Iris Johansen (4 page)

She paused in her pacing to turn and face him. “Just what are you saying to me?” she asked slowly. “I’m afraid I’m a little confused. One moment we’re speaking of the wildlife reserve and the next you’re giving me the impression that I’m first in line for the position of your next mistress.”

“The two aren’t as unrelated as you might think,” Santine said coolly. “You said you were appealing to my kindness and generosity. I think I possess a modicum of the latter, but I’m sadly lacking in the former. Unless you have something to trade, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be interested in your proposition regardless of the tax write-off angle.” He paused significantly before ending softly, “Fortunately, you do possess something that I want.”

“Sex?” she inquired clearly, her face as composed as his own.

“I haven’t decided about that,” he said slowly. “It’s a distinct possibility sex will play a major role in my plans for you. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” There was an odd restlessness in his eyes as they
moved over her face, as if he were searching for something. “Hell, I don’t know,” he said wearily. “The only thing I’m sure about is that I’m stuck here ‘resting’ until the doctor gives me the okay to go back to work. I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something to distract me.”

“And I’m to provide that distraction?” Janna asked quietly. She supposed she should be indignant that he would calmly assume she’d let him use her as a toy to beguile away his boredom. Perhaps she might have been but for the importance of the issue at stake.

He nodded briskly, and the smile he gave her was grim. “I said that I’d never had a pet. Well, I’ve decided to acquire one for the next month or so. My own wild thing to keep me amused until I can return to San Francico.”

“And then you’ll let me go and turn the property over to Professor Sandler?” Janna asked huskily. She felt that she was in a wild, disjointed dream where nothing made sense but everything was frighteningly real. She shook her head as if to clear it.

Santine evidently mistook her confusion for negation, for his manner took on a ruthlessness that had been absent formerly. “I’d think twice before refusing me, Janna,” he said, a thread of steel in his voice. “I’m a very dangerous man to cross, and I make a habit of getting what I want. At the moment I happen to want to cage and hold you for my own for a time.” His voice dropped to a silky murmur. “It’s either a very luxurious captivity for you for two months or a more permanent one for your precious four-footed friends. The choice is yours.”

“You’re giving me very little option,” Janna said tautly. “You know that I could never bear the alternative.”

“Yes, I do know that. So I trust you’re acceding to my terms?” She nodded reluctantly, and he continued incisively. “Shall we clarify the proposition? You
agree to stay with me until I return to San Francisco, in any capacity that I require of you. In return, I’ll deed the property over to the wildlife reserve immediately, with a cancellation option that I can exercise any time in the next two months if you prove unsatisfactory.”

“It’s a very biased agreement,” Janna said dryly. “It puts you in a position of supreme power and leaves me with absolutely no protection against you.”

“Which is exactly the way I like it,” he said, appearing supremely composed. “While you’re with me, I want you totally at my disposal. I don’t want you in communication with your wonderful professor or any of your friends. You’re not to phone anyone or attempt to see them without my permission.”

“A cage indeed,” Janna said dryly. “Don’t you think you’re being a trifle unreasonable?”

“Not for two million dollars,” Santine retorted promptly. “Do you agree?”

“With one reservation,” she said quietly. “I place a call home to my grandmother every three days. I won’t relinquish that privilege.”

He shrugged. “I’ll accept that,” he said casually. “I’ll send my driver to pick up your luggage at the motel. You’ll stay here tonight.”

“May I ask if I’ll be expected to occupy your bed tonight?” she asked with a coolness she was far from feeling.

His eyes narrowed on her face. “What if I said yes?” he asked curiously. “You know that I’m leaving myself the option of demanding it of you at my pleasure? Would you be willing to sell yourself for this idealistic project of yours?”

Janna flinched involuntarily at the callousness of his phrasing. Then she drew a deep breath and tilted her chin determinedly. “Yes, if you insist,” she said simply. “That particular commodity has been sold for less valuable prices than the preservation of an entire species. This isn’t Victorian times, where
a simple biological coupling would be considered a fate worse than death. It won’t change what I think or what I am. Afterward I’ll be able to walk away without a single look back.”

