Authors: Iris Johansen
“It’s about time you woke up, woman.” Nick grinned as he plopped down on the bed beside her and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ve been banging around this room like a herd of elephants hoping I could wake you before I yielded to temptation and crawled back in bed with you.” He tousled her blond curls affectionately before reaching for the juice on the bedside table. “I ordered some coffee and juice for you. I thought we’d wait until I got back from my appointment for a big meal. We could go down to the beach and have a picnic lunch. Would you like that?”
“Very much,” she said absently, as she took the glass from him. “Where are you going? What appointment?”
“While you were sleeping like Rip van Winkle this morning, I received a phone call from that lawyer Sykes put me in touch with. He says that he has everything about wrapped up as far as his investigation regarding our marriage is concerned, but there are a few minor points that he wants clarified. I told him that I’d drop into his office this afternoon. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.” He reached for the carafe of
coffee on the bedside table and poured a cup for her.
“If he’s completed his work, then we should be able to leave Mexico soon,” Kelly said slowly, trying to hide the sinking feeling of disappointment she felt. Had she really secretly hoped to talk herself out of the decision that she’d made the night before? she wondered sadly. It seemed that even without her initiating the break, their affair was drawing rapidly to its own conclusion.
“We’ll see,” Nick said. He pulled the sheet down to her waist and kissed each nipple with casual affection before he pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her throat like a friendly puppy. “Will you be here when I get back or down at the pool?”
“I’m not sure,” Kelly said huskily, her arms tightening around him with a trace of desperation in their grasp.
“It had better be down at the pool if you want to have any lunch today.” He reluctantly released her and got slowly to his feet. “Either that or be fitted with a chastity belt while I’m gone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispered, her
gaze running lovingly over the striking planes of his face.
He bent down and gave her a swift, hard kiss that promised much for the coming afternoon, then turned and strolled toward the door. He paused and turned back to her, a frown creasing his forehead. “I forgot about that blasted film of Khadir and Cordero. Would you like for me to drop it off at the airport on my way?”
She shook her head. “I have more time than you. I’ll do it myself,” she said quietly. “It’s my responsibility.”
He shook his head. “Why did I assume you’d accept my help graciously?” he asked. “You certainly never have before. I’ll leave the matter entirely in your capable, liberated little hands then.” With a mocking wave he was gone.
Kelly gazed blindly down at her coffee cup, feeling her throat tighten uncontrollably at that last remark. It took such a short time for an intimacy such as theirs to breed private little jokes and habits. How many times in the last weeks had Nick teased her about that almost belligerent independence? If only he knew. Lord! Independence?
How terribly painful it was going to be to break the bonds that linked her to him.
Yet break them she must. She had never had any masochistic tendencies, and a lingering end to her affair with Nick would be too excruciating for her to bear. Perhaps if last night’s argument had never happened, if she had not experienced the tearing sense of loss when Nick had so violently departed, she might have continued to fool herself that she could stay with him until he finally tired of her. Though Nick was displaying no signs that his passion for her was waning, she knew now that the awareness that his obsession for her was purely physical was the thorn among the roses that would eventually pierce her to the heart.
God, how mawkishly melodramatic she was becoming, she thought impatiently. Just because she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with the wrong man was no reason for her turning herself into a soap opera heroine. She was too strong to let one maddening, blue-eyed man destroy her like this. She was a survivor, and she’d be damned if she would end up as one of Nick O’Brien’s
heartbroken discards. She put her untouched cup of coffee down on the tray on the bedside table and threw the cover aside decisively.
Twenty minutes later she had finished showering and was dressed in elegant cream-colored pants and a matching bloused tunic top. It was a coolly sophisticated outfit, and she had chosen it to reinforce her own need for self-determination and control. The ploy wasn’t meeting with any marked degree of success, however, she thought morosely, as she slipped on brown alligator high heels and ran a comb quickly through her curls. The only way she was maintaining even the semblance of control was by deliberately blocking out all thoughts of Nick and keeping her mind on the details that needed to be considered in her departure. As she deftly applied a touch of lipstick and a little mascara, she considered the difficulties she might encounter as a result of her decision to leave Nick. It must be today and before Nick returned if she was to leave at all. She knew her resolution would waver like a candle flame in the wind if she had to face Nick with her decision.
