Tender Stranger
Tender Stranger
Diana Palmer
She'd met Eric Van Meer entirely by chance during an unforgettable vacation in Mexico, and with reckless abandon, she'd agreed to marry the mysterious blond stranger. Dani St.Clair, prim southern bookseller, had experienced a passion that exceeded even those in her cherished romantic novels–until a hijacked plane and a daring rescue by Eric revealed his true nature and dangerous work.He said he needed freedom, yet he'd married her. He said he hated women, yet he tenderly conquered her heart. Was it possible to meet a soldier of fortune on the battleground of passion and win the war of love?
The Tender Stranger
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To J.A. with thanks.
Dear Reader,
I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.
But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.
I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.
Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.
Diana Palmer
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Diana Palmer
The Essential Collection
Long, Tall Texans…and More!
AVAILABLE FEBRUARY 2011
Calhoun
Tyler
Ethan
Connal
Harden
Evan
AVAILABLE MARCH 2011
Donavan
Emmett
Regan’s Pride
That Burke Man
Circle of Gold
Cattleman’s Pride
AVAILABLE APRIL 2011
The Princess Bride
Coltrain’s Proposal
A Man of Means
Lionhearted
Maggie’s Dad
Rage of Passion
AVAILABLE MAY 2011
Lacy
Beloved
Love with a Long, Tall Texan
(containing “Guy,” “Luke” and “Christopher”)
Heart of Ice
Noelle
Fit for a King
The Rawhide Man
AVAILABLE JUNE 2011
A Long, Tall Texan Summer
(containing “Tom,” “Drew” and “Jobe”)
Nora
Dream’s End
Champagne Girl
Friends and Lovers
The Wedding in White
AVAILABLE JULY 2011
Heather’s Song
Snow Kisses
To Love and Cherish
Long, Tall and Tempted
(containing “Redbird,” “Paper Husband” and “Christmas Cowboy”)
The Australian
Darling Enemy
Trilby
AVAILABLE AUGUST 2011
Sweet Enemy
Soldier of Fortune
The Tender Stranger
Enamored
After the Music
The Patient Nurse
AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2011
The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss
The Case of the Confirmed Bachelor
The Case of the Missing Secretary
September Morning
Diamond Girl
Eye of the Tiger
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#uf2fc33bb-fa71-593c-9b66-652635711778)
Chapter Two (#u3ccce567-f05d-5249-9606-16253380ddbc)
Chapter Three (#ued1c420b-613b-5ada-acab-9d8d164b9a01)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
The seat was much too low for his tall frame; he had barely enough room without the paraphernalia his companion was shifting in her own seat. He gave her a short glare through deep brown eyes. She flushed, her gaze dropping to her lap as she tucked her huge purse on the other side of her and struggled with her seat belt.
He sighed, watching her. A spinster, he thought unkindly. From her flyaway brown hair to the eyes under those wire-rimmed glasses, from her bulky white sweater down to her long gray skirt and sensible gray shoes, she was definitely someone’s unclaimed treasure. He turned his eyes back to the too-narrow aisle. Damn budget airlines, he thought furiously. If he hadn’t missed the flight he’d booked, he wouldn’t be trying to fit into this sardine can of a seat. Next to Miss Frump here.
He didn’t like women. Never less than now, when he was forced to endure this particular woman’s company for several hundred miles from San Antonio down to Veracruz, Mexico. He glanced sideways again irritably. She was shifting books now. Books, for God’s sake! Didn’t she know what the baggage hold was for?
“You should have reserved a seat for them,” he muttered, glaring at a stack of what was obviously romance novels.
She swallowed, a little intimidated as her eyes swept over a muscular physique, blond hair and a face that looked positively hostile. He had nice hands, though. Very lean and tanned and strong-looking. Scars on the back of one of them…
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve just come from a romance writer’s autographing in San Antonio. These—these are autographed copies I’m taking back for friends after my Mexican holiday, and I was afraid to trust them to the luggage compartment.”
“Priceless gems?” he asked humorlessly, giving them a speaking glare as she tucked the sackful under her seat.
“To some people, yes,” she acknowledged. Her face tautened and she didn’t look at him again. She cast nervous glances out the window while the airplane began to hum and the flight crew began once more the tedious demonstration of the safety equipment. He sighed impatiently and folded his arms across his broad chest, over the rumpled khaki shirt he wore. He leaned his head back, staring blankly at the stewardess. She was a beauty, but he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t been interested in women for quite a few years, except to satisfy an infrequent need. He laughed shortly, glancing at the prim little woman next to him. He wondered if she knew anything about those infrequent needs, and decided that she didn’t. She looked as chaste as a nun, with her nervous eyes and hands. She had nice hands, though, he thought, pursing his lips as he studied them. Long fingers, very graceful, and no polish. They were the hands of a lady.
It irritated him that he’d noticed that. He glared harder at her.
That caught her attention. It was one thing to be impatiently tolerated, but she didn’t like that superior glare. She turned and glared back at him. Something danced briefly in his dark eyes before he turned them back to the stewardess.
So she had fire, he thought. That was unexpected in a prim little nun. He wondered if she was a librarian. Yes, that would explain her fascination with books. And love stories…probably she was starving for a little love of her own. His eyes darkened. Stupid men, he thought, to overlook a feisty little thing like that just because of the glitter and paint that drew them to her more liberated counterparts.
There was murmuring coming from beside him. His sensitive ears caught a few feverish words: “Hail Mary, full of grace…”
It couldn’t be! He turned, his eyes wide and stunned. Was she a nun?
She caught him looking at her and bit her lip self-consciously. “Habit,” she breathed. “My best friend was Catholic. She taught me the rosary and we always recited it together when we flew. Personally,” she whispered, wide-eyed, “I don’t think there’s anyone up there in the cockpit flying this thing!”
His eyebrows levered up. “You don’t?”
She leaned toward him. “Do you ever see anybody in there?” She nodded toward the cockpit. “The door’s always closed. If there isn’t anything to hide, why do they close the door?”
He began to smile reluctantly. “Perhaps they’re concealing a robot pilot?”
“More likely, they’ve got the pilot roped into his seat and they don’t want us knowing it.” She laughed softly, and it changed her face. With the right cosmetics and a haircut that didn’t leave her soft hair unruly and half wild, she might not be bad-looking.
“You’ve been reading too many of those,” he observed, gesturing toward the sack of books.
“Guilty.” She sighed. “I suppose we need dreams sometimes. They keep reality at bay.”
“Reality is better,” he replied. “It has no illusions to spoil.”
“I’d rather have my illusions.”
He studied her openly. Wide, bow-shaped mouth, straight nose, wide-spaced pale gray eyes, heart-shaped face. She had a stubborn chin, too, and he smiled slowly. “You’re a strange little creature,” he said.
“I’m not little,” she returned. “I’m five feet six.”
He shrugged. “I’m over six feet. To me, you’re little.”
“I won’t argue that,” she said with a shy smile.
He chuckled. “Do you have a name?”
“Danielle. Danielle St. Clair. I own a bookstore in Greenville, South Carolina.”
Yes, that fit her image to a T. “I’m called Dutch,” he returned. “But my name is Eric van Meer.”
“Are you Dutch?” she asked.
He nodded. “My parents were.”
“It must be nice, having parents,” she said with unconscious wistfulness. “I was small when I lost both of mine. I don’t even have a cousin.”
His eyes darkened and he turned his face away. “I hope they serve lunch on this flight,” he remarked, changing the subject with brutal abruptness. “I haven’t had anything since last night.”
“You must be starved!” she exclaimed. She began to dig in her bag as the plane jerked and eased toward the runway. “I have a piece of cake left over from the autograph party. I didn’t have time to eat it. Would you like it?” she asked, and offered him a slice of coconut cake.
He smiled slowly. “No. I’ll wait. But thank you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t really need it. I’m trying to lose about twenty pounds.”
His eyes went over her. She was a little overweight. Not fat, just nicely rounded. He almost told her so. But then he remembered what treacherous creatures women were, and bit back the hasty words. He had concerns of his own, and no time for little spinsters. He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting her out.
The flight passed uneventfully, but if he’d hoped to walk off the plane in Veracruz and forget about his seatmate, he was doomed to disappointment. When the plane finally rolled to a stop she stepped out into the aisle, juggling her luggage, and the sack containing her books broke into a thousand pieces.
Dutch tried not to laugh at the horrified expression on her face as he gathered the books quickly together and threw them into her seat, then herded her out of the aisle.
“Oh, Lord,” she moaned, looking as if fate and the Almighty were out to get her.
“Most travelers carry a spare bag inside their suitcases,” he said hopefully as the other passengers filed out.
She looked up at him helplessly, all big gray eyes and shy pleading, and for an instant he actually forgot what he was saying. Her complexion was exquisite, he thought. He would have bet that she hardly ever used, or needed to use, beauty creams.
“Spare bag?” she echoed. “Spare bag!” She grinned. “Yes, of course.” She shifted restlessly.
“Well?” he prompted gently.
She pointed to the overhead rack.
“We’ll wait for everyone else to get off,” he said. “Mine’s up there, too; it’s all right. No big deal.”
She brushed back strands of wild hair and looked haunted. “I’m so organized back home,” she muttered. “Not a stick of furniture out of place. But let me get outside the city limits of Greenville and I can’t stick a fork on a plate without help.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll get you sorted out,” he said. “Where are you booked?”
“Book…oh, the hotel? It’s the Mirador,” she said.
Fate, he thought with a wistful smile. “That’s where my reservation is,” he said.
Her face lit up, and the look in her eyes faintly embarrassed him. She was gazing at him with a mixture of blind trust and hopeful expectation.
“Do you know the hotel? I mean, have you been here before?” she faltered, trying not to pry.
“Several times,” he confessed. “I come down here once or twice a year when I need to get away.” He glanced around. “Let’s go.”
He got down her suitcase and helped her extricate the spare bag from the case with a wry glance at the neat cotton nightgowns and underwear. She blushed wildly at that careless scrutiny, and he turned his attention to her books, packing them neatly and deftly.
She followed him out of the plane with gratitude shining on her face. She could have kissed him for not making fun of her, for helping her out. Imagine, she thought, a man like that actually doing something for her!
“I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” she blurted out, almost running to keep up with him as they headed toward customs and immigration. She was searching desperately for her passport, and missed the indulgent smile that softened his hard features momentarily.
“No trouble at all,” he replied. “Got your passport?”
She sighed, holding it up. “Thank God I did something right,” she moaned. “I’ve never even used it before.”
“First time out of the States?” he asked pleasantly as they waited in line.
“First time out, yes,” she confessed. “I just turned twenty-six. I thought I’d better do something adventurous fast, before I ran out of time.”
