“This is one of the pools.”
“Shea, how many pools do I own?”
“One Olympic-sized outdoor pool and two indoor pools, including this one.”
“Don’t forget the pool in my room.”
“There are small pools in all the cottages.”
“It’s not big enough to swim in and not small enough to be a bathtub. What do people do in them?”
“Float,” she answered lightly. “One of our guests, Prince Shalukan, brings an armada of toy battleships whenever he comes here, so that he can stage mock battles.”
“Sounds like a tough guy. What country is he prince of?”
“Teresan. It’s a little oil-rich island about the size of Vermont, located somewhere in the South China Sea. No threat to foreign military powers, that’s for sure.”
“What a relief,” Duke noted drolly.
Shea watched as he put both brawny hands on his hips and gazed at the glistening indoor pool. A huge skylight filtered streaks of sunshine down onto the speckled blue tiles surrounding it. The pool was the central feature of a two-story atrium at the heart of the main building. A gallery of guest rooms circled it, fronted by a white balustrade. Ferns and flowering plants hung from brass arms on the gallery posts. Giant ficus trees in white, Romanesque pots sat around the pool.
“Smells like a jungle around here,” he offered. “But I guess that’s just because I’m not used to so many plants.”
A dark-haired woman wearing a tiny pink bikini was asleep in a lounge chair by the water’s edge.
“Who’s the babe?” he asked. “Anybody I should ask for an autograph?”
Shea’s mouth quirked in involuntary humor. Duke Araiza was the kind of man who couldn’t care less about someone’s status. He would ask for an autograph simply to flirt. “A Russian ballet star who defected. Now she directs one of the big New York dance companies.”
“Oh, well, brunets aren’t my style, anyway.” He gave her a sincere, if rakish, appraisal. “I like muddy blondes.”
“Indeed.” Her mouth set in an unyielding line, warm reactions churning inside her, she led the way outdoors. “To your left,” she told him, pointing to a sleek, stone building in the distance, “are the estate’s stables. We have a fully staffed riding facility, and some guests have their own mounts flown in during their stays.”
“Good Lord,” he muttered. “I love my horses, but I don’t take them on vacation with me.”
“Would you like to see the Japanese garden next?”
“Sure. And then I’d like to see the replica of the Eiffel Tower, the Alamo, and—”
“Enough,” she warned in mild reproach. He laughed deeply and shortened his long, powerful stride to match hers.
They walked down a neat walkway bordered by willow trees and carefully manicured shrubs. Shea spent the next few minutes describing the estate in detail.
“How many acres?” he asked finally.
“About five hundred.”
“What a ranch this would make!”
Shea chewed her lower lip and said nothing. Her beautiful resort, a ranch? “Everything in the world doesn’t have to be practical to be worthwhile,” she muttered.
“I agree. I race horses for a living, remember? But there’s something about this place. It says to the rest of the world, ‘You can’t come here. You’re not important enough.’ I grew up with that attitude being shoved down my throat because I was poor. I won’t put up with it.”
Shea shook her head. “We don’t care about a guest’s social status. Anyone who can pay the fees is welcome here.”
“Oh? How many waitresses and mechanics have you got registered?”
He arched one black brow at her, and she sighed. “You’re a hard man to influence.”
Duke smiled. “Maybe you’re not using the right tactics.”
A few minutes later they stopped on a low ridge, far from the main estate grounds. Duke inhaled softly as he scanned a view straight from a Japanese silk painting. A small, delicately recreated Japanese pavilion stood at the center of the garden, surrounded by a serene arrangement of exotic trees and plants. Man-made waterfalls bubbled into shimmering pools, and even from here he could see the red koi fish swimming lazily in their depths. It was a place of such privacy and serenity that he immediately resolved to protect it. No matter what he decided about this ridiculous playground, the Japanese garden would never be harmed.
“Now, this,” Shea whispered, “is my favorite place.”
