by Janet Dailey
"Why didn't you let me know you were coming?" Frank stopped in from of her, his eyes seeing only her.
"I didn't know," she answered truthfully, and would have drawn his attention to Ruel, but Frank didn't give her a chance.
"Listen, I have to work until closing, but we'll be having a combo here to entertain in a little bit. Maybe you can stay—"
"The lady is with me." Ruel towered beside her. "And we won't be staying to hear the combo."
Frank's head jerked toward him. He glanced from Ruel to Julie and back to Ruel again. He looked pale beneath his dark tan and there was the thinness of anger to his lips.
"I didn't realize Julie was with you, Mr. Chandler.'' It was more a challenge than an apology.
"Obviously," was Ruel's dry response. "You will excuse us."
Frank stepped aside, flashing Julie a look that demanded to know what she was doing with Ruel. An answer was impossible under the circumstances. The host came forward and led them to a booth. Its floor-to-ceiling partition guaranteed privacy for its occupants. Sitting on the thickly cushioned booth seat, Julie glanced across the table at Ruel.
"I didn't know Frank worked here," she said, just in case he thought she did.
"Neither did I," he retorted. If he had, Julie guessed he would have chosen another restaurant.
"Good evening." Frank appeared at their table, his expression polite, regarding them as strangers. Julie whitened as she realized he was to serve their table. "Both the mahimahi and opakapaka are fresh this evening. The pork ribs are always excellent." He filled their goblets with ice water. "Would you care to see the wine list, sir?"
"No, thank you." Irritation darkened Ruel's eyes to the color of deep water.
"I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order," Frank nodded, and moved away.
Julie glanced at Ruel, expecting a comment, but he made none. The menu was in front of her. She opened it, not having looked at it when she was on the lanai. There was a full range of dishes from glazed mandarin duck to prime rib.
"What would you like?" Ruel asked.
"I don't know." She couldn't decide. "What is this Hawaiian platter like?" It contained a combination of Hawaiian foods.
"Have you eaten any Hawaiian dishes?" Ruel asked.
"Only what Malia has fixed," Julie admitted. "What's lomi lomi salmon? Or this kalua pig?"
"The lomi lomi salmon is raw salmon that's been massaged for tenderness." His mouth quirked at the slight face she made. "The kalua pig is pork that's probably been baked in an earth oven. I wouldn't recommend that you try the Hawaiian platter. The food is an acquired taste, especially the poi, which is a starchy vegetable, like a potato, that's been pounded into a pulp, diluted with water, and allowed to ferment."
"You're right. I think I'll pass up the Hawaiian platter," she agreed with a decisive nod. "What do you recommend?"
"Do you like fish?"
"Yes, but I've already had mahimahi. I'd like to try something different." Julie studied the menu.
"Why not have the opakapaka?" Ruel suggested.
"What is it?" She was wary after his last explanation.
"Red snapper," he smiled.
"I'll have that," she decided immediately, and joined in when Ruel chuckled softly.
The moment of shared laughter ended the instant Frank returned. Ruel gave him their order in a precise, clipped tone. He remained aloof and vaguely brooding after Frank left. Conversation became difficult and strained. His responses were often cynical and taunting, and the situation wasn't helped by the way Frank kept checking their table to be certain everything was all right. Julie suspected that he was deliberately trying to spoil their evening.
"Shall I take your plate, sir?" Frank appeared the minute Ruel had finished. At an affirmative nod, he gathered the plate and silverware. "More coffee, sir? Dessert?"
"Nothing right now." Ruel flashed him a dismissing look.
"You may take my plate, Frank. I'm through," Julie told him. He stacked her dishes on the tray with Ruel's. Before Frank could inquire, she added, "Nothing more for me."
As Frank carried the dishes away, Ruel offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head in silent refusal. Ruel took one for himself. There was a hint of impatience in the way he snapped the lighter and brought the flame to the cigarette and clicked the gold lid shut.
"Your boyfriend is making a jealous pest of himself." He breathed out a stream of gray smoke.
