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Fit for a King
Diana Palmer
Eccentric neighbor, loyal friend, and totally innocent tease, impish Elissa Dean was exactly what Kingston Roper needed–to get him out of a romantic bind, that is. His sister-in-law's intentions were anything but sisterly, and King had to produce a make-believe lover to run interference. Sweet Elissa fit the bill nicely.The act seemed foolproof… until seeing Elissa in his bed heated King's blood and holding her filled him with unbearable longing. As the fantasy threatened to become reality, King was torn–did he desire a woman he could not touch? Would he touch a woman he dared not love?


Eccentric neighbor, loyal friend, and totally innocent tease, impish Elissa Dean was exactly what Kingston Roper needed—to get him out of a romantic bind, that is. His sister-in-law’s intentions were anything but sisterly, and King had to produce a make-believe lover to run interference. Sweet Elissa fit the bill nicely.
The act seemed foolproof… until seeing Elissa in his bed heated King’s blood and holding her filled him with unbearable longing. As the fantasy threatened to become reality, King was torn—did he desire a woman he could not touch? Would he touch a woman he dared not love?
Fit for a King


New York TimesandUSA TODAYBestselling Author
Diana Palmer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.
But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.
I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.
Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.
Diana Palmer
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#u94b25846-c99b-54c2-a4d4-dbde094440c8)
Chapter Two (#u575d54dc-306f-5de6-ab1a-9a37abf394a6)
Chapter Three (#u572ff9ba-b02d-5f82-9361-65e314a3354b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
The king-size bed felt strange to Elissa, which was no surprise, really, since it wasn’t her own. It belonged to Kingston Roper, and it was a good thing they were friends or she’d never have done him this “little favor” on a minute’s notice. Elissa’s own safe, single bed was in her little cottage on the white Jamaican beach near Montego Bay, only a short walk from King’s enormous villa.
In the past two years Elissa knew she’d gone from being just an irritating neighbor to the only friend King had. And friend was the word; they certainly weren’t lovers. Elissa Gloriana Dean, for all her eccentricities and uninhibited appearance, was an innocent. Her missionary parents had given her a loving but restrictive upbringing, and not even her budding success in the sophisticated world of fashion design had liberated her in any physical way.
This trip down she’d been on the island only since that morning, missing King, who wasn’t at home, and halfheartedly working on her newest collection of colorful leisure wear for the boutique that carried her exclusive designs. Then, just an hour ago, King had phoned her with this wild request and had hung up without a word of explanation the moment she’d agreed to help him out. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted her to be found in his bed. He didn’t seem to be dating anyone. But then again, maybe he was being hounded by some bored socialite and wanted to show her that he was already involved. This tactic did seem a bit drastic, though, especially since King was adept at speaking his mind. He never pulled his punches, even with people he liked. Oh, well. All the wondering in the world wasn’t going to give her any answers. She’d simply have to wait to hear what King had to say.
She stretched luxuriously in his huge bed, the smooth satin sheets feeling cool and sexy against her skin. She was wearing a nightgown, but it was made of the finest cotton and slit to the hips on both sides. In front, it made a plunge to her navel. The daring pink negligee was part of her fantasy life, she admitted to herself. In some ways she might be repressed on the surface, but in her mind she was a beautiful siren who lured men to their dooms.
Only with King could she safely indulge that fantasy woman, however, because he never approached her physically. With King, she could flirt to her heart’s content. Although she was friendly to most men, she was careful not to tease. The instant a man mistook her playful friendliness for a come-on, she retreated into her shell, the fantasy shattered. It was one thing to pretend to be sexy, but quite another to follow through. A frightening experience in her teens had left her extremely wary in that regard.
King was safe, though, Elissa reminded herself. Over the past two years he’d become a friend and a confidant, and she wasn’t afraid to let down her guard with him. She wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing this revealing gown in front of anyone else. But despite their sometimes flirtatious camaraderie, King scarcely even seemed to notice that she had a body, so this little charade held no danger. She smiled to herself, feeling womanly and sexy and wildly come-hitherish. She would put on a great act for whoever this persistent female was, and later King could tell her all about it.
Kingston Roper, she mused. He could be such an enigma at times—like now. He was a big-time businessman, she knew—oil and gas and a few diversified interests, as she recalled. He’d inherited interest in the family company, which had been on the verge of bankruptcy, and had used his business savvy to make a fortune. Apparently his half brother, whose father had left the business to both sons, had been competing like mad to overtake King ever since.
Although they talked frequently and freely, she and King didn’t spend a whole lot of time discussing everyday details about themselves, and as a result, she now realized, she didn’t know all that much about his family. His half brother, Bobby, was married, and King had said something about expecting him and his wife for a visit. But that was at about the time she’d had to go back to the States to oversee her latest collection as it was assembled.
She smiled again as she thought about the success of that collection, which allowed her the luxury of spending time in Jamaica. Her name was her label—Elissa—and she catered to a unique clientele. Her sportswear was exotic, and its fantasy flair was designed to capture the eye as well as the imagination. She favored dramatic combinations of red and black and white, with the emphasis on cut and silhouette. Her styles had taken some time to catch on, but now that they had, sales were booming, and she was making a nice living. The cottage had been a godsend—she’d bought it at a terrific price when she’d been on a rare vacation—and for the past two years, whenever she needed rest or inspiration, she left the small Miami house she shared with her parents and came to sunny Jamaica.
She’d led a sheltered but happy life, one of the consequences of being the only child of former missionaries. Her parents were highly individualistic and encouraged Elissa to be the same—except in one respect. They were extremely moral people, and they had instilled that same morality into their daughter. As a result of her upbringing, Elissa was something of a misfit in the modern world, but in most respects—even in her wild designs—she was an individual.
When she came to Jamaica, she relaxed by watching out for King, who seemed to be in almost permanent residence these days. Two years ago she’d taken him on as a social project, since he kept so much to himself, never smiled and seemed to think about nothing except business. Gradually, she reflected, he’d thawed a little. She grinned, then tensed, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the next room. Realizing it was only Warchief mumbling to himself in his covered cage, she relaxed.
The big yellow-naped Amazon parrot belonged to Elissa, but she’d never taken him to the States. He belonged on his tropical island, and she loved him too much to risk disturbing his delicate immune system with the stress of international travel. King seemed to like him well enough, since he let the five-year-old parrot stay with him when Elissa was away. Warchief had had a bad cold when she’d arrived in Jamaica this time, and to avoid upsetting the bird with a move while he was still sick, King was letting him stay at the villa until he recovered. He’d be well soon, though; already he was as feisty as ever.
It had been Warchief who’d first introduced them, she remembered fondly. Elissa had nearly drained her bank account to buy the big green bird from his previous owner, who’d been moving into an apartment. Warchief definitely wasn’t an apartment bird. He heralded dawn and dusk with equal enthusiasm, and his ear-piercing cries did sound like an Indian warrior of old on the attack. Hence, his name.
At the time, Elissa had been thoroughly ignorant of birds and hadn’t known about this particular trait of Amazon parrots. She had taken Warchief to her cottage, and promptly at dusk she’d discovered why his former owner had been so enthusiastic about selling him.
Covering the cage had only made the parrot madder. She’d frantically thumbed through one of the old bird magazines she’d been given to an article on screaming, biting birds. Don’t throw water on them, the article cautioned. If you do, instead of a screaming, biting bird, you’ll have a wet, screaming, biting bird.
She’d sighed worriedly, gnawing on her lower lip as the parrot began to imitate a police siren. Or could it be the real thing? Perhaps her new neighbor in that big white villa had called the Jamaican police?
At that point a loud, angry knock on the front door had startled her. “Hush, Warchief!” she’d pleaded.
