Heart of the Hunter Read online

  “You do,” he said almost absently. “Only you, my love.”

  “Of course I do. I’m an old friend, remember?” She made the saucy remark with a brash bravado, ignoring the sudden trip-hammer pace of her heart. Then in spite of every effort to the contrary, she asked, “Why, Jeb?”

  “I’m damned if I know.” He spoke scarcely above the sound of the surf. “I suppose it could be that it’s almost too easy to believe we’re the only people who’ve ever walked this shore. One man, one woman in a sandy Eden.”

  Nicole wanted to say something. Another bantering reply, a facetious observation, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “It could be that wee bit of a swimsuit you’re wearing. Little strips of cloth that are nothing more than color on skin do strange things to a man’s blood pressure.”

  “My suit?” Nicole looked down at the ancient bikini. When she’d taken her shirt off to gather up the sand dollars he’d found, she hadn’t given it a thought. In fact, she’d forgotten the suit was faded and so thin...

  “Oh no!” So thin every contour of her breasts and nipples showed as clearly as if she were naked.

  “Oh, yes.” Jeb slanted her a grin.

  “Oh, Lord, you must think...”

  “I haven’t been thinking anything, except how I could persuade you to take the rest of the day off from work.”

  “Work? The rest of the day?”

  “It is Monday, isn’t it? You did plan to open the gallery.”

  “Oh, no.” She raised her face skyward, finding the fully risen sun. “What time is it?”

  “Ten minutes past the time you should have left the island. If you were going to open the gallery.”

  “There’s no ‘if’ to it. I have an appointment with the old biddy today.”

  “The old biddy?”

  “Mrs. Atherton,”

  “Of course, Mrs. Atherton.” He had no idea who Mrs. Atherton was.

  “She’s a pain in the tush and a snob, but she does spend a lot of money with us.” Nicole shaded her eyes and squinted at the sun again, judging her chances of making the appointment. “How late did you say it was?”

  “A minute later than when you asked before.”

  “Eleven minutes, I can do that.” Then she was running down the beach, like a dark-haired child racing with the wind.

  “Nicole!” When she didn’t answer, he called again. “Nicole! What are you going to do?”

  She whirled about in the sand, her hair flying, her breasts nearly spilling from the suit as it threatened to slide into ignominy. “I’m going to make up eleven minutes.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Yes I can. Just pray that Charlie’s not on duty today.”

  “Charlie? Who’s Charlie?”

  “The patrolman who loves to play coyote and roadrunner with me.” The last was tossed over her shoulder as she settled into a ground-eating jog.

  “Wait,” Jeb called as he waded out of the water. Scooping up her shirt, he watched as she turned left and raced up a bank of stairs. She disappeared over a dune as he finished what he’d meant to say. “You forgot your shirt.”

  * * *

  “I should have known,” Nicole muttered as she tossed her jacket aside. Kicking off her shoes, she sank into a chaise, poured a glass of wine and propped her aching feet, one over the other. With her eyes closed, she raised the tulip-shaped goblet to her forehead, soothing lines of repressed anger with its delicate bowl.

  Without opening her eyes, she listened to the surf wash over the shore as she sipped the wine. She’d poured a dark, velvety cabernet, not her usual Riesling or Grenache. For tonight she’d wanted something rich and bold with a kick. As she’d wanted to kick Mrs. Atherton, straight out of the gallery.

  “Hypocrite,” she declared and sipped again. “There ought to be a law.”

  Settling farther into the chaise lounge, she considered dinner, and dismissed it. It was too late, and she was far too comfortable to bother. After today she deserved a quiet, comfortable evening.

  She’d just drained her second glass and was succumbing to a delicious little haze when the bell at the front door rang. The temptation to ignore it was strong, and she was still considering it when the bell rang twice more in quick succession.

  “I should have known.” She struggled from the chaise. “A perfect ending to a perfect day.”

  Not bothering to find her shoes, she padded to the door, the crinkled fabric of her skirt brushing over her bare feet. Normally she would have checked to see who was calling. Thanks to an empty stomach and two glasses of wine drunk faster than usual, she didn’t trouble herself with the effort.

