Match Play (10 page)

“We'll then place you under a scanning camera to take pictures of your heart,” the cardiologist continued. “The images are fed into a computer, which reconstructs them as three-dimensional ‘slices.' We let you rest for an hour, and take another series of pictures for comparison purposes. The entire procedure will take approximately two hours.”

She didn't doubt her ability to maintain a steady pace, but she wasn't a jogger or long-distance runner. “How long will I actually be on the treadmill?”

“Normally nine to ten minutes, but we'll take you off immediately if you experience chest pains or other discomfort. Shall we proceed?”

Dayna had never thought of herself as a coward. She'd plunged through river gorges, chased a vicious killer through the back alleys of Istanbul and had once fended off an attack by Filipino terrorists. But the prospect of precipitating another bout of agony like the one she'd experienced yesterday made her throat go dry.

“I, uh…”

Luke's hand threaded through hers. Ashamed to admit the comfort she derived from his warm grip, Dayna nodded.

“I'm ready.”

 

After an hour of prep and nervous anticipation, the ten minutes on the treadmill barely raised a sweat. The hardest part of the test, Dayna discovered, was lying absolutely still while the camera made excruciatingly slow passes back and forth across her chest.

After the first series of images, she breezed out of the camera room with a wide grin. Heads turned in the crowded waiting room. Recognition flickered on several faces. Dayna didn't care. She had eyes for only one person.

“Piece of cake,” she exulted to a visibly relieved Luke.

“Do you have the results already?”

“Not yet.” She plopped into the chair beside his. “They have to shoot the resting images for comparative purposes, but the doc said everything looks good so far.
Very
good.”

“Way to go, Pud.”

Immensely relieved, Dayna settled back in the chair. She wasn't home-free yet, she reminded herself. That vicious pain had stemmed from something. Or someone. But she felt more certain by the moment her heart hadn't buckled in on itself.

After studying the various test results, the cardiologist confirmed her self-diagnosis. Dayna left the hospital feeling like a condemned woman who'd just received a pardon.

She was back in the game!

 

She delivered the news to Hawk after she and Luke arrived at his suite via the hotel's kitchen entrance and service stairs.

“No arterial constriction or aortal anomaly they can determine,” she reported crisply. “They'd have to do an arteriogram to assess damage to the actual heart muscle, but the cardiologist is ninety-nine percent confident I didn't sustain any. He wants me to follow up with my doctor at home, though, to try to determine the cause of the attack.”

“I think we have it,” Hawk replied. “The Edinburgh forensics lab confirmed the presence of a foreign substance in the champagne.”

“I knew it!”

“They haven't pinned down the exact substance yet,” he advised, his face grim. “They
think
it's an extract of oil from a rare species of orchid.”

“I was KO'd by a plant?”

“Not just any plant. This one has a name a mile long and only grows in a remote corner of Burma. Oil extracted from its leaves is very rare, very lethal when ingested and completely unobtainable in the U.K.”

“Burma, huh?” Her glance shot to Luke, zinged back to Hawk. “Doesn't Burma border China? Which in turns borders North Korea.”

“Correct on both counts.”

An image flashed into Dayna's mind of the masseuse, backed by her array of exotic oils.

“I think I know who might have brought that extract into the U.K.” Dayna's mouth hardened. “If I'm right, sumo-mama is going down.”

“Sumo-mama?”

“Kim Li's personal masseuse. She looks like a pregnant sumo wrestler on steroids. The woman is right there in the locker room at the clubhouse, waiting for Kim Li after every round with her table all set up. She always has a selection of exotic oils close at hand.”

“Looks like we'd better obtain a sample of those oils,” Hawk said.

Dayna thought fast. “The first round of the finals kicks off tomorrow. Sumo-mama should set up as usual and wait for Kim Li to finish her round. One pull of the fire alarm will clear the clubhouse long enough for us to gather some samples. Before we do that, though, we should review the hotel's security tapes and talk to people in the kitchen. See if they can verify who had access to the champagne. The director of security…What was his name?”

