Eden's Spell (22 page)

Taylor! Oh, hell! For a minute Frank froze. His lips curled into a sneer of contempt. Here he'd practically thrown his sister-in-law at him, and he had this sweet young thing as a wife!

“You're—his—wife?” Frank stuttered out.

She started to laugh, her eyes as light as summer clouds. “Does that mean that he looks young—or that I look old? I'm his daughter, not his wife.”

“Oh,” Frank said, relieved. Except that … to have a daughter, you had to have had a wife somewhere along the line.

He sat and stared at the long, glorious length of her, and reminded himself strictly that she had to be a very young thing.

“Is—uh—your mother here?” he asked her.

“My mother's been dead over ten years,” she replied huskily, then demanded, “Okay—who are you?”

“Frank Denver,” Frank replied a little absently.

“Denver! Then you're related to—Katrina. I'd love to meet her.”

“Katrina?”

“Please? Would you introduce me?”

He hesitated a little warily, then smiled.

“Sounds good to me. Come on.”

Frank led Toni through the trail to the house. His anxiety for Katrina returned as he pounded on the door and received no answer. But just when he was about to panic and break through it, the door opened.

Katrina was standing there, sleepy eyed, in a robe, her hair a flame of wild beauty around her delicate features.

“Oh, Frank,” she murmured, stepping back for him to come in. “Sorry, I was sleep—”

She broke off abruptly, staring at the tall blonde, who was looking very, very svelt and shapely in a white bathing suit.

Oh, hell!
Katrina thought instantly.
This is just what I need! His other women in my house!

And she was young. Really young.
Cradle robber!
Katrina accused Mike inwardly, and with a wrench of her heart.

“You're so tiny!” the blonde suddenly gasped.

Katrina took a deep breath and tried to tell herself that this woman was barely more than a child.

“Sorry. It's the way I came. Frank—”

Frank was wearing a devil's smile on his face, and Katrina was suddenly furious, certain that he'd brought the blonde to her doorstep just to torture her.

“Katrina,” he interrupted her. “I'd like you to meet Antoinette Taylor.”

The floor seemed to slip out from beneath her; she thought she was going to fall. So Mike was a liar on top of everything else! Running around making marriage proposals when he'd already robbed the cradle for a bride!

And she probably would have fallen, except that Frank caught her arm. Then Antoinette Taylor started to speak.

“I'd like to speak with you about my father, Mrs. Denver.”

“Your father?” She barely managed to whisper the words.

“Yes, my father.”

Katrina didn't know whether to laugh or cry at her own foolishness. But she hadn't known …

She hadn't known anything about him, really. She'd never bothered to ask. She'd always been so wrapped up in herself.

The realization was sickening. How could she have been so callous?

“Ah, please, come in, Antoinette,” she murmured.

“Toni,” the girl said, but she didn't seem all that terribly friendly.

“I'll put some coffee on,” Frank murmured.

Katrina nodded absently. She sat on the sofa. Toni Taylor sat down beside her.

“I'll be blunt, Mrs. Denver. I don't want you to sue my father. I don't want you to ruin his life, or his career, or his dreams.”

“I'm not—”

“Maybe you don't fully understand things, Mrs. Denver, and maybe you should. I understand that you're a widow, and I'm very, very sorry. But you're not the only person alive to ever know hurt. My father had been wounded in Saigon, and my mother went to bring him home. Except that some kids made a raid on her hotel, throwing grenades everywhere. Fifteen people died in agony—including my mother. But my father didn't go crazy. He tried to pick up the pieces, and started up his work on 44DFS.”

Katrina couldn't seem to hear; it was as if the ocean were rushing over her, again and again.

Frank was suddenly standing in front of her.

“I'm running back to Islamorada for Jason,” he said very softly. “It's time. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“The coffee is done.”

“Thanks, Frank,” she managed to whisper.

The door closed behind him. Toni was still sitting on the couch.

Katrina burst into tears.

“Mrs. Denver, Mrs. Denver …”

“Toni, I'm so sorry! So very, very sorry!”

