Hot Shot (47 page)

"Ri-i-ght. And for a business partner, you've got a terrific—"

He broke off as he found himself on the receiving end of one of the more chilling of her glares—the glare that, five years ago, she had reserved for anyone who had the audacity to ask SysVal to pay its bills on time.

He studied her for a few moments and the teasing light faded from his eyes. Once again, she observed an almost imperceptible tightening at the corner of his mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She shrugged, then sat down on one of the rush-seated chairs, keeping her towel tucked securely beneath her arms. With the tip of her finger, she traced a bright terry-cloth stripe that ran across the tops of her thighs. "Did you know, Mitch?"

He wandered over to the stucco wall and looked down at the sea. "Know what?"

"About Sam and Mindy? About the others?"

The breeze lifted his hair as he turned back to her. He nodded.

She felt as if she had been hit with a new betrayal. "Sam's infidelity was common knowledge, wasn't it? Everyone knew but me."

"I wouldn't say it was common knowledge, but…"

Slowly she rose from the chair and gazed at him. "We're friends. Why didn't you tell me?"

He studied her and said quietly, "I thought you knew."

She felt sick at her stomach. Was this the opinion Mitch had of her? Did everyone see her as some spineless creature who turned a blind eye to Sam's wanderings? "Don't you know me better than that?"

"Where Sam is concerned, I don't know you at all."

He seemed to be condemning her, and she resented it. "You're blaming me, aren't you?"

"Sam is one of the greatest visionaries in our business, but when it comes to personal relationships, everyone knows he's pretty much a loser. I guess what I don't understand is why you're the only one who was really surprised. Why is that, Susannah?"

Hurt welled inside her. She couldn't believe that Mitch was attacking her. "I didn't ask you to come here, and I don't want you prying into my life."

He glared at her, the corners of his mouth growing tighter by the second. And then something seemed to give way inside him. "Aw shit." He closed the distance between them in two long strides and wrapped her in his big, bear arms.

She needed his comfort, and she was more than willing to forgive him. Wrapping her own arms around his waist, she laid her cheek against the solid wall of his chest where she could hear his heart pumping beneath her ear. "I loved him, Mitch," she whispered. "I loved him and I didn't want to know."

He drew her closer, rubbing his hands up and down her back through the towel. "I know, honey," he murmured, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. "It'll be all right."

As he spoke, the motion of his chin scraped her temple. His fingers rose above the top edge of the beach towel and touched her skin. She closed her eyes, drawing comfort from his presence in a way she had never been comforted by Sam.

And then something changed. His body began to grow tense. The muscles in his arms hardened until she felt as if she were being imprisoned instead of sheltered. A warning bell went off inside her. His leg pressed against the center line of her thighs as if he were trying to push them apart. She had never been so aware of his greater strength, never before felt threatened by it. This was Mitch, she told herself. It was only Mitch. And then he crushed the beach towel in his fists.

"Mitch!" She rescued the towel and pushed herself away at the same time.

He let her go so abruptly that she stumbled. She trapped the towel before it could fall and righted herself. "Mitch, what—" But as she raised her eyes to his face, she couldn't remember what she had been about to say.

"Yes, Susannah?" he asked calmly.

He looked as solid and unflappable as ever. She began to feel stupid. What was wrong with her? Mitch didn't present any threat. Was this going to be another legacy that Sam had left her—the sense that all men were dangerous?

"Hors d'oeuvres, anyone?" Paige appeared with a tray of cheese, black olives, and crackers.

Her head had begun to ache, and she was grateful for her sister's interruption. Excusing herself, she went into the cottage to shower.

Paige—out of pure mischievousness, Susannah was certain—insisted Mitch stay with them in the cottage. That evening she outdid herself with a meal of plump prawns saut‚ed in butter and herbs, rice pilaf, Greek salad, and a chewy loaf of fresh, warm bread. Mitch was effusive with his compliments, and Paige's cheeks took on a rosy flush. Neither of them paid much attention to Susannah.

