The Damsel in This Dress (7 page)

She stopped unpacking and nodded her head. “Oh. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

He rose from the bed and took the dog, leaving her looking lost and bereft.

“By the time I get back,” he said softly, “dinner should be up. After we eat, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Wh-What kind of questions?”

Can I sleep with you tonight? And tomorrow night? And the night after that?
“We’ll talk about it later. Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anybody in except me or Lemsky. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

Betsy locked the door and peered through the fish-eye to see Soldier’s distorted figure disappear from view.

What in the hell was she doing? She didn’t even know this man, and now she was staying in his room? In frustration, she ran her fingers through her hair as she paced the carpet. She felt like a caged animal who had once known freedom and wasn’t prepared to accept her change in circumstances.

Fury curdled her blood at how she had to change her schedule, her very life, to keep herself safe from a complete
stranger.

In frustration, she fell onto the bed on her stomach and opened her purse, digging through it until she found her notebook. She would call Paris. She
needed
to call Paris. It would be very early morning there, so hopefully her adventuress mother would be in her own bed in her own hotel room.

It took a few minutes to make the connection, but finally a sleepy female voice said,
“Oui?”

“Loretta? Loretta, it’s me, Elizabeth.”

There was a moment of silence while the woman on the other end of the line obviously came a little more awake. For a moment it sounded as though she pressed her hand over the receiver and spoke in French to someone in the room. She must have removed her hand, because abruptly Loretta Tremaine’s strident voice came through loud and clear.

“Elizabeth! Why are you calling? Is everything all right there? Is it my Pids? Has something happened to Piddle?”

Betsy swallowed her instant regret. Things never changed. Loretta . . . never changed. If she had expected maternal words of comfort, the joke was on her. Again.

But she had wanted, needed, to hear her mother’s voice. With Daddy out of the picture, there was only her mother. It had always been a contentious relationship, but it was the only one Betsy had.

“Actually, everything’s fine, Loretta. I just wanted to see if you’re having a good time. Um, are you alone?”

“Oh, that was just Richard,” she said in a light, dismissive tone. She did not elaborate. “Elizabeth, darling. It’s four in the morning here.” Her voice deepened. Betsy recognized that tone. It was Loretta’s attempt at being a Concerned Mother. “If it’s not Mummy’s doggie, then what is it? Have you been in an accident?” She gasped. “They didn’t let your father out by mistake again, did they? Dammit, don’t they realize he’s a danger—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Betsy said through a strained laugh. “The thing is, Loretta . . . well, it’s possible I’m being stalked. I’ve received some odd phone calls and a note, and today, at the writer’s conference, somebody broke into my room.”

She didn’t dare tell her mother how close her dog had come to being a frigid fatality. “Detective McKennitt—”

“McKennitt? McKennitt . . . McKennitt. Oh, yes, now I remember. The one you wrote that deliciously scathing review about last year?”

“Yes, well, he has a new book out now, but, well, never mind. It’s more that—”

“Now, Elizabeth. I rather liked his book. By his writing, he seems rather manly,” she purred. “Is he a manly man, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Loretta. Infinitely manly. But the point is—”

“Well,” scoffed Loretta, “stalking. I’m speechless.” That would be the day. “Are you sure you’re not just imagining all this? I mean, you’ve always had an overactive imagination. Perhaps the stress of being rejected by so many men has finally caught up with you, poor darling. Perhaps—”

Hot tears burned the corners of Betsy’s eyes. Keeping her voice as steady as possible, she said, “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, Loretta. I’ve got to go now. Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re
not
fine. You’re being stalked, or some such thing. What kind of
maman
would I be if I didn’t worry so over my little chick? What’s that detective’s name again, the illiterate Neanderthal you despise?”

“Soldier McKennitt. But—”

“You say he’s watching out for you?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s not the one stalking you.”

“No.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Is he as good-looking as he sounds?”

Betsy resisted the urge to scream. “I repeat. He’s
manly,
Loretta. A manly man. Naked gladiators should be so manly. He’s tall. He’s dark. He’s got blue eyes. He’s handsome as they come. Broad shoulders, perfect teeth, long, muscular legs. Beautiful . . .”

She was going to say that Soldier had beautiful hands, but that would be too personal. She wanted to keep that part for herself. He had touched her with his beautiful hands, and it might never happen again.

Betsy recalled the gentleness of his touch, the warmth of his fingers as he caressed her cheek and talked to her when she’d been so afraid. No, she would keep his beautiful hands in her own memory and not give it away so frivolously to a woman who would neither understand nor care.

“Loretta,” she sighed. “Go back to sleep.”

“Well, all right. Now, you’re to call me if anything juicy should happen. Don’t do anything foolish, and
do
listen to your detective.” Only Loretta Tremaine would give a daughter advice that involved the use of the word
juicy
.

