Tender Stranger (8 page)

“Hey,” she called.

He glanced up, cocking an eyebrow.

“I have this great idea for dessert,” she murmured, making her first attempt at being a siren.

Both eyebrows went up. “You do?”

She dropped her eyes to his throat. “I could smear whipped cream all over myself…”

“Honey tastes better.”

She blushed furiously, and he laughed. He leaned forward, moving his plate aside, and lifted her fingers to his mouth.

“Do you want me?” he asked bluntly, smiling at her averted face.

“Yes,” she confessed.

“Then say so. You don’t have to play games with me.” He got up, helped her up, and paid the check. They were back in the hotel room before he spoke again.

He backed her up against the door and pinned her there with just the threat of his body. “You can have me anytime,” he said quietly. “All you have to do is tell me. That’s what marriage should be. Not some kind of power game.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

He brushed the hair away from her face and curled it behind her ear. “Bargaining, with sex as the prize.”

“I’d never do that,” she said. She watched him, amazed that this handsome man was actually married to her. “You were worried about something. I wanted to…to give you peace.”

He seemed to freeze. His lips parted on a hard breath. “I constantly misread you, don’t I?” He touched her throat with the lightest touch of his fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. “Do you want me?”

“I’ll want you on my deathbed,” she said shakily.

He bent and kissed her softly, tenderly. “I’m more grateful than I can tell you, for such a sweet offer. But I don’t think you can take me again today, not without considerable discomfort.” He lifted his head. “Can you?”

She bit her lower lip. “Well…”

“Can you?”

She dropped her eyes to his chest. “Oh, shoot!” she mumbled. “No.”

He laughed softly and drew her into his arms, rocking her slowly. “That’s why I was so gentle this morning,” he murmured into her ear, lying a little. He didn’t want to admit that she’d been the victor in that tender battle.

“Oh.” That was vaguely disappointing, she mused. She slid her arms around him with a sigh, delighting in his strength, the corded power of his warm hard body. “It isn’t like this in books,” she concluded. She smiled as her eyes closed. “Women always can, and they never have discomfort, and—”

“Life is very different,” he said. He smoothed her hair. “We’ll wait a day or so, until you recuperate. Then,” he added, tilting her face up to his amused eyes, “I’ll teach you some more subtle forms of sensual torture.”

She laughed shyly. “Will you?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve never known anyone like you,” he said, the words reluctant. He drew her up on her tiptoes and kissed her very softly. “Feel what’s happening already?”

“Yes,” she answered him.

“We’d better cool it, if you don’t mind. I hate cold showers.”

She laughed. “You’re terrific.” She sighed.

“So are you. Get on a bathing suit and let’s go swim.”

She started into the bathroom, met his mocking eyes, and stuck out her chin. “You’re my husband,” she said aloud, to remind both of them.

“Yes, I was wondering if you might remember that.” He chuckled.

She undressed and he watched, his eyes quiet and full of memories. When she started to pull on the bathing suit he moved in front of her and stayed her hands.

“Not yet,” he said quietly.

She looked up, hungry for him, and watched as he studied her body and saw for himself just how much she wanted him.

“How is it, for a woman?” he asked suddenly, and sounded genuinely curious. “How do you feel when you want me like this?”

“It’s frightening, a little,” she told him. “I get shaky and weak and I can’t quite control myself. I ache…”

“Does this…help the ache?” he asked as he bent to her breasts.

She moaned. It was impossible not to, when she felt the warm moistness of his lips eating her. She didn’t have a mind left after the first two seconds. She was hardly aware that he was lifting her onto the bed.

He made a meal of her body, tasting, touching, looking at it, broad daylight streaming in the windows, while she gloried in the luxury of being married and enjoyed his pleasure in her.

“I love looking at your body,” he said quietly, sitting beside her. His hands swept up and down, lingering on her soft curves. “I love touching it. Tasting it. I’ve never seen anything half so lovely.”

“My husband,” she whispered.

He looked up. “My wife.”

Her body ached, and she knew he must feel the same longing she did. Her eyes asked a question, but he slowly shook his head.