“You do like to throw challenges at me, don’t you? I just might be tempted to prove you wrong, doe eyes.” He stood up, moved swiftly toward the desk and pressed a button on the console. “But not tonight. If I feel any lascivious urges, I have a very accomplished lady in residence to satisfy me.”

Janna’s knees felt weak with relief, but she was careful not to let it show in her expression. “As you like,” she said composedly. “You needn’t have my bags picked up. I have to return my rental car anyway. I’ll pick up my overnight case and speak to David at the same time.”

But Santine was shaking his head adamantly. “I’ll have Dawson tell your professor that you’re staying here to help iron out the legal technicalities of the property transfer,” he said curtly. “I want you here tonight. I’ll have your car returned for you. Where did you park it?”

“I’m not sure,” Janna said vaguely. “It’s in a stand of trees outside the wall. It’s a blue Chevette.”

“Oh yes, the wall,” Santine said thoughtfully, his lips quirking. “That was quite a stunt.” His eyes ran over her. “You must be stronger than you look.”

She nodded. “I’m quite strong. After growing up on a farm and then working at the game reserve, it would be unusual if I weren’t.”

“And what magic did you use on the Dobermans?” he asked quizzically, leaning lazily against the desk. “You can’t say that wasn’t unusual. They should have torn you apart.”

She smiled, her face gentle. “Most animals like me,” she said simply. “We understand one another.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” he said skeptically, his lips curving in a cynical smile.
“Goldsmith said those dogs were ready to attack their own handlers to protect you.”

“I can’t explain it any more clearly,” she said, shrugging helplessly. “Perhaps it’s because I’m part Cherokee. Indians have a centuries-old tradition of being in tune with nature. My grandmother says it’s not at all unusual for there to be a member of the tribe who has an affinity with animals.”

There was a soft tap on the door, before it opened to admit a slight, black-jacketed servant. Santine looked toward him, frowning darkly as if impatient of the interruption. Then he grimaced. “That’s right, I did ring for you, didn’t I, Fred?” he asked ruefully. “I’m afraid it slipped my mind.” He turned to Janna. “We usually breakfast on the terrace at ten. I’ll expect you.” He gestured toward the servant. “This is Fred Stokley. This is Miss Cannon, Fred. He’ll show you to your room.” He turned to Stokley and added, “After you’ve settled her, come back to the study, Fred. I have some instructions for you.”

“Yes, Mr. Santine,” Fred Stokley said, with majestic dignity. He had the clear, incisive diction of one educated in an English public school, and Janna gazed at him with renewed interest. In his early fifties, Stokley couldn’t have been over five foot six, but his royal bearing more than made up for his lack of stature. His pale and rather nondescript face was dominated by a pair of fine gray eyes, which were his one attraction. His light-brown hair, which receded sharply from his broad forehead, also gave the impression of colorlessness.

It was impossible not to be impressed by the warm, glowing beauty of the spacious foyer as she followed Stokley from the library. Under the enormous copper chandelier, the parquet floors shone with the mellow luster of fine polished oak. The chandeliers’ masterly wrought Spanish beauty was augmented by the incredible fact that it wasn’t electricity but seemingly hundreds of
candles
that lit the beaten
copper and cast a magical flicker of light over the entire foyer and staircase area. The staircase itself was equally magnificent; its extravagantly wide rich mahogany steps were carpeted with an exquisite red-and-cream Persian runner of the same pattern that she’d noticed in the library.

They seemed to pass an amazing number of doors along several corridors before Stokley finally paused. “I think you’ll find this chamber satisfactory, Miss Cannon,” he said augustly as he opened the door and preceded her into the room, flicking on the light switch as he did so.

She would have to be very critical not to be satisfied with a room as lovely as this, Janna thought wryly as she looked around bemusedly. The bedroom was very spacious, and as beautifully decorated as the rest of the house. It was carpeted lushly in a silver blue that contrasted exquisitely with the delicate eyelet drapes and matching eyelet comforter on the king-sized bed. The gleaming mahogany bedside table and the small desk in the corner had the same timeless beauty of fine craftmanship that she’d noticed in the furniture in the library and foyer.

