“You may want to be with him, but you don’t love him. If I believed you did, I wouldn’t be here.”
His voice was husky again, compellingly sincere. It made her feel strange and vulnerable when he talked that way. It made her throat ache. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. “What do you want?”
“Why did you do it to me? What was the point of seducing me and running off?”
Randy thought she saw a flaring of pain in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly, she couldn’t be sure. She would never be sure with him. she realized. That was the problem. “I don’t know why I did it. I was hurting and terribly angry. Everybody thought I was a wild kid anyway, probably because of Edna. Since I already had the reputation, I thought I might as well live up to it.”
“So I was an experiment, an opportunity to find out just how wild you could be with a renegade biker?”
“Yes, maybe—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking in those terms. I wasn’t thinking at all, I guess.”
“Nothing’s changed, has it?” he said, almost bitterly. “Did it ever occur to you that I was anything more than an extension of that motorcycle, Randy? That I might have some feelings about what happened between us?”
She searched his face, looking for any evidence of the feelings he mentioned. He was good at hiding them. He was one of the coolest characters she’d ever come across, almost as if he were determined to control every vulnerable response, down to the tiniest spasm of nerves. And yet there was a darkness glowing in his features, a brightness glittering in the depths of his eyes that couldn’t be controlled. They fascinated her, those glimpses of his inner world. She wanted to know what Geoff Dias was protecting, what he was feeling.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone,” she told him. “But apparently I did, both of us. I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, waiting for a response. When he didn’t react, she probed a little further. “You seem so determined to prove that Hugh is wrong for me,” she said. “Why do you care? Did what happen between us shake you up that badly?”
He flared without warning, striding toward her, pulling her out of the chair. “I’ll tell you when I’m hurting, sweetness. You’ll be the first to know.” His voice was low, almost harsh as he noticed the hand he was gripping, the bright coral polish she’d painted on her nails.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked. “Is this for me?”
Randy was too shaken to remind him of the house rules. “Not for you,” she said angrily, “because of you. I needed a distraction, but don’t flatter yourself that it means anything.”
His hand tightened on her wrist as he glared at her, caught somewhere between male rage and the need to control it. Seconds ticked by, each one a tiny bomb exploding in Randy’s head. She was no match for him. She couldn’t possibly stop him if he decided to get physical, if he decided to—
“Let’s get going,” he said abruptly. “The sooner we find your beloved fiancé, the sooner you pay up.”
His fingers were biting into her flesh, but there was something in his voice, a tone, a drumbeat, that told Randy he was more than angry. He was dangerously jealous.
Seven
“A MOTORCYCLE?” RANDY HESITATED, casting a suspicious glance at the gleaming black low-rider conspicuously parked in the crescent-shaped driveway that fronted their hotel. “Where did that come from?” Now she understood why Geoff hadn’t called a taxi as she’d suggested. She’d thought he was still angry.
Geoff brushed past her and walked to the sleek machine. “Must be black magic,” he said sardonically. “We need transportation and a bike materializes.” He settled himself on the leather seat like a cowboy sliding into a new saddle he was looking forward to breaking in. “Actually, I had the hotel concierge rent it for me,” he said by way of explanation as he gripped the handlebars and generally got the feel of the bike.
“Don’t they rent cars in this country?” Randy asked.
Geoff glanced up and caught her off guard. His eyes were as cold and green as a slick ocean surface. Randy could feel the chill. She sensed the undercurrents. He was still angry.
“You coming?” It was more a command than a question.
With bells on, she thought, but didn’t say it.
Moments later they were rolling down Avenida Atlantica, the famous ocean boulevard that paralleled Copacabana Beach. The heavy traffic forced them to go slowly, allowing Randy to relax a little and soak up the ambience. Everywhere she looked, strolling troubadours were playing mandolins and young boys were beating feverishly on bongo drums.
