by Lisa Jackson
Marnie caught him leaning back on his heels, surveying his work and warming his palms against the small heat. His poncho had been discarded, hung on a peg by the front door, and his wet shirt clung to him like a second skin. His hair was beginning to dry, but still shined beneath the light shed from the wagon-wheel chandeliers suspended overhead.
He glanced her way when she entered, and rose to his feet. “Success,” he said, motioning toward the sconces mounted against the walls.
“Some. At least we’ll have light and heat, though I don’t know about the furnace. There might not be much oil in the tank. But so far,” she said, crossing her fingers, “it’s humming along.”
“All the comforts of home.” His eyes met hers, and his expression turned jaded. “Well, at least all the comforts of my home. I can’t speak for yours.”
“Are you going to badger me for the night? If so, you may as well start walking. There’s a town a few miles down the road.”
“Believe me, you weren’t part of my plan.”
“Then we’ve got something in common.”
“I doubt it.”
Boy, did he know how to get under her skin. “For your information, not that it matters, until today I lived with my father.”
“And now?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess I don’t have a home.”
“Unless you count the waterfront condominium in Seattle?”
“My father signed the lease.”
“But you lived there.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“What about the Tudor on Lake Washington?”
“My father’s.”
“So you are on some kind of independence kick, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed dangerously before he turned and using a long stick, prodded the fire. “The poor little rich girl. Had to leave all Daddy’s money, but had no other means of transportation than her yacht. Sorry, Marnie, it just doesn’t wash.”
“Then what do you think I’m doing?”
“Having a temper tantrum—an adult temper tantrum, but a tantrum nonetheless.”
“And you,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets and crossing the room to show him that she wasn’t the least bit frightened of him, though in truth, he did scare her. “What’re you doing?”
“Just lookin’ for the truth.”
“From me?”
“You’ll have to do,” he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “I’d really hoped that I could deal with Simms tonight.” She watched his fingers as the buttons slid through their holes, and the back of her throat turned desert-dry. What was he doing? Stripping? Right in front of her?
He didn’t seem the least self-conscious as he said, “I have to admit, getting the truth from Simms isn’t likely to happen. But you…I don’t know.” His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, revealing a hard chest with curling black hair and tanned skin stretched taut over corded muscles.
“What do you want to know?” she asked, forcing her eyes back to his face and flushing when she caught just the trace of amusement in his eyes.
“Everything.”
Oh, God, he was pulling his shirttails from his jeans and slipping his arms from the sleeves! His torso was rock-hard and solid, the muscles moving fluidly as he tossed the shirt over the fireplace screen and positioned the screen in front of the grate.
Marnie let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. He was only drying out his clothes. Of course. And in the back of her mind she’d half expected him to try to seduce her. What an idiot she was! He wasn’t interested in her sexually.
And she wasn’t interested in him. Yet her gaze kept wandering to his chest and the sinewy strength of his arms.
“What do you think Kent could tell you?”
“How he embezzled the money.”
“Kent?” She turned her gaze back to his face to see if he was joking, but his features were stone-sober. “Embezzle?”
“Why not?”
“And jeopardize his future with the company? No way.” Marnie shook her head. She’d seen Kent Simms in a new light these past few weeks, and she knew that nothing was more important to Kent than his position at Montgomery Inns. Tonight had proved it.
Snakes! They were both snakes! Victor and Kent. “Five hundred thousand dollars isn’t enough for Kent to risk everything.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, inadvertently smudging her jaw with dirt. “In fact, I wouldn’t think he’d do it for a million.”
“A half million is a lot of money.”
“Not to Kent’s way of thinking,” she said bitterly.
Adam sat on the hearth and took off his shoes. Water dripped onto the floor. “You’re not very kind to your fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé,” she said swiftly.
“Lovers’ spat?”