  The door banged against the wall as she flung it open with obvious irritation. “Yes?” she hissed then blinked. “Jeb?”

  “Yep.” He lounged against the wall, laughing down at her. Her shirt dangled from a crooked finger. “Always turning up, like the proverbial penny.”

  “What penny?” The gaze she turned to his was vague and slightly unfocused.

  “Uh-oh.” He drew away from the wall, and at his full height towered over her. “Bad day?”

  “You could say that, considering the way that it started.”

  “Funny, I sorta liked the way it started.”

  “You’re making fun.” She squinted up at him. “Are you making fun? You promised you wouldn’t. Never, never make fun. Fun hurts.”

  Jeb shook his head and eased the glass from her fingers only an instant before it would have slipped from her loose grasp. Holding it up to the light spilling through the door, he saw the dark red color of the drop that was left. “How many of these have you had?”

  “Two.” She waved three fingers in his face. “Only two.”

  “Oh dear.” Jeb smothered a smile and wondered if she couldn’t count, or had the least tolerance for wine of anyone he’d ever seen.

  “Oh dear, is exactly right. This has been an ‘oh dear’ sort of day, all day long.” Her skirt dipped and swayed, and the square cut neck of her camisole dipped with it, revealing a tantalizing bit of femininity as she leaned against the door.

  “It has, has it?” He wouldn’t think of the camisole, soft and supple, provocative in its very simplicity, and leaving little doubt her breasts were naked beneath it.

  “In...innnndubitably.”

  “Then why don’t we fix it?” Stepping forward, he swept her into his arms, and was surprised to discover how well she fit next to his heart. How good she felt in his embrace.

  “What...?” Woozy from the swiftness of his move, she clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly about his neck.

  “Shh,” Jeb murmured against her hair. “Just relax. This won’t hurt a bit. I promise.”

  “Jeb?”

  “None other.”

  With a step unhampered by the slight addition of her weight, he crossed to the deck and settled with her into the chaise. A glance at her demure little jacket tossed carelessly aside, and her shoes tumbled heel over toe as if a tottering child had abandoned them, told a story of irritation and frustration. The bottle of wine with so little taken from it proved a suspicion that she’d eaten little if anything all day. Explaining how two glasses of wine came to be verified so emphatically with three fingers.

  “Knocked you on your pretty little tush didn’t it, sweetheart?” Her shirt and his excuse, lay crumpled and forgotten by the door.

  “Hmm?” She moved restlessly against him, her cheek scrubbing his chest.

  “Shh.” He considered dinner, then decided food was not what she needed. Drawing her close, he stroked her hair, breathing in her perfume as it blended with the fresh sea air. A seductive combination as intoxicating as the wine. For his own sanity he didn’t want to think of her perfume, any more than he wanted to think of the camisole, or her body curled into his. But he wasn’t destined to succeed in that, and as he eased her tensions his own escalated. With an uneven note in his voice he murmured, “Why don’t you tell me about you
r day.”

  “My day was terrible.” Each word was carefully spaced.

  “So you said.”

  “It started with you.”

  “That was terrible?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we’d better leave that part out for now. What came next?”

  “Charlie coyote came next.”

  “Ah-ha! He caught the roadrunner. How fast?”

  “Just eighty-five miles an hour.”

  “Just! That’s not running, honey, it’s flying low. What next?”

  “Mrs. Atherton.”

  “The old biddy.”

  “In the flesh. She wants Ashley’s paintings. She hates him and calls him the village idiot, and that woman’s child. Whoever that woman is. Ashley’s paintings aren’t for sale. If they were, I wouldn’t sell them to someone who called him an idiot.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew how close I came to spitting in her eye and banning her from the gallery forever.”

  “Our little cygnet grew into a magnificent swan with a tiger’s heart,” Jeb whispered against her temple. “Tony would be proud of you.”

  His first mention of her brother. He waited for her reaction.

  “Ha!” She clutched at his shirt and curled closer into him. Her hand trembled. “He wouldn’t care at all.”

