A Love Like This Read online

  She was almost to the elevator when she noticed a tall, dark man in a blue blazer, open-throated white shirt, and white slacks coming toward her down the opposite end of the hall. A man with cold brown eyes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE FELT A surge of panic at just the sight of him, and her hand pressed the DOWN button impatiently while she murmured a silent plea that the delinquent conveyance would lumber on down from its third-floor layover before the big man reached her.

  But it was still hanging up there when the stranger joined her. He lit a cigarette with a lighter that might have been pure gold from the way his fingers caressed it before he slid it back into his pocket. It might have been gold for all she knew, but obviously money, if he had it, hadn’t made him happy. She wondered if he’d ever smiled.

  She noticed his eyes on the lacy shawl, and remembering his earlier remarks about the towel, she tugged it closer over the very modest rounded neckline of her dress.

  “The curtains,” she explained, deadpan. “I had a few spare minutes, so I ripped them up and made this simply darling little outfit. I’m sure there was a sign, but I read only Japanese,” she added flippantly.

  He took a draw from his cigarette, looking infuriatingly indifferent. “All the door signs have Japanese translations,” he replied coolly. “Japan is rapidly becoming one of the islands’ best sources of tourism.” His dark eyes measured her body in a way that made her want to cover herself up even more. “You’d look better in the curtains,” he added carelessly. “Your taste in clothes is juvenile.”

  She was gaping at him, openmouthed, when the elevator arrived, with three passengers speaking rapid Spanish among themselves.

  The big man stood aside for her, insinuating himself next to the panel to press the ground floor button.

  Nikki wanted to say something cutting back to him, but for the second time that day she was rendered speechless by her own fury.

  “Do you always sulk?” he asked with a curled dark eyebrow.

  Pale green flames bounced back at him in a face rigid with dislike. “Only,” she replied deliberately, “when I’m verbally attacked by strangers with delusions of grandeur!”

  “A kitten with claws?” he murmured, and something resembling amusement made ripples in his dark, deep-set eyes.

  “Gatita,” one of the Spanish group, a young man, murmured with a wide grin.

  The big, dark man threw a look over his shoulder, followed by a rapid-fire exchange of perfectly accented Spanish. Nikki, with only two dim years of the language to go by, understood little more than her companion’s “buenas noches,” as the elevator doors slid open.

  With what she hoped was urbane poise, Nikki moved toward the front entrance of the hotel.

  “May I ask where you’re going?” the big man asked from behind her.

  She stopped as she passed the desk. “To the restaurant on the arcade,” she replied involuntarily.

  “You’re going the long way around,” he remarked, indicating a mysterious door across from the elevator, always locked when she’d tried it, which led down a flight of stairs.

  “It’s locked,” she informed him haughtily.

  He sighed impatiently. “Didn’t the desk clerk give you two keys when you registered?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Yes,” she managed weakly, and it suddenly dawned on her which lock that mysterious key was meant for.

  “You didn’t bother to ask why, obviously,” he remarked as she turned and went past him, key in hand, and fitted it into the lock. It opened on the first try.

  “I was too busy stealing towels,” she muttered.

  He followed her down the stairs. “Do you ever read signs or ask questions?” he asked.

  She almost laughed out loud. No, she didn’t read signs. Most of them only said NO ADMITTANCE, and a reporter’s first duty was to get the story, no matter what barriers got in the way. And as for asking questions, boy, was that one for the books!

  “Oh, almost never,” she replied with her most Southern drawl.

  His eyes narrowed as he followed her to the bottom of the steps. “Where are you from?”

  “Southern Spain,” she replied. “Buenas noches, you all.”

  She doubled her pace onto the arcade as she passed the ice cream shop. It, like most of the others, had already closed for the day. There was a sultry, floral breeze, and the arcade took on a fairyland quality after dark. The stone benches in front of the coffee shop were deserted, and tourists wandered to and fro around the entrance to the restaurant and lounge on the bay.

  The shawl Nikki was wearing did little more than dress up the outfit that arrogant businessman had dismissed as being “juvenile.” She didn’t need it to protect her from the chill. There wasn’t one.

  “Do you make a habit of running off in the middle of a conversation?” her elevator companion asked suddenly, moving alongside her without rushing at all. His long, smooth strides made two of hers.

  She glared at him. “Were we having a conversation? I hardly think constant criticism qualifies.”

  He lifted his cigarette to his mouth, and she noticed that the breeze was ruffling his thick, slightly wavy hair, giving him a casual air.

  “I don’t pull my punches, honey. Do you?” he shot back.

  She drew the shawl closer while he ground out his cigarette underfoot. “I very rarely get into brawls,” she replied conversationally. “My uncle doesn’t think it’s ladylike to break people’s jaws.”

  She heard a faint, deep sound that could have been anything. “Doesn’t he? How about your parents, young lady. Are they mad to let you wander halfway across the ocean alone?”

