Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (12 page)

“I thought you were different.” He turned back to the window and propped his foot on the sill as he stared toward the sea.

Knowing she shouldn't ask, but unable to stop herself, she said, “Different from what?”

“The rest.”

When he didn't elaborate, she waited, her senses all keyed on her reluctant companion. The back of his neck was tanned bronze, and his hair curled behind his ears. His buttocks, beneath his jeans, shifted as he threw one hip out to balance himself.

Marnie's throat was suddenly as dry as a desert wind, and she realized that she'd been holding her breath, waiting. But for what?

Adam was the sexiest man she'd met in a long, long while and, damn it, she was responding like a boy-crazy teenager. Perhaps it was just the surroundings and the fact that she was imprisoned here with him, but she was more attuned to his lazy sensuality than she'd thought possible.

His voice caused her to jump. “Everyone at the company thought I ripped off your old man. But you—” he pressed his palms against the damp panes “—well, I guess I expected too much.”

She felt an immediate need to explain herself, as if she should be ashamed for her actions, though she hadn't done anything wrong. What did she care what Adam Drake
thought of her? He could be the sexiest man alive and there was still a chance that he was a thief. Maybe that was the cause of her fascination with him, she thought darkly. The fact that he was truly forbidden fruit.

“You said you knew Gerald Henderson?” he asked, before her thoughts took her too far from the conversation.

“Mmm.” She slammed back to reality and hoped the heat in her cheeks was from the fire and not from her ridiculous fantasies.

“What kind of a man would you say he is?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I only knew him as an employee,” she admitted. “He worked in the accounting department with Fred Ainger and Linda Kirk. I met him at meetings and company parties and occasionally in the halls or cafeteria, but I never got to know him personally.” She was glad for a turn in the conversation, though she sensed that Adam was leading her into dangerous waters. Nonetheless, talking about Montgomery Inns was better than the emotion-charged silence and her own imagination.

“Would you say Gerald was dishonest?” Adam asked, rubbing his index finger over his thumb.

“Absolutely not.” Henderson had worked for Victor Montgomery for twelve years before his sudden retirement last spring. There had never been a word of impropriety linked to him.

“He wasn't even close to sixty-five. Why do you think he retired?” Adam lifted his head, his hard gaze locked with Marnie's, and Marnie's breath caught in her throat. For a heart-stopping second she thought she saw more than just a single question in Adam's eyes, as if he were just as aware of her as a woman as she was of him as a man. She swallowed with difficulty, and his gaze, golden brown and unwavering, held hers.

“I told you earlier that I thought Gerald was having
health problems,” she finally responded when she captured control of her tongue again. Oh, God, if only he'd quit staring at her! “Stress-related, or allergies, I think. Anyway, he didn't come back to work for the hotel and was supposed to go on to another job.”

“You ever see the medical bills?”

“No, but I wouldn't. It's not my department…”

His razor-thin lips curled into a smile that was a blatant sneer at her naïveté, and her temper started to rise.

“He reported to Fred,” she said quickly, wondering why, all of a sudden, his opinion of her mattered in the least.

“And Fred reported to…?”

“Personnel on matters like this, otherwise to…Kent.”

“Who, in turn, reported to your father,” he said, filling in the obvious blanks.

“Yes.” Suddenly defensive, she felt as if she owed it to her father to straighten Adam out. “I don't know what you're trying to say, Drake, but my father didn't steal money from himself. That's ridiculous.”

One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked likeness of a smile. But his eyes were cold and serious. “Henderson seems to think that someone close to Victor is cheating him. And despite the general low opinion of my reputation at the company, Henderson believes I was framed.”

“By whom?”

“That's the half-million-dollar question, isn't it?” he drawled, his eyes still trained on her face as if he expected some sort of reaction from her.

“How were you ‘framed'?” she asked, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from her words.

