Iris Johansen (18 page)

“No!” Her voice was sharp, and she instinctively moved to escape his hold in an unconscious act of rejection. “These phone calls were part of our agreement.”

“I agreed that you could call your grandmother, not some old college sweetheart,” he snarled, tightening his hands on her shoulders. “You’re the one who’s reneging on our agreement. Isn’t Dawson enough to keep you amused?”

“I barely speak to Pat. You’ve seen to that,” Janna cried, goaded out of her apathy. “I’m afraid for the man’s job if I so much as ask him to pass the salt. You’ve been utterly impossible for days.”

“But not at night, Janna,” he taunted, his lips twisting bitterly. “You always forgive me my churlishness in public as long as I can give you what you need in the bedroom. Isn’t that true?”

“No, it’s not true,” Janna said desperately, her brown eyes flashing. “I don’t forgive you. You’re making both of our lives hell, and it doesn’t make any sense. These last two weeks should convince you better than any argument from me how miserable we’d both be if I decided to stay with you.”

“It wouldn’t be like this,” Rafe insisted moodily, looking down at her. “I know I’ve been difficult lately, but it’s only because I’m not sure of you. If I knew you were mine, I wouldn’t have this jealousy tearing at my insides all the time,” he finished haltingly. “I’d be good to you, Janna.”

“By forbidding me to call my grandmother?” Janna asked caustically. She tore herself from his grip and backed a few steps away from him. “We haven’t even been able to talk to each other lately, Rafe. If I’d felt I could have confided in you, I would have told you about Jody. I would have told you everything. But how do you expect me to get past that cast-iron wall of suspicion that you’ve built around yourself?”

Rafe’s dark eyes flickered with an emotion that might have been pain, but Janna was too upset to notice anyone’s torment but her own at that moment. She shrugged helplessly. “Oh, what’s the use?” she finished miserably.

She turned and almost ran from the library, ignoring the imperious calling of her name. She instinctively headed for the courtyard door, and it was only when the house was far behind her that she slowed her pace through the woods and lost a little of the nagging sensation of being under surveillance. Even that was probably deceptive, she thought bitterly. One of Rafe’s security men was probably observing her right now, courtesy of those blasted video cameras planted about the estate. Well, at least that observation was impersonal. It had none of the brooding suspicion and black jealousy Rafe himself was displaying of late.

The period had been one of almost unbearable tension for everyone at the Castle, with Rafe snarling at everyone like an animal in torment. Janna shied instinctively away from the simile and tried to forget the hint of pain she could occasionally detect beneath the darkness of his anger. She mustn’t soften or she’d be lost. She desperately needed Rafe’s arms
around her right now, and she was almost willing to buy that comfort at any price he demanded.

It wasn’t exactly what Jody had said but the hesitancy and evasions dotting their conversation today that had upset her. It was almost over. The knowledge was stark and clear, shining like a smooth, polished stone at the bottom of a pool rippled by distortions. How long would it be now? she wondered desperately.

She had reached the headlands of the cliff, but she was too restless to sit tamely in the gazebo, as was her custom. Instead she took the rough, steep path leading down to the beach. And she walked.

It was almost sundown when she felt sufficiently calm to return to the house. The stormy crashing of the waves against the rocks was strangely soothing to the turbulence of her own spirit, and it was with reluctance that she slowly retraced her path to the Castle.

As she left the perimeter of the woods, she was startled to hear the purr of an automobile coming up the long, curving driveway from the gatehouse at the bottom of the hill. As far as she knew, Rafe wasn’t expecting any visitors this evening, but the white Mercedes approaching would never have gotten in if Rafe hadn’t agreed. Impulsively she turned away from the path leading to the courtyard and walked briskly toward the front entrance.

As she turned the corner of the house, the white Mercedes pulled to a swishing halt. Almost on cue, the front door opened and Rafe sauntered down the three shallow steps to the driveway. The Mercedes door swung open, and two long, luscious legs emerged, followed immediately by an equally luscious body, garbed in a simple little white dress that was obviously haute couture.

