Her Kind of Hero (8 page)

“You'll like Lisse,” he said carelessly. “I'll ask her to go shopping with you. You'll have to have a few clothes. She has excellent taste.”

Implying that Callie had none at all. Her heart felt like iron in her chest, heavy and cold. “That would be nice,” she said, lying through her teeth. “I won't need much, though,” she added, thinking about her small savings account.

“You may be there longer than a day or two,” he said in a carefully neutral voice. “You can't wear the same clothes day in and day out. Besides,” he added curtly, “it's about time you learned how to dress like a young woman instead of an elderly recluse!”

C
allie felt the anger boil out of her in waves. “Oh, that's nice, coming from you,” she said icily. “When you're the one who started me wearing that sort of thing in the first place!”

“Me?” he replied, his eyebrows arching.

“You said I dressed like a tramp,” she began, and her eyes were anguished as she remembered the harsh, hateful words. “Like my mother,” she added huskily. “You said that I flaunted my body…” She stopped suddenly and wrapped her arms around herself. She stared out the porthole while she recovered her self-control. “Sorry,” she said stiffly. “I've been through a lot. It's catching up with me. I didn't mean to say that.”

He felt as if he'd been slapped. Maybe he deserved it, too. Callie had been beautiful in that green velvet dress. The sight of her in it had made him ache. She had the grace and poise of a model, even if she lacked the necessary height. But he'd never realized that his own anger had made her ashamed of her body, and at such an impressionable age. Good God, no wonder she
dressed like a dowager! Then he remembered what she'd hinted in the jungle about the foster homes she'd stayed in, and he wondered with real anguish what she'd endured before she came to live in his father's house. There had to be more to her repression than just a few regretted words from him.

“Callie,” he said huskily, catching her soft chin and turning her flushed face toward him. “Something happened to you at one of those foster homes, didn't it?”

She bit her lower lip and for a few seconds, there was torment in her eyes.

He drew in a sharp breath.

She turned her face away again, embarrassed.

“Can you talk about it?” he asked.

She shook her head jerkily.

His dark eyes narrowed. And her mother—her own mother—had deserted her, had placed her in danger with pure indifference. “Damn your mother,” he said in a gruff whisper.

She didn't look at him again. At least, she thought mistakenly, he was remembering the breakup of his father's marriage, and not her childhood anymore. She didn't like remembering the past.

He leaned back in his seat and stretched, folding his arms over his broad chest. One day, he promised himself, there was going to be a reckoning for Callie's mother. He hoped the woman got just a fraction of what she deserved, for all the grief and pain she'd caused. Although, he had to admit, she had changed in the past year or so.

He wondered if her mother's first husband, Kane Kirby, had contacted Callie recently. Poor kid, he thought. She really had gone through a lot, even before Lopez had her kidnapped. He thought about what she'd suffered at Lopez's hands, and he
ached to avenge her. The drug lord was almost certain to make a grab for her again. But this time, he promised himself, Lopez was going to pay up his account in full. He owed Callie that much for the damage he'd done.

 

It was dark when the plane landed in Nassau at the international airport, and Micah let Callie go ahead of him down the ramp to the pavement. The moist heat was almost smothering, after the air-conditioned plane. Micah took her arm and escorted her to passport control. He glanced with amusement at the passengers waiting around baggage claim for their bags to be unloaded. Even when he traveled routinely, he never took more than a duffel bag that he could carry into the airplane with him. It saved time waiting for luggage to be off-loaded.

After they checked through, he moved her outside again and hailed a cab to take them to the marina, where the boat was waiting.

Another small round of formalities and they boarded the sleek, powerful boat that already contained Micah's men. Callie went below and sat quietly on a comfortable built-in sofa, watching out the porthole as the boat flew out of Prince George Wharf and around the bay. From there, it went out to sea.

“Comfortable?” Micah asked, joining her below.

She nodded. “It's so beautiful out there. I love the way the ships light up at night. I knew cruise ships did, but I didn't realize that smaller ones did, too.” She glanced at him in the subdued light of the cabin. “You don't light yours, do you?”

He chuckled. “In my line of work, it wouldn't be too smart, would it?”

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I wasn't thinking.”

He poured himself a Scotch and water and added ice cubes. “Want something to drink? If you don't want anything alcoholic, I've got soft drinks or fruit juice.”

She shook her head. “I'm fine.” She laughed. Her eyes caught and held on a vessel near the lighted dock. “Look! There's a white ship with black sails flying a skull and crossbones Jolly Roger flag!”

He chuckled. “That would be Fred Spence. He's something of a local eccentric. Nice boat, though.”

She glanced at him. “This one is nice, too.”

“It's comfortable on long hauls,” he said noncommittally. He dropped down onto the sofa beside her and crossed his long legs. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Lopez. I'm putting you under twenty-four-hour surveillance,” he said somberly. “If I'm not within yelling distance, one of my men will be. Even when you go shopping with Lisse, Bojo or Peter will go along. You aren't to walk on the beach alone, ever.”

“But surely that would be safe…?”

He sat forward abruptly, and his black eyes glittered. “Callie, he has weapons that could pinpoint your body heat and send a missile after it from a distance of half a mile,” he said curtly.

She actually gasped. That brought to mind another worry. She frowned. “I'm putting you in jeopardy by being with you,” she said suddenly.

“You've got that backward, honey,” he said, the endearment coming so naturally that he wasn't even aware he'd used it until he watched Callie's soft complexion flush. “You were in
jeopardy in the first place because of me. Why does it make you blush when I call you honey?” he added immediately, the question quick enough to rattle her.

“I'm not used to it.”

“From me,” he drawled softly. “Or from any man?”

She shifted. “From Dad, maybe.”

“Dad doesn't count. I mean single, datable bachelors.”

