Fit for a King (16 page)

124

Diana
Palmer

Fit for a
King

125

thoughts and feelings
and dreams, and he'd even told
her about his family, but he'd never
bothered to ask
about hers. He felt oddly guilty about that now and
inordinately curious to know more about this little
spitfire.

"My
grandfather had a Seminole name, which he
changed," Tina
continued, looking at King. "Is
Roper your father's real name?"

King
smiled and told her the Apache word for Man
Who Throws Rope. "That's why he
changed it to
Roper," he added.

"Do you
like to fish, Mr. Roper?" Elissa's father asked, coming into the kitchen.

"If
you mean deep-sea fishing, no," King replied. "But if you mean
dipping a worm on a hook into a
creek, yes."

Mr. Dean
grinned. "My sentiments exactly.
There's a nice little swamp about two
hour's drive
from
here, where you can get some of the biggest
bream
and crappie you ever saw."

"We
have a spare room," Tina Dean added, smil
ing at him. "It's
quiet here; we're off the main drag.
I see that Elissa looks horrified,
but we won't let the
lizards eat you, and if you're as tired as
you look, the
change might do you good, Mr. Roper."

Elissa
went red. She'd forgotten how outspoken her mother was. She did look horrified.
She felt horrified.
Don't
do this to me, she wailed silently. He's in love

with another woman,
and I want to get away from
him.

King
turned toward Elissa and saw that look on her
face. "If you don't want me to stay,
I won't," he said
gently.

The soft
tone made her toes curl. What could she
say? "I don't
mind," she murmured.

"I
must look tired if it shows that much," he said,
winking at Mrs. Dean.
"Yes, I'll stay, thank you."

"Wonderful!"
Mr. Dean chuckled. "We'll find
some lazy projects to keep you
relaxed."

"I'll
fatten you up," Mrs. Dean seconded, giving
him a critical glance.
"You look undernourished."

Elissa
could have laughed. He might look trim, but he was very muscular under his
shirt. She flushed,
wondering
what her parents would say if she con
fessed
that she'd watched him swim in the nude from her cottage window. She forced a
smile and finished
her iced tea
while her mother asked about his work.
He replied that he was in oil and
gas. It didn't dawn
on Elissa until much
later how her mother had interpreted that remark.

"To
think, a handsome man like that working in a
garage," Mrs.
Dean sighed as she made supper.

"What?" Elissa asked sharply.

"Well,
he's in oil and gas," she explained pa
tiently, "and
despite the nice-looking suit he's wear
ing, which he might
have borrowed, I think his watch
and ring are only copies of expensive ones. He's try-

126

Diana
Palmer

ing to impress us,
darling, to show us that he'd be a good catch for you. I'm very flattered. I
like him. So does your father. And there's nothing wrong with
working in
a garage. His parents probably own it, you
know, and that's
probably their home in Jamaica. They must just let him use it."

Boy, had
her mother gotten it wrong. But Elissa bit her tongue. This was better. They
didn't need to know
how rich King really was; it might inhibit them. She
liked their response to him,
and his to them. She couldn't bear to spoil it. She'd tell them later, after
King was gone.

Her eyes
closed. Despite her trepidations, it was marvelous to have him in her home, to
savor being with him away from Bess's influence. She was in heaven. Even if he
only stayed overnight, she'd love
the house forever afterward, because
she'd see him in every nook and cranny of it. And if he married Bess, well, her
dreams wouldn't harm the two of them very
much.

After supper, King and Elissa went for a
stroll along
the beach. It was very much
like Jamaica at night, the whitecaps rolling onto the beach with a foamy whis
per.

"You don't mind that I'm
here, do you?" he asked
casually.

"No." She had changed
into shorts and a long-
sleeved shirt, and
she was enjoying the feeling of the cool white sand on her bare feet. She
tossed back her long hair and sighed, drinking in the peacefulness of the
setting.

He was
still wearing his slacks, but he'd unbut
toned his shirt
halfway down and was wearing thongs
instead of shoes. He looked very
casual, not at all the
elegant millionaire he really was.

728

Diana
Palmer

Fit for a
King

129

"I didn't know you'd been
raised a Baptist," she
commented,
turning her eyes seaward.

He glanced
at her. "And I didn't know that you
had Seminole
blood."

She
smiled. "I've got a little Irish, too, and a trace
of
German."

"I've
got some Irish myself." He stopped her, ges
turing toward a hermit crab diving into a
hole in a
small sandy bank. "I had one
of those for a pet once.
They're
cute."

