by Nora Roberts
nose at him.
“Perhaps you’re only jealous because you didn’t get one of your own. I suppose it was selfish of me not to have gotten one for you.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You don’t find shells in Paris,” she commented, feeling at ease and strangely fresh. “The children will treasure it as much as they would gold doubloons.”
“Children?”
Laine was examining her prize, exploring its smooth surface with her fingers. “My students at school. Most of them have never seen anything like this except in pictures.”
“You teach?”
Much too engrossed in discovering every angle of the shell, Laine missed the incredulity in his voice. She answered absently, “Yes, English to the French students and French to the English girls who board there. After I graduated, I stayed on as staff. There was really nowhere else to go, and it had always been home in any case. Dillon, do you suppose I could come back sometime and find one or two others, a different type perhaps? The girls would be fascinated; they get so little entertainment.”
“Where was your mother?”
“What?” In the transfer of her attention, she saw he was sitting up and staring at her with hard, probing eyes. “What did you say?” she asked again, confused by his change of tone.
“I said, where was your mother?”
“When … when I was in school? She was in Paris.” The sudden anger in his tone threw her into turmoil. She searched for a way to change the topic. “I would like to see the airport again; do you think I …”
“Stop it.”
Laine jerked at the harsh command, then quickly tried to slip into her armor. “There’s no need to shout. I’m quite capable of hearing you from this distance.”
“Don’t pull that royal routine on me, Duchess. I want some answers.” He flicked away his cigarette. Laine saw both the determination and fury in his face.
“I’m sorry, Dillon.” Rising and stepping out of reach, Laine remained outwardly calm. “I’m really not in the mood for a cross-examination.”
With a muttered oath, Dillon swung to his feet and captured her arms with a swiftness which left her stunned. “You can be a frosty little number. You switch on and off so fast, I can’t make up my mind which is the charade. Just who the devil are you?”
“I’m tired of telling you who I am,” she answered quietly. “I don’t know what you want me to say; I don’t know what you want me to be.”
Her answer and her mild tone seemed only to make him more angry. He tightened his hold and gave her a quick shake. “What was this last routine of yours?”
She was yanked against him in a sudden blaze of fury, but before punishment could be meted out, someone called his name. With a soft oath Dillon released her, and turned as a figure emerged from a narrow tunnel of palms.
Laine’s first thought was that a spirit from the island was drifting through the shelter and across the sand. Her skin was tawny gold and smooth against a sarong of scarlet and midnight blue. A full ebony carpet of hair fell to her waist, flowing gently with her graceful movements. Almond-shaped amber eyes were fringed with dark velvet. A sultry smile flitted across an exotic and perfect face. She lifted a hand in greeting, and Dillon answered.
“Hello, Orchid.”
Her mortality was established in Laine’s mind as the beautiful apparition lifted her lips and brushed Dillon’s. “Miri said you’d gone snorkeling, so I knew you’d be here.” Her voice flowed like soft music.
“Laine Simmons, Orchid King.” Dillon’s introductions were casual. Laine murmured a response, feeling suddenly as inadequate as a shadow faced with the sun. “Laine’s Cap’s daughter.”
“Oh, I see.” Laine was subjected to a more lengthy survey. She saw speculation beneath the practiced smile. “How nice you’re visiting at last. Are you staying long?”
“A week or two.” Laine regained her poise and met Orchid’s eyes. “Do you live on the island?”
“Yes, though I’m off it as often as not. I’m a flight attendant. I’m just back from the mainland, and I’ve got a few days. I wanted to trade the sky for the sea. I hope you’re going back in.” She smiled up at Dillon and tucked a hand through his arm. “I would love some company.”
Laine watched his charm flow. It seemed he need do nothing but smile to work his own particular magic. “Sure, I’ve got a couple of hours.”
“I think I’ll just go back to the house,” Laine said quickly, feeling like an intruder. “I don’t think I should get too much sun at one time.” Lifting her shirt, Laine tugged it on. “Thank you, Dillon, for your time.” She bent down and retrieved the rest of her things before speaking again. “It’s nice to have met you, Miss King.”
