Devil may Clare

Devil May Clare by Sue Charnley Hard Shell Word Factory www.hardshell.com Copyright ©2001 Suesan C. Charnley 2001 Har...

Author: Sue Charnley

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Devil May Clare by Sue Charnley

Hard Shell Word Factory www.hardshell.com

Copyright ©2001 Suesan C. Charnley 2001 Hard Shell Word Factory NOTICE: This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This book cannot be legally lent or given to others. This ebook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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To John, Val and Lisa, Critique partners without equal.

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Prologue April 1st, Chicago “YOU DARE ME to what?” Jack Hunter downed a finger of twenty-year-old scotch in one gulp, then refilled his glass. “How much trouble can it be to romance a beautiful greeneyed woman for ten days?” “You're biased because you grew up with her.” “Am not.” Adam denied the obvious truth and considered how best to tempt his partner. “She's gorgeous. Face like an angel. Long legs. Tiny waist. Built.” “I don't care if she's Venus De Milo, Marilyn Monroe and Helen of Troy all rolled into one. I wouldn't pretend to be Clare Blessings’ fiancé if God himself asked me.” “Be reasonable, Jack. We owe Clare Blessings big time.” Adam closed the study door on the celebration in the next room. “Since when is it reasonable to ask a stranger to act as your faux-fiancé?” “She arranged that start-up loan for us, through her grandmother. Without Clare's help, we never would have gotten AFD Inc. off the ground.” “Debt or no debt, the entire idea is ludicrous. When the woman involved is Clare Blessings, the idea is insane.” “Don't be so judgmental. You've never even met Clare. How you managed to avoid her annual visits to Chicago, I don't know.” 4


“Some people work for a living.” Jack stalked the room. “And, I don't have to meet her. From all the horror stories you've told me, I know more than I want to know about ‘Devil May Clare.’ “You're being unfair, Jack.” Adam relaxed onto the leather couch, sipping from his glass. “Am I? Tell me, who convinced you to jump from that oak tree in your father's front yard when you were ten?” “Clare.” “And haven't you been afraid of heights ever since?” Adam had the grace to look embarrassed. “I solved that problem when I climbed that mountain for your 1996 challenge.” “Isn't Blessings the person who hot-wired her family's Jag when she was sixteen?” “She wanted to drive it, and her grandmother wouldn't let her.” “If I recall the story correctly,” Jack countered, “the Jag was totaled in an impromptu drag race, and Clare spent several weeks in the hospital.” “So she's a bit of a rebel.” Adam swung his feet to the floor, braced one elbow on each knee, and cradled his drink in his hands. “You would be too, if you had Grannie ‘the General’ Blessings for a guardian.” Jack snorted. “Of course, you might not understand that anymore. In the year since you won the CEO's chair from me, you've become obsessed with work.” 5


Jack dropped into a chair opposite Adam, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You can't fault me for being thorough.” Adam raised an eyebrow. Jack glanced away. “I suppose you're trying to tell me that I've been working too hard again.” “Since you figured it out, I won't tell you.” “Dammit Adam, don't ask this of me.” “I'm not asking. Clare took care of that. I'm making this my official birthday challenge.” “Now that's really out of line. You can't possibly want to bet the CEO's chair of AFD Inc. on something this ridiculous.” Adam's eyes gleamed. “Oh, yes I can. I need to pay you back for that dirty trick you pulled as a challenge last year.” “I'll remind you that my so-called dirty trick led you to the woman you love and married.” “Yeah, but that's not what you intended. You intended to make my life hell. Until Rue and I worked things out, you succeeded. Well buddy, it's time I returned the favor. As the minority partner, I can name any dare I want, and you have to take it.” Jack groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Adam smiled. His friend was cornered. “You can always turn the challenge down and hand over the CEO's chair right now.” “I won't do that, and you know it. I have to accept the challenge. It's in our corporate agreement. But why does the woman have to be Clare Blessings?” Jack slumped and let his 6


chin fall to his chest, then frowned up at Adam. “She's a walking danger zone, for crying out loud.” “You exaggerate the case.” “Do I? You told me yourself, she scuba dives, sky dives, spelunks, has won two national skateboard championships, qualified for the national roller hockey team, and is expert in four different weapons.” Adam winced as the list of Clare's accomplishments piled up. Jack continued to rant. “If she's anything like the physical description you gave me, she gives new meaning to the term bombshell.” Adam thumped his glass onto the coffee table. “What's the matter, Jack? Afraid she's too much woman for you? Afraid to take a little risk?” “I can handle a risk with the best of them, and you know that what I feel for women isn't fear.” “So what's the problem with pretending to be Clare's fiancé for ten days?” “She knows I'm just pretending?” “Clare assures me that she has no desire for a permanent relationship.” “Then why is she doing this?” “Clare was rather vague about that. She's very proud and doesn't like to share her troubles. But she implied that she wants to make peace with her grandmother and believes that an engagement, even a short one, might help.” “You're kidding.” 7


“No, but does why really matter? It's only for ten days, and you can use the time off.” Jack gave Adam a long look, then shrugged. “Okay, I'll do it.” Adam sprang from the sofa and clapped Jack on the back. “Thanks, buddy. You won't regret it. I promise you.” “I have a feeling I'll very much regret it. Just tell me one thing.” “Sure.” “Why me?” “For four reasons. First of all, Clare asked for our help and we owe her. Second, since I'm married, I can't do it. Third, I trust you not to hurt Clare. And last, you've been working too hard. You haven't had a vacation in two years. You need to relax and have fun, and no one knows how to do that better than Clare Blessings.” “If you say so.” Jack tossed back the rest of his drink. “When do I leave?” “Tomorrow.” Jack leapt from his chair. “Tomorrow! But—” “No buts. I had your secretary clear your calendar. I'm not giving you a chance to create some sort of business emergency. Besides, Clare's got a deadline to meet.” “Exactly what does that mean?” “I think I'll let her explain.” “And when will she do that?” “If I know Clare, she'll choose her own time. You're meeting her at a hotel on a small island in the Caribbean, where Grannie's hosting the Blessings family reunion.” 8


“Great.” Jack thrust his hands through his carefully combed black hair. “Ten days of giddy, closely related strangers. I'm surprised that her grandmother could get the ClareDevil to take on something so tame.” “I'm sure she has her reasons.” Adam rose. “C'mon, let's rejoin the party. I want to find my wife.”

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Chapter 1 April 2nd, a small island in the Bahamas SOMEWHERE AMONGST the gyrating mass of people on the ballroom floor was Jack Hunter's fiancée. He had no idea exactly where. The concierge had assured him that all the Blessings—all 507 of them—were in the SeaSwept ballroom. All he could remember of Adam's description was that Clare Blessings was beautiful. Jack couldn't recall if her eyes were blue, black or brown. He surveyed the room and made a dismaying discovery. Half of the women in the room were attractive. He supposed half of them could be called beautiful. Of course, Adam thought of his wife as the feminine ideal. Which meant Clare Blessings was probably close to flat-chested. The junkanoo tune ended, and as the bodies stilled, Jack headed for the bar at the far corner of the room. A sharp protest distracted him. “Stop, right now!” issued an alto full of sultry anger. A male rumble followed. “You don't mean that, darlin'. Ah'll show you a real good time.” “I'm flattered by your interest, sir.” The woman's tone took on the flat quality teachers used with obstinate children. “But I don't want to dance or do anything else with you. Even if you are Amanda Blessings’ long lost first cousin.” Jack zeroed in on the source of the voices. Less than ten feet away stood a stunning blonde. The unwanted advances of a pudgy, spectacled male occupied her full attention. A 10


drink in one hand, the man snaked his other arm around her back. Her glossy ash-blonde hair whispered across her bare shoulders when she shook her head. Her eyes flashed green, and she gave an angry, impatient shrug. She put her entire body into the movement, and the silk of her sarong style dress shimmered over generous breasts and hips. A slit to mid-thigh showed smooth, firm limbs. Jack's fingers tingled. He understood why the man wanted to hold on to the lush curves and tiny waist that topped the woman's long legs. Regardless of what pudgeman wanted, the woman wasn't interested. That suited Jack just fine. She flung off the arm that the man had around her shoulders, then turned to walk away, but the jerk grabbed her again. Her feral response was both instantaneous and unmistakable. “I told you! I don't want to—” “Honey, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't oughta be alone.” Her leg flashed out in a small, graceful move and the guy went down. If Jack hadn't been watching, he would have missed it. Unfortunately, she planted her heel just where the guy's drink spilled. She slipped, losing her balance. The blonde landed atop the guy's wheezing chest, creating a heap of sweaty suit and sarong. Jack acknowledged the pure lust that drove him to the woman's side. He took her free hand and drew her up, away from the fellow's interrupted grasp. The junkanoo band began “Brown-Skinned Girl.” Jack smiled and heard himself say, “There you are, sweetheart. I've been looking for you all over 11


this blasted ballroom. Dance with me. Then we can go back to our room,” he ended with a suggestive glance. That ought to get rid of pudgeman. The woman closed her mouth on a gasp. She fit his embrace perfectly, and the scent of rain-washed lilies floated over him. Jack flashed a superior grin at the other man. As he hauled himself from the floor, the supposed cousin glowered back, revenge in his eyes. No sweat! Before the man could do anything, Jack intended to be lost on the other side of the crowd. All he had to do was enjoy holding an attractive woman in his arms for a few minutes while they danced across the room. **** CLARE DIDN'T KNOW what to think. She'd been trying to get rid of that pest for ten dreadful minutes. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but the man was pushier than her grandmother and almost twice as stubborn. Imagine, claiming to be Grannie's cousin, just to impress someone. As if I can't see through such an obvious come-on. Her patience at an end, she'd wanted to kick the pudgy creep where it would hurt most but opted for tripping him up instead. No guy deserved worse just for being drunk. As usual, her impulse came back to haunt her. The man's drink spilled, and she'd lost her balance. Then a smoke-and-mirrors voice called her sweetheart. Before she could comment, she found herself moving rhythmically against a hard male body, surrounded by strong arms and a woodsy scent. Of course, if she objected, she'd be 12


dancing with the ham-handed ‘cousin.’ But was she any better off now? Staying in those arms was the second risk she'd taken in as many minutes. Grannie would probably choke, if she knew. Clare smiled at the thought. “I must have died and gone to heaven. Who are you, gorgeous?” Her partner's deep rasp pierced her daydream of grandmotherly angst. She ignored the question, too content with her temporary anonymity to give it up for the sake of good manners. She looked up at him. A shock of dark hair drifted across his forehead. Under black brows, clear gray eyes stared back at her. His nose bent slightly at the bridge. Irritated with the dreamy sensation his face inspired, she quipped, “Were you born that way, or did you break your nose on someone's fist?” The smile on his lean mouth broadened and square white teeth opened on a full-throated laugh. Clare's stomach flipped. “Definitely not heaven. No angel would have such a sassy mouth or eyes of such an earthly color.” Clare had always thought her eyes the color of an algaeclogged lake. To her, the gold that others claimed glinted amongst the green of her pupils was mud-brown, and the whole effect seemed duller than dishwater. “Now I know that knot on your nose came from a close encounter with a fist, since you go around suggesting that women have eyes the color of dirt.” 13


“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy. Mind if I take notes, so I know how not to be subtle next time?” The grin flashed again. Again, Clare's stomach did that peculiar flip. She ignored the remark and her own reaction, determined to remain free of anyone's influence. “Maybe you'd better tell me your name, so I'll be able to identify the body when some angry woman shoots you.” “Sorry, fair is fair. You won't tell me your name. I'll keep mine to myself, too.” He laughed once more, his head thrown back on the strong, tanned column of his throat, his broad shoulders shaking. She shrugged and studied him. The gray-eyed man held her with gentle confidence, his hands politely impersonal, unlike the ‘cousin's’ wandering touch. Clare knew that she could step out of this hold at any moment, and this magical man wouldn't try to stop her. “Why did you do that?” she asked, uncomfortably eager to hear the rough caress of his voice again. He stopped laughing and looked down at her. “Do what, laugh?” “No,” she smiled. “Why did you call me sweetheart and ask me to dance?” He glanced away, then back, as if contemplating his answer. “With that guy as a cushion, you were kind of hard to miss. But he wasn't taking no for an answer, so I figured I'd offer you a hand.” The explanation sounded plausible. “And you called me sweetheart because...?” It was silly to imagine that he'd 14


developed a fondness, let alone a passion, for her at first sight. Still, the part of her that wanted to jump out of perfectly good airplanes believed in fairy-tales, and she needed to prove to herself that she lived in the real world. “Oh, that.” He tilted his head. “That was just for effect.” Which was true enough, Jack thought. He hadn't seen her eyes nor really heard that dusty alto until after he'd call her sweetheart. She'd think him a romantic fool if he told her he considered heaven well lost for the privilege of drowning in those laughing green orbs. It was too bad he'd probably never see her again after this dance. He had to spend ten days pretending to love a woman he'd never met. He didn't want to get tangled up with any of the other female traps in the hotel. Clare Blessings would prove dangerous enough. The music stopped. She stepped back and offered her hand. “Thank you.” Her soft tones caressed his ears. Clare Blessings, Jack reminded himself, I've got to find Clare Blessings. “You're welcome.” He shook her hand and turned quickly away, striding toward the bar. **** CLARE WANDERED the ballroom for another hour, attempting to fight off nausea and nerves. You've got good reason to be nervous, she thought, trying to mollify her conscience. You weren't anxious tonight, her conscience argued back. Not while you danced with that stranger. Why wasn't I, she wondered? She wished, just for a moment, that she'd always 15


have someone's arms to jump into when she threw herself at trouble. And trouble, in the form of a false engagement, was headed her way fast. What kind of man would agree to an engagement with someone he's never met? A greedy man, probably. Jack Hunter gets a hefty reward for this little deception. Adam says Jack is “steady, loyal, dedicated—the best of friends.” I just wish I could believe that of someone who gets to be CEO of a very profitable corporation for pretending to be engaged. Too bad I made this bargain with Jack Hunter before I met tonight's mystery man. He would have helped me for the fun of it and caused a whole lot less trouble in the process. Still, as Clare left the ballroom, she couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't asking for more trouble by creating a false engagement. She doubted Jack Hunter could be as helpful as the dark stranger. She needed one more glance of him—the gray-eyed, black-haired man with the easy laugh and the smoky voice. That and the remembered safety of his embrace might get her through the uneasy hours until her fake fiancé showed up. Her eyes searched the lobby. She didn't find the tall man she'd danced with earlier. She did find a thin, paper-pale woman in a black suit and oxfords. Dulcea Smythe, personal assistant to Grannie Blessings, had met Clare at the airport that morning. Clare ducked around a column and headed for the elevators. She checked behind her and saw the assistant approaching at a rapid clip. 16


Clare swallowed panic and turned to face her pursuer. The subsiding nausea returned full force. There was no exit out of the elevator area, except past Smythe. I'm cornered. Smythe never seeks me out unless Grannie insists. What could she want now? Clare needed a good night's sleep and an hour or two with Jack Hunter before confronting Grannie. A bell rang, and behind Clare the elevator doors whooshed open. A crowd of teen-aged girls poured out, surrounding her and eventually getting in Smythe's way. Smiling broadly at her good luck and Smythe's look of frustration, Clare stepped backward into the car and pushed the button for the seventeenth floor. The doors closed slowly. Clare's mouth slipped from toothy grin to an ‘O’ of dismay as Smythe's impossibly skinny form eased past the bubbling stream of girls and into the elevator. Trapped. Clare was trapped with Smythe for the endless thirty-second ride to the seventeenth floor. The assistant hadn't pushed a numbered button on the panel. That meant she intended to accompany Clare all the way to her room. Or worse, Grannie was on the seventeenth floor too. What was she going to do, Clare wondered? Before panic could set in, the elevator stopped, launching her queasy stomach toward her throat. The doors opened and Smythe grabbed Clare's elbow.

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Chapter 2 “YOUR GRANDMOTHER wishes to see you.” Her hand pressed over her mouth to prevent a return visit from her dinner, Clare muttered, “Now isn't a really good time.” Smythe pressed the ‘Door Open’ button, then looked at Clare. “Miss, you haven't seen your grandmother in ten years. You decided to change that because you know she is ill. This first meeting must be private. There is no better time.” Clare nodded. She swallowed and felt her stomach settle, leaving an acidy taste at the back of her throat. “All right, let's get this over with.” Smythe's thin lips twisted at the corners. She led Clare out of the elevator and down the hall. She stopped at 1703 and opened the door into a pleasant sitting room. “Please sit down.” She pointed at the sofa. “I will tell Mrs. Blessings that you are here.” The assistant disappeared through a second door. What would Grannie be like now? The few letters Clare had received over the past ten years had all been autocratic summonses dictated to Smythe. At first, Clare had eagerly pored over each and every word, hoping to find some warmth and yielding from the rigid woman who'd raised her. Each time Clare came up empty. The chilly, polite criticisms and orders left her battered from the clash between hope and disappointment. 18


She didn't know why she continued to read the missives from General Grannie, except that Clare had no other close family. Having lost her parents at an early age, she longed for the sense of place and purpose that family gave. When she'd received the formal invitation to the Blessings family reunion, she'd been surprised that so many Blessings existed, even if most were second, third and fourth cousins. That Grannie would want to meet these distant relatives surprised Clare even more. Grannie always expressed distaste for the “hangers-on” of the world. The handwritten note from Smythe that accompanied the invitation provided a final jolt. By the time she'd decided the note was legitimate, Clare had it memorized. Dear Miss Blessings, I hesitate to write, but I feel that, as Mrs. Blessings’ only near relation, you should know some of the circumstances surrounding her decision to hold the reunion. In February, Mrs. Blessings visited her physician. Since that time, your grandmother has despaired of ever mending the breach between you. I believe the reunion is Mrs. Blessings’ attempt to reach out to all her family, most especially you, her granddaughter. Please give careful thought to your decision regarding the reunion. Sincerely, Dulcea Smythe The thought that Grannie was ill or dying struck at the core of Clare's very worst fear, the fear of being abandoned and alone in the world. A fear that, oddly, had intensified since she'd learned of her unexpected pregnancy. It was one thing 19


to rebel against an oppressively strict guardian. Denying her feelings for the last living person who remembered her mother was quite a different matter. Clare felt compelled to attend the reunion. But she needed a buffer, someone to distract Grannie and deflect the tentacles of control that, regardless of Grannie's health, Clare knew Grannie would try to apply. Clare needed a temporary fiancé. That's when she'd called Adam for help, only to discover that he'd gotten married while she was out of the country. After some discussion of her problem, Adam suggested his close friend and business partner, Jack Hunter. As often as she'd visited Adam in Chicago, she'd never met Jack. What kind of man was he? “Clare, how good it is to see you at long last,” Grannie's voice interrupted, clear and strong. Startled from her wandering thoughts, Clare looked toward the now open bedroom door. What she saw stunned her. Grannie sat passively in a wheelchair. “Grannie.” Clare rushed from her seat to kneel by the older woman's side. Her hair was white, her skin a bit more wrinkled and papery. Her shoulders had a small curve. But her chin still jutted proudly, and her green eyes—so like Clare's own—shone with life and challenge. “I've missed you so much.” “There, there, dear.” Grannie's arm came around Clare's shoulders. “I've missed you, too. Now get up and let me look at you.” 20


Clare rose, a bit reluctant to let go. She stood before her grandmother's silent perusal. I'm eight weeks pregnant. Can Grannie tell? Will it make a difference, if Grannie knows? Best not to say anything until we have time to get reacquainted. “You look wonderful. A bit tired, but positively glowing. Don't you think, Smythe?” “You are perceptive as always, Madam,” came Smythe's expressionless reply. “Well then, let's sit down and have a chat, shall we?” It wasn't a question. Clare remembered the phrase clearly from her childhood. Having a chat was Grannie's way of saying you've made a mistake, and now I'm going to tell you how to fix it. But Grannie had never before sat in a wheelchair, weakly squeezing Clare's hand when uttering those words. Clare returned to the sofa. Smythe wheeled the chair to an open spot within reach of the coffee table where tea had been laid out. “I'd like to be private with my granddaughter for awhile, Smythe. Why don't you wait in the other room. I'll call you when I need you.” “By all means, Mrs. Blessing.” Clare poured tea and waited until the bedroom door closed. She handed Grannie a cup of the hot brew. As Grannie sipped, Clare asked, “What happened?” “Oh, it's nothing. Just a little back problem.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Are you certain?” Clare asked. 21


“I don't even need this silly chair most of the time, but my doctors insist that I rest my back whenever possible.” “I hope you're following their instructions.” “I use the chair when I'm in private. If necessary, I'll use a cane in public, but I dislike it so. It's a sign of weakness, you know.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “I can see how you'd look at it that way. The change in your health must be difficult to deal with.” “You're so understanding, dear.” Clare blushed. “Injury is a professional hazard for me. I know what it's like to suffer from serious health problems. Exactly what is the problem with your back?” “I wish I could say exactly what the problem is. I've been to several specialists. One says I'm having stress-related spasms. Another feels my spine is degenerating. A third is concerned about my kidneys.” “The doctors don't agree?” Used to easily identifiable broken bones and a variety of burns, Clare was amazed. Grannie leaned toward Clare confidingly. “I don't believe any of them know what is wrong.” “That has to be terrifying, if the experts don't know what the problem is.” Her grandmother nodded and sat back. “I finally gave up and went to the Mayo for a huge battery of tests. We're still waiting on the results.” “How long before you know?” “They haven't been able to tell me. In the meantime, to keep myself occupied and to avoid worrying, I decided to hold this reunion. Getting acquainted with the other branches of 22


the Blessings family is something I've long wanted to do. And if it gives us the chance to resolve our differences, then the entire reunion was worthwhile.” Grannie's candor surprised Clare, almost as much as the wheelchair had. The woman who guided Clare's formative years had been reticent to the point of coldness and positively stingy when discussing her motives or plans. Clare's heart went out to her grandmother. Obviously Grannie's health problems had a strong effect on her thinking and caused her to be more open about herself. Regretting the cause, Clare welcomed the change and reached for her grandmother's hand. “I'm glad too, Grannie.” “Enough about me. Tell me about your travels and adventures.” Maybe I should have my hearing checked. Grannie actually wants to hear about my work. Tentatively, she told her grandmother some of the milder stories. Clare didn't know how frail Grannie was and worried that too much excitement might strain her health unduly. At the end of Clare's recital, Grannie looked over the edge of her cup and murmured, “Fascinating, my dear. And after all this time, you still haven't found a young man to build a family with?” Clare's breath stopped for a moment. Were they about to return to form, with Grannie trying to arrange Clare's life? Maybe not. Unlike previous encounters, Grannie's tone had been warm and full of curiosity. No disapproval at Clare's job or her unmarried state leaked through to dilute the warmth, 23


or chill Clare's eagerness to meet Grannie more than half way. “Actually, I'm about to announce my engagement.” Grannie's teacup tilted. She caught the china before it spilled. Then she set the cup and saucer on the table. “That's wonderful, Clare. Who's the lucky man? Anyone I know?” Clare found the last probing question comforting. Not everything about Grannie had changed. She still consumed information with the hunger of a starving man. “I don't know if you've met Jack or not. But several years ago, you lent him and Adam Talcott the start-up money for their company, AFD Inc.” “Your fiancé is Jack Hunter?” “Mm-hmm,” Clare agreed around a mouthful of tea. “I've never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Hunter. Although, I've always been impressed by his business acumen.” Clare had to grin. From what Adam had told her, Jack was exactly the kind of hardworking, suitable young man of independent means who would appeal to Grannie. She wouldn't care that Jack had been born poor. It was his work ethic she would approve of. “Yes, Jack has been singularly successful with AFD Inc. Due, no doubt, to his hard work combined with Adam Talcott's financial brilliance.” “No doubt,” Grannie agreed dryly. “Did you invite your young man to join you here?” Clare blushed a little. “I thought this might be a good occasion to announce the engagement. Doing that without Jack present would be a trifle awkward.” 24


