Everything but the Baby (Harlequin Superromance) (11 page)

Daniel stood at attention, sliding his hands behind his back and dropping the picks on the counter. He'd never met Mr. Cotton, but he knew the general manager had a reputation for being an ogre, especially on event nights.

Damn it. What had he done wrong? Had one of the
guests complained? He had mixed up a couple of orders on table twelve, but the guy had seemed pretty cool about it. “Yes, sir. I'm O'Hara, sir.”

Mr. Cotton nodded. “Good. I need you to go out to the golf course ASAP. The eighteenth hole, just beyond the lounge. One of the female guests is sitting out there. I went out myself, though God knows I could ill afford the time, but she won't come in. She asked for you. You, specifically. What the hell does that mean, O'Hara?”

Daniel's face felt hot. “I don't know, sir. Who is it?”

“Ms. Greenwood.”

“Oh.” Daniel's stomach tightened, as if he were guilty of something, though he wasn't, not technically. The employee handbook didn't prohibit
dreaming
about letting guests sob on your shoulders. They couldn't control your mind, just because they paid you minimum wage to do their dirty work.

“O'Hara?”

“I don't know, sir. She plays a lot of tennis. She's in the pro shop a lot. That's where I usually work, so we've talked some.” He swallowed, realizing how lame this all sounded. “She's…um…very nice.”

Mr. Cotton gave Daniel an evil eye up and down, but clearly the problem of a woman sitting in the dark on the eighteenth hole was more important than finding out whether one of his part-time kids had been playing patty-cake with a guest.

“We'll talk about that later.” Mr. Cotton looked at his watch. A Rolex. “It's twelve forty-five. The sprinklers
are set to go off at one. That means you have exactly fourteen minutes to get her off that hole.”

Behind him, Boris made a chuckling sound.

Daniel ignored him. “Yes, sir.”

Leaving now would mean that Daniel missed out on some of the best tips. At the end of the night, guests were drunk, satisfied and about to head up to their big, luxurious rooms with their equally drunk significant others. They frequently laid some big ones on the table or even stuffed them in their favorite waiters' pockets.

But money was nothing compared to the thought that Janelle was out there, asking for him. He made it to the eighteenth hole in four minutes flat.

It was Janelle, all right. She wasn't dressed for the party. She had on jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was a mess from the breeze. She sat with her legs slightly apart, her feet flat on the ground and her elbows resting on her knees. She stared out toward the fairway, which sloped downhill. It was banked with sand traps on either side and a majestic line of oaks beyond the bunkers.

He looked around for an empty beer can or wine bottle. He'd never seen her drink before, but this was pretty odd behavior. He figured there had to be liquor somewhere in the picture.

He found nothing like that. He was still behind her, and she probably hadn't heard him come up. With a low moan, she bent her head over her chest, and in the light of the nearly full moon he saw her back shake.

Suddenly he knew exactly what was wrong. She had come back from her trip early. Maybe she'd gone
looking for Lincoln, maybe it was just bad luck. But somehow she'd seen him. With Allison.

And she'd just run away. She'd run this far, and now she didn't know where to go from here.

He'd felt like that a million times.

“Hi, Ms. Greenwood,” he said quietly.

She turned. Her face was streaked with tears, just as he'd known it would be. “Hi, Danny,” she said, trying to smile. “Thanks for coming. I hope I didn't get you in trouble.”

“Naw,” he said, though he wasn't at all sure trouble wouldn't make an appearance tomorrow. “It's cool.”

“I just wanted…” She wiped the heels of her hands over her cheeks, trying to dry things off. “I don't know. I just wanted to talk to someone. Someone nice.”

“Thanks,” he said. He felt awkward, standing here, looming over her, so he arranged himself on the grass. He sat close enough so that they wouldn't have to shout, but kept a polite distance, just in case Mr. Cotton was watching from the clubhouse.

This close, though, he could smell the alcohol. Somewhere, sometime tonight, she'd been drinking. Girlie drinks, from the lingering sweet scent, but a lot of them.

She didn't speak right away and he was conscious of his watch ticking away his remaining ten minutes. Just inches under the turf where they sat, the sprinklers were getting ready to leap into action.

