Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover
He smiled slowly. “No. I’ll wait. But thank you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t really need it. I’m trying to lose about twenty pounds.”
His eyes went over her. She was a little overweight. Not fat, just nicely rounded. He almost told her so. But then he remembered what treacherous creatures women were, and bit back the hasty words. He had concerns of his own, and no time for little spinsters. He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting her out.
The flight passed uneventfully, but if he’d hoped to walk off the plane in Veracruz and forget about his seatmate, he was doomed to disappointment. When the plane finally rolled to a stop she stepped out into the aisle, juggling her luggage, and the sack containing her books broke into a thousand pieces.
Dutch tried not to laugh at the horrified expression on her face as he gathered the books quickly together and threw them into her seat, then herded her out of the aisle.
“Oh, Lord,” she moaned, looking as if fate and the Almighty were out to get her.
“Most travelers carry a spare bag inside their suitcases,” he said hopefully as the other passengers filed out.
She looked up at him helplessly, all big gray eyes and shy pleading, and for an instant he actually forgot what he was saying. Her complexion was exquisite, he thought. He would have bet that she hardly ever used, or needed to use, beauty creams.
“Spare bag?” she echoed. “Spare bag!” She grinned. “Yes, of course.” She shifted restlessly.
“Well?” he prompted gently.
She pointed to the overhead rack.
“We’ll wait for everyone else to get off,” he said. “Mine’s up there, too; it’s all right. No big deal.”
She brushed back strands of wild hair and looked haunted. “I’m so organized back home,” she muttered. “Not a stick of furniture out of place. But let me get outside the city limits of Greenville and I can’t stick a fork on a plate without help.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll get you sorted out,” he said. “Where are you booked?”
“Book…oh, the hotel? It’s the Mirador,” she said.
Fate, he thought with a wistful smile. “That’s where my reservation is,” he said.
Her face lit up, and the look in her eyes faintly embarrassed him. She was gazing at him with a mixture of blind trust and hopeful expectation.
“Do you know the hotel? I mean, have you been here before?” she faltered, trying not to pry.
“Several times,” he confessed. “I come down here once or twice a year when I need to get away.” He glanced around. “Let’s go.”
He got down her suitcase and helped her extricate the spare bag from the case with a wry glance at the neat cotton nightgowns and underwear. She blushed wildly at that careless scrutiny, and he turned his attention to her books, packing them neatly and deftly.
She followed him out of the plane with gratitude shining on her face. She could have kissed him for not making fun of her, for helping her out. Imagine, she thought, a man like that actually doing something for her!
“I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” she blurted out, almost running to keep up with him as they headed toward customs and immigration. She was searching desperately for her passport, and missed the indulgent smile that softened his hard features momentarily.
“No trouble at all,” he replied. “Got your passport?”
She sighed, holding it up. “Thank God I did something right,” she moaned. “I’ve never even used it before.”
“First time out of the States?” he asked pleasantly as they waited in line.
“First time out, yes,” she confessed. “I just turned twenty-six. I thought I’d better do something adventurous fast, before I ran out of time.”
He frowned. “My God, twenty-six isn’t old,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “But it isn’t terribly young, either.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were quiet and sad, and she was thinking back to all the long years of loneliness.
“Is there a man?” he asked without quite knowing why.
She laughed with a cynicism that actually surprised him, and the wide eyes that looked up into his seemed ancient. “I have no illusions at all about myself,” she said, and moved ahead with her huge purse.
He stared at her straight back with mingled emotions, confusing emotions. Why should it matter to him that she was alone? He shook his head and glanced around him to break the spell. It was none of his business.
Minutes later she was through customs. She almost waited for her tall companion, but she thought that one way or another, she’d caused him enough trouble. The tour company had provided transfers from the airport to the hotel, but a cab seemed much more inviting and less crowded. She managed to hail one, and with her bag of books and suitcase, bustled herself into it.
“Hotel Mirador,” she said.