“I agree completely. But perhaps we should delay the announcement a day or two, so I may have the opportunity to get to know Jack. As administrator of the Blessings estate and holdings, which will one day go to you, there are a number of matters that I should go over with Jack before he joins the family. I presume you have discussed a pre-nuptial agreement?” Ah ... think fast, Clare. "We've tossed the idea around, because Jack insists that we both protect our financial interests and that of any possible children.” “Do you have an attorney?” “No. We hadn't gotten that far in our discussions.” “I'd be happy to have the family firm take a look at any agreement Jack may propose.” “I'll give your offer careful thought, Grannie,” Clare hedged, wary of the insidious nature of Grannie's help. Something like a twinge of frustration, or maybe pain, crossed Grannie's face. Instantly contrite, Clare set her cup down and took Grannie's hand. “What's wrong?” “Just a small pain. Get Smythe and tell her to bring my medication, please.” Another twitch across the papery cheeks sent Clare into motion. “Smythe,” she hollered, as she leapt for the door. “Grannie needs her pain medicine.” “Coming,” Smythe's voice answered. The woman emerged with deliberate speed from the bedroom, pills and a glass of water in her hand. Clare bent to her grandmother, feeling the 25


tremble in the older woman's shoulders and watching the glass shake as Grannie took the water and pills from Smythe. With the pills swallowed, Grannie's brave voice urged Clare to get a good night's sleep and ordered Smythe to push the wheelchair into the bedroom. Leaving her grandmother's suite, Clare hurried down the hallway and slipped into her room. She locked the door behind her and left the lights off. For a moment, she leaned against the cool metal door, then headed past the sofa in the small sitting area and into the bathroom. Her stomach threatened to reject the dinner she'd eaten a few hours ago, and her body threatened to collapse with fatigue. Pregnancy was just as draining as stunt work. Too tired and queasy to do more than slip out of her dress and bra, she dropped them where she stood. She'd pick them up in the morning. Moonlight streamed in through the window as she walked to the king-size bed. She lurched to the far side where she pulled the curtains closed. Nothing, not Grannie, not a glimmer of moonshine, would disturb her rest. She pulled down the sheets and slid into bed, then tugged the covers up against the air-conditioned chill of the room. Turning on her side, she curled toward the edge of the mattress and gave in to exhaustion. **** “THIS IS RIDICULOUS. You run a five-star hotel. You can't lose my luggage.” Jack mentally cursed his rotten luck. “Are you certain you had it with you when you checked in?” The concierge's tone carried a wealth of condescension. 26


“Of course I'm sure I had it.” Jack nearly snarled in frustration that had grown since he'd gone to his room to change and found no luggage. “I checked my bags right here.” “Then you should be able to produce the claim check.” “I told you. I put the claim check in the side pocket of my laptop case.” “Indeed.” Disbelief arched the concierge's brows. Jack grabbed at his own hair and pulled. “I'm supposed to meet my fiancée's grandmother tomorrow. What do you expect me to wear, my birthday suit?” “This is the Bahamas, sir. Clothing standards are very relaxed, sir, except at the casinos.” “You'd think a hotel with your reputation would be prepared to aid guests with lost luggage.” The concierge's lips flattened. “I assure you, sir, the Bahama Diamond prides itself on its service and preparedness. I regret the inconvenience, but without a claim check, I can do nothing to help you.” The cold glare in the man's eyes implied that somehow Jack was responsible for the lost luggage. Jack returned the glare. “I'm the personal guest of Amanda Blessings, and if I don't get satisfaction in the next five minutes, I'll make certain that Mrs. Blessings knows how unhappy I am. This hotel advertises fun-filled, trouble-free vacations. Right now, I'm neither having fun nor am I free from trouble. I will definitely make my displeasure known to the management.” 27


A worried frown replaced the cold look. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hunter, but my hands are tied until the hotel gift shop opens at 10:00 A.M. tomorrow.” “And what can you do for me then?” Jack leaned forward. The concierge fiddled nervously with the lost luggage report Jack had filled out. “If your luggage has not been located by that time, the Bahama Diamond will be happy to provide you with your choice of clothing from the store at no cost to yourself.” “That's it?” Jack raised a brow. “We'll replace your lost luggage as well.” “As long as you keep searching, that will do. That laptop contains data vital to my business. Now where can I get something to eat?” “The SandSide Cafe operates twenty-four hours a day, sir. And most of the bars offer sandwiches.” “Excellent. I'll be sure to let the management know how well you handled this little misunderstanding.” “Uh, thank you, Mr. Hunter.” Satisfied that the concierge would follow through on his promises, Jack strolled toward the cafe. With the problem of his luggage solved, his mind turned to Clare Blessings. What kind of a woman spends her life seeking thrills? God knows the Blessings woman doesn't do it for the money. She's heiress to one of the richest families in the country. No doubt she gives little thought to the risks or the worry that she causes others. If she did, she'd have stopped long ago. She's wasting her life. Jack despised waste. The only thing he 28


disliked more was thoughtlessness. By reputation, Clare Blessings epitomized both. Jack shuddered at the thought of spending ten days in the woman's company. Much as he tried, he couldn't see any way of getting out of it. His stomach growled. He needed food and a good stiff drink to help him sleep. Otherwise, he faced a restless night, dreaming of skydiving amazons and female sharks in scuba gear. Hours later, sleepy and replete, Jack entered his room. Both the sandwich and the scotch had been first rate. He'd gotten involved in a discussion of market trends and investment strategies with the bartender, who turned out to be a third year economics major at Northwestern. Jack gave the kid a business card, suggesting he call about interning with AFD Inc. The conversation had done as much as the food and drink to take Jack's mind off tomorrow's encounter with Clare Blessings and her grandmother. A good night's sleep would put everything into perspective. In the moonlight pouring through the balcony doors, he removed his clothes. He draped each item—underwear and socks included—carefully over the back of the sofa to air, then made for the bedroom. Not wanting to hassle with the lights, he ambled the distance from the door to the bed. He slid between the covers and edged toward the middle of the huge mattress. Folding his hands across his chest, he pulled up the memory of the mystery woman from the ballroom. There was a woman with sense. She knew pudgeman was an unnecessary risk, and she'd done everything she could to get rid of him. Why couldn't Clare Blessings be more like her? 29


A twinge of tension struck Jack's forehead at the thought of his fake fiancée. Don't go there, Jack. Think about the mystery woman instead. Jack focused on a mental image of the leggy blonde. The woman materialized in his mind with such clarity that he could almost smell lilies and rain.

30


Chapter 3 CLARE WRAPPED herself in her gray-eyed lover's embrace and swayed with the music. Warmth and the scent of male dusted with pine surrounded her. She was safe. Outside, trouble waited in the form of her cold, angry, grandmother. The smoky-voiced man tightened his arms around her, and his hand caressed her back. She pressed her lips to his neck. A lazy flood of desire swelled within her. His jaw rubbed against her hair. Then his lips feathered across her temple. She lifted her head. Her mouth met his in a tender kiss. His hands stroked her sides, flirting with the curve of her breasts, then easing down to cup her bottom. She deepened the kiss, pleading for more with the gentle sweep of her tongue against his. Beneath her, his body shifted, his hard male length pulsing against her abdomen. She wanted his hands on her breasts, his fingers on her nipples. She braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself to give him better access. “Touch me.” Her mouth caressed his as she spoke. “Mmm,” he murmured. Wanting, needing to fill her senses with his pleasure, Clare opened her eyes ... and screamed. In the dim light that pierced the curtains, Jack's eyes bulged open to a nightmare. Sound waves battered his eardrums. The woman of his dreams lay screaming on top of him. She leapt away, dragging the sheet across her body as she went. Using the cloth as a shield, she stood trembling at 31


the foot of the bed. Her eyes raked the length of him, and she screamed louder. Only then did Jack realize that he screamed, too. He closed his mouth and lunged for the only available protection he could see, the sheet. A tug of war ensued. Jack refused to lose this contest. As the cloth gradually slipped from the woman's grasp, he grinned. Nobody roused him naked and screaming and got away with it. The woman gave a feral snarl and let go of the percale. The sudden release of tension threw Jack backward against the bed, tangling him in his prize. Before he could recover, the woman dashed from the room, slamming the door behind her. Jack tossed the sheet around himself, toga fashion, knotting it as he ran after her. He found her in the corner of the sitting room sofa. His rumpled suit coat covered her top, as she jammed her limbs into the matching trousers. “Hey, those are mine.” He made a grab for the pant legs. With an odd, kangaroo-like jump, she folded her legs— half-donned pants and all—beneath her, then wrapped her arms across her chest, hugging the suit coat closed. He smiled at the thought of trying to remove the suit. “They won't fit, you know.” She ignored his remark. “Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” Jack remembered the woman and her fierce alto from the previous night's dance. “I think you have it backwards. This room is mine, so you're the one who'd better explain exactly what you're doing here.” 32


“This is my room, and I can prove it.” She bit out the words, started to rise and tripped over the half-on, half-off pants, tumbling to the floor before she ever left the sofa. “Good going, Grace.” Jack grasped her arm and hauled her up as the blonde struggled to pull his slacks over her derriere. He couldn't help chuckling at the sight. “Don't hide your light on my account. I'm pretty well acquainted with your anatomy by now.” He ran his glance over her slim form. “Those pants are more trouble than they're worth, you know.” Her eyes widened. She cast him a fulminating glance and dropped the trousers. Stepping out of the crumpled cloth, she huffed and stomped off to the bedroom mumbling some nonsense about smoke, mirrors and empty-headed sets of gonads. Jack shrugged and traded his makeshift toga for the sorry set of wrinkles that used to be his slacks. He'd managed to zip them halfway when Blondie returned. His suit coat swayed nicely as she moved, giving interesting glimpses of creamy flesh. She stopped within arm's reach and waved two papers under his nose. “Here.” She shoved two documents against his chest. Heat from her fingers stabbed at his skin in an entirely different way than the daggered look she threw from her eyes. He formed a tight smile and placed one hand over hers, anchoring her in place. Certain he could prove her wrong, he slid his free hand inside the suit coat. An outraged “St-stop that” stuttered from her lips, and her empty hand fisted. 33


“Excuse me.” He chilled his voice and dared her. “But my passport and hotel receipt are in here.” He fished for the documents stowed in the inside pocket. He tried. He really tried not to brush his fingers over the hardened nub covered by the thin silk lining of the coat. He couldn't help it if she took a deep breath at the exact moment he drew his hand out. “Why you unprincipled...” “Now, now, don't be nasty. You want to show me yours,” he glanced at the papers beneath her hand, “its only fair that I show you mine.” He offered his documents to her, openpalmed. She glared at him and snatched them from his hand. Her own papers fluttered to the floor, and Jack rubbed at the sudden cold spot on his chest. As he stooped to pick them up, she flounced toward the balcony off the sitting room. Jack sighed and opened the receipt. Bahama Diamond, Room 1704. He read it twice just to make sure. What was his room number doing on her receipt? Then he opened the passport. Under a photo of his blonde angel, typed in black ink on blue paper, was the name Clare Blessings. He couldn't breathe. His head pounded. This was some sort of sick joke. “It can't be.” Jack raised his head at her words and exchanged a stricken look. “You're Jack Hunter?” “You're Clare Blessings?” “Oh my.” “Hotel security. Open up in there.” 34


Jack's gaze followed Clare's horrified look. The pounding came from the door, not his head. “Miss Blessings,” a female voice shrilled. “Are you all right?” Clare gasped at the sound. Jack swung his head back in her direction. “It's Smythe.” “Who or what is a Smythe?” “My grandmother's assistant.” “Miss Blessings, your grandmother is worried about you. I must insist that you open this door.” The woman's voice was sharp enough to drill through the steel panel without any help. “Shouldn't you let them in?” Jack asked. “I can't do that.” Clare looked wildly about her. She needed a place to hide him. “Why not?” “I'm supposed to introduce you to my grandmother, not co-habitate with you.” “We're engaged. What's the problem?” “If you do not open up immediately, I'll have security unlock the door for me.” The drill-bit voice increased in volume. “We aren't.” “But—” Clare made a decision. “We don't have time for this. Grannie is very particular. She'd never understand, and I'd lose everything.” Clare moved around him and pushed him toward the bedroom. “Quick, hide in there.” She strode to the 35


sitting room door and checked the security chain. Then she cracked open the door as far as the chain would allow. Keeping as much of her body hidden as possible, she placed her face to the opening. “I'm sorry. I was in the bathroom. What's the problem?” The thick-necked, suit-clad security guard worried Clare much less than the lasered glare coming from Smythe's eyes. From the other side of the door, Smythe peered at Clare. “Your grandmother heard screams from your room, Miss Blessings. She asked me to investigate, and I called security. Please let us in.” “I'm fine, really. Grannie must have heard someone else. I just woke up.” Clare knew her tousled hair and bare feet would confirm her story, but the guard had to wonder why her robe looked so much like a man's suit coat. “Nevertheless, Miss, I must insist. Mrs. Blessings seeks reassurance of your well being. I cannot give that to her unless I see for myself that you are safe and secure.” “Well, I can't let you in.” “Please, Miss,” the security officer intervened. “We'll only take a moment of your time.” “All right, but give me fifteen minutes to get dressed first. I'll call as soon as I'm ready.” Smythe looked more displeased than usual. “Very well. We'll await your call in your grandmother's sitting room.” The thin woman motioned to the security officer to follow her, then turned toward the neighboring suite. “Come along, good man.” Clare snapped the door shut and leaned on it. “Phew.” 36


From the bedroom, Jack's voice sounded. “You did that very well, but I'm surprised they bought it.” He walked past Clare into the sitting room. Clare jumped. “Don't sneak up on me like that. Smythe didn't buy it, but she could hardly strong-arm me in front of security.” “True.” “She'll be back in fifteen minutes on the dot. We need to get you out of here.” “I'd be happy to oblige, but you're wearing my only suit coat.” “You didn't bring any luggage?” “Somehow the hotel lost my luggage.” “Oh, well. Give me thirty seconds, and I'll toss your suit coat out to you.” The door clicked shut behind her, as she disappeared into the bedroom. “Thanks.” He doubted she'd heard him. He shrugged and put on his shirt. Half a minute later the bedroom door snicked open. Clare's slender arm emerged, dangling his suit coat from her fingers. Jack hooked it with his middle finger and slung the jacket over his shoulder. Her arm snaked back behind the door, but this time she left the portal slightly ajar. “Where will you go?” Her voice flowed through the opening. “I'll go to the hotel manager's office and try to straighten out the rooming problem.” “Let me know where you're staying, once you've seen the manager.” 37


“Sure. Why don't I join you for breakfast? We could discuss how we want to handle our ‘engagement'.” “Sounds like a plan. I'll see you at the SandSide Cafe.” Jack left the room and sauntered down the passageway. **** JACK SLAMMED his fist down on the counter. “You're kidding. A hotel this size has to have a spare room.” “I'm sorry, Mr. Hunter, but this is a small island. Mrs. Blessings’ reunion party has caused an overflow. Every hotel on the island is booked solid.” “What am I supposed to tell my fiancée?” “I can't help you with that, sir. I can check with the other hotels. Perhaps one of them has had a cancellation. Or, I can offer you an alternative booking date.” Jack glared at the assistant manager. “W-with complimentary air fare, of course.” “You have no idea how much I regret that I can't accept your gracious offer.” Jack thrust his hands through his hair. “Perhaps you could check with the concierge and discover if he's found my luggage yet.” “You lost your luggage too, Mr. Hunter?” “No, the staff of this hotel lost my luggage. I want it found, now.” Jack held his temper by a thread. None of this was the assistant manager's fault. Adam Talcott was going to get an earful. Adam now owed Jack, big time. Pretending to be the fiancé of a woman he didn't care about was one thing. Shacking up with a woman who tied his 38


gut in knots was something else again. Something that, despite a growing attraction for Clare, he didn't need. As for convincing Clare's grandmother that he and Clare shared an enduring passion, no way. Guaranteed, the older woman would spot the rampant lust Clare inspired for exactly what it was. **** CLARE LOOKED up from her newspaper. Jack Hunter stalked across the dining room toward her. She had to admire the way he moved. He dodged tray-laden waiters and running children with a mere shift of broad shoulders or a twist of narrow hips. The memory of his bare chest beneath hers made her hum with pleasure. In fact, the only thing she didn't admire about Jack was the glower he wore on his face right now. She much preferred the lazy smile and easy laughter he'd worn before he knew who she was. Arriving at the table, Jack grabbed a chair and thumped into it. Clare folded her paper and smiled. Whatever had kinked Jack's hose couldn't be as bad as his expression made it seem. “You don't look like a man who's having a fun-filled, trouble-free vacation.” “Very perceptive. You won't be having much fun either when I tell you that this hotel, and every other place on the island, is booked solid.” “You're kidding.” “My exact words. But the assistant manager assures me that it's true.” Jack growled the words. 39


Clare eased back and folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose you used that charming tone of voice when you presented the problem.” “No, I threatened him with an axe.” Jack leaned forward. He gripped the edge of the table, as if that small action might contain the mix of irritation and desire that threatened to explode. “Exactly what are you trying to imply?” Refusing to be cowed, Clare placed her palms on the table and bent toward Jack. “I wasn't implying anything. I'm suggesting that if you want to have a picnic, you don't bring on the thunder.” The man had no business being angry with her. She was just trying to help. “It isn't my fault we're in this situation.” Jack rose. If he didn't leave, he'd either hit the woman or kiss her. “And just what do you mean by that?” Clare took to her feet as well. “I'm not the careless, irresponsible female who needs a fake fiancé to deceive her doting grandmother.” He turned to leave, unable to resist laying hands on her and disgusted with himself for wanting to do just that. “Doting grandmother?” Clare gasped. Before Jack walked three steps, two silky arms and a hot sultry voice twined themselves around his body. “I'm sorry, lover. Don't leave.” Jack shifted and looked into Clare's green eyes. Did anyone else see the temper simmering under her pretended passion? He folded her into his embrace and snuggled her body closer to his own. 40


Thank heaven he's playing along, Clare thought. If he doesn't, we could both be in hot water. “Let's kiss and make up.” She spoke her breathiest whisper next to his ear. “We don't need to argue over a silly thing like...” Whatever else she might have said or thought blew all to flinders as Jack squeezed her hip and pressed his lips to her neck, just below her ear. “I'm sorry too, sugarlips.” His breath tickled her earlobe. Clare shivered. For effect she tongued his inner ear. He groaned. He really is putting on a pretty good act. She could feel heat flush her skin. The muscles in her stomach clenched. Then he kissed her lips, and her knees turned to water. Her mouth opened. His tongue swept in and tasted deeply. She ceased to think. Passion swirled her upward. She wrapped one leg over his hip. The hard ridge at his pelvis pulsed against her. The slow retreat and thrust of his tongue became a promise that sang in her blood. “Hem!” The polite cough pealed an unheeded warning next to Clare. His tongue left her mouth, and his lips lifted. Clare dazed up at him and saw surprised delight in his smile. She smiled back. He slid his hand down her body and pushed her leg back to the floor. Could he feel her trembling? Never had she felt aftershocks simply from a kiss. Giving her a small squeeze, he rubbed his hands briskly over her back, as if aware that she needed time to recoup before standing on her own. The quaking ceased. Her eyes 41


focused on that lean face while he turned her around. His body continued to support her. Strong arms clasped lightly about her waist. Clare looked up at him as he pressed a brief kiss into her hair. A flush colored his face. His smile became a grin; then he raised his head and spoke. “I'm sorry. My girl and I tend to get distracted.” His tone could only be called smugly sheepish. Clare thought him endearing until she remembered why she needed to stop Jack from leaving. Amanda Frantz Blessings stood before them. With one disapproving glance she took in Clare's position in Jack's arms, the avid leers of the staff, and the amused titters of the other diners. Clare swallowed. Taking a risk now and then was how she earned her living. But exhibitionism was not on the list of chances that put money in the bank. How could she kiss anyone like that in front of her grandmother? Heavens, Jack was a stranger. How could she kiss him at all? She covered a gasp with one hand and tried to pry herself from his embrace with the other. It was embarrassing, and she hated being embarrassed. “Now, darling, there's no need to be shy. I'm certain these people aren't at all surprised by a small public display of affection.” He nuzzled her ear as he spoke, and Clare could feel that odd languor tugging at her. NO! Not again. Finally she pried his hands off and stepped away from him. Part of her wanted to step right back into his arms. She gathered her composure about her and laid a hand on his cheek. Calm, cool words covered the flinch of nerves that 42


hummed everywhere Jack touched. “Yes, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You're undoubtedly right. But I need to introduce you to my grandmother.”

