Scout's Honor (4 page)

He gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said, and turned to follow the waiter,
leaving her alone to sort through her thoughts on why a married San
Francisco lawyer was hot on her trail.

Late-summer breezes caressed her skin as she
sipped her wine and watched the ever-changing ocean splashing on
the beach. Half of the dessert went untouched. It was delicious,
but too much. She closed her eyes and inhaled the tangy smell of
salt spray and the sweet bouquet of seductive island flowers.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation,
she sensed she was not alone. She opened one heavily shaded lid,
and her gaze encountered a tuxedoed midriff. Both eyes opened and
she stretched deeply into the chair as she let her gaze slowly
wander up the length of worn lapels to a crooked grin and a golden
face.

Her stretching caused the satin folds of her
dress to slip dangerously low, inspiring a deep sigh from the
white-shirted chest and a flame of anticipation in the brown
eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Summers.” She rolled the
words off her tongue, fully aware of the effect she was having on
him. She knew the dress would only go as far as she wanted it
to—but he didn’t. “Congratulations on your luck at the baccarat
table.”

“I barely broke even.” His husky voice
caught as he forced his eyes up to meet hers.

“I wasn’t alluding to the game.” She smiled
and brought her wineglass to her lips. “Please. Be seated.”

As he sat down a service person appeared and
whisked away all traces of her dinner with St. John. Then the
waiter approached, directing his attention to Anna.

“Another bottle of the Chardonnay, please,”
she said. “You will join me, won’t you, Mr. Summers?” She enjoyed
turning the tables on him. He might have made the first move, but
she was in control of the situation.

“Joining you is exactly what I had in mind,
Ms. Lange.” He delivered the words in his western drawl, the light
still shining in his eyes.

He seemed to have regained his composure,
and she was momentarily disconcerted by his confidence, but she
knew it didn’t show on her face or in her gesture as she graciously
waved the wine steward toward Mr. Summers. Let him decide if the
wine was suitable for his undoubtedly plebeian tastes, she
thought.

She hid her satisfaction as he swallowed the
initial small portion of wine in one gulp and pronounced it fine.
With unfazed aplomb, the steward acknowledged Mr. Summers’s verdict
and poured full glasses for both of them before melting into the
dining room, leaving them alone on the balcony in the warm Bahamian
night.

Strains of music and laughter drifted up
from the ground-floor casino, softly punctuated by the waves
breaking continuously on the shore and the junkanoo beat of a steel
band playing farther down the beach. Anna took her time before
initiating conversation, knowing the first move was hers, knowing
he would give it to her.

She watched the candlelight dance shadows
across his face, sharpening the lean angles, highlighting the curve
of his dark eyebrows, and softening the bend in his nose. In her
mind she was trying to reconcile the innocent mischief of his face
with the facts—lousy gambler, poor loser, unfaithful—and couldn’t
get the disparate images to match up. Logic told her to put her
instincts on probation and go with the facts until she got to the
bottom of this scenario.

“So tell me, Mr. Summers.” She arched
forward, delicately holding her wineglass in both hands as she
leaned her elbows on the table. “Why have you been following
me?”

He met her gaze straight on, the softness in
his eyes reaching across the night to melt her coolness, his slow
grin lifting a corner of his mouth.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he
asked.

Her mouth curved into a cynical smile as she
shook her head. “Try again,” she prompted.

“Okay.” His voice lifted both syllables in a
long sigh. “How about this one? I need you . . . your services, Ms.
Lange, for just a few hours, but I’m willing to pay for a whole
night if that’s what it takes.”

There was nothing like good breeding to keep
your mouth from falling open. His outrageous proposition astounded
her, but no telltale flush of anger marred the cool serenity of her
face, and no whitening of her cheeks displayed her shock. Her
delicate grasp on the wineglass turned into an icy grip and for a
few seconds she was incapable of bodily movement, but other than
that she was okay. Insulted, but okay.

Maybe the dress was too much—or too little,
depending on how you looked at it, she thought. If she’d given him
the impression she was a hooker, then she needed to reevaluate her
wardrobe.

