To Have and to Hold

by Diana Palmer

  Abruptly, he let her go and rolled over to find his cigarettes and lighter. "Miami's a lot like this," he said conversationally as he lit a cigarette. "Salt, sea smell, sultry breezes, white s and and long horizon... ever been there, Burgundy?"

  She sat up and toyed with her hair in a haze of self-consciousness as her mind acknowledged that she hadn't wanted him to let her go.

  "Miami?" she murmured. "No, I haven't."

  "You hadn't flown in a long time, had you?"

  She let her eyes drop to the sparkle of the white sand, as the crowds made a dull din around them. "Not since it happened. It wasn't bad at all, though," she admitted with a tiny smile. "The anticipation was really the worst of it. Once we were in the air, I was too airsick to care what happened."

  "I thought you were a smart girl," he remarked, propped on one elbow, "or I'd have told you to fill your stomach before we went up. You're backwards in some ways, little one."

  She felt her cheeks going red. "Are you always so flattering?" she asked sarcastically.

  He reached out and caught a long stand of auburn hair, giving it a far from gentle jerk. "I don't have to pull my punches with you, honey, any more than you have to pull yours with me. I'm used to saying what I think, and I'm too old to change."

  She glanced at him impishly. "Are you old, Mr. Forrest? Gracious me, my Uncle Henry used to say that old men could have evil designs on us young girls," she said in her best Southern drawl.

  His eyes narrowed, and he very deliberately jabbed the cigarette into the sand. "You'll pay for that one, young woman," he said, and she saw the narrow flesh of intent in his eyes barely in time to leap up and run for the ocean.

  He caught her before she reached the water, and she found herself being lifted high in those big arms, held tight against a wall of vibrant power with glittering gray eyes burning down into hers.

  "Old am I?" he growled, swinging her back as he aimed at an incoming wave.

  She clung to his warm, hard shoulders with all her might, burying her face in his throat.

  "Oh, don't, please don't, Mist' Rhett, you wouldn't throw me to the sharks, would you, Mist' Rhett?" she pleaded impishly.

  He stopped, looking down at her with a thoughtful smile on his lips. "You're right, the sharks don't deserve that kind of punishment."

  She swung her small fist at his chest. "Beast!"

  He caught her fingers and unclenched them as he set her back on her feet, slowly, deliberately moving her hand into the back hair over his warm muscles.

  Stunned, she looked up, met his searching gaze and froze there, her heart racing as they stood there in the boiling sun. She'd never been more aware of a man. Never. This close, he filled the world, and she wanted to touch him, to explore that vibrant masculinity. Involuntarily her fingers began to move....

  "Look out, Mister, oh look out!" came a childish squeal behind him, and the next instant Madeline and Cal both went down under a massive wave bearing two wet youngsters on air mattresses.

  Cal came up for air, tossing his hair with grace as his eyes opened. He reached out a big hand and helped Madeline to her feet.

  "Gee, Mister, we're sorry!" a boy called as he ran back toward the Gulf with his air mattress under his arm.

  "God, so am I," Cal said in a soft undertone, his eyes saying more than words as he looked down into an oval face that was suddenly very red.

  ❧

  That night, instead of eating in the hotel, Cal walked Madeline out the front door into the dark, neon-light dotted evening that smelled of sea air and smothering heat.

  "We'll walk," he chuckled, motioning toward the unending line of cars going bumper to bumper down the famous Miracle Strip where motels and restaurants seemed to Madeline like links of a long, colorfully lighted chain.

  "I'll guarantee it's faster than riding," she agreed. "Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed over a large red flower in a bed near the curb. "What is it?"

  "Hibiscus," he told her. "They grow wild in the islands."

  "Lucky islanders," she murmured.

  He caught her hand and locked her fingers with his as they strolled down the side of the road behind several straggling couples. The slight warm pressure made her tingle. She felt vaguely like a teenager on her first real date, glancing up at the big, tall, very handsome man by her side.

