by Renee Roszel
She heard distinct laughter, both masculine and feminine, then more voices. Some of the words were becoming too distinguishable for them to be drifting to her from the far away patio. Lurching around, she was shocked to see a throng of men and women clad in bathing suits heading in her direction. She gulped several times. It seemed the party she’d so carefully avoided was coming to her.
Lights flickered on in nearby palm trees, and Emily blinked, feeling like she’d been caught in an escape attempt from some high-security prison. Any second the alarm would sound and armed guards in helicopters would yell at her to drop to her face and spread-eagle on the sand.
“Em!” shouted Meg, making her jump. “Isn’t this fun! Lyon decided to make it a swimming party. We’re going to play volleyball, too.”
Emily saw her friend waving as she hurried toward the beach, tugging along another woman. In fearful anticipation, Emily scanned the approaching crowd. There he was, and her heart leaped. She was filled with conflicting emotions. He was such an unfeeling tease, yet she was grateful for his kindness the other day, allowing her to stay on and caring about Ivy. Unfortunately, that just made it more imperative that she steer clear of him. She was so weak for his touch, it wouldn’t take much to have her crying out for him to take her completely.
Unable to stop herself, she watched him stroll in her direction, clad in a low-slung swimsuit, his muscular chest, his taut belly and bulging thighs thrown in stunning relief under the lights illuminating the beach. He was sandwiched between two admiring women, each clinging to one of his arms.
“Em!” Meg cried again. “Look who I found!”
Emily dragged her gaze from her grinning host to focus on the willowy redhead before her. She did look familiar. When she managed to shove Lyon Gallant to a distant shelf in her mind, she realized she’d seen this woman before. “Didn’t you do that rain forest special on the PBS station a couple of years ago?”
The woman looked startled, but seemed inordinately pleased. “Why, yes. You saw that?”
“It was wonderful. I’ve donated to saving the rain forest ever since. My name’s Emily Stone.”
“I’m Christmas Collier. I was always really proud of that piece.”
Meg guffawed. “You would know her for that, Em. Anybody else in the world knows her from last winter’s blockbuster movie, Heaven’s Fall.”
Emily shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Miss Collier. I don’t get to movies much.”
“Don’t be sorry. Actually, that’s how I met Lyon Gallant. He saw that special, too, and asked me to be in his catalogue.”
Emily was startled that Lyon watched PBS. It didn’t seem like something a lustful mover and shaker would do. But she supposed one of his people had told him to take a look at the woman, and he’d watched it for business reasons. “So, you’re going to be in one of Gallant’s catalogues?” she asked.
“I’ve been in several.”
“Oh.” Again, Emily felt terminally provincial. She had to get out more.
“Hey, they’re setting up the volleyball net!” Meg dragged Christmas along, motioning at Emily. “Let’s go, Em. Chris, did you know I was on the high school girl’s varsity team?”
Emily smiled after her friend and answered Christmas’s parting wave. She didn’t bother to respond to Meg. Her friend was having so much fun she’d never know if Emily played volleyball or not.
“Hi, there.” A nice-looking man of about thirty-five came up, and to Emily’s surprise, was talking to her. “I don’t remember meeting you inside.” He grinned with obvious interest, something she wasn’t used to. “I’m Kevin Etanburro. Art director of Gallant’s.” He took her hand in greeting.
“Hello.” She didn’t jump at his unexpected touch, and even managed an easy smile. She was surprised at herself. She’d done that with more self-confidence than she’d thought possible. At least not a couple of weeks ago.
“You must be new. I thought I’d met all the Gallant’s models.”
Emily blushed. “I’m just here visiting Ivy Dellin. I’m a teacher from Iowa.”
He looked surprised. “You’re not a model?” Glancing away, he shouted, “Hey, Lyon. Talk to you for a sec?”
Kevin was still holding her fingers. She didn’t want to be rude, but she felt sure the handshake was over and tugged free. Besides, she didn’t dare stick around if Lyon Gallant was coming over. From the look of it, he was disengaging himself from his female parasites and planning to do just that. “I’ll leave you to talk to your boss.”