“I don't know,” Adam admitted, and for the first time since she'd discovered him aboard the
Marnie Lee,
she was convinced of his sincerity. He let out his breath in frustration and shoved both hands through his hair.

“Henderson couldn't tell you?”

“Couldn't or wouldn't. He's afraid, I think. I couldn't get any more information from him.” Adam eyed a scuff mark on the floor and rubbed it with the toe of his worn running shoe. The room was beginning to grow dark, only pale light filtered through the glass to illuminate the rough angles of his face. For a second Marnie wondered about him, about his private life. As far as she knew, he'd never married, but she wished she knew why. He was handsome, his features sensual, his body firm and hard. He was intelligent; he'd displayed his sharp business acumen on more than one occasion. Until last year, when all hell had broken loose, he'd been a successful corporate executive. At that point he'd had good looks, money and a future that could only be described as stellar.

Until he'd been accused of theft, Adam Drake had been considered a real catch—one of the most eligible bachelors in Seattle.

If one were looking.

Marnie wasn't. Or at least she told herself she wasn't.

Even so, her gaze was drawn to the vee of his shirt front and the dark hairs that curled against his tanned skin. Afraid he might catch her staring, she focused on the wall behind him and ignored the irregular beat of her heart. It was natural to be uncomfortable around him. She was a woman, after all, and she obviously wasn't immune to his rugged maleness. A pity. If only she could look past that raw sexuality that seemed to emanate from his deep-set eyes.

“So you think Kent set you up?” she finally asked, though her throat was uncomfortably tight.

Adam looked pained. “I never would have guessed he'd have the brains or the guts to do it.”

“Henderson could be wrong.”

“He could be. But he isn't.”

“Well, even if he's right—and I'm not saying I go along with this—he could be talking about someone else in the company, someone other than Kent.”

“Still trying to defend that bastard, are you, Marnie?” Adam shook his head and muttered something indistinguishable under his breath before adding, “Some women never learn.”

The words cut like the bite of a whip. She, alone, had stood up for him to her father, pointing out that a man was innocent until proven guilty. Though she wasn't completely convinced of his innocence, she couldn't believe he was actually a thief. Oh, she'd been back and forth on the subject, never really knowing, but she'd argued Adam's case bitterly to her father. Not that it had made any difference. In Victor's book, Adam had done the unthinkable: he'd betrayed a trust.

Of course, Adam had no way of knowing about her feelings or the fact that she and her father had been at odds over his dismissal. Though she wanted to rub it in Adam's face right now, she didn't. He wouldn't believe her anyway. His last cutting remark had been testimony to that.

“Believe me, Drake, I
do
learn from my mistakes. And the mistake I made was in believing you and letting you stay here with me. If you ask me,
you're
the bastard,” she said coolly, though her blood was beginning to boil. “Ever since we got on this island, you've insulted me and made innuendos about my father.” Involuntarily, her fingers curled into tight fists. “If you don't like the present company, I suggest you hike to the nearest town. There's a map in the
Marnie Lee.
”

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. He reached into his back pocket and whipped out a folded piece of paper. “Got it,” he said. “But if I leave, what will you do?”

“Muddle through somehow,” she replied. “I really can take care of myself.”

He cocked an insolent eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”

“Watch me!”

“Oh, I will,” he said, and his voice was suddenly silky smooth. To Marnie's consternation, he sauntered across the room to the archway leading to the old dining room.

She couldn't help herself. Knowing that she was flirting with danger, she shoved herself from the hearth and walked quickly across the dusty plank floors, through the arched entrance to the dining area and down two creaking steps to the bar where Adam, behind the counter, was wiping a glass with the tail of his shirt. On the bar, thick with dust and cobwebs, was a bottle of whiskey. The label was yellowed and blurred with grime.

“You're not really going to drink that, are you?” she asked, appalled.

Mocking her, he poured a stiff shot into the glass and threw her own words her way. “Watch me.” He tossed back the drink and didn't so much as flinch as the liquor hit his throat. He held up a glass to her.

