Sweet Pretender Page 9

  "It might be more fitting to ask about the intentions of Brian Hendricks and what claim he has on you,"

  "How does that concern you?"

  "I didn't imagine the way you kissed me last night."

  "The way I kissed you?"

  "Will Todd be caught in the middle of whatever game it is you're playing?"

  "Todd isn't a child."

  His hand snaked out, and his fingers closed around her wrist. But before he could say whatever he'd planned to say, he was distracted by the sight of her sister, shoes in hand, running toward the Sea View. Todd hadn't managed to intercept her in time, Melissa realized. She'd arrived on the beach side, while Todd had been watching for her on the road.

  Yanking free of Jeremy's grasp with a sudden twist, Melissa watched helplessly. Todd spotted Arlene, and the two moved together, whispering and sneaking surreptitious glances toward the restaurant. If it had been a silent movie, there would have been no need for subtitles to allow Jeremy to figure out their scheme. Melissa didn't need them either to read Jeremy's thoughts as he looked at her again.

  "And then there were four," he muttered, his maddening half smile returning.

  "Jean decided it was too nice a day to stay cooped inside at the keyboard," Todd explained when they reached the booth. "She's coming to Mystic with us."

  "Good idea." Jeremy motioned for the check. "If you don't mind, I'll tag along, too."

  More silent-movie glances were exchanged as he signed for breakfast, pretending not to notice the confusion he'd caused.

  Finally Todd managed to emit an over-enthusiastic, "Great! The more the merrier."

  "We'll take my car," Jeremy offered on the way to the parking lot. "There's more room."

  "If you want," Todd replied. Then with sudden inspiration added, "It'll be better for you to ride in front with Jer, Melissa—so your foot won't be cramped. Amanda and I will take the back."

  Jeremy opened the car door and waited while the two climbed in. Then he reached out to help Melissa. A stony glare was her answer to him, as she rubbed her wrist to remind him of how his fingers had dug into her flesh.

  "I can manage," she told him under her breath.

  "You won't tell mother about this, will you, Jeremy?" her sister asked in her plaintive wanting-a-favor voice. "She thinks I'm practicing."

  "No," he assured her. "We all need a break from routine now and then."

  Oh no, Melissa thought to herself, trying to wilt him with a look that telegraphed her doubt. He wouldn't say a word. Not until he could get to a phone.

  As the car sped along the highway, the conspirators in the back seat spoke in voices too soft to be heard. Jeremy said nothing. Likely he was attempting to catch telltale parts of their conversation. Melissa was more than content to sit quietly and watch the scenery whiz past. She would, she decided, enjoy the outing in spite of her unwelcome companion.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Along the cobbled streets of Mystic sat shops from another time, where present-day craftsmen went about their work as if no progress had taken place in the rest of the world. Here were coopers with their barrels and casks, chandlers and apothecaries, as well as sail makers. At the General Store, Arlene was taken with the glass jars of old-fashioned stick candy and insisted on treating each of them.

  After touring the museum, an old school house and a tavern, they went through a building where miniature ships were displayed. An enthusiast for things of the sea, Todd was eager to get back to the docks to give an old whaling ship a more thorough inspection.

  "How's your ankle?" he asked Melissa. "You seem to be favoring your other foot."

  "Yes, you shouldn't be doing so much walking," her sister hastened to add.

  It sounded to Melissa as though they were reciting lines they'd written together. "I'm fine," she argued. "I think the walking has actually made me feel better."

  "I don't see how it could," Todd said.

  "If you aren't careful you might have to spend the rest of your holiday on crutches." Arlene turned her back to Jeremy and twisted her face into a comical expression of pleading. It meant that Melissa was expected to cooperate with their transparent plan.

  "Why don't I take Jean back to the ships?" Todd proposed, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. "You and Jer can take the car and see whatever you want to see. Then we'll meet later."

  "I don't need a babysitter."

