Authors: Annette Broadrick
He watched her confusion with gentle amusement for a moment, then gently tugged at her hand, still firmly clasped in his. "So finish telling me what Mitch had to do with your coming on your vacation alone."
"Nothing, really. Well, maybe, everything—come to think about it."
"That certainly clears up the confusion in my mind." He let go of her hand, raised his forefinger to the soft curve of her cheek and lightly stroked it. It felt as soft as it looked, and he fought the urge to cup her face between his hands and explore her satiny sweetness with his mouth.
Carolyn tried to meet his gaze, but the tantalizing message she saw there caused even more confusion. "What I mean is, I felt safe with Mitch and he seemed content with me—so we fell into this relationship." She tried to ignore her reaction to his touch as his finger continued to slide down her cheek as though she were a kitten he was petting. "Finally, I realized I didn't want to continue the way we were going. I tried to talk to him about it, but he refused to understand how I felt, so I just quit seeing him."
"Are you seeing someone else?" he asked, surprised at his sudden need to know the answer.
"I don't know anyone else." She picked up her cup and discovered that her coffee had grown cold. "My friends decided they were going to have to do something about my situation." She glanced up at him with a smile. "You'd have to know them to appreciate some of their wilder ideas, but they mean well."
Clay enjoyed watching the gentle wash of color come and go in her cheeks. "What did they do?" he asked with unfeigned interest.
"They bought me all these books and magazines on how to captivate a man and keep his interest. They also took me shopping."
"Ahhh, the picture is coming clearer now." Clay's face lit up, and he once again picked up her hand, playing with her fingers.
"What do you mean?" His touch seemed to set off hidden mines somewhere deep within her, as though depth charges were going off.
"You're saying that your friends chose your clothes?"
She nodded with a slight hesitation. "Is there something wrong with them?"
"Oh, no. They just reflect a different sort of personality than you appear to have."
She looked a little crestfallen. "I know. They took me out to have my hair cut and styled." She ran her hand through her short hair, ruffling it. "They took me in for a facial and instructions on how to 'enhance my natural beauty,' or some such thing." He studied her clean-scrubbed innocence with a definite feeling of pleasure. How could she possibly believe she needed any help? Didn't she understand how attractive she was? Had she no idea how enticing she was, even without the provocative clothes she wore?
Clay was searching for a way to put some of his thoughts into words when Carolyn glanced down at her wristwatch and let out a small yelp. "Oh, no!"
"What's wrong?"
"It's after ten o'clock. I wasn't paying any attention to the time. I was supposed to meet Ted to play tennis." She leaped off the barstool and raced upstairs.
Clay poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and strolled out on the deck. The fog had burned off, leaving a sparkling, clear day. He stretched out in a chair and contemplated the scene before him.
He could see he had quite a few things to think about, where his roommate was concerned. Was it possible that she was putting him on? Was there any woman over the age of twelve who was that naive? He'd never met one. If Carolyn was on the level, she should immediately be classed with other endangered species.
So what do you do now, Clay, ol' buddy?
He'd been unconsciously stalking her, going through the age-old ritual engaged in by the male animal when he spotted an attractive female.
But she's not making the right responses, dammit!
Hadn't she recognized his interest in her? If so, why did she rush off at the very moment he was trying to tell her about it?
Clay shook his head with disgust. In the first place, he was here to rest, not to make further conquests. He had enough complications at the moment with his hectic career. He tilted his head toward the sunlight and closed his eyes. It felt good to have absolutely nothing to do unless he happened to feel like it. He thought about the steps that had led him to needing a rest.
He couldn't remember a time in his life when he wasn't writing. Getting paid for it became the next step. He'd produced a regular column for one of the Seattle daily papers until the itch to travel became too insistent to be ignored. Eventually he'd won a Pulitzer prize for one of the stories he had written while he was in the Middle East.
By the time he'd returned to the Pacific Northwest, Clay was ready to sit down in a quiet place and relate the exploits of Derringer Drake, superspy, a character who'd arrived fullblown in his mind during a late night in Hong Kong while too many drinks floated around in his system.
In the years since that night, he'd enjoyed writing his spy thrillers, just as he'd enjoyed the adventures he'd experienced to gain authentic background for them. When Hollywood decided to film one of his novels, he'd agreed to write the screenplay. With the movie's success came the idea of a continuing series. Each step had logically followed the one before. Before he fully realized it, he'd fallen into the hectic pace that was considered normal in southern California.
His vacation was in the nature of an escape. He'd needed to get away from the constant pressures of men who demanded more and more from him and aggressive women who didn't understand what "I'm not interested" meant. He'd looked forward to his time in Oregon, and he wasn't going to let anything or anyone prevent him from enjoying it. However, his very attractive roommate was adding a certain spice to what might have been a very bland vacation. Pursuing her could become an interesting pastime.
Clay stood up. He had a sudden urge for a game of tennis.
As she hurried to meet Ted, Carolyn's thoughts were still on the man she'd just left. She didn't know what had come over her, chattering on about her childhood like that. She was certain none of the articles she'd read suggested a life's history, at least not her history. She cringed at some of the things she'd told him. The highlight of her existence was going to the zoo? Couldn't she have made up something a little more entertaining than that? Unfortunately not. She'd never been very creative.
What amazed her was how comfortable she'd been with Clay. Her friends had often scolded her for being so relaxed and articulate around them, yet so awkward around men. But that hadn't happened with Clay. She wondered about his reticence regarding his background. She still knew little more about him after their shared breakfast than she knew before.
