Power and Seduction

by Joan Hohl

  “It’ll be fine, dear,” Beth assured her dryly. “As you can see, there’s not an awful lot of traffic!”

  Laughing together, they carried the cases into the house, Tina following Beth up the curved staircase that joined the building’s three floors. The bedroom that Beth ushered Tina into was different, yet familiar. Tina had spent her childhood in that very room, as it had been her own bedroom from the day her mother had decided Tina was ready to graduate from the small nursery next to the master bedroom.

  “It’s ... it’s lovely.” Swallowing against the thickness clogging her throat, and widening her eyes to contain the sudden welling up of tears, Tina strolled to the room’s one narrow window which overlooked the back garden, now lonely-looking in its bare starkness. “Yes,” she murmured. “Quite lovely.”

  “Well, then,” Beth said briskly. “I’ll leave you to get settled.” Her hand on the doorknob, Beth paused. “Did you stop for lunch along the way?”

  “No.” Shaking her head absently, Tina turned to smile at Beth. “I was hoping to find some place to have lunch after I’d arrived.”

  “Well, you have.” Beth smiled. “Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.” She started out the door, then paused again, as if in afterthought. “Will that give you enough time?”

  “Plenty.” Tina nodded in agreement. “I just want to freshen up a little. I can unpack later.”

  “Oh, that reminds me!” Beth’s eyebrows flew into an arch. “There are no private bathrooms. There’s a central bath on each floor. The one on this floor is two doors down the hall.” Again, Beth moved to go out, and again she paused, a chuckle running through her voice. “Of course, you’ll have the bath all to yourself—at least for a week or so.” This time she did leave, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Standing at the window, Tina glanced slowly around the room, the thickness in her throat expanding as the tears escaped her lids to trace rivulets down her face. When she had occupied the room before, the walls had been painted a bright sunshine-yellow and the furniture had been white French provincial.

  Now it was completely changed. The walls were covered with paper patterned with tiny blue periwinkle flowers, and the furniture was oak and wicker. Potted and hanging plants added a dash of freshness to the charming decor.

  Closing her gritty eyes, Tina had the feeling that if she listened hard enough she’d hear her mother or father calling her for lunch or dinner. Shaking her head, Tina brushed at her wet face and walked out of the room and along the hall to the bathroom, noting the changes there as well.

  No, she told herself sadly, her parents would never call to her again.

  By the time Tina had splashed cool water on her face and washed her hands, she had her emotions firmly under control, and was determined to find out how her house had become a bed-and-breakfast. With a grace that was natural to her, she ran down the curved staircase and moved unerringly toward the kitchen ... which, like the entire house, was changed but still familiar.

  “Something smells delicious!” Tina exclaimed as she entered the big, old-fashioned kitchen in which the most modern of conveniences were cleverly camouflaged to appear turn-of-the-century.

  “Clam chowder.” Beth smiled. “Manhattan style. And spinach salad”—her smile grew into a grin—”my style. Have a seat.” Beth waved at the sturdy oak table. “Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s fresh.”

  “I’d love some, thank you.” Tina slid a ladder-back chair from under the table and sat down. “I drove straight through from New York and I’m beginning to feel parched.” She didn’t add that her tears had left her throat feeling raw and dry as well. “Is there anything I can help you with?” The question came as naturally as breathing; Tina had always helped her mother in the kitchen.

  “Not a thing, dear.” Beth shook her head as she set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Tina. “You’re the paying guest, just sit and enjoy.”

  Bending over the cup, Tina inhaled the aromatic steam. Sipping the best coffee she’d tasted in years, Tina studied Beth as she bustled about getting lunch. A very nice person, Tina decided, but how did she get here? In my house? Tina determined once again to get some answers.

  After three spoonfuls of the rich, savory soup, Tina changed her opinion of Beth; Beth was not just a nice person, she was an absolute treasure!

  Never reticent in lavishing praise where she thought it was due, Tina complimented Beth on both the soup and the salad—a dream with chunks of tomato, bits of crisp, real bacon, croutons, and English walnuts tossed among the dark green spinach leaves and ranch-style dressing.