“There’s a combination bath and dressing room adjoining,” Stokely said crisply, moving to a dark mahogany door on the far side of the room and opening it. He gave the bathroom a cursory glance before returning to where she stood in the center of the room. “I believe everything is in order.” He gestured to the elegant cream princess phone on the desk. “If you need anything more, you need only to dial nine, and it will ring in the servants’ quarters. Would you like Maria to bring you a meal?”

“No, I had a light supper earlier in the evening, thank you.”

“Perhaps some hot chocolate, then?” Stokley persisted politely.

Janna shook her head. “Nothing, thank you. I think I’ll just shower and go to bed. I’m a bit tired.”

“Very well,” Stokley said, moving with regal dignity toward the door. “There’s a clock on the bedside table if you wish to set the alarm. Please let me know if we may serve you in any capacity. Good night, Miss Cannon.”

Stokley was a butler straight out of a drawingroom comedy, and completely inconsistent with the type of servant she’d have thought a man of Santine’s almost aggressive modernity would have chosen. Then Janna’s smile slowly faded as she realized that this anomaly only highlighted the complexity of Santine’s character. He was obviously a multidimensional man, and his menace was magnified accordingly.

Well, tonight she didn’t have to worry about Santine’s idiosyncrasies. She would have that shower and dismiss the man from her mind. Tomorrow was time enough to ponder the consequences of the strange bargain she’d made. She strode briskly toward the bathroom, which proved to be almost as large as the bedroom at her cottage on the reserve. It was beautifully decorated in navy-and-white tile, and carpeted in the same silver blue as the bedroom.

Janna stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower, turning on the faucets to a warm setting. She let the water pour over her in a gentle, soothing cascade, experiencing a long moment of lazy sensual contentment before beginning briskly to soap herself. Five minutes later she was drying herself on a huge white bath towel she had plucked from the warmed rack and congratulating herself on successfully banishing Santine from her thoughts.

As it turned out, she was a little too eager with her self-congratulations. She had no sooner flicked out the bedroom lights and slipped naked between the crisp, scented cotton sheets than thoughts of Santine slipped easily through the barricades she had lifted to keep him out. It was all completely mad. No man who possessed Santine’s ruthless pragmatism would hand over two million dollars merely
to appease a whim. Yet, incredibly, he had done just that, and she was lying in this luxurious bed in Santine’s Castle as living proof of it. He must really be bored to develop such an obsessive interest in her, Janna thought wryly. She supposed she could be considered moderately attractive, but she didn’t hold a candle to the ravishing beauties he usually chose as his mistresses.

Perhaps it wouldn’t even go that far. No one could say that he was overcome with a raging desire for her, and he’d said that he was keeping a woman here for his pleasure. It was more than likely he would have second thoughts about that aspect of her stay here, once he compared her meager charms to those of his current paramour.

There was no reason for her to feel this threatened by a man she barely knew. Yet an odd shiver ran through her as she remembered how those narrowed dark eyes had seemed mercilessly to strip away all her protective covering, both mental and physical. She had felt more vulnerable than ever before in her life, sitting on that ottoman enmeshed in the web woven by the force of Santine’s personality.

It was strange, the effect that he’d had on her. She’d felt an odd, languid weakness in every limb; yet, ambivalently, she’d never felt so zestfully alive. Most peculiar. It must have been that the anxiety and strain of the evening had affected her physical senses to such an extent that she’d magnified the sway that Santine had exerted upon her. She would probably be her usual composed self after a good night’s rest. Well satisfied with her reasoning, she plumped up her pillow and firmly willed herself to go to sleep.

Janna awoke, as usual, when the first gray light that preceded the dawn was brightening the sky. For the first time in her life she wished she weren’t one of those people who awakened totally aware and alert from the moment they opened their eyes. There was no possibility of going back to sleep no matter how hard she tried, and what was she supposed to do until the ten-o’clock breakfast decreed by Santine? Well, she couldn’t bear lying here doing nothing. Perhaps she could while away the hours by exploring the estate.

She tossed the covers aside impatiently and jumped out of bed. As she strode with lithe energy toward the bathroom, she halted in surprise as she saw both her overnight bag and the khaki shirt and slacks set neatly on the Queen Anne chair by the door. The latter had been laundered to pristine freshness, and her suede desert boots, placed with careful precision on the floor by the chair, had also been thoroughly brushed.