Ash allowed her gaze to drift by the rascals again. She was being paranoid, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. “Act like you’re happy to see me,” she said.
“That’s quite a challenge.”
“I can imagine.” She gave a self-effacing grin. “But consider this—my teeth are clean and I washed my hands before I came here.”
Ash found the response to her mild humor devastatingly sexy. A sparkle lit the visitor’s eyes and her mouth tugged wickedly in each corner, parting to reveal small even white teeth. Weak for a split second, Ash could only ogle the full, kissable lips.
• 55 •
JENNIFER FULTON
“That certainly is convincing,” she said hoarsely. “Are you an actress? Obviously you have the looks.”
“That’s an interesting compliment. But no, I’m a research biologist.”
Ash wondered what could be worse than staring at disease cells magniÞ ed Þ ve hundred times. As sincerely as she could, she said,
“Fascinating.”
This counterfeit awe earned her a ß inty stare. Brains, upper-class sex appeal, and an imperviousness to ß attery. It all added up to one thing: certain disappointment. Zero likelihood of Þ rst base. Probably a slap across the face if she tried her luck. The alluring smile hovered but the biologist’s eyes had lost their sparkle and she was suddenly all business.
“I see one of the men you’re talking about. Clearly he’d sell his grandmother for Þ ve cents. I have a pocket knife. Should I get it out?”
Ash didn’t laugh noisily and roll her eyes. “It’s okay. I have two semiautomatics and a compact. If I go down, you’ll Þ nd that one strapped to my ankle. Ever Þ red a gun?”
“My dad taught me how to use his .347 magnum.”
“Good to know.”
The beauty frowned, that is, if her narrowed gaze and sexy nibbling on the bottom lip constituted a frown. “Do you really think they might attack us right here, with all these people around?”
“There were seven killed in a rascal shootout at the airport terminal not so long ago.”
“In other words we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“More like Kandahar.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Ash was full of bright ideas, most of which involved getting a room. She settled for a consolation prize that would pass for a brilliant plan. With a show of professional disinterest, she said, “I’m going to kiss you like we’re an item, then we’ll walk out of here together.”
The reaction was predictably lukewarm. “Would you mind explaining why the liplock is necessary?”
“It sends the signal that we’re not just friends and that I’ll probably protect you. That’s a deterrent. The gangs here would rather avoid a Þ ght if they can roll someone without it.”
“What if they follow us?”
“They won’t if they have any sense.” Rascals weren’t stupid.
• 56 •
MORE THAN PARADISE
When they picked their mark, they chose someone who didn’t know the ropes. Already they’d probably spotted Ash’s lookouts. Angling her body so she could observe the rest of the room, she slid her hand behind the stranger’s neck. “Look at me like you want it,” she said.
Fat chance.
But what a fantasy.
At Þ rst the woman was hesitant, then her dismay gave way to resignation. With an impatient sigh, she linked her hands behind Ash’s neck and gazed up at her in a languorous invitation that made her stomach curdle. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ash’s pulse leapt and she cradled the dark head, tilting it back a little. She intended to make the kiss convincing but impersonal, just protracted enough to send a message to the lurking predators. Instead, at the Þ rst brush of their lips, she kissed her reluctant accomplice hard on the mouth. It was bliss. Plain and simple. She backed off just enough so she wouldn’t be at the wrong end of a roundhouse, then lingered, parting the trembling lips with her tongue.
The deep, sensuous kiss that followed had not been included in their tacit accord. Neither had the response—a mufß ed gasp and a shiver that told Ash her companion’s nipples had just gotten hard.
A raw surge of desire almost made her pass out. In danger of losing herself completely and touching body parts she shouldn’t, she pulled back in the nick of time, and they stared at one another, neither saying a word. Both drew breath erratically.
Ash was aware of noise and movement around them, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the woman she was holding. The stranger looked just as stunned. Goose bumps had lifted the down of hairs along her smooth forearms. Wild color infused her cheeks and darkness consumed her eyes. Ash found herself transÞ xed by the play of emotions across her features, the ß ash of yearning followed by a strange haunted sorrow, then a fretful restlessness that transferred itself to her body.
