A Summer Smile

by Iris Johansen

His hand fell from her throat to her shoulder and pushed her gently away. What had they been talking about? He could only remember dark pink crests crowning full golden breasts and . . . "You wanted to take a shower?"

  A shower? Yes, she definitely needed a shower. She was trembling all over and her knees were weak again, but not from any physical disability. "Yes, I was going to take a shower," she said vaguely.

  "We'll see what we can do." He released her shoul­ders and stepped back. She swayed. He quickly braced her again. "Damn, you can scarcely stand up. How do you expect to take a shower? Hell, you'd prob­ably faint and drown before I could get in to pull you out."

  He was angry again. She tried to clear her mind of the sensual mist that was clouding it. Why was he so angry with her when a moment ago he had been so gentle? Now there was no hint of anything but harsh­ness in his face, and she felt a throb of pain tighten her chest. She lifted her chin. "I'll manage. I won't need your help."

  "The devil you won't." He cradled her in his left arm and she found herself being half pushed, half carried toward the bathroom door. "Unless you want Philip's valet, Raoul, to help you, I'm the only game in town. Believe me, I don't like the idea any more than you do."

  He threw open the door to reveal a bathroom that was the ultimate in sybaritic luxury. A long, mirrored vanity flanked one wall. In a corner, immediately to the left of the door, was a shower stall with frosted glass doors. The center of the room was occupied by a sunken tub that was as large as some swimming pools Zilah had seen. It was tiled in a mosaic rose and ivory floral design, and at the opposite end of the tub were two wide steps leading down into its gleaming depths.

  Daniel slammed the door behind them and lifted Zilah onto the vanity before turning to kneel by the gold faucets at the head of the tub. He swiftly turned them on full blast. Clouds of steam swirled around him as he sat back on his haunches, keeping his eyes carefully averted from her and fixed on the gushing water. "This will take only a minute to fill."

  "I thought I was going to take a shower."

  "A bath is better. I'd have to get into the shower stall with you. It would be a little crowded."

  The thought of that intimacy made her throat tighten. "I suppose you're right. I'll be able to manage on my own in the tub."

  "The hell you will." He was pouring pink liquid from a small cut crystal flagon that he had snatched from a tray on the side of the tub, and the water exploded into millions of bubbles. 'Til bathe you myself and then I'll know you're all right."

  "You're pouring in too much bubble bath."

  He continued to tilt the liquid into the already soapy water. "You're wrong there," he said grimly. "There can't be too many bubbles in the world at the moment." He set the empty container on the side of the tub, tested the water to make sure it wasn't too hot, turned off the faucets, and rose lithely to his feet. "Come on, let's get this over with."

  He swung her off the vanity, his fingers unbut­toning the top button of her negligee with total impersonality.

  Zilah felt a shiver run through her that had noth­ing to do with her nudity as he stripped the filmy neg­ligee off her and then picked her up. He was so remote, so cold. She had never imagined Daniel could be so cold. "You don't have to bother. Once I'm in the tub I'll be able—"

  "Zilah," Daniel said between his teeth. "Shut up!"

  Then she was being lowered carefully into the mountains and mountains of soap bubbles. She sneezed. "I knew you were using too much bubble bath. I'm practically drowning in bubbles."

  He released her and stood up. He kicked his san­dals off as he regarded her appraisingly. It was true. There wasn't an inch of that lovely body visible. She was up to her chin in foam. He felt some of the ten­sion drain out of him. "You look fine to me," he said with a grin. "Kinda cute."

  She sneezed again. "Let some of the water out."

  "Nope, you'll be in there for only a few minutes." He was settling himself on the first step leading down into the sunken tub. He tossed her a sponge and a

  bar of soap. "Come here and sit between my knees. You take care of the bath while I wash your hair. Deal?"

  "Deal," she said happily as she moved to sit between his naked thighs on the first step. It had to have been her imagination. There was nothing cold or stern about Daniel now. "I don't have much choice if I'm to get out of this tub before I'm smothered by bubbles."

