by Janet Dailey
The town buildings of Clayton prompted her to make one last test of her theory, especially when Chris mentioned the museum there.
“I don’t suppose we’ll have time to stop there, either.”
The faint challenge in her tone drew the swift appraisal of his charcoal eyes, the speculation in their narrowed look not quite hidden.
“Not this time,” he answered without elaboration.
Not ever. The premonition was so strong it nearly was spoken. The force of her certainty startled her, more so because she couldn’t think why he didn’t want to let her go ashore. During the last hour of their sail back to the island, she thought and thought, but she couldn’t come up with a logical reason to explain his action.
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Chapter Five
SAMANTHA FINGERED the stem of her wine glass. A few drops of red wine colored the bottom. The scarlet spectacular of sunset made no impression on her as it faded into a purpling twilight. Nothing had since she had become preoccupied with the question that remained unanswered. Why hadn’t Chris wanted her to leave the boat?
Her gaze slid to him and found him studying her. She smiled quickly and took her hand away from the empty glass, realizing that neither of them had spoken for the past several minutes. The tip of her tongue nervously moistened her lower lip as she searched for an innocuous comment.
“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes.”
Both had changed for dinner that evening. He was wearing a white turtleneck shirt with a dark blue blazer and light blue slacks. This was another thing that confused Samantha. With all his money, she wondered why he didn’t have jackets tailored to fit his broad shoulders and muscular chest. What he was wearing was attractive, but it would have been more so if it wasn’t so tight around the shoulders.
Sighing, she rose from the table, smoothing her palms over the soft material covering her hips. The crimson two-piece suit had a floor-length culotte skirt and a long-sleeved top with the complementing draping folds of a tunic neckline. The vivid color accented the silky brown of her hair.
“Restless again?” Chris questioned, rising from the table, too.
“Again?” Her head jerked toward him, his question disconcerting her.
“Last night you couldn’t sleep,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes,” Samantha nodded her understanding. She supposed she hadn’t done a very good job of concealing her abstraction. This was one time when she wasn’t prepared to be candid, not until she had some hints of what was going on. Since he was prepared to blame her distraction on a restlessness, she was ready to go along with it. “I suppose I am a bit restless,” she admitted.
“Rather than risk a repeat of last night, I think I should suggest a walk before midnight.”
Samantha flipped the hair away from her cheek. “Not a bad idea.” But her voice was hollow.
As they stepped through the patio door into the dusk, Chris glanced around. “Did you want to just walk or do you have a particular destination in mind?”
After an indecisive movement, she answered, “The gazebo.”
His hand lightly rested on the back of her waist, and she let the slight pressure guide her toward the path she had taken the previous night. A scattering of pine needles littered the path, rustling under the soles of her sandals. Samantha couldn’t ignore her awareness of the footsteps accompanying her, nor the invading warmth of his hand on her lower, spine.
It had been a mistake to come out here, she decided, but it was too late to turn back now. The lengthening shadows of the trees seemed to shut out the rest of the world. It was a relief when they thinned and the gazebo was before her. She breathed easier as Chris’s hand fell away, her pulse reverting to a less erratic beat.
Walking onto the octagonal platform, she paused on the side closest to the river. The smooth surface of the water was shimmering with the approaching darkness, reflecting the dying light of the sunset. Chris stood next to her, a shoulder leaning against a post, a leg bent to rest his foot on the wooden seat, but his attention wasn’t fixed on the river. He was watching her with alertness veiled by aloof indolence.
“Is something troubling you, Sam?” he asked quietly after several minutes of silence had passed.
“What makes you ask that?” she returned lightly as if the question was really quite ridiculous.
But her gaze could only make a pretense of meeting the penetration of his. Mostly it skittered over the rugged masculinity of his features.
“You look as if you have something on your mind.” The thread of seriousness didn’t leave his tone despite her attempt to jest.
“Doesn’t everybody?” Samantha shrugged, trying to indicate to him that it really wasn’t important.
She found it difficult to think with him so nearby. It became worse when he straightened as if he wanted a closer look at her expression.
Pretending an indifference that her thudding heart was far from endorsing, Samantha tipped back her head to gaze at the sky shading into a midnight blue. The first evening star winked at her and the silver crescent of the moon occupied another corner of the sky. The setting was too disturbingly romantic for her peace of mind. The musky scent of his after-shave cologne drifted in the air, and a sigh broke unwillingly from her lips.
“Did you enjoy yourself today?”
“Oh, yes.” Her head turned jerkily to face him, an artificial smile of enthusiasm curving her lips. “The islands are lovely.”
A breeze from the river teased at her hair, blowing a few strands across her cheek to be caught in the moist corner of her mouth. She lifted her hand to brush them away, but his fingers were already there pushing the silky strands behind her ear, then tangling his fingers in the thickness of the hair at the back of her neck.
At almost the same moment, he slid his other hand under her arm and around her back, drawing her to the right side of his chest. Startled, she gripped the flexing muscles of his right arm, pressing the heel of her other hand against his left shoulder to arch away from him.
