Renegade Player (13 page)

“You’ve no need to explain a thing, Kiel, and certainly no need to apologize. Just because you invited me along on a sailing weekend is no reason why I should horn in on your old friendships, for goodness’ sake.

“Oh, hell, Willy, it’s more than that and you know it. All right, Melanie is an old friend. Our families have been close for generations and there’s nothing they want more than to see the two families joined.”

A cold hand closed around Willy’s heart and she tried to attach a smile to her face, but it wouldn’t stay put. Kiel had turned away and now he stood staring broodingly down at the broken concrete pad between the two houses. “Then where’s the problem?” she heard herself say in a voice that was remarkably calm under the circumstances.

“The problem is that something came up and the engagement was broken and I thought I could do a repair job on it, but it looks as if I’m the last one to get involved.” He shot her an anguished look. “It’s a long story, Willy, and you need to hear it from start to finish, but I don’t want to get into it if you’re expecting Rumark.” He looked his question at her and she nodded her head.

“Matt’s taking me to a party, a beach party. I’m expecting him momentarily.” She wanted him to get out, to leave before her composure shattered and she made a big fool of herself.

“Tomorrow night, then?”

“I don’t think so, Kiel. Melanie’s sure to have plans for the two of you and, besides, what’s between the two of you doesn’t concern me at all.”

“Damn you, it does concern you! That’s just the trouble, it concerns you more than anyone else!” He had clamped his hands on her shoulders and now he shook her roughly. “Why won’t you let me see you tomorrow night?” he demanded.

“Because I don’t want to! There, are you satisfied?” “No, damn you, I’m not satisfied! Whether you want to or not, you’re going to listen to me!” he asserted, his hands biting into the tender area between her neck and her shoulder joint.

“You’re hurting me!” she cried, trying to wrench herself away. “Hadn’t you better hurry back? Your little girlfriend’s over there with nothing to do except practice her simper and she may get bored.”

A gleam of pure malicious amusement lit those obsidian eyes and he eased his grip to allow his hands to slide down her arms. “I called you a cat ... I wasn’t far off the mark, was I? Does it bother you, Willy, that Melanie’s over there waiting for me to come back and show her where she’s to sleep tonight?”

“Hell, no, it doesn’t bother me! As if there were ever any doubt about where she was to sleep! I’ve heard sailors have one in every port, but maybe you’re trying for some kind of a record!” she said acidulously.

“You have no idea what it is I’m trying for, Willy Silverthorne, but this might give you some idea.” Allowing her no room to escape, he captured her head with one strong hand and forced her mouth to his. At first she was determined to resist, determined to hold out against that overpowering, undermining attraction that had turned her life upside down, but as he continued to move his lips over hers with soft, sinuous motions, molding her body to him so that she was left in no doubt of the effect she had on him, she gave in.

With a muffled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry, she opened her mouth to him, experiencing again that familiar sharp-sweet reaction that drained the strength from her very bones. Her hands ran up his sides, feeling the lean, taut muscles that covered his ribs and burgeoned into fullness up under his arms and they tucked around behind his shoulders as she curved her body to accommodate him. His own hands were kneading the flesh of her back, and when they moved around to cup the fullness of her breasts, she began to shake her head negatively and pull away from him.

“No, Kiel . . . please, you mustn’t,” she pleaded, totally unaware that she was still clinging to his shoulders.

He eased the elasticized neckline of her dress down, baring the top of her breasts to his burning gaze and his hands first, then his lips, followed the path of his eyes. When she felt his tongue on the swollen peak of her breast, she panicked, throwing out a barrier she instinctively knew would hold him away.

“Matt . . . Matt will be here any minute. Please, Kiel, you mustn’t do this.”

“Willy, Willy, forget Rumark. Send him away and let me stay with you tonight.” His voice was rough, his hands urgent, and it was all Willy could do not to yield to him, to allow her body the release it cried out for, but she cradled his face in her hands and raised it from her throat, stepping back as she did so that his hands fell away from her sides.

