Hideaway (7 page)

Martin stepped out of the tub, extending his hand and pulling her up in one strong motion. He wrapped her in a large thick bath sheet, rubbing her body until her skin glowed and tingled.

“Remind me not to share a bath with you again,” she murmured. Her hair was soaked and limp strands had escaped the pins she used for her French twist.

“I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I enjoyed everything except the dunking.”

He towel-dried his hair, grinning at her. “Then we’ll repeat everything except the dunking.”

Martin dropped his towel to the floor and reached for her. Tilting her chin, he made passionate love to her with his eyes. “Parris, why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

Her eyes widened and her breathing halted, then started up again. Her gaze was directed to the base of Martin’s throat where her teeth had left a dark red bruise.

“You didn’t ask me,” she replied.

“I assumed you wouldn’t be one because you’d been married.”

“You assumed wrong.”

Martin noted the hostility in her voice. “What the hell did Lawson do to you?”

Parris pulled away from him, taking a backward step. How could she tell Martin that Owen hadn’t been able to make love to her because his addiction made him impotent? She couldn’t tell Martin about Owen’s impotency without breaking her promise to Owen that she would never tell anyone about his addiction if he gave her her freedom.

“You said that I should let you know what I don’t want and don’t like. I don’t want or like to discuss Owen Lawson.”

He stiffened as though she had struck him. She had given him back his own words. Nodding slowly, he said, “I’ll respect your request.”

She gave him a smile, moving closer and curving her arms around his neck. Martin felt the soft crush of her breasts, but they failed to arouse him. He would never mention her ex-husband’s name to her again, but some unspoken voice whispered that the man would turn up again to threaten Parris and drive a wedge between them.

M
artin had successfully concealed his anger. He had been in San José for a week, having completed his negotiations with Raul Cordero-Vega, but not without a few concessions. ColeDiz International Ltd. had pledged a million dollars to support the preservation of Costa Rica’s rain forest.

Interior Minister Raul Cordero-Vega was relentless in his demands. It was as if the retired colonel had taken perverse pleasure in making the heir apparent to ColeDiz International Ltd. wait two days before granting him an audience; then he would not concede to lowering the tariff for exports until Martin threatened to shut down production and withdraw all ColeDiz business dealings from the Central American nation.

Martin’s call to Samuel Cole elicited a string of colorful expletives from the elder Cole who promised he would make Cordero-Vega pay for his dictatorial demands.

“A million dollars is nothing compared to what ColeDiz will lose if we halt production before we’re able to set up in Belize,” Martin countered.

“You’re right, Martin,” Samuel agreed, “but I hate to have Cordero-Vega think he can hold ColeDiz hostage while he exploits us for what we both know is his personal illegal scam. The man’s probably amassing a fortune to raise a private army to overthrow the Costa Rican democratic government.”

“Whatever his plan for the future let’s hope we’re operating in Belize if he decides to replay this scenario.”

“Why don’t you see if you can set up an appointment with the Belize officials before you return home.”

“I’ve confirmed a meeting with their interior department for the end of the month.”

There was a pause before Samuel Cole replied. “Why wait three weeks, Martin? You’re right there.”

Martin ran a hand over his face in a gesture which indicated weariness. “I’ll meet with them after I get back. Raul took more than a year to set us up for this ploy and I don’t think he’ll squeeze us again for a while.”

“I don’t want to wait for him to set us up again,” Samuel argued.

“I said I’ll finalize everything when I get back,” Martin insisted.

“Get back from where?”

“I’m taking a week off.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

Martin’s jaw tightened as he closed his eyes. Fatigue, frustration and annoyance swept over him in a rush. Cordero-Vega had manipulated him, his father was pressuring him and he had been away from Parris for more than a week. All he wanted was out of San José and in Parris’s arms on a beach far enough away from Florida and anything which vaguely resembled ColeDiz International Ltd.

“I’m going on vacation, Father. I’ll have a report of this trip on your desk before I come back.” He depressed a button not permitting Samuel a chance to interrogate him further or offer an apology.

Punching in several numbers, he dialed the exchange to his home. He counted the four rings before the answering machine was activated. A slight frown creased his forehead. Parris hadn’t answered the call.

Checking his watch, his frown deepened. It was nearly ten o’clock in Florida and he wondered if perhaps she was asleep or in the bathroom. No, he thought. Even if she had been in the bathroom she would’ve heard the telephone. He had installed telephones in every room in the house.

