Scout's Honor (7 page)

Her black bikini was a web of shadow against
the Haitian cotton bedspread. She’d planned to sunbathe after her
swim, but those two strips of cloth would be suicide after such a
kiss.

Anna pushed herself away from the door and
swept back the tendrils of wet hair clinging to her cheeks.
Flipping through the contents of her closet, she picked out a filmy
white skirt that had pearly buttons up the front and reached to
mid-calf. The matching blouse had capped sleeves and a pastel
embroidery of wild island flowers to match the pockets of the
skirt. She dropped the outfit in the middle of the mahogany
four-poster and peeled herself out of the swimsuit.

The lace of her camisole barely peeked above
the top button of the blouse, and altogether, she decided, it was a
very chaste-looking outfit, innocent armor against any passion
lingering in the atmosphere. She worked her damp hair into a French
braid and glossed her lips. With her hand on the doorknob she took
one last deep breath, then walked out of the sanctuary of her room,
still telling herself it was just a kiss.

Mitch stood at the rail of the deck, staring
out at the ocean. As she stepped through the glass doors, he looked
over his shoulder and a lazy smile spread across his face,
crinkling the corners of his eyes and dazzling her with its boyish
sensuality. Now that she knew what his mouth could do to her, she
couldn’t take her eyes off the curve of his lips and the flash of
white teeth behind them. A shaft of heat went right from her throat
down her middle as she remembered the feel of his teeth beneath her
tongue. Delayed reaction.

She thought about turning around, going back
in the house, and trying to come out again without looking at him.
Instead she pretended she was facing him across a poker table, and
her instinct for survival took over, cooling down her emotions and
erasing the animation on her face. She met his eyes across the deck
and knew he understood what she was doing, shutting him down in the
only way that seemed to work.

“The game is on Friday night,” she said.
“Dumonde will be there along with a few others, a couple of
businessmen on vacation whom he invited—I’m sure in hopes of
fleecing them—and an old friend of mine who’ll be in on the con.”
She took a seat in the shade of the brightly striped umbrella over
the table. “The tourists are on their own and Nick will take a cut
of the cash I win. The land is yours, minus my ten acres.”

“Sounds good,” Mitch said, pushing himself
away from the rail. He flipped a chair around, swung a leg over the
seat, and sat down, facing her across a pair of tanned arms. A pair
of arms whose imprint she could still feel around her waist and up
her back. “What did Dumonde say when you told him about the
land?”

She forced her gaze away from his body,
hoping she didn’t look as dumbfounded as she felt. He had brought
out a beer for her, too, along with a couple of frosted glasses
from the freezer. She was surprised that he had known to look for
them. She poured her beer and took a swallow before answering his
question.

“I haven’t talked to Dumonde. Nick set up
the game and told Dumonde he had a player interested in the
property. He’ll be ready to put the deed on the table when the time
comes.”

Mitch’s eyes glazed over in thought for a
moment, and his face became serious. “I have some cash left, Anna.
Do you need it to get the game going?”

“No.” She shook her head. “With your
property backing me, I’ll have everything I need.” She wasn’t about
to tell him that she and Nick had set up a deal of their own.
They’d both go in with a few grand to bait the trap, confident of
winning in the end.

“What makes you so sure we’re going to win?”
Mitch asked.

She let out a deep sigh. “I’ve done my best
to get the odds in our favor, but . . . there are no guarantees.
You can’t con an honest man, Mitch, because he’s not out to get
something for nothing, but you can con a cheat like Dumonde,
provided he isn’t running the same scam you are. Believe me, we’ll
be up a creek without a paddle if he catches on to what we’re doing
and knows how to . . . uh, play along.” She stammered over her
explanation, not wanting Mitch to know exactly what they were up
to. Sure, he knew she was going to cheat, but something about his
face made her want to keep the details to herself.

“Should I wear my tux Friday night?” he
asked.

She shot him a quick glance as she reached
for her beer. “Wear whatever you want. You’re not coming with
me.”

“Wrong, boss,” he corrected her. “I’m not
letting you go in there alone.”

