Carolina Heat (4 page)

“A truce, then?”

“Darn right.” They shook hands. “I don’t have the stamina to keep my guard up all day. You Northern girls can be hard on a man.”

“Maybe you’ve had it a little too easy a little too long,” Annabelle teased. It was amazing. After months of disuse, her flirting muscles were finally flexing themselves. It really did come back to you, like riding a bike.

“Maybe you don’t know how to sit still and enjoy life,” he tossed back.

Annabelle saw a flash of rock hard abdomen as he wrung water from his shirt. A tingle of awareness zipped down her spine. She realized her own wet clothes clung almost indecently, but luckily the heat was already beginning to dry her thin shirt. They walked back along the plaza.

“Why don’t you let me take you to lunch?” Mark brushed a wet curl off her cheek as he continued. “I’ll show you how nice it can be to do things slowly - Southern style. Trust me, there’s no one more qualified to teach you how to enjoy slowing everything down.”

Wow. The man was a living, breathing example of sexual innuendo. Actually, his come-on was so over the top, it transcended innuendo. He couldn’t have been more blatant if he’d pulled a condom out of his pocket and waved it in her face. Her lips tightened.

“I think I’ve seen all I need of your
style
,” Annabelle hissed. This was one of the rare occasions when her first impression was incorrect. This guy was far from a gentleman. He was as slimy as all the creeps in New York. The only difference lay in how well Mark hid his true colors under a thin veneer of old-fashioned charm.

Episodes like this one reminded her why she’d spent the last two years steering clear of relationships. Clearly, the time-worn cliché about all good men being taken was firmly steeped in truth. The last few hours with Mark proved that taking a chance with a total stranger was not fate, not romantic, and nothing less than a categorically dumb idea. And yet it was surprising how much the disappointment stung. She strode quickly back towards the city.

CHAPTER THREE

After a few seconds, Mark realized she had no intention of coming back. The minute the words left his mouth, he knew he’d made an error. Although the sexual overtones were completely unintentional, it was apparent Annabelle jumped to the wrong conclusion. He groaned and used his longer legs to close the gap between them.

“Annabelle, please give me a chance to apologize.” He caught up with her and put a restraining hand on her shoulder. She immediately jerked out of his grip and continued walking without so much as a backward glance. Mark debated throwing in the towel. Letting her think he was a first class jerk was easier than chasing her across the city. Yet he’d seen a flash of disappointment before her green eyes iced over, and the memory of it gave him a tug of guilt.

“Look - I know you think I’m lower than a pig’s belly right now, but if you won’t let me explain or apologize, at least let me show you the way back? You’re walking in circles.”

Annabelle stopped, looked around at her surroundings. “Your help would be appreciated,” she said stiffly.

A few blocks later, Mark decided to take his chances with another attempt.

“I’m sorry if you misunderstood my earlier comment,” he began, choosing his words with caution.

“It was crystal clear to me.”

“No, obviously it wasn’t.” Mark’s righteous anger grew. He was trying to apologize, wasn’t he? Make things right? This woman was pricklier than a porcupine. “What’
s
obvious is how eager you are to believe the worst of me. I honestly meant nothing improper. It came out wrong. End of story.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you, after you picked me up at the airport, and spent the entire morning flirting with me?” she scoffed.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes!” Mark threw out his hands in exasperation. “Your storming off made it obvious I don’t stand a chance in hell with you. If all I was in it for was a quick lay, I would’ve cut my losses and let you keep walking.”

“Do you have to be so crude?”

“Quickest way to make my point. Time is of the essence.” They were already back at the street lined with horse drawn carriages. “Come on; admit you had a knee-jerk reaction. Weren’t you having a good time before?”

“Yes.” There was a grudging, sulky tone to her voice. Mark took it as a good sign. At least the icy edge was gone. Looked like her temper fizzled as quick as it flashed. He knelt down on one knee, and clasped her hands in his.

“Am I forgiven?

“Get up,” she said. Her head whipped from side to side, taking in the curious crowds now angling towards them. “People are staring at us.”

Mark, however, enjoyed the pale pink blush spreading across her face. It was a beautiful contrast to her red hair. Embarrassment was a good look for her.

“I refuse to move until you forgive me.”

“Fine! You’re forgiven.” Annabelle tugged on his arm to force him to his feet. He extended his right hand.

“Hello. My name is Mark Dering. I have a bad habit of speaking before I think, but otherwise I’m a pretty harmless guy.”

Annabelle’s blush faded, replaced with a warm smile. She shook his hand. The strength of her grip surprised him. “Annabelle Carlyle.” She looked down, pointedly. He had yet to release her hand.

Might as well press the advantage while he had it. “Would you have lunch with me, Annabelle?” Mark asked.

Her smile faded, and she freed her hand from his. “I’m sorry, Mark, but I have to get to work.”

“Sounds serious.”

“My article is very important.” She paused, licked her lips, and continued. “I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say I really need to get back to work.”

Weird. Sure, she probably had a deadline, but there were already hundreds of travel pieces on Charleston floating around. And she wouldn’t look him in the eye, either. Classic avoidance. “I suppose if I told you everyone has to eat sometime, it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?”

“No.”

He worked his hands into his damp pockets. “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”

“Thank you, though, for everything.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You have no idea how glad I am I chose your tour.”

Mark doffed an imaginary cap. “Much obliged.” He tried to ignore the softness of her fingers against his skin. It was funny how a single touch focused all his attention. Sure didn’t feel like she was giving him the brush-off.

He linked her arm through his. “I insist on escorting you to your inn.”