43


Chapter 4 JACK GULPED AND looked about him. His gaze came to rest on the tall angular woman before them, her left hand clutched around a cane. “Your grandmother?” “Clarissa Lucinda Blessings, explain yourself,” Amanda Blessings’ voice boomed. “Well, you see, Grannie, it's all a silly little misunderstanding.” The older woman stopped shouting. “The kind of display I just observed is vulgar, not a misunderstanding.” Clare gave a shallow laugh at her grandmother's jab. “Actually, it is. See, Jack is my fiancé.” Amanda gave Jack the once over. “I can see how you might find that amusing, but I am not entertained.” “Now, just a minute.” Jack watched as the older woman lifted her chin and arched both patrician eyebrows upward. She thought she could bait him, but he wasn't about to indulge in selfish emotionalism. He narrowed his gaze and leaned forward. With a tone that could freeze alcohol, he said, “Clare is not a child to be chastised, Mrs. Blessings.” Clare cast a surprised glance his way, and Jack continued. “In the future, I'm certain you'll treat my fiancée with more respect.” The chin retreated. The patrician eyebrows arched even higher, and a slight smile fluttered at the corners of Amanda Blessings’ mouth. A delicate snort puffed from the woman's 44


nostrils. “I have always given my granddaughter every courtesy she deserved.” Jack watched Clare flush. “As the future wife of AFD Inc.'s controlling partner, Clare deserves a great deal of courtesy. But she deserves it more because she's a warm, loving, and generous woman.” Clare's jaw dropped momentarily. At the mention of AFD Inc., the smile became solid and genuine. Amanda's brows returned to their normal position and her eyes lit up. She turned to Clare. “I'd forgotten that you claimed your fiancé was Jack Hunter. I just might give your engagement my whole-hearted blessing, dear.” “Why, thank you, Grannie. You have no idea how much that means to me.” “Quite possibly,” Grannie Blessings murmured. “Excuse us, Mrs. Blessings.” Jack pulled Clare around so his arms encircled her completely and she was forced to look at him. “C'mon honey. Let's go someplace quiet and discuss our engagement.” “Why ... uh ... sure. Let's do that.” Over the top of her head, Jack watched Amanda Blessings frown, then slump toward a waiting Smythe. A small “Oh my” escaped the older woman's lips. At the sound, Clare left Jack's embrace. “Grannie, are you feeling all right?” “I'm afraid your tryst will have to wait a few moments, dear. I've been standing too long this morning.” She leaned heavily against her assistant. “Perhaps Jack would be so kind as to assist me to that table over there.” 45


Three pairs of female eyes turned his way. Jack immediately took Mrs. Blessings’ arm, guiding her toward a table half hidden in a large windowed alcove. As he seated the older woman, she looked at him and ordered, “Smythe, take my granddaughter up to our room and give her the itinerary for the next week. Jack and I will have a little chat, shall we? Then he can join Clare. I'm certain you won't mind, will you, dear?” She turned a generous smile on her granddaughter. “Uh, no, I don't mind, but are you sure you're up to this?” “Well, I am a bit tired, but I'm certain that with a little breakfast and your young man's kind attention,” the smile turned on Jack, “I'll be fit as a fiddle in no time. Now, give me a kiss and run along with Smythe.” Jack watched Clare brush her lips over her grandmother's time-creped cheek. She turned to go, and he couldn't help himself. “What about me?” Clare looked from him to her grandmother and back. She planted a long, sloppy kiss on his mouth, then flounced off in Smythe's purposeful wake. Jack gazed after her, hungry for more. Amanda Blessings’ amused voice brought him back to his surroundings. “You might wish to remove the lipstick that my granddaughter gifted you with.” Without looking to see if he followed orders, Amanda Blessings bent her head toward the menu. “I'll have the poached eggs on rye toast, a bran muffin, sliced strawberries, no cream, orange juice, freshly squeezed, and tea, strong.” 46


As he wiped his mouth with a napkin, Jack looked for the waiter. None had appeared. Evidently, Mrs. Blessings was of the old school that believed a man should do all the ordering. She probably expected him to pick up the check, too. No matter, he could afford it, and it might be worth a high-priced breakfast to find out why she'd maneuvered this time alone with him. She put the menu down, folded her hands in her lap and studied him. Waiting him out to see if she could rattle him. It was a good business tactic, and one typical of negotiations. Exactly what were they negotiating, he wondered? The supposed engagement was a done deal as far as she was concerned, wasn't it? “You and Clare appear to have strong feelings for each other.” What was she fishing for? A confession of his undying love for her granddaughter? “Yes.” Maybe that would satisfy her. “Just how would you describe those feelings?” Nope, she wanted details—smart woman—but he didn't have any details. He thought back to this morning. “I'd say that our feelings for each other are intense and run the gamut.” “It's delightful to me that you recognize that sometimes a relationship, especially one with my granddaughter, has its less than pleasant moments. However, I'm wondering if you love Clare and how solid a foundation of trust the two of you have built.” 47


Feeling pressured, Jack hedged. “Those intangibles are two of the most important aspects of any relationship, and I'm certain that Clare is satisfied.” The waiter came, took their order, then poured tea and coffee. Amanda Blessings sipped at her tea. She put the cup down. “Perhaps you could tell me how you met Clare?” The pressure eased. This he could handle. “We met at a dance.” “Really.” Amanda arched an eyebrow and reached for her teacup. “Clare never used to like dances.” Jack smiled, thinking of Clare's pudgy suitor from the previous night. “I'm not certain she was enjoying this one until I took her onto the floor.” “How sweet. When was this?” Uh oh, there she goes asking for details again. “It was a while ago.” He scrunched his eyelids together. “You know, since we met, I've been so wrapped up in Clare that recalling the time when I didn't know her is extremely difficult.” That much was true. Discovering that last night's mystery woman and Clare Blessings were one and the same had thrown him for a loop. His life seemed to have changed radically in less than twenty-four hours. He just didn't know if the change was for the better or not. The waiter arrived with their food. Jack swallowed under Amanda Blessings’ calculating gaze. The waiter left. Then she attacked. “Are you telling me that you fell in love with Clare at first sight?” Mrs. Blessings’ friendly smile pinched in on itself, 48


becoming a frown. “My daughter, Clare's mother, suffered a disastrous marriage to a man she claimed to have loved at first sight. He wasn't worthy of her. I had hoped to spare my granddaughter that kind of pain.” Jack choked down the coffee he'd ordered. “I can't honestly tell you that my first sight of Clare inspired a grand passion. I can say that the entire time I've known her has been different than any previous time in my life.” “Hmm.” Amanda waved the waiter over to warm her tea. “And what was that previous time like?” The change in topic threw Jack off balance. “Excuse me. I'm not certain what you're asking.” “Oh, I know about your business successes and your partnership with Adam Talcott. But, who is your family? Where were you born? What kind of environment did you grow up in?” Jack relaxed and cut into his pancakes. “That's easy enough to answer. My dad was a mechanic. My mom was a housewife. I have five brothers and two sisters. We lived in a Gary, Indiana suburb. We never had enough money.” The tiny overcrowded house and his overworked parents flashed into his mind along with sudden anger. He bit down on a forkful of pancake rather than say more about his family. “Please continue.” Jack paused to swallow and think. He didn't revisit his past often, preferring to deal with the difficulties and joys life gave him in the present. “I watched my mom die of cancer because we couldn't afford the treatments and Dad didn't have any insurance. After she died, my dad drove himself into an early 49


grave trying to support us.” Jack fisted his hand around his napkin. “I swore neither me nor mine would ever suffer for lack of money. And that's the secret of my success. But if you're looking for a blue-blooded pedigree for your granddaughter, you're out of luck.” “That's—” All on its own, his fist thumped the table. “Now I have a question for you. What right do you have to question my family background?” He tossed his napkin on the table and rose to leave. He'd managed two steps when Mrs. Blessings’ unmistakable command halted him. “You stay right here, young man. I regret your family's pain, and I'm sorry if my questions offend you, but someone must look out for Clare's best interests. She certainly won't do it herself. If you give this ten seconds’ thought you'll see that in my place you'd do exactly the same thing.” Jack waited. She had a point. “Okay.” “I don't give a fig for pedigrees—blue, purple or otherwise. I do care that the people in my family know how to work and why. Clare knows this. I may not approve of her chosen career, but she works for her living. She's a productive member of society. So are you. That much of you I will be proud to add to my family. However, since Clare is marrying an entire man, not simply a work ethic, I have a few more questions.” She took a crisp, tiny bite of toast. Jack returned to his seat. “Go on.”

50


“I now know your personal history. You've told me how you and Clare met. But please satisfy one more point of curiosity about your courtship of Clare.” “I will if I can.” “Clare's work takes her all over the world for long stretches of time. I also know how busy a successful corporation can keep its CEO. How did you manage to find time to date?” Jack pasted a rueful grin on his face. “It wasn't easy.” “I'm certain of that.” “We spent a lot of time on the phone.” “Surely you didn't win Clare's heart with a few simple phone calls?” “No, I worked hard at it. Throughout our entire relationship, I've made an effort to find reasons to be wherever Clare was, if she wasn't in Chicago.” “That's a considerable sacrifice on your part. Do you intend to continue that type of sacrifice once you're married?” “I fully intend for our future together to be a happy and committed one.” Happily apart and committed to being single. “Yes, but will you be happy with a wife who risks her life for a job?” “As my wife, I would expect Clare to take the same care with her life that I would take with mine as her husband.” Since she'll never be my wife, that won't be a problem. “I take that to mean you'd want Clare to change jobs at the very least, if not stop working altogether.” “I see no reason why she should need to continue in her present occupation.” 51


“She may insist.” “I think I can persuade her to change her mind, especially if we have children.” There, that ought to set Grannie Blessings’ mind at rest. No sane man would mention children if he wasn't completely committed to the woman under discussion. “Hmm.” Amanda sipped at her tea. The silence stretched out. What in the world is she thinking? “Have you discussed a pre-nuptial agreement, and how will children be provided for in that agreement?” He had to admire Amanda's thoroughness and wished he had a ready answer. She truly cared about Clare's welfare to be asking such pointed and personal questions. “We've tossed a few ideas around, but we hadn't gotten to the specifics yet.” “Who is your attorney?” “Why do you ask?” “Unless you have specific concerns, you and Clare shouldn't have to bother yourselves with a lot of legal nonsense at this stage. Let the lawyers draw up a standard agreement. The two of you can make any changes when you go over it together.” Jack hesitated. A careless word from his attorneys could ruin the entire charade. Still, lawyers took forever to do things like pre-nups and wills. He'd be long gone by the time word reached Amanda Blessings that the lawyers didn't know anything about an engagement. “Lakes and Gideon, in Chicago.” “A good firm. I'll have our family lawyers contact them.” 52


“That's not necessary. Clare and I can take care of this.” “Nonsense, I'm happy to do it. Now, when is the wedding date?” She was as bad as Clare. Just like that she dismissed his objections, changed subjects, and knocked him sideways. “I haven't been able to pin Clare down on a date.” “Oh, that's not good.” “If it were up to me alone, the whole business would be over yesterday.” “Hmm.” Amanda took another sip of tea and wrinkled her mouth in disgust. “It's gone cold.” “I'll get the waiter.” “No, don't. I'm finished.” “Then let me take you back to Smythe.” “Thank you, Jack. I'd like that.” He held her chair, and escorted her to her room. She seemed to have forgotten all about the lack of a wedding date.

53


Chapter 5 AS JACK OPENED the door into the suite, Clare emerged from the bedroom, heading toward the sofa. “I don't know if I should hit you or thank you.” “Thanks are always appreciated.” Jack followed her into the room. He pulled out the desk chair, turning it around, and sat poised on its edge. Mindful that Adam trusted him not to take advantage of Clare, Jack tried not to stare at the jiggle and sway of Clare's breasts when she flopped onto the sofa. She pressed her lips together then puffed out her cheeks. She expelled a rush of air. Damn! All it took was one look at her mouth or those endless legs, and he went hard as aged oak. Thank heaven she couldn't share the pictures that flashed in his mind while she lay there. She'd think he was a raving maniac. She wore clothes now instead of his suit coat, but that didn't help him much. The shorts that covered her hips exposed nearly all of her legs, and her sleeveless top clung to every curve. He couldn't recall ever reacting to a woman this strongly, not even as a randy teenager in Gary, when he had the hots for Lupe Chavez. If he hadn't been enjoying the sensations that hurtled through his body at the sight of Clare, he would have groaned in pain. As it was, he kept his lips firmly pressed together and waited. 54


To hide his obvious arousal, he slouched backward into the chair and carefully lifted his right ankle until it rested on his left knee. He regarded Clare, unable to think of anything except joining her on the sofa. She shoved herself upward on her elbows and looked him in the eye. “I've really landed myself in the soup this time.” Her face flushed, and she slid her glance to the beam of sunlight that filtered in through the curtained balcony doors. Shaken from his sexual daydream, Jack spoke the first words that came into his head. “You mean you often pretend to be engaged?” “No!” She groaned and rolled into a ball to hide her face in a sofa pillow. “If I did this often, I'd have enough experience at it not to get myself into trouble.” “Lady, you cause trouble just by breathing,” Jack mumbled. His frustration increased as her shorts rode higher on her thighs. “What did you say?” She turned her face toward him and lowered her legs. “Never mind.” Jack glowered at his foot to avoid her narrowed gaze. “I think you should explain what's going on between you and your grandmother.” She jerked upright and grumped, “You've got a lot of nerve demanding explanations from me, when you're getting a big prize for your trouble.” “So far, I wouldn't call this enforced stay in the Bahamas a hefty fee.”

55


“Don't be so modest. I know all about your annual dare with Adam. For pretending to be my fiancé, you get the CEO's chair of AFD Inc.” Jack's face flushed. “Adam should never have told you about our bet. It's enough that we can cancel that favor we owe you.” “I suppose it is.” Her eyes flashed, but she didn't pursue the subject. “How was the interview with Grannie?” Jack leaned the chair back against the desk, placing his elbows on the flat surface and allowing his hands to hang free. “I didn't have to lie too much. But she cornered me on my attorneys. She'll have her firm contact mine about the pre-nup. Hopefully we'll be unengaged before they act on her request.” She studied him for a moment, then her shoulders slumped forward and she hugged her knees. Instantly, he regretted the lost view of her cotton-covered breasts. But he gave thanks when the pressure at his groin eased a bit. “I'm sorry you got dragged into this.” Her voice was tight. She looked so woebegone that he felt compelled to offer sympathy. “You're not in this alone, Clare.” Her name rolled off his tongue with a pleasant ease that startled him. She slanted a look at him from under arched brows. “You can't want to be engaged to a total stranger?” Her tone challenged him to answer. He gave a slow grin. “I don't know. Engagement could have its advantages. Besides, we aren't exactly strangers anymore, Clare.” He said her name again, just to test his reaction. The same pleasure eased through him. 56


She looked puzzled. “Well, we did spend the night together.” She let loose of her knees and sat upright. “We didn't ... but ... you didn't...” Indignation sputtered from every syllable. A flush colored her neck. He clamped his teeth and held onto his grin despite the agony of desire that bloomed below his waist. She wasn't going to know how strongly she affected him. Not if he could help it. Clare Blessings wasn't his kind of woman. “You're right. We didn't. But your grandmother, hotel security and any other interested parties will think we did. If we're going to pretend to be engaged, we'll have to make them continue to believe it.” She stood, hands fisted, and flashed green fire at him. “This is a really bad idea. If you think for one minute that I'm going to sleep with you—have sex with you—just to keep up the pretense of an engagement, you'd better think again!” He did. He thought about it long and slow. He thought about it hard and fast. As she paced the narrow space between the door and the sofa, he thought—for several minutes—about being in bed with her. “There's got to be a way out of this,” she snarled. Every time she turned, she passed by him, filling the air with the scent of rain-washed lilies and woman. His head spun with visions of her beneath him on the bed twisting those legs around him, squeezing him as he thrust into her. She swung around and stepped on his foot. He groaned. 57


“Are you okay?” She knelt by his side, her one hand braced on his thigh, the other massaging his foot. Tension streaked up his leg. “I'm fine,” he gritted out. He grasped her by the shoulders, then hauled her up and away from his legs. When she stood he let go. She can't sleep with me, but she can play pattycakes with my thigh. Given the hi-jinks his body did in her presence, she was probably right. A pretended engagement with Clare Blessings was a really bad idea. But what choice did he have? He could wire Adam and admit that pretending to be the fiancé of a female daredevil was too difficult a task. Of course, that would strain their friendship. And even if he did concede defeat, he couldn't leave the island without the laptop and the files on the DeLancey deal stored on its hard drive. No, a pseudoengagement to Clare presented the only reasonable option. He had to make her see that. “Calm down.” He rubbed his ankle. “Staying engaged for a while isn't such a bad idea.” Clare eyed him suspiciously. “You've got something at stake here, don't you?” “It's nothing.” Clare cocked an eyebrow. “Really. I'm just doing Adam a favor.” Her expression settled into reflection. “And you don't want to let him down.” “Something like that,” Jack muttered, not wanting Clare to know just how much pressure Adam had had to apply. 58


“Besides, I needed a vacation, and pretending to be engaged is just as good a way to pass the time as any.” Clare retreated to the opposite side of the room where she eyed him cautiously. Her gaze narrowed to a glimmer. “I wouldn't dream of imposing on your valuable time.” The emerald-hard gleam above her upturned lips told Jack exactly what Clare thought about being a convenient way to pass the time. “Please,” she continued. “Call Adam and tell him to find another challenge. The terms of your bet will let you do that, won't they?” If Adam had told her about the bet, she knew darn well he couldn't do that. What was she up to? A saccharine lift twisted her mouth. “I'll tell my grandmother that we had a quarrel. You'll have plenty of excuse to leave and get on with your busy life.” She pegged it right. That bet had him over a barrel. Best to concede gracefully. “It's no imposition, really. I had a lot of fun last night.” Besides, if truth be told, he wanted to find out more about Clare Blessings before he went back to Chicago. Her chest heaved. Her hands fisted, one on each hip, and her lips flattened into a taut line. “You can have just as much fun somewhere else...” Jack's gaze fastened on her breasts and traveled a slow delicious line to her lips. They were pressed firmly together, but he remembered their plush fullness. Remembered them pressed just as firmly to his own. “...without having to deal with my grandmother or me.” “Huh?” 59


“I said,” acerbic tones knifed into the recalled kiss, “you won't have to deal with me or my grandmother.” “I admit, your grandmother didn't make an immediate hit with me, but you and I managed to rub along well enough so far.” “Ooh!” she moaned. “You are so male.” Baffled, he looked down at the bulge in his pants he'd been trying to hide then back at her irate expression. “Are you saying you don't want me to be your fiancé?” “You never were.” “That's true, but I should be.” Her jaw dropped. “Is that a proposal?” Jack was horrified. He couldn't believe those words came from his mouth. “No! Absolutely not. I only meant that maintaining our engagement, at least in front of other people, is better for both of us.” Clare leaned forward. Her brows rose. He could see he'd gotten her attention. “If we do that, then your grandmother doesn't hound you.” “There is that.” “And I really don't want to lose this bet with Adam.” Her expression remained inflexible. “I don't know. Anybody, my grandmother included, would expect an engaged couple sharing a room to be intimate. The sleeping arrangements could get awkward.” Encouraged that she even considered the potential problems, Jack rushed to reassure her. “I'd never take intimate advantage of the situation we're in. I think I demonstrated that this morning.” 60


She had no idea the pain that demonstration had cost him. If she'd given him the slightest indication that she was interested, Smythe and Hotel Security would have interrupted some very heavy sex. “You looked pretty eager to me.” She arched a brow at him. “Eager or not, I managed to restrain myself this morning, or the security officer would have gotten an eyeful when he arrived.” “Humph.” She folded her arms across her chest. He felt himself wilt a bit. “I suppose restrained is what you'd call the close inspection your tongue gave my tonsils in the dining room?” “Only if you call wrapping your leg around me calisthenics,” he replied under his breath. “What did you say?” “What I said doesn't matter. All that matters is that I give you my word, I won't touch you unless you ask me.” Her arms dropped to her sides, and she looked at him in surprise. “You mean you might want me to ask you to touch me?” “What kind of question is that to ask a guy? You're a beautiful woman, Clare. I'd have to be dead not to have some desire for you.” She looked flustered and about to object again. Jack had to sidetrack her before she could get him into deeper waters. He leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “We can debate our physical attractions latter. Right now we've got to set the 61


ground rules for our little charade, so those attractions don't get out of hand.” Touching her had been a mistake. Shocks buzzed all the way up and down his arms. He wanted to draw her into his embrace and knit her firmly to his side so she could never leave. He forced himself to let go. She gave her shoulders a shake and looked at him in doubt. “Right. How do we do that when we're living in the same space?” “You could move in with your grandmother.” “Just what I always wanted, ten days in a hotel room with Grannie.” “Surely, for a few short days, we can manage to pretend we're engaged and not get too close physically.” “I don't need to stay with my grandmother. You can sleep on this loveseat.” He glanced at the small couch. “You're kidding. I'm sixfoot-five. I'll only do that if we take turns.” “No, you're right. Besides, I can't go through another morning like this one. You'd better sleep in one of the lounges at night. The sofas there are longer.” Jack didn't want to repeat the morning's experience either; not unless Clare shared his bed. “No problem.” “You'll have to spend time with my grandmother and me.” He grinned. “I don't think that will be a problem.” “You don't know Grannie,” Clare groused and folded her arms across her chest again. Jack's expression sobered. “You're right, I don't know your grandmother. Maybe it's time you told me what this charade 62


is all about.”