“Something like that.” She didn’t see any reason to confide in Adam. She hadn’t even told her father about Kent’s infidelity and might never. Kent’s betrayal was too humiliating. To keep looking busy, she found a mossy log propped against the hearth and tossed it onto the fire. The moss ignited in a spit of flames. She barely glanced at Adam again, afraid she’d already said too much, afraid her eyes would wander over his broad expanse of naked skin. “So are you going to get dressed?” she asked, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.
“Do I bother you?”
“Yes!” She spun on her heel and felt her cheeks go warm as she saw the firelight play against his skin.
His gaze touched hers for a heartbeat, then he walked, barefoot, leaving wet footprints in the dust, to the door, where his bag was lying open, and withdrew a shirt—the same white shirt he’d worn to the party. Rumpled silk and muddy denim—a new fashion statement.
“So why do I bother you, Marnie? You think I’m a thief?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “All I want to do is get through this night.”
“If I took the money, why would I show up at Victor’s party, hmm?” He finished tucking his shirt into his Levi’s and looked up at her, his dark eyes intense and probing.
“Maybe you want to clear your name so that you can dupe someone else into hiring you.”
“No way. I’m through working for someone else.” He smiled coldly. “I guess I’m on an independence kick, too. You know, Marnie, we’re more alike than I’d ever guessed.” Laughing bitterly at his own joke, he reached for her bag and tossed it to her. “You should change, too. Wouldn’t want Victor’s daughter to catch her death.”
“I didn’t say I was on an independence kick.”
“Aren’t you?” He regarded her so intensely that she was uncomfortable.
“I’m just taking a vacation.”
“Sure. In the middle of a tempest.”
Rather than get caught in this argument, she grudgingly took his advice and decided to change. Her shoes squished and her jeans and sweatshirt were soaked in seawater. Shooting him an angry glare, she carried her bag to the rest room behind the lobby desk.
The sinks were dirty and stained. She twisted on a knob, but no water flowed from the spigot. “Give me strength,” she prayed, stripping out of her wet clothes and tossing on a dry pair of jeans and a sweater.
When she finally returned to the lobby, she found Adam had moved a couple of old couches close to the fire. “I figured we needed something to sleep on,” he explained.
Sleep. She doubted she’d even close her eyes tonight. She ran her fingers over the back of an old, dusty couch. Sleep would be impossible while lying this close to a man who had nearly been indicted for embezzling from her father, a man who had the nerve to stow away on her boat, a man who was too damned virile for his own good.
This was getting him nowhere, Adam thought darkly. He hazarded a glance at Marnie asleep on the other couch, her hair falling in a lustrous blond wave against her cheek, her breathing deep and even. She’d told him nothing. Nothing!
Disgusted, he rolled over, biting back an epithet at the broken spring that was pokin
g into his back. Somehow he had to convince Marnie that he wasn’t the enemy, that she could trust him, that she should open up to him. But how? She was angry with Simms and her father right now; maybe he could play upon that. If he could just keep her with him, there was even a chance that he could pretend interest in her. Most women couldn’t resist male attention, but Marnie Montgomery wasn’t most women.
And she, though she claimed otherwise, could still be involved with Simms. A slow smile spread across his chin at the thought of making love to her, at claiming Simms’s woman for his own. But as soon as the thought came, he shoved it aside. Though making love to Marnie held a certain appeal, he wasn’t into primal male urges. Seducing her to get back at Simms was beneath even him.
He’d done his share of womanizing years before, and nothing good had come of it. He’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in Chicago, been raised by an elderly aunt whom he’d easily duped and had gotten into more trouble with the law than he should have. Along the way there had been girls and women, and not one face he could remember.
The minor scrapes with the law had convinced his aunt that Adam needed more direction, and he’d been forced to sign a hitch in the navy, where he’d spent four years finding out how tough life could really be.
From the navy he’d gone on to college, where he’d met more women—coeds. By this time, he’d figured out that most women were more trouble than they were worth, always after something.
After graduation, he’d landed a job with a hotel in Cleveland and been transferred to San Francisco, where he’d caught the eye of Victor Montgomery.