No, she decided, she was being ridiculous.
Any mistakes had been made by him in his naïveté. She had
impeccable taste. Of course, it was almost flattering to think a
man would follow her halfway around the world just to take her to
bed. Almost, but not quite, especially when he seemed unsure of how
long it would take for her to satisfy him. All night indeed!

She set the wineglass on the table and
refocused her attention on the man patiently waiting for her
reply.

“You have made an error in judgment, Mr.
Summers, obviously not your first.” She spoke in her most
condescending manner, looking up at him from under long, sooty
lashes. “I don’t sell the kind of services you need.”

The smile slipped off his face, and his
eyebrows pulled together across his smooth forehead. He was so
transparent, she had to force herself to keep from laughing. No
wonder he’d lost his shirt to Jacques Dumonde. Even a straight
dealer could have cleaned him out.

“I know it’s an unusual request,” he said,
his voice taking on a surprising urgency as he leaned forward. “But
if you’ll just hear me out, maybe you’ll change your mind. This is
important to me.”

Where in the world was he coming from? she
wondered. It sounded as if he needed a sex therapist, not the
high-priced call girl he’d taken her for. She instinctively sat
farther back in her chair, putting extra distance between herself
and the insistent Mr. Summers.

“I’m not the woman you want . . . Um, let me
rephrase that. I’m not the woman you’re going to get.” She lowered
her eyes meaningfully. “You should have held on to the blond lady
at the baccarat table. She at least seemed willing.” Anna put it as
delicately as she could, hoping he would take the hint and leave.
If he didn’t, she was going to signal for the maitre d’ to get rid
of him, and if he showed up again, she would reconsider St. John’s
offer.

Her words were met by a quizzical look that
slowly changed to understanding, and a teasing grin slowly curved
his lips
.

“You have made the error in judgment, Ms.
Lange . . . obviously your first.” His grin broadened.
“The services I’m willing to buy are your gambling skills,
specifically your poker game.”

Anna felt the flush of embarrassment spread
across her chest and run up her neck to her cheekbones. He’d
surprised her
,
and she knew it was written all over her face. How had she made
such a stupid mistake? Mitch, or Stephen, or
whatever-his-name-was-Summers had crossed her wires but good this
time. The guileless face wasn’t as easy to read as she’d been
giving herself credit for tonight. So far he hadn’t done anything
but surprise her.

Good breeding told her to excuse herself
politely from the table and forget she’d ever had this
conversation, to wipe it out of her memory. “My apologies for
misunderstanding.” She forced a tight smile to her lips and moved
to stand
up.

But before
she
was halfway out of her seat
, he reached over
and grasped her hand.

“I’m sorry. . . . Please stay,” he said. “I
apologize for giving you the wrong impression. I should have stated
my case more clearly, but lady, you do have a tendency to take a
man’s breath away.”

With her curiosity barely edging out her
good sense, Anna allowed herself to slip back into her chair. The
muscles along his jaw relaxed slightly and a teasing smile flirted
with his mouth
.

“You are beautiful, Anna Lange . . . very
beautiful. If
we can get beyond mutually offending each other, there’s still a
chance I can salvage my investment.”

She
could tell his crooked grin was directed more at himself than at
her. She
lifted her
glass to her lips, trying to remind herself of his marital status –
and definitely not asking herself why that took so much effort
.
She did know
she was
becoming increasingly charmed by his self-effacing manner and the
semblance of honesty reflected in those soft brown eyes, despite
the facts.

She forced her attention back to the issue
at hand. Her innate composure was reasserting itself, although she
still felt the heat in her cheeks. “I can’t help you, Mr. Summers.
I only
play for myself. Besides,
no one with any sense
would
try to beat Jacques Dumonde at his own game.”

“Call me Mitch, please.” She could tell he
was being careful with her, wanting to win her over and not quite
sure how to do it. “How did you know it was Dumonde I wanted you to
play?”