He loomed over her, his eyes burning through her like coals, but he made no effort to touch her again. In the silent room their breath echoed raggedly and it was Willy who regained control of herself first. “You’re forgetting Melanie, Kiel,” she reminded him, wishing she could forget as easily as he seemed able to do.

“Melanie, hell! Do you think she matters to me now, tonight? Just because Melanie was—and will be again, I hope—engaged to my half-brother is no reason why—”

“Your half-brother!” Willy exclaimed.

He looked at her curiously. “I told you. Didn’t I? Good Lord, you don’t think Melanie and I . . .?” He laughed incredulously. “But then, why would I be trying so damned hard to—”

“To get me to bed?” she finished for him, perversely angry for all the agony she had felt in one or two short moments. “Why not? I haven’t noticed too many scruples where men are concerned.”

“Scruples! And women abound in them, I suppose! What the hell do you think brought me down here in the first place? It’s not as if I didn’t have my own business to tend to, as well as other interests to fill my spare time! Let me tell you something about scruples, lady—”

“And don’t call me lady! The only time a man calls a woman a lady is when he’s damned certain she’s not! Melanie may tell you she’s interested in patching up whatever mess she got herself into with your brother, but let me tell you something, Kiel Faulkner, that girl’s no more interested in your brother than—than I am!”

“And that’s the irony of all times,” he said bitterly.

Outside, a car door slammed, shattering the brittle tension that stretched between them like glittering ice. “Why don’t you get the hell out of my house, Kiel?” she said with soft intensity. “In fact, why don’t you get the hell out of my life?”

He stared at her wordlessly as the sound of footsteps neared the upstairs door, and then he turned and left, brushing the door to her bedroom impatiently so that it clattered hollowly against the Sheetrock walls.

 With one hand resting on her stomach as if she could stay the fierce pain that shot through her body, she braced herself to greet Matt as if her world hadn’t collapsed around her head. How could she have allowed herself to get in such a state? She loved the man! Oh, Lord, yes, she loved him until she thought she might die of it, and so she yelled at him like a fishwife and sent him straight back into the comforting arms of a conniving little creature like Melanie Fredericks.

Engaged to his brother! Willy was woman enough to recognize what went on in that pretty little head, and it was not sisterly affection that had brought Miss Fredericks hotfooting it up to North Carolina. Men could be such fools about those things, but Willy was in no position to call anyone else a fool. Hadn’t she made the greatest fool of all time of herself, after vowing to play the game by her own rules from now on, rules that didn’t permit her to lose?

What she hadn’t allowed for was a renegade player who would break every rule in the book and get away with the whole pot, which, in this case, just happened to be her heart!

The party was a doubtful success. The location was great: a private beach belonging to one of the fortunate property owners who retained riparian rights. And the crowd was lively and attractive enough. There were melons and barbecued fish, steamed clams and marinated shrimp, and of course, plenty of beer and wine to wash it all down. The moon was a golden sovereign, scattering its gleaming largess across a restless black sea, and a trio of string musicians managed to stay reasonably in tune in spite of the humidity.

Matt was in a strange mood. He seemed almost determined to have a good time, and Willy, who had begun the evening in the same frame of mind, became increasingly aware of the brooding look that crept over his nice-looking features whenever he forgot to keep a smile in place.

It was not Matt’s mood, however, that prevented Willy from enjoying herself as she normally would have. It was the knowledge she had faced after Kiel had stormed out earlier, the knowledge that she had gone far beyond a mere surface attraction, that she had made the fatal mistake of falling flat on her face in love with the man, in spite of all her resolutions, her common sense and her past experiences. The laughable thing was that Kiel Faulkner was wealthy enough in his own right not to be influenced by her father’s bankroll, even if he had known about it.

It was not his wealth, though, that made Willy, like every woman he came into contact with, look at him with naked longing. He stood head and shoulders above any man she had ever met, in all ways, and she knew instinctively that no matter how physically attracted she was to any man, she could never love him unless she respected him as a person.

