* * *
Twenty minutes later Joanna replaced a comb on the marble vanity while she continued looking into its mirror. Fresh calla lilies in a cut-crystal vase, floor-to-ceiling cerulean tiles, and vanilla-colored Italian bathroom fixtures surrounded her reflected image. The room smelled of lemon soap and the night air wafting through the windows. Outside a fountain splashed in a small garden she’d glimpsed through the opened jalousies.
Attempting to force the sublime setting from her mind, she squinted into the mirror, then began tapping her fingers on the marble surface. When she should be thinking about the needy children she’d come to photograph, Jack Stratford’s handsome face stuck in her mind. She frowned. Jack Stratford, the least needy person in the entire country. Slapping her hands on the vanity, she leaned closer to her reflection.
"Okay, okay," she murmured to herself. "So he looks and lives like a king while most of San Remo and the rest of San Rafael live in tin-roofed shacks. So what? He got me out of a tight spot and thanking him for that is all that matters." Lifting her hand, she shook a finger at the mirror. "So don’t pick a fight with him about his lifestyle, and as soon as you can manage it, get the hell out of here."
She fished out the memory card from her fanny pack and looked at the small piece of plastic as she recalled the photos she’d taken of him.
Every gesture, every move, every pause, every smile, and every mysterious look around that crowded plaza had captivated her. She touched the plastic square to her chin. It wouldn’t do to start thinking about him in any terms other than part of an exciting travel incident. "So remember this. Except for these photos, you’re never going to see Jack Stratford again." After a moment she slipped the chip into her pack and headed for the door. More determined than ever to put hold-your-breath-handsome Jack Stratford from her mind, she yanked open the door, then froze on the threshold.
He was standing directly across the hall, his hands in his pants pockets, his backside resting against the wall, and his smile as riveting as ever. She smiled back while she died a little inside. Just how loudly had she been chattering to herself in front of that vanity mirror?
"Everything okay?" he asked, pointing at his nose.
"Terrific," she said, ignoring the throbbing when she touched the bridge of her nose. She had more pressing issues to deal with than her bruise. For example, finding a hole to crawl in if he said anything about the voice coming from the bathroom. Smiling as convincingly as she could, she pulled the heavy door shut behind her, then sighed with genuine happiness. The solid thunk told her that her words had been nothing more than muffled sounds when or if they had reached his ears. But that still didn’t end the disturbing ripple of awareness she experienced every time she looked at him. She blinked, but his compelling presence continued to affect her the second she reopened her eyes. Was it possible he’d gotten better-looking since the last time she’d seen him… twenty minutes earlier? She rubbed her forehead in a panic. Okay, okay, so she would make herself look at the wall decorations while she bargained with God to give her a break. "Nice horses," she murmured.
During her futile moment of frenzied praying, Jack pushed off the wall.
"You have an observant eye," he said, running his hand over the carved wood panels by his shoulders. "These pieces were done by an obscure seventeenth-century Spanish artist. The government considers them important works of art. National treasures of San Rafael." He crossed the hall to rim his fingers over the panel behind her. "Here, have a look at this first one. It’s quite good." Curving his fingers over her upper arm, he set off those addictive ripples inside her rib cage as he turned her around. "If you start with the ships on this side of the hall, you’ll see that they begin to tell a story. It’s the history of San Rafael from the Spanish point of view."
Staring at the corded muscles of his forearm visible below his rolled-up shirt-sleeve, Joanna could think of only one work of art that she wanted to study: Jack Stratford. Preferably three inches closer, unclothed, and—What was wrong with her? Just because she was close enough to see his pulse throb in his neck, inhale his expensive aftershave, and wallow in his body heat didn’t mean she had to give up what was left of her sanity. During his vivid description of the first battle between the conquistadors and the locals, she held her breath and tried figuring out why she was awash in sexually explicit images of Jack and herself. When tiny points of light began clouding her vision, she gave in and began breathing again. The answer was embarrassingly simple. Jack Stratford turned her on. She frowned. Actually, it was more complicated than that. Much, much more complicated when she took into account that this perfect specimen of masculine desirability resided in a villa large enough to house a good-size orphanage. No matter how charming, thoughtful, and generous he was to her, he was also materialistic, opinionated, and a stunningly accomplished flirt. That last fact grated on an overly sensitized part of her ego. The part Todd had disrespected by unceremoniously dumping her for a "girl of good breeding." The disgusting memory set her teeth on edge.