  "I hope you like Polynesian food," he said, nodding toward two giant tikis and several torches in front of a building constructed to resemble a grass hut.

  "I've never eaten it, but I like most kinds of food."

  "So do I."

  "Why did you bring me to Panama City?" she asked suddenly.

  He shrugged. "Impulse. I wanted to get away for a while, and I didn't want to go alone." He squeezed her hand. "Burgundy, I don't spend much time on self-analysis. I do what pleases me."

  "Anyway," she said, "thank you. I can't remember ever enjoying anything so much. And you are going to let me reimburse you," she added flatly, daring him to argue.

  His narrow eyes sparkled. "We'll discuss the price of the trip later," he said, adding softly, "in private."

  Just a careless statement—but enough to freeze her blood and spoil the lovely meal and the lure of the graceful dancing and music. All through it, she was glancing toward the big man warily, wondering what kind of payment he had in mind. After all, she hardly knew him, and God only knew what had possessed her to come with him. What would she do if he....

  "Ready to go?" he asked as he set down his coffee cup.

  "Oh!" She almost started at the suddenness of the question. "Oh, yes, of course."

  There was a hunted look about her that caught his eye, and he frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked point-blank.

  "Nothing," she replied quickly. "I was just thinking."

  He didn't say anything, and they returned to the hotel in silence. They rode up the elevator and paused in front of Madeline's room.

  "I'll...I'll say good night," she murmured, jamming the key into the lock and opening the door. "Thanks again."

  "The hell you do,"he muttered, shouldering his way in before she could close the door. He locked it and turned back to her, ignoring the horror in her face, the sudden trembling of her body as he reached down and swung her up into his hard arms.

  "Cal...," she whispered shakily.

  "Isn't this what you were expecting?" he growled, his eyes narrow and blazing like silver fires in his dark face as he stared toward the bedroom. "Little Miss Independence, hell bent on paying her own way, every damned inch of the way. All right you can pay me, Burgundy—but in my own coin."

  He carried her into the bedroom and stood holding her beside the big, wide bed, searching her eyes with a merciless scrutiny.

  Her face had gone white, and her mouth was trembling. A fine mist blanketed her soft, dark eyes and threatened to make a flood down the taut cheeks.

  The sight of her drawn, frightened face seemed to shake him. His heavy, dark brows drew together in the heady silence.

  "There's never been a man, has there, honey?" he asked in a deep whisper and didn't seem surprised when she shook her head. "I think I knew all along—but I had to be sure...damn you, woman!" he whispered hotly, dumping her unceremoniously onto the bed like a sack of heavy potatoes. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

  Her unsteady lower lip pouted as she glared up at him tearfully. "I...told you I'd never...never had a lover!" she shot back.

  "Woman lie like hell most of the time, why should I have believed you?" he growled, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his slacks as he studied her slender body. "My God, what did you think I wanted to stay overnight for! A Ploynesian dinner I could have had in Atlanta!"

  Tears started rolling down her cheeks. "Please go," she said in an utterly defeated tone, her eyes closed tightly. He was just like all the rest of them, except Phillip, just out for good times any way he could get them. Without an ounce of feeling or compassion.

  There was nothing in him but lust, and she wanted to hate him, but she
was too drained.

  "You can't have been that naive," he persisted.

  "Is this what you meant when you said I needed someone?" she asked quietly, her eyes downcast. "Someone to just take me to bed and that would make everything all right? You said you had enough women, that we could be Mends. And then you have the nerve to women lie." She stared up at him accusingly. "Please leave my room. I'll get back to Atlanta on my own, if I have to walk every step of the way."

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Is it my age?" he asked harshly.

  "I don't sleep with men!" she cried. "And no, it's not your age! For heaven's sake, you make yourself sound like Methuselah!"

  The hard lines on his face seemed to soften. "Well, by God, there's a woman under all that ice," he murmured.

  "Go away." she grumbled.

  He drew a deep, wistful breath. "It's usually the other way around," he mused, with a wicked look in his eyes.

  She stiffened. "Well, I'm not one of your women!"

