by Jayne Castle
“A real service-oriented sort of place.” Guinevere tried to get a look at the page. It appeared to be a form that had had various blanks filled in by hand. There was a column of scrawled names with spaces opposite for times and dates. At the bottom there was a signature. “What is it, Zac?”
He studied it thoughtfully for a long moment. “A page out of a pilot’s logbook,” he told her absently.
“No kidding? Let me see.” She reached for the paper and he handed it to her. “These are the destinations? The places he flew? And these are the times and dates?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t recognize too many of these towns.”
“That’s because most of them are names of places in the Caribbean and the West Indies.” Zac peered over her shoulder. “The dates are all from nineteen seventy-two. The last one is May ninth. It says the pilot made a round-trip from Saint Thomas to some little island off the coast of South America. The trip back to Saint Thomas apparently took place several weeks after the trip out. Let’s see . . . the first hop was in April. The return trip was on May ninth.”
“Vandyke said he used to have a charter service down there some years ago. But that’s not Vandyke’s signature at the bottom of the page.” Guinevere was positive of that—she’d seen her client’s signature on enough papers during the past week to be certain. “It’s hard to read. Shannon? Bannon?”
“Gannon,” Zac said suddenly with finality. “L. Gannon.” He took the paper back from Guinevere with a snap and replaced it in the envelope. “That was the name of the man Vandyke said was his partner, remember? The guy who got killed in an accident.”
Guinevere shuddered. “It seems morbid to carry that kind of keepsake around, doesn’t it? After all these years, I wonder why he does?”
“You’ll notice he’s not carrying around the original.” Zac shoved the envelope back into the briefcase and replaced the rest of the documents. He relocked the case.
“So?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know the answer. All I know is that I’m being asked to stick very close to a man who’s on the verge of having an all-out nervous breakdown.”
Guinevere sat down on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. She could hear the rising wind heralding an incoming storm. “I’d hoped having you along would calm him down a bit, but it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s under so much pressure, Zac. I feel sorry for him.”
There was silence behind her and then the lights went out as Zac flipped the switch. Guinevere didn’t move, although she felt a sudden surge of tension. With the room lights off the gardens outside the window were faintly revealed by the discreetly placed outdoor lighting.
A moment later the bed gave beneath his weight as Zac sat down beside her. She hadn’t heard him cross the room, but that didn’t surprise her. When he wanted to, Zac could move very quietly. He reached out to fold her hand into one of his.
“How about feeling a little sorry for me, Gwen.”
“Is it sympathy you want from me?”
He exhaled heavily. “No, not really. But I am suffering.”
“Are you?”
“This trip isn’t going quite the way I had imagined it would. Christ, I feel like Cinderella. I’ve got to be back in my own room by midnight or Vandyke will be pissed.”
Guinevere turned her face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Zac. I sort of hoped it would be different too,” she confessed tremulously. His arm tightened around her and she could feel the welcoming strength in him.
“Did you?”
Mutely she nodded, her face still tucked against his shirt. She loved the warm male scent of him, she realized. There was something comforting and deeply intriguing about it. She felt him reach up to loosen his tie, and then he cradled her face in his palm.
“I’m glad, Gwen.”
His mouth came down on hers, heavy and warm. Guinevere shivered and let her fingers creep up around his neck. This wasn’t quite the way she had planned it, she reminded herself. She had wanted them to talk this weekend to get a few things out in the open. A part of her needed to analyze the relationship that was growing between herself and Zac, and she had hoped that a quiet resort might provide the right atmosphere for that kind of delicate discussion.
The sensual side of their association was already powerful enough. On the few occasions when she had allowed it to take the dominant role Guinevere had had plenty of proof of that. Zac’s effect on her senses was almost overwhelmingly intense. The passion sprang up so easily between them. Guinevere was starting to worry that it came too easily. She had been trying to keep it in perspective, not allow it to take over.
“Gwen, honey, I’ve been aching for you all day. We have a little time. Vandyke’s probably still down in the bar. . . .” Zac’s soft murmur was charged with sexual tension. The urgency he was feeling was being clearly communicated to her. Guinevere felt his hand against the sensitive nape of her neck. His fingers slid around her throat to the buttons of her yellow silk blouse.
“Zac,” she whispered huskily, “I’ve been thinking about us. I wanted . . . well, I wanted to know if you’ve been thinking about us, too. I mean . . .” Good grief. Even to her own ears she sounded like a tongue-tied teenager. This wasn’t the way she had planned it.
“Jesus, honey. I think about you all the time,” he said hoarsely. The buttons of her blouse slipped open beneath his fingers and he groaned softly against her throat as his hand moved down over her breast. “All the time.”
“You do?” She gasped as he pushed his hand up under the lacy camisole she was wearing. His thumb found the exquisitely throbbing nipple and gently coaxed it forth. Her own fingers sank languidly into the hard muscles at the back of his neck.
“You must know by now what you do to me.” He caught one of her wrists and dragged her hand down across his chest to his thigh. “Feel me, sweetheart. If you need any evidence, just touch me. All I have to do is watch you walk across a room and the next thing I know I’m in this condition.”