A writer. What did that mean? He had a real knack for telling a story. She'd been amused at his description of a couple of pelicans he'd watched on the beach. Then he'd told her about the teenager who lived next door to him in Seattle and all the mischief he managed to create. The boy and birds became real to Carolyn through his expressive word pictures.
"There you are! Where have you been? I had to let someone else have our court."
Carolyn was out of breath as she skidded to a stop in front of a disgruntled Ted. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late." She smiled. "Shall we wait for a court?"
"I suppose we'll have to," he replied. "I'll tell these people we're after them." He loped off and Carolyn sank down on a nearby bench. Ted looked spectacular in his white knit shirt and white shorts, his legs long and tanned. She watched him as he strode toward her.
"I really am sorry, Ted. I've been looking forward to playing tennis with you. I haven't played in years."
"Oh, well, no harm done. It's just that promptness is one of the things I feel strongly about."
"Me, too." She touched his arm with her hand. "Usually I'm the first one to arrive. This was not like me at all."
Ted looked down at her small hand resting along his forearm. He placed his other hand on top of it and gave it a slight squeeze, his smile assuring her she was forgiven.
Carolyn was a good tennis player, and she realized not long after they began to play that she was better than Ted. His game was very dramatic, but not too accurate. However, this was one area where she distinctly remembered the advice given in all the books and magazines, so Carolyn was careful to lose the game point. She felt rewarded when Ted quickly crossed to her side of the court to console her and to compliment her on her game.
Carolyn had just accepted his warm hug and was feeling quite pleased with herself when she saw Clay standing on the sidelines watching them. She saw the amusement in his eyes and knew he was aware of what she'd done. She refused to let him see her embarrassment at being caught throwing the game. What difference did it make, anyway? She stared back at him, then glanced back at Ted, laughing at his teasing remark that he needed to give her a few lessons.
"Do you want to play another game?"
Not with Clay watching, I don't
. "I don't think so. I need to work up to it gradually."
"That's the pro going out now. Why don't we watch him for a while? Might pick up a few pointers."
He'd indicated a young man with sandy hair who was taking his place across the net from Clay. Carolyn watched Clay as unobtrusively as possible, intrigued by the sight of him in an outfit similar to Ted's. His broader, stockier build was emphasized by the snug fit of his tennis shorts, which accented the well-developed muscles in his hips and thighs.
The set was fast and furious. Clay took the first game, but lost the rest by very narrow margins. Clay was laughing when they quit, unperturbed that he hadn't won.
He'd probably act differently if a woman had beaten him,
she thought. Of course, he was playing the best tennis player at the resort.
I doubt I could beat him, but oh! how I'd like to try.
She couldn't erase the picture of his mocking amusement when she'd lost that last game.
Carolyn stood up. "Thank you for the game, Ted. I think I'll go get a shower after all that exertion."
"How about having lunch with me?"
"Not today, thanks." She had no intention of allowing Ted to monopolize her. Besides, there was a chance Clay would be more in evidence today. She'd seen more of him that morning than she'd seen of him the entire week. She smiled at Ted. "I'm sure I'll see you later."
After lunch Carolyn took a long, leisurely walk along the beach, enjoying the sunshine and looking for agates and sea jade. By the time she returned to the room, she was pleasantly tired and looked forward to a relaxing soak in the tub.
Carolyn heard water running in the kitchen when she opened the door to the suite. Puzzled, she peeked around the corner. Clay was making suds in the sink. She blinked. He had a gull tucked under one of his arms, its beak tied with a shoestring.
"What are you doing?" Both the bird and Clay gave a start when she spoke.
"I didn't hear you come in." He took the bird and gently lowered it into the water. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to give this bird a bath." When Clay's attention turned to Carolyn, the terrified bird took the opportunity to let them know it was not happy by slapping the water vigorously with one of its wings, causing water and suds to fly around the kitchen.
Carolyn leaned against the bar. "Do they pay you for helping the birds to stay clean along this stretch of the coast?"
He glared at her. "No one pays me for bathing them, and the only ones I bother with are like this one." He motioned to the bird with his chin. "He managed to get into an oil spill."
She walked around the bar and into the small kitchen. Upon closer inspection, the oil was apparent. "How awful. How do you get it off?"
"Just like this. You take some gentle liquid soap and wash the feathers that are coated." The bird flapped his wing a little more insistently, causing another cascade of bubbles to enfold them.
"What happens if you don't take the oil off?"
"The oil destroys the insulation in the feathers, which causes chills and sickness—perhaps death." He tried to pin the bird against his body to stop the wing while he carefully fanned the other wing and began to softly stroke each feather with a soft cloth.
After watching the process for a few moments, Carolyn asked rather timidly, "May I help?"
He glanced around at her brightly colored sunsuit. "You'll ruin that outfit if you do. Do you have any old clothes to put on?" She shook her head. He thought for a moment. "Go get one of my sweatshirts. It'll protect you a little, at least."
The sweatshirt she found swallowed her, she discovered ruefully. The hem fell to her thighs, effectively covering her sunsuit, which was its purpose, she supposed. Shrugging at her less than glamorous appearance, Carolyn returned to the kitchen.
Clay had her hold the bird's body firmly while he continued to wipe away the oil from the wing feathers. She could feel the gull's heart frantically beating in its chest. Poor thing. "We're only trying to help you," she murmured. It cocked its head as though trying to bring her into focus. There wasn't much room at the sink, and in order to reach the bird, Clay was pressed firmly against Carolyn's side. She could feel the hard muscles along his legs, side and shoulders. She hoped he couldn't feel the way her heart was pounding at his nearness. It was a toss-up as to which-of them would expire from heart failure, Carolyn or the bird. However, Clay appeared to be unaffected by their intimate position.