Wildest Dreams (The Contemporary Collection) Page 3
All the things she had read about self-defense for the woman alone, all her good resolutions to take some kind of class on self-protection or buy a weapon to carry in her purse tumbled through her head. None of it was helpful. She had never followed up on her good intentions.
It was still two blocks to the parking lot. When she got there, it was going to be dark and the attendant would probably be asleep or gone for the night. If she got there.
She put her head down, stepping up her pace until she was nearly running. In a moment she would make a break for it. Behind her the footsteps increased in speed.
“Darling! There you are!”
The voice, warm and deeply masculine, rich with concern, came from just ahead of her. She glanced up, startled. She had a brief glimpse of dark hair and an intense gaze shadowed with appeal and daring, caught a whiff of night freshness, starched linen, and the clean sandalwood note of some excellent after-shave. Then the man was upon her in a rush, scooping her up, holding her against him with long, firm arms.
“There’s a guy behind you, ma’am, and it looks like he has a knife in his hand,” he said, speaking quickly, his voice urgent under its quiet timbre. “I’d like to be heroic and demolish him for you, but I’m not sure he doesn’t have friends. Play along, and it may be all right.”
Her nerves were too tightly strung to make sense of what he was saying. She only knew it wasn’t all right, and wasn’t going to be, knew it with an instinct that sent prickling gooseflesh over every inch of her body. She drew in her breath to scream.
In that instant, the man’s hold tightened around her and his firm mouth descended on her parted lips.
2
THE KISS WAS HEATED AND piercingly sweet, its hard pressure inescapable. Joletta felt the rush of warm blood to her head and the champagne froth of rising ardor in her veins. At the same time she moved her head in negation while a soft sound of distress caught in her throat.
A moment later the man raised his head. He stood still with his arms clasped around her, holding her against him. Joletta, meeting his gaze that appeared dark blue in the light of the street lamps, saw an arrested expression overlaid by wry fatalism.
It had been some time since she had been kissed. Too long, perhaps. A shiver of reaction moved over her, and there was an aching constriction in her throat. Disoriented by the swift turn of events, she stood still with her fingers resting lightly against the firm muscles of his chest under his suit coat.
The man who held her drew a sharp breath, then released her, stepping back with the taut, abrupt movements of extreme reluctance. He glanced beyond her. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said on an uneven laugh. “I just — I thought that I might be more convincing as a bodyguard if it looked as if I had a personal interest. At least it seems to have done the trick.”
Joletta glanced over her shoulder. There was no sign of whoever had been following her. Speaking with difficulty, she said, “That may be, but I imagine you could have done the same thing without—”
“Yes, ma’am, but where would the reward be in that?”
She gave him a straight look. There was a hint of exaggeration in the form of address he used and the drawl of his voice. She thought it was deliberate, though she could not be sure. In the dim light, his hair was the dark and shining brown of polished black walnuts, its texture thick and not quite tamed to smoothness. His features were clean-cut and nicely proportioned, dominated by a straight nose and square chin with a hint of an indentation. The curving lines on either side of his mouth suggested he smiled often, and the glint of fast-moving intelligence could be seen in his eyes. His shoulders, under the coat of a well-cut navy suit, were broad without being bulky. He was above average in height, his manner compelling without being overbearing.
After a moment Joletta said, “Must there be a reward?”
“Gallantry, southern style, isn’t appreciated the way it used to be. It should be practiced for its own sake, I expect, but I prefer to collect on my own, given the chance.”
Listening to the sound of his voice, driven by the rise of well-developed curiosity, she said, “Where are you from?”
“Virginia, originally. Does it matter?”
“No,” she answered, and repeated more firmly as she bent her head to search in her shoulder bag for her car keys, “no, of course not.”
A faint whimsical note sounded in his voice as he said, “Were you headed somewhere? Strike out, and I’ll tag along to keep you company.”
It was a disarming suggestion, but she had no intention of encouraging him. She didn’t trust most men she met in broad daylight, much less one she had run into on a dark street at midnight in the Quarter. She looked up as she took out her brass ring of jangling keys. “Thanks all the same, but gallantry doesn’t have to go that far.”
“My old nurse who taught me my manners would say it did.” His easy stance in front of her did not change, nor did he show any sign of leaving.
“Well, she isn’t here,” Joletta said evenly, “and I don’t know you from Adam. You might be mixed up with the guy with the knife for all I can tell.”
“Good thinking, but you’re still unmolested so far, aren’t you — well almost. Be sensible. Let me walk you to your car.”
“I appreciate your help, but I’m sure I can manage on my own now.”
Joletta stepped around him, moving in the direction of the parking lot. “Maybe so,” he said as he turned and fell in beside her, “but why should you have to?”
She gave him a swift glance. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”
“I think it is.”