“No, wait.” He grasped her wrist to detain her. “I wanted to rake him over the coals for keeping you hidden.”
She stared, baffled.
“What is it, Kev?” Lyon asked. Emily couldn’t help but flick her gaze in his direction as he sauntered toward them through the low surf. He acknowledged her with a nod. “I see you’ve met Miss Stone.”
The good-looking blond man grinned. “Hell, Lyon. She says she’s a teacher from Iowa. Maybe we’d better check out Iowa the next time we need an all-America face and a drop-dead figure.”
Emily could only gape, tongue-tied. Who were they talking about? Surely not her!
Lyon glanced her way, his grin making heat rise in her cheeks. “You might have a point.”
“Could we use her in the December issue? Chris just told me she’d be in France on a movie set then.”
Her host’s gaze roamed over her swimsuit-clad body. “Whatever the lady says.”
The blond man winked at his boss. “I never get a refusal. You know that.”
Lyon eyed Kevin’s hand holding hers, his lips twitching wryly. “Never say never, Kev.” Glancing at Emily, he nodded cordially. “Nice to have you join us at last, Miss Stone.” His gaze only lingered for one more second, but it was long enough for her to detect amusement. He was making the point that he was well aware she hadn’t joined the party, that she’d been drawn in against her will—and, last but not least, he knew Kevin was about to get his very first rejection.
How dare he be so damned all-knowing! It would serve him right if she didn’t refuse! She stiffened as he shifted his broad shoulders around and walked to where the volleyball game was getting under way.
There was a tug on her fingers. “What about it, Miss Stone? You’d get a thousand dollars for the shoot.”
She swiveled around, overwhelmed. “A what?”
He grinned. “A thousand. And you keep the underwear you model, naturally.”
Her eyes widened. “A thousand dollars?” That was two weeks salary for her! But the fact about the big money was stunted by his other statement—that she’d be modeling Gallant’s underwear. Even if Lyon deserved to be wrong about her, never in a million years did she plan to wear that microscopic underwear. She couldn’t possibly be seen in a magazine that millions of people read—probably even some of her students!
“I—I...” She demurely withdrew her hand from his, smiling to assuage her refusal. “I’m sure that’s a wonderful opportunity, Mr....” She couldn’t remember his last name, so she amended, “Kevin. It’s just that I don’t think modeling underwear is exactly my—well, I do teach young people.”
He grinned good-naturedly. “Damn lucky kids.” Taking her by the arm, he led her toward the volleyball game. “We’ll talk about it later over a drink. Let’s work up a thirst.”
Emily had to admit the volleyball game was fun, and Kevin was attentive and amusing company. He helped her learn to serve the ball and taught her how to bat it over the net. She wasn’t half bad. Even though Lyon’s team won, she felt like a victor, anyway. She’d tried something and had a good time.
The game was over but for a few diehards. She waded knee-deep in lapping surf at the edge of the light, while Kevin trekked the long distance to the patio to get her a cup of punch. For the first time since the invasion of partyers she was standing alone, enjoying the tropical night.
“So, are we going to see you on the cover of Gallant’s?”
She recognized Lyon’
s voice and reacted strongly but tried not to show it. “I thought I’d try going naked in Playboy first,” she quipped.
He laughed softly. “Kevin means it, you know.” She faced him, which was a mistake. His smile was arresting, his eyes somehow softer, more approving in this light. “You are lovely, sweetheart.”
The low admission melted strategic bones in her body, and she felt unsteady. His sporadic use of an endearment instead of her name was driving her crazy. “Why do you do that?” she asked, her voice thready.
“What?”
He drew nearer, exuding a sensual heat that was disorienting. “Um, sometimes you call me Miss Stone, and sometimes you call me sweetheart. Why?”
“Why do you think?”