He’d squawked even louder, rattling the bars of his cage like a convict bent on escape.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she’d wailed, holding her ears and peeking out the curtain before she opened the door.
But it hadn’t been the police. It was worse. It was the cold, hard, mean-looking man who lived in that huge white villa down the beach. The man who looked as intimidating as a stone wall and walked like a bulldozer hunting hills. He seemed furious, and Elissa wondered if she could get away with pretending she wasn’t home.
“Open this door, or the police will,” a deep, Western-accented voice boomed.
With a resigned sigh, she unlocked it. He was tall, whipcord lean and dangerous looking, from his tousled dark hair and his half-opened tropical shirt to the white shorts that emphasized the deep tan and pure muscle of his long legs. He had a chest that would have started fires in a more liberated woman than Elissa. It was very broad, with a thick wedge of black hair that curled down past the waistband around his lean hips. His face was chiseled-looking, rough and masculine, with a straight nose and a cruelly sensuous mouth. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and he smelled of tangy cologne—expensive, probably, if that Rolex buried in the thick hair on his wrist and the big diamond ring on his darkly tanned hand were any indication of material worth. He made her feel like a midget, even though she was considered tall herself.
“Yes?” She smiled, trying to bluff her way through his obvious animosity.
“What the hell’s going on over here?” he asked curtly.
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I heard screams,” he said, his very dark, almost black, eyes staring intently at her face.
“Well, yes, they were screams, but—” she began.
“I bought my house specifically for its peaceful location,” he broke in before she could finish. “I like peace and quiet. I came all the way here from Oklahoma to get it. I don’t like wild parties.”
“Oh, neither do I,” she said earnestly.
At which point Warchief let out a scream that could have shattered crystal.
“Why is that woman screaming? What in hell kind of company are you keeping here, lady?” The man from Oklahoma spared her a speaking glance before he pushed past her into the cottage and began looking for the source of the scream.
She sighed, leaning against the doorjamb as he strode into the bedroom, then the small kitchen, muttering about bloody murder and the lack of consideration for the neighbors on this side of the island.
Warchief began laughing in an absurd parody of a man’s deep voice, and then he screamed again, his tone rising alarmingly.
The Oklahoman was back, hands on his narrow hips, scowling. And then his eyes found the covered cage.
“Hellllllp!” Warchief moaned, and the man’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
“The wild party,” she informed him calmly, “is in there. And wild is really a good word for that particular party.”
“Ouuuuut!” the parrot wailed. “Let me out!”
The Oklahoman pulled off the dark cover, and Warchief immediately began making eyes at him. “Hello!” he purred, leaping from his perch ring to the cage door. “I’m a good boy. Who are you?”
The tall man blinked. “It’s a parrot.”
“I’m a good boy,” Warchief said, and he laughed again. As an encore he turned upside down, cocking his head at the man. “You’re cute!”
Cute wasn’t exactly the word Elissa would have used, but that parrot had style—she’d say that for him. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing.
Warchief spread his tail feathers and ruffled the rest of himself, dilated his pale brown eyes in what bird fanciers call “blazing” and let out a beaut of a wail. The stranger from Oklahoma raised one heavy eyebrow. “How would you like him,” he asked darkly, glancing at her, “fried or baked stuffed?”
“You can’t!” she moaned. “He’s just a baby!”
The parrot let out another bloodcurdling scream.
“Down, boy!” the man growled. “I don’t have my ears insured.”
Elissa muffled a giggle. “He’s terrific, isn’t he?” she asked gleefully. “Now I see why his owner had to sell him when he moved into a small apartment building. I didn’t realize it until the sun started going down.”
The intruder stared at the pile of bird magazines on the glass-topped coffee table. “Well? Haven’t you learned yet what to do about his screaming?”
“Of course,” she replied, tongue in cheek. “You cover the cage. It works every time. This expert—” she held up the magazine “—says so.”
He glanced at the cover of the magazine. “That issue is three years old.”
She shrugged. “Can I help it if bird magazines aren’t exactly the going thing on the island? The owner gave these to me along with the cage.”
His eyes told her what he thought of the magazines, the cage and the bird in it. Her, too.
“So he screams a little,” she defended, shifting under that hot glare. “Basically he’s a nice bird. He’ll even let you pet him.”
He eyed the bird. “Want to show me?”
“Not really.” But at the man’s baleful glance, she moved closer and held out her hand. The parrot cackled and made a playful swipe at it. She jerked her hand back. “Well, he’ll almost let you pet him,” she equivocated.
“Care to try again?” he challenged, folding his darkly tanned arms across that massive chest.
She put her hands behind her. “No, thanks. I’ve kind of gotten used to having ten fingers,” she muttered.
“No doubt. What in heaven’s name do you want with a parrot, anyway?” he asked, clearly exasperated.
“I was lonely,” she said bluntly. She glanced down at her bare feet.
“Why not take a lover?” he returned.
She looked up and saw that his eyes were full of what looked like mischief. “Take him where?” she asked glibly, hiding the uncomfortable reaction his suggestion evoked from her.
A corner of his firm mouth seemed to twitch. “Cute.”
“You’re cute!” Warchief echoed, and he began to strut in a circle, fluffed up like a cat in a dryer, screaming his lime-green head off. Even the streak of yellow on his nape seemed to glow.
“For Pete’s sake, boy!” the man burst out.
“Maybe he’s a girl,” Elissa commented. “He sure seems to like you a lot.”
He glared at Warchief. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me,” he commented. “I feel like an entrée.”
“His former owner promised he wouldn’t bite,” she faltered.
“Sure he did.” He held out his hand, and Warchief seemed to actually grin before he reached through the wide cage bars for it.
He wasn’t a malicious bird; he just liked to test his strength, Elissa rationalized. But the man from Oklahoma had strong fingers. He let Warchief bear down for a minute before he leisurely removed the big beak and firmly said, “No!”
He picked up the cage cover and put it back in place. And to Elissa’s amazement, the parrot shut up.
“You have to let an animal know who’s boss,” he told Elissa. “Never jerk your hand back if he starts to bite, and don’t let him get away with it. You’ll only reinforce his bad behavior.”
She blinked. “You seem to know a lot about birds.”
“I had a cockatoo,” he told her. “I gave it to a friend of mine because I’m away so much of the time.”
“You’re from Oklahoma, you said?” she asked, curious.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“I’m from Florida,” she said with a smile. “I design sportswear for a chain of boutiques.” She peeked up at him. “I could design you a great sun dress.”
He glowered at her. “First the parrot, now this. I don’t know which is worse, lady, you or the last woman who lived here.”
“The woman I bought the cottage from?” she recalled, frowning. “What was wrong with her?”
“She liked to sunbathe nude when I was swimming,” he muttered darkly.
She grinned, remembering the woman very well. She was about fifty years old, at least a size twenty and only five feet tall.
“It’s not funny,” he commented.
“Yes, it is.” She laughed.
But he still didn’t smile. Despite his earlier flip remarks, he looked like a man who hadn’t much use for humor.
“I’ve got three hours of work left before I can sleep,” he said curtly, turning away. “From now on, cover that bird when he starts whooping. He’ll get the message sooner or later. And don’t keep him up late. It isn’t good for him. Birds need twelve hours each of daylight and dark.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Anything else, sir?” she asked pertly as she skipped along beside him to the door.
He stopped short, his dark eyes threatening. “How old are you, anyway? Past the age of consent?”
“I’m a candidate for the old folks’ home, in fact.” She grinned. “I’m pushing twenty-six. Still about twenty years your junior, though, I’ll bet, old man.”
He looked stunned, as if no one had ever dared speak to him in such a manner. “I’m thirty-nine,” he said absently.
