One Touch of Topaz

by Iris Johansen

  Fletch strode into the study and slammed that door too. “Is she back yet?”

  “She left only an hour and a half ago.” Skip tried to make his tone soothing. He might just as well have tried to pour a cup of water on an erupting Mt. Vesuvius.

  “She wouldn’t have left at all if you’d done what you were supposed to do.” Fletch crossed the room and poured himself a whiskey at the portable bar. “Who the hell told you to bring Lazaro here?”

  “He did. He wanted to see Topaz.”

  Fletch’s hand tightened on the glass. “Her name is Samantha, and I didn’t bring him across the ocean to see my wife.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Fletch, what difference does it make? He would have seen her sometime before he left Paris.”

  “Not if you hadn’t interfered. She wouldn’t even have known he was here.”

  Skip blinked. “You didn’t intend to tell her Lazaro was in Paris?”

  “You’re damn right I didn’t.” Fletch finished his drink in two swallows and poured himself another. “Not yet.”

  Skip shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. They’re very close friends. You couldn’t have kept them apart if they were in the same city. How did you think you could pull it off?”

  “A whirlwind flurry of conferences and an equally fast dash to the airport for him.” Fletch turned away from the bar and threw himself into the wing chair by the desk. “I would have managed if you hadn’t acted on your own and brought him here.”

  “I didn’t know you considered it important to keep them apart,” Skip said quietly. “And I still don’t see why you’re so upset about Top—Samantha renewing her acquaintance with Lazaro.”

  “Because I knew she—” Fletch broke off. “Take my word for it, you made a mistake. A big mistake.”

  “Then I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make amends?” One corner of Skip’s lips lifted in a lopsided grin. “I could hop in the car and see if I could find them.”

  “In a city the size of Paris?” Fletch wearily shook his head. “No way. Besides, the harm is done now. I’ll just have to wait and see how the chips fall. Did she say when she’d be back?”

  “She expected to be out for the rest of the day.” Skip’s expression was troubled as he gazed at Fletch’s face. He had never seen him like this. He had expected anger but not this sharp edge of desperation. “Fletch …”

  Fletch closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushioned headrest. “It’s okay, Skip. Maybe you did the right thing. Who the hell knows?”

  “Listen, I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Skip said hesitantly. “But Samantha is pretty special. You can trust her.”

  “I know I can trust her.”

  “Then why are you worried?”

  “I’m not worried.” Fletch’s lids lifted, and a shock ran through Skip at what he saw there. “I’m scared to death.”

  ________

  “Fletch, I’m home. Are you here?”

  Samantha closed the front door and tossed her purse on the chair by the door. Lord, she wanted Fletch to be home. A strange excitement had been growing within her all afternoon. All the time she had been with Ricardo she had been conscious of it but had resolutely ignored it. It was almost as if she had been afraid to acknowledge that there might be a reason for its existence. That there might be the possibility that the time had—

  “Have you had dinner?” Fletch was standing in the doorway of the study, gazing at her with a blank expression. She experienced a sinking disappointment until she noticed the leashed tension that corded every muscle in his large body.

  She nodded. “I dropped Ricardo off at his hotel and we ate in one of the hotel dining rooms.” She smiled. “This time I’m the one who didn’t come home in time for dinner. Perhaps I should have brought you Gypsy violinists and champagne from Maxim’s.”

  “I’m not in the mood for Gypsy violinists, I’m afraid.” His gaze was narrowed on her face. “I guess you and Lazaro had time to talk over old times. You were gone all afternoon.”

  She nodded as she walked toward him. “Yes, we did.”

  His eyes became wary. “And did you talk about the future too?”

  “A little.” She stopped before him. “Why didn’t you tell me what you and Ricardo were planning?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to know,” he said curtly. “And you wouldn’t have known if Skip hadn’t pulled the blunder of the century. You wouldn’t even have been aware that Lazaro was in Paris.”

  Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t have told me?”

  “No way.”

  “But why?” She laughed uncertainly. “It’s not reasonable to—”

  “That’s what Skip said,” he replied, interrupting. “Of course, it’s not reasonable. When have I ever been reasonable where you were concerned? I didn’t want you to see Lazaro, dammit.”

