The Welcoming (15 page)

When Charity glided back into the kitchen, she handed the tray and its passenger to Dolores. “You can put this back,” she said. “Table 4 decided on the stuffed pork chops. I wish I had a pig handy.” She let out a laughing squeal as Roman scooped her off the floor.

“You're the best.” He pressed his lips to hers and held them there long after he'd set her down again. “The absolute best.” He was still laughing as he gathered her close for a hug. “Isn't she, Mae?”

“She has her moments.” She wasn't about to let them know how much good it did her to see them smiling at each other. “Now the two of you stop pawing each other in my kitchen and get back to work.”

Charity lifted her face for one last kiss. “I guess I'd better fix that martini now. He looked like he could use one.”

Because she wasn't one to hold a grudge, Charity treated Conby to attentive and cheerful service throughout the meal. Noting that he hadn't unbent by dessert, she brought him a serving of Mae's Black Forest cake on the house.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal, Mr. Conby.”

It was impossible for him to admit that he'd never had better, not even in Washington's toniest restaurants. “It was quite good, thank you.”

She offered an easy smile as she poured his coffee. “Perhaps you'll come back another time and try the trout.”

Even for Conby, her smile was hard to resist. “Perhaps. You run an interesting establishment, Miss Ford.”

“We try. Have you lived in Seattle long, Mr. Conby?”

He continued to add cream to his coffee, but he was very much on guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Your accent. It's very Eastern.”

Conby deliberated only seconds. He knew that Dupont had already left the dining room, but Block was at a nearby table, entertaining part of his tour group with what Conby considered rather boring stories. “You have a good ear. I was transferred to Seattle eighteen months ago. From Maryland. I'm in marketing.”

“Maryland.” Deciding to forgive and forget, she topped off his coffee. “You're supposed to have the best crabs in the country.”

“I assure you, we do.” The rich cake and the smooth coffee had mellowed him. He actually smiled at her. “It's a pity I didn't bring one along with me.”

Laughing, Charity laid a friendly hand on his arm. “You're a good sport, Mr. Conby. Enjoy your evening.”

Lips pursed, Conby watched her go. He couldn't recall anyone having accused him of being a good sport before. He rather liked it.

“We're down to three tables of diehards,” Charity announced as she entered the kitchen again. “And I'm starving.” She opened the refrigerator and rooted around for something to eat, but Mae snapped it closed again.

“You haven't got time.”

“Haven't got time?” Charity pressed a hand to her stomach. “Mae, the way tonight went, I wasn't able to grab more than a stray French fry.”

“I'll fix you a sandwich, but you had a call. Something about tomorrow's delivery.”

“The salmon. Damn.” She tilted her watch forward. “They're closed by now.”

“Left an emergency number, I think. Message is upstairs.”

“All right, all right. I'll be back in ten minutes.” She cast a last longing glance at the refrigerator. “Make that two sandwiches.”

To save time, she raced out through the utility room, rounded the side of the building and climbed the outside steps. When she opened the door, she could only stop and stare.

The music was pitched low. There was candlelight, and there were flowers and a white cloth on a table at the foot of the bed. It was set for two. As she watched, Roman took a bottle of wine from a glass bucket and drew the cork.

“I thought you'd never get here.”

She leaned back on the closed door. “If I'd known this was waiting, I'd have been here a lot sooner.”

“You said you liked surprises.”

“Yes.” There was both surprise and delight in her eyes as she brushed her tumbled hair back from her forehead. “I like them a lot.” Untying her apron, she walked to the table while he poured the wine. It glinted warm and gold in the candlelight. “Thanks,” she murmured when he offered her a glass.

“I wanted to give you something.” He gripped her hand, holding tight and trying not to remember that this was their last night together before all the questions had to be answered. “I'm not very good with romantic gestures.”

“Oh, no, you're very good at them. Champagne picnics, late-night suppers.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Mozart.”

“Picked at random,” he admitted, feeling foolishly nervous. “I have something for you.”

She looked at the table. “Something else?”

“Yes.” He reached down to the seat of his chair and picked up a square box. “It just came today.” It was the best he could do. He pushed the box into her hand.

“A present?” She'd always liked the anticipation as much as the gift itself, so she took a moment to study and shake the box. But the moment the lid was off she snatched the bracelet out. “Oh, Roman, it's gorgeous.” Thoroughly stunned, she turned the etched gold, watching the light glint off the metal and the square-cut amethyst. “It's absolutely gorgeous,” she said again. “I'd swear I'd seen this before. Last week,” she remembered. “In one of the magazines Lori brought me.”