“Oh, Lord!” Toni groaned. “I didn't mean … I just wanted you to see, oh, nooo …”

She put her arms around Katrina and hugged her awkwardly. “I thought you were out to get him, and I … please, stop crying. It was a long time ago now. I—”

Katrina at last managed to draw her hands from her face, to wipe her tears away.

She never knew exactly what Toni saw in her eyes, but the girl suddenly stopped speaking and just stared at her.

Then she gasped. “You're in love with him, aren't you!”

“I—I don't know.”

She realized that she was making a blithering idiot of herself.

In front of his daughter.

Katrina tried to straighten, tried to dignify herself. “But, Toni, I knew that I wasn't going to sue him. And he knew it too.”

“Oh.” It was Toni's turn to be perplexed.

Katrina snuffled against her will, then smiled ruefully. “You really didn't make me do that. It was just me—oh, never mind. Would you like some coffee? It's one thing that Frank is very good at.”

“I—uh—yes, please!”

Katrina fixed coffee; they brought it back to the sofa. And then Katrina found herself asking about Mike, and Toni was answering her, talking about the different places they'd been, telling her about their home outside of Washington.

Then Toni asked awkwardly, “Is my father in love with you?”

“I—uh—don't know.”

“You could find out,” Toni suggested.

“Oh.” A wistful smile played across Katrina's mouth. “How?”

“Ask him, of course,” Toni said.

And then the door opened; Frank was back with Jason.

“Hi—you must be Toni!” Jason said cheerfully. “I was wondering when you'd get here.”

“Jason,” Katrina said, accepting the absent little hug he gave her as he smiled up at Toni. “You knew that Toni was coming here?”

“Of course. Mike told me.” He smiled at Toni. “He talks about you all the time.”

“Does he?” Toni laughed. “All good, I hope.”

“He says you're the best.”

Frank was watching Katrina from across the room. She smiled at him, then stood up suddenly. “Would you all excuse me for a few minutes? I'm going to run in and get dressed, then I think I'll take a walk down to the lab.”

“I'll go with you,” Jason began.

Frank caught his shoulders. “Not this time, sport. I'll bet if you wait here with Toni and me, your Mom will bring Mike back for dinner. You have to help Toni and me get the dinner going, okay?”

“He had to run into Islamorada, Mrs. Denver. But if he isn't back now, he will be soon,” Toni offered.

Katrina nodded and smiled as she hurried toward her bedroom to change. She would wait just as long as it took.

M
ICHAEL PAUSED IN THE
doorway of the lab; the light that filtered in from the outside was muted and shadowed by the palms that waved overhead. Dusk was coming, blurring his vision.

But he could make out the figure of a woman, perched on his stool, her long legs bare beneath a knee-length skirt of flowy material, sandaled feet twined around the stool.

It wasn't Toni. She was way too small to be Toni.

“Hi.”

Her voice was husky. He closed the door behind him and felt the pulse of his heart take flight. It was a halter dress she was wearing, light and cool, with blue and white stripes. Her hair was curling over her shoulders in rich waves, catching the muted sunlight from beyond, gleaming like dark fire.

“Hi,” he said warily.

She left the stool. Gracefully and slowly, like a cat, as fluid as sun rippling against water, she came to him, stood on tiptoe, cupped his face between her hands …

And kissed him. Lips pressed lightly to his, her dainty tongue slipping out to rub and flick against his mouth, growing bolder, sliding against his teeth, filling his mouth. Her fingers were in his hair, her breasts crushed to his chest, her small form searing against his.

He kissed her back. It was the only natural thing to do.

His arms swept around her, bringing her closer. His mouth was very hungry for all that she offered. His hands were touching her, lifting her higher against him, closer, close enough to feel his heartbeat, the ragged tear of his breath, the strength of his need for her.

It was such a precious moment. The feel of her fingers against his cheek, the soft moan that echoed in her throat, the soft and wonderful shape of her, in his arms, promising paradise.