He turned to look at her with new admiration. Duke noticed the glistening reverence in her eyes. Her skin was the color of the pale, smooth flowers on the plants beside the pavilion. Her contentment was almost tangible, and it drew him in a way that went beyond physical attraction. He wanted to absorb her, to learn her inside and out.
She turned her face toward him, smiled, and looked down at his feet. “You’re tapping a toe again,” she noted, remembering how he’d done that the night before. “What are you thinking about now?”
“That you belong here in a kimono, with a book of haiku open on your lap.” That you belong with me, he added silently.
Her eyes filled with pleasure and surprise. “You like the garden?”
“Love it,” he told her sincerely.
Pleasure infused her expression, and her smile nearly broke the limits of his control. It would be so easy to simply take her in his arms and kiss her.
She seemed to sense that and looked away, her eyes turned toward the ground again. “Watch your footing,” she said softly, and pointed to the rough-hewn steps that led down the ridge to the garden. She moved gracefully ahead of him, her back very straight.
“I’m willing to take my time,” he answered just as softly, and saw her head move in an unmistakable sign that his meaning had registered.
They walked silently through the garden listening to the sounds of the waterfalls and the throaty murmurs of birds in the surrounding forest. “Redwoods,” Shea noted, waving a hand at the trees. “Small ones, by this area’s standards. A lot of the redwoods have been logged at one time or other. This stand was cut down about thirty years ago, I’ve been told.”
She sat down on a curved stone bench. Duke sat beside her, his knee casually brushing hers. He was aware that she didn’t move away from the contact. But she faced forward, her hands clasped in her lap. This one was a hand clasper, that was for sure, he noted. First in her office as she sat at that fancy desk, and now. When he made her uncomfortable, she clasped. A point worth remembering.
“What’s Mendocino like?” he asked calmly. “I bypassed it on the drive up.”
“A transplanted New England town. Maine saltbox-style houses, Cape Cod cottages, most of it perched along a main street that fronts the Pacific. It began in the last century as a logging and shipping town, but now it’s an artists’ colony. Lots of inns, restaurants, galleries. A nice place. It’s about ten miles from here.” She looked at him curiously. “You drove here?”
“Yep. Like to drive. How do most folks get here?”
“We have a small plane that shuttles them up from San Francisco, or we send a limo to pick them up. Cisco’s the nearest big city.”
“I own an air field?” he asked incredulously.
“A little one.” She pointed toward the western hills covered with a mixed forest of redwoods and oaks. “Beyond those.” She started to stand. “If you want to see it, let’s go get a golf cart.”
“Later, later,” he said, reaching out to grasp her wrist gently. She gave him a wary look and sat back down. Her skin felt like fine silk beneath his calloused fingers. Mud baths. Maybe they were worthwhile, he thought. Duke turned her hand palm up and studied it. “I see private colleges, debutante balls, and lots of marriage-minded young yuppies in your past.”
“You’re checking the wrong lines. I worked my way through UCLA with the help of a scholarship, I was never a deb, and yuppies, marriage-minded or otherwise, aren’t my type. I’m a loner, I fear. Not very social.
”
“No man, ever?” He shook his head. “A beautiful, mature woman. No, it can’t be.”
“Which line tells you that?” Shea asked dryly.
“Male intuition.”
“There was someone, a couple of years ago.” Without thinking, gazing off into the distance, Shea turned her palm over and lightly grasped Duke Araiza’s hand. “He wasn’t a yuppie; he was a bohemian ex-hippie. He did woodworking; he made sculptures as well as utilitarian pieces such as bowls and furniture. He had a shop in Mendocino.”
“You loved him?” Duke asked, carefully hiding his surprise.
“We were … very close. He was the most gentle, the sweetest man.…”
“But you didn’t love him.” Duke knew he was on the verge of sounding both rude and nosy, but he had a gut wrenching need to learn whether she’d ever been in love before.
“I loved him enough to grieve for months after he was killed,” she answered softly.
