Eye of the Beholder (17 page)

Beliveau’s rucksack was three pounds light.

Rafe made a note of the error on his clipboard. He didn’t admonish the applicant, nor did he praise him for his orienteering skill. There would be no feedback whatsoever during the selection process, just as there seldom was feedback during a real mission. Delta needed people who could work independently, who relied on their own judgment and their conscience to do what was required of them. Few applicants succeeded. Sometimes the entire class washed out. Rafe wasn’t sure about Sergeant Beliveau’s chances, but he privately hoped the man would make it.

One slip shouldn’t condemn a man. One moment of weakness didn’t negate an otherwise spotless record. Sure, Delta wanted only the best of the best, but the men weren’t machines. As long as the objective was achieved, why couldn’t a soldier be human and think about the texture of a woman’s hair in his fingers and the taste of her lips on his tongue…

Aw, hell. He was doing it again.

A message was waiting for Rafe when they returned to the base camp he and the rest of the selection team had set up for the exercise. He was to report back to Fort Bragg as soon as his replacement arrived.

Rafe felt a low buzz of interest stir in his veins. This could only mean one thing. Eagle Squadron was preparing for another mission.

Good. That was what he needed. Maybe then he’d be able to get Glenna off his mind.

Glenna ran her finger down a leaf of the potted fern that sat on her desk. “Yes, Mother,” she said into the phone. “I realize how awful these past few weeks must have been for you. I’m sorry.”

Her mother continued. “I had thought it was over, but a foreign-sounding man called this morning wanting information about you. Harrigan and the rest of the staff have done a wonderful job of putting these reporters off, of course, but it’s disturbing.”

Harrigan was the Vanderhayden butler, and was an even bigger stickler for proprieties than Glenna’s mother. Still, the publicity hadn’t been as bad as Glenna had feared—as usually happened in situations when Delta Force was involved, only the bare facts had been released to the media. When the press had learned that no one was willing to provide any details, they had soon lost interest. “I’ve been referring reporters to the army’s public relations officer,” Glenna said. “I’ll give you the number again if you like.”

“Oh, we have the number.” A delicate sigh came through the line. “This whole situation is just so difficult. The strain has been very hard on me.”

And what about me, Mother?
Glenna thought.
Don’t you think it might have been difficult for me, too?

Naturally she didn’t voice the thought aloud. She never did. She was the strong one, wasn’t she? “Have you seen Dr. Gadsen?”

“Yes. Theodore is such a gem and always so understanding.”

“What did he say?

“He’s concerned about my blood pressure, as usual. He told me to avoid stress.”

“That’s good advice. How are you feeling today?”

“A little tired, but I’ll manage. Oh, the Spencer-Smythes are coming to dinner tonight. You’ll be here, too, won’t you?”

Glenna stroked the leaf again. The segments parted under the pressure of her fingertip, then once more resumed their pattern.

That could be said about everything, couldn’t it? Whatever external force was introduced, things just naturally wanted to fall back to the way they had always been. Like this fern. Like the pattern of her life.

And that was good. That was exactly what she wanted.

She withdrew her hand from the fern and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was sure I’d mentioned this already. There’s a fund-raiser this evening that I should oversee, so I won’t be able to join you for dinner. The proceeds are going to the orphans of September Eleventh, and I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Of course, that’s such an important cause. What about afterward? There are some interesting people I’d love to introduce to you.”

“Please, don’t expect me. I don’t know how long it will go on.”

There was another delicate sigh and the clink of china. Glenna pictured her mother reclining on the antique chaise longue in the master bedroom, tapestry pillows behind her back and a gold-rimmed teacup in her tiny hands. Victoria Vanderhayden was a fragile woman. Glenna felt a familiar stab of guilt that she’d been the one to bring this latest scandal into her home. “But my calendar is clear for next Friday,” Glenna said. “I promise I’ll drive out to see you then, would that be all right?”

“That would be marvelous, darling. Shall we say sevenish?”