“It may shock my hostess if I show up arm in arm with a tall, handsome man,” she teased.

“Your hostess?” he asked as they fell companionably into step. “I thought you were at the Chalmers Street Inn. Did I get it wrong? Are you staying with friends?”

“It almost feels that way,” Annabelle laughed. “Mrs. Haley has already adopted me. This morning she made a point of telling me what kind of shoes to wear on these old streets.”

“You’re in good hands. Hank and Ruth Haley are the best. I went to school with their son, Ashby. Have you tried her cinnamon rolls yet?”

“No, I slept late this morning. Apparently the other guests devoured them all before I even woke up.”

Mark rolled his eyes and smacked his lips. “They’re a slice of heaven, let me tell you! Definitely worth getting up on time.”

“As long as there’s a pot of coffee on the menu, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll even think of you when I take my first bite,” she taunted.

Unbidden, an image of her lips closing around a gooey roll flashed through Mark’s mind. It left him unsettled. This woman had a strong effect on him, and its intensity surprised him. He liked her spunk, and the way she refused to docilely agree with his every word. He’d dated more than a few Southern belles who wouldn’t disagree even if he told them the earth was flat. And he could spend all afternoon fantasizing about sinking his mouth into her.

Time to steer the conversation to less dangerous waters. “Hope you make some serious inroads on your article.”

“I plan to finish the background material today,” she replied. “Two museums are on the top of my list.”

Mark gently removed her arm from his. “Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your productivity.” They were now in front of her bed and breakfast.

In the most suave gesture he could muster, Mark bent from the waist and kissed the back of her hands, then the insides of her wrists. “It was truly my pleasure, Miss Annabelle.” He turned and walked away without giving her a chance to respond.

Annabelle stood rooted to the spot. She looked down at her wrists, certain the heat of his lips had scorched a mark. The light brush of his mouth against her skin had been both sensual and wholly unexpected, which made him romantic, fun, smart and devastatingly sexy. More remarkable, he kept her off balance. It’s a good thing he left, she mused, because I have no idea how to deal with him!

“What an unusual man.”

“Who?” Ruth Haley emerged from the doorway, a dripping glass of iced tea in hand. Annabelle practically lunged for it.

“Thank you so much – you’ve no idea how thirsty I am.”

Ruth nodded sagely. “Takes a few days for a Northerner like yourself to adjust to the heat.”

“I need to remember to drink lots more fluids.” Annabelle collapsed onto the porch swing.

“Gracious child, you’re all wet! What on earth happened to you?”

“Got caught in a fountain.”

The older woman smiled and sank down next to her. “Visited the harbor, did you? Nice way to cool off.”

“It did the trick, even if I did feel a little foolish.”

“Happens all the time. Most people run through it on purpose, though. Didn’t you see it going off?”

“I was distracted,” she defended herself.

“If you don’t mind my asking, was it by the unusual man you mentioned? Did you already fall victim to one of our legendary Southern charmers?”

Annabelle smiled and dipped her head in embarrassment. “Just someone I met last night.” She sipped her tea, surprised at her urge to confide. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll never see him again.”

Her boss must’ve been in the middle of a three martini lunch when he agreed to let Ralph Paxton send her to Charleston. The trip was obviously a waste of time. Paxton family issues were none of her business, and certainly didn’t fall in the scope of her usual investigations. However, convincing the man on the other end of the line was another story.

“Ralph, from what you’ve told me I’m simply not the right person to help. If your wife continues to be concerned, you should contact the police.”

“I tried going to the police, but even now with Vanessa missing, they won’t do anything.”

Annabelle sat bolt upright in the wicker rocking chair. “What do you know about Vanessa?”

His temper rolled heat across the line. “For God’s sake! Just because my wife and I don’t believe Tad would ever desert his museum doesn’t mean I have any proof to the contrary. Do you think I got this job by leaping to conclusions?” he replied testily. “I notified the police and almost left it in their laps.”

“Almost? What do you mean almost?” She leaned forward, wishing she was there in his office to read his face. “Quit beating around the bush. Tell me right now where Vanessa fits into all this,” she demanded.

“Vanessa was in the area doing a story for us. The police weren’t doing much about Tad. I asked her to nose around a little. Soon after I dragged her into this, she disappeared. That’s a big part of the reason why Jack Tremeyne suggested I call you. He knew you’d be worried about her.”

Annabelle’s hand gripped the arm of her chair. “Are you telling me Vanessa Malone is missing, too? As in my best friend, Vanessa?” All her fears of the last three weeks crystallized. It wasn’t paranoia on her part. If Ralph said she was missing it must be true.

Instead of answering, he asked, “When was the last time you heard from her, Annabelle?”

She jumped out of her chair with a force that almost knocked it over. “Don’t play games with me, Paxton. Tell me what you know about Vanessa, and do it right now!”

Ralph cleared his throat. “Settle down, Annabelle.”

Annabelle took a deep breath. She’d have to calm down, be objective and rational, to get every scrap of information out of him. “I’m not at my best. I apologize if I overreacted.” She sat back down, but her fingers curled in a death grip around the phone.

“As I said, Vanessa was already in Charleston. I asked her to poke around wherever Tad had been. My wife found an itinerary in his apartment, so I faxed it to Vanessa along with the address of his hotel, where she immediately checked in. We were grasping at straws, but at least it felt like we were doing
something
. Luckily, she gave her work address when she checked in. A week later, the hotel called to ask what to do with her belongings. She’d only registered for four days, and it had been a full eight by the time they contacted us. The room didn’t look like it’d been used for more than two or three days.”