|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
Excerpt from PROLOGUE April 1st, Chicago “You dare me to what?” Jack Hunter downed a finger of twenty-year-old scotch in one gulp, then refilled his glass. “How much trouble can it be to romance a beautiful green-eyed woman for ten days?” “You’re biased because you grew up with her.” “Am not.” Adam denied the obvious truth and considered how best to tempt his partner. “She’s gorgeous. Face like an angel. Long legs. Tiny waist. Built.” “I don’t care if she’s Venus De Milo, Marilyn Monroe and Helen of Troy all rolled into one. I wouldn’t pretend to be Clare Blessings’ fiancé if God himself asked me.” “Be reasonable, Jack. We owe Clare Blessings big time.” Adam closed the study door on the celebration in the next room. “Since when is it reasonable to ask a stranger to act as your faux-fiancé?” “She arranged that start-up loan for us, through her grandmother. Without Clare’s help, we never would have gotten AFD Inc. off the ground.” “Debt or no debt, the entire idea is ludicrous. When the woman involved is Clare Blessings, the idea is insane.” “Don’t be so judgmental. You’ve never even met Clare. How you managed to avoid her annual visits to Chicago, I don’t know.” “Some people work for a living.” Jack stalked the room. “And, I don’t have to meet her. From all the horror stories you’ve told me, I know more than I want to know about ‘Devil May Clare.’ “You’re being unfair, Jack.” Adam relaxed onto the leather couch, sipping from his glass. “Am I? Tell me, who convinced you to jump from that oak tree in your father’s front yard when you were ten?” “Clare.” “And haven’t you been afraid of heights ever since?” Adam had the grace to look embarrassed. “I solved that problem when I climbed that mountain for your 1996 challenge.” “Isn’t Blessings the person who hot-wired her family’s Jag when she was sixteen?” “She wanted to drive it, and her grandmother wouldn’t let her.” “If I recall the story correctly,” Jack countered, “the Jag was totaled in an impromptu drag race, and Clare spent several weeks in the hospital.” “So she’s a bit of a rebel.” Adam swung his feet to the floor, braced one elbow on each knee, and cradled his drink in his hands. “You would be too, if you had Grannie ‘the General’ Blessings for a guardian.” Jack snorted. “Of course, you might not understand that anymore. In the year since you won the CEO’s chair from me, you’ve become obsessed with work.” Jack dropped into a chair opposite Adam, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You can’t fault me for being thorough.” Adam raised an eyebrow. Jack glanced away. “I suppose you’re trying to tell me that I’ve been working too hard again.” “Since you figured it out, I won’t tell you.” “Dammit Adam, don’t ask this of me.” “I’m not asking. Clare took care of that. I’m making this my official birthday challenge.” “Now that’s really out of line. You can’t possibly want to bet the CEO’s chair of AFD Inc. on something this ridiculous.” Adam’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, yes I can. I need to pay you back for that dirty trick you pulled as a challenge last year.” “I’ll remind you that my so-called dirty trick led you to the woman you love and married.” “Yeah, but that’s not what you intended. You intended to make my life hell. Until Rue and I worked things out, you succeeded. Well buddy, it’s time I returned the favor. As the minority partner, I can name any dare I want, and you have to take it.” Jack groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Adam smiled. His friend was cornered. “You can always turn the challenge down and hand over the CEO’s chair right now.” “I won’t do that, and you know it. I have to accept the challenge. It’s in our corporate agreement. But why does the woman have to be Clare Blessings?” Jack slumped and let his chin fall to his chest, then frowned up at Adam. “She’s a walking danger zone, for crying out loud.” “You exaggerate the case.” “Do I? You told me yourself, she scuba dives, sky dives, spelunks, has won two national skateboard championships, qualified for the national roller hockey team, and is expert in four different weapons.” Adam winced as the list of Clare’s accomplishments piled up. Jack continued to rant. “If she’s anything like the physical description you gave me, she gives new meaning to the term bombshell.” Adam thumped his glass onto the coffee table. “What’s the matter, Jack? Afraid she’s too much woman for you? Afraid to take a