“More like seven-thirty.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have cook prepare something special. Wear the beaded Dior. It’s so slimming.”

Glenna hung up the phone, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the tight throb of an impending headache. Yes, everything was falling back into its familiar pattern.

There was a soft knock on her office door before it clicked open. “Miss Hastings?”

At her assistant’s voice, Glenna schooled her features into a pleasant expression and looked up. “Yes, Janet?”

“The board meeting scheduled for next Wednesday has been postponed until Monday the week after.” Janet Baker moved into the office, a large manilla envelope in her hand. She had started working for Glenna as an intern two years ago and still hadn’t completely lost her puppy-dog eagerness. Glenna liked her because she usually spoke her mind. Janet paused in front of the desk, her hair flopping over her ears as she tilted her head to study the fern. “Is that another new plant?”

Glenna nodded. “Yes, I picked it up this morning after my meeting with the flori

“It looks nice.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

“It’s amazing what a change a bit of greenery makes, Miss Hastings. This office looks so much better now that you’ve added all these plants. That’s not to say it looked bad before,” she added hurriedly. “I only meant—”

“It’s all right, Janet. And I agree. I think it needed a splash of color.” Glenna looked around. Rain drizzled down the windows, casting a restful gray sheen over the taupe walls and beige carpet. She’d always felt at ease in this office. The neutral colors were businesslike and unobtrusive. The teak furniture was uncluttered and functional. Yet the desk did look better with a vibrant green fern to interrupt the large expanse of wood. The potted palm beside the filing cabinet lent warmth to the room despite the rain. The narcissus on the credenza was just beginning to unfold its dainty white flowers, adding a touch of whimsy to the atmosphere.

A psychiatrist like Dr. Colbert would have a field day with this sudden interest in tropical flora. What did it mean? Was it symptomatic of a deeper problem? Was it an attempt to bring pieces of the rain forest back to Manhattan?

Perhaps. If so, it wasn’t doing any harm. She had resumed her normal routine, just as she had been counseled to do. She was doing her best to look ahead, not back. She could go for hours at a time without thinking of Rafe.

And when she did, it didn’t hurt quite as intensely anymore. She had everything in perspective now, so she rarely cried. And it had been days since she’d dialed his number. She never let the calls go through, of course—she was in control of her feelings.

Yes, she was much better now. She gestured toward the envelope that Janet held. “Is that the information I was waiting for?”

“Oh, right. It just came.” Janet handed the envelope to Glenna. “But I’m confused. I thought we were working on a reception in Montego Bay.”

“We are. This is for another project.”

“In Rocama? But that’s where your plane… I mean, why would anyone want to go there?”

“The entire country can’t be blamed for the actions of a few individuals. I believe the Rocaman people would benefit from having a more varied economy.” Glenna waited until Janet had closed the office door behind her, then took a deep breath and withdrew a sheaf of papers from the envelope.

There was more here than she’d anticipated. The regulations covering foreign investment in Rocama were an orgy of red tape. Without the cooperation of the island nation’s government it could take years to work through it.

Proposing new investments wasn’t part of Glenna’s job. She didn’t have the authority to determine the Winston Hotel chain’s policy. Yet she knew most of the members of the board of directors, either professionally or socially. Many of them would be at the fund-raiser tonight, and she intended to make full use of the occasion to introduce her idea of developing a tourist resort in Rocama. If she could sway even one board member, then her preliminary study could be presented at the next meeting.

What would Dr. Colbert s about this? she wondered. More symptoms of being unable to let go? Or was it a means to bring closure to the memories?

At least Glenna’s memories of the natural beauty of Rocama had been real. Her perception of that hadn’t been distorted by stress. The research she’d done so far supported what she remembered—the island had tremendous tourism potential just waiting to be tapped.

Unfortunately, the Juarez family’s influence appeared to extend all the way to the government. Leonardo Juarez liked things the way they were. As long as the country remained undeveloped, he could operate his criminal business with impunity. Why else would the Rocaman foreign ministry be so uncooperative?