The cab driver smiled broadly and gunned the engine as he pulled out into the crowded street. Dani, full of new experiences and delightful sensations, tried to look everywhere at once. The Bay of Campeche was blue and delightful, and there were glimpses of palms and sand and many hotels. Veracruz was founded in the early 1500s and looked as many old cities of that period did, its architecture alternating between the days of piracy and the space age. Dani would have loved to dive straight into some sight-seeing, but she was already uncomfortable in the formidable heat, and she knew it would be foolish to rush out without letting her body acclimate itself to its new environment.
As she gazed at the rows of hotels, the driver pulled into one of them, a two-story white building with graceful arches and a profusion of blooming flowers. It had only been a few minutes’ ride from the airport, but the fare was confusing. And a little intimidating. Twenty dollars, just for several miles. But perhaps it was the custom, she thought, and paid him uncomplainingly.
He grinned broadly again, tipped his hat, and left her at the reservation desk.
She gave the clerk her name and waited with bated breath until her reservation was found. Finally, she had a room. Everything would be all right.
The room was nice. It overlooked the city, unfortunately, not the beautiful bay. But she hadn’t expected much for the wonderfully low rates that had come with the package tour. She took off her sweater, amazed that it had felt so comfortable back in the States where it was early spring. It was much too heavy here, where the temperature was blazing hot even with the air-conditioning turned up. She stared out the window at the city. Mexico. It was like a dream come true. She’d scrimped and saved for two years to afford this trip. Even so, she’d had to come during the off-season, which was her busiest time back home. She’d left her friend Harriett Gaynor watching the bookstore in her absence. Go, Harriett had coaxed. Live a little.
She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Live a little, ha! What a pity she hadn’t looked like that gorgeous stewardess on the plane. Perhaps then the blond giant would have given her a second glance, or something besides the reluctant pity she’d read in his dark eyes.
She turned away from her reflection and began to unpack her suitcase. There was no use kidding herself that he’d helped her for any reason other than expediency. He could hardly walk right over her precious books. With a sigh she drew out her blouses and hung them up.
Chapter Two
By late afternoon Dani felt up to some exploring, and she wandered the ancient streets with the excitement of a child. She’d changed into blue jeans and a loose, light sweatshirt and thongs, looking as much like a tourist as the other strangers in port. Her body was still adjusting to the heat, but the sweatshirt was simply a necessity. She couldn’t bear to wear form-fitting T-shirts in public. They called too much attention to her ample bustline.
She found the stalls along the waterfront particularly fascinating, and paused long enough to buy herself a sterling silver cross with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Her pidgin Spanish seemed adequate, because most of the vendors spoke a little English. Everywhere there were colorful things to see—beautiful serapes in vivid rainbow shades, ponchos, hats, straw bags and animals and sea shells. And the architecture of the old buildings near the docks fascinated her. She stared out over the bay and daydreamed about the days of pirate ships and adventure, and suddenly a picture of the big blond man flashed into her mind. Yes, he would have made a good pirate. What was it that Dutch had called pirates—freebooters? She could even picture him with a cutlass. She smiled at her own fantasy and moved on down the pier to watch some men unloading a big freighter. She’d never been around ships very much. Greenville was an inland city, far from the ocean. Mountains and rolling, unspoiled countryside were much more familiar to Dani than ships were. But she liked watching them. Lost in her daydreams, she didn’t realize just how long she’d been standing there, staring. Or that her interest might seem more than casual.
One of the men on the dock began watching her, and with a feeling of uneasiness she moved back into the crowd of tourists. She didn’t want trouble, and a woman alone could get into a sticky situation.
Dusk was settling over the sleepy city of Veracruz, and the man was still watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him moving toward her. Oh, Lord, she thought miserably, now what do I do? She didn’t see a policeman anywhere, and most of the remaining tourists were older people who wouldn’t want to be dragged into someone else’s problems. Dani groaned inwardly as she clutched her bag and started walking quickly toward the hotel. The crowd dispersed still farther. Now she was alone and still the footsteps sounded behind her. Her heart began to race. What if he meant to rob her? Good heavens, what if he thought she was looking for a man?