“Woodhouse,” Luke supplied.

“Woodhouse can set up the interviews and tapes.”

“I'll take care of that,” Hawk said, then pulled up short. “Oh, hell! Gillian's due to arrive in a half hour. I need to meet her, explain you're back on the job and put her on a flight back to the States.”

Yeah, right. Like Jilly was going to let that happen. Wishing she could be there to see the fireworks, Dayna waved him off.

“You take care of Gillian. We'll handle things at this end.”

She didn't realize she'd automatically included Luke in that “we” until he nodded in agreement.

“Go, Callahan. I'm sticking like glue to Dayna.”

W
hen Dayna and Luke let themselves into her suite, she went straight to the phone.

The message light was flashing. Reporters, she bet, eager to learn the details of her trip to the E.R. Ignoring the flashing red light, she asked to speak to the hotel's director of security.

Woodhouse promised to verify who had uncorked and/or delivered the champagne and make that person available to speak with her. He also promised to review yesterday's surveillance tapes of the kitchen, the wine cellar and the hallway outside her room.

“It might take an hour or two,” he cautioned. “The digitized images are fed to our corporate headquarters for storage. I'll have to retrieve them from the server before I can run through them.”

“Give me a call when you do.”

“I will. And may I say, Ms. Duncan, we're quite relieved to have you back with us.”

“I'm pretty happy about that myself.”

That done, Dayna dialed for her messages. She had twenty-seven stacked and waiting for her. She listened to the first five or six—all from reporters wanting to know what was behind her trip to the hospital yesterday and why she'd opted out of today's events. Knowing she had to face them eventually, Dayna called the tournament's public-relations director and set up a media conference at 4:00 p.m.

Since it was now only a little past one, that would give her plenty of time to meet with Woodhouse and to take care of the next items on her agenda. They included a shower, a change of clothes and sustenance, not necessarily in that order. Having missed breakfast, her stomach had begun making whiny noises.

“I need to clean up and get something hot and greasy inside me.”

“So do I.” Luke scraped a palm over his bristly cheeks and chin. “How does fish and chips sound?”

“Like manna from heaven.”

“I'll slip down to the gift shop for a clean shirt and razor, then hit the pub next door.”

“Think you can appear in public without being waylaid by reporters?”

He palmed his cheek again. “I doubt they'd recognize me with this bush. But I'll take the back stairs, just in case. When I come back, we can work out the details of what we're going to tell them.”

There it was again. That ubiquitous
we.
Uncomfortable with how easily they'd slipped into the plural, Dayna backpedaled.

“You've already provided service above and beyond the call of duty. You don't need to hang around here for the media circus.”

“Yeah, Pud, I do.” He scooped her room key off the sofa table. “You and I have some unfinished business to take care of, remember?”

Oh, sure! Kick every one of her hormones into overdrive and just waltz out the door.

The realization that he'd waltz in again shortly sent Dayna hotfooting it to the bathroom.

She'd fully intended to be scrubbed, brushed, dressed and ready for any eventuality when Luke returned. Unfortunately, she failed to take into account the seductive allure of the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Combined with the hotel's gardenia-scented soap and bath salts, the prospect of a good soak proved too tempting to resist.

She had at least a half hour before Luke returned with the fish and chips, she reasoned. Plenty of time for a bubble bath. Shedding her clothes, she climbed in while the tub was still only half full.

Ahhh! Feeling every one of her pores open in joyous relief, she slumped against the sloping back. Hot water poured in from the taps. Clouds of steamy fragrance rose all around her. Dayna let the water rise until it threatened to spill over the sides of the tub.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't as dedicated a nature girl as she used to be. She still loved being outdoors, still thrilled to the roar of water rushing through a gorge, still got lost in majestic scenery like that at the hunting lodge.

But this! This was sheer bliss.