Martin lay down on the bed and folded his arms under his head. He wasn’t scheduled to leave San José until early the following morning and he needed to hear Parris’s voice.

He had convinced her to stay at his house until he returned. She had agreed and he looked forward to his nightly telephone calls with her. Hearing her velvety voice coming through the wire each night dissolved his tension and made him look forward to concluding his business negotiations and returning to her as quickly as possible.

Half an hour later he rang his house again. This time Parris picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

Martin’s entire body warmed to the sultry greeting. “Hello back to you too,” he replied. “How are you?”

“Good. How’s everything going?”

“Everything’s concluded. I’m coming home in the morning.”

There was silence. “I’m glad to hear that Martin,” Parris admitted. “I’ve been a little lonely around here by myself.”

Martin managed an easy smile for the first time in a week. “Are you saying that you miss me?”

“I miss you a lot,” she confessed.

He chuckled. “How would you like a vacation?”

“I’ve been vacationing for five weeks, Martin.”

“A real vacation.”

“Where?”

“Jamaica.”

“Remember, Martin, I have to go back to work in another week.”

“I’ll have you back in time for you to return to work. I’ll make the flight arrangements as soon as I hang up.”

“When do you intend to leave for Jamaica?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll call you in the morning to let you know the time of our flight.”

“I have to get my passport and pick up some clothes…”

“We’ll just have time to pick up your passport, Parris,” he interrupted. “I’ll buy you what you need to wear once we get to Jamaica.”

“Martin…”

“I’m sorry to end this call,” he said, cutting her off again, “but
I have to make reservations for our flight. Good night, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What he didn’t say was that not only did he miss her but that he loved her. That was something he would tell her when he saw her again. A week away from her had intensified his feelings to where he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Parris Simmons.

The weather on Jamaica was warm, soothing and healing, and Martin experienced a feeling of well-being as he sat beside Parris in a well-preserved Land Rover as the hired driver sped across the island.

Pulling Parris to his side, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t think you’ll get to wear half of what you bought,” he whispered against her ear.

She had spent more than two hours browsing in trendy shops in Kingston. Many of the business owners in the Jamaican capital recognized his face and name and Parris was afforded the courteous attention reserved for the wealthy privileged residents of the Caribbean island.

“Why not, Martin?” Turning her head slightly, she stared up at him.

“Because we’re going to spend half of our time on the beach and the other half in bed.” He laughed aloud as she lowered her gaze.

“I don’t intend to spend my vacation in bed,” she countered quietly, staring at the back of the driver’s head.

“We’ll see about that,” he teased.

“Do you think we can squeeze in a night of dancing in between the bed and the beach?”

Lowering his head to her shoulder, Martin held her close. “So you want a little reggae to go along with the salsa? I’ll be more than willing to accommodate you, darling.”

Parris leaned into his strength, one hand searching and undoing the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers grazed the muscled hardness of his furred chest, eliciting a slight gasp from him.

“I wasn’t talking about that kind of dancing,
darling
,” she crooned.

His fingers caught her wrist, pulling her hand away from his fevered flesh. They hadn’t made love before leaving Florida. There was only enough time after his connecting flight from Miami landed in West Palm Beach to pick up Parris, then drive to her apartment where she picked up her passport before they returned to the airport for their flight to Miami and a connecting one to Kingston.

His body was on fire, his flesh throbbing. He wanted her with a passion which bordered on hysteria. He wanted to bury himself in her hot, tight body, becoming one with her. He wanted Parris Simmons as his wife and as the mother of his children.

“Where are we going?” Parris asked after a long comfortable silence.

“Ocho Rios.”

“Do you have vacation properties there?”

“No. We’re going to stay at a friend’s place.”

“Will this friend be in attendance?”

Martin chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“I just want to know what to expect.”

“This friend will not be in attendance. He’s in Germany.”

Tilting her chin, Parris smiled up at him. “So it’s just going to be the two of us.”

He lowered his head and kissed her awaiting lips. “You, me, the ocean and the sand and all of the tropical fruit we can pick,” he murmured against her moist mouth.

Nodding, she settled against his chest and closed her eyes, not opening them again until the driver parked the Land Rover in front of a house in Ocho Rios.

Martin’s friend’s home was a two-storied white stucco structure that was wholly West Indian in character: red Spanish tiled roof, white tiled floors surrounding the house and Creole jalousie shutters. Exotic flowers and trees added to the lushness of the property.

