Authors: Jan Hudson
“Later.”
“Would you please put some on me?”
He gave a muffled grunt.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Tess, please,” he groaned.
“Please what? What in the hell is wrong with you, Daniel
Friday? Are you ill? Is your stomach bothering you?”
“No.”
“Then it must be me. Am I bothering you? Is the thought of
my touching you or your touching me so repulsive?” She snatched up her
jumpsuit. “Well, fine! Just fine! You can—”
Dan rose to his knees and gripped her upper arms. “Your
touch repulsive?” His fingers tightened and his eyes burned. “My Lord, woman,
are you crazy? I lie in bed every night and stare at that damned picture of the
nymphs with blue hair and your face. I fantasize about your touch until I’m
almost out of my mind. Then I go to sleep and dream about you. Touching you
repulsive?” A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. “Being with you every day and
not touching you is agony. I ache from wanting to touch you. Right now I’d like
to—”
He closed his eyes and, teeth clenched together so hard the
muscles in his jaw quivered, sucked in a deep shuddering gulp of air.
“What would you like to do, Dan?” Her question was a husky
whisper.
He opened his eyes and their gazes locked. In his eyes she
saw desire, raw and burning. She saw a hunger that lit a fire in the deepest
recesses of her being; she saw the pain of the man she loved. Yes, he was hers,
and at that moment she loved him with a fierceness that defied reason. She
would have waded through broken glass and fought tigers to get to him.
“What would you like to do?” she whispered again. “Tell me.”
“I’d like to touch every incredible inch of your body. I’d
like to touch you with my fingers and lick you with my tongue and taste you
with my mouth. I’d like to kiss you so hard that your flesh would melt into
mine. But most of all, I’d like to rip off that little pink scrap of nothing
you’re wearing and plunge into you so hot and deep that you would scream my
name so loudly it could be heard in the next state.”
She smiled a slow, languid smile. “Then why don’t you?”
He gave her a little shake. “Damn you, Tess Cameron. Damn
your siren’s smile. And damn your beautiful eyes. Damn your sexy voice and sexy
body. Damn your laughing, loving spirit. And damn me for a fool who wants it
all.” He almost flung her away. Sinking back on his heels, he gripped each of
his knees with splayed, white-knuckled fingers and dropped his gaze.
Her smile faded. “I don’t understand. Do you hate me so
much?”
His eyes shot up. “Hate you?” His laugh had a hollow ring. “I
don’t hate you, Tess. Far from it. How could I hate the saint of Galveston?
Give Mother Teresa a gorgeous body, a slightly crazy family, and a set of
bagpipes, and the two of you could pass for twins.”
Tess frowned. “Dan, what are you talking about? I’m no
saint.”
“You’re not? Hook told me that Becky was an unwed mother on
welfare until you helped her open the Mermaid. He also said that one of your
boutiques is managed by a good-looking Iraq veteran named Hank who’s a
recovering alcoholic and the other by a woman who’s a paraplegic. And then
there’s Nancy at the gallery, and Luis.”
“So? They’re all very competent people.” She searched his
face, trying to fathom his line of reasoning. “You’re not making a lick of
sense. How is all that related to your touching me?”
Shifting his position so that he lay on one hip and was
propped up by his elbow, he scooped up a handful of sand and watched it slowly
sift through his fingers.
“My self-respect has taken enough of a beating in the past
few weeks. You’ve helped me through a rough time, and I sincerely appreciate
it. But I don’t want to be just another stray you’ve brought home. Tess, leave
me with some pride.”
As the light slowly dawned, Tess had the strangest urge to
strangle him.
“So you think I consider you a humanitarian project in need
of a little tea and sympathy?” she asked.
He looked pained.
“I see.” She stretched out beside Dan, reclining on her
elbow, mirroring his pose. With one finger she traced a lazy pattern through
the curls of hair on his chest, and his pectorals flexed when she circled a
nipple with her fingernail.