She quickened her steps and darted around a corner just as a tall form loomed up in front of her. She jerked to a stop and almost screamed before she noticed the color of his hair in the fiery sunset.
“Oh,” she said weakly, one hand clutching her sweatshirt.
Dutch stared at her coolly, a cigarette in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was still wearing the khaki safari suit he’d worn on the plane, but he looked fresh and unruffled. She found herself wondering if anything could rattle him. He had an odd kind of self-confidence, as if he’d tested himself to the very limits and knew himself as few men ever did.
He glanced over her shoulder, seeming to take in the situation in one quick glance. His eyes were very dark when they met hers again. “You’ll enjoy your holiday more if you keep out of this part of town after dark,” he told her pleasantly enough but with authority in his tone. “You’ve picked up an admirer.”
“Yes, I know, I…” She started to glance over her shoulder, but he shook his head.
“Don’t. He’ll think you’re encouraging him.” He laughed shortly. “He’s fifty and bald,” he added. “But if you purposely went down to the docks looking for a man, you might give him a wink and make his day.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but the remark hurt her anyway. Clearly, he didn’t think she was likely to attract a man like himself.
“It was more a case of forgetting where I was, if you want the truth. I’ll know better next time. Excuse me,” she said quietly, and walked past him.
He watched her go, furious with her for letting the taunt cut her, more furious with himself for not realizing that it would. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath and started after her.
But she’d had quite enough. She quickened her pace, darting into the hotel and up the staircase to the second floor instead of waiting for an elevator. She made it into her room and locked the door. Although why she should have bothered was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t the kind of man who chased bespectacled booksellers, she told herself coldly.
She didn’t bother to go downstairs for dinner that evening. Probably he wouldn’t have come near her, but she was too embarrassed to chance it. She ordered from room service, and enjoyed a seafood supper in privacy.
The next morning she went down to breakfast, too proud to let him think she was avoiding him. And sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at a window table with a newspaper. He looked good, she thought, even in nothing more unusual than white slacks and a red-and-white half-unbuttoned shirt. Just like a tourist. As if he felt her eyes on him, he lifted his gaze from the paper and caught her staring. She blushed, but he merely smiled and returned his eyes to his reading. She hardly knew what she was eating after that, and she couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of one eye.
He was much too sophisticated for a little country mouse, Dani told herself sternly. She’d just have to keep well away from him. He had no interest in her, despite her helpless fascination with him. He was world-weary and cynical, and looked as if she amused him…nothing more.
She made up her mind to enjoy the rest of her four-day holiday, and went to her room, where she got out a one-piece black bathing suit to wear to the beach. She pinned her irritating hair out of the way and stared at her reflection. What ravishing good looks, she thought sarcastically. No wonder he wasn’t interested. Looking the way she did, it was unlikely that even a shark would be tempted.
Go to Mexico, have fun, her friend Harriett Gaynor had said. Sparkle! Attract men! Dani sighed miserably. Back home it was spring and things were beginning to bloom, and books were selling well—especially romances. And here Dani was, with nothing changed at all except her surroundings. Alone and unloved and unwanted, as usual. She glared at herself and impulsively she called the beauty salon downstairs and made an appointment to have her hair cut.
They had a cancellation, and could take her immediately. Several minutes later she sat watching the unruly locks of hair being neatly sheared off, leaving her delicate features framed by a simple, wavy short cut that curled toward her wide eyes and gave her an impish look. She grinned at herself, pleased, and after paying the girl at the counter, she danced back upstairs and put on her bathing suit. She even added some of the makeup she never used, and perfume. The result wasn’t beauty-queen glamour, but it was a definite improvement.
Then she stared at her bodice ruefully. Well, there wouldn’t be any miracle to correct this problem, she told herself, and pulled on a beach wrap. It was colorful, tinted with shades of lavender, and it concealed very well. She got the beach bag she’d bought in the hotel lobby and stuffed suntan lotion and her beach towel into it. Then, with her prescription sunglasses firmly over her eyes, she set off for the beach.