He frowned. “My God, twenty-six isn’t old,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “But it isn’t terribly young, either.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were quiet and sad, and she was thinking back to all the long years of loneliness.
“Is there a man?” he asked without quite knowing why.
She laughed with a cynicism that actually surprised him, and the wide eyes that looked up into his seemed ancient. “I have no illusions at all about myself,” she said, and moved ahead with her huge purse.
He stared at her straight back with mingled emotions, confusing emotions. Why should it matter to him that she was alone? He shook his head and glanced around him to break the spell. It was none of his business.
Minutes later she was through customs. She almost waited for her tall companion, but she thought that one way or another, she’d caused him enough trouble. The tour company had provided transfers from the airport to the hotel, but a cab seemed much more inviting and less crowded. She managed to hail one, and with her bag of books and suitcase, bustled herself into it.
“Hotel Mirador,” she said.
The cab driver smiled broadly and gunned the engine as he pulled out into the crowded street. Dani, full of new experiences and delightful sensations, tried to look everywhere at once. The Bay of Campeche was blue and delightful, and there were glimpses of palms and sand and many hotels. Veracruz was founded in the early 1500s and looked as many old cities of that period did, its architecture alternating between the days of piracy and the space age. Dani would have loved to dive straight into some sight-seeing, but she was already uncomfortable in the formidable heat, and she knew it would be foolish to rush out without letting her body acclimate itself to its new environment.
As she gazed at the rows of hotels, the driver pulled into one of them, a two-story white building with graceful arches and a profusion of blooming flowers. It had only been a few minutes’ ride from the airport, but the fare was confusing. And a little intimidating. Twenty dollars, just for several miles. But perhaps it was the custom, she thought, and paid him uncomplainingly.
He grinned broadly again, tipped his hat, and left her at the reservation desk.
She gave the clerk her name and waited with bated breath until her reservation was found. Finally, she had a room. Everything would be all right.
The room was nice. It overlooked the city, unfortunately, not the beautiful bay. But she hadn’t expected much for the wonderfully low rates that had come with the package tour. She took off her sweater, amazed that it had felt so comfortable back in the States where it was early spring. It was much too heavy here, where the temperature was blazing hot even with the air-conditioning turned up. She stared out the window at the city. Mexico. It was like a dream come true. She’d scrimped and saved for two years to afford this trip. Even so, she’d had to come during the off-season, which was her busiest time back home. She’d left her friend Harriett Gaynor watching the bookstore in her absence. Go, Harriett had coaxed. Live a little.
She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Live a little, ha! What a pity she hadn’t looked like that gorgeous stewardess on the plane. Perhaps then the blond giant would have given her a second glance, or something besides the reluctant pity she’d read in his dark eyes.
She turned away from her reflection and began to unpack her suitcase. There was no use kidding herself that he’d helped her for any reason other than expediency. He could hardly walk right over her precious books. With a sigh she drew out her blouses and hung them up.
Chapter Two
By late afternoon Dani felt up to some exploring, and she wandered the ancient streets with the excitement of a child. She’d changed into blue jeans and a loose, light sweatshirt and thongs, looking as much like a tourist as the other strangers in port. Her body was still adjusting to the heat, but the sweatshirt was simply a necessity. She couldn’t bear to wear form-fitting T-shirts in public. They called too much attention to her ample bustline.
She found the stalls along the waterfront particularly fascinating, and paused long enough to buy herself a sterling silver cross with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Her pidgin Spanish seemed adequate, because most of the vendors spoke a little English. Everywhere there were colorful things to see—beautiful serapes in vivid rainbow shades, ponchos, hats, straw bags and animals and sea shells. And the architecture of the old buildings near the docks fascinated her. She stared out over the bay and daydreamed about the days of pirate ships and adventure, and suddenly a picture of the big blond man flashed into her mind. Yes, he would have made a good pirate. What was it that Dutch had called pirates—freebooters? She could even picture him with a cutlass. She smiled at her own fantasy and moved on down the pier to watch some men unloading a big freighter. She’d never been around ships very much. Greenville was an inland city, far from the ocean. Mountains and rolling, unspoiled countryside were much more familiar to Dani than ships were. But she liked watching them. Lost in her daydreams, she didn’t realize just how long she’d been standing there, staring. Or that her interest might seem more than casual.
One of the men on the dock began watching her, and with a feeling of uneasiness she moved back into the crowd of tourists. She didn’t want trouble, and a woman alone could get into a sticky situation.
Dusk was settling over the sleepy city of Veracruz, and the man was still watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him moving toward her. Oh, Lord, she thought miserably, now what do I do? She didn’t see a policeman anywhere, and most of the remaining tourists were older people who wouldn’t want to be dragged into someone else’s problems. Dani groaned inwardly as she clutched her bag and started walking quickly toward the hotel. The crowd dispersed still farther. Now she was alone and still the footsteps sounded behind her. Her heart began to race. What if he meant to rob her? Good heavens, what if he thought she was looking for a man?
She quickened her steps and darted around a corner just as a tall form loomed up in front of her. She jerked to a stop and almost screamed before she noticed the color of his hair in the fiery sunset.
“Oh,” she said weakly, one hand clutching her sweatshirt.
Dutch stared at her coolly, a cigarette in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was still wearing the khaki safari suit he’d worn on the plane, but he looked fresh and unruffled. She found herself wondering if anything could rattle him. He had an odd kind of self-confidence, as if he’d tested himself to the very limits and knew himself as few men ever did.
He glanced over her shoulder, seeming to take in the situation in one quick glance. His eyes were very dark when they met hers again. “You’ll enjoy your holiday more if you keep out of this part of town after dark,” he told her pleasantly enough but with authority in his tone. “You’ve picked up an admirer.”
“Yes, I know, I…” She started to glance over her shoulder, but he shook his head.
“Don’t. He’ll think you’re encouraging him.” He laughed shortly. “He’s fifty and bald,” he added. “But if you purposely went down to the docks looking for a man, you might give him a wink and make his day.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but the remark hurt her anyway. Clearly, he didn’t think she was likely to attract a man like himself.
“It was more a case of forgetting where I was, if you want the truth. I’ll know better next time. Excuse me,” she said quietly, and walked past him.
He watched her go, furious with her for letting the taunt cut her, more furious with himself for not realizing that it would. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath and started after her.
But she’d had quite enough. She quickened her pace, darting into the hotel and up the staircase to the second floor instead of waiting for an elevator. She made it into her room and locked the door. Although why she should have bothered was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t the kind of man who chased bespectacled booksellers, she told herself coldly.
She didn’t bother to go downstairs for dinner that evening. Probably he wouldn’t have come near her, but she was too embarrassed to chance it. She ordered from room service, and enjoyed a seafood supper in privacy.
The next morning she went down to breakfast, too proud to let him think she was avoiding him. And sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at a window table with a newspaper. He looked good, she thought, even in nothing more unusual than white slacks and a red-and-white half-unbuttoned shirt. Just like a tourist. As if he felt her eyes on him, he lifted his gaze from the paper and caught her staring. She blushed, but he merely smiled and returned his eyes to his reading. She hardly knew what she was eating after that, and she couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of one eye.
He was much too sophisticated for a little country mouse, Dani told herself sternly. She’d just have to keep well away from him. He had no interest in her, despite her helpless fascination with him. He was world-weary and cynical, and looked as if she amused him…nothing more.
She made up her mind to enjoy the rest of her four-day holiday, and went to her room, where she got out a one-piece black bathing suit to wear to the beach. She pinned her irritating hair out of the way and stared at her reflection. What ravishing good looks, she thought sarcastically. No wonder he wasn’t interested. Looking the way she did, it was unlikely that even a shark would be tempted.
Go to Mexico, have fun, her friend Harriett Gaynor had said. Sparkle! Attract men! Dani sighed miserably. Back home it was spring and things were beginning to bloom, and books were selling well—especially romances. And here Dani was, with nothing changed at all except her surroundings. Alone and unloved and unwanted, as usual. She glared at herself and impulsively she called the beauty salon downstairs and made an appointment to have her hair cut.
They had a cancellation, and could take her immediately. Several minutes later she sat watching the unruly locks of hair being neatly sheared off, leaving her delicate features framed by a simple, wavy short cut that curled toward her wide eyes and gave her an impish look. She grinned at herself, pleased, and after paying the girl at the counter, she danced back upstairs and put on her bathing suit. She even added some of the makeup she never used, and perfume. The result wasn’t beauty-queen glamour, but it was a definite improvement.
Then she stared at her bodice ruefully. Well, there wouldn’t be any miracle to correct this problem, she told herself, and pulled on a beach wrap. It was colorful, tinted with shades of lavender, and it concealed very well. She got the beach bag she’d bought in the hotel lobby and stuffed suntan lotion and her beach towel into it. Then, with her prescription sunglasses firmly over her eyes, she set off for the beach.
It was glorious. Beach and sun and the lazy rhythm of the water all combined to relax her. She stretched, loving the beauty around her, the history of this ancient port. She wondered what the first explorers would have thought of the tourist attraction their old stomping grounds made.
Feeling as if someone were staring at her, she opened her eyes and twisted her head just a little. She saw Dutch wandering along the beach, cigarette in hand, blond head shining like white gold in the sun. He was darkly tanned, shirtless, and her fascinated eyes clung to him helplessly. He wasn’t a hairy man, but there was a wedge of curling dark blond hair over the darkly tanned muscles of his chest and stomach. His legs were feathered with it, too: long, powerful legs in cutoff denim shorts, and he wore thongs, as most of the people on the beach did, to protect against unexpected objects in the sand.
She turned her head away so that she didn’t have to see him. He was a sensuous man, devastating to a woman who knew next to nothing about the male sex. He had to be aware of her naivete, and it probably amused him, she thought bitterly.
He watched her head turn, and irritation flashed in his dark eyes. Why was she always gazing at him with that helpless-child longing? She disturbed him. His eyes narrowed. New haircut, wasn’t it? The haircut suited her, but why in hell was she wrapped up like a newly caught fish? He’d yet to see her in anything that didn’t cover her from neck to waist. He frowned. Probably she was flat-chested and didn’t want to call attention to it. But didn’t she realize that her attempts at camouflage were only pointing out her shortcoming?
He glowered at her. Long legs, nice legs, he mused, narrowing his eyes as he studied the relaxed body on the giant beach towel. Nice hips, too. Flat, very smooth lines. Tiny waist. But then there was the coverup. She’d said she needed to lose weight, but he couldn’t imagine where. She looked perfect to him.
She was just a woman, he thought, pulling himself up. Just another faithless flirt, out for what she could get. Would he never learn? Hadn’t he paid for his one great love affair already? Love affair, he thought bitterly. Never that. An infatuation that had cost him everything he held dear. His home, his future, the savings his parents had sacrificed to give him…
He tore his eyes away and turned them seaward. Sometimes it got the better of him. It had no part of the present. In fact, neither did Miss Frump over there.