  Tina held her counsel until after the meal was finished when she and Beth were sipping from fresh cups of coffee; then she began probing gently.

  “Does running a bed-and-breakfast rooming house pay when there are obviously off periods, like now?” Tina asked with what she thought was commendable casualness.

  “It does for me.” Beth laughed. “I receive my salary every week whether the house is full or empty.”

  “Oh, I see,” Tina murmured, positive now that she really did. “You run the place for an absentee owner?” Even though she’d posed it as a question, there was no longer one in Tina’s mind. And her mind was beginning to churn with the anger that had been banked by the novelty of meeting Beth Harkness.

  Beth nodded. “I receive a check in the mail every week to cover my salary and whatever expenses I may have incurred—you know, for repairs and such.” She smiled softly. “Dirk never questions the amount.”

  Tina swallowed the groan that rose to her throat. Keeping her tone coolly modulated, she repeated quietly, “Dirk?”

  “Yes.” Beth’s smile was positively motherly. “Dirk Tanger. A wonderful man.”

  Tina gagged on the mouthful of coffee she’d unfortunately sipped while Beth was speaking. Wonderful! Sure ... old Dirk could afford to be wonderful—and generous: the rat was spending her money. With the thought came the realization that she would be expected to pay for her room—her room!

  Controlling her temper was not the easiest thing Tina had ever done but, by gritting her teeth, she accomplished it.

  “How much do I owe you for one week’s rent?” she asked, in a muffled tone owing to the fact that she was speaking through gritted teeth.

  Smiling benignly, Beth quoted a sum that was in truth very reasonable, Tina knew—unless one was up against a financial wall, which Tina was. Doing a swift mental computation of rent, gas for the car, and the possibility of meals taken outside the rooming house, Tina figured she could stay at the house until the first or second week of January. Sighing ruefully to herself, Tina withdrew her wallet from her purse.

  Beth wrote a receipt for the money Tina handed to her, then said, “The price includes all meals whenever you’re here.” The smile that spread over her face was pure imp. “Usually only breakfast is included, but”—Beth shrugged— “I’m so delighted to have the company, I’m throwing lunch and dinner in as a bonus.”

  Tina helped Beth tidy the kitchen, then she went to her room to unpack. The anger she’d felt the day before was on her again, riding her mind unmercifully. Carefully not slamming drawers, muttering imprecations against arrogant jerks who played lord of the manor with other people’s money, Tina stashed her panties, bras and sweaters into dresser drawers and hung the few shirts, jeans, dresses and skirts she’d packed into the one shallow closet the room contained, placing her shoes and boots below on the floor.

  When Tina was finished unpacking, she slid the suitcase and carryall under the bed, then stood, uncertain, in the center of the room. Now what? she wondered, rubbing her palms down over the expensive denim sheathing her hips. You came to rest, didn’t you? Tina mutely replied to her own query: So, rest.

  Shoulders drooping, she walked to the window. Dully examining the changes time and a different point of view had wrought, she let her gaze rest on a delicate-looking white-painted iron bench placed under the wide, bare branches of a tree Tina knew was over one
hundred years old.

  Near the bench was a brick path that ran the length of the back garden. The path had been there for as long as Tina could remember; only the placing of the dormant rosebushes and rows of hedge were changed.

  The same, yet not the same. Like me, Tina thought moodily, swinging away from the window. I’m the same Tina who slept in this room and the same Tina who dreamed away rainy days sitting by that window. And yet I’m a different Tina, grown up, mature, the galling fact of a divorce in my past.

  The last consideration sent Tina striding across the room. Scooping her suede jacket from the foot of the bed, she left the room and ran down the stairs. She paused only long enough to give a sweeping glance to the living room; not spotting Beth, she walked out of the house, hoping a vigorous walk would bum off some of her renewed anger.

  Moving with quick, rhythmic precision, Tina’s legs made short work of the streets as she roamed around, reacquainting herself with the town. Her boots kicking leaves as dry and dusty as her memories, Tina presented a calm exterior to the occasional person she passed. Inside, she was boiling again.