  "Lean back. Your hair needs to be wetter." He was leisurely pouring shampoo into her hair, playing with the fragrant foam, making elaborate peaks and twirls. "You would have made a terrific eighteenth-century court lady. Those high white wigs would have suited you."

  "I'm glad you think so." She was contentedly run­ning the sponge over her neck and shoulders. "You do have a passion for bubbles, don't you? It's going to take you a long time to rinse all the soap out of my hair. I bet you spent hours in the tub playing with your toys when you were a kid."

  "We were allowed precisely seven minutes in the showers at the orphanage. No baths. No rubber ducks," he said matter-of-factly. He was gently rub­bing the shampoo into her hair. "It wasn't considered efficient with a mob of hellions like us."

  She felt the tears sting her eyes and blinked them away determinedly. "And were you the hellion they thought you?"

  "Sure," he said with a shrug. "I was well on my way to reform school when I decided to join the army and see the world." His hands momentarily paused. "The only part of the world I saw on that tour of duty was Nam, and it wasn't a very pretty world." His fin­gers slowly renewed their massage, but his voice was abstracted. "But I learned to survive in it. I was always a survivor. If I had any special talent, it was the ability to adapt and make situations work for me." His hands fell away from her and his voice was suddenly brisk. "I did make them work for me, and there are plenty of people who would criticize some of the ways I did it. I'm not making excuses and I don't intend to. I lived hard because it was the only way I knew how to live."

  "You're very defensive," she said softly. "And you shouldn't be. Not with me. I know the kind of man you are. Whatever you did, it was in order to survive." She drew a deep breath. "I understand about surviv­ing."

  "Do you?" His voice was oddly choked. "Yes, I think you do." There was a short, poignant silence before he spoke again with deliberate lightness. "Hell, you've certainly managed to survive any num­ber of hazards since I came upon the scene. Hassan, scorpions, even me. I'd say that definitely qualifies you as a survivor." He was standing abruptly. "Now, why don't we see how good you are at surviving"—he lowered his voice to a melodramatic hiss—"the attack of the killer soap bubbles. Go ahead and rinse your hair beneath that faucet while I get you a towel." He strode around the tub and across the room toward the louvered doors of a linen closet beside the shower stall.

  He seemed to take a terribly long time choosing a towel, Zilah thought in puzzlement as she rinsed her hair thoroughly and tried to get as much of the foam as she could from her body. He kept his back to her as he went aimlessly through the stack of terry-cloth towels.

  "I'm ready to get out."

  "I only hope I'm ready to get you out," Daniel murmured beneath his breath as he yanked a white bath sheet from the pile in front of him. His face was set as he strode back toward her, unfolding the towel.

  She started to rise but had not even reached a standing position before she was enveloped in the terry-cloth sheet and lifted from the tub. There was nothing in the least intimate about the thorough rubdown Daniel gave her through the soft material of the towel. When he had finished, he wrapped the towel around her and tucked the ends in at her breasts. Then he grabbed another towel, dried her hair with the same brisk impersonality, and wound the towel around her still damp hair in a makeshift turban. He lifted her in his arms and strode back into the bedroom.

  "I know this is terribly inconvenient for you," she said falteringly. "I promise you won't have to do it again. I'm sure I'll be able to manage on my own tomorrow."

  "And have me worried out of
my skull about you?" He placed her on the bed and covered her with the satin sheet. "You're right. We're going to have to work something else out. I can't go through this every day. I'm not cut out to be a lady's maid."

  Those foolish tears were misting her eyes again. It was stupid to feel hurt at his rejection. She tried to smile. "Well, you did an exceptionally good job, even if you did dislike it. It was very kind of you."

  "I did a lousy job," he said bluntly. "And there's nothing kind about me. I told you I was a survivor." He ran his hand through his hair. "But I don't think I could survive another session like this. I've got to talk to Philip about getting you a maid until you're fit again."

  "There's no reason to disrupt the sheikh's house­hold." She lifted her chin. "And no reason for you to have to take care of me. Your responsibility ended when you brought me to Sedikhan." She met his eyes steadily. "You mustn't think you owe me anything, Daniel. I have no right to demand anything of you."

