Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (10 page)

There was something in what he said, she had to admit,
though she gave no sign that she had heard. She was more than a little hesitant
to begin her program of appearing to be smitten by his charm. She was also
reluctant to risk his reaction to a question that exercised her mind. It was
annoying to be forced to concede that he had the power to affect her with such
trepidation. It must be resisted.

“Tell me, just what was that man doing with my billfold?
What did he mean, that everything ‘checked out’?”

“Can’t you guess?” His voice was lazy, unconcerned.

She turned her head to look at him as he lay with his eyes
closed beside her. “You had him verify that I am who I said?”

“And that you do indeed work for your construction firm, and
have no record, not even so much as a parking violation.”

“How could you find out all that in such a short time?”

“Computers are wonderful things.”

“You have to have the authority to use them, first.”

“It does pay to have friends in high places,” he agreed, his
firm mouth curving in the faintest of smiles.

She was no closer to knowing what to make of him than she
had ever been. It was plain, however, that he had no intention of enlightening
her beyond what he wanted her to know, or what was self-evident. Setting her
teeth in exasperation, she closed her eyes and tried once more to relax.

They consumed a light lunch of chef’s salad, crackers, and a
tall, cooling drink. Afterward, Kelly showered and shampooed her hair. Before
she left the bathroom, she pulled on her shorts and top once more, then with
resignation, rebandaged her foot. If she didn’t see to it, Charles doubtless
would. Before the dresser in the bedroom, she combed the tangles from her hair,
then left it to dry naturally, only raking her fingers through it now and then
to speed the process. She felt headachy and on edge. Though the air
conditioning had been switched on once more and it was cool in the room, there
was an oppressive feeling in the air.

She wondered where Charles was, and what he was doing.
Though she could not hear him moving about, she was almost certain he was
somewhere nearby. It didn’t matter, of course. She would be glad of a few hours’
respite from his constant presence, if he would allow it.

She threw herself down on the bed and picked up her book. By
furious concentration, she was able to become involved in the story after a
time. Slowly, as the effect of the sun and the warm water of her shower wore
away, she began to grow cool. The air conditioning was certainly more than
effective, for beyond the drapes at the window, the wearing heat of the
afternoon could be sensed.

Rising from the bed, she turned the bedspread down, then lay
back down, slipping her feet and lower legs beneath it. She picked up her book
again, but her eyes felt grainy and raw from her sleepless night and the sun’s
glare this morning. She turned her book face down and let her lids fall,
pressing them tightly closed.

A booming sound echoed over the house. Kelly opened her
eyes. The light in the room was dim, bordering on darkness, and the air stale.
From her stiffness, and the heaviness that clung to her mind, she thought she
had been asleep for some time.

Once more the thudding boom rolled over the roof above her.
Thunder. It was going to rain; the judge and the tree frog had been right. Her
whimsical smile was banished by a sudden yawn. Despite the time she had been
asleep, she did not feel rested or refreshed in any way. Shaking her head, she
sat up and slid from the bed. She threw the spread up over the pillows and
tucked it under them, then smoothed out the wrinkles. Pausing in the task, she
stood listening, thinking she heard the rain already, but it was only the
rustling of the leaves of the live oaks overhead in the rising wind.

Drawn by the sound of the storm, she left her room. She
moved through the house, letting herself out onto the veranda. There were
rocking chairs and heavy wooden lounges ranged along the inside wall, but she
skirted them, heading for a porch swing on the far end. Dropping into it, she
positioned herself in the corner and swung her feet up onto the seat. From that
end of the house, nearer the cottage, she could see out over the open lake,
could watch the storm that was brewing.

Her attention was riveted suddenly by a movement in the
water. It was Charles on the swimming raft. Had he seen her there in the
shadowy dimness of the screened porch? More likely, he had heard the closing of
the front door as she came outside and realized she was awake. Whatever the
reason, he came smoothly to his feet and dived, cutting the water with scarcely
a splash. The waters of the lake seemed to catch and hold what little light was
left in the evening sky, for she could see the dark outline of his head and
shoulders as he cleaved the water with smooth, strong strokes.