"It isn't my fault," Julie replied.
"Meaning it's mine?" he challenged.
"Meaning it's his. I have no control over the way he behaved, any more than you would if it were one of your girl friends who was waiting on us," she reasoned.
A cold smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "They probably wouldn't be so civilized about it."
He appeared to be fascinated by the smoke curling from the end of his cigarette. Julie studied him. His expression seemed grimly rueful and cynical. Had it been because of the reference to his girl friends? Why had she put it in the plural? Why did she assume he wouldn't be satisfied with one girl? Because he was still unmarried? How had he escaped for so long?
"Why haven't you married, Ruel?" she asked boldly, wanting to know the answer.
"Maybe," he slowly lifted his gaze to hers, "because I haven't found a woman who didn't bore me either out of bed or in it." His voice was as serious as his expression. With a sinking heart, Julie was forced to believe what he said.
"Your check, sir." Frank placed a small tray on the table beside Ruel and began refilling the water goblets.
After glancing at the amount, Ruel placed a bill on the tray. "Keep the change."
"Thank you, sir." Frank picked up the tray with the money.
Each time Frank said "sir" in that ingratiating way, Julie saw Ruel's jaw tighten. His irritation was turning into an anger that tested his control. It lurked in the sharpness of his gaze as it sliced across the table to her.
"Are you ready to leave?" It was meant to be a polite inquiry, but it was a little too abrupt for that.
Julie agreed without delay. To get to the stairs, they had to pass the cash register. Frank was there, and his gaze sought Julie as they approached. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't say any more to Ruel. Frank didn't, but the host who was behind the cash register did.
"Good evening, Mr. Chandler. I hope everything was satisfactory tonight."
The inquiry forced Ruel to slow his stride to respond. When he did, Frank was at Julie's side. She tried to warn him away with a shake of her head, but he paid no attention.
As Ruel said, "It was fine, thank you," to the host, Frank was whispering a demanding, "Will I see you tomorrow at the beach, Julie?"
Before she could draw a breath, Ruel was clamping a hand on her elbow. "No, you will not!" he snapped at Frank, and propelled her toward the staircase.
"You don't own her, mister!" Frank hurled after him.
By then they were halfway down the first flight of steps. "What did you mean telling Frank that?" Julie demanded, her temper flaring.
"Exactly what I said." They had reached the ground floor and Ruel directed her toward the parking lot. His iron grip of her elbow didn't permit her to slow down.
"Sunday happens to be my day off, as you pointed out earlier this evening," she reminded. "I may do what I please and see whom I please."
"You aren't going to see that punk kid," Ruel stated.
"I won't be told what I may do. Not by you or anybody!" Julie retorted.
He flashed her an angry look and unlocked the passenger door of the car. He more or less pushed her inside and slammed the door. This time his high-handed tactics had gone a little too far. Julie sat in the richly upholstered leather seats and fumed.
Without addressing another word to her, Ruel slid behind the wheel and started the motor. The sleek sports car had been built for speed, maneuverability and acceleration. As the car roared out of the parking lot onto the curving drive to the highway, Ruel seemed intent
on testing all three.
The powerful thrust of the engine pushed Julie's shoulders against the back of the seat. At the junction with the highway, the car made a running stop before turning onto the road that was miraculously free of traffic at that moment.
The tires squealed around the corner and spun at the sudden demand for acceleration. The speed that they were traveling had Julie's heart in her throat. They were racing in the opposite direction to the house, but it seemed of little importance.
Traversing the twisting, curving highway that followed the coastline, weaving in and out of traffic, they covered large chunks of ground in record time. Julie's gaze was riveted to the road directly ahead of them, illuminated by their headlights. Any second she expected them to miss a turn or overshoot a curve.
Once she forced a look at Ruel. The strong hands on the steering wheel seemed totally in control—firm in their grip yet relaxed. There was nothing in Ruel's expression to indicate that he thought they were going unduly fast. Neither was there anger. But a glimpse at the speedometer made Julie close her eyes.
