Josie returned to signal that the coast was clear. She slipped soundlessly through the living room and darted up the rear stairs, down the narrow hall to the second-floor foyer of the main staircase and the bedrooms that branched off of it. In less than ten minutes, she had washed, changed into the dress, slipped on the jewelry, and had run a brush through her hair.
This time Victoria used the curving staircase. The grandfather clock in the corner niche of the staircase chimed a quarter past the hour of three. At the bottom of the steps her glance slid over the leather luggage on the floor. Turning, Victoria walked swiftly to the library door and paused to take a breath. One thing the expensive schools had taught her was a shatterproof composure. Victoria knew it was going to be tested. For her father's sake she was going to be pleasant even if it killed her.
Opening the door she swept into the room. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Ramsey," she greeted her opponent with a smooth apology.
The man standing at the bay window turned. Victoria had her first real took at him and realized neither the photograph heading his column nor the appearance on television did him justice. Over six feet with solid flesh covering male sinew and bone, he was stunningly handsome. His hair was as black as a moonless night and cut in one of those carelessly natural styles that suggested it had just been rumpled by feminine fingers. Broad shoulders and narrow hips flaunted his bold masculinity that was almost primitive in its force.
He possessed the sun-browned features of a playboy, not someone who spent hours at a typewriter. The liquid sheen of his dark eyes reminded Victoria of the mirrored surface of a pool that didn't reveal the dangers beneath the surface. There was a cool arrogance to his look. Victoria felt her temper simmering. His dark gaze slowly inspected her from head to toe. She couldn't have felt more stripped and exposed if she had walked in wearing the skimpy bikini she'd had on.
A sheer thirst for revenge made her return the insolent appraisal. Her glittering gray eyes ran over the white shirt with its sleeves rolled partway up his forearms and the dark slacks that accented the length of his legs. When her gaze returned to his face there was something faintly taunting in his eyes, as if he was challenging her to admit she liked what she saw.
"You must be Victoria Beaumont." His voice was deep and resonant carrying a trace of contempt.
That well-taught poise came to her rescue, forcing a throaty laugh. "Is that good or bad?" she challenged and walked forward, offering her hand to him. Victoria knew she would dearly love to rake her long fingernails over his strong jaw, but she also knew she wouldn't do it. "Welcome to Mackinac Island. We weren't expecting you until later in the day so I must apologize for the absence of my parents. They are off playing tennis and won't be back until four."
"I hope my early arrival hasn't greatly inconvenienced you." He, too, was mouthing polite phrases that he didn't mean.
Even the clasp of his hand in greeting was cool, yet firm. At the contact, something quivered along her nerves—a sexual response that Victoria hadn't expected. She had thought her active dislike of a man would override his obvious male attraction. That wasn't the case. She smoothly withdrew her hand from his strong fingers.
"Not at all, Mr. Ramsey," she assured him. "Is this your first visit to Mackinac Island?" Up close she noticed there was a faintly ruthless quality to the firmness of his mouth.
"Yes." He appeared amused by her continued pursuit of polite topics. "I had a fairly good view of it from the air before we landed."
"Oh, you flew?" Victoria attempted an interested smile.
"That's generally the way you see something from the air, isn't it, Miss Beaumont?" Dirk Ramsey mocked the absurdity of her question.
"I had forgotten that you deal in words, the precise use of them. You'll simply have to forgive me for not having a better command of the language." She widened her gray eyes with obviously false innocence.
"My, my, I don't understand how you could have forgotten my profession." His amusement was openly derisive.
Victoria turned away. If she hadn't, she would have slapped his arrogant face. "My father is always entertaining friends, clients, associates, just about anybody." She put faint stress on the last to indicate Dirk Ramsey was not in anyway special. "I can't be expected to remember them all." She flashed him an over-the-shoulder look, knowing she sounded like some spoiled socialite and not caring.
His dark eyes had narrowed fractionally as if he was trying to judge how much of what he saw was real and how much was an act. A corner of his mouth twitched, a vague signal that he'd made his decision…whatever it was.
"That's asking too much, I'm sure," he agreed with a mocking quirk of an eyebrow. "Although you did defy all the feminine rules by changing out of your bikini in record time, or are you wearing it beneath that dress?"
Victoria faced him with astonishment, trying to mask it with her poise. "How did you ferret out that information?" She smiled but it didn't reach the flint-gray of her eyes. "I have heard you journalists are renowned for your sources, but—"
"I've trained myself to be observant," Dirk Ramsey conceded. "But the sight of a delectable female lazing about with some triangular patches for clothing would have attracted any man's gaze."
