Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (18 page)

It was possible, of course, that he was tired of her
company. They had been together almost exclusively for the better part of three
days. Maybe he felt the need for masculine conversation? He didn’t strike her
as one of the boys, and he had said himself that he preferred his privacy
rather than staying in close quarters with the other men, but there had to be
some explanation for him leaving her by herself.

It was growing hot on the veranda as the sun leaned toward
the west, but Kelly did not like the idea of retreating into the closed-in
walls of the house. The water of the lake, ruffled now and then with long, slow
waves caused by the wake of a boat far out in the channel, looked inviting.
What would Charles do, she wondered, if she decided to go swimming? She could
see no reason why he should object. He had used the floating raft often enough.

A short time later she left the house wearing her bikini
under a short jacket of white terry cloth and with her feet thrust into
sandals. At the point where the path leading down to the lake left the concrete
walk between the house and the cottage, she paused. She could leave Charles to
find out what she was doing himself, or she could tell him. What better excuse
than the last did she need for interrupting his meeting?

A daring smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, she
continued along the walk.

“Charles?”

She did not quite dare to go all the way to the door, but
called to him from the steps to the porch of the cottage. Standing with her
hands pushed into the hands of her toweling jacket, she awaited developments.

They were not long in coming. Charles emerged from the house
with a scowl drawing his brows together. “What is it?”

“I wanted to tell you I was going swimming.” With her head
held high, she met his gaze squarely. Behind him, the older man they called the
senator had come to the screen door. Kelly gave him a smile and a quick nod.

Charles flicked a glance behind him, and his lips tightened.
Without being obvious about it, he shifted, cutting off her view of the door. “Is
that all?”

“Yes, except that you are welcome to come with me, if you
like.”

“A magnificent concession, all things considered,” he
drawled. “How could I refuse?”

“Would you like me to wait for you?” she inquired, forcing
her lips to curve into a smile.

“By no means, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

There was nothing for her to do except turn and leave. As
she made her way down to the lake, she stared down at the path snaking away
under her feet. Charles thought she should recognize the senator, just as he
had expected her to recognize his name. That she could do neither was
maddening. If she knew those two things, she was certain she would have the key
to what was taking place here. She would know the answer, good or bad, once and
for all.

She left her wrap hanging on one of the low posts at the end
of the catwalk. With a clean dive, she went into the water and swam slowly
toward the floating platform. When she reached it, she touched it with her hand
as if greeting an old friend, then turned to her back. She floated, staring up
at the sky overhead that was colored the soft, heat-faded blue of late summer.
On the surface, the water was like a warm bath, though now and then she drifted
through shafts of coolness caused by deep, shifting currents or the upward
spiraling of underwater springs. Now and then a small fish, a bream or a perch,
nibbled at her side, but she knew from long experience that they could not hurt
her. The sun dazzled her eyes and she closed them, letting herself go, allowing
her thoughts to scatter, mindlessly permitting herself to be borne by the
water.

It came seeping into her consciousness then, the knowledge
of where she had heard the name Duralde before. She knew, though what good it
would do her she could not decide.

Water was a good communicator of sound. She heard the splash
as Charles struck the lake, and the roiling of the water as he made for the
platform. Turning to her stomach, she struck out, setting a course that would
allow her to join him there.

The platform, or raft, of thick, rough-cut lumber, dipped on
its anchor chains as Kelly hauled herself up on it. Charles, sitting on the
edge, extended his hand to grasp her arm. Off balance, not expecting the extra
help, she toppled against him. The moment was not of her making, but it would
serve.

With a breathless sensation in her chest and laughter in her
gray eyes, she lay in his arms. “Sorry,” she murmured.

The muscles of his biceps tightened, and the bronze of his
skin turned a shade darker. With her shoulder pressed against his chest she
could feel the hard beat of his heart. “My pleasure,” he said, his voice rough.

Without hurrying, she pushed herself upright to sit beside
him, kicking her feet in the water.

Aware of the acceleration of her own pulse, Kelly looked
away out over the lake. She thought of one or two things to say, but they
bordered on being too flirtatious. It would not do to launch at once into the
subject uppermost in her mind. She compromised with a white lie. “I hope I didn’t
take you away from anything important.”

“It didn’t matter,” he answered, his tone smoother now. “The
older man you saw in the door at the cottage has been wanting to get a closer
look at you ever since you came, but especially since I told him this morning
about the way you doctored my coffee.”

“Oh?” She wasn’t too sure she liked that.

“Don’t get on your high horse. He just wanted a glimpse of
the woman who has been keeping me so busy.”

“I’m always happy to provide amusement,” she said her tone
even.

“As far as that goes, I think the laugh was on me. I was so
certain, you see, that this would be a nice, quiet place to stay, without
distractions or disturbances of any kind,”

She was a disturbance and a distraction to him; that had a
promising sound. Now would be the time to see if she couldn’t upset him a
little more. “I’ve been thinking. There was a man named Duralde who used to go
fishing now and then with Judge Kavanaugh. The judge usually kept his fish
fries for his cronies and business associates separate from his outings with
his family, so I don’t believe I ever met this man, but, I remember Mary
mentioning him. I had the impression he was an older man, the judge’s age. If I’m
correct, he must have been your father.”

“That’s right.” Charles spoke in a quiet timbre, giving
nothing away of his feelings.

