by Janet Dailey
"But I might not make my way back." He tipped his dark head to one side. The prospect appeared to amuse him.
"This is an island. How could you get lost?" she laughed.
"I'm not taking any chances. Where shall I meet you?" Dirk persisted.
Victoria hesitated for an instant, then gave in. "Eleven-thirty at the Grand Hotel," she said and immediately started to walk away.
"Where is that?" he asked.
"You can't miss it. It boasts the longest front porch in the world," she called over her shoulder.
Before she looked to the front again, she saw his half salute of acknowledgement. Victoria didn't have much shopping to do. A stop at a drugstore made all her purchases—shampoo, polish remover, and cotton balls. She wandered along the sidewalk, looking in windows and entering a few places to say hello to shop owners she had known since childhood.
When eleven-thirty drew near Victoria found her steps turning eagerly toward the Grand Hotel. She deliberately slowed them. She would be acting like Penny if she wasn't careful. But the silent admonition had no control over the way her heart somersaulted when she saw Dirk leaning against one of the pillars of the long white porch. She immediately looked away to pretend an interest in the bright yellow and red carpet of the flower beds. Her hand trailed along the yellow railing that lined the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from the hotel. She crossed the street at the hotel's main entrance and climbed the steps to the famous porch. Dirk was there, having traversed the length of the porch to meet her.
"Did you get your shopping done?" His dark eyes glanced to the single package in her hand.
"Yes, I did," she nodded.
"Are your parents expecting us back for lunch?" Since his question didn't have a simple answer, Victoria hesitated and Dirk immediately guessed. "Obviously they aren't. So, why don't we have lunch before going back?"
Victoria was on the verge of refusing when she heard herself agreeing. "But only if we go dutch," she added.
"I wasn't going to buy your lunch. I was going to let you buy mine." The corners of his mouth were pulled down to form smiling grooves in his cheeks.
"Oh, you were?" Victoria laughed, not certain whether she should take him seriously.
"Yes, you can afford it more than I can," he replied.
"Oh, come now," she chided. "Your column is syndicated in practically every major newspaper in the country. You are very successful."
"Very successful, by most people's standards," Dirk qualified. "Let me put it this way. You probably spend more money on clothes than I do to live on during the period of a year. My bankbook couldn't match zeros with your father's."
"Is that your goal in life?" she challenged with faint criticism. "To make a lot of money?"
"I have a lot of ambitions. Not all of them have been realized yet. Naturally one of them is financial security, but it doesn't take as much money to satisfy me as it takes for you." His smile was aloof with the barest hint of contempt.
It roused Victoria's ire. "If you think I'm going to spend the rest of my time over lunch apologizing for the fact that I happened to be born into a wealthy family, then let's cancel it now," she informed him icily.
A flicker of genuine amusement entered his dark eyes. "Don't go all cool and highbred on me, Victoria. I thought we had progressed past that point," he murmured.
But she wasn't so easily soothed. "My parents were rich, and your parents were poor—" she began.
"And never the twain shall meet…except over lunch." Dirk offered his arm to her, challenging her with his smile. "Shall we?" At Victoria's mutinous hesitation Dirk took her hand and slipped it on the inside of his left arm, spreading her fingers over his forearm with mocking formality. "I believe that's the way it's done," he taunted with insufferable arrogance and Victoria started to pull her hand free. His right hand closed around her fingers and pressed them to his arm with punishing strength. "You are sensitive, aren't you?" Both his voice and his look had a velvet quality that gently caressed and smoothed her ruffled fur.
"Considering the way you have been jabbing at me all day, is it so surprising?" Victoria defended.
"Have I?" His expression of disguised amusement heightened the sheer maleness of him and her heart thudded loudly against her ribs. "Over lunch, I promise no jabs…not even a tiny prick. Scout's honor." He raised his fingers in the Scout's pledge.
"Were you a Scout?" she doubted sharply.
"As a matter of fact," Dirk paused deliberately, a satanic light in his dark eyes, "no."
