Scout's Honor (6 page)

“I’m not just doing this for him,” she
replied, hedging.

“Grudge game?” St. John asked, lifting his
brow. “Or are you trying to impress Dad with the philanthropic
possibilities of gambling? He isn’t going to buy it, Anna.”

She lowered her gaze and ran her finger
around the rim of her coffee cup, not wanting to admit how close to
the mark St. John was getting. “I just want your help.”

“Okay, babe. There is one kind of paper you
might get away with. A juice deck. But it will take time to get and
time for you to learn how to read it. When is the game?”

“I told Mitch to contact me the day after
tomorrow.” She could tell by St. John’s expression that he didn’t
think she had enough time. “We might be able to stretch it a few
days. Dumonde usually likes to clean a place out before he moves
on, and I saw plenty of pigeons in the casino last night.”

“If you locked yourself in a room with
Larry, he might be able to teach you to read it in five days.
That’s cutting it short. How much is your sucker paying you for
this game?”

Anna was a little embarrassed to reveal the
terms of her deal, but there was no use not being straightforward
with St. John.

“Fishing rights,” she mumbled into her
croissant. She ignored the confused expression on his face as she
got up from the table and walked over to a deck chair. She sat
down, then pulled a small redwood table over for her coffee, and
fluffed up a pillow.

“Run that by me one more time,” St. John
finally said, one eyebrow lifting in disbelief
.

“Fishing rights and ten acres of a Colorado
ranch up in the mountains.” She’d skip the part about Hot Sulphur
Springs. The name would be meaningless to St. John anyway.

She knew he was watching her as she oiled up
her body for some serious tanning, and she wasn’t about to meet his
assessing gaze. Let him figure it out for himself. Maybe he could
explain it to her too.

He broke the silence with a very pointed
question
. “When
did this sudden fascination with fishing come about?”

“Apparently I have ‘fisherman’ written all
over my face. It’s a latent desire I’ve only recently had pointed
out to me,” she said, intent on smoothing oil over the
ninety-nine-point-nine percent of her body her black bikini didn’t
cover.

“He’s a married man,” St. John reminded her
gently.

“We had the wrong man. Stephen Summers is
his brother. He lost part of Mitch’s ranch in the game with
Dumonde, and Mitch wants it back.” She caught the exasperated look
on St. John’s face. “I know, I know. I went over every alternative
I could think of, and he still wants to do it this way.”

“Then he’s a fool.” St. John dismissed her
new partner with a disgusted wave of his hand.

“No,” she said
.
“Naïve, yes. Fool, no. He wants his home back, St. John, and he’s
willing to take risks to get it. You’re a gambler. You can
understand.” She stretched out on her stomach and reached behind to
undo the string tie of her top.

St. John’s silence was unnerving, but she
didn’t turn around or say another word. If he wouldn’t help, they
were sunk.

“Okay, Anna. I’ll talk to Larry
Walters.”

She rolled over, holding her top to her
breasts with one hand, and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Thanks,
bro. I’ll let you come fishing sometime.”

St. John gathered up his papers and gave her
a warning look over the rim of his sunglasses. “Don’t do me any
favors, sweetheart
.”

* * *

Two days later Anna wondered if St. John had
done
her
a favor. Being holed up in St. John’s darkened
study under an ultraviolet light with Larry Walters was a real low
on her fun
-o-meter.
And they had three more days to get through. She hoped they could
do it without coming to blows. Larry didn’t have to work at being
disgusting—it came naturally.

Usually she just walked away from men like
him, but she needed Larry Walters, and that was what really galled
her. One thing she had to give him: The juice deck was good, very
good. After he’d explained how the deck worked—he wouldn’t tell her
how it was marked in the first place—she’d automatically gone over
some of her worst past games and wondered if she’d been up against
a juice deck. Her ego liked to think she had been.

“Coffee break, honey,” Larry said. “You’re
getting a little testy.” He reached up and turned off the
ultraviolet lamp, throwing the room into darkness. Anna let out a
disgusted sigh. She knew he did it on purpose, hoping to bump
against her while he fumbled for the overhead light switch. Lord,
but the boy scout was going to owe her for this.