“Killed?” Duke gently rubbed the back of her hand with this thumb.
She nodded. “He liked to roam the woods.” A bitter cast came over her features. “He was accidentally shot by a hunter. It was one of those awful accidents that happens almost every year during deer season.”
“Shea, I’m sorry I pried.…”
“It’s all right.” She looked at him calmly, her violet eyes almost grateful. “Everyone who knew him wants to forget that he ever existed, and I never get to talk about him anymore. If feels right to discuss him with you. You look like a good listener.”
“That’s because I want to know everything about you.”
She was disconcerted by that remark and squinted at him in mild rebuke.
“Want to change the subject?” he asked.
“Yep.” She mimicked his way of talking, which bordered on a John Wayne drawl.
“Folks still living?”
“Nope.”
“Want to talk about mumsy and daddy?”
“Nope.”
Duke sighed. “The lady becomes a clam on personal subjects.” But at least she was holding his hand as if she’d never let go. “Okay, what’s it like to be manager of this prissy sand trap? What do you have to do?”
“Supervise reservations, supervise a staff of about fifty people, supervise one hundred and twenty-three guests.” She gave him a challenging look. “We’re always booked months in advance. We don’t even have to advertise to do it. We have that kind of prestigious reputation.”
“Well, la di da,” he said dryly, crooking one brow at her superior tone. “What do the well-off and well padded do once they get here?”
“They’re not here to lose a lot of weight. We don’t even talk about that. We emphasize healthy eating and good fitness routines. The guests hike, they do aerobics, they practice stress reduction techniques, they have massages. In short, they learn better habits and relax.”
“Sounds like a lot of work just to relax.”
“So, hulk, what’s your health and fitness regimen?” She pulled her hand away. He took it back.
“Ranch work. Burritos. Good beer. Try it. It’ll keep your mind straight and your stomach flat.”
“I have a straight mind and a flat stomach, and I wouldn’t encourage anyone to follow your suggestions.”
He heard the laughter low in her voice and knew that she was less stern than her words. “What kind of gal are you hiding under there?” he teased, peering into her eyes. Their violet depths were much warmer and more inviting than she suspected.
“One who is very happy with her life the way it is.”
“You still alone?”
“Not at the moment. I’m in the company of a very inquisitive man.”
“You lonely?”
“Ah.” Shea looked up at the sky overhead, watching white clouds floating against the blue background. “Are you?”
“Ah. She changes the attack to suit herself.” Duke was silent for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully, “Yep.” When she gazed at him with surprise, he continued, “There have been people to keep me company, but not people to keep me from feeling alone.”
Her expression took on a sympathetic cast.
Mesmerized, Duke told her, “I’m used to being alone, but I don’t have to like it. I was married once, a long time ago, but I was alone even then. I’m thirty-six years old, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life putting up Christmas trees by myself.”
“Christmas trees?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “That’s when you really know that you’re missing something. When you put up a Christmas tree and there’s nobody important to help you do it.”
Shea swallowed tightly. He had touched a deeper chord than he’d ever know. She thought of all the holidays she’d spent in the dingy little apartment she and her mother had shared in a run-down area of Los Angeles.
“When I was a child,” she told him softly, “I put up a lot of Christmas trees by myself. My mother was always at work, and when she wasn’t, well, she didn’t take much interest.”
“What about your father?”
“I was about five years old when he left home for good.”
Duke frowned, studying her, trying to unravel the elegant exterior and learn more about her intriguing past. He started to ask her if she had any brothers or sisters, but she shook her head and held up one hand.
“Enough. Suffice it to say, I dislike holidays. Let’s change the subject.”
Duke squeezed her hand. “You look so sad. I didn’t mean to do that to you.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” she answered quickly, trying to hide her unhappiness. “You’re too good as a listener. I keep forgetting that we just met. I’m talking too much.”
“You look like a person who doesn’t talk enough. It’s all right to open up to me. I never kiss and tell.”