“I won’t do that to you,” he said curtly. “Not ever will I take my pleasure and not give a thought to yours.”

She ground her teeth together to stop the tears.

“And it isn’t pity,” he said, glaring at the look in her eyes. “I do nothing out of pity, least of all marry because of it. So you can stop looking at me that way. I want you and I’m getting irritable because I can’t have you. So suppose you put on the bathing suit and I’ll go have that damned cold shower and we’ll swim.”

He got up and she lay there, watching him as he discarded his clothing. Her lips parted as the last of the clothing came off, and she saw the urgency of his desire.

His body trembled as he looked at her, and she wanted to cry because of the torment she saw in his face.

“You said once…that there are…other ways,” she ventured to ask. “Are there?”

His face hardened; his eyes glittered wildly. “Yes.”

She held out her arms, her body throbbing, her blood running like a river in flood as she sensed that violence of his hunger. He hesitated only for a second before he came down beside her.

* * *

The days passed with miserable speed. They did everything together. They swam and talked, although always about general things rather than personal ones; they danced and sampled new delicacies at the dinner table. And at night he loved her. Sometimes in the early morning. Once on the bathroom floor because the strength of their desire hadn’t left them time to get to bed. Sometimes he remembered precautions, but mostly he didn’t, because his desire matched her own. She walked around in a sensual haze that blinded her to the future. But eventually, the day came when they had to look past Veracruz. It came suddenly, and too soon.

Chapter Six

T
he last day of their stay dawned unwelcomed, and Dani packed with a long face. She’d changed her plans so she could be with Dutch for his whole vacation, but at the end of the week he told her that he had a job waiting and couldn’t spare any more time. She stared at him across the room as he got his own clothing together, wondering how dangerous his line of work was. A soldier, he’d said. Did that mean he was in the reserves? Probably, she told herself. That was why he wouldn’t mind moving to Greenville.

She’d thought about that a lot, about picking up stakes and moving to Chicago. It wouldn’t matter, although she’d miss Harriett and her friends from the bookstore. She’d have followed him anywhere. When she realized how little time they’d had together, she could hardly believe that so much had happened so quickly. It seemed like a lifetime ago that the taciturn blond giant had dropped down beside her on the airplane. And now he was her husband. Her husband, about whom she knew so little.

He seemed to feel her puzzled frown, and turned. Then he smiled at her. “Ready?” he asked as he picked up his duffel bag.

“Ready,” she agreed. She drew her two bags up to where his were sitting by the door.

He glared at the smaller one and sighed. “You and your books.” He chuckled softly down at her. “Well, at least now you know what they’re all about, don’t you?” he added.

She cleared her throat, reddening as she recalled the long, sweet nights. “Oh, yes, indeed I do, Mr. van Meer,” she agreed fervently.

“No regrets, Dani?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “Not if this were the last day of my life,” she said. “And you?”

“I’m only sorry we met so late in life,” he replied, searching her face. “I’m glad we found each other.” He checked his watch. It was an expensive one, with dials and numbers that meant nothing to Dani. “We’d better rush or we’ll miss our flight.”

Dutch had made the reservation for the two of them and they had adjoining seats. She sat beside him with her heart in her throat, smiling at him with hopeless hero worship. He was so handsome. And hers. Harriett really wasn’t going to believe this.

He glanced down at her, still amazed that he had a wife. J.D. and Gabby would be shocked, he thought. And Apollo and First Shirt, Semson and Drago and Laremos would never let him hear the end of it. Dutch, married. It was incredible, even to him. But it felt nice.

It was Gabby’s influence, probably, he admitted to himself. He’d heard so much about her from J.D. even before he’d met her that some of his old prejudices against women had slackened. Not much, but a little. Gabby had trekked through a commando-infested jungle for J.D. and even risked her own life to save him from a bullet. He glanced again at his companion with narrowed dark eyes. Would she do that for him? Did she really possess the fiery spirit he sensed beneath her timid manners? And how was she going to react when she learned the truth about him? That hadn’t bothered him for the past few days, but it bothered him now. A lot. His gaze went to the bag of romance novels tucked under her pretty feet. Fluff, he thought contemptuously, and a smile touched his firm mouth as he thought how nearly like fiction some of his exploits might seem to the woman beside him.