“You had it on your desk.”

Overwhelmed, she nodded. “Yes, I'd circled this. I do that with beautiful things I know I'll never buy.” She took a deep breath. “Roman, this is a wonderful, sweet and very romantic thing to do, but—”

“Then don't spoil it.” He took the bracelet from her and clasped it on her wrist. “I need the practice.”

“No.” She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I think you've got the hang of it.”

He held her, letting the music, her scent, the moment, wash over him. Things could be different with her. He could be different with her.

“Do you know when I fell in love with you, Roman?”

“No.” He kissed the top of her head. “I've thought more about why than when.”

With a soft laugh, she snuggled against him. “I'd thought it was when you danced with me and you kissed me until every bone in my body turned to water.”

“Like this?”

He turned his head, meeting her lips with his. Gently he set her on fire.

“Yes.” She swayed against him, eyes closed. “Just like that. But that wasn't when. That was when I realized it, but it wasn't when I fell in love with you. Do you remember when you asked me about the spare?”

“The what?”

“The spare.” Sighing, she tilted her head to give him easier access to her throat. “You wanted to know where the spare was so you could fix my flat.” She leaned back to smile at his stunned expression. “I guess I can't call it love at first sight, since I'd already known you two or three minutes.”

He ran his hands over her cheeks, through her hair, down her neck. “Just like that?”

“I'd never thought as much about falling in love and getting married as I suppose most people might. Because of Pop's being sick, and the inn. I always figured if it happened it would happen without me doing a lot of worrying or preparing. And I was right.” She linked hands with him. “All I had to do was have a flat tire. The rest was easy.”

A flat, Roman remembered, that had been deliberately arranged, just as her sudden need for a handyman had been arranged. As everything had been arranged, he thought, his grip tightening on her fingers. Everything except his falling in love with her.

“Charity . . .” He would have given anything to be able to tell her the truth, the whole truth. Anything but his knowledge that in ignorance there was safety. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said carefully. “I never wanted to feel this way about anyone.”

“Are you sorry?”

“About a lot of things, but not about being in love with you.” He released her. “Your dinner's getting cold.”

She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “If we found something else to do for an hour or so we could call it a midnight supper.” She ran her hands up his chest to toy with the top button of his shirt. “Want to play Parcheesi?”

“No.”

She flicked the button open and worked her way slowly, steadily down. “Scrabble?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I know.” She trailed a finger down the center of his body to the snap of his jeans. “How about a rip-roaring game of canasta?”

“I don't know how to play.”

Grinning, she tugged the snap open. “Oh, I have a feeling you'd catch on.” Her laugh was muffled against his mouth.

Her heated thoughts of seducing him spun away as he dragged her head back and plundered her mouth. Her hands, so confident an instant before, faltered, then fisted hard at the back of his shirt. This wasn't the gentle, persuasive passion he had shown her since the night they had become lovers. This was a raw, desperate need, and it held a trace of fury, and a hint of despair. Whirling from the feel of it, she strained against him, letting herself go.

He'd needed her before. Roman had already come to understand that he had needed her long before he'd ever met her. But tonight was different. He'd set the stage carefully—the wine, the candles, the music—wanting to give her the romance she made him capable of. Then he'd felt her cool fingertips on his skin. He'd seen the promising flicker of desire in her eyes. There was only tonight. In a matter of hours she would know everything. No matter how often he told himself he would set things right, he was very much afraid she wouldn't forgive him.

He had tonight.

Breathless, she clung to him as they tumbled onto the bed. Here was the restless, ruthless lover she had known existed alongside the gentle, patient one. And he excited her every bit as much. As frantic as he, she pulled the loosened shirt from his shoulders and gloried in the feel of his flesh under her hands.

He was as taut as wire, as explosive as gunpowder. She felt his muscles tense and tighten as his mouth raced hungrily over her face. With a throaty laugh she tugged at his jeans while they rolled over the bed. If this was a game they were playing, she was determined they would both win.

A broken moan escaped him as her seeking hands drove him toward delirium. With an oath, he snagged her wrists, yanking them over her head. Breath heaving, he watched her face as he hooked a hand in the top of her shirt and ripped it down the center.

