Blue Velvet (6 page)

“Move a little forward, Kate.” The frosted glass door was open and she instinctively obliged as Beau stepped into the shower and closed the door behind him. She could feel the warmth of his chest touching her back as he leaned forward to pick up the soap from the holder. “Let me get a little of this stench off of me and then I’ll take care of you. Tossing garbage cans around and playing with gasoline and trash piles sure tests a man’s deodorant.” She could feel him moving behind her, occasionally touching her as he soaped his chest and torso, but she kept her gaze fixed rigidly on the ceramic wall in front of her. “Are you feeling all right? No dizziness or nausea?”

“No, I told you I was fine,” she said quickly. Except for the way her heart was pounding as if it wanted to jump out of her breast. Except for her skin that was becoming so sensitive to the casual brush of his that it seemed to ache and burn with every touch. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“The hell he didn’t.” His hands were at her
waist as he shifted her a little to the side so that the full spray of water would hit him and rinse off the film of soap. “I should have cremated the bastard.”

“You almost did,” she said breathlessly. His hands hadn’t lingered on her waist for more than an instant, yet she still felt them there. “For a second I was almost more afraid of you than I was of them.”

“Afraid?” She could feel his gaze on her but her own remained riveted straight ahead. “You didn’t give the impression of being frightened. If I recall, you wanted to bust in there and take them both on by yourself.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t afraid,” she said simply. “It was just something that had to be done. You always have to do what has to be done even if you’re not very brave. You simply block out everything and get it over with.”

“Do you?” There was an odd note of tenderness in his voice. “Then, of course, I was mistaken. No red badge of courage for you.”

“That was a wonderful book, wasn’t it?” she asked eagerly, her face lighting up. “I found an English copy in a used bookstore in Maracaibo a
few years ago. I can usually only find Spanish or Portuguese translations and I always think it’s much nicer to read a book in the original, don’t you?”

“Oh, indubitably,” he drawled. “How many languages do you read?”

“Spanish and Portuguese,” she answered. “I speak a little French, but I can’t read or write it.”

“What a shame,” he said mildly. “Turn around here and let me take a look at that head.” His hands were on her shoulders. “So you’re a Stephen Crane fan. Who else do you like?”

“Everyone,” she said with a dreamy smile as she obediently turned to face him. “Shakespeare, Samuel Clemens, Walter Scott.” His hands were parting the short wet strands that were clinging seal-like around her face. “I particularly like Shakespeare. There’s so much music in his words.”

“You have something against the twentieth century?” He was probing gently at the swelling, his expression carefully impersonal.

“No, it’s just easier to get hold of the classics in a foreign country.”

“This doesn’t seem too bad,” he said, relieved.
“No headache?” His hands fell to her nape and began a gentle kneading massage of the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders.

“No.” She found to her surprise that she was speaking the truth. The painful throbbing had all but disappeared and the combination of the soothing spray and those magical fingers was melting every muscle in her body into a state resembling warm butter. Unconsciously she nestled closer, laying her head on his chest like a contented child. “It’s all gone.”

“Good.” She felt his lips brush her forehead. “Which Shakespearean play do you like best?”

“
Romeo and Juliet
. I know it’s not considered his most cerebral, but there’s something about it that touches me every time. And the words …” Her arms linked absently about his waist. “They’re like sunlight, all clear and shining and beautiful.”

“Golden rain?” he suggested. His thumb had found the cords of tension in the center of her nape with delicious accuracy.

“Um-hmm.” She nodded, conscious of the damp thatch of hair beneath her cheek and the scent of soap and musk that surrounded him. “I
never thought of it quite like that, but it’s a lovely way to describe it. A golden rain of words.” She moved a little closer. “I love the way—” She broke off as she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. Her eyes widened in shock as they flew down his body.

He chuckled. “What did you expect? Those pretty nipples have been poking into me, and I’ve been dying to cuddle that pert little derriere since the instant I stepped in here. I’m not an iron man, you know.”

