Tempestuous Eden (30 page)

No,
she told herself firmly. It was good that she had been nothing more than a “princess” to take down a peg to him. She was relieved that she needn’t worry that he might really love her. Because she couldn’t take it again. She could no longer handle the thought that those she loved were in danger. She was going to have to forget Craig because as it was she would spend her days worrying.

Blair suddenly realized that her father was watching her with both concern and amusement. Loathe to have him perform any more mind reading, she indignantly snapped, “What kind of diplomat is that man anyway? What happened to the staid, cordial types?”

Huntington listened to his daughter’s questions, sure there was more to them than met the eye. She was a responsible woman; she wouldn’t resent a man for having done his duty. He hesitated, answering slowly because of his perception, and also because there was no real explanation or title for Craig Taylor’s expertise. “Taylor is … well, he is a diplomat. He specializes in touchy situations.”

“Danger, you mean.”

Huntington shrugged. “He’s a good man,” he said softly.

Oh, he’s good all right,
Blair reflected dryly. “Yeah,” she murmured aloud, dismayed at the pain given away with the tone of her single word. She forced a smile and held her empty glass up to her father. “Pour me another, will you, Dad? I think I deserve to get a little tipsy.”

Tipsy, hah! She wanted to knock herself out. She wanted to forget, if for only the release of a few hours, all that happened. She wanted to make herself stop thinking about Craig. She wanted to ease the agony of wanting him.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Huntington agreed, hopping to his feet and refilling both glasses. He remembered her olive. He handed back her glass and reached into an onyx cigarette box, taking one for himself while offering one to Blair.

“No, thanks, Dad,” she said, adding wryly. “Haven’t you noticed? I quit.”

Huntington’s brows rose. Although she hadn’t smoked much, all her attempts to give up the habit in the past had been futile. “Oh? How did you manage that?”

Blair shrugged, then ordered her lips to curl into a small smile. “Oh, I just took it into my head, I guess.” A wide yawn suddenly escaped her and she glanced at her father apologetically. “I think I’ll take this up with me for a long hot bath,” she murmured, inclining her head toward her drink. “Then bed. Changing time zones has gotten me off kilter!” Impulsively she hugged her father again, smiling her assurance of love and understanding as she released him.

“’Night,” she murmured, striding for the stairs and the upper level and the bedroom her father had always insisted upon keeping ready for her at any time. She paused halfway as he called a soft “Blair!”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Please don’t be angry with Taylor. He
is
a good man.”

She offered him the ghost of a smile. “I doubt whether he would really care if I was angry or not. We’ll probably never meet again, but you’re right, Dad, he is a good man. Tremendous. You should use him for all your abductions. His title should be changed to Taylor the Hun.”

Huntington sternly held back a chuckle. “A tyrant, huh?” he queried, not expecting or wanting an answer. “Forgive him anyway. Like I told you, he really wanted no part of this.”

No, of course not,
Blair thought sourly. Poor Taylor, rugged man of action deprived of the danger he thrived upon to babysit a do-gooding rich man’s widow. No, spoiled little princess. Get his terms correct here, she mocked herself. She had fallen into his hands so easily! What entertainment she must have provided—his due with ironic vengeance for being stuck with the job!

God, he had waltzed her down a primrose path, and she hadn’t balked a single step!

And the pity of it was that now, even now, if he walked into the room with his lies of love on his lips, she would trip down the steps to be in his arms. No. She wanted no part of that deceitful adventure seeker.

But did she want to sleep! To still her rampant thoughts, to stop her heart from tearing to shreds, split between anger and fear, and then relief and then the need that overrode it all—love.

Huntington watched his daughter, knowing something was wrong. Then he lowered his eyelids to hide a discovery he had found in her delicate features. Something was wrong, but it was a good wrong, a right wrong if such a thing existed. She was feeling, really feeling something for a man for the first time since her husband’s death. She would never react so otherwise. Her father had seen her often enough before this escapade—always polite to dates and escorts but always distant. Never really touched.

“Blair?”

“Sorry, Dad, my mind was wandering. What?”

“Please, don’t be bitter.”