Still, he thought it might be a mistake to rush her.

Fiona was like this sometimes, wanting to talk but not knowing where to start. If you pushed her too much, she'd
slam shut, like when you type in the wrong password too often and your computer locks you out.

Finally Janelle sniffed hard, the sound of a woman determined to pull herself together. She sighed, a cloud of strawberry daiquiri floating in the air between them.

“Have you ever been in love, Danny?”

So he'd been right. This
was
about Lincoln Gray.

“I don't know,” he said. “I was pretty obsessed with this girl last year. I thought it was love. Maybe it was. I did a lot of dumb things for her.”

“Yeah? That sounds like love, all right.”

Janelle shifted, leaning back on her elbows as if her tailbone had begun to hurt from the hard ground. He wondered how long she'd been here. He could already feel the damp grass making a stain on his white uniform.

She gazed up at the stars. “So? What did you do?”

He frowned. “The dumb things, you mean?”

“Yeah. I'd like to know.” She smiled at him, but her eyes were still watery in the moonlight. “I'll bet your dumb things aren't as dumb as my dumb things.”

“I bet they are.” He got a sick feeling, just remembering the whole mess. But if it would make Janelle feel better, he didn't mind talking about it. It would be a distraction for her, anyhow.

“Well, okay.” He plucked at the grass. “Bottom line. I stole a car for her.”

She sat up at that. “No way. You're making this up.”

“I wish. It gets even dumber. She'd already broken up with me. She'd started going out with this college guy in Miami. She snuck down to see him one weekend. So
then I get this call at, like, three in the morning. It's Beth and she's bawling like a baby. The guy took her to a frat party and I guess things got really ugly. She was calling from this pay phone in the middle of nowhere. She wanted me to come get her.”

“Oh, no. And you did it?”

“Yeah. I was staying at a friend's house. I didn't have a car, and I couldn't call my folks. They didn't like Beth. They thought she was trashy.”

She murmured something inaudible, but he knew what she meant. He made a face, acknowledging that his parents might possibly have been right about that. “Anyhow, I guess I panicked, thinking of her in some strange place, all alone, with the guy looking for her. I took my friend's car. Problem is, it turns out the car wasn't really his. It was his dad's.”

Janelle moaned.

“Yeah. His dad threw a fit. Called the cops. I brought Beth and the car back in the morning and my friend's dad dropped the charges, but of course my folks had already found out. All kinds of hell broke loose at my house, I can tell you.”

She watched him for a minute. Then she put her hand on his knee. “That's rotten,” she said. “You were trying to do the right thing. You were her knight in shining armor. Surely that counts for something.”

He grunted. “I guess it counts for my being alive to tell the story.”

She left her hand there for what seemed like an eternity. Daniel tried not to feel it searing through his uniform. Finally, she pulled it back and he started breathing again.

She looked up at the sky, which had clouded over. “Want to know what my dumb things are?”

He nodded. “Sure. If you want to tell me.”

“I fell in love with him. Practically the first time I met him. And then I gave him money.” She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe it herself. “A lot of money.”

Daniel didn't know what to say. The truth was, he was out of his league here. He was talking about high school crushes and frat parties and getting grounded. She was talking about real life. Money and probably sex and real, true broken hearts.

“Why did I do that, Danny? Why? It was insane. I already knew that was what he wanted from me. And I'd even seen him with this new woman before. Remember when you saw me crying in the bathroom?”

He nodded.

“So it wasn't as if I hadn't been warned. That's how stupid I was. And you see, I'm not really—”

She broke off suddenly as if she didn't know what to say, either.

“You're not what?”

“I'm not really that stupid. But I guess I just—well, I guess I just fell in love with him. And love makes you stupid, doesn't it?”

Danny hesitated.
Shut up,
he instructed himself.
Just be smart and shut up
.

But of course he couldn't do it.

“I don't think you're stupid,” he said, ignoring that inner voice, which was telling him to keep his answers short, noncommittal, just yes, ma'am, no, ma'am. She
was drunk, and tomorrow she'd probably be horrified to remember that the pimply kid from the pro shop had come on to her. “I think—I think you're beautiful. I think you're wonderful.”