  Jeb held her, daring no more as she struggled with something he didn’t understand. It was a long while before her ragged breaths slowed to a drowsy rhythm and when he rose from the chaise, she clung to him, muttering sleepily into his throat. It was a simple matter to find her bedroom. But not so simple to listen to his head and not his body as he stripped away her skirt and discovered the camisole was a chemise. A single garment intended to serve the utilitarian purpose of both lingerie and blouse.

  “Utilitarian! Like hell!” he growled on a strangled breath. It was madness dressed up in lace, lying in wait for an unsuspecting male.

  He was suddenly and, he knew, unfairly angry with her for what he felt, for what she made him feel. But anger became his temporary ally. When he left her sleeping like a trusting child with the duvet tucked chastely beneath her chin, beyond the intimate glimpse, he knew little more about Nicole Callison. And because of it, a damnable lot about himself.

  He wanted her. He might curse himself for a fool and an idiot, but it changed nothing.

  Guilty, or innocent, he wanted her.

  Four

  The sun was past its meridian as Jeb slipped the roadster into a narrow slot in the unpaved lot. Shadows pooled in elongated circles about live oaks and blooming crape myrtles. In this late afternoon hour, the hottest part of the day, the purposeful pedestrian would find no relief in them from the sultry heat rising from the walks of Charleston.

  A wise man would have gone to ground, seeking out the cool, or creating his own with a long, cold drink. A worried man would do exactly as Jeb, seeking out the cause of his worry.

  As he stepped into the galley, his first impression was of an island of cool serenity in the midst of the sweltering heat outside. A quiet day winding down to a quieter end. In the space of a thought, the illusion was shattered by the caustic demand of the lone customer.

  “You might as well sell, Nicole. I intend to have the paintings, sooner or later.” Haughty flint in the commanding voice was not softened by a cultured drawl. “Sooner would be much easier, my dear, for all of us.”

  “The paintings aren’t for sale, Mrs. Atherton.” Nicole was calm, only the set of her shoulders betrayed annoyance.

  “Of course they are.” The regal woman with an unyieldingly straight back and perfectly groomed silver hair gestured with the arrogance of royalty. Her lust focused on a group of paintings hanging in an obvious place of honor. “Why else would you display them at the sale?”

  “They were only lent to us. I can’t sell what isn’t mine.” Nicole dealt with peremptory arrogance with unshakable composure.

  “You’re being ridiculous, Nicole.” The woman was taller, larger, and by the sheer power of her size and her position in the city, she meant to intimidate the younger, smaller upstart.

  Jeb’s initial inclination was to step in, but something in the look of Nicole held him back. Settling back against a column, he crossed his arms over his chest and observed, discovering he needn’t have worried.

  “I’m not being ridiculous, and I’m not being stubborn.” Nicole was undaunted, her pleasant attitude unchanged. “I’m keeping a promise.”

  “To whom?”

  “To Ashley, Mrs. Atherton,” Annabelle interjected from her desk, her black eyes burning into the woman like lasers.

  “No one asked you, Annabelle.” Mrs. Atherton sent her a scathing look meant to remind an underling of her place.

  “Perhaps you didn’t ask Annabelle, but what she says is true. My agreement and my promise to Ashley in return for the privilege of displaying his paintings was that they wouldn’t be sold.”

  “The man’s an idiot. He wouldn’t know if you sold one, or two or the whole lot of them. A promise to Ashley means no more than a promise to a stray dog.”

  “Ashley is not a stray, Mrs. Atherton.” Twin wings of color swept across Nicole’s cheeks as her face paled. The shaking of her hand was stilled by a convulsive tightening of her fingers over a gold clad fountain pen.

  The grande dame of Charleston didn’t seem to notice, but Jeb did, as the foolish woman waded deeper into the fray. “He lives on the street, Nicole, that’s virtually the same.”

  “He might wander the streets, but he doesn’t live on them. He has a house, not a mansion like yours, but functional. And he has a job.”

  “Shining shoes in a hotel?”

