Lancelot's Lady

by Cherish D'Angelo

  "I was born that same night." She swallowed hard. "When they arrived at the crash, paramedics found my father dead and my mother barely holding on. She was pregnant. With me. They took her to the hospital and performed an emergency C-section." She looked away. "I was the result."

  Jonathan stroked her hair and it felt comforting.

  She faced him. "My mother died on the operating table. They said it was a miracle she'd even survived the crash."

  "She was holding on for you. She wanted you to survive."

  A tear trickled down her cheek. "I guess."

  Jonathan lifted her chin. "I know. And so should you."

  Rhianna tried to smile through the tears. For years she'd told herself it was her fault that her mother had died. That maybe she would've survived if she hadn't been pregnant.

  Yet, Jonathan had put everything into perspective.

  Her mother had wanted her, loved her.

  Jonathan gently wiped away her tears. "We're a sad pair, aren't we?"

  She nodded. "I'll say. Fate dealt us both a cruel hand and tried to squash us like bugs."

  "But we're survivors," he reminded her.

  "Yes, we are."

  And she'd survived far worse than her mother's death.

  Jonathan stared into her eyes. "Someone else hurt you bad, didn't they?"

  She gasped. How did he know?

  "I've seen fear in your eyes," he explained. "And that first time…when I wanted to make love to you, I knew someone had hurt you terribly."

  She couldn't breathe. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. Not with anyone.

  "You can tell me," he whispered.

  She buried her head into his arm, unable to face him. Should she tell him? Would it change things between them if he knew how her body had been abused and used? Would he be disgusted with her?

  Tell him. He has to know.

  "After my parent's died," she began, "I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Until they died in a boat accident. Then I went into foster care. The first two families I stayed with were short term, nice people, even though I was a basket case at the time. Then Children's Services found me a more permanent home, a couple who claimed they might even adopt me. If I worked out."

  She paused, gathering her strength.

  "But I wasn't the problem. My foster father was. He…" She nearly choked on the next word, "abused me." Tears pooled in her eyes and she let out a sob "He raped me every time his wife left the house, and I was powerless against him."

  Jonathan pulled her into his arms, rocking her like a child as she cried for her stolen youth. For the lonely child who had felt so trapped, so used. For the young woman who had been afraid of human contact. She wept until her throat ached, until she couldn't shed one more tear.

  Finally, she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, fearful of what she might find there. It wasn't what she was expecting. Instead of horror and disgust, she saw compassion and understanding.

  "You're safe now, Rhianna," he whispered, his eyes wet. "Nobody can ever hurt you like that again. I won't let them." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  "You said you wouldn't touch or kiss me," she said hoarsely.

  "I said not while we're talking."

  "But―"

  "Rhianna, we're done talking," he said, kissing the corners of her mouth as if he wanted to kiss away every invisible, painful scar.

  With a sigh, she gave in and his hands whispered against her flesh, giving her goosebumps.

  There was no question that Jonathan cared for her. But did he care for her as much as she was beginning to care for him?

  Chapter 22

  JT took a deep breath before picking up the phone and making the call.

  "Mr. Chambers," he said when the private investigator answered, "let's get this over with."

  "You make it sound like a root canal," Chambers replied. "This isn't personal. It's just business."

  "It is personal. Especially when you threaten someone I care about."

  "I didn't really threaten her. Just thought she should know why you―"

  "Listen, Chambers," JT cut in, "I'll tell her on my own terms. Got it?"

  "Okay, okay. Don't blow a gasket, old man." Chambers paused. "What about my money?"

  "I've considered your demands."

  "And?"

  "And I've decided to pay you."

  "That's a smart thing to do, Mr. Lance."

  JT rubbed his brow with a shaky hand. "You'll get it tomorrow afternoon. But it will be the very last time. Understand?"

  "That I do."

  "I'll need some kind of commitment on your part that you'll leave us alone after this."

  "You have my word." Chambers chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that doesn't mean much to you. What do you have in mind?"

  "I want you to leave town."