“You look more like forty-five.” She sighed, studying his hard, care-creased face. “I’ll bet you take five-hour vacations and count your money every night. You have that look, you know.” His eyebrows shot up, and she wiggled hers. “Rich and miserable?”
“I’m filthy rich, but I’m not miserable.”
“Yes, you are,” she told him. “You just don’t realize it. But don’t worry. Now that I’m around, I’ll save you from yourself. In no time you’ll be a new man.”
“I like me fine the way I am,” he said tersely, glaring down at her. “So don’t pester me. I don’t care to be remodeled, least of all by some bored textile worker.”
“I’m a designer,” she shot back.
“You can’t possibly be old enough.” He patted her on the head, the first glimpse of real humor she’d seen in him. “Go to bed, child.”
“Mind you don’t trip over your long beard, Grandpa,” she called after him.
He didn’t look back or say another word. He just kept walking.
And that had been the beginning of an odd friendship. In the months that followed, Elissa had learned precious few actual facts about her taciturn neighbor, but she’d gleaned a great deal about his temperament. His full name was Kingston, and no one called him King. Except Elissa. He spent most of his waking hours on business. Although he traveled extensively, his home base was Jamaica because few people except those who really needed to, knew how to get in touch with him there. He liked his privacy and avoided the social gatherings that seemed de rigueur for the Americans in their exclusive part of Montego Bay. He kept to himself and spent his rare free time walking on the beach, alone and apparently liking it. He might have gone on for years that way. But Elissa had saved him from himself.
Although she didn’t trust most men, she instinctively trusted King. He seemed totally uninterested in her as a woman, and when weeks went by without his making a suggestive remark or a pass, she began to feel totally safe with him. That allowed her to indulge her fantasy of being the sophisticated, worldly kind of woman she liked to read about in novels. It was an illusion, of course, but King didn’t seem to mind her outrageous flirting and sometimes suggestive remarks. He treated her much like a young girl, alternately indulging and teasing her. And that was fine with Elissa. She’d long since learned that she wouldn’t fit easily into the modern world. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep with a man just because it was the fashion. And since most men she dated expected that courtesy, she simply withdrew. She never took a date home—not anymore, at least. There had been a nice man when she was twenty. A real jewel, she’d thought—until she took him home to meet Mom and Dad. She’d never seen him again.
For all her religious outlook on life, her parents were characters. Her father collected lizards, and her mother was a special deputy with the sheriff’s department. Odd people. Lovely but very odd. Since she’d given up on expecting tolerance from the opposite sex, she couldn’t imagine a male friend really understanding her delightful family. So it was a good thing she’d decided to die a virgin.
Fortunately, King had no designs on her whatsoever, so he was good company and a hedge against other men when she was on the island. He was the perfect safe harbor. Not only that, but he needed a little attention to keep him from becoming a hermit. And who better to draw him out than Elissa, given her somewhat evangelical background?
At first she contented herself with leaving little notes for him to find, exhorting pithy things like “Too much loneliness makes a man odd” or “Sunstroke can be hazardous to your health.” She put the notes on his front door, on the windshield of his car, even under the rock where he liked to sit and watch the sunset. From there, she took bolder steps. She baked things for him. She put flowers on his doorstep.
Eventually, he came over to tell her to stop—and found her waiting for him with an elaborate meal. Clearly it was the last straw, and he gave up trying to ignore her. After that, he came to eat at least once a week, and sometimes they walked on the beach together. Despite her outgoing approach, she was a little wary of him at first, until he proved by his attitude that he wasn’t going to try to get her into the nearest available bed. And then he became her friend. She totally relaxed with him and looked forward to their times together. He seemed pleased enough with that arrangement himself, talking to her as if she were a sister.
When she went back to the States to work, he generously offered to keep Warchief. She’d been delighted, and King had given the bird a nice substitute home. When he was out of the country on business, he even hired a woman to look after the house and the bird. For all his hardness, he had a soft center—if one looked closely enough. He was still impatient and demanding with most people—Elissa had once had her ears curled listening to him chew out a subordinate—but he seemed to tolerate her better than he tolerated others.
The only puzzling thing about him was his lack of a love life. He was devastatingly handsome and physically near perfect. At his age, she’d have expected him to be married. But he wasn’t and evidently never had been. He dated occasionally, but Elissa never spotted him bringing a woman home overnight. Even in her innocence Elissa knew it was rather unusual for a man who was so much a man to spend so much time alone. She wondered about it frequently, and once she even got up enough courage to quiz him on the subject. But his face had closed up, and he’d changed the subject. She hadn’t asked again.
Despite her innate curiosity, she was relieved that he’d never once made a pass at her. She had some hang-ups from an experience that her parents didn’t even know about, thank God. One wild party, attended without their knowledge, had cured her of any wanton imaginings. She’d barely escaped with her innocence intact, and she’d gleaned a very unpleasant, threatening picture of the aroused male. She’d been careful ever since.
She was only grateful that her parents weren’t in any danger of dropping in at the Roper villa. If they’d seen her in King’s bed … Then she laughed, remembering how they were. They knew her so well that they’d have asked what was the joke. How marvelous having parents like hers, idiosyncracies and all.
King was due any minute, and Elissa’s part in this practical joke was simply to lie back and look loved. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to give that impression, or to whom, but he’d once saved her from the unwanted attention of a very persistent insurance salesman, so now she was saving him. From something. Really, though, he was going to owe her a steak dinner for all this bother.
She heard the front door open, and voices drifted down the hall. She recognized King’s, and for one wild second she let herself pretend that she was waiting for him as a lover. The thought didn’t terrify her, and that puzzled her. In fact, her body began to tingle in the oddest ways, and that really puzzled her.
Then the bedroom door opened, and King stared at her over the head of the most beautiful blonde Elissa had ever seen.
The blonde wore a look of helpless longing and unholy torment. And King’s expression was a revelation as he glanced down at her. For a face that rarely gave away a trace of emotion, it was suddenly explicit with tender interest. Who was the woman? Elissa wondered. And why would King want to discourage her when he was so obviously attracted to her?
Elissa was so confused that she almost forgot to play her part. This vulnerability in King was so expected. But there must be a reason he wanted that lovely woman with him to think he was involved with someone else, and this was obviously no time to ask questions.
“Well, hello, darling,” Elissa said in her best husky voice. She tugged the covers up demurely and yawned delicately. “I fell asleep again,” she added meaningfully, and she waited for the blonde to react.
Chapter Two
The reaction was almost instantaneous. “Oh!” The woman faltered, stopping beside King as if frozen to the spot. She stared at Elissa with huge, soft eyes, clearly struggling to find words, and her delicate skin colored, making her even more beautiful. “Ex-excuse me.”
“I didn’t expect you to still be here, Elissa,” King said with a smile that was obviously forced.
Elissa played her part to perfection, letting her eyes droop sleepily. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“Don’t be absurd,” he replied. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t stay if you like. Bess, do you mind …?” he asked the blonde. “There’s a guest bathroom just down the hall.”
“I’ll … I’ll use that one, of course.” She looked totally flustered, Elissa noted sympathetically. “Excuse me,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking. She turned and nearly ran down the hall.
King closed the door and leaned back against it, his face without expression, his dark eyes looking at Elissa without really seeming to see her. He never gave away much, but that hard face was faintly pale under its rugged tan.
Elissa climbed out of bed, oblivious to her state of undress. He wasn’t looking, anyway. He paid very little attention to her as a rule, and if she’d wondered why in the past, she now had a suspicion. She went to stand in front of him, her head back, her eyes curious.
“Okay,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me all about it? I’m a clam when I need to be, and you look as if you need a friend pretty badly.”