For the hundredth time tonight, she dragged her thoughts away from that fruitless subject and set herself out to cheer Matt up. The party centered about the deck and boardwalk that ran from the Cramers’ cottage out to the ocean side of the dunes, and Willy peeled off her sandals and jumped lightly to the sand. “Come on, Matthew, don’t be an old stodge! Go wading with me!”

“Stodge, am I? You’ll regret those words, Wilhel-mina Silverthorne,” he promised, finishing off his drink and then removing his shoes and socks. He rolled up the legs of his light blue slacks and unbuttoned his shirt with a burlesqued leer in her direction, and perhaps for the first time that night, Willy laughed wholeheartedly. “How’re you going to roll up your dress?” he taunted, taking two cold beers from the cooler and jumping down on the hard-packed sand beside her.

“Ahhhh, I has me ways,” she teased, skipping on ahead of him. “Give me your belt.”

“Good Lord, woman, can’t you even wait until we’re alone?”

Willy was amused, if slightly surprised. Any other man could have made such a remark and she would have never given it a second thought, but Matt— conservative, serious, straitlaced Matthew—didn’t usually deal in innuendo, even as a joke.

She swooped up the long skirt of her dress and brought it up between her legs, holding it at the waistline like an enormous pair of baggy bloomers. “
Voilà!
Instant waders,” she cried, and he took off his belt and handed it to her. Luckily, it was a stretch-able one and they both laughed as she wrapped it around her twice and still managed to buckle it. . . just.

For several minutes, they walked silently, allowing the damp, pungent atmosphere to envelop them in its own exotic ambience, but when Willy felt Matt’s gloom slipping back over him, she asked for one of the beers he carried, in spite of the fact that she had never cultivated a taste for the stuff. For a few minutes, that served as a topic of conversation and they discussed various beers, imported and domestic, but gradually the silence overtook them again. This time she tried to awaken his interest by kicking up the wet sand to reveal the bits of phosphorus that gleamed among the grains, but he only grunted and plodded along, hands in his pockets.

With a desperate sort of gaiety, as much for her own sake as for his, Willy sang out, “I don’t know about you, but I’m in the mood for a swim!” She spun away, running lightly down the beach away from the colorful light of the lanterns, and she could hear Matt’s feet pounding along after her as he called out sternly that swimming at night was dangerous.

It spurred her on, although she had no intention of going in swimming. With the damp, warm wind combing through her hair and only the vague, phosphorescent gleam of the surf ahead of her, it was almost as if she could outrun the heartache she had brought with her tonight, until all at once a sharp pain stabbed through her left foot and she doubled over and sunk to the ground with a small cry.

Matt was beside her almost instantly, bending over with concerned murmurings as she swayed back and forth. “Did you twist it?” he asked, dropping to his knees beside her.

“No,” she managed through clenched teeth, “I think I stepped on something—a shell, probably. It’s wet, Matt. Do you have a handkerchief?” She knew the skin was broken, but more than that she couldn’t tell here in the dark. She had once had a tiny shell cut that had hurt like the very devil and that was probably all it was . . . nothing to make a big fuss over. All the same, she took Matt’s handkerchief and tied it awkwardly about her heel, standing up with only the slightest of gasps. “I think I’ve about had it for tonight,” she told him as they turned to retrace their steps along the beach.

Janette Cramer was all sympathy and wanted to take Willy to the cottage and render first aid, but Willy managed to convince her that it was only a scratch and that she’d look after it at home, and they left, with Matt all concerned support. She tried not to hobble, but to tell the truth, it was throbbing worse by the minute.

Matt drove fast, faster than he might have had he not consumed several beers earlier, but she couldn’t be concerned with that now. Her own head was feeling the effects of a too-long, too-eventful day, plus the several glasses of wine she had imbibed. Impossible to believe that only this morning she had been lolling about on a ketch off Hatteras. Tonight’s party had been a mistake, for more reasons than one, she conceded tiredly.

“Willy, I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world, especially not now,” Matt said, braking for a long line of theater traffic.

“Thanks,” she gritted, “but now’s as good as any time, I guess. At least I’ll have a good excuse to be late tomorrow.”