Wildest Dreams (The Contemporary Collection) (52 page)

“I didn’t think about it,” she answered. “I started reading the journal and didn’t want to quit.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “Not to worry. You want to eat late? Thesse ees Italy,
bella signorina.
No problem. As for me, I’m starving.”

“You missed dinner because of me?”

“The dedicated guard. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

“I feel irritated and outdone, but not a shred of pity.”

“But you’ll eat with me anyway?”

It was a mistake to allow herself to be cajoled by a show of concern and an appealing smile. She knew it, but could not seem to help herself.

Regardless, even as she ran a brush through her hair and applied a little lipstick, her brain was busy with ways to keep him from spending the night in her room. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, short of creating the kind of scene that made her cringe to contemplate. But she was not going to stay in that room with him. She would get rid of him before bedtime, no matter what it took.

An opportunity of sorts presented itself before the evening was over.

The restaurant was small and less than five blocks from the hotel. The food was northern Italian with a French accent, robust but with a refined presentation.

The place was full in spite of, or possibly because of, the hour. There were a few obvious tourists, but most of the tables were occupied by local residents. Their waiter appeared ready to take it as an insult to both the restaurant and himself personally if they did not order at least five courses. By the time they had worked their way through soup, salad, pasta, an entrée of spit-roasted lamb with baby carrots and aubergines, and dessert of crème caramel — with appropriate wine and a liqueur flavored with almonds — they could begin to guess why the Italians walked everywhere they went. It was necessary to counteract all that food.

They had set out for the hotel again when they saw Natalie and Timothy coming toward them.

“The concierge said he had recommended this place to you two,” Natalie said, “but I couldn’t believe you were operating on Italian time.”

“Another week,” Rone said, “and we’ll be more Italian than the Italians.”

“You two can stand it, you’re both so slim; I’d have to go straight to a spa. But I wanted to ask Joletta what in the world she said to Caesar? He called me, totally strung out about it. He wasn’t making much sense.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Joletta answered.

“You must have. He was raving about going back to his hometown, some little place near Venice with an unpronounceable name, to become his own man again. He didn’t like the way you saw him, didn’t like the way he saw himself because of you. At least I think that’s what he said.”

“Oh,” Joletta said.

“You do know what it’s all about. Caesar was such a marvelous man. Really, I’m sorry I asked him to be nice to you.”

“So am I,” Joletta said quietly.

Natalie looked contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that, I guess, though I don’t know what difference it makes now. It just seemed like a good idea to have somebody move in on you, stay close to find out what you were up to.”

“Lord, Natalie,” Timothy said in brotherly disparagement.

Joletta felt the blood rush to her head. She curled her fingers slowly into fists. “It was an underhanded trick. Did you stop to think that maybe Caesar recognized it, and felt guilty?”

“Caesar?” Natalie arched a brow. “I wouldn’t think he could feel guilty about anything.”

“I think you underestimate him,” Joletta said seriously.

“But not you?” Natalie said with a brittle laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re complaining about; knowing him didn’t hurt you any. I thought you might even enjoy a little attention from a good-looking man,
amore
Italian-style.”

“So kind of you. Maybe I should be grateful.” Joletta tried hard to keep the embarrassment, the hurt and anger, from her voice, but was not sure she succeeded.

Natalie flushed a little and there was still an edge to her tone as she said, “Anyway, I should be the one upset. I had a great thing going with Caesar, but he hardly knew I was alive after I threw him at you in Paris. He fell for you, I think, maybe because he thought he saved your life in that ridiculously providential near accident. You made him feel all gallant and worthy or something, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Joletta said, “I didn’t mean to ruin your romance.”

Natalie gave her a moody look. “Yes, well, I suppose it was my own fault. But how was I to know that Rone had come up with the same idea, all on his own?”

Rone’s voice was stringent as he broke in. “Thank you very much, Natalie, but I can make my own confessions.”

“Yeah,” Timothy said. “I think enough’s been said anyway. Joletta will want to drum us out of the family, and I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Thanks, dear brother.” Natalie’s sarcasm had a tired sound.

The younger man ignored the comment as he turned an earnest look on Joletta. “Look, I’m sorry about all this. I’m sorry things didn’t work out, too — Natalie tells me you’ve traced things as far as the journal goes, and found zip. Not to worry. We’ll all get by. But families have to stick together. So if there’s any way we can make this up to you, just say the word.”

“I think,” Joletta said slowly, “that there just might be.”

“Hey, great.”

Joletta met Natalie’s wary gaze. “You’re at our same hotel here, aren’t you? Do you have twin beds in your room?”

“Joletta, wait, please.” There was urgency in Rone’s touch as he placed his hand on her arm.

“There’s something wrong with your room?” the other woman asked.

“Not the room, but the security system.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“She means,” Rone said in exasperated tones, “that I’ve been keeping too close an eye on her.”

“You mean — in the same room? Wasn’t that a little above and beyond—” Natalie stopped as her gaze rested on Rone’s set face. She added hastily, “Oh, never mind.”

“He seemed to think I was in danger,” Joletta said.

