She swallowed and squared her shoulders. 'Zan, stop it! I'm warning you, stop it,' she faltered. 'I'm going to start kicking and clawing in a minute, and I'm going straight for your damaged arm. Don't make me hurt you!'
His breath hissed and then the weight on her shoulders increased as he leaned against her, shaking with silent laughter. Jade swallowed a scream of pure frustration—damn him!—and then flinched as a heavy arm slid around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides, flattening her breasts against his golden forearm. Her nipples lifted and hardened beneath her thin shirt as a wave of hot terror swept through her.
'Think I can't lick you with one arm behind my back, Jade?' he purred in her ear. 'I think I'll lick you all over! Forget the paper.' She jerked as his warm tongue and then his lips scorched her shoulder, traced a languid, burning line up the side of her throat.
'All right! Please! All right, Zan!' she panted, twisting her head away. 'I'll do it—stop!' She blinked desperately as the tears overflowed. Oh, damn him!
The warm lips paused, brushed her jawline slowly and then lifted away. 'I was afraid you'd say that,' he sighed politely. The imprisoning arm eased a little.
Jade took a deep, shuddering breath. 'What do you want me to write?' she muttered.
The arm lifted away. Fingers rested lightly oh her shoulder again, tapped a nervous dance. 'Mmm ... all right.' Above her, he took a deep, deliberate breath. 'On the morning of June 8,1, Jade Kinnane . . .'
But the tear-blurred handwriting was too shaky to be her own. Jade's pen reached the 'I', wobbled, then scrawled 'hate you!' in two-inch letters, and underlined it savagely. She dropped the pen and shut her eyes as the fingers closed gently on her shoulder again.
'Yes, I know,' Zan murmured patiently. Leaning past her to rip the sheet off the pad, he cocked his head down to examine her tear-stained face with cool grey eyes. The hard lips twitched and his face lifted out of sight again. Fingers brushed the top of her head with a nervous, almost gentle touch and fell away. 'Try it again, Jade,' the voice soothed. 'We've got hours left and lots of paper . . . On the morning of . . .'
*
Zan leaned above her, his cast grazing the top of her head as he read the statement. Jade shut her eyes, but felt him nod. 'That's very good, sweet,' he murmured. 'Did we get anything wrong, leave anything out?' She shook her head wearily. 'Good. Then sign it, Jade, and you can go home.'
She stared at the pen, stared at the free blue world beyond the glass as his hand found her shoulder again, kneading encouragement. Shuddering, she lifted the pen and signed. Zan reached out to take the pad, carried it beyond her reach, and returned to sit heavily beside her. In the dim light, his hard face had a greenish cast beneath the tan. He leaned his head on his hand and studied her face. 'Whew!' His long gold lashes swept down to cover the ice-grey eyes. 'Do you type, by the way, sweet?' he murmured dreamily.
Her chair smashed over with a bang as Jade leaped to her feet. 'You are—you—I hate you!' she stuttered, whirling away from him. He didn't move.
But the cool voice stopped her as she reached the door. 'Jade, do you want your car keys?'
Teeth showing in a white snarl, she jerked to face him. 'Yes!'
His face was in darkness, but the late sunlight beyond gleamed through his tousled hair, edging his head with rough silver. 'They're on the bookcase to the left of the door,' he called quietly. 'Come see me about ten tomorrow, and I'll tell you what I want.' The dark face turned back to the water. She was dismissed.
CHAPTER THREE
Jade swung her head down, brushed her hair out, righted herself and brushed some more until it crackled in electric waves across her shoulders. She shook it back—there'd be time enough to braid it after breakfast—and surveyed herself in the mirror. The faint shadows beneath her jade-green eyes made them look larger. Across her short nose, the sprinkling of freckles stood out as if she were paler today. She wrinkled her nose. She hadn't slept well these last two nights—not since the day of the accident.
After that terrifying interview, she had tottered numbly home to sleep the clock around, and had woken from a night of bad dreams certain of one fact, and one fact alone: she would not report to Zan Wykoff at ten o'clock as he'd commanded—she would never go near him in her whole life again, if she had any say in the matter! The man was obviously dangerous, if not an outright lunatic.