He held his breath.

But she didn't even answer him.

Crap
. He should have bitten his tongue off before he let that come out. What the hell was the matter with him? She was the one who'd been drinking, not him.

He was the one who needed his head examined.

Clearing his throat, he looked at his watch. “Anyhow, Ms. Greenwood, we should go back inside. The sprinklers have an automatic timer, and they're going to go on any minute.”

“Okay,” she said in a muffled voice. “But Danny. Just one thing.”

He turned in her direction. And then she kissed him.

It didn't last long. Just long enough for his heart to explode like the Fourth of July. Just long enough for the hard plastic pipes of the sprinklers to shoot out of the ground, spraying geysers of warm, pulsing water that soaked them both.

A
LLISON
didn't get back to the Hideaway until 2:00 a.m.

Somehow she'd talked Lincoln into bringing her home, instead of to his place. That was one victory. Now if she could just manage to get out of Lincoln's car and upstairs to her room.

Alone.

Unfortunately, it was starting to look more and more as if that mission truly was impossible.

“What time shall I pick you up in the morning?” Lincoln's voice was pitched low, deliberately sensual, like someone on a 900 number. Or maybe that was unfair—maybe he'd always sounded this way. Maybe she was just tired and getting cranky.

She stifled a yawn and caught his fingers as they played with her spaghetti straps. She wound her own through his and squeezed as if she enjoyed the contact, though it was really a block.

“I don't know,” she said, trying to smile. “I do have to get at least a little sleep, you know.”

“Do you?” He leaned toward her and nipped at one of her fingertips. “Are you sure about that?”

Good grief.
He hadn't been this interested in sex
when they were engaged. The physical part of their relationship had been okay, but neither of them had been obsessive about it.

Of course, back then, she hadn't owned any little gold come-hither dresses.

He began to nose around on her neck, as if he'd buried something under her hair and needed to find it. It tickled unpleasantly, making her skin crawl, and she fought the urge to hunch her shoulders.

This was exactly why she'd wanted to have the independence of her own car tonight. But Lincoln had insisted on driving, and she hadn't wanted to annoy him right off the bat. She assumed he wanted to get a look at the Hideaway—and possibly show off his wheels, a brand-new top-of-the-line BMW. Though he didn't hide the fact that it was a borrowed car, he did hint that he was testing it out, deciding whether to buy one of his own.

Or perhaps he was hinting that Allison ought to buy one for him. Maybe instead of that boat she'd dangled earlier?

Overall, if you didn't count this part, it had been a successful evening. As Mark predicted, Lincoln seemed thrilled by her new look.

It had been heady at first, very flattering. But it hadn't led him to any declarations of love or proposals of marriage. He hadn't even committed to exclusivity. Janelle Greenwood might not be on his mind, but she was still in the picture. The dress had spawned nothing but salacious glances and wandering hands.

After five hours of it, Allison wanted only to go
upstairs and peel the damn thing off. It had created a monster out of Lincoln, and, even worse, it was wildly uncomfortable. She'd spent all night sucking her stomach muscles in so hard it felt like her belly button had bruised her spine.

“Lincoln, I really need to get some—”

He brought his head up and silenced her with a kiss.

His lips were both familiar and shockingly strange. She tried to relax into it, and it wasn't that hard. It hadn't been long—of course she knew his technique, his movements, his pressure. But though she still remembered the
how,
she had completely forgotten the
why
.

Had his kisses always left her this cold? How, if this mission dragged on too long, was she going to keep him from sensing the difference?

And then, thank goodness, she heard someone rapping at the window.
Saved
. It could be the twins trying to spy or her grandfather with a shotgun. It could even be the urban-legend hook murderer who tormented couples in cars and she'd still be delighted to see him.

“Oh, dear,” she said with fake disappointment. She pressed her hands against Lincoln's chest, trying to create a little breathing room. “I wonder who it is.”

She turned, but she could see no more than a shadow outside her door. How embarrassing. They'd been in here so long the glass had fogged over. She jammed the button, rolling down the window before Lincoln could protest.

Mark stuck his head in. “Hi,” he said innocently. “I
saw you guys out here. It's pretty late. I just wanted to be sure everything was okay.”