  She drew herself up straight and stared unblinkingly into his dark eyes. “I’m twenty-five years old,” she told him. “And I am allowed to cross the street when I want to.”

  “Hell of a street,” he murmured.

  “My parents are dead,” she added quietly. “I live with my aunt and uncle—it’s not uncommon for women to stay at home until they marry where I come from.”

  She felt his dark eyes on her as they reached the door to the restaurant.

  “When did they die?” he asked, placing a huge hand on the door so that she couldn’t open it without moving him out of the way—an impossibility.

  She studied her sandaled feet. “When I was twelve,” she said tightly. Her eyes darted back to his, and before she could erase it, he read the bitter sadness there.

  “Have dinner with me,” he said shortly, his tone impatient, as if he was offering against his better judgment.

  Both her eyebrows went up over emerald eyes. “And be lectured on how I hold my fork?” she burst out.

  “Touchy little thing, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She bristled at him. “Only when I’m being bulldozed by Yan...by northerners.” She corrected herself quickly.

  One corner of his chiseled mouth quivered, and she could see the smile that died on it flickering briefly in his eyes. “Why don’t you say it... Yankees? All right, I’m from Chicago. What about it?”

  “I’m from Georgia. What about that?” she countered. Her eyes glistened with emotion. “And for your information, Mr. Accent Expert, I was born and raised in Georgia, and this accent isn’t put on. It’s real!”

  “How to speak Southern in three easy lessons?” he prodded. “Hi, y’all?”

  Her mouth compressed angrily. “No wonder they fired off that cannon at Fort Sumter,” she breathed. “No wonder...!”

  “Peace, Georgia.” He chuckled, and something akin to a smile pulled at his hard mouth. “Suppose we raise the white flag over some seafood?”

  Her eyes wandered over his broad, hard face. This was insanity...

  “Well?” he added curtly.

  “All right,” she murmured.

  He opened the door and ushered her to th
e entrance of the restaurant, with its huge peacock chairs overlooking the bay where ships and seagulls caught the eye.

  The hostess seated them at a window seat and gave them menus to scan.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Nikki sighed, her eyes dreamy and soft. “Look at the seagulls putting on a show. It’s like watching miniature airplanes do spins and barrel rolls.”

  “You like airplanes?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Very much. I took a few lessons before I ran out of time and money. It was fun.”

  He glanced at the menu. “What do you see that you like?”

  “Oh, the clam plate, please.” She glared at him over her menu as she added, “And dutch treat. I buy my own meals.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Pardon me, honey, but I don’t think your body’s worth a whole meal. Possibly not a cup of coffee.”

  Her fingers crumpled one edge of the menu. “I think I’d like to order another table.”

  “Stay put. I’ll reconsider after I’ve got something in my stomach. It’s been a hell of a day.” He shifted to tense and then relax the muscles in his big body.

  “If my company is so distasteful, why did you invite me to sit with you?” she asked, taking the battle into the enemy camp.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “I was lonely, Georgia,” he said quietly.

  She felt something leap at her heart and collide with it. “Oh.” She waited until the young waitress took their order before she spoke again. “Surely you know people here?”

  His broad, square-tipped fingers toyed with his napkin.

  “I came down on business,” he said. “I don’t care for the kind of socializing most of my associates go in for.”

  She folded her hands primly in her lap, easing back into the unexpectedly comfortable peacock chair that seemed to be the style in the restaurant.

  “What kind of business are you in?” she asked.

  His eyes darkened, narrowed over a cold smile. “Don’t you know?” he asked silkily.

  She looked away, ignoring that curt tone as her eyes widened on a newcomer in port. “Look!” she burst out. “Isn’t that a battleship?”

  He followed her fascinated gaze to a dull gray ship flying a French flag, just steaming into the Prince George Wharf. “An escort frigate,” he corrected. “French navy.”

  “I love the docks most of all,” she murmured. “I’ve never been near a seaport in my life. It’s just fascinating to sit and watch the ships dock and steam away. And the way those tiny little tugboats pivot them around in the harbor...!” She laughed.

  “Are you this enthusiastic about everything?” he asked with a frown.

  She glanced at him sheepishly. “It’s all new,” she explained. “New people, a new environment. I can’t help but be enthusiastic about it. This is the first foreign place I’ve ever seen.”

  He glanced out the window with a shrug. “I’ve been here at least a dozen times. It’s just another hotel in another city to me.”

  She drew in a quick, impatient breath. “And that’s what’s the matter with you,” she threw back. “You’re too blasé about it. You take everything for granted. Do you realize how many people there are in the world who never leave their hometowns at all? There must be millions who’ve never been inside an airplane!”

  “They haven’t missed much,” he grumbled. “Damned cramped places, lousy food...”

  “I had lots of leg room,” she countered, “and the food was delicious. People were nice...”

