The Best Way to Lose (19 page)

“We’ll arrange for you to have the loan of someone’s car.”
Trace solved it without hesitation and moved toward her. “That’s all settled. Now what about the weekend?”

“I’ll be attending auctions both days,” Pilar explained as he reached up to smooth the collar of her blouse.

Lightly curling his fingers under the lapels, he followed them down to the first button, nestled at the top of her cleavage. Her flesh tingled in vague excitement where the backs of his hands brushed the curves of her breasts.

“That takes care of the days,” he murmured. “What about the nights?”

Struggling to keep her composure from being affected by his disturbing touch, Pilar attempted to hold the gaze of his velvety gray eyes. “I think we need a cooling-off period.”

“Cooling off.” He chuckled softly in his throat and edged closer to add the persuasions of his body to the faint caress of his hands. “I haven’t even gotten warmed up yet.”

“All right, maybe you don’t, but I need time to sort things out,” she insisted, rawly conscious of the slight pressure of his thighs against hers. “Sometimes I don’t even like you.” Mostly because he knew just how to get to her and upset the comfortable balance of her life.

“You don’t like me?” He ran a finger down the pulsing vein in her neck. “Or is it that you don’t like what I do to you?”

“I don’t trust it,” she answered truthfully.
“There has to be more than just this, otherwise—”

“Otherwise we can roll in the sack a few times and get it out of our system,” Trace inserted his suggestion. “It’s not a bad idea and it just might answer some things for you.”

“I am not naive.” She was impatient with him, mostly because the suggestion was so damned tempting regardless of her ability to dismiss his rationale. “Having sex with a man is no way to judge how much you like him. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to find that out before I get in bed with him.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to separate the two,” he murmured while his restless hands idly caressed her face, neck, and shoulders to constantly remind her that it wouldn’t take much provocation on her part to turn this closeness into an embrace.

The clapper rattled against the sides of the bell to signal the opening of the shop door. Sidestepping quickly, Pilar swung out from behind Trace to greet the incoming customer. It was her own discomfort and shakey limbs that put the high color in her cheeks.

“Oh, hello, Pilar.” Except for a faintly curious glance, Sybil Anderson barely took any notice of Trace when she entered the shop. “Is Florence here? She called me this morning to say you had come across an unusually shaped bowl that might be a nice addition to my collection of Depression glass.”

“Florence is out to lunch but I know the piece she means,” Pilar assured her. “It’s still
in the storeroom. We haven’t brought it out yet. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get it for you.”

“Of course.”

Trace’s voice checked her movement to the rear of the shop. “It’s time I was getting back to the office. We’ll get an early start Monday morning, probably around six. And be sure to pack some everyday clothes for the trip back. You might want to bring a light jacket. Sometimes it gets cool on the river at night.”

“I … I will.” She nodded, aware of the woman’s sharpening curiosity. The bell jangled behind Trace as he walked out of the shop onto the street.

“Evidently you and Trace are planning a trip somewhere,” Sybil Anderson concluded, barely containing her desire to know all the details.

“Yes. We’re going to New Orleans on Monday.” Pilar tried to sound very matter-of-fact about it. “The Santee Line is launching a new boat on Tuesday. Trace thought I might enjoy making its inaugural trip upstream. It should be an interesting experience.”

“Yes … I guess it would.” She sounded disappointed.

The early-morning sunlight had dispelled the white mists that had been drifting close to the ground under the moss-draped oaks. The softness of that early light was gentle on everything it touched, toning down harsh colors and rounding rough edges. Pilar followed Trace out of the rear door of Dragon Walk, her
weekender bag in his hand. Cassie paused in the doorway.

“Now, you drive carefully,” she admonished.

“Now, Cassie, whenever have I ever taken chances?” Trace mockingly chided her words of caution.

“Everytime you do anything,” she retorted.

Trace merely laughed and continued toward the car, parked in the rear driveway. Pilar had barely glanced at it. But as they approached it she happened to notice someone sitting in the rear seat.