Throwing caution to the wind, she didn’t back off but dared to do the unthinkable. She slipped both arms around her and held her close, stroking her soft hair and breathing her in. “Everything’s okay,” she said, kissing the cheek that tempted her lips. “That was perfect. Now pick up your book and let’s get out of here.”
With surprising compliance, the woman slid from her bar stool, bringing her body into brief contact with Ash’s. The brush of her breasts and thighs almost made Ash whine. Disconcerted, she tried
• 57 •
JENNIFER FULTON
to rationalize her response. The memory of her exciting threesome in Brookline had faded like the drive-through fantasy fodder it was. Her libido was alive and well, never entirely satisÞ ed. Also, she inhabited an amatory desert devoid of tender affection. Chemistry was therefore bound to occur with any passably attractive female. And this particular female had a voice that made Ash feel like she was drowning in warm honey, and
hard-to-get
stamped all over her. Ash was a sucker for women who wouldn’t give her the time of day.
“What’s your name?” this one asked as they headed out the door.
“Ashley Evans.”
“Ashley,” she repeated with an odd frown of concentration. “I’m Charlotte Lascelles. Thank you for helping me, Mr. Evans.”
Mister.
Ash deliberated over whether to correct the assumption.
She had counted on the likelihood that her companion had initially mistaken her for a man. Most people did. She was tall, built, and had a deep voice and nondescript features that could belong to either gender. In the traditional European uniform of the tropics—loose cargo pants and a four-pocket bush shirt over a tank—her body looked even less shapely than it was. Most of the time, it suited her to let wrong assumptions about her gender stand. In this neck of the woods looking like a man, and one who knew how to use a gun, was an asset.
On this occasion, she thought it was probably the gallant choice to keep her mouth shut. Why make this stranger feel uncomfortable, realizing she’d returned the kiss of a woman? They were never going to see each other again.
Ash hailed a red cab, usually the safest, and checked that the driver matched his ID. Opening the door for Charlotte, she said, “I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
Charlotte raised no objections. “I’m at the Crowne Plaza.”
“I know it.” Ash slid in beside her and locked their doors.
The Plaza was Pom’s “safe” hotel, all things being relative. They drove toward the waterfront in silence. Ash could feel Charlotte eyeing her.
“What line of work are you in, Mr. Evans?”
“Please, call me Ash. And I’m a pilot in the private security industry.”
“You take tourists on scenic ß ights?”
“No. My work is in cargo mostly.” The term disguised a multitude of sins. Illegal arms. Drugs. Espionage. Human tragedy.
• 58 •
MORE THAN PARADISE
“Do you ever spend time in Irian Jaya?”
“We call it West Papua ’round here,” Ash said. “Irian Jaya is an Indonesian invention. When you steal someone else’s country, you need to give it a new name so no one notices the original inhabitants vanishing.”
Charlotte blinked. “So, it’s true then? The genocide?”
“That’s a word we avoid—those of us who have to work with the Indonesians. I can suggest some coy euphemisms. Transmigration.
Resettlement. And a special favorite…vital projects commitment.”
“I see.”
Ash doubted it. She changed the subject. “Gangs are a problem in Port Moresby. It’s better if you stay in your hotel at night. Actually, it’s better if you stay there all the time.”
Charlotte looked embarrassed. “I only went to that bar because I was supposed to meet a man with some rare plants to sell.”
“Plants,” Ash repeated.
“For my research.”
Brains but no smarts. Tunnel vision.
A man has rare plants—
wonderful. Why not get killed trying to buy them?
Ash felt gloomy.
She had already pigeonholed Charlotte Lascelles as too brainy and too classy to sleep with anyone just for the hell of it. Even if she was open to experimenting with a woman, she was the type who had to be wooed.
That breed of woman expected emotional engagement and intellectual compatibility. They thought sex was about love. Ash was out of her mind if she read anything but expediency into the kiss they’d shared.