She frowned as she remembered that she still had no proof of citizenship, which she would need for crossing the border. The plane fare would be no problem. She’d had Mac wire her an advance the day after she’d arrived in Acapulco. But cutting the red tape with immigration required more clout than she possessed. Her face brightened as she recalled that Mac Devlin, though now anchored to a desk, still had contacts all over the world from the time he was a foreign correspondent. Surely if she appealed to him, he could pull a few diplomatic strings for her. She strode briskly to the extension phone on the bedside table and quickly placed a long-distance call to San Francisco.
It was all incredibly easy, once she’d gotten through to Mac and voiced her request. With his usual gruff incisiveness, he told her to jump into a cab and head for the airport. He would have her cleared with the Mexican officials by the time she reached the ticket counter. Kelly sat for a stunned moment before she finally managed to ask blankly, “But if it was that simple, why didn’t you pull me out of here before?”
“Why the hell should I?” Mac replied tersely in his gravelly voice. “You needed a vacation after that bout in the hospital, and it was the only way I could get you to take one. If I’d told you how easy it was to come back home, you’d have been in my office two days later nagging me to pay off that bet and send you off to Timbuktu to interview the resident headhunters.”
“You even griped at me for not being able to break the red tape and get back to work!” she said indignantly.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Mac demanded. “What better way was there to assure that you’d stay there than to hassle you to come back? If I’d told you to stay down there in the sun and put on a few pounds, you’d have turned wetback to get across the border!”
“Very clever. Where did you get your diploma in psychology, Dr. Devlin?”
“The school of hard knocks.” He sighed wearily, and she could almost see him run his hand through his gray-streaked hair. “Don’t get on your high horse, Kelly. You know you would have reacted in exactly that fashion if I’d played
it straight, and you needed the rest, damn it. How are you feeling now?”
“Fine,” she retorted, still fuming. “And why are you letting me out of exile now?”
“Because I’ve found a way to keep my word and still manage to keep you out of trouble until you’re back to full strength. How would you like to go to Antarctica with an oil exploration team?”
“It sounds like just what I need after two weeks in sunny Acapulco,” Kelly said gloomily.
“Well, it’s so cold that it’s almost completely sterile down there,” Mac said cheerfully. “Even the micro-organisms can’t survive at that temperature. You sure as hell won’t come down with malaria again.”
“That’s comforting. When do I leave for this germfree utopia?”
“Eight days. The oil company is sailing from Seattle next Saturday at three in the afternoon. That should give you some time to shop for your long underwear and do some background research on the project. Okay?”
She made a face at the phone. “As if I have a
choice, Mac Devlin. You’ve probably already subleased my apartment and given my desk at the office to somebody else.”
“You were never here long enough to make good use of it anyway. Now get going to that airport while I phone a couple of good buddies and collect a few favors. Call me from the airport and tell me what plane you’re arriving on.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up the phone.
There was a grudging smile on Kelly’s face as she replaced the receiver and rose to her feet. Despite her indignation at Mac’s deft manipulation of her, she had to admit that it gave her a little inner glow to realize that it had been affection that had motivated his actions. If she was going to get through the next lonely months without running back to Nick and begging him to resume their relationship, she was going to need all the support she could muster—although Mac’s assignment in the frozen wastelands of Antarctica should efficiently prevent her from indulging in that insanity for quite a while.
She quickly checked her brown alligator shoulder
bag for cash and makeup, then slipped her camera with its precious film into the bag. She would leave all the clothes that Nick had bought her since they had arrived in Acapulco. He’d never allow her to pay for them, and she wanted no more reminders than she had now of those bittersweet weeks. She used all her willpower to resist taking a final nostalgic tour of farewell of the suite and walked briskly through the front door and closed it firmly behind her.