63


Chapter 6 CLARE SQUIRMED mentally, realizing she'd have to tell him something. She knew so little about Jack Hunter. Just how far into her confidence should she take him? How much could she risk? If it weren't for the baby, this would be just one more in a long line of risks. But that new life changed everything. Now, any chance taken put her child at risk too. Clare found herself reluctant to take chances where her baby was concerned. “It's complicated,” she hedged, hoping she could get through this without revealing too much. “The hotel isn't going anywhere, and we're booked for ten days.” Clare studied him. His open face and posture, the broad shoulders and quiet strength, the take-charge jut of his chin, all spoke of a man who went his own way and had the will to make things happen. The man who'd interrupted her tussle on the dance floor the other night wasn't above using very creative means to get what he wanted. Look what had happened to the erstwhile cousin last night. Of course, that situation worked out to her advantage. What if Jack used her pregnancy against her? Could she trust him? Did she really have a choice? “I'm pregnant.” Jack's head jerked upward, and he dropped his elbows from the table. “You can't be pregnant. I just met you last night. We may have shared a bed, but nothing happened that 64


could have gotten you pregnant. If something had happened—and I categorically deny it did—you couldn't possibly know for certain in less than twenty-four hours.” Clare doubled over on the sofa, trying to hide her laughter. Only a truly arrogant male would so vigorously deny causing a pregnancy that he logically could not have caused. “This isn't funny.” Thrusting his hands through his hair, Jack stood and loomed over her. “Exactly what are you trying to pull?” The sharp awareness in his eyes stole her breath. Clare's giggles subsided. She looked up at him from the corner of the sofa where her head rested. “I agree. It's not funny.” She reached out and gently pushed him away from her, giving herself space to inhale. “Don't worry,” she soothed. “I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm two months pregnant, and I have no intention of claiming you're the father.” Jack slumped down onto the desk chair, his whole body relaxing. When he turned his gaze on her again, Clare's breath hitched. She watched as he inspected her thoroughly, as if trying to find some visible evidence of her impending motherhood. “It's too early for me to show.” Jack nodded. “Who ... ?” In for a penny, in for a pound, Clare thought. “I had a very good friend. Sometimes, after stunts, if we were in the same place, he and I would celebrate together. We were just friends. Usually, we had other people we dated. This time he was between lovers, and we got a little too drunk. We didn't even intend to have sex, let alone irresponsible sex.” 65


“So why not tap him to be your fiancé?” “That was the last time I saw him. Two weeks later, he died in a fire stunt that went bad. I didn't know about the pregnancy until almost a month after our little celebration.” “That's rough.” “Yeah, well. There wasn't anything I could do about it.” She shrugged. “Do you miss him?” “If you want to know if he was the great love of my life, the answer is no. Thrill seekers move around a lot. We don't always get to know each other well. But he was a friend, and I'd miss any friend who died. When I discovered my pregnancy, I called Adam in the hope that he'd help me out. I'd been out of the country and didn't know he'd gotten married.” “And that left you with me.” “Yeah.” “I presume you need a fiancé because your grandmother doesn't approve of unwed motherhood?” “Something like that,” Clare returned. “Like what exactly?” Clare shrugged. “I left home when she and I disagreed over my choice of careers. She thought wife to a corporate executive more suitable than stuntwoman. I didn't. It always rankled her that I succeeded when she'd expected me to fail.” “So why come back?” “She's ill. Smythe spilled the beans in a note she enclosed with my reunion invitation. I had to find out how serious the problem is.” 66


“That's rough, too. Are you thinking of moving home, now that you've begun mending bridges with your grandmother?” Clare shook her head. “I'm thinking about moving closer. Ill or not, I don't think I could live with Grannie. Besides, she has Smythe and a whole house full of servants. Still, I've got to think about my baby, and living nearer to Grannie could help.” Clare stared out the window. “By the time my child goes to school, I'll be too old to do the only kind of work I love.” In ten years of stunt work she'd known plenty of scary moments, but she didn't recall ever being as frightened as she had been since the day she discovered she was pregnant. “Grannie's illness may be a blessing in disguise.” Jack thought about the timing of Grannie's illness and wondered if Clare's words were prophetic. People like Amanda Blessings employed disguised motives as a major tool. “Okay, so your needs are clear, and your motives are pure. What makes you think you can tolerate life near a sharp old bird like Amanda Blessings?” “Grannie's too busy with her business concerns to follow me around.” “She could hire someone to check up on you.” “She could, but she won't. Especially if, in the next ten days, I can convince her that you and I are truly in love.” Jack steepled his fingers. Clare watched impatiently. Unable to stand the tension, she asked, “What are you thinking?” “Won't Amanda expect you to get married?” “She may. But she won't get what she wants.” 67


“I thought you wanted to stay on her good side.” Clare tried to hide the hurt his perceptive comment caused. “I'm doing this for Grannie's health, not for her good opinion.” Jack studied her. Growing impatient again, Clare rushed to speak. “Well, will you do it?” “Do what? “Pretend to be engaged to me for a year?” “That's a bit longer than I bargained for. What if I meet someone I want to marry?” “I don't know. I suppose we could break it off. I'm so far below her standards, Grannie is sure to believe my fiancé prefers any other woman to me.” Jack felt sorry for her, but he couldn't let emotions play into his decision. “I'll think it over and let you know the last day of the reunion.” “That won't do. If you're going to bail on me, I need time to make other arrangements.” “Sorry, I can't make up my mind that fast. A year-long engagement involves a lot more activity and contact than I'd planned. You're best off making those other arrangements as a back-up plan. That way, if I decide to bail—as you put it— you'll be prepared.” “Sounds okay to me.” “Great. Now that's settled, how are we going to handle Amanda for the next ten days?”

68


“I'll go over that itinerary Smythe gave me. Maybe we can keep Grannie busy enough that she won't have time to notice that we aren't exactly in love.” “You're calling the shots. I've got to go check on my lost luggage again. I'll see you at dinner.” “Okay.” She watched as Jack left. Her stomach twisted in knots. It felt just like the butterflies she got before jumping into thin air. Well, she'd made her leap. She just prayed that someone would be there to catch her, because she wasn't wearing a parachute. **** AFTER DINNER, Clare had excused herself, claiming a sick headache. Jack strolled through the lower hallways and eventually found himself in one of the all-night bars. He ordered a scotch and took it with him. As he wandered the lobby, he thought about the call he'd placed to Adam earlier that evening. The conversation had been frustrating at best, mostly because he couldn't keep his mind off Clare. “Is something wrong, Jack?” Adam had asked. Yeah, something's wrong. I have a twenty-four hour hardon that doesn't look like it's going away anytime soon. Not if I have to hang around Clare Blessings. And hanging around Clare looks like my only option at the moment. At the thought of his fake fiancée, Jack's voice had twisted along with his body. “What could possibly be wrong?” Adam's words, clipped and impatient, hurtled through the handset. “I don't know, Jack. Why don't you tell me what you want?” 69


“What I want?” The image of Clare's sleek legs flashed in his mind. The thought of discussing what he really wanted nearly strangled him. “Yes. You called me, remember? I was searching for the DeLancey disk. I've got a meeting with them in a half-hour, and I need to prepare. If my secretary hadn't said it was urgent, I would have returned your call later.” “I'm calling about the DeLancey account. I have the disk.” “What? You're supposed to be relaxing. You shouldn't even have a computer, let alone the DeLancey disk.” Jack cringed at the astonishment in Adam's voice. “Look,” Adam spoke in a rush. “I can put the appointment off for a day, but you've got to find a modem and send me that data, ASAP.” “I can't do that.” “Why?” “Because I don't have the disk.” “But you just said—” “I know, I know. Listen. I had the disk in my laptop. I checked my bags before I registered. I wanted a look at Clare before we met.” Adam snarled. “Why didn't you keep the laptop with you?” “She was in the ballroom, along with 506 other Blessings. I wasn't about to take my precious laptop into that gyrating mass.” Jack could hear Adam's teeth grinding. “That was an imbecilic decision.” “Regardless, the hotel lost my luggage.” 70


“Okay, keep the pressure on them to find that laptop. In the meantime, I'll stall the DeLancey people. I should be able to buy us a week, no more. Their CEO is already impatient, and I know he'll go elsewhere if we can't cement this deal. He'll take a dozen of our best clients with him, if he goes.” “You don't need to tell me that the DeLancey deal is critical.” “Then what are you doing on the phone? Find that data.” Adam's disconnecting click slammed in Jack's ear like a prison door. The lost data made escaping the fake engagement impossible, and worse, he hadn't gotten Adam's take on whether or not to extend the charade. Jack sipped the smoky liquor and savored the smooth burn as it slid down his throat. Nothing else was going smoothly. He had to get his feelings for Clare sorted out and under control, or he'd be in serious trouble. Her compassion and her courage intrigued him. And he found her sexy, too sexy. She'd risked a lot for an accidental child that she could as easily have aborted. He admired her decision not to, as much as her struggle to remain independent of her grandmother's stifling influence. Independence allowed him to earn a living without compromising his values. Clare wanted the same thing. Right, that's why he sat here guzzling scotch, because he and Clare wanted the same things. Not! By now, Clare slept snug and warm alone in that king-size bed in the hotel room. He'd better go find a lounge or someplace unobtrusive where he could catch a couple hours of sleep. 71


He returned the glass to the barkeep and set out on his search. He covered the entire first floor. Even at this late hour, the place buzzed with partying Blessings and other guests. Loud music blasted from several of the lounges. And the ching of one-armed bandits rattled from the open doors of the casino. Giving up on the first floor, he rode the elevator to the mezzanine level. Where would he find an uninhabited place to sleep? How far would he have to go? Someplace off this darn island sounded pretty good at the moment. Clare's bed sounded ... If I follow that thought any farther, I'll regret it. The doors opened. He stepped out and nearly collided with Amanda Blessings. “Mr. Hunter!” Jack plastered on a smile. “Mrs. Blessings, what brings you to the mezzanine?” “I was on my way to my room.” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?” “I had a headache,” he lied, and gathered from the lift of her other eyebrow that she didn't believe him. “I don't do too well in hotel rooms. I'm not phobic, just uncomfortable. I left Clare and tried to walk the headache off, so I could sleep.” “I'm sorry to hear that, Jack. I'm certain you would prefer to be with your affianced wife.” “My wife?” “You're affianced wife, Clare.” “Oh yeah, sure, absolutely, for certain.” “Since I'm headed in that direction, I shall accompany you.” 72


He was in trouble now. He couldn't possibly avoid going to the room without making Mrs. Blessings very suspicious. He hoped Clare would be awake enough to not expose their little conspiracy. As they approached the room, Jack vamped. “Why don't you let me see if she's awake. We wouldn't want to knock and get her up, if she's already asleep.” “Nonsense.” As she pounded her cane on the door, Amanda's assertion overrode argument. “Any woman would be delighted to see her fiancé in the middle of the night.”

73


Chapter 7 AS AMANDA raised her cane to pound on the barrier a second time, Clare's muffled voice sounded. “Just a minute.” Moments later the door cracked open, and Clare's sleeptousled head emerged. “Grandmother?” The sleepy rasp fled her voice by the second syllable, and the door opened wider. “Is something wrong?” Then she noticed Jack standing in back of Amanda. “Jack! Uh, come in.” “I found your fiancé wandering the hotel. He says he's ill and doesn't want to disturb you.” Amanda Blessings ushered Jack through the sitting room into the bedroom. “I thought you'd know best how to make him comfortable.” Clare threw Jack a quizzical look and sat on the bed. Jack took a seat next to her. Amanda remained near the door. “Sweetheart,” Clare put her hand on his shoulder, “you should have told me your stomach was acting up.” She looked up at the other woman. “We had crab legs for dinner tonight. They always upset his stomach, but he loves them so. He just can't seem to resist temptation.” Jack hugged her and hid his grimace behind her head. “What are you doing? I can't stand crab legs,” he whispered. “Well, I can't know that,” she whispered back. A puzzled look of concern appeared on Grannie's face. “You poor boy,” the woman barked in an attempt to soothe. “Why didn't you tell me you had an upset stomach when you mentioned your headache? Get up, Clare, and let Jack lie down.” 74


Clare stood abruptly and, under cover of her movements, shoved Jack's shoulder. He plunged onto the mattress like a beached whale. Amanda strode forward and began to take his shoes off. “Clare, help your fiancé get his shirt off. He'll be much more comfortable with less clothing.” “No, please. I'm quite capable.” “Nonsense, Jack.” Amanda Blessings’ determined words effectively stopped his protest. “Even the most capable man can be laid low, if illness goes unattended.” As the women began to strip him of his shirt, Jack watched in horror. He placed a discrete hand defensively over his waistband. “I understand your modesty, Mr. Hunter, but if you've an upset stomach, you should remove those trousers. Why don't you do that while Clare gets you a cold compress, and I call the hotel doctor.” Afraid of what she might do if he argued, Jack complied, keeping a wary eye on the older woman. She fiddled with one of the cases on the dresser while she spoke into the phone. Hanging up the handset, she turned back to him. “The hotel doctor will be here within five minutes,” Amanda announced. “He'll have you feeling fine in no time flat, or I'll know the reason why.” The woman beamed as if she'd just arranged for world peace. Jack felt really sick. “Thank you. You didn't have to go to all that trouble. I'll be okay, if I can just get some sleep.” “No trouble at all.” 75


At that moment, Clare came back with a sopping wet washcloth that she smacked onto Jack's forehead. He winced. His temples now pounded in earnest. “Clare.” Her grandmother smiled in reproof. “Do be careful, your fiancé has a headache, remember?” A knock rattled the door, and Mrs. Blessings answered it. Clare perched on the edge of the bed near Jack's head. After a brief exchange of words, the doctor entered the room. Amanda followed, listening from the doorway. Clare joined her grandmother while the doctor conducted his cursory examination of Jack. After listening to his patient's chest and asking a few questions, the doctor opened his bag and drew out a small envelope and a prescription pad. “Take these two pills immediately. If you have any further trouble, get this prescription filled at the hotel pharmacy.” He handed Jack the script. “Doctor, I'm very sensitive to medication,” Jack lied, trying to find a way to avoid taking medicine he didn't need. “Are there any side effects I should watch for?” “Oh, that stuff'll make you drowsy. Don't use it if you plan on driving or scuba diving. Since you're going to bed, you should be fine for right now.” Mrs. Blessings appeared at the doctor's shoulder with a glass of water in her hand and watched while Jack took the medication. “Thank you for coming so quickly, doctor.” She escorted the man through the door. “I'll be sure to tell the management how pleased we are.” 76


The doctor murmured his goodnights in the hallway. As Amanda Blessings followed the man out, she turned and spoke. “Goodnight, Clare. Jack, I hope you feel better soon. I left the itinerary on the desk. Smythe and I will expect to see you bright and early for our shopping trip to Nassau.” The door closed behind her. Jack groaned and closed his eyes. “You got no more than you deserved,” Clare's voice snapped at him. He opened his eyes to see her pacing the length of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. “What were you thinking to bring her here?” “I didn't.” His head felt fuzzy. “What do you mean?” “I didn't bring her. She brought me.” The words tumbled around in his mouth like marbles. “She ran into me while I was searching the hotel for a place to sleep. I made up a story about a headache and a mild phobia for hotel rooms.” Clare's face blurred. “You added that stuff about the crab legs. She must have thought me the worst sort of wimp. Laid low by dead shellfish and a room.” The faint words wandered off his lips, and his hand slipped off his chest to hang over the side of the bed. Clare watched the rise and fall of his chest. She sat down with a huff, robbed of the only available target for her frustration. As chests went, his was an awfully nice one. The muscles were sleek and well defined. A swath of dark hair dusted the surface and narrowed to a thin stripe before it disappeared beneath the coverlet. 77


Clare jerked her eyes away before she forgot that she didn't want him in her hotel room or her bed. That wasn't precisely true. She did want him. She found him appealing in the earthiest way possible. What little she knew of him argued that he could be an entertaining person to be with. The problem was that she didn't want to want him. Right now, with her grandmother bearing down on her, was no time to indulge in a fling. She had to stay clear-headed. Grannie wasn't stupid. Too many more slip-ups like tonight and she'd figure out that the whole engagement was a fake. Clare stood and turned out the lights. Shrugging off her robe, she climbed into the bed on the far side. Regardless of what she wanted, Jack would spend the night. Hopefully he didn't snore or thrash, and she'd be able to get to sleep, if she could manage to obliterate the memory of his chest or how smooth his skin felt when she'd unbuttoned his shirt. She turned onto her side and punched the pillow. Darn him, and darn her grandmother for putting her in this awkward situation. She took small consolation in the thought that things couldn't get much worse. **** SHE WAS WRONG. Things were definitely worse. Jack had been stirring when she woke up. How awake was he? Clare cowered beneath the sheet. She wasn't about to repeat the performance of the previous morning when she'd done battle for the sheet and lost. She waited and heard him grumble something unintelligible. When was he going to get up? Her 78


bladder began to cause her pain. Pretty soon she'd be forced out of bed. She nearly gave in to mother nature when she heard a rustle of sheets from the far side of the bed. Jack's wide and very naked shoulders rose into view. Clare tried to relax her body into a semblance of sleep. The shoulders were followed by Jack's dark head, which towered above her when he stood up. Her restricted vision filled with the man's naked back. As he stretched, muscles bunched and rippled. He reached back his left hand and scratched his head while, in the mirror, she saw his other hand rub at his chest. That dratted chest kept her awake half the night. Worry about this morning ruined the other half. Through her lashes, she watched Jack give her supposedly sleeping form a backward glance, then step into the bathroom. Now all she need do was wait for him to finish. Soon, she hoped. She sidled over to the opposite edge of the bed, flung one arm over her head and gripped her waist with the other. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she crossed her legs and concentrated on multiplying numbers by three. She'd only gotten to 3x118=354 when the bathroom door opened. Jack walked out without giving her a glance. He wore jockeys and carried his pants in his hand. The man was too attractive by half. He tossed the slacks onto the chair and dropped out of sight. What was he doing? Clare imitated what she hoped was a sleepy shift of position that brought her eyes to the edge of the mattress. Push-ups! Fascinated, she watched the muscles 79


of his back tense and release. The man had excellent definition, even in his thighs. The snug cloth of his jockeys rippled with the flex of his buttocks. Clare grew hot. Her skin seemed tight. She squirmed in a futile attempt to relieve the tension. At the top of a push, Jack froze and angled his head upward. Their gazes locked. Clare's temperature shot skyward. A flush darkened Jack's face, neck and torso. Mortified, she squeezed her eyes shut and whipped herself backward from the edge of the bed. The silence was humiliating. Then she heard him bumping around the room. Within a few minutes the door opened. “I'll meet you at breakfast,” he snapped out. “Wait!” She sprang upward. The door shut. Now she'd have to wait to apologize, or find a way to do it in front of Grannie. Why had she been so curious? Why couldn't she resist taking a chance, just once? With a hand to her head, she climbed out of bed. In less than ten minutes she showered, dressed and was on her way to breakfast. **** “THIS ONE IS perfect, Miss Blessings. Try it on.” As she watched her grandmother walk off with Jack, Clare mumbled agreement. She had no idea what Smythe thought was so perfect. It didn't matter anyway. By evening, Grannie would know about the fake engagement. Clare had been distracted at breakfast, and before she could form an excuse, Grannie had them on their way to Nassau for a day of shopping. It was Grannie who decided that she wanted to spend some time with Jack, while Clare 80


shopped with Smythe. From that moment, Clare knew the engagement was over. Clever as he was, Jack would never withstand a whole day in the presence of her wily grandmother without revealing the truth. “Miss Blessings?” Smythe tugged impatiently at Clare's sleeve. “Please pay attention. You need to try on these dresses. And you must think about buying Mr. Hunter an engagement gift. Mrs. Blessings assures me that one can get very good deals in the islands.” Clare gave herself a shake and turned to look at the dresses. “These dresses are all fine, Smythe.” Disturbed by the idea of purchasing a present for Jack, Clare thought quickly. “I don't need to worry about a gift. Jack will get his when we return to the states.” She could do nothing to protect Jack from her grandmother. Still, Clare couldn't stop worrying about him. “Mrs. Blessings will be displeased. She insisted that I make sure you purchased a gift, as well as some other items, including a dress.” Clare looked at Smythe's face and saw the distress behind the pinched expression. With empathy born of experience, Clare apologized. “I'm sorry, Smythe. I don't want to make your job difficult for you, and I know how Grannie can be. We'll go shopping for a gift.” Jack wouldn't want nor need a gift from her. He could return it, she supposed, and wondered why she felt so sad. Clare deliberately brightened her tone, attempting to charm Smythe and turn the shopping trip from hell into a 81


pleasant excursion. “But if I have to buy dresses, I insist that you get one too. Now tell me which ones you like.” Smythe twitched her lips and indicated a nearby hanger. “You'd look quite fetching in this white ensemble.” At Smythe's uncharacteristic sweetness, Clare lifted her head. If she hadn't mended fences with Grannie, she might suspect her grandmother was up to something and using Smythe to do it for her.

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Chapter 8 AMANDA FRANTZ Blessings must be the most stubborn woman in the universe. Every attempt Jack made to excuse himself from the shopping expedition met with the kind of inflexible refusal that had Jack locked into Clare's hotel room last night. As Amanda commandeered Jack's arm and steered him toward a jewelry shop, he protested. “What are we doing here?” Jack gave a bemused glance at the glittering wares in the shop. “I noticed that Clare didn't have an engagement ring, and I was certain you'd want to rectify that problem.” “Clare should be with me, so we can pick out the rings together. Why don't you wait here? I'll go look for her.” He tried to pull his arm from Amanda's surprisingly strong grip and failed. The woman indicated the open door and shoved Jack inside. “Nonsense. My granddaughter loves surprises.” No, she doesn't. Jack thought of his first morning with Clare. For once Jack could sympathize with Clare about her grandmother. How could the woman be so ignorant of Clare's feelings? Rather than argue, he tried again to squirm out of this disastrous shopping trip. “I don't know her size.” Jack's brain scrambled frantically to come up with an excuse not to invest in matrimonial gems. “Don't worry. I pilfered this from Clare's jewelry case last night.” Amanda held up her hand where rested a small emerald-crusted circlet. She picked up Jack's hand and placed 83


the ring into his palm where the gems glittered like Clare's eyes when amused or angry. Jack coughed. “How thoughtful of you.” He gave up all thought of escape. The proprietor greeted Amanda with the enthusiasm reserved by shopkeepers for patrons of long acquaintance and deep pockets. “Ah, Madame Blessings, I am so ‘appy to see you. What brings you to Chez Flaubert?” “My granddaughter is engaged, Maurice, congratulate me.” “Ah, ze beautiful Clare is about to marry?” “Yes indeed, Maurice. This is her fiancé, Jack Hunter. He wants to look at ring sets.” “I do?” Surprise jerked Jack's head away from a display of fiery opals. He still hadn't adjusted to the idea that he was about to spend a great deal of money on a ring Clare didn't want in order to ensure that Clare didn't have to wear it. Maurice peered at Jack as if to question his sanity. “I mean, I do.” He coughed. “Got a tickle in my throat.” He coughed some more. “I'll be fine in a minute.” Maurice clapped his hands and called out. “Louis, three glasses of the Napoleon, vite, vite.” In no time at all, the shopkeeper's assistant appeared with a tray on which rested three glasses of brandy. “Now, Madame, Monsieur, if you will be seated, Louis will bring out my private collection.” He gestured to a cherry wood table surrounded by three padded armchairs. “Nothing you see on display would be appropriate for my good friend's granddaughter.” 84


They sat, sipped the brandy and talked of the world financial situation while Louis brought out tray after tray of rings and stacked them by Maurice's elbow. When the last tray appeared, Maurice told Louis to put up the closed sign and take an hour for lunch. Once the assistant departed, Maurice picked up the first tray and set it in the middle of the table. He spread a black cloth in front of Jack and placed a jeweler's loupe within easy reach. “Do you prefer diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds or a mixture of stones?” Maurice asked the question of Jack. “I'm certain my granddaughter would prefer a—” “Amanda, this is my gift to Clare, it must please me as well.” The choices were as daunting as Amanda's propensity for interference. Jack's continued refusal to knuckle under eventually forced Amanda into silence. Jack finally settled on a plain platinum band with a matching sapphire and emerald engagement ring. The tear drop gems sat at an angle, paired back to front. Four roundcut diamond studs flanked the corners of the unusual parallelogram setting. Maurice approved the choice as exquisite. “Theeze ring will compliment Mademoiselle Blessings’ eyes, non?” he said with a knowing grin. “And now for Monsieur, we ‘ave a number of appropriate rings.” He brought forward another tray and opened it to reveal a large display of men's rings of every imaginable design.