  "That's open to debate," Jeremy muttered.

  "Jer's been here so many times, he wouldn't mind doing it that way. In fact, he'd probably rather. Right, Jer? You two can find a good place to eat lunch. I know you're famished."

  "You haven't eaten anything much, either," Melissa tried.

  "We'll grab something on the run."

  "No one has to stay with me. I can rest on the benches if I feel the need. There's plenty of shade and—"

  "Synchronize," Todd broke in, holding a wrist up for his brother to see his watch. "We'll meet in this spot in two hours."

  "One hour," Jeremy corrected.

  "An hour and a half."

  Jeremy looked away in resignation. "Not a minute more."

  "I would think I'd have something to say about the arrangements," Melissa protested as the other couple hurried away together.

  "I'm not any more pleased about this than you are," Jeremy told her, with his usual show of chivalry.

  "I didn't ask for your company. Go on. If you hurry you can still catch up."

  "And leave you here? You know Todd wouldn't go for that. If you'd stayed home as you should have, this wouldn't have happened. None of this would have happened. As it is, you're stuck with me, and you de-serve it." He rubbed his hands together briskly, as if he felt his insulting little speech had cleared the air. "Now. Anything more on foot is out of the question. I suggest we pick up some lunch and drive somewhere to enjoy it."

  She shrugged. Where they went would make little difference. She'd never been in a car with a sunroof before. It gave all the cooling pleasure of a convertible, without the drawback of a driving wind to send long hair flying every which way, tangling it and obscuring vision. With boxed fried chicken, hard rolls and a carton of fresh-squeezed orange juice tucked into a carton on the back seat, they were on their way.

  It would have suited Melissa had they kept driving, on and on, in silence. But before long they saw a sign advising them there was a picnic area ahead, and Jeremy turned off.

  "The tables are taken," she told him. "It's a beautiful day. We aren't the only ones to have noticed this place."

  "Picnic tables are hard and uncomfortable, anyway," he said. "And usually covered with ants."

  "Then—"

  "Wouldn't you rather be adventurous and find a spot away from the roar of the highway?"

  "We don't have a tablecloth."

  "I have something that'll serve." He opened the car trunk, pulled out a blanket and gave it a shake or two.

  Melissa raised an eyebrow. "Always prepared?"

  He thrust the blanket at her. "You take this. I'll carry the lunch."

  "The ants won't be able to find us back here?" she asked, trying to keep up with him as he wound his way through the trees.

  "Only the discerning ones."

  "Do you often take impulse outings like this one?"

  "No," he said. "I enjoy my work. More than I do most outings."

  She wasn't surprised to hear it. "Do you have an office in town?"

  "No. I work out of the house most of the time, though there isn't much being accomplished this week, I'm afraid, with all the chaos caused by the bicentennial. You might say I'm on an enforced holiday."

  "I can't help but wonder what led you to do what you do," she said. "I understand that designing amusement park rides wasn't the family business. But a branch-off of your own."

  His eyes were steely gray in the muted sunlight. "Why did you go into insurance? Was your father an insurance man and his father before him?"

  "Actually, I have no interest in your rea
sons," she snapped back at him. "I thought we should make an attempt at conversation, since, as you so courteously put it, we'll be stuck with each other for a while."

  "I'm sorry." He slapped his free hand to the back of his neck. "I'm not at my best today."

  Or any other day, she added silently, still bristling. "Forget it."

  "I had a cousin," he said, ducking under a low-hanging branch, then holding it up to allow her through. "He was the black sheep of the family because he ran off and joined a carnival show. I wasn't permitted to make contact with him, but I did. Through an aunt, his mother. Whenever his show came within driving distance, he'd collect me and take me back with him. We'd ride everything from one end of the midway to the other. Then we'd start all over again. He had a head full of ideas for new, unheard-of attractions. He'd sketch them for me on paper and talk endlessly about the time when he'd have enough money saved so that he could get a show of his own together. He always said I'd be his partner."

