Joshua furnished the raw materials from which the crafts were made by people on Opal Cay and arranged for their transport and sale. The islanders paid no rent. After all, he reasoned when some of them protested, wasn’t it their land to begin with? A piece of paper was no claim on land that generations had loved and nurtured. There was a resident nurse and a small clinic where a French physician called twice a week. Joshua made available modem amenities like electricity and running
water, but only for those who wanted them. He forced change and acculturation on no one. Studying the Native American experience had convinced him that trying to absorb a culture and change it completely was nothing more than slow genocide. What he was doing on Opal Cay was meant only to give the people the means to do as they pleased with their own culture. They had requested that he appoint a manager for their profits, which he had. With investments and securities, they were amassing a sizable nest egg. If something ever happened to him, or his empire, they would not be at the mercy of some newcomer who might buy the island and value profit over native population.
He felt at an ebb. The death of Amanda’s father had put more strain on him, and he was feeling the burden of endless rounds of talks and bargaining that he now had to shoulder alone. Brad was essentially a contact man, a public relations whiz who could charm just about anyone. But, if pushed hard enough, his brother would give in to deal-breaking points. Josh would crack wide open before he yielded an inch.
He paused in the study long enough to pour himself a small brandy. He’d planned to go into Nassau again to talk to the minister of education about upgrading the computers in the school system, but the gentleman was out of town, and he couldn’t get an appointment until next week.
He really was tired. Brad hadn’t come back from Montego Bay or telephoned, and he knew that meant one of two things: his baby brother had stumbled onto either a willing girl or a high-stakes poker game. He didn’t honestly know which would be worse. Brad was careful, but it was a dangerous world for a womanizer. His own reputation was more myth than fact, to keep women at bay. But Brad’s reputation was earned.
While he was glaring into his brandy snifter, Amanda came into the room, in jeans and a white tank top with her long black hair in a braid down her back.
She stopped at the door. “I didn’t hear you drive up. ”
He studied her figure, liking its slender, elegant lines. “Imagine keeping a Lincoln just to drive around a tiny island. Extravagant, isn’t it, but visitors are impressed by it.”
“No doubt.” He liked the way she looked, young and fresh and unpretentious. His heart ached at the sight of her.
Almost involuntarily, he moved forward and touched his brandy snifter gently to her full lower lip, which was devoid of lipstick. “Taste.”
“I don’t like brandy,” she began.
“It’s an acquired taste. Acquire it.”
He smiled slowly, and she couldn’t resist him. She tasted it and made a face as it stung her tongue.
“You’re the one indulging in it. Why force me?” she asked, watching him reach out to place the snifter on the bar.
“Because.”
She smiled back at him, delighted at his playfulness, then stunned when he casually draped his arm around her. Amanda’s heart ran wild at the closeness, at the feel of all that warm strength and power so near. He looked tall and intimidating at this range. Far too handsome for
comfort with the overhead light making metallic patterns in his blond hair, with his dark eyes narrow and sensuous looking into hers.
Her breath caught as his fingers stroked down the side of her neck. His voice was deep and soft in the stillness. His eyes searched hers. She could feel his breath on her parted lips. “Being near you makes me hungry.”
Amanda quivered and drew in her breath at the suggestion of such intimacy.
He cocked an eyebrow at the betraying gasp and let his gaze fall deliberately to her mouth. He dragged his thumb over it. She wanted him. He wanted her. He kept fighting the temptation to give in to it, but it got worse by the day.
He moved away from her abruptly and picked up his drink.
“I must be more exhausted than I realized,” he said dryly as he bent his head to light a cigar. “Where do you fancy eating tonight?” he asked.
Amanda was still trembling inside, but if he could shake off that kind of sensual temptation, so could she.
“I still like seafood.”
He turned, with frank admiration in his eyes. He didn’t like most women, but Amanda was unique: an independent woman with a mind of her own who could still be very, very feminine when she wanted to. “So do I. Go change and we’ll go.”
“Okay,” she added, and hesitated. She looked worried.
He sighed. “You can trust me. I don’t have plans to seduce you on the table.”
She sighed. “Pity,” she murmured, tongue-in-cheek.
She could learn to play his game if she had to, she thought to herself.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I told you. I’m not that kind of man. I want some assurances, or I’m not leaving the island with you.”
She laughed delightedly. She could manage her turbulent emotions with humor. Right now it was the only safety valve she had. “Oh, all right,” she muttered.
His gaze slid over her without expression, although there was an unfamiliar glitter in it. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said quietly.
He made it sound like a statement of intent. “When I’m ready?”
“Are you going to dress?” he asked with polite interest. He flicked his wrist and checked the time. “Because I’ve got a long-distance call coming in three hours that I have to be back here for.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’ll hurry.”