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Jack pushed the tray away. “Oh no, I couldn't. I'm allergic to metal. Makes my hands swell. I break out in a rash. I could never wear a ring.” “Nonsense.” Amanda was doing it again. “I had the same problem when I got married, and I've been wearing this diamond ever since.” She thrust her long, elegant hand at Jack's face. The huge square-cut, blue diamond winked at Jack as if sharing a private joke. “I'll give you the name of my allergist when we get back to the hotel and have Smythe make an appointment for you.” Obviously, Amanda would have her way. In short order Jack selected a square-cut ring set with sapphire and emerald chips that complimented the set chosen for Clare. Maurice measured Jack's finger. “We will size the rings immediately and have them delivered to the hotel this afternoon.” “Excellent, you'll be able to give the rings to Clare at dinner.” Jack bit back a groan at the thought of presenting the rings to Clare in so public a setting. They thanked Maurice for his help and proceeded to a tailor's shop. Jack operated in a daze. He'd just spent a small fortune, and he worried most that Clare might not like the rings. He couldn't remember ever feeling this confused. Good lord, he actually wanted to give them to her. When had that happened? When had his liking for her quirks, his admiration for her courage and quick wit, turned into something stronger? Something he was afraid to even name. 86


In that state of dazed confusion, he followed Amanda from shop to shop, consenting to all sorts of purchases without the slightest idea of what he'd agreed to buy. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that he sort out his feelings for Clare. Having feelings for Clare Blessings was a truly risky proposition. He savored the tremor of excitement that the thought of Clare inspired. If he was ever to understand the source of that excitement, he had to get her away from Amanda, preferably tonight. To do that, he had some complex preparations to make and he was running out of time. When they reached the hotel, Jack excused himself. His preparations required the help of the concierge. Besides, he had other business to conduct with the man, business concerning a certain missing laptop. **** “YOU'RE CERTAIN that this is the best place on the island?” Jack eyed the concierge warily and decided the man wasn't likely to risk his job by giving a poor referral. “Absolutely, Mr. Hunter.” “And the driver will be on time?” A slip-up in timing might give Amanda a chance to interfere and ruin all Jack's carefully laid plans. “I'll stake my job on it, sir.” That's what Jack wanted to hear. “You may have to do just that. Now about my laptop.”

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Dismay flashed on the concierge's face, to be covered by a pasty grin. “I'm delighted to say that we've located your computer.” “Excellent. I'll take it now.” The grin faltered. “I'm afraid you mistake my meaning.” Jack raised an eyebrow and waited. “The hotel no longer has your computer—” “Then why—” “—but we know where it is.” “What do you mean?” “It seems that your computer case closely resembles one owned by a guest who checked out at the same time you were checking in. The bags got mixed up.” “So contact your other guest and get my laptop back.” “We've been trying to do that, sir, but the other party is currently off the island.” “Do you know when this other party expects to return?” “As to that, I'm sure I couldn't say, Mr. Hunter. All guest information is confidential.” “That laptop has data vital to my business. If I don't get it back within seventy-two hours, I'll have to do more than complain to the management. I'll probably have to file suit.” The concierge blanched. “The Bahama Diamond strives to fill each guest's needs and desires. I will do everything in my power to meet your deadline.” “I'll be checking with you on a daily basis, so see that you do.” Certain that the concierge wouldn't rest until the laptop was found, Jack turned and walked away. How Clare would 88


react to his plans for the evening, he felt much less certain.

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Chapter 9 WHERE HAD ALL this stuff come from? Clare wondered. She folded the last of her purchases into one of her two new suitcases and grumbled, “I don't know why you insisted on giving me this luggage as an engagement present.” “Your husband-to-be is an important businessman. You'll need luggage to accompany him on trips,” Amanda Blessings stated. “Surely I won't travel that much with a baby to care for.” “I'm certain you'll have an au pare to see to the child.” Clare gritted her teeth and thought, Not if I can help it. “Whatever.” She wasn't going to win free of Grannie's influence by arguing over trips she never intended to take with Jack or a nanny she never intended to hire. “So who's this surprise guest you've invited to dinner tonight?” Clare cast a glance in the mirror to see if her distraction paid off. Grannie actually preened. “I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I've located a long lost Blessings relative, who it turns out is a very important political figure. He graciously consented to join us tonight. He's looking forward to meeting my granddaughter, so I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Under cover of shoving the new suitcases into the closet, Clare grimaced. “Grannie, you know how unsettled I've been feeling lately. I'm not certain I can handle even a semi-formal dinner in my condition.” It was a lie. Except for occasional, slight queasiness, she'd never felt better. 90


“Nonsense. You're a Blessings. You can do anything you set your mind to.” Amanda rose and, leaning heavily on her cane, made for the door. “All this shopping has exhausted me. I need a nap before dinner. Wear the black sheath. It's discreet and elegant. I'll expect you downstairs at seven.” Her hand on the doorknob, Amanda turned and pierced Clare with a glance. “By the way, your young man is very interesting, and thoroughly knowledgeable about investments and finance. However, he seemed most reluctant to invest in his marriage. I'm considering withholding my approval of this engagement. Of course, you still have a few days to convince me that this proposed marriage will last.” **** AN HOUR AND fifteen minutes later, Jack opened the door to Clare's room. He was frustrated and tired. Because Amanda Blessings stuck to him like a sandburr, Jack was no closer to finding his laptop. Of course, the prospect of an evening alone with Clare offered more than pleasant distraction. As he entered the room, she faced the mirror over the chest of drawers. She raised her hands to place the finishing touches to the elegant twist of her hair. Tiny wisps feathered her nape. He longed to tease those wisps away with his lips and feel her shiver before she leaned into his embrace. His gaze met hers in the mirror. “Hi.” Her voice murmured low and warm. His blood heated. “I need a shower.” A cold one. 91


“I'll be out of here in just a minute.” She bent down and smoothed out a wrinkle in her stocking. The short flared skirt of her red halter dress rode upward and flirted with the tops of her thighs. Jack groaned. She straightened quickly. “Are you okay?” No, I'm not okay. I don't think I'll ever be okay again as long as I'm within five thousand miles of you. “I'm fine, just a little tired. Your grandmother could exhaust a marathoner.” With the tilt of her head, she gave him a lop-sided grin. “I know what you mean.” She picked up her key and slipped it into a pocket in the side of her dress. “I'll see you at dinner.” He held the door for her. As she left, her body didn't brush his. It didn't have to. The aroma of lilies and rain was enough to sensitize every nerve ending. He closed the door. She was gone, and his body still sizzled with awareness. She hadn't left any garments out. All of her bags sat neatly zipped and locked away, just as their agreement neatly locked her away from him. That confusing sensation of desire and need whirled in his head. He wanted to claim her as his and, at the same time, ensure she got the freedom she craved. The urge to smash something in frustration nearly overwhelmed him. Instead he stripped and stepped into an icy spray. He had a half-hour before his plans for the evening would start, and he must be under control by then. He was combing his hair when a knock came at the door. He opened it, took the envelope and handed the bellhop a bill. 92


Five minutes later, Jack walked into the banquet hall and found Clare talking with her grandmother and Smythe. “Excuse me, but I'll have to borrow Clare for the evening.” “Oh, but that's impossible.” “No, Mrs. Blessings, it is not impossible. Clare and I are spending the evening together, alone. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a driver waiting.” With that, Jack took Clare's elbow and guided her out of the hall. Amanda Blessings watched them go, and tried to restrain the smile that wanted to turn her lips up. “Well, well, Smythe. What do you make of that little development?” “Well, indeed, Mrs. Blessings.” “Quite right, Smythe. Quite right.” **** OUTSIDE JACK watched Clare's face light with surprise that the driver came with a flower-bedecked open carriage. Jack handed her in, and the rig set off. They clopped through the main street, past an old ruin and on out into the Bahamian countryside. They paused for a moment on a rise that overlooked the town. When the couple had looked their fill at the early evening stars and the twinkling lights, the driver set his horses in motion. He circled around the quiet outskirts of the town and down to the beach. As the carriage swayed into motion, Jack cleared his throat. “Clare.” He picked up the elegant hand that she rested on the seat between them. “I need to explain a few things.” 93


She turned her gaze from the scenery, and gave his face careful perusal. “Sure, Jack. I probably ought to fill you in on what Grannie and I said to each other, too.” “Yeah, we should compare notes, but that's not what I need to tell you. I'm in a bit of trouble, and I may need some help. I figured, since I'm helping you, you might do the same for me.” “Is this about the laptop that's missing?” “How did you know about that?” “Well, your phone conversations with Adam haven't been exactly quiet.” Jack ducked his head, then lifted it and looked her in the eye. “Adam and I do react intensely to our business problems.” “So I could hear.” She withdrew her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest. “So other than a friendly overreaction, what's the problem?” “The problem is that the concierge knows where my laptop is, but he won't tell me, and it seems he can't get it himself.” “Why?” “He's claiming confidential guest information.” “Mmm.” Clare thought for a moment. “So offer the concierge more money.” “I haven't offered him any money. How can I offer him more?” “You're either incredibly naïve, incredibly honest, or both.” “Honest. I know all about bribes and blackmail. That's the surest way to perdition, in the investment game.” 94


“True, but on occasion, I imagine a bribe is a whole lot faster than more honest methods, and I'll bet you have a deadline, don't you?” “How...?” “It's pretty obvious, or the laptop would be an inconvenience, not a problem.” “Good analysis.” “Thank you. I don't suppose there's anything we can do about it tonight.” “No. I threatened to sue the hotel if the concierge didn't come up with my laptop within seventy-two hours.” “Will that give Adam enough time to study the data he needs?” “It'll give him close to forty-eight hours, and that gives me a cushion of twenty-four hours, should the concierge fail to produce my computer.” Clare tugged her lower lip between her teeth, then let it loose. “So what do we do while we're waiting?” He looked at her, a smile growing on his face. “Oh, I don't know ... Relax, enjoy the balmy breezes and the company.” She couldn't resist his smile or his soothing voice. She smiled back. “I guess we could do that.” He slipped his arm over her shoulders and they fell into a companionable silence. The carriage slowed once more. The driver brought the team to a stop, and they watched the sunset fade from pink to fuchsia and deepen into purple. When the only light came from the moon and the luminescent foam of the waves, the carriage lurched into motion again only to pull up five minutes 95


later in front of a discrete restaurant. The name in neon script read ‘JOEY'S.’ As Clare left the carriage, the driver's soft, island drawl sounded. “Eli be back in two hours. Don’ hurry. I wait. Joey's, he da best spot on da island. All island people eat here. That hotel captain, he tell Joe treat you very nice.” Eli clicked his tongue and slapped the reins gently on the horses’ rumps. Clare turned and followed Jack into the modest interior. It could have been any decent restaurant in the states. Clare had seen and eaten in hundreds of them. But the smells were indefinably different, more intense, succulent. A short, thin man with coal black skin greeted them. “Welcome to Joey's.” A deep, smooth voice boomed from his spare, tuxedoed chest. “Mr. Hunter and Miss Blessings.” Jack spoke. “We have reservations made by the concierge at the Diamond.” “Oh, yes. Please come this way. I am Joe, and I am very happy you are here with us tonight. We have some very special things to show you.” As he spoke, he led the way to an elegant table near the wall. Three other tables separated it from the dance floor. “Please watch your step. This last row of tables is elevated.” The view was excellent, and the plants placed between each table in the row secured the impression of privacy. Joe left, and a wine steward appeared in his place. He and Jack held a quiet discussion while Clare perused the room. The décor was discrete, but all native materials. The effect was pleasantly exotic instead of touristy. With each course, 96


Clare discovered an unusual blend of spices to savor. In between bites she watched Jack and felt ever more awkward. The silence grew. “This is a bit silly, isn't it?” she finally uttered, desperate for some sound from him. He looked up, eyes wide in question. “What, the fish?” “No.” Clare closed her eyes. Thank heaven the dim lights would hide her embarrassed blush. “Us.” Jack's brows drew together, and his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “You tell me.” His voice was strangely intense. “Is there an ‘us'?” Clare straightened and blinked. Where had his unaccountable attitude come from? “That's precisely what I mean.” Off balance under his penetrating stare, she scrambled to find verbal footing. “This whole romantic dinner alone business is a bit silly, since we aren't really engaged.” Jack reached for her hand, his expression softening. “I'm sorry, Clare, really. I think the tension of lying to your grandmother, added to my worry about the laptop, is getting to me.” “No harm done.” They finished the meal in silence, their hands still clasped on the table. Jack pushed his plate away. “I have an idea that might make this evening a little easier to take. Why don't we pretend that we've never met before?” “You mean enjoy the evening like any couple on a first date?” Clare brightened. 97


“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I'd rather be on a second date, so I don't have to worry about liking you.” She smiled, pleased by the idea that he liked her. “All right.” She nodded her agreement. “So, dance with me?” “Absolutely, Mr. Hunter.” He stood and extended his hand. “Jack, please.” She rose and walked to the floor with him. “Jack.” The band played a slow jazzy number. Jack swung Clare against his body and secured her there with a hand at the back of her waist. Her chin came to the top of his shoulder, and her hair teased his nostrils with the perfume of rain and lilies. Clare tilted her head back slightly and smiled up at him. “So, Jack, what do you do for a living?” He smiled back at her. “I work for an investment firm. What about you?” “I jump out of perfectly good airplanes and crawl around in dark holes.” “That must be fascinating work.” His hand danced slow circles on the back of her dress. She felt light and wonderful in his arms. Clare lowered her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Not as fascinating as dancing with you.” He brought their clasped hands between them and pressed hers flat against his chest. “Is this a working vacation?” he asked. She tensed a bit, and Jack widened the circles he drew on her back. “Don't answer if you don't want to,” he 98


whispered into her hair. He tilted his head for a better view of her face. “It's all right, really. I'm not...” She opened her eyes. His mouth smiled, inches away. Whatever she was about to say slipped her mind completely as her lips met Jack's. The pressure was butterfly light. He brushed his lips across hers with aching slowness, once, twice, three times. He teased, before his lips settled at the corner of her mouth, and his tongue dampened the sensitive spot. “Oh.” Clare's mouth opened in surprise at the heat that rushed through her body. “Yeah, oh.” Jack spoke, and his head moved. His lips covered hers. His tongue filled her mouth, searching and stroking its inner softness. Clare's head spun. She'd been in this dizzying whirl before. Then, as now, survival depended on clinging to the man whose mouth claimed hers, whose hands tortured her with slow heated caresses, whose very existence at this moment gave meaning to her own. She closed one hand on a fist full of soft linen shirt. With the other hand she gripped his waist. She would have fallen without those small supports. Jack groaned. He was in agony, and he was on a public dance floor. He wanted Clare with an intensity completely outside his experience. He had to get them away from here. Away from curious eyes. He had to know that Clare wanted him. He broke the kiss and took a quick look around. The edge of the dance floor lay about three feet away. He glanced down at Clare. 99


She looked at him. Her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen. “Jack?” “It's okay, sweetheart.” He bent to nibble the tender flesh of her earlobe. She shivered in response. The hand on her back slid downward. He pressed her lower body against his. “I want you,” he whispered. Clare couldn't mistake the hard ridge that pulsed against her belly. Nor could she deny the tense aching emptiness that responded to him. “Where can we go?” “Back to the hotel?” He kissed the words over her face and down her neck. “No,” she breathed, in selfish refusal to share him with anyone. His mouth settled on hers once more. Moments later she found herself at the edge of the dance floor walking toward their table. Joe waited for them. Jack reached for his wallet and put some bills into Joe's hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hunter. Thank you very much.” Jack shook Joe's hand. “You're welcome, Joe. We'll tell the concierge how much we enjoyed your place.” “I'd appreciate that.” Clare said her thanks as well. They left the building. Jack handed her up into the carriage. He held a brief murmured conversation with Eli, then climbed in after her and placed an arm across her shoulders. As he drew her close and settled her against his body, the sensual haze that wrapped around her with Jack's kisses intensified. Her head rested against his neck. She could feel his mouth feathering kisses near her forehead. 100


“I need you, Clare.” The cool breeze, caused by the movement of the carriage through the dark, raised goose bumps along Clare's skin. Jack gathered her closer. The heat of his embrace chased the slight chill away with a sensual shiver. “I want you, too, Jack. I want this night with no strings, no catches.”

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Chapter 10 JACK KISSED her then, a demanding kiss that drew on and deepened her need. He took her to that whirling, sense-filled place where he alone was real and solid. Her hands burrowed under his jacket and tugged at his shirt until she slipped beneath that, too, and stroked the smooth, resilient skin of his back. Her entire body felt tight. Heat crawled up her thighs where Jack's fingers traced patterns that pushed her skirt ever higher. His palms slid upward until he grasped her hip and pulled her toward him. She wanted more, more than the heated force and skilled tracery of his fingers. She wanted the tenderness that she'd never found in any other man. Then his wonderful hand rubbed gently down her backside and over the swell of her thigh to her knee. His thumb traced circles over the sensitive cap. When she bent her leg, he drew it up over his own. They lay tangled on their sides against the cushions of the carriage. Jack traced her lips with his tongue, then lifted his head a bit. Clare reached up for his kiss. She opened her mouth over his in answer to his silent request. Jack's tongue delved inward, did battle with her softness and retreated, only to return to the fray. He climbed the soft column of her thigh with his fingers once again and came to rest at the juncture of her legs. He tested the damp barrier there and hesitated. 102


He wanted to taste and savor her softness. He wanted to consume Clare in the same way that desire had been eating him alive since the moment he'd first seen her. But he held back. More than he longed to slake his own desires on her, he longed for Clare to gift him with her passion. He must wait. The wait ceased before it began. Her tongue teased the tip of his, daring him, pleading with him to attempt a deeper assault. He met the challenge. He sought victory with repeated thrusts only to be conquered by her softness. She sucked on his tongue, giving him more, seeking to satisfy and delight, while he sought to increase the pleasure of each moment. Then, his hand finally breached the elastic of her panties and invaded the slick folds beneath the silken barrier. As she surrendered, he advanced slowly, learning each nuance of her body's defenses. Clare's every muscle and nerve tightened, concentrated on those dancing fingertips that rubbed, and tugged, and stroked until she could stand it no longer. Her hips lifted, and she pressed against his hand. His long, elegant fingers sank into her. His thumb swept up, stroking the knot of nerve-endings over and over. Her back arched. The pressure built unbearably until it finally burst and showered over his hand in a thousand little shivers, each one a memory of that great, shocking moment when she'd given her trust to him, this man who cradled her against his chest. Bliss floated through her in long stretches before she became aware of Jack's voice over the clop-clop of the horses’ 103


hooves. It sounded raw and full of remorse. Why was he unhappy? She'd never felt so satisfied. She felt his lips against her face where wetness leaked from the corners of her eyes. She was crying. Yes, the beauty of what he'd given her was worth tears. He whispered desperate words against her skin. “Clare, Clare. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.” She struggled against sensual lethargy to form a response. “You didn't” was all she managed. “I didn't what?” Question replaced desperation in his voice. She lifted her gaze to his and placed a limp hand on his cheek. “You didn't hurt me, you wonderful man.” She gave him a satisfied smile. His lips turned up at the corners, and his teeth showed white as her meaning hit home. “I didn't.” Amazement hushed his voice. “No, you didn't.” She tried suppressing a giggle and couldn't. “Some women scream. I weep.” He crushed her to him. “Dear God, Clare, you scared the bejeezus out of me. Why didn't you tell me?” She chuckled again. “It's not the sort of thing that comes up in everyday conversation.” He ducked his head and bussed her mouth. “You're right.” The carriage slowed to a stop. “I guess we've arrived.” He let her go with some reluctance and stepped to the ground. She took the hand he extended and followed him down. “Where are we?” They stood before a huge Victorian-style house. The details were impossible to see in the dimness of the 104


Caribbean night. But light streamed from the windows of the double doors under the portico. “It's a bed and breakfast called The Beacon. Eli suggested they might have a room.” **** THE NEXT MORNING, Clare opened her eyes to a stunning view of blue sky, sandy beach and foamy breakers. Her back nestled against Jack's warm body. His arm draped over her waist. She sighed, content with the beauty and the comfort that surrounded her. Jack blew a breath gently over her ear, and he traced lazy figure eights on her abdomen. “Are you awake?” he whispered. “Yes.” She turned in his arms and smiled. “Happy?” “Very.” She kissed him. Their lips lingered, rediscovered the magic of the past night. She pulled away and traced the strong lines and planes of his face with her eyes. Long, thick lashes framed brilliant gray eyes that darkened as she watched. “What about you?” She needed to know that he was at least content. “I've never seen anything more beautiful.” His rasp sent shivers skittering over her skin. “I agree. The view is stunning, but—” He shook his head and smiled. Her words faded into silence as she realized, “Oh. You mean me.” Her face, neck and shoulders heated. 105