"With those claws?" she groaned.

"Claw,
woman," he chided. "Well, one big one
and one much smaller
one. They don't pinch that
hard."

"You
wouldn't feel it with hands the size of yours,
I guess."

He slid
his hands into his pockets, stretching the
expensive fabric of
his slacks against the powerful
muscles of his legs as he walked. "I
like it here," he
said lazily. "I like your parents, too.
I can see now
why
you're such an independent little cuss. They're
very open and honest."

She
laughed softly, enjoying his company and the
cool breeze and the
solitude. "You'd really think so
if you'd heard what my mother said
about you."

He
stopped, looking down at her. "What did she
say?" he asked
with interest.

"She
says that you're very handsome to work in a garage, which your parents must
own, and that that's

their villa in Jamaica. They just let you
use it. Your
watch and ring are copies of
the real thing, to impress them. Oh, and you probably borrowed that expensive
suit you're wearing."

His
eyebrows shot up, and he began to laugh, but
not in a sarcastic or
mocking way. It sounded like
pure delight. "They think I'm a grease
monkey?"

"You
told them you were in gas and oil," she re
minded him. "My parents don't know
any oil mag
nates but they know a lot of
mechanics."

"Well,
I'll be damned," he mused. "I think I like
that. Yes, I think I do. I haven't been
treated like a
normal human being in my adult
life. At least not
since I hit it
big."

"You
have so," she retorted. "Do I treat you like a big fish?"

He pursed
his firm lips, then smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in the pale light
of the half
moon. "Not really," he admitted. "That was
one of
the things I liked best about you. After I realized that
you
weren't chasing after me because I was rich," he
added.

The
cynicism in his voice touched her. "Did you really think that's why I kept
hounding you?" She
laughed. "How surprising."

"Women
had chased me for years," he replied.
"Once or twice
I let myself be caught, but mostly I
didn't give a damn for that kind of woman. It didn't
take me long to learn that you weren't the least
bit

130

Diana
Palmer

Fit for a
King

13t

interested in my
bank account. Then," he added with
a wicked glance as he
started walking again, "I de
cided it was my body you wanted."

"How conceited," she remarked airily.

"If
you remember, I made one very subtle pass at
you, right at the
beginning," he said. "And you
backed away with a
look in your eyes I'll never for
get. I didn't understand why you shied away
from me.
I thought you'd had some bad experience and were
afraid of
men. That made me even more protective,
and I gave up any
ideas of seducing you."

"Until a few days ago," she muttered.

His head
jerked toward her. "Don't put all the
blame on me, honey.
You were giving as good as you
got in my bed that night."

She was
glad the darkness hid her blush. She stiff
ened a little as she shuffled along the
beach beside
him, oblivious now to the
clamoring surf. Her legs
were getting
cold, but she didn't want to suggest that they go inside. Every second she
could spend alone
with him was a delight, even if it had to be spent in
the middle of an argument.

"Thank
you for that sterling assessment of my
morals," she
said lightly, forcing back a surge of fury. "I suppose that makes me what
men call an
easy—King!"

He jerked
her around none too gently and shook
her by both arms. "No, it doesn't
make you easy,"

he said, his voice
cold and curt. "Stop trying to make
yourself sound
cheap.''

"Isn't
that what you're trying to do?" she asked, hating the slight wobble in her
voice.

His lean
fingers tightened on her arms, exciting and
strong through the
flimsy sleeves of her oversize shirt.
"I don't know what I'm trying to
do," he said sur
prisingly. His hands relaxed, became caressing.
He breathed slowly, deliberately, and drew her into his arms. He wrapped her
against his taut body, envel
oping her in his spicy cologne and his warmth, and
laid his cheek on her dark hair.

It was,
she thought suddenly, as if he needed com
forting. And perhaps
he did. He didn't say a lot about
his feelings for Bess, but she was sure that he was
confused and wounded by what was happening. He
was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to keep
from hurting Bess and Bobby, so he'd subdue what
he felt for Bess or
ignore it if he could. But with the
women
tempting him and, as he'd said, with his being
only human, perhaps he did need comforting. And at the moment, Elissa
was his anchor, his safety net, his life jacket. She didn't mind; it was enough
to do what
she could to help him
through a difficult time. Love
made you vulnerable. She knew, loving him
as she
did.

She slid
her arms around his hard waist and pressed
her cheek over his heart, enjoying the
heavy, mea
sured beat of it in the darkness.
"We
all
want things