He was, she thought as she rushed upstairs to dress, the most exasperating man she’d ever met. He wasn’t like Josh lately. He was intense and watchful. He’d wanted to kiss her, but he seemed always to catch himself in time. She wanted to push him off balance and see what happened. Something was bothering him, something deeply personal. She wished she could ask what it was.
B
ack in Montego Bay, a frustrated Brad had spent a fruitless evening and morning trying to seduce one saucy little blond waitress. He hadn’t had any success, and his own woes were playing on his mind.
The call he’d just received was from Las Vegas, from a flunky who worked for the casino owner to whom he
owed a fortune. Perhaps, he thought, if he could speak to the owner himself, he could buy enough time to tell Josh how much trouble he was in. He hadn’t managed that much nerve just yet.
He picked up the phone in the suite he’d rented and dialed a stateside number, waiting impatiently for it to ring.
“Desert Paradise Casino,” came the reply eventually, in a soft, seductive voice.
“Let me speak to Marc Donner,” he said shortly.
“One moment. I’l
l see if Mr. Donner is in. May I
tell him who’s calling, please?”
“Tell him it’s Brad Lawson.”
There was a very long pause before the telephone was answered.
“Donner.” The voice was deep, unaccented, and without compromise. It reminded Brad vaguely of his older brother.
“I’m working on the money I owe you,” he told the man. “I’m staying on Opal Cay. One way or the other, I’ll have it in a few weeks; a month at the outside.”
“Do you think your brother will give it to you?” came the amused reply. “Josh Lawson isn’t known for a life of frivolity.”
“No, but he’s known for other reasons,” Brad said defensively.
“Sure. His money and his cutthroat approach to business. But he won’t save you if you try to duck out of paying me,” the silky voice purred. “And just between us, I don’t think he’ll try. He doesn’t like gamblers. Even ones he’s related to.”
“Blood is thicker than water.”
“Strange that you should mention blood,” Donner said carelessly. “Don’t let me down, Lawson. Don’t even think about it.”
“I told you. I’m working on it.” The man chilled Brad’s blood. Donner had been connected with a couple of murders though he’d never gone to court for any of them. Brad was worried, but he had nobody to blame except himself. He didn’t really expect Josh to bail him out of this one. No, he’d have to get himself out of this mess. “I’ll get back to you next week.”
“You’d better. I know where to find you.”
“Don’t I know it.” He sighed and put down the receiver.
He needed to get his hands on a substantial amount of cash at once. He’d tried his luck at the tables, but that hadn’t worked. He knew Donner was too intelligent to leave him bleeding in a ditch even if he did look more like a wrestler than a casino owner. He would probably show up at a board meeting, cause a scene, and blow the whistle on him. Josh would then have no choice but to pay the debt and kick Brad out. Brad winced at the thought of it. He had to find a way out—any way out.
CHAPTER
SIX
A
manda
was sleeping late. Josh had taken her to dinner the night before, but it had been a quiet, uncomfortable outing. Despite his attempt at humor, he was having trouble coping with their new relationship. He couldn’t seduce her, but it was impossible to think of her as Harrison Todd’s little girl anymore. He seemed to have spent the entire time working to keep his hands off her while he endured the gnawing ache in his loins. By the time they got back home, his nerves, and apparently hers, were shot. They parted company at once.
She’d mentioned going home Friday, which was tomorrow. He hadn’t argued. He’d wanted to, but she was right. It was a hopeless situation, and every day they spent together made matters worse. He didn’t want to hurt her. For her sake, it was better that she left before he lost his precarious control.
He sat down in his study and reached for the telephone. It might be a good idea, he thought, to find out how things were going with the newspaper back in San Antonio. If, as Amanda had said, Ward Johnson was paying less
attention to management than he should, it didn’t bode well for the paper’s financial future—or that job press she was so worried about saving. He could at least insure that Amanda had a reasonably secure future.
W
ard Johnson was making up the front page when he was called to the telephone. Down the long wooden makeup board from him, Dora Jackson was making up a grocery ad while one of the part-time people wrote outlines for the photographs and headlines for stories as they were pasted up with hot wax on the ruled sheets.
Putting down his scissors Ward walked to the extension phone behind him. As he spoke, he couldn’t help staring at Dora. It was inconvenient having a woman who looked as good as she did in the office with him. Once they had been high school sweethearts. Now they were both married and trying to keep up happy facades. It had been impulsive and crazy of him to hire her when she’d come looking for something to keep her busy.
“Johnson,” he spoke into the receiver.
“Lawson,” came the terse reply. “I want an update on the paper’s finances.”
It took Ward a long moment to realize that his caller was Joshua Lawson. He hesitated. “Mr. Lawson,” he
stammered, caught off guard. “The finances…
oh, you mean the quarterly report.”