“Especially when you blush.” He rolled her beneath him. Her legs spread in welcome, and he wedged his thighs between hers. His hands tunneled through the silk of her hair, tilting her head up toward his. “I can't get enough of you.” He rotated his hips. She opened wider at his probing. “I can't seem to get enough of you either.” She grasped his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. She felt his thighs bunch against hers and his hips shift as he thrust into her body. A taut, ripe sensation grew within her. She angled herself upward. His penetration deepened. She wrapped her legs around his hips. The newness of his desire delighted her. His lips traveled from her mouth to her throat, in admiration of her lithe body and the strength with which she gave herself. He pushed himself up and continued trailing kisses until he found the rosy bead that topped her breast. He licked at it. Her body shivered and tightened around him. The sensation was exquisite, like a velvet coil being wound snug around his entire body. His hips pumped faster. His lips closed over the turgid tip of her breast. She let out a gasp and shifted her hands. Flame sizzled down his back. She gripped his hips, urging him on, meeting his every thrust. “Dear God,” she groaned. “Please, Jack, please!” He lifted his head to see tears streaming from her eyes. Her face twisted in an agony of passion. He balanced on one arm and reached between their bodies. A scant touch later Clare's back arched, and she cried out. Her breasts barely 106


skimmed his chest. Electricity arced through him, and he poured himself into her. Sometime later Jack became aware of her pulse pounding around the base of his still throbbing body. He could barely breathe. Sprawled heavily atop Clare, he made a valiant attempt to shift aside, but her hands pressed into his back. “Don't leave me. Not yet, please.” She mumbled the soft plea against his neck. He managed to bend his elbow on the mattress and prop his head in his hand. He looked down at the amazing woman in bed with him. “Clare, I'm not going anywhere. In case you haven't noticed,” he looked down to where their bodies joined, “you've got a strangle hold on me.” “Oh, lord.” She blushed, then laughed. He felt her chuckle with every fiber of his being. Desire rippled through his body in deep heavy shockwaves. His response was instantaneous, dramatic and very, very hard. This time he did roll to the side, but he took her with him so that she ended on top, pierced into place by his eager flesh. “Besides, I don't think we're finished yet.” He reached for the tender nub at the apex of her thighs. She sucked in a breath at his touch. “No, I don't think we're finished yet either.” Her hands braced on each side of his head, she bent to kiss him. **** CLARE RETURNED with Jack to the hotel just before lunch. They'd refused a complimentary breakfast at mid-morning, choosing instead to feast on each other. They showered and 107


made love and showered again. When a voice on the opposite side of the door to their suite announced that check-out time was 11:30 and it was now 10:30, they reluctantly agreed to end their idyll. Within the hour they returned to the Bahama Diamond and the lies necessary to deceive Clare's grandmother. Clare wrote a note of thanks to the concierge. She'd thank him in person tonight, but she wanted to convey her delight with Joey's immediately. If it weren't for her grandmother and the discomfort of lying to her, Clare would bask in the glow of an island romance for the remainder of her stay. As it was, when she and Jack joined Grannie for lunch, Clare did her best not to blush at her grandmother's chilly stares. “I trust your fiancé is recovered from the hormonal compulsion that drove him to deviate from my expressed itinerary?” Ignoring Jack, Grannie seemed bent on interrogating Clare into embarrassment. “I'm certain that Jack is satisfied.” Clare closed her eyes and secretly hugged that certainty to herself as a shelter from Grannie's irritation. “That's nice.” “Uh.” Clare opened her eyes and studied her grandmother's smiling face. The older woman patted Clare's hand. “I feel so much better, knowing that you're engaged to a man who takes the initiative. Even if his methods are a trifle crude.” Clare opened her mouth, but her grandmother spoke first. 108


“Now finish your lunches and go get your swimsuits. I'll need to rest, but Smythe will accompany you to Sea Scenes, the local center for dolphin and marine life.” Across the table, Clare saw Jack turn green and excuse himself. What was wrong with him?

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Chapter 11 CLOTHING LITTERED Clare's room. She looked for thirty minutes and couldn't find the modest black tank suit she'd brought with her. It had ceased to exist. She tore apart every suitcase, even her cosmetics bag. No swimsuit. As she repacked the scattered clothing, her gaze fell on the two new suitcases in the open closet. I couldn't have put it in there, that's all stuff I bought when I went shopping with Smythe. Nevertheless, it warranted a try. The result didn't change. She did, however, find some scraps of cloth that vaguely resembled a bikini. She stared blankly at the red triangles slashed with white lightning bolts. Where had that come from? She would never buy anything that skimpy. This was Smythe's doing. Dulcea was a wily woman. She had to be, living with Amanda day in and day out. Underestimating Miss Dulcea Smythe did not pay; Clare knew from experience. She never would have allowed it to happen, if she hadn't been so distracted by Jack. Well, she didn't have any choice. Experience also taught her that her grandmother would not accept her refusal to go. She stepped into the bathroom and stripped. She had some preparations to make if she must wear this excuse for a bathing suit. Jack came in while she was in the bathroom. “Go ahead and change out there,” she shouted through the door when he knocked. “I'm going to be in here for awhile.” 110


“Should I wait for you?” He sounded anxious. “No. It's going to take me longer than I wanted. You'd better meet Smythe and assure her that I'm on my way. I'll meet you all on the tender. Save me a seat, please?” “Okay.” Why did he sound as if he was about to be sick? She heard him bumping around in the room. Then the outer door shut and silence filled the space where Jack had been. Clare readjusted the collar of her thigh-length, white cotton beach cover. She dumped a towel, sunglasses, one tube of hand lotion and two of sunscreen into a canvas bag and thrust a matching, wide-brimmed floppy hat over her curls. She glanced at her watch. She had five minutes to get to the tender. She'd have to run. Good, if she ran, she wouldn't have time to notice anyone who stared at her scantily clad body. She grabbed the bag and hurried down the passageway. She got lucky. The elevator not only opened its doors as soon as she pressed the down arrow, but it stood empty as well. At the lobby level, she exited the elevator and walked quickly toward the hotel marina. She asked the doorman on duty where the Sea Scenes tender docked. He gave her directions and informed her that it would be casting off in about one minute. At that, she put a hand on her head, to hold her hat in place, and raced down the gangway and along the dock. ****

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JACK SAW HER coming. At least he thought it was Clare. As she ran, the white thing that she wore over her suit streamed out behind her. One hand smashed a hat onto her head. The other held a bag that jostled and bounced in rhythm with the jouncing of her breasts. Her nearly bare body gleamed in the sun. His jaw dropped. For a moment he forgot his queasy stomach. Twice she'd nearly bounced out of the skimpy top. Although she hadn't been shy about her body last night, in the three days he'd known her, she'd never worn anything quite so revealing. The suit was attractive. Boy, was it ever attractive, and entirely too thrilling. He felt grateful for the three towels that Dulcea Smythe had asked him to carry, and he arranged them strategically over his rampant reaction to Clare's vivid display. Since the crew had begun casting off, she drew the attention of everyone on the boat and a large crowd on the docks. The crew stopped casting off and hauled the tender snug to the dock by the two lines yet to be let loose. Still, a five foot drop yawned from dock to deck. There, Clare's headlong rush halted. A burly crewman gestured for her to jump down, and he would catch her. No. Don't do it. If anyone catches you, it has got to be me. Before Jack could give voice or action to thought, Clare backed up a few paces and took a flying leap. The crewman caught her easily and set her down. The crowd cheered, and Clare disappeared in the excitement. Moments later she emerged, breathless, next to Jack and Dulcea. 112


“Oh good, you saved me a seat.” She started to sit. Jack snagged her waist and plunked her into his lap. She'd only been in that crewman's arms for a matter of seconds, but the image of Clare's luscious form held tightly against another man's chest burned before Jack's eyes. He wasn't going to give her the chance to contemplate that fleeting embrace, no matter how impersonal. The only arms and chest he wanted her to contemplate would be his. It didn't matter that the position of her bottom in his lap put him through tremendous torture. “Ow. Jack, loosen up, you're hurting me.” He hadn't realized how tightly he held her. He released her immediately. “No!” she squealed and started slipping toward the deck. He grabbed her back, and without thinking, kissed her. Her lips sank against his, and he ran his tongue along the seam. A sweet ache tightened his already primed body. Lord, this was good. He belonged here, in Clare's arms, as much as she belonged in his. Open up for me, Clare. I need to be inside you. His hands slid over her skin, all thought drowned by the silky feel of her. Dimly, Jack became aware that she wasn't kissing him back as enthusiastically as she first had. **** HANDS PUSHED against his shoulders. He heard amused titters and a few coughs. Jack lifted his mouth from Clare's. He looked around to see every eye focused on him and Clare. “They're engaged,” Smythe stated to the watching crowd. 113


“I hope so,” said an anonymous voice. Jack's face grew warm. He looked back at Clare who stared up at him, her expression unreadable. “Darling,” he said loudly for the benefit of his unwanted audience. “You frightened me.” He set Clare next to him on the seat that he'd saved for her. “Don't ever do that again, please.” His hands left her body slowly and fisted over the towels in his lap. Clare rearranged herself in her seat and drew the white cotton beach wrap over the suit that almost didn't cover her. She stared back at the crowd. One by one they dropped their curious looks and returned to their own concerns. She leaned close, her lips a breath away from Jack's ear. “What were you trying to do?” she hissed. “Start a public orgy, or get us arrested for indecent exposure?” Her breath on his ear tickled him senseless. Get a grip, he told himself. He gave her an irritated grin and looked her over. “Nothing got exposed that wasn't already indecent,” he muttered through locked teeth. He took her hand. Involuntarily, his thumb rubbed circles over the sensitive skin of her palm. “How dare you imply that I'm not decently dressed?” she growled low. “I've a good mind not to marry you.” He brought his forehead to hers to be certain she didn't miss the hard anger in his eyes. In his sweetest possible whisper he ground out, “I don't remember asking you. I'm only pretending to be your fiancé, right!” It wasn't a question. “Oh!” Fury blasted from her eyes. “You, you, you...” she stuttered quietly and struggled to find a retort. 114


He saw beauty in her angry eyes and her pursed lips so very close to his. He kissed her again and didn't linger, though he wanted to. She should suffer the same denial that tortured him. “...opportunist.” As their lips parted, the whisper seared him. He grinned. She stood with her beach cover clutched about her. “I need to find the ladies room,” she said with regal disdain for his Cheshire expression. “Smythe, I'll be back in a couple of minutes.” She picked up her bag and turned away. “Don't be gone too long, sweetcakes,” followed Jack's swat on her behind. She glared at him over her shoulder, but refused to be baited and flounced off. A couple of minutes turned into thirty. The tender drew up to the Sea Scenes’ dock, then Clare finally reappeared. She'd taken her beach cover off. His body clutched at the sight of her. She'd delayed just to irritate him, Jack felt certain. I'm not going to buy into her petty game. Determined to play the perfect gentleman—no matter how much he wanted to drag her off into a dark corner—he took her bag from her and followed her down the gangway to the dock. At least she keeps me from thinking about the laptop and how sick brine makes me feel. On the dock a team of hard-bodies in bathing suits awaited the sightseers. Most of the team was probably under thirty. One woman might be in her forties, and the man in charge had nearly white hair. 115


The team's leader stepped forward and gave a brief speech about ecology and oneness with the earth. He explained that the guests would be divided into ten groups—one for each guide. Each group would start at a different Sea Station. Jack gritted his teeth against the smell of the ocean and hoped that either the forty-ish woman or the white-haired man would be the guide for their group. He groaned inwardly when a heavily muscled man of medium height and sunbleached hair approached. Jack clenched his teeth. Feminine murmurs of admiration swirled around the group. The walking mound of muscle made a beeline for Clare. He looked her up and down. “Nice suit,” he said in an undertone. Jack placed a possessive arm across Clare's shoulder. Play nice, he reminded himself. “Yeah, ain't it.” He felt Clare tense beneath his arm. Muscleman moved off and took up a stance before the assembled tourists. “My name is David, and I'll be your guide. Our first stop will be the observation tanks, where we will acquaint you with the variety of sea-life native to Bahamian waters. Then you'll move to our covered open-air theater for a short film on dolphin behavior, where you'll learn what to expect from your Sea Scene. Afterward, I'll fill you in on the rest of our agenda. We pride ourselves on our thoroughness, and our program is longer than most others. So, if you haven't yet put on sunscreen, take the opportunity to do so at our first two Sea Scenes. You'll be spending a lot of time in the sun today.”

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Jack looked at Clare, uncertain how she would respond after their tiff. “Could I borrow some sunscreen? Mine was in the luggage I lost.” “Sure, I brought plenty. It's SPF 30, because I burn quickly.” Jack eyed the soft tempting skin exposed by her suit. “I wouldn't want that to happen.” “Neither would I,” she chuckled and reached into her bag. Good, he thought, she isn't angry with me anymore. Clare handed him a tube. “Want some help?” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Maybe later, with my back.” “You do my back, and I'll do yours.” “It's a deal.” He smiled and squeezed a glob of sunscreen onto his hand. He slathered the stuff over every exposed inch of his skin that he could reach, and finished well before Clare. He watched her spread the white goo onto graceful calves and firm thighs. He envied her hands and watched them stroke the creamy ointment across the tops of her breasts and under the skinny ties of her swimsuit. He was breathing hard when she turned to him. “Sit down, so I can reach your back.” Her husky voice called to him, heating every nerve in his body. She placed a hand on his shoulder. As he yielded to the pressure of her hand, his mind went blank. “Yeah, sure.” The sunscreen felt cool against his over-heated skin. He shivered when her palm moved across his shoulders and up onto his neck. Her fingers brushed over his ears. 117


“You have very nice ears. You shouldn't neglect them.” Her hands left him for a moment. He felt bereft. “Here,” her breath rushed passed his cheek. She swiped a finger playfully down the bridge of his nose. “Rub this onto your nose. I'll bet you forgot it, too.” He had forgotten and raised a hand to follow her instructions. But his nose wasn't all he wanted to rub. As she spread another dollop over his lower back and ribs, he lost his train of thought completely. Her hands dipped briefly below the waistband of his suit. If she got any lower, he'd embarrass both of them again. Before he completed the thought she rubbed her way up his ribs. He clenched his teeth, afraid he'd blurt out some nonsense. How did she do that to him with a mere touch? She stroked down his back again. Once, twice, three times, then gave his shoulders a friendly slap. “Okay, buster. Your turn to do me.” She handed him the tube. How many ways would you like me to do you? his body screamed. I can think of a few hundred for starters. Behave, Jack told himself firmly. Put the sunscreen on, then keep your hands off, or I'll belt you. How he'd belt himself he wasn't certain. He had to get a grip, but not on Clare. He squeezed the tube and a small stream of white stuff sputtered out. “This one's just about shot.” He spread the lotion over his palms and set his hands on her shoulders. “There's another in my bag. I always carry extra protection.” 118


As his hands slid across her shoulders and up onto her neck, Jack wondered, Yeah, but what's gonna protect me from you? “Mmmmm. That feels great.” Clare's head lolled to one side while he massaged the tension from her muscles. It's too late for protection, Jack concluded. Simply being near Clare burned him to a cinder. “Don't move,” he murmured. He rested one hand on her shoulder and plunged the other into her bag. As he fished for the tube, the delicate column of her spine fascinated him. When he finally pulled the tube free from the tangle of miscellaneous stuff in Clare's bag, he was salivating over the small dimple that winked just above the elastic of her bikini bottom. Automatically, Jack opened the tube and squeezed. Ointment spurted onto his hands. He set the tube aside, closed his eyes and prayed for restraint. Then he put his hands to Clare's hips. He spread the stuff in circles over her ribs and across her back. Each time he stroked upward, his palms brushed the sides of Clare's breasts. Fire burned his fingertips with every swipe of his hands. The downward passes created a similar sizzle, since the resilient curve of her backside forced the morning's activities to mind. The last bit of sunscreen disappeared into her skin. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He let her go with a small push, then recapped the tube and tossed it into the tote-bag without looking. 119


Clare straightened up on her bench and turned to him. Her eyes looked relaxed and sleepily sensual. “Gee, you sure know how to rub a girl the right way.” She smiled. Jack was caught in her grin. Something twisted inside him.

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Chapter 12 DAVID'S VOICE sounded over the loudspeaker. “I hope you've all enjoyed our little film.” Had the man been talking all this time? Jack wondered what he was supposed to have enjoyed. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been better than the sweet torture of touching Clare. With the preliminaries completed, they stood grouped around the large tank where they would each swim with the dolphins for five minutes. David's voice intruded on Jack's perusal of Clare. “Because of the size of the tank, we can only allow two guests and a guide into the water at one time.” Out of courtesy to the other guests—and reluctance to be forced into the salt water—Jack held back until he and Clare stood at the end of the line. He settled in for a long hot wait. The sun broiled down on them. Clare's laughter at the antics of the dolphins and the people in the water relieved some of the boredom. Watching her lithe curves ahead of him in the line was both pleasure and torture. Eventually, their turn arrived. Clare handed her beach cover and bag to Smythe. Before Jack could act, David grasped Clare about the waist and hauled her to his chest. Her legs dangled in the water. The water lapped over her thighs and dampened her suit. She squealed in delight. As David lowered her slowly into the water, she slid down his chest. 121


Jack saw red. Forgetting that he hated salt water, he executed a clean, shallow dive into the tank, coming up with Clare in his arms. “Jack,” she laughed, “put me down.” He did, and she wandered deeper into the water. He watched and wished his stomach would settle down. David smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Jack nearly lost his lunch. “That was some dive, fella. But you must have missed the part of my instructions that said no diving or abrupt moves in the water.” “I suppose I did,” Jack snarled. “I have to warn you that the next time you break the rules I'll be forced to ask you to leave the water. Then your girlfriend will have to encounter the dolphins without you.” David's expression said that Jack's absence would be just fine with him. Jack would have responded to David's silent challenge, but a sound from Clare distracted him. The last time she'd made a sound like that was the previous night, shortly before the carriage had delivered them to the bed and breakfast. David turned at the same time as Jack. Clare, a look of sheer rapture on her face, caressed a dolphin that floated patiently in place beside her. If she hadn't been so happy, Jack would have done damage to their muscular guide. Instead he simply wished out loud, “Lord, make me a fish.” “Yeah, man,” David agreed. “But dolphins are mammals.” 122


Jack glared at him, only to be ignored by David who moved in behind Clare and grasped her arm, directing it beneath the water. “This is Scully,” he said. “We call her that because she's really intelligent and very patient. She's got a sensitive spot right here beneath her left fin. And if you stroke it just right...” A loud thwack filled the air and water sprayed Jack's face and torso. He clamped his lips on the nausea that rose to meet a mouthful of briny water. “...she'll splash someone for you.” Jack sputtered water from his mouth and nose and pushed hair out of his face. Laughter bubbled from Clare. David hawed. “Very funny.” Jack was not amused. He was very afraid he might be sick. Clare's eyes widened and she raised her hand, index finger extended. Jack started to turn and tumbled face first into the water. A gray form streaked over him as he went under. When he surfaced, the two dolphins balanced upright on their tails and chattered. They flapped their fins, as if applauding. He could swear they laughed at him. At least he'd finally gotten used to the water. He submerged and came up once more, his face toward the sun, and his hair slicked backwards. Jack's body arcing out of the water was one of the most beautiful things Clare had ever seen. Water sparkled on his 123


skin, turning him into a mystical creature, a Neptune or Merman. “That was Muldoon,” David explained. The guide's smooth voice lost whatever small charm it held for her. She allowed him to manhandle her earlier simply to punish Jack for his idiotic behavior on the tender. But the dolphins paid Jack back better than she ever could. For the next five minutes she and Jack swam with the dolphins under David's watchful eye. Whenever the guide tried to get close, Clare ducked behind a dolphin or dove under the water. He cornered her once as Muldoon pulled Jack around the tank. “What do you say, you lose the other guy, and I'll take you to dinner?” Clare held him off, literally at arm's length. “It's not going to happen, David.” “Don't you like me?” He had chutzpah; she'd give him that. “You're a nice enough person, David, but I love Jack.” The words surprised her. That she meant them surprised her even more. She couldn't deal with that now; David was about to kiss her. She ducked under his arm and floated away. “Do us both a favor and quit while you're ahead.” “Yeah, David,” a hard voice snarled from behind him. “Do us all a favor and quit trying to make time with my girl.” Assessment in his eyes, David looked at Jack. “You can't blame a man for trying, can you?” He nodded toward where Clare did barrel rolls with Scully. 124


“No, I guess I can't. But I have to warn you,” Jack echoed David's earlier words. “Don't do it again or I'll have to eliminate you from the encounter.” David raised both hands, palms toward Jack. “No problem, man. The lady said no, and I respect that.” “Good.” Jack's lip curled. “Clare, are you ready to go?” She let go of Scully and stood up in the water. She grasped her hair and, as she walked toward him, twisted water from it. Inside she reeled from a barrage of feelings. The idea that she might love Jack astonished her. She bit her lips to keep the words from spilling out of her mouth. How could she possibly continue with this farce of an engagement if she truly had feelings for him? She suppressed the emotional turmoil and answered him. “Yes. Although, part of me wishes I could stay here forever.” Clare thanked David and followed a scowling Jack out of the tank. Jack grabbed two towels from the bag and handed one to Clare. He rubbed the worst of the water from himself, then turned to Clare. She scrubbed the towel over her back and yelped with pain. “Clare.” Concern tinged Jack's voice, and his face wore a worried frown. “Are you all right?” “I've got a sunburn,” she grumped, in too much pain to care about her tone. “But I put sunscreen on your back myself.” “Well, it must have washed off.” The raging fire on her back subsided to a small blaze concentrated below her 125


shoulder blades and above her bikini bottom. “What I don't understand is that the burn seems to be located in just one area.” They'd ambled the entire distance down the dock to the tender. “Here.” He turned her around. “Let me take a look.” She cooperated and shrugged the towel from her shoulders so he could examine her back. He sucked in a gasp. “What?” Her voice shook with near panic at his reaction. “What do you see?” “I've never seen skin that particular shade of red.” His words tumbled over her shoulder and past her ears. “What shade of red?” Her panic took flight. “Let's just say that next to you a ripe tomato looks pale.” “Oh, no,” she moaned. “I'll have to sleep on my stomach for a week. I hate sleeping on my stomach.” He draped the towel back over her shoulders. “We'll have the hotel doctor take a look at you when we get back. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think.” It was worse. The doctor gave her some aloe gel for the burn and aspirin for the pain. He could only guess how long the burn would take to heal, but applications of aloe gel every four hours until the color faded would help. The problem was that she'd never be able to apply the gel herself. Even if she asked for help, Grannie would never dirty her own fingers to help someone else. Besides, Clare had a perfectly good and supposedly eager fiancé to put the gel on for her. Of course, that eagerness was half the problem. 126