And what he planned to do with her confession was anybody's guess. She was not sticking around to find out. She was going to Greece, if she had to swim to get there. With an ocean between them, and with Fred's sane and soothing advice, she would sort out the legal ramifications of her wretched accident, and the confession that Zan now held. The first thing to do was escape.
And that required money. Yesterday had been a mad scramble to raise enough cash to cover Zan's hospital bill and her flight as well.
Jade had not even considered asking her parents for help. Her father was drained, financially as well as emotionally, from the bitter divorce of this spring. And she was not on speaking terms with her mother yet. That left only her car and her best seascapes, the ones she'd never meant to sell, as sources of revenue. So she had sold her VW to a local car dealer for a sum just this side of insult, and had stripped her apartment walls of the framed watercolours, carting them down the hill to the gallery near the waterfront. With any luck at all, they would sell this weekend when the tourists flocked into town.
In the meantime, she had had to cash in her airline ticket to cover the cheque she had given the hospital. That had been a nasty moment. . . But her reservation was still good, would be good until the afternoon before the flight. All she needed was money.
And luck . . . Jade stared grimly at her pale face in the mirror. The strain of yesterday's financial dealings had been compounded by her dread of running into Zan Wykoff on the street. Newport was a small town really. With all of its action centring around the waterfront, one bumped continually into the same people. And there was one person she'd bumped once too often already . . . Turning to her closet, Jade chose a white Indian cotton blouse to go with her khaki shorts. Well, with any luck at all, she would be in Greece by the time Zan tracked down her address through her licence plates. Thank God her phone number was unlisted! But it would be close, no doubt about it. She would just have to lie low and pray that Zan had forgotten those numbers. Padding into the kitchen, Jade frowned. She had the awful conviction that he hadn't . . .
She jumped at the rap on the door. It was quick, officious. 'Telegram.' It was a boy's voice, light and bored.
Jade breathed thankfully, then felt her relief turn to worry—a telegram? Fred. It must be from Fred, her father always phoned. 'Just a minute,' she ailed, sliding the bolt. The door swung back to reveal a white sling, a laughing face—'Oh.' She slammed it viciously as a heavy shoe jammed down in the opening. The door rebounded, slammed open as she retreated across the room.
Zan was laughing too hard to move ; he leaned against the doorframe, enormous in her small kitchen, and howled, gasping for air, his grey eyes squeezed tight. '—sucker,' he gasped finally. 'How have you lived this long?'
'Get out!' Back to the sink, Jade glared at him, eyes wild. 'Get out, or I'll scream!' she stormed, stamping her foot hysterically. 'I mean it, Zan! Get out!'
Her words set him off again, and he yelped until the wall shook, shambled forward to collapse in a chair with a groan, and gulped air, his eyes crinkling as he stared at her. 'I never . . . thought I could pull it off!' he panted blissfully.
So the lines at his eyes were laughter lines, Jade concluded, taking a deep breath. I hate him! she thought viciously. Her heart's stampede was slowing to a brisk canter, and she took her eyes off him to flick a glance at the phone across the kitchen. Could she make it?
His golden head swung to follow her gaze, turned back to inspect her. The ice-grey eyes were still dancing. He shook his head. 'No, you couldn't make it,' he told her gently. 'And you don't want the cops anyway.'
'Don't be so sure
!' she snarled at him.
But fumbling at his pocket, Zan pulled out a folded paper and tossed it on the table. 'The time for the cops was two days ago, Jade, and I'm the sucker who should have called them. I expect they'll be a bit vexed at my tardiness, but they'll still be interested in your confession.' He shoved the paper towards her a few inches, his face polite. 'That's your copy. I've got several more.'
Jade licked her lips and shook her hair back from her face. 'You bastard,' she commented. 'What do you want?'
