Gentle Pirate (18 page)

"Complete and unequivocal." The terms were stated in a totally uncompromising tone, Simon's eyes holding hers in unbreakable bonds. "I want the kind of surrender you've never been able to give any other man-especially Talbot. Do you know what I'm talking about, Kirsten? I want to know you're mine, so completely mine, that you'd never think of leaving me under any circumstances. I could force the words from you, sweetheart. It's what I planned to do all evening. But now I realize that I want you to give them to me, little one. You can do it. Tell me of the surrender waiting there in your heart."

She shook her head, confused. "You're so certain…"

"You would have been so by now yourself if it weren't for the fact that you're still fighting the hatred Talbot instilled in you," he told her.

"But I don't hate him. At least, not anymore," she protested, and then listened to her own words with astonishment. It was true. Simon had driven the memory of Jim Talbot farther and farther away until she no longer cared about him one way or the other. For the first time in months she began to feel free.

"I know the man means nothing to you. He's not even important enough to hate. But he left a legacy to you, honey. He left you hating the soft side of your nature. The part of you that wants to give everything you are into the safekeeping of a man who will know how to treat your love. I'm that man, Kirsten. Accept that with your heart and your mind and all the indecision will be over."

"But, Simon, what are the words you want to hear?" she quivered.

"I want to hear you say you love me and trust me so much, you'd never leave me. Regardless of the provocation." His voice was very firm and certain.

Kirsten opened her mouth to dutifully repeat the phrase and then shut it again. "What do you mean, 'regardless of the provocation'?" she heard herself ask instead in a careful tone.

Simon smiled wryly. "Sweetheart, what would you do if I ever lost my temper with you?"

"What do you mean? You've already been upset with me on a number of occasions…" Kirsten reminded him.

"I have yet to really lose my temper, honey. And, knowing you, it's bound to happen, sooner or later. So what will you do when that occurs? Run off in the middle of the night and file for divorce?" Simon watched her closely, the line of his mouth hard now, a waiting look in the patient eyes.

"Are you saying you'd beat me, Simon?" Kirsten whispered, stunned by the image of this large man in an uncontrolled rage.

"I'm asking if you would trust me not to hurt you seriously, even if I were furious. I want to know you're so sure of your feelings for me that you wouldn't let my anger drive you away. That
nothing
would drive you from my side. I could force the realization on you, sweetheart. I could make love to you until you'd say anything I wanted to hear and you know it. But, like I said: I'm greedy. I want the words to come willingly and wholeheartedly from the bottom of your warm little heart."

"Do you know how much you're asking?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"I'm asking for all of you. I told you that earlier," he smiled, leaning down to brush her forehead in an almost chaste kiss.

"What do I get in return?" she ventured.

"Do I seem like the kind of man who would demand more than he was prepared to give?" Simon asked almost lightly but with a depth of feeling that made Kirsten tremble. To have all of Simon…

Kirsten sensed the unyielding demand for trust and desperately wanted to satisfy this man who was coming to mean so much to her. But the memory of Jim Talbot's violence intruded. It might be true that the man no longer mattered to her, but the exposure to sheer brutality couldn't be shrugged off so easily. What would she do if faced with a similar situation? She would not allow a man to beat her into submission. But surely Simon, for all his giant size, would never do such a thing to her. Jim Talbot had never given any indication of the violent side of his nature before marrying her, either, she reminded herself. Could she bring herself to trust a man so completely that she wouldn't bolt at the first hint of real fury on his part? Feeling as if she were becoming mired down in a quicksand of shifting emotions, Kirsten gazed helplessly up at Simon.

"Poor Kirsten," he finally said, smiling and shaking his head in what she could have sworn was amusement. "Here I am asking for a major decision while you're under the influence!" He leaned forward, kissed her lightly, and got to his feet. "You have a few more days, sweetheart. By Saturday I'll expect you to have reasoned out the whole matter in your usual clever fashion! Good night, honey, sleep well." Then he was gone.