  "Leave Miami?"

  "Miami, Florida, the entire United States! I want you gone, out of my life. And I'll throw in an extra fifty thousand if you do this right after you get the wire transfer. I'll pay you the fifty when you send me a postcard from wherever you end up."

  Hopefully in hell, he thought.

  "I'll book a flight first thing in the morning."

  "You do that, Chambers."

  JT hung up the phone.

  Could he trust the man? No. There was no trusting a guy like Winston Chambers. And no predicting his next move either.

  Will Chambers take the money and disappear?

  God, he hoped so.

  ~ * ~

  On the floor above his office, Winston paced the dirty linoleum hallway of his cramped one-bedroom apartment. Outside the grimy window, a red neon sign buzzed and flickered, annoying the hell out of him. He'd wanted to shoot the damned thing since the day he'd moved in. Now he was wondering why he hadn't.

  From the half-open window, the sounds of dwindling traffic could also be heard. Somewhere in the night, a siren wailed and a horn blasted. No peaceful serenity here. Not in the seedy district of Miami.

  Inside the apartment, month old newspapers and well-thumbed girlie magazines covered the sagging couch and stained carpet. A broken laundry basket heaped high with dirty clothes sat neglected on the floor near the bedroom door. It had been a few weeks since he'd taken a trip to the basement laundry room and now his apartment smelled like rotten seafood and cat piss. Except Winston didn't own a cat.

  A scurrying movement caught his eye.

  A plump cockroach poked its head from beneath a pizza box. Hurrying toward it, Winston flattened the roach with his fist, then glimpsed his contorted reflection in the cracked mirror above the table.

  He grinned. "Winston Chambers, roach hunter."

  Roaches weren't the only thing he liked to hunt. That's why he'd gotten into the PI game.

  He wiped the remains of the roach on a napkin and surveyed the room. "I certainly won't miss this place."

  There was nothing here he wanted. What he did want was somewhere in the Bahamas.

  How hard can it be to find her?

  He laughed so hard he started to wheeze.

  "Okay, Win. Let the hunt begin."

  An hour later, he emerged from the bedroom, a bulging gray suitcase in one hand and a brown leather briefcase he'd bought online in the other. Over his left arm, he'd flung his only good suit. He set the suitcase near the door and hung the suit in the closet. Then, with a sweep of one arm, he cleared the kitchen table.

  Drenched in sweat, he set the briefcase on the table and opened it. He extracted a large manila envelope. Inside were his treasures―more than fifty photographs of Rhianna McLeod, taken at different intervals in her life.

  Winston had tracked the girl down after she'd left nursing school. He'd found her living with a deaf lady who was getting on in years. That made it all too easy for Winston to sneak in and take pictures of Rhianna. He'd hidden in closets, the basement and the old lady's bedroom.

  It was amazing the quality one could get with a decent camera and a zoom
lens.

  He carefully spread the photos out on the table.

  "There you are, my dear." He smiled and fingered a photo of Rhianna having tea with her patient. "One lump or two?"

  The next photo was of a sad Rhianna. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she said a few words at the old lady's funeral. Winston had sat in the back row, as bold as could be. He'd even offered her his condolences.

  "I'll take care of you," he said now, pulling a wad of cash from the briefcase pocket.

  He had enough money to get him to the Bahamas and then on to his permanent destination. Morocco, perhaps. He would've gone to Haiti, but it was still in ruin after the earthquake.

  It didn't really matter where he went, as long as no one could find him. Once JT Lance paid him, he could live comfortably overseas. Winston would be able to start over, with his new life.

  And my new wife.

  "Our wedding night will be one you'll never forget."

  Though he would've loved to sit back and fantasize about Rhianna's naked body under his, he had work to do. He collected the photos of Rhianna and placed them back in the envelope. With the briefcase in hand, he left his apartment and clambered downstairs to his office. Panting, he flipped on the light and headed directly to his paper-littered desk. A few taps of the keyboard and his flight was arranged and he'd booked a hotel.

