Authors: Heather Graham
“Mr. Mallory is on the patio, Mrs. Tremayne,” James informed her as she reached the landing. “May I bring you a cocktail?”
Leigh was about to refuse, then she decided a drink might be in order. The right amount of liquor might sharpen her tongue rather than dull it, and she would need a bit of a bite to get through the evening. “Thank you, James,” she said. “A vodka and tonic would be nice.”
The butler nodded and Leigh braced herself mentally and physically as she made her way through the parlor with its simple yet elegant period furnishings and strode with no visible trace of hesitancy to the poolside.
Derek was standing at the far end, facing the channel. He cradled a glass absently in both hands as his tawny eyes fastened on the blue night before him. He was dressed now in a brown velvet three-piece suit, and Leigh was struck afresh by his aura of power and charisma. The suit, which should have covered his tapered physique, enhanced it. He turned to her then, and as a frown furrowed into his features, she was hit with another, startling realization. He had shaved off his beard!
Surprise was about to make her comment on the disturbing fact but Derek spoke before she could. “Why are you wearing that?” he demanded flatly.
“Because,” Leigh replied equally blandly, “though I do appreciate the thought, Derek, I do not care to accept such gifts from you. You needn’t have gone to the bother. But I haven’t touched the things. You can return them tomorrow.” Color was spreading through her face despite the unconcerned tone of her voice. She was remembering the intimate “gifts” and the precision of their order. The wind whipped at the escaping tendrils of her hair and she turned toward the channel with carefully planned nonchalance. “Your turn!” she challenged jauntily. “What happened to your beard?”
Derek lightly rubbed the fresh and tender skin of his squared jawline. “Down the drain, love. And all for your benefit. I remember you saying you hated scratchy beards!” He moved to her and ran a finger along her cheek. “So you see”—his touch was like a whisper of air and his voice as soft—“I’m willing to accommodate you to drastic lengths. I think you could humor me in return and wear the dress.”
Those tawny eyes were boring into hers and she didn’t seem able to turn away. She felt like a deer trapped in the headlights of an approaching car, hypnotized and searching in spite of the coming danger. But she had to move. She was quite sure that Derek was about to take her into his arms, an easy conquest like his other “interchangeable” cats, and she had to avoid such a catastrophe at all costs. He moved even closer, and she found the strength to force her own unwilling limbs. She took a giant step backward, and tumbled straight into the pool.
Derek’s laughter reached her ears even through the insulation of the chlorinated water. Furious from the sound, she refused to surface, but swam the depths to the shallow end instead and climbed up the circular steps, high heels in her hands.
“Looks like you’ll have to change after all,” he commented evenly.
Leigh didn’t reply. She marched for the house, just in time to run into James and her vodka and tonic. “Thank you, James,” she said airily, sweeping the glass from the small silver tray. “I’ll bring this up with me.” She sailed on past him, as cool as he despite the rivulets of water that drained from her. Once inside and out of vision, she pelted up the steps quickly, wondering if James would smirk along with Derek behind her back. Besides, she was freezing. The water had been warm, but the stiff wind had chilled her to the bone.
In the privacy of her room she stripped off her soaking clothing and stepped into a quick shower to rinse the chill and the smell of the chemicals from her skin. Then she donned the new clothing bitterly, noting that Derek couldn’t have manipulated her into submission any better had he planned it. Or had he planned it?
What was he up to? she asked herself as she pinned her sodden hair. It wasn’t a romantic interlude; he had already told her he was expecting a date later and he wanted her out of the way. Besides, he disliked and distrusted her! She knew his displays of courtesy were often masks. No, he was up to something. She didn’t believe for one minute that his sole reason for summoning her had been the music. He could write circles around her any day of the week. Then what? Revenge? Punishment for what she had supposedly done to Richard? How absurd. There wasn’t really anything he could do to her.
Or was there? She was already stuck where she didn’t want to be in the home of a man she had once sworn never to see again.
She tilted her chin proudly and smiled a brave smile to the woman in the mirror. That was much better. The lost and frightened look was gone. Of course she didn’t have to go down to dinner. She could hide up here and simply disappear in the morning without seeing Derek. Yes, she could run away.