She started to back away. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered in confusion. “I didn’t mean—”

“Hush,” he said softly. His hands on her nape tightened as he tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “I’m not an iron man but I’m not a boy either. Of course I want you, but I’m not going to throw you down on the floor and rape you. I can handle it.” He cast a mischievous glance down at himself and his eyes were suddenly dancing. “As long as you promise you won’t!”

A little smile tugged at her lips. The man was really outrageous. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

She was standing here naked as the day she
was born actually joking with this impossibly attractive man, she thought in bewilderment. What was even more unusual was that after that first moment of excruciating shyness, she’d felt perfectly natural and relaxed about it. He was such a strange man. Tenderness and violence, mischief and cynicism, virile lust and almost maternal gentleness. Yet she felt as comfortable with him in this moment as if she’d known him for years.

“I trust you,” he said airily, as he reached for the knob and turned off the water. “You’ve demonstrated an amazing amount of strength of will in other areas. But I still think I’d better get you out of here and away from temptation.” He whisked her out of the shower stall and wrapped her carefully in a towel before turning away. “Run along into the cabin while I dry off. You’ll find a hair dryer in the top drawer of the dresser and an electric outlet on the wall by the bunk.” He patted her bottom through the terry cloth of the towel. “Be sure to put on that robe right away. The air conditioning in the cabin is turned up fairly high to combat the humidity.”

“I’ll do that,” she said bemusedly as she
opened the bathroom door. His streak of possessive protectiveness was constantly catching her off guard and filling her with strange warmth. She was the one who’d always nurtured and protected. It felt very odd being on the receiving end after all these years. Odd … and rather nice.

She was sitting on the bunk, bundled up in the white terry robe and just finishing blow-drying her hair when he padded out of the bathroom. A towel was slung carelessly about his hips, but he was otherwise nude. His hair was still damp but he’d combed it into its former slightly rakish orderliness. Without clothes he looked like the athlete he claimed to be, she thought absently. There wasn’t an inch of fat on that lean muscular torso and his legs and arms had a supple whipcord strength that was both symmetrical and graceful. He must have been beautiful when he was skating, she thought dreamily. She would have liked to have seen him then.

“Why did you quit skating?” she asked impulsively.

“I was through with it,” he said as he crossed the cabin to stand in front of her. He reached out a hand as if to test the dampness of her hair, but
paused to play with a curl, unwinding it and then allowing it to spring back into its former ringlet. “It was fun for a while but I’ve never been known for my stability. There’s no use sticking around once something has lost its zing.”

She felt a sudden inexplicable jab of pain somewhere near her heart. No, Beau Lantry would never be interested in permanence or stability. Even on such short acquaintance she should have known that. It was all there in the reckless curve of that beautiful sensual mouth and the flickering restlessness in his eyes.

“I like your hair,” he said. “It’s all soft silky fleece. You’re silky all over, your skin, your hair.…” His hand dropped and he turned away. “You’re dry enough. Climb into bed and I’ll turn out the light.”

She switched off the portable dryer and put it in his outstretched hand. “On which side do you prefer that I sleep, left or right?” she asked politely.

His lips quirked. “Under,” he answered, “or over.” Then as her brow knitted in confusion, his golden eyes twinkled. “Never mind. It was
just a thought. Sleep next to the wall. It will give me the illusion that I have you trapped and helpless.”

“You do have me trapped and helpless,” she murmured as she pulled back the coverlet and slipped beneath it. “It’s no illusion.”

His smile faded. “That’s right, I do.” He strode across the room and tossed the dryer carelessly on the dresser. “How stupid of me to forget.” His hand brushed the switch on the wall, plunging the room into darkness.

She watched his dark shadow come toward the bunk, pausing only to jerk the towel from around his hips. She felt the mattress give as he slipped into the bed beside her and she drew a deep breath trying to relax.

“Come here, Kate.” He was scooting closer and drawing her into his arms with casual matter-of-factness. “I want to cuddle you.” His hands were moving soothingly up and down her back. “You’re stiff as a board, sugar.” That faint Southern drawl was dark velvet as he pressed his face into the curls at her temple. “Just a cuddle, that’s all. Relax and let me love you a little.” His lips were teasing, pulling at one tight curl. “I
love your hair. I keep wanting to run my hands through it and play like a little kid. What’s it like when it’s long?”