“That’s right. I need you to fax it to me today.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Include an update on the job press, could you?”
“Well, I told you about that,” Ward reminded him. “It’s a waste of capital. The newspaper will carry us along.”
“I’ve heard rumors that the Morrison group is in the planning stages of producing a throwaway to go in competition with the
Gazette.
”
That was something Josh hadn’t mentioned to Amanda. She’d had enough stress for the past two weeks. The publication he was talking about was a free newspaper that contained mostly advertising with only a modicum of news. It was a handout, and no weekly newspaper with a subscription list could compete with one. It would rob them of advertisers in no time at all. There was a pause. “Do you know how to cope with competition from a shopper?” he added dryly.
Ward cursed under his breath. “I know all right. If you haven’t got an efficient operation, you might as well close the place down. You can’t compete with a shopper. It attracts advertisers like glue, and you don’t even have to charge for it.”
“That being the case, our revenues will have to be pretty good to stand the competition.”
“I’ll get the figures for you. How’s Amanda?”
“Healing. She’ll be back to work on Monday.”
“Nice girl. Hard worker. A little too involved sometimes. She’s full of ideas that won’t really work.”
“Really?”
Ward smiled to himself. So much for taking the wind out of Miss Todd’s sails. He’d felt threatened for the first time in years when she’d walked in the door. He knew that her family had owned the paper and that she stood to inherit a half interest or so at some point. But he’d been running the operation for fifteen years, answering only to Harrison Todd. For the past few years no one had interfered with his methods. Then Amanda had come to work for him. He wasn’t amenable to having a girl fresh
out of college trying to give him orders. It was just as well that Joshua Lawson knew that, right off the bat. After all, Lawson owned the majority of the paper’s stock.
“She’s a good accountant,” Ward added to soften his criticism. It wouldn’t do to sound as if he were threatened, even if he was. “Nice head for figures.”
“So I’ve been told. Are your advertising rates up?”
“No need to raise them,” Ward argued. “We’re undercutting the dailies. We get enough without driving away old customers.”
Josh was too cagey to question that without seeing the figures. He had his finger in too many pies to keep a close check on any of his side interests. For Amanda’s sake, he was going to have to get a closer look at the
Gazette.
“What’s the problem about the job press?”
“There are three other print shops
with more people and more modern
equipment than we have. We’ve lost a lot of customers to the quick-print place that just opened in San Antonio. It does photocopies.”
“I thought Harrison bought you a high-quality copier?”
“The girl who knew how to operate it quit. The new girl just sets type. She doesn’t know much about printing; and Tim, who runs the presses, doesn’t have time to run out and make copies when he’s got negatives and plates to make.”
Josh wanted to argue with that. Just as well he’d asked for those figures. He’d keep his counsel until then.
“All right. Get me those figures.”
“Late this afternoon, for sure. I’ll have to wait until after we put the paper to bed.”
“That’s fine.”
The line went dead.
Josh wondered how much of what Johnson had said was true. Amanda was an eager beaver, but she was sharp, too. There were plenty of holes in Johnson’s management theory. It was possible that Amanda was right about the job press. But the competition could be killing their business. It had happened to other print shops. Now that he had access to the entire operation—something he hadn’t had while Harrison was still alive—he could keep Johnson on his toes and hopefully keep Amanda’s inheritance solvent. He had a feeling the figures weren’t going to be particularly pleasing.
Back in San Antonio, Ward Johnson was certain of it. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and stared with unhappy resignation at the figures as he produced them from the computer. He knew how to run the machine, although Amanda was a whiz at it. But he hadn’t bothered to analyze its performance. He just plugged along from day to day, secure in the knowledge that old advertisers would stay with him and a few new ones would come along. The paper was paying for itself. Barely. He’d had so much turmoil in his private life that he hadn’t wanted complications or problems on the job. He hadn’t wanted to rock the boat and upset people by offering a new price list.
But after he’d studied the spreadsheet, he wished he’d listened when Amanda had first mentioned that things were getting out of hand in the revenue column. Prices had gone up everywhere else, she’d said, and needed to go up here. Ward had laughed at her and said that people would go elsewhere if he raised his prices now, for newspaper ads or job work in the print shop.
But, looking at the figures, he realized that she was right. He was operating in the red because he’d been too involved with his own problems at home to go over the books regularly. Prices would have to be raised, for a certainty. That meant he’d have to put in some late hours working on them.
In addition he had to send this proof of ineptitude to Joshua Lawson. He grimaced. No. He didn’t dare. He was forty-three years old. He wasn’t in his dotage, but it would be very difficult to get another job at his age, even if he wasn’t proven incompetent. Gladys would love it if they fired him. She’d laugh. His wife always laughed at his failures. She enjoyed them. She always had, even before she’d climbed too deep into her bottle of gin to get out again. He didn’t know which was worse, Gladys or his son. Sometimes he felt as if he were carrying the world on his broad shoulders. He couldn’t make enough to keep Gladys in gin and his son in drugs. The boy wouldn’t work. He wasn’t lucid enough to work.