little risk?” “I can handle a risk with the best of them, and you know that what I feel for women isn’t fear.” “So what’s the problem with pretending to be Clare’s fiancé for ten days?” “She knows I’m just pretending?” “Clare assures me that she has no desire for a permanent relationship.” “Then why is she doing this?” “Clare was rather vague about that. She’s very proud and doesn’t like to share her troubles. But she implied that she wants to make peace with her grandmother and believes that an engagement, even a short one, might help.” “You’re kidding.” “No, but does why really matter? It’s only for ten days, and you can use the time off.” Jack gave Adam a long look, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Adam sprang from the sofa and clapped Jack on the back. “Thanks, buddy. You won’t regret it. I promise you.” “I have a feeling I’ll very much regret it. Just tell me one thing.” “Sure.” “Why me?” “For four reasons. First of all, Clare asked for our help, and we owe her. Second, since I’m married, I can’t do it. Third, I trust you not to hurt Clare. And last, you’ve been working too hard. You haven’t had a vacation in two years. You need to relax and have fun, and no one knows how to do that better than Clare Blessings.” “If you say so.” Jack tossed back the rest of his drink. “When do I leave?” “Tomorrow.” Jack leapt from his chair. “Tomorrow! But—” “No buts. I had your secretary clear your calendar. I’m not giving you a chance to create some sort of business emergency. Besides, Clare’s got a deadline to meet.” “Exactly what does that mean?” “I think I’ll let her explain.” “And when will she do that?” “If I know Clare, she’ll choose her own time. You’re meeting her at a hotel on a small island in the Caribbean, where Grannie’s hosting the Blessings family reunion.” “Great.” Jack thrust his hands through his carefully combed black hair. “Ten days of giddy, closely related strangers. I’m surprised that her grandmother could get the ClareDevil to take on something so tame.” “I’m sure she has her reasons.” Adam rose. “C’mon, let’s rejoin the party. I want to find my wife.” CHAPTER ONE
April 2nd, a small island in the Bahamas
Somewhere amongst the gyrating mass of people on the ballroom floor was Jack Hunter’s fiancée. He had no idea exactly where. The concierge had assured him that all the Blessings—all 507 of them—were in the SeaSwept ballroom. All he could remember of Adam’s description was that Clare Blessings was beautiful. Jack couldn’t recall if her eyes were blue, black or brown. He surveyed the room and made a dismaying discovery. Half of the women in the room were attractive. He supposed half of them could be called beautiful. Of course, Adam thought of his wife as the feminine ideal. Which meant Clare Blessings was probably close to flat-chested. The junkanoo tune ended, and as the bodies stilled, Jack headed for the bar at the far corner of the room. A sharp protest distracted him. “Stop, right now!” issued an alto full of sultry anger. A male rumble followed. “You don’t mean that, darlin'. Ah’ll show you a real good time.” “I’m flattered by your interest, sir.” The woman’s tone took on the flat quality teachers used with obstinate children. “But I don’t want to dance or do anything else with you. Even if you are Amanda Blessings’ long lost first cousin.” Jack zeroed in on the source of the voices. Less than ten feet away stood a stunning blonde. The unwanted advances of a pudgy, spectacled male occupied her full attention. A drink in one hand, the man snaked his other arm around her back. Her glossy ash-blonde hair whispered across her bare shoulders when she shook her head. Her eyes flashed green, and she gave an angry, impatient shrug. She put her entire body into the movement, and the silk of her sarong style dress shimmered over generous breasts and hips. A slit to mid-thigh showed smooth, firm limbs. Jack's fingers tingled. He understood why the man wanted to hold on to the lush curves and tiny waist that topped the woman’s long legs. Regardless of what pudgeman wanted, the woman wasn’t interested. That suited Jack just fine. She flung off the arm that the man had around her shoulders, then turned to walk away, but the jerk grabbed her again. Her feral response was both instantaneous and unmistakable. “I told you! I don’t want to—” “Honey, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't oughta be alone.” Her leg flashed out in a small, graceful move and the guy went down. If Jack hadn’t