"That's what I thought," Victoria muttered.
A low chuckle came from his throat. "Come on." Without allowing her any more protests, Dirk escorted her inside the hotel to the restaurant.
When they were shown to a table heads turned, especially the female ones. Victoria could understand the effect Dirk had on a woman. After all, she knew he couldn't be trusted and here she was sitting down to eat with him anyway.
Dirk kept his word and their conversation over lunch was focused on impersonal topics. In spite of that Victoria found herself examining his every sentence for a double meaning. She tried to be pleasant, but could never manage to entirely lower her guard and be natural. Both of them refused dessert in favor of coffee.
Victoria sipped at hers, holding the cup in both her hands and swirling the coffee to cool it. "Where did you learn to speak French?" she asked. "In college?"
"No." Dirk set his cup down and peered at her through his lashes, amusement twitching his mouth. "About ten years ago, there was a French girl who lived in the same building as I did. She had only recently emigrated and knew very little English. I could understand when she was saying 'no,' but I wanted to be certain I knew when she was saying 'yes.' Between a French dictionary, a grammar book, and Jeanne, I learned French."
"Where is Jeanne now?" Victoria put her cup down because her hands suddenly felt a little shaky at the thought of saying 'yes' to him. She tried to sound nonchalant and undisturbed.
"I think she married a plumber." Dirk started to reach a hand into his shirt pocket, then paused. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"No, go ahead," she insisted. "Were you in love with her?" she asked as she watched him light the cigarette.
"Do you want an honest answer to that?" He slipped the butane lighter into his shirt pocket, his dark eyes bright with challenge.
"Yes." Victoria blinked, not understanding the reason for that question.
"Because I don't want to be accused of being crude," Dirk explained it. "No, I wasn't in love with her. I simply enjoyed going to bed with her."
A flash fire of heat spread over her skin, but Victoria refused to let him see that his bluntness in any way disconcerted her, or that his remotely suggestive answer bothered her.
"Then you obviously learned when she said 'yes,'" she murmured.
"Obviously," Dirk agreed dryly. His gaze narrowed slightly to glide over her face with smooth blackness. "With you it would be more difficult to decipher when you said 'yes.' I would have to surmount a class barrier instead of a language barrier."
Victoria caught at the breath she was taking. "You seem determined to regard me as a snob." She let the breath escape in anger.
"And I promised not to prick, didn't I?" he said with mock regret.
"I didn't really expect you to keep your word," she returned with icy calm.
"I was fantasizing again, trying to decide what it would take to persuade you to say 'yes,'" Dirk shrugged, his eyes not leaving her face, observing her every reaction.
"You have an overactive imagination," Victoria countered.
"I believe you've hinted at that before." His unconcern at the criticism appeared total.
"It deserves repeating."
"It's your fault."
"Mine?" Victoria repeated with wide-eyed indignation.
"Yes, either you shouldn't be so beautiful or else you shouldn't adopt that touch-me-not attitude. It challenges a man to poke it full of holes." There was an inf
uriating gleam in his eye and Victoria searched futilely for a suitably scathing retort.
"Victoria!" At the sound of her name, she turned to see a tall, statuesque woman of indeterminate age approaching the table. She recognized Daphne Bourns, a contemporary of her mother's. "It's been so long since I saw you last. Your mother stopped by last week to let us know you all had arrived on the island. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you, Mrs. Bourns."
The sophisticated brunette faked a wince. "Daphne," she corrected. "You make me sound as old as your mother." Which she was, although she looked closer to Dirk's age.
"You are so young at heart, Daphne, that sometimes you make me feel old," Victoria responded diplomatically.
"Flatterer," the woman laughed at the accusation and her brown eyes gazed pointedly at Victoria's companion. "Aren't you going to introduce me to this gorgeous hunk of man, Victoria? Or must I do it myself?"
With a sideways glance, Victoria saw that Dirk was standing in polite deference to the woman's presence. His expression was unfathomable in its regard of the still-very-attractive brunette.