The rich smells of buttered popcorn and caramel wafted from pushcarts as beach vendors energetically hawked their wares. A wizened older man labored to carry a huge red umbrella studded with woven straw sunhats for sale, while a young girl held up a rainbowlike array of cotton candy, that looked like mountains of clouds.
Randy found herself so distracted by the colorful commotion, she almost forgot she was hostage to a bad-tempered mercenary and his rumbling, grumbling motorcycle. Dizzying mosaic patterns decorated the sidewalks that fronted the beach, and the expanse of white sand beyond was swarming with sunbathers of all sizes, ages, and colors. If Cariocas worshiped the sun, they also worshiped the human body, Randy realized. The common goal seemed to be to expose as much skin as possible to the elements.
Fascinated by the spectacle, she watched near-naked children frolic in the surf and small groups of topless women stroll unselfconsciously over the sand, their breasts bobbing as they walked, their lithe bodies glistening in the sun. Every now and then she caught a whiff of rich suntan lotion mingled with the pungency of moist, hot female flesh.
Geoff was undoubtedly distracted too, she imagined.
The traffic slowed in front of them, and as Geoff geared down. Randy became reacquainted with the powerful vibrations of the machine beneath her. They trembled through her clenched thighs and radiated up her body almost pleasurably. Normally she would have felt compelled to cut off the sensations, but today she found herself contemplating her responses, tuning in to them as she wondered what it would be like to experience such feelings willingly, and without fear.
She was also aware of the potent tropical sunshine pouring its heat over the city, and of the throbbing native drums that saturated the air with their fervent sensuality. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the drumbeats to fill her senses and the motorcycle’s deep vibrations to course through her body. As the energy zinged out to her fingertips and down to her toes, she found herself smiling, beginning to understand the thrill of a big bike. It had to be terribly exhilarating having all that horsepower at your command.
She clutched Geoff tighter as he veered to avoid the blockage in the traffic ahead. He roared down the open lane, only to slow down again as they pulled up to an intersection. As they waited for the light to change, a beautiful, dusky-skinned Carioca woman in a tanga, a micro-string bikini, drifted past them on her way to the beach.
Fio dental, Randy thought, remembering the Portuguese phrase she’d heard used for such bikinis. Dental floss. The woman was small-breasted, lissome, and perfectly proportioned for such a naked display of femininity. She was also supremely confident of her appeal.
Inexplicably Randy felt a stab of something that must have been envy. She couldn’t see Geoff’s expression, but she knew he must be watching the exotic woman, and she was curious about what was going through his mind. Sex, of course. But sex with whom?
There were plenty of muscular, half-naked men meandering around in thongs and bikini briefs, but when Randy looked at them, she found herself thinking of Geoff, of how he would look in a bathing suit. She was visited by vivid images of his long bronzed legs, of hardened muscles swirled with golden hair, of firm buttocks, and the way those tiny briefs lovingly cupped a man’s private parts. Much like a woman’s hand, she realized.
Much like her hand?
The thought was electrifying. Randy couldn’t catch her breath for the force of it. She felt light-h
eaded, but the sensations in the pit of her stomach were anything but. They were deep, shivery, and sharp. This was what happened when you surrendered to physical stimulation, she told herself. You got stimulated, genius!
As they continued toward their destination, Randy set about to distract herself with relaxation techniques, but try as she might, she couldn’t get that last image out of her head. When Geolf pulled the motorcycle up in front of the luxury hotel Hugh had stayed at, she was still thinking about men’s bodies and women’s hands.
“What are you looking at?” Geoff asked as he swung off the bike and caught her staring.
Randy forced her gaze above his beltline. “Was I ... looking? Sorry, I must be preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied with my pants?”
“No! I was thinking about, well—swimming, if you must know.” Not exactly a brilliant parry, but he’d caught her off guard.
He cocked his head as if waiting for the punchline.
“I happen to be a very good swimmer,” she informed him, unable to completely resist his golden smile. “I spent a summer as a lifeguard trainee at the beach, and I pulled more than one drowning boogie boarder out of the surf.”