His jaw tightened. He looked down into her blue eyes, and she could see his control waver, just for an instant, before he got it back. “That’s Bess,” he said finally. “My brother’s wife,” he added significantly. After a pause, he continued tonelessly, “He’ll be along in an hour or so; he’s still in a business meeting.”
She remembered his mentioning Bobby and Bess, and she also remembered that he never talked much about them. Now she had a sneaking hunch she knew why. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his look of utter dejection.
“Is one of you in hot pursuit of the other?” she conjectured, smiling gently at his faint surprise. “Since I’m guessing, she’s after you, I imagine, and that’s why I was shanghaied into decorating your bed.”
“It isn’t quite that simple,” he murmured, searching her wide eyes.
“Why don’t you try telling me about it?” she suggested softly.
Still gazing intently at her, he seemed to consider that possibility, took a deep breath and then began. “They came down month before last while Bobby was working to get a hotel complex started. He’s been deeply involved in negotiations, and now he’s finalizing the subcontracting bids,” he explained. He paused.
“Go on,” Elissa prompted gently.
“Bess has been lonely, so instead of going back to Oklahoma, she’s been depending on me for amusement.” He stopped, then continued haltingly, “But a couple of nights ago, the amusement did a disappearing act, and things started to get serious.” Again he stopped, then rushed on. “So I started grasping at straws and told her I was involved with you. If you hadn’t sent me that letter asking me to get the utilities on, I might still be in hot water. But I knew you’d be in tonight, so I made sure Bess would come over. To catch you in a compromising situation, that is.”
“Too bad I wasn’t stark naked instead, then,” she said lightly, trying to cheer him up. She gave him a wicked smile. “Just picture it, gorgeous me in my birthday suit sprawled out on your satin sheets. That would have really caught her eye.”
Oddly enough, that picture made King go hot all over. He suddenly realized he’d never really thought of Elissa as a woman before. She was so young, so naive, so trusting. She was like a little sister to him. But now, as his dark eyes wandered over her, he realized with a start that she was pretty sexy in that gown, and he wasn’t thinking brotherly thoughts at all. He blinked. Maybe he was getting old and his glands were going crazy. Either that or his confusion over Bess was getting to him. In an effort to ground himself in reality once more, he reached out and clasped her shoulders. It was a mistake—they were bare.
Elissa started. It was a rare thing for King to touch her, and she was amazed at the pleasure the feel of his hands on her bare skin gave her.
“I think this will do it,” he mused, even more confused yet relieved he could still find voice to respond to her joking remark. “Temporarily, at least. How about joining us for drinks, just for an hour or so? Just until Bobby gets here?”
He sounded almost desperate, and Elissa grinned. “Sure. What are friends for?” she said easily. She wondered how much he really cared for Bess and if his only motive in the charade was to ward off his sister-in-law. Perhaps he needed a barrier against his own impulses, too, to keep himself honest? Hard to tell; he could be such a poker face. At times she wondered if she really knew him at all. She searched his dark eyes, frowning slightly. “King, is she in love with you?”
“I don’t think she knows, Elissa,” he said, his voice quiet and tense. “She’s lonely and bored—maybe a bit afraid, as well. Bobby leaves her alone too much. I’m not sure if she’s really interested in me or just using me as a ploy to get Bobby’s attention.”
In fact, he was afraid to take a chance on Bess’s developing any real feeling for him, since he was having a hard enough time resisting her now. But he wasn’t admitting any of that to Elissa.
He’d always had a soft spot for his sister-in-law, he acknowledged. Few people in her current social circle knew how rough she’d had it, what with a father who drank and kept her mother pregnant all the time. Bess hadn’t even owned a decent dress when Bobby brought her home and announced that they were getting married. King had formed an immediate affection for the shy little blonde, and that tenderness had held on for the past ten years. Now it was hard to decide whether it was still brotherly affection or something more. Bess had never actively encouraged him before now.
Elissa caught the wistful look in King’s eyes. Her lips pursed. “Did you ever have something going with her, maybe before Bobby did?” she probed gently.
He shook his head. “She was just eighteen when they married. They were the same age, in fact.” He shrugged. “I was already eleven years her senior. Besides, Bobby saw her first.” He laughed, then instantly sobered. “They were close in those early days, when Bobby was working his way up in the business world. But now, with their years of living high on the hog and with the oil industry depressed, money’s gotten a little tight.” He frowned, studying her. “You know, I think maybe Bobby’s working himself like crazy because he’s afraid Bess won’t want him if he can’t support her in the style she’s gotten accustomed to. And because he’s ignoring her in his pursuit of new building contracts, she thinks he doesn’t care.”
“What a mess.” She sighed.
“You aren’t kidding. And guess who’s smack-dab in the middle of it?” he asked ruefully. “They’ve gotten along pretty well the past ten years, but then, there was always lots of money. Bess used to joke about leaving him if he ever lost his shirt; she said she never wanted to be poor again. I don’t think she really meant it about leaving him, but Bobby tends to take things literally, and they don’t seem to talk much anymore. Anyway, I helped Bobby make some real-estate contacts here in Jamaica, and two months ago they came down to get things started. Bobby’s been hellishly busy, so for the past few weeks Bess has turned to me—out of boredom, I’m sure. At first I suspected she wanted to use me to get Bobby to notice her again—you know, make him a little jealous. But it’s getting complicated now.” He shrugged, smiling faintly. “She’s always been special to me, and I’m only human, if you get my meaning. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. That’s where you come in.”
“I’m going to run interference, I gather?” she murmured.
“That’s it,” he agreed pleasantly. “By the way, you’ve been in the States for the past few months because we had a quarrel. But now we’ve patched it up, and we’re quite serious about each other.”
“I’m beginning to see the light,” she mused, grinning. “So we’re lovers, is that it?”
He chuckled. “Can’t keep our hands off each other,” he agreed. “Mad to be together.”
“What fun.” She smiled. “Now explain my missionary parents to her and how you so easily led me into a life of sin.”
He groaned. “Don’t, for heaven’s sake, even mention your parents to her. Well, not what they do for a living, at least.”
She sighed. “I hope she doesn’t pin me down and start asking embarrassing questions.”
“I’ll try not to leave you alone with her. You’ve got to save me,” he murmured dryly, although there seemed to be something serious behind the gibe. “Bobby and I are getting along better than we ever have. I can’t come between him and the one thing in life he really values.”
She sighed. “Okay. I’ll play along. But I have to go back to the States in about three weeks, so you’d better get her convinced fast.”
“They’ll be going back any day now, I hope,” he said. “Otherwise I don’t know if I can stand it much longer. It’s a good thing I saw your lights on before Bobby got me to pick up Bess at their villa. I barely had time to pressure you into cooperating before I had to leave.”
“Lucky you,” she agreed with a grin. “I hadn’t planned to come back for two more weeks.”
He groaned. “I’d have been in over my head by then, for sure.”
She glanced up at him. “Well, don’t you worry. I’ll save you.” She frowned, moving away from the disturbing touch of his hands. “Let’s see now, what did I do with that red cape—you know, the one with the big S on it?”
“Never mind the Superwoman cape,” he said. “Just hold my hand.”
“The one with the Rolex and the diamond ring?” She pursed her lips. “Careful I don’t steal them. I’m not rich yet, you know.”
He laughed. “You will be,” he said. Then he glanced toward the door. “Get dressed, will you? I’ll wait for you.”
Heavens, he had it bad, Elissa thought, if he was afraid to face the other woman without reinforcements.
“Chin up,” she said lightly. “I know karate. If she makes one move—just one move—to undress you, I’ll defend your honor with my very life.”
He chuckled. Once, he’d thought his new neighbor was a complete eccentric. He still did, actually, but she could be quite a gem at times, too. And right now she was saving his neck. “You’re a nice girl,” he said playfully.
