Tidewater Seduction

by Anne Mather

  Joanna hid a smile. Evidently, Cole had made it his business to find out exactly where she was staying, but she had been prepared for his question, and her lips tilted charmingly.

  ‘I made a mistake,’ she lied ruefully. ‘The lift stopped and I got out.’ She grimaced. ‘Silly me!’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Cole’s grunt of assent was hardly sympathetic, but Joanna had achieved what she wanted to achieve, and she could afford to be generous. ‘Does it matter?’ she exclaimed, looking up at him disarmingly. ‘I’m here now. So—where are we eating?’

  Cole’s mouth flattened. ‘I thought we might eat at the Commodore Club. They have an excellent restaurant, and you might like to visit the casino later.’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She tucked her leather bag against her side, and slid her fingers round his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  The muscles of his upper arm were taut beneath her grip. She sensed he would like to release himself, and she wondered how he had expected her to behave. It was obvious he was confused by her apparent willingness to co-operate, and he was wary of her appearance, and the provocation it presented.

  A row of taxis waited on the forecourt of the hotel, and a black-suited major-domo summoned one at Cole’s request. Joanna climbed into the back of the cab unaided, smoothing down her tight skirt as she scrambled across the seat. She had noticed before that no one bothered to walk round the cabs, and get in at the opposite side. And Cole was no exception as he followed her inside.

  But she noticed he kept his distance during the fifteen-minute ride to the Commodore Club. His dark-clad thigh—had he bought a whole wardrobe at the hotel shop?—rested on the worn leather upholstery, several inches away from hers. And, because the majority of taxis Joanna had seen were old American limousines, there was plenty of room.

  Getting out of the taxi, he was obliged to offer her his hand. Whatever else he might be, Cole considered himself a gentleman. One of the South Carolina ‘good ole boys’, thought Joanna cynically. Just like his father, and his father before him.

  Even so, putting her hand into Cole’s was a disturbing experience. His hand was cool and firm, with calluses at the base of his fingers. And when those fingers curled around hers she was hard-pressed not to hold on.

  But, even if she’d wanted to, Cole had to pay the fare. After helping her out, under the striped canopy of the club, he bent to speak to their driver. Then, returning his wallet to his hip pocket, he straightened, urging her into the foyer, with his hand in the small of her back.

  It saved touching her skin, Joanna thought ruefully, as they stepped on to the escalator which would take them up to the bar and restaurant. She wondered what he was thinking. Somehow, she sensed she was not going to have it all her own way.

  ‘Do you want a drink before we eat?’ Cole asked, as they crossed the carpeted upper floor, and Joanna tilted her head.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Something long and cool, with a bite to it. What would you recommend?’

  Cole’s eyes glinted. ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ he said, guiding her towards an empty table. ‘I seem to remember you had quite a fancy for mint-juleps. You used to down quite a few of them, while Pa and I were out in the fields.’

  Joanna’s lips tightened for a moment, as the memories his words evoked came back to haunt her. But when she looked at him none of her anguish showed in her face. You shouldn’t have said that, Cole, she thought malevolently. I’m going to make you pay for every little dig you make!

  ‘So I did,’ she warbled now, and no one listening to her would have imagined the offence she had felt at his words. Bastard, she said silently, while her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘I was a pain, wasn’t I? No wonder you preferred Sammy-Jean to me.’

  It was Cole’s turn to look bitter now, but the arrival of the waiter to take their order prevented him from venting his spleen. Besides, she guessed he couldn’t be entirely sure exactly how she had meant it, and although he might suspect her motives he really had no proof.

  ‘Bourbon and branch,’ he said sourly, ‘and something sweet for the lady. What do you suggest?’

  ‘How about pineapple rum?’ asked the waiter cheerfully. ‘Pineapple rum, coconut rum, and pineapple juice, shaken over ice. Delicious!’

  ‘It sounds it,’ put in Joanna smoothly, crossing her legs, and running spread fingers over her knee. She smiled at the man. ‘Cold, but hot. Exactly what I need.’