But the enigmatic darkness of his compelling gaze held her captive. She should protest, but she didn’t really want to. He had to be aware of that fact. He was too experienced not to know when a woman wanted to be kissed. He let several more seconds stretch tautly to heighten her anticipation.
Then his mouth settled warmly over hers, caressing and arousing and melting the stiffness of her lips. Samantha had neither the will nor the desire to withstand his persuasive expertise. Her limbs weakened under the sensual assault until she was leaning against his hard length for support.
This response brought an insistent demand to his kiss, parting her lips, the invasion and possession more vividly exhilarating than any sensation she had ever known. The taste of his mouth was an aphrodisiac, heady and addictive. Her hips were molded against the solid muscles of his thighs.
In the sweetness of surrender, her fingers clung to his arm, the half fist of her right hand spreading open to caress the bulge of his shoulder. He caught her right wrist, lifting his head to gaze into the dazed shimmer of her eyes. The smoldering darkness of his charcoal eyes revealed the physical disturbance her response had made on him, although he was more in control of his emotions than she was.
For several seconds the iron band of his muscular arm continued to press her against his length while he held her wrist in his hands. A thumb rubbed the sensitive inside of her wrist while her pulse was drumming.
The line of his jaw tightened in decision. Samantha was set away from him as he turned, moving into the shadows. Light flared and a match flame was cupped to a cigarette. In the next instant, a lit cigarette was thrust into her hand.
She accepted it shakily, inhaling on the filtered tip and hoping the nicotine would have the desired calming effect. But the silence was unnerving. She had certainly made it obvious that she had enjoyed his kiss and hadn’t indicated any desire for it to end. So why had he ended the embrace?
T
here was a possible explanation, one that filled her with waves of self-disgust for reacting so naturally to his caresses. And the possible explanation made it necessary that she attempt to restore some of her pride.
“You weren’t obliged to kiss me, Chris.” Her voice was treacherously husky. She felt the thrust of his sharp gaze, but continued looking over the river. “When I agreed to your suggestion of a night walk, that was all I expected. It never occurred to me that the moonlight might make you think I was anticipating a flirtation.”
“Is that why you think I kissed you?” There was a grim hardness in his voice. His fingers caught her chin, turning her face to the moonlight so he could view its expression. Her eyes had lost their dazed look and were wide and frank. “Out of a sense of duty because of the moonlight?”
“Isn’t it?” Samantha countered, faintly accusing. “After all, I am your guest and Reuben Gentry’s daughter.”
“Therefore,” he followed her train of thought aloud, “I’m entertaining you even to the point of indulging any romantic fantasies you might have about the magic of moonlight.” The freezing scorn in his voice hinted at a savage fury. “You couldn’t be farther from the truth, Miss Gentry, in nearly every respect.”
“I don’t understand.” A confused frown partially arched an eyebrow as she searched the shadows to see his face.
“It isn’t necessary you do.” Clipped and harsh. “Nothing is necessary except —” Abruptly he checked the rest of the sentence, staring at her for taut seconds.
An expletive was muttered beneath his breath. Her chin was released and the cigarette tom from her grasp to be thrown into the night. An iron trap closed around her, pinning her arms tightly. A fiery passion was consuming her lips, whirling her into a vortex of sensations before she could assimilate what was happening. She yielded to the demands of his mouth, her lips parting under the brutal pressure of his, a savage sweetness in the pain he inflicted.
Her flesh pliantly allowed itself to be molded against the intimate contours of his masculine shape. Her hands, wanting to encircle his neck, had to be satisfied with spreading over his chest, fingers slipping inside the lapels of his jacket. Arching her farther backward, he abandoned the responsive delights of her mouth to scorch her face with kisses, then nibbling at her neck until a moaning sigh of pain and passion came from her throat. There was no support from her legs and his arms took her weight. Her hands searched for a way to cling to him, her fingers encountering smooth leather as they curled into the knit of his turtleneck.
He stiffened, then dragged himself away, capturing her hands and holding them against his chest. She could feel his ragged breathing as she swayed unsteadily toward him, not meaning to, but unable to stop. The narrowed screen of his dark lashes concealed the desire she knew had to be burning in his eyes. She guessed her own reflected it and lowered them from the penetrating scrutiny of his gaze. She stared instead at the large hands imprisoning hers.
“I must be out of my mind to get mixed up with you,” he breathed savagely.
“I —” Samantha began.
“For God’s sake, don’t say any more!” he snapped angrily. “It’s bad enough already! Come on.” He jerked her to the side, his fingers bruising the tender flesh of her arm as he pushed her toward the path, yet keeping her close enough to him that she felt his left shoulder brushing against hers. “We’re going back to the house before this gets out of hand.”
But it wasn’t the harsh command of his voice that stopped Samantha from protesting. It was the fleeting touch of something hard against her shoulder and a series of memories that suddenly joined together like pieces of a puzzle.
The poorly tailored jackets and the fact that she had seen him only once when he wasn’t wearing a jacket of sorts. The way he had abruptly ended both embraces when she had started to hold him. The leather she had touched under his jacket. The hard, inanimate object that had just brushed her shoulder.
And most of all, the memory of the previous night when she thought she had seen him slip a gun inside his windbreaker. She hadn’t thought she’d seen it — she had. What was more, he was wearing a shoulder holster now.
