by Janet Dailey
"I think that was uncalled-for," Victoria finally managed to murmur tautly.
The door beckoned with an escape route and Victoria ordered her legs to take it. Averting her gaze from his compelling face she moved away from the bed, taking the short, straight-line route to the door. It meant walking past him, but she didn't expect Dirk to stop her.
When she was level with him, an arm came out to cross in front of her and hook a hand on the side of her waist. Victoria took an instant step backward to avoid the hard biceps that had flexed against her breasts. His hand stayed on her waist, his fingers firm in their spreading clasp. His touch started miniature tremors in her stomach to confuse her.
"You're right." His voice was low and almost reluctant in its admission. Victoria was surprised he admitted it at all and lifted her gaze to his incredibly handsome face. Immediately she felt drawn by the mysterious blackness of his eyes. The dangerous enchantment made her heart beat faster. "I was fantasizing about how enjoyable it could be to have you for a sleeping companion. Something a proper guest wouldn't admit, but I could hardly be described as proper."
Wicked, perhaps, Victoria thought. A dangerous temptation seemed to charge the air. But she wasn't about to flirt with the enemy, especially when she wasn't sufficiently armed to combat his potent weaponry.
"If you'll excuse me." Victoria glanced pointedly at the hand on her waist that was detaining her. When she lifted her gaze she let it dwell on him with haughty disdain, although that was far from the mixed-up emotions quivering inside.
As his hand came away his arm made a sweeping gesture to offer clear passage. His courtly manner was rife with mockery and Victoria's agitation quickly turned to anger. It was evident in every controlled line of her carriage as she moved to the door. His low chuckle laughed at her when she carefully closed it behind her, rather than slam it as her temper wanted her to do.
Her teeth were clenched in pure rage. She would have stormed down the stairs except the high heels of her sandals forced her to take the steps at a slower pace. When Victoria reached the foyer Josie appeared and asked a question in French, but Victoria's mind was seething with too many angry thoughts to translate it.
"Oh, speak English!" she exclaimed in irritation.
"Is everything all right?" Josie repeated the question with stiff formality.
"No, everything isn't all right!" Victoria snapped.
"What is wrong? Isn't the room to his liking?" the housekeeper questioned sharply.
"The room is to his liking all right. It's Dirk Ramsey who isn't to my liking." she retorted.
"Do you wish—"
"I wish to have him out of here!" Victoria interrupted.
"Mr. Ramsey is your father's guest," Josie reminded her.
"And I mean to take that up with dad the minute he returns." She pivoted away to enter the living room.
It seemed she had to wait forever for that eventuality. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the stairwell seemed to be at an abominably slow rhythm. With each minute, Victoria's resentment of Dirk Ramsey boiled hotter and hotter. When her parents did return it was bubbling over.
The carefree sounds of their laughing voices as they entered the house only added fuel to her anger. Her hands were clenched into rigid fists at her sides that they should sound so happy when she had been through such a trying ordeal.
Carrying their tennis rackets they strolled into the living room their hands linked together. Her mother looked youthful and smart in her white tennis skirt, a radiant flush to her cheeks as she looked into the smiling face of the man at her side. The clock chimed four times to mark the hour.
"It's about time you came back," Victoria declared in a tight voice.
"Hello, Tory." Her father turned his smile to her. "Did you finish your book?"
"No! I was rudely interrupted by the arrival of your Dirk Ramsey." She placed sarcastic emphasis on the adverb.
"He arrived already?" Surprise replaced the smiling expression on Charles Beaumont's features.
"About an hour ago," Victoria informed him.
"I hope you made him welcome and explained why your mother and I weren't here." Unlinking his fingers from his wife's hand he came farther into the room, setting his tennis racket on the sofa in front of the large stone fireplace.
Her mother followed him. "Is he in his room now?"
"Yes, he's in his room, and yes, I made him welcome." Victoria was trying very hard not to unleash her temper on them. "Yes, I explained where you were. Although he was skeptical that your absence might have been deliberate."