Kirsten awoke in a somewhat subdued mood the next morning. She chose to blame it on the wine but knew better. Simon's parting comments the previous evening had shaken her. The man she was trying to envision as a husband strolled into her bedroom with a cup of coffee at the precise moment she was recalling the way he had held her before leaving. She was remembering his weight across her thighs when the deep voice greeted her. Startled, she snapped open her eyes and then turned quite pink.

"Good morning, Simon," she stammered, accepting the coffee gratefully. Then, seeking a light comment, "Coffee in bed? I know you promised to provide it but I didn't think you meant to start immediately!" The flippancy helped a bit. Kirsten leaned against the pillows and took a sip, holding the sheet to her throat with the hand that clutched the saucer. She had really slept soundly, she reflected, realizing she hadn't even heard Room Service's knock.

"I never say anything I don't mean, honey." Simon eyed her precarious grip on sheet and saucer. "You're going to have it all over the bed in a moment. Which will you choose to save at the last moment? Your modesty or the coffee?"

"It's much too early for you to be grinning like that," Kirsten told him severely, setting the cup and saucer down carefully on the nightstand.

"You have a way of making me smile," he said with disarming simplicity. "Actually, though, I didn't come in to merely gaze upon your early-morning charms, lovely though they may be!" This was said with such cheerful lasciviousness that Kirsten couldn't help grinning in response.

"I'm crushed!"

"You should be. Somewhere between me and a bed!"

"Simon!"

"As I was about to say before being rudely interrupted, I thought you'd like to know we've got reservations for brunch at the Space Needle in an hour."

Kirsten absorbed the vital picture he presented standing beside her bed, crisp shirt unbuttoned as yet, the silver hook back in place. The thick, red-brown hair was slightly tousled, adding to the overall rakishness of his appearance. A pirate, she told herself, who could easily take what he wanted but chose to ensure the completeness of the final surrender by making his captive acknowledge her bonds.

And how could she ultimately do otherwise? she asked herself with an acute attack of honesty. She looked at him in the bright morning light and knew she loved him. It was an incredible relief to admit it to herself. If she felt like this, could the trust he also demanded be far off? She must be very certain before making that commitment. With this man there would be no turning back at the last moment because of fear.

"I'll be ready in time," she told him and suffered the indignity of a friendly slap on the rear as she reached out to grasp a robe.

"One of these days, Simon Kendrick… !" she began wrathfully.

"Promises, promises!" he taunted and disappeared.

The morning was fresh and brilliantly clear. They walked the short distance from the hotel to the monorail terminal and boarded the futuristic train that had been one of the major attractions of the World's Fair held in Seattle several years earlier. It continued in service, ferrying passengers from downtown to Seattle Center, a bustling tourist park filled with carnival rides, exhibition halls, and the towering Needle. A glass elevator carried them to the top, where they stepped into a revolving restaurant. The city passed gently around below as they lingered over a gourmet brunch.

The conversation didn't lag. It never seemed to do so between them. But they didn't talk about the one subject that, in Kirsten's mind, at least, was uppermost.

That evening, after an afternoon spent cruising between islands on ferries, Simon turned the car in at the rental counter and, with the salmon package tucked safely under his arm, guided Kirsten through the airport to the line of passengers waiting for the plane back to Richland.

"The returning escapees," grumbled a young man on her left as Kirsten flashed the boarding pass for the gate attendent.

"Richland isn't that bad," she laughed, catching Simon's smiling gaze.

"Not a bad town at all," Simon chimed in, turning a superior look on the shorter man. "One simply has to learn to develop lots of outside interests."

An hour later they landed, the tri-city area shining like a glittering oasis in the middle of the night-darkened desert. Kirsten was quite ready for her bed when Simon brought the Mercedes to a stop in the parking lot of the apartment complex. It was going to seem dull not having him sleeping in the next room, she thought as they climbed out of the car. Nevertheless, it would be good for her to have some time by herself to think, she decided. She was unprepared for Simon taking a firm grip on her arm and guiding her toward his door.

"But this is your apartment," she observed unnecessarily as he gently pushed her over the threshold. "I'd love to stay for a while, but I think we both need our rest. Work tomorrow," she reminded him brightly, wondering what he was planning and knowing she was going to have to talk fast if she wanted to preserve her privacy. She needed a little more time to herself.