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Undraping her sarong, Orchid revealed an inadequate bikini and a stunning body. “We’re all very friendly on this island, aren’t we, cousin?” Though it was the standard island form of address, Orchid’s use of the word cousin implied a much closer relationship.
“Very friendly.” Dillon agreed with such ease that Laine felt he must be quite accustomed to Orchid’s charms.
Murmuring a goodbye, Laine moved toward the canopy of palms. Hearing Orchid laugh, then speak in the musical tongue of the island, Laine glanced back before the leaves blocked out the view. She watched the golden arms twine around Dillon’s neck, pulling his mouth toward hers in invitation.
Chapter Five
The walk back from the bay gave Laine time to reflect on the varying emotions Dillon O’Brian had managed to arouse in the small amount of time she had known him. Annoyance, resentment and anger had come first. Now, there was a wariness she realized stemmed from her inexperience with men. But somehow, that morning, there had been a few moments of harmony. She had been at ease in his company. And, she admitted ruefully, she had never before been totally at ease in masculine company on a one-to-one basis.
Perhaps it had simply been the novelty of her underwater adventure which had been responsible for her response to him. There had been something natural in their coming together, as if body had been created for body and mouth for mouth. She had felt a freedom in his arms, an awakening. It had been as if walls of glass had shattered and left her open to sensations for the first time.
Stopping, Laine plucked a blush-pink hibiscus, then twirled its stem idly as she wandered up the dirt track. Her tenuous feelings had been dissipated first by Dillon’s unexplained anger, then by the appearance of the dark island beauty.
Orchid King, Laine mused. A frown marred her brow as the name of the flirtatious information clerk ran through her brain. Rose. Smoothing the frown away, Laine shook off a vague depression. Perhaps Dillon had a predilection for women with flowery names. It was certainly none of her concern. Obviously, she continued, unconsciously tearing off the hibiscus petals, he gave and received kisses as freely as a mouse nibbles cheese. He simply kissed me because I was there. Obviously, she went on doggedly, shredding the wounded blossom without thought, Orchid King has a great deal more to offer than I. She makes me feel like a pale, shapeless wren next to a lush, vibrant flamingo. I would hardly appeal to him as a woman even if he didn’t already dislike me. I don’t want to appeal to him. Certainly not. The very last thing I want to do is to appeal to that insufferable man. Scowling, she stared down at the mutilated hibiscus. With something between a sigh and a moan, she tossed it aside and increased her pace.
After depositing the shell in her room and changing out of her bathing suit, Laine wandered back downstairs. She felt listless and at loose ends. In the organized system of classes and meals and designated activities, her time had always been carefully budgeted. She found the lack of demand unsettling. She thought of how often during the course of a busy day she had yearned for a free hour to read or simply to sit alone. Now her time was free, and she wished only for occupation. The difference was, she knew, the fear of idle hours and the tendency to think. She found herself avoiding any attempt to sort o
ut her situation or the future.
No one had shown her through the house since her arrival. After a brief hesitation, she allowed curiosity to lead her and gave herself a tour. She discovered that her father lived simply, with no frills or frippery, but with basic masculine comforts. There were books, but it appeared they were little read. She could see by the quantity and ragged appearance of aeronautical magazines where her father’s taste in literature lay. Bamboo shades replaced conventional curtains; woven mats took the place of rugs. While far from primitive, the rooms were simply furnished.
Her mind began to draw a picture of a man content with such a basic existence, who lived quietly and routinely; a man whose main outlet was his love of the sky. Now Laine began to understand why her parents’ marriage had failed. Her father’s life-style was as unassuming as her mother’s had been pretentious. Her mother would never have been satisfied with her father’s modest existence, and he would have been lost in hers. Laine wondered, with a small frown, why she herself did not seem to fit with either one of them.
