That Carolina Summer (North Carolina) (16 page)

Swinging her feet to the paved sun deck, Annette sat sideways in her chair and tipped her glasses to perch atop her sun-streaked hair. As she stood up she gave him her most alluring smile.

“Yes, I did,” she admitted, then looked around at the other guests by the pool before returning her gaze to him. “Is there someplace private where we can talk?"

Interest flickered across his handsome face, then his eyes narrowed slightly. “I suppose there's something you want to find out about Josh Lord.” He guessed at the reason she was paying attention to him.

“Josh is a bore,” she declared with a coy little moue, wrinkling her nose. “So I certainly don't want to talk about him."

His expression began to unbend, that old charm gleaming in his eyes. Craig puffed up a little at the idea Annette might prefer him to Joshua Lord and all his money. Annette was almost disgusted at how easy it was if a girl pandered to a man's conceit.

“There's a place behind the game room. It's kind of secluded and out of the way. We could talk there,” Craig suggested.

The game room was where all the pinball machines and electronic games were, adjacent to the pool area. It sounded ideal—quickly accessible and little chance of being observed. And she wanted to get this conversation over with.

“I'll gather up my things and discreetly follow you over there.” The lilt in her voice seemed to promise him a special treat.

“Okay.” Craig was smiling now. “I'll meet you there."

There was something almost leering in the way his gaze traveled over her white swimsuit. But nothing could penetrate the shell she'd erected to protect her pain-riddled senses and shattered soul.

As he ambled off in the direction of the game room, Annette bent to pick up her beach robe and bag. She took her time folding them to lie smoothly over her arm, then set off after him. When she walked around the corner of the game room, Craig was standing next to the building waiting for her.

“What happened between you and Josh Lord?” he asked curiously. “You two seemed to be a pretty hot item."

“There were a few things we didn't agree on, so I walked,” Annette shrugged, and sauntered closer. “He didn't have anything worthwhile that you don't have.” She stopped and ran her finger along the underside of his uniform's lapel, peering up at him. “Besides, I think you and I could have more fun. That is—” she paused as though she might be too presumptuous"—if you'd still like to go out with me."

“Sure,” he answered quickly, then tried to conceal his eagerness.” It might be fun."

“Are you busy tonight?” Annette continued to let her finger ride under his lapel, slowly going up and down.

“I was thinking about going over to a buddy's place. He's having a keg party. You're welcome to come along.” Craig made it sound like he was doing her a favor by inviting her.

“Actually,” she sighed, and her finger stopped its movement, “I thought we could go somewhere a little more ... private. Someplace where we could be alone, just the two of us. Do you know what I mean?"

“Like ... uh ... where?” His hand moved to the bare curve of her waist where the cut-out sides of her swimsuit exposed tanned skin.

“Maybe at your place—or a friend's?” Annette suggested.

“The guy I room with is ... entertaining company tonight,” Craig replied, eliminating that possibility. “And the one friend who might let me use his place is having the party."

“There must be someplace we can go,” she reasoned.

“One of my buddies is a night clerk over on motel row.” He studied her closely as he passed on the information. A motel sounded a little sordid, but Annette supposed it wouldn't matter.

“Wouldn't it be all booked up this time of year?” she asked, letting him know by her question that she was willing.

“It's policy to hold one room back for regular customers—businessmen who come here a lot,” Craig explained. “He owes me a favor,” he bragged. “What time do you want to meet, and where?"

“Is nine o'clock too late?” She allowed his hand to draw her against his length but arched her back a little to keep some space between them.

“That's fine,” he agreed. “How about if I pick you up by the parking-lot exit?"

“I'll be there at nine o'clock on the dot,” Annette promised, and kissed him lightly on the mouth, then slipped out of his hold, leaving him wanting more and expecting it. She waved to him and walked around the corner of the game room.

BENDING DOWN, Marsha gave Robby a hug and a good-night kiss. “See you in the morning,” she promised. “Have a nice night and don't let the bedbugs bite,” she teased, then straightened. “Good night, Dad, Kathleen."

They echoed her parting phrases as she left them to walk to her own room. Unlocking the door, she walked in. A tray of dirty dishes sat on the round table by the window. Marsha guessed that her sister had ordered dinner from room service, since she had refused to have the evening meal with the family.

“Annette?” she called.

“I'm in the bathroom,” her sister answered.

The door was standing open so Marsha walked over. Annette was leaning close to the lighted mirror and applying dark brown mascara to her lashes. Marsha stared at the haltered pink sundress and white sandals her sister was wearing.

“Are you going out?” Marsha asked in disbelief.

“Yes. I have a date.” Annette stepped back to survey the finished product in the mirror.

“But ... I thought you and Josh—” Marsha began in bewilderment.

“I'm not going out with Josh,” her sister stated in the flat voice that had become her trademark in the past twenty-four hours. “That's over. We didn't have the same end in mind and there wasn't any way to compromise."

“Then who—"

“Am I going out with?” Annette finished the question for her. “Craig."

“Craig,” Marsha repeated, because it didn't sound possible. “The waiter?"

“Yes.” Annette brushed past her into the main section of the room. Dazed by the unexpected announcement, Marsha followed.

“But I thought you didn't like him.” As a matter of fact, her sister had made it plain that she didn't. But she'd never known Annette to do anything without a reason. There was bound to be one this time. A thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to make Josh jealous?"

“No.” Annette laughed at the suggestion, but there was little amusement in the sound. It was too brittle and phony.

“Then why are you going out with Craig?” Marsha frowned.

Annette made a project out of being certain the room key was in her purse. “I never realized what a problem it was being a virgin,” she said airily. “I've decided to eliminate it."