Closing her eyes, she sank to her chin in the steamy bubbles. She could have
sworn
nowhere near a half hour had passed when an amused drawl penetrated her sybaritic haze.

“You look like you've died and gone to heaven.”

Dayna popped open an eye. Luke leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. He held a green plastic bag bearing the hotel's logo in one hand. In the other he hefted a brown paper bag shiny with spots of grease.

“That was fast,” she commented, resisting the urge to slide lower in the foamy water.

“The pub had butties ready to go.” His gaze skimmed her naked shoulders. “Want yours now?”

“You'll have to tell me what a buttie is before I answer that.”

“A sort of sandwich. In this case, it's fried cod, chips and curry wrapped up in buttered bread. Scotland's answer to the Big Mac.”

Strolling into the bathroom, he dug out a paper-wrapped package and passed it to her. Any doubts Dayna might have entertained about chowing down in the tub vanished when the tantalizing aroma of fried fish and curry overpowered the scent of gardenias.

Peeling back the greasy paper, she eyed the mishmash of fish, fries and bread slathered with butter. “What is this again?”

“They call it a buttie. Don't ask me why. Go on, take a bite. It tastes a lot better than it looks.”

Her first bite confirmed his prediction. The curry added a piquant flavor to the tender, succulent cod. The bread and crispy fried potatoes, oddly, provided a perfect blend of crunch and carbs.

“This is good!”

“You should down a pint or two with it to get the full flavor.”

“Too much to do today. I'll make do with tap water.”

“That's what I figured.”

She thought he would leave her then to feed body and soul. She thought wrong.

“I think I'll join you.” His eyes gleamed. “We can have a buttie picnic.”

Dayna supposed he'd hunker down on the stool to consume his sandwich. Once again, she was wrong.

Depositing the brown paper bag on the floor beside the tub, he heeled off his shoes. She still didn't quite believe he intended to climb in with her until he popped the top button on his wrinkled blue shirt. Her toes curling, she issued a warning that came out sounding ridiculously breathless.

“You'd better not! You'll waltz around the rest of the day smelling like gardenias.”

“I've carried worse stinks. The squadron debriefing room gets pretty aromatic after a crew comes off a thirty-or forty-hour mission.”

Mental images of the black, bat-winged B-2 and tired, sweaty crews crowded into Dayna's head, but they couldn't compete with the real-life image when Luke stripped off his wrinkled shirt, jeans and shorts. Her pulse skittering, she recorded the swirls of dark hair on his chest. His hard, flat belly. The corded muscles in the thigh he hooked over the side.

“Scrunch up.”

Sloshing water in all directions, he claimed the opposite end of the tub. His arms looped along the rim. His feet wedged under her hips.

“I think this may be my first ever bubble bath,” he commented as the scented foam lapped at his pecs.

“You probably don't want to make a habit of them,” Dayna drawled, all too conscious of the toes nudging her butt. “The other crewdogs might get the wrong idea.”

His shrug suggested he wasn't particularly worried about his fellow aviators' opinion of his masculinity. Not that anyone could doubt Luke Harper was all male. The proof of that knocked against Dayna's knee when he reached over the side of the tub for his sandwich.

The absurdity of the situation made her shake her head. The hotel's security chief could call at any moment to advise that he'd retrieved the surveillance tapes. Hawk might return from the airport, with or without Jilly in tow. Dayna still had to prepare for the media barrage. Yet here she sat, playing footsie with Luke in a tub of scented water while they gobbled down fish and chips.

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?” she muttered between buttie bites.

Unperturbed, Luke devoured his fish and fries. “Think of it as an exercise in time management.”

With his thighs cradling hers, Dayna was having trouble thinking at all.

“We get clean,” he said, polishing his sandwich off in a few giant bites, “we fill our bellies, we take care of unfinished business, all in one efficient package.”

A gob of fishy bread got stuck in her throat. While she cleared it, Luke tossed aside the paper wrapping from his sandwich.

“You done with that?” he asked, indicating the remains of her lunch with a jerk of her chin.