“Oh, Zac,” she breathed as his hand guided hers to the waiting hardness of him.
“I feel like I’m going to explode.” He released her fingers and went back to stroking her breast with slow tantalizing movements. Gradually his hand traveled lower and with his arm around her shoulders he eased her down onto the bed. Guinevere felt the teasing thrill of excitement that flared in her lower body and knew she was rapidly nearing the point of no return. Already she was softening under his touch, yearning for the heavy weight of him, and she sensed Zac was well aware of her reaction. She had never known what it was like to literally ache for a man’s possession until she had met Zac.
The urgency and immediacy of his physical effect on her was one of the things that made her wary and uncertain of the relationship. It was one of the things that had to be put aside so that a genuine dialogue could take place. Belatedly Guinevere remembered her own plans for the weekend.
“Zac?”
“We haven’t got much time, honey. Here, lift up so I can get your skirt off.”
“Zac, wait a minute, I think—”
“It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Damn it, I didn’t want to rush this.” He fumbled with the zipper of her skirt.
“Zac, please, listen to me.” Her fingers closed over his fumbling hand at the fastening of her skirt. “I wanted—I wanted to talk.”
“We’ll talk in the morning, I promise. Right now we haven’t got enough time to talk and make love.”
“Then we’ll have to make a choice, won’t we?” she said heatedly as some of her determination returned.
He agreed instantly. “Right. We’ll talk later. Right now I’m going to lay you down on this bed, take off every stitch of clothing you’ve got on, and let you wrap yourself around me the way you do when you finally let go. God, I can’t ge
t enough of you when you come alive under me, Gwen. You’re so soft and hot and clinging, and it’s been so long since we’ve been together.”
“Fourteen days,” she reminded him grimly. “That’s hardly a lengthy separation.”
“Feels like a lifetime.” He sprawled across her, locking her securely under him with his thigh. His fingers traveled up under the hem of the skirt he hadn’t yet succeeded in removing and Gwen flinched passionately as he probed purposefully under her panties.
She planted her palms firmly on his shoulders, telling herself that she had to take a stand now or she would be lost beneath the tide of passion. “Zac, please. This isn’t the way I had planned it. I want to talk. We have to talk.”
He stilled above her, finally sensing her determination. She looked up into his shadowed face and saw the gleam of his hungry gaze. For a moment Guinevere faltered before the fire in him, but the need to settle the fundamentals of the relationship was stronger tonight than even her physical need of him. Settling things was the reason she had maneuvered him into this trip, she reminded herself. She must be strong for both of them.
“You want to talk,” he repeated roughly, staring down at her.
Guinevere nodded, moistening her lower lip with her tongue. “Yes. Please. It’s very important.”
“Obviously.” Zac sighed heavily and eased himself to a sitting position. “Somehow I knew things were going to go wrong. I think I’m under a curse this weekend.”
“This is serious, Zac. It’s important to me.” Guinevere sat up slowly, a part of her already missing the warmth of his touch. Awkwardly she began refastening the buttons of the yellow silk blouse.
“What exactly do you want to talk about?” He sounded resigned.
She gathered her courage. “I think we should discuss the status of our relationship,” she said very formally.
“Oh, hell.” He let his head sink into his hands.
Guinevere looked at him worriedly. “Don’t you agree, Zac? I mean, we’ve just been sort of floundering along for several weeks now and I think it’s time we put things in perspective, so to speak. I think we should assess exactly what we each want out of this association of ours and determine the boundaries. I’ve been feeling very confused lately, Zac. Very unsure of what’s going on between us. We need to clarify matters.”
“You sound as if you’ve been reading a lot of magazines lately.”
She stiffened, hurt by the sarcasm in his voice. “I don’t think I’m asking too much.”
“What are you asking?”
“I just told you!”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by clarifying matters. I thought things were fairly clear a few minutes ago when we were lying down.”
“I see. That’s all our relationship means to you? A convenient source of sex?”
His head came up and his eyes glittered in the darkness. “Hardly what I’d call convenient. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you’ve let me get that close. I can’t figure out why you’re always moving just out of range. I know by now that I can make you want me. I know I can satisfy you. What’s wrong, Gwen? Why the shadow dancing? Come to think of it, I’d like a little clarification in this relationship too. I’d like to know if I’m going to have to worry about every fast-talking executive you have for a client. I’d like to know if you expect a relationship in which you can feel free to flirt with every joker who comes along in a leather flight jacket. And I’d like to know what the hell you think you’re doing leading me on here on your bed and then throwing cold water on everything by announcing it’s discussion time!”
Guinevere winced at that, but then she brightened. “I think this is very healthy, Zac. I think this is exactly the sort of talk we need to have.” She was about to continue when her eye was caught by a shadowy movement outside the window.
“Healthy!” Zac said, outraged. “You call this healthy? Christ, lady, you’ve got a strange sense
of—” He broke off, seeing her stare past him. “What’s wrong?”
She gestured uncertainly. “I’m not sure. I could have sworn I just saw Vandyke walk through the gardens. He was heading toward the cliffs.” Guinevere slid off the bed and went to the window.