“I’m not, Dad.”

“I mean against Taylor. I think he was finally given an assignment he couldn’t quite handle.”

“What difference does it make?” Blair asked, trying to tone down her impatience. “He’ll be flying off somewhere else soon, I imagine.”

“He also spends a lot of time in Washington,”

“
I
won’t be here that long.”

“What do you mean?” Huntington queried sharply, wincing as he did so. She wasn’t his little girl any longer, hadn’t been for some time.

“Dad,” she said firmly in return, smiling a little at the autocratic tone he had used. She knew it well. A parent never liked to believe a child had really grown up. “I still owe the Hunger Crew three months. I’m going to finish my time.”

Huntington frowned. “Blair, we still haven’t totally cleared this situation. It will be weeks before—”

“Whoa,” Blair laughed. “I’m not heading back tomorrow.” A ghost of mischief lit into her eyes. “I guess I owe you three months too. How’s that for a deal?”

Huntington grinned ruefully. “I guess it’s fair.” She had changed, he thought with a hint of sadness. Somewhere along the line, in the jungle or in the boat, something had changed her. She had always been mature, but now the haunted self-doubt she had carried after Ray Teile’s death was totally erased.

“There’s a shindig for George Merrill this week—you know him, my old crony from S.S. A birthday party. Your old man needs a date. Will you humor the poor guy and come along with him?”

“Humor him?” Blair chuckled affectionately. “Of course I’ll come with you. I’ll have the most dashing escort at the ball.”

Huntington smiled serenely at his daughter. He was manipulating her life again, but what the hell, he was her father and he wasn’t getting any younger. If he didn’t push things along a bit, he might never live to be a grandfather.

The years had made him a profound reader of human nature, and at this particular time, he was sure he was reading between the lines correctly.

Blair continued up the stairs, oblivious to the deviousness of her father’s smile. She halted one more time. “Dad! What about the crew? They must be worried sick by now. Do you have any buttons I could push to get a quick message through? I—”

“They aren’t worried.” her father interrupted. “They know almost everything you do by now.”

“Oh? Oh, of course,” she answered her own query. “Brad Shearer is one of your diplomats, too, isn’t he?” She had been foolish not to catch on from the beginning. The Hunger Crew would normally be lucky to attract one such “hulk,” as Kate termed Craig and Brad, in a year. Two in a month? She really had been blind.

“No,” Andrew Huntington informed her innocently. “Brad isn’t a diplomat.”

“He isn’t?”

“No. Brad Shearer is regular army intelligence.”

“Oh, of course,” Blair murmured. “Just regular army intelligence.”

She finished her third martini before she reached her hot bath.

Andrew Huntington sat before his picture window and propped his feet upon his coffee table, sighing happily in his moment of leisure. He could have been angry—wasn’t a father supposed to be angry if he believed his daughter had been compromised? He wasn’t angry. He felt as smug as a Cheshire cat. It appeared as if something good just might come of a bad situation. If only he could believe that more often ….

Blair spent her days keeping busy. There were old friends to see in Washington, the Smithsonian to prowl endlessly, and the parks and Georgetown shops when she was in the mood for idle walking. She tailored her days around her father’s free hours to be with him as much as possible.

But everything she did, every place she went was busy. She tried to be moving every minute. Then on Friday morning, the day of Merrill’s party, she forced herself to stop, and make a long assessment of what she was doing. She finally admitted that her breakneck scheduling was all created to douse the terrible feeling of loneliness that held her in its grip.

She wanted to hate Craig. He had made a grade-A fool of her. The terrorist bit had been bad enough, but the jail sentence was the killer. And he had known that she loved him! Oh, Lord, how she cringed with the memory of telling him so now.

Directions, she thought bitterly. Orders. Orders had sent him to her in the first place, orders to befriend her, to watch her, to take her away, to hold her.

He had elaborated on his orders, but then why not? Why not have a little fun with a captive princess. He was definitely a man, with man-sized appetites. Why not appease them with a partner all too willing to capitulate?

Her face grew scarlet with her thoughts, then a twist of pain jackknifed through her, leaving her short of breath, weak.

