Bride in Barbados (6 page)

"It would seem, from what you've said, that your own
family is much closer."

His swift glance was sardonic. "I haven't any family,
except for an aunt and a couple of cousins in England."

"You—you aren't married?"

"Until the past two years, I worked as a construction
engineer in the most primitive corners of the world. There was little
time, and even less opportunity for the sort of acquaintanceship that
leads to marriage."

"And for the past two years?"

"After I took over my grandfather's business affairs,
there was even less time."

"Though more opportunity?" she queried on a slightly
breathless note that amazed her. It was startling to discover how glad
she was that he didn't have a wife waiting for him on Barbados.

She was disconcerted by the way her question caused him to
stare at her unreadably. Then, as if he thought the best defense was an
offense, he observed, "We've established that I've been too busy for
marriage, but how have you managed to stay unattached for so long?"

He had turned the tables on her, and she flushed under his
mocking look. "I suppose I've never found a man I wanted to give up my
career for. Singing isn't like most jobs. It requires too much
traveling for a marriage to have much of a chance of survival."

"But you told me there was more to life than singing."

Her soft lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. "Which
just goes to show that the men I've known haven't exactly bowled me off
my feet."

"Not even your ex-fiancé?"

She finished her coffee and set her cup down before she
replied. "No." She returned his look steadily. "Oh, I tried to believe
for a time that we were right for each other, but eventually I learned
that he wasn't the man I had thought. We parted on amicable terms, so
probably he had reached the same conclusion about me."

His gaze roamed slowly over her face, as if he were making
up his mind about something. "I find that rather hard to believe." He
sounded bemused.

She felt a shiver of apprehension go through her. He was
like a beautiful wild beast. She was sure he knew things by instinct
and could survive in any environment by cunning. Travis Sennett was
more man than she'd ever laid eyes on before, and she sensed that in
any contest of wills, he would emerge the victor.

He snuffed out his cheroot in an ashtray. As he
straightened, the dark eyes narrowed on her face held an intensity of
purpose that she had seldom encountered and as they engaged her wide
emerald gaze she Found that she could not look away. His hand moved up
her arm, the dark eyes sliding to her lips then moving down to linger
appreciatively on the quickening rise and fall of her breasts beneath
the thin white batiste of her blouse.

His other arm came up and he pulled her unresisting body
closer to his. For some moments there were no words, for words were
unnecessary. Susan had never had a man make love to her with his eyes
before, but it was happening now as his gaze moved slowly from the
pulse pounding in her throat over her slightly parted lips, her glowing
emerald eyes, the smoothness of her brow. Her senses responded as
turbulently as if he were touching her with caressing fingers rather
than with a look. Then his hand reached up to stroke the silver sheen
of her hair, smoothing the cascading waves away from her face.

"You have beautiful hair." It was almost a casual
observation, as if he had remarked upon the beauty of a fine piece of
porcelain.

The fingers that had touched her hair examined the line of
her cheek and jaw. His hand felt warm and hard, and she wondered
dazedly how anything so hard could be so gentle. Then his fingers
cupped themselves lightly against her throat, lifting her chin. His
mouth came down to taste her soft lips and with gentle persuasion he
parted them to slowly and thoroughly explore their sweetness. As if
some irresistible magnetic force were at work, her mouth clung to his.

Finally, reluctantly, he lifted his head. Her eyes,
touched with a slumberous gaze, came open. His look was momentarily
confused and then quickly veiled.

"Susan?" His tone held some of the bewilderment she had
glimpsed in his eyes. He seemed to be holding himself tightly in check,
and at the same time debating something with himself. Finally, he said,
"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Will you have dinner with me again
tomorrow night?"

She nodded wordlessly, unable to so quickly shake the
confusion she felt, as if the mystification she had glimpsed so briefly
in his eyes had communicated itself to her. She felt so weak and
compliant, as if she had no will to disagree with whatever he said. She
knew that he sensed her dazed state, and any other man would have been
quick to take advantage of it. For reasons of his own, which Susan
could not begin to guess, he did not.

His sudden withdrawal was at once a disappointment and a
reprieve. He got to his feet.

"Until tomorrow."

"Good night, Travis," she whispered as he strode across
the room and let himself out.

Dirk Cantino was waiting in her dressing room when she
arrived at work the next evening.

"I've been in touch with my contact in Vegas," he told her
as she slipped the powder blue strapless gown she would wear for her
performance from a hanger. "I should know definitely next week if I'm
in. I won't be going out there until winter, though. The man whose
place I'll be taking is holding them to their contract and won't clear
out until then."

"I see," Susan responded noncommittally. She didn't feel
up to trying to bolster Dirk's ego by saying she knew he'd get the job.
Evidently he didn't feel much like pretending, either, for his usually
ready charm had been lacking in the straightforward speech. Susan was
grateful. She much preferred a businesslike approach from her boss to a
more familiar one.

Now he said, "I spoke to them about you. We can talk about
terms tonight after your last show."

She draped the blue gown over a folding screen, not
looking at him. "That won't be possible. I'm seeing Travis Sennett
again tonight."

Dirk's anger flared. "Where in thunder did that dude come
from?"

"Barbados," Susan told him simply.

"How long have you known him?"

She didn't appreciate the proprietary demand in his
question. "Awhile."

He faced her squarely, his jaw tight. "Let me spell it out
for you, sweetheart. I can help you or I can hurt you. It's up to you."

Susan stared at him with feigned innocence. "Isn't my act
satisfactory?"

He made a contemptuous sound. "I could leave here right
now and, within an hour, find a dozen singers who would do anything to
have your job, and probably sing just as well."

"I didn't realize," responded Susan calmly, "there were so
many unemployed singers in Miami."