“Hi! Yes, we're fine, we're fine. I was just coming inside.” Allison mouthed a silent but heartfelt
thank you
to Mark, then swiveled back to Lincoln. “I really should go in before the family gets worried.”

He squinted toward Mark's shadowy form. “Is that your uncle?”

“No,” she said. “It's—” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “It's one of the other guests. I'd introduce you, but I forget his name.”

Lincoln nodded, but he looked annoyed. Allison couldn't blame him, really. It would be pretty cheeky for a total stranger to interrupt like this. And Mark was standing pat, right next to the car, as if he were one of those socially tone-deaf people who couldn't tell when he wasn't wanted.

“All right,” Lincoln said reluctantly. “You go on in, but I'll pick you up at noon, all right? We'll have lunch at The Mangrove, then hit the beach.”

She nodded. “I can't wait,” she forced herself to say. And then, squeezing Lincoln's hand one more time, she felt for the handle and opened the door.

He drove off with more tire action than was strictly necessary. Allison assumed it was a subtle eat-my-dust message to the interloper who had spoiled his fun.

It didn't seem to bother the interloper one bit. In fact, Mark simply chuckled as they watched the car disappear around the corner. “Kind of a bad-tempered cuss, isn't he?”

“Not usually. Just frustrated right now, I'm afraid. Thank God you came.”

“I waited a while, to see if you were going to take him inside. But when you didn't, I decided you might have reached a stalemate.”

Allison laughed. “More like the dating version of chicken. He wasn't leaving and I wasn't inviting him up. We could have been out here all night, each of us waiting for the other to blink, if you hadn't saved me.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said with a smile. “Although it did occur to me… You might want to come up with a plan B, in case I'm not around next time.”

“Yes, I know. I was already trying to decide whether I should develop a migraine or a sudden allergy to shellfish.”

“The migraine,” he said, laughing softly. “Women do, after all, have a time-honored tradition of getting headaches.”

After that, they walked quietly through the soft night air, around the side passage, into the courtyard. Guests had key cards that opened the doors at the end of the wings, so that they could come and go without entering the lobby.

When they reached the lighted pool, they paused, as if by mutual agreement. The water was so still it seemed to disappear. They could see all the way to the bottom, as though the pool were empty.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of the surf. It was a sensual sound, yet peaceful, as if the waves and the sand were old lovers who knew each other well.

She gathered up her hair and lifted it onto the top of her head, relishing the cool breeze on her neck after the stuffy, overused air of the car.

The night smelled salty and clean. She tried to take a deep breath, but of course she couldn't.

“Oh, God,” she groaned softly. “I have got to get out of this dress this
instant
.”

Mark chuckled again. For some reason, the sound went right through her, and she shivered.

“I'd be happy to help you with that, ma'am.”

His words were supposed to be playful, of course. But somehow they weren't. She let her shivers die down, and then, with her arms still raised, still holding up her hair, she glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes.

“You don't really mean that,” she said.

Even she could hear that it sounded like a dare.

He tilted his head, his eyes bright and shimmering in the light from the pool.

“Don't I?”

He seemed to hesitate, just an instant. Then he took her by the shoulders, moving her backward until she was almost up against him. She felt his hands at her neckline, and then she heard the long, slow hum as the zipper descended.

The dress loosened blissfully and the night air rushed in. She wore no bra and as the air reached her breasts their tips hardened.

It was a precarious, strangely exciting moment. If she shrugged, if she let one shoulder fall even an inch below the other, the dress would slide to the ground.
Somehow she kept her back ramrod straight, her shoulders squared as he skimmed one knuckle down her spine, retracing the path of the zipper.

She shut her eyes, imagining how it would feel if he reached his hands inside the fabric that loosely covered her to cup her bare breasts. Imagining how she would turn to him, and…

“I mean it, all right,” he said, his lips close to her neck. “The problem is, I don't think you do.”

“But you're wrong. I'm…” She couldn't decide exactly what to say. Her body ached to do this, to let the dress drop and feel his hands all over her. Her mind, however, was balking, irrationally insecure, terrified of making another mistake. “I'm so—”

“I know,” he whispered. “You're confused and you're hurt and you're lonely. You're looking for someone to put all those broken dreams back together again.”