She had only time for a gasp before his hot, open mouth lowered to her skin to torment and tantalize. Powerless against the onslaught, she arched against him. When her hands were free, she only pressed him closer, crying out as he sucked greedily at her breast.

There were sensations here, wild and exquisite, that trembled on but never crossed the thin line that separated pleasure from pain. She felt herself dragged under, deep, still deeper, to windmill helplessly down some dark, endless tunnel toward unreasonable pleasures.

She couldn't know what she was doing to him. He was skilled enough to be certain that she was trapped by her own senses. Yet her body wrapped around his, her hands sought, her lips hungered.

In the flickering light her skin was like white satin. Under his hands it flowed like lava, hot and dangerous. Passion heated her light floral scent and turned it into something secret and forbidden.

Impatient, he yanked her slacks down her hips, frantically tasting each new inch of exposed flesh. This new intimacy had her sobbing out his name, shuddering as climax slammed impossibly into climax.

She held on to him, her nails digging in, her palms sliding damply over his slick skin. Her mind was empty, wiped clear of all but sensation. His name formed on her lips again and again. She thought he spoke to her, some mad, frenzied words that barely penetrated her clouded brain. Perhaps they were promises, pleas, or prayers. She would have answered all of them if she could.

Then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her cry of release, smothering her groan of surrender, as he drove himself into her.

Fast, hot, reckless, they matched rhythms. Far beyond madness, they clung. Driven by love, locked in desire, they raced. Even when they tumbled back to earth, they held each other close.

Chapter 11

With her eyes half closed, her lips curved, she gave a long, lazy sigh. “That was wonderful.”

Roman topped off the wine in Charity's glass. “Are you talking about the meal or the preliminaries?”

She smiled. “Both.” Before he could set the bottle down, she touched his hand. It was just a skimming of her fingertip over his skin. His pulse doubled. “I think we should make midnight suppers a regular event.”

It was long past midnight. Even cold fish was delicious with wine and love. He hoped that if he held on hard enough it could always be like this. “The first time you looked at me like that I almost swallowed my tongue.”

She kept her eyes on his. Even in candlelight they were the color of morning. “Like what?”

“Like you knew exactly what I was thinking, and was trying not to think. Exactly what I wanted not to think. Exactly what I wanted, and was trying not to want. You scare the hell out of me.”

Her lazy smile faltered. “I do?”

“You make too much difference. All the difference.” He took both of her hands, wishing that just this once he had smooth words, a little poetry. “Every time you walk into a room . . .” But he didn't have smooth words, or poetry. “It makes a difference.” He would have released her hands, but she turned them in his.

“I'm crazy about you. If I'd gone looking for someone to share my life, and my home, and my dreams, it would have been you.”

She saw the shadow of concern in his eyes and willed it away. There was no room for worries in their lives tonight. With a quick, wicked smile, she nibbled on his fingers. “You know what I'd like?”

“More Black Forest cake.”

“Besides that.” Her eyes laughed at him over their joined hands. “I'd like to spend the night making love with you, talking with you, drinking wine and listening to music. I have a feeling I'd find it much more satisfying than the slumber parties I had as a girl.”

She could, with a look and a smile, seduce him more utterly than any vision of black lace or white silk. “What would you like to do first?”

She had to laugh. It delighted her to see him so relaxed and happy. “Actually, there is something I want to talk with you about.”

“I've already told you—I'll wear a suit, but no tuxedo.”

“It's not about that.” She smiled and traced a fingertip over the back of his hand. “Even though I know you'd look wonderful in a tux, I think a suit's more than adequate for an informal garden wedding. I'd like to talk to you about after the wedding.”

“After-the-wedding plans aren't negotiable. I intend to make love with you for about twenty-four hours.”

“Oh.” As if she were thinking it through, she sipped her wine. “I guess I can go along with that. What I'd like to discuss is more long-range. It's something that Block said to me the other day.”

“Block?” Alarm sprinted upward, then centered at the base of his neck.

“Just an offhand comment, but it made me think.” She moved her shoulders in a quick, restless movement, then settled again. “I mentioned that we were getting married, and he said something about hoping you didn't take me away. It suddenly occurred to me that you might not want to spend your life here, on Orcas.”

“That's it?” He felt the tension seep away.

