by Diana Palmer
He returned her quiet scrutiny. His eyes began to warm. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” The smile faded. “Just remember. I’m not a marrying man. Not anymore.”
“Okay. I promise not to ask you to marry me,” she agreed, groaning when movement set her headache off again. She rolled over and held her head with both hands.
“The pills should take effect soon,” he said sympathetically. “Have you had coffee yet?”
“No,” she whispered.
“That might be making it even worse. Here, I’ll get you a cup.”
“Excuse me?”
He poured black coffee into a cup, added a little cold water to temper the heat and sat down beside her.
“If you drink coffee all the time, you can get a headache from leaving it off. Caffeine is a drug,” he reminded her.
“I know. I remember reading about withdrawal, but I was too sick when I first woke up to want even water.”
“Just the same, you’d better have some of the hair of the dog.”
“Chocolate has caffeine,” she remarked as she sipped the strong coffee. He made it just as she did—strong enough to melt spoons.
“So it does. Want a chocolate truffle?”
She glared at him and sipped another swallow of coffee.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Low blow.”
“Wasn’t it?” She laid back down with a long sigh. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I have a soft spot for problem chocoholics,” he gibed. He smiled at her as he got up. “Besides, we’re old friends.”
“So we are,” she mused, wincing with pain.
He tossed the empty eggshells into the garbage can. He searched through drawers until he found a fork. “No wire whip,” he muttered.
“I don’t torture my food.”
He glanced at her. “A wire whip isn’t torture. It’s an absolute necessity for scrambled eggs and any number of exquisite French cream sauces.”
“Listen to the gourmet chef,” she exclaimed.
“I can cook. I’ve done my share of it over the years. I wasn’t born rich.”
She rolled over on her side to stare at him. “How did you grow up?”
He chuckled. “On the lower east side of Manhattan,” he told her. “In a lower middle class home. My father worked long hours to support us.”
“Your mother?”
“She died when my younger sister was born,” he explained. “I was fourteen. Dad had a boy and an infant girl to raise and provide for. He did the best he could, but he wore out when I was seventeen, and I had to take over. He died of lung cancer.” He glanced at her. “And, no, he didn’t smoke. He worked in a factory brimming over with carcinogens. He wasn’t literate or educated, so he did the work he could get.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough on all of you.”
“It was.” He stirred the eggs absently. “I took care of him myself for as long as I could. We couldn’t afford nursing care. Hell, we couldn’t afford a doctor, except at the free clinic.” He drew in a long breath. “I was holding down two jobs at the time, one full-time at a printing shop and the other part-time at an investment house, as a janitor.” He gave her a long look. “Yes, that’s where I learned the ropes. One of the older executives lost his son in a traffic accident in New Jersey about the same time my father died. He worked late and we ran into each other occasionally and talked. Eventually, when he found out how hard it was for me, he started teaching me about money. By God, he made an investment wizard out of me, long before I started designing software and linked up with the ex-NASA guys. And I never even got to thank him. He dropped dead of a heart attack before I made my first million.” He shook his head. “Ironic, how things work out.”
“Yes.” She watched him move. He had an elegance of carriage, a sensuous arrogance that made him a pleasure to watch. Muscles rippled in his arms and chest under the close fitting knit shirt and slacks he wore. “Are you still close to your sister?”
He didn’t answer for a minute. “My sister died of a drug overdose when she was sixteen. It was my fault.”
Chapter Seven
“What do you mean, it was your fault?” she asked, curious.
“She got in with a bad crowd. I didn’t even know,” he said. “I was just too damned busy—working, trying to stay afloat with Marie, being a new dad, all those things. I tried to keep an eye on her. But I didn’t know who she was dating. It turned out that she was in a relationship with our neighborhood drug dealer. He was her supplier. One night, she took too much. They called me from the emergency room. The rat took off the minute she went into cardiac arrest.”
“He got clean away, I gather?”
Canton stirred eggs until they cooked, and then took them off the stove before he answered. “No, he didn’t,” he said deliberately, “although it took me a few years to get rich enough to go looking for him. He’s doing ten years on a dealing charge. I hired private detectives to watch him. It didn’t take long to catch him with enough evidence to send him up. But it didn’t bring her back.”
She could sense his pain. She sat up in bed, grimacing as the movement hurt her head. “I know. But there’s only so much you can do to keep people out of trouble. If they really want to hurt themselves, you can’t stop them, no matter how much you love them.”
He glanced at her over the eggs he’d just spooned onto a plate. “You see deeper than most people. Much deeper.”
She shrugged. “That can make life pretty hard sometimes.”
“It can make it worth living, as well.”
She smiled back. “I suppose so.”
“I don’t suppose you have a toaster?”
“Waste of money,” she said. “The toast never comes out warm enough to butter. I make it in the oven broiler.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
All the same, he accomplished cinnamon toast with a minimum of fuss, though, and then spoon-fed her delicious scrambled egg and a bite of toast with some strong black coffee.
