Provocative Peril (11 page)

The storm clouds seemed to have passed over by the next morning. When Carolyn went downstairs she was greeted by bright sunshine and a calm blue sea. Clay and Selena sat at the kitchen bar sipping coffee, empty plates attesting to a shared breakfast.

Clay glanced up with a smile. "Good morning. I thought I was going to have to come up and drag you out of bed." He reached over and poured another cup of coffee and set it in front of the third barstool.

Carolyn flushed. She had not slept well. When she did manage to fall into a restless sleep she kept dreaming of Clay. In each dream they were in bed together, but they were interrupted every time he began to make love to her. Her subconscious wasn't creative enough to imagine what it would be like to make love to a man, but her body had certainly let her know it was ready to learn more. She must have fallen into a sound sleep sometime after five o'clock because she remembered looking at her travel clock at that hour and wishing it was time to get up.

She slipped onto the stool and picked up her cup.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Clay's voice sounded pleasant and friendly, no more. She looked at him, seeing a warm smile and rested look. Obviously their encounter on the couch hadn't disturbed him in the least. She stood up. "I guess I'd better. No telling when we'll be stopping for lunch." She rummaged in the refrigerator.

Selena started speaking, and Carolyn realized that she must have interrupted their conversation.

"I don't know why you don't buy a place down in California. Clay. Look how much you waste on rent."

"But if I buy a place, I'll feel obligated to live in it, Selena. I don't want to live down there."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't concentrate. I need some peace and quiet, and you know as well as I do I won't get it there."

"But you'd be so much more available for script conferences and things."

Carolyn's head came out of the refrigerator, and she looked at the two of them in surprise.

Clay caught her puzzled expression. "Find anything?"

She answered absently. "I think I'll make some French toast. Do you want some?"

Both of them answered in the negative. Carolyn started mixing the egg-milk mixture.

"So what do you think of the new director? Is he going to be easier to work for?" Clay watched Selena with amusement.

"It's hard to say at this point. I hope he won't be as volatile as Andrew was. Artistic temperament is one thing, but some of his rages were totally uncalled for."

"Obviously that's what the producer thought, or he wouldn't have replaced him." - "Have you ever wanted to direct, Clay?" Selena's tone was sincere, and Carolyn was aware that they weren't even conscious of a third person in the room.

"Nope. All I've ever wanted to do is write. I'm pleased enough to do that, until I'm confronted with ridiculous deadlines." He took another sip of coffee and stretched. "I've got to get ready. I'll see you two later." He slid off the stool and ambled into the other room.

Carolyn placed her full plate on the bar and hopped up on the stool to eat.

"Where are you from, Carolyn? We didn't have much of a chance to get acquainted last night."

"Portland. I own a gift shop there."

"Really? I should imagine that keeps you busy."

"Yes."

"I suppose you and Clay see each other fairly often. Seattle and Portland aren't all that far apart."

Carolyn took a sip of her coffee, trying not to choke on the bite she'd placed in her mouth as Selena asked her loaded question. "Not really. We move in different circles."

"I can certainly understand that. A famous writer is on the go a great deal of the time, even when he's expected to turn out new scripts and novels about good oP Derringer Drake."

"About who?" Carolyn gave up all pretense of eating. Of course she'd heard of Derringer Drake. Who hadn't? She'd even read a couple of the books about him, although spy-adventure stories weren't exactly her favorite type of reading. "What does Clay have to do with Derringer Drake? Does he help with the television script or something?"

Selena stared at the younger woman in surprise. Trying to hide a grin, she asked, "You're Clay's cousin and you don't even know what he writes?"

Carolyn's mind was racing like a cassette tape on fast forward. "We don't stay in close touch," she said in a faint voice.

"But Clay has been writing his Derringer Drake novels for almost eight years now. Surely you keep in closer touch than that!"

Clay a famous writer? Clay a famous, rich writer? Surely there was some mistake.

Remembering Selena's comment, she attempted the shrug that Selena used to such good effect. She wasn't sure hers worked as well. Maybe it would come with practice. "Are you sure? I would have recognized the name if I'd seen it on any of the books."

"Of course he writes them. You don't think he'd take money for somebody else's work, do you? He writes under the name Kenneth Clay."

Kenneth Clay. Clay Kenniwick. Carolyn suddenly wished she were the fainting type, at least enough to cause a distraction. She had to think—to remember all the things she'd said to him—thought about him. At the very least she'd like very much to shrink until she could find a small hole to sit in for a while.

Frantically she searched her memory for anything she knew about Kenneth Clay. He was the kind of author who liked to experience everything he wrote about. He'd been on Arctic expeditions, gone on safaris in Africa, explored the Amazon River, dived for sunken ships. He'd packed a lot of living into his thirty-three years.

She'd been sharing a room with Kenneth Clay? His other exploits came to mind, and she was horrified to remember her dream. She'd had the audacity to dream that he made love to her? His name was linked with beautiful women all over the world. Why hadn't she suspected something when she first met Selena? Was she the type of woman who'd leap to answer any man's bidding? She darted a glance at her and sighed. She had no idea. She knew nothing about such a woman. It began to sink in that she was totally out of her league with these two. What was she going to do? They were supposed to go with her and Brad. She wasn't sure she could get through the day.

Selena watched the many expressions on Carolyn's face with concern. "I'm really surprised you didn't know who he was, Carolyn."

Carolyn sighed. Should she admit that Clay had lied about their relationship? Did she care if Selena recognized him as the biggest liar west of the Mississippi? "Well, to be honest, Selena . . ." Carolyn paused and looked at the woman beside her. "Uh, our fathers had a falling out many years ago, and

Clay and I didn't meet until recently." She dropped her eyes, refusing to see if Selena believed such a nonsensical story.