“It's not such a little thing. I mean, I'm sure we can work it out, but you might not be crazy about the idea of living in a . . . well, a public kind of place, with people coming and going, and interruptions, and . . .” She let her words trail off, knowing she was rambling, as she did whenever she was nervous. “The point is, I need to know how you feel about staying on the island, living here, at the inn.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“It isn't just a matter of what I feel any longer. It's what we feel.”

It amazed him that she could so easily touch his heart. He supposed it always would. “It's been a long time since I've felt at home anywhere. I feel it here, with you.”

She smiled and linked her fingers with his. “Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Good.” She rose and corked the wine. “Just let me get my keys.”

“Keys to what?”

“The van,” she told him as she walked into the next room.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“I know the best place on the island to watch the sun rise.” She came back carrying a blanket and jiggling the keys. “Want to watch the sun come up with me, Roman?”

“You're only wearing a robe.”

“Of course I am. It's nearly two in the morning. Don't forget the wine.” With a laugh, she opened the door and crept down the steps. “Let's try not to wake anyone.” She winced a little as she started across the gravel in her bare feet. With a muttered oath, Roman swung her up into his arms. “My hero,” she murmured.

“Sure.” He dumped her in the driver's seat of the van. “Where are we going, baby?”

“To the beach.” She pushed her hair behind her shoulders as she started the van. Symphonic music blared from the radio before she twisted the knob. “I always play it too loud when I'm driving alone.” She turned to look guiltily back at the inn. It remained dark and quiet. Slowly she drove out of the lot and onto the road. “It's a beautiful night.”

“Morning.”

“Whatever.” She took a long, greedy gulp of air. “I haven't really had time for big adventures, so I have to take small ones whenever I get the chance.”

“Is that what this is? An adventure?”

“Sure. We're going to drink the rest of the wine, make love under the stars and watch the sun come up over the water.” She turned her head. “Is that all right with you?”

“I think I can live with it.”

It was hours later when she curled up close to him. The bottle of wine was empty, and the stars were blinking out one by one.

“I'm going to be totally useless today.” After a sleepy laugh, she nuzzled his neck. “And I don't even care.”

He tugged the blanket over her. The mornings were still chilly. Though he hadn't planned it, the long night of loving had given him new hope. If he could convince her to sleep through the morning, he could complete his assignment, close the door on it and then explain everything. That would let him keep her out of harm's way and begin at the beginning.

“It's nearly dawn,” she murmured.

They didn't speak as they watched day break. The sky paled. The night birds hushed. For an instant, time hung suspended. Then, slowly, regally, colors seeped into the horizon, bleeding up from the water, reflecting in it. Shadows faded, and the trees were tipped with gold. The first bird of the morning trumpeted the new day.

Roman gathered her to him to love her slowly under the lightening sky.

She dozed as he drove back to the inn. The sky was a pale, milky blue, but it was as quiet now as it had been when they'd left. When he lifted her out of the van, she sighed and nestled her head on his shoulder.

“I love you, Roman.”

“I know.” For the first time in his life he wanted to think about next week, next month, even next year—anything except the day ahead. He carried her up the stairs and into the inn. “I love you, Charity.”

He had little trouble convincing her to snuggle between the sheets of the rumpled bed once he promised to take Ludwig for his habitual run.

Before he did, Roman went downstairs, strapped on his shoulder holster and shoved in his gun.

Taking Dupont was a study in well-oiled police work. By 7:45 his secluded cabin was surrounded by the best Sheriff Royce and the F.B.I. had to offer. Roman had ignored Conby's mutterings about bringing the locals into it and advised his superior to stay out of the way.

When the men were in position, Roman moved to the door himself, his gun in one hand, his shoulder snug against the frame. He rapped twice. When there was no response, he signaled for his men to draw their weapons and close in. Using the key he'd taken from Charity's ring, he unlocked the door.

Once inside, he scanned the room, legs spread, the gun held tight in both hands. The adrenaline was there, familiar, even welcome. With only a jerk of the head he signaled his backup. Guarding each other's flanks, they took a last circle.

Roman cautiously approached the bedroom. For the first time, a smile—a grim smile—moved across his face. Dupont was in the shower. And he was singing.

The singing ended abruptly when Roman yanked the curtain aside.

“Don't bother to put your hands up,” Roman told him as he blinked water out of his eyes. Keeping the gun level, he tossed his first prize a towel. “You're busted, pal. Why don't you dry off and I'll read you your rights?”