No. The smile she gave herself was stronger and more sincere. She was not a gawking, naive teen-ager. She had been the wife of Richard Tremayne; she had learned to hold her own and survive in a rugged world. She would tuck tail and run before no one—not even Derek Mallory! And if he wanted to play games, well, she could play them too. She had proved that once. It was a pity that Derek would never know how well she played a game.
It was a greater pity that she had paid so dearly for that game—paid with dreams, longing, yearning, physical pain.
The sick, agonized look was returning to her eyes. She left the room, pushing the memory to the back of her mind as she usually managed to do. Usually, in rational thought, she pretended that the night had been a dream. The man, the chivalrous King Arthur, had not been Derek, just as she had not been the exotic belly dancer. It had all been a fantasy, not real. As far as she was concerned, she
hadn’t
seen Derek since Richard’s funeral; she hadn’t even attended the party in Atlanta.
And if she was in love,
it was with a fantasy,
not Derek Mallory.
The attractive male who had been dominating her mind greeted her with a long, low wolf whistle. She had to laugh. Derek, minus the beard, seemed younger tonight, more gallant, more touchable. Had he really razored off his magnificent beard on her behalf? Maybe. But, she reminded herself primly, it would be a grave mistake to lower her guard, no matter what his guise might be. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. They knew exactly who one another was this night. They could never in reality escape the past or the words that had passed between them.
“Thank you,” she said demurely, in full control. She spun a graceful pirouette to allow the folds of the dress to swirl smoothly around her. “You do have a nice eye for clothing, Mr. Mallory.”
Derek nodded gravely in acceptance of her compliment, but she noticed that his eyes held a satanish twinkle as he answered, “I have an eye for what would become certain spectacular forms.”
“Thank you again,” Leigh said casually. “I hope I haven’t delayed dinner. I want to be certain to ‘disappear’ before your date arrives.” She astonished herself with the total lack of concern in her statement.
“Umm …” Derek was noncommittal. “I’ll be sure to have you well out of the way when she arrives.” He wore a pleasant grin as he approached her and offered his arm. “Shall we go in to dinner? James said to come in as soon as you were ready.”
Dinner was served in the small nook off the kitchen. Prepared for two, the meal was as elegant as any planned for the most romantic honeymoon. James poured champagne into glittering crystal glasses, candles flickered a mellow glow over the slender centerpiece of red and yellow roses. The main course was stone crabs, a Florida delicacy they both favored. For the first portion of the meal they concentrated on the food and kept the conversation light and bantering. But it was inevitable that trouble spring up, despite the pains taken by James and Emma to create a soothing atmosphere.
It started innocently enough. They had been discussing water levels in Key West when Derek suddenly leaned back, a half smile on his unusually bare features. “You know,” he said, idly rubbing a long finger along the ridge of his champagne glass, “I’ll never forget the day Richard and I met you. You looked like a little waif coming from the ocean, like the mermaid who sold her soul for human legs.” He laughed ruefully. “We were both out to impress you—until we discovered you could outswim us in a matter of seconds! I think Richard fell in love with you the moment you dove out of his reach.”
Leigh felt a piece of the tender crab catch in her throat. “Richard always did want what he couldn’t reach,” she said softly when she could.
If she had meant to keep the peace, she should have kept her mouth shut. But her reply had been nothing less than the truth. Still, she knew as she watched Derek’s jawline harden and his gold eyes glimmer as if they were about to light like the fire of the candle before them that he had construed her comment as further criticism of her dead husband. His next words verified her apprehension.
“We were both captivated by you, Mrs. Tremayne,” he said coldly. “I, like Richard, believed you to be refreshingly guileless and innocent. I even believed you had no idea who we were.”
“I didn’t know who you were!” Leigh exclaimed indignantly. “I had heard of the London Company, of course; your first album came out when I was in third grade! But how on earth would I have recognized you? I’d never been to a concert! And you always wore some sort of costume on your album covers! And anyway,
Mr. Mallory,
I might remind you that not everyone is impressed by members of the music world!”
“Possibly,” Derek acknowledged. “But most people are impressed by money.”
