Moonlight Lady Page 5

  Sam was a good dancer. He didn’t look like he would be, but he was. He had nice shoulders. Philip’s shoulders were bony. He thought himself a good dancer, but he wasn’t. He’d taken lessons, he knew all the right steps, but he was too stylized. Too precise. Sam wasn’t. He held her close, her body snugged to his, and moved to the music with a natural rhythm.

  The band played a French song done calypso style. Lisa hummed along, eyes closed, happy as a kitten who’d just finished a saucer of milk.

  The hand on the small of her back urged her closer. Sam felt the press of her breasts against his chest and wanted to touch them, see how they felt in his hands.

  Steady, he told himself. You brought her here to feel her out, not up.

  “Nice place,” he said in a too-hearty voice.

  She looked up at him. “Umm,” she said. And captured him with her eyes.

  He looked away. “Good band.”

  She nodded, tickling his chin with her hair. He caught the scent of the gardenia and of her. She was as light and as soft as a cloud in his arms. He wanted to keep on holding her, dance all night with her. Wanted to take her down to some lonely stretch of beach and do all manner of things to her. With her.

  He had to get a grip on himself. Think about other dames.... What other dames? His mind was a blank. Okay, he told himself, so you’re attracted to this little pint of cider. So what? He’d been attracted to women before. It didn’t mean anything.

  She smiled up at him, a sleepy, lopsided smile, and his insides turned over.

  He stepped away from her. “Getting late,” he said.

  Her lower lip came out in a pout. He wanted to bite it. Instead he took her hand, led her back to their table and signaled to a waiter for their check. Five minutes later Deuteronomy appeared with the check and two snifters of cognac.

  “Compliments of the house,” he said. And gazing down at Lisa he added, “It has been my pleasure to serve you.”

  She beamed a smile at him. He took her hand and kissed it, then glanced at Sam and backed away.

  “What a nice man,” Lisa said. “I love this restaurant, Sam. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome.” He frowned at the glass in her hand. “You going to drink that?”

  “It’d be rude not to.” She took a sip, said, “Good. Really good,” and ran her tongue over the rim of the snifter.

  Sam shoved his chair back. “Time to go,” he said.

  She took a deep, sighing breath. Her breasts pressed against the fine material of her dress and he felt his own breath clog somewhere between his chest and his throat. You do that again, he almost said, and I’ll take you out behind one of those trees and kiss you till you’re dizzy.

  He pulled her chair out and helped her up. She put her hand in his. It wasn’t until they were outside that he remembered he had to call for a taxi. “Wait here,” he said, and hurried back into the restaurant.

  She wasn’t where he’d left her when he came back out. He called, “Lisa?” and heard her answer, “Over here, Sam.”

  She stood under one of the trees, away from the reflected light of the restaurant. “Look at these wonderful old cedars,” she said when he reached her. “They must be hundreds of years old.” She rested a hand on one of the thick, gnarled branches. “I’m glad I came to Jamaica, Sam. I’m really happy for the first time in a long time and it feels...” She lifted her shoulders, trying to find the words to tell him how good she felt, how free. “Wonderful,” she said with a smile. “It feels wonderful and so do I.”

  “You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Have I?” She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Of course I’m not mad.” But he sounded mad, ferocious as a bear with his foot in a trap. “Dammit, Lisa,” he growled, “don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” She rested a hand on his shoulder, honestly puzzled. “Like what, Sam?”

  With a groan, he put his arms around her. “I don’t want this,” he muttered under his breath. Then he kissed her.

  For a moment Lisa was too startled to resist. He tightened his arms around her. Her mouth softened and she sighed.

  She was as fragile as a butterfly, as delicate as a rose. He kissed her more gently, kissed her eyelids, her nose, her mouth. He said, “Part your lips for me,” and when she did he ran his tongue across them. He took the pouty lower lip between his teeth and, as he had wanted to do in the restaurant, bit it just enough so that he could feel it between his teeth, then ran his tongue over it.