He turned, blatantly staring at her, a tiny smile playing around his mouth. She was a different species of woman, unfamiliar to him. He found he was curious about her, about what made her tick.
He moved forward slowly, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She felt her pulse exploding as he came closer. No, she pleaded silently, closing her eyes. Please, go away. Don’t encourage me. Don’t come near me. You make me vulnerable, and that’s the one thing I mustn’t be.
“You won’t get much sun in that,” he remarked, indicating the top as he plopped down beside her. He leaned on an elbow, stretched full-length beside her, and she could feel the heat of him, smell the cologne that clung to him.
“I don’t want to burn,” she said in a strangled tone.
“Still angry about what I said last night?” he asked on a smile.
“A little, yes,” she said honestly.
He leaned over and tugged her sunglasses away from her eyes so that they were naked and vulnerable. He was worldly and it showed, and so did her fear of him.
“I didn’t mean to ridicule you. I’m not used to women,” he said bluntly. “I’ve lived a long time without them.”
“And you don’t like them, either,” she said perceptively.
He scowled briefly, letting his eyes drop to her mouth. “Occasionally. In bed.” He chuckled softly at her telltale color. “Don’t tell me I embarrass you? Not considering the type of reading material you carry around with you. Surely every detail is there in black and white.”
“Not the way you’re thinking,” she protested.
“Little Southern lady,” he murmured, watching her. She had a softness that he wasn’t used to, a vulnerability. But there was steel under it. He sensed a spirit as strong as his own beneath shyness. “Do I frighten you?”
“Yes. I…don’t have much to do with men,” she said quietly. “And I’m not very worldly.”
“Are you always that honest?” he asked absently as he studied her nose. There were a few scattered freckles on its bridge.
“I don’t like being lied to,” she said. “So I try very hard not to lie to other people.”
“The golden rule?” He fingered a short strand of her brown hair, noticing the way it shone in the sunlight, as sleek as mink, silky in his hand. “I like your haircut.”
“It was hot having it long…” She faltered. She wasn’t used to being touched, and there was something magnetic about this man. It was unsettling to have so much vibrant masculinity so close that she could have run her hands over his body. He made her feel things she hadn’t experienced since her teens, innocent longings that made her tense with mingled fear and need.
“Why are you wearing this?” he asked, and his hand went to the buttons of her shapeless over-blouse. “Do you really need it?”
She could hardly swallow. He had her so rattled, she didn’t know her name. “I…no, but…” she began.
“Then take it off,” he said quietly. “I want to see what you look like.”
There had been a similar passage in the latest book by her favorite author. She’d read it and gotten breathless. But this was real, and the look in his dark eyes made her tremble. She forgot why she was wearing the wrap and watched his hard face as he eased the buttons skillfully out of their holes and finally drew the garment from around her body.
His breath caught audibly. He seemed to stop breathing as he looked down on what he’d uncovered. “My God,” he whispered.
She was blushing again, feeling like a nervous adolescent.
“Why?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She shifted restlessly. “Well, I’m…I feel…men stare,” she finished miserably.
“My God, of course they stare! You’re exquisite!”
She’d never heard it put that way. She searched his eyes, looking for ridicule, but there was none. He was staring again, and she found that a part of her she didn’t recognize liked the way he was looking at her.
“Is that why you wear bulky tops all the time?” he persisted gently.
She sighed. “Men seem to think that women who are…well-endowed have loose morals. It’s embarrassing to be stared at.”
“I thought you were flat-chested,” he mused, laughing.
“Well, no, I’m not,” she managed. “I guess I did look rather odd.”
He smiled down at her. “Leave it off,” he said with a last lingering scrutiny before he stretched out on his back. “I’ll fend off unwanted admirers for you.”
She was immediately flattered. And nervous. Would he expect any privileges for that protection? She stared at his relaxed body uneasily.
“No strings,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I want rest, not a wild, hot affair.”
She sighed. “Just as well,” she said ruefully. “I wouldn’t know how to have one.”
“Are you a virgin?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Unusual these days.”
“I believe in happily-ever-after.”
“Yes, I could tell by your reading material,” he said with a lazy smile. He stretched, and powerful muscles rippled all up and down his tanned body. Her gaze was drawn to it, held by it.
He opened his eyes and watched her, oddly touched by the rapt look on her young face. He’d have bet a year’s earnings that she’d never been touched even in the most innocent way. He found himself wondering what she might be like in passion, whether those pale eyes would glow, whether her body would relax and trust his. He frowned slightly. He’d never taken time with a woman, not since that she-wolf. These days it was all quickly over and forgotten. But slow, tender wooing was something he could still remember. And suddenly he felt a need for it. To touch this silky creature next to him and teach her how to love. How to touch. The thought of her long fingers on him caused a sudden and shocking reaction in his body.
He turned over onto his stomach, half-dazed with the unexpected hunger. Was she a witch? He studied her. Did she know what had happened to him? No, he decided, if she did, it would be highly visible in those virginal cheeks. She probably didn’t even know what happened to men at all. He smiled slowly at the searching wonder in her eyes.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she asked softly.
“Do you really want to know?” he murmured dryly.
She rolled over onto her stomach as well, and propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him, at the hard lines of his face, the faint scarring on one cheek. She felt drawn to him physically, and couldn’t understand why it seemed so natural to lie beside him and look at him.
His eyes were fixed on a sudden parting of fabric that gave a tantalizing view of her generous breasts; and when she started to move, he reached up and held her still.
“You won’t get pregnant if I look at you,” he whispered.
“You’re a horrible man,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, but I’m much safer than any one of these wily Latins,” he told her. “The lesser of two evils, you might say. I won’t seduce you.”
“As if any man would want to.” She laughed, and started to move away again. This time he let her, looming over her as she lay back, with his forearms beside her head and his eyes boring into hers at close range.
“If we weren’t on a public beach, I’d give you a crash course in arousal, doubting Thomasina,” he murmured. “Something just happened to me that shocked me to the back teeth, and it’s your fault.”
Her eyes widened as her mind tried to convince her that she hadn’t heard him make such a blatant statement.
“I see you understand me,” he said with a lazy smile. “What’s wrong, Southern belle, have you led such a sheltered life?”
She swallowed. “Yes.” She studied his hard face. “Yours hasn’t been sheltered.”
“That’s right,” he told her. “I could turn your hair white with the story of my life. Especially,” he added deliberately, unblinkingly, “the part of it that concerns women.”
Her eyes dilated as they held his. “You…aren’t a romantic.”
He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said quietly. “Occasionally I need a woman, the oblivion of sex. But that’s all it ever is. Sex, with no illusions.”
Her eyes searched his, reading embarrassing things in them. “There’s a reason,” she said softly, knowingly.
He nodded. “I was twenty-four. She was twenty-eight, wildly experienced, and as beautiful as a goddess. She seduced me on the deck of a yacht, and after that I’d have died for her. But she was expensive, and I was besotted, and eventually I sold everything I had to buy her loyalty.” His eyes darkened, went cold with memory and rage as Dani watched. “I’d helped buy my parents a small home for their retirement with money I…earned,” he added, not mentioning how he’d earned the money. “And I even mortgaged that. The bank foreclosed. My father, who’d put his life savings into his part of the house, died of a heart attack soon afterward. My mother blamed me for it, for taking away the thing he’d worked all his life for. She died six months later.”
He’d picked up a handful of sand and was letting it fall slowly onto the beach while she stared at his handsome profile and knew somehow that he’d never told this story to another living soul.
“And the woman?” she asked gently.
The sand made a small sound, and his palm flattened on it, crushing it. “She found another chump…” He glanced at Dani with a cold laugh. “One with more money.”
“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately. “I can understand that it would have made you bitter. But—”
“But all women aren’t cold-hearted cheats?” he finished for her, glaring. “Aren’t they?”
“The one boyfriend I ever had was two-timing me with another girl,” she said.
“What a blazing affair it must have been,” he said with cold sarcasm.
She searched his face, seeing beneath the anger to the pain. “I loved him,” she said with a gentle smile. “But he was more interested in physical satisfaction than undying devotion.”
“Most men are,” he said curtly.
“I suppose so.” She sighed. She rolled over onto her back and stretched. “I’ve decided that I like being alone, anyway. It’s a lot safer.”
He eased onto his side, watching her. “You disturb me,” he said after a minute.
“Why? Because I’m not experienced?” she asked.
He nodded. “My world doesn’t cater to inexperience. You’re something of a curiosity to me.”
“Yes. So are you, to me,” she confessed, studying him blatantly.
He brushed the hair away from her face with strong, warm hands, callused hands that felt as if he’d used them in hard work. She liked that roughness against her soft skin. It made her tingle and ache with pleasure. He looked down at the bodice of the bathing suit, watching her reaction. The material was thin and the hard tips of her breasts were as evident as her quickened breathing.
She started to move her arms, to cover herself, but he caught her eyes and shook his head.
“That’s as natural as breathing,” he said in a voice that barely carried above the sound of the surf. “It’s very flattering. Don’t be ashamed of it.”
“I was raised by a maiden aunt,” she told him. “She never married, and I was taught that—”
He pressed his thumb over her mouth, a delicious contact that made her want to bite it gently. “I can imagine what you were taught.” He let his dark gaze drop to her mouth and studied it slowly as he touched it, watching it tremble and part. “I like your mouth, Dani. I’d like to take it with mine.”
The thought was exciting, wildly exciting. Her gaze went involuntarily to his hard, chiseled mouth. His upper lip was thin, the bottom one wide and sensuous. She would bet he’d forgotten more about kissing than she’d ever learned.
“Have you been kissed very much?” he asked.
“Once or twice,” she said lightly, trying to joke.
“French kisses?” he provoked.
Her body was going crazy. She could feel her heart trying to escape her chest, and her breathing was audible. It got even worse when his hard fingers left her mouth to run down the side of her neck, across her collarbone and, incredibly, onto the swell of her breast above the swimsuit.
Her gasp whispered against his lips and he smiled. “Shocking, isn’t it?” he murmured, watching her eyes dilate, her face flush as his fingers lazily slid under the strap. His body shielded her from other sunbathers, and there was no one in front of them. “No one can see us,” he whispered reassuringly. He laughed softly, wickedly, as his fingers slid under the fabric with a lazy teasing pressure that was more provocative than frightening. Her body reacted wildly to being teased, and she knew that he could see what was happening. He was much too sophisticated not to know exactly what she was feeling.
“Skin like warm silk,” he breathed, his mouth poised just above hers while his fingers brushed her like whispers of sensation, and she tensed and trembled as the pleasure began to grow.
She wanted more. She wanted him to touch the hard, aching tip of her breasts; she wanted to watch him do it, to see him possess her with that callused, expert hand. Her face even told him so.