“In that weather? It’s blowing up for a storm out there.”
“I know. And it’s very cold. I wonder why he would be taking a walk now?” Guinevere tried to make out Vandyke’s disappearing form. Zac was standing behind her, watching the man’s movements as he left the garden and vanished in the direction of the cliffs.
“That sea will be really kicking up out there by now,” Zac mused.
“Oh my God, Zac. What if he’s had a few too many drinks and decided to do something stupid?”
“You’re thinking about that gold-plated pistol you found in the executive washroom, aren’t you?”
She nodded, feeling his hands close reassuringly on her shoulders. “I can’t quite see Vandyke as suicidal, but there’s been so much bothering him lately. Zac, if he fell into that sea in this stormy weather he might not be able to get back out in time. He’d die in that cold water, even if he could keep himself afloat.”
“You mean if he jumps into that sea, don’t you?”
“I’ve never known anyone who might be suicidal, Zac. I’m not sure of the signs. Carla went through a severe depression after her affair with Starr, but she never got to the point of threatening to kill herself.”
“Vandyke hasn’t threatened it either. But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just go ahead and do it, if things got bad enough.” Zac released her. “I guess I’d better go bring in the sheep.”
She spun around to see him pick up his jacket and head for the door. “You’re going after him?”
“Why not? I haven’t got anything else to do, except sit here and chat until it’s time to go back to my own room.”
Guinevere’s mouth tightened. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“It provides a modicum of relief. God knows I could use some relief. Good night, Gwen.” He slammed the door with subdued violence as he left the room.
Zac made his way down the hall with long deliberate strides, pushing open the door at the far end to step out into the chill night. Shoving his hands into his tweed sports jacket he bent his head against the wind and wished he’d gone back to his room first to collect a real coat. It was colder than hell out here. Much warmer back in Gwen’s bed, even if she was intent on having a discussion about their relationship.
On one level he was forced to admit that he agreed with her. He too had been frustrated by the ambiguities and uncertainties in their association. Zac knew he wanted to get some things ironed out and clarified. But he’d been sure it would be simpler and more straightforward to have the necessary discussion after a blissfully passionate weekend at a luxurious resort. Or to put it somewhat more bluntly, he had sensed the talk would be better conducted after a couple of nights of concentrated sex. Guinevere was always so soft and warm and amenable after he’d made love to her. Relationship discussions with her were undoubtedly safer when held while her defenses were down.
The truth was, he was not anxious to sit down and hammer out the details of their relationship with Guinevere when she was in full command of herself. It would be too much like negotiating a business arrangement. She was a strong independent woman, and when she was in top form she was formidable. Much better to reason with her after she’d been softened up a bit, Zac told himself. With a woman like Gwen a man had to resort to strategy on occasion.
He was pursuing that line of thought when he caught a shadowy movement out of the corner of his eye. There was someone else in the garden. Even as he watched, the other night-walker vanished behind a hedge. Maybe someone trying to walk off a few alcoholic fumes before bedtime, Zac decided. He continued on through the gardens and into the
grove of windblown firs that lined the cliffs above the sea. The moon obligingly slipped between clouds, providing some temporary illumination. In its pale gleam Zac saw Vandyke’s figure hunched forlornly at the edge of the cliff.
Zac halted at the fringe of trees, aware of a deep uncertainty. He didn’t know a damn thing about dealing with suicidal types. If Guinevere was right about Vandyke’s state of mind, this was going to be tricky. Suddenly Zac wished Guinevere had come with him. She had an instinctive way of handling people that would make her much more useful in the present circumstances. Gritting his teeth against the cold and the task that lay before him, he started forward again.
In that same instant another figure arrived at the edge of the trees a few yards away. Zac’s instincts immediately took command, instincts that had been nicely refined for survival. Obeying them was second nature to him. He leapt forward.
“Vandyke! Get down!”
The man at the edge of the cliffs turned slowly in bewilderment and found himself knocked flat on the craggy surface. He was quickly rolled behind a small heap of scruffy shrubs and boulders.
“What in hell . . . ?” Vandyke struggled to free himself.
“Hold still.” Zac kept him pinned with one arm while he scanned the trees. There was no movement now. “Someone in the trees. He was watching you.”
“Watching me? But I don’t understand. I—Is that a gun you have?” Vandyke stared keenly at the object in Zac’s hand.
“Unfortunately, no.” Zac tossed aside the rock he had grabbed a few seconds earlier. “Should it be?” he asked in a level voice as he allowed Vandyke to sit up. Whoever had been there had gone now, Zac was certain of it.
Vandyke shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sounded vague, disoriented. Zac saw him give himself a small shake as if taking a grip on his nerve. “It’s just that Guinevere said something about you going armed.”
“Gwen sometimes exaggerates. She’s very conscious of business images. You want to tell me what’s going on, Vandyke?”
Vandyke glanced up nervously and then looked away. “Nothing’s going on. I came out here to take a little stroll before going to bed. Probably whoever you saw was doing the same thing.”