"Remember yesterday morning I told you I'd be making the morning coffee from now on?" He set the luggage down and snapped on a light. Kirsten took a quick look around. It was the first time she had been in his apartment. Even with the temporary furniture the room carried the unmistakable stamp of the man. Neat, conservative, and solid-looking. It occurred to her that Simon might be better at housekeeping than she was. She couldn't deny that her own place could best be described as "lived in."

Kirsten prepared to launch into a healthy protest when Simon walked toward a small cupboard and opened the door. She watched, astonished, as he withdrew the shoebox that had contained her late husband's lighter and decoration.

"So!" The single word carried a wealth of meaning, but she couldn't fathom it. All she saw was Simon lifting the lid of the shoebox. Kirsten stepped closer and peered over his shoulder.

"It's empty!" she exclaimed, surprised. "What did you do with Jim's things?"

"Gave them to a friend," he said succinctly.

"Gave them… What on earth for? And if you gave them away, why did you expect to find something in the box?" Kirsten was totally confused now.

"I substituted another lighter and someone else's Purple Heart before we left Seattle." Simon carried the box over to the coffee table and picked up the phone.

"Whose Purple Heart?" she demanded, for some inane reason seizing on that particular aspect of the mystery first.

"Mine."

"Oh."

"I phoned a friend and had him dig it out and send it to me earlier this week."

"I see," she answered, not seeing at all, of course. She was fairly certain she knew now how Simon had lost his left hand, however. "Would it be presumptuous of me to inquire into why you went to all that trouble?"

But Simon was busy dialing the telephone and didn't appear to be receptive to further inquiries at the moment. Disgusted, Kirsten plunked herself down in one of the huge chairs (Simon had ordered furniture to fit) and waited to see what she could glean from the phone call.

"Rich? This is Kendrick. Sorry to get you out of bed. Oh. Well, in that case I'm especially sorry." This second apology was accompanied by a quick glance at Kirsten to see if she had been able to overhear the unknown Rich's comment. "Listen, we just got back and the Heart and Zippo are both gone. Yes, I know. You'll get someone on it? Okay. I'm keeping an eye on Kirsten. Night and day." Another quick, very male glance was directed at her from across the room. She returned it with her most innocent expression. He replaced the phone.

"I think," Kirsten said quite firmly, "that I deserve an explanation."

"And I think," Simon replied, equally firmly, "that you'll get one. In time. At the moment the first priority is bed. You'll find I'm not nearly so ungenerous as to offer you only a couch. Now, do you want to get some things from your apartment or do you have enough to enable you to get off to work in the morning in those?" He indicated her traveling bag and purse.

"It's academic. I'm sleeping in my own bed, Simon."

His eyes gleamed at her, and she knew she'd made an error in handling Simon Kendrick. She obviously had a great deal to learn on the subject. Before she got more than two steps toward the door, he had crossed the room and scooped her up with his right hand. The next thing she knew she was over his shoulder, being carried into the bedroom.

"Simon, put me down this instant!" she yelled, pummeling his back ineffectually.

"Hush, dear. What will the neighbors think?"

"I don't give a damn what they think! Maybe one will come to my rescue," she threatened furiously, not lowering her voice one iota.

"I told you what I'd do if you went recalcitrant on me," Simon smiled mockingly, flopping her down on the huge bed.

Kirsten rolled toward the edge and bounced off, putting it between them. "Simon, if you don't tell me what's going on around here I swear I'll…"

"You'll what?" he inquired pleasantly, regarding her with his right hand on his hip.

"I… I won't marry you on Saturday!" She tried the only weapon in her arsenal and waited tensely to see what effect it would have.

"Don't make threats you can't follow through on, sweetheart," he advised, moving toward the bedroom closet.

She watched as he rummaged around the overhead shelf. Except the shelf wasn't exactly over Simon's head. "I think I've got an extra pillow somewhere… ah, here we go." He tossed it toward her and she instinctively reached out to catch it.