Volcano (35 page)

Charlie snorted, ripped the photos from Emile's hands, and sorted through them until he found what he wanted. “Yeah, right, like paint would hold steel girders together.”

Penelope glanced over his shoulder. She caught a glimpse of a sprawling flamingo-pink hotel with half its rooms crumbled into chunks of plaster and twisted steel.

“Nine people died in that collapse.” Charlie sat back again, his expressive lips turned down at the corners as he glared out the tinted windows. “Twenty were injured. If the building had been fully occupied at the time, the disaster would have involved hundreds. They've found evidence of inferior steel, improperly spaced girders, and a foundation too shallow for that soil. He's not come to trial yet, but I know of inspectors he's bribed to ignore the faults. That ought to make him a real shoo-in for St. Lucia, don't you think?”

“This is ridiculous.” Emile threw the photos aside. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing.” Charlie shrugged his massive shoulders and twisted a finger in an escaped tendril of Penelope's hair. “Jacobsen is on St. Lucia, isn't he?”

Emile nodded curtly. “I'm on a board of directors with him. We've met and discussed several projects. I have some papers of his that I'm supposed to sign.”

“You really don't get it, do you?” Charlie asked with a trace of wonder. “It's all bits of paper to you. Can you even read a financial statement?”

Emile crossed his arms and glared back. “Why should I? That's what I have advisers for.”

Charlie laughed bitterly under his breath as he drew Penelope closer. Some of the tension in him had dissipated, and she dared to rub his thigh under the cover of the bear in her arms. He threw her a quick glance, but maintained his concentration on his stepfather.

“And here I thought I was the ignorant nobody because I couldn't keep straight which fork was which. It just goes to show how skewed our priorities can be,” Charlie said wearily.

“What the hell does that mean?” Emile asked in irritation. “I pay people to read financial statements for me.”

“And you sit on boards of companies your advisers tell you make lots of money. Did it ever occur to you to ask why those companies make lots of money? Or does it even matter? Don't bother to answer. I already know. It's never mattered.” He scowled and watched as the limousine rolled down the ramp to the terminal. “Just tell me where to find Jacobsen and I'll tell you where to find Tammy. I made sure she didn't stay in any place Jacobsen built.”

Emile stiffened. “You're actually trying to tell me that any project he's worked on is likely to collapse? That's preposterous.”

Charlie pointed at the envelope of pictures. “That one collapsed, and it was built here in Miami, where we have building inspectors and the kind of soil with which Jacobsen ought to be familiar. What do you think will happen in St. Lucia, where materials are difficult to obtain, inspectors are easily bribed, and the soil is little more than volcanic ash?”

“The company will go bankrupt!” Emile complained.

This time, Charlie laughed out loud.

“You can't take that damned thing on an airplane,” Charlie whispered as Penelope lugged the bear through the crowded corridors of Miami International.

“I can't stuff him in a locker,” she retorted, jerking the bear protectively away from him. Just because the big galoot had gotten her off the hook with the resort didn't mean she had to trust him in everything. She wasn't a female James Bond. She couldn't imagine why she should be included in this little jaunt to nail Jacobsen.

“It's a damn good thing I didn't buy a puppy.” Charlie caught her elbow and steered her after Emile, who was hurrying toward the private jet he'd chartered.

“A damned good thing,” she agreed vehemently.

“What are we fighting about?” he demanded as they hurried down the steps in the direction of the tarmac.

“How am I supposed to know? You never tell me anything.”

Charlie grinned. “I can still send you to Orlando.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm looking forward to that. Semiautomatics in the hands of Mickey Mouse. The possibilities are fascinating.” She hurried faster. “Are you planning to tell me why we're going back to St. Lucia?”

“Because Jacobsen's there.”

“Right. How silly of me. One always runs
toward
danger instead of away. Why can't I remember that?”

“Because you're a woman.” Charlie stayed out of the line of fire after that one, turning her over to Emile's flight attendant while he talked with the pilot.

By the time Charlie climbed on board, Penelope had strapped the bear into the seat beside her. Charlie unstrapped it, deposited the ungainly thing behind the seat, and strapped himself in its place. She glared and returned to watching out the window. Maybe he ought to tell her to open the bear's valentine box. Nah, she'd only crash harder.

He was up to his ears in hot shit and almost enjoying himself. They could fight like cats and dogs, but that undercurrent between them never went away. It just grew stronger. Lust didn't have a damned thing to do with knowing she was terrified and taking her fear out on him.

It wasn't lust that made him want to shake the mighty PC&M partners and throw them out the windows for not recognizing the gem right under their uplifted noses. And he had no idea why he was imagining making babies with this woman, but he'd sure as hell never considered it with any other woman before.

For reassurance, Charlie appropriated Penelope's hand and squeezed it. Her fingers curled up inside of his. She was probably making a fist to sock him one, but she didn't pull away.

“It's gonna be all right, I promise.” He lowered his voice so Emile, in front of them, couldn't hear. “I have friends there, remember? Once we get Jacobsen locked up, we can take care of your little problem with your bosses. Maybe we could take a little vacation together.”

She shot him a look of disbelief. “My employer's garage was shot up because of us. Tammy and Raul are running around together, you haven't looked after your business for a week, you probably have mountains of paperwork and problems waiting for you, and you're going to take a vacation?”

“Which are you having difficulty believing, that I'm so lazy I'd let my business go on without me, or that I would give it up to spend a week with you?”

She looked hard at him then, and the reflection in those thick-lashed eyes nearly undid him. He thought his heart stopped beating. He damned well knew he'd stopped breathing. He could see the confusion in her eyes and knew it matched his own.