“Rafe, darling,” the woman caroled, giving him a dazzling smile. “I was on my way to San Francisco to visit the Pembrooks and I couldn’t resist stopping
by to see you.” She stood on tiptoe to give him a lingering kiss on the lips. “It’s been a long time,” she breathed softly, her violet eyes glowing like stars in the madonnalike perfection of her face. Even the woman’s silky ebony hair enhanced the madonna look, pulled back simply in a chignon to better reveal those lovely classical features.

“Not so long, Marina,” Rafe said coolly, returning the kiss with a casual familiarity. “Paris, four months ago, wasn’t it?”

“At least you remember that.” The woman pouted. “You didn’t remember to call me, as you promised, once you’d returned to the States.”

“I doubt if you missed me for long, Marina,” Rafe drawled cynically. “The last I heard, you were being kept very well occupied by some tennis pro or other.”

“He was amusing, but he wasn’t you, Rafe,” the woman said softly, her violet eyes glowing. “None of them are you. I would have followed you to San Francisco if I hadn’t heard Diane Simmons was receiving all your attention these days. Imagine my surprise when I ran into Diane at a party in Los Angeles last week.”

“Surprise? I’m sure you were aware our little affair could hardly be termed a deathless passion,” he drawled. “It was more—” Suddenly he broke off, as he caught sight of Janna, hesitating several yards away. His expression of relief was quickly superseded by an impatient frown. “You’ve been gone for hours. Where the hell have you been?” he asked, ignoring the dark beauty on his arm as if she didn’t exist. “I was about to call out security. Did it ever occur to you to let anyone know where you’re going?”

Janna could feel the color flood her cheeks as she met the slightly amused smile of the other woman. “I was down on the beach,” she said curtly, glaring back at him. “I didn’t think it was necessary to ask permission to take a walk.” Her chin lifted defiantly as she strode forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I
think it’s time I dressed for dinner.” She would have brushed disdainfully by the two on the steps if Rafe hadn’t caught her by the arm.

“In a moment,” Rafe said silkily. “But first let me introduce you to our guest.” He slipped a firm arm about her waist to keep her from escaping. “Janna, this is the Countess Marina D’Agliano, a very old friend.” His lips twisted mockingly. “I’m sure Diane told you all about Janna Cannon, Marina.”

“She did mention her, of course,” Marina D’Agliano said coolly, her eyes running patronizingly over Janna’s tousled hair and jean-clad figure. “You’re not quite what I expected, Miss Cannon.”

She must look like a scruffy tomboy compared to Rafe’s other women, Janna thought gloomily. It was no wonder this raving beauty was gazing at her so quizzically. “How do you do, Countess D’Agliano?” she said quietly. “I’m very happy to meet you.” She shrugged away from Rafe’s hold. “Now, as you can tell, I really must change. I trust that I’ll see you at dinner?”

“If I’m invited,” the countess drawled softly, fluttering her long lashes alluringly.

“Naturally you’re invited,” Rafe said tersely, his eyes following Janna as she climbed the steps and opened the front door. “You’ll stay the night, too, of course. I’ll have Stokley show you to a guest room.”

Janna closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief, and then strode across the foyer and quickly mounted the stairs. She’d thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, but it seemed she was wrong. God knows, she could have done without that exquisite nymphomaniac hanging on Rafe all evening. From what she’d overheard it was clear the countess was one of Rafe’s ex-mistresses, eager to regain her place in his bed. Dammit, why couldn’t she have waited another week before she put in her appearance? It was going to be painful enough leaving
Rafe, without being forced to view possible successors at these agonizingly close quarters.

Forty-five minutes later, she was gazing critically at herself in the full-length mirror in the master bedroom. The velvet gown exactly the delicate shade found inside a seashell, was deliciously becoming to her dark complexion and rich brown hair. Its tiny cap sleeves and low round neck beautifully displayed her bare arms and the tempting fullness of her breasts, but the empire waistline and elegant straight lines of the skirt lent her a regal dignity. Without thinking she quickly stroked on lipstick the exact shade of the gown and a trace of mauve eyeshadow, which deepened the sparkle of her eyes. She briefly considered unbraiding her hair and arranging it in a more sophisticated style, when she remembered Rafe’s murmured remark as he’d unbraided it that first night they’d spent together. No, she’d leave it just as it was despite the silken worldliness of the countess’s coiffure. She was reaching for the pink velvet shawl that matched the gown when the impact of her own actions came home to her with stunning force.