  "Is he with you now?"

  "All his ideas stayed on paper, unfortunately. He never had more than a dollar or two in his pockets. One night his rig went of control on the highway, and he was killed."

  "How terrible."

  "It happened a long time ago. I would guess his enthusiasm sparked an enthusiasm in me that stuck."

  "And so you did it for him."

  "You could say that. Partly. Some of my ideas are based on his original sketches. He had a remarkable imagination. If only the family could have provided him with some backing." He stopped and looked around. "Is this spot okay?"

  "I think there's a brook nearby. I hear running water."

  "A little farther then," he agreed. "What about you? Why did you choose insurance?"

  "Math was always my best subject in school. I used to solve complicated problems just for the fun of doing them. But I wouldn't say insurance was a burning ambition. Until I was twelve, I wanted to be a deep-sea diver. I wanted to be the one who brought up the Titanic."

  He laughed. "Single-handed?"

  "Naturally."

  "There's your brook," he said, and they stood for a moment looking at the poor trickle of gurgling water. "Not exactly Niagara Falls."

  "It'll do. Where's your imagination?"

  "Under control, for the moment," he told her. "Fortunately." When she gave him a questioning look, he added, "A man's imagination can get him into hot water."

  And a woman's, she agreed inside herself, thinking how easily she could let herself fall under Jeremy's spell. Whenever she was with him, she felt on the brink of something. Whether that something meant disaster or bliss, she didn't know.

  After they'd spread their blanket, the lunch box was set to one side and forgotten for the moment as they silently settled down to appreciate their chosen spot.

  It was unexpected to discover a tiny woodland so close to civilization. Here, in a tangle of moss, yellow clover and thistle, grew wildflowers in shades of purple and gold. A brown squirrel near the water's edge spied them and scurried for cover. What other little creatures lay in hiding, watching them? Melissa wondered. Across the brook grew a strangely gnarled and twisted thorn-bush, like those pictured in children's books—those that hid the "wee folk" until they could safely creep out at night and join the fairy ring. Maybe those fairies and elves were even able to work their magic from their hiding places, she mused. A feeling of contentment had swept over her since she and Jeremy had come upon this spot. Certainly that feeling had reached him, too. He looked relaxed and more like the Jeremy who'd touched her heart.

  When he was deep in thought she could see the child in him. The child who could unreservedly thrill over a bustling fairground or the reaction of a midway crowd to a simple carnival ride.

  "Have you known Jean long?" he asked.

  She would have loved to paint him as he looked now. Though sometimes she questioned her ability to transfer exactly the look she wanted from her mind's eye to the canvas, this time she felt inspired. Certainly she could paint his eyes—eyes that were deep and luminous and full of mystery.

  He was staring at her now. "Have you?" he asked again, and she realized that her mind had wandered too far from the here and now.

  "Have I what?"

  "I asked you if you'd known Natalie's daughter long. Have you?" His patience seemed to be clinging to only a thread as he waited.

  "Yes," she answered, deciding not to volunteer one extra syllable of information.

  Sensitive eyes or no, his technique was about as subtle as that of a pie-in-the-face, baggy-pants comic. It was crystal clear now why he had allowed the two couples to separate. He figured there was comparative safety in the tourist bustle of Mystic. If he got Melissa alone, he could wheedle answers out of her. Hence the picnic with Mother Nature's backdrop.

  Think again, Mr. York.

  "Is she really as sweet and unspoiled as she appears to be?"

  "She is. Tell me, is Todd as unaffected as he pretends?"

  His eyebrows drew a fraction closer together in preparation for a scowl. He caught onto her game quickly. Each question he asked about her sister, she answered in monosyllables and countered with a similar one about Todd.

  "Is it true that music is the most important thing in her life? Or is it Natalie's ambition that drives her?"

  "Haven't you heard her play?"

  "No, but I'm told she's very good," he conceded.