But then something in him grew cold and wary. He held her away from him and stared at her. But her head was bent, and he could not see her eyes.

Instinctively, he looked around the lab. The desk was locked, the drawers were locked. Nothing was amiss. But he was afraid of a promise that might not be true, and he spoke to her harshly.

“What have you been into?”

She raised her head to his. Even in the shadow her eyes were brilliant with a thousand facets of color, greens and blues, and shades in between.

“Nothing, Captain. Not a damn thing.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked her hoarsely, and he was on the stool then, ridiculously afraid to trust himself to stand.

She started walking to him again, that cat walk, sleek and sultry and eliciting desire within him.

“I've decided to accept your proposal,” she said lightly. And then she reached for him again. Her fingers went to the tie at his neck, quickly, deftly, undoing it, then more slowly, with infinite finesse, pulling it from around his neck, and dropping it to the floor.

He caught her fingers and forced her to look at him. “I'm not in the mood for games, Mrs. Denver. Start something now, and you'd damn well better finish it.”

“But I intend to finish it, Captain!” she told him, eyes wide and sincere. She tugged her hand gently from his grip; her fingers moved to his shirt.

“Don't play with me.”

“I'm not. I'm going to marry you.”

“Why?”

He caught both her hands and found that he was standing again, forcing her back this time, back, until she reached the wall. And then he placed his hands—still locked with hers—on either side of her head, pinning her there.

And she smiled, lashes lowering slightly, completely unaware of the blazing complexities of his ragged emotions. Or maybe very aware of them….

“Why?” he repeated hoarsely.

And her eyes were on his again, pure like the sky, a mystery like the sea.

“Well,” she said softly, “I'm not marrying you to keep from getting into trouble.” She grinned a bit mockingly. “Not for stud service.”

“Go on.”

“And I'm not marrying you because it might keep me from testifying against you in court. We'll never go to court.”

“Katrina—”

“I am marrying you because I don't think that I could bear it if you left my life.”

He closed his eyes. “Go on!” he urged her tensely.

“Because I want you so badly that I had to come to you. I dream of you during the nights. I remember the way that you held me. I remember, in fact, each and everything you did to me, and each and everything I did to you; Because …”

“Because?” he thundered.

“Because …” she whispered very softly, “I think I love you.”

“You think?”

“A kiss could convince me.”

There was the slightest hesitance, the slightest fear in her voice, and it touched every raw cord within him.

“Oh, God!” he breathed, and he caught her chin very tenderly in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Then he lowered his head to hers, sweetly, sweetly savoring the taste of her lips, the fullness of her mouth, the feel of her body against his, her perfumed scent, as light and as heady as a breeze. Her arms slipped around him, and she clung to him, pressed against him as if she wanted to become a part of him. The softest sound, like a little sob, tore from her; her fingers coursed over his shoulders and back, elegant, powerful, the ripple of her nails causing him to groan, to tear away at last.

“Well?” she demanded breathlessly, and there was a sparkle of tears in her eyes.

“Well?”

And she choked back a laugh—or a sob. “There it is, Captain Taylor. On the floor for you. Bleeding and bare! My heart! Haven't you anything to say?”

He grinned ruefully, nodded, pressed her back against his length, cherishing her as he held her.

“I love you, Katrina.”

“Again,” she whispered.

And he complied, saying the words over and over as he kissed her bare shoulders, her throat, her lips.

“Where do you sleep, Captain?” she asked him.

“In a bed, in back.”

“Lead me to it.”

“Gladly!”

He had her hand; he had started eagerly striding toward a door in the back when he stopped abruptly, pulling her back into his arms.

“We can't.”

“Yes, we can. I know exactly how. Problems, suddenly, Captain?”

He rewarded her taunt with a stinging blow on the rump.

“Ouch! What—”

“You'll have problems soon, Mrs. Denver, if you don't learn some respect! Just for that, I'll see that you spend a day incapable of walking.” Then he sobered. “Katrina, my daughter is here. She'll probably be back any minute.”