  A variety of emotions were chasing across Daniel's face. Amusement, exasperation, and a fleet­ing something that might have been tenderness.

  "Oh, hell, here we go again." He plopped down on the bed beside her and gathered her hands in his. "We'd better get this in the open right now. I'm no good at beating around the bush." He looked down at her hands clasped in his, a frown creasing his brow. "Look, what happened in the cave was a mistake. We both know that." His thumb was absently rubbing the delicate blue veins of her wrist. "I just want you to know that there's no danger of it ever happening again. I'd like to start out with a clean slate, if it's all right with you. I'm not always a savage."

  "You were never savage with me," she said husk­ily. She was glad he wasn't looking at her. It gave her a moment to absorb the pain his words were knifing into her. She shouldn't have been surprised. She had suspected that the experience in the cave had meant more to her than to Daniel.

  His lips twisted. "You're very generous, but I was "here, remember? I made a mistake, and I'm just lucky you don't hate my guts." He glanced up at her, a grave expression on his face. "I don't know much about finesse, but I do know about friendship. I'll make you a good friend if you'll let me." His voice was gruff. "I don't have many real friends. It meant a hell of a lot to me when you said you wanted my friend­ship. I hope the offer still stands."

  "It still stands," she said softly. It wasn't what she had hoped for but it was better than nothing. If she worked hard at making that friendship beautiful, :t might even be enough. She should know by now that life seldom handed out any prizes. "I'll make you a good friend too, Daniel."

  "I know you will." Still holding her gaze with his, he lifted her left palm to his lips and pressed his lips

  to it gently. "You're a special lady, old friend." He carefully lowered her hand to the bed, as if it were very fragile and might shatter. "Now, what game do you want to play? I brought Trivial Pursuit, Monop­oly, and checkers." He was leaning over her, reaching for the pile of boxes he had tossed on her bed.

  "It doesn't matter. Anything you like." Her atten­tion had been caught by a long, jagged scar on Daniel's left thigh. It started above his knee and dis­appeared beneath the frayed edge of his cutoff jeans. "Where did you get that?"

  "What?"

  Her finger began to trace the puckered scar. He flinched as if she'd burned him. Her eyes flew to his face. "Is it still tender?"

  He shook his head. "You just surprised me." His voice was gritty. "It's an old knife wound. I got it years ago."

  Her fingers followed the path of the scar up his thigh. "It looks as though it was very deep." His thigh was so hard and muscular. It was growing even harder under her stroking finger. Was the memory of how he had received that wound causing the tension she felt in him? "Has it healed properly?"

  "I think so. It hasn't bothered me since then." The muscles of his thigh were becoming knotted with tension. "Until now."

  "Now?" she asked. "Perhaps carrying me all that distance..."

  "No." He suddenly brushed her hand away and jumped to his feet. "It's fine. Would you like to see the stables and the obstacle course?"

  Her eyes widened. "I thought you said we were playing games today."

  "I changed my mind," he said through his teeth. "I'm not up to a long, intimate game of Monopoly today. We've got to get out of here." He disappeared

  into the bathroom and returned with a small portable dryer. He handed it to her. "Blow your hair dry while I hustle the servants to bring the rest of your ward­robe. I particularly specified sports clothes. I hope to heaven they sent jeans and not bikinis. Philip's women usually aren't into sports activity outside of the bedroom."

  "But you said I was too weak to tour the stables today."

  "You are. I'll carry you."

  "But that's ridiculous. I can wa—"

  His hand covered her lips. "Zilah, stop arguing." Suddenly he smiled with such warmth that it took her breath away. "Friends have to compromise. I'm giving you what you want, aren't I? Now you have to yield an inch or two as well."

  She would have given him anything he wanted to keep him smiling at her with that roguish sweetness.

  She kissed his palm as gently as he had her own a moment before. "Okay," she said softly. "An inch or so won't hurt me. But only for today, Daniel."

  "Only for today." He turned away and headed swiftly toward the door. "We'll take it one day at a me."

  Six

  Daniel lifted Zilah easily to the top rail of the white wooden fence that separated the stableyard from the pasture. "There, you can have a bird's-eye view and still not get in the way of the grooms who are exercising horses. In the morning the stable area has a tendency to get as busy as Churchill Downs before the Kentucky Derby."