“Terrible,” she said faintly. She could feel the heat of his naked flesh even through the thick terry of the robe. “It’s so soft that it tangles at the first breeze. That’s why I keep it short.”

“Ummm.” He rubbed his cheek back and forth against it in a gesture that was half sensual, half boyish. “I think I’d like it long. You’d look sort of wild and gypsyish,” he said. “Though this is fine too.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said dryly, “since I have no intention of letting it grow.”

“We’ll see,” he said absently. His hands were plucking discontentedly at the back of the terry robe. “This thing is damnably rough. I want to get at you.” Then he sighed and drew her closer into the curve of his arm, settling her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “You’re tired, right? And if I’m not going to be on the same level as that bastard who tried to clobber you, I’ve got to remember, right? Go to sleep, Kate.”

“If you’d rather—”

“ ‘Do it’?” he interrupted. “Oh, yes, I definitely
would. But every now and then I find myself overcome by the code of chivalrous Southern manhood.” His tone was distinctly testy. “At the most fiendishly inconvenient times.”

“I owe you a—”

“Kate, sweet Kate, shut up.” His hand was combing through her curls. “I’m quite aware you’re ready to lay that silky body on the line and it isn’t making it any easier for me.”

“Okay,” she whispered. The events of the evening, together with the emotional upheavals she’d undergone, were catching up with her and she almost collapsed against him. Her voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “If it’s all right with you?”

“It will have to be.”

Suddenly out of the mists of sleep rapidly enfolding her a fragmentary memory drifted to her. “Who is Uncle George?”

“What?”

“Uncle George,” she murmured. “You said Despard reminded you of Uncle George.”

“Oh, no one important. Just one of my more avaricious relatives. I hadn’t thought of the old bastard for years before I ran into Despard.”
There was a long silence and she was half asleep when Beau began to chuckle. “Lord, if only Daniel could see me now.”

“Daniel?” she asked drowsily.

“He’d never believe it.” There was amusement vying with the exasperation in his tone. “Discussing Shakespeare and Samuel Clemens with a naked woman in the shower and then lying in bed pure as the driven snow with that same woman. He’d enjoy the entire episode tremendously.”

“Would he?” She could barely keep her eyes open. “You’re very good friends, aren’t you?”

“We’ve been in a few tight spots together. It has a tendency to breed a certain intimacy.”

“He’s such a strange-looking man. Not at all like any picture I’ve ever seen of Charon.”

“Charon?”

“The ferryman,” she muttered, burrowing her head deeper into his shoulder. “Over the River Styx.”

“Oh, that Charon.” Beau’s velvet drawl hinted at repressed laughter. “Forgive me for not making the connection. I can see how the territorial waters of Castellano would remind you of the
river of the dead under the present circumstances, but I’m afraid Daniel wouldn’t be flattered to be compared to that particular mythical figure.” One lazy finger was winding itself around a silky curl. “He was a ferocious old graybeard as I recall.”

“Well, the beard was right anyway.” Her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

“You seem to be really hung up on mythology. Did you study it in school?”

She shook her head. “I never went to school,” she said sleepily. “I read about it in my encyclopedia.”

His voice was deceptively casual. “You never went to school?”

“Well, at least not after I was seven years old. We moved around too much.” She wished he’d quit asking questions. She just wanted to go to sleep. “But Jeffrey said it didn’t really matter. When I was eight, he bought me a set of encyclopedias and had me study fifteen pages a day until I’d gone through all of them. He said that was as good as any stuffy old school.”

“Oh, he did?” The amusement was completely gone and he sounded almost grim. “Your Jeffrey
seems to have all sorts of peculiar theories about what’s good for you.” It wasn’t any wonder, he thought, that she wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met before. “Do you always do what he tells you?”

But she was already asleep, her breathing deep and steady as she curled trustfully into the curve of his arm.

A set of encyclopedias, for heaven’s sake! Mythology and the classics and millions of facts without interpretation. And a young girl with an insatiable hunger for the printed word, eagerly devouring those facts and reaching for more. Then another thought occurred to him. Women’s lib. She hadn’t known about women’s lib.