Clare's own burgeoning passion for Jack made up the other half. Regardless, Jack would have to do it. Clare would simply resign herself to having his hands all over her. Well, not quite all over her. She turned the knob and opened the door to her room and found her grandmother sitting in the chair waiting for her. “Hello, dear.” “Grannie,” Clare's voice rose in surprise. “Where's Jack?” “Oh, he said something about a call from Adam Talcott, then went off on some errand. I told Jack I'd wait for you. He didn't want you to come back to an empty room, in case you needed some help.” Relief oozed from Clare's every pore at her temporary reprieve. “As a matter of fact, I do need some help. The doctor told me to apply aloe to the burn every four hours, but I can't reach my back. Would you do it for me?” Amanda rose, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I'll send Smythe. She'll be happy to assist you. She'll even help you dress. You might find stretching to get into your clothing a bit uncomfortable.” After Smythe was summoned, Clare stripped off her swimsuit. She stepped into the white lace panties that the assistant held out, then lay face down on the bottom bunk. The aloe brought almost immediate relief to the fiery skin on her back. “That feels great. Thanks.” “You may want to let that soak in a bit before you get dressed.” 127


Clare glanced at her grandmother and Smythe, and thought about it. “You're right. I may not be able to go to dinner.” “Why not?” Amanda sounded unaccountably alarmed. “I don't have a single bra that is cut high enough in back so that it won't irritate my sunburn.” Clare's grandmother chewed her lip. “That might be a problem.” Smythe spoke up. “Why don't you go braless? You're young enough and fit enough to carry it off.” “I didn't bring any clothes that would be appropriate for going braless to a formal dinner with the Captain.” “Nonsense,” Smythe scoffed. “We bought the perfect dress just the other day.” Clare crinkled her eyebrows in question. She didn't remember buying any dresses. “Where did you put those things we purchased?” “Over there in the new suitcases.” Smythe tugged the cases onto the chest of drawers and rummaged around until she found the dress. “It's a bit wrinkled, but the hotel laundry will steam it in a hurry, if the motivation's right.” The combination of the sunburn and the aspirin made Clare sleepy. “You rest, Miss Blessings. I'll be back soon.” **** CLARE HAD NO idea how long she'd slept when Dulcea Smythe nudged her shoulder. 128


“Miss Blessings. Wake up. We have fifteen minutes to get you ready for dinner.” Clare rolled into a sitting position. The fire on her back had died to a nagging warmth. Despite her nap, lack of sleep combined with exercise and the sunburn left her exhausted. She felt groggy and not at all interested in a formal dinner. She put her head in her hands. “I really don't feel like going.” “That's a shame. You know how Mrs. Blessings will get if you don't attend.” Clare instantly felt contrite. “I'm sorry, Smythe.” She raised her head. “Of course I'll come to dinner. I can sleep for three days once it's over. Where's that dress?” “Thank you, Miss Blessings.” Dulcea helped her up. “You stand right there, and I'll take care of everything.” Clare relaxed and let Smythe handle things. Clare moved or stood still when told to. She sat and allowed Dulcea to apply make-up and arrange her hair. The dress went on last. When she looked in the mirror, Clare saw herself decked out in a white two-piece outfit that she vaguely recalled trying on the day she'd insisted Smythe purchase new clothes, too. “Wasn't this your dress, Smythe?” “No. I purchased the same style but in blue. You haven't noticed, but I'm wearing mine, also.” Clare looked at Smythe. “I changed while you were asleep. We're going to be late as it is. Here, Mrs. Blessings wanted you to wear this tonight.” Clare stood astonished. Smythe fastened a diamond and sapphire choker around Clare's neck, then placed matching 129


earrings in Clare's pierced ears. “But this was her wedding present, from grandfather.” “Yes, it is.” Smythe's eyes shone. “She just wants you to borrow it for a while.” The assistant then fastened a double rope of pearls about her own neck and decked her ears with pearls while she spoke. “There.” She linked her arm with Clare's. “Now we're both ready. Let's go knock ‘em dead.” They shared a grin and left the room together. “I hope you like the little surprise that your grandmother arranged.”

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Chapter 13 “WE SHOULD HAVE a pleasant breeze at dinner,” Smythe remarked. “I understand the Garden Room is covered, but otherwise open to the air. We'll have the best of the breeze without the chill or force.” She finished speaking and they emerged into the Garden Room. The area looked like a fairyland, all in white flowers and greenery. Guests filled the tables arranged in ranks that flanked a center aisle leading to the head table. Two uniformed waiters escorted Clare and Smythe down the aisle to where Jack, a short round man in black, and Grannie waited for them. Jack looked all too handsome in his tuxedo. The fitted cloth emphasized his broad shoulders. Her gaze drifted to his strong hands. Those hands absently stroked a piece of paper and had purposefully stroked her body. She wanted those hands on her again. Smythe spoke and drew Clare's attention away from Jack. As she walked past the other dinner guests to the head table, Clare heard snatches of murmured conversation. “So romantic ... about the wedding ... bride and groom don't know...” Anxiety increased with everything she heard, and by the time she reached the head table she had a pretty good idea that her grandmother had arranged a wedding. What an unpleasant surprise! Jack would hate her for this. 131


Clare didn't think marriage to Jack would make her too happy either. Granted, she believed she loved him, but they'd only known each other for a few days. Unless she counted one truly enjoyable night in bed, they had nothing solid on which to build a marriage. If she had to be married, Clare wanted a solid, permanent arrangement. If she couldn't have that, she didn't want to be married at all. Before the two women parted to sit at opposite sides of the table, Clare uttered a shocked whisper. “Smythe, what has Grannie done?” She tried to convey her anger at the interference, but only succeeded in sounding panicked. “Don't worry,” Smythe whispered back. “Everything will work out for the best.” Grannie signaled for the guests to sit, and the waiters served dinner. Throughout the meal, Clare watched Jack. He was polite and well mannered to the black-suited man on his right and to herself. But in unguarded moments she caught him looking at her grandmother. His glance held a critical glint, and his jaw clenched with either anger or frustration. Over the main course he managed to whisper, “We need to talk. I'm going to get us out of here. Whatever you do, don't object.” They'd nearly finished desert when Jack stood and spoke to the table in general. “Please excuse us for a few moments. I need to borrow my wife.” Did he realize what he'd just called her? He took Clare's wrist and hurried to the shelter of the nearest passageway. When he found a small curtained alcove, he drew her down to sit with him on the sofa. 132


He dropped her hand. “Thank heaven this place is empty.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands steepled at the end of his extended forearms. The paper lay pinched between his fingers. “We've got two problems,” he said and handed her the note. “It's from the concierge. The guy who has my laptop is back on the island. However, he refuses to bring it to the hotel. Seems he stayed at this hotel to visit a female friend that his wife doesn't know about.” “I see.” “His wife took the call about the laptop and now she's suspicious. He refuses to hand over my computer unless I can prove to his wife that he was at the hotel on business.” “How does he expect you to do that?” “He suggested I introduce my wife to his.” “But you don't have a wife.” “Not at the moment.” “You can't be suggesting that we go through with this farce of a marriage just so you can get your laptop back.” “Why not? That's a wedding about to happen in there. As the designated bride and groom, going through with the wedding would solve our other problem.” “And that is?” “How to get out of this mess your grandmother has created.” Despite her elegant dress, Clare adopted a posture very similar to his, only her arms were upright and her hands supported her chin. 133


“She sure set us up, didn't she.” And this stunt will finish us before we ever get started, Clare thought gloomily. Jack stared at the floor again. “I don't think we have any choice but to smile and go along with it.” He moved his head from side to side in slow resignation. “Huh!” Clare sat up straight. She slapped her empty hands onto her knees. Jack angled his head to look at her. Clare knew surprise inscribed her face. “I don't see any graceful way out of this. Do you? And it would help me out.” She slumped forward, chin on hands once again. “We could stage a very loud and public lover's spat.” “No, thank you.” Jack leaned away from her as if she'd just announced she had a disease. “Why not? If we fought, you wouldn't have to pretend you were engaged to me anymore.” Clare tried to be reasonable and stick to her original agreement with Jack, despite her strong desire to throw herself at him and beg him to accept the situation. No one, Jack included, would accuse her of coercing him into marriage at some later date. Jack would have to convince her, if he wanted to go through with this. “A fight would solve our sleeping arrangements, too.” She presented the most logical arguments she could think of. “You're right there. But if we stage a fight, even a discrete one, the whole hotel will know about it. Then we'll have 506 Blessings and who knows how many hotel staff members playing matchmaker to help us make up. The entire scenario is too nauseating to think about.” 134


His arguments for going through with the wedding were flimsy. He certainly hadn't said he loved her. Fear clumped in her throat. Beyond the obvious, Clare was afraid to contemplate his motives for marrying her. She gulped around the lump and spoke. “Okay, we'll get married.” Some of the tension seeped from Jack's shoulders. He took her hand in an eager grasp and smiled. “Great.” He paused. A serious look replaced the eagerness on his face. “Everybody will leave us alone after the wedding. When we get back to the states we can get a quick, quiet divorce. We won't even have to tell your grandmother, if you'd rather not.” Wonderful, Clare thought; we aren't even married yet, and he's planning the divorce. Careful to keep depression from her voice, she said aloud, “So that's why you're willing to go through with this.” “Well, uh, sure.” He leaned back against the seat cushions, dragging her palm up his thigh. Obviously he forgot that he gripped her hand. His free hand tunneled through his hair. “I'm no fool, and neither are you. Neither one of us could be fool enough to want to stay married to someone we'd only known for three days. Right?” Was he asking for confirmation that she didn't want to marry him, but would do so temporarily to save face? “Right,” she said and had the feeling that the word was the single most wrong thing she'd ever uttered. If she loved him, and he wanted to marry her, why did she feel accepting was so wrong? Because wanting to marry wasn't the same as loving. 135


“Then we'd better get back in there, so the reverend I've been sitting next to can get this dog and pony show underway.” He stood and pulled her upright by the hand he still held. He misjudged the force needed and instead of standing next to him, Clare landed smack against his chest. His free arm went around her waist. Their lips met. “Clare,” he sighed, then she was drowning in the feel of him. A cough startled Clare from the sensual haven of the kiss. Smythe stood at the entrance to the alcove, her foot tapping, arms akimbo. “Come on, you two.” Her outward expression belied her genial words. “You'll have plenty of time to play kissy-face later.” Clare's cheeks pinked. Jack kept his arm around her, and they followed Smythe back to the Garden Room. **** HOURS LATER JACK sank onto the king-size mattress in their suite to loosen his tie and cummerbund. “Lord, am I glad that's over.” “Oh look, champagne.” Clare took the card from the bottle that sat in an ice bucket on the chest of drawers. “‘Compliments of the management.'” She tossed the card on the laminated surface next to the bucket. “You'll have to drink it. The doctor warned me about the effects of alcohol on sunburn. And I'm not taking any chances with this baby.” “Doesn't that itinerary say your grandmother is spending the next two days in Nassau with all the Blessings over sixtyfive?” 136


“Yes. I guess we won't have to act the happily married couple for long, will we?” She sounded grumpy, despite the smile on her face. Jack didn't reply. Clare stood with her head bowed, frowning at the two rings that circled her finger. Silence locked her in solitary thought. Jack studied the single band on his own finger and wished he knew that Clare had wanted to put it there. Did the smallest hope exist that their marriage could become something besides the farce that it was? “My back is killing me.” Clare stretched her arms and began to remove the cotton eyelet overdress. “Let me help.” Jack stood in a rush. He gathered the cloth and pulled it gently over her head. As the dress slid past her elbows, Clare lowered her arms, and the fragile stuff snagged on the sapphire of her engagement band. Jack reached to work the cloth free at the same time that Clare shook free of the dress and started for the snag with her other hand. Their hands met and stilled over the ring. He looked into her eyes, mesmerized by their golden-green depths. She stared back. Could she see how much he wanted her? “This is awkward.” Fascinated with the deep green that studied his face, Clare's soft voice startled him. Her hand dropped away. “Yeah.” He freed the snagged material and stepped back. “Amanda mentioned that you'd need some help with the medicine the doctor gave you.” “The medicine is in gel form, and I can't reach the burn on my back to apply the darned stuff.” 137


“I'll step into the bathroom for a minute. You lie down, and when you're ready, I'll put that aloe goop on your back.” “Okay.” Jack turned away from her, taking the eyelet overdress with him. He remembered it after the bathroom door closed behind him. He raised it to his face and inhaled the rain and lily scent of her. Maybe it was stupid, but that little bit of Clare gladdened him. He didn't feel quite so alone. “I'm ready.” Clare's voice came through the door. Jack shook the dress out and draped it over his arm. He grabbed a towel and the aloe gel from the medicine cabinet and reentered the room. “I'll be with you in a second. I need to hang this thing up first.” “Put it with the slip-dress, please.” His hands free now that the dress draped a hanger, Jack turned to the task of treating Clare's sunburned back. He swallowed at the sight of her stretched out face down. She lay naked to the hips where she managed to drape a sheet discreetly over her bottom. Jack swallowed and wondered if anything covered Clare's soft, firm flesh but the sheet. He felt his body tighten. Just do it, Jack, he told himself. If you think about it, you'll explode, so just do it. He knelt on the floor next to the bed.

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Chapter 14 THE SIGHT OF Clare's fiery red back sent every lustful thought from his mind. He read the instructions on the tube of gel and proceeded to coat Clare's sunburn thoroughly. By the time he finished, she was asleep. Great! Touching her had brought desire rushing in with a vengeance. He pushed away from the bed as if scalded. The bathroom. Go put this stuff away and wash your hands. He checked his watch while he used the hand towel, reluctant to return to the bedroom and Clare's delectable but forbidden form. He'd never be able to sleep in this condition. He couldn't string two thoughts together in Clare's half-naked presence. She was exhausted and finally asleep, and all he wanted was to wake her up so he could ease the ache in his pants. This was bad. Really bad. Only a certifiable louse would treat a woman he loved so thoughtlessly. Given the late hour, maybe no one would notice that the groom wasn't with the bride on the wedding night. With a little luck, he'd be able to walk the halls all night until he was so tired that even Clare at her lively best couldn't keep him awake. Without giving himself time to think, he grabbed the champagne and left the suite. **** HE FOUND A bar open and persuaded the barkeep to uncork the champagne without too much ribbing about not 139


being prepared on his wedding night. As he left the bar and headed for the beach, a bellhop stopped him and handed him a cable. He read the message as he walked. DELANCEY DEAL DETERIORATING. NEED DATA YESTERDAY. ADAM. The beach deck lay empty before him. Most guests found the lure of gambling more attractive than the sea at night. Jack welcomed the brisk sea breeze. It chased away the last remnants of desire's heat. The champagne would keep him warm enough. All he had to do was avoid anyone who might be surprised to see him away from Clare. Since that included the better part of the hotel staff and guests, he had his work cut out for him, even at this late hour. However, he'd done all right so far and had no reason to think things could go from bad to worse in the time required to drink half a bottle of champagne. He congratulated himself for the fifth time for being idiot enough to marry Clare—who didn't love him and didn't want him to love her—when footsteps sounded behind him. He lurched around, and champagne sloshed onto his shirt. The champagne bottle dropped. “Oops!” Stumbling and dropping things, Jack. This isn't good. He leaned back and rested his elbows against a wall that bordered the hotel's property. One leg crossed in front of the other, he tried for an air of casual disregard. “If it isn't the bridegroom?” Slurred syllables grated in Jack's ears. Great! Just what I need at one in the morning, a conversation with a drunk. 140


Some of the haze provided by the champagne cleared from Jack's brain. The other man looked around as if surprised to see Jack alone. “Where is your lovely bride?” Why not tell the truth? This guy will never remember, and he might leave if I don't offer an argument. “She's got a sunburn.” “Yeah,” the fellow agreed companionably. “The minute you marry, the woman gets a pain and gives it to you every night ‘til the divorce. It's a real shame when her pain interferes with your wedding night.” “My wedding night is none of your business,” Jack snarled. “Of course it isn't,” the man mocked. “I'm merely sympathizing.” He moved to the wall, placed his forearms on the top, rested a foot against the bottom, and looked over to the other side. Frustration riding him hard, Jack looked at the man. What a pathetic little drunk. “Is that what your wife did to you? Claim she was in pain rather than make love with you?” He couldn't keep his irritation at the drunk or himself out of his voice. The man straightened. “If you're so goddamn superior, what are you doing out here talking to me on your wedding night?” What was he doing out here? Was he protecting Clare or himself? The man continued. “I know if I had a hot number like your wife in my bed, I wouldn't be standing in a cold wind 141


with some other guy. ‘Course, if you can't handle it, I'll be happy to go screw the lady for you.” Angered beyond measure, Jack smashed his fist into the man's face. He felt the crunch of bone as the man's nose crumpled. The drunk screeched and reeled backward, a hand to his face. “Mmfuld mya do dath mmfor?” “No one lays hands on my wife but me.” As he turned his back, guilt stabbed him. The guy had done nothing more than point out how Jack was really feeling. He headed for the hotel doors. “I'll send hotel security out to help you. He left the beach with every intention of waking Clare up and showing her exactly how much finesse this particular bridegroom had. After their night at the bed and breakfast, he knew every vulnerable spot on her body. Sunburn or no sunburn, by the time he was finished, she'd never want to leave his arms. Right pal, his conscience lectured him. That's why she agreed to the divorce idea, because she was so thrilled with your earlier performance. Each step toward Clare sobered him a little bit more. He couldn't just wake her up and say he wanted to make love to her. In spite of tonight's ceremony, he didn't have the right to ask, let alone demand. Making love to Clare tonight would be wrong. He'd just have to ignore the drunk's provoking words. Besides, once he was in the room, who would know if he and Clare had wild, glorious sex or not? Clare certainly would never tell anyone. The next time he and Clare went out, he'd simply smile if anyone teased about how her sunburn affected the wedding night. All he had to do was get through the rest 142


of the night, knowing that Clare was naked and accessible. Yeah, real simple. He gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders when he got to the door. He could do this. He could spend the night in the same room with Clare and not touch her. He entered the room, then closed the door behind him without turning on the light. I can do this. He had to keep reminding himself. Just act as if she isn't there. “Jack?” Her voice was husky with sleep. So much for pretending she wasn't in the room. “Go to sleep, Clare. I can't be responsible for my actions if you don't. We'll talk in the morning.” “Okay.” He heard the rustle of sheets as she shifted on the bed. NO! He screamed silently. Don't think about the bed, or the sheets. Definitely don't think about Clare. Of course, that was impossible. He undressed in agony and tossed his clothes in the direction of the chair. Then he climbed into the bed and lay down. In spite of the air conditioning, the room seemed airless. He shifted. His jockeys were too tight. Clare's fault, he thought wishing he could blame the fit of his underwear on her and not his over-active libido. He shifted again. The darned bed was too small. It's a king-size, for crying out loud. And you slept fine on it just two nights ago. The bed isn't too small. Clare is just too close. She could be a thousand miles away and she'd still be too close. He shifted once more in a vain attempt to get comfortable. 143


**** ON THE OTHER side of the bed, Clare tensed. She'd been awake for the past hour or so, hoping that if she ignored the fire on her back and the pain in her heart she could regain the oblivion of slumber. It wasn't working. Why can't I overcome my own stiff-necked pride and ask Jack for a little comfort? Every rustle of movement from the opposite side of the bed increased her awareness of Jack. Her skin felt tight with anticipation of a touch she knew wouldn't come. She'd hated sleeping on her stomach ever since her chest had blossomed. Jack's presence made things worse, since her nipples developed an alarming tendency to tingle whenever he was in the same room. With the sunburn, she couldn't turn over to relieve the pressure. Jack might have been able to help. But he hadn't seemed interested in touching her, let alone sucking away the ache that tightened her breasts with every breath. For a while Clare drifted fitfully in and out of lustful, agonized sleep. She awoke from one particularly vivid dream of Jack making love to her on a wave-swept beach—a la “From Here to Eternity"—to find his hands stroking over her back. The sensation should have been painful. It wasn't. It was the most delightful blend of cool and heat that she'd ever experienced. “What are you doing?” The words mumbled sleepily from her lips. “Applying more aloe.” 144


“Mmm.” She savored the creamy chill that preceded the heat of his hands and lingered in the gentle pressure that followed. With some effort she drawled out, “Why?” “Because you were in pain.” His hands kneaded tiny circles on her shoulders and neck. She didn't remember any pain. All Clare could remember was the dream and waking into the ebb and flow of Jack's touch. “What made you think I was in pain?” “You were moaning.” He bent close to her ear. “And twisting on the bed.” She turned her head and found her lips within a breath of his. “Jack...” “Yeah?” “I don't think I was in pain.” “You don't?” “I think I was dreaming.” “Really?” “Yeah.” “What were you dreaming about?” “You.” She felt his hands still, then tighten. She broke his hold, turned over, and rose off the bed on her elbows. “I dreamt about you. Holding me. Stroking me. Like you were just now, but different.” “What was different?” His eyes blazed down at her. She felt the same quiver of fear and anticipation that she felt before every stunt. Every crash. Every fire, Every dive. Every leap into space. Every time she threw herself at trouble. Would Jack be there to catch her? 145