“Lucky dogs. Maybe you could save my life sometime?”
“That all depends.” Randy was aware that their interaction had taken on a certain bantering rhythm, a man-woman thing she and Hugh rarely indulged in. “Is yours a life worth saving?”
“Well, now, if I’m being called upon to justify my existence, that’s going to take some time. Give me several hours of your undivided attention and I’ll try to prove myself worthy.”
“Several hours? You must have a lot to prove.”
“You’re a lot of woman, sweetness. If I remember correctly, you can be pretty exacting.”
Randy flushed, remembering too. She’d had her moments that night, boldly telling him what she liked and didn’t like. He must have thought he was dealing with a woman of the world, when quite the opposite was true. She’d been an eighteen-year-old virgin, desperate to forget that she’d been jilted, woozy from champagne, and probably drunk with power over the way she’d aroused a seemingly dangerous man like Geoff. Geoff couldn’t possibly have known she’d never been to bed with a man before that night; there had been no telltale pain or blood.
She’d wondered about that afterward. She knew girls often lost the protective membrane during the normal physical activity of childhood. Nevertheless, it had worried her. Maybe she had believed that some pain or physical difficulty would have been a fitting atonement for her sins that night. The lack of it had made everything seem too easy. It had made her seem easy, too, like Edna. And nothing frightened her more than the possibility of sharing her mother’s fate. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t allowed herself to be sexually intimate since, not even with Hugh.
“You want to get off?” Geoff asked.
The question startled Randy out of her thoughts. “I beg your pardon?”
His shoulders jerked with husky laughter. “Off the bike, you ninny.”
“Oh!” Randy flushed with surprise, then began to laugh despite herself. She shook her head, hopelessly embarrassed about what she’d thought he meant. She really was preoccupied.
He held out a hand, apparently to assist her.
Still flustered, she let him steady her as she swung her leg over the bike and slid off. What she hadn’t counted on were the mosaic patterns woven into the sidewalk. They undulated like ocean waves, moving crazily as she tried to focus her eyes on them. Dizziness swamped her, and she gripped Geoff’s hand tightly, trying to catch her balance. The next thing she knew she was lurching straight at him.
He blocked her fall with his body, gathering her up in his arms. “You okay?”
“Give me a minute,” she said, clinging to him dizzily. He held her close, but Randy couldn’t ignore the fact that he was shaking with silent laughter. “I could have sworn you tugged me,” she accused.
“Hey, I just saved you from a bump on the head,” he pointed out, holding her back and gazing at her with apparent sincerity as he straightened the strap of her sundress. “That must be worth something.”
“Very kind of you.” She wanted to be sardonic, but instead she actually smiled and blushed as if she were back in junior high, flirting with a boy in front of her locker. It was rather pleasant being in his arms, she had to admit, and he did smell wonderful, sort of like oranges and wild strawberries. Maybe it was that stuff he carried in his flask.
“However,” she was careful to clarify, “when I referred to your worth earlier, I was thinking more along the lines of your moral character.”
“Moral, immoral, what’s the difference when you’re in love?”
“When you’re ... what?” Her pulse began to race uncontrollably. “What do you mean?” she asked, her face going hot with curiosity. She could see the amusement shimmering in his green eyes. Of course he hadn’t meant it, not the way she was thinking. Had he? It was clear he wasn’t going to answer her question, and she suddenly felt angry at how breathless she’d become ... at how much she’d apparently wanted him to mean something he hadn’t meant.
“Who started this conversation anyway?” she asked, backing out of his arms and straightening her dress.
“I think you did, fair lady. Right after I caught you eyeballing my crotch.”
“Did not!”
“Did so.”
“Dream on, Dias.”
“I don’t have to dream, Witherspoon. You’ve been unzipping my fly with your eyes since the day I walked into your office. Ask nice and I might let you do the honors.”