She smiled crookedly and gave him a grateful look. To his surprise her eyes filled with tears. “Hombre, you’re stealing my good sense,” she murmured. “So you never kiss and tell?” She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and brushed her mouth lightly over his.
Duke warned himself not to take advantage of the situation, but her kiss was such a tempting mixture of gentleness and restrained passion that it overwhelmed his judgment. As he felt her easing away, he slipped an arm around her waist. He watched her eyes open, wide with shock. “Easy, now. Easy,” he whispered soothingly. Then his mouth was on hers, warm and tight.
He heard her murmur of protest, but she didn’t move away. If she meant to rebuff him, she failed, because her mouth was pliant. If she meant to show no desire, it was a lost cause, because she sighed eagerly against his lips. He had never tasted anything as sweet, and the scent of roses and cream mingled with the kiss to envelope him in sensation. Deep inside he shivered and couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop—the male reaction that brought every nerve ending to arousal.
Shea was collapsing inside, part of her protesting that this wasn’t proper because she worked for the man and had to keep a professional distance, part of her protesting that it had been too long since she’d been kissed, that she’d never been kissed like this. Who could run from the promise of his perfectly seductive mouth?
He slid his tongue between her lips and explored her delicately, expertly. Shea knew only that she was kissing him back and that her hand was rhythmically squeezing his. When he drew his hand away and clasped her side just beneath one breast, she pulled back, groggy with confusion and burning all over. “Thank you,” she managed to say huskily. “But I think that will be enough.”
His face was so close that she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. The gold was nearly the color of her hair, and she wondered if it was a sign that perhaps this instant connection between the two of them was meant to be. Shea tried to ignore such whimsy. He was her employer. He was here to wreak havoc, and suddenly it occurred to her that he needed her cooperation.
“You’re always so proper and polite,” he whispered. “It makes me want to tempt you even mor
e.”
“Will it be easier this way?” she asked in a low, wounded voice. “If you seduce me, will it be easier for you to do what you want with the estate?”
Dismay filtered into his gaze, dulling the gold, turning his eyes into black warnings. “You should have stopped with ‘Thank you, but that will be enough,’ ” he said in a low, rebuking voice. “It would have been perfect.”
He let go of her and sat back, looking tired and disappointed. After several awkward seconds in which they eyed each other remorsefully, he said, “I can tell, querida, that you and I have a lot of trust to build.”
Shea’s head drooped. She felt drained. “Life doesn’t move very fast here. I don’t move very fast either. I apologize for provoking what happened. I apologize for being so suspicious.”
“Sssh. As you said last night, I’m one fast hombre.”
The self-effacing tone of his voice made her look up at him with a tentative smile. He smiled back, though his gaze still held a rebuke. “But I’m not manipulative. If you tell me never to touch you again, I’ll honor that. And your job will be very safe.”
Shea couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. “Can’t we just slow down?” she asked wearily. “Do you have to make everything so complicated so quickly?”
He laughed, and the pleasure in his eyes showed how much her answer meant to him. “I’ll be a good guest, how about that? And keep an open mind. We’ll be friends.”
“Friends,” she agreed immediately. She had to convince this man to leave well enough alone, at least as far as the estate was concerned.
“Friends,” Duke repeated. He would challenge her to keep up with him and tempt her to run wild.
Three
“Down and two and down and three and flow with the music and down and four and stretch, stretch.” Shea made her voice drop to a throaty and relaxed timbre as the gentle Chopin etude began to slow. “Now reach toward the ceiling, reach, reach, and let all that negative energy and anxiety flow out of you. You’re relaxed, you’re happy, you’ve just been good to yourself. Now exhale.”
What sounded behind her in the aerobics room weren’t so much exhalations of soothed psyches but groans of relief. Shea turned and bowed to the two-dozen exercisers, male and female, who were already staggering toward a water cooler in the corner.
California Royale Page 3
