Iris Johansen (10 page)

“Respect, admiration, and fear,” she murmured softly, her eyes sad. “Such cold emotions for a man to inspire in the people around him.”

Dawson’s lips curved cynically. “Don’t waste your sympathy. Those are the only emotions Santine wants to inspire. He doesn’t have any use for the softer feelings.” He stretched out his legs lazily in front of him, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the polished black tips of his shoes. “Not that you can blame him for a certain lack of trust in his fellow man, when you consider his background. Did you know he was illegitimate?”

Janna nodded slowly. “It’s fairly common knowledge. The newspapers love the poor-boy-makes-good-against-all-odds bit.”

“He has no idea who his father is, and his mother was little better than a prostitute. She deserted him when he was eight, and he lived with a series of foster parents, who apparently cared more for the welfare money than for an orphaned kid. They evidently let him run pretty wild. It’s a wonder that he didn’t end up in a reform school.”

It was indeed, Janna mused, feeling a queer little tug at her heartstrings. It was amazing he’d survived with as few emotional scars as he had. How could she condemn him for believing that every woman had the instincts of an alley cat, when he’d probably known nothing else since the moment of his conception? She could feel a suspicious moistness mist her eyes, and her throat tightened painfully. The wave of sympathy brought with it an element of
sheer panic. No, she mustn’t feel this melting tenderness at the thought of that troubled, vulnerable little boy. Pat was right. Rafe was hard as a stone, and had no use for love and tenderness. Love? My God, what must she be thinking of? She couldn’t love Rafe Santine. She wouldn’t love him. It was only pity that stirred her heart in this odd fashion.

She jumped to her feet and put her cup and saucer hurriedly on the coffee table. Dawson looked up inquiringly at her sudden action. “I’ve got to make a telephone call,” she said quickly, moistening her dry lips and trying to hide the urgent need to escape from Santine’s presence that she was experiencing. “This is the evening I have to call my grandmother.”

Dawson glanced at his employer at the massive desk. “It looks like he might be talking to Paris for quite some time.”

“I’ll use the extension in the hall,” she said, moving swiftly toward the door. “I’d rather not wait. My grandmother goes to bed early these days.”

Santine looked up and frowned absently as she slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her.

She moved swiftly through the foyer to the elegant telephone table by the curve of the staircase and sank down on the cushioned bench. A few minutes later the connection was made, and she recognized the deep, masculine tones of Jody Forrester, the manager of her grandmother’s farm.

“Jody?” Her voice was anxious despite the effort she was making to steady it. “This is Janna. How is she?”

Jody’s voice was gentle and soothing. “She’s doing fine, Janna. She went for a long walk today up to your hill and stayed there most of the afternoon. When she came back, she was tired but very contented. She told me that you are always with her there, Janna.”

“Yes.” Janna’s throat tightened with tears. “When
I was a child, it was our favorite place. We used to stay there for hours, just sitting and listening to the earth spirits whisper to us. Grandmother used to say that if I listened attentively enough to the wind and the trees and the earth, they would know me as their daughter and give me their strength.” She drew a long, shaky breath. “Yes, I’m always with her there.”

There was a brief pause, and when Jody spoke again, there was a suspicion of huskiness in his own voice. “It sure must have worked. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Janna.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. “Not strong enough,” she said huskily. “I’m not as strong as she is, Jody. Sometimes I think that I can’t bear it any longer without coming to her.”

“She wouldn’t see you, Janna,” Jody said gently. “Your grandmother is a very determined lady, and this is the way she wants it. You’re the most important person in her life. You know that. It’s not because she doesn’t love you that she won’t have you with her now.”

“I know. I know,” Janna said tearfully. “It’s just that she has so little time left now. I want to say goodbye, damn it.”

“And that’s just what she doesn’t want,” Jody said quietly. “She’s right, and you know it. The two of you have the closest bond I’ve ever known between two individuals. Strong as she is, she couldn’t stand experiencing your pain as well as her own. She wants to die with the same simple dignity that she’s lived. You’ve got to give her that gift, Janna.”