His long lips twitched at her words, and she flinched as the laser beam eyes focussed on her bare feet, climbing her long legs like a warm, slow spotlight. The deliberate gaze was more caress than inspection, and her pulse accelerated even as her temper flared. As his eyes stroked her breasts, she could feel the hot blood rise to sweep up her throat and flame in her cheeks. She raised her head proudly, her eyes blazing back at him as she braced herself for the insult.
Zan held her flashing eyes for a long moment, his face thoughtful. 'I've always wanted to blackmail a beautiful girl,' he remarked softly. 'What about breakfast?' The grey eyes danced. 'Have you ever tried to crack an egg with one hand—the left one?'
Jade's breath hissed out slowly. Unclenching her hands, she reached for the eggs. 'I can think of about two thousand men I'd have rather run over than you, Zan Wykoff,' she murmured bitterly. 'Maybe three thousand!'
Zan leaned back to heave a sigh. 'That was superb. I'm a new man, Jade.'
'That would have to be an improvement,' she growled, pouring the coffee. She set a cup before him, then sat down across from him to drink her own, her eyes wary. So what was coming next?
The light eyes inspected her idly as he sipped, then moved to roam slowly over the kitchen and beyond into her small living room, with its white walls and hanging plants. The thick golden brows twitched gently as some conclusion was reached, then the eyes returned to her face.
She scowled impatiently. 'How did you find me, Zan?' she demanded finally.
He smiled gently and held out his cup. 'Is there any more of this, Jade? It's very good.'
He sugared his second cup clumsily, his eyes thoughtful. Finally his lips curled. 'I had so many ways to find you, Jade, it took me a day to make up my mind which one I'd use.'
'Such as?' she challenged.
'Well, if I'd been in a mood to bar-hop, I'd have wandered into three or four of the swanker bars on the waterfront, and asked the bartenders if they know a long, lean redhead, with eyes like emerald daggers.' He grinned evilly. 'I've never known a bartender who could tell red hair from auburn.'
She scowled. 'And if it turned out that I'm the type who drinks alone?'
'Oh, I suppose next I'd have found the nearest art store, asked them if they knew where I could find you. How many people of your description do you think buy artist-grade Winsor & Newton watercolours, in a town this size?'
Jade bit her lip. That approach would have hit paydirt. Wanda, her friend who worked there, was a fool for big fair men. She would have fingered Jade immediately.
Oblivious to its ominous creakings, Zan leaned back in his chair to inspect the ceiling. 'Or I could have called the private school whose decal is on the back window of your bug, and asked them about you.' He let the chair down to examine her stony face with interest. 'You know, for a woman who lunges around, blithely assaulting men with a deadly weapon—and that's exactly what a car is, Jade—you show a real deficiency of criminal skills,' he said reproachfully.
Jade gathered up the coffee cups and slammed them into the sink. 'But you didn't use any of those methods, did you?' she said viciously.
'No . . .'he drawled, 'actually I got a street map and looked up the address that's printed on this cheque.' He pulled a familiar-coloured cheque from his pocket and tossed it on the table.
'Where did you get this?' Jade snatched it up incredulously. It was hers all right, made out to the local grocery store and dated nearly a month ago.
'It's not a good practice to leave your latest bank statement in the pocket of your car, Jade. Not if you allow strangers to sit there unattended.'
'You snoop!' she gasped, crushing the cheque into a small wad.
Zan nodded. His face was slowly changing, the mischief of the last few minutes freezing into something harder. 'It's one way to learn many useful facts.' The steely eyes drilled into her. 'One fact I learned about you, Jade, is that, four days ago, you had only nine dollars in that account. And so now there is one thing I have to know,' he murmured gently,'—will that cheque you gave them bounce?'
'No!' she snapped, spinning away from him.
'Where did you get the money to cover it—lover boy?' he jeered softly.
'No, damn you! And it's none of your business.' Jade stalked from the kitchen, and through to her bedroom, where she began to braid her hair back with ruthless hands.
Zan leaned in the doorway behind her, rubbing his right hand where it peeped from the cast. 'Did you sell your watercolours?' he asked idly.
She glared at him desperately in the mirror. He was getting too close to her escape plans by far. 'What watercolours?'
