“Jump in.”
“What the—?”
“Just do it!”
“But I thought you were going to let us go.”
“Then you thought wrong.”
“You said you’d cut me down.”
“I did cut you down.”
With that, Ross sliced through the ropes holding the man’s hands, gave him a nudge and watched as he fell into the pit. The man landed on the soft dirt at the bottom, stood up and dusted himself off.
Ross stood and looked down at the pair. “Let me give you two a friendly piece of advice. I think it’s time you took up a new occupation. Something a little less hazardous. Something on the other side of the planet.”
“If I ever get out of this alive, I’m going back home to my mother,” promised the first man.
“It’s South America for me,” vowed the second.
“It sounds like you two are making some excellent career changes,” said Ross.
Then he put his head back and gazed up at the blazing sun. “I’m afraid it’s going to be something of a long, hot day for you. But I estimate that Sergeant Bok and his men should be here before nightfall to take you into custody. They’ll be more than happy to escort you off the island.”
There was grumbling from the pit.
“Adios, gentlemen.”
Then Ross circled back to the tree house, covering his tracks as he went. He gave a whistle, and Diana lowered the ladder.
She was dressed in the same ridiculous but endearing outfit that she’d worn the day before, right down to the Tigers baseball cap. Her carryon was packed. The thatched-roof sleeping hut was aired and cleaned out. Food was waiting for him.
“I slaved over a hot stove all morning to prepare your breakfast, sweetheart,” she teased, handing him a pack of black-market army rations.
He wordlessly wolfed down the food.
“Did you find anything in your rattraps?”
He nodded.
“Were they the two gorillas you suspected?”
“Yup.”
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
Ross laughed. “Of course I didn’t hurt them. They’re in a nice safe place until Charoon Bok arrives with his deputies.” He finished eating. “Are you ready to head back to civilization?”
Diana looked around the sanctuary in the treetops. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever come back here, will we?”
“I don’t suppose we will.”
Her eyes were serious. “I’ll never forget this place.”
“Neither will I,” he admitted. “Where the trees meet the sky—that must surely be heaven.”
“No,” said Diana softly.
Ross frowned. “No?”
Her eyes were golden fire when she whispered, “Heaven is in your arms.”
Twelve
“I still don’t get it,” said Ross as they finished searching through her belongings one last time. “We’ve examined every darn article of clothing you brought with you, every piece of paper, every document, we’ve even gone through Grimmer’s stuff and there is nothing here that qualifies as ‘merchandise.’”
“I know. I don’t get it, either,” said Diana as she flipped her long loose hair back off her shoulders. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand what the men on the beach said?”
“I’m sure. In fact, I’m positive.”
She shrugged. “Then I don’t have a clue.”
Trying to identify the “merchandise” was just one of many unanswered questions in her life, however. It had been an eventful week. Her otherwise well-ordered existence had literally been turned upside down.
She had flown halfway around the world to meet a fiancé who had mysteriously disappeared “on business” the day before her arrival. A crazy soldier of fortune had met her at the airport and warned her that she was in mortal danger. Puddle jumping to an isolated island in the Celebes Sea, she had met a colorful cast of local characters. Ross had claimed that she was his wife. Thugs had tried to kidnap her. She’d spent a wild and wonderful night of lovemaking in a tree house in the forest, and several more in the honeymoon suite of the Hotel Paraiso.
Now she was back where she’d started, at the Manila Hotel, trying to decide what do do with the rest of her life.
Yes, it had been an eventful week to say the least.
“Maybe we’ll never know what they were looking for,” she concluded, and stretched out her bare legs along the sofa in the sitting room.
“Maybe not.” Ross reached down and began to gently massage her toes and instep. “How are the feet?”
“Between Simon Ha’s combat boots and hiking for miles through the jungle, I don’t think they will ever be the same,” she admitted matter-of-factly.
She would certainly never be the same, but it had nothing to do with her feet.
Nevertheless, she told Ross breezily, “The minute I get back to the States, I’m going to buy myself some comfortable walking shoes. Or maybe a pair of those special sandals they import from Scandinavia that are supposed to be so good for your feet.”
“I have never understood why women wear those high-heeled torture devices, anyway,” he said, shaking his head.
“Vanity.”
“ ‘Vanity, thy name is woman.’ ”
She corrected him. “Actually the quote is, ‘frailty, thy name is woman.’ ”
“Macbeth?”
Diana shook her head. “Hamlet.”
Ross looked at her as if his curiosity had been piqued. “I suddenly realize I don’t know very much about you.”
“No. You don’t.”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I don’t have the slightest idea where you went to school. What you studied. Your favorite color. Your favorite flower. Not even what kind of music you like.”
“University of Michigan. English literature. Pale blue. Lilacs. Classical and some rock,” she answered succinctly. “What about you?”
Ross seemed willing to reciprocate. “MIT. Electrical engineering. Blond.” He grinned. “Roses, I guess. Country western and some rock.”
“A perfect match,” she said with a tight little smile.