Ward carefully changed a few key figures. With any luck at all, before the next quarter’s figures went out, he’d have boosted them to this altered sum. It wasn’t dishonest. He was only buying a little time.
“I need to ask a question, Ward,” Dora said, interrupting his thoughts.
He looked up. She was so sweet, he thought. Pleasantly voluptuous, with a sweet smile and freckles and reddish gold hair framing her very blue eyes. He wondered why she looked so sad. She had a successful husband, an educator, and two sons in grammar school.
“Ward?” she prompted, flushing a little at his pointed stare.
“Oh. Sorry.” He smiled, his brown eyes twinkling. “What can I do for you, honey?”
The endearment made her flush even more, and he felt his chest swell. He still had an effect on her. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at her, a faint arrogance creeping over his face. He felt eighteen again, bristling with predatory masculine instincts. Although they’d never been really intimate in high school, they had spent a lot of time together.
“I wondered if you needed me for anything else,” Dora asked. “I only work mornings, you know.” She smiled, seeing Ward as he had been at eighteen when he was captain of the football squad and she’d led the cheerleading team. In her eyes he’d never aged.
He looked at the computer and grimaced. “I could certainly use some help with this,” he said. “Can you operate a fax machine?”
“Why, yes,” she said. “I did a little part-time work for an insurance company last year, and they had this same model,” she added, moving toward the machine.
“Thank God,” he said. “Amanda Todd always works this one, and she won’t be back until Monday.”
“Is she all right?” Dora asked. “I like Amanda. She’s always been so nice to me.”
“It’s easy to be nice to you, Dora,” he replied quietly. “Yes, she’s fine. Sad, I imagine, but she’s got the Lawsons to pamper her for a week and a luxury island in the Bahamas to lounge on. She’ll manage.”
“Mr. Lawson is very good to her,” she remarked.
“Both Lawsons are,” he mused. “The families go way back.”
He sat up. “Well, I need to get back in there and
finish making up the paper. I’ll have to do a lot of this paperwork tonight. Would your family mind sacrificing you for an hour or two a couple of nights a week until I can catch up?”
“I’m sure they won’t,” she replied with a faintly nervous smile. “Edgar is taking a college course on his lunch hour this semester. He’ll be home with the boys at night, grading papers or talking to students or tutoring,” she said with more bitterness than she realized. “And all my boys do is play sports and talk about them. As long as everyone is fed and the house is clean, my time is pretty much my own,” she added miserably.
Ward couldn’t bear the thought of anyone as sweet and loving as Dora being taken for granted. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I can’t imagine any man grading papers when you’re in the same room. If you don’t mind my saying so,” he added, careful not to offend her.
But she brightened and flushed a little. “No, of course not!”
He smiled. He grinned. She made him feel like a man again. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Fine.” She nodded. She started to speak, hesitated, a
nd then plowed ahead. “How…
how about your family?” she asked. “Don’t they mind
you working such late hours?”
He
sighed wearily. “Gladys is…
well, I’m sure you’ve heard about her drinking. Everyone else here has. Half the time I don’t think she knows, if I’m there or
not,” he said. “And my son…
” He let out a long breath. “He blames me for his mother’s drinking. They’ll both tell you I’m a total failure.”
“That isn’t the Ward Johnson I remember,” she said gently. She smiled. “You could never be a failure.”
He stared at her. “You really think so?”
She nodded. “I really think so. I’m sorry things are so bad for you.”
The compassion in her blue eyes made him hungry and vulnerable. He wanted that caring for himself. He wanted someone to give a damn that his life was an unbear
able mess. Dora appealed to ever
ything masculine in him, and his body reacted suddenly, sharply, to her nearness. “Can you come back about seven?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’ll just paste up the rest of the personals.” She went out quietly.
In the waiting room she hesitated, gnawing her full lower lip. She was going to get in over her head if she wasn’t careful. She was a married woman with young sons, and Ward was a drowning man looking for someone to jump in and save him. The problem with trying to save drowning people was that if you weren’t careful, they’d pull you down with them.
She couldn’t possibly risk getting mixed up romantically with her boss. San Rio was a small community, despite being a cosmopolitan suburb of sprawling San Antonio. She and her husband went to the local Baptist church. He taught Sunday school. Her boys were involved in every sports activity they could find, which meant the family was very well known locally. She was a pillar of the community, as an educator’s wife had to be, even in these permissive times. She couldn’t afford any hint of scandal.