She walked around to the rear of the house while the driver unloaded Martin’s luggage and her purchases from the roof of the rugged vehicle.

The fruit trees were pregnant with ripened fruit, bananas, mangoes, oranges and lemons swaying gently from an ocean breeze.

Turning around and shielding her eyes from the brilliance of the setting sun with a pair of sunglasses, Parris noted that there wasn’t another structure in sight as a stretch of white sand and the blue-green ribbon of the Caribbean in the distance served as the backdrop for the exotic setting.

She heard footsteps and turned. Martin moved toward her, a smile deepening the dimples in his cheeks.

“How do you like it?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her face and body in a single glance. The sea breeze lifted her hair while molding a pale yellow silk blouse to her breasts.

Winding an arm through his, she returned his smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, Parris.” His compliment seemed to shock her as her jaw dropped slightly. He felt her fingers tighten on his arm. Reaching up, he removed her sunglasses and stared down into her clear brown eyes. There was enough daylight left to see the mysterious, hypnotic green lights in their depths.

“Don’t,” he urged as she attempted to turn away from him. “Look at me, Parris. That’s it,” Martin crooned when she tilted her chin to stare up at him. “I will never lie to you. Never.”

Parris inhaled, her chest rising and falling with a delicate shudder. “You think I’m beautiful, Martin.” Her voice held a hint of disbelief.

He nodded slowly. “Quite beautiful.”

Her full lips softened with a smile. “Then that makes two of us because I find you to be quite beautiful.”

Martin laughed, shaking his head. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.”

“I am not beautiful.”

“If you’re not beautiful, then what are you?”

“I’m average-looking,” he replied, shrugging broad shoulders. “Let’s go for a walk. We’ll unpack later.”

Parris fell in step beside him, her arm going around his waist. “Did I embarrass you?”

“What about?”

“Your looks.”

“No,” he replied quickly.

She glanced up at his distinctive profile. She could tell by the throbbing muscle in his jaw that he was uncomfortable and that she had embarrassed him.

“I never thought you would be so modest,” she continued, unable to resist teasing him.

Martin increased the pressure of his arm around her narrow waist. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never modest.”

“What have you been called?”

“Names which I won’t repeat.”

Parris thought of the names Owen had called her that she could never repeat. It was as if he had blamed her for his substance abuse problem. He blamed the differences in their ages, saying he felt more like her father than her fiancé. He claimed he felt like a pedophile each time he kissed her or attempted to touch her body, the groping encounters ending with her trembling in sexual frustration and Owen stalking out enraged because he was unable to make love to her.

Pushing memories of Owen to the deep recesses of her mind, Parris followed Martin as they headed in the direction of the beach.

Martin sat down on the sand, pulling her down with him. He slipped out of his loafers, unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, then pushed off his slacks.

Parris stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going swimming.”

“Aren’t you going to put on bathing trunks?” He’d removed his briefs.

“No. This is a private beach. No one will see us.”

Rising to his feet, Martin stood before her dark and powerful
as an African fertility totem. He held out his hand and she shook her head.

“I can’t.”

Martin stared at her as she sat on back on folded knees, head lowered and both hands clasped tightly together on her lap. Suddenly it hit him. How quickly he had forgotten. It wasn’t modesty that made her unwilling to shed her clothing and swim naked with him, but her near-drowning at the hands of her ex-husband. It was still too soon and too real for her to forget the attempt on her life.

Hunkering down to the sand beside her, he pulled her to his chest. He felt her trembling.

“It’s going to be all right, Parris. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.”

Parris inhaled the cologne on his chest. She knew she was safe. As long as she was with Martin she would always feel safe.

“I…I’m sorry, Martin,” she stammered. “It’s just that all of it came back…and…and I could…” She couldn’t continue.

“If you don’t want to go swimming it’s fine with me.”

“It’s not you,” she insisted. “It’s me. When you held your hand out to me I saw it as Owen’s. I’d put my hand in his, trusting him when all he wanted was to kill me.”

“How could I be like him, Parris? I saved your life.”

“I know,” she said, sighing heavily. “And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

You will thank me, Martin thought. You’ll become my wife. Releasing her, he reached for his slacks, but he was momentarily surprised when Parris’s hand stopped him. He tried seeing her expression in the waning light.

“I’ve got to stop reliving that night, Martin. I have to go forward and forget what Owen did to me. I’ll go swimming with you.”

Cradling her face between his palms, he brushed a light kiss over her lips. “You don’t have to if…”