  It was all Dirk’s fault. Everything that had happened to her since her father died was Dirk’s fault, she fumed, jamming her chilled hands into her pockets. At least, Tina qualified, everything bad that had happened to her. Even the failure of her marriage could be placed at Dirk’s door!

  Entering the quaint bygone-era ambiance of the Washington Street Mall, Tina slowed her breakneck pace. Breathing heavily, she strolled through the mall, glancing into shop windows, seeing nothing. She passed a coffee shop, then turned back and went inside.

  Over a cup of coffee she didn’t really want, Tina was immune to the charm of Victorian decor as she railed against the one man on the earth who held her entire future in his hands. Thoughtfully sipping the dark brew, Tina set her mind to work on various ways of getting what was rightfully hers from Dirk Tanger—-her own money and her own life.

  Rejecting each and every idea that swam into her tired mind, Tina paid for her coffee and left the shop. The sun was beginning to throw long shadows along the ground, but there was one more place she wanted to go before returning to the house.

  Walking slowly now, Tina covered the short distance from the mall to the beach. Standing on the sand, she gazed out over the constantly moving ocean, her mind swept clear by the stiff wind whipping off the water.

  “Makes you feel insignificant, doesn’t it...the sea?”

  At the sound of that voice, still too familiar, Tina whirled around, her breath catching in her chest.

  Dirk Tanger was leaning against the beach front promenade, his burnished hair ruffled by the wind, his blue eyes intent and alive with amusement, his lips curved into a wry smile. He looked alarmingly attractive, muscularly fit, and more than ready for anything.

  “Hello, big-city girl,” Dirk said softly. “Slumming?”

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Surprised, shocked, mentally rattled by the sight Dirk made as he leaned indolently against the rocky base of the promenade, Tina stared at him in disbelief. Where the devil had he sprung from ... hell?

  “Not at all.” When Tina finally responded to Dirk’s taunt she was rather proud of the casual note she’d managed to inject into her voice—in actual fact, she was trembling like a leaf inside. “I might ask what you’re doing here.”

  “You might at that.” Smiling lazily, Dirk pushed his deceptively slim body away from the large rock. Hands coming to rest lightly on his hips, he arched a brow that was more brown than gold. “I might even tell you.” His white teeth flashed against his tanned face as his smile widened. “Over a beer,” he added challengingly.

  About to fling a frosty no at him, Tina caught herself just in time. In a bid to gain time to consider her options, she tilted her head, her expression blatantly bored as she slowly made a visual inventory of him. And Dirk inventoried to a staggering amount of pluses!

  Even attired casually in stone corduroys, a fisherman’s knit pullover in a shade that reflected the sapphire blue of his eyes, a wide-wale corduroy jacket in an espresso color, and dark desert boots, Dirk Tanger contrived to appear elegant ... damn him.

  For some inexplicable reason the tremor inside Tina deepened. I’m not ready to deal with him yet, she cried in silent protest. And yet, what better way to form a battle plan than to get behind the enemy’s lines? Undecided, Tina stared down at the suede boot toe she was ruining, grinding it into the moist sand.

  “Hello?” Dirk’s bored tone snagged at her attention. “Is anyone home?”

  Head snapping up, Tina glared at him, her eyes shooting sparks of annoyance. “You always were dreadfully amusing,” she drawled with deliberate nastiness.

  “I’m glad you remember,” Dirk taunted softly.

  “Or were you merely dreadful?” she continued sweetly, a thrill of an emotion quite like fear curling in her midriff as Dirk’s eyes narrowed with anger.

  “I was never dreadful to you,” he retorted sharply, as if deeply stung by the barb.

  “Oh, really?” Tina was suddenly consumed by the rage of memory, rage that inundated the fear. “Would you like me to quote you chapter and verse?” she asked, gaining strength from the flush of red that crept up his throat.

  “Dammit, Tina,” Dirk exclaimed harshly. Then as if catching himself, he lowered his voice. “Are you going to have a beer with me or not?” he asked with a sigh.