been watching, he would have missed it. Unfortunately, she planted her heel just where the guy’s drink spilled. She slipped, losing her balance. The blonde landed atop the guy’s wheezing chest, creating a heap of sweaty suit and sarong. Jack acknowledged the pure lust that drove him to the woman’s side. He took her free hand and drew her up, away from the fellow’s interrupted grasp. The junkanoo band began “Brown-Skinned Girl.” Jack smiled and heard himself say, “There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you all over this blasted ballroom. Dance with me. Then we can go back to our room,” he ended with a suggestive glance. That ought to get rid of pudgeman. The woman closed her mouth on a gasp. She fit his embrace perfectly, and the scent of rain-washed lilies floated over him. Jack flashed a superior grin at the other man. As he hauled himself from the floor, the supposed cousin glowered back, revenge in his eyes. No sweat! Before the man could do anything, Jack intended to be lost on the other side of the crowd. All he had to do was enjoy holding an attractive woman in his arms for a few minutes while they danced across the room.
* * *
Clare didn’t know what to think. She’d been trying to get rid of that pest for ten dreadful minutes. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but the man was pushier than her grandmother and almost twice as stubborn. Imagine, claiming to be Grannie’s cousin, just to impress someone. As if I can't see through such an obvious come-on. Her patience at an end, she’d wanted to kick the pudgy creep where it would hurt most but opted for tripping him up instead. No guy deserved worse just for being drunk. As usual, her impulse came back to haunt her. The man’s drink spilled, and she’d lost her balance. Then a smoke-and-mirrors voice called her sweetheart. Before she could comment, she found herself moving rhythmically against a hard male body, surrounded by strong arms and a woodsy scent. Of course, if she objected, she’d be dancing with the ham-handed ‘cousin.’ But was she any better off now? Staying in those arms was the second risk she’d taken in as many minutes. Grannie would probably choke, if she knew. Clare smiled at the thought. “I must have died and gone to heaven. Who are you, gorgeous?” Her partner’s deep rasp pierced her daydream of grandmotherly angst. She ignored the question, too content with her temporary anonymity to give it up for the sake of good manners. She looked up at him. A shock of dark hair drifted across his forehead. Under black brows, clear gray eyes stared back at her. His nose bent slightly at the bridge. Irritated with the dreamy sensation his face inspired, she quipped, "Were you born that way, or did you break your nose on someone's fist?" The smile on his lean mouth broadened and square white teeth opened on a full-throated laugh. Clare's stomach flipped. “Definitely not heaven. No angel would have such a sassy mouth or eyes of such an earthly color.” Clare had always thought her eyes the color of an algae-clogged lake. To her, the gold that others claimed glinted amongst the green of her pupils was mud-brown, and the whole effect seemed duller than dishwater. "Now I know that knot on your nose came from a close encounter with a fist, since you go around suggesting that women have eyes the color of dirt." "You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy. Mind if I take notes, so I know how not to be subtle next time?" The grin flashed again. Again, Clare's stomach did that peculiar flip. She ignored the remark and her own reaction, determined to remain free of anyone’s influence. "Maybe you'd better tell me your name, so I'll be able to identify the body when some angry woman shoots you.” “Sorry, fair is fair. You won’t tell me your name. I’ll keep mine to myself too.” He laughed once more, his head thrown back on the strong, tanned column of his throat, his broad shoulders shaking. She shrugged and studied him. The gray-eyed man held her with gentle confidence, his hands politely impersonal, unlike the ‘cousin’s’ wandering touch. Clare knew that she could step out of this hold at any moment, and this magical man wouldn’t try to stop her. “Why did you do that?” she asked, uncomfortably eager to hear the rough caress of his voice again. He stopped laughing and looked down at her. “Do what, laugh?” “No,” she smiled. “Why did you call me sweetheart and ask me to dance?” He glanced away, then back, as if contemplating his answer. “With that guy as a cushion, you were kind of hard to miss. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I figured I’d offer you a hand.” The explanation sounded plausible. “And you called me sweetheart because...?” It was silly to imagine that he’d developed a fondness, let alone a passion, for her at first sight. Still, the part of her that wanted to jump out of perfectly good airplanes believed in fairy-tales, and she needed to prove to herself that she lived in the real world. “Oh, that.” He tilted his head. “That was just for effect.” Which was true enough, Jack thought. He hadn’t seen her eyes nor really heard that dusty alto until after he’d call her sweetheart. She’d think him a romantic fool if he told her he considered heaven well lost for the privilege of drowning in those laughing green orbs. It was too bad he’d probably never see her again after this dance. He had to spend ten days pretending to love a woman he’d never met. He didn’t want to get tangled up with any of the other female traps in the hotel. Clare Blessings would prove dangerous enough. The music stopped. She stepped back and offered her hand. “Thank you.” Her soft tones caressed his ears. Clare Blessings, Jack reminded himself, I’ve got to find Clare Blessings. “You’re welcome.” He shook her hand and turned quickly away, striding toward the bar.
* * *
Clare wandered the ballroom for another hour, attempting to fight off nausea and nerves. You’ve got good reason to be nervous, she thought, trying to mollify her conscience. You weren’t anxious tonight, her conscience argued back. Not while you danced with that stranger. Why wasn’t I, she wondered? She wished, just for a moment, that she’d always have someone’s arms to jump into when she threw herself at trouble. And trouble, in the form of a false engagement, was headed her way fast. What kind of man would agree to an engagement with someone he’s never met? A greedy man, probably. Jack Hunter gets a hefty reward for this little deception. Adam says Jack is “steady, loyal, dedicated—the best of friends.” I just wish I could believe that of someone who gets to be CEO of a very profitable corporation for pretending to be engaged. Too bad I made this bargain with Jack Hunter before I met tonight’s mystery man. He would have helped me for the fun of it and caused a whole lot less trouble in the process. Still, as Clare left the ballroom, she couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t asking for more trouble by creating a false engagement. She doubted Jack Hunter could be as helpful as the dark stranger. She needed one more glance of him—the gray-eyed, black-haired man with the easy laugh and the smoky voice. That and the remembered safety of his embrace might get her through the uneasy hours until her fake fiancé showed up. Her eyes searched the lobby. She didn’t find the tall man she’d danced with earlier. She did find a thin, paper-pale woman in a black suit and oxfords. Dulcea Smythe, personal assistant to Grannie Blessings, had met Clare at the airport that morning. Clare ducked around a column and headed for the elevators. She checked behind her and saw the assistant approaching at a rapid clip. Clare swallowed panic and turned to face her pursuer. The subsiding nausea returned full force. There was no exit out of the elevator area, except past Smythe. I’m cornered. Smythe never seeks me out unless Grannie insists. What could she want now? Clare needed a good night’s sleep and an hour or two with Jack Hunter before confronting Grannie. A bell rang, and behind Clare the elevator doors whooshed open. A crowd of teen-aged girls poured out, surrounding her and eventually getting in Smythe’s way. Smiling broadly at her good luck and Smythe’s look of frustration, Clare stepped backward into the car and pushed the button for the seventeenth floor. The doors closed slowly. Clare’s mouth slipped from toothy grin to an ‘O’ of dismay as Smythe’s impossibly skinny form eased past the bubbling stream of girls and into the elevator. Trapped. Clare was trapped with Smythe for the endless thirty-second ride to the seventeenth floor. The assistant hadn’t pushed a numbered button on the panel. That meant she intended to accompany Clare all the way to her room. Or worse, Grannie was on the seventeenth floor too. What was she going to do, Clare wondered? Before panic could set in, the elevator stopped, launching her queasy stomach toward her throat. The doors opened and Smythe grabbed Clare’s elbow.