"Wait, wait, wait," she said, interrupting his impressively detailed account of the first mission erected in San Rafael.
"Am I going too fast?"
She shook her head. "You said something about these panels being national treasures. Why aren’t they in a museum, where everyone can view them?"
He slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded thoughtfully until the gesture melted into a shrug. "They’re on loan to me. A sort of favor, if you will."
"A favor?" she asked, planting a hand on her hip. "Well, what if I wanted to borrow them? Would I receive the same favor?" she asked, knowing she was baiting him by pursuing the subject.
"Good question." He pointed down the hall, and she began walking with him before he started to answer her in a thoughtful tone. "If you were here creating jobs for the people of San Rafael, improving the tourist facilities, and bringing in a positive cash flow, then the answer to your question would most likely be yes. The minister of the arts would probably consider lending you a few pieces."
"So it comes down to who you know."
"It comes down to not insulting the minister of the arts. Of going with the flow. Besides, I have business dinners and at least one large gathering a month here at this residence. These panels, the statues in the garden, and several other valuable pieces are viewed by dozens of people every week."
"Just dozens? I think hundreds of people would view them each week if they were displayed in a museum. Don’t you?"
He slowed his steps as they started up a winding staircase at the end of the hall. His lips tightened, then curved into a lopsided smile.
"You’re a very bright lady, Joanna McCall." He shook a finger at her. "You know how the game is played."
"Not firsthand the way you do," she said, matching his step as she dipped her chin in his direction.
"Hold on now," he said, his drawl more pronounced than ever. "What you are most likely thinking about me is probably true. But corruption is on the wane here, and if I have to play the game for my company and this country to get a leg up, I’ll be glad to put up with these perks."
"Necessary evil and all that, I suppose. Well, if you ask me, dealing honestly and openly with people is highly underrated," she said, knowing she was stepping over the line with that remark.
He gave a low whistle as they arrived on the second floor landing. "Miss McCall, it sounds as if a bad boy once stole your lollipop and you’ve been out for justice ever since."
"A bad boy did, but I already made him pay for it," she said, remembering the bittersweet taste of vengeance.
"I’ll bet. And when did this transgression take place?"
"Three weeks ago," she said, crossing the landing and pushing open the screen doors leading onto a balcony. The moonlit view of the city beckoned her to the railing, then made her forget her reason for not wanting to like Jack Stratford and his lifestyle.
Spread out below were the tree-lined streets, walled villas, and manicured
lawns of his exclusive neighborhood. To the right, on a curved driveway inside the curlicued, wrought iron gates of his property sat a polished Mercedes. A movement to the left of the car caught her attention. Squinting at the darkest shadows, she held her breath when a wispy apparition appeared to float across the lawn. Taking a stranglehold on the railing, she motioned with her other hand for Jack to join her. "Quick. What was that?" she whispered, stretching for a glimpse as the thing began disappearing behind a bush.
"Oh, that’s Chivas," he said quietly as he rested an elbow on the rail next to her white-knuckled grip.
"Wait. I—I mean th-that white thing. There. Right there." She jabbed her index finger toward the fluttery white movement directly below them now. "What is it?" she demanded, closing her hand over his.
"Chivas," he repeated as a servant walked onto the balcony and placed a cloth-covered tray on the table nearby.
"What’s a Chivas?"
He waited until the servant had retreated, then twisted to reach around her waist as he leaned in close to her ear. He was so close his lips brushed her hair, his breath warmed her cheek, and his presence made her want to cuddle closer. Turning her face toward his, she let her eyes repeat the question.
"He’s a white peacock, Red," he said before moving across the balcony to the table.