His eyes were getting darker now, and the indulgent smile was vanishing as well. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he said under his breath, “I’m going to slide my hand completely over you and to hell with spectators.”
Her lips parted. She felt reckless and abandoned and vulnerable. Four days in which to store a lifetime of memories, she thought bitterly. Every one of her friends was married, every one of them had some happiness. But not Dani. Not ever. And now this man, who could have had any woman on the beach, was playing with her, amusing himself, because he saw how vulnerable she was…and she was letting him.
Her eyes clouded, and something deep inside the blond man stirred helplessly when he saw it.
“No,” he whispered with aching tenderness. “Don’t. I’m not playing.”
She bit her lower lip to stop sudden tears. He saw so much, for a stranger. “Yes, you are,” she protested. “You—”
His mouth lowered onto hers, just enough to let her lips experience its texture before he withdrew it. His hand, resting warmly under the strap of her bathing suit, began to move.
Her body trembled, and he whispered, “Hush,” brushing his mouth tenderly over the bridge of her nose. “No one can see what I’m going to do to you.” His lips went to her eyes, brushing them tenderly closed. His long fingers nudged under the fabric, farther and farther.
Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers clinging, her breath sighing out unsteadily against his tormenting mouth. “Eric,” she whispered experimentally.
He hesitated for an instant, lifting his blond head. He looked down into eyes that were full of new sensations, wide and soft and hazy. His free hand eased to the back of her neck, stroking it softly. He held her gaze as his hand moved slowly down, and then up, and she felt the warm roughness of his palm against the hard point of her breast.
“Is this the first time?” he whispered.
“Can’t you…tell?” she whispered back brokenly. Her body moved helplessly, so that she could experience every texture of his hand where it rested, and an odd, tearful smile touched her mouth. “Thank you. Thank…”
He couldn’t bear it. The gratitude hurt him. He moved his hand back up to her face and kissed her mouth softly, with a tenderness he hadn’t shown any woman since he was little more than a boy.
“You speak as if you think it’s a hardship for me just to touch you,” he said quietly. “If you knew more about men, you might realize that I’m as aroused by you as you are by me.”
“Me?” she repeated, her eyes wide and bright and full of magic.
“You, you voluptuous, exciting little virgin,” he said, his voice rough with laughter. “I ache all over.”
She began to smile, and his attention was caught by the sunniness of it, by the sudden beauty of her face. And he’d thought her drab and dull. How odd. He sensed a deeply buried sensuality in that voluptuous body, and he wanted it.
He propped himself up on an elbow, his free hand still tugging absently at her short hair.
She gave her eyes the freedom to roam that powerful body, talking in its bronzed sensuousness, the light covering of dark blond hair on his chest, his rippling stomach muscles, his strongly muscled thighs. He even had nice feet. And his legs weren’t pale, as most American men’s were. They were broad and dark, and looked good.
“I like your legs, too,” he murmured.
She glanced back up. “Do you mind?” she asked gently. “I know I’m gawking like a schoolgirl.”
“You’re very honest, aren’t you?” he remarked for the second time that day. “It’s vaguely disconcerting. No, I don’t mind if you look at me. Except that it—”
“It…?” she persisted.
“Arouses me,” he said frankly.
“Just to be looked at?” she asked, fascinated.
He smiled a little. “Maybe it’s my age,” he said with a shrug. “You have very expressive eyes, did you know? They tell me everything you’re thinking.”
“Do they really?” She laughed, looking up at him. “What am I thinking now?” she asked, her mind carefully blank.
He pursed his lips and smiled slowly, and she felt a deep, slow ache in her body that was intensified when she looked at the broad sweep of his chest.
“That you’d like to have dinner with me,” he hedged. “How about it?”
“Yes. I’d like to. If you won’t seduce me for dessert,” she added.
He sighed softly. “I’d like to have you,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t quite take you in my stride, either. A virgin would be something of a rarity for me. Most of my one-night stands have been the exact opposite of virgins.”
She tried not to blush, but her cheeks betrayed her.
He searched her eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said suddenly. “And with you, it would have to be lovemaking, not sex.”
Her body felt boneless as he searched her eyes, and there was a flash of something like tenderness in the look he gave her. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why?”
She dropped her eyes to his chest. “Because I think…I’d have liked you…for a lover.”
“Yes, I think I’d have liked you for one,” he agreed softly. He tilted her face back to his and searched her eyes. “Wrong time, wrong place. We should have met ten years ago.”
She smiled ruefully. “You wouldn’t have liked me at sixteen,” she said. “I really was twenty pounds overweight.”
He drew in a slow breath. “And I was in the early days of some pretty raw living,” he agreed. “What a pity.” He lifted her hand and kissed the soft palm, watching her face color with pleasure. “How long will you be here?”
“Four days,” she said miserably.
His teeth bit into the soft flesh. “Make some memories with me,” he whispered.
“That will only make it worse…” she began.
“We’ll keep it light,” he said. “I won’t seduce you.”
“By tomorrow I’ll probably beg you to,” she said unhappily, studying him with helpless longing. “I’m frighteningly vulnerable with you.”
His eyes went along her body and he felt himself going rigid with desire. “Yes. I’m pretty vulnerable myself.”
She had to force her eyes to stay on his face, and he smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what she was thinking.
He laughed and she rolled over onto her stomach again.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured as he stretched out beside her. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t sweat it.”
She turned her eyes toward his and searched them, and then she smiled. “You’re so handsome,” she whispered helplessly.
“You’re a knockout yourself,” he said. “Flat-chested, hell.” He laughed. “You’re dynamite!”
“Thank you.”
He searched her face appreciatively. “So innocent. J.D. would laugh himself sick at me.”
“J.D.?” she asked curiously.
“An old friend.” He grinned. “Close your eyes and let’s soak up some sun. Later, I’ll take you sight-seeing.” His eyes closed and then opened. “Not to the docks,” he added, and closed them again.
She closed her own eyes with a smile. Miracles, she thought wistfully, did occasionally happen to lonely spinsters. These were going to be the four most beautiful days of her entire life. She wouldn’t take a second of them for granted, starting now.
Chapter Three
Dani was glad she’d stopped by the little boutique in the basement of the hotel on her way up to change for dinner. She’d bought a white Mexican dress with an elastic neckline and lots of ruffles, and when she put it on she looked slightly mysterious, with her brown hair and gray eyes and creamy complexion. Her wire-rimmed glasses weren’t so spiffy, she admitted, but they did make her eyes look bigger than they were. And she wasn’t really fat, she told herself, smiling at her reflection. It was mostly what was on top, and the dress even minimized that. She got her small evening bag and went downstairs to meet Dutch in the lobby.
He was wearing white slacks with a white shirt and blue blazer, and he rose lazily to his feet from a plush sofa, leaving his evening paper there as he joined her.
“Nice,” he said, taking her arm. “What do you fancy? Mexican, Chinese, Italian, or a steak?”
“I like steak,” she murmured.
“So do I.” He guided her along the hall past the family restaurant and into the very exclusive Captain’s Quarters next door. White-coated waiters in white gloves were everywhere, and Dani glanced up at Dutch apprehensively as he gave the hostess his name.
“What is it?” he asked softly, guiding her along behind the well-dressed young woman with the menus.
“It’s so expensive,” she began, worried.
His face brightened, and he smiled. “Do you mind washing dishes afterward?” he whispered mischievously.
She laughed up at him. “Not if you’ll dry,” she promised.
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re a nice girl.”
“Just the kind your mother warned you about, so look out,” she told him.
He glanced down at her. “No. My mother would have liked you. She was spirited, too.”
She smiled shyly, aware of envious eyes following them along the way. He was so handsome, she thought, peeking up at him. Muscular, graceful, and with the face of a Greek statue, male perfection in the finest sense. An artist would have been enchanted with him as a subject.
The hostess left them at their table, near the window, and Dutch seated Dani with a curious frown.
“What were you thinking about so solemnly just now?” he asked as he eased his tall form into the chair across from her.
“That you’d delight an artist,” she said simply. “You’re very elegant.”
He took a slow breath. “Lady, you’re bad for my ego.”
“Surely you look in the mirror from time to time?” she asked. “I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help it.”
“Yes, I have the same problem,” he murmured, and his eyes were fixed on her.
She was glad she hadn’t yielded to the temptation to pull the elastic neck of her dress down around her shoulders. It was hard enough to bear that dark stare as it was.
“Shall I order for you, or are you liberated?” he asked after she’d studied the menu.
“I kind of like it the old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind,” she confessed. “I’m liberated enough to know I look better in a skirt than in a pair of pants.”
He chuckled. “Do you?”
“Well, you’d look pretty silly in a dress,” she came back.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“Steak and a salad, and coffee to drink.”
He looked at her with a dry smile, and when the waiter came, he gave a double order.
“Yes,” he told her, “I like coffee, too.”
“You seem very traveled,” she remarked, pleating her napkin.
“I am.” He leaned back in his chair to study her. “And you’ve never been out of the States.”
“I’ve been nowhere—until now.” She smiled at the napkin. “Done nothing except work. I thought about changing, but I never had the courage to do it.”
“It takes courage, to break out of a mold,” he said. He pulled the ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m doing it anyway. This is one habit I don’t intend to break.”
“‘I’ll die of something someday,’” she quoted. “There are lots of other clichés, but I think that one’s dandy.”
He only laughed. “Smoking is the least dangerous thing I do.”
“What do you do?” she asked, curious.
He thought about that for a moment, and pursed his lips as he wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. She’d probably be out of that chair and out of his life so fast…He frowned. He didn’t like that idea.
“I’m in the military,” he said finally. “In a sense.”
“Oh. On active duty?” she continued, feeling her way because he seemed reluctant to elaborate.
“No. Inactive, at the moment.” He watched her through a veil of smoke from his cigarette.
“Is it dangerous, what you do?”
“Yes.”
“I feel like a panelist on ‘What’s My Line?’” she said unexpectedly, and grinned when he burst out laughing.
“Maybe you’re a double agent,” she supposed. “A spy.”
“I’m too tall,” he returned. “Agents are supposed to be under five feet tall so that they can hide in shrubbery.”
She stared at him until she realized he was joking, and she laughed.
“Your eyes laugh when you do,” he said absently. “Are you always this sunny?”
“Most of the time,” she confessed. She pushed her glasses back as they threatened to slide down her nose. “I have my bad days, too, like everyone else, but I try to leave them at home.”
“You could get contact lenses,” he remarked as he noticed her efforts to keep her glasses on her nose.