Marsha's mouth dropped open in shock. “You aren't serious?” she protested on a squeak. “You don't expect me to believe that you cold-bloodedly intend to—"

“Take it from me,” Annette interrupted, “the cold-blooded way will cause a lot less heartache than the hot-blooded one. At least, you won't want—or expect—the man to marry you afterward."

Marsha didn't like that kind of logic, but she was beginning to understand what had happened between Annette and Josh. “But don't you want to—"

“Save myself for the man I marry?” Again Annette finished the sentence for her in a mocking tone. “The problem is the man I want doesn't want to marry me."

“But ... surely Craig doesn't know what you have in mind?” Marsha was in a state of shock. She couldn't believe her sister was saying these things—or really intended to do them.

“He's very dense if he doesn't,” Annette retorted, suddenly sounding impatient. “What else would he think I wanted when I agreed to go to a motel with him?"

“A motel?” Marsha was shocked, appalled. This couldn't be her sister talking. It was someone else. “Annette, you aren't going there? It's so ... so..."

“The place doesn't make any difference, Marsha.” Impatience and irritation seemed to lace every word. “You've been reading too many romantic stories.” She used the same accusation that Josh had directed at her. “Why don't you grow up for a change?"

Annette had criticized her before, but this time there was more sting to the barbs. “You talk about me growing up and you're the one who's going to some sleazy motel—"

“It isn't sleazy,” Annette denied. “It's one of the places on motel row. Craig has a friend who's a night clerk.” Her features became cloaked with cynicism. “He'll probably get the room for nothing."

“You can't go through with this,” Marsha said flatly, suddenly very calm and determined.

“I can and I will,” Annette stated, and started for the door.

Marsha rushed to block the way. “I mean it, Annette. You aren't thinking straight,” she stated. “You're upset because of Josh and you want to hurt him, but you're going to end up hurting yourself more. If you'll think about it, you'll admit I'm right."

For a fleeting second there was a crack in her sister's defensive shell and Marsha had a glimpse of stark pain, but the slight break was immediately repaired. There was a stubborn set to Annette's jaw. She realized that she was determined to go through with this. Marsha could talk until she was blue in the face and not sway her from this self-destructive course she'd set.

“Would you mind getting out of my way?” Annette requested with stiff formality. “I don't want to keep Craig waiting."

There wasn't any way Marsha could stop her short of physical force, and even that was doubtful. Reluctantly she stepped to the side, letting Annette pass. She felt helpless as she watched her sister walk to the door and pause.

“Don't wait up for me,” Annette declared with deliberate flippancy, and Marsha wanted to scream at her not to go. But she didn't.

“You're a fool,” she said quietly instead.

The instant the door closed behind her, it unlocked the agitation that had been building inside Marsha. She ran a hand through her glistening brown hair, searching for some way she could stop her sister when reason had failed. She couldn't just let it happen.

Her mind recalled a remark Annette had made not long ago. “You're always there when I need you most,” she'd said. Whether Annette knew it or not, she needed Marsha now. But what could she do? How could she help? She wished for Annette's cleverness at coming up with ideas. Time was slipping away.

It was out of the question to go to their father. After the angry quarrel they'd had, there was too much chance that involving him in this would lead to another with more severe consequences. Annette was already furious at his interference in her relationship with Josh. And in her present mood, she just might break from the family altogether.

Marsha couldn't go to Kathleen, the second obvious choice for help. She was positive her stepmother would insist that her husband be told what was going on. Which brought her back to the starting point.

She chewed at a fingernail, desperate to find a solution. There simply wasn't anyone else who could help. Annette wouldn't listen to her or their father. And there just wasn't anybody else.

Josh! His name leaped into her mind with the suddenness of a switched-on light. All of this had started with him. He was ultimately the cause for Annette's actions. He was probably the only person that Annette would listen to, but would he help? Her already tense nerves tied themselves in tighter knots because she knew she would never find out unless she asked him.

A phone call would give her a degree of anonymity. Marsha didn't like the idea of confronting him in person with the news of Annette's latest escapade. It was sure to be an uncomfortable experience, but she knew she had to see him. It was possible she wouldn't be able to convince him over the telephone that the situation was really desperate.

Yet she struggled with the decision a few minutes more before she gathered up her courage to seek him out. With her room key tucked safely in her purse, Marsha switched off the lights and left the room.

She could just imagine what they thought at the hotel desk when she asked where Joshua Lord's suite was. A hundred doubts fluttered in her stomach as she approached his door. There were lights on inside, so at least he was home. She crossed her fingers that no one was with him and knocked at the door.

Within seconds her summons was answered and the door opened to frame a shirt-sleeved Josh Lord. A slight frown narrowed his dark eyes when he saw her. His features were grimly drawn, minus any polite welcome. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in his look.

“Yes?” It was a peremptory demand to state her business.

“I'm Marsha Long.” She thought she should identify herself first and clutched her purse with nervous fingers. “I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm ... Annette's sister."

“I remember you,” he stated, but his aloof expression didn't change. No attempt was made to put her at ease.

It was going to be harder than she thought. For a panicky instant, Marsha didn't know where to begin. He didn't look like he'd be willing to help at all.

“I need to ... talk to you about my sister,” she managed finally.

If anything, his expression hardened. “There is nothing I want to discuss about her, Miss Long,” he replied in a cold flat voice. “You've wasted your time coming here. Good night."

When he started to close the door, Marsha sprang forward in desperation. “No! Please!” she protested, and pushed a hand against the door to keep it from shutting. “I need your help."