  A tiny burst of happiness unfolded within her. “Why? You couldn’t possibly have been jealous?”

  “It wasn’t jealousy.” He scowled. “Well, not altogether. I can’t say I like you spending time with a man who’s as good-looking as Tom Cruise. I guess I’m pretty territorial.”

  “You are?” Her voice was breathless, the excitement expanding, growing in leaps and bounds. “But you know Ricardo is only my friend.”

  “That doesn’t help much when I look in the mirror and compare his face with this rough mug of mine.” He shrugged. “But I can face that kind of competition. I trust you, and besides, I’m not about to let any man take you away from me now. I’d find some way of getting rid of him.”

  The brutal flatness of the words sent a shiver through her. “Then why weren’t you going to tell me that Ricardo was here?”

  “It wasn’t Lazaro that scared me; it was St. Pierre. You’re not going back there, Samantha.” His gaze was fixed on her face with compelling power. “When Lazaro returns to the island to launch the revolution, you’re not going to be with him. Do you hear me? I won’t have it.”

  “If you feel that strongly about it, why did you become involved in trying to breathe life into Ricardo’s cause?”

  “It’s certainly not because I’m a bloody idealist like Lazaro,” he said quickly. “Those blasted Marxists stole my refinery.”

  The beginning of a smile touched her lips. “I don’t think that’s the reason. Even an idealist like Ricardo realized that the refinery wasn’t worth your launching another revolution to reclaim it.”

  “Did he? Maybe he has more common sense than I thought.”

  “He’s not just a pretty face. Why are you doing this, Fletch?” she asked softly.

  “I don’t like thieves, I don’t like seeing political prisoners who look like skeletons, I don’t like knowing a place like the Abbey exists.” His eyes met hers. “And I don’t like to know that the men who killed your father and gave you six years of hell are living high on the hog in their little island paradise. I’m going to take it away from them and see that they burn in hell.”

  She gazed at him, stunned. “You’re going to start a revolution over me?”

  “No, I—” He stopped and nodded curtly. “Why not? I can’t think of a better reason.”

  She laughed shakily. “I never imagined I’d ever be the kind of woman who would launch a thousand ships.”

  “I’d launch a million ships.” He took a step closer, his hands grasping her shoulders, holding her gaze intently. “I’ll get those bastards for you, Samantha. You don’t have to go back there. Trust me.” His words were soft, urgent. “They don’t need you. This will be a different kind of war, fought mainly with power and economic clout. I know that battlefield better than you. Let me fight for you.”

  She gazed up at him, mesmerized by the force of his words and the hope they were building within her. “Why? Why is it so important to you?”

  “Why?” he exploded, his hands tightening on her shoulders. “Why do you think? Because I’m scared silly you’re going to go back there and starve in a cave.
Because I’m terrified you’re going to be captured or shot. Because I can’t live without you now, you idiotic woman.”

  Joy like the nova of a giant sun flooded through her. It had come. It was here. Dear heaven, it was here!

  “You mean it?” Her words were only a breath of a sound. “Fletch, do you really—” She stopped and suddenly tore away from him, her face lit with an inner radiance as she backed away from him. “Go out on the terrace.”

  “What?”

  She turned and ran toward the stairs. “Wait for me on the terrace. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going? We’ve got to talk about this. There’s no way I’m going to let you go back to St. Pierre with—” He broke off as she suddenly disappeared from view around the curve of the stairs. He was both exasperated and frustrated as he turned and strode across the foyer.

  He was standing on the terrace looking out over the garden when he heard the French doors open behind him.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; I tried to hurry.”

  He turned. “You pick the damnedest times to—” She was wearing the golden gown, and she was so beautiful that he forgot what he was going to say. Everything about her was radiant: the shimmering gown, her shining hair, her face. He cleared his throat. “You changed.”

  She nodded. “Everything but my shoes.” She lifted the hem of her gown to reveal bare feet. “I couldn’t find the matching sandals, and I was in such a hurry that I decided not to bother. I didn’t think it would make any difference, anyway”—she released her skirt and came toward him—“since it’s just the two of us. Now we can resume our conversation.”