"Then you saw me," she murmured stiffly.
"Those gates are only made of iron rods. They didn't exactly block my view." His gaze flicked her with a knowing regard for what was beneath the dress.
Victor
ia filed the information away for future use. "You can understand why I wasn't able to greet you immediately. It would hardly have been proper to meet you in such attire, would it?" she countered smoothly.
"Let's just say that if you had I probably would have been thinking some very improper thoughts." The inflection of his rich voice was deliberately evocative. He nonchalantly lessened the distance between them, his dark eyes holding her look. "What are you, the advance guard?"
"I don't think I know what you're talking about." Victoria tried to retain a pleasant tone although all her senses were becoming increasingly wary of his nearness.
"Was this all designed to soften me up?" Dirk continued to regard her with a velvet quality. "All these dangerous curves and—" his sun-browned fingers traced the line of her bare shoulder "—soft shoulders."
His feather-light touch unleashed an avalanche of sensual goose bumps scattering over her skin. Victoria wasn't given an opportunity to elude his hand as it was taken away as effortlessly as it had come. Again the fathomless dark eyes were roaming over her face. It was expressionless. Victoria knew that, but inside she was a caldron of hot reaction.
"I don't know why you should need softening up, Mr. Ramsey," she lied, since that was the whole purpose of the invitation. "But my greeting you was hardly by design." She kept her voice light and vaguely amused, but it was an effort. "You are the one who arrived early. In another hour, less now, my parents would have welcomed you instead of me. You and I probably wouldn't have met until dinner."
"True," he agreed, but on a skeptical note.
Victoria wanted the subject changed—and quickly. She didn't trust her temper to continue to assure him that he was welcome in this house.
"Did our housekeeper offer you some refreshments? Perhaps you'd like a cold drink after your trip," she suggested like a dutiful hostess.
"I prefer coffee…if you'll have some with me," Dirk countered.
Hot coffee when she was already steaming? "Of course," Victoria agreed and walked to the door. "Josie?" The housekeeper was in the hallway practically before Victoria got her name out. Victoria didn't even have to step out of the doorway.
"Oui?" the housekeeper responded.
"Deux café au lait avec sucre." Her request was automatically issued in French.
"Café noir pour moi." Dirk Ramsey refused milk and sugar for his coffee in flawless French.
Victoria pivoted in surprise and recovered immediately. "You speak French very well, Mr. Ramsey."
"Why is it that your compliment gives me the impression of an accusation?" he asked in a vaguely drawling challenge.
Remembering the housekeeper, Victoria glanced over her shoulder to find Josie still standing in the hall. "That's all, Josie," she dismissed the woman before responding to his question. "I can't imagine why you would think my remark would be an accusation."
"Maybe because you regard me as uncouth and unprincipled, and generally a little beneath you," he suggested.
She hadn't realized her dislike was so apparent. "Really?" Victoria laughed a shade maliciously. "I thought that was the way you were regarding me, Mr. Ramsey."
"Be assured, no one could ever accuse you of being uncouth." Thick, spiky lashes came down to hood his look. "You are polished and refined to impeccable perfection. Forgive me if I keep looking for the flaws of human failing."
"And have you found any?" She had to bite her tongue to keep from mentioning a few of his.
"Only that slip of superiority when you addressed your housekeeper in French."
"Did that sound superior?" Victoria murmured. "I have been conversing with Josie in French since I was a toddler. So perhaps I can be forgiven for that," she suggested with cloying sweetness.
"She's the treasured family retainer, I take it," he mocked.
"Every aristocratic family has one, don't they?" The retort was out before Victoria could stop it, smugly taunting with an acid bite. She turned swiftly to distract his attention. "Did you have an opportunity to look over the books? My father has an extensive collection." She waved to the bookshelves. "Naturally, you are welcome to read any of them while you are here. We never have a shortage of reading material."
"It is an impressive number of books. Most people couldn't afford to own a tenth of them," he commented and it sounded like a condemnation.
Victoria was about to lash out at him when Josie knocked at the library door and entered with the coffee. The timing was excellent because Victoria feared she would have lost her temper otherwise.
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Chapter Three
THE SHEEN of those black eyes was making Victoria increasingly uncomfortable. There had been no more baiting comments from Dirk Ramsey while they drank their coffee, but that aloof derision tinged with amusement rarely left his features. When Victoria had exhausted her supply of safe small talk, she had to find something else to occupy him.