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Diana Palmer
She'd met Eric Van Meer entirely by chance during an unforgettable vacation in Mexico, and with reckless abandon, she'd agreed to marry the mysterious blond stranger. Dani St.Clair, prim southern bookseller, had experienced a passion that exceeded even those in her cherished romantic novels–until a hijacked plane and a daring rescue by Eric revealed his true nature and dangerous work.He said he needed freedom, yet he'd married her. He said he hated women, yet he tenderly conquered her heart. Was it possible to meet a soldier of fortune on the battleground of passion and win the war of love?
The Tender Stranger
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To J.A. with thanks.
Dear Reader,
I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.
But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.
I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.
Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.
Diana Palmer
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Diana Palmer
The Essential Collection
Long, Tall Texans…and More!
AVAILABLE FEBRUARY 2011
Calhoun
Tyler
Ethan
Connal
Harden
Evan
AVAILABLE MARCH 2011
Donavan
Emmett
Regan’s Pride
That Burke Man
Circle of Gold
Cattleman’s Pride
AVAILABLE APRIL 2011
The Princess Bride
Coltrain’s Proposal
A Man of Means
Lionhearted
Maggie’s Dad
Rage of Passion
AVAILABLE MAY 2011
Lacy
Beloved
Love with a Long, Tall Texan
(containing “Guy,” “Luke” and “Christopher”)
Heart of Ice
Noelle
Fit for a King
The Rawhide Man
AVAILABLE JUNE 2011
A Long, Tall Texan Summer
(containing “Tom,” “Drew” and “Jobe”)
Nora
Dream’s End
Champagne Girl
Friends and Lovers
The Wedding in White
AVAILABLE JULY 2011
Heather’s Song
Snow Kisses
To Love and Cherish
Long, Tall and Tempted
(containing “Redbird,” “Paper Husband” and “Christmas Cowboy”)
The Australian
Darling Enemy
Trilby
AVAILABLE AUGUST 2011
Sweet Enemy
Soldier of Fortune
The Tender Stranger
Enamored
After the Music
The Patient Nurse
AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2011
The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss
The Case of the Confirmed Bachelor
The Case of the Missing Secretary
September Morning
Diamond Girl
Eye of the Tiger
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#uf2fc33bb-fa71-593c-9b66-652635711778)
Chapter Two (#u3ccce567-f05d-5249-9606-16253380ddbc)
Chapter Three (#ued1c420b-613b-5ada-acab-9d8d164b9a01)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
The seat was much too low for his tall frame; he had barely enough room without the paraphernalia his companion was shifting in her own seat. He gave her a short glare through deep brown eyes. She flushed, her gaze dropping to her lap as she tucked her huge purse on the other side of her and struggled with her seat belt.
He sighed, watching her. A spinster, he thought unkindly. From her flyaway brown hair to the eyes under those wire-rimmed glasses, from her bulky white sweater down to her long gray skirt and sensible gray shoes, she was definitely someone’s unclaimed treasure. He turned his eyes back to the too-narrow aisle. Damn budget airlines, he thought furiously. If he hadn’t missed the flight he’d booked, he wouldn’t be trying to fit into this sardine can of a seat. Next to Miss Frump here.
He didn’t like women. Never less than now, when he was forced to endure this particular woman’s company for several hundred miles from San Antonio down to Veracruz, Mexico. He glanced sideways again irritably. She was shifting books now. Books, for God’s sake! Didn’t she know what the baggage hold was for?
“You should have reserved a seat for them,” he muttered, glaring at a stack of what was obviously romance novels.
She swallowed, a little intimidated as her eyes swept over a muscular physique, blond hair and a face that looked positively hostile. He had nice hands, though. Very lean and tanned and strong-looking. Scars on the back of one of them…
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve just come from a romance writer’s autographing in San Antonio. These—these are autographed copies I’m taking back for friends after my Mexican holiday, and I was afraid to trust them to the luggage compartment.”
“Priceless gems?” he asked humorlessly, giving them a speaking glare as she tucked the sackful under her seat.
“To some people, yes,” she acknowledged. Her face tautened and she didn’t look at him again. She cast nervous glances out the window while the airplane began to hum and the flight crew began once more the tedious demonstration of the safety equipment. He sighed impatiently and folded his arms across his broad chest, over the rumpled khaki shirt he wore. He leaned his head back, staring blankly at the stewardess. She was a beauty, but he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t been interested in women for quite a few years, except to satisfy an infrequent need. He laughed shortly, glancing at the prim little woman next to him. He wondered if she knew anything about those infrequent needs, and decided that she didn’t. She looked as chaste as a nun, with her nervous eyes and hands. She had nice hands, though, he thought, pursing his lips as he studied them. Long fingers, very graceful, and no polish. They were the hands of a lady.
It irritated him that he’d noticed that. He glared harder at her.
That caught her attention. It was one thing to be impatiently tolerated, but she didn’t like that superior glare. She turned and glared back at him. Something danced briefly in his dark eyes before he turned them back to the stewardess.
So she had fire, he thought. That was unexpected in a prim little nun. He wondered if she was a librarian. Yes, that would explain her fascination with books. And love stories…probably she was starving for a little love of her own. His eyes darkened. Stupid men, he thought, to overlook a feisty little thing like that just because of the glitter and paint that drew them to her more liberated counterparts.
There was murmuring coming from beside him. His sensitive ears caught a few feverish words: “Hail Mary, full of grace…”
It couldn’t be! He turned, his eyes wide and stunned. Was she a nun?
She caught him looking at her and bit her lip self-consciously. “Habit,” she breathed. “My best friend was Catholic. She taught me the rosary and we always recited it together when we flew. Personally,” she whispered, wide-eyed, “I don’t think there’s anyone up there in the cockpit flying this thing!”
His eyebrows levered up. “You don’t?”
She leaned toward him. “Do you ever see anybody in there?” She nodded toward the cockpit. “The door’s always closed. If there isn’t anything to hide, why do they close the door?”
He began to smile reluctantly. “Perhaps they’re concealing a robot pilot?”
“More likely, they’ve got the pilot roped into his seat and they don’t want us knowing it.” She laughed softly, and it changed her face. With the right cosmetics and a haircut that didn’t leave her soft hair unruly and half wild, she might not be bad-looking.
“You’ve been reading too many of those,” he observed, gesturing toward the sack of books.
“Guilty.” She sighed. “I suppose we need dreams sometimes. They keep reality at bay.”
“Reality is better,” he replied. “It has no illusions to spoil.”
“I’d rather have my illusions.”
He studied her openly. Wide, bow-shaped mouth, straight nose, wide-spaced pale gray eyes, heart-shaped face. She had a stubborn chin, too, and he smiled slowly. “You’re a strange little creature,” he said.
“I’m not little,” she returned. “I’m five feet six.”
He shrugged. “I’m over six feet. To me, you’re little.”
“I won’t argue that,” she said with a shy smile.
He chuckled. “Do you have a name?”
“Danielle. Danielle St. Clair. I own a bookstore in Greenville, South Carolina.”
Yes, that fit her image to a T. “I’m called Dutch,” he returned. “But my name is Eric van Meer.”
“Are you Dutch?” she asked.
He nodded. “My parents were.”
“It must be nice, having parents,” she said with unconscious wistfulness. “I was small when I lost both of mine. I don’t even have a cousin.”
His eyes darkened and he turned his face away. “I hope they serve lunch on this flight,” he remarked, changing the subject with brutal abruptness. “I haven’t had anything since last night.”
“You must be starved!” she exclaimed. She began to dig in her bag as the plane jerked and eased toward the runway. “I have a piece of cake left over from the autograph party. I didn’t have time to eat it. Would you like it?” she asked, and offered him a slice of coconut cake.
He smiled slowly. “No. I’ll wait. But thank you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t really need it. I’m trying to lose about twenty pounds.”
His eyes went over her. She was a little overweight. Not fat, just nicely rounded. He almost told her so. But then he remembered what treacherous creatures women were, and bit back the hasty words. He had concerns of his own, and no time for little spinsters. He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting her out.
The flight passed uneventfully, but if he’d hoped to walk off the plane in Veracruz and forget about his seatmate, he was doomed to disappointment. When the plane finally rolled to a stop she stepped out into the aisle, juggling her luggage, and the sack containing her books broke into a thousand pieces.
Dutch tried not to laugh at the horrified expression on her face as he gathered the books quickly together and threw them into her seat, then herded her out of the aisle.
“Oh, Lord,” she moaned, looking as if fate and the Almighty were out to get her.
“Most travelers carry a spare bag inside their suitcases,” he said hopefully as the other passengers filed out.
She looked up at him helplessly, all big gray eyes and shy pleading, and for an instant he actually forgot what he was saying. Her complexion was exquisite, he thought. He would have bet that she hardly ever used, or needed to use, beauty creams.
“Spare bag?” she echoed. “Spare bag!” She grinned. “Yes, of course.” She shifted restlessly.
“Well?” he prompted gently.
She pointed to the overhead rack.
“We’ll wait for everyone else to get off,” he said. “Mine’s up there, too; it’s all right. No big deal.”
She brushed back strands of wild hair and looked haunted. “I’m so organized back home,” she muttered. “Not a stick of furniture out of place. But let me get outside the city limits of Greenville and I can’t stick a fork on a plate without help.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll get you sorted out,” he said. “Where are you booked?”
“Book…oh, the hotel? It’s the Mirador,” she said.
Fate, he thought with a wistful smile. “That’s where my reservation is,” he said.
Her face lit up, and the look in her eyes faintly embarrassed him. She was gazing at him with a mixture of blind trust and hopeful expectation.
“Do you know the hotel? I mean, have you been here before?” she faltered, trying not to pry.
“Several times,” he confessed. “I come down here once or twice a year when I need to get away.” He glanced around. “Let’s go.”
He got down her suitcase and helped her extricate the spare bag from the case with a wry glance at the neat cotton nightgowns and underwear. She blushed wildly at that careless scrutiny, and he turned his attention to her books, packing them neatly and deftly.
She followed him out of the plane with gratitude shining on her face. She could have kissed him for not making fun of her, for helping her out. Imagine, she thought, a man like that actually doing something for her!
“I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” she blurted out, almost running to keep up with him as they headed toward customs and immigration. She was searching desperately for her passport, and missed the indulgent smile that softened his hard features momentarily.
“No trouble at all,” he replied. “Got your passport?”
She sighed, holding it up. “Thank God I did something right,” she moaned. “I’ve never even used it before.”
“First time out of the States?” he asked pleasantly as they waited in line.
“First time out, yes,” she confessed. “I just turned twenty-six. I thought I’d better do something adventurous fast, before I ran out of time.”
He frowned. “My God, twenty-six isn’t old,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “But it isn’t terribly young, either.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were quiet and sad, and she was thinking back to all the long years of loneliness.
“Is there a man?” he asked without quite knowing why.
She laughed with a cynicism that actually surprised him, and the wide eyes that looked up into his seemed ancient. “I have no illusions at all about myself,” she said, and moved ahead with her huge purse.