The rest was history. From the time he’d been hired on with Montgomery Inns, Adam had thought his life was right on course. Victor had taken to him, and Adam’s quick rise up the corporate ladder had surpassed all of his contemporaries, including Kent Simms.
Kent, who had been with the company longer than Adam and had graduated at the top of his class at Stanford, had never liked Adam Drake. Simms had let Adam know more than once that he didn’t approve of Adam’s less-than-conventional methods of business.
Adam had never cared much for Simms, either, though he hadn’t given the man much thought. And he’d never considered Simms capable of anything more devious than greed. Raised in an upper-middle-class family, Kent had always been seduced by money—he’d had a taste of it growing up in California, but he’d always hungered for real wealth.
However, Adam doubted Kent had the guts to sabotage Adam’s career just to gain more favor with Victor. The plan could too easily have backfired.
No, subterfuge wasn’t Kent’s style. However, wooing Victor’s daughter was right in character. Adam didn’t think Kent was capable of love—and in that respect they were twin spirits. Adam thought love was overrated and probably nonexistent. However, he imagined Kent’s supposed love of Marnie was tied up in the golden ribbon of Montgomery wealth.
Snorting in disgust, he rolled over again. This time he faced her, saw the firelight play upon the slope of her cheek. He noticed the sweep of her lashes and the regular rise and fall of her chest, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Poor little rich girl, he thought again, the unhappy princess. With a soft sigh, she flung one arm out, and the old bedding they’d scrounged from an upper hall was tossed aside. Though fully dressed, her sweater was untucked, exposing a slice of abdominal flesh that, even in repose, appeared taut and nubile.
Stop it! He squeezed his eyes shut. Enough! He had to quit thinking of her as a woman—she was Victor Montgomery’s daughter. Nothing more.
All he had to do was get through tonight and use her tomorrow. Find out what she knew about the embezzling scam and get the hell out!
Chapter Five
Opening one eye, Marnie noticed an old coffeepot nestled in the warm coals of the fire. On the hearth, a half-full jar of instant coffee, two spoons and a few ceramic cups had been set out.
A gift from Adam? she wondered, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She glanced at his couch, found it empty, and blinked herself awake. Her mouth tasted rotten, and she felt dirty and grimy. A cup of coffee would help.
As she twisted off the cap of the jar, she thought about Adam. He must’ve found the utensils in the kitchen, though the coffee and the water to make it with had obviously come from the galley of the Marnie Lee.
So why the uncharacteristic act of kindness? He needn’t have troubled himself. Stretching her cramped shoulders and neck, she looked around the room, half expecting to see him, though she could tell by the atmosphere in the lodge—the silence and the cold, stagnant air—that he wasn’t around. But he’d be back. His bags were still by the front door, and his clothes, stiff and dirty, were strung across a fireplace screen. Only his poncho and beat-up running shoes were missing. He might just be outside searching for more firewood, or walking to the nearest town to phone for help.
Or maybe not. He hadn’t exactly made a beeline to get off the boat when he’d found her at the wheel. Sure, there’d been a storm, and he couldn’t have done anything but stay on board, and yet once he’d gotten over the shock of discovering her on board, he hadn’t been in a hurry to abandon her.
Not that she cared, she told herself as she poked at the smoldering logs. Right now, Adam Drake was just extra baggage.
She grabbed the handle of the metal pot and sucked in her breath as she burned her fingers. Dropping the kettle, she stuck her fingers in her mouth. Some of the water spilled onto the coals, hissing loudly. “Son of a…gun!” she muttered, shaking her hand to cool her reddened skin. “Smooth move, Marnie. Real smart. Now you know why you should have been a Boy Scout!”
One step backward for independence, she thought wryly as she glanced over her shoulder, half expecting Adam to appear on the balcony and laugh at her. But there wasn’t so much as the scrape of leather on the dusty floorboards, not the flicker of a shadow. He’d obviously taken off early this morning while she’d slept. Lord, she must’ve been dead to the world. Hard to believe. Marnie Montgomery, the world’s greatest insomniac, sleeping as if drugged, while a strange man—perhaps a thief—was stretched out only a few feet away. She hadn’t even surfaced when he’d rattled around with the coffeepot.