“You were in danger,” Rone answered shortly.

“There’s been no problem since we got to Venice.”

“You mean since I took up night duty.”

“Good Lord, Joletta,” Natalie said, “I never knew you were such a heart breaker.”

“I’m not. This has nothing to do with me personally, as you ought to know.”

“Doesn’t it now?” Rone asked, his voice soft.

Timothy held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Come on, enough,” he said. “I’m sure Natalie won’t mind you sleeping over with her.”

“You forget, Tim,” his sister corrected him. “The hotel was short of rooms. Mother is with me.”

“Oh, right.” He turned back to Joletta. “But, hey, I could come bed down in the other twin, if that would make you feel better.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Rone said, the words brusque.

“Now wait a minute,” Natalie said slowly. “Joletta is my cousin, and if she doesn’t want you in her room, I think you had better stay out.”

“Your concern is touching, but a little late,” Rone said.

“Just what do you mean by that?” Timothy asked.

“Your cousin was nearly killed. Where were you then? Joletta is perfectly safe with me — at least from anything I might do — so put your minds at ease on that point. For the rest, I’ve been looking after her, and I’ll keep right on doing it. If you think you can stop me, go ahead.”

Timothy narrowed his eyes, but after an exchange of glances with Rone, he swallowed and was quiet. Natalie said nothing either, only stood watching Joletta’s protector with quick and rather surprised consideration in her blue-gray eyes.

Rone did not wait for more, but touched Joletta’s arm in a gesture that suggested they move on. She went with him, partly because there seemed no point in standing there in the middle of the block, and partly because her mind was so busy that she started moving by reflex action.

When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. She said baldly, “You can’t move in with me tonight.”

He halted. He ran his fingers through his hair and clasped the back of his neck as he looked toward the night sky as if for inspiration. Finally he said, “Why? What is it you’re so afraid of? What is it about me that makes you prefer to take your chances with the creep who ransacked your room in Lucerne and put you in a ditch near Bologna than have me in the same room with you?”

“You’re an overbearing, manipulative—”

“Those are character faults, not reasons.”

She gazed at the display of fine leather shoes in the store window behind him until the bright, yet soft, clear colors began to blur. “All right,” she said, her voice a little thick from the constriction in her nose and throat. “What is it you want me to say? Do you think I’m afraid of what I might feel for you? Fine, I’m saying that. I don’t like having somebody play with my emotions for the sake of what they can get out of me. I hate starting to feel something for somebody, then finding out I’m being used. I can’t stand the thought of maybe learning to care about someone and waking up to find them gone. You say you’re trying to protect me. That’s great if it makes you feel big. What I’m trying to do is protect me, too. I’m — I’m just trying to keep myself safe, from you.”

“Joletta,” he said, the word a soft entreaty as he reached to take her hand.

“Don’t!” She jerked away, stepping back from him. “Don’t say sweet things, don’t bring me flowers, please! And don’t make love to me. I don’t need that. I don’t want it. All I want is to be through with this trip, and then to get as far away from you as possible.”

His blue gaze was somber with strain as he searched her face. Abruptly, he said, “I didn’t mean to hound you.”

“People do a lot of things they don’t mean.” She refused to look at him.

A car went past in the street with the wafted blast of a radio and a shriek of laughter. Neither of them noticed. The atmosphere between them had the heated fragility of a piece of hand-blown glassware just before it was struck from the pipe.

Rone set his jaw, then deliberately relaxed it. He said, “If you want to get rid of me, you don’t have to wait for the trip to end.”

She turned her gaze on him then. His face was a little pale in the dimness of the streetlights, but its planes were hard and unreadable and his lashes shielded his eyes.

“You mean it?” she asked.

“Beginning now.”

The words could not have been more firm. Regardless, there was inside her a strange reluctance to test them. It had to be done, however.

She took a step backward. He made no move.

She took another step. He put his hands in his pockets.

“Good-bye, then,” she said.

He did not answer.

There was nothing left to do but turn and walk away.

That was what she did.

But as she walked she could feel the ache inside her growing. She should have felt better; she was rid of him, wasn’t she? That was what she had wanted. Wasn’t it?

Rone watched Joletta as she left him, moving with her back straight, shoulders set, and head up. He loved her grace and dignity, the sense of class about her. He even loved the way she had told him to get lost. God, he just loved her.

He wished he had never heard of the perfume. Better still, he wished his mother had never heard of it. There had been a time when he had thought it could be a huge success. Now he didn’t care if it was ever resurrected. He thought, in fact, that it would be a good thing if it was lost forever. What did it really matter? All good things had to come to an end sometime.

Maybe his pursuit of Joletta was another one?

Maybe it was time he moved on, did something else, thought of something else.

She didn’t want him sticking around, didn’t need him.

There seemed no way to break through to her, nothing he could say or do to convince her that he wanted her for herself, needed her with a deep, slow ache that twisted his insides into knots and made his heart feel as if it had a ten-pound weight hung on it.

So that was it. Farewell. Good-bye.

The kiss-off without the kiss.

At least he still had the carnation.