She winced. “A nice girl? Thanks awfully. I like you, too.”
She turned, picked up her clothes from the chair and headed toward the bathroom.
“You can’t dress in front of me?” he asked unexpectedly, watching her from his relaxed position against the door.
She glanced up at him. “No,” she confessed with a somewhat wobbly laugh. “I’m not quite as liberated as I might seem. I—I’ve never undressed in front of a man in my life, except for my family physician.”
The confession seemed to shock him. “Never?” he asked.
“Never,” she emphasized, knowing exactly what she was revealing to him.
He scowled. Because of her physical aloofness, he’d somehow taken it for granted that she’d been hurt in love somehow. To think of her as a virgin was vaguely disturbing.
“Why?” he asked with charasteristic bluntness. “Did something happen to you?”
“My father’s a minister, remember? And he and my mother were missionaries to Brazil when I was growing up. Try being Ms. Liberation in that kind of atmosphere. I dare you.”
He was learning more about her in minutes than he’d learned in two years. He studied her intently, his gaze taking in what he could see of her body in that very revealing gown. Her breasts were full and firm-looking, her minuscule waist flared into nicely rounded hips, and she had long, nicely shaped legs. Her face was lovely. And that teasing, provocative air of hers, he realized, was pretty false at times. Remembering that he’d seen her actually back away when men came too close physically, he regarded her thoughtfully.
“No wonder,” he mumbled.
“No wonder what?” she echoed.
“Well, I’d always thought of you as sophisticated,” he mused, thinking of her occasional flirtatiousness. “You certainly don’t act like a virgin. And yet—”
“How does a virgin act, for heaven’s sake?” she broke in. “Stand on the edge of a volcano and jump in?”
Despite the seriousness of his current predicament, King found himself laughing, and it dawned on him that he laughed more with Elissa than he ever had in his life. But then, his path hadn’t been an easy one. Part Indian, he’d grown up fighting two worlds. Most people didn’t even know that he and Bobby had different fathers. Bobby’s was a Texas oilman who’d left his business equally to both boys. King’s father was a full-blooded Apache whose ill-fated attempt to fit into his wife’s social set had been a disaster. A marriage of rich and poor might make good novels, but it was hard work in real life. Eventually, King’s father had walked out the door in the middle of one too many cocktail parties and vanished. King had never seen him again. His mother had remarried, and when Bobby came along, there seemed to be little affection left for the elder son. He learned to fight his own battles, because he got no coddling. He’d spent his whole life fighting. He guessed that in many ways he was still fighting.
“You almost never laugh,” Elissa pointed out, holding her jump suit against her breasts.
“Oh, now and again I do. With you.” He smiled. “Go get dressed, walking sacrifice. I’ll wait out here.”
She studied him quietly, curious about the worn expression on his face. More than Bess was troubling him, she sensed. She wondered briefly if being the product of two worlds ever bothered him. She knew about his Indian ancestry; in her typical outspoken fashion she’d once asked him why he was so dark. He’d given her the answer abruptly and changed the subject, clearly unwilling to discuss it. She sighed. What an enigma. She smiled back at him and went into the bathroom to change.
She put on one of her own creations, a slinky black jump suit with a red bodice and single strappy sleeve, and ran a brush through her long hair. She probably wouldn’t wear the outfit around anybody except King. Another part of her fantasy life, she thought, and grinned at her reflection. She realized then that her lipstick was in her purse, so she went back into the bedroom to get it.
“Oh, fudge,” she muttered, fumbling through the contents. “I don’t even have a lipstick.” She lifted her eyebrows in a speaking look, expecting him to read her mind, as usual. And he did.
“Sorry, I never use the stuff myself,” he said dryly. “Do you really need one?” he asked, shouldering himself away from the door, a cigarette in his hand. He didn’t often smoke, but tonight was unsettling him.
“Your sexy sister-in-law will be sure to notice if I don’t make myself as beautiful as possible,” she teased.
He came close to her, towering over her and letting his eyes wander with uncharacteristic boldness down her slender body. “If you’d put lipstick on,” he murmured, “probably I’d have kissed it off by now, don’t you think?”
Her heart jumped up into her throat at the unfamiliar look in those dark eyes. They searched her face, only to drop and linger on her full breasts, and suddenly she wished her neckline were a bit higher. He hadn’t seemed to notice her body in the very revealing nightgown, but he was unusually attentive now.
“We shouldn’t keep your sister-in-law waiting,” she said. For the first time, he was making her nervous. Eyeing him warily, she walked around him, her composure starting to shatter. As usual, when a man came on too strong, she began to draw into her shell.
His lean hand shot out unexpectedly, and he drew her toward him, clamping her waist so that she couldn’t move away.
That proximity was new and a little frightening, and she looked up into his dark eyes uncomprehendingly. “What are you doing?” she asked nervously.
“Trying to ruffle you a little,” he murmured darkly. “You’re too neat and pretty to go out there and convince Bess we’re lovers.”
“All right, then, how’s this?” She ran her hand roughly through her hair.
He shook his head. “Not good enough.” His eyes dropped to her soft mouth, and for the first time in their relationship he wondered how it would feel to have that soft mouth under his lips.
She felt his strong fingers bite into her waist, and her eyes widened. “Hold it, now, big fella,” she cautioned gently. “I’m not on the menu, remember?”
His eyebrows rose curiously. “Are you afraid of me, tidbit?” he asked in a tone he’d never used before. It was deep and slow and sultry, like the look in his dark, faintly amused eyes.
“That doesn’t enter into it,” she replied. “I won’t let you use me for real. I won’t substitute for your sister-in-law, King.”
His face hardened. “I don’t recall asking you to,” he returned curtly, releasing her.
“Good. As long as it’s just an act, we’ll get along fine,” she said sweetly, although her legs were wobbling from his unexpected nearness. She could almost drown in that heady, expensive cologne of his, which clung to her skin from just that brief contact with him. The situation was far too intimate, and she quickly changed the subject to divert them both. “Is Bobby anything like you?” she asked. “I’ve never met him, you know. They were always back in Oklahoma when I was down here.”
“We don’t look a lot alike,” he mused after a minute, finishing his cigarette. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
She forced a smile. “Don’t worry so much,” she said, attempting to ease his obvious anxiety. “They’ll leave soon, and you’ll get your life back together.”
With a rough sigh, he put out the cigarette and stuck his hands into his pockets. “I hate being in this position,” he said unexpectedly, glaring toward the door.
“Doesn’t your brother pay her any attention at all?” she asked quietly.
“He’s very competitive,” he replied. “He doesn’t like running a close second to me. He never has. With the oil glut bringing the price of crude down, we’ve both had to diversify. But I’ve done it with more success than he has. Now he’s going to catch up or kill himself. Unfortunately, Bess has become a casualty.”
“Do they have children?”
He grimaced. “Bobby wanted to wait until they were completely secure.”
“Aren’t they, by now?” she probed gently.
He glanced at her. “They’re comfortable, but they’ve gotten used to credit in a big way. Bess has diamonds and a sports car, but it could all go up in smoke tomorrow. That’s how close they’re living. Bobby’s scared, and with good reason. This Jamaica project will either pull him out or break him, and he knows that, too.”
Elissa didn’t say anything, but she felt sorry for Bess. For a wife, the worst thing in the world must be having a husband who never noticed her. Elissa’s parents were always together at home, even if they were doing different things. They might be apart physically, but when they looked at each other, you knew that they were always one.
“Talking about it won’t solve this problem,” he said after a minute. “You don’t mind carrying out the charade?” he added, raising his eyes.
“Not at all,” she said, smiling gamely. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at acting.” She struck a pose, the back of her hand across her eyes. “I vant to be alone!”