She shook her head. “I don't date.”

He'd never connected her solitary existence with himself. Now, he was forced to. He drew his breath in sharply, and got up from the sofa. He took a long sip from his drink, walking slowly over to stare out the porthole at the distant lights of the marina as they left it behind. “I honestly didn't realize how much damage I did to your ego, Callie. I'm really sorry about it.”

“I was just as much at fault as you were,” she replied evenly. “I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like some drunk prostitute…”

“Callie!” he exclaimed, horrified at her wording.

She averted her eyes and her hands clenched in her lap. “Well, I did.”

He put his drink on the bar and knelt just in front of her. He was so tall that his black eyes were even with soft blue ones in the position. His lean hands went to her waist and he shook her very gently.

“I pushed you away because I wanted you, not because I thought you were throwing yourself at me,” he said bluntly. “I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to resist you if I didn't do something very fast. I would have explained it to you eventually, if your mother hadn't stepped in and split the family apart, damn her cold heart!”

Her hands rested hesitantly on his broad shoulders, lifted and then rested again while she waited to see if she was allowed to touch him.

He seemed to realize that, because he smiled very slowly and his thumbs edged out against her flat belly in a sensuous stroking motion. “I like being touched,” he murmured. “It's all right.”

She smiled nervously. “I'm not used to doing it.”

“I noticed.” He stood up and drew her up with him. The top of her head only came to his nose. He framed her face in his warm, strong hands and lifted it gently. “Want to kiss me?” he asked in a husky whisper, and his eyes fell to her own soft mouth.

She wasn't sure about that. Her hands were on his chest now, touching lightly over the silky fabric. Under it, she could feel thick hair. She was hopelessly curious about what he looked like bare-chested. She'd never seen Micah without a shirt in all the time she'd lived in his house with his father.

“No pressure,” he promised, bending. “And I won't make fun of you.”

“Make fun of me?” she asked curiously.

“Never mind.” He bent and his lips closed tenderly on her upper lip while he tasted the moist inside of it with his tongue. His lips moved to her lower lip and repeated the arousing little caress. His hands were at her waist, but they began to move up and down with a lazy, sensual pressure that made her body go rigid in his arms.

He lifted his mouth from her face and looked down at her with affectionate amusement. “ Relax! Why are you afraid of me?” he asked gently. “I wouldn't hurt you, Callie. Not for any reason.”

“I know. It's just that…”

“What?” he asked.

Her eyes met his plaintively. “Don't…tease me,” she asked with dignity. “I'm not experienced enough to play that sort of game.”

The amusement left his face. “Is that what it seems like to you?” he asked. He searched her worried eyes. “Even if I were into game-playing, you'd never be a target. I do have some idea now of what you've been through, in the past and just recently.”

She let out the breath she'd been holding. “This Lisette you mentioned. Is she…important to you?”

“We're good friends,” he said, and there was a new remoteness in his expression. “You'll like her. She's outgoing and she loves people. She'll help you get outfitted.”

Now she was really worried. “I have my credit card, but I can't afford expensive shops,” she emphasized. “Could you tell her that, so I won't have to?”

“I can tell her.” He smiled quizzically. “But why won't you let me buy you some clothes?”

“I'm not your responsibility, even if you have been landed with me, Micah,” she replied. “I pay my own way.”

He wondered if she had any idea how few of his female acquaintances would ever have made such a statement to him? It occurred to him that he'd never had a woman refuse a wardrobe.

He scowled. “You could pay me back, if you have to.”

She smiled. “Thanks. But I'll buy my own clothes.”

His black eyes narrowed on her face. “You were always independent,” he recalled.

“I've had to be. I've been basically on my own for a long
time,” she said matter-of-factly. “Since I was a kid, really, and my father—I mean, Mother's first husband—threw us out. Mother didn't want the responsibility for me by herself and Kane Kirby didn't want me at all.”

“If your father didn't think you were his, why didn't he have a DNA profile run?” he asked with a watchful look.

She drew away from him. “There was no such thing fifteen years ago.”

“You could insist that he have it done now, couldn't you?” He gave her an odd look. “Have you spoken to him?”

“He phoned me recently. But I didn't call him back,” she said unwillingly. She'd seen her mother's first husband once or twice, during his rare visits to his Jacobsville home. He'd actually phoned her apartment a few weeks ago and left a strange, tentative message asking her to call him back. She never had. His rejection of her still hurt. She didn't see him often. He lived mostly in Miami these days.

“Why not talk to him and suggest the DNA test?” he persisted.

She looked up at him with tired, sad eyes. “Because it would probably prove what my mother said, that I'm not related to him at all.” She smiled faintly. “I don't know whose child I am. And it really doesn't matter anymore. Please, just…leave it alone.”

He sighed with irritation, as if he knew more than he was telling her. She wondered why he was so interested in her relationship with the man who was supposed to be her own father.

He saw that curiosity in her eyes, and he closed up. He could see years of torment in that sad little face. It infuriated him. “Your mother should be horsewhipped for what she did to you,” he said flatly.

She folded her arms across her chest, remembering the loneliness of her young life reluctantly. New homes, new faces, new terrors. She turned back to the porthole. “I used to wish I had someplace to belong,” she confessed. “I was always the outsider, in any home where I lived. Until my mother married your father,” she added, smiling. “I thought he'd be like all the others, that he'd either ignore me or be too familiar, but he just sort of belonged to me, from the very beginning. He really cared about me. He hugged me, coming and going.” She drew in a soft breath. “You can't imagine what it feels like, to have someone hug you, when you've hardly been touched in your whole life except in bad ways. He was forever teasing me, bringing me presents. He became my family. He even made up for my mother. I couldn't help loving him.” She turned, surprised to see an odd look of self-contempt on Micah's strong face. “I guess you resented us…”