CHAPTER TWO
“Your grandmother wishes to see you.” Her hand pressed over her mouth to prevent a return visit from her dinner, Clare muttered, “Now isn’t a really good time.” Smythe pressed the ‘Door Open’ button, then looked at Clare. “Miss, you haven’t seen your grandmother in ten years. You decided to change that because you know she is ill. This first meeting must be private. There is no better time.” Clare nodded. She swallowed and felt her stomach settle, leaving an acidy taste at the back of her throat. “All right, let’s get this over with.” Smythe’s thin lips twisted at the corners. She led Clare out of the elevator and down the hall. She stopped at 1703 and opened the door into a pleasant sitting room. “Please sit down.” She pointed at the sofa. “I will tell Mrs. Blessings that you are here.” The assistant disappeared through a second door. What would Grannie be like now? The few letters Clare had received over the past ten years had all been autocratic summonses dictated to Smythe. At first, Clare had eagerly pored over each and every word, hoping to find some warmth and yielding from the rigid woman who’d raised her. Each time Clare came up empty. The chilly, polite criticisms and orders left her battered from the clash between hope and disappointment. She didn't know why she continued to read the missives from General Grannie, except that Clare had no other close family. Having lost her parents at an early age, she longed for the sense of place and purpose that family gave. When she’d received the formal invitation to the Blessings family reunion, she’d been surprised that so many Blessings existed, even if most were second, third and fourth cousins. That Grannie would want to meet these distant relatives surprised Clare even more. Grannie always expressed distaste for the “hangers-on” of the world. The handwritten note from Smythe that accompanied the invitation provided a final jolt. By the time she’d decided the note was legitimate, Clare had it memorized.
Dear Miss Blessings, I hesitate to write, but I feel that, as Mrs. Blessings’ only near relation, you should know some of the circumstances surrounding her decision to hold the reunion. In February, Mrs. Blessings visited her physician. Since that time, your grandmother has despaired of ever mending the breach between you. I believe the reunion is Mrs. Blessings’ attempt to reach out to all her family, most especially you, her granddaughter. Please give careful thought to your decision regarding the reunion. Sincerely, Dulcea Smythe
* * *
The thought that Grannie was ill or dying struck at the core of Clare’s very worst fear, the fear of being abandoned and alone in the world. A fear that, oddly, had intensified since she’d learned of her unexpected pregnancy. It was one thing to rebel against an oppressively strict guardian. Denying her feelings for the last living person who remembered her mother was quite a different matter. Clare felt compelled to attend the reunion. But she needed a buffer, someone to distract Grannie and deflect the tentacles of control that, regardless of Grannie’s health, Clare knew Grannie would try to apply. Clare needed a temporary fiancé. That’s when she’d called Adam for help, only to discover that he’d gotten married while she was out of the country. After some discussion of her problem, Adam suggested his close friend and business partner, Jack Hunter. As often as she’d visited Adam in Chicago, she’d never met Jack. What kind of man was he? “Clare, how good it is to see you at long last,” Grannie’s voice interrupted, clear and strong. Startled from her wandering thoughts, Clare looked toward the now open bedroom door. What she saw stunned her. Grannie sat passively in a wheelchair. “Grannie.” Clare rushed from her seat to kneel by the older woman’s side. Her hair was white, her skin a bit more wrinkled and papery. Her shoulders had a small curve. But her chin still jutted proudly, and her green eyes—so like Clare’s own—shone with life and challenge. “I’ve missed you so much.” “There, there, dear.” Grannie’s arm came around Clare’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you too. Now get up and let me look