  He heard the gasp of her breath, but she didn’t pull away.

  He wanted to drown in her mouth, wanted to crawl inside her, to hold her and caress her until they both went a little crazy. He was crazy now, crazy to touch her, have her.

  He ran his hands down over her bare shoulders. He cupped her breasts.

  Soft, so soft, so small in his hands. He kissed her again and ran one hand across the rise of her breasts. Her skin was smooth as satin. He slipped his hand down inside the décolletage. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He cupped her bare breast and a groan escaped his lips.

  She whispered, “You shouldn’t.” But she leaned toward him, filling his hand, murmuring with pleasure when he rubbed his fingers over the pebbled tip.

  “We...” She was struggling for breath now. “We have to stop.”

  “I know.”

  But the kiss deepened. He squeezed her nipple between his fingers, and when she moaned into his mouth, the soft sound of her pleasure burned through his body. He felt himself grow, grow to bursting. He had to have her. Had to take her back into the stillness of the trees....

  A beam of light cut through the darkness; the sound of a motor cut through the stillness. He let her go. “The taxi,” he said hoarsely. “It’s here.”

  He took her hand. They left the protection of the trees and crossed the grass.

  The driver hopped out and opened the back door. Lisa’s legs were trembling and it was difficult to keep up with Sam. He helped her into the back seat and got in beside her. They didn’t speak or touch.

  When they reached the hotel, he walked her into the lobby. Abercrombie was behind the desk.

  Sam cleared his throat. “You’re probably tired,” he said to Lisa. “You’d better go on up. I’m going to have a nightcap.”

  “All—all right. I—I guess I’ll see you in he morning. Tomorrow. At the beach, I mean.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He wanted to kiss her again and knew he didn’t dare. He only looked at her mouth, and let his gaze drift down over her breasts.

  A flush rose in her cheeks. She said, “Good night, Sam. Thank you for—for dinner. It was wonderful. I really enjoyed...” Her voice drifted off. She held her hand out. He took it, but only for a moment.

  When he let it go, he mumbled another good-night, then turned and walked away from her. At the door leading to the patio he stopped and looked back. She was at the top of the stairs. She turned and saw him watching her, and stood for a moment, her hand on the banister.

  He almost went to her. Wanted to. Wanted to go bounding up the staircase after her, pick her up and carry her into her room or his. Wanted to kiss her again, touch her again.

  But he didn’t move. He only stood there watching her until she turned and disappeared around the corner of the stairway.

  Chapter 5

  He told himself he’d stay as far away from her as he could get. This wasn’t the time to become emotionally involved with a woman, especially one he wasn’t sure he trusted. But damn, she was something else. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so affected by a woman, wasn’t sure he ever had been. There was something about her that knocked the pins right out from under him, made him want to grab her, kiss her, hold her and touch her.

  Last night he had wanted her so badly he’d thought for a minute that if he couldn’t have her he’d bust a gut. Or something even more vital. She was like satin and lace and perfumed softness. Sh
e had skin like the petals of a gardenia, breasts to get lost in, pebble-hard nipples he wanted to take between his teeth to lap and tease until she cried for mercy.

  Lisa Collier was delectable from the top of her curly blond head right down to the tips of her toes. And he was damn well going to leave her alone.

  That’s what he told himself when he awoke the next morning, grumpy as a gator with a toothache because he’d spent most of the night dreaming about her. Lisa wearing nothing but gardenias, smiling a teasing smile as, one after another, she began plucking the flowers from somewhere on her body and tossing them to him. He could smell the heavy fragrance as he started toward her. But when he reached out to her, she backed away, whispering, “Catch me if you can. Catch me....”

  “Wait,” he’d called out. “Wait for me....” And he came awake sitting straight up in bed.

  At six he got up and, pulling on his swim trunks, went down to the beach. He plunged into the surf and swam as hard as he could, swam until the breath rasped in his throat and he’d almost stopped thinking about her.