“Back off, creep.” She slapped Larry’s
wandering hand away. Why, oh, why, did St. John put up with him?
Stupid question. She knew why. Larry Walters was slimy, but he was
good at his job. He could spot a con going down at one of his
tables from anywhere on the floor, and the dealers knew better than
to try and pull something on him. Not that it kept them from trying
every now and then anyway.

Larry used the phone while she poured
herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. The working conditions
might be intolerable, she thought, but her confidence about beating
Dumonde was rising with each lesson. A small smile tilted her lips.
Oh, yes, Dumonde was in for a surprise. Her smile faded as Larry
sidled up next to her and poured his own coffee.

He took a slow sip and leered over his cup.
“Hate to disappoint you, honey, but I’ve got a dealer out so I’m
going to have to cut our lesson short today. Same time
tomorrow?”

“Let’s make it ten o’clock instead of nine.”
She smiled sweetly. “I don’t want to take a chance on losing my
breakfast too early.”

He returned her smile with a toothy grimace.
“You’re cold, lady, real cold.”

As soon as he left, Anna set down her cup
and went into her bedroom to change into a pink-and-aqua-striped
one piece swimsuit. A strenuous swim in the ocean was what she
needed to clear her mind, and some sunshine wouldn’t hurt either.
Being cooped up in St. John’s study on a glorious day was a
sin.

The sand was deliciously hot beneath her
feet, and Anna stopped to dig her toes in. She rested her arm on
her forehead to shade her eyes as she stared out over the water,
blue and green and full of mystery even in the light of day. St.
John had promised to teach her to dive if she stayed around long
enough for him to get some time off. Once again the thought of
pooling her resources with St. John’s came to mind. And once again
it didn’t feel right. Working with Larry Walters these last couple
of days had pointed out everything she didn’t like about the casino
game. Poor little rich girl with no place to go, she thought, and
laughed at herself. She didn’t have it so bad.

A frothy wave broke over her feet, and she
strode into the sea, pushing her legs against the water until she
was up to her thighs and could dive under the waves. Strong, even
strokes took her out toward the horizon. After a hundred yards she
stopped and treaded water, looking back at the shoreline while the
salty water lapped at her face and buoyed her weight.

Someone walked out of the glass doors of the
house onto the deck, a man’s silhouette against the bright white
walls. From this distance she couldn’t tell who it was. Too
casually dressed
for
St. John, too thin for Larry Walters. Kicking her legs out behind
her, she headed for the beach.

Halfway there she paused for a breath and
saw him strolling across the sand to meet her. It was Mitch, and
his timing was perfect. If he’d shown up before her swim she would
have doubled her price, but she’d worked out most of her animosity
in the ocean. The scout was safe.

He waited on the beach with a crooked grin
on his face. The sun caught glints of gold in his sandy-brown hair.
His bleached cotton shirt was only half tucked into the
narrow-legged jeans riding on his hips. The sleeves were rolled up,
revealing the tanned and veined length of his forearms.

She touched bottom and forced her legs
against the breaking waves, tossing her long braid over her
shoulder. He looked good in his own clothes, and the sight of him
had a better-than-average effect on her libido, surprising her once
again. She detached herself from the sinking feeling in the pit of
her stomach and tried to figure out how he did that to her. If she
could put her finger on it, she could work against it. A homeless
waif was the last person she wanted to get involved with.

“Hello,” she said, wiping the salt water off
her face and definitely not meeting those soft brown eyes with the
light shining in them.

“Hi.” He bent his head to look up at her as
he draped the towel around her shoulders. He held on to it for a
minute to wrap her up, tucking one corner in next to her
collarbone, his fingers brushing against her damp skin.

Anna absolutely refused to acknowledge the
touch, pulling away from him and rubbing the terry cloth on her
arms. “How did you find me?”

“Your boyfriend,” he said, with just the
slightest bit of question in his voice.

“Boyfriend?” She threw him a puzzled frown,
and then, seeing a ray of hope sparkle in his eyes, added with a
sly smile, “Which one?”

“The old one,” he drawled, emphasizing old.
“The honcho at the casino with the gray in his hair and the eyes
like yours.”

“Oh, that boyfriend.” She nodded before
drying her face on the towel. “That particular boyfriend also
happens to be my brother, St. John. He owns Runner’s Cay.”