Over bowls of apple cobbler drizzled with cream, Mitch entertained them with a story about Yank losing his new Porsche at a shopping mall. He was so amusing that before long Susannah relaxed and joined in. The tension between Susannah and Mitch dissipated, and they were soon trying to top each other, telling Paige stories about Yank.

When they began describing Yank's habit of misplacing his girlfriends, Paige accused them of exaggerating. "Nobody's that much of a nerd."

Susannah and Mitch looked at each other and laughed.

But Susannah's lighter mood vanished after dinner when Mitch broached the subject of her return to California. She knew she couldn't stay here forever—she had already been away much too long—but the thought of returning made her insides twist. "I'm not ready.

I can't go back yet."

His brow furrowed and he looked as if he were about to say something more, but he merely took a sip of coffee and asked Paige about the island. The strain between them was back.

For the next two days, Mitch and Paige baited each other until Susannah wanted to slap them both. Mitch continued to bring up the subject of Susannah's return, but she refused to discuss it. He began to make vague allusions to a new problem at SysVal. She ignored him. For the past six years she had dedicated herself to the company. Someone else could take over for a while.

By the third day, Mitch could no longer postpone his departure. "We need you in California, Susannah," he said once again, as he handed over his suitcase to the driver of the jeep that was taking him to the airstrip in Chora. "Come with me. We can get a later plane." Once again, she had the sense that he was holding something back.

"Soon," she replied quickly. "I won't stay much longer."

"When? Damn it, Susannah—"

Paige quickly intervened, jumping into the fray like a mother bear defending her cub.

Using tactics that were distinctly her own, she brushed her small body against Mitch's big one and gave him her poutiest smile. "So long, Mitch. Look me up whenever you decide you're man enough to go skinny dipping with me."

Instead of ignoring Paige's baiting, he smiled. For a moment his eyes flicked to Susannah, and then he cupped Paige by the back of her neck and gave her a long, deliberate kiss.

When Susannah saw his tongue slip into her sister's mouth, she looked away. She was well aware that Mitch had a strongly sexual nature tucked away beneath his endless supply of navy-blue suits, but it made her uncomfortable to witness it.

Mitch pulled back and slapped Paige's rear. "Keep it warm for me, lamb chop. One of these days, I just might run out of interesting things to do and take you up on your offer."

He brushed Susannah's cheek with a friendly kiss and climbed into the jeep. Paige shaded her eyes with her hands and watched the vehicle disappear. "Mitch Blaine is definitely one hell of a man."

It was the first time Susannah had ever heard her sister speak about any male without cynicism. She suppressed a stab of jealousy because Paige was forming a relationship with Mitch while her own friendship seemed to be showing mysterious signs of strain.

"I should have gone back with him," she said stiffly. "I don't know what's wrong with me.

I can't stay here forever."

Paige draped a comforting arm over her sister's shoulders. "Give yourself a little more time."

Time didn't help. Another week passed, but whenever Susannah thought of returning to California, her heart began to race. One afternoon, she stood at the stone sink washing up their luncheon dishes while Paige went into the village, and as she dried a serving bowl, she told herself she had to do something soon. It wasn't fair to impose upon Paige much longer. For the first time, she let herself think about leaving SysVal and going to another company. Her misery was so encompassing that she didn't hear the jeep pulling up outside the cottage.

Yank hated to travel. He could never find his tickets and his boarding passes disappeared.

He picked up the wrong luggage and always seemed to end up next to crying babies.

Occasionally he became so absorbed in his thoughts that he missed his boarding call altogether and the plane took off without him. As a result, SysVal had an unwritten policy that he was never to be sent on a business trip alone. But Mitch hadn't been able to retrieve Susannah, and they certainly couldn't send Sam. That meant Yank had to do the job.

His coworkers would have been surprised to know how efficiently he had managed the complicated trip to the island of Naxos. They still didn't understand that he was able to function quite well when he chose to. It was just that most of the time he didn't choose to.