  Back on shore he toweled himself, combed his fingers through his hair and headed for the kitchen. The same two cooks were there. Without asking, they poured him a mug of coffee. They called him “mon” and “bossmon,” and with a wink, one of them pulled a bottle of Tia Maria out of a bottom cupboard and poured a splash into his coffee. Two cups later, Sam felt ready to face the day.

  But not Lisa.

  He headed back to his room, showered, then pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and went down to see Abercrombie to ask about new arrivals. At first the clerk pursed his thin lips and said, “I cannot possibly give out that information.” But when Sam leaned forward as if he might grab the man’s tie the way he had that first day, Abercrombie said there’d been two parties check in late yesterday afternoon—a Mr. and Mrs. Perret from Idaho and a single man, a Mr. Howard Reitman, from Florida.

  “Where in Florida?” Sam asked.

  “Miami,” Abercrombie said.

  Could Reitman be the contact Montoya was waiting for? Sam wondered about that while he ate a breakfast of fruit, three eggs and a couple of slices of ham. Then he went outside to have a look around.

  Most of the guests were down at the beach. Only Lisa lay stretched out on a chaise beside the pool—wearing, God help him, a red bikini and a big straw hat with a red ribbon around it. The top of the bikini was about as wide as the ribbon.

  She sat up when she saw him, and when she smiled, his heart did a flip-flop and his mouth went dry.

  “Good morning.” And probably remembering last night, she blushed. “You’re—you’re not going to swim?”

  “Had my swim earlier.”

  “Oh.” She looked at the beach chair next to her like she was waiting for him to sit down.

  But he didn’t. He stood over her and he wasn’t smiling, “Better be careful of the sun,” he said. “If you get a burn you’ll ruin your vacation.”

  “I’m used to the sun.”

  “That’s what all the tourists say.”

  “I put sunscreen on.”

  “Your back’s red.”

  She sat up and, turning a little away from him, asked, “Would you mind rubbing some lotion on me?”

  Mind? Hell yes, he’d mind. Her back was bare except for about half an inch of material, and smooth as silk all the way down to the bikini bottom that stretched low across her hips.

  She handed him the bottle of sunscreen, then lay down on her stomach and scooted over a little so that he could sit beside her.

  He drizzled some of the lotion onto her shoulders and carefully, with only the tips of his fingers, rubbed it in. Her skin was warm from the sun. He stopped.

  “The rest of my back,” she said. “Not just my shoulders.”

  He gulped like a fourteen-year-old looking at a nudie magazine, poured the cream down the length of her spine and with the flat of his hands began to rub. God, she was beautifully made. Small bones, narrow waist, slight flare of hips, saucy bottom.

  He was tempted to undo the top. Afraid she’d object; afraid she wouldn’t.

  “I’m going to unhook the top.” His voice sounded rough. “You’ll get a better tan, no white line.”

  “Well...”

  He unsnapped it and she brought her arms up, hugging her body with her elbows, hiding her breasts.

  The lotion was smooth and warm on his hands when he rubbed. She groaned with pleasure and his body tightened. It was heaven and it was hell to touch her like this—up and down the length of her back, trying not to slide his hands around to touch her breasts. But tempted, oh damn, he was tempted. Nobody was here; nobody could see. Just slide his hands under, pretend he hadn’t meant to, pretend it was a mistake, but keep on touching.

  He remembered the way she’d reacted when he’d touched her breasts last night. Now, lulled by the sun and the warmth of the lotion, of his hands, maybe she wouldn’t stop him. Maybe he could just slide around and touch her. Maybe... He stopped, hands poised over her back, took a deep breath and said, “That ought to do it.”

  “Legs,” she mumbled.

  How much could a man take? He picked up the bottle and drizzled some of it on her legs. Legs? Hell, these were works of art. Smooth, shapely, warm. He clasped his hand around her narrow ankle and wondered if there’d ever been a more beautiful ankle. Up and down both legs, clasping, rubbing, soothing. She sighed, stretched as sensuously as a cat and murmured her appreciation.