  “Why not?” Tina lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “If ...” Her voice trailed off. There were many if’s Tina could have demanded of Dirk, if’s like: If you guarantee we’ll have the drink in a public place; if you promise not to badger me; or, most important of all, if you give me your word you’ll keep your hands to yourself.

  “If?” Dirk prompted warily.

  Deciding to be prudent, Tina shrugged again. “If you’ll allow me wine instead of beer,” she lied with forced unconcern.

  The blue gaze that raked over her was dark with inner speculation. Dirk didn’t believe for one second that she’d hedged over his choice of a drink, and Tina knew it. The sardonic smile that curved his lips promised trouble ahead for her, and Tina knew that too.

  “My dear Tina,” Dirk said smoothly, “you can have champagne if you like.” There was a brief, telling pause, then he let fly a barb of his own. “Since I’ll be paying the check with your money anyway.”

  Tina choked off the gasp that sprang from her throat, and swallowed the bitter taste of gall. You arrogant bastard, she thought, seething. You overbearing son of a—

  “I did mean today.” Fortunately, Dirk’s prodding drawl interrupted Tina’s less than ladylike mental ravings. Extending one large hand, he cupped her elbow. “Shall we?” His hand dropped as Tina jerked her arm away.

  “I can manage very well by myself, thank you,” she said coldly, moving around him toward the street.

  Tina was striding out haughtily when Dirk drew alongside her, matching his gait to hers. Rigidly facing forward, Tina gave him a sidelong glance, a rush of satisfaction washing through her at the sight of his taut features.

  “You really are mad because of that letter I sent you,” Dirk said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Not at all,” Tina corrected coldly. “I’m mad because of every letter you’ve ever sent me!”

  They were approaching a restaurant-lounge that fronted on Washington Mall and, as Tina would have walked by, Dirk caught her upper arm, turning her in her tracks.

  “We can have our drinks in here,” he instructed tersely, when she threw him an angry look. Swinging open the side entrance door, he motioned her in.

  Even now, nearing dinner time, in the off-season the back dining room contained few patrons, and those few had clustered together in one corner. Choosing a table at the other end of the room, Dirk slid a chair out for Tina. When she was seated, he circled around to sit facing her. A waiter appeared at their table as they were still adjusting their chairs.

  “Maybe every lette
r I’ve ever sent you made you angry because I simply refused to let you squander all your money,” Dirk suggested dryly, after the waiter had taken their order and departed.

  “Squander?” Tina stared at him incredulously, “You—you—” Sputtering, and fully aware that she was, Tina paused to draw a deep breath and lower her voice. “Damn you, Dirk! You have no right to say that. I do not squander money,” she insisted with soft force. Tina’s quietly outraged tone gained her an arched expression of mockery from Dirk.

  “Well, at least not as often as you’d like to,” he sparred verbally. “But that’s only because I won’t let you.”

  Tina opened her mouth to dispute his claim, then immediately closed it again when the waiter delivered the drinks to their table. She played with her cocktail napkin until he’d retreated to the bar again, then she launched into an attack.

  “I am on the verge of losing every damn thing I own,” Tina spat at him. “All because you refuse to advance me some of my money!”

  “Not so.” Shaking his head in denial, Dirk leaned back comfortably and drank deeply from his frosted mug of beer. “If you’re about to lose any damn thing you own, it’s because you lavished what you did have on that slime you married.” Dirk’s smooth tone was contradicted by the fierce light hi his eyes. “And I made up my mind the day you married him that he wasn’t getting any of your money.” A derisive smile twisted his lips. “Not until you were twenty-five, at any rate.” Dirk’s smile turned downright nasty. “And he didn’t, did he?”

  Tina glared across the table at him. Twenty-five was the magic number for her, because when she turned twenty-five she took control of her inheritance. Of course, her marriage hadn’t endured that long. Right or wrong, Tina held Dirk responsible for the failure of her marriage. Now, staring not daggers but swords at him, she let her hate show.

  “No, Chuck didn’t last.” Tina emphasized her former husband’s name deliberately. “But I blame you for the breakup of my marriage.” If she had hoped to shame him by her charge—and she most definitely had—Tina was rudely shaken by his response.