She smiled as he put the empty plate aside. “You’re a nice man,” she said.
“You needn’t sound so surprised,” he replied. “I’m just a man.”
“A man who built an empire all alone,” she elaborated.
“I had plenty of help. The problem is that when people get famous, they stop being people to the public. I’m no different than when I used to get my little sister up and ready for school. I’m just older and better dressed.”
“People get lost in the glamour, I guess,” she agreed.
“All too often, they do. Making money is mostly just plain hard work and sacrifice. No sane person would do anything to excess just to make money.”
“Then why did you?” she asked.
“For fun,” he replied. “I love creating computer software. It’s a challenge to combine numbers and logic and make a new program from scratch that does exactly what you want it to. I never thought about making money.”
She chuckled softly. “But you did.”
“A hell of a lot of it,” he said, nodding. “And it was nice, while it lasted. But you know what?” he added, leaning closer. “I’m just as happy now, with the challenge of making it all back again.”
She understood that. It was the same with her, when she wrote a book. She wondered what he’d say if he knew what she did for a living, that she’d deceived him into thinking she was just a secretary on holiday. His opinion of famous women wasn’t very high. Of course, she wasn’t all that famous. And he wasn’t in love with her, either. Perhaps she was making a problem of it.
“You look pale,” he remarked. He smoothed back her hair, concern in his blue eyes as he studied her wan, drawn face. “You’ve had a hard night. Why don’t you try and get some sleep? I’ll watch Kurt for you.”
“Thanks. I think it might help.”
He drew the sheet over her. “I’ll lock up on my way out. Has Kurt got a key?”
“Yes. But he won’t remember where he put it.
It’s in his windbreaker pocket that zips up. It’s on the couch.”
“I’ll take it with me.” He bent and kissed her forehead gently. “Will you be all right alone, or do you want me to stay?”
“I’ll be fine now,” she promised. She smiled drowsily, because the pills were starting to take effect. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Old friends help each other out,” he reminded her.
“I’ll remember that if you’re ever in trouble.”
He looked funny for a minute. She reached up and touched his dark hair. “Doesn’t anyone look after you?”
“Karie tries to, I guess.”
“No one else?”
He thought about that. “Actually no,” he said finally.
She traced his high cheekbone. “Then I will, when I’m better.”
He gave her an inscrutable look and got to his feet, frowning. “I’ll check on you later. Need anything else?”
“No. And thanks for breakfast. You’re not a bad cook.”
“Anyone can scramble eggs.”
“Not me.”
“I’ll teach you one of these days. Sleep tight.”
She lay back and closed her eyes. He cleaned up the kitchen quickly and efficiently, and then went out and locked the door behind him.
By early afternoon, Janine was improved enough to get up and dress, which she did, in jeans and a white tank top.
“God, you’re young,” he remarked when she joined him in the living room.
Her eyebrows lifted. She was still pale, and wore only a little pink lipstick. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re young,” he muttered, hands deep in the pockets of his loose-fitting slacks. His blue eyes had narrowed as he studied her lithe figure and her blemishless complexion.
“Twenty-four isn’t exactly nursery-school age,” she said pointedly. “And you aren’t over the hill.”
He chuckled. “I feel it, sometimes. But, thanks, anyway.”
She averted her eyes. “You must know that you’re devastating physically.”
There was a silence that eventually made her look at him. His face had tautened, his eyes had gone glittery. Their intent stare made her pulse leap.
His chin lifted almost imperceptibly. “Come here,” he said in a deep, velvety tone.
Her legs obeyed him at once, even though her mind was protesting what amounted to nothing less than an order.
But when he reached for her, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except the pressure of his arms around her and the insistent, devouring hunger of the hard mouth on hers.
She leaned into him with a sigh, all hope of self-protection gone. It could have led anywhere, except that young, excited voices floated in through the patio door, warning of the imminent arrival of the kids.
He let her go with obvious reluctance. “I could get addicted to your mouth,” he said huskily.
“I was thinking the same thing,” she agreed with a breathless laugh.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he mused, glancing toward the door where footsteps grew louder. “We’d have better luck on the floor of Grand Central Station.”
“I noticed.”
Before she could add anything else, Kurt and Karie came running into the beach house carrying some huge feathers.
“Where did you get those?” Janine asked.
“A guy was selling them on the beach. Do you know where we can get a skeleton?”
She blinked. “A what?”
“Not a real one.” Kurt cleared his throat. “Karie and I are sort of studying anatomy. We need a skull. Or something.”
“They sell cow skulls at the mercado in town.” Canton reached into his pocket and produced two twenty-dollar bills. “That ought to do it.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad!” Karie exclaimed. “How about cab fare to town?”
He produced more bills. “Come right back,” he said firmly. “And if you get lost, find a policeman and have him call me.”
“Will do. Thanks!”
They were off at a dead run again. Janine and Canton stood on the deck and watched them head toward the front of the house. A movement caught Janine’s attention.