  Zilah swung her leg over the rail to straddle it. Her gaze traveled eagerly over the long, low stable that was as spotless as the grounds themselves, and then crossed the fence to the lush green of the pasture, which contained a variety of obstacle jumps. "I can see that. What a wonderful place. It reminds me a lit­tle of a picture of the Calumet stables I've seen."

  "It should," Daniel said dryly. "Philip's father sent a trainer to Calumet to study methods and architecture before having this stable built. Nothing but the best for his only son." He leaned lazily against the fence and lit a cigarette. He blew a thin stream of smoke into the air before studying her with narrowed eyes. "You seem to have livened up a bit. You were very quiet on the way from the house." He looked down at the tip of his cigarette. "Did you get through to your mother?"

  The smile faded from her face. "Yes." She looked out at the obstacle course where a groom, who looked little more than a child, was fighting a huge black stallion for control. Despite his size, the boy seemed to be a fine horseman, she thought. "She was very happy. She said she looked forward to seeing me soon." The words were stilted. "She cried."

  "That must have been upsetting for you," Daniel said gently. "Are you close?"

  "We used to be." She shifted restlessly. "It's been a long time since we've seen each other." She was silent a moment before she spoke again. "She's uncomfortable around me now. I think she still feels a sense of guilt."

  "Guilt? Why should she feel guilty?"

  "She shouldn't. I tried to tell her that." Zilah's ands clenched unconsciously on the rail. "She blames herself for my . . . illness, for leaving me with

  grandmother while she was working. That's one of the reasons I came back to Sedikhan. No one should have to live with guilt like that. I wanted to show her that I'm well and happy now."

  "And are you?"

  She lifted her chin. "Of course." Her gaze

  returned again to the boy on the black horse. "Look, he's going to jump him." She frowned. "Aren't the bars awfully high? That must be a six-foot jump."

  Daniel's eyes hadn't left her face. "All of Philip's grooms are very competent. You don't have to worry about him."

  "He doesn't look old enough to be that competent. He can't be more than eleven or twelve."

/>   His head turned casually to glance out at the pas­ture. He muttered a low curse, tossed his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. He was up on the rail beside her with one swift movement. "Pandora. Philip's going to murder her."

  "That's a distinct possibility," Philip El Kabbar said grimly as he joined them on the bar. He had changed to tan riding pants and a white shirt. His worn black boots were of the finest leather, and he looked even more intimidating than he had earlier this morning. "If she doesn't kill herself first."

  "Pandora? That's a girl?" Zilah asked, surprised. The slight figure in the black ribbed sweater and frayed jeans appeared to be both wiry and strong. The gray cap pulled down over her eyes completely hid her hair and shadowed her face. It was no wonder Zilah had mistaken her for a boy.

  "Her gender is debatable," El Kabbar said. "She doesn't recognize the fact that she's female as yet. She knows only she's either going to win the Olym­pics or be the greatest jockey since Willie Shoemaker. She hasn't decided which choice will win her ulti­mate approval."

  "Pandora Madchen," Daniel supplied. "She's the daughter of Karl Madchen, the doctor Philip imported to set up a dispensary here at the compound."

  "Correction. She's the devil's daughter," the sheikh said. His eyes were narrowed intently on the small figure bent low over the horse's neck as she urged him toward the jump. "The gypsies must have left her."

  "Are you going to try to stop her?" Daniel asked curiously. "That's Oedipus, isn't it? I thought you forbade her to ride him."

  "I did. But it's too late to stop the jump. If I go out there and try to drag her off now, I'd probably spook him." El Kabbar's eyes were turquoise flints in his set face. "I'll have to wait until she makes the jump and brings him around."

  Zilah shivered. El Kabbar's anger was all the more intimidating for its leashed menace. "She's only a child," she offered tentatively.

  "She's fifteen, Miss Dabala," El Kabbar said with­out shifting his eyes from the girl on the horse. "Old enough to obey orders, if not to have a modicum of common sense. One or the other is mandatory here at the stable."