  The waiter’s eyes danced. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, swinging on his heel, and walking back to the bar. ‘A Valentine’s Special, man,’ he ordered from the bar-keep. ‘And make it real cold!’

  Cole’s eyes were far from friendly when he looked at Joanna again. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his tone hard and explosive. ‘Do you want everyone to think you’re using?’

  ‘Using?’ Joanna’s eyes widened innocently. ‘Using what?’

  ‘You know!’ retorted Cole savagely. ‘Hell, maybe you are. What would I know about it?’

  Joanna’s humour evaporated. ‘I don’t use—or shoot up—or mainline—or any of the other ways people take drugs,’ she declared scornfully. ‘I was having fun, that’s all. Fun! Or have you forgotten the meaning of the word?’

  Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘You weren’t just having fun,’ he argued. ‘God, you were coming on to the man!’

  Joanna’s brief spurt of anger died. ‘What’s the matter, Cole?’ she asked mockingly. ‘You jealous?’

  Their drinks came before Cole could make any response, but his brooding expression was eloquent of his feelings. Oh, this was fun, thought Joanna, a little breathlessly. Why had she never realised it was far more exciting to be bad?

  The pineapple rum was delicious. It came complete with an assortment of tropical fruits, with a long curling straw to enable her to avoid the tiny striped umbrella. The umbrella bore the logo of the Commodore Club, and she was tempted to keep it as a souvenir of the evening.

  ‘Have you and Sammy-Jean had any family yet?’ she queried after a moment, risking Cole’s displeasure yet again. She knew perfectly well that had Cole become a father she would have heard about it. Grace would surely have told her. But why should she avoid a subject that was clearly so exploitable?

  Cole regarded her over the rim of his glass. ‘No,’ he said, and she could tell by his tone that he was not unaware of her intentions. ‘But it’s not for want of trying, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  Joanna looked down into her drink. Her hands had tightened around the stem, and, noticing her white knuckles, she forced herself to relax. If she wasn’t careful, the glass would break, and Cole would imagine he had scored a victory. What did it matter to her how many times Cole made love with Sammy-Jean? Sammy-Jean was his wife now, and she, Joanna, didn’t give a damn!

  ‘Something wrong?’ Cole’s blue eyes were smugly intent, and Joanna expelled her breath on a rueful sigh.

  ‘No,’ she said, deliberately wistful. ‘I was just remembering how good you were in bed.’

  ‘Good God!’ Cole’s jaw hardened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He swallowed the remainder of his drink in one violent gulp, and gestured for the waiter to bring him another. ‘What do you want from me, Jo? Blood?’

  Joanna knew a fleeting sense of conscience, but then the waiter arrived to replace Cole’s glass, and she consoled herself by taking another mouthful of her own drink. But her lips around the pink straw were unconsciously provocative, and Cole uttered an imprecation as he lifted his bourbon to his mouth.

  ‘You folks dinin’?’ enquired the waiter, and at Cole’s curt nod he flourished two enormous menus from under his arm. ‘Take your time,’ he added, his knowing gaze taking in the situation at a glance. ‘I’ll be back later to take your order.’

  Propping her menu on the table in front of her, Joanna continued to enjoy her drink as she studied its contents. There was a vast array of dishes to choose from, with imported American steaks and locally c
aught seafood providing the main selections. There was fried chicken, too, prepared with the familiar ‘peas ‘n’ rice’, which was a national passion.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Cole, after a few minutes, his tone cool and unfriendly, and Joanna felt a trace of regret.

  ‘The grouper, I think,’ she answered, mentioning the name of the most popular fish in the area. ‘And melon, to begin with. I’m not very hungry.’

  Cole acknowledged her choice with a brief inclination of his head, and the waiter, who had evidently been keeping an interested eye on their table, came to take their order.

  Cole ordered the grouper, too, but with a salad starter. ‘And bring the lady another of those,’ he said, as Joanna set down her empty glass. ‘And I’ll have another bourbon.’

  Joanna arched her brows, half in protest, but the waiter was already sauntering away between the tables. Besides, the drink had been delicious, she conceded. And fairly innocuous, too, judging by the clearness of her head.