“Wrong, scout,” she retorted. “And I won’t
be alone. Nick will be with me.”

“Who’s this Nick guy?” His voice was leery
with doubt.

There was only one way to nip this in the
bud, she thought, watching a proprietary frown form on his face.
“Nick Torrey. He’s my other boyfriend . . . the young one.”

The lie didn’t come easily, but she knew
Nick would back her up if she needed him. He had been trying for
years to get their relationship past the platonic stage.

Mitch mulled over her statement, staring at
some distant spot on the horizon, then looked back at her. “Does
this mean we can’t have dinner together tonight?”

Disappointment was written all over his
face, and Anna wondered if he had any capacity at all for hiding
his feelings. Half of the human race—the half she dealt
with—depended on artifice for emotional survival. Obviously Mitch
Summers came from the other half. She was distinctly uncomfortable
lying to that face, so she avoided elaborating on her story.

“I’ll see you after the game on Friday—to
give you back your property, I hope; maybe to break some real bad
news.” It was better to keep all the cards on the table, where
those wide, innocent eyes could see them clearly. “Where are you
staying?”

“The Colonial,” he said, naming one of the
cheaper hotels.

“I’ll see you Friday, then,” she said, and
stood up. Solidifying the deal seemed to call for a handshake, so
she stuck out her hand. Mitch met her halfway, holding her hand
without shaking it as he rose from his chair and swung his leg over
it.

They stood there for a few moments, holding
hands and looking into each other’s eyes, and Anna felt the tug and
pull of his magnetism. Her gaze inadvertently slipped to his mouth,
and as if in response to her thoughts he smiled, an open invitation
for her to follow through on what was running through her mind. She
was beyond smiling as her pulse quickened and her heart seemed to
rise to her throat. With an effort of will her body rebelled
against, she dropped his hand.

“It will be late Friday night,” she said.
“Don’t worry if I’m not there before two or three in the
morning.”

“I won’t,” he said quietly. Not taking his
cue to leave, he didn’t move back an inch.

Anna couldn’t seem to move either. They were
both waiting, and as the seconds passed a tangible tension filled
the air between them. The situation was ridiculous, and set her
sophistication back a few hundred years. Finally she made a motion
to break the spell. Turning her face away she started to say
good-bye, but before the word could form on her lips he lightly
touched her under the chin and lifted her face as his mouth lowered
to claim her lips.

It was a sweet kiss, undemanding, different
from the kiss under the shower, and it was over much too soon.
Without another word he turned and left, walking off the deck and
down the beach, with
Anna
watching
him every step
of the way.

“Anna, you can never have too many bikinis.
The seawater absolutely eats them alive. Come on, try this red one
on,” Robby insisted, holding the strings of cloth up to his shirt.
“That black thing you love is in rags. Personally, I always have a
least a dozen extra suits on hand. You never know when a friend
might need to borrow one.”

“I’m not loaning you my black bikini,” Anna
said as she continued flipping through the rack of swim-wear.

“I’m hardly asking, darling. Your suits
wouldn’t fit me anyway. We’re built rather differently, if you
haven’t noticed.” Robby paused to compare her softly rounded figure
to his own slim angles, then added with a smile, “You’re too
hippy.”

A low chuckle escaped Anna as she picked out
a jewel-toned blue bikini with a matching pareu. Robby’s phone call
had been a delightful interruption to another morning with Larry
Walters, and she’d
been only
too happy to call it quits and go shopping with a good friend.
Whether he was listening to her problems or giving handy advice,
Robby always lifted her spirits.

“I’m going to try these on,” she said,
plucking the red suit out of his hands, “then let’s get some lunch.
There’s a new café in Rawson Square, near the Straw Market. They’ve
got great cappuccino.”

“Sounds divine. Let me see both of them on,
but I can tell you right now, the red one’s a knockout.”

Anna lifted her brow in a “we’ll see” look
and slipped into the dressing room. The two parts of the red suit
were held together by an intricate wrap of ties around the waist
and up behind her back. She put it on and took a look in the
mirror. Robby was right. The suit would be hard to beat.

She stepped out of the dressing room and
found Robby sorting through a rack of sport shirts. “Well? What do
you think?”