at you.” Clare rose, a bit reluctant to let go. She stood before her grandmother’s silent perusal. I’m eight weeks pregnant. Can Grannie tell? Will it make a difference, if Grannie knows? Best not to say anything until I have time to get reacquainted with Grannie. “You look wonderful. A bit tired, but positively glowing. Don’t you think, Smythe?” “You are perceptive as always, Madam,” came Smythe’s expressionless reply. “Well then, let’s sit down and have a chat, shall we?” It wasn’t a question. Clare remembered the phrase clearly from her childhood. Having a chat was Grannie’s way of saying you’ve made a mistake, and now I’m going to tell you how to fix it. But Grannie had never before sat in a wheelchair, weakly squeezing Clare’s hand when uttering those words. Clare returned to the sofa. Smythe wheeled the chair to an open spot within reach of the coffee table where tea had been laid out. “I’d like to be private with my granddaughter for awhile, Smythe. Why don’t you wait in the other room. I’ll call you when I need you.” “By all means, Mrs. Blessing.” Clare poured tea and waited until the bedroom door closed. She handed Grannie a cup of the hot brew. As Grannie sipped, Clare asked, “What happened?” “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little back problem.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Are you certain?” Clare asked. “I don’t even need this silly chair most of the time, but my doctors insist that I rest my back whenever possible.” “I hope you’re following their instructions.” “I use the chair when I’m in private. If necessary, I’ll use a cane in public, but I dislike it so. It’s a sign of weakness, you know.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “I can see how you’d look at it that way. The change in your health must be difficult to deal with.” “You’re so understanding, dear.” Clare blushed. “Injury is a professional hazard for me. I know what it’s like to suffer from serious health problems. Exactly what is the problem with your back?” “I wish I could say exactly what the problem is. I’ve been to several specialists. One says I’m having stress-related spasms. Another feels my spine is degenerating. A third is concerned about my kidneys.” “The doctors don’t agree?” Used to easily identifiable broken bones and a variety of burns, Clare was amazed. Grannie leaned toward Clare confidingly. “I don’t believe any of them know what is wrong.” “That has to be terrifying, if the experts don’t know what the problem is.” Her grandmother nodded and sat back. “I finally gave up and went to the Mayo for a huge battery of tests. We’re still waiting on the results.” “How long before you know?” “They haven’t been able to tell me. In the meantime, to keep myself occupied and to avoid worrying, I decided to hold this reunion. Getting acquainted with the other branches of the Blessings family is something I’ve long wanted to do. And if it gives us the chance to resolve our differences, then the entire reunion was worthwhile.” Grannie’s candor surprised Clare, almost as much as the wheelchair had. The woman who guided Clare’s formative years had been reticent to the point of coldness and positively stingy when discussing her motives or plans. Clare’s heart went out to her grandmother. Obviously Grannie’s health problems had a strong effect on her thinking and caused her to be more open about herself. Regretting the cause, Clare welcomed the change and reached for her grandmother’s hand. “I’m glad too, Grannie.” “Enough about me. Tell me about your travels and adventures.” Maybe I should have my hearing checked. Grannie actually wants to hear about my work. Tentatively, she told her grandmother some of the milder stories. Clare didn’t know how frail Grannie was and worried that too much excitement might strain her health unduly. At the end of Clare’s recital, Grannie looked over the edge of her cup and murmured, “Fascinating, my dear. And after all this time, you still haven’t found a young man to build a family with?” Clare’s breath stopped for a moment. Were they about to return to form, with Grannie trying to arrange Clare’s life? Maybe not. Unlike previous encounters, Grannie’s