Leigh inhaled sharply and tossed her napkin on the table before rising. “I never wanted Richard’s money!” she declared hotly. “Nor his ‘impressive’ name nor ‘impressive’ companions! If you care to do some research into my finances, you’ll find I’ve not run wild on anything of his! I live in a home which I helped finance and create, I give large sums to the children’s care centers and—”
“Richard wanted a child of his own,” Derek interrupted rudely.
“Then he should have stayed home to have one!” Leigh retorted. “Excuse me,” she added with regal cool. “This conversation has gone far enough. I don’t care to discuss my personal life with Richard with anyone, especially you.” She was dangerously close to tears. “Thank you for the gown, thank you for dinner and your hospitality. If my car is ready, I’ll probably be gone before you rise. Good luck with whatever.”
“Leigh!” Derek’s commanding voice stopped her as she reached the door. She turned back to him expressionlessly.
“Where were you when Richard died?”
“I was at home, in Key West. Richard, as you know, was on the West Coast. I hadn’t seen him in two months. You must have known that too.”
“No, I didn’t,” Derek said softly.
She didn’t quite understand the agony that bared for a brief moment in his eyes. “It doesn’t really make any difference.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
For a reason she couldn’t define, Leigh hesitated. “Derek?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know exactly what happened?”
“He went off a cliff.”
“I know … but …”
“Cut and dried. No drugs involved. He probably had a few drinks, but he wasn’t stoned, if that’s what you’re referring to.” Derek dropped his own napkin on the mahogany table and walked to join her at the door. He very lightly cupped her chin in his hands, and she could feel a tingle that seemed to shoot straight through her as his fingers brushed her temples. For a moment, as his eyes searched hers in an unaccustomed tenderness, the months rolled away and she was frighteningly reminded of that one long-ago night. With painful recall she remembered the feel of his strong arms, the taste of his lips, the wonderful harmony of his sinewed body with hers. With precision she knew the touch of his skin, the shape of his magnificent form, the perfection of his lovemaking …
“Derek, please,” she murmured weakly. “I have a terrible headache. I need to get to sleep and your date …”
He kissed her, silencing her effectively. She stiffened at first and attempted to push away from him. But she was caught between the wall and his steellike strength; her attempt to budge him was futile and then feeble. His lips, like his eyes, were magnetic. They claimed hers with a firm tenderness, neither forcing nor allowing for escape. And as her resistance failed her, his tongue feathered along her teeth until it probed and found access to her warm, sweet moistness, to demand in earnest. That which had been gentle became passionate and demanding, urgent and hungry. The warnings in Leigh’s mind went unheeded as her flesh burned from the arousing possession of his subtly exploring hands. They traced the graceful angle of her neck, wanned her back and shoulders to a glow of anticipation, hovered over her breasts until a hot chill of desire blotted out everything except …
The shrill cry of the door bell.
Sanity returned. Leigh stared at Derek with horror, watched as triumphant amusement crept into his eyes, then fled from the doorway and up the staircase just as James was opening the door. Reaching the sanctuary of solitude, she dimly heard the musical tinkle of a female voice as she closed her own bedroom door and bolted it firmly. She was shaking from head to toe, consumed by hot and cold, shamed, humiliated, and … empty.
She stared at the bolted door for a while, then began mechanically to pull the pins from her still-damp hair. Glancing over at the bed, she began to tremble anew as she saw an assortment of tailored shirts. Some were short-sleeved, some long-sleeved. They were Derek’s. He hadn’t forgotten his offer.
Her first instinct was to push the lot of them onto the floor. But that action would be foolish. Emma would be the one to suffer. She watched them warily instead, as if they might come alive and attack her. Then she sighed, kicked off her shoes, and disrobed. She chose a long-sleeved pinstripe with tails that reached halfway to her knees and began to pace the room as she buttoned it. She was coming down with a ferocious headache. Perhaps the night air could help clear the tension causing the pain. Barefoot and clad only in the absurdly large shirt, she opened the sliding doors to the balcony and stepped out into the wind. She slid the door closed behind her and leaned against it as the salt breeze tickled her face. It did feel good. The house was air-conditioned and comfortable, but there was nothing like the air of the sea on a night such as this.