She had fallen so deeply in love with him that she would have waited forever, endured anything. But none of it had been real. From the very beginning Craig Taylor had felt nothing; he had only been following orders.

She would make sure that she never saw him again. So in a crowd of people she was still lonely, far more lonely than she had ever felt as a captive on a boat with only one other living person to see.

She had loved that person, and that made all the difference. Friend, lover, stranger, betrayer, she loved him all the same. But somehow she would get over it. She would have to. Mr. Craig Taylor, she was sure, was already off again, back to the work he loved. Released from his baby-sitting duty. Off to risk his foolish hide again.

Anyway, she told herself morosely, she didn’t need another man to worry about. She didn’t want another man to worry about. Craig Taylor walked into explosive situations with his eyes wide open. No, never again. She had lost Ray, and memory of that pain was enough to convince her she couldn’t bear the thought of living with and loving a man who she knew for a fact put his life on the line every day.

“What difference does it make?” she asked herself irritably. “The man is done being amused by me. He’s off playing cloak-and-dagger somewhere else.”

With bittersweet poignancy she knew it was best that he was out of her life.

She shivered. Thinking about loneliness made her understand her father better, and her empathy became great. He spent his days worrying about a nation, but when it came to his private life, all that he had was her.

She did love him so much; he was such a good person, such a dedicated, loyal man.

Like Craig.

Hah!

Get Craig out of your mind!

Think about Dad,
she told herself firmly. Tonight she was going with him to the Merrills’. And despite her mood she was going to make him happy and proud.
And I am going to slow down!
she told herself.

With that firm resolve in mind, she spent the day at home, catching up on all the luxuries of civilization she had ignored for so long. She manicured and pedicured, conditioned her hair, and even tried a newly advertised mud facial.

“I could have done this in the damn jungle,” she told her ridiculous-looking reflection. Would Craig think her a little “princess” if he were to see her now?

She shrugged with a little wince as she washed off the “mud” and started to dress for the night. She was wearing a floor length green velvet dress with long, fitted sleeves, an empire bodice, and a skirt that flowed elegantly with her movements—her father’s favorite. She had to agree that it was probably her most flattering gown—the green complemented her hair and drew out the color of her eyes.

After all her days in the jungle and then on the boat, it felt odd to dress up. As if her real life had been in the jungle and on that boat and this gown merely a costume for a play.

She barely recognized herself when she finished. She had piled her hair high on her head and secured it with a small tiara that had belonged to her mother.

“There you are, Taylor,” she muttered to the mirror. “A real princess.” A laugh started to sound deep in her throat and she closed her eyes tightly against her reflection.
You’re growing bitter, Blair,
she warned herself.
You know you’re not a princess; you know that you are responsible, mature, caring …

Being happy with yourself is what counts.

No, her heart raged silently, it counted more when dreams, feelings, and thoughts were shared.

She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the mirror. Then she coerced her lips into a cheerful smile and went down the stairs to meet her father.

The capital’s beautiful people were out. The massive ballroom in the Hilton was glittering with chandeliers, crystal, fine vases of exotic flowers, and of course, people.

It was a mixed crowd. Merrill had been in Washington as long as her father and the guests were a mixture from all walks of political life. Senators, congressmen, cabinet members—even the president was supposed to be in attendance, which meant an additional host of working security.

Blair knew a good number of people in the crowd—old, hard-core politicians and civil servants like her father. But there were also a lot of new faces. She had been gone for almost two years and elected officials changed with the mercy and whim of the people. A good thing, she thought, thinking of her conversation with her father. The people did have their say.

Although she was still too involved with her inner battle to be honestly excited about the evening, Blair put her best foot forward for her father’s sake. She greeted old acquaintances while escorted by his proud and protective arm; a bright smile on her face, and graciously accepted new introductions. She gave George Merrill—heavier set but just as worn and dignified as her father—a hug and a kiss and sincere good wishes for many more happy birthdays to come. He kissed her soundly in return, watching her peculiarly, and Blair realized that this was one man who was always in on “classified,” who knew she had just returned from a nerve-racking escapade, who knew …