Iris Johansen (6 page)

She looked up, her face mutinous, but, seeing the determination in his, she obediently picked up her fork. “Oh, very well,” she said impatiently. “It’s not worth arguing about.”

The eggs were surprisingly good, she found, and she discovered that she’d worked up more of an
appetite on her walk than she had thought. She set about disposing of the food on her plate with a sudden enthusiasm. She looked up as she polished off the last of the bacon, to notice Santine watching her with an expression of smug satisfaction on his face. “I guess it wasn’t too much,” she admitted sheepishly.

He chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling. “I guess it wasn’t,” he agreed solemnly. “Would you like something else?”

“No, thank you,” Janna said hurriedly. She took a sip of coffee. “The entire estate is incredibly beautiful, but I fell in love with your gazebo. Do you go there often?”

He nodded. “It’s my favorite place on the grounds. I thought you’d like it. Most of my guests find the view a bit too primitive for their tastes.”

She shook her head in wonder. “How could they? It’s absolutely magnificent. I could have stayed there all day.”

“You almost did,” Santine said wryly. “I was about to send someone to get you, when you made your appearance.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her lazily. “Incidentally, I’ve sent a man down to the animal reserve to pack up your things and bring them here. I’ve told Stokley that he’s to furnish you with a complete wardrobe for your stay, but most women have some sort of memorabilia they like to have with them.”

“I don’t,” Janna said quietly. “I’m afraid your man is going to have a wasted journey. Other than a few articles of clothing, there’s nothing at the cottage that I want.” Her lips tightened stubbornly. “And I’m certainly not going to accept any new wardrobe from you.”

“Yes, you will,” he retorted composedly. “I can’t expect you to buy the type of clothes that you’ll need for your life here. It’s part of the deal.” He was gazing at her with a piercing calculation that made
her feel slightly uncomfortable. “I should have known that you wouldn’t be one to be weighed down by an excess of possessions,” he said slowly. “Possessions are a subtle captivity in themselves. You wouldn’t want to be tied down even to that extent, would you, Janna?”

“Aren’t you guilty of reading psychological undertones into every little aspect of my existence?” she asked evasively. “Perhaps it’s poverty, and not choice, that dictates my lack of possessions.”

“I don’t think so,” Santine said, his eyes still intent on her face. “I think you’d be content to have nothing but the clothes on your back if the decision were yours.” To her relief that too-perceptive gaze shifted to the cup in his hand, and the subject to a more comfortable one for her. “Do you find your quarters satisfactory? I trust that Stokley attended to all your needs.”

“My room is perfectly lovely,” she replied sincerely, “and Stokley couldn’t have been more solicitous.” Her lips curved in a bemused smile. “He’s really quite impressive, not at all the type of servant whom I’d expect you to employ.”

“You think he’s too British upper class for a diamond in the rough like me?” he asked, an amused grin on his face. “Actually, you’re not too far off the mark. I hired him away from a British duke who’s quite close to the throne; Stokley manages all my residences for me.” His eyes took on a glint of mischief. “I think he looks on me as the premier challenge of his long and illustrious career. I paid a small fortune for him, and he’s worth every penny of it.”

“I can see how he would be,” she said, smiling at the almost boyish satisfaction on his face. Despite his blunt, abrupt manner, she was finding this side of Rafe Santine strangely appealing. He was like a gruff little boy whose aggressiveness was a mask for his vulnerability. Then she shook her head in amazement
at her own foolishness. What had she been thinking? There was nothing in the least vulnerable about Rafe Santine.

“I think you’ll approve of Fred’s taste,” Santine said easily. “Your wardrobe will be delivered late this afternoon. If you need anything else, just tell either him or Dawson and they’ll take care of it. I’m giving a formal dinner party for a few business associates and their wives this evening.” He grimaced ruefully. “That’s the only form of business activity my doctor is sanctioning for me at the moment. I’ll expect you downstairs in the living room at eight.”

“You want me at your dinner party?” Janna asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “I’d rather not, thank you. I’m not really good at social functions.”

His face hardened. “Be there,” he ordered tersely. “I don’t expect you to entertain anyone but me. You don’t have to indulge in the usual chitchat or parlor tricks if you don’t want to. I just want to have something restful to look at when I get disgusted with all the bull that will be flying tonight.”