tone had been warm and full of curiosity. No disapproval at Clare’s job or her unmarried state leaked through to dilute the warmth, or chill Clare’s eagerness to meet Grannie more than half way. “Actually, I’m about to announce my engagement.” Grannie’s teacup tilted. She caught the china before it spilled. Then she set the cup and saucer on the table. “That’s wonderful, Clare. Who’s the lucky man? Anyone I know?” Clare found the last probing question comforting. Not everything about Grannie had changed. She still consumed information with the hunger of a starving man. “I don’t know if you’ve met Jack or not. But several years ago, you lent him and Adam Talcott the start-up money for their company, AFD Inc.” “Your fiancé is Jack Hunter?” “Mm-hmm,” Clare agreed around a mouthful of tea. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Hunter. Although, I’ve always been impressed by his business acumen.” Clare had to grin. From what Adam had told her, Jack was exactly the kind of hardworking, suitable young man of independent means who would appeal to Grannie. She wouldn’t care that Jack had been born poor. It was his work ethic she would approve of. “Yes, Jack has been singularly successful with AFD Inc. Due, no doubt, to his hard work combined with Adam Talcott’s financial brilliance.” “No doubt,” Grannie agreed dryly. “Did you invite your young man to join you here?” Clare blushed a little. “I thought this might be a good occasion to announce the engagement. Doing that without Jack present would be a trifle awkward.” “I agree completely. But perhaps we should delay the announcement a day or two, so I may have the opportunity to get to know Jack. As administrator of the Blessings estate and holdings, which will one day go to you, there are a number of matters that I should go over with Jack before he joins the family. I presume you have discussed a pre-nuptial agreement?” Ah...think fast, Clare. “We’ve tossed the idea around, because Jack insists that we both protect our financial interests and that of any possible children.” “Do you have an attorney?” “No. We hadn’t gotten that far in our discussions.” “I’d be happy to have the family firm take a look at any agreement Jack may propose.” “I’ll give your offer careful thought, Grannie,” Clare hedged, wary of the insidious nature of Grannie’s help. Something like a twinge of frustration, or maybe pain, crossed Grannie’s face. Instantly contrite, Clare set her cup down and took Grannie’s hand. “What’s wrong?” “Just a small pain. Get Smythe and tell her to bring my medication, please.” Another twitch across the papery cheeks sent Clare into motion. “Smythe,” she hollered, as she leapt for the door. “Grannie needs her pain medicine.” “Coming,” Smythe’s voice answered. The woman emerged with deliberate speed from the bedroom, pills and a glass of water in her hand. Clare bent to her grandmother, feeling the tremble in the older woman’s shoulders and watching the glass shake as Grannie took the water and pills from Smythe. With the pills swallowed, Grannie’s brave voice urged Clare to get a good night’s sleep and ordered Smythe to push the wheelchair into the bedroom. Leaving her grandmother’s suite, Clare hurried down the hallway and slipped into her room. She locked the door behind her and left the lights off. For a moment, she leaned against the cool metal door, then headed past the sofa in the small sitting area and into the bathroom. Her stomach threatened to reject the dinner she’d eaten a few hours ago, and her body threatened to collapse with fatigue. Pregnancy was just as draining as stunt work. Too tired and queasy to do more than slip out of her dress and bra, she dropped them where she stood. She’d pick them up in the morning. Moonlight streamed in through the window as she walked to the king-size bed. She lurched to the far side where she pulled the curtains closed. Nothing, not Grannie, not a glimmer of moonshine, would disturb her rest. She pulled down the sheets and slid into bed, then tugged the covers up against the air-conditioned chill of the room. Turning on her side, she curled toward the edge of the mattress and gave in to exhaustion.
