Jeopardy (8 page)

She slammed the door after him, not knowing whether he had left her with a threat or a promise and uncertain which she would prefer.

Five

That night Angelica dreamt, but in the morning she could only remember snatches of the dream— a sweet voice saying, “be good,” the same voice saying, “my golden-haired boy."

Her dreams had begun to leave her with an eerie feeling, and she didn’t know why. Last night’s caller had said blond-haired man. Had her brain in some way short-circuited the phrase and come up with golden-haired boy? She didn’t even know why the dream was still on her mind. She had certainly never been bothered before by the contents of her dreams. It was silly when she stopped to think about it. Still . . .

She shook off the sensation that something was wrong and had a large slice of the Chocolate Angelica for breakfast. Afterward, she froze the rest of the gateau, phoned her father to say goodbye, threw her luggage into the car, and headed north out of Boston.

She had been driving less than an hour when she noticed the sleek, shiny black Corvette in her rearview mirror that was following her,
had
been following her, she realized now, almost from the first. Amarillo, of course.

Her first impulse was to jam the accelerator to the floorboard and get away from him, but it was an impulse quickly squelched. The last thing she needed was another speeding ticket on her already tainted record. Besides, common sense told her she would never be able to out-drive or out-speed Amarillo’s car. So she set her speedometer at a safe four and a half miles over the speed limit and drove on.

The signs and scenery whizzed by, and it soon became obvious to her that although she had managed to keep Amarillo out of her car, she couldn’t keep him out of her thoughts.

In his words, they
ignited
whenever they were together. He kept asking her questions about their situation, wanting to know what she thought. But if he had an explanation or an opinion as to why or even as to what they should do about it, he was keeping it to himself.

She might as well admit it to herself: she had relished each moment of their incredible lovemaking. Only in the aftermath had she found herself with unsettled emotions and unsatisfied questions. And the whole thing was making her crazy.

As a young girl she had loved roller coasters. But as a twenty-seven-year-old woman Involved in some sort of crazy relationship with an infuriatingly enigmatic man, she had discovered she hated the roller coaster of emotions she was on.

She had to get off. She had to stay away from the man who had put her on it.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and grimaced. The black car still held its position a reasonable distance behind her, but there was something very predatory about it, with its hun-gry-for-speed lines and look. It wasn’t crowding her, but like a true predator, it kept pursuing.

When she turned her car onto the long drive that wound up to SwanSea, she was relieved. Between her mental anguishing and the constant view of the black car in the mirror she was ready for the trip to be over.

As always, her first sight of the great house touched a cord in her. It wasn’t the immensity of SwanSea that impressed her, nor the staggering wealth it represented. Rather, it was the “soul” of the house: the strength and indomitability she sensed woven through the stone, mortar, and wood of it. And most of all the sensation that this was a place she belonged. She never tired of her visits and always regretted their end.

Through the windshield she saw the tall, silver-haired manager, Winston Lawrence, standing by the drive, waiting for her. She smiled and waved.

“How do you do it, Mr. Lawrence?" she asked as soon as she had stopped the car and slid out. “You’re always here waiting for me when I arrive, yet usually I notify you only of the date of my arrival. How do you know the exact moment when I will be coming up the drive?”

He smiled warmly. “You wouldn’t want me to give away all my secrets, would you? Otherwise I could be replaced.”

She laughed, enjoying the sound of his crisp British accent. “No one could ever replace you. Not in a million years. In fact, the whole family would fight to the death any hotel or resort that tried to get you away from us.”

His smile broadened with pleasure. “I can assure you death won’t be necessary. I have no intention of leaving. Once a person has managed SwanSea, everything else seems second-rate.” As he heard another car approaching, he darted a glance down the drive. “Is that Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” she said, thinking with disgust that the man and his car had similar purring growls. She strolled around her car and opened the trunk. Peter, one of the bellmen who had worked at SwanSea since its opening, came running up to get her luggage. “Hello, Peter, how have you been?”

