Renegade Player Read online

  “I wondered just what it was you did over here, Willy, while the real salesmen were out beating the bushes for hot prospects.”

  She rolled over on the carpet and sat there dusting off her bare knees as she grinned up at him. “Well, the truth will out. I push boxes around under the desk and RENEGADE PLAYER make noises in the back of my throat. Were you looking for Matt?” Dotty had gone out to lunch early since Willy was there to cover for her.

  “No, I came to see if you’d like to go to lunch,” Kiel said, stooping to lift the curious boy and sit him on top of Willy’s littered desk. “What about it, son, you hungry?”

  Kip stared solemnly at the impressive stranger and finally nodded his head silently.

  “I had planned to wait until Dotty got back,” Willy told him, “but I don’t suppose it matters all that much. If anyone calls and we’re not here, they’ll call back if it’s important.”

  “You must be a valuable addition to the firm,” Kiel gibed, extending her a hand.

  “Well, to tell the truth, things aren’t all that busy around here lately. I haven’t had a call all morning, and besides, now that you mention food, I’m starving. So’s young Kip here, I’ll bet. Pete said he’d be back in time to take him home for lunch and a nap, but something probably came up.”

  They went to a seafood sandwich place nearby and Willy tried to think what a five-year-old might enjoy, only to have the matter taken out of her hands when Kiel ordered without bothering to consult anyone.

  “So,” he said over soft-shell crab sandwiches, with milk for Willy and Kip and beer for himself, “as well as being charmingly domestic, you’re touchingly maternal. Are you looking forward to settling down and raising a brood of your own as soon as you can find someone to support them all?”

  Puzzled by a strange note of mockery underlying his teasing, she nevertheless answered him seriously. “I don’t know the first thing about children. Kip is the first one I’ve ever met at close range, but if he’s any example, I’d say I enjoy them. At least we seem to have a few interests in common.”

  Kiel laughed at this, and Willy watched, fascinated at the play of muscles under the tanned skin at the throat of his open-necked shirt. The tension eased and she thought she must have imagined the sarcasm. They finished off with coffee for the adults and a small ice cream for Kip, and Kiel wondered aloud if Willy had to forgo all desserts in order not to pop any more buttons off her jeans.

  “Certainly not,” she admitted ruefully. “I don’t have all that much self-discipline. I was a bean pole up until a year or so ago, when I finally started filling out a little.” She ignored his look of patent disbelief. “Something to do with my metabolism, I guess. I can eat voraciously and all it does is make me sleepy.”

  “I’d have said your metabolism was set at slow idle, but then, maybe I only see you at your gluttonous worst. You probably starve yourself between dinner dates,” he teased.

  Whatever answer she might have made was forestalled when Kip climbed drowsily into her lap, managing to smear chocolate on her blouse and spill her purse on the floor. She smiled indulgently at the child and allowed Kiel to gather up her belongings, and then he took the boy from her and carried him out to the car, where he settled him on her lap again for the short drive back to the office.

  Pete turned into the parking lot behind them and Willy introduced the two men, handing over the querulous child to his father.

  “Call me again when you get hungry,” Kiel gibed, leaving her on the divided ramp that led to the two offices, and she went inside to hear the strident summons of the telephone, which more than made up for its morning silence during the rest of the afternoon.

  Willy sold a forty-seven-year-old house at Coinjock that had been on her list of the ten least likely to sell and was given a new condominium, as well as a dilapidated rental house that was threatened by every high tide. She took what came her way, did her easygoing best, which usually happened to be as good as, if not better than, that of the other two agents and Matt; and when her commissions added up to her monthly rental plus a reasonable amount left over for running expenses, she was satisfied. She had found out early in life that money brought with it its own attendant problems, and as long as she had enough to eat and a place to sleep, she’d be perfectly happy. As for clothes, she had enough to last her for the time being, especially since she lived in casual skirts and jeans, plus the occasional long cotton gown for more festive evenings; when winter rolled around, she’d get the rest of her things out of storage and try not to be embarrassed by her father’s ostentatious idea of suitable winter coats for a young woman.

  Saturday was drizzly and sleepy, the sort of soft, gray weather she loved along the beach strand. She slept late and then spent several hours rereading her favorite nineteenth-century ghost stories, and she was about to doze off again when Kiel appeared at her door with his measuring cup and a beguiling light in his dark eyes. She had tried to determine if those eyes were actually black or just a very dark shade of brown and had finally concluded that they were a metallic shade of gray, allowing a viewer no insight at all into the mind of the man behind them.

  “What are you begging this time?” She laughed, laying aside her book.

  “Any wheat germ?”

  “You’re kidding!” she exclaimed, getting to her feet in one easy, fluid motion.

  “Scout’s honor. Read a healthy junk-food recipe calling for honey, peanut butter, wheat germ and stale whole-wheat bread, and I thought this looked like a perfect day to try it.”

  They collaborated on that one for the next few hours and laughed together when it turned out to be messier than either of them would have believed possible. Kiel sat on one of his cane-topped barstools, thighs spread and elbows propped on the counter as he watched Willy deal with the stack of messy utensils; and it was then, when she stood there helplessly, her hand sticky with honey, that the tenor of the afternoon changed from an easygoing compatibility of two people with mutual interests to something infinitely more interesting and far more dangerous.

  Kiel took her wrist, laughing at her with those strangely mocking eyes, and pulled her close to him so that she stood between his thighs, and then he lifted her hand to his mouth and touched her sticky finger with his tongue. While a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced before crept up her limbs, draining them of all strength, Willy stood there, her eyes hopelessly entangled with his, and allowed Kiel to lick the sweet mess from each finger; and when he slipped her little finger into his mouth and sucked gently, she couldn’t hold back a gasp. Just before her knees buckled, he drew her up against his chest, holding her shuddering body tightly between his thighs, and they continued to stare into each other’s eyes as his face slowly lowered to her own.

  Willy had been kissed before. After a slow, miserable start, due to being an awkwardly tall, skinny, freckled child until her eighteenth year, she had begun to blossom and had learned to her amazement that her own brand of beauty, far removed though it was from conventional prettiness, seemed to attract more than a few men. Of course, by that time, her father had introduced her to Luke Styrewall, and so she had very little opportunity to try her newly metamorphosed wings.

  Once she had left all that behind, though, she had quickly learned to refuse without offending in all but the most determined cases, keeping her would-be lovers as friends as often