"You actually own a white peacock named Chivas?" she asked, not bothering to keep the awe out of her voice. Turning from the rail, she planted a hand on her hip and looked at Jack. He crooked his finger, and she walked to the table next to him. Palm fronds rustled in the warm breeze that was lifting the hair on his forehead. She waited, watching his amused expression while she rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek. He looked at her in a way that made her hold her breath, then suck it in. The scent of gardenias was mixing with the ocean air, enveloping her in a haze rich with sensual promise. There was no use pretending what was happening wasn’t happening. The gorgeous guy, the exotic moment, and a final spurt of adrenaline were seducing her.
He winked and the scene the previous month at Valentine’s Bridal Photography Shop never happened. The lecture to herself in the downstairs bathroom never happened. She hadn’t turned her life upside down and shaken it with a vengeance either. Everything was as it should be. The moment was filled to the brim and humming with Jack Stratford’s presence. She tilted her head to one side. "What’s that wink for?"
"Chivas is another perk. He’s on loan from the San Remo zoo. They’re overstocked with white peacocks this year, and they were happy to have him out of there." He pulled a chair out for her. "Care to sit down and have a midnight snack with me?"
He’d popped her balloon with a howitzer. "I swear, Jack Stratford," she said, moving around to the other side of the table to take the chair there. "You live like a pagan in paradise."
"A pagan in paradise," he repeated, staring out over the balcony railing. He shook his head, laughing with private amusement before sitting down opposite her. "Red, you’ll never know how right you are."
She’d planted her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into the cups of her hands. "And what, pray tell, is under there? Caviar canapés? A small bottle or two of Taittinger’s finest?"
"Something a little more difficult to get hold of down here. I gave up trying to find it at the local bodegas. I ended up having it smuggled in," he said, whisking the cloth from the tray.
She blinked then rose from her chair to get a closer look at what was stacked on the dainty paper doily lining the silver tray. She stretched across the table and sniffed. No, it couldn’t be that. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and diet soda?"
He rose from his own chair, took a sandwich from the pile, and lifted the top slice of bread. "Super-chunky style. Grape jellies are stacked on your side of the tray and strawberry jams are on mine. Will these pretentious gourmet treats get you through the night, Red?"
"Yes, they will," she said, reaching for a sandwich. She bit into the sandwich, then chewed the mouthful slowly. Peanut butter, chunky and rich. And great globs of grape jelly, its sweet aroma doing scary things to her stomach. With all that had happened, she’d forgotten about dinner. The familiar flavors had never tasted so delicious. Before she could think to stop herself, she moaned with pleasure. Her hand came up against her mouth the instant she heard the throaty sound coming from her. Swallowing, she wiped her mouth with a lace-edged cloth napkin. "I’m sorry I did that. I’ve been away from the States for only a day, but I feel as if I haven’t had one of these in months. Thank you, Jack… for everything you’ve done for me."
"Just consider this a perk from the pagan in paradise."
"I will," she said, reaching for a soda bottle.
The following day, when she left Jack Stratford, she was going to forget the embarrassing moments and remember only the lighthearted ones. She ran a finger down the perspiring bottle before lifting it from the tray. Except for a stray lingering look or two, she was certain she hadn’t done or said anything to make him think he was the sexiest guy she’d ever met.
"To you, for your patience, for your hospitality, and for scaring the bad guys away tonight." Clinking bottles with him, she playfully added, "To my hero."
Their bottles hovered near each other for several seconds before she brought hers to her lips. She held off taking a sip. "You wanted to add something?" she asked, her gaze straying to his finely pleated white shirt. Dark, curly chest hair peeked out from the unbuttoned portion. Before she realized it, she was imagining how it spread across his chest then arrowed down to his navel… and below.
"Joanna?"
"Yes," she said, praying the shadows from the palms were hiding her face.
"Too bad about those thieves getting your good camera."
She swallowed, then forced a sad little smile onto her face. "The good camera. My telephoto lens. All that expensive equipment gone," she said, shaking her head before taking a swig from the bottle.
Reaching for a sandwich, he stopped to look up at her. "And what about all those photos of me?" he whispered teasingly.
As she sputtered and choked, her eyes began to water. She brought the bottle to the table with a resounding thump, then covered her mouth with both hands. Her restored sense of control was gone, exploded in a choking cough. "That was not funny," she said, but his good-natured laughter continued ringing out in the gardenia-scented night.