She should have been angry, but she found herself wanting to shake her head and laugh again. It was too absurd. And too true. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his lower torso. Like it or not, she’d apparently picked up the family talent for crotch watching. The way she was going, it would soon be her badge of distinction. Edna would have been proud.
“What’s that secret smile all about?” he questioned.
“For me to know, Dias.” She brushed past him, feigning an air of breezy confidence and headed for the hotel’s entrance.
Geoff watched her go, his gaze drawn automatically to the purposeful snap and sway of her hips. She was a pistol, he acknowledged, as hot as gunpowder. Success hadn’t changed Randy Witherspoon any. She could call herself Miranda, she could wear designer clothes and satin teddies, but no amount of buffing would ever take the street kid out of her. She still led with her chin.
Aware of the pleasurable tightness in his gut, he smiled. Her go-to-hell attitude had served her well. It had probably got her where she was today. Too bad it was about to get her into big trouble.
He turned back to the bike, fished a Hawaiian shirt of green and turquoise silk from the saddlebag, and drew it on over his tank top and shorts. He would find her Prince Charming for her. He had a hunch Hugh Hargrove was still in Rio somewhere, and that meant he could be located. But Geoff was in no particular hurry. He was far more interested in having Randy come face to face with the truth. She needed him for more than detective work, and he wanted her to know it. He wanted the satisfaction of hearing her say it. Oh, yes, that was exactly what he wanted from Randy Witherspoon. Satisfaction.
By that afternoon Geoff had a small measure of the reckoning he sought. He’d hung back, letting Randy take the lead in their investigation, until finally all of her attempts to get information about Hugh had been frustrated. The Swiss hotel manager would say nothing beyond confirming that Hugh had been a guest. When Randy had pressed him, he referred her to the local police, insisting he’d told them everything he knew.
She’d tried the hotel housekeeping staff next, but none of them had spoken enough English to be understood, and they’d all denied having seen Hugh when she produced his picture. It was clear to Geoff that she was being stonewalled. No one wanted to get involved in police matters and missing-persons investigations unless it was worth their while. At last, in frustr
ation, she’d attempted to bribe the haughty maitre d’ of the hotel restaurant. She’d had the right idea, Geoff conceded, but the wrong guy. In a flurry of indignation, the maitre d’ escorted them out of the hotel.
“What do we do now?” she asked as they stood by the curb where the bike was parked. Even in the blastfurnace heat of late afternoon, samba music could be heard in the distance, probably coming from car radios turned up full notch.
Her question alone was an admission of defeat, Geoff realized. But he wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily. “Maybe you could try the doorman,” he suggested, using her own words. “Show a little thigh, promise some action? It worked for me the day I showed up at your office.”
“Right,” she intoned sarcastically. “It worked so well, you left me standing in an alley with one stocking. Come on, Dias. I need some help here.”
Her frustration was obvious, but he couldn’t make up his mind whether she’d been humbled enough. The fire in her dark eyes was still smoldering, and the way her nostrils did that cute little flaring thing made him hot.
“Pleeeze,” she said wearily, angrily.
“You’re catching on.” He straightened the strap of her sundress and smiled. “Ask nice and ye shall receive.”
Twenty minutes and several taxi drivers later, Geoff had their first solid lead. One of the drivers that serviced the hotel recognized Hugh’s picture. The man was more than cooperative when Geoff slipped him a bill of a very large denomination. He offered to take Geoff directly to the nightclub where he’d driven Hugh. “Many times,” he added in Portuguese. “Many nights I drive him there.”
Geoff asked a few more pertinent questions, then found Randy wilted in a courtyard nearby, leaning against the gnarled trunk of a banyan tree. “You didn’t tell me Hugh was a tomcat,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“He had a yen for the fast life, nightclubs, strip joints.”
“Not Hugh.” She shook her head. “He’s as solid as Gibraltar. If anything, he’s a little straitlaced.”
The Stealth Commandos Trilogy Page 43