“He’s not
my
detective, Loretta,” Betsy insisted. “He’s not my anything.” But her protests met only silence. Her mother had already hung up.

Soldier was careful not to be seen on his return trip from the small park across the street from the hotel. The dog had lived up to his name on every bush and blade of grass, and Soldier had to grudgingly give the little guy credit. He’d held it in for a long time, through his near-death experience and for hours afterward when Betsy had cradled him close. Who would have thought a dog named Piddle would have an iron bladder?

Glancing up and down the empty hallway as he slid the plastic key into the lock, he pushed the door open and quickly entered. The bathroom door was shut and he could hear water running.

Soldier grimaced. A shower might do Betsy some good, but the thought of all that hot water sluicing over her naked body didn’t help reduce his lust at all. The poor woman had enough trouble without her bodyguard coming on to her.

The last thing she needed was his hands running all over her flesh, kissing her soft, plump skin.

No, she didn’t need that, but he sure as hell did.

Shaking the images from his brain, he sprawled on the bed and made a grab for the phone. After three rings, Taylor answered.

“Hey, Tayo. How’s it hangin’?”

“Long and low, brother, long and low. How’s the conference?” He could hear Taylor munching on something that sounded like a potato chip.

Soldier let his gaze wander to the closed bathroom door. “There’s been an interesting development here.”

“Yeah? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me! You fell for the lovely Ms. Tremaine and now you’re going to elope to Niagara Falls?” He snickered into the receiver.

“As a matter of fact, she is here, and I did meet her.”

Taylor choked on his potato chip. “You are shitting me! That’s great! Did you give her hell? Did you rough her up a little? Do you need bail money?”

“Uh, no. No bail, but—”

“So what’s she look like? Is she wartless?”

“Totally.”

Taylor’s voice rose a notch. “She’s young, isn’t she? And pretty, I’ll bet? And you fell for her, didn’t you? Ha! Son of a freakin’ bitch! I can’t believe it!” He started to howl with laughter.

Soldier realized that the shower in the bathroom had stopped. She’d be out in a few minutes, so he had to make this quick. “This is serious, Taylor. Somebody tried to whack her Chihuahua.”

A momentary pause. “Whack her Chihuahua? Sounds kinky. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Hey, have
you
whacked her—”

“Shut up, you numbnuts!
Listen
. I’m certain Betsy Tremaine is being stalked. The guy has made two direct contacts. He left her a note, then broke into her room here at the conference. She’s in the initial impact and denial phase, but pretty soon it’s going to hit her like a freight train and she’s going to implode. I’m going to try to get her to let me take her home.”

Taylor’s voice became solemn as the cop in him snapped to. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m going to interview her tonight to get as much down as I can, then I’m going to send you an e-mail with all the data. I want you to get your ass up to Port Henry and run some checks.”

“What? Is the Seattle PD closed for repairs or something? Why me?”

“Because you’re off this weekend, and this is all still unofficial. We’ve got nothing.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. “Sure, big brother. But can’t the cops in Port Henry handle this?”

“No.”

A moment passed. Finally, “You want to tell me about it?”

Soldier closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain. She’s . . . she’s not what I expected.”

As though timing her entrance perfectly, Betsy emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. She absently toweled her hair as she smiled down at the dog nipping at her toes. Her cheeks were pink from scrubbing, her plush lips curved into a gentle smile. She wore an old-fashioned flannel nightgown that had tiny pink flowers all over it and lace at the neckline and wrists. Though it covered her from her chin to her ankles and revealed absolutely nothing, it was the sexiest nightgown Soldier had ever seen.

“Jack? Hello? Hey, you’re not falling for this woman, are you? Jackson?”

“I
’ve gone twenty-eight years without being interrogated by the police. I see no reason to start now, especially over something so silly.” Betsy took a sip of the steaming hot chocolate Soldier had ordered for her from room service. She was hoping it would settle her nerves, but it wasn’t working.

They were seated in his hotel room at a small table near the window. Piddle lay curled in her lap, deep in doggie slumber. It was nearly eleven o’clock and she was exhausted, but the detective wanted to get some information from her to pass on to his brother, who was apparently also a cop.

Soldier looked up from his laptop computer. “Not interrogated. Interviewed. There’s a difference,” he stated. He looked just as tired as she felt, but where her energy levels were waning, his seemed to be revving up.

The Seattle investigators had come in and taken some fingerprints from inside the closet, the closet door, the minifridge, and a few other places. Soldier didn’t seem to hold out much hope of finding any kind of match, but then, you never could tell, as the saying goes.

He’d asked her a few more questions, but since she was not a resident of Seattle and would be returning home in a few days, there wasn’t much more he could do except file a report.

Across from her now, Soldier McKennitt’s face was unreadable as he prepared to interview her. Every aspect of her life would be keyed into his computer.
To know the victim is to know the criminal,
he’d said.