She contemplated showing up at the Crowne Plaza later in the evening, looking much more appealing than she did now on the off chance Charlotte would allow herself to be seduced. The likeliest scenario played across her mind: she takes Charlotte into her arms and kisses her. Charlotte gets interested and wants to Þ nd out what she’s packing. Shock. Disappointment. Ash tries to explain herself and attempts to sell Charlotte on the idea that she won’t miss out on anything, in fact Ash will take such good care of her she’ll wonder what she ever saw in males. Charlotte doesn’t want to know. She is outraged to have been fooled by a liar who only wants to get into her pants.
Ash stole a sideways glance at her companion’s proÞ le. Charlotte, she decided, was a straight woman who thought she was talking to a moderately viable man. She probably had no idea of the nonverbal signals she kept sending. Ash was enjoying these, even if they were
• 59 •
JENNIFER FULTON
unconscious and rooted in a false impression. Every now and then, she could feel Charlotte’s eyes prowling her body and when they spoke Charlotte looked at her mouth.
She couldn’t help but wonder how far she could get by continuing with the deception. What if Charlotte was interested enough in
Mister
Evans and far enough from civilization that she would willingly get drunk and do something out of character? It could happen, and often did in faraway places. The idea was tempting, and since they would never see each other again there was no reason why she shouldn’t pursue. Except that it was dishonest and even she had some standards.
Besides, Ash knew exactly what would happen if, by some blunder of the Fates, she made it to second base with this woman. There was no way she would want to stop and the truth would be out.
Gloomily she resigned herself to doing the right thing. If she intended to continue their acquaintanceship beyond this taxi ride, she would have to come clean and accept the consequences. The thought of trading the tingle of mutual awareness they now had for an evening of polite companionship was unappealing. And there would be no chance of making out in an elevator, let alone anything more satisfying. But that was the only real option she had. It was a lose/lose.
They pulled up outside of the hotel and Charlotte started thanking her some more.
Ash made her decision and politely cut her off. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“Oh?” Her mouth parted like she was about to lick her lips. Ash got the chills.
“I’m not Mr. Evans.”
Eyes the periwinkle hue of storybook mountains met hers.
Charlotte’s expression was mildly puzzled, then something seemed to dawn on her and she said, “I’m sure half the people I’m going to meet here are going by different identities. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
There was a tease underlying her tone, the faintest suggestion of ß irtation in the downward sweep of her eyelashes. Ash decided immediately to delay the plunge into candor and instead explain the situation over dinner, assuming Charlotte would accept an invitation.
Meantime, she wanted to know if what she’d just heard was Charlotte’s way of letting her off the hook, and that she had Þ nally guessed. She thought again about the mystery woman she’d heard in Dani’s bedroom
• 60 •
MORE THAN PARADISE
that night. She seemed to be a lesbian. If Charlotte was that woman, then Ash was in luck. But there was only one way to Þ nd out.
She paid the driver and quickly bailed out of the cab so she could open the other door. Because Charlotte was a lady and clearly accustomed to being treated like one, she accepted the small courtesy with grace. Ash appreciated that. There was nothing worse than trying to get a door only to Þ nd the woman on the other side pushing it open in her face.
She walked Charlotte into the lobby and was immediately conscious of her own appearance. Thanks to the weather, her last assignment, and the bar, she reeked of sweat, alcohol, and other people’s cigarettes. Her clothes were Þ lthy and one leg of her pants had a tear ß apping at the knee. Her Gucci loafers belonged in the trash and she needed a shower two days ago. Oh yeah, any desirable woman would leap at the chance to have dinner with her. Ash cursed beneath her breath and decided it wasn’t ß irtatiousness she’d detected back in the cab. Charlotte’s sidelong glances were probably signs of embarrassment.
The guard near the elevators gave her a long, hard look as they approached. Ash met his gaze unß inchingly. “Personal security,” she said. “Rough day.”
His eyes prowled her body for the telltale evidence of hired muscle.
Concealed weapons, deep tan, expensive footwear. He gave her a nod.
Ash drew Charlotte toward some potted palms. “Listen, there’s something else I wanted to ask you.” She felt bashful, which had not occurred in living memory.
Charlotte gave her an understanding smile. “I didn’t intend for you to pay for the cab.” She started unbuttoning her shirt at the waist, reaching for the conspicuous money belt.