Laine lifted a black-framed snapshot from a desk. A younger version of Cap Simmons beamed out at her, his arm casually tossed around a Dillon who had not yet reached full manhood. Dillon’s smile was the same, however—somewhat cocky and sure. If they had stood in the flesh before her, their affection for each other would have seemed no less real. A shared understanding was revealed in their eyes and their easy stance together. It struck Laine suddenly, with a stab of resentment, that they looked like father and son. The years they had shared could never belong to her.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured, gripping the picture in both hands. With a faint shudder, she shut her eyes. Who am I blaming? she asked herself. Cap for needing someone? Dillon for being here? Blame won’t help, and looking for the past is useless. It’s time I looked for something new. Letting out a deep breath, Laine replaced the photograph. She turned away and moved farther down the hall. In a moment, she found herself in the kitchen surrounded by gleaming white appliances and hanging copper kettles. Miri turned from the stove and gave Laine a satisfied smile.
“So you have come for lunch.” Miri tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You have some color from the sun.”
Laine glanced down at her bare arms and was pleased with the light tan. “Why, yes, I do. I didn’t actually come for lunch, though.” She smiled and made an encompassing gesture. “I was exploring the house.”
“Good. Now you eat. Sit here.” Miri waved a long knife toward the scrubbed wooden table. “And do not make your bed anymore. That is my job.” Miri plopped a glass of milk under Laine’s nose, then gave a royal sniff.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Laine glanced from the glass of milk up to Miri’s pursed lips. “It’s just a habit.”
“Don’t do it again,” Miri commanded as she turned to the refrigerator. She spoke again as she began to remove a variety of contents. “Did you make beds in that fancy school?”
“It isn’t actually a fancy school,” Laine corrected, watching with growing anxiety as Miri prepared a hefty sandwich. “It’s really just a small convent school outside Paris.”
“You lived in a convent?” Miri stopped her sandwich-building and looked skeptical.
“Well, no. That is, one might say I lived on the fringes of one. Except, of course, when I visited my mother. Miri …” Daunted by the plate set in front of her, Laine looked up helplessly. “I don’t think I can manage all this.”
“Just eat, Skinny Bones. Your morning with Dillon, it was nice?”
“Yes, very nice.” Laine applied herself to the sandwich as Miri eased herself into the opposite chair. “I never knew there was so much to see underwater. Dillon is an expert guide.”
“Ah, that one.” Miri shook her head and somehow categorized Dillon as a naughty twelve-year-old boy. “He is always in the water or in the sky. He should keep his feet planted on the ground more often.” Leaning back, Miri kept a commanding eye on Laine’s progress. “He watches you.”
“Yes, I know,” Laine murmured. “Like a parole officer. I met Miss King,” she continued, lifting her voice. “She came to the bay.”
“Orchid King.” Miri muttered something in unintelligible Hawaiian.
“She’s very lovely … very vibrant and striking. I suppose Dillon has known her for a long time.” Laine made the comment casually, surprising herself with the intentional probe.
“Long enough. But her bait has not yet lured the fish into the net.” Miri gave a sly smile lost on the woman who stared into her milk. “You think Dillon looks good?”
“Looks good?” Laine repeated and frowned, not understanding the nuance. “Yes, Dillon’s a very attractive man. At least, I suppose he is; I haven’t known many men.”
“You should give him more smiles,” Miri advised with a wise nod. “A smart woman uses smiles to show a man her mind.”
“He hasn’t given me many reasons to smile at him,” Laine said between bites. “And,” she continued, finding she resented the thought, “I would think he gets an abundance of smiles from other sources.”
“Dillon gives his attention to many women. He is a very generous man.” Miri chuckled, and Laine blushed as she grasped the innuendo. “He has not yet found a woman who could make him selfish. Now you…” Miri tapped a finger aside her nose as if considering. “You would do well with him. He could teach you, and you could teach him.”
“I teach Dillon?” Laine shook her head and gave a small laugh. “One cannot teach what one doesn’t know. In the first place, Miri, I only met Dillon yesterday. All he’s done so far is confuse me. From one moment to the next, I don’t know how he’s going to make me feel.” She sighed, not realizing the sound was wistful. “I think men are very strange, Miri. I don’t understand them at all.”