“Oh.” A slow grin spread across Mitch’s lean
face as he shoved his thumbs into his front pockets and rocked back
on his bare heels. “What kind of name is Sinjin? Oriental?”

“No. English. It’s pronounced Sinjin, but
it’s spelled St. John.” She tied the towel around her waist. “Come
on up to the house and I’ll fill you in on the game plan.”

Anna undid her braid, shaking out the wet
mass, as they walked up the beach. Mitch pulled a hand out of his
pocket and reached over to help her, casually threading his fingers
through the silky tresses at the nape of her neck, lifting and
separating them as he matched his long-legged stride to hers.

She didn’t take offense at his gesture. He
did it the way an old friend would, helpfully. He sure was a
toucher, she thought, and he sure was easy to be with—except for
the twinges of excitement she felt at all those touches. But she
could work around those. Being attracted to someone and doing
something about it were two completely different animals.

They reached the deck, and Anna started to
toss her towel on a chair, but Mitch caught it in midair and threw
it over his shoulder.

“I think we can take Dumonde for everything
he’s got,” she said, walking over to a shower head installed on the
back of the house. “Including your ranch.” She stepped under the
shower and pulled the chain, unleashing a wall of fresh water to
wash away the salt.

“How’s that?” Mitch asked, taking the chain
out of her hand and holding it for her.

Water splashed on his jeans, and one sandy,
bare foot rested in a growing puddle. His other foot was propped
against the wall, his body totally relaxed as he leaned on the
white wooden planks.

Anna didn’t reply. Instead she closed her
eyes and turned her face up into the spray, stretching her arms
above her head to scrub her hair. The next thing she knew, a warm
mouth was covering hers and the sinking feeling she’d felt before
turned into a full-scale meltdown. Another surprise from the
scout.

The water kept coming and so did his
kiss—warm, delicious, insistent, caressing her lips and turning her
inside out. Her arms dropped to his shoulders in slow motion as his
tongue slipped inside her mouth ever so slowly, savoring every step
of the way.

Anna was drowning in water and desire, both
of them running down her body in lazy, undulating waves, washing
away her resistance. Then the water stopped and desire took over as
his hands encircled her waist and pulled her close into the cradle
of his hips. His rough jeans pressed against her flat stomach
through the thin barrier of her suit. She leaned into him, allowing
the magic of his mouth to continue, working her own magic with him,
believing only in the sensations flaming through her body.

Somewhere in the conscious recesses of her
mind she registered the incredible potency of Mitch Summers in
action. He pulled back far enough to kiss the corners of her mouth,
and her hands slid down to his chest, the end of the towel clenched
in one fist. She caught her breath against his mouth and chin,
feeling the masculine coarseness of his skin on the softness of her
lips, knowing this had to stop. She tried to speak, but failed, as
he took the opportunity to slip back inside her mouth for an
instant, sending shock tremors through her.

She tried again, and managed to gasp the
most inane thing she could think of. “You’re wet.”

“So are you . . . behind the ears,” he said.
He proved his point by licking up the trail of moisture running
along her jaw to her earlobe, where his tongue lingered with a
series of quick, darting strokes.

“You’re too fast,” she choked out, trying to
control the emotions he incited.

He nuzzled her ear before lifting his head
and smiling. “And you told me to stay away from the fast action,
right boss?”

“Right,” she said, drawing just enough
strength into her lethargic limbs to push away from him. “I’ll go
get you a dry towel. Help yourself to a beer or something.”

She left him on the deck, taking several
deep breaths as she walked to her room. She closed the door behind
her and slumped against the louvered panels, her heart still
pounding out a syncopated beat.

If he hadn’t sneaked up on her, she might
have avoided the kiss. The kiss . . . She ran over it in her mind,
the warmth of his mouth lingering on hers, and her knees weakened
even from the instant replay. Oh, brother. Snap out of it, Anna,
she told herself. It was just a kiss. Just a delightfully erotic
kiss under a waterfall, just a touching of mouths that had taken
her out of herself and into a realm of magic sensation. Chemistry,
pure body chemistry, she decided. There were probably a few
thousand men in the world who could do that to her anatomy. And
today she’d met the first—Mitch Summers, the one with the broken
nose and the crooked grin, the one with the soft brown eyes and the
innate intuition about how to touch her . . . It was just a
kiss.