Heather Graham (14 page)

“I’m sorry,” Flynn said softly. “But I don’t understand. How did that bring you here?”

She looked at him, wry, sad, only slightly bitter. “There have been a number of such cases. The police know that a British citizen has been ripping off dozens of elderly people in and around London. They were able to tell me that they were certain that their man was basing himself at Costa del Sol. English is so freely spoken—and there is no extradition agreement. It’s someone who lives very well, someone cultured, someone rich. I checked the airlines schedules and came up with a list of names of suspects—wealthy Britons living here who were in England at the time. Men with questionable means—”

“And I was number one on your list?”

She shook her head.

“It didn’t matter where you were on my list. I learned about El Drago through the papers—and I learned where you would be. It—it seemed simple enough, and then it seemed ridiculous and horrible and stupid—but by then, I was already in your house.”

“You came down here with nothing, you threw yourself into the sea on a plank—to catch a thief?”

“A murderer!” Brittany cried out defensively. “Don’t you see? He killed her!”

He looked away from her, rose slowly, and walked out in the surf. It was growing darker. The whole shoreline was a dusky hue. Beautiful, barren, lonely.

He spun back around to her. “You idiot! Didn’t it ever occur to you that this man could be dangerous? What were you expecting to do? Walk up and ask us all if we had embezzled your aunt’s savings? Then what? Drag the guilty one to a British Airways flight home and have the police waiting?”

“No! No!” Brittany cried out hoarsely. “I knew what I was doing—”

“Bloody hell, you did!”

Brittany stood, knotting her fingers nervously into fists at her side. “I was going to get to know you all—and talk about money. Money to be invested. Only I’d have to go back to England to get it and once I went for the money, I could have told Brice what I’d done and he could have—”

“Brice?”

“A friend of mine with the police in London.”

“Oh. Tell me, does this Brice person know that you’re here?”

She shook her head.

“Little fool.”

“Dammit! What the hell was I supposed to do? Let this man get away with murder?”

He looked at her for a long while.

“You’re going to go home,” he said softly.

“What? I—I can’t! I’ve come this far, don’t you understand, I can’t just let it go!”

“I’m getting you on the next plane out.”

She raised her head to him furiously. “Why? Have I been wrong? Are you the one I should be after?”

He grinned at her. “You were after me and you got me. Rather well, actually.”

Brittany stared at him, then swung around, shoulders straight as she headed for the car. He followed her, settling into the driver’s seat even as she slammed her door. She tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing his shirt and he was wearing his jeans with his chest bare. She tried not to look at him.

She tried very hard not to burst into tears, and stared straight ahead through the window.

“I’m not leaving Costa del Sol. Of course, I’ve no intention of accepting any more of your hospitality—”

Flynn reached into the glove compartment for a pack of cigarettes. He slowly lit one, inhaled and exhaled, leaning back in the driver’s seat not yet ready to start the car.

“Where do you think you’ll go?”

“If I’m to believe that you’re innocent, then I’ve only two suspects left. I’ll—”

“Who?”

“It’s not your—”

“Who?”

“Ian and Joshua.”

“So you’ll just go stay with one of them.”

Brittany sat silently, staring at her hands.

He inhaled again, then rested his hands idly against the steering wheel.

“No, you won’t,” he said at last.

“I can’t stay with you. Not after today.”

“You should be on your way home. I understand—”

“You don’t understand anything!”

“Be that as it may. Forget about going to Drury’s.”

“Forget it. Entirely. Now. If you were to do something like that, I’d feel obliged to warn him that you were after his throat.”

“He may not care,” Brittany challenged sweetly, but he gave her such a withering glare that she was quickly sorry that she had spoken.

“You don’t mind paying for hospitality, eh?”

She reached in a sudden blind motion for the door; he reached over and caught her hand with his, and then her eyes with his own.

“I’m sorry. Brittany, I’m sorry. I just can’t let you go to Ian’s. You can’t do it. If you’ve absolved me of guilt, then you know yourself that it must be Ian or Josh—if your information is right. You can’t go to Ian’s.”

She looked down at his hand on her own.

“I can’t stay with you after today.”

“Why not?”