The parking lot ahead, a small square surrounded by the high walls of houses and courtyards, was like a dimly lighted well. The solid presence of the man beside her was not actually unwelcome, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Since there seemed to be no getting rid of him anyway, she allowed her silence to signal her reluctant acquiescence.
After a moment, however, her own training in manners at Mimi’s knee began to surface. What had seemed self-protective silence seconds before began to feel like ungracious sulking. She glanced at the man moving beside her, at his suit, so somber with its matching striped tie. He had the look, she thought, of some kind of executive with time on his hands after a day of intense negotiation. In an attempt to ease the moment, she said, “You’re in New Orleans on business?”
“You could say so.”
“Is this your first time here?”
He shook his head. “I come through now and again.”
“A convention, maybe?” New Orleans was a major attraction for group meetings.
“Not this time,” he answered.
Since he did not elaborate, Joletta did not pursue it. It didn’t matter what he did or why he was in the city; she would never see him again. Still, the disappointment she felt at his minimal answers was surprising, even disturbing in its way. She had managed just fine without the tingling, visceral response to a man that she felt inside at this moment. It was a complication she didn’t need.
“You don’t have to break into a run,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to jump you again.”
Joletta slackened her pace. “I wasn’t running.”
“No, of course not.” There was humor underlying the irony in his voice.
She came to a halt and turned to face him. “This is far enough,” she said. “I’m thankful that you came along when you did; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t. I don’t even hold the kiss against you, but—”
“No?” he asked, the word quietly doubtful.
“No,” she answered with firmness, perhaps more firmness than necessary. “Anyway, my car is just over there, and I’m sure I’ll be fine now.”
He studied her a moment. “So buzz off, huh? What if the guy with the knife is still behind us, waiting for your bodyguard to leave?”
“It doesn’t seem likely.” Joletta spoke with bravado instantly belied by her quick look over her shoulder.
She shook her head in amazement. “You must be crazy. I don’t even know your name—”
“Tyrone Kingsley Stuart Adamson the Fourth, at your service. Is that enough name for you? If it’s too much, call me Rone. And what can I call you besides "darling" and "ma’am"?”
“Nothing! Look—”
“No, you look,” he said, his voice deepening to hard-edged certainty. “I’m not leaving you here at this time of night. If you won’t let me drive you home, at least let me follow you. No, correct that. I’m going to follow you whether you want me to or not.”
She stared at him for long seconds, at the firm planes of his face and the unwavering purpose in his eyes. “Why?” she demanded. “Why such concern?”
“It’s my nature, a habit beaten into me with a peach-tree switch by a strong-minded black housekeeper who cared about that sort of thing. I also open doors and give up my seat to women; I just can’t help it.”
As an answer, it was not quite satisfactory. Regardless, Joletta could find no real reason to question it. Mimi had also been big on manners and moral obligations. She compressed her lips as she turned, but protested no more as he continued beside her to where her Mustang sat locked and dark.
The man called Rone took her keys from her and opened the door, leaning to check in the backseat for hidden passengers before he made a courteous gesture indicating it was all right for her to get in.
Joletta could not allow him to outdo her in graciousness. She held out her hand. As he took it she said, “Well, thank you for the rescue. I am grateful.”
“In spite of everything? That’s generous of you.” He smiled down at her as he spoke.
“No, really—” she began.
“Never mind,” he said, “I’m grateful myself for the opportunity.”
It didn’t seem wise to question his meaning. She withdrew her hand. “Good night, then.”
He stepped back to allow her to enter the car. As she slid under the wheel he turned and walked off toward a silver Buick with a rental-company sticker prominent on the back bumper.
It made Joletta nervous to have his headlights shining in her rearview mirror as she drove, to know that he was watching the way she threaded through the narrow streets of the Quarter and turned back toward the lake. It also disturbed her, as she thought about it, that she was allowing a chance-met stranger to discover where she lived.
She need not have worried. As she pulled into the entrance drive to her apartment building, Rone Adamson blinked his headlights once, then drove on past without stopping. She would not, Joletta told herself, have had it any other way.
Regardless, she turned her head to watch the red taillights of his car disappear. Releasing her tight grip on the steering wheel, she reached up to touch the soft surface of her lips. They felt extra sensitive, a little feverish.
It had been almost six months since she had allowed a man to come close enough to kiss her like that. Six months since Charles, her fiancé, had kissed her good-bye.
They had known each other so long. Stocky and blond, Charles was playmate, friend, brother, the only boy she had dated through high school. The intimacy between them had evolved naturally, beginning with a chaste good-night kiss and reaching its high point some two years later, after they became officially engaged, on a sleeping bag beside the Mississippi River. When they started to college, Charles had wanted them to take an apartment just off campus together, but Joletta had refused. Mimi, she knew, would not have understood. Still, they had spent their every waking moment together. They had visited a doctor for birth control together, planned their future home and family and every detail of the wedding that would eventually take place. Together, always together. Joletta had bought her gown of champagne tissue silk sewn with pearls and iridescent beads. Their attendants were supposed to wear blue, to match the most dominant color of the stained glass in the little Victorian church on the River Road where the ceremony was to be performed.
Somehow, the wedding date was never set. Charles’s parents wanted him to go with them on an African safari the summer after he and Joletta graduated. Then his grandfather had died after a lengthy illness, and Charles had felt it was selfish to think of their own happiness during such a time. He had suggested that they should save money for a down payment on a house, and maybe even put a little back for a Caribbean honeymoon. What was the rush, after all? They had the rest of their lives ahead of them.
Joletta had felt, after a time, that her life was on hold, but Charles’s arguments for waiting had seemed so reasonable, so practical, that she had dutifully saved her money while living with Mimi.
Then Charles had used his savings to make a down payment on an electric-blue Mazda Miata convertible.
Joletta had walked around the sports car where it sat in front of the perfume shop. Her chest grew tight. She looked at Charles where he stood back with his hands on his hips and a proud smile on his face. Her voice wobbled a little when she finally spoke.
“You — you really don’t want to get married, do you, Charles?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step back.
“Is there someone else? All you have to do is tell me.”
“Nobody, I swear,” he said, a high-pitched note of protest in his voice. “What is this?”
“I’m just trying to find out why you spent our future on a car.”
He frowned. “It’s my money; I work hard for it. I have a right to buy what I want.”
“Yes, but you said—”
“I know what I said, but God, Joletta, we’ll be married forever and I feel like I’ve never been free.”
“Are — you saying you would like to see other women?” She had known he always checked out any attractive woman who passed while they were together but had thought it was a habit he would grow out of as he became more mature.
“Why not?” he said with a shade of belligerence in his tone. “And maybe you should see other men. It might be a charge, who knows; I certainly never managed to turn you on that much.”
“I haven’t complained,” she said, her voice low.
“Maybe you should have; it might have helped. As it is—” He shrugged.
She swallowed. “I never knew you felt this way.”
“Now you do.”
It was a long moment before she could speak past the ache growing in her throat. “Fine, then. I don’t think I want to marry someone who doesn’t care any more than that about me, either.” She fumbled at the ring he had given her. It came off easily since it had always been too big. She grasped his hand, slapped the ring onto his palm, and closed his fingers over it. “Take it,” she said, “and just go away. Now.”
He stood staring down at the ring with a look of amazement and indecision on his face for long seconds. Abruptly, he swung from her and climbed into the car. The Miata laid down long strips of black rubber as it pulled away.
The sudden end of Joletta’s plans and everything she and Charles had shared had been like a death. Her life had been so intertwined with his that she felt torn apart. The hurtful things he had said remained with her, eating away at her self-esteem.
Mimi had helped her, Mimi and time. However, even Mimi had not been able to convince her that all men weren’t like Charles. Most of those she met had seemed exactly like him, ready enough to take her out, ready to jump into bed as if that were some kind of test for the future. Joletta had not been interested in being tested, didn’t trust a future that had to be tried out beforehand. She had seldom progressed beyond the first date, and had become less and less likely to agree even to that.
Mimi had told her she was burying herself in the research library. It was possible her grandmother had been right. You could count on the past; it never changed.
&n
bsp; Rone flipped his light switch off and on again as a farewell for Joletta Caresse, then drove on for a quarter of a mile before making a left turn and parking in front of a convenience store. He checked his watch before he got out and went in. Returning a few minutes later with a large coffee in a foam cup covered by a plastic lid, he started his car and drove back the way he had come.
At the apartment complex again, he pulled into the drive, found a parking space, and cut the engine and headlights. The complex was fairly new, built in separate buildings of two to four apartments each that were set at various angles around a central pool area. From where he was parked, Rone could see the bedroom window of the apartment he had checked out earlier as belonging to the woman he was watching. It was covered by mini-blinds that were tightly closed, though now and then he could catch a glimpse of a shadow passing over them.
He took the top from his coffee and tasted it. Grimacing, he shook his head. Too strong, it must have been simmering for hours, but he was going to need it to stay awake. Discarding the lid in the litter bag provided by the rental company, he shifted in his seat, trying to make his long frame more comfortable. He propped one wrist on the steering wheel as he took another sip of coffee and allowed his gaze to return to the lighted window above him.
He sighed as he shook his head in bemusement. The impulse to kiss Joletta Caresse had been irresistible. It had also been a dumb thing to do. He didn’t care; it had been worth the risk.
His first night on the job and he had blown his cover, to use a phrase out of some mystery thriller. That might be bad or good, depending. One thing it had been was necessary; he couldn’t have let the creep with the knife touch her. There had been a few bad seconds when he thought he was going to be too late. Next time he would be more alert.
Next time. God.
He hadn’t been sure what he was doing was necessary. It had seemed so melodramatic, even paranoid. Apparently, it wasn’t, not at all.