Slowly the pain in her hand retreated to a dull ache. She wondered about Adam and his cockamamy story. Why unearth all that scandal about the embezzling again? Was he really so innocent that it mattered? The fire popped, and she kicked at a spark that spewed onto the hearth. Adam Drake, the eternal mystery and bane of Montgomery Inns.
What would her father say? She could picture Victor now, his face suffused in red, his lower lip trembling in rage when she told him she’d spent the night with Adam Drake. It would be better if Victor never knew. After all, this whole trip was about her bid for freedom, wasn’t it?
Wrapping her hand in an old towel, she picked up the coffeepot more carefully this time and poured a stream of hot water into the chipped cup. Steam rolled from the hot water as she stirred in a spoonful of the dark crystals. The smell of coffee mingled with the scent of burning wood, and surprisingly, she relaxed, sipping from her cup.
Despite a night on a lumpy, dusty couch, no food for hours, the feel of grit against her skin and her disturbing companion, Marnie Montgomery felt better than she had in a long, long time. She was on her way to being her own woman, she could feel it in her bones. Tucking her knees to her chin, she cradled her cup and let the steam caress her face.
For years she had craved adventure. And now, feeling the hot coffee burn down her throat, she’d gotten the adventure of a lifetime. With some twists she hadn’t expected. Between last night’s storm and Adam Drake, all her plans had been shot to shreds. And the surprising part was, she wasn’t even worried.
She, who had fussed that every press release, every meeting, every party be perfect down to the very tiniest detail. She, who had spent hours color-coordinating napkins and linen, balloons and flower arrangements, seeking out opinions from Rose Trullinger, her
father’s interior decorator. She’d labored over brochures, and if one line wasn’t to her liking, she’d insisted it be fixed. At the news conferences she’d been poised, every hair in place, wearing expensive suits, her speeches prepared to the letter.
And why wouldn’t she be a perfectionist? After her mother’s death she’d been raised by several nannies, all of whom had assured her that to win her father’s approval she should be the new “lady” of Montgomery Manor, the little girl who acted like an adult. Miss Ellison, her favorite nanny, the one who had marched into her father’s palatial home a week after her mother had died, had taught eleven-year-old Marnie how to fold her napkin on her lap, which utensil to eat with, and how to write proper thank-you notes on her engraved stationery. Never was she to wear anything wrinkled or soiled, and no dress could be worn twice to a Montgomery Inn function.
Her education had been planned since her birth, and though at college she’d rebelled a little and worn her jeans one whole week without washing them, all her lessons were so deeply ingrained that she was still the epitome of social decorum.
If it hadn’t been for those summer vacations with her father, when he taught her how to fish and swim and steer a boat, she might have turned into the perfect little angel Miss Ellison had tried to mold.
No wonder a man like Kent had been attracted to her…and repulsed. The Ice Maiden, as she’d heard herself called on more than one occasion.
Spontaneity hadn’t been a part of her vocabulary. Until she’d written her letter of resignation to her father. Well, she’d certainly changed. Almost overnight. She swallowed a smile when she thought of feisty, birdlike Miss Ellison. In her own way, Marnie had loved the pert Englishwoman with her smooth, implacable expression and warm eyes that were always partially hidden behind rimless glasses. Miss Ellison had been kind and warm to Marnie, though unbending in her perception of who Victor Montgomery’s daughter should be. Miss Ellison’s interpretation was that Marnie was to become the princess of Montgomery Inns and heir to the throne—that worn boardroom chair now occupied by Marnie’s father. Of course, Miss Ellison had anticipated that Marnie would marry well, and her husband, the new prince of the Montgomery empire, would be handsome and intelligent and kind and ride up on his white charger to swoop Marnie away.