Dani saw him starting at her books and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, we can’t all conquer the Amazon,” she muttered.

His eyebrows shot up. “What?” He laughed.

“You were giving my books contemptuous glares,” she said. “And if you’re thinking it’s all mushy nonsense, you might be surprised.” She fished down and held up a book with a cover that featured a man armed with an automatic weapon. There was a jungle setting behind him and woman beside him.

Dutch blinked. Automatically, his hand reached for the book and he scowled as he flipped through it and glanced over the blurb on the back of the book jacket. The novel was about two photojournalists, trapped together in a Central American country during a revolution.

“Not what you expected?” she asked.

He lifted his eyes and studied her. “No.”

She took the book from his hand and stuffed it back in her sack. “Most of us are armchair adventurers at heart, you know.” She sighed. “Women as well as men. You’d be amazed at how many of my customers fantasize about being caught up in a revolution somewhere.”

His face hardened. He gave her a look that sent shivers through her.

“Dani, have you ever watched anyone die?” he asked bluntly.

She faltered, shocked by the icy challenge in his deep voice.

“No, of course not,” she said.

“Then don’t be too eager to stick your nose in some other country’s military coups. It isn’t pretty.” He touched his pocket, reaching for a cigarette, then glanced up and noticed that the no-smoking sign was still lit as the plane climbed to gain more altitude. Then he also remembered that he’d chosen a seat in the no-smoking section to be near Dani, who didn’t smoke. He said something rough under his breath.

“Have you?” she asked unexpectedly. “Stuck your nose in somebody’s military coups?” she added when he lifted an eyebrow.

“That would hardly concern you,” he said, softening the words with a smile.

He wasn’t exactly rude, but she turned quickly back to the window in silence. She felt uneasy, and tried to banish the feeling. He was her husband now. She’d have to learn not to ruffle him. She leaned back, closed her eyes and convinced herself that she was worrying needlessly. Surely there were no dark secrets in his past.

Someone in the seat ahead of them rang for the stewardess, and Dani closed her eyes, thinking what a long flight this was going to be. They’d planned to stop over in Greenville and then decide who would move and who wouldn’t. He wanted to see where she lived, he’d said, to meet her friend Harriett and see the little bookshop she owned. She’d been flattered by his interest.

She had just closed her eyes when she heard a loud gasp and then a cry from nearby. Her eyes opened to see the stewardess being held roughly by a man in brown slacks and an open-necked white shirt. He had a foreign look, and his eyes were glazed with violence. At the stewardess’s neck he was holding a hypodermic syringe. Another man who had been sitting with him got calmly to his feet, walked around the man with the syringe and went into the cockpit.

There was a loud yell and the copilot appeared, took one look at what was happening and seemed to go white.

“Yes, he’s telling the truth, as near as I can tell,” the copilot called into the cockpit.

There was a buzz of conversation that was unintelligible, then the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker and Dutch stiffened, his dark gaze going slowly over the man with the syringe.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Hall.” The deep voice was deceptively calm. “The plane is being diverted to Cuba. Please keep calm, remain in your seats and do exactly as you’re told. Thank you.”

The unarmed man came out of the cockpit, twitching his thick mustache, and fumbled around with the intercom until he figured it out.

“We wish no one to be harmed,” he said. “The syringe my friend is holding to the neck of this lovely young lady is filled with hydrochloric acid.” Shocked murmurs went through the crowd, especially when the shorter, bald man took the syringe to one side and deliberately let one drop fall on the fabric of the seat. It smoldered and gave a vivid impression of the impact it would have on the stewardess’s neck. “So for the young lady’s sake, please keep calm,” he continued. “We will harm you only if you make it necessary.”

He hung up the intercom and went back into the cockpit. The man with the syringe tugged the petite blond stewardess along with him, ignoring the passengers. Apparently, he thought the threat of the syringe was enough to prevent any interference.