He reached the catwalk and pulled himself up the ladder
nailed to its side near the boat landing. The white speedboat was no longer
there; it must have been hidden away once more in the boathouse.

As Charles started along the catwalk, silver lightning
flickered in the sky, striking down into the open water behind him. For an
instant, the dark outline of his figure was illuminated in eerie light. It gave
him the look of a statue cast in ancient, gleaming bronze come to life, with
the gold disk at his neck glittering like a baleful beacon.

Pain, and a strange species of fear half for him, half for
herself, moved in Kelly’s chest. The thunder that followed the lightning
reverberated along her nerves. There was something in the elemental forces
gathering around her that made her feel vulnerable, and at the same time sent
the quicksilver rise of excitement like champagne to her head. Watching Charles
as he drew closer, she clasped her hands around her drawn-up knees, closing her
fingers tightly together to still their trembling. She was going to have to be
careful. How much longer she could live on the knife-edge of her emotions
without doing something desperately foolhardy, she did not know. That balancing
act was the reason she was so affected by the mere sight of the man who was
holding her captive; it must be.

Charles paused just inside the screen door of the veranda.
His face was a blur in the dimness, but she thought he was staring in her
direction.

“It’s going to rain,” she said, and was immediately aware of
the inanity of the comment, though powerless to do anything about it.

“So it seems.” His agreement was cool.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to stay out of the water when
it’s lightning?”

“Were you worried?”

“About you, no. But it did cross my mind that I might be
better off with you alive.” Her tone was as casual as she could manage.

“How is that?” There was a taut sound in his voice.

“As they say, ‘Better the devil you know —’“

“I might have guessed,” he said, and moved with swift
strides into the house.

Kelly swallowed against the tightness in her throat, at the
same time, narrowing her eyes against the wind that swept across the veranda.
The great branches of the live oaks overhead creaked and groaned. The clatter
of their leaves was loud in the stillness. From near the lake there came a
chorus of tree frogs, mocked by the deep honking of the huge bull frogs. Far
out on the lake could be seen the white frosting of foam as the surface of the
water was blown into waves. The porch swing began to move, pushed by the blown
gusts that struck the house. As thunder rumbled again, the smell of ozone,
sharp and fresh, filled the air. The heat of the day was banished, to be
replaced by a cool and tingling freshness.

Lightning crackled again, illuminating the veranda with its
blue-white flare. Kelly flinched and got to her feet, ready to retreat into the
house, yet reluctant to leave the fiery display. At the guest cottage, lights
bloomed in the increasing blackness of the evening, a yellow glow half obscured
by the waving branches of the trees. The chains of the porch swing began to
creak as it swung back and forth. Leaves and the torn ends of branches whirled
through the air to be plastered against the wire screen that hummed in the
wind.

A footstep sounded behind her, and Charles moved to stand at
her side. He had changed into pants and an open-necked sports shirt. There was
about him a warm, male smell overlaid by the spiciness of the soap that he used
in his shower. As if a signal had been received, the rain came roaring toward
them over the lake, churning the water to froth, spattering through the trees,
drumming the ground to bring forth the smell of warm wet earth. It pounded on
the roof, and struck against the screen in a mighty rush that sent mist fogging
in the air, swirling toward them. They backed away to the house wall. In the
deafening, wind-swept fury of the storm, it was a moment before Kelly realized
that she was shivering with the damp chill, or that Charles had put his arm
around her, holding her against him. As if drawn by something beyond her
control, Kelly lifted her lashes to look at him. He was watching her in the
semidarkness, his face without expression. Slowly, by almost imperceptible
degrees, giving her ample time to draw back, he lowered his head and touched
his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm, and her own molded to them in
sweet accord.