She was instinctively competing for Rafe’s attention as if she were some eager little harem girl anxious to guard her lord’s favor from possible rivals! It had taken only the arrival of Rafe’s ex-mistress on the scene to cause this loss of dignity and independence. My God, what if he’d actually decided to replace her? What lengths would she have gone to in order to retain the passion that had been hers for such a short time? She hadn’t even been aware what deep inroads Rafe had made on her independence, until this sickening moment of revelation. Good God, another month with him and she’d be as much of a puppet in his hands as Diane Simmons had been!

No! She strode swiftly into the adjoining bath, her hands working swiftly at the fastening of the braid.
Ten minutes later she gazed with fierce satisfaction at the cloud of burnished brown hair that hung in a straight and shining mass about her shoulders. Then, without giving herself a chance to think, she tossed the brush on the vanity and strode swiftly out of the bathroom.

Pat Dawson was the sole occupant of the living room when she entered a few moments later, and he swiftly rose to his feet with the smiling courtesy she’d come to expect from him. His gaze ran over her with frank appreciation. “Lovely,” he announced, sauntering across the room to the bar. “Your usual tomato juice?”

“Yes, thank you,” Janna said quietly, following him across the room and perching on the black moroccan leather barstool. “Where’s Rafe?”

Pat nodded toward the French doors. “The lovely countess decided that she wanted to take a walk before dinner.” He grimaced mockingly. “Lord knows why. It’s damn chilly out there, now that the sun has gone down, and she certainly doesn’t appear to be the athletic type.”

“Perhaps she was feeling a bit stiff from the trip,” Janna suggested calmly, not meeting his eyes. She accepted the frosted glass he handed her and took a sip of the tangy liquid.

“Perhaps,” Pat drawled cynically as he poured a whiskey for himself. He gazed at her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass, leaning his elbows on the bar. “You know, you’re a very classy lady, Janna. I doubt if many women in your position would be as generous. You know who she is, of course?”

“Of course,” Janna replied quietly, looking up to meet his concerned expression with a determined smile. “The countess isn’t exactly subtle.” She took another sip of her drink. “Rafe may do as he wishes. There are no ties of any sort in our relationship.”

Pat shook his head ruefully. “You wouldn’t have said that if you’d seen Rafe this afternoon when he
wasn’t able to find you. He couldn’t have ranted or raved more if a takeover of AT&T had fallen through.” He was turning his glass idly in his hands, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “And it’s obvious that he’s jealous as hell of you. It hasn’t made these last weeks any easier for my humble self.”

Janna dropped her eyes to her glass. “I’m sorry things have been difficult for you, Pat,” she apologized softly. “In another week it will all be over. You and Rafe will be going back to San Francisco, and I’ll start my work at the new reserve.”

Pat shrugged. “It hasn’t been all that bad,” he said lightly. He reached out and caressingly touched a lock of her silky hair. “I’ve never seen you wear your hair loose before. It’s very beautiful.”

The closing of the French doors had the menacing incisiveness of the cocking of a pistol. The look of dark, flaming fury Janna encountered when she glanced over at Rafe, who had just entered from the terrace with Marina, was equally dangerous.

Marina D’Agliano was removing Rafe’s jacket from about her shoulders and handing it to him with a dazzling smile. “Thank you, darling,” she said sweetly. “I would have frozen out there without it. You know how sensitive I am to cold.”

Rafe accepted the jacket without comment, shrugging into it with the leashed militancy of a condottiere donning armor, his eyes still fixed on Janna, across the room.

The countess was sweeping gracefully toward them. “Fix me a Scotch, will you, Pat?” she asked, shivering delicately. “I need something to warm me. It’s so much cooler here than on the Riviera.”

“Right away,” he said laconically, reaching for the crystal decanter. “Anything for you, Mr. Santine?”

“No,” Rafe said curtly. He had followed Marina D’Agliano and was now standing at Janna’s elbow. “You’ve unbraided your hair,” he said accusingly.

Janna nodded, looking down at her juice. “I felt the need for a change,” she said briefly.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Dawson asked, handing the countess her drink. “She should really wear it that way more often.”

“No!” Rafe’s rejection was so sharp that both Dawon and Marina D’Agliano looked at him in surprise. “I like it better braided.”