  “May I ask why you’re trying to vamp me?” He suddenly frowned. “You’re not going to change my mind, you know. I’m not going to let you go back—”

  “Hush.” She stopped before him. “I’m not trying to vamp you.” She grinned. “If I haven’t done that by now, I’m in big trouble. And you know I wouldn’t let you stop me if I really wanted to do something. I changed because I wanted everything to be absolutely right. I refuse to have another romantic moment spoiled because I feel like a grubby street urchin. The first night I wore this gown, I was walking on air and so full of hope that I was nearly dizzy. Everything went wrong then, but tonight it’s going to be different.”

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, yes.” She took a step nearer. “Because you’re going to tell me something I’ve waited a long time to hear. You almost told me before I went upstairs, and now I want to hear the words.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  She shook her head. “Damn, you’re a difficult man. All right, I’ll go first. I love you, Fletch. I love your mind, your body, and that streak of idealism you won’t even admit to yourself. I want to have your children and raise them, and then I want to spoil our grandchildren rotten. In spite of our agreement, I’m not going to leave you in two years, in twenty years, or in seventy years. You’re stuck with me. If you ever try to divorce me, I’ll probably murder you, and if you take a mistress, there’s a good chance I’ll murder her. Do we understand each other?”

  He stared at her incredulously for a moment. Then he smiled with a joy so brilliant, it took her breath away. “Such violence,” he murmured. “I believe Topaz has assumed control.”

  “You bet she has.” She smiled up at him lovingly. “And she’s not going to let you off until she gets what she wants. Tell me.”

  “It’s not easy for me,” he said haltingly. “I’ve never …” He gazed down at her face. “God, I love you.”

  “Very good. How much?” she prompted.

  “There aren’t any words,” he said simply. “You know what an inarticulate bastard I am.”

  “Try.” Her fingers touched his cheek. “I won’t ask you again, but tonight is special. Tonight it’s important that I know.”

  “How can you help but know?” he asked gruffly. “From the first moment I set eyes on you I was practically torn apart.” He turned his head so that his lips touched her palm. “I wanted to protect you and ravish you at the same time. You filled me with confusion and anger and …” He pressed her palm against his cheek. “Love. So much love that I thought it would kill me. For a while I believed I could control it, but that didn’t last long. I was the one who was being controlled. And every day it gets worse because it gets better.” He made a face. “Hell, just listen to me. I’m not even making sense.”

  “I think you’re being very clear,” she whispered. “That’s the way I feel too.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me? I was worried as hell that you’d get bored and walk out on me.”

  She shook her head. “And I was being so careful not to make you feel boxed into a corner. You told me in the beginning how you felt about women interfering in your life.”

  “You should have known I didn’t feel like that anymore. Didn’t I spend every minute I could with you? Didn’t I show you I couldn’t—Stop laughing. This is a very serious point I’m making.” Then he was laughing, too—free, joyous laughter. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Okay, you’re not a mind reader, and neither am I. We’ll start over.”

  She shook her head. “No, we’ve already come a long way. We’ll just continue on the same path.” She stood on tiptoe to brush his lips with her own. “With love, Fletch.”

  His arms tightened around her, and he buried his face in her hair. “St. Pierre. You won’t …”

  “You could have asked me in the beginning instead of trying to stack the deck against my going back,” she said soberly. “I’ve already fought my battles there. I’m glad there’s a chance for St. Pierre to be saved, and I’ll do everything I can to help make that come about.” She felt him stiffen against her and added quickly, “With you, Fletch.”

  A sigh of relief shuddered through him. “Thank God.” He lifted his head to look at her. “And thank you, Samantha.”

  “For what?”

  “For loving me. Heaven only knows why you do. I’m so much older than you, and rough as hell, and God knows I’m nothing to look at.”

  She smiled up at him. “And I don’t have your maturity, I’m independent as the devil, and will probably be so possessive that I’ll drive you crazy. And you’ll have to learn to live with Topaz as well as Samantha. So what? We’ll still have it all, as long as we have each other.”

  He nodded slowly, gazing at her with glowing tenderness. “You’re right.” His voice was husky with emotion as he drew her closer with exquisite gentleness. “It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, love. We’ll have it all … Topaz.”

  One Touch of Topaz is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  2009 Bantam Books Mass Market Edition

  Copyright © 1988 by Iris Johansen

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Originally published in mass market in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1988.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-75445-5

  www.bantamdell.com

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