As he got out of the jeep in front of the cottage, he made a precise currency conversion in his head and then tipped the driver exactly fifteen percent of the fare, counting out the drachmas and organizing them into precise piles in the palm of his hand. When he was done, he carefully slipped his wallet back into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it and picked up his suitcase. It was leather and monogrammed with matching Y's. A former girlfriend had given it to him as a present for his thirtieth birthday. Later, his accountant told him that she had charged it on one of Yank's own credit cards.

While he walked up the path to the cottage, he organized his thoughts and mentally prepared himself for the task of retrieving Susannah. This was a job he couldn't afford to bungle. It was too important to all of them.

She answered the door after his first knock. She appeared so tired and sad that Yank wanted to hug her, but of course he didn't. All the feeling he had held for her since the evening Sam had brought her to the Homebrew meeting rushed through him like a bombardment of electrons.

"Yank!" Susannah's mouth grew slack with astonishment. She glanced past his shoulder to see who had brought him. He could almost feel her dread that it might be Sam.

"Hello, Susannah." He watched as she tilted her head to the side to look behind him again. "I'm alone."

"Alone?"

He nodded.

Her forehead wrinkled. "Did someone come part of the way with you?"

"I came all the way alone."

"Ail the way to Greece?"

"Could I come in, Susannah? And if it isn't too much trouble, I'd very much like something to drink."

"Of course." She stepped aside to admit him, but she couldn't resist one last peek outside before she shut the door.

"I think we have some Greek beer," she said. "But—Why are you here, Yank?"

"I've come to get you," he said simply. "I've come to take you home."

The sun was in Paige's eyes, so for a moment she thought the man standing with his back to her on the patio was Mitch. A flash of pleasure washed through her at the idea of engaging in another round of sexual dueling with the delectably stuffy Mr. Blaine. But then she realized that the man looking out toward the sea was much leaner than Mitch and even taller—maybe four or five inches over six feet.

As he turned toward her, she caught her breath. What an incredibly arresting man! His brown hair was side-parted and well-cut. His features were unusually sharp: bladed cheekbones, a thin straight nose, finely chiseled lips—all of it topped by a pair of light brown eyes that were widely spaced and compelling. He was casually dressed in a charcoal shirt with a pair of chinos and a webbed belt. A nearly empty bottle of Greek beer was clasped in his hand, and a gold watch with a leather strap encircled his wrist. All in all, he was an extremely tempting piece of male flesh.

She took a step toward him and stopped as a prickle of unease traveled up her spine. He was looking at her so strangely, almost as if he were taking her apart and examining the separate pieces—the iris of an eye, the curl that brushed her cheek, her chin, a breast. He shifted his gaze to her other breast, regarded it with great concentration, and then moved his eyes down over her torso to her hips. Instead of being insulted, she felt curiously flattered.

"Should I turn around so you can see the rest?"

"Not unless you'd like to." His voice was so deep and soft that it almost seemed to have blown in off the sea.

The door of the cottage opened and Susannah came out with a glass of ice water. She looked tense and frazzled. "Paige, you're back. I didn't hear the moped."

"Just got here." Paige set down the string bag of produce from the market and once again glanced curiously toward their visitor.

"Paige, this is Yank Yankowski. Yank, my sister Paige."

Paige nearly choked. This was Yank? This was the dopey genius that Susannah and Mitch had told her all those stories about? Had Susannah gone blind or had she simply lost her mind?

Paige let her gaze drift appreciatively over Yank. "No wonder big business fascinates you, Susannah. Do you have any more male partners tucked away?"

Susannah looked at her blankly.

Paige returned her attention to Yank and saw that his eyes had grown unfocused. He began patting his pockets, muttering something indecipherable, and then—without a word to either of them—walked past them into the cottage.

Paige watched him with amazement. "What on earth—"

"He's working on something. He does that all the time." Susannah took a sip of her ice water and set it down. Her hand shook ever so slightly. "Paige, don't let him take me back."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yank's come here to take me back. I—I'm not ready yet."

Paige regarded her curiously. "Then don't go. I've told you that you can stay as long as you like."

"You don't know the way he is. When he has his mind set on something, it's impossible to distract him. He's like Sam, except different. He's so gentle. Kind. It's difficult to explain."