“You imp.” He chuckled. He shook his head on a sigh. “You’re a puzzle, little miss designer,” he murmured, watching her narrowly. “I’m amazed that no enterprising young man has ever seduced you.”
She shrugged. “Most young men don’t like seducing a minister’s daughter,” she said pertly. Her eyes twinkled. “I almost got in trouble one time, defying my folks. It hurt my conscience and frightened me a little, but I bounced back.”
“Did you really?” he mused. “Then why are you still a virgin?”
“Because you don’t undo twenty-five years of conditioning overnight,” she replied easily. She searched his dark eyes. “If I ever did let a man seduce me, though, I’d want him to be like you.”
His heart stopped. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say as the thought worked on him and made his body react in a shocking way.
She shifted, embarrassed at her own boldness, although his stony face didn’t give away a thing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just meant that you’re a special kind of man. I know you’d never have to hurt a woman to feed your ego.” She sighed. “I guess you’ve probably forgotten more about sex than I’ve ever learned.”
“I guess I have, honey,” he said, studying her down-bent head with a slight frown. He caught her hand in his—offering a small measure of comfort, he told himself. “We’d better go out.”
At his strong, possessively warm touch, which set her palm to tingling, she looked up and met his searching gaze. It was like electricity. Startling. Unnerving. Her very breathing seemed to be affected by it.
“Yes,” she said absently. His mouth was beautiful in a very masculine way, and she couldn’t seem to stop looking at it.
He touched her long hair gently, his eyes still probing hers. She was trembling, he noticed in amazement. Then he looked down at the bodice of her jump suit and was surprised to find her nipples hard against the fabric—very obviously there was no bra beneath it. Suddenly he wanted to smooth his hands over her breasts. He wanted to taste her warm mouth and feel her body yield against the strength of his. His eyes narrowed at his own disturbing thoughts.
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me that way,” she said with that irrepressible honesty that had always intrigued him. “It … it makes me feel shaky.”
His eyes rose to hers once more. “When I look at your breasts, you mean?” he asked gently.
Her lips opened on a shocked breath. He’d never spoken to her that way.
He could have bitten his tongue. What in hell was wrong with him? This was Elissa; they’d been friends for a long time. It was Bess who was getting to him. He sighed, wondering why he’d never before really noticed this little imp with her exquisite body and lovely face.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” he said vaguely. He dropped her hand, turned away from her abruptly and lit another cigarette. “I’m in a hell of a situation. I guess I’m more disturbed than I realized. Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
“All right.” She followed him, her mind whirling. Had he been drinking? Would that explain his odd behavior? Perhaps wanting Bess had worked on his mind long enough to disorient him. That had to be it. He’d looked at her and he’d seen Bess. It was nothing to worry about.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked before he opened the door.
“Of course,” she assured him.
He sighed. “Well, let’s see if we can carry it off.” He held out his hand again.
She slid her slender fingers into it, a hesitant, but trusting “Okay.” She looked up, batting her lashes. “Oh, Kingston, you’re so sexxxxxxy!” she drawled.
He laughed unexpectedly. “Cut it out. You’re supposed to convince her.”
“I guess I can try.” She sighed. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
Bess was sitting on the edge of a chair, glancing toward the hallway when they emerged. The blonde’s very blue eyes narrowed and there was real hostility in them for an instant before she skillfully erased it.
“I didn’t know King had a … a girlfriend,” Bess said, deliberately hesitating over the word. She smiled with sleek sophistication. “He said you’d had a quarrel and went back to Florida. But you seem to have made up.”
“Oh, in the most delicious ways, too, haven’t we, darling?” she asked King with a fluttering of her long lashes.
He chuckled. “I guess so,” he mused, but he didn’t look at Bess.
“Where in Florida do you live?” Bess continued.
“In Miami, most of the year,” Elissa replied. She let go of King’s hand and smiled at the older woman. “I understand you’re married to King’s brother?”
Bess glanced down at the drink she’d poured herself. “Yes. I’m Bobby’s wife.”
“You’re cuuuuute!” Warchief burst out, circling his cage with appropriate whistles and clicks.
Bess stared at the big parrot. “You flirt,” she accused the bird, forcing a smile.
Elissa relaxed a little. Bess wasn’t so bad; at least she liked parrots. “He likes women,” she explained, “but he’s really in love with King. When I take him home, he mourns.”
“Oh. He’s yours?” Bess asked.
“Yes. He stays with King when I’m in the States, and I’ve only been back since this morning.”
King glanced at her quickly. “Want a drink?”
“Yes, thank you,” Elissa said. She read him very well. He was warning her not to let too much slip. She smiled. “Do you have pets, Bess?”
The other woman shook her head. “No pets. No kids.” She sounded oddly wistful. She laughed, a hollow, haunting melody. “No nothing. It’s just me and Bobby—when Bobby’s ever home.”
“Hard times, Bess,” King reminded her. “If he doesn’t keep on the ball, you’ll have to give up your diamonds.”
“It wasn’t the diamonds I married him for, but he won’t believe that,” Bess replied. She looked up, her eyes searching King’s face with what looked like pure longing. “Remember how it used to be, in the old days? Bobby and I would go to amusement parks and spend hours on the rides. Sometimes you’d take an afternoon off and come with us, and we’d stuff ourselves with ice cream and cotton candy….”
“It isn’t wise to look back.” He handed a vodka and tonic to Elissa.
“It isn’t wise to look ahead, either,” Bess replied miserably. “All I do is sit in hotel rooms these days … or sit at home alone.” She glared at her drink. “It’s a miracle I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Don’t you have a job or anything to keep you busy?” Elissa asked without thinking. At Bess’s obvious chagrin, she hastily added, “I’m sorry, that sounded like a criticism, but honestly it wasn’t. I just meant, if you had a project or a hobby, it might be less of a strain to be alone at times.”
“I don’t know how to do anything,” Bess said sadly. “I married fresh out of high school, so I never really learned how to do much … besides be a wife.”
The irony of Bess’s situation wasn’t lost on Elissa. “We can all do something,” she said gently. “Paint or write or play an instrument or do crafts….”
“I used to play the piano,” Bess replied. She looked down at her hands. “I was pretty good, too. But Bobby resented the time I spent practicing.” She laughed bitterly. “How’s that for a reversal?”
“I’ve always wished I could play,” Elissa said enthusiastically, glancing at King’s set, solemn face and hoping to alleviate the tension Bess’s comments were feeding.
“You design clothes, don’t you?” the other woman asked curiously, her eyes faintly approving the jump suit. “Did you design that?”
“Yes, do you like it?” Elissa asked eagerly. “I haven’t shown this one to my parents. They’d be—” She stopped short, jamming on verbal brakes as King glared at her. “They’d be delighted,” she concluded weakly.
“Of course they would. They’re very proud of you,” King said quickly.
“What do your parents do?” Bess asked politely, raising her glass to her lips.
Elissa gnawed her lip. “They’re … they’re into ancient history,” she said truthfully. Wasn’t the Bible a record of human history, after all?
“How interesting.” Bess finished her drink, tossing back her hair as she glanced at the diamond-studded watch on her slender wrist. “Bobby’s late,” she muttered. “Another business meeting that ran overtime. Or so he swears,” she added under her breath. “Too bad I’m not a briefcase; I’d be swamped with affection these days.”
“It’s a difficult time, Bess. Subcontracting can be extremely time-consuming,” King reminded her. “Jamaica desperately needs outside investments, and the hotel Bobby’s planning will employ a lot of people, help the economy. But it has to be properly built. These things take time.”
“It’s been months already,” Bess muttered dispiritedly.
“It will be over soon,” King said, “and you’ll be back in Oklahoma City.”