"Deliberate?" Her father frowned.
Victoria squared around to face him. "Ramsey thought I was the advance guard to soften him up," she said icily.
His head came back as he emitted a hearty laugh. "You must have been very charming, Tory. I congratulate you."
"Save your congratulations!" she erupted angrily. "If you let that man stay in this house for two weeks, I'm moving out! I have had all his veiled insults that I can stand."
"Victoria," her mother attempted to soothe her ruffled feathers with a calming tone.
"Don't Victoria me. I mean it!" she flashed. "He is the most crude, objectionable man you can imagine. Arrogant, conceited, drunk on his own self-importance, he—"
"Ssh, Tory, that's enough." Her father raised a silencing hand.
"Don't you shush me! I've had to bite my tongue so many times it's sore!" Victoria declared in a stormy protest. "You are wasting your time having that man here. Dirk Ramsey! Dirk, I bet that isn't even his real name. It's probably a nickname that he's earned from stabbing people in the back!"
"You are mistaken, Miss Beaumont," a voice drawled behind her and Victoria pivoted to see Dirk Ramsey in the living-room arch, a hand thrust negligently in the pocket of his dark slacks. "Dirk is my real name."
"It's also your real nature," she retorted. It was too late to pretend now. Victoria could tell by his hard expression that he had heard everything she had said about him.
"Tory, Mr. Ramsey is a guest in our home," her father cautioned her to hold her tongue.
But Victoria had been doing that for too long. "Mr. Ramsey is a pain in the—"
"Victoria!" Her mother's shocked voice cut across the sentence.
A smile of insolent amusement slanted the handsomely cut mouth. "A lady wouldn't use the language you were thinking, Miss Beaumont," Dirk taunted.
"Since you view everything from the gutter, I thought it was the only kind you would understand!" she retorted.
"Victoria, you will apologize at once!" her father demanded in cold anger.
"No, there's no need for her to apologize," Dirk insisted and moved into the room. "I much prefer her honest hostility to the false welcome I received earlier." He stopped in front of her, his dark enigmatic eyes studying the pride and temper animating her classic features.
Her father came up behind her and put an arm on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ramsey. I'm afraid my daughter is—"
"Is commendably loyal to you," Dirk interrupted to complete the sentence, his gaze finally swinging from Victoria to her father. "I wouldn't apologize for that, Mr. Beaumont. It should be a source of pride to you that she feels so protective and defensive on your behalf."
"It's generous of you to be so understanding. Thank you." Charles Beaumont offered his hand and Dirk shook it firmly.
"Getting better acquainted is the purpose of my visit," he said. "There aren't many parents who inspire such a fierce loyalty in their children, so I suppose we have already begun to fulfill that purpose." Releasing her father's hand, Dirk returned his attention to Victoria who was still eyeing him with hostility. "Now that your daughter has aired her animosity and everything is out in the open, I think we can observe a truce for the rest of my stay."
"With you, I'm sure it will be an 'armed' truce, Mr. Ramsey," Victoria responded to his half challenge.
"Call me Dirk…that way you can pretend you are stabbing me every time you say my n
ame," he smiled lazily and offered his hand to her. "And I'll call you Victoria and think of the queen. Maybe I'll remember to be properly humble in your presence."
She placed her hand in his and gave him an arching smile. "That I would like to see…Dirk." And she stabbed him with his name.
Instead of grasping her hand to shake it, he gripped her fingers and bent over her hand. When Victoria realized his intention she automatically tightened her fingers to withdraw her hand from his descending mouth. But it was too late to avoid the warm lips that pressed themselves to the back of her hand in a continental gesture that he carried off with a suave ease. The contact ignited a liquid fire that coursed through her veins.
As he straightened, there was a devilish blackness to his eyes. When he released her hand it was all Victoria could do to keep from rubbing the place where his lips had been, wanting to erase their imprint and the tingling sensation that remained.
She did the next best thing by mocking the gesture. "Such gallantry! However did you acquire such finesse?" she taunted.