The noises of the party began to fade, and she knew it was because he had the power to absorb every ounce of her senses. Breathing became difficult, and she inhaled then exhaled quickly, almost panting. “I—I think you need to find a hobby.”
He grinned. “Did you know you were smiling that smile I taught you at Kevin?”
She was startled by the change of subject. “What smile?”
“That sly, I’d-love-to-knee-Lyon-Gallant smile. I’m flattered you were thinking of me.”
She was taken off guard by the joke and grinned in spite of herself. “You’re welcome. Happy to do it.”
“It worked, too. He’s crazy for you.”
She blinked, startled. When she found her voice, she rasped, “Don’t be silly.”
He cupped her chin with his fingers. Brushing a light kiss on her lips, he murmured, “I’m never silly, sweetheart.”
He’d started to walk away before she could find her voice. “Why do you do that?”
“Kiss you?” He shifted. His eyes were narrowed and he seemed annoyed with himself.
She licked her lips, trying to wipe away the taste of him. He couldn’t be any more annoyed about it than she was. Working at remembering her question, she cried, “No—why do you call me Miss Stone sometimes and sweetheart sometimes?”
He half grinned, but without much humor. “Because sometimes you are Miss Stone, and sometimes—like just now, when you looked so astonished that a man could find you desirable—you’re a sweetheart.”
He shrugged, muscles rippling with the act. “I supposed I kissed you because I found that quality irresistible.” He turned to fully face her, his gaze growing so penetrating she felt naked before him.
When he bent toward her in a confiding way it took all her willpower not to throw her arms about his neck and beg him to make love to her. “He’ll kiss you tonight,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers, his smile gone. Tension coiled in her stomach in anticipation. She had a sense he had something even more shocking to say. “He would make love to you, too, if you’d let him.”
She stared, unable to comprehend such an outrageous prediction, let alone respond to it.
He watched her stupefaction, and his eyes began to glint with amusement. “But you won’t let him, will you.”
It hadn’t been a question. He was stating the facts as he knew them and seemed satisfied with his wisdom on the subject of the inhibited Emily Stone. She shifted uncomfortably under his shrewd stare, suddenly incensed that she was so sexually predictable. She hadn’t made much headway in her quest to change.
Her pride was stung, and she lifted her chin. “I don’t know what I’ll do about Kevin, Mr. Gallant. Of course, he is terribly cute, and I’ve always loved blondes,” she lied, deciding he deserved to be taken down a peg or two, the arrogant egotist. “Since you brought it up,” she said sweetly, warming to the fiction, “I think Kevin would be a perfect teacher for—lesson four. Don’t you agree?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was considering this new twist. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never made love to the man.”
She laughed, finding his sarcasm truly funny. “Well.” She shrugged, tossing her curls in as frivolous manner as she could manage. “Since it’s your island, I suppose I could let you know how it went—in the morning.”
One dark brow arched and he seemed about to say something when movement caught his eye and he flicked his glance toward shore. “Your date’s coming back.” His features unreadable, he studied her face for another heartbeat, then turned away. He muttered something she was sure she must have misunderstood, for it sounded like, “Harry was a damned fool.”
As she stared, unblinking, he went away, taking her heart with him.
Kevin sloshed to her side, handing her a cup of red liquid. Her smile came only with great effort, for it was at that instant she discovered she’d fallen in love with Lyon Gallant—a man who had no apparent problem with the idea that she might end up sleeping with a friend of his that very night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMILY’S heart and mind were in such turmoil she couldn’t sleep. And she was starving. She’d skipped dinner, since it was part of Lyon’s gala party, and the glass of punch she’d had with Kevin hadn’t been very filling. She shook her head, recalling how hard it had been to finally convince her ardent companion that she wasn’t going to model in Gallant’s, and she wasn’t going to bed with him, either.
