Fit for a King

MIR/?

The king-size bed
felt strange to Elissa, which was
no surprise, really, since it wasn't
her own. It be
longed to Kingston Roper, and it was a good thing
they were
friends or she'd never have done him this "little favor" on a
minute's notice. Elissa's own safe, single bed was in her little cottage on the
white Ja
maican beach near
Montego Bay
,
only a short walk
from King's enormous villa.

In the
past two years Elissa knew she'd gone from
being just an
irritating neighbor to the only friend
King had. And
friend
was the word; they certainly
weren't lovers. Elissa Gloriana Dean, for all
her ec
centricities and uninhibited appearance, was an in
nocent.
Her missionary parents had given her a loving
but restrictive
upbringing, and not even her budding

Diana Palmer

success
in the
sophisticated world of fashion design
had liberated her in any physical way.

This trip
down she'd been on the island only since that morning, missing King, who wasn't
at home, and
half-heartedly working on her newest collection of
colorful
leisure wear for the boutique that carried her exclusive designs. Then, just an
hour ago, King had
phoned her with this wild request and had hung up
without a
word of explanation the moment she'd
agreed to help him out. She couldn't
imagine why he wanted her to be found in his bed. He didn't seem to be dating
anyone. But then again, maybe he was be
ing hounded by some
bored socialite and wanted to
show her that he was already involved. This
tactic did
seem a bit drastic, though, especially since King was
adept at
speaking his mind. He never pulled his
punches, even with
people he liked. Oh, well. All the
wondering in the world wasn't going
to give her any
answers. She'd simply have to wait to hear what King
had to say.

She
stretched luxuriously in his huge bed, the
smooth satin sheets
feeling cool and sexy against her
skin. She was wearing a nightgown, but
it was made
of the finest cotton and slit to the hips on both sides.
In front, it made a plunge to her navel. The daring
pink
negligee was part of her fantasy life, she admit
ted to herself. In some ways she might be
repressed on the surface, but in her mind she was a beautiful siren who lured
men to their dooms.

Fit for a King
                         
9

Only with
King could she safely indulge that fan
tasy woman, however,
because he never approached
her physically. With King, she could flirt
to heart's content. Although she was friendly to most men, she
was careful not to tease. The
instant a man mistook
her playful
friendliness for a come-
on,
she retreated
into
her shell, the fantasy shattered. It was one thing to pretend to be sexy, but
quite another to follow
through. A
frightening experience in her teens had left
her extremely wary in that
regard.

King was safe, though, Elissa
reminded herself.
Over the past two years
he'd become a friend and a
confidant,
and she wasn't afraid to let down her guard with him. She wouldn't have dreamed
of wearing this
revealing gown in
front of anyone else. But despite
their
sometimes flirtatious camaraderie, King scarcely
even seemed to notice that she
had
a body, so this
little charade held no danger. She smiled to
herself,
feeling womanly and sexy
and wildly come-hitherish.
She would
put on a great act for whoever this persis
tent female was, and later King could tell her all about
it

Kingston
Roper, she mused. He could be such an enigma at times—like now. He was a
big-time busi
nessman, she knew—oil and gas and a few diversified
interests,
as she recalled. He'd inherited interest in the family company, which had been
on the verge of bankruptcy, and had used his business savvy to make
a fortune.
Apparently his half brother, whose father

10

Diana
Palmer

Fitfor a
King

11

had
left the
business to both sons, had been competing
like mad to overtake King ever since.

Although
they talked frequently and freely, she and
King didn't spend a
whole lot of time discussing ev
eryday details about themselves, and as a
result, she now realized, she didn't know all that much about his
family.
His half brother, Bobby, was married, and
King had said
something about expecting him and his
wife for a visit. But that was at about the time she'd
had to go back to the States to oversee her
latest col
lection as it was assembled.

She smiled
again as she thought about the success of that collection, which allowed her
the luxury of spending time in
Jamaica
.
Her name was her label—
Elissa
—and she catered to
a unique clientele. Her sportswear was exotic, and its fantasy flair was designed
to capture the eye as well as the imagination.
She favored dramatic
combinations of red and black
and white, with the emphasis on cut and
silhouette. Her styles had taken some time to catch on, but now
that they
had, sales were booming, and she was mak
ing a nice living.
The cottage had been a godsend—
she'd bought it at a terrific price when she'd been on
a rare vacation—and for the past two years,
whenever
she needed rest or
inspiration, she left the small Miami house she shared with her parents and
came to
sunny Jamaica.

She'd led a sheltered but happy
life, one of the
consequences of being the
only child of former mis-

sionaries
. Her
parents were highly individualistic and
encouraged Elissa to
be the same—except in one re
spect. They were extremely moral people, and they had instilled
that same morality into their daughter. As a result of her upbringing, Elissa
was something
of a misfit in the modern
world, but in most re
spects—even in
her wild designs—she was an indi
vidual.

When she
came to
Jamaica
,
she relaxed by watch
ing out for King, who seemed to be in almost permanent residence
these days. Two years ago she'd
taken him on
as a social project, since he kept so
much
to himself, never smiled and seemed to think
about nothing except
business. Gradually, she re
flected, he'd
thawed a little. She grinned,
then
tensed,
listening carefully to the sounds coming from the
next
room. Realizing it was only
Warchief mumbling to
himself in his covered cage, she relaxed.

The big
yellow-naped Amazon parrot belonged to
Elissa, but she'd never taken him to the
States. He
belonged on his tropical island,
and she loved him
too much to risk
disturbing his delicate immune sys
tem
with the stress of international travel. King
seemed to like him well enough, since he let the five-year-old parrot
stay with him when Elissa was away.
Warchief
had had a bad cold when she'd arrived in
Jamaica
this time, and to avoid upsetting the bird with
a
move while he was still sick, King was letting him