“He was a man of influence: of what kind, I’m not sure. I
believe he was killed some months ago in an accident.” She was not certain she
would have remembered the last point if George had not mentioned something
about the way Charles’s father had died. He had seemed to hint there was a
mystery about it, but if so, there had been no details in the small news item
she had read.

He did not reply. She turned her head to look at him, but
his gaze was fastened on the far shoreline, his features grim and unreadable.
She didn’t know what she had expected; anger perhaps, or else some indication
that she had stumbled upon an important piece of the puzzle. As it was, she was
left with no more than a vague idea of how the judge had come to lend his place
on the lake to Charles.

“Well?” she said, her patience at an end.

“Well what?” He swung to face her then. “If you are waiting
for me to enlighten you further, you will wait a long time. I thought you were
going to relax and stop tormenting yourself like this.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it, and I don’t see how you can
expect it. I’m not stupid.”

“No,” he said, the expression in his dark eyes suddenly wry,
“and I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry.”

Nine

The sun set in orange splendor. It flung great swatches of
crimson and mauve across the western sky, giving the reflective waters of the
lake a pink-and-blue opalescent sheen. The trees on the horizon were a ragged
black line, while nearer at hand there was a silvery lilac gleam on the
undersides of the leaves of the live oaks.

Kelly watched the display from the veranda. Its melancholy
beauty touched a somber chord inside her, increasing, rather than lightening,
the numb depression that gripped her.

What was the matter with her? What had become of her anger
and outrage, her fine, spitting defiance? Had hopelessness made her a coward,
or was it simply that such a state of high emotion could not be sustained
without the fear that had fueled it? For she had to admit that she was no
longer afraid of Charles. His nearness troubled her, and she was always
intensely aware of him but he did not affect her anymore with that rush of
painful apprehension. It was peculiar, as though exposure to constant danger
had given her a contempt for it. She would go on fighting him, no matter how
devious the manner, but her heart was no longer in it. Her heart?

It was with a sense of relief that she caught sight of
movement among the trees. It was George, walking quietly from the cottage to
the boathouse in the deepening twilight. As she watched, he entered the
building. Within a few minutes, there came the sound of the entry port opening,
followed by the rumble of a motor. The judge’s bass boat eased from the
shelter. The throbbing noise of it changed as it was put into gear, then it
glided away across the glassy waters of the lake, heading without haste for the
channel.

There was no point in even wondering where he was going.
Kelly turned back into the house.

Preparing dinner was a means of passing time, as well as a
possible way to endear herself to Charles. The way to a man’s heart was through
his stomach, the old saying went.

Hearts again. She had the subject on the brain. With a shake
of her head, she began to comb the kitchen for the ingredients to make red
beans and rice.

A little ham, a little sausage, a bit of hamburger, onions,
garlic, celery salt, pepper, tomato sauce, parsley, thyme, and the contents of
a can labeled kidney beans were soon bubbling in a pot. With that out of the
way, Kelly put on the rice, taking great pains since she wanted it to turn out
light and fluffy, as good rice should be. Red beans and rice, a south-Louisiana
favorite, was a meal in itself. All it needed as a complement was a green
salad. She rubbed the salad bowl with garlic, then washed lettuce and pulled it
apart. Cutting up a handful of small and juicy ripe cherry tomatoes, she put
them in, then set the salad in the refrigerator to crisp. Next, she made iced
tea for herself; Charles could have wine with his meal if he wanted it, but she
intended to keep a clear head.

It was just as well that she had gone to so much effort.
About the time she had everything under control, Charles strolled into the
kitchen. He leaned in the doorway a moment, watching her as she moved back and
forth. He had come from the direction of the bedrooms in the back of the house
where he had been showering, taking his own good time about it. Pushing away
from the door frame, he lifted the lids of various pots and pans, sniffing
appreciatively. Before he could ask, she told him what she was cooking.

“Smells delicious. I’m starving.”

“Everything is ready; it only needs putting on the table.”

“Is there enough for three?” he asked, sending her a quick
look.

“More than enough. Were you thinking of inviting your friend
in the guest cottage?”

“That’s right.”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome,” she said, her gray
gaze clear. The senator would be alone since George, so far as she knew, had
not returned.

“I had in mind something more on the order of a tray for
him.”

“All right.” She turned to the cabinet to take down an extra
plate.

When the tray had been arranged, Charles picked it up, and threading
his way around the dining-room table, started down the hall.

“Where are you going?” She smiled a little as she waved a
hand toward the front door. “If you will remember, the cottage is that way?”

He stopped and turned back. “I know,” he said, his voice
quiet, so soft she could barely hear it. “But our friend isn’t.”

The truth dawned on Kelly as she watched his broad back
disappear down the hallway. Under the cover of darkness, while she was busy in
the kitchen, Charles had spirited the man he called the senator into the house,
establishing him in one of the back bedrooms. Why? Did it have anything to do
with the fact that George was not there to guard him? Or was the connection
with the boat with the spotlight the night before? The questions were bothersome,
but she left them unasked, knowing she was unlikely to receive direct answers.

They ate in silence. Once Charles, in an odd reversal of his
usual habit, rose from the table and opened the drapes at the windows across
the front of the house before returning to his chair. Despite the fact that the
house was too high above the water level to permit anyone on the lake to see
inside, and the unlikelihood of anyone else being in a position to look in, it
made Kelly uncomfortable. She did not like knowing that they were illuminated
under the light above the table as surely as actors under a spotlight on the
stage.