“I will, Jody,” she said, over the lump in her throat. “I suppose I get a little desperate now and then, but I won’t rob her of that. She still won’t speak to me on the phone?”

“No, I asked her the last time you called,” he said sympathetically. “She said there was nothing more
to be said between you—that love needed no words, and goodbyes were meaningless, since she’d always be with you.”

Janna drew a deep, shuddering breath. “She’s not in any pain?” she asked softly.

He hesitated. “If she is, she doesn’t talk about it,” he said slowly. “But then, she wouldn’t, would she?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Janna agreed. She would just endure with that silent serenity that was so much a part of her. But she mustn’t think about that. “Talk to me, Jody,” Janna demanded throatily. “Tell me what she’s been doing, everything she’s said during the last three days.”

It was her usual request, and Jody was ready for it. He had stored every incident and scrap of conversation and now poured them forth generously, so that she could envision the simple homelike scenes and feel as if she were once more a part of their life. When she rang off fifteen minutes later, she was inexpressibly soothed by the process, as she always was. Bless Jody.

His sympathy and understanding were making this agonizing ordeal almost bearable. Their conversation always tore her emotions to shreds, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to maintain even this ephemeral contact with her grandmother. She sat quite still, her eyes closed, breathing deeply and letting the serenity that her grandmother had taught her so long ago flow into her and gradually overwhelm the pain she was experiencing.

“Janna.” Pat Dawson’s voice was concerned. “Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes, too startled to veil their tear-bright agony, and Dawson muttered a swift imprecation beneath his breath. He squatted before her, frowning worriedly.

“What the hell is wrong?” he asked, taking her hands comfortingly in his own warm clasp. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She instinctively clutched his hands with the desperation and desolation of a terrible loneliness. Then she slowly relaxed, and her lashes fell to veil her eyes. “No, there’s nothing you can do,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing anyone can do, Pat.” She leaned back in the chair, suddenly feeling drained and unutterably weary. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you say,” Pat said slowly, his worried gaze narrowing on her face. “But sometimes it helps.” His hands were absently running in soothing, caressing motions from her elbow to her wrist. “I’m always here if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the offer,” Janna replied gravely, smiling at him shakily. “I just may take you up on that sometime.”

“Do that,” he said, grinning. “I don’t have five sisters for nothing. I’ve gotten quite accomplished at that sort of thing.”

“Dawson!” The name had the explosive crack of a whiplash, and they both looked up, startled, at Santine’s taut, menacing figure standing in the open doorway of the library.

Pat Dawson’s hands fell from her arms as if they’d been burned, and he jumped hurriedly to his feet. Janna really couldn’t blame him for being disconcerted. Santine looked more angry than she’d ever seen him. His dark eyes were stormy in a face that was all the more intimidating for its rigid control.

“Yes, Mr. Santine?” Pat inquired hastily, trying to regain a modicum of dignity.

“If you can manage to tear yourself away from Janna, there are some figures on my desk I want you to phone into the San Francisco office,” Santine said between his teeth.

“Tonight?” Dawson asked, startled.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Santine said caustically, his brows drawing together in a ferocious frown.

“No, of course not,” Dawson replied hurriedly, striding swiftly toward the library. “Shall I call you if they have any questions?”

Santine’s blazing eyes were now fixed on Janna, and the fury in them caused her to catch her breath. “Handle it yourself,” he said. “I don’t want to be bothered tonight.”

Dawson disappeared into the library and closed the door quietly behind him.

The door had hardly shut when Santine was striding explosively toward Janna, his rigid control gone.

“Did you think I was too preoccupied to notice your little clandestine rendezvous?” Santine asked hoarsely. He was breathing hard, his usually bronze face flushed, and Janna felt a little thrill of fear race down her spine. “First you slipping out of the room, and then Dawson following a discreet time later.” He reached down, fastened one iron hand around her wrist, and jerked her to her feet. “I’m not that much of a fool, Janna. It was more than obvious what you were up to.”