"Of course. Daphne, this is Dirk Ramsey who is…visiting us." Victoria chose not to identify his profession. It was unlikely that Daphne knew his name since she rarely read anything but the society section of a newspaper. "This is Daphne Bourns, a friend of the family."
"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Bourns." Dirk acknowledged the introduction with a faint nod, the width of the table precluding a handshake.
"I'm sure the pleasure is distinctly mine," Daphne Bourns demurred. "Are you here getting acquainted with the family, Mr. Ramsey?"
"You could say that," he conceded with an amused twitch of his mouth.
The brunette turned to Victoria. "I had heard you had a guest. The island grapevine at work again," she explained her source in a laughing tone. "My, but you are a dark horse, Victoria. No one has even hinted that you had someone like this in the wings."
It was evident that Daphne had surmised Dirk was Victoria's boyfriend and his visit indicated the seriousness of their supposed romance. She probably suspected there was an engagement announcement in the offing.
"I think you misunderstood," Victoria inserted quickly. "Mr. Ramsey is a reporter, so this isn't strictly a social visit."
"Oh." Daphne's gaze ran a quick reassessment of Dirk. "I can't imagine it's all work and no play. You don't look a bit dull."
"I try to keep myself entertained," Dirk replied in a dry tone.
"How long will you be staying?" Daphne asked.
"I plan to be here two weeks." There was faint emphasis on the verb to indicate he might change his mind.
"Marvelous!" the brunette exclaimed in a husky voice. "You will be here for my party Saturday night. It's a formal little affair, my contribution to the lilac festivities." She directed her next sentence to Victoria. "Be sure to bring him, won't you, Victoria?"
"Of course," she smiled politely. If Daphne's party this year was typical of previous ones, Dirk's opinion of her and her family as high-class snobs would be reinforced. Their life-style on the island was usually very casual, but Daphne always insisted on throwing a very formal bash. Her reason was she wanted an excuse to dress up, and it probably was that simple.
"It's kind of you to include me," Dirk murmured.
The waitress paused at their table to leave the luncheon check. Dirk stopped her, glanced at the total, and placed the amount plus a tip on the metal tray before giving it back to the waitress.
"Kind?" Daphne repeated the word, a knowing gleam in her brown eyes. "I'm insuring my party is a success. An injection of new blood is just what our little group needs to liven it up a bit." With an infinitesimal shrug of her shoulders she gave them both a smile of reluctance. "I'm having lunch with some friends. I wish I had seen you earlier and you could have joined us. Perhaps you could have coffee with us?"
"Another time, perhaps," Victoria refused, trying to conceal the irritation gnawing at her poise. "We have to be going."
"Pity," she returned with a faint sigh. "I'll see you both Saturday, if not before. Take care."
"It was a pleasure meeting your Mrs. Bourns," Dirk offered.
"Daphne." With a little wave of her hand she walked from the table.
"Divorced?" Dirk's hand was at the back of her chair to politely assist her when Victoria pushed from the table to give credence to her statement that they were leaving.
"No." She denied that Daphne was divorced. "She claims to be very happily married. Her daughter, however, is single." There was a faint bite to her voice, something malicious in its tone. It wasn't like her to be catty and Victoria didn't understand it.
"Is she like her mother?" His hand was at the back of her waist as Dirk guided her through the cluster of tables to the exit. His voice sounded only mildly interested.
"Shelly is more introverted," Victoria replied, again with the faint snap.
"I don't imagine that Mrs. Bourns is eager to share the spotlight," Dirk commented. They walked to the area in front of the hotel where they could obtain a horse-drawn taxi. "How old is her daughter? Your age?"
"No, she is—" Victoria had to think a second "—nineteen."
Daphne Bourns adored her daughter, but she also overshadowed her and wasn't aware of it. It was something Dirk had known instinctively. Inwardly Victoria had to agree with Dirk's observation that Daphne unconsciously competed with, her daughter for attention, but it rankled that his guess had been so accurate on such short acquaintance.