'The ones that hung on the walls here. I've counted six empty nails, so far.'
Didn't he miss anything? 'That's—none . . . of . . . your . . . business,' she grated. 'I've paid the bill—that's all you need to know.'
Behind her, his light eyes were roving the room. She saw them stop, then narrow, as they found Fred's photograph on the wall by her bed. 'So that's lover boy,' he remarked mildly. 'I lost sleep for nothing.'
'And what do you mean by that?' she gasped.
'After you left the other day, every time I heard a sound, I woke up—kept thinking it was lover boy pounding on my door, wanting to come pound my head in.' The grey eyes measured her. 'And then all yesterday I stayed home, figuring he'd want to see me.'
'Sounds like you had a guilty conscience.' Jade found she could not look away, the strange eyes in the mirror held her.
His lips twitched in a faint, crooked smile. 'I guess I did. If you'd been mine, and someone bullied you that way, Id have wanted to do some pounding.' The ice eyes narrowed. 'But I take it lover boy's too civilised for that kind of reaction? Is that how your tastes run—to civilised boys?'
He flinched as the hairbrush smashed off the wall beside him. 'You are—such an unspeakable jerk that there aren't words to describe you!' Jade raved, starting for him, her hands clenched. 'I am sick of this harassment! What do you want?' Tears of rage gleamed in her eyes as she stopped before him, her head thrown back.
His eyes were unreadable, as he stared down at her. The thick brows clenched and relaxed again, and his gaze dropped to her small feet. 'I guess, Jade, the first thing I want ... is your pardon,' he murmured slowly, the pale eyes lifting to hers again. 'I'm out of line, as usual. It's a bad habit.' He turned away and stepped into her living room, leaned on the window sill to inspect the street below. 'The second thing I want is your help,' he remarked gently.
Jade crossed her arms and leaned in the doorway, shaking her head. 'I don't believe you, Zan Wykoff,' she breathed, staring at him. 'You break in here to threaten me, insult me, terrorise me, and then you have the nerve to say you want my help! Just what kind of a nut are you?'
He turned to face her, flinched as his head brushed a hanging fern, then stood still, the tender green caressing one cheek as the sun gilded the other. His strange eyes were wide and wary on her face, and Jade's head lifted in sudden appreciation. He looked like a startled faun, or a young lion in his prime, shining with a wild and ruthless innocence. I've got to paint that! she thought urgently. It was a long time since she'd done a portrait, but this one she must do.
'What's the matter?' Zan asked huskily. The thick eyebrows lifted, as his voice broke the spell.
Jade looked away, moved aimlessly, then turned to consult her favourite watercolour. She stared at the bare nail blankly and bit her lip. Damn him. 'What do you want of me, Zan?' she asked helplessly, turning to fa
ce him again. 'I've done the damage, and I'm sorry, but what can I do? I can't heal bones. And I haven't got a penny to give you.'
He sat down slowly on her sofa, his cool eyes holding her gaze. 'You've got time, haven't you?' he asked softly. 'You ran me down on a Wednesday. At that hour, you were either going home from a lover or going to paint—the latter, I suspect, with your kit in the car. You spent half the day with me and never once looked at your watch. And now here it's a Friday, nine in the morning, and again you're not off working. And you were here last night, when I walked by your window. So I'd guess you're a teacher or a student on holiday, Jade.' The laser eyes roved across her face. 'But you're just a year or two too old to be a college girl, and you don't giggle. You've got an air of command—you can send a man off to wait in the car and expect to be obeyed, and you're surprised each time I don't follow orders. That tells me something about lover boy, and something about you. I'd say you're a teacher, with your summer off, and I want it. It's as simple as that.'
Jade pulled a shaky breath, tried to jog her numbed brains, and swallowed. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Zan's hypnotic gaze. She had the awful conviction that, if he wanted to, he could strip her with those cold eyes, slice down past cloth, and convention and flesh to the bone, lay her soul out to quiver and flop like a fish tossed gasping on the beach. She shut her eyes. 'Just tell me what you're getting at, Zan. Please!'
The Darling Jade Page 3