He stared at her straight back with mingled emotions, confusing emotions. Why should it matter to him that she was alone? He shook his head and glanced around him to break the spell. It was none of his business.
Minutes later she was through customs. She almost waited for her tall companion, but she thought that one way or another, she’d caused him enough trouble. The tour company had provided transfers from the airport to the hotel, but a cab seemed much more inviting and less crowded. She managed to hail one, and with her bag of books and suitcase, bustled herself into it.
“Hotel Mirador,” she said.
The cab driver smiled broadly and gunned the engine as he pulled out into the crowded street. Dani, full of new experiences and delightful sensations, tried to look everywhere at once. The Bay of Campeche was blue and delightful, and there were glimpses of palms and sand and many hotels. Veracruz was founded in the early 1500s and looked as many old cities of that period did, its architecture alternating between the days of piracy and the space age. Dani would have loved to dive straight into some sight-seeing, but she was already uncomfortable in the formidable heat, and she knew it would be foolish to rush out without letting her body acclimate itself to its new environment.
As she gazed at the rows of hotels, the driver pulled into one of them, a two-story white building with graceful arches and a profusion of blooming flowers. It had only been a few minutes’ ride from the airport, but the fare was confusing. And a little intimidating. Twenty dollars, just for several miles. But perhaps it was the custom, she thought, and paid him uncomplainingly.
He grinned broadly again, tipped his hat, and left her at the reservation desk.
She gave the clerk her name and waited with bated breath until her reservation was found. Finally, she had a room. Everything would be all right.
The room was nice. It overlooked the city, unfortunately, not the beautiful bay. But she hadn’t expected much for the wonderfully low rates that had come with the package tour. She took off her sweater, amazed that it had felt so comfortable back in the States where it was early spring. It was much too heavy here, where the temperature was blazing hot even with the air-conditioning turned up. She stared out the window at the city. Mexico. It was like a dream come true. She’d scrimped and saved for two years to afford this trip. Even so, she’d had to come during the off-season, which was her busiest time back home. She’d left her friend Harriett Gaynor watching the bookstore in her absence. Go, Harriett had coaxed. Live a little.
She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Live a little, ha! What a pity she hadn’t looked like that gorgeous stewardess on the plane. Perhaps then the blond giant would have given her a second glance, or something besides the reluctant pity she’d read in his dark eyes.
She turned away from her reflection and began to unpack her suitcase. There was no use kidding herself that he’d helped her for any reason other than expediency. He could hardly walk right over her precious books. With a sigh she drew out her blouses and hung them up.
Chapter Two
By late afternoon Dani felt up to some exploring, and she wandered the ancient streets with the excitement of a child. She’d changed into blue jeans and a loose, light sweatshirt and thongs, looking as much like a tourist as the other strangers in port. Her body was still adjusting to the heat, but the sweatshirt was simply a necessity. She couldn’t bear to wear form-fitting T-shirts in public. They called too much attention to her ample bustline.
She found the stalls along the waterfront particularly fascinating, and paused long enough to buy herself a sterling silver cross with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Her pidgin Spanish seemed adequate, because most of the vendors spoke a little English. Everywhere there were colorful things to see—beautiful serapes in vivid rainbow shades, ponchos, hats, straw bags and animals and sea shells. And the architecture of the old buildings near the docks fascinated her. She stared out over the bay and daydreamed about the days of pirate ships and adventure, and suddenly a picture of the big blond man flashed into her mind. Yes, he would have made a good pirate. What was it that Dutch had called pirates—freebooters? She could even picture him with a cutlass. She smiled at her own fantasy and moved on down the pier to watch some men unloading a big freighter. She’d never been around ships very much. Greenville was an inland city, far from the ocean. Mountains and rolling, unspoiled countryside were much more familiar to Dani than ships were. But she liked watching them. Lost in her daydreams, she didn’t realize just how long she’d been standing there, staring. Or that her interest might seem more than casual.
One of the men on the dock began watching her, and with a feeling of uneasiness she moved back into the crowd of tourists. She didn’t want trouble, and a woman alone could get into a sticky situation.
Dusk was settling over the sleepy city of Veracruz, and the man was still watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him moving toward her. Oh, Lord, she thought miserably, now what do I do? She didn’t see a policeman anywhere, and most of the remaining tourists were older people who wouldn’t want to be dragged into someone else’s problems. Dani groaned inwardly as she clutched her bag and started walking quickly toward the hotel. The crowd dispersed still farther. Now she was alone and still the footsteps sounded behind her. Her heart began to race. What if he meant to rob her? Good heavens, what if he thought she was looking for a man?
She quickened her steps and darted around a corner just as a tall form loomed up in front of her. She jerked to a stop and almost screamed before she noticed the color of his hair in the fiery sunset.
“Oh,” she said weakly, one hand clutching her sweatshirt.
Dutch stared at her coolly, a cigarette in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was still wearing the khaki safari suit he’d worn on the plane, but he looked fresh and unruffled. She found herself wondering if anything could rattle him. He had an odd kind of self-confidence, as if he’d tested himself to the very limits and knew himself as few men ever did.
He glanced over her shoulder, seeming to take in the situation in one quick glance. His eyes were very dark when they met hers again. “You’ll enjoy your holiday more if you keep out of this part of town after dark,” he told her pleasantly enough but with authority in his tone. “You’ve picked up an admirer.”
“Yes, I know, I…” She started to glance over her shoulder, but he shook his head.
“Don’t. He’ll think you’re encouraging him.” He laughed shortly. “He’s fifty and bald,” he added. “But if you purposely went down to the docks looking for a man, you might give him a wink and make his day.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but the remark hurt her anyway. Clearly, he didn’t think she was likely to attract a man like himself.
“It was more a case of forgetting where I was, if you want the truth. I’ll know better next time. Excuse me,” she said quietly, and walked past him.
He watched her go, furious with her for letting the taunt cut her, more furious with himself for not realizing that it would. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath and started after her.
But she’d had quite enough. She quickened her pace, darting into the hotel and up the staircase to the second floor instead of waiting for an elevator. She made it into her room and locked the door. Although why she should have bothered was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t the kind of man who chased bespectacled booksellers, she told herself coldly.
She didn’t bother to go downstairs for dinner that evening. Probably he wouldn’t have come near her, but she was too embarrassed to chance it. She ordered from room service, and enjoyed a seafood supper in privacy.
The next morning she went down to breakfast, too proud to let him think she was avoiding him. And sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at a window table with a newspaper. He looked good, she thought, even in nothing more unusual than white slacks and a red-and-white half-unbuttoned shirt. Just like a tourist. As if he felt her eyes on him, he lifted his gaze from the paper and caught her staring. She blushed, but he merely smiled and returned his eyes to his reading. She hardly knew what she was eating after that, and she couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of one eye.
He was much too sophisticated for a little country mouse, Dani told herself sternly. She’d just have to keep well away from him. He had no interest in her, despite her helpless fascination with him. He was world-weary and cynical, and looked as if she amused him…nothing more.
She made up her mind to enjoy the rest of her four-day holiday, and went to her room, where she got out a one-piece black bathing suit to wear to the beach. She pinned her irritating hair out of the way and stared at her reflection. What ravishing good looks, she thought sarcastically. No wonder he wasn’t interested. Looking the way she did, it was unlikely that even a shark would be tempted.
Go to Mexico, have fun, her friend Harriett Gaynor had said. Sparkle! Attract men! Dani sighed miserably. Back home it was spring and things were beginning to bloom, and books were selling well—especially romances. And here Dani was, with nothing changed at all except her surroundings. Alone and unloved and unwanted, as usual. She glared at herself and impulsively she called the beauty salon downstairs and made an appointment to have her hair cut.
They had a cancellation, and could take her immediately. Several minutes later she sat watching the unruly locks of hair being neatly sheared off, leaving her delicate features framed by a simple, wavy short cut that curled toward her wide eyes and gave her an impish look. She grinned at herself, pleased, and after paying the girl at the counter, she danced back upstairs and put on her bathing suit. She even added some of the makeup she never used, and perfume. The result wasn’t beauty-queen glamour, but it was a definite improvement.
Then she stared at her bodice ruefully. Well, there wouldn’t be any miracle to correct this problem, she told herself, and pulled on a beach wrap. It was colorful, tinted with shades of lavender, and it concealed very well. She got the beach bag she’d bought in the hotel lobby and stuffed suntan lotion and her beach towel into it. Then, with her prescription sunglasses firmly over her eyes, she set off for the beach.
It was glorious. Beach and sun and the lazy rhythm of the water all combined to relax her. She stretched, loving the beauty around her, the history of this ancient port. She wondered what the first explorers would have thought of the tourist attraction their old stomping grounds made.
Feeling as if someone were staring at her, she opened her eyes and twisted her head just a little. She saw Dutch wandering along the beach, cigarette in hand, blond head shining like white gold in the sun. He was darkly tanned, shirtless, and her fascinated eyes clung to him helplessly. He wasn’t a hairy man, but there was a wedge of curling dark blond hair over the darkly tanned muscles of his chest and stomach. His legs were feathered with it, too: long, powerful legs in cutoff denim shorts, and he wore thongs, as most of the people on the beach did, to protect against unexpected objects in the sand.
She turned her head away so that she didn’t have to see him. He was a sensuous man, devastating to a woman who knew next to nothing about the male sex. He had to be aware of her naivete, and it probably amused him, she thought bitterly.
He watched her head turn, and irritation flashed in his dark eyes. Why was she always gazing at him with that helpless-child longing? She disturbed him. His eyes narrowed. New haircut, wasn’t it? The haircut suited her, but why in hell was she wrapped up like a newly caught fish? He’d yet to see her in anything that didn’t cover her from neck to waist. He frowned. Probably she was flat-chested and didn’t want to call attention to it. But didn’t she realize that her attempts at camouflage were only pointing out her shortcoming?
He glowered at her. Long legs, nice legs, he mused, narrowing his eyes as he studied the relaxed body on the giant beach towel. Nice hips, too. Flat, very smooth lines. Tiny waist. But then there was the coverup. She’d said she needed to lose weight, but he couldn’t imagine where. She looked perfect to him.
She was just a woman, he thought, pulling himself up. Just another faithless flirt, out for what she could get. Would he never learn? Hadn’t he paid for his one great love affair already? Love affair, he thought bitterly. Never that. An infatuation that had cost him everything he held dear. His home, his future, the savings his parents had sacrificed to give him…
He tore his eyes away and turned them seaward. Sometimes it got the better of him. It had no part of the present. In fact, neither did Miss Frump over there.
He turned, blatantly staring at her, a tiny smile playing around his mouth. She was a different species of woman, unfamiliar to him. He found he was curious about her, about what made her tick.
