Wildest Dreams (The Contemporary Collection) (4 page)

“There’s a guy behind you, ma’am, and it looks like he has a knife in his hand,” he said, speaking quickly, his voice urgent under its quiet timbre. “I’d like to be heroic and demolish him for you, but I’m not sure he doesn’t have friends. Play along, and it may be all right.”

Her nerves were too tightly strung to make sense of what he was saying. She only knew it wasn’t all right, and wasn’t going to be, knew it with an instinct that sent prickling gooseflesh over every inch of her body. She drew in her breath to scream.

In that instant, the man’s hold tightened around her and his firm mouth descended on her parted lips.

THE KISS WAS HEATED AND
piercingly sweet, its hard pressure inescapable. Joletta felt the rush of warm blood to her head and the champagne froth of rising ardor in her veins. At the same time she moved her head in negation while a soft sound of distress caught in her throat.

A moment later the man raised his head. He stood still with his arms clasped around her, holding her against him. Joletta, meeting his gaze that appeared dark blue in the light of the street lamps, saw an arrested expression overlaid by wry fatalism.

It had been some time since she had been kissed. Too long, perhaps. A shiver of reaction moved over her, and there was an aching constriction in her throat. Disoriented by the swift turn of events, she stood still with her fingers resting lightly against the firm muscles of his chest under his suit coat.

The man who held her drew a sharp breath, then released her, stepping back with the taut, abrupt movements of extreme reluctance. He glanced beyond her. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said on an uneven laugh. “I just — I thought that I might be more convincing as a bodyguard if it looked as if I had a personal interest. At least it seems to have done the trick.”

Joletta glanced over her shoulder. There was no sign of whoever had been following her. Speaking with difficulty, she said, “That may be, but I imagine you could have done the same thing without—”

“Yes, ma’am, but where would the reward be in that?”

She gave him a straight look. There was a hint of exaggeration in the form of address he used and the drawl of his voice. She thought it was deliberate, though she could not be sure. In the dim light, his hair was the dark and shining brown of polished black walnuts, its texture thick and not quite tamed to smoothness. His features were clean-cut and nicely proportioned, dominated by a straight nose and square chin with a hint of an indentation. The curving lines on either side of his mouth suggested he smiled often, and the glint of fast-moving intelligence could be seen in his eyes. His shoulders, under the coat of a well-cut navy suit, were broad without being bulky. He was above average in height, his manner compelling without being overbearing.

After a moment Joletta said, “Must there be a reward?”

“Gallantry, southern style, isn’t appreciated the way it used to be. It should be practiced for its own sake, I expect, but I prefer to collect on my own, given the chance.”

Listening to the sound of his voice, driven by the rise of well-developed curiosity, she said, “Where are you from?”

“Virginia, originally. Does it matter?”

“No,” she answered, and repeated more firmly as she bent her head to search in her shoulder bag for her car keys, “no, of course not.”

A faint whimsical note sounded in his voice as he said, “Were you headed somewhere? Strike out, and I’ll tag along to keep you company.”

It was a disarming suggestion, but she had no intention of encouraging him. She didn’t trust most men she met in broad daylight, much less one she had run into on a dark street at midnight in the Quarter. She looked up as she took out her brass ring of jangling keys. “Thanks all the same, but gallantry doesn’t have to go that far.”

“My old nurse who taught me my manners would say it did.” His easy stance in front of her did not change, nor did he show any sign of leaving.

“Well, she isn’t here,” Joletta said evenly, “and I don’t know you from Adam. You might be mixed up with the guy with the knife for all I can tell.”

“Good thinking, but you’re still unmolested so far, aren’t you — well almost. Be sensible. Let me walk you to your car.”

“I appreciate your help, but I’m sure I can manage on my own now.”

Joletta stepped around him, moving in the direction of the parking lot. “Maybe so,” he said as he turned and fell in beside her, “but why should you have to?”

She gave him a swift glance. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is.”

The parking lot ahead, a small square surrounded by the high walls of houses and courtyards, was like a dimly lighted well. The solid presence of the man beside her was not actually unwelcome, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Since there seemed to be no getting rid of him anyway, she allowed her silence to signal her reluctant acquiescence.

After a moment, however, her own training in manners at Mimi’s knee began to surface. What had seemed self-protective silence seconds before began to feel like ungracious sulking. She glanced at the man moving beside her, at his suit, so somber with its matching striped tie. He had the look, she thought, of some kind of executive with time on his hands after a day of intense negotiation. In an attempt to ease the moment, she said, “You’re in New Orleans on business?”

“You could say so.”

“Is this your first time here?”

He shook his head. “I come through now and again.”

“A convention, maybe?” New Orleans was a major attraction for group meetings.

“Not this time,” he answered.

Since he did not elaborate, Joletta did not pursue it. It didn’t matter what he did or why he was in the city; she would never see him again. Still, the disappointment she felt at his minimal answers was surprising, even disturbing in its way. She had managed just fine without the tingling, visceral response to a man that she felt inside at this moment. It was a complication she didn’t need.

“You don’t have to break into a run,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to jump you again.”