Glenna slipped the envelope into the project file and set it on the side of her desk. She would wade through the remainder of this information later. There were too many other things to deal with that
were
part of her job, beginning with the threatened walkout by the hotel catering staff. The legal department was working on a new contract—she needed to check on their progress before she decided whether she should investigate other options for this evening.

She reached for the phone just as it buzzed. She tucked the receiver between her shoulder and her ear and picked up a pen. “Yes, Janet?”

“There’s a Mr. Marek here to see you.”

The pen dropped from her fingers. She couldn’t have heard her assistant correctly. “Who?”

“Mr. Rafal Marek. He doesn’t have an appointment.” There was a pause. “What would you like me to tell him?”

The receiver clattered to the desk. Glenna fumbled it back into its cradle, then got to her feet so fast her chair toppled backward. Rafe was here.
Here.
Not in her memories or her dreams, but here at the hotel. On the other side of that taupe-painted wood panel.

She was halfway to the door before she caught herself. No. She wouldn’t be a fool again. There would be no excuse this time. She was in control. She was strong. She wasn’t some pathetic textbook case—

The office door slammed open. Rafe was framed in the opening, his hands at his sides, his weight on the balls of his feet in what she’d come to think of as his warrior’s stance. His gaze scanned the office, then locked on Glenna. “Are you all right? I heard a crash.”

His voice was the same. It sent bursts of pleasure over her nerves like hot syrup over dark chocolate. His big body filled the doorway, his shoulders impossibly wide beneath his black golf shirt. His eyes were even bluer than she remembered. The mere sight of him stirred a hunger she didn’t need a psychologist to interpret.

“Miss Hastings, do you want me to call Security?”

Glenna brushed away Janet’s question with a wave of her hand. She couldn’t take her eyes off Rafe. He stepped into the room and closed the door.

For an endless moment they simply stared at each other. Glenna never knew who moved first. It didn’t matter. Before she had time to whisper his name, she found herself in his arms.

Chapter 10

H
e smelled like summer rain. Warm and free, the scent rolled over Glenna’s senses in a breathtaking rush. There were other scents, too. Different ones. The tang of clean cotton that rose from his shirt, the hint of sandalwood from his cologne, soap, shampoo, toothpaste, all the trappings of civilization. Yet beneath it all was the familiar essence of Rafe.

Glenna pressed her face to his neck, rubbing her forehead along the side of his jaw. Unlike the other times he’d held her, this time there was no bristling stubble on his jaw to scratch her. His skin was smooth with a fresh shave. She parted her lips over the pulse that beat beneath his ear. His heart was racing like hers.

The tropical plants in her office were bad enough. So were the phone calls to Rafe she never completed. But this embrace was truly insane.

Yet Glenna didn’t want to pay attention to the voice of reason that was struggling to be heard in the logical, controlled corner of her brain. How could she? Rafe’s arms were living steel around her back and her body was fitting itself so naturally to his that she felt as if she were flowing into him.

It wasn’t love. She still had enough of a grip on reality to realize that much. The books and the doctor had to have been right about that—love took longer than five days. This was infatuation, that’s all.

That’s all? She could barely breathe. The heat that gathered between her legs was turning her knees to rubber. If it had merely been infatuation, it should have faded by now, shouldn’t it? She hooked her arms around Rafe’s neck and leaned back to look at his face.

He was smiling.

Oh, God. How was she supposed to think when the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth was shaped into that sensuous curve? Deep, masculine dimples framed his lips, folding a crooked line of softness into his scarred cheek. She wanted to kiss him so badly her lips swelled.

But she had to think. She had to be practical. She was back in the real world. Her world. She wasn’t some pathetic, stressed-out victim of a hijacking….

No more and no less important than any of the other hostages.

The memory of the words she’d overheard Rafe say the last time she’d seen him helped to send strength back to her knees. What on earth was she doing? She couldn’t go through this again. She knew that. Yet she couldn’t seem to help herself…

I’m sorry, Glenna. I couldn’t help myself.