  "One more thing," he muttered as he printed off the boarding pass.

  He waddled toward an abstract painting and swung it to one side, revealing a wall safe. He entered the combination and the safe popped open. He withdrew a shoebox containing several fake passports he'd obtained over the years. He shoved the passports into the briefcase.

  There was one other item in the box, something that would assure his success.

  An unregistered Glock-17.

  Winston picked up the gun and caressed it against his cheek. He couldn't take it on the plane, of course, so he did the next best thing. He wrapped the gun in bubble wrap and placed it back in the shoebox. After he securely taped the box, he addressed it to himself, care of the hotel in Nassau. He'd overnight the package.

  Then tomorrow, he'd find out which hotel the lovely Rhianna McLeod was spending her vacation in and do a little recon visit. And when the Glock arrived, he'd go after her.

  Just don't make me shoot you.

  Chapter 23

  Rhianna awoke the next morning in her own room. She had insisted on it, even though Jonathan had asked her―begged her―to stay.

  "I don't want Misty to walk in and see me in your bed," she'd told him firmly. "It would just confuse her."

  Still, she wondered what it would be like to wake up in his arms in the morning.

  She shook her head. Nothing good could come of a thought like that.

  After brushing her teeth, she eyed the bathroom mirror with disdain. "This is only temporary," she told her reflection. "Nothing more than a summer fling."

  But it sure didn't feel that way to her.

  She dressed, brushed her hair into its usual ponytail and went downstairs to get ready for the day's lessons with Misty.

  "Hi, Rhianna," Misty signed from the kitchen table. "I've done one worksheet already."

  Rhianna flicked a look at the clock on the wall. It was after nine. She'd slept in. Last night's energetic extracurricular activities had exhausted her.

  "Let me see," she said, ignoring the heat that seared her cheeks.

  She checked the page Misty had worked on and was surprised to find the young girl had correctly identified all of the signs.

  She smiled and gave Misty a hug. "Great job. You got them all right."

  "Daddy said if I did a good job this morning, he'd have a surprise for us later."

  "Really? What kind of surprise?"

  Misty rolled her eyes. "I don't know," she signed. "It's a surprise, remember?"

  "Ah, of course," Rhianna said, laughing. "A surprise."

  She grabbed a coffee and muffin, settled into a chair and quickly got Misty onto the next project. Though Rhianna did her best to stay focused on the day's lessons, it was difficult. Her mind kept straying to her charge's handsome father, and his strong yet gentle hands and sensual mouth. Every time she thought of Jonathan, her hands grew clammy.

  Don't think about him!

  Before lunch, Jonathan made an appearance. He was dressed in a white muscle shirt and beige Bermuda shorts, and he seemed to be in a very good mood.

  "What's going on?" Rhianna asked.

  "I'm taking a break from painting. You've got me for the rest of the day."

  "That's our surprise?"

  He arched a brow. "Are you telling me you'd pass up a picnic lunch and swimming with me and Misty?"

  She giggled. "Well, since you mention swimming, I guess I'll go."

  Caught up in the moment, Jonathan leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. Right in front of Misty.

  Rhianna stifled a gasp. "Are you sure you should be kissing me―"

  "Of course I'm sure," he said, kissing her again.

  He caught his daughter's eye and signed, "Every beautiful girl deserves a kiss." He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  Misty wrapped her arms around her father's neck, and Rhianna couldn't help but notice how happy they looked. Happy and complete. The perfect picture―father and daughter.

  She sighed.

  Did she really want to disturb their perfect world?

  The question haunted her until it was time to head for the beach. The picnic lunch Mrs. Atkinson made them was superb. They ate on the dock to avoid getting sand in their food, although Misty argued that sand-wishes should be eaten on the sand. She made Rhianna and her father make a wish before taking the first bite.

  "Then your wishes will come true," Misty signed.

  "Don't know where she got that from," Jonathan said, shaking his head. "She's always called them sand-wishes."

  Rhianna grinned. "I think it's cute."