Her finger trailed up his throat, over his chin, and to the
little freckle at the corner of his mouth. “It might interest you to know,” she
said in her most seductive tone, “that I’ve never had any desire to nibble Luis’s
toes.” She ran her finger back and forth along the crease of his lips, nudging
them until they parted and she touched the tip of his tongue. “I’ve never
conjured up an image of Hank’s kissing me.” She leaned over and dropped a
feather-light peck on his lower lip. “And I’ve never”—she circled his mouth
with the tip of her tongue as her foot slid up his leg—”never fallen in love
with a single one of them.”
Dan groaned. “Tess . . .”
She laughed a low, husky invitation. “Friday, you’re such an
idiot.”
His arms went around her, and he rolled her onto her back.
His mouth covered hers with a low growl, and his tongue thrust between her
lips. Tess held him close, feeling as if she were drowning in sensation. His
hand stroked upward over the curve of her hip, her rib cage, and his palm
paused at the outer swell of her breast. She strained toward it.
Dan was sure he was in heaven as he trailed his tongue along
the soft hollow of her throat, tasting her sweet skin. The heady fragrance of
her coiled around his brain and left him mindless. To hell with self-respect.
He couldn’t have resisted her now for a truckload of it.
Something whacked him in the back and he grunted. “What the—”
He raised himself up and looked directly into the big brown
eyes of a little girl squatting beside him. About four or five years old, she
was dressed in a ruffled green sunsuit and holding a big rubber ball. Behind
her were two other children and a dog.
“Hi, mister. Whatcha doin’?”
Dan growled and the mutt behind the child growled back.
Tess shook with silent laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Dan muttered as he looked down at her. “I
can’t believe you have me so crazy that I was about to make love to you on a
public beach in broad daylight.”
“You wanna play ball with us?” the little girl asked.
“No, thank you.” Dan tried to smile.
Tess exploded with laughter.
“Wait till I get you home,” Dan said. “You have some
explaining to do.”
Tess didn’t want to explain. She hadn’t meant to tell Dan
that she was in love with him. It was far too soon for such declarations, and
she didn’t want to scare him off. But neither did she want him to believe that
he was no more to her than some new altruistic endeavor. Since she didn’t want
to discuss either issue, she chattered all the way home, not allowing him to
question her.
She gave a running commentary of the history of every house
and building they passed. What she didn’t know, she made up. She suspected that
he was on to her game for once or twice he raised his eyebrow and gave her an
odd look.
“The reason Galveston has so many oleanders is an
interesting story,” she said as they got out of Buttercup and walked to the
front porch. “There was a sea captain—or maybe he was a merchant— and I forget
his name, but he brought some cuttings to his sister who lived on the island.
It was about—”
“Tess.”
“Yes, Dan?”
“It won’t work.”
She affected a look of wide-eyed innocence as she opened the
front door. “What won’t work?”
“Sooner or later you’re bound to run down. Then we’ll talk.”
She received a temporary reprieve when a “yoo-hoo” rang out
from the dining room. Martha Craven, her white curls scraped back from her face
with a strip of cotton, poked her head around the door.
“I thought I heard you two.” The older woman beckoned them. “Come
in and say hello to the girls. I’ve told them all about my handsome grandson
and they’re just dying to meet you, Danny.” Martha bustled toward Dan, hooked
her arm through his, and propelled him along with her. “We’re having a Mary Kay
party—that’s makeup you know—and we’re almost finished.”
Grinning, Tess trailed along behind the pair. Her grin
widened when they entered the dining room. The five elderly ladies sitting
around the table immediately snatched off their cotton headbands and began
fluffing their hair and preening for the newly arrived male. It didn’t matter
that he was forty or fifty years younger than everyone except the middle-aged
blond who was the beauty consultant.
Dan was gallant as he was introduced to the women,
complimenting each of the wrinkled ladies as if she were a beauty queen. Tess
felt her admiration for him grow as she watched him. He could be such a
sweetheart.
One blue-haired matron examined herself in a hand mirror. “I’m
trying to decide on a lipstick. Do you think this shade is flattering, Mr.
Friday?”
Olivia leaned forward. “Mary Ella Hartman, you know very
well it doesn’t make a dime’s worth of difference which one you pick.”
“Oh, I know it, Olivia. I think that’s the worse thing about
being old. You wake up one morning and find you don’t have any lips left.”