She let the warmth from the mug she held infuse her palms as she regarded Soldier. His fingers moved over the keyboard as he entered information about her into the database.

She had decided she wouldn’t answer his questions. He couldn’t make her do this. There was no official investigation going on. He’d even told her that no actual crime had been committed.

While in the shower, she’d determined that she wasn’t really being stalked. No way, no how. She also decided she was sorry she had dragged her mother into it. That, as usual, was a given. She’d call her mother in the morning and set things straight.

“Soldier?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, but kept typing.

“Soldier, I don’t think . . . I mean, I don’t want to do this. It’s not necessary.”

The rapid clicking stopped as his fingers stilled on the keyboard. He raised his gaze to meet hers. “It
is
necessary.”

The words hung between them as the seconds passed. Betsy lowered her lashes, focusing on the chocolate froth at the bottom of her cup. Her stomach was tied in a thousand little knots. Her nerves were stretched from Seattle to Port Henry and beyond. Her mind was thick with uncertainty. The decision she’d made was about the only thing over which she had any kind of control.

“I just want to go home. I’m not being stalked. I . . . I just want to go home and have everything be normal again.”

There, she’d said it. Calmly, rationally, concisely. She would return to Port Henry and life would go on as it had before. To think she was being stalked was ridiculous. In a few months she would look back and have a huge laugh at how silly she’d been.

Soldier had changed his clothes and was now wearing jeans and a long-sleeve black T-shirt. She tried not to stare, but looking at him made her feel good. He seemed so self-assured, comfortable in his own skin, and so nice to look at, she was having trouble concentrating. At her remarks, he’d pushed himself away from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Betsy had never been in the presence of a man so wholly sexy that she had trouble focusing on the matter at hand. She forced herself not to sigh.

Just who was she kidding, anyway? A man like Soldier McKennitt would never give a plain little nobody like her the time of day. The thought made her feel depressed, and she suddenly felt like crying.
Uh-oh, here they came. The tears.

Fear, intimidation, loss of control, sexual attraction, possible rejection . . . all churned together in her mind, and she knew she was very close to losing it.

Her eyes stinging, Betsy tried to look away, but Soldier had seen. He leaned forward and cupped his hands around hers, still wrapped around the mug.

“What you’re feeling is normal, Betsy. It’s a common human reaction to a situation like this. First, you’re certain it’s all a mistake. Then, you start to feel it’s true. But your mind begins working overtime on it and you convince yourself you’re being silly. You vacillate until the next encounter, and even then you have trouble believing it’s happening. Nobody likes to believe they are the victim of a stalker.”

“I’m not being stalked.”

“The evidence is there, Betsy. Sure, there’s no physical proof yet, but I feel you’re in danger . . . and you feel it, too.”

“No. A stupid note, that’s all. Nothing else has happened.”

“Something else did happen. Somebody put your dog in the—”

Betsy pulled her hands away. “No. I can’t accept that. Piddle s-somehow got himself into the refrigerator. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m sure it’s just . . . it was just . . .”

Just what? She didn’t have a good explanation, but she was damn sure she wasn’t being stalked.

With a heavy sigh, she stood, lifting the sleeping dog into her arms. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed now. You’ll have to leave.” She refused to meet Soldier’s eyes.

He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “All right. We can do this in the morning, after you’ve rested.” His tone seemed resigned. She knew he didn’t want to let her go to sleep now; he wanted to do the damn interview. But she had another plan in mind, a plan that didn’t include detectives or interviews or hotel security guards or nonexistent stalkers.

Soldier knew it just as sure as he knew his own name: she was going to bolt.

It had been a long day, and he felt dead on his feet, but as long as Betsy Tremaine had that “I’m outta here” look in her eyes, he had to stay awake and alert. Glancing at his watch, the dim hallway light revealed it was nearing three o’clock in the morning. Any minute now.

As predicted, he heard the knob turn, the hinge creak, felt the little suck of air as the door swung open.

He’d positioned himself in a chair in the hallway, his legs stretched out before him, his arms crossed over his chest. The door opened a little more, and slowly she poked her head out. She looked to the left and opened the door a bit more. She looked to the right, directly into Soldier’s eyes.

The shock that registered on her face was well worth his having stayed up half the night waiting for her to make a break for it.

He’d known the minute she decided to run. He’d seen the flicker of decision and determination in her eyes, and knew she was still deeply in denial and would go to ground, thinking herself safe. But she wasn’t safe. Every nerve in his body told him so.

Admittedly, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to go on, but the little prickles on the back of his neck warned him she was in real danger. She probably knew it, too, which was why she was fighting so hard to ignore it.