Ross looked intently into her eyes. “We are in some ways.”
“In some ways,” she repeated softly.
“We never did have that talk,” he pointed out.
“No, we didn’t.”
“I guess we’ve been too busy island-hopping.”
“And running away from thugs.”
He put his hand on her shoulder with apparent nonchalance. “And making love.”
Diana swallowed. “And making love.”
There was an unmistakable expression in the agate-colored eyes. “How about staying in tonight?”
“All right,” she replied with what she hoped was a casual air.
“Room service?”
“That’s fine.”
“We’ll eat and we’ll talk.”
“Eat and talk?”
“I promise,” he said, and she believed him. “Your place or mine?”
Since Ross had taken a room just down the hall from hers, it hardly mattered.
“Mine,” said Diana. “But I would like to take a bath and change clothes first.”
“I guess a shower and a shave wouldn’t hurt me, either,” he said, getting to his feet. “A half hour?”
“Make it an hour, and here’s a key.” She handed it to him. “Let yourself in.”
Ross paused at the door of her hotel suite, leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her mouth. He reluctantly drew away. “I’ll be back.”
Her voice was husky. “That’s what you always say.”
“And I always come back.”
How long was always for a man like Ross St. Clair? That was the question Diana asked herself as she stripped off her clothes and ran a tubful of hot water.
Was there any future with a man who roamed from place to place? Who seemingly went through life without a care in the world? Without a single th
ought for what tomorrow might bring? Who carried all of his earthly possessions in a single well-worn knapsack?
She slipped into the steamy bathwater and put her head back against the porcelain tub. “He’s the wrong kind of man for you, Diana,” she said out loud.
But, dear God, he felt so right!
She loved the way Ross kissed her, touched her, caressed her, made love to her. She was crazy about the taste of him, the feel of him, the sheer strength of him.
There was more.
She had grown to respect him, to appreciate his wit, his intelligence, his integrity. She believed him to be an honest man, an honorable man, a gentle man.
He was also tough to the core, hard as nails, and quite capable of both violence and vengeance.
He was everything she didn’t want in a man, and yet she found him irresistible.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” Diana swore softly as she immersed herself in soap bubbles right up to her chin.
What was she going to do?
Well, to start with, she wasn’t going to marry Yale Grimmer. The minute she got back to Grosse Pointe, she would need to begin undoing all the plans she had just spent months doing. The church and the country club would have to be canceled. Her designer gown returned, or sold, or given away. The wedding invitations junked, maybe even shredded.
“I suppose everyone will think you’ve gone completely gaga. So be it,” she told herself philosophically. There were far worse things than appearing a little foolish.
It would cost a pretty penny to cancel what was to have been the society event of the year. But she could afford it. She could not afford to marry the wrong man.
She wasn’t sure who Mr. Right was anymore. But she knew for certain that Yale Grimmer was Mr. Dead Wrong.
Diana took a thick cotton washcloth from the towel rack beside the tub, dipped it into the hot bathwater, wrung it out and placed it across her eyes.
She let out a contented sigh.
Sometimes happiness in life got down to the basics. Hot water to bathe in. Clean clothes. Comfortable shoes. Decent food. Air-conditioning. A good firm mattress. Bug spray. Indoor plumbing. Safe drinking water. Just feeling safe, period. These were a few of the things she would never take for granted again, Diana vowed to herself.
She lost track of time. She may even have dozed. At some point she realized that the bathwater had cooled off and the skin on her fingers and toes was beginning to look like wrinkled prunes. She pulled the plug, reached for a towel and stepped out of the tub.
She slipped into her favorite wrapper, padded barefoot into the adjoining bedroom, sat down at the dressing table and began to run a comb through her damp hair. It brought back a rush of memories. That first night in the honeymoon suite at the Hotel Paraiso. The tree house in the forest. Showering under a rain barrel. Making love with Ross—his hands, his face, his lips buried in her wet hair.
“Oh…” she groaned aloud.
Diana stared at herself in the mirror. She had no regrets. She’d do it all over again if given the chance. But as hard as she tried, she could not imagine a future with Ross St. Clair.
A bleak expression looked back at her. Could she imagine a future without him?
Her voice lacked its customary sparkle as she muttered out loud, “You’re in trouble now. Big trouble. What are you going to do about it?”
“Funny you should say that, my dear. I was just thinking the very same thing,” came a familiar male voice from behind her.
Diana turned. She sucked in her breath. Then exclaimed in a half surprised, half angry tone, “Yale!”
Thirteen
Yale looked exactly the same. Tall. Good-looking. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Slender build. He’d been the quarterback on his college football team.
Diana wasn’t sure why she’d expected him to have changed. Then she realized it was because she had changed.
She pushed back the chair in front of the mirrored vanity, rose to her feet and secured the tie of her wrapper more tightly around her waist. Her fiancé stood in the doorway of the bedroom and waited for her to come to him.