  He smiled gently. "Pax, little one. I'm not quite as inhuman as you seem to think I am. Trust takes time, didn't you know?"

  "Don't expect me to ever trust you again," she grumbled.

  "Burgundy."

  She looked up, and the anger left her. "Yes?"

  "I do, so desperately, need one friend," he said, and there was sincerity in the deep voice this time, an aching loneliness flickering for an instant in his eyes.

  Tears poured down her cheeks. "So do I," she admitted, forcing the words out.

  He reached down a big hand and touched the tears, wiping them gently away. "We'll start over, right now," he told her quietly. "I'll stop trying to seduce you, and we'll concentrate on doing things together. Okay?"

  She forced a smile to her lips. "Okay, Cal."

  He took her hand and raised it to his warm, hard mouth. "I've never known anyone like you," he said strangely. "Without question, you'll be the first woman 'friend' I've ever had."

  She sniffed. "That sounds unique. Do I get a medal or something?"

  "A free ride home," he said tonguein cheek.

  "Oh, get out of here and let me sleep!" she laughed.

  He paused at the doorway, looking back at her curiously. "This afternoon, on the beach..." he began absently.

  She reddened. "I'll see you in the morning," she told him.

  His eyes ran the length of her slender body. "Sleep well," he said tautly. "God knows I won't."

  And with that remark, he went out the door.

  Chapter 4

  That trip turned out to be a milestone in their relationship, and things changed considerably after it. Cal never again treated her in any way other than that of affectionate comradeship. There were no more attempts at seduction, no overnight trips. He took her out occasionally. More often, he'd join her for an evening of television or challenge her to a swim in the pool next door, which had finally been completed. She found him to be a man of many moods, never the same man twice. One day he'd prick her temper and laugh at the explosion, the next he'd clam up and not talk. Once he called up and asked her if she wanted to go on a picnic.

  After their picnic lunch she looked at him, as he was sprawled out on the grass behind the house on the banks of the little stream, his head resting on his arms as he stared up into the sunlit patches of leaves.

  "I like the way you fry chicken," he murmured lazily.

  She smiled, remembering how she'd had to hurry to fry it this lazy Saturday morning when she'd planned on sleeping late. "Thank you.

  "But the potato salad needed more salt and less pickles."

  "Picky!" she chided.

  "Me?"

  "You! All over the world men are eating potato salad and enjoying it."

  "Not," he replied, "if it has too many pickles and not enough salt."

  She brushed a stand of auburn hair out of her eyes. "Cal Forrest, there are times when I could just hit you!"

  He opened one eye. "Try it," he suggested in a soft tone. "Just once, try it."

  She shook her hair. "I could if I wanted to. I just don't feel like exerting my self right now."

  He grinned. "Coward."

  "Want a slice of chocolate cake?" she asked.

  "Make it two. I'm still growing," he added with a wisp of a smile.

  "If you grow much more, you'll have to have your cars custom made," she remarked.

  "Honey, my cars are custom made, the Mercedes not withstanding," he said gently.

  She concentrated on slicing the cake. "Sorry. I keep forgetting..." He had to be well-to-do, or he couldn't have afforded to rent airplanes and fly off to Panama City on the spur of the moment. But she took that remark with a grain of salt, because it was an old Mercedes, and several of his shirts were worn, even if only slightly. Not that it mattered, she thought with amusement, but if he needed that kind of morale boost, she wasn't about to deny it to him. He was far too nice—when he wasn't criticizing her cooking.

  Friday night she didn't hear from him, and thinking it might be time for another apple pie, she baked one and took it across to him.

  She didn't notice the low-slung burgundy sports car until she was at the door, and then it was too late. She heard voices, and soft music, and waited apprehensively at the door after she rang the bell. She'd spent much time with Cal lately she'd forgotten that he must have other friends, and she was aware of a nagging uneasiness about this visit.

  He opened the door and his eyes seemed to explode as he saw her there.