  There was silence between them for a while. Joanna could have broken it with some other audacious comment, but she realised she was in danger of alienating Cole completely, and that hadn’t been her intention at all.

  So, instead of sniping at him, she pretended an interest in their fellow guests, thanking the waiter for her drink when it came, without any further attempt to provoke her companion.

  And, as she had half expected, Cole was eventually forced to say something. She guessed he was not unaware that their lack of communication had been noticed by the people at the next table, and as he had been the one to cause their isolation he chose to be the one to end it.

  ‘Do you see much of Grace?’ he asked, in a voice that would have cracked ice, and Joanna turned her gaze from a bowl of exotic plants to look at him.

  ‘That depends,’ she said, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  ‘On what?’

  The question was wrung from him, and Joanna smiled. ‘On whether I’m working or not,’ she declared smoothly. ‘Grace is my agent. She’s only interested in when I’m going to finish my next painting.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Cole’s tone had lost some of its chilliness. ‘Grace always liked you. She considers you a friend.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Joanna stirred her drink with the straw. ‘Well, let’s say things have been a little strained between Grace and me, since we—broke up.’

  Cole frowned. ‘I don’t believe it. Hell, I’d have thought you and she had a deal in common.’

  ‘Would you?’ Joanna looked at him through her lashes. ‘You should know Grace won’t have a word said against your father.’

  Cole’s mouth thinned. ‘Unlike you, huh?’

  ‘I don’t have two sons whose livelihood is dependent on someone else’s goodwill,’ she countered lightly. ‘Your father can’t hurt me, Cole, and that must be a real source of aggravation to him.’

  ‘I doubt if he cares that much, one way or the other,’ retorted Cole bitterly. ‘But you always had to face him down, didn’t you? You’d never admit that sometimes he just might be right!’

  ‘Like when he accused Nathan of sleeping with your wife?’ she enquired tautly, and then, seeing the dark, tormented, expression her words had provoked, she quickly regressed. ‘Forget I said that. It doesn’t matter. He did us both a favour, didn’t he? Oh—here’s the waiter. Our table must be ready.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A FOUR-PIECE West Indian band was playing in the grill room, and Joanna was glad that the music negated any real obligation to talk while they were eating. Not that she ate a lot. The melon slid down smoothly enough, but the fish, which was served with a bouquet of vegetables, was rather more difficult to swallow. Instead, she turned to the wine Cole had ordered to accompany the meal, drinking several glasses of the chilled Californian Riesling.

  There was a small dance-floor beyond the tables, where those guests who had finished their meal indulged in a little after-dinner exertion. Joanna spent most of her time watching them, uncaring for once if Cole was looking at her. With her elbow propped on the edge of the table and her chin cupped in one slender hand, she was unaware of the dreamy expression that crossed her face as she watched the swaying couples. For a while, she was completely oblivious of her surroundings, and it took a definite effort to concentrate again when the waiter came to ask if they wanted a dessert.

  ‘Just coffee,’ said Cole, without consulting her, and Joanna pulled an indignant face.

  ‘I might have liked a dessert,’ she pouted, and although she suspected he was only acting Cole’s face softened.

  ‘Coffee first, like back home,’ he insisted wryly. ‘I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.’

  ‘Would you do that?’ she asked huskily, a feeling of heat sweeping over her, and although it wasn’t all that easy to focus on his lean face she thought his eyes darkened at her words.

  ‘If I have to,’ he answered. ‘Why? How do you feel?’

  ‘Muzzy,’ she admitted, emitting a rueful little laugh. ‘Maybe I do need that coffee, after all.’

  ‘You always were a cheap drunk,’ he said, but for once there was no malice in his tone, and Joanna knew an overwhelming urge to make him as aware of her as she was of him.

  Concentrating hard, she stretched out her hand and ran her fingers over his thigh. He jerked back automatically, but not before she had felt the instinctive tautening of muscle under her touch. From his groin to his knee, his leg stiffened defensively, and his lazy humour disappeared beneath a scowl of irritation.