Clay's arm slid around Carolyn's shoulder as he leaned past her to refill his cup. She stiffened at his touch. "That's true. It's only recently I managed to locate Carolyn and introduce myself." He ruffled her hair, then gently smoothed it back in place. "We're still getting acquainted."

"So I noticed last night," Selena responded with a smile. "I just don't understand why you didn't tell her you were Kenneth Clay."

"Because I'm not. He's as much a figment of my imagination as Derringer Drake."

Carolyn looked around in surprise, only to find her mouth brushing his cheek. Did he have to stand so close? "Do you mean you haven't gone on safaris and climbed mountains and dived for sunken ships?"

"Oh, I've done that all right, otherwise I couldn't write about it. It's the bedroom exploits of Kenneth Clay that are so vastly overrated."

"Are you soliciting testimonials?" Selena drawled.

Clay hastily replaced his cup on the counter. "Cut it out, Selena. I was just trying to point out that for some reason people want to see me as a real-life counterpart to my make-believe hero." His gaze locked with Carolyn's. "I told you. I'm just a writer."

Clay watched her with narrowed eyes. He hadn't wanted her to know all of this about him. Not yet, anyway. He wanted her to get to know him better, to learn to trust him. Inviting Selena up for the weekend had to be the biggest mistake he had ever made.

Her eyes seemed to fill her face as she sat staring at him with dismay and bewilderment. She slid off the stool. "I've got to get ready if we're going to meet Brad at nine," she said as she cleared the counter of her dishes, placing them in the dishwasher alongside those used by Clay and Selena. Why did three people always seem to create the feeling of a pair and one extra? Carolyn decided that it didn't really matter any more. She'd be paired with Brad in a few minutes and this horrible day could move relentlessly forward.

Except it didn't work out quite that way. Somehow in the confusion of everyone crawling into Brad's car, Carolyn found herself in the back seat with Clay. It was a very small back seat. Brad had some sort of equipment in a box that took up a third of the space.

"Sorry about the crowding in the back seat. My trunk's already full or I'd move that stuff," Brad explained as they drove away from the resort.

"No problem," Clay obligingly offered. He placed his arm along the back of the seat so that Carolyn was tucked up hard against his side. She turned and glared at him and was rewarded with a smile.

This close to him she could feel his heartbeat. As she wriggled to find a more comfortable position she noticed that his heartbeat accelerated.
Uh oh
. Peeking at him out of the corner of her eye, she discovered that he was studying her intently. She could feel the blush start.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked softly.

She refused to look at him. "Should I be?"

"Not really."

"You could have told me you wrote as Kenneth Clay, you know. You let me go on and on about how tough a field it is, and how hard it is to get published," she muttered crossly.

"But that's true. It is a tough field and it's damned hard to get published."

She stared out the window in silence. She had nothing to say to the man. Nothing at all.

Brad was too busy showing Selena the sights along the coast to appear worried that his date had been preempted. Carolyn felt betrayed by both men. It wasn't long until the three others had a lively discussion going. Carolyn was surprised at Clay's friendliness toward Brad, compared to his attitude the night before. Since Selena was his guest, he was being quite philosophical regarding her interest in another man. Carolyn knew she'd never understand the male mind, never in a hundred years.

The marine museum was located near the arched bridge that spanned the mouth of Yaquina Bay. The brown rock walls and sharply slanted cedar shingled roof reminded Carolyn of African huts she'd seen in the National Geographic. She was glad to get out of the car and away from Clay.

The first thing they saw when they walked into the museum was a tank that looked as though it was about six feet in diameter and four feet deep. Indoor-outdoor carpeting edged the rim. With some trepidation Carolyn peered over the edge. She saw nothing but bubbling water. The sign overhead gave some statistics about the Octopus dofleini, the largest species known to science. It said that an individual may reach eighteen feet in diameter, attain a weight of one hundred pounds and live up to eight years.

Brad asked an attendant about the octopus, and the man replied, "No, we haven't done anything with him; he's still in there, although we're planning to make a trade later on in the week. This one is a little too playful to leave here in the open."

Carolyn, Clay and Selena joined Brad to hear the explanation.

Brad asked, "What's he been doing?"

"You mean other than crawling out at night? Not much. Although the other day he did squirt one of our visitors."

Carolyn spoke up. "You mean he can crawl out of there?"

"Yes. Octopus are night creatures, and this one is a little too adventurous for us."

Carolyn peered down into the clear water, but could see nothing.

The attendant ambled over and glanced into the water. "Oh, no. You were right. He's out again."

Carolyn found herself backing toward the door. "You mean there's an octopus loose in here?" Her voice quivered. She backed into a solid body and spun around. Clay stood there grinning.

"You're not afraid of a little ol' octopus, are you?" he asked in a soft voice as his arm slid around her waist.

"Yes, I believe I am," she responded with dignity. "I think I'll wait in the car until everyone is ready to go." His arm tightened, holding her.

"C'mon, Carolyn, there's no reason to be afraid of him. He's much more afraid of you than you are of him."

"I sincerely doubt it," she answered between clenched teeth. "Will you let me go?"

The voice of the guard interrupted their low-voiced discussion. "Here he is. I knew it wouldn't be hard to find him."

The attendant was grinning as he carried a soft lump of flesh about the size of a house cat, one tentacle drooping forlornly. With little fanfare he dropped him into the water. "He found the shrimp and crabs we had in one of the tanks to feed him. I guess he thought we were taking too long." He laughed. "It didn't take him long to learn the routine around here."