* * *
“This is ridiculous. You run a five-star hotel. You can’t lose my luggage.” Jack mentally cursed his rotten luck. “Are you certain you had it with you when you checked in?” The concierge’s tone carried a wealth of condescension. “Of course I’m sure I had it.” Jack nearly snarled in frustration that had grown since he’d gone to his room to change and found no luggage. “I checked my bags right here.” “Then you should be able to produce the claim check.” “I told you. I put the claim check in the side pocket of my laptop case.” “Indeed.” Disbelief arched the concierge’s brows. Jack grabbed at his own hair and pulled. “I’m supposed to meet my fiancée’s grandmother tomorrow. What do you expect me to wear, my birthday suit?” “This is the Bahamas, sir. Clothing standards are very relaxed, sir, except at the casinos.” “You’d think a hotel with your reputation would be prepared to aid guests with lost luggage.” The concierge’s lips flattened. “I assure you, sir, the Bahama Diamond prides itself on its service and preparedness. I regret the inconvenience, but without a claim check, I can do nothing to help you.” The cold glare in the man’s eyes implied that somehow Jack was responsible for the lost luggage. Jack returned the glare. “I’m the personal guest of Amanda Blessings, and if I don’t get satisfaction in the next five minutes, I’ll make certain that Mrs. Blessings knows how unhappy I am. This hotel advertises fun-filled, trouble-free vacations. Right now, I’m neither having fun nor am I free from trouble. I will definitely make my displeasure known to the management.” A worried frown replaced the cold look. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter, but my hands are tied until the hotel gift shop opens at 10:00 A.M. tomorrow.” “And what can you do for me then?” Jack leaned forward. The concierge fiddled nervously with the lost luggage report Jack had filled out. “If your luggage has not been located by that time, the Bahama Diamond will be happy to provide you with your choice of clothing from the store at no cost to yourself.” “That’s it?” Jack raised a brow. “We’ll replace your lost luggage as well.” “As long as you keep searching, that will do. That laptop contains data vital to my business. Now where can I get something to eat?” “The SandSide Cafe operates twenty-four hours a day, sir. And most of the bars offer sandwiches.” “Excellent. I’ll be sure to let the management know how well you handled this little misunderstanding.” “Uh, thank you, Mr. Hunter.” Satisfied that the concierge would follow through on his promises, Jack strolled toward the cafe. With the problem of his luggage solved, his mind turned to Clare Blessings. What kind of a woman spends her life seeking thrills? God knows the Blessings woman doesn’t do it for the money. She’s heiress to one of the richest families in the country. No doubt she gives little thought to the risks or the worry that she causes others. If she did, she’d have stopped long ago. She‘s wasting her life. Jack despised waste. The only thing he disliked more was thoughtlessness. By reputation, Clare Blessings epitomized both. Jack shuddered at the thought of spending ten days in the woman’s company. Much as he tried, he couldn’t see any way of getting out of it. His stomach growled. He needed food and a good stiff drink to help him sleep. Otherwise, he faced a restless night, dreaming of skydiving amazons and female sharks in scuba gear. Hours later, sleepy and replete, Jack entered his room. Both the sandwich and the scotch had been first rate. He’d gotten involved in a discussion of market trends and investment strategies with the bartender, who turned out to be a third year economics major at Northwestern. Jack gave the kid a business card, suggesting he call about interning with AFD Inc. The conversation had done as much as the food and drink to take Jack’s mind off tomorrow’s encounter with Clare Blessings and her grandmother. A good night’s sleep would put everything into perspective. In the moonlight pouring through the balcony doors, he removed his clothes. He draped each item—underwear and socks included—carefully over the back of the sofa to air, then made for the bedroom. Not wanting to hassle with the lights, he ambled the distance from the door to the bed. He slid between the covers and edged toward the middle of the huge mattress. Folding his hands across his chest, he pulled up the memory of the mystery woman from the ballroom. There was a woman with sense. She knew pudgeman was an unnecessary risk, and she’d done everything she could to get rid of him. Why couldn’t Clare Blessings be more like her? A twinge of tension struck Jack’s forehead at the thought of his fake fiancée. Don’t go there, Jack. Think about the mystery woman instead. Jack focused on a mental image of the leggy blonde. The woman materialized in his mind with such clarity that he could almost smell lilies and rain.
|
Points of interest We proudly served
Copyright,
Susan C. Charnley,
January 2006.
|
|
|
|
||