It never once occurred to her to say something to Ruel, not even to suggest that he slow down. Possibly she didn't want to distract his steel-blue gaze from the road. It was worse riding with her eyes closed. She couldn't see what was going to happen next. She opened them just as Ruel swept past a slower car.
Suddenly she was staring into an oncoming pair of headlights, and she breathed in a stifled cry. She understood what Emily had said about how dangerously fast Ruel drove. The black sports car swerved easily into its own lane, missing the oncoming car by several yards.
Almost immediately its speed began to decrease. Taking the first really safe breath she'd drawn since leaving the restaurant parking lot, Julie glanced at Ruel.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized, flicking her a brief glance.
"It's okay." But her voice sounded shaky.
The shoulder of the highway widened to provide parking on the beach side of the road. Ruel slowed the car and turned onto the shoulder. Switching off the motor, he looked out of the front screen at the ocean. A thin strip of sandy beach was in front of the car. Julie had no idea where they were nor how far they had come.
"I'm going for a short walk on the beach," Ruel announced, and opened his door. "You're welcome to come along if you want."
The invitation was so offhand that Julie wasn't certain if he meant it. It didn't matter to her. A walk, better yet a stroll, was as fast as she wanted to travel for a while. And she liked the idea of having land under her feet.
When she climbed out of her side of the car, Ruel was already standing on the ribbon of pale sand at the water's edge. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets. Closing the door, Julie walked over the dune. The coolness of the tradewinds seemed to fill her lungs, reviving her.
As she walked onto the beach, her shoes sank into the sand. Granules trickled inside, and she stopped. Balancing on one foot, she took off one shoe, then the other, and carried them in her hand. Barefoot, she walked down to where the waves lapped the shore. At night, with only the moon and stars for light, the water seemed to shine.
Farther along the coast, the strip of beach widened. A grove of windswept ironwoods rose on its dunes. Julie wandered in their general direction, aware that Ruel had begun to stroll after her. She lifted her face to the sea air, feeling it wash away her tension.
Chapter Ten
THE WAVES were stronger near the stand of ironwoods. They crashed onto and over the lava rocks that edged the sand at the shore. Julie stopped to watch the churning white foam lift, plunge and recede. She heard the crunch of Ruel's footsteps in the sand directly behind her.
"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" she said over her shoulder, her gaze not straying from the pounding surf.
"Yes," was his one-word agreement, issued in a calm but absent voice.
He had stopped closer to her than Julie had first realized. Still she didn't turn from the mesmerizing sight of the sea. Something seemed to slip from her hair, but not until the sensation was repeated did she realize that the pins securing the coiled bun at the nape of her neck were being pulled out of her hair.
Letting her shoes fall to the ground, she turned. "Don't do that!" she protested impatiently, and lifted her hands to try to repair the damage.
Ruel ignored her and continued to pull out the hairpins, despite her effort to stop him. In a matter of seconds her hair was tumbling about her shoulders as she was powerless to do anything about it.
"Why did you do that?" she sighed in exasperation.
"I like it better this way," Ruel answered. He slid his fingers into the tangled silk of her hair and cupped her head in both of his hands. "I've wanted to do that ever since I saw you at the breakfast table this morning. That hairdo reminds me of a prim and proper—"
"Schoolteacher," Julie provided the comparison.
Her face was tilted toward his while her heart raced faster than the sports car had. His hands were so strong, yet so devastatingly gentle. His shadowed eyes seemed to be taking in every detail of her face.
"Yes, a schoolteacher," he agreed and, with a low groan, he was covering her mouth with his.
There was no holding back, and Julie didn't try. She wound her arms around his middle and pressed herself close to his length. The hard, branding kiss seemed to burn itself into her very soul. Ruel wasn't content to take possession of only her lips. Holding her face in his hands, he kissed every inch of it before reclaiming the softness of her lips.
Releasing her face, he slid his arms around her and gathered her into the fullness of his embrace. Desire quaked through her and erupted to flow like fire through her veins. Ecstasy burned in its wake as she felt the way Ruel trembled against her, disturbed as greatly as she was.