  What would it be like to entwine his legs around hers? What would it be like to have them wrapped around his back, holding him close while he...?

  He snatched his hand off her leg as though he’d been burned. “Got to go,” he said. “Got things to do. Can’t waste my time like this.”

  Still trying to cover her breasts, Lisa looked up at him, eyes slumberous, lower lip pouty. “Will I see you later? At lunch maybe?”

  “I’ll be busy.”

  She clutched her bikini top and rolled over so that she could see him. “You took me to dinner last night. I’d like to take you tonight.”

  “Sorry. I’ve already made plans.”

  “Tomorrow night then?”

  “Don’t think so.” He saw the sudden embarrassment that brought a flush to her cheeks, but he couldn’t help it. This, whatever the hell it was between them, had to stop right now. He was in Jamaica on a job that demanded every bit of his attention. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by a dame, especially one who might be connected with Juan Montoya. Maybe Lisa wasn’t as innocent as she looked. Maybe she’d been sent from Miami with the express purpose of keeping him off balance while the drug deal went down. It was too big a chance to take. He’d keep an eye on her, but at a distance.

  He handed her the bottle, said, “See you around,” and strode off before he could change his mind.

  * * *

  Lisa fastened her top back into place and put her face down on the back of her hands, ashamed and embarrassed and mad because she’d made a fool of herself over a man she’d known for only a few days.

  “Lunch?” she’d asked. “Dinner tonight? Tomorrow night? Would you mind putting some lotion on my back?”

  Her face burned, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was because she’d made a fool of herself. Thrown herself at Sam, asked him for a date!

  She wanted to crawl under the chaise. To go bury herself in the sand. Instead she got up, walked to the edge of the pool and, holding her nose, jumped feetfirst into the deep end.

  * * *

  Sam made the call to Filoberto from his room. “I want you to check on a Howard Reitman who’s just come in from Miami.” he said. “Check with both NYPD and Miami PD.”

  “Right away. Anything else?”

  “That’ll do it for now.”

  “By the way,” Hargreaves said before Sam could hang up, “I checked on the woman you mentioned. Lisa Collier Matthews.”

  Sam held his breath.

  “She appears to be clean as a whist
le as far as Miami is concerned. A fairly successful commercial artist. No record of any kind.”

  Sam let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  “Married for seven years to Philip Matthews, Miami art critic. He, too, seems straight-arrow.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “One thing, however. I called that place in Ohio you said the Collier woman was from. Tipp City. Seems the police there have an outstanding warrant for her arrest.”

  Sam tightened his hand around the phone. “What for?”

  “Strangely enough, they didn’t seem quite clear on that. Whatever it was happened quite a long while ago...ten or eleven years. At the time they’d had an APB out on her.”

  All-points bulletin. Why? What had she done?

  “You haven’t any idea where she was before she went to Miami?” Hargreaves asked.

  “No.” Sam swallowed hard. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “I’ll wait here for your callback on Reitman.”

  When he put the phone down he went to stand out on his balcony. There wasn’t any evidence that she was mixed up with Montoya, that she’d ever been mixed up in any kind of drug business in Miami. But she had been in some kind of trouble back in her hometown. He wished he knew what kind. But did it matter? The fact that she was listed with the Ohio police meant she wasn’t as lily-white as she seemed.

  A lot of the bastards who dealt in drugs operated undercover. Both men and women from all levels of society were attracted because of the big money to be had in the sale of drugs—respected professionals, city officials, housewives, dirty cops, shop girls, secretaries. Lisa Collier could be one of the smart ones who’d never been caught, who had no record. Except back in Tipp City, Ohio.

  When the phone rang, Sam hurried back into the room.

  “I have something on Reitman,” Hargreaves said. “He’s a big name with the operators in the south Florida area. Been arrested half a dozen times, but has always gotten off, through lack of evidence and a smart lawyer. One arrest for suspicion of murder, one for assault, one for rape. No convictions. I’d venture to guess he’ll be up to no good in Jamaica. He’s probably the man you’re looking for.”