“Because …”

He caught her chin, tilting her face toward his. Darkness was coming swiftly now. In the dimming light, mauve and gray, she saw a subtle spark in his eyes and the tenderness that had been missing before.

“I thought you said that we made love because you wanted it to happen.”

“I did,” she whispered in return. “But I can’t go back with you now. I’d be …”

“Kept?” He laughed.

She flushed. “I don’t know exactly what I mean or what I feel, only that I—I don’t know what to do.”

“Go home.”

“I can’t. I can’t forget that Alice was swindled and for all intents and purposes—murdered.”

Flynn lit another Cigarette, hesitated, then started the car. “Two choices, Brittany. You leave the country, or you come home with me.”

She didn’t answer him. He let the car idle, then he turned it off again. He reached for both of her hands and he was still smiling, the gaze was still tender, and she realized with a throbbing beat of her heart that she really had fallen in love with him, and that everything that had happened here today had compounded the feeling, dragged it deeper and deeper into her soul.

He turned the ignition again. He didn’t speak, nor did she, as the car left the beach path behind and came upon the open road. Brittany felt the wind take and whip her damp hair into a wild froth that swirled about her, and the feeling was good, it was cleansing, yet it did nothing to ease the tumult in her mind. How had he known so much, when had he known, what in God’s name had she done, and what on earth did she do now?

The questions, the feelings, rose and whirled inside of her as wild as the tangle of her hair.

And there were no answers to be found.

She was still lost in thought and emotion when the car came to a halt. She realized that he was staring at her. And then she realized that they were both barefoot—that she wore his shirt, and he wore his jeans.

“We’ll go through the back,” he said softly.

But going through the back didn’t help; they still had to come upon the courtyard—and company was there.

“Ian,” Flynn said, startled.

Ian Drury lifted a glass to his host. “Wonderful martini—Donald is a magnificent host in your absence, Flynn. I’d thought to catch you for coffee—following that dinner Maria was to have made. That special dinner.” He smiled and indicated a little tote bag on the floor. “I was returning your shoes.”

Brittany swallowed uneasily, keenly aware of her appearance. And of Ian Drury’s mocking gaze upon her.

Flynn’s hands came protectively to her shoulders; she felt herself pulled against the hardness of his muscled chest.

“Thanks, Ian. Where is Donald? I think I’d like a drink myself. Brittany?”

“Please,” she said, and had to repeat the word because no sound came from her.

Flynn sauntered casually over to the bar. Brittany still couldn’t seem to take a step or even move. While Flynn poured drinks, Ian continued to stare at her, smiling. “Ms. Martin, for a lady who likes to take things slowly, you do seem to be rather careless with your clothing. Last I remember, you were wearing a dress.”

She didn’t have a chance to grope for a reply. Flynn turned around with their drinks, laughing.

“Brittany, is that what you told this poor man? Ian, my boy, I am sorry. Brit and I had a tiff this morning. Otherwise, she certainly would have let you know that we’ve … well, next week we’re going to look for the ring. A simple solitaire, I think. Old-fashioned and perfect.”

Brittany stared at him incredulously. He didn’t blink; he smiled easily, laconically. He came to her, eyes sparkling savagely upon hers, to hand her a glass.

She detested Scotch. She swallowed down a massive gulp anyway.

“Really?” Ian demanded.

“Of course.”

Flynn came around behind her again, slipping his free hand around her, pulling her back against himself again. “Do tell Ian that you’re sorry, luv.”

She bared her teeth into a smile. This was disaster. Of course, she was horribly humiliated to be caught dressed so—or undressed so, but now she would never be able to come close enough to the man to discover anything.

“Brittany.” He whispered her name low and close to the lobe of her ear and little hot streaks like lightning rippled through her.

She couldn’t stay here now! Not with him. Not knowing—him. Wanting him. Losing all thought and logic and concentration because of him.

Ian Drury was still staring at her, politely awaiting an answer.

“Flynn,” she said softly, apologetically returning Ian’s gaze. “It really wasn’t like that at all. This morning—”

“All right, I agree. We were both monstrous.” He grimaced to Ian. “Lovers’ quarrels. Like hell itself. But as you can see—” He paused, shrugging. “—solved now.”