“I'm not letting you go,” Charlie said recklessly, not waiting for her reply. “We've got something here, and I'm not giving it up easily.”

She took a deep breath, not that her boxy jacket allowed him to appreciate it. Her jaw muscles relaxed slightly, and her fingers wrapped around his. “Right,” she said dryly. “I have a friend who gives me tickets to the symphony. Shall we make a date?”

“If you'll go with me to the Garth Brooks concert.”

“I don't know anything about Garth Brooks.”

“I don't know anything about symphonies. We'll learn.” With that matter settled, Charlie leaned back in the seat and prepared to enjoy the rest of the flight. It might be the last chance he had for a while.

* * *

“Tell me again why we're doing this.” Penelope sighed as she twisted her hair and attempted to pin it up with Tamara's scattered collection of hairpins.

Charlie caught her hand, untwisted the thick length of hair, and smoothed it over her shoulders. “Wear it down, for me. You've got such gorgeous hair, I don't know why you try to hide it.”

She might as well wear her hair down. Charlie was wearing her down in more ways than one. She couldn't summon her protective armor when he looked at her as he was doing now. He stood behind her, but she could see his reflection in the mirror. In that tux, he took her breath away. The look in his eyes robbed her of any remaining sense.

Since that first day she'd seen him in a red muscle shirt, she'd thought him an impressive figure of a man. Now, in white coat and black tie, he encompassed every dream she'd ever had, and then some. How could a muscled jock who seldom wore more than T-shirts and jeans look like James Bond preparing for a presentation to the queen? He didn't even look the slightest bit uncomfortable in the formal silk shirt and tie.

Glancing from the mirror image of Charlie to herself, Penelope tugged uneasily at the heart-shaped red bodice of her gown. “I shouldn't have bought this,” she muttered.

She wasn't uncomfortable with the stares of men. She'd known them all her life. She simply didn't like being stared at as if she were a piece of meat. Once men noticed her cleavage, their minds blanked out and they never said another sensible word. She grimaced as Charlie draped the waterfall of her hair over her shoulder.

“I'm not hiding my hair,” she said defensively. “It's a nuisance. If I eat or drink, I have to peel it away from my mouth. I can't keep it neat like this.” Still, she didn't reach to put it up again. Charlie's fingers tugging through it held her entranced.

They'd arrived at the St. Philippe mansion late last night, and Charlie had left her alone in the bedroom his mother had assigned her. She suspected Charlie had stayed up late, conniving with his stepfather and the FBI and making telephone calls, but she'd been too worn out to care. Charlie had had a fit when he learned of Tammy and Raul's escape, but once she'd ascertained that Beth and the kids were all right, Penelope had left the men to their manipulations.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she and Charlie should have worked out a little more of this sexual tension between them so they could both think straight.

“I'll buy you some of those pretty combs for it. Doesn't Tammy have any in there?” Charlie gestured at the drawers of his half sister's vanity.

“What is the fascination men have with hair?” she asked with an irritation she really didn't feel as she searched the drawers, producing an enameled pair of combs that worked with the red of her dress.

“We envision tugging you back to the cave with it?” he asked facetiously. “I don't know. Maybe it makes you more approachable. You look like a real woman and not an automaton.”

She ought to bust his chops for that remark. Instead, Penelope rose and wrapped her fingers in his neatly knotted bow tie. Even though she was wearing heels, Charlie towered over her by several inches. Few men could do that. She'd planned on knocking his eyes out with one of those sexy poses she'd learned as a model. Instead, the heated blue of his gaze practically immobilized her. It scorched right through her, making her feel totally desirable and incredibly feminine, and she hadn't done a thing except touch him.

“I'm going to enjoy ripping that dress off you in a few hours,” he murmured as he leaned over to brush his lips against hers.

She should complain that he'd mess her lipstick, but she didn't care. She slid her fingers into his hair and encouraged him to suck what remained of her breath from her lungs. She'd totally lost her mind, and for once, she was enjoying it.

“God,” Charlie whispered worshipfully as he dragged himself away and looked down at her in wonderment. “I think I'll keep you locked in this bedroom all night. You're a walking powder keg. I'll have to beat the men off you.”

“You can't,” she reminded him. “You're supposed to be scaring the pants off Jacobsen instead.”

“Why don't I just strangle him and leave him out in the garden for the birds to find?” he asked hopefully.

Penelope grinned, although her insides clenched as she remembered the kind of dangerous game they played. She'd never attended a party with men who hired killers before. “Don't you think I can handle those little pups out there by myself?” she teased, diverting her thoughts and his from the evening's purpose.

“I figure you could snatch them bald, turn them inside out, and stuff them up the chimney before they knew what hit them,” he admitted. “But duds like these make me feel real primitive. I want to bash anyone who looks at you twice.”

Penelope rolled her eyes and returned to her seat to repair the damage to her makeup. “Civilized clothing makes you feel primitive? So you're most civilized when you're naked?”

“Yeah, will you hurry it up there? I want this over so I can get you into bed. These damned trousers don't leave much room for imagination. Or anything else.”

Admiring the drape of expensive cloth he tried to adjust, Penelope smiled. There was something particularly satisfying in arousing a man against his will. She'd never bothered exercising her feminine power before. She thought she might enjoy it—only with Charlie, she realized.

Charlie possessed the ability to turn something terrifying and wonderful on inside her. He gave her the confidence to be a woman. She could let her hair down and cry and be afraid, or she could throw a tantrum and scold, or she could turn him into mush with a kiss, and he accepted all of it as part of her and wasn't in the least bit put off. That much freedom was intimidating.