"Let's stop the sparring, shall we? Will you meet me
tonight after the show? And you'd better be prepared to be much
friendlier than you've been up to now."

"I've already told you. I am otherwise engaged."

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working
violently. "Then I have a bulletin for you, Susan. We won't be needing
your services after the end of the month." He turned on his heel and
slammed out of the dressing room.

Susan watched him go with her mouth open. It wasn't as if
she hadn't been expecting an ultimatum, but she realized now that she
had thought Dirk was prepared to be more patient. She had even imagined
that he might be enjoying the pursuit a little.

She raked her fingers disconsolately through her long
hair. It hardly seemed to make a great difference whether she was out
of a job at the end of the month or a few months down the line. Sooner
or later, she would have found herself in this predicament, for she had
never given an instant's consideration to capitulating to Dirk's
outrageous demands. She wouldn't be blackmailed by the biggest producer
in Hollywood, much less by a small time semihood like Dirk Cantino! She
should have said that to him, she told herself furiously. But, no, she
thought with a heavy sigh, what would be gained by making her remaining
days at the Top Hat more uncomfortable than they already would be as
things stood now?

After being given her notice, she wasn't psychologically
at her best during her act that evening, but she got through it. And
she must have managed to keep her anxiety well enough hidden, for Jacky
didn't seem to suspect that she was troubled and the crowd demanded
encores at both performances.

The effort required, however, was enough to make her feel
exhausted by the time Travis arrived at her dressing room to take her
to dinner. She had changed into a simply cut dress of cherry-colored
summer crepe with the mere suggestion of sleeves, a deeply v'ed roll
collar and large buttons down the front. When Travis knocked she had
been sitting in the wicker chair with her chin in one hand and her eyes
closed for perhaps five minutes.

Opening the door, she managed what she hoped was a perky
smile for Travis, who looked devastatingly handsome in a suit of summer
white.

"What?" he drawled laconically as his gaze scanned the
dressing room. "Don't I get to show your boss the door again?"

"You're too late, I'm afraid. He was here before the first
performance."

He regarded her gravely. "Oh? Did he give you any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Susan said. "Shall we go? I'm
famished."

She was determined not to let the loss of her job spoil
this last evening with Travis, and so she stiffened her spine and
chatted about inconsequential things on the drive and all through
dinner. She suspected, though, that he was not entirely fooled. More
than once, she looked up to see him studying her in a very deliberative
way.

As they were having dessert, he said, "You seem tired this
evening. There's a look of strain in your eyes. Aren't you sleeping
well?"

"When I go to bed, I die," she reassured him. "I've always
been like that. The world could be teetering on the brink of collapse,
and I probably wouldn't lose much sleep over it." She finished her
sherbet and smiled at him.

"Is your world teetering, Susan?" he asked quietly.

His transfixing gaze was almost too much for her, and her
smile died. "Travis Sennett," she said with a little shrug, "didn't
your mother ever tell you not to ask ladies such personal questions?"

There was a slight hardening of the planes of his face but
otherwise his expression was inscrutable. "My mother walked out on me
when I was ten."

Somehow the straightforward way he said it made the words
strike Susan with staggering force. "Oh, Travis, I'm sorry. I had no
idea—I didn't mean anything by that remark."

He continued to regard her with solemnity. "I know you
didn't. How could you? Forget it. I have. I hardly remember what she
looked like."

Susan would have had no doubt that he meant it if she
hadn't seen the subtle change in his face at the mention of his mother.
She sensed that they were on unsafe ground and changed the subject
abruptly.

"That was a lovely dinner."

He nodded. "It was rather good, wasn't it? There are so
many excellent restaurants in this town. I'd suggest we order more
coffee, but I think I'd better get you home."

In the car, she settled back and relaxed against the plush
blue upholstery as the Trans Am moved smoothly into the street, its
engine purring softly. Travis threw an oblique glance over her and gave
her a brief, crooked smile. She was deeply conscious of his body beside
her, but for some reason she no longer felt the need to stave off
silence. She put her head back and closed her eyes and they made the
drive to her apartment with little conversation.

At her door, Travis said, "Are you going to invite me in?"

She looked up at him, aware of the profound impact his
nearness was having on her pulses, but she succeeded in making her
voice calm and casual. "If you like." When they were inside, she tossed
her purse into a chair, saying, "I'll put some coffee on."

She had reached the kitchen door when his voice detained
her. "Susan." She turned around questioningly. "It's not coffee that I
want." His face held little expression, but there was a veiled question
in his dark eyes.

He came slowly toward her. She looked up at him, her eyes
widening slightly. Her heart was racing madly. His hands settled
lightly on her shoulders to pull her close to him, then moved to gently
caress her bare arms. Her eyes closed flutteringly. His touch was the
same peculiar combination of roughness and tenderness that had so
surprised and pleased her the night before.

His breath was warm against her brow and she opened her
eyes just before his mouth took hers in a long, intoxicating kiss. She
ran her hands tentatively over his iron-muscled upper arms, aware that
his fingers were slowly undoing the buttons of her dress.

He paused in his endeavor when his hands discovered the
swelling fullness of her breasts in the lacy wisp of a bra she wore.
She tasted the wine that he had drunk with dinner and smelled the faint
fragrance of cheroot. His maleness assailed all her senses, drugging
her.

An exploring finger slowly followed the outline of the
hardening tip of one breast, and a weakness such as she had never known
took possession of her legs. She swayed against him and his arms
suddenly encircled her like steel bands and crushed her against him,
surrounding her with hardness and a heat that quickly communicated
itself to her own flesh.

He lifted his head long enough to look into her eyes and
what he saw there caused a sharp intake of breath. His mouth traveled
over the soft curve of her cheek, sought out the sensitive spot below
her earlobe then continued down the silken smoothness of her neck.