It was glorious. Beach and sun and the lazy rhythm of the water all combined to relax her. She stretched, loving the beauty around her, the history of this ancient port. She wondered what the first explorers would have thought of the tourist attraction their old stomping grounds made.
Feeling as if someone were staring at her, she opened her eyes and twisted her head just a little. She saw Dutch wandering along the beach, cigarette in hand, blond head shining like white gold in the sun. He was darkly tanned, shirtless, and her fascinated eyes clung to him helplessly. He wasn’t a hairy man, but there was a wedge of curling dark blond hair over the darkly tanned muscles of his chest and stomach. His legs were feathered with it, too: long, powerful legs in cutoff denim shorts, and he wore thongs, as most of the people on the beach did, to protect against unexpected objects in the sand.
She turned her head away so that she didn’t have to see him. He was a sensuous man, devastating to a woman who knew next to nothing about the male sex. He had to be aware of her naivete, and it probably amused him, she thought bitterly.
He watched her head turn, and irritation flashed in his dark eyes. Why was she always gazing at him with that helpless-child longing? She disturbed him. His eyes narrowed. New haircut, wasn’t it? The haircut suited her, but why in hell was she wrapped up like a newly caught fish? He’d yet to see her in anything that didn’t cover her from neck to waist. He frowned. Probably she was flat-chested and didn’t want to call attention to it. But didn’t she realize that her attempts at camouflage were only pointing out her shortcoming?
He glowered at her. Long legs, nice legs, he mused, narrowing his eyes as he studied the relaxed body on the giant beach towel. Nice hips, too. Flat, very smooth lines. Tiny waist. But then there was the coverup. She’d said she needed to lose weight, but he couldn’t imagine where. She looked perfect to him.
She was just a woman, he thought, pulling himself up. Just another faithless flirt, out for what she could get. Would he never learn? Hadn’t he paid for his one great love affair already? Love affair, he thought bitterly. Never that. An infatuation that had cost him everything he held dear. His home, his future, the savings his parents had sacrificed to give him…
He tore his eyes away and turned them seaward. Sometimes it got the better of him. It had no part of the present. In fact, neither did Miss Frump over there.
He turned, blatantly staring at her, a tiny smile playing around his mouth. She was a different species of woman, unfamiliar to him. He found he was curious about her, about what made her tick.
He moved forward slowly, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She felt her pulse exploding as he came closer. No, she pleaded silently, closing her eyes. Please, go away. Don’t encourage me. Don’t come near me. You make me vulnerable, and that’s the one thing I mustn’t be.
“You won’t get much sun in that,” he remarked, indicating the top as he plopped down beside her. He leaned on an elbow, stretched full-length beside her, and she could feel the heat of him, smell the cologne that clung to him.
“I don’t want to burn,” she said in a strangled tone.
“Still angry about what I said last night?” he asked on a smile.
“A little, yes,” she said honestly.
He leaned over and tugged her sunglasses away from her eyes so that they were naked and vulnerable. He was worldly and it showed, and so did her fear of him.
“I didn’t mean to ridicule you. I’m not used to women,” he said bluntly. “I’ve lived a long time without them.”
“And you don’t like them, either,” she said perceptively.
He scowled briefly, letting his eyes drop to her mouth. “Occasionally. In bed.” He chuckled softly at her telltale color. “Don’t tell me I embarrass you? Not considering the type of reading material you carry around with you. Surely every detail is there in black and white.”
“Not the way you’re thinking,” she protested.
“Little Southern lady,” he murmured, watching her. She had a softness that he wasn’t used to, a vulnerability. But there was steel under it. He sensed a spirit as strong as his own beneath shyness. “Do I frighten you?”
“Yes. I…don’t have much to do with men,” she said quietly. “And I’m not very worldly.”
“Are you always that honest?” he asked absently as he studied her nose. There were a few scattered freckles on its bridge.