He moved forward slowly, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She felt her pulse exploding as he came closer. No, she pleaded silently, closing her eyes. Please, go away. Don’t encourage me. Don’t come near me. You make me vulnerable, and that’s the one thing I mustn’t be.
“You won’t get much sun in that,” he remarked, indicating the top as he plopped down beside her. He leaned on an elbow, stretched full-length beside her, and she could feel the heat of him, smell the cologne that clung to him.
“I don’t want to burn,” she said in a strangled tone.
“Still angry about what I said last night?” he asked on a smile.
“A little, yes,” she said honestly.
He leaned over and tugged her sunglasses away from her eyes so that they were naked and vulnerable. He was worldly and it showed, and so did her fear of him.
“I didn’t mean to ridicule you. I’m not used to women,” he said bluntly. “I’ve lived a long time without them.”
“And you don’t like them, either,” she said perceptively.
He scowled briefly, letting his eyes drop to her mouth. “Occasionally. In bed.” He chuckled softly at her telltale color. “Don’t tell me I embarrass you? Not considering the type of reading material you carry around with you. Surely every detail is there in black and white.”
“Not the way you’re thinking,” she protested.
“Little Southern lady,” he murmured, watching her. She had a softness that he wasn’t used to, a vulnerability. But there was steel under it. He sensed a spirit as strong as his own beneath shyness. “Do I frighten you?”
“Yes. I…don’t have much to do with men,” she said quietly. “And I’m not very worldly.”
“Are you always that honest?” he asked absently as he studied her nose. There were a few scattered freckles on its bridge.
“I don’t like being lied to,” she said. “So I try very hard not to lie to other people.”
“The golden rule?” He fingered a short strand of her brown hair, noticing the way it shone in the sunlight, as sleek as mink, silky in his hand. “I like your haircut.”
“It was hot having it long…” She faltered. She wasn’t used to being touched, and there was something magnetic about this man. It was unsettling to have so much vibrant masculinity so close that she could have run her hands over his body. He made her feel things she hadn’t experienced since her teens, innocent longings that made her tense with mingled fear and need.
“Why are you wearing this?” he asked, and his hand went to the buttons of her shapeless over-blouse. “Do you really need it?”
She could hardly swallow. He had her so rattled, she didn’t know her name. “I…no, but…” she began.
“Then take it off,” he said quietly. “I want to see what you look like.”
There had been a similar passage in the latest book by her favorite author. She’d read it and gotten breathless. But this was real, and the look in his dark eyes made her tremble. She forgot why she was wearing the wrap and watched his hard face as he eased the buttons skillfully out of their holes and finally drew the garment from around her body.
His breath caught audibly. He seemed to stop breathing as he looked down on what he’d uncovered. “My God,” he whispered.
She was blushing again, feeling like a nervous adolescent.
“Why?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She shifted restlessly. “Well, I’m…I feel…men stare,” she finished miserably.
“My God, of course they stare! You’re exquisite!”
She’d never heard it put that way. She searched his eyes, looking for ridicule, but there was none. He was staring again, and she found that a part of her she didn’t recognize liked the way he was looking at her.
“Is that why you wear bulky tops all the time?” he persisted gently.
She sighed. “Men seem to think that women who are…well-endowed have loose morals. It’s embarrassing to be stared at.”
“I thought you were flat-chested,” he mused, laughing.
“Well, no, I’m not,” she managed. “I guess I did look rather odd.”
He smiled down at her. “Leave it off,” he said with a last lingering scrutiny before he stretched out on his back. “I’ll fend off unwanted admirers for you.”
She was immediately flattered. And nervous. Would he expect any privileges for that protection? She stared at his relaxed body uneasily.
“No strings,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I want rest, not a wild, hot affair.”
She sighed. “Just as well,” she said ruefully. “I wouldn’t know how to have one.”
“Are you a virgin?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Unusual these days.”
“I believe in happily-ever-after.”
“Yes, I could tell by your reading material,” he said with a lazy smile. He stretched, and powerful muscles rippled all up and down his tanned body. Her gaze was drawn to it, held by it.
He opened his eyes and watched her, oddly touched by the rapt look on her young face. He’d have bet a year’s earnings that she’d never been touched even in the most innocent way. He found himself wondering what she might be like in passion, whether those pale eyes would glow, whether her body would relax and trust his. He frowned slightly. He’d never taken time with a woman, not since that she-wolf. These days it was all quickly over and forgotten. But slow, tender wooing was something he could still remember. And suddenly he felt a need for it. To touch this silky creature next to him and teach her how to love. How to touch. The thought of her long fingers on him caused a sudden and shocking reaction in his body.
He turned over onto his stomach, half-dazed with the unexpected hunger. Was she a witch? He studied her. Did she know what had happened to him? No, he decided, if she did, it would be highly visible in those virginal cheeks. She probably didn’t even know what happened to men at all. He smiled slowly at the searching wonder in her eyes.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she asked softly.
“Do you really want to know?” he murmured dryly.
She rolled over onto her stomach as well, and propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him, at the hard lines of his face, the faint scarring on one cheek. She felt drawn to him physically, and couldn’t understand why it seemed so natural to lie beside him and look at him.
His eyes were fixed on a sudden parting of fabric that gave a tantalizing view of her generous breasts; and when she started to move, he reached up and held her still.
“You won’t get pregnant if I look at you,” he whispered.
“You’re a horrible man,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, but I’m much safer than any one of these wily Latins,” he told her. “The lesser of two evils, you might say. I won’t seduce you.”
“As if any man would want to.” She laughed, and started to move away again. This time he let her, looming over her as she lay back, with his forearms beside her head and his eyes boring into hers at close range.
“If we weren’t on a public beach, I’d give you a crash course in arousal, doubting Thomasina,” he murmured. “Something just happened to me that shocked me to the back teeth, and it’s your fault.”
Her eyes widened as her mind tried to convince her that she hadn’t heard him make such a blatant statement.
“I see you understand me,” he said with a lazy smile. “What’s wrong, Southern belle, have you led such a sheltered life?”
She swallowed. “Yes.” She studied his hard face. “Yours hasn’t been sheltered.”
“That’s right,” he told her. “I could turn your hair white with the story of my life. Especially,” he added deliberately, unblinkingly, “the part of it that concerns women.”
Her eyes dilated as they held his. “You…aren’t a romantic.”
He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said quietly. “Occasionally I need a woman, the oblivion of sex. But that’s all it ever is. Sex, with no illusions.”
Her eyes searched his, reading embarrassing things in them. “There’s a reason,” she said softly, knowingly.
He nodded. “I was twenty-four. She was twenty-eight, wildly experienced, and as beautiful as a goddess. She seduced me on the deck of a yacht, and after that I’d have died for her. But she was expensive, and I was besotted, and eventually I sold everything I had to buy her loyalty.” His eyes darkened, went cold with memory and rage as Dani watched. “I’d helped buy my parents a small home for their retirement with money I…earned,” he added, not mentioning how he’d earned the money. “And I even mortgaged that. The bank foreclosed. My father, who’d put his life savings into his part of the house, died of a heart attack soon afterward. My mother blamed me for it, for taking away the thing he’d worked all his life for. She died six months later.”
He’d picked up a handful of sand and was letting it fall slowly onto the beach while she stared at his handsome profile and knew somehow that he’d never told this story to another living soul.
“And the woman?” she asked gently.
The sand made a small sound, and his palm flattened on it, crushing it. “She found another chump…” He glanced at Dani with a cold laugh. “One with more money.”
“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately. “I can understand that it would have made you bitter. But—”
“But all women aren’t cold-hearted cheats?” he finished for her, glaring. “Aren’t they?”
“The one boyfriend I ever had was two-timing me with another girl,” she said.
“What a blazing affair it must have been,” he said with cold sarcasm.
She searched his face, seeing beneath the anger to the pain. “I loved him,” she said with a gentle smile. “But he was more interested in physical satisfaction than undying devotion.”
“Most men are,” he said curtly.
“I suppose so.” She sighed. She rolled over onto her back and stretched. “I’ve decided that I like being alone, anyway. It’s a lot safer.”
He eased onto his side, watching her. “You disturb me,” he said after a minute.
“Why? Because I’m not experienced?” she asked.
He nodded. “My world doesn’t cater to inexperience. You’re something of a curiosity to me.”
“Yes. So are you, to me,” she confessed, studying him blatantly.
He brushed the hair away from her face with strong, warm hands, callused hands that felt as if he’d used them in hard work. She liked that roughness against her soft skin. It made her tingle and ache with pleasure. He looked down at the bodice of the bathing suit, watching her reaction. The material was thin and the hard tips of her breasts were as evident as her quickened breathing.
She started to move her arms, to cover herself, but he caught her eyes and shook his head.
“That’s as natural as breathing,” he said in a voice that barely carried above the sound of the surf. “It’s very flattering. Don’t be ashamed of it.”
“I was raised by a maiden aunt,” she told him. “She never married, and I was taught that—”
He pressed his thumb over her mouth, a delicious contact that made her want to bite it gently. “I can imagine what you were taught.” He let his dark gaze drop to her mouth and studied it slowly as he touched it, watching it tremble and part. “I like your mouth, Dani. I’d like to take it with mine.”
The thought was exciting, wildly exciting. Her gaze went involuntarily to his hard, chiseled mouth. His upper lip was thin, the bottom one wide and sensuous. She would bet he’d forgotten more about kissing than she’d ever learned.
“Have you been kissed very much?” he asked.
“Once or twice,” she said lightly, trying to joke.
“French kisses?” he provoked.
Her body was going crazy. She could feel her heart trying to escape her chest, and her breathing was audible. It got even worse when his hard fingers left her mouth to run down the side of her neck, across her collarbone and, incredibly, onto the swell of her breast above the swimsuit.
Her gasp whispered against his lips and he smiled. “Shocking, isn’t it?” he murmured, watching her eyes dilate, her face flush as his fingers lazily slid under the strap. His body shielded her from other sunbathers, and there was no one in front of them. “No one can see us,” he whispered reassuringly. He laughed softly, wickedly, as his fingers slid under the fabric with a lazy teasing pressure that was more provocative than frightening. Her body reacted wildly to being teased, and she knew that he could see what was happening. He was much too sophisticated not to know exactly what she was feeling.
“Skin like warm silk,” he breathed, his mouth poised just above hers while his fingers brushed her like whispers of sensation, and she tensed and trembled as the pleasure began to grow.
She wanted more. She wanted him to touch the hard, aching tip of her breasts; she wanted to watch him do it, to see him possess her with that callused, expert hand. Her face even told him so.
His eyes were getting darker now, and the indulgent smile was vanishing as well. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he said under his breath, “I’m going to slide my hand completely over you and to hell with spectators.”