“Fine, Miss DiFrenza. It’s great to have you back with us.”

“It’s great to be back,” she said with sincerity. Behind her she heard Mr. Lawrence say, “Mr. Smith, what an unexpected surprise. We didn’t anticipate your arrival. ”

“I’m sorry for not calling ahead,” Amarillo drawled, “but the trip was a last-minute decision. Do you think you can find room for me?”

Mr. Lawrence chuckled. “No apologies are necessary. I hope you know you are always welcome. And as a matter of fact, you and Miss DiFrenza will be the only two on the fourth floor. You can keep each other company, and you can have any room you wish, except for the one designated as hers, of course.”

Amarillo smiled, and she felt its effect as a tingling on her skin.

“My usual room will be fine," he said.

Angelica decided to take it easy for the rest of the day and see if she couldn’t ease the strain she had begun to notice in herself. She walked for a while, visiting all her favorite places, then took a swim. Later she caught sight of Amarillo when she strayed too near the stables. She quickly corrected that mistake by changing direction.

She was feeling quite relaxed that evening around ten when she answered the door and found Amarillo.

“You didn’t come down to dinner,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” In a glance she took in the western cut of his dark dinner jacket and pants. He exuded enough raw, earthy sensuality for ten men, she thought sourly, and tightened the belt of the short violet silk robe that matched the chemise beneath. “I didn’t feel like dressing for dinner, that’s all.”

Without invitation he stepped into the large room and pushed the door closed. The room had been done in dark woods and different textures of white fabrics. Intricately worked lace dripped over the bed’s canopy and down its sides. A matching lace coverlet spread across the bed. A pair of red, slingback, high-heeled shoes lay on their sides by the white marble fireplace where a fire burned. Her perfumed scent seemed to hang in the air. The room reeked of her own particular brand of femininity and sensuality. His expression darkened. “Did you have dinner sent up?” 

“Yes. Amarillo, do you think it’s a good idea for you to be here?”

His mouth quirked. "Hell, no.”

“I don’t either.”

“So, are you going to ask me to leave?”

The fact that it sounded like a challenge wasn’t the reason she hesitated. Rather, she had a far more basic reason. Her skin had warmed as soon as she had opened the door and seen him, yet she was only just now noticing it. That meant her body was getting used to his effect on her. It was a highly disturbing thought. “Look, there’s no need to be worried about me. I’m perfectly safe here.”

“Maybe.” His eyes were hooded, their expression veiled. “At any rate, I didn’t come here to discuss the caller. I’m hoping it will be a while before he realizes you’ve left town. Your luggage wasn’t in view when you pulled out of your driveway this morning. If he was watching, I’m sure he thought you went to work as usual. Of course if he’s smart, he’ll figure out where you are, but you’ve bought yourself some time. No one followed you here but me.” He tugged at his tie until it came loose, unbuttoned several top buttons, then chose a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace.

It was her own fault, she concluded. She never answered his question directly, never told him to leave. She walked around to the front of the couch and perched on the arm. “Should I ask why you are here?” Reluctant humor edged her voice.

“To try to have a normal talk that doesn’t end In lovemaking—remember?—like I said we would.”
She shouldn’t have asked.

“And to tell you something.”

And she probably shouldn’t ask this either. “What’s that?”

His gaze skimmed over her. “I like you in violet. I always have.”

Shock held her silent for a moment. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

He nodded. “I’ve always liked you in violet.”

 She gave a little laugh. “Now that I think about it, you once told me you liked me in this color, didn’t you? I must have been around sixteen.”

 “You had just turned sixteen, and the dress you were wearing at the time was violet and had sprigs of purple and white flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem. It was your junior prom dress.”

She grinned. “A couple of months later Elena and I looked in my closet and found only violet-colored clothes.”

Her grin slowly faded as she thought of the leather suit she had worn to dinner with-him, the sleep set she had on now, the cotton knit sweater she had packed, even the ballgown she had had made, plus a great number of other items hanging in her closet in Boston.