“I don’t like being lied to,” she said. “So I try very hard not to lie to other people.”
“The golden rule?” He fingered a short strand of her brown hair, noticing the way it shone in the sunlight, as sleek as mink, silky in his hand. “I like your haircut.”
“It was hot having it long…” She faltered. She wasn’t used to being touched, and there was something magnetic about this man. It was unsettling to have so much vibrant masculinity so close that she could have run her hands over his body. He made her feel things she hadn’t experienced since her teens, innocent longings that made her tense with mingled fear and need.
“Why are you wearing this?” he asked, and his hand went to the buttons of her shapeless over-blouse. “Do you really need it?”
She could hardly swallow. He had her so rattled, she didn’t know her name. “I…no, but…” she began.
“Then take it off,” he said quietly. “I want to see what you look like.”
There had been a similar passage in the latest book by her favorite author. She’d read it and gotten breathless. But this was real, and the look in his dark eyes made her tremble. She forgot why she was wearing the wrap and watched his hard face as he eased the buttons skillfully out of their holes and finally drew the garment from around her body.
His breath caught audibly. He seemed to stop breathing as he looked down on what he’d uncovered. “My God,” he whispered.
She was blushing again, feeling like a nervous adolescent.
“Why?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She shifted restlessly. “Well, I’m…I feel…men stare,” she finished miserably.
“My God, of course they stare! You’re exquisite!”
She’d never heard it put that way. She searched his eyes, looking for ridicule, but there was none. He was staring again, and she found that a part of her she didn’t recognize liked the way he was looking at her.
“Is that why you wear bulky tops all the time?” he persisted gently.
She sighed. “Men seem to think that women who are…well-endowed have loose morals. It’s embarrassing to be stared at.”
“I thought you were flat-chested,” he mused, laughing.
“Well, no, I’m not,” she managed. “I guess I did look rather odd.”
He smiled down at her. “Leave it off,” he said with a last lingering scrutiny before he stretched out on his back. “I’ll fend off unwanted admirers for you.”
She was immediately flattered. And nervous. Would he expect any privileges for that protection? She stared at his relaxed body uneasily.
“No strings,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I want rest, not a wild, hot affair.”
She sighed. “Just as well,” she said ruefully. “I wouldn’t know how to have one.”
“Are you a virgin?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Unusual these days.”
“I believe in happily-ever-after.”
“Yes, I could tell by your reading material,” he said with a lazy smile. He stretched, and powerful muscles rippled all up and down his tanned body. Her gaze was drawn to it, held by it.
He opened his eyes and watched her, oddly touched by the rapt look on her young face. He’d have bet a year’s earnings that she’d never been touched even in the most innocent way. He found himself wondering what she might be like in passion, whether those pale eyes would glow, whether her body would relax and trust his. He frowned slightly. He’d never taken time with a woman, not since that she-wolf. These days it was all quickly over and forgotten. But slow, tender wooing was something he could still remember. And suddenly he felt a need for it. To touch this silky creature next to him and teach her how to love. How to touch. The thought of her long fingers on him caused a sudden and shocking reaction in his body.
He turned over onto his stomach, half-dazed with the unexpected hunger. Was she a witch? He studied her. Did she know what had happened to him? No, he decided, if she did, it would be highly visible in those virginal cheeks. She probably didn’t even know what happened to men at all. He smiled slowly at the searching wonder in her eyes.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she asked softly.
“Do you really want to know?” he murmured dryly.
She rolled over onto her stomach as well, and propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him, at the hard lines of his face, the faint scarring on one cheek. She felt drawn to him physically, and couldn’t understand why it seemed so natural to lie beside him and look at him.
His eyes were fixed on a sudden parting of fabric that gave a tantalizing view of her generous breasts; and when she started to move, he reached up and held her still.
“You won’t get pregnant if I look at you,” he whispered.
“You’re a horrible man,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, but I’m much safer than any one of these wily Latins,” he told her. “The lesser of two evils, you might say. I won’t seduce you.”