“If you feel like that, why entertain them at all?” she asked quietly.

“The game,” he answered simply. “It’s all a game, with the stakes getting bigger all the time. I may get sick to death of some of the moves, but I never get tired of winning the game. I like to win.” He plucked his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table before rising to his feet. “Some of the guests will be arriving in a few hours by helicopter. I won’t expect you to join us at the pool for lunch, but you
will
come down for dinner. Understand?”

“It would be hard not to,” she said wryly. “You’re a very incisive man, Mr. Santine.”

“Rafe,” he corrected curtly, and he turned and strode briskly across the terrace. Before he disappeared through the open French doors he looked over his shoulder to say, “I’ll have Stokley bring your
lunch to your room. Be sure that you eat every bite.” He was gone before she could muster a reply.

Her lips were curved in a rueful smile as she slowly rose to her feet. It seemed that Santine’s momentary softening was definitely over and he was back to his usual laconic, autocratic self. She sighed morosely as she thought of the evening ahead. It was true she found the kind of dinner party that Santine was planning unutterably boring, and usually avoided such affairs like the plague. Well, he’d given her no choice but to attend this one. Thank heaven he’d excused her from the luncheon that was to precede it. Now all she had to do was to find a way of occupying herself that would keep her discreetly out of Santine’s guests’ perimeter until it was time to dress for dinner. Perhaps she would go back to the gazebo for a bit and then explore the path that led down to the beach. Her face brightened at the thought, and she set out once again, with an eager, springing step, toward the courtyard door.

The slanting rays of the late-afternoon sun were casting long shadows on the courtyard tiles when Janna returned to the castle. Her khaki pants were rolled up to her knees, her sandy feet bare, and she was swinging her desert boots in one hand. She paused at the fountain in the center of the courtyard to gaze ruefully at her reflection in the water before giving the tousled image in the mirrored surface a playful flick with her hand that scattered crystal drops onto the rose-beige flagstone tiles. Then she threw back her head and laughed with the sheer joy of living.

It had been such a lovely afternoon, wandering along the rock-strewn beach and wading in the surf. She had even built a sand castle in the image of this lovely Spanish mansion. As she sat on the edge of the fountain and swung her feet in the cool water to
wash away the dust and sand that clung to her toes, she looked critically at the bell tower. She hadn’t gotten that tower quite right in her sand castle, she mused. She hadn’t remembered the brass-trimmed shutters on the two windows. She’d have to be more precise next time. She swung her feet out of the water and kicked them vigorously to rid them of excess water before hopping off the rim of the fountain and padding happily toward the courtyard door.

This time she was met by no less a personage than Fred Stokley, who gave her careless, windblown appearance scarcely a glance before saying with stately dignity, “You weren’t home for lunch. Mr. Santine was most displeased.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” she said simply, giving him a sunny smile. Even Stokley’s august displeasure couldn’t ruin her feeling of sublime contentment. “I’ll try to be on time for dinner,” she promised. “How much time do I have?”

There was a flicker of a smile in Stokley’s eyes as he spoke. “A little over an hour. But you should appear at least fifteen minutes early for cocktails. I took the liberty of laying out an appropriate gown.”

“Right.” Janna nodded, and started across the foyer, her bare feet slapping against the polished parquet tiles. “I’ll hurry, Stokley.”

“It would definitely be advisable, Miss Cannon,” he said dryly, and she could have sworn there was a thread of amusement in the precise British accent.

She did hurry. Her shower, shampoo, and blow-drying took only thirty minutes, though her hair was still a bit damp when she swiftly rebraided it.

Stokley’s choice of an evening gown displayed not only superb taste, but amazing insight into her own preferences. The sunshine-yellow gown was fashioned of a silky jersey, which shimmered rather than shone. It was utterly simple, cut in the Greek fashion, leaving one shoulder bare and then falling gracefully to the floor, giving only a hint of the curves it concealed.
The matching yellow satin sandals had only a medium heel, thank goodness. She hadn’t had an occasion to wear high heels since her graduation from college, and these would be bad enough.