Bess looked up. “Yes, I suppose I will. What a trip to look forward to. Instead of staring at hotel walls, I can stare at my own for a change,” she said dully. Her eyes searched King’s. “You never visit us anymore, Kingston. You spend most of your life here.”
King swirled the Scotch in his glass and stuck his free hand into his pocket. “I like Jamaica,” he said. He glanced deliberately at Elissa. “A lot.”
Bess took an audible breath and drained her glass. “Pour me another, would you, please?” she asked, handing it to King.
“I think you’ve had enough, Bess,” he replied. He took the glass and put it aside, gazing down at a chastened-looking Bess. She merely folded her hands in her lap and looked defeated.
Elissa was trying to decide what to do to cheer them all up when a car came up the winding sandy drive from the main road. A horn sounded, and seconds later, a car door slammed.
“It’s Bobby,” Bess said dully.
King strode to the door to meet him, and Elissa found Bess staring after him with quiet misery in her eyes.
Elissa watched Bess watching King. “What’s your husband like?” she asked, diverting her.
Bess blinked, looking startled. “Bobby? He’s … he’s a businessman. He doesn’t look much like Kingston, even though they had the same mother. Kingston’s father was Indian,” she added.
“Yes, I know.” Elissa smiled at her. “You’re very pretty.”
Bess’s eyes widened. “You’re very frank.”
“It saves thinking up lies.” She cocked her head at the other woman. “How did you and Bobby meet?” she asked.
Bess laughed softly. “You’re so unexpected! Bobby was our star quarterback, and I was a cheerleader.”
“King says you’ve been married about ten years, yet you never had children,” Elissa mused aloud. “Didn’t you want any?”
Bess sighed, looking at her shoes. “When would Bobby ever have time? He’s always at the office or on the phone.” She pushed back her hair angrily. “I never thought it would be like this. I thought—Anyway, who wants kids?” she murmured, avoiding Elissa’s eyes. She shifted restlessly on the couch. “They just clutter up people’s lives. I would love to go back to studying piano again, though. But my practicing would disturb Bobby when he’s trying to work at home.”
“How sad,” Elissa said, and meant it. “I think a woman needs fulfillment as a person, just as a man does.”
Bess frowned. “It floored me when you asked if I did anything. You know, I never realized that I might be able to do something with myself….”
Elissa heard male voices; King and Bobby were approaching, much to her relief. She was finding this hard going. It shouldn’t have bothered her that King was in danger of falling in love with this bitter, confused woman, but it did. It bothered her a lot.
“How long have you and Kingston been … been together?” Bess tried to sound casual, but there was pain in her voice.
“Well …” It was extremely difficult for her to fabricate, and Elissa was grateful that King and a shorter man suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“There you are. Finally,” Bess said as the younger man came in a step ahead of King. She looked at him and then averted her eyes. “Did you get what you went for?” she asked. The question sounded innocent enough, but Elissa sensed something in the blonde’s voice, something faintly accusing. Perhaps she wondered if Bobby’s “business” was really business.
“Of course,” Bobby replied. He gave his wife an intent appraisal, his gaze both searching and faintly defensive.
He wasn’t anything like King, Elissa decided. His hair was dark blond, and he was blue-eyed. He wasn’t a bad-looking man at all, and he was slim but well built. He had a nice mouth, and he seemed pleasant enough altogether. But he looked weary and worn, and there were deep lines in his face.
“Your husband has approved the subcontractors,” King announced with a grin. “And the bids were well under budget. He’ll make you a rich woman yet, Bess.”
“How lovely,” she said carelessly. “I’ll run right out and buy a new mink.”
“You’d better get a strong cage and some thick gloves,” Elissa said with a mischievous smile.
Bess looked up, clearly puzzled by the remark. She frowned. “Cage? Gloves?”
Bobby got the joke and burst out laughing, instantly looking years younger and more approachable. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong,” he told Elissa. “She doesn’t want a mink kit. She wants the real thing—a ready-made coat.”
“Oh, a fast-food mink in a manner of speaking,” Elissa agreed. “Got you.”
King’s eyes sparkled as he watched her, his firm lips tugging up in a smile. “Watch this girl,” he cautioned his half brother. “She’s got a quicker mind than I have.”
“That’ll be the day you old—I mean, darling,” she drawled at King, winking. “I happen to know that yours is a genuine steel trap, always set and ready for business.”
“A better description I haven’t heard,” Bobby agreed. “You must be Elissa. Kingston’s told me so much about you over the past couple of years that I feel as if I know you already. Tell me, how in the world do you put up with him?”
“Why, there’s nothing to it,” Elissa said, glancing wickedly at King, and oddly pleased to hear that he talked about her at home. “I got commando training by watching that television show about professional mercenaries.”
“I guess that’s telling you,” Bobby said with a chuckle, winking at King.
“I guess it is,” she agreed.
“Kingston isn’t all that bad, surely,” Bess interrupted, smiling gently up at him. “He’s kept me from vegetating on this island for the past two weeks. I don’t know how I’d have managed without him.”
Bobby laughed, failing to see Bess’s intent look at his brother. He seemed to be too busy looking at Elissa. “Good thing, too, considering how little free time I’ve had,” he tossed off to his wife. “You know, Elissa, you’re every bit as delightful as Kingston said you were,” he added.
Elissa smiled, murmuring a polite reply. She was totally unprepared for the shock and sudden irritation in Bess’s eyes.
Chapter Three
Bobby spared Bess a faintly curious glance before his attention went back to Elissa. “I’m glad you’re back,” he told her. “Kingston’s been a royal pain these past few days.”
King frowned, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
“So you did miss me.” Elissa batted her lashes at King. “How nice!”
“Of course I missed you,” he said curtly. “Bobby, what will you have to drink?”
“Nothing,” Bess said quietly. “I’d like to go back to the hotel now,” she told her husband with a cool stare. “I’m tired.”
“Try sitting in a board meeting for four straight hours and see how relaxed that leaves you,” her husband challenged. “Look, Bess, we’re leaving tomorrow, and I may not see Kingston again for weeks. I want to talk over a new project with him.”
“You can use the phone, can’t you?” Bess asked, exasperated, as she got gracefully to her feet. In three-inch heels, she was almost her husband’s height. “Lord knows you find time to talk to everyone else, but heaven forbid it should be me. Maybe I should make an appointment.”
“You just don’t understand, do you?” her husband said with a resigned sigh. “Never mind, babe. We’ll go.” He glanced apologetically at King and Elissa. “Thanks for the invitation, even if I don’t get the drink. I’ll call you in the morning, big brother.”
“Fine,” King replied.
“We could go for a ride,” Bess murmured to Bobby as he joined her.
“A ride? Are you crazy? I still have to go over bids!” Bobby snapped.
Bess started to speak, then seemed to give up. “Yes, of course.” She led the way to the door, calling over her shoulder, “Good night, Kingston, Elissa.” She didn’t look at either of them. She just kept walking out into the sultry evening breeze.
“I don’t know what in hell’s gotten into her,” Bobby apologized. “She’s been worse since we came down here. I can’t very well stop working, can I? I don’t have time to entertain her. The oil market is too depressed to support us. If we hadn’t diversified a few years back into real estate, we’d be living in public housing by now!” He glanced at King. “She’s so bored with everything lately. Suppose I let her stay with you for a week or so while I fly back to Oklahoma and catch up at the office?” he asked King in all innocence.
Elissa, standing at the door beside King, could feel him tense against her. “Elissa and I are going to spend a few days with her people in Florida,” he replied unexpectedly, his quick glance daring Elissa to deny it. “Not that Bess isn’t welcome to use the house …”
“No, I don’t want her here alone.” Bobby sighed. “It was just a thought. So your people live in Florida?” he added, smiling at Elissa.