“Well done,” Conby commented when the prisoner was cuffed. “If you handle the rest of this as smoothly, I'll see that you get a commendation.”

“Keep it.” Roman holstered his weapon. There was only one more hurdle before he could finally separate past and future. “When this is done, I'm finished.”

“You've been in law enforcement for over ten years, DeWinter. You won't walk away.”

“Watch me.” With that, he headed back to the inn to finish what he had started.

***

When Charity awoke, it was full morning and she was quite alone. She was grateful for that, because she couldn't stifle a moan. The moment she sat up, her head, unused to the generous doses of wine and stingy amounts of sleep, began to pound.

She had no one but herself to blame, she admitted as she crawled out of bed. Her feet tangled in what was left of the shirt she'd been wearing the night before.

It had been worth it, she thought, gathering up the torn cotton. Well worth it.

But, incredible night or not, it was morning and she had work to do. She downed some aspirin, allowed herself another groan, then dove into the shower.

***

Roman found Bob huddled in the office, anxiously gulping laced coffee. Without preamble, he yanked the mug away and emptied the contents into the trash can.

“I just needed a little something to get me through.”

He'd had more than a little, Roman determined. His words were slurred, and his eyes were glazed. Even under the best of circumstances Roman found it difficult to drum up any sympathy for a drunk.

He dragged Bob out of his chair by the shirtfront. “You pull yourself together and do it fast. When Block comes in you're going to check him and his little group out. If you tip him off—if you so much as blink and tip him off—I'll hang you out to dry.”

“Charity does the checkout,” Bob managed through chattering teeth.

“Not today. You're going to go out to the desk and handle it. You're going to do a good job because you're going to know I'm in here and I'm watching you.”

He stepped away from Bob just as the office door opened. “Sorry I'm late.” Despite her heavy eyes, Charity beamed at Roman. “I overslept.”

He felt his heart stop, then sink to his knees. “You didn't sleep enough.”

“You're telling me.” Her smile faded when she looked at Bob. “What's wrong?”

He grabbed at the thread of opportunity with both hands. “I was just telling Roman that I'm not feeling very well.”

“You don't look well.” Concerned, she walked over to feel his brow. It was clammy and deepened the worry in her eyes. “You're probably coming down with that virus.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“You shouldn't have come in at all today. Maybe Roman should drive you home.”

“No, I can manage.” He walked on shaking legs to the door. “Sorry about this, Charity.” He turned to give her a last look. “Really sorry.”

“Don't be silly. Just take care of yourself.”

“I'll give him a hand,” Roman muttered, and followed him out. They walked out into the lobby at the same time Block strolled in.

“Good morning.” His face creased with his habitual smile, but his eyes were wary. “Is there a problem?”

“Virus.” Bob's face was already turning a sickly green. Fear made a convincing cover. “Hit me pretty hard this morning.”

“I called Dr. Mertens,” Charity announced as she came in to stand behind the desk. “You go straight home, Bob. He'll meet you there.”

“Thanks.” But one of Conby's agents followed him out, and he knew he wouldn't be going home for quite a while.

“This virus has been a plague around here.” She offered Block an apologetic smile. “I'm short a housekeeper, a waitress and now Bob. I hope none of your group had any complaints about the service.”

“Not a one.” Relaxed again, Block set his briefcase on the desk. “It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Charity.”

Roman watched helplessly as they chatted and went through the routine of checking lists and figures. She was supposed to be safe upstairs, sleeping deeply and dreaming of the night they'd spent together. Frustrated, he balled his hands at his side. Now, no matter what he did, she'd be in the middle.

He heard her laugh when Block mentioned the fish she'd carried into the dining room. And he imagined how her face would look when the agents moved in and arrested the man she thought of as a tour guide and a friend.

Charity read off a total. Roman steadied himself.

“We seem to be off by . . . $22.50.” Block began laboriously running the numbers through his calculator again. Brow furrowed, Charity went over her list, item by item.

“Good morning, dear.”

“Hmm.” Distracted, Charity glanced up. “Oh, good morning, Miss Millie.”

“I'm just on my way up to pack. I wanted you to know what a delightful time we've had.”

“We're always sorry to see you go. We were all pleased that you and Miss Lucy extended your stay for a few days.”

Miss Millie fluttered her eyelashes myopically at Roman before making her way toward the stairs. At the top, he thought, there would now be an officer posted to see that she and the other guests were kept out of the way.