She took one glance in the full-length mirror before she left the bedroom. Not bad. The bright yellow of the gown made her olive skin appear to glow in silken contrast, and her shining brown braid looked quite appropriate with the gown’s classic style. She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should use a touch of lipstick, before deciding firmly against it. Her lips were always a rich, deep pink anyway, and she wouldn’t let Santine think that she’d gone to any extra trouble on his behalf.

She still had a few minutes to spare when she left the bedroom and made her way down the long curving staircase to the formal living room. She took a deep breath in the arched doorway before moving as unobtrusively as possible into the room.

The enormous room was carpeted wall to wall in plush, creamy beige carpet that offered a harmonious contrast to the russet-and-chocolate upholstery of the long velvet couch and occasional chairs that were scattered about the room. There were striped cream-and-chocolate throw pillows on the couch and matching striped velvet drapes at the French doors. Though the room was luxuriously elegant, Janna liked it far less than the other rooms in the castle. It lacked the warmth and subtle Spanish touches that gave the other rooms such character. Strange that Santine should choose this formal room to entertain his guests. Or perhaps not so strange, when one came to think about it. Janna had an idea that he was a man who would carefully guard his inner core of privacy with passionate zeal.

There were perhaps twenty people scattered about the room, obviously engaged in the shallow chitchat that Santine had spoken of so scornfully. She heard a woman’s high, shrill laugh, and flinched involuntarily.
It reminded her of the harsh, abrasive squawk of a parrot.

“There you are, Janna,” Santine said silkily, from behind her. “I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance.”

She turned to face him, noticing absently how becoming the elegant black tuxedo was on his powerful frame, before her eyes searched his face for the familiar mockery. Surprisingly, she found nothing but amusement and a curious warmth in the expression on his face. “I’m not late,” she protested indignantly. “I still have two minutes. Stokley said so.”

He chuckled, his eyes dancing. “Well, if Stokley approves, who am I to argue? He’s the final word on protocol in my domain.” His gaze went over her in lingering approval. “He certainly outdid himself when he chose that gown. You look lovely, Janna.”

There was an odd huskiness in his voice that caused a bewildering wave of heat to surge through her. “Thank you,” she said faintly, looking desperately around the room for some excuse to escape the intimate intensity of his gaze. She found it in the form of the peacock-splendid Diane Simmons, who was talking to a rotund, gray-haired man. “Miss Simmons looks fantastic in scarlet, doesn’t she?” she asked hurriedly. “I thought blondes weren’t supposed to wear anything but pastels.”

He ignored the comment as blatantly as he was ignoring his mistress. He took Janna’s elbow and turned her gently toward a group of men and women in the corner of the room. “I know I promised you that you wouldn’t have to mingle, and I’ll keep to it,” he said softly. “But it would appear odd if I didn’t introduce you to a few guests. I’ll have Dawson extricate you in a few minutes. Okay?”

Janna nodded, her brown eyes wide and bewildered as she docilely let him lead her across the room. Just when she thought she was beginning to
understand Santine, he did something to prove that she had scarcely scratched the surface. She had expected him to be his usual autocratic self this evening, judging from those last curt sentences on the terrace. Yet she was sure she’d detected an undercurrent of gentleness, perhaps even tenderness, in his voice.

“You must be very quick,” Santine was murmuring in her ear as they slowly traversed the length of the room. “When I saw you playing in the fountain an hour ago, I really didn’t think you’d make it down on time.”

She cast him a startled glance. “You saw me at the fountain?” she asked.

“I was in the library,” he said softly. “After Stokley told me you weren’t in your room, I assumed you’d gone back to the gazebo, and I was watching for you at the window.” His lips curved in a little smile. “I was a trifle vexed with you, to put it mildly. Then you came dancing into the courtyard barefoot and tousled as a happy child and decided to play in the fountain. It was a rather enchanting sight.” His dark gaze narrowed curiously on her surprised face. “Tell me, why were you staring so disapprovingly at my bell tower?”

“Oh, it wasn’t disapproval. I like it very much,” she assured him absently, still feeling a trifle dazed by the knowledge that those wild, foolish moments had been observed by Santine. “It was just that I’d forgotten those shutters when I built my sand castle.”