There he was again.
The dark man was standing near the front of the house, beside a sedan. The kids hailed a taxi that had just come from one of the big hotels on a nearby spit of land. They climbed in and as Janine watched in barely contained horror, the dark man climbed into his vehicle and proceeded to follow the cab.
“Did you see that?” she asked her companion worriedly.
“See what?” he asked.
“A man got into a car and followed the cab.”
He frowned. “I didn’t notice the man. What was he driving?”
“Some old beat-up sedan. I’ve seen it before.” She grimaced. “It probably wasn’t a good idea to let them go off alone. If my parents have found something major, who knows what a determined pothunter might do? What if someone’s after Kurt?” she suggested.
He took in a deep breath and rammed his hands deep into his pockets. “I was just thinking the same thing, but too late. I’ll go after them. Don’t worry. Even a pothunter would think twice about abducting an American child right off the streets of Cancñaun.”
“I’m not so sure.”
She paced the floor until Canton returned with the children in tow. They had their skull and were content to stay on the beach and study it. Janine was worried, though, and not only about the mysterious dark man. She was worried because Canton seemed to deliberately downplay the incident, as if it didn’t really concern him very much. She wondered why, because he looked much more preoccupied than she’d seen him before.
“I was too sick to ask before. How did it go in Miami with your investors?” she asked after she’d fixed them a pot of coffee.
“I did better than I expected to,” he replied. “Apparently they think I can pull it off.”
“I agree with them.”
He searched her eyes and smiled. “Nice of you.”
She shrugged. “You’re that sort of man. I’ll bet your employees are crazy about you.”
“I offered you a job, I seem to recall,” he mused. “Come work for me. I’ll make you rich.”
“I’m not sure I want to be.” She glanced up. “Money isn’t everything, but it must be a help when you have death-defying parents.” She drew in a long breath. “And I still haven’t heard from them. I phoned the university this morning. They haven’t heard anything, either.”
“How do they contact you?”
“There’s a small satellite link they use in the field,” she explained. “They can send me E-mail anytime they like. But even the local guide service hasn’t been able to contact them. I haven’t told Kurt. I thought it best not to. This is a big deal, this new site. I couldn’t bear it if anything’s happened to them.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” he muttered. “I may not have millions, but I have influence. Give me that phone.”
It was impossible to follow what he was saying, but one of the names he mentioned in his conversation was very recognizable.
“You know the president of Mexico?” she exclaimed when he hung up.
“You don’t speak Spanish,” he reminded her, “so how did you know that?”
“I recognized his name,” she returned. “Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him. They’re going to send someone right out in an aircraft to look for your parents. I’d go myself, but the Learjet isn’t ideal for this sort of search.”
“How will they know where to look?”
“They had to contact the appropriate government agency to get permission to excavate, didn’t they?”
She smiled her relief. “Of course they did. Thank you,” she added belatedly.
“Don’t mention it. Now drink your coffee.”
By the end of the day, there was a telephone call. It was brief and to the point, but welcome.
“They’re fine,” Canton told a ne
rvous Janine when he put down the receiver. “Their communications equipment had a glitch, and they had to send a runner to the nearest town to fetch an electronics man. He only arrived today. No problems.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said fervently.
He smiled at her rakishly. “Don’t I get anything?”
She moved toward him. “What would you like?” she asked, aware that the kids were close by, sitting on the darkened deck, watching some people down the beach play music and dance in the sand. “A reward?”
“That would be nice,” he murmured when she reached him.
“A gift certificate?” she suggested.
His hands framed her face and lifted it. “I had something a little more…physical…in mind.”
She felt as breathless as she sounded when she spoke. “How physical?” she whispered.
“Nothing dire.” His mouth covered hers and he kissed her softly, sweetly, deeply. His arms enveloped her gently and the kiss grew to a shattering intensity in the soft silence of the room.
He let her go by breaths. “You’re a drug,” he breathed shakily.
“I know. So are you.” She moved closer, only to find herself firmly put away.
“You’re the marrying kind,” he reminded her. “I’m not.”
“It might not matter.”
“It would,” he said.
She sighed heavily. “Prude.”
He chuckled. “Count on it. Your lipstick is smudged.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She ran a finger around her mouth and fixed the smear. “I’ll bet you make love like a pagan.”
He smiled slowly, confidently. He leaned toward her slightly, and his voice lowered to a deep purr. “I do.”
Her eyes lowered demurely. “Show me,” she whispered.
He was barely breathing at all, now. His fists clenched by his side. “This isn’t a game. Don’t tease.”
She looked up again, saw his eyes glitter, his jaw clenched as tightly as the lean hands in fists on his thighs.
“I’m not teasing,” she said quietly. “I mean it. Every word.”
“So do I,” he replied. “I am not, repeat not, taking you to bed.”
She threw up her hands. “Are you always so cautious? Is that how you made those millions?”