She walked across the room, paused for a moment in front of him, reached up, placed a lukewarm kiss of greeting on his cheek and said, “Hello, Yale.” Then she brushed past him and went into the sitting room, knowing that he would follow.
It was improper for a gentleman to be in a lady’s boudoir, even if they were engaged to be married. Appearances must be maintained, after all. Proprieties must be observed.
Yale Grimmer had always been a stickler for appearances and proprieties.
His mouth thinned with a hint of disapproval. “I’ll wait while you get dressed.”
Diana glanced down at the modest bathrobe that covered her from neck to ankle. “I’m decent.”
His brown brows, the same color as his hair, drew together. “Where have you been?”
“Taking a bath,” she replied innocently.
“I don’t mean in the past five minutes.” His eyes narrowed. “Where in the hell have you been for the past five days?”
“Where in the hell have you been?” Diana countered with uncharacteristic bluntness.
For a moment Yale seemed taken aback by her outburst, but recovered admirably. His voice was laced with reproach as he informed her, “I have been running my tail off taking care of business. I have been trying to secure a future for the two of us. I have responsibilities, you know. I am in charge of the entire operation for the company in Asia and the Pacific.”
She bit her tongue. “Yes, I know. I’m well aware of your corporate responsibilities.” He had told her often enough.
Diana took a long, hard look at the man she had almost married. Yale wasn’t safe; he was a bore. He was handsome, yes, but bland. There was no character in his face, no strength, no passion.
He was dressed in conservative business attire for this part of the world: dark brown slacks, dark brown shoes, white shirt. There was nary a wrinkle to him, despite the heat and humidity. Every strand of his salon-styled hair was in place. He was completely clean shaven. His eyebrows were barber trimmed. His complexion had the slightest touch of a tan, just enough to make him appear the clean-cut, all-American boy.
All-American man, she corrected herself.
That was the moment it became crystal clear to Diana. The real difference between Yale Grimmer and Ross St. Clair was the difference between a boy and a man.
Odd, but Yale seemed years younger, although both men were in their mid-thirties.
Something else suddenly dawned on her. “By the way, how did you get into my hotel room?”
Yale dug into his pocket and produced a standard key. “I used a key. The suite is officially registered to the corporation. I did knock. In fact, several times. Apparently you didn’t hear me.”
He was lying.
She didn’t know why, but she was positive there had been no knock on her door.
“I think I’ll have a drink before dinner,” he said, stepping behind the bar. “May I fix you one, my dear?”
“No. Thank you, anyway.” Somehow Diana knew she’d need a clear head in the next few minutes. Something was going on here. She didn’t know what it was. But she had a feeling she was going to find out.
Yale poured himself a shot of Chivas Regal, added a splash of soda to the glass and sauntered over to the plush sofa as if he owned the world, the hotel suite and Diana. In that order. Then he demanded in a deceptively mild tone, “So, where have you been?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she muttered with a touch of sarcasm.
“When did you pick up this annoying habit of mumbling under your breath? It’s not like you,” he observed.
“Maybe I’ve changed.”
“I can’t imagine why. You were perfect the way you were,” he said.
“The perfect debutante. The perfect hostess. The perfect future corporate wife.”
“Yes. As I said, you were perfect.”
“And as a woman?”<
br />
He frowned at her. It was obvious Yale Grimmer didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
“We haven’t seen each other in nearly three months. That’s a long time,” Diana proposed, tossing her hair back over one shoulder.
“You always used to wear your hair swept up. I prefer it up,” Yale commented as he sipped his Scotch.
“I wear it down most of the time now,” she said pointedly.
He seemed to put the subject of her hairstyle from his mind and said with ill-concealed impatience, “You were about to tell me where you’ve been.”
“Well, for one thing,” she replied, her chin held high, “I was on the island of Port Manya because you telephoned and asked me to join you there.”
A tinge of color crept up Yale’s neck and onto his cheeks. “You were on Port Manya?”
“Yes,” she flared. “At the hotel where you were supposed to meet me.”
The answer stupefied him. “But there was no Diana Winsted registered at the Hotel Paraiso when I inquired.”
Ooops!
She deftly sidestepped the subject. “Well, when I inquired, there was a Yale Grimmer registered, but no one had seen him since the day before when he went off to talk to a fisherman about renting a boat.”
His voice held no apology. “I had some unexpected business come up. But I returned within forty-eight hours, and you weren’t there. It was dashed inconvenient, I’ll tell you,” he added in a sulky tone.
Diana had had just about enough. Indeed, she’d had more than enough. “Well, it wasn’t exactly convenient for me to fly all the way to some godforsaken island for nothing, either.” It was time to take the bull by the horns. “Tell me something, Yale.”
He glanced at her over the rim of his glass. “Yes?”
“Who is Carlos?”
Yale choked on his drink; the amber-colored Scotch dripped onto his otherwise pristine white shirt. “Carlos? I don’t know anyone named Carlos.”
He was a bad liar.
Diana tried a different tact. “What is the ‘merchandise’?”
Not His Wedding! (Silhouette Reissued) Page 11