“What did she say?” Lela Spillman asked Olivia.
“You need a hearing aid, Lela. You’re getting as deaf as a
doorpost,” Olivia said loudly.
“That shade of lipstick reminds me of the color you wore in
the beauty contest, Mary Ella,” Irene Reynolds interrupted. “It was the same
year they tore down the old Tremont Hotel—or was it the year before?” Irene
Reynolds raised her eyebrows and peered over her glasses. “When your daddy saw
you in that bathing costume, he marched you home and locked you in your room
for three months.”
The group of childhood friends launched into spirited
reminiscences, and Tess and Dan winked at each other. Both were trying to
suppress grins. It was obvious how much the ladies were enjoying themselves and
how much such activities kept their spirits alive. Tess was sure that Dan,
after spending over three weeks in Galveston, could see how happy his
grandmother was and how groundless his concerns had been. Living with Aunt
Olivia had brought a new sparkle to Martha Craven’s face and new energy to her
step.
Still smiling with indulgent amusement, Dan motioned with
his head toward the exit. As they turned to sneak away, Olivia called out.
“Tess, I think that letter you’ve been waiting for came
today.”
“The one from Dr. Staats at Stanford?”
“It’s on the hall table.”
Her heart pounding, Tess hurried to the hallway and snatched
up the letter. She ripped it open and quickly scanned the contents. “Yippee!”
she screamed, throwing both arms in the air. She grabbed Dan in a bear hug and
started dancing around.
“Good news, I take it?” Dan said, unable to keep from smiling
as Tess laughed and planted kisses all over his face.
Olivia and Martha scurried in from the dining room, with the
beauty consultant and other ladies close on their heels.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Olivia asked.
“Everything is fabulous! Dr. Staats confirmed it.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Martha Craven clapped her hands together
and laughed. “Now Tess can have her house and we can—”
Olivia poked Martha in the ribs and rolled her eyes to the
ladies who all had their ears tuned for a new topic of gossip. She winked at Tess
and turned to the waiting women. “Come along, girls. We need to make out our
order blanks.” She began shooing them back to the dining room.
“But, Olivia, what in the world is going on?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, Mary Ella. Tess just had
some good news from an investment, that’s all. She’s always been the excitable
type you know. I think you should order the pink lipstick and the lipliner. It’s
totally awesome. Don’t you agree, Martha?”
When the women were gone, Dan said, “Why do I suspect that
your letter has nothing to do with an investment?”
Tess looked at the crumpled paper in her hand, then back up
at Dan and laughed. “Because you’re remarkably astute?”
“Well?” After a long pause, he said, “Are you going to tell
me or not?”
She gave him a sassy grin and a little bob of her head. “Not.”
His eyes narrowed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with
that buried treasure nonsense, would it?”
Tess dress herself up to her full five-feet
nine-and-one-quarter inches and tilted her nose in the air. “It’s not nonsense.”
She waved the letter in his face. “This proves it. Dr. Lawrence Staats is a
professor at Stanford University and the country’s leading handwriting expert.
Authenticating historical documents is his specialty.”
Realizing that she was talking loudly enough to be
overheard, she lowered her voice. “I sent him a sample of handwriting from the
map and letter we found, along with a small corner of the paper it’s written
on. He compared it to other documented samples in his possession, and he thinks
that it’s authentic. Our map as written by Jean Laffite.”
When he looked skeptical, she thrust the letter at him. “Here,
read it yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Dan read the single page quickly. “I notice that he leaves
himself an out. He writes that the paper is ‘consistent with samples
manufactured in the early-to mid-eighteen hundreds’ and based on his
preliminary study, there is ‘strong indication’ that the handwriting sample you
sent matches other documents known to have been written by Laffite.”
“Friday, you’re such a hard-nose.” She grabbed him by the
hand. “Come upstairs with me.”
When they entered the second-floor sitting room that Olivia
and Martha shared, Tess sat him down in an easy chair and went to a large trunk
in the corner. She took several items from the humpbacked chest, which smelled
of camphor and age, and settled herself on the ottoman at Dan’s feet.