Her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, seeking to feel the bareness of his hard flesh. It was hot to the touch, as hot as the flames that burned inside them both. The skin of his back was stretched tautly over his hard muscles.
He abandoned her mouth to explore the curve of her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. The caress of his hands was creating new needs within her. All her senses were dominated by him. He murmured her name over and over again in hungry demand.
When she felt his fingers loosening the buttons of her blouse, she helped him. Ruel left the task to her and unfastened the front closing of her bra. Then his hands were taking her over. But Julie had never felt so deliriously happy in all her life. The bruising force of his kiss was pure bliss. The light caress of his hands was sweet torture. They were wrapped in each other's arms and it still wasn't close enough for either of them.
Suddenly something drove at their legs, undermining the sand beneath their feet. Ruel staggered forward a step carrying Julie with him, almost completely losing his balance for a moment. Dazed, she opened her eyes to see a wave receding to the ocean. An object bobbed on its surface.
"My shoes!" she gasped.
Ruel had been as slow to recover and identify the cause as she had been. The puzzled frown that creased his forehead indicated that he didn't understand why she should be concerned about her shoes.
"I dropped them on the sand, and the wave is taking them away—the one that hit us," she explained as she tugged at the arm around her waist holding her captive.
Glancing over his shoulder, Ruel started to let go of her and then held her back. "Stay here, I'll get them." But as he waded into the water, another wave swelled into a curl that drove him back to shore.
When it receded, Julie could no longer see her shoes. "They're gone," she whispered in disbelief.
"I'm afraid so," Ruel nodded.
She looked at him. His shoes were soaked and his pants were drenched to a point above his knees. Her shoes had been washed out to sea and the legs of her own slacks were wet with seawater. The situation took on a humorous aspect and she started to laugh.
"So you think it's funny?" Ruel challenged, smiling at her breathless l
aughter. His arms circled her waist to lock his hands behind her back. He drew her hips against his.
"It is," she insisted. "You, with squishy shoes and wet pant legs—me, with wet slacks and no shoes."
Despite the half-smile on his mouth, his eyes were serious in their regard of her. "You should be glad it happened."
"Why?" She shook her head, not understanding.
"It was nature's way of sousing us with cold water and putting out the hot fire," he explained calmly.
Julie sobered. Suddenly aware of the gaping front of her blouse, she pulled it shut with her hands, clutching the ends together. She made no attempt to escape the circle of his arms, but she wasn't totally at ease anymore.
"You're right." Her gaze ricocheted off his face, not able to match the steadiness of his look.
"I want you, Julie," he told her in a remarkably cool tone. "A dose of cold water hasn't changed that." He smoothed the hair away from her cheek and rested his hand along the side of her neck, stroking her jaw with his thumb. "I want to make love to you," he elaborated. A few minutes ago, their mutual cravings would have been satisfied.
"Here's your chance for second thoughts," he told her. "Your one and only chance to have the wisdom of hindsight. I have an apartment in Honolulu. No waves will come crashing in there. Will you go there with me?"
"Wh-What about your policy?" she faltered.
"Policy be damned! I want you, Julie." His voice was low and urgent, controlled but only barely.
Instead of feeling joy at his words, Julie felt chilled. Everything began to freeze up inside her. "Aren't you worried that I might bore you?" It came out flat and cold.
A grim anger hardened his features. A muscle flexed in his arm as if he meant to crush her to his chest and drive that coolness from her body. After a long second, he let her go and took a step away.
"Let's go back to the car so I can drive you home," he said.
Her mind seemed incapable of focusing on anything of substance. Only little things registered as they walked silently and apart to the car. Unimportant things like buying a new pair of shoes to replace the ones she lost, and wondering where Ruel had discarded the pins he had taken from her hair. In the car, Julie thought about the sand they were tracking onto the carpeted floorboards and wondered if the seawater from their wet pant legs would damage the upholstery of the seats.