"By watching Errol Flynn movies," Dirk responded in the same vein. Then he was turning away. "You haven't introduced me to your wife, Beaumont."
"I beg your pardon," her father apologized and reached out to draw his wife forward. "Lena, I would like you to officially meet Dirk Ramsey. My wife, and friend, Lena Beaumont."
"I'm sorry our meeting couldn't have been in friendlier circumstances, Mr. Ramsey," her mother apologized as she shook his hand.
"Don't let it trouble you," Dirk smiled and Victoria saw how devastatingly good-looking he could be when his features weren't tainted with cynicism. "I'm pleased to meet you at last, Mrs. Beaumont. I have often heard you described as your husband's most valuable asset. Perhaps it's a description that isn't so far off the mark."
"Thank you." Her mother accepted the compliment with genuine modesty. "I do hope you'll find these next two weeks with us both enjoyable and informative."
"I am certain I will." Just for an instant his gaze flicked to Victoria as if she might contribute to it.
But her mother claimed his attention again. "Would you excuse me while I go change?" she requested politely and glanced at her husband. "Why don't you fix Mr. Ramsey a drink? I don't think it's too early for a predinner cocktail."
"Excellent idea, dear," he agreed as she smiled and moved toward the foyer. "What would you like, Dirk? A martini?"
"I don't drink, thank you. Fix one for yourself if you like," he insisted.
"Don't tell me you don't possess any vices…Dirk?" Victoria couldn't help gibing.
"One or two." His gaze ran suggestively over her figure to let her know what one of them was.
For a moment she felt out of her league. "Excuse me. I have a book to finish." She considered her retreat to the breezeway to be a strategic one.
The breezeway didn't offer total seclusion. Neither did the book offer escape. The voices of the two men in the living room drifted through the glass doors to distract her attention. Victoria found herself listening to their apparently amicable discussion. She envied her father's ability to respond so naturally and without any defensiveness to the questions Dirk put to him. The questions were casual, containing nothing controversial, and his tone indicated an appropriate interest in the answers.
The glass door to the breezeway slid open. "Would we disturb you too much if we joined you out here, Tory?" her father asked. "It's too nice out here to stay inside."
"No, not at all." Her sigh revealed the novel's inability to recapture her attention, but she kept it propped in front of her so she wouldn't be expected to join in their conversation.
Her gaze wandered from the pages of the book when Dirk walked by her, but he appeared indifferent to her presence. She was glad, she told herself.
"Do you play tennis, Dirk?" her father asked.
"Yes, when I can find a partner, which isn't always easy if you are in a strange city."
"You do quite a bit of lecturing, don't you?" her father remembered, which was something Victoria hadn't known.
"Yes," he admitted, but no more than that.
Charles Beaumont didn't pursue that topic and returned instead to the first. "We'll play some tennis tomorrow. A couple of matches of mixed doubles. Tory plays a good game of tennis. She can be your partner."
"Thanks for volunteering me, dad," she said caustically. "Maybe I have other plans."
Her father grinned. "But you don't, do you?" When no reply was immediately forthcoming, he laughed. "That's what I thought."
"I think she's worried that if she plays as my partner in tennis it might become habit-forming," Dirk suggested with a baiting look. "She doesn't want to be accused of siding with the enemy."
"But we have an armed truce, remember?" Victoria offered with a honeyed smile.
"I remember," he assured her. "I was wondering if you did." The long, lazy look he gave her was subtly seductive. She felt it tugging at her breath, trying to steal it and almost succeeding. Her sister, Penny, chose that moment to return and distract everyone's attention.
"My youngest," Charles identified her as Penny stepped off the ten-speed bike and parked it alongside the garage on the terrace. Her waist-length blond hair swung like a rippling curtain of silk when she walked toward them. Her blue eyes focused on Dirk with open speculation and interest. "Dirk, I'd like you to meet my daughter—"
"Laurel," Penny quickly supplied. At the raised eyebrow from her father, she explained. "My name is actually Penelope, but my friends call me Laurel."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Laurel." He shook her hand, holding it a little longer than Victoria thought was necessary.