He smiled and lifted one hand in a short
wave
.
“Can I pick them or can I pick them? Don’t even bother with the
blue one unless you want both. That suit was made for you, Anna.
What do you think of this?” He held up a pastel knit shirt. “I
think this blue is my best color.”

“I saw the same thing on Bay Street for half
the price.”

“Did it have a reinforced placket and double
pockets?”

“Um-hm.” She nodded.

“Great. We’ll pick it up after lunch. Go
change and I’ll have Sara write up the suit—my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that, Robby.”

“Consider it a belated thank you for coming
to my rescue last year. Believe me, Anna, without your help after
the hurricane I wouldn’t be in a position to buy you anything.”

“That was a business loan, and you’ve paid
it off with interest. Seeing you succeed is enough thanks for me. I
hope you’re keeping your insurance premiums up-to-date. Remember,
I’m still a one-percent owner of Sand Bay.”

“And I have renamed one of the cottages in
your honor—Analan. It’s my favorite, hidden in the palms, with a
private path to the beach. It’s yours whenever you want it. If
you’d like to come out to Eleuthera on this visit, I don’t have it
booked again until mid-November.”

“Thanks, Robby. I’ll think about it.” She
gave him a quick hug before heading back into the dressing
room.

Window shopping took them an extra half hour
on the way to Rawson Square, which put them in the thick of the
lunch crowd. Robby slipped the hostess five dollars for a good
table on the patio so they could indulge in his favorite pastime,
people-watching. Two cruise ships had docked that morning, and
there were lots of tourists to watch.

“I love these day trips to Nassau,” he said.
“Look at that lady over there, the one in the sailor suit. I don’t
know what comes over people when they hit the islands. They lose
all sense of fashion. There should be a law against anyone over the
age of twelve wearing a sailor suit.” He sipped his rich, creamy
coffee. “She could save that dress by getting rid of the collar and
the scarf.”

Anna nodded in agreement. “Why didn’t you go
into the clothing business? Anything has to be easier than running
an out-island resort.”

“Me and fashion? Cliché, Anna. I like the
rough-and-tumble image of innkeeping.” He gave her a wink and a
teasing smile. “Enough of me. What’s going on in your life? New
man?”

She laughed. “Not even an old man.”

“For shame. You have to make love, not save
love. Life is going to pass you by if you’re not careful.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, suddenly feeling the
lightness going out of her mood. She lowered her gaze and idly
stirred the foam
into her
cappuccino.

“So . . . there is a man. Why the downcast
look? Unrequited?”

“Not exactly,” she said, hedging. “We
haven’t gotten to the requiting stage. I don’t want to make a
mistake, and this guy has ‘wrong for me’ written all over him.”

“Another Antonio?” Robby asked gently.

Anna smiled at the erroneous comparison.
“No. Mitch is all sweetness and light. He couldn’t lie his way out
of a paper bag. He’s the quintessential boy scout, and, let’s face
it, Robby, I’m hardly anyone’s idea of a girl scout. But it doesn’t
really matter. I’m doing him a favor, and we’ll leave it at that. I
barely know the man.”

“Sounds to me like you know him pretty well.
I could give you a few merit badges if that would help.”

She picked up on the humor in his tone and
ran with it. “Are they giving badges for baccarat and craps
now?”

“They do in Nassau. You could go right to
troop leader.” He lifted his cup in a mock salute. “To the
Scouts.”

“To the Scouts,” Anna echoed, touching her
mug to his.

They each took a solemn sip before bursting
into laughter.

“So much for the Scouts,” Robby said. “What
you need is a real man.” He twisted around in his chair and perused
the crowd. “No playboys, no beach bums, no cruise-ship
dandies.”

“And no destitute waifs,” she added,
determined to convince herself more than Robby.

Robby gasped theatrically, one hand
fluttering to his throat as he gave her a shocked look. “My
goodness, is this Mitch—heaven help him—actually poor?”

“Very.”

“Well, it’s absolutely unforgivable.” Robby
settled back in his chair and continued in a conversational tone,
“No person in his right mind would be poor.”