Why? Why was he wearing it? For protection against the possibility of intruders? No, Samantha couldn’t accept that; the threat wasn’t that great. Ask him, an inner voice prodded. Laugh and tease him that he found her so dangerous he carried a gun. But the cold waves of fear she was experiencing froze her into silence.
They were nearing the house, its lights growing brighter. She stumbled and the grip on her arm tightened cruelly to steady her, and she bit her lip to keep back the cry of pain. Her arm wasn’t released until they were a few steps from the door.
As she entered the house, Samantha tried to keep a few feet advantage, moving awkwardly into the empty living room. She stood uncertainly near the massive stone fireplace, unable to escape any farther. He stopped just inside the room and she felt the hooded scrutiny of his look.
Keeping her back to him, she forced her twisting hands apart and raked her fingers through her hair. Her heart pounded as loudly as a hammer in the pregnant silence. If only he would stop studying her as if she were a slide under a microscope, she thought desperately. The width of the room separated them, yet she could think no more clearly now than when she had been in his arms.
“I’ll have Maggie bring us some coffee,” he announced abruptly, irritation making his voice tight and faintly harsh.
“No.” Samantha swung around, breathing in sharply as she became impaled by his rapier gaze. Although an unknown terror was racing her pulse, the sudden tremors that quaked through her were caused by his overpowering virility. “I don’t care for any coffee,” she declared after a second’s pause. “I … I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’ll make an early night of it.”
With the decision made, she started toward the corridor leading to her bedroom. She glimpsed a movement from him and wanted to bolt, but she forced herself, her feet, not to hurry.
“Sam!” his voice commanded slowly.
In the hall opening, she stopped, trying to meet his slate gray eyes without betraying her inner trepidation. As slow, seemingly lazy strides brought him closer, she felt her knees weakening and rested a hand against the wall for support.
Chris halted a foot away, bronzed, rawboned features gazing down at her, lean and hard, rugged and compelling. The line of his mouth had thinned in grimness. His jaw was clenched and taut.
His hand reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing her smooth skin. Samantha trembled visibly, as his caress flamed through her. Quickly she lowered her gaze, but avoided looking at the bulge on the left side of his blazer. Not even fear could check the desire to be in his arms.
“Please, I’m tired.” She tried to speak with bright unconcern.
His thumb slipped under her chin to tilt it upward. “Sam, I …” The urgency of his low voice never had an opportunity to convey its message.
Footsteps approached the living room and his hand fell away as he turned to meet them. Granted a reprieve, Samantha took advantage of it.
“Good night, Chris,” she murmured as Tom appeared in the living room. She hurried down the corridor to her bedroom.
Within minutes she was in bed with the lights out. She lay awake for long hours in the dark, thinking. Each time she tried to concentrate on his possible reasons for carrying a gun, her thoughts kept turning to the way he had kissed her and the undiluted passion he had aroused in her.
It didn’t make for a restful sleep when she finally did doze. But it was a light sleep that had her rising before eight the next morning.
Chris was already breakfasting when she entered the dining room. His detached greeting was unexpected. Samantha assumed a similar attitude, especially after she noticed the bulge on his left side under the tan bush jacket. Orange juice, coffee and toast were on the table. Her appetite didn’t stretch to more than that and she refused Maggie’s offer of bacon and eggs when the woman appea
red briefly in the room.
“Was there anything you needed from town?” The question was offered negligently as Chris lit a cigarette.
Samantha stared at the slice of half-eaten toast in her hand. After his suspicions yesterday, the inquiry was a surprise. He seemed to be suggesting a shopping expedition. Everything imaginable had been awaiting her arrival here and she couldn’t think of a thing that had been overlooked. She wasn’t going to admit that, though.
“There are a couple of things,” she lied smoothly and let her teeth crunch off a bite of toast.
“Make a list and give it to Maggie. She’ll see that you get whatever you need.” He shook out the match and tossed it into an ashtray.
Her gaze sliced across the table to his bland expression of aloofness. So she wasn’t to be allowed to go into town. But she had to make certain that was really what he meant and it wasn’t just her imagination.
“That isn’t necessary,” she denied, smiling falsely as she added a spoonful of marmalade to her toast. “I’ll ride along with her to town. It’ll be fun wandering through the shops.”
“Maggie isn’t going to town.” His cryptic reply forced Samantha to meet the hooded charcoal of his gaze. Coiled and alert behind that masked look of ease, he held her attention.
“I don’t understand,” Samantha laughed self-consciously.
“She’s ordering by phone what supplies we need and a launch will bring them out this afternoon,” he explained.
“Oh.” A small voice of understanding.
There was nothing left to say and she began munching on the marmalade-covered toast. Its sweetness was suddenly cloying.
The morning hours dragged. It was an effort to appear natural and not be consumed by all the suspicions and doubts that had surfaced. And, after last night’s tempestuous kisses, Chris’s withdrawn behavior was disturbing. He avoided any opportunity to touch her, however innocent the reason, and Samantha’s awareness of him was heightened to a fever pitch. The air around her crackled as if an electrical storm was approaching.