  "Good? She's more than just good. What about Todd? Does he truly like the family business, or is it something he's gone into because it's expected of him?"

  Jeremy sucked in his breath, scooped up a handful of stones and one by one tossed them into the stream. He didn't seem angry, though. "You're being defensive again."

  "With good reason."

  "Oh?"

  "You can stop fretting about your brother," Melissa said, suddenly cutting to the heart of the matter. "She's fond of Todd, but she isn't contemplating anything rash."

  "You're sure of that?"

  "She may be young, but she has common sense enough to know that summertime romances usually don't work." Especially when everyone is against it, she might have added—but didn't, in deference to keeping the peace.

  A single ray of lemon-colored sunlight fought its way through the leafy spread of branches overhead to shine in Melissa's eyes. She shifted her weight to avoid its glare. At the same instant, Jeremy leaned back on his elbow. The action brought him precariously close.

  "What has common sense got to do with being in love?" he grunted, his lower lip jutting forward slightly.

  It would have been too obvious to move away, so she didn't. But her own lips felt swollen and feverish. She didn't dare to lick them for fear he might suspect the effect his nearness was having on her. It was warm. Too warm. "If a woman keeps her wits about her," she went on, "she can recognize danger in a relationship before it becomes a danger. She can stop before it reaches that crucial point."

  "Can she?"

  She wanted so badly to be kissed. She actually felt the physical need to be kissed. And it was growing stronger. Can she? Can she? His question vibrated through her mind over and over until it became her own question— until it had lost its meaning. She couldn't remember what she'd been saying.

  "And if she doesn't want to stop?" he persisted.

  "Stop?"

  He smiled and fastened his attention on her mouth. "You said…"

  She swallowed hard as he touched the fragile silver chain she wore around her neck. It held a heart-shaped locket her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday. It still held the picture of the boy she had dated in high school.

  "Does it open?"

  "Yes, but—"

  He pried the locket open, frowned at the picture inside, and closed it again without comment. "And you have this common sense you were talking about? You could put an end to a relationship you believed was threatening?"

  She stared at the locket, searching her mind for something sensible to say. "I've never gotten around to
changing the photograph. The opening is very small, you see, and I haven't wanted to cut a full-sized snapshot, just to get another face to put inside. If there were another face, that is."

  He nodded gravely, as if she had uttered great words of wisdom.

  Her flesh warmed at his touch. Ever-expanding circlets of pleasure rippled through her, as the pebbles Jeremy had tossed had made ripples on the water. Something—the soap he used, the shaving lotion, the shampoo—whatever it was, the subtle scent was will shattering.

  "How did you do this?" His index finger traced the fine white scar over her left eyebrow.

  She flinched as though he'd touched her with a hot poker. "I'd almost forgotten. How did you see it? It's so faint."

  "It stands out when your face is flushed. How did it happen?"

  So her face was flushed. "I fell out of an apple tree."

  "I might have known. You climb trees, too?"

  "Yes. That is, I used to."

  "Poor little girl." He leaned toward her and pressed his lips to the spot. Without volition, her hand shot up to touch the place where his lips had been.

  "I was trying to—"

  Her train of thought stopped when he brought his mouth to her ear and his lips moved. Had she said something? She was too far over the edge to comprehend or even care about words.

  The flutter of his breath communicated in its own way against her hypersensitive skin. It ripped away posturing and convention to reveal the true person shaped and molded by a lifetime of experience. It demanded naked acceptance. She wasn't ready for that— was she?

  The guidelines she'd set up for her own behavior flashed on the periphery of her awareness and were discarded. She made fists of her hands, sensing a mutiny, and tried to keep them from playing at Jeremy's shoulders and chest to keep them from digging, finger by finger, into the taut muscled flesh of him, from reveling in the strength and power that was his.

  No. She could still fight it. What had she been saying? She had to remember what she'd been saying. "I was trying to—to prove that I could climb as well as—"