What else could she do? She wanted him to think she was
resigned, didn’t she? She wanted him to believe that she was falling for him,
if ever so little. Wasn’t that the plan? Such thoughts were no more than brief
flashes across the outermost surface of her mind as she melted against him,
spreading her fingers over the muscled firmness of his chest.

He ended the kiss with a soft laugh. His voice low near her
ear, he said, “That was very nice, chérie. I have been wondering what it would
be like to have a little cooperation since the first time I held you.”

Abruptly she pushed away from him. “So now you know.”

“Yes,” he said, an odd inflection in his voice, as if he
were trying not to laugh, or else deliberately refraining from showing his
annoyance. “And now, what would you like for dinner?”

The wind was diminishing, the thunder rumbling away. The
rain had tamed to a steady downpour that already showed signs of slackening to
a soft, all-night drizzle.

Kelly moved a few steps further away from him. “Fish,” she
said over her shoulder. “I would like fresh-caught fish dipped in cornmeal and
fried in hot fat.”

“Sorry. Fish isn’t on the menu.”

“We always used to have it the second night we were here,
after the judge and the boys had gone fishing.” She went on, more for something
to say than anything else. “Fresh fish, thick-sliced French fries, light,
golden brown hush puppies with onion and pepper inside, and cole slaw.”

“By the boys, you mean the judge’s sons, I suppose. Which
one was it you had the crush on?”

“Peter,” she answered without looking at him.

“Do you still see him?”

It almost sounded as if he were jealous. “I haven’t seen him
in three years, not since I went off to secretarial college on my own.”

“But you still care?” he inquired, his voice tight.

“Heavens, no. That was over years ago, after that one
summer. Peter killed it quite dead himself when he put a handful of cold,
dirty, wiggling fishing worms in my bed.”

Positive amusement lacing his tone, he said, “That really
was unforgivable.”

“It was. Though the boys thought it was hilariously funny.
The judge sentenced them to wash the sheets, but even he thought it was
comical. Girls that age have such a strong sense of outraged disgust.”

“I would have liked to have seen you at that age.”

“I doubt you would have been impressed,” she said, giving
her head a reminiscent shake. “I was all hair, eyes, legs, and injured
feelings.”

“A charming picture.” His comment was quiet.

“Yes, isn’t it?” she said wryly, and turned quite naturally
to smile at him. “I don’t know how the judge and his wife put up with me.”

“Easily, I should think,” he answered, a soft note she had
not heard before in his voice.

Why did he have such power to disconcert her? She was
continually off balance in his presence, never certain of her ground. She could
almost believe it was deliberate, a campaign to confuse her, to prevent her
thought processes from becoming too coherent so she might figure out exactly
what he was doing. If that were the case, it was working admirably.

As he reached out to touch her arm, she drew in her breath
with a sharp sound. “May I remind you that we had an agreement. You gave me
your promise that I would be free from molestation.”

He drew back as if he had been slapped. It was a moment
before he answered, but when he did, the words held no heat. “You are entirely
correct, and from now on I will do my best to remember.”

“Good,” she said, though the triumph she would have expected
from his concession was missing.

“About dinner. I’m afraid the best I can offer is ham and eggs,
unless you would like to do the honors.”

The ham and eggs became omelets filled with chopped ham and
flavored with shallots and a sprinkling of herbs. With it they ate a crusty
loaf of French bread. Charles drank white wine with his repast, while Kelly,
who was not used to wine with her meals, settled for water. Afterward, when the
dishes had been cleared, she accepted a glass of Alsatian Riesling. With
Charles carrying the bottle by its neck, they moved into the living room. He
set his glass and the wine to one side, drew out a small phonograph from the
bookcase cabinet, and set up a stack of records to play. The selections were
classical, the first being a Chopin sonata, one of Kelly’s favorites. Unless
the tastes of the judge and Mrs. Kavanaugh had changed, the records must belong
to Charles. The judge tended to prefer country and western music above all
others, while his wife was happiest with string instrumentals and Broadway show
tunes.