Ian nodded and set his glass down. “Yes. As I can see. Well, then I’ll be going. My very best to the two of you. When is the happy occasion?”

“Oh, not for a long while—” Brittany began.

“Soon,” Flynn said simultaneously.

“Oh,” Ian said, as if their answers had not crossed at all. He smiled again. “Well, then, I’ll be seeing you both soon. I do take it that dinner is off next week. Pity. Ms. Martin, you never gave me a chance. Flynn—you are a bloody hog.”

“Had to be. I didn’t dare let my mermaid get too far out of my sight.”

Ian nodded again and waved, and strode out of the courtyard. Flynn called a pleasant good night to him.

After he left, there was utter silence on the courtyard. Flynn followed his disappearance with brooding eyes.

And then Brittany exploded.

“What on earth did you do that for?”

“Do what?” Flynn walked over to the patio table, sliding into one of the chairs, planting his feet upon another.

“That—that—engagement charade? Now I’ll never get close to him!”

“Damned right you won’t, my lass,” Flynn said softly, studying his glass.

“Damned right? I didn’t appoint you my keeper, Flynn Colby!” Brittany followed him over to the table and stared down at him.

He moved his feet back to the floor and folded his hands over the table, meeting her gaze levelly.

“Brittany—a blind man would know what we’d been up to. You’re underestimating Ian. If I hadn’t staked a solid claim …” His voice trailed away and he laughed suddenly. “I rather thought that I was doing the gentlemanly thing. Tell me, Brittany, how do I win with you?”

Confused, she backed away from the table. Her knees hit one of the chairs and she fell into it and pressed her temple between her fingers. “Flynn, don’t you see? I have to know, I have to do something; my God, why do you think that I tried that foolish ruse about El Drago to begin with?”

“Brittany, I do see,” he told her softly. She didn’t hear him rise, but suddenly he was before her, bending down, reaching for her hands. She saw his shoulders, broad and bronze and gleaming in the soft light, all the muscles seeming to ripple and dance. She saw his eyes and that strange tenderness was in them again and once more she experienced an acute tear of emotions. She was in love with him; she was terrified to be in love with him. She hadn’t come here to fall in love …

And certainly not with Flynn Colby.

“Brittany, trust me. I’ll help you.”

“Help me?” she repeated softly.

“Yes. You won’t have to go it alone. You won’t have to set yourself up in dangerous situations. We’ll do it together. Brittany. First, I swear to you I never knew your aunt. I’ve never swindled an old lady in my life. Or a young one, for that matter. I have connections, I have sources. Trust me, and I’ll help you.”

She nodded slowly.

And just then, Donald came walking out to the courtyard. So very, very correct in black suit.

“Oh, dear, dear, sir, I hadn’t known that you’d returned. Shall you have dinner now, or—”

He stopped in midstride and midsentence, taken aback by their apparel. But then, he was Donald, so his break was a small one.

“Or shall you be changing first?”

“Oh, I think we’ll change, Donald, thank you. Brittany, will forty-five minutes be enough to shower and dress?”

She nodded. And somehow—feeling as if she were bare to the bone with no secrets whatsoever—she managed to rise with a pretense at dignity, smile at Donald, and walk along with Flynn toward the elevator.

T
HERE WERE A MILLION
little things that changed once you were lovers, Brittany thought. Beautiful little things. Like the way you looked at one another over wineglasses. When fingers brushed, when eyes met. Knees touching beneath the table, a special new cadence to his voice, to hers, a huskiness …

I’m hopeless,
she warned herself. But then it was true, she had known herself out of her depth since she first saw him, and after that she had begun to give up little pieces of herself, bit by bit. And naïve as it might be, she could really do nothing now but cherish the excitement and the warmth, and the belief.

There really couldn’t have been any halfway point in this. She had been forced to trust him. And God help her if she was wrong.

When Donald had left them with spicy palomino steaks, Flynn poured wine and admitted he’d given her the closest thing he could find to vinegar on their first night together. Anger had welled within her but he had been laughing and suddenly she found herself laughing too. But then she sobered again, unable to forget her reason for being there.