“Me. I was different. I was touching you too, stroking you, making you feel everything I felt.” Jack's face receded. He sat up, becoming a shadow in the darkness of the room. “I'll be right back.” He reached out with a finger and touched the tip of her nose. “Think about what you just said, and remember what I told you earlier tonight.” The bed shifted and he was gone. Huh? What was that all about? Why had he left? Wasn't she clear enough? She wanted him. He said he'd be right back. If he wanted her, why leave in the first place? Clare heard water running in the bathroom. Without Jack to warm her, she felt cold and very lonely. She got up and put on her robe, then stared out the balcony window wondering if she'd made a mistake, if she'd lost her mind. The water stopped. Clare turned and watched Jack come back into the room. His face was unreadable, but his posture was leashed, predatory. She backed away a step. “So you want to make me feel everything you feel?” He threw her earlier words back at her. “What is it you feel, Clare?” “Well. You know.” She stumbled over her explanation. “What I mean is—” “I warned you that I couldn't be responsible if you came near me tonight.” “But I didn't.” She shook her head and backed away from his pursuit. “I just—” She backed into a wall. The look in his eyes spoke of passionate consequences. 146


“You just what?” His hands braced against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in, closing off all escape. “I was just—” She was just breathless, when his body pressed into hers. He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Just what?” His breath tickled over the sensitive flesh. “Just trying—” Trying to remain upright took supreme effort because his teeth closed over the tender lobe of her ear and nipped. He doesn't love me. I have to make him stop. Her body tensed. Shivers of gooseflesh rippled over her skin. Dear lord, don't let him stop. His tongue lapped at her ear, salved the small hurt, and continued on down her neck, tasting her. She sagged back against the wall, boneless in the face of his sensual foray. I want whatever small piece of passion I can have with Jack. He moved his hands to her waist and lifted. “Put your legs around my waist.” The request came from lips that moved up her neck and feathered over her chin to rest on her mouth, waiting. The pressure of his mouth was unbearably sweet. She wanted more and moved her mouth under his. She opened her mouth, and she touched his lips with her tongue. But his lips remained still. Only her willing compliance would get her what she wanted, and so much more. She hesitated. “Please,” he breathed against her mouth. The word fluttered over her face like a thousand tiny kisses. She hung suspended in his arms. “Yes,” she sighed and lifted her legs to circle him. 147


She was naked beneath the robe. Only the cotton of his briefs separated them. Intimate contact with his rigid arousal came instantly. “Dear God,” he groaned and moved against her, lifting her away from the wall. Clare felt her heart turn over. He walked the short distance to the bed. He sat and she shifted so that she straddled his lap. The contact eased, replaced by emptiness and longing. She looked into his eyes and saw a question. “What is it?” she whispered. His hands untied the belt of her robe and pushed it from her shoulders. She gripped his waist for balance, and the robe caught at her elbows. His troubled focus shifted to her breasts. She followed his gaze and saw herself through his eyes. Her body gleamed, soft and white, in the dim light. Her rosetinted nipples stood proud and eager for his touch. Clare put a hand to his cheek and lifted his face. “Tell me?” He grasped her hips, bruising the tender flesh. “I've got to know that you want this, that you aren't doing this because you feel like the marriage obligates you or because you feel pressured.” She smiled at him. Her lips trembled. She couldn't tell him she loved him. She didn't want him to feel obligated or coerced into saying he loved her too. But she did want him very much. She wanted his kisses, his embrace, his smiles and his passion. She wanted to be surrounded, invaded, and 148


conquered by him. She wanted the sweetness, the thrill of surrendering to passion together with him. “What I want,” she kissed his lips, “is this.” Her lips trailed down his neck. Her hands wandered over his shoulders and down to his waistband. “And this.” She slid off his lap. She slipped her hands inside his shorts and pushed the cotton down his legs. He lifted his body from the bed to help her. “And, I want this.” She grasped his hardness, admiring its length and girth, fascinated by the contours and textures of him. Then she let go. She stood and shook free of the robe. “But most of all, Jack, I want you!” He stared at her with awe and wonder in his eyes and smiled. He leaned forward to encircle her waist and pull her toward him. “I'm all yours,” he whispered, and they tumbled to the bed.

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Chapter 15 CLARE WOKE UP to warmth and sunlight streaming in through the large window of the suite. She reached for Jack but found only sheets and mattress. Where could he be? The bathroom? She kicked off the sheet and stretched. The cool air of the room caressed her naked body like Jack had the night before. A soft smile shaped her mouth. What would Jack think of her sensuous sprawl? She hoped he'd want to come back to bed. She longed for the taste and feel of him with an urgency that surprised her. He'd been gentle and tender, careful of her sunburn and her pleasure. She hadn't realized she could be so wanton. Desire made her bold, and she decided not to wait. She'd join Jack in the shower, or watch him shave. He showed such delight in her body last night that surely he would desire more. She cracked the door of the bathroom and peered around it—no Jack. The empty room amplified the nagging void she felt since waking without him. Where was he? Refusing to be daunted, Clare set about dressing. Attired in a soft white T-shirt and navy shorts, she reached for her brush to untangle her hair. A small scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. She picked it up with her other hand. Clare. Don't go anywhere. Back soon, then we'll talk.

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Not “Love, Jack.” Not “Clare, sweetheart.” Not an endearment of any kind. Simple information and then we'll talk. What was that, an ultimatum? An order? Clare tried to tell herself that talking only made sense, given their situation. She tried to convince herself that the tone of the note seemed abrupt only because the paper was so small and Jack hadn't had room for endearments or explanations. She tried to imagine a lifetime with Jack. She conjured pleasant daydreams of babies, school plays, and family vacations. Despite her best efforts, a gray haze of foreboding lay at the back of her mind. **** “CLARE?” JACK CALLED his wife's name as he stuck his head around the bathroom door. He hadn't seen her in either the sitting room or the bedroom. Time was running out, and the concierge had finally come through. The meeting to retrieve the laptop was confirmed. Luis and Alana Reyes expected a visit from Jack and Clare within the hour. Where could she be? Maybe she didn't get his note? He frowned at himself in the mirror. Why didn't she wait for him? He wandered back toward the rumpled bed. A woman should be where a man could find her when he needed her. He had to grin at that. His Clare could never be counted on to just sit and wait. He'd probably spend the next sixty years tracking her down whenever he needed her. There was that thought again. He needed her. 151


The realization struck him so hard he sat down. Me, organized, methodical businessman, Jack Hunter, I need Clare Blessings, a professional edge-walker, an accident—no, a disaster—waiting to happen. His grin broadened. They'd been married yesterday. She was his disaster, thank heaven. He needed Clare. He didn't care what kind of nonsense he'd spouted about a quick divorce. It wouldn't happen. He loved her, and he'd find some way to convince her of it. Not just to help him get his laptop back, either. He needed her for more things than he could name, but mostly because she was Clare. He flopped back on the bed, careless of his suit, and pictured her honey-blonde hair, witty green eyes and her mouth. Her generous, wonderful, sexy mouth. His body tightened at the thought of what that mouth had done last night. He was so involved that he didn't notice when the bed sagged. “Jack? Jack, what's wrong, are you sick?” Startled by both her voice and the worry in it, Jack jerked upright. “Clare.” He grasped her shoulders and dragged her to him for a kiss. It didn't ease his body's discomfort, but the tension in his chest lessened a small bit. He pulled back and searched her faced. “Where were you?” “Well, hello to you, too.” Clare put a hand to her throbbing lips. “I was out on the balcony. Where did you go?” “I went to the concierge to confirm our meeting with Reyes and his wife.” “Oh. I'd forgotten about that.” 152


“It's a good thing I didn't. We don't have much time. They're expecting us within the hour.” “How far away is it?” “Just a short drive. The concierge is arranging for a taxi.” “Good, then I have time to change.” His gaze swept her. “You look okay to me.” “Thank you. But you're in a suit, and if Mrs. Reyes is as suspicious as she seems to be, I don't want to give her any cause to believe that I might not be your wife. I'll dress the part of a businessman's compliant spouse.” “Are you sure?” The thought of Clare subdued and compliant disturbed him. “Absolutely. I'll only be a minute. Why don't you go down to the café and get a couple of bagnettes. I'm famished, and we can eat in the taxi.” “Okay.” He planted a quick kiss on her lips and gave her an arch look. “You sure you don't want any help?” She smiled at him and pushed him toward the door. “That kind of help would take too long. Get going, and I'll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes.” **** LUIS AND ALANA Reyes lived in an elegant sprawl that topped a small rise. The careful landscaping and quiet ostentation marked a wealth similar to her grandmother's. Clare shuddered. Like her house, Alana Reyes dressed in understated splendor. The casual swing of her sleeveless blouse and crepe lounging slacks belied the obvious drape of the material, silk, 153


and the gleam of gold at her ears and fingers. Her appearance was the only understated thing about Alana Reyes. Clare took the woman's hand in greeting and looked into a face opulent with emotion. Sable dark suspicion draped around diamond hard anger in Mrs. Reyes’ eyes. A lacy froth of impatience fluttered across her cheeks, while a complex knitting of pride and politesse starched a smile on her lips. Her husband, by contrast, could have been a block of wood. Except for a small tightness around his mouth, the man revealed nothing. “Welcome to our home, Jack. Allow me to introduce my wife, Alana.” Jack took her offered hand. “A pleasure, Mrs. Reyes. And this is my wife, Clare.” “Your husband's computer is on the patio.” Alana Reyes turned to lead the way down the hall, her voice cool and pleasant, if distinctly uninviting. “Please, you will join us for coffee.” Sensitive to the woman's abundant emotional mix, Clare tried to decline. “No, we don't want to impose. Jack's work—” “Nonsense.” The surprisingly hearty interruption came from Luis. He placed an arm around Clare's shoulders but looked at Jack, forcing them both into motion. “Surely you and I can put business aside for a brief moment with two such lovely women.” Alana disappeared through the double doors. “Well, I uh—” 154


“It is a shame that your friends cannot stay, mi querido.” Carrying a slim case, Mrs. Reyes reappeared in the doorway. As Jack and Clare approached, the woman thrust the case into Jack's arms. “I was so looking forward to spending hours listening to you men discuss options and buy-outs, while you make passes at another man's wife.” Clare felt her eyes widen and Luis’ arm drop from her shoulders. She watched Jack's mouth open then shut, as more venom bubbled from Alana. “I have tried. I have tried so very hard to be patient with you. I could probably even put up with your women, but I cannot compete with your other lover, your business.” She turned on Clare. “I feel very sorry for you. You obviously have a husband just like mine. See how businesslike he is as he visits the home of a friend. The suit, the tie, the handshake and introduction of his wife. I could see his pride in you. My Luis has pride in me, but he does not love me. He does not even love his women.” She faced her husband again, her face, so richly conflicted before, now drawn with the overwhelming poverty of despair. “He has love for nothing but his business. He leaves our bed before kissing me in the morning and works until after I've gone to sleep at night.” “Mi corazone, no...” “Do not tell me no, Luis. I am tired of the pretense, of your lies, and most of all the loneliness. I cannot remember the last time you needed me for something besides a decoration for your business deals. You are despicable...” 155


The woman advanced on her husband, driving him down the hallway with angry words. Pressure on her elbow pulled Clare from horrified fascination. “I think we'd better go.” Jack spoke into her ear. “Yes.” She followed Jack from the house to the waiting taxi. The ride back to the hotel was silent. What Jack thought of the scene at the Reyes’ home, Clare didn't know. She wasn't certain she wanted to know. She felt battered by Mrs. Reyes’ abrupt breakdown in manners and stunned by the realization that she might find herself in similar circumstances after a few years of marriage to Jack. At the hotel, Jack excused himself. “I've got the disk now and won't need the laptop. Would you mind taking it up to the room for me? I need to get that data downloaded and make certain that Adam has everything he needs for the DeLancey deal.” He turned toward the business center. “Jack.” Clare tried to strangle any pleading in her tone. He looked back at her, impatience in his posture. “Don't be too long,” she murmured. “We need to talk.” Something softened the set of his shoulders. “Don't worry. I'll finish this as fast as I possibly can.” Clare nodded around the lump that formed in her throat. She had to be satisfied with his vague assurances. But the uneasiness that she'd felt since before their brief visit with the Reyes remained with her. She wandered slowly toward the elevator. Everything would be fine, once she and Jack had a chance to talk. She 156


concentrated so hard on explaining away her own unease that she nearly collided with one of the huge square columns that dotted the hotel lobby. More surprising than the architectural interruption of her thoughts was the sound of her grandmother's voice on the other side of the column. “Yes, Smythe, I think we may congratulate ourselves on a job well done.” “Yes, the surprise wedding was a masterful stroke. And Mrs. Hunter seems quite smitten with her husband. But Mr. Hunter doesn't seem the type to allow himself to be coerced more than once. What makes you think that Mr. Hunter won't press for a divorce?” “Oh, I expect he will want a divorce to start with. It wouldn't surprise me if he thought of that before agreeing to the marriage. But divorces are messy things. I think Mr. Jack Hunter will find marriage to my granddaughter more worthwhile than a single lifestyle.” Horrified, Clare backed away from the column and the voices that had shattered the tenuous daydreams she'd constructed to block her earlier disquiet. She turned and dashed for the second bank of elevators at the opposite side of the lobby. **** AN HOUR AND a half later, Jack emerged from the business center a frustrated but satisfied man. The facilities might have been state of the art, but the government-run equipment that the hotel connected to for international data transmissions was as slow as it was ancient. The transfer had 157


proceeded at an agonizing rate. With every glitch Jack became increasingly aware of how long he'd been away from Clare. That he missed her so much after such a short absence amazed him. She's right here in the hotel waiting for you, he told himself. As error after error occurred in the transmission, Jack's tension built. Idiot, you should have asked her to stay with you. You aren't doing anything but waiting, and waiting with Clare would have been fun. He imagined the possibilities, and before he knew it the data had at last been successfully transmitted. Eager to see Clare and enact some of those possibilities, Jack hurried for the express elevator. All the way up he thought of nothing but Clare, in bed, wearing nothing but himself. She was perfect; last night had proved that. And the way she handled herself during that embarrassing scene at the Reyes’ house today. She was so cool, and underneath so very hot. They were made for each other. All he had to do was convince Clare. Jack turned the corner and opened the door to their suite. He stopped. Two hotel employees moved about the rooms he shared with Clare. They were loading a dolly with luggage. “What's going on here?” He picked up one of the bags that he recognized as part of the luggage Amanda Blessings had given Clare and removed it from the dolly. He set the bag down on the couch. “Por favor, señor. The guest in this room has checked out.” The heavier of the two bellhops picked up the bag that Jack 158


had just set down. The man carried the suitcase back to the dolly. “We must remove her luggage.” “What do you mean, checked out? I'm her husband. She can't check out.” He watched with painful detachment as the second, taller bellman loaded three more bags on the dolly. One of the bags looked familiar. His laptop. After all this trouble, he'd be damned if he'd let her run off, especially with his laptop in tow. Jack lunged for the computer case. “Stop,” the hefty bellhop ordered and grabbed for the other end of the bag. “This belongs to Señora Hunter.” “It's not hers. It's mine,” snarled Jack. He scuffled with the man over the soft cloth. Each tugged at the straps on the closest side of the bag. “You may write a letter of complaint,” the bellman grunted. Jack growled. “Fool, you'll—” The bag ripped. The contents crashed to the floor. Momentum sent the bellhop careening toward the doorway where he landed on his partner. That bellman immediately dropped his hold on the dolly. Without his steadying hand, the dolly toppled over, dumping the rest of Clare's luggage directly onto his foot. He howled in rapid Spanish. Jack fell backward, ramming both elbows into Miss Smythe who at that moment arrived at the open door. “—tear it apart.” Jack ignored the whoosh and thud behind him and dove for the laptop-sized case that now lay underneath the dolly and a size thirteen foot. He shoved the luggage aside and pulled the 159


computer remnants into his lap. The tall bellman lifted his foot and plunked himself down in the middle of the floor examining the damage. His howls softened into whimpers, while Jack stared at the ruin of thousands of dollars of equipment and valuable data. The crumpled case gaped around a jigsaw puzzle collection of smashed circuit board and micro-chips. He raised his head. His angry gaze bored into the bellman. The man ceased whimpering and froze under Jack's icy glare. “You'll regret this.” Jack's voice chilled the humid air. “I'll make sure you peel potatoes for the rest of your life.” As he stood, the shattered gear slid off his legs. His hands circled the throat of the man. “You've destroyed carefully hoarded records on each and every one of the people AFD Inc. did business with. You're even helping Clare leave me.” “Por Dios, señor,” the man gurgled. “I did not know the bag was yours.” Before the impulse to choke the bellhop could overwhelm Jack, a hand reached in from behind and pried his fingers away from the man's neck. The tall man shrank back. Jack spun and confronted Miss Smythe. “What'd you do that for? I was just about to break up his life, the way he'd broken mine.” Smythe placed a hand on Jack's shoulder. “You were irrational. He's not the cause of your problems. You would have regretted killing him.” “Like hell.” “Yes, you would have. You need him to tell us where your wife has gone.” 160


“Señora Hunter is no longer at the hotel,” the bellman volunteered. His hand rubbed his throat, and he eyed Jack warily. Jack stepped forward, ready to shake Clare's location out of the fellow. Smythe barred his way. “Por favor,” she spoke quietly. “Where did she go?” The tall man replied in rapid-fire Spanish that he was not at liberty to reveal anything to Mr. Hunter, but that the señora hadn't mentioned anyone else, so he'd be happy to say that she left for the island airport. “Did she mention her destination?” “Señora Hunter made no remark other than to request transportation to the airport.” “Thank you.” Smythe started to reach into her purse. The bellman took the tip. “Da nada.” Then he nodded to the place where Jack had stood. “You'll have to hurry, if you wish to get to the señora before him.” Smythe smiled and spoke to herself in English. “But I don't wish to. I simply wish him to realize that Miss Clare is the best thing that ever happened to him. Of course, if he suffers a bit in the discovery, I won't mind.” The bellman rubbed his throat and smiled broadly, “Ayi, suffering would be good for that man. And the señora, she was made to make a man suffer.”

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Chapter 16 WHO WOULD have thought that a Caribbean island without a major metropolis could have a traffic jam? Jack sat sweating in an ancient vehicle that passed for a taxi, waiting for a herd of goats to cross the road. Who would have thought this tiny island could contain so many goats? His only hope lay in the uncertainty of island air traffic. He'd only traveled these islands by air once, when he and Clare accompanied Grannie and Smythe to Nassau. Chances were too great that the airplane would fail or be redirected due to weather or terrorists. Good lord, Clare could end up anywhere in the world if she wasn't careful about what plane she got on. Who was he kidding? Clare was a grown woman; she knew better than to indiscriminately board the first available plane. The last of the goats leapt off the roadway, and the ancient cab grumbled into motion. The fifteen-mile trip seemed hours long, as the car wheezed and groaned its way over hills and dales on the only paved road the island could claim. Finally the airport came into sight. It was nothing more than a landing strip. A small building, top-heavy with antennae, sat next to an open-air cabana where a single figure waited. Jack leapt out of the car before it stopped moving. He threw some bills at the driver and headed for Clare. **** 162


CLARE TURNED HER back as soon as she saw who got out of the taxi. Jack had come after her. She should be happy that she was at least important enough to him to have wounded his pride, but she was miserable. He'd proven to be no different than Grannie, this stranger who'd been her husband for less than a week. Business was his passion, and that hurt. She didn't know how she could stand any more. She just wanted him to go away so she could get on with her life. His hand touched her shoulder. “Clare...” His voice sounded deep and soft, the one she remembered from their two nights together. “Go away.” She refused to turn around or look at him. “I don't want to see you or talk to you. I prefer to have as little to do with my grandmother's minions as possible.” “All right.” She spun around. “Did I hear you correctly? You'll leave me alone?” “If that's what you truly want. All I ask is that you give me five minutes. If you still want a divorce, I'll make getting one as easy as I can.” What did he mean, if she still wanted a divorce? He was the one who didn't want to be married, wasn't he? Well, she'd show him. “What do you think you could possibly say to me to change my mind?” “Nothing. I'm not trying to change your mind. I'm merely trying to let you know that you have options, choices, that no one is going to dictate your life to you from here on out. I 163


won't let them. I love you too much to allow anyone, least of all your grandmother and most of all myself, to make you unhappy. So, if you want a divorce, it's yours.” Her heart staggered with the effort to remain impassive in the face of his words. “And you won't knuckle under to Grannie's pressure, or follow me around like a lost puppy, or threaten violence because I don't want to remain in this farce of a marriage?” “I promise I won't do any of those things.” He looked at his watch. “Since I've still got two minutes left, I would like to ask you a question.” She eyed him warily, as if he were a cat and she a tender, juicy mouse. “Go ahead.” “Once you're out of this farce of a marriage, would you consider having a real marriage with me?” “And just what do you think a real marriage is?” she challenged, wondering if he offered a true lifetime commitment. “It's a lot of things, most of them unknown, but I know it includes honesty, openness, fidelity, and determination.” “Will you accept no for an answer?” “I don't want to, but I will.” “Your five minutes is up.” She turned her face away. “Okay. Just remember, I love you. If you ever need me, all you have to do is call.” She waited until she heard his footsteps on the tarmac. “Jack.” She turned back. His head hung down, shoulders slumped, his hands thrust into his pockets. He jerked to a stop. “Yes?” 164


“You didn't wait for my answer.” His shoulders tightened. “You're right.” “Well?” His back remained towards her, and she could see nothing but that defeated posture. “Well, what?” “I thought a man kissed his fiancée when she agreed to marry him?” He turned to face her. His smile made the sun fade, but he kept his hands in his pockets. “I would, but I'm a married man, and I believe in keeping my vows.” “Well, then.” Clare's own smile trembled with the intensity of the love she felt. “Perhaps you could kiss your wife instead.” “I'd like nothing better.”

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Sue Charnley Sue Charnley (aka Erica Arthur) lives in southeast Michigan with her husband of more than twenty years. They share their home with one very good friend, two sons and three cats. She figures at this rate it's a good thing she doesn't live with any other animals. Sue has been writing romantic fiction since 1996, although she's been reading modern romance since the age of thirteen. She refuses to say exactly how many years that's been. To readers, Sue offers a shared passion for strong women, intriguing men, and the triumph of virtue over adversity. To her fellow authors, she offers her personal slant on the creative process and empathy for the quirks of this unique business called publishing.

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