“You never mentioned that someone would be riding with us,” she murmured in a low voice so her comment wouldn’t carry through the open car window.

“Didn’t I?” He unlocked the trunk and stowed her suitcase inside. “Mike’s coming to handle all the paperwork and drive my car back. I thought you’d be pleased to have a chaperon on the long drive to New Orleans.” He was mocking her. “You made it very definite that you didn’t want to be alone with me.”

“I don’t mind a bit.” Pilar shrugged despite the niggling sense of disappointment. “It was just a surprise, that’s all.”

Although Trace installed her in the front passenger seat next to him, she took very little part in the conversation that went on, letting the business talk swirl around her. Most of the time she looked out the window to avoid staring at Trace.

The warm and humid summer climate of the South made everything lush and green. Here and there along the highway there were glimpses of old homes, examples of the gracious architecture that had grown out of more languorous times. There were signs of poverty, too, but the benign surroundings seemed to remove some of the grimness that was usually associated with it in other parts of the country.

“Are we boring you, Pilar?” Trace inquired when it had been a long time since she had contributed anything to the conversation.

“No.” She turned and experienced the warm caress of his gaze traveling over her. “I was just enjoying the scenery.”

“It can be very stimulating at times.” His mouth twitched in a half smile, and his look turned her into the subject of his comment instead of the countryside they were passing.

She breathed in deeply, unable to respond with Mike listening from his rear seat post, and turned to gaze out the window again. Yet there was an awareness of the warm pleasure that licked along her nerve ends at the subtle and suggestive compliment.

When they reached New Orleans, Trace drove straight to the hotel in the French Quarter where they’d be spending the night. “As Mike could tell you,” he said as the doorman approached to assist them from the car and see to their luggage, “normally when we come to the city on business, our accommodations
aren’t this lavish. Since you’re with us, and this trip is something of an occasion, it seemed the perfect excuse to treat ourselves to some luxury.”

“It wasn’t necessary on my account.” She didn’t want him to think she expected any special treatment.

“Don’t say that,” Mike Barnes protested in mock seriousness. “Ever since Trace mentioned you were coming to attend the launching, I’ve done my best to convince him it wouldn’t be right for a lady to stay in that fleabag hotel near the terminal office.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Trace countered and stepped out of the car so the parking valet could put it in the hotel garage.

“Maybe not, but this is better,” Mike announced, running an appreciative eye over the impressive hotel entrance.

“In that case, Mike, this is exactly where I wanted to stay.” Pilar smiled, supporting his case.

As the driver slid behind the wheel, Trace slipped him a tip. “We’ll be needing the car in about an hour. Mrs. Santee will be picking it up.” He indicated Pilar with a nod of his head, then joined her on the front walk. “You can use my car to make your calls. Fitzroy is picking up Mike and me and driving us to our local office.”

His guiding hand was spread along the back of her waist as Trace escorted her inside the hotel. Warmth radiated from the contact, a
hint of possession in the gesture that was oddly pleasing to Pilar. The passing glances they attracted gave her a feeling of pride at being with him. As well dressed as any man in the lobby, Trace had rough, manly airs about him; he was lean and raw, experienced in the ways of men—and women—and possessed with a keen intelligence that revealed itself in the alertness of his unusual gray eyes. It was slightly funny that she had to see him outside normal surroundings before she noticed any of that.

At the reception desk Pilar stepped to one side while Trace checked on their reservations. The clerk punched the information into the computer and waited for the readout on the screen.

“Mr. Santee,” he confirmed, then glanced at Pilar. “And you are Mrs. Santee?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“And another gentleman by the name of Mr. Barnes,” the clerk added. “Is that all in your party, Mr. Santee?” he inquired and pushed the sequence of characters to print out a computerized form.

“That’s correct.”

“Just sign here, Mr. Santee.” The clerk indicated the signature blank on the form, handed him a pen, then tore off a perforated end after Trace had signed it and gave it to him. “Just give this to the bellboy. He’ll get your key and take you and your wife to your room.”

There was a slight pause during which Trace slid an amused look at Pilar. “You have Mrs. Santee and myself in the same room.”