  "I brought you a pie," she said in a choked whisper, holding it out even as she caught the first glimpse of the seductive brunette in the background. "Sorry, I didn't see that you had company until it was too late. I hope it tastes okay. I was on my way out and it was a last-minute effort," she added with a forced laugh.

  Behind Cal, the brunette was hiding her laughter behind a tall glass of amber liquid and ice.

  Cal stiffened as he took the pie. "Burgundy..." he began deeply.

  "I've got to run," she laughed, forcing herself to be gay. "Good night!"

  She turned and ran for the hedge, and before she reached the back door, her face was wet with tears. She went inside, brushing past Cabbage, grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. She got in the car and seconds later pulled out into the street, resolutely keeping her eyes away from the house next door.

  "That's what you get, you stupid woman," she told herself through a stream of tears. "What did you think he meant when he told you he had women? That he wrote to pen pals? Stupid!"

  She drove to the nearby mall and parked the car in a crowded section near the stores, locking both doors, and she sat there and cried until her throat hurt. The man didn't belong to her, for heaven's sake! He was just a friend, that was all. But, that slinky brunette....

  Finally, with a red nose and swollen eyelids, she got out of the car and made her way to the nearby theater. She was thirty minutes too early for the film, so she bought her ticket and sat on one of the wide benches against the wall of the carpeted area to wait.

  She closed her eyes, but Cal was behind them, Cal and the brunette, and she opened them again because she couldn't bear it. If only she'd fooled him. It wouldn't do to let him know how much seeing him with another woman had affected her. He might think she had some dumb reason for it—like being in love with him. Shards of white-hot metal pierced her heart. In love! Never, not again, not that, not Cal!

  She shook herself. People simply didn't fall in love with each other this quickly, not in a few weeks. She drew a deep breath. It was the loneliness, and suddenly having someone to share it and lessen it, that was all. Naturally she felt offended when someone came between her and Cal—he was her friend.

  The puzzle got worse the more she thought about it. She didn't want to think about it anyway. He wasn't the only man in the world. There were lots of other men. She looked around the room at some of them. They were all with women—couples. The world Went around in pairs, and singles had all the gaiety of dinosaurs. Why had she
come to this dumb theater anyway when it only emphasized her aloneness?

  But the picture was about to start. It was a chilling horror show, and that was what she needed to get her mind off Cal. So she bought a bag of popcorn, sat stuffed in between two sets of necking teenagers, and watched the creature eat the crew of the spaceship. They all, for some reason, had dark wavy hair and gray eyes.

  It was after midnight when she ran out of places to sit and drink coffee, so she went home in defeat. He'd be in bed now, anyway she thought, and felt the tears running down her cheeks as she remembered the brunette.

  She parked the car and got out, her head bent with an emotional exhaustion she hadn't felt in a long time. She put the key in the lock and started to turn it when she heard familiar footsteps.

  "Burgundy," he said from somewhere over her left shoulder, but she didn't look at him.

  "Oh, hello," she said brightly. "I went to see that new movie, you know, the one about the spaceship...."

  "Knock it off," he growled. "I know damned good and well you weren't in that kind of hurry to see some movie!"

  "I was, actually," she replied calmly. "I hope the pie was all right, I didn't mean to interrupt...."

  "Oh, God, what are you trying to do to me?" he asked in a husky whisper, moving closer.

  She looked up, and heard him draw a sharp breath as he saw the tears. The next minute he caught her almost savagely into his big arms and crushed her body against his.

  "You damned little scalded cat," he whispered at her ear, "why did you have to look at me like that, as if I'd dumped boiling water over your head? I damned well told you I was no monk. Didn't you hear me?"

  Her cheek moved restlessly against his hard, warm chest, as it rose and fell and pounded comfortingly against her ear. "I'm sorry," she whispered, choking on the words. "I didn't see the car, honest I didn't, or I'd...."

  "I know!" he said curtly. "That's what hurt the most. I could taste the embarrassment. You wore it like perfume! Don't you think I know you'd never interfere in my life? I could beat the breath out of that sweet young body!"