“I'll probably have to get you to a hospital to pump your stomach,” she said. “Who knows what was in that…” She walked closer and motioned to the bottle.

“Who cares?”

“I do,” she said crisply. “I didn't want you on this trip in the first place and I certainly don't want to clean up after you…or play nursemaid.”

“No?” His gaze strayed from her eyes to her neck and lower still. “Playing nursemaid could be fun.”

Goose bumps appeared on her flesh. “What it would be is a disaster,” she countered, and wished her voice didn't sound quite so breathless.

As if he caught the subtle change in her attitude, he motioned to the bottle. “Join me?”

“I don't think liquor's the answer. Especially not that—” she wrinkled her nose “—bottle.”

His eyes gleamed. “Liquor's not the answer to what question?” he asked, and his voice sounded fuller from the whiskey.

“I think we should keep our wits about us.”

“Speak for yourself.” He poured himself another drink, then propped one arm on the bar and vaulted over the counter to land lithely beside her.

She felt smaller then, with him so close. His scent, earthy maleness blended with the faint muskiness of old Scotch, wafted across her face.

“Anyone ever told you you're too uptight?”

“Thousands,” she retorted.

“Well, they're right.” One side of his mouth lifted, exposing teeth so white they gleamed in the shadowy room. He touched her arm and she drew away, stepped back from fingers that felt warm and inviting.

He didn't back down. “Afraid, Marnie?”

“Of what? You?” She shook her head, lying a little. She was petrified of him, but not for her life. Physical violence wasn't his style; however, he could be devastating in other ways.

She quivered as he touched her again and saw his gaze flicker to her mouth. Without conscious thought, she licked her lips and heard him respond with a low groan.

Marnie knew she was in trouble.

“Why the hell do you have to be so damned beautiful?” he growled as he lowered his head and molded his mouth to hers. She knew she should stop him, that kissing him was madness, but the feel of his lips, warm and supple, caused a response so deep she actually shook.

Don't let me fall for a man like this,
she thought, and
willed herself to remain impassive. Though the blood in her veins heated and pulsed, she didn't move, but trembled slightly when he drew her close. His lips moved urgently against her mouth; his tongue, prodding, sought entrance.

Every instinct told her to let go, fall against him, give in once. What would it hurt? But in the back of her mind, she heard a warning, and with all the willpower she could muster she pressed her palms against his chest and shoved. “Let me go,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. “What do you think you're doing?”

He yanked his head back, but still his strong arms held her firm. “So all those stories about you are true?” he asked, cocking an insolent brow over his laughing brown eyes.

“What stories?”

“The stories of the ice maiden,” he said, and she wanted to die. Her face washed with color, but she set her jaw and forced a cool smile.

“You thought you'd be different?”

A muscle bunched in his jaw, but was quickly tamed. “No, but I thought a woman whose standards were so low that she'd bed a snake like Simms, might have hotter blood than rumor had it.”

She slapped him. Without thinking, she raised her hand and smacked the palm against his cheek and he, damn his black heart, had the nerve to laugh.

“So the lady does have some passion after all.”

“Get out, Drake,” she insisted, quivering with rage. “Remember when you said you were disappointed in me, well the same goes for me! I had faith in you. I even told my father that you couldn't possibly have stolen anything from him. I argued with the board of directors. And I was wrong, wasn't I? You're just as bad as everyone said.”

His dark eyes sparked, and before she could react, he grabbed her. Whirling her off her feet, he maneuvered her
against the bar, cutting off her escape. This time his mouth crashed down on hers with a punishing force that ripped through her body. His hands clamped her close, and she could barely breathe as his tongue pressed hard against her teeth.

She tried to fight him. This was no way to start any kind of relationship, but she couldn't help but yield to emotions that were tearing through her. Love or hate, she couldn't tell, but her breathing was labored, her heart hammering in her chest, the rational side of her mind losing a battle with her war-torn emotions.