He’d taken it like a gentleman, but to Emily’s surprise, he’d asked for her phone number and address back in Iowa. She had a feeling he’d call. Strange, she thought. She’d spent her life being the retiring wallflower hardly anyone had ever asked to dance. Apparently she’d put out don’t-touch-me signals all those years. She hadn’t meant to, she’d just been afraid of doing or saying something wrong.
Consequently, she’d buried herself in her studies, making learning her life. Maybe she thought if she studied, she’d learn how to be free and easy with people. It hadn’t worked that way. She’d just felt more and more abnormal, less and less confident.
Then Lyon Gallant had come along with his kisses and his husky passion, showing her how much of a woman she could be under the right guidance. Amazingly, Kevin had detected something alluring in her—and that something she knew she owed to Lyon’s skilled tutelage.
Her stomach growled, and she exhaled tiredly. She simply had to eat. Even though it was one o’clock in the morning, and even though she’d gained a touch of spontaneity and self-assurance, she still hadn’t given herself over completely to wild abandon. So she decided she’d better change from her nightgown into real clothes if she intended to go wandering around the house. She chose a skirt and blouse she’d bought yesterday, deciding to try them out in the dead of night when nobody could see her.
The white cotton corset top was reminiscent of Victorian underwear, though by today’s standards it was pretty tame. She slipped it on and laced it up the front, tying the ribbon at the low, square-cut neckline. Then she stepped into the full, circle skirt of blue and white checks.
She didn’t know why, but as she slipped into thong sandals, she inspected herself in the mirror, fluffing curls nearly dry from the shower. She shook her head at herself, watching bright ringlets dance across her eyes. Pushing them back, she smiled wryly. This wasn’t the Emily who’d come here three weeks ago. This Emily was sleeker from her jogging, tanned, with bouncy, almost defiant hair. Sun-streaked with blond highlights, it curved and crinkled around her heart-shaped face in luminous disarray, giving her a tempestuous look. She wasn’t sure she totally approved of it, but it clearly had an effect on men.
She scanned herself from head to toe, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. Thanks to Ivy’s trips into Miami with them, and Meg’s incessant bossing about clothes, she could actually see this Emily’s figure. And this Emily had an interesting new glint in her eyes. Was it a touch of self-assurance? Before she allowed herself to look too closely, her glance plummeted to the floor. Maybe she was gaining a little self-confidence, but she didn’t dare search deeper in the sapphire depths or she would also see sadness.
It was ironic how the same self-satisfied egotist could be responsible for both manifestations in her eyes. Heaving a sigh, she spun away from the mir
ror. Maybe she’d feel better when she had something in her stomach.
Moments later, she pushed through the door to the big, utilitarian kitchen, all white and stainless steel, and was stunned to see Lyon there. He was alone. His back was to her, and he was clad only in sweatpants. Standing before the stove, he had stilled in stirring something, but didn’t turn when he heard the door. “No! I told you ten minutes ago I don’t want you to fix me anything,” he growled. “And, no, I still don’t want to be served in my suite. And, no, I don’t need you to come wake me for my six o’clock meeting.”
It startled Emily to see this commanding man upset. He’d set down his spatula and planted his palms flat on the stainless steel surface, hunching his shoulders as though frustrated and trying to maintain control.
“Is that understood?” he demanded.
For some reason, rather than frightening or intimidating her, his agitation seemed endearing. It was her first glimpse into his unguarded, human side.
“Well...” She walked toward the long white kitchen table that separated them. “First, it looks like somebody besides you ought to do your cooking, because I smell smoke.”
He shifted around, his scowl becoming surprise as she went on with a fledgling smile. “Secondly, I have no intention of serving you—anyplace. And third, if you have a six o’clock meeting, I have a feeling you’re going to yawn all the way through it.”
He regained himself quickly and leaned against the stove, crossing his legs at the ankles. She noticed he was barefoot. Nice feet, she mused, then gritted her teeth against such a wayward thought.
He inclined his head, a brow rising in question. “Your midnight cha-cha with Kev over already?”
She came up before him and gave him a rankled look. “Move. Let me see what you’re incinerating.”