“Understand?” Her bright laugh rattled through the kitchen. “What need is there to understand? You need only enjoy. I had three husbands, and I never understood one of them. But—” her smile was suddenly young “—I enjoyed. You are very young,” she added. “That alone is attractive to a man used to women of knowledge.”
“I don’t think … I mean, of course, I wouldn’t want him to, but…” Laine fumbled and stuttered, finding her thoughts a mass of confusion. “I’m sure Dillon wouldn’t be interested in me. He seems to have a very compatible relationship with Miss King. Besides—” Laine shrugged her shoulders as she felt depression growing, “—he distrusts me.”
“It is a stupid woman who lets what is gone interfere with what is now.” Miri placed her fingertips together and leaned back in her chair. “You want your father’s love, Skinny Bones? Time and patience will give it to you. You want Dillon?” She held up an imperious hand at Laine’s automatic protest. “You will learn to fight as a woman fights.” She stood, and the flowers on her muumuu trembled with the movement. “Now, out of my kitchen. I have much work to do.”
Obediently, Laine rose and moved to the door. “Miri …” Nibbling her lips, she turned back. “You’ve been very close to my father for many years. Don’t you…” Laine hesitated, then finished in a rush. “Don’t you resent me just appearing like this after all these years?”
“Resent?” Miri repeated the word, then ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth. “I do not resent because resent is a waste of time. And the last thing I resent is a child.” She picked up a large spoon and tapped it idly against her palm. “When you went away from Cap Simmons, you were a child and you went with your mother. Now you are not a child, and you are here. What do I have to resent?” Miri shrugged and moved back to the stove.
Feeling unexpected tears, Laine shut her eyes on them and drew a small breath. “Thank you, Miri.” With a murmur, she retreated to her room.
Thoughts swirled inside Laine’s mind as she sat alone in her bedroom. As Dillon’s embrace had opened a door to dormant emotions, so Miri’s words had opened a door to dormant thoughts. Time and patience, Laine repeated silently. Time and patience were Miri’s prescrip
tion for a daughter’s troubled heart. But I have so little time, and little more patience. How can I win my father’s love in a matter of days? She shook her head, unable to resolve an answer. And Dillon, her heart murmured as she threw herself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Why must he complicate an already impossibly complicated situation? Why must he embrace me, making me think and feel as a woman one moment, then push me away and stand as my accuser the next? He can be so gentle when you’re in his arms, so warm. And then … Frustrated, she rolled over, laying her cheek against the pillow. Then he’s so cold, and even his eyes are brutal. If only I could stop thinking of him, stop remembering how it feels to be kissed by him. It’s only that I have no experience, and he has so much. It’s nothing more than a physical awakening. There can be nothing more … nothing more.
The knock on Laine’s door brought her up with a start. Pushing at her tousled hair, she rose to answer. Dillon had exchanged cutoffs for jeans, and he appeared as refreshed and alert as she did bemused and heavy-lidded. Laine stared at him dumbly, unable to bring her thoughts and words together. With a frown, he surveyed her sleep-flushed cheeks and soft eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I …” She glanced back at the clock, and her confusion grew as she noted that an hour had passed since she had first stretched out on the bed. “Yes,” she amended. “I suppose the flight finally caught up with me.” She reached up and ran a hand through her hair, struggling to orient herself. “I didn’t even realize I’d been asleep.”
“They’re real, aren’t they?”
“What?” Laine blinked and tried to sort out his meaning.
“The lashes.” He was staring so intently into her eyes, Laine had to fight the need to look away.
Nonchalantly, he leaned against the door and completed his survey. “I’m on my way to the airport. I thought you might want to go. You said you wanted to see it again.”
“Yes, I would.” She was surprised by his courtesy.
“Well,” he said dryly, and gestured for her to come along.
“Oh, I’ll be right there. It should only take me a minute to get ready.”
“You look ready.”
“I need to comb my hair.”
“It’s fine.” Dillon grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room before she could resist further.