“Maybe,” she said slowly. “But is that so wrong?”

“It's not wrong at all. It's just that…I'm not that guy, Allison.” His voice had hardened. “I'm just one more selfish bastard who wants something from you.”

She put her hand up to her breast, securing the dress. She felt her heart tripping against her palm. “What do you want?”

“To touch you. To make love to you. But that's all. You need to understand that. The only difference between me and Lincoln Gray is that I'm willing to admit it.”

She didn't speak. She didn't know what to say.

“And that's not enough for you, is it, Allison? You want more than that.”

She could hardly think clearly, standing here with her dress unzipped and a desire like nothing she'd ever experienced pulsing through every vein.

But she
had
to think clearly. This unnamed emptiness, this hunger to connect with another human being, had already made her do one very stupid thing. Somehow, she had to master it. She had to be stronger than the sum of her primitive yearnings.

“Yes,” she said finally, though she knew it meant this sizzling, thrilling interlude was over. “I'm sorry, Mark. I want a whole lot more than that.”

 

M
ARK STAYED
out of Allison's way the next day, letting her handle her afternoon at the beach by herself. Let her trot out her headache, if she must. Or let her sleep with the guy. Either way, it was none of Mark's affair. He'd been a fool last night. He'd come within one sparkling spaghetti strap of making love to Allison right there on the pool deck.

He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

She must have done okay, because she was back at the Hideaway by sundown. He'd arranged a spur-of-the-moment meeting in Fort Lauderdale with the bank people and a conference-call hookup to his San Francisco office. By the time he returned, the family was eating dinner by the pool, with Flannery stuck to Allison's side, jabbering away like a little monkey.

Mark said hi, but then went up to his room and worked. His agency had two events coming up next month, and, as good as his account managers were, they couldn't handle it all without him.

She called his room around ten, but he didn't pick up. When he listened to the message later, he thought she sounded a little discouraged. Not much to report, she said. Lincoln was still interested, but just as clearly wasn't ready to commit.

And one more thing. She'd discovered, to her sorrow, that she had indeed developed an allergy to seafood.

By the time Mark woke up the next morning, around sunrise, he felt much more focused. He figured it was time he did something productive, instead of leaving everything to Allison.

He showered, put on a pair of khakis and a golf shirt, then made his way to The Mangrove, determined to be there by eight, which he'd learned was Lincoln's regular tee time. He checked in at the pro shop, bought a month-long golf pass and, as soon as he saw Lincoln walk in, asked whether anyone was looking for a partner, a ten handicap.

Mark actually was a six handicap, but he'd done his research. Lincoln was a seven and would probably prefer to take on a player he was guaranteed to beat.

This had been a long shot, but the fates were with him. Lincoln, who had brought along Janelle and one other guy, a short, balding thirtysomething in green pants, signed in. The kid taking names said something quietly and pointed his pencil toward Mark.

This was the tricky part. If Lincoln remembered Mark from the other night, that might be the kiss of death. Luckily, no recognition dawned on Lincoln's
thin, fair face. He came over with hand outstretched, looking delighted.

“Lincoln Gray,” he announced. “You're looking for a partner, Mr. Travis? You're a ten handicap? That's perfect. You'll fit right in with Will and me. Janelle here is still a beginner, so we go a little slower and hand out quite a few gimmes. You okay with that?”

Janelle, who filled out a golf shirt like no one Mark had ever seen, looked miserable. “Why don't I sit this one out, Lincoln? You three guys play. You'll have much more fun, and I don't mind a bit.”

Poor kid. She kept glancing at Lincoln, placating and eager. She'd probably offer to carry his golf clubs in her teeth if she thought it would make him happy.

Mark wondered if Tracy had looked at Lincoln like that.

But he couldn't allow himself to think about Tracy right now. About this slick bastard breaking his sister's heart. If he did, he'd take a nine iron and wrap it around Lincoln Gray's throat.

“Please, don't stay behind on my account,” Mark said quickly, smiling at Janelle. “I am definitely a casual golfer. I'll probably need a few gimmes myself.”