“I think I've had enough. Luke! Wait!”

Ignoring her shriek, he hooked his hands under her thighs and tugged her onto his lap. Her knees bent at an awkward angle. The remains of her sandwich went flying. She grabbed at the sides of the tub to keep from toppling backward.

“You idiot,” she gasped, clinging to the rim while water sloshed over the sides and onto the tiles. “We can't do this now.”

“Sure we can.”

He slid a hand around her nape and drew her forward. Between sharp, nipping kisses, he reiterated the ground rules she'd laid out earlier this morning.

“You said you wanted to keep it simple. No hearts and flowers. No frills.” His teeth scraped her lower lip. “Just old-fashioned, uncomplicated sex.”

Sneaky bastard. Tossing the conditions she'd laid down back at her with only a few bubbles separating their naked bodies.

“As long as we agree that's all it is,” she returned, all too aware of the hair-roughened thighs under her bottom.

“We agreed to that back at the lodge,” he reminded her as his palms cupped her breasts.

So they had. Only Dayna knew damned well there was nothing simple or uncomplicated about the sensations roused by his mouth and tongue and hands. Not to mention the rock-hard ridge of flesh poking her thigh. The feel of him sent a swift punch of desire straight to her belly.

“There's another matter to consider,” she said on a breathless note. “Unless you purchased more than a clean shirt and a razor in the gift shop, we don't have any protection.”

“Not to worry.” Fishing for the now soggy brown paper bag beside the tub, Luke upended it. “I hit the gent's room at the pub.”

A rainbow of condoms in different colored wrappers spilled onto the tiles. Dayna knew then she was lost. Still, she took one last stab at reason.

“We'd have to make it a quickie.”

Raising a knee, he inserted his hand between their slick bodies. “We'll make it as fast or as slow as you want, Puddles.”

Slow, she discovered almost instantly, wasn't an option. The first friction of his thumb and finger against her wet flesh proved that. Gasping, Dayna arched her back and gave him freer access.

Luke took advantage of her vulnerable position to explore at will. She reciprocated by sliding her hand down and wrapping her fist around his straining erection.

They'd made aquatic love before. A good number of times, Dayna recalled with a shiver of ecstasy. In showers. In Colorado's clear mountain lakes. In rivers warmed by late-summer suns.

But never in such a confined space, or with such sudden urgency. Fusing two eager bodies in a narrow tub filled with soapy water that splashed over the sides with every move required a series of athletic maneuvers.

They managed pretty well, considering the hunger that grew with every twist, every touch. This was what she remembered, Dayna thought on spiraling waves of need. This heat. This craving. The old anger and hurt should have eradicated both, or at least diminished them.

Yet every slick of her palms over the hard contours of his body, every bunch of his muscles and rough scrape of his whiskers reminded her she'd never wanted any man the way she wanted Luke. Then, or now.

Grinding her mouth against his, she struggled to get her knees under her. Half the tub had emptied onto the tiles before she sank onto his rigid shaft. Luke reciprocated with a series of upward thrusts that left her gasping. She could feel her climax rushing at her with the force and speed of a runaway locomotive.

“Luke! I can't hold back. We'd better…You'd better…”

Swearing, he pulled out, tore into one of the condoms and sheathed himself.

Dayna groaned and threw her head back. Squeezing her vaginal muscles with every ounce of her strength, she tried to take him with her.

He had other plans. Banding her waist with one arm, he levered them both up. Water dripped from bathroom to bed as he dragged down the covers. Locking her arms around his neck, Dayna took him into her again.

 

“Wow.”

The breathy whisper slipped out as Dayna's sensual haze faded degree by exquisite degree. Flopping an arm over her forehead, she lay sprawled on her back in a tangle of soggy sheets.

Luke's face was buried in the pillow beside her head, his body a deadweight atop hers. When he lifted his head, the whiskers he hadn't yet gotten around to shaving rasped against her upraised arm.