This time it was Anna’s gaze that shifted
away as she fiddled with the glass stem. “I had you checked out
while we were at the baccarat table. I’m aware that you lost
heavily to Dumonde and also that your name isn’t Mitch
.
You’re not only a lousy gambler, Stephen Summers, you’re a lousy
liar, too. The best advice I can give you is to go home and stay
away from the fast action.”

“Well, you certainly have it all figured
out,” he drawled, relaxing his manner and his body as he slipped
farther back into his chair
. “It’s hot
tonight, isn’t it?”

He
tugged at a corner of his tie and let the black silk dangle down
the white pleated shirt. He loosened the top few buttons, then
stretched his legs out in front of him and dropped his head on the
back of the chair.

“You’re right, of course. I am a lousy liar.
. . .” His voice was directed at the stars studding the black
velvet night. “That’s why I never bother. My name is Mitch, Anna.
Stephen is my brother, and what he lost to Dumonde belongs to me.”
He lifted his head up a few inches to meet her eyes, a lock of
sandy hair falling forward, contrasting with the sable of his
brows. “And
I want it
back.”

Anna carefully gauged her reaction to his
explanation, letting her attention wander to the party breaking up
on the beach. The last liquid notes of a steel drum floated through
the lush darkness, echoing against the sea, melting into the night
with the barefoot people. She wanted to believe him, wanted to
believe there was some blow she could strike for justice
.
To be swindled by your own brother must hurt, but he was no match
for Dumonde, and neither was she.

“I’m sorry, Mitch. I can’t help you.”

“Why not
?”

She let out a sigh
,
lifting her
hair off the nape of her neck
for a moment’s respite from the heat.

“Jacques Dumonde is a cheat, the best. I
wouldn’t go up against him for my own grandmother. Try to
understand. . . . You’d only lose more than you already have.”

She could tell he was thinking about what
she’d said, and hoped he would accept her answer. If she’d been
completely honest with him, she wouldn’t have made their chances
sound quite so grim. True, she couldn’t beat Dumonde at his own
game, but she’d learned a few tricks since their last meeting.

“I had you checked out too,” Mitch said.
“You’re good—some say one of the best. I’m willing to take a chance
on you
.”

Anna was feeling worse for him by the
minute, but it didn’t change the facts. “Why me? There are other
people who would love a chance to beat Dumonde, especially with
someone else’s money.”

“But you have an honest face.”

“Is that why you followed me? Because I have
an honest face?” she asked incredulously, her eyes widening in
disbelief.

“I’m a great judge of character
. Most of the
folks I’ve seen hanging around these places give me the willies.”
He paused for a second, then flashed her an artless smile. “You
kind of give me the willies, too, but I like your willies.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” she drawled, shaking
her head, trying not to encourage him. “Okay, Mitch. Let’s suppose
I decide to play for you. What’s in it for me? I don’t need the
money.”

She hated the way his face brightened when
she said those last words. Couldn’t he see it was hopeless?

“That works out great
for me, because I don’t
have any money. I’ve worked out a plan—”

“Wait
a
minute,” she interrupted, holding up her hand. “You want to hire
someone to play a fast game of poker and you don’t have any money
to stake them
with?” There she was,
shaking her head again. “Go home, Mitch Summers,” she said,
dropping back in her chair.

This
nice guy
was in deep trouble, but there wasn’t anything she could do about
it. Unless
he
was going to ask her for money. She hardened her resolve and waited
for his response.

“I can’t go home,” he said
.
“Dumonde owns it now.”

Resolve went out the window as shock drained
the energy from her body. She slid down in her chair in a very
unladylike posture.

“Your
brother
conned you out of your house?” Unbelievable. “
I thought you said you were a good judge of character.”

For
the life of her Anna couldn’t figure out why she was taking his
problem so personally. Maybe it was because St. John was such a
haven of stability in her life. If he had ever turned on her the
way Mitch’s brother had turned on him, she would have thrown in the
towel, given up on all of humanity. And yet here was Mitch Summers,
reaching out to a total stranger just because she had an honest
face.