"Would you like to see your room?" she suggested. "I'm sure you will want to unpack and settle in before dinner."
"Yes, that would be a good idea," he agreed smoothly.
Yet Victoria had the distinct impression that he knew how eager she was to escape his company. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep a rein on her temper. Unless she was mistaken, he seemed to know it and regarded her facade of pleasantry with arrogant amusement.
Rising from the leather-cushioned chair, Victoria set her cup on the tray and walked to the door. Dirk Ramsey was there first to open it for her, his show of manners as much a mockery as hers.
"I'll get my luggage," he announced when they reached the foyer. His suitcases weren't sitting where they had been. He arched a questioning eyebrow at Victoria. "Someone must have carried them upstairs already."
"It must have been Josie." Victoria shrugged in unconcern and started up the stairs.
"They were heavy," Dirk replied with a suggestion of protest.
"Josie is strong," she assured him that it wasn't unusual.
He started up the stairs behind her. "Comes from good peasant stock, I suppose," he offered dryly.
Victoria hesitated on the stairs, her anger flaring out of control for a short instant. She managed to contain all but a small thread of it that laced her attempted light reply, "I don't think my parents checked her bloodlines before they hired her twenty-some years ago."
"An oversight, no doubt."
Her long nails dug into the sensitive palms of her hands. Victoria laughed. It was either that or shriek at him. "You have such a droll sense of humor, Mr. Ramsey."
"I do?" He eyed her with suspicion.
"Oh, yes. I read a couple of your columns. They were absolutely hilarious!" she declared. "You really should write comedies. I think you would be very good at it."
"You thought they were funny?" Dirk repeated. His dry tone indicated he didn't believe her.
"Especially when you said all that nonsense about my father. It was priceless." Victoria flashed him a wide smile and continued up the steps. "The guest bedroom has its own private bath and a small sitting area. I hope you find it comfortable." Victoria wished there was a bedroom in the attic where she could put him.
At the head of the stairs she turned right into the foyer and walked to the door at its widest point. She entered the room ahead of Dirk Ramsey, sidestepping the luggage stacked inside the door.
It was a simple room with dormer windows letting in light. The walnut bed was covered with a tangerine-colored spread. The same color was repeated in the plaid material of a stuffed armchair and in the curtains at the windows. A small desk and chair sat beneath one of the windows.
Crossing the room Victoria opened a door. "Here is your bathroom." She waved to another set of doors. "There are the closets with plenty of hangers for your clothes." She continued her sweep of the room. "Of course, you have a dresser, too." Finally she stopped by the bed. "I doubt if you'll need them, but there are extra blankets on the top shelf of the closet."
All the while she had
been showing him the room, Dirk Ramsey had remained just inside the door. Now that she was finished he made no response and bent instead to his luggage. He picked up a gray metal case and carried it to the desk where he opened it.
"My typewriter seems to have survived the trip," he murmured.
"You are on vacation, aren't you?" Victoria sat on the bed, putting her hands behind her and leaning on them. "You surely aren't planning to work while you're here."
"I'm always working." Dirk slanted her a smile as he closed the case. "But to answer your question, theoretically I'm on vacation. If I find enough material I'll do a couple of columns while I'm here. I like to stay ahead of my deadlines."
"I'm certain you'll find enough material for some columns while you are with us. After all, with your imagination it doesn't take much." Victoria gave him a wide-eyed look. "All you need is a few facts and you can embroider the rest."
When he turned to move leisurely across the room to where she was sitting, Victoria thought she saw his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. She had the impression her supposedly innocent gibe had irritated him just a little, and she was glad.
"How do you like the room?" she inquired to fill the suddenly tense silence.
"Very nice." But his dark eyes never let their attention wander from her face. When he stopped he was towering at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed to stretch the material of his shirt across the muscled width of his chest. "You look very natural sitting on that bed," Dirk observed. "Are you part of the furnishings? Something to keep me warm at night sol don't have to use those blankets in the closet?"
Indignation burned her face. Victoria didn't waste any time pushing off the bed. All the while she was mentally counting to ten and beyond. She had succeeded in holding her temper to this point. Victoria didn't want to ruin it all by losing it now. His suggestion that she might sleep with him had robbed her of speech anyhow, as well as the thought of being nestled against his naked, male chest.