A vaguely bewildered expression crossed the clerk’s face. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s not that I have any objections to the arrangements.” A smile kept playing with the corners of his mouth, and Pilar shared his secret amusement even though her senses were tingling with the possibility of sharing a room with him. “But I believe when the reservations were made, a separate room was requested for Mrs. Santee. You see, she isn’t my wife, although I don’t deny the idea does have some appeal.”

The young clerk became slightly flustered. “I beg your pardon,” he apologized anxiously and quickly punched up the computer readout again. “You’re right. It was my mistake. Another room has been assigned to Mrs. Santee.”

As soon as that mix-up was straightened out, Trace handed her the separate slip to give to the bellboy. “More’s the pity,” he murmured in a low voice.

“I was sure that was what you were thinking,” she replied in an equally soft tone.

After Mike had registered, the bellboy with their luggage passed out their respective keys and rode with them on the elevator to their assigned floor. Pilar was shown to her room first.

Left alone when the others were taken to their quarters, she took a few minutes to unpack some things she didn’t want wrinkled. As she finished there was a knock at her door.

“Who is it?”

“Trace.”

After slipping the chain free of its catch, Pilar opened the door and Trace stepped inside. “Mike and I are meeting Fitzroy downstairs in the lobby, so I won’t see you until tonight.”

“What time will we be having dinner?” She had a strange feeling all this talk was superfluous.

“Eight, I suppose. The manager of this office will be joining us.” His mouth crooked at a rueful angle. “I told you it would all be very proper, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

His hand reached out and pushed the door closed behind him before he took a step toward her and gathered her up into the tight circle he made with his arms and his body. She had already lifted her head to meet his oncoming mouth. It rolled onto her lips, all raw and hungry. It seemed to consume her with a surging rush of fierce need that soon ignited an answering ache.

But Trace pulled away before she was satisfied and buried his face in the side of her hair near an ear. He was breathing hard, the hot rush of moist air igniting her skin
and sending fevered chills over her nerve ends.

“I needed that,” he muttered thickly. “After being so close to you all that way in the car, I thought I’d go as mad as Tantalus. I wonder how much it would cost me to bribe the clerk into giving me a key to your room so I could slip in here in the middle of the night—”

“Trace—” She was caught halfway between excitement and trepidation.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” There was an impatient edge in his voice as his hands tightened on her shoulders to set her away from him. “If I thought I had a single chance in hell of accomplishing something, I’d do it. It’s for damned sure, I’m not looking forward to looking at you all evening, not with everyone else at our table.”

With a new perspective on the control he was exercising over his wants and the strain it was putting on him, Pilar felt an inexplicable need to test this newly discovered power she had over him.

“It could be worse,” she warned with faint mockery. “You could be here and I could be in Natchez.”

“Some consolation,” he mocked. “At least tomorrow I’ll have you all to myself on that boat.”

“Doesn’t the boat have a crew?” She playfully tilted her head to the side, half taunting him.

“Yes, but they’ll be busy. And if they’re not,
I’ll see to it that something is found for them to do,” Trace retorted. “Not that it matters. They’re rivermen. They aren’t going to talk about the private affairs of one of their own.” He planted a hard kiss on her lips. “I’d better go. Mike’s waiting.”

T
he sun made a bright glare on the muddy Mississippi water when they arrived at dockside the next morning. More than a dozen people were already on hand for the launching of the new towboat, fully equipped with all the latest navigation and communications devices. There was a chorus of greetings as they approached the group. It was a few minutes before the glad-handing was over and Trace took the opportunity to introduce the men to Pilar.

“I think you know Sam, Frank, and Adam from our New Orleans terminal.” The three men nodded to Pilar when Trace pointed them out to her. “And this man”—he slapped the shoulder of a slight-built man, about Trace’s age, wearing a white shirt, a navy blue waist
jacket, and a captain’s hat—“is Dan Morgan. He’ll be piloting the
Santee Lady
when she puts out.”

“How do you do,” Pilar greeted him as he briefly lifted his hat to her.