  “It’s honest work that meets his needs. And—” warning that there was more, was given by only the slightest force in Nicole’s voice “—just because he isn’t like you, or anyone else in Charleston, doesn’t mean he’s an idiot. But if he were, why would you include the work of an idiot you so despise in your hallowed collection?”

  “Nicole!” The pinched, elderly face grew even more autocratic. “You needn’t be rude.”

  “You’re right,” Nicole agreed. “It’s the last thing I need.” Crossing to Annabelle’s desk, she laid the pen on a colorful blotter. Her breasts rose in a long, deep breath before she turned back to her obstinate customer. “Ashley’s paintings are not for sale, Mrs. Atherton, that precludes the need for more discussion. Now, if you will excuse me, we close in ten minutes and I have things to do.”

  “I will not excuse you, Nicole, I—”

  “Nicky, darling,” Jeb said softly as he pushed away from the column and moved toward the desk. He’d heard enough, and more. He was tired of the woman’s arrogance, and amazed she didn’t see the stony look in eyes as cold as green ice. “Have you forgotten?”

  “Forgotten?” Nicole turned to him, a flash of surprise on her face. Engrossed as she’d been with her contest of will with Mrs. Atherton, she had no idea he had come to the gallery and even less what she might have forgotten. “I’m sorry, I don’t...”

  “Ahh, sweetheart.” He folded his palms about her cheeks. As surprise ascended to shock, he brushed her mouth with his, lightly, but with a lingering completeness. With unmistakable reluctance he moved away, accusing tenderly, “You forgot our date.”

  “Our date?” Nicole touched her lips with an unsteady hand. Amid the sudden tumult of every nerve, she realized she sounded like a parrot, but at just this particular moment, she couldn’t quite get her jangled thoughts in order. “What date?”

  “Ohmigosh!” Annabelle slapped her forehead with an open hand. “I’m the one who forgot, Jeb. I forgot to tell Nicole you called. She has no idea you’ve planned a romantic dinner just for the two of you.” Rising from her desk, like a minuscule queen of the Amazons, she crossed to Mrs. Atherton. Taking her arm firmly, she led the speechless woman to the door. “I’m sure you understand that we need to close a tad earl
y today.”

  “No, I don’t.” Unaccustomed to such cavalier treatment, the self-acclaimed savant of the arts struggled to remove her arm from Annabelle’s grasp, but discovered the pudgy hand gripped like a vice.

  “Of course you don’t mind.” Annabelle cut short her protest. “I’m sure you realize as well as I how impatient young lovers can be.”

  “Young lovers?” The covert struggle ceased, avid eyes stared at Nicole and Jeb over Annabelle’s shoulder.

  “Yes, indeedy, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?” The gallery door was open. The pressure of Annabelle’s hand had to be bruising as she stepped into the street with Mrs. Atherton. “Do come to see us again, soon. Surely by then we’ll have something you’ll like as well as Ashley’s paintings.”

  One step back, a hearty shove of the door and the newest Amazon turned to face them. “There now.” She dusted her hands on her skirt as if the touch of Mrs. Atherton left them soiled. “As of this minute, we are officially closed.”

  “Annabelle,” Nicole managed to utter, “do you know what you just did?”

  “Indeed, I do. Exactly what I’ve always wanted to do—throw the old battle-ax out.”

  “Bravo!” Jeb clapped his hands.

  “And you!” Nicole rounded on him. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

  “Indeed, I do.” Jeb rested one hip on the edge of Annabelle’s desk as he brushed a wisp of ebony from Nicole’s temple. “I just saved the old battle-ax’s life. I don’t believe she realized how close you were to losing your temper.”

  “I might get angry, but I don’t lose my temper,” Nicole said through clenched teeth.

  “No, I’m sure you don’t. It isn’t allowed, is it? That’s why you have nights like last night, when you’re wound so tight.”

  “I wasn’t wound tight.” She dodged away from him.

  Jeb chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you were.” Undeterred by her abrupt move, he stroked her hair. A not so subtle reminder that he’d done the same in the moonlight on a deck overlooking the sea. “Just tight.”

  Nicole caught his wrist, her fingers closing like handcuffs over the tanned flesh. “I was not tight then, I’m not angry now.”