Her lips parted. She felt reckless and abandoned and vulnerable. Four days in which to store a lifetime of memories, she thought bitterly. Every one of her friends was married, every one of them had some happiness. But not Dani. Not ever. And now this man, who could have had any woman on the beach, was playing with her, amusing himself, because he saw how vulnerable she was…and she was letting him.
Her eyes clouded, and something deep inside the blond man stirred helplessly when he saw it.
“No,” he whispered with aching tenderness. “Don’t. I’m not playing.”
She bit her lower lip to stop sudden tears. He saw so much, for a stranger. “Yes, you are,” she protested. “You—”
His mouth lowered onto hers, just enough to let her lips experience its texture before he withdrew it. His hand, resting warmly under the strap of her bathing suit, began to move.
Her body trembled, and he whispered, “Hush,” brushing his mouth tenderly over the bridge of her nose. “No one can see what I’m going to do to you.” His lips went to her eyes, brushing them tenderly closed. His long fingers nudged under the fabric, farther and farther.
Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers clinging, her breath sighing out unsteadily against his tormenting mouth. “Eric,” she whispered experimentally.
He hesitated for an instant, lifting his blond head. He looked down into eyes that were full of new sensations, wide and soft and hazy. His free hand eased to the back of her neck, stroking it softly. He held her gaze as his hand moved slowly down, and then up, and she felt the warm roughness of his palm against the hard point of her breast.
“Is this the first time?” he whispered.
“Can’t you…tell?” she whispered back brokenly. Her body moved helplessly, so that she could experience every texture of his hand where it rested, and an odd, tearful smile touched her mouth. “Thank you. Thank…”
He couldn’t bear it. The gratitude hurt him. He moved his hand back up to her face and kissed her mouth softly, with a tenderness he hadn’t shown any woman since he was little more than a boy.
“You speak as if you think it’s a hardship for me just to touch you,” he said quietly. “If you knew more about men, you might realize that I’m as aroused by you as you are by me.”
“Me?” she repeated, her eyes wide and bright and full of magic.
“You, you voluptuous, exciting little virgin,” he said, his voice rough with laughter. “I ache all over.”
She began to smile, and his attention was caught by the sunniness of it, by the sudden beauty of her face. And he’d thought her drab and dull. How odd. He sensed a deeply buried sensuality in that voluptuous body, and he wanted it.
He propped himself up on an elbow, his free hand still tugging absently at her short hair.
She gave her eyes the freedom to roam that powerful body, talking in its bronzed sensuousness, the light covering of dark blond hair on his chest, his rippling stomach muscles, his strongly muscled thighs. He even had nice feet. And his legs weren’t pale, as most American men’s were. They were broad and dark, and looked good.
“I like your legs, too,” he murmured.
She glanced back up. “Do you mind?” she asked gently. “I know I’m gawking like a schoolgirl.”
“You’re very honest, aren’t you?” he remarked for the second time that day. “It’s vaguely disconcerting. No, I don’t mind if you look at me. Except that it—”
“It…?” she persisted.
“Arouses me,” he said frankly.
“Just to be looked at?” she asked, fascinated.
He smiled a little. “Maybe it’s my age,” he said with a shrug. “You have very expressive eyes, did you know? They tell me everything you’re thinking.”
“Do they really?” She laughed, looking up at him. “What am I thinking now?” she asked, her mind carefully blank.
He pursed his lips and smiled slowly, and she felt a deep, slow ache in her body that was intensified when she looked at the broad sweep of his chest.
“That you’d like to have dinner with me,” he hedged. “How about it?”
“Yes. I’d like to. If you won’t seduce me for dessert,” she added.
He sighed softly. “I’d like to have you,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t quite take you in my stride, either. A virgin would be something of a rarity for me. Most of my one-night stands have been the exact opposite of virgins.”
She tried not to blush, but her cheeks betrayed her.
He searched her eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said suddenly. “And with you, it would have to be lovemaking, not sex.”
Her body felt boneless as he searched her eyes, and there was a flash of something like tenderness in the look he gave her. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why?”
She dropped her eyes to his chest. “Because I think…I’d have liked you…for a lover.”
“Yes, I think I’d have liked you for one,” he agreed softly. He tilted her face back to his and searched her eyes. “Wrong time, wrong place. We should have met ten years ago.”
She smiled ruefully. “You wouldn’t have liked me at sixteen,” she said. “I really was twenty pounds overweight.”
He drew in a slow breath. “And I was in the early days of some pretty raw living,” he agreed. “What a pity.” He lifted her hand and kissed the soft palm, watching her face color with pleasure. “How long will you be here?”
“Four days,” she said miserably.
His teeth bit into the soft flesh. “Make some memories with me,” he whispered.
“That will only make it worse…” she began.
“We’ll keep it light,” he said. “I won’t seduce you.”
“By tomorrow I’ll probably beg you to,” she said unhappily, studying him with helpless longing. “I’m frighteningly vulnerable with you.”
His eyes went along her body and he felt himself going rigid with desire. “Yes. I’m pretty vulnerable myself.”
She had to force her eyes to stay on his face, and he smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what she was thinking.
He laughed and she rolled over onto her stomach again.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured as he stretched out beside her. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t sweat it.”
She turned her eyes toward his and searched them, and then she smiled. “You’re so handsome,” she whispered helplessly.
“You’re a knockout yourself,” he said. “Flat-chested, hell.” He laughed. “You’re dynamite!”
“Thank you.”
He searched her face appreciatively. “So innocent. J.D. would laugh himself sick at me.”
“J.D.?” she asked curiously.
“An old friend.” He grinned. “Close your eyes and let’s soak up some sun. Later, I’ll take you sight-seeing.” His eyes closed and then opened. “Not to the docks,” he added, and closed them again.
She closed her own eyes with a smile. Miracles, she thought wistfully, did occasionally happen to lonely spinsters. These were going to be the four most beautiful days of her entire life. She wouldn’t take a second of them for granted, starting now.
Chapter Three
Dani was glad she’d stopped by the little boutique in the basement of the hotel on her way up to change for dinner. She’d bought a white Mexican dress with an elastic neckline and lots of ruffles, and when she put it on she looked slightly mysterious, with her brown hair and gray eyes and creamy complexion. Her wire-rimmed glasses weren’t so spiffy, she admitted, but they did make her eyes look bigger than they were. And she wasn’t really fat, she told herself, smiling at her reflection. It was mostly what was on top, and the dress even minimized that. She got her small evening bag and went downstairs to meet Dutch in the lobby.
He was wearing white slacks with a white shirt and blue blazer, and he rose lazily to his feet from a plush sofa, leaving his evening paper there as he joined her.
“Nice,” he said, taking her arm. “What do you fancy? Mexican, Chinese, Italian, or a steak?”
“I like steak,” she murmured.
“So do I.” He guided her along the hall past the family restaurant and into the very exclusive Captain’s Quarters next door. White-coated waiters in white gloves were everywhere, and Dani glanced up at Dutch apprehensively as he gave the hostess his name.
“What is it?” he asked softly, guiding her along behind the well-dressed young woman with the menus.
“It’s so expensive,” she began, worried.
His face brightened, and he smiled. “Do you mind washing dishes afterward?” he whispered mischievously.
She laughed up at him. “Not if you’ll dry,” she promised.
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re a nice girl.”
“Just the kind your mother warned you about, so look out,” she told him.
He glanced down at her. “No. My mother would have liked you. She was spirited, too.”
She smiled shyly, aware of envious eyes following them along the way. He was so handsome, she thought, peeking up at him. Muscular, graceful, and with the face of a Greek statue, male perfection in the finest sense. An artist would have been enchanted with him as a subject.
The hostess left them at their table, near the window, and Dutch seated Dani with a curious frown.
“What were you thinking about so solemnly just now?” he asked as he eased his tall form into the chair across from her.
“That you’d delight an artist,” she said simply. “You’re very elegant.”
He took a slow breath. “Lady, you’re bad for my ego.”
“Surely you look in the mirror from time to time?” she asked. “I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help it.”
“Yes, I have the same problem,” he murmured, and his eyes were fixed on her.
She was glad she hadn’t yielded to the temptation to pull the elastic neck of her dress down around her shoulders. It was hard enough to bear that dark stare as it was.
“Shall I order for you, or are you liberated?” he asked after she’d studied the menu.
“I kind of like it the old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind,” she confessed. “I’m liberated enough to know I look better in a skirt than in a pair of pants.”
He chuckled. “Do you?”
“Well, you’d look pretty silly in a dress,” she came back.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“Steak and a salad, and coffee to drink.”
He looked at her with a dry smile, and when the waiter came, he gave a double order.
“Yes,” he told her, “I like coffee, too.”
“You seem very traveled,” she remarked, pleating her napkin.
“I am.” He leaned back in his chair to study her. “And you’ve never been out of the States.”
“I’ve been nowhere—until now.” She smiled at the napkin. “Done nothing except work. I thought about changing, but I never had the courage to do it.”
“It takes courage, to break out of a mold,” he said. He pulled the ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m doing it anyway. This is one habit I don’t intend to break.”
“‘I’ll die of something someday,’” she quoted. “There are lots of other clichés, but I think that one’s dandy.”
He only laughed. “Smoking is the least dangerous thing I do.”
“What do you do?” she asked, curious.
He thought about that for a moment, and pursed his lips as he wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. She’d probably be out of that chair and out of his life so fast…He frowned. He didn’t like that idea.
“I’m in the military,” he said finally. “In a sense.”
“Oh. On active duty?” she continued, feeling her way because he seemed reluctant to elaborate.
“No. Inactive, at the moment.” He watched her through a veil of smoke from his cigarette.
“Is it dangerous, what you do?”
“Yes.”
“I feel like a panelist on ‘What’s My Line?’” she said unexpectedly, and grinned when he burst out laughing.
“Maybe you’re a double agent,” she supposed. “A spy.”
“I’m too tall,” he returned. “Agents are supposed to be under five feet tall so that they can hide in shrubbery.”
She stared at him until she realized he was joking, and she laughed.
“Your eyes laugh when you do,” he said absently. “Are you always this sunny?”
“Most of the time,” she confessed. She pushed her glasses back as they threatened to slide down her nose. “I have my bad days, too, like everyone else, but I try to leave them at home.”
“You could get contact lenses,” he remarked as he noticed her efforts to keep her glasses on her nose.
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Diana Palmer
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: She′d met Eric Van Meer entirely by chance during an unforgettable vacation in Mexico, and with reckless abandon, she′d agreed to marry the mysterious blond stranger. Dani St.Clair, prim southern bookseller, had experienced a passion that exceeded even those in her cherished romantic novels–until a hijacked plane and a daring rescue by Eric revealed his true nature and dangerous work.He said he needed freedom, yet he′d married her. He said he hated women, yet he tenderly conquered her heart. Was it possible to meet a soldier of fortune on the battleground of passion and win the war of love?