“You look like hell,” Mac said bluntly, after giving her a quick hug of greeting at the San Francisco Airport. He took her elbow and briskly propelled her through the usual late afternoon crowd toward the short-term parking lot. “I thought you said you were feeling fine.”
“I am fine,” Kelly said firmly. “You know that I can never sleep on jets.” She darted a rueful look at him as she half skipped to keep up with his long-legged stride. “You’re looking disgustingly fit, Mac.”
In his early fifties, Mac Devlin always looked
devastatingly attractive with his gray-streaked hair and piercing gray eyes. His bold, craggy features were more interesting than handsome, but she knew that women of all ages found him very magnetic. “You’ve got a deeper tan than I have.”
“Marcy and I have been spending the past few weekends at the beach house.”
Marcy was Mac’s wife of nearly twenty years and the reason why other women didn’t stand a chance with Devlin. Marcy was one of the most beautiful redheads Kelly had ever seen and was as honest and warm as she was lovely. She balanced a thriving career as an actress with her equally successful marriage and was at present the shining light of the San Francisco repertory stage.
“She’s not in a play right now?” Kelly asked, as she slipped into the passenger seat of Mac’s red Toyota.
He shook his head. “She’s in rehearsal for a revival of
All My Sons
at the moment. It opens next week.” He slammed her door and sprinted around to the driver’s seat. As he put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, he
continued, “I called her and told her that you were arriving this afternoon, and she wants to see you before you leave for Seattle. I’m taking you straight to the beach house for the weekend.”
“I’ll have to stop by my apartment and pick up some clothes,” Kelly said, as she watched admiringly as he deftly maneuvered the Toyota into the rush hour traffic. “I didn’t bring any luggage from Mexico.”
“I noticed.” He cast a curious look at her. “I was being my usual discreet, urbane self in tactfully ignoring both the urgency of your call and the fact that you must have spent two weeks in Mexico totally nude.” He grinned. “I hope you appreciate that, Kelly.”
Kelly’s mouth twisted wryly. “I never noticed you being so shy before.”
Mac shrugged and changed the subject. “I’m not about to fight my way through this traffic to get to your apartment. Marcy keeps a closet full of clothes at the cottage. You can wear something of hers.”
Kelly shrugged. “Whatever you say,” she said
wearily, closing her eyes and leaning back on the headrest. It didn’t seem worthwhile to mention the fact that Marcy was five foot nine and voluptuous.
“You’re very docile all of a sudden,” Mac remarked gruffly. “You’re sure that you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, opening her eyes and forcing a bright smile. “But you might want to stop at the office and have this processed before you take off for the weekend.” She reached into her shoulder bag and withdrew the roll of film and put it on the seat between them.
“What is it?” Mac asked, glancing down at it. “I told you there was nothing urgent about that feature story about O’Brien. You can write the story up this weekend. We’ll probably wait to use it in an issue next month.”
“It’s not for the O’Brien story. It’s a shot of Sheik Khadir in an intimate tète-â-tète with Ramon Cordero at a nightclub in Acapulco.” She shot a sly glance at his astounded face. “Of course, if you think that story can wait until next month, too, we’ll just wait until Monday to have it processed.”
“Not likely,” Mac said, his gray eyes gleaming with excitement. “Has anyone else got the story?”
She shook her head. “Exclusive,” she said quietly and watched Mac’s grin widen delightedly.
“Dynamite. We’ll drop the film off first and then drive down to the beach house and you can write the story tonight. I’ll have someone pick it up tomorrow morning and rush it into this week’s issue before there’s a leak.”
“So much for my leisurely weekend with Marcy. May I have dinner first, Simon Legree?”
“I’ll consider it,” he said, his gray eyes twinkling. “It’s only one evening. You’ll have the whole weekend to gossip with Marcy.”
“Your generosity is staggering. Have you forgotten you also wanted me to finish the O’Brien story this weekend?”
“Well, there’s always Sunday,” Mac said, as he pulled into the underground parking garage of the skyscraper that housed the offices of
World Weekly
. “What are you complaining about? You’ve just come back from a two-week vacation!”