  But when he would have pushed her hand away, she thwarted him with an appealing smile. ‘Dance with me,’ she invited, turning her hand into his, and letting her thumb drift against his palm. ‘Please, Cole. To show you’re not mad at me. For old times’ sake, as you said.’

  He wanted to refuse. The evidence of that was clear in his face. And he resented her for using his words against him. But something—the memory of why he had come here, perhaps, or a desire to prove he was in control of his own destiny, who knew?—made him hesitate long enough for her to draw him to his feet.

  ‘I don’t dance,’ he said, then, his voice clipped and harsh, ‘I think we should get out of here. You need some fresh air.’

  ‘Do I?’

  Joanna swayed, most convincingly, which wasn’t too surprising considering the wine had made her feel decidedly unsteady on her feet. But she could handle it, she told herself, not prepared to lose the advantage now.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he muttered, as she continued to cling to his fingers. ‘Jo, what do you think you’re doing? This isn’t the way to the exit.’

  ‘I’ll leave after we’ve danced,’ declared Joanna firmly, tugging him after her. ‘We used to dance before. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘That wasn’t dancing,’ snapped Cole, but Joanna’s behaviour was attracting attention, and she could see he didn’t like it.

  ‘Whatever,’ she murmured, reaching the square of polished tiles, and turning into his arms. ‘Don’t be a spoil-sport, darling. Don’t you want to dance with me?’

  Cole scowled, but there was no turning back. Besides, the face she turned up to his was innocent of all deceit, the amber eyes pleading with him to give in.

  And he did. With a grim tightening of his lips, he gripped her waist, and held her away from him. Then, fixing his gaze on some distant point above her head, he began to move rather awkwardly in time to the music.

  Joanna caught her lower lip between her teeth, as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Oh, lord, she gulped, trying to contain her mirth, she had forgotten what a hopeless dancer Cole was. He had never mastered any step, beyond the square dances he had learned in school, and only her guidance had made him half decent on a dance-floor.

  But not like this, she conceded drily, with at least six inches between them. She didn’t want to remember the other occasions when they had danced together, but she couldn’t help it. Then, the steps they used hadn’t been im
portant. They had moved to the rhythm of their bodies—just like when they were making love …

  She shivered, and the feathering of her flesh reminded her of where she was, and what she was doing. The dance-floor was getting crowded, and when a careless elbow nudged her in the ribs her determination hardened. She could have withstood the painful jab quite easily, but she chose not to. With a startled cry, she launched herself against him, successfully dislodging his hands, and clutching his lapels.

  ‘God!’

  Cole’s reaction was just as violent as she had anticipated, but when he would have drawn back again her hands slid up to his neck.

  ‘Sorry,’ she breathed, her breath wafting sweetly across his cheek, and a nerve jerked spasmodically at his jawline.

  ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his hands reaching up to grab her forearms, with the obvious intention of hauling them down from his shoulders. ‘Damn you, keep still!’

  ‘I’m just dancing,’ she protested innocently, rotating her hips against his. ‘Don’t be so touchy! You need all the help you can get.’

  ‘I did warn you,’ he grated, and with a little sigh Joanna allowed him to pull her arms down to her sides.

  But she didn’t move away from him. And, although Cole would clearly have preferred to leave the dance-floor, they were trapped within the circle of the other dancers.

  ‘Is this so bad?’ she asked, looking up at him with wide tawny eyes, and she saw the glittering awareness enter his. He might not want to admit it, but his reasons for keeping her at a distance were not because he didn’t like dancing with her. And when his gaze dropped to the appealing curve of her soft mouth Joanna felt her own senses sharpen.

  ‘We’re leaving,’ said Cole abruptly, taking her upper arm between his forefinger and thumb, and pushing her determinedly through the swaying press of people. His nails bit into her flesh as he steered her back to their table. ‘Get your bag. I’ll pay the bill.’

  ‘But what about our coffee?’ she argued, looking longingly at the breakfast-size cups of the aromatic brew waiting on the table, but Cole was unrepentant.