"You must be Dirk Ramsey." There was a dazed look to Penny's blue eyes. "You are much better looking in person than those pictures I've seen in the papers."
"Flattery will get you anything, Laurel." To prove it, Dirk gave the susceptible teenager a dazzling smile. Victoria could almost see Penny melting. There wasn't any way she could provide her sister some immunity against Dirk's particular brand of sexual magnetism. Heavens, she didn't even possess it herself!
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Chapter Four
VICTORIA PARTNERED Dirk Ramsey in tennis the following afternoon. They lost the first match, in great part due to her lack of concentration. It wasn't easy to ignore the vital, sun-browned man sharing the court with her or to forget the conflicting emotions he generated.
Each time the resonant timbre of his voice called for the ball or absently complimented her on a good serve or a good return, her attention was diverted from the blistering pace of the game. She was more conscious of where Dirk was on the court than where the ball was.
It wasn't until the middle of the second match that she began to play with her usual skill and concentration, subconsciously accepting him as her teammate and letting her constant awareness of his position on the court become an advantage rather than a diversion. They began scoring more points than they lost, drawing even. Victoria became caught up in the exhilaration of competing.
When it was her return that scored the match point, she forgot everything but the elation of winning. Her parents approached the net to acknowledge their loss and Victoria went forward to accept their congratulations with Dirk at her side. She glanced at him with a winded smile that shared the victory. She was conscious of the masculine arm that curved around the back of her waist. The contact was pleasantly exciting rather than annoying.
"Great game, Tory." Her mother reached across the net to shake her hand. "You, too, Dirk."
"That last point was a dandy, Tory," her father declared a little out of breath. "You put the ball at my feet. I didn't have a chance to get my racket on it. And remind me never to play singles with your partner. He'd wipe me off the court." He laughed and shook hands with Dirk who had shifted his racket to the hand on Victoria's waist.
"I doubt if it would ever be easy to beat you, Chuck," Dirk insisted.
A light gleamed in her fat
her's eye as he gently mocked, "Now who is courting whose favor?"
A low yet hearty laugh came from Dirk. It turned Victoria's head, lifting it so she could see his face beneath the white visor she wore. Her senses quivered to a finely honed alertness, attuned to the male vigor of the man beside her.
The white of his shirt contrasted sharply with his tanned skin, glistening like polished bronze from the sheen of perspiration. That dampness coiled the dark curling hairs visible at the V front of his shirt even tighter, while it intensified the warm, earthy smell of him that stimulated her already quickly beating heart. The nerve ends in her shoulder began to tingle with its easy contact with his solid chest, rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm despite the exertion of the tennis match.
Her lips felt dry and Victoria pressed them together to moisten them with her tongue. She could taste the salty tang of her own perspiration and felt the dampness of her own hair curling against the sides of her face. As if feeling her eyes on him, Dirk turned his head to look down at her upturned face.
The heady male smile remained grooved into his tanned cheeks, but the laughing glint in his coal-black eyes took on another dimension. His gaze shifted to dwell on the moistness of her lips. The sensual impact of his look struck Victoria low in her midsection and spread to attack her legs with a giddy weakness. Instantly Victoria realized that she had let herself drift under the spell of his dangerously handsome looks and potent charm.
With a quick turn of her head she broke free of the spell, feeling more out of breath than when the match had ended. "Let's call it quits for today and play the tie breaker some other time," Victoria suggested.
"I second that," her mother agreed.
There was nothing restrictive in the touch of the male hand resting on the back of her waist. All Victoria had to do was simply turn and walk away from it. She did, moving parallel with the net to the end pole and walking around it to the gate in the tennis fence. Naturally Dirk followed but so did her parents.
Before leaving the court, they picked up the protective covers for their rackets and the small leather satchels. Outside the gate the quartet continued to the benches where they stopped by a silent, mutual consent.