Joletta slackened her pace. “I wasn’t running.”

“No, of course not.” There was humor underlying the irony in his voice.

She came to a halt and turned to face him. “This is far enough,” she said. “I’m thankful that you came along when you did; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t. I don’t even hold the kiss against you, but—”

“No?” he asked, the word quietly doubtful.

“No,” she answered with firmness, perhaps more firmness than necessary. “Anyway, my car is just over there, and I’m sure I’ll be fine now.”

He studied her a moment. “So buzz off, huh? What if the guy with the knife is still behind us, waiting for your bodyguard to leave?”

“It doesn’t seem likely.” Joletta spoke with bravado instantly belied by her quick look over her shoulder.

“Right,” he said, his voice dry before he went on with more purpose. “My car is here, too, since this is the only decent parking lot on this side of the Quarter. Let me run you home, then I can be sure you get there safe and sound.”

She shook her head in amazement. “You must be crazy. I don’t even know your name—”

“Tyrone Kingsley Stuart Adamson the Fourth, at your service. Is that enough name for you? If it’s too much, call me Rone. And what can I call you besides "darling" and "ma’am"?”

“Nothing! Look—”

“No, you look,” he said, his voice deepening to hard-edged certainty. “I’m not leaving you here at this time of night. If you won’t let me drive you home, at least let me follow you. No, correct that. I’m going to follow you whether you want me to or not.”

She stared at him for long seconds, at the firm planes of his face and the unwavering purpose in his eyes. “Why?” she demanded. “Why such concern?”

“It’s my nature, a habit beaten into me with a peach-tree switch by a strong-minded black housekeeper who cared about that sort of thing. I also open doors and give up my seat to women; I just can’t help it.”

As an answer, it was not quite satisfactory. Regardless, Joletta could find no real reason to question it. Mimi had also been big on manners and moral obligations. She compressed her lips as she turned, but protested no more as he continued beside her to where her Mustang sat locked and dark.

The man called Rone took her keys from her and opened the door, leaning to check in the backseat for hidden passengers before he made a courteous gesture indicating it was all right for her to get in.

Joletta could not allow him to outdo her in graciousness. She held out her hand. As he took it she said, “Well, thank you for the rescue. I am grateful.”

“In spite of everything? That’s generous of you.” He smiled down at her as he spoke.

“No, really—” she began.

“Never mind,” he said, “I’m grateful myself for the opportunity.”

It didn’t seem wise to question his meaning. She withdrew her hand. “Good night, then.”

He stepped back to allow her to enter the car. As she slid under the wheel he turned and walked off toward a silver Buick with a rental-company sticker prominent on the back bumper.

It made Joletta nervous to have his headlights shining in her rearview mirror as she drove, to know that he was watching the way she threaded through the narrow streets of the Quarter and turned back toward the lake. It also disturbed her, as she thought about it, that she was allowing a chance-met stranger to discover where she lived.

She need not have worried. As she pulled into the entrance drive to her apartment building, Rone Adamson blinked his headlights once, then drove on past without stopping. She would not, Joletta told herself, have had it any other way.

Regardless, she turned her head to watch the red taillights of his car disappear. Releasing her tight grip on the steering wheel, she reached up to touch the soft surface of her lips. They felt extra sensitive, a little feverish.

It had been almost six months since she had allowed a man to come close enough to kiss her like that. Six months since Charles, her fiancé, had kissed her good-bye.

They had known each other so long. Stocky and blond, Charles was playmate, friend, brother, the only boy she had dated through high school. The intimacy between them had evolved naturally, beginning with a chaste good-night kiss and reaching its high point some two years later, after they became officially engaged, on a sleeping bag beside the Mississippi River. When they started to college, Charles had wanted them to take an apartment just off campus together, but Joletta had refused. Mimi, she knew, would not have understood. Still, they had spent their every waking moment together. They had visited a doctor for birth control together, planned their future home and family and every detail of the wedding that would eventually take place. Together, always together. Joletta had bought her gown of champagne tissue silk sewn with pearls and iridescent beads. Their attendants were supposed to wear blue, to match the most dominant color of the stained glass in the little Victorian church on the River Road where the ceremony was to be performed.

Somehow, the wedding date was never set. Charles’s parents wanted him to go with them on an African safari the summer after he and Joletta graduated. Then his grandfather had died after a lengthy illness, and Charles had felt it was selfish to think of their own happiness during such a time. He had suggested that they should save money for a down payment on a house, and maybe even put a little back for a Caribbean honeymoon. What was the rush, after all? They had the rest of their lives ahead of them.

Joletta had felt, after a time, that her life was on hold, but Charles’s arguments for waiting had seemed so reasonable, so practical, that she had dutifully saved her money while living with Mimi.

Then Charles had used his savings to make a down payment on an electric-blue Mazda Miata convertible.

Joletta had walked around the sports car where it sat in front of the perfume shop. Her chest grew tight. She looked at Charles where he stood back with his hands on his hips and a proud smile on his face. Her voice wobbled a little when she finally spoke.

“You — you really don’t want to get married, do you, Charles?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Is there someone else? All you have to do is tell me.”