Janna’s eyes widened in shock. “No,” she protested faintly. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Santine’s lips curved in a savage smile. “And I suppose he didn’t have his hands all over you when I came through the door. I would have thought Dawson would have a little more discretion than to attempt to seduce you in such a public place. I fully expected to have to track you to his bedroom.”

Janna moistened her lips nervously. “He wasn’t trying to seduce me,” she said shakily. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that you were as docile and willing as a common whore while he had his hands on you,” he said thickly, his black eyes blazing into her face. “But what else should I expect? You’re no different from any other woman in that respect. Was Dawson going to be just another of your ‘simple
biological couplings,’ or did you feel something special for him?”

His deep, sandpaper voice was an enraged snarl as he uttered the last question. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode swiftly through the foyer, dragging her behind him. Then Janna was struggling to maintain her balance as he swiftly mounted the stairs.

“Where are we going?” she asked bewilderedly, trying to keep up with him.

He had reached the top of the stairs and was dragging her behind him down the long corridor. Then he threw open a door and pulled her into the bedroom and slammed the door behind them.

“I should think it would be fairly obvious,” Santine said tersely, releasing her wrist to reach out and flick the light switch beside the door. There was no question of where she was. The huge master bedroom fairly breathed Rafe’s boldly masculine presence, with its plush white carpet and oversized furniture, upholstered in rich black velvet. A massive, king-sized canopy bed was draped with matching ebony velvet and gave a vaguely medieval atmosphere to the room. “It appears you have certain needs that aren’t being met, and I assure you that if you’re going to ‘couple’ with anyone, it’s going to be with me.”

Janna drew a deep breath, and her brown eyes were steady on his. “You’re making a mistake,” she said quietly. “Will you let me explain?”

His lips twisted cynically. “I’m not in the mood for explanations, I’m afraid,” he said bitterly. He shrugged. “It was only a matter of time until we reached this point anyway. I’ve never been one to turn my back on something I want, and I’ve been aching to have you in my bed since the moment I saw you.”

“But you said in—”

“I don’t give a damn what I said,” he interrupted. His voice was rough, and his dark eyes flickered restlessly. “All I know is that I want you, and I’m not
about to let anyone else have you.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you wish to renege on our agreement.”

She bit her lip and, looking into his face, she could see that there was nothing she could say that would change his mind. Perhaps he was right, she thought wearily; perhaps they would have reached this point sooner or later anyway. They both had been aware of the sexual tension that had subtly colored every word and glance since that night at the gazebo. Considering Santine’s possessively jealous nature, it was a wonder he had maintained control as long as this.

She shook her head slowly. “No, I won’t go back on my word,” she said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Oh, that’s what I want,” he said, smiling mirthlessly. “It may not be what’s wise or sane, but it’s definitely what I want.” He bent forward, and his lips hovered for an instant over her own before he drew a deep, shuddering breath and took an abrupt step back. “I can’t touch you right now. There’s a thread of violence in me, and you seem to set it off without the least effort.” His lips curved with savage cynicism. “You may deserve it, but for some reason I don’t want to hurt you tonight.” He turned and strode across the room, ripping off the black sport coat and scarlet sweater as he did so. “So we’ll indulge in a little foreplay until I cool down a bit.” He laughed shortly and threw the sweater and jacket carelessly on the black velvet easy chair next to the canopy bed. “Rather ironic, when foreplay is supposed to do just the opposite, isn’t it?” He sat down on the end of the bed, and his eyes narrowed on her still figure across the room. “Come here, Janna.”

Janna took a deep breath before moving quietly across the room to stand docilely before him, trying to keep her expression serene. It didn’t prove to be the easiest thing to do, with Santine sitting there with the indolent arrogance of a sultan summoning
his favorite harem girl. Naked to the waist, his powerfully muscled chest and massive, brawny shoulders gleamed and rippled under the overhead light like beaten copper, and the curly dark hair on his chest was curiously inviting to touch. She must have succeeded, however, for his mouth twisted bitterly. “So meek and willing,” he said harshly, black eyes flaming savagely. “And so damn determined to save your precious animals. You’d do anything I’d ask you to, wouldn’t you? Anything.”