After hiring a cab, Dirk helped her into the buggy seat and climbed in beside her. As the taxi pulled away from the curb Victoria opened her purse, counted out some money and offered it to Dirk.
Raising his eyebrows he gave her a sharply questioning look. "What's the purpose of that?"
"For my lunch." When he didn't take it she forced it into the palm of his hand.
"It isn't necessary." He held the bills between his middle and forefinger and offered them to her.
"I believe it is," Victoria insisted with a proud tilt to her chin as she stared straight ahead and ignored the money he held out to her. "The agreement was we would each pay our own."
"I didn't make any agreement if you recall," he replied lazily. "Buying your lunch won't break me."
"I'm sure it was an investment, one that is bound to pay you enormous dividends. Daphne was impressed when you picked up the check, but that was the purpose, wasn't it?" she challenged in dry sarcasm, tossing him a cool look.
"I beg your pardon." His voice was low and vibrant with controlled anger as his gaze narrowed to hard black points of light.
"Maybe you missed your calling," she suggested haughtily. "You would look very decorative on a woman's arm, more attention getting than furs or jewelry. Why, you could mingle with all the best people, vacation on the Riviera or at Acapulco. Every hostess would simply drool to have you accept an invitation to her party."
Dirk took her purse before Victoria could stop him and slipped the money inside. Snapping it closed he gave it back, his jaw clenched in hard anger.
"If I wanted to be a consort of the rich, I would be writing a society or gossip column instead of dealing with issues of corruption, energy, and crime." For all the glittering fire in his look, his voice was level and infuriatingly calm. "I fully intended to buy your lunch all along, and you will do me the courtesy of accepting."
It was impossible not to believe that he meant every word he had said. Victoria realized that she had wanted to think the worst, a discovery that didn't make her feel very proud.
"It appears that I might have been mistaken about your motives," she admitted with grudging reluctance.
"It does appear that way," Dirk repeated dryly and laid his arm along the back of the buggy seat.
For nearly a block neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the clip-clopping of the horse's hooves, the creaking of the buggy, and the whir of the wheels rolling over the road. A breeze stirred to life by their motion fanned the p
ale amber hair around her face. Victoria grew uncomfortable with the silence and half turned in her seat to face Dirk.
"You have to admit that your past behavior wouldn't exactly inspire me to trust you," Victoria justified. "Look at the way you attacked my father on the basis of circumstantial evidence without really ever knowing him."
"Circumstantial evidence can be very damning, but I admit the conclusions it suggests are not always accurate," Dirk conceded. "For example, when I look at you I see Italian shoes, a dress that probably boasts a London label—" after his gaze had lazily skimmed the expensive lavender material, he leaned slightly closer, "—and catch the fragrance of French perfume. On the surface you appear to be a walking advertisement for foreign goods, except…" Dirk paused, a magically warm look entered his eyes that Victoria found dangerously fascinating. His hand shaped itself to the back of her neck, the contact freezing her into immobility. "Those lips are very American."
His firm grip prevented Victoria from drawing back from the steady approach of his mouth. As it came closer, her lashes automatically lowered. A breathless weakness fluttered through her at the easy possession of his kiss. Leisurely, his mouth explored the soft curves of her lips, demanding no more than her acquiescence. It was a heady investigation that teased her into wanting something more. But Dirk didn't give it as he moved away and untangled his fingers from the tawny silk of her hair. Victoria blinked once and looked away from his knowing regard.
She summoned the poise that was her defense. "And how do American lips compare with French?"
His mouth twitched at her cool question. "A little inexperienced but their passion is much more genuine."
"Naturally you would know." Victoria let a little of her irritation creep into the retort.
"Naturally." His voice was laced with droll amusement. "They call you Tory, don't they?"
"My parents do, and some of my closest friends," she admitted without inviting him to take the privilege. Her phrasing was deliberately designed to exclude him from that select group.
"I wonder if you are really a conservative," Dirk mused. "Or whether there might not be some latent liberal traits."