They were
all
violet.

It seemed as if her mind had been playing tricks on her without her knowing it. She slid off the armrest and onto the couch.

“You were really something as a sixteen-year-old," he said softly, laying his arm along the back of the couch. “You still are.”

The temperature of her skin increased; her gaze turned troubled. “Did you know that back then I had a terrible crush on you?”

“No,” he said, surprised.

“You remembered the violet dress I bought for the junior prom. Do you also remember that my date stood me up that night?”

“Very well,” he said, his tone unexpectedly cold. 

“His name was Eddie Hewitt, and he had asked me to go. He was new at school, and I thought he was really neat.”

“Neat?”

“Neat,” she affirmed. “I took two hours to get ready, then came downstairs and waited two more hours. Nico still lived at home then, and you and he were playing pool in the game room. I decided to wait for Eddie in there with you two. As the night went on, I saw the looks you and Nico exchanged, but I couldn’t believe Eddie would stand me up. Just when it was beginning to dawn on me that he wasn’t coming, one of my girlfriends called me from the dance to tell me he was there with another girl.”

“He’ll never know how lucky he was that he was only sixteen,” Amarillo drawled. “If he’d been even two years older, your brother and I would have taken him to the nearest dark alley and had a serious discussion with him. As it was—”

“As it was, you were wonderful. You came over to me, put your hands on my shoulders, and kissed me on my cheek. Then you told me that one day Eddie would look back on that night and want to kill himself because he botched the chance of going to the dance with me.”

The vertical creases in his cheeks deepened with a show of humor. “There’s no doubt about it, and I still believe that. Whatever happened to the little twerp, anyway?”

“I have no idea. His family moved again the following year.”

“It’s just as well. He wouldn’t have had a future in Boston.”

“No?” A sudden grin lit her face. “Do you remember what we did that night?”

He thought for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Nico and I took you out for a chocolate sundae.”

“I guess I’ve always had a thing for chocolate.” Her voice softened. “You were very nice to me that night, and as I said, I thought you were wonderful.” His smile slowly faded as he watched her use her fingers to comb a portion of her dark hair away from her face. “You were very sweet. It was easy to be nice to you.”

The hard lines of his face were softened by the warm glow of the fire. She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Apparently it later became more difficult for you because you changed with me. You grew more distant.”

“You're imagining things.”

“No, Amarillo, I’ve never done that. You don’t give a person much room for imagining things where you are concerned. Let’s face something here. There may not be another chance. You wanted to talk. Let’s
really
talk. What changed, Amarillo? When I was younger, you were open and friendly toward me. But as I grew older . . .”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence, he knew exactly what she meant. If she had asked him three days before, he would have gotten up and left the room. But he had new memories of her now—the charming sight of her stuffing half a chocolate bar into her mouth like a little girl, the breathtaking sight of her above him, moonlight bathing her face, her head thrown back as she cried out in ecstasy. Going back to the way he had been with her was going to be nearly impossible. And he certainly couldn’t do it tonight.

He exhaled a long breath. “When I first met you, you were an enchanting young girl on the verge of womanhood. You were always laughing, always smiling. A look from those dark eyes of yours could melt my heart. But I viewed you as my best friend’s little sister. It was what worked for me. It was the way I kept you in perspective.

“Then one summer day after you had graduated from college, you came down to the police station where Nico and I were working. You were picking Nico up for lunch. You breezed into the station, beautiful, vivacious, bright, and alive. And it hit me. You were finally a woman.

“I had watched you grow more captivating, more lovely, with each passing year. That day you were bursting with spirit and fire, and you had your whole life before you. Something stirred in me that I had never felt before when I looked at you, but I had no trouble identifying the feeling. It was desire. I wanted to grab you to me, feel you against me, make love to you.” 

She made a soft sound of surprise, and he smiled ruefully. "But I didn’t, because at that moment I realized I was going to back away from you and stay away. I did exactiy that, and I managed to sublimate my desire. I did it so well, I forgot it was even there.”