Now, she had the dog carrier in one hand and her suitcase in the other. The expression on her face told the rest of the story. Betsy Tremaine was furious.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. “You shouldn’t be here. Go away. Get out of my life. I promise I’ll never review another book of yours. You’re the best author I’ve
ever
read. Pulitzer prize material. Now go
away
.”

Soldier let her babble, and watched helplessly as the hysteria began to overtake her.

She tried to move past him and into the hall, but he stood and gently guided her back into the room. Closing the door, he made sure it was locked before turning to her.

She was trembling, her eyes huge and glassy. He could see she was nearing an emotional breakdown, so he didn’t say anything. Taking the dog carrier from her and grasping her suitcase, he moved past her to set the dog on the bed and the suitcase on the floor. “You need rest,” he said, his back to her.

Behind him, he heard her rapid breathing. Any second now she was going to collapse.

Just as he turned, she put her face in her hands and began to cry. He moved to her and put his arms around her, pulling her close. “Shhh. It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right. You’ll get through this. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Betsy’s face was smashed against his shoulder, her sobs wrenching, heartbreaking. She wrapped her arms around his waist and let herself melt into him, using him for strength and support. He didn’t mind. She’d been holding her emotions in check since receiving the note last week. All through the evening, with security and police and interviews and fingerprinting, she’d stayed calm, steady, focused on the tasks at hand.

And now the time had come for her to let it all go.

Soldier rested his cheek on the top of her head. Her hair smelled like flowers and felt like silk. She was one sweet and sexy little bundle, and the feelings of protection she garnered in him were unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

After a few minutes, the sobs eased up a bit and she sniffed into his shirt. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief and shoved it under her nose. One hand came up to grab it.

Dabbing her eyes, she lifted her face to him. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered.

“Blow your nose.”

Releasing her hold on him, she did as he instructed. “I didn’t know men still carried cloth handkerchiefs around anymore. I’ll wash this and return it to you.”

He smiled down at her. “You can keep it. I have more.” Betsy still stood in the circle of his arms, and he made no move to step away from her.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying, her nose stuffy. “I’m sorry. I got tears all over your shirt.” She placed her palm over his heart, where the fabric was soaked. Her hand was warm and he could feel its heat against his skin. Anyone watching would have assumed they were in an intimate embrace. He liked that. He liked her.

Betsy’s dark lashes were spiky and damp, her cheeks rosy. She kept licking her lips as she stood against him, unmoving, apparently considering what to do or say next.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be, but I am. I . . . I have always been able to take care of myself, do whatever I needed to make my life work. I’ve never had any enemies. But this . . . this is so unexpected. And so frightening. I don’t know what to think. What to do.”

She paused for a moment as though searching for the right words. “Honestly, I don’t know where to turn.”

She blinked and looked up at him. The trust and pain he saw there made his heart lurch.

Now he was in real trouble.

“Goddammit,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Her hazel eyes widened and she looked more innocent than any woman had a right to look. He pulled her closer. “Just remember I tried. I tried to keep this from happening.”

“Keep what . . . ?”

He lowered his head and took her mouth. Her reflexive gasp parted her lips, and he took full advantage. Tightening his arms around her, he pulled her closer yet and kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers, his mouth savoring the softness of her lips. Inside his chest, he felt his heart pound in a crazy rhythm. His breathing turned to panting.

For an instant, Soldier pulled back and looked down into her face. Her mouth was wet and swollen, her plush lips more inviting than ever. Slowly, he bent his head again, giving her plenty of time to turn away.

But she didn’t. Instead, she slipped her arms around his neck and pushed herself up on her toes, offering him her mouth once more. He took it.

These weren’t the searching, tentative kisses of new lovers. He didn’t go slowly to learn her mouth, but delved deeply into her sweetness as he pressed his hard body into her soft curves. Beneath her clothing, Soldier could feel her full breasts pushing against his chest, her hips, flush against his groin. His extremely rigid groin.

It was nearly four in the morning. The sun would be coming up in a few hours, lightening the room with its pink softness. In his mind’s eye he saw Betsy naked on the bed. He saw himself tracing every inch of her body. As the early morning glow licked her skin, so did his tongue.

He slipped his hands down her back to grasp the firm globes of her bottom through her skirt. Pulling her hard into him, he nearly went crazy with desire. His brain shut down and all he could do was feel the heat pounding in his loins.

Abruptly, he became aware that Betsy was squirming. He broke the kiss and stood away from her.

She looked confused and terrified.

Raising his palms in a “hang on a minute” gesture, he tried to regain some measure of control. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He searched her wide eyes. “No, that’s a lie. I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I met you, and I’m not going to apologize for it. But I won’t do it again unless you want me to. You do want me to, don’t you? Because I really want to.”

Betsy’s look went from terrified to shocked. Slowly, her eyes narrowed on him and the hint of a smile tilted one corner of her mouth. Her pink, swollen mouth. But before she could say anything, the phone beside the bed began to ring.