  After lunch, they swam in the ocean. Misty proved to be a very good swimmer, a natural little fish in the water. But it was Jonathan who impressed Rhianna most. She couldn't take her eyes off him. His face had relaxed into a permanent smile and he laughed with ease. His tanned muscles rippled as he swam out to a buoy, then back to the dock.

  Later, they stretched out on towels on the dock.

  "I could stay here forever," Rhianna said with a sigh.

  Jonathan's brow arched. "Really?"

  She blushed. "It's peaceful here. And beautiful."

  He opened his mouth to reply, but Misty tugged at his hand. "I'm sleepy, Daddy."

  "Nap time," he signed back.

  Rhianna gathered the remnants of their lunch and packed the basket, while Jonathan shook off the beach towels and tucked them under his arm.

  "Let's go home," he said.

  Rhianna's heart did a peculiar flip-flop. Home?

  When they arrived at the house, she followed Jonathan and Misty upstairs. She hung back in the doorway and watched Jonathan tuck his daughter into bed.

  "Bear hugs," he signed, opening his arms.

  Misty squeezed him tightly and he made funny gasping sounds.

  "Help me, Rhianna," he pleaded.

  "No way I'm getting in the middle of this," she said with a laugh.

  After Misty released him, Jonathan moved toward the door. "Have a good sleep, sweetheart."

  Misty clapped her hands twice. "Wait!"

  "Do you want a glass of water?" Rhianna asked.

  The girl gave her a shy smile. "I want a kiss. From you."

  Rhianna crossed the room, trying to appear nonchalant. She leaned down and kissed Misty's cheek. In return, small arms wrapped around her neck, tugging her down until she had to sit on the bed.

  Misty cocked her head to one side. "I'm glad you ended up on our island."

  "Me too."

  "I love you, Rhianna."

  Rhianna was stunned. "I love you too. Sweet dreams."

  She lowered her head and made a beeline for the doo
r. Squeezing past Jonathan, she slipped into her bedroom and with her back against the door, she stared up at the ceiling and blinked back the tears that had nearly betrayed her.

  She was far too close to Misty. And Jonathan. He was making her want things she shouldn't want. Impossible things. No matter how much she wanted to go home and see JT, she couldn't fight the yearning of her heart. She'd give anything to be more than Misty's teacher, more than Jonathan's short-term guest and his summer fling.

  "I want what I can't have," she whispered.

  Every day she stayed on Angelina's Isle would make it that much harder to leave, but she had to get away from Jonathan Tyler and his seductive charm. Before it was too late. Before her heart was permanently crushed.

  She let out a soft sob.

  The thought of leaving was almost too much to bear. She'd fallen for the place―and the people. Including Jonathan.

  That sudden realization made her gasp.

  I'm in love with Jonathan.

  A knock on the door startled her.

  She wiped her eyes and pasted on a smile. "I'll be downstairs in a minute."

  The door cracked open. It was Jonathan.

  "Are you okay, Rhianna?"

  "I'm fine." She turned away so he wouldn't see her red eyes. "I need a shower and a change of clothes. I've got sand all over me."

  "All right. I just thought…" His voice faded. "Never mind."

  The door closed.

  Twenty minutes later, Rhianna emerged from the bathroom in her robe, refreshed―in body and mind. Now she had to make a decision. Give her heart to Jonathan on a silver platter, or maintain a safe distance. Either way, she knew she had to face him and find out where he thought this whatever-it-was was leading.

  She dressed in an aqua and white summer dress and blow-dried her hair, clipping it back this time in a silver barrette. After applying a pale copper lip gloss, she went downstairs.

  When she reached the kitchen, she was surprised to find only Mrs. Atkinson there. Savory smells came from the oven and stove top, and a pie rested on the counter.

  "I'm making a roast chicken dinner tonight," the housekeeper said as she sliced carrots. "Mashed potatoes, fresh carrots and peas from the garden, and a strawberry pie for dessert."

  "Sounds delicious," Rhianna said. "Would you like some help?"