“Yes, in Miami,” she replied. This was unexpected. Surely King was hedging, but the thought of taking him home with her made her nervous. Her parents didn’t approve of her fashions; they certainly weren’t going to approve of her friendship with a man like King. They’d think he was a playboy. And for King to actually spend time around her eccentric parents! Her heart almost stopped. But then she reminded herself that he was only playing for time, of course. He wasn’t serious.
“What do they do?” Bobby persisted.
“My father is a min—” She caught it just in time, even before King unobtrusively pinched her. She jumped. “He’s in ancient history,” she bit off, glaring at King. “And my mother is a housewife.”
Bobby nodded. “Any brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head gladly. “No. Just me.”
“You’d better get going,” King interrupted, as if he didn’t like the interest Bobby was showing in her. “Bess will take the car if you don’t.”
“She will at that,” he agreed. “Well, good night.”
“Good night,” King replied.
Bobby left, and a minute later the car roared angrily down the driveway.
“They don’t seem ideally suited, do they?” Elissa asked quietly, watching the taillights disappear among the palms.
“They used to be,” King replied. “When times were hard, they were always together, doing simple things like window-shopping or just walking. Then, when the money started coming in, Bess was like a kid in a candy shop. She had to have all kinds of expensive things.” He sighed. “And Bobby wanted her to have them. He worked harder and harder to give them to her, but it kept him away from home a lot. When the oil market fell, he went into partnership in a small construction firm back home.”
He paused, as if thinking, then continued pensively, “Bobby’s always felt obliged to compete with me. In recent years, he’s tried even harder. That means Bess spends too much time alone, and she isn’t the kind of woman who can just sit. She isn’t even domestic. Too bad she and Bobby never wanted children.”
He turned, missing Elissa’s sharp glance. Didn’t he know that Bess was just hiding what she really wanted? Elissa was sure that the other woman did want children, very much. He poured himself another Scotch. “Want another?” he asked as an afterthought.
She nodded. “Yes, thanks. Why does he want to compete with you?”
“It’s the way he’s made, I guess. The second brother isn’t going to be second best. He’s twenty-eight now, and I think he wants to best me financially before he gets to be my age.” He poured Elissa’s drink before he opened the sliding doors to the beach. He stood there, tall and unapproachable, the breeze running like fingers through his thick black hair as he watched the surf crash white and frothy onto the hard-packed sand beyond the patio. “He doesn’t like the fact that his father allowed me to inherit,” he added. “His father and I got along pretty well—in a business sense at least—and I think Bobby somehow felt threatened by that.”
“He’s your half brother, of course,” she said hesitantly, remembering how little King liked to talk about personal matters.
“That’s right.” He lifted his glass to his lips with a bitter smile. “He’s not a duke’s mixture—didn’t you notice?”
She glared at him. “Neither are you,” she snapped. “You’re part Apache, which is something else entirely.”
He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “Thank you for clarifying the situation for me,” he murmured dryly, and he went back to contemplating the outside world.
For a few minutes they sipped their drinks in silence, and Elissa wondered at the sense of freedom the liquor gave her. She hadn’t had more than a small glass of wine in a long time. But the vodka seemed to be doing strange things to her, making her extremely aware of King, diluting her inhibitions. She felt light-headed. Reckless. Her body burned with new temptations. She put down the empty glass, and her hand seemed to move in slow motion. King was close to finishing his drink, too. Was it his third? She couldn’t keep track. Bess had gotten to him, all right. Elissa wondered if he was completely sober.
“Do you have other family?” she asked after a minute, joining him in the doorway.
“Bobby’s father died some years back. Our mother is in a nursing home,” he added simply. “Alzheimer’s disease. We visit her, but she doesn’t know us anymore.”
“How terrible for you. And for her.”
“It is that,” he agreed. He took a long swallow. “I don’t know about my own father. He got sick of my mother’s rich friends and left us when I was just a boy.” He studied his glass. “He was from New Mexico, but he worked on oil rigs in Oklahoma. That’s where he met my mother.” He glanced at her. “She was blonde and blue-eyed, like Bobby, and she loved the good life. Money was everything to her. My father had simpler tastes.”
“I wouldn’t have asked,” she replied quietly. It startled her that he was willing to share such a personal thing with her. Either he was extremely upset by Bess, or the alcohol was affecting him.
She stared at his shirt where he’d unbuttoned it and removed his tie. Against the white fabric, his skin looked even darker than usual. Her eyes were drawn to the thick mesh of hair over hard, bronzed muscle.
As if he sensed that rapt stare, he turned toward her and his eyes caught hers. He didn’t look away. While her heart went wild, with deliberate slowness he tossed away the cigarette he’d just lit and took a step toward her, bringing her totally against him, so that her breasts touched his chest where his shirt was open. She wasn’t wearing anything under the jump suit, and she could feel her nipples harden at the contact with him. Tensing away from him, she wondered uncomfortably if he felt them, too.
“Anything sexual disturbs you, doesn’t it?” he asked softly, well aware of the tension in her body. “Well, I’m safe—you said so yourself. So why don’t you cut your teeth on me?”
“I can’t!” she gasped. He had her with her back to the sliding glass door, so that she was trapped between its coldness and his warmth, her breasts wildly sensitive against his hard chest.
“Shh,” he whispered at her temple. “Don’t panic. I won’t hurt you.” He smiled softly. The drinks had done the trick; he was finally feeling relaxed and slightly muddled, which was a relief from all the heavy thinking he’d had to do lately. He couldn’t have Bess, he reasoned now, but Elissa was fair game, wasn’t she? Shy and virginal—how tempting to a man. What would it hurt to give her a little experience? He cared about her, in a way. And who better to deal with her repressions? She’d almost admitted earlier that she’d let him.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a high-pitched tone. Her fingers started to push him away, but when her hands encountered warm, hair-roughened skin, they stopped struggling and flattened against him. She realized she didn’t feel like resisting, anyway. The alcohol had done something to her willpower. She felt more like relaxing against King than fighting him; his proximity was having a throbbing effect on her body.
“Because I need something to occupy me, to keep me out of trouble. So you’re going to be my hobby,” he said.
“I don’t want to be your hobby,” she protested weakly. Her legs felt trembly.
“I was yours at the beginning,” he reminded her. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”
“That was different. You were repressed,” she said defensively. He was too close. She was inhaling the tangy, clean scent of him, and it was intoxicating her more than the vodka had. His bared chest was hard under her fingers, and between seeing him and smelling him and feeling him, she was adrift on sensation, her heart pounding. All that devastating masculinity, so close.
“I was repressed?” he asked with an amused smile.
“You were all alone,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I felt sorry for you. I was alone, too. I … well, I thought it would be nice to have a friend.”
“You had Warchief,” he pointed out, grinning. “Speaking of Warchief …” He glanced around. The big parrot was on his perch ring, one foot drawn up, his eyes closed. “Unusual, his going to sleep without being covered. Is that antibiotic working, do you think?”
“He isn’t sneezing or rasping,” she said, grateful for the change of subject. “He’s better. He’s just sleepy. He always goes to sleep at dusk, when you’re not around.” She grinned. “He’s in love with you.”
“I think he’s a she,” he laughed. Then he turned his attention back to her, looking down at the bodice of her jump suit with narrowing eyes. He moved experimentally, rubbing his chest against her, and she gasped at the sudden, sharp pleasure the friction produced.
She flushed to the roots of her long dark hair. “King!”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” he asked, lifting his narrow gaze to hers.
Her eyes searched his, curiosity momentarily displacing her nervousness at this new intimacy.
His gaze held hers while the hands at her waist began to move her in a sensuous circle against his hard, warm chest.

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