  “God deliver me,” he groaned. “I invited you here for a meal, not a sermon.”

  “No wonder you spend so much time alone,” she grumbled as the food was placed before them—her clams and his lobster thermidor. She paused to smile at the waitress and thank her, something he neglected to do, before she launched into him again. “You don’t like people, do you?” she asked frankly.

  His eyes went cold. “No,” he replied.

  Her wide-spaced emerald eyes searched his across the table. “We’re all alike, you know. Lonely, afraid, nervous, uncertain...”

  “I am not afraid,” he ground out. “I have never been nervous. And I didn’t get where I am today by being uncertain.”

  “If you were less hostile,” she argued, pausing to chew a mouthful of fresh fried clam and murmur how delicious it was, “people might like you more.”

  “I don’t need to be liked.” He sampled his lobster and grimaced. “I swear to God, this lobster would bounce if I threw it on the floor.”

  “Back home, people are eating hog jowl and corn bread, and you’re complaining about lobster.” She sighed.

  He blinked, his fork suspended in midair. “Hog jowl?” he mumbled.

  “Jowl of hog,” she told him. “Fat. What poor people have to eat because they can’t afford lobster.”

  He narrowed one eye. “Have you ever eaten them?”

  Her face tautened. She lifted another forkful of clams to her mouth. “These really are delicious,” she commented.

  “And an appropriate dish,” he observed, waiting for her to get the point.

  She shrugged. “I’ve been poor,” she admitted. “I don’t like remembering it, and I don’t like talking about it.”

  “You intrigue me,” he said over his black coffee. His dark hands curled around the cup, and she noticed a sprinkling of thick, dark hairs on the backs of them—the same hair that peeked out of his open-throated white shirt under the blue blazer. He had a faintly sensuous quality about him, or seemed to. But she doubted if he knew a lot about women. He was as cold as a chilled wineglass, hardly a ladies’ man with that rigidity and lack of charm. He seemed to be a lonely man...

  “Are you here by yourself?” she asked suddenly.

  “Yes,” he said curtly.

  She studied the tablecloth. “Married?”

  He went absolutely rigid in the chair, his eyes cutting. “Widowed.”

  “Sorry.” She added more cream to her coffee and picked at her French fries. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my room. It’s getting dark.”

  He stared at her blankly. “Do you change into a statue without sunlight?” he murmured.

  “Oh, it’s not that,” she assured him, wiping her mouth with the napkin and throwing down the rest of her coffee. “It’s just that I don’t like going out at night alone. Too dangerous. Sharks. Man-eating hibiscus. Leering palm trees.” She shuddered delicately. Her dancing eyes met his as she gathered her shawl around her and picked up her check. “Thanks for the company. See you around.”

  “Have you seen the cruise ships by night?” he asked suddenly.

  She shook her head wistfully. “They light up, don’t they?”

  “There’s a nice view from the beach. I’ll walk out with you, if you like.” He stood up, towering over her, and before she could move, he grabbed her check out of her hand and walked away to the cashier.

  “You can’t...” she protested behind him.

  But he had his wallet out and the check paid before she could finish the sentence. He held the door open for her and followed her outside.

  “And that’s why I like Southern women,” he murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Before you can say don’t, I already have,” he murmured with a laughing sideways glance. “Slow drawls can be a distinct advantage.”

  She laughed lightly. “Well, thank you for my sup, anyway.”

  “You were worth it,” he replied.

  She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him, with her short, dark hair whipping around her pixie face. “I...I think there’s something we should get straight.”

  He seemed to take the thought out of her mouth. “I’ve got all the women I need,” he replied blandly. “Of course, if there are ever any openings, I’ll keep you in mind.”

  She coul
dn’t fish out the reply she wanted, so she just kept walking.

  The beach was deserted, except for one of the hotel employees, who was dutifully raking the sand clear of debris and a man from the patio bar, who was talking to him. The big man sat down on the concrete sidewalk that led around the restaurant and separated it from the beach. He motioned toward the wharf.

  “They light up like Christmas trees,” he remarked.

  She studied the huge white passenger ships, fascinated. “I’ll bet the passengers do, too,” she teased with a small laugh.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I never drink with strangers.”

  His brows ridged upward. “We’ve just had dinner together,” he reminded her.

  “And I don’t even know your name.”

  “Cal,” he said after a minute. His eyes went cold. “If you’re determined to pretend.”

  That remark went right over her head. She was too intent on the two passenger ships gleaming like ivory whales wearing strands of diamonds. “I’m Nikki,” she murmured. “Short for Nicole.”

  “I think I like ‘Georgia’ better,” he remarked.

  She laughed. “You know, back home it’s no big thing to be a Georgian. Most folks are. But over here it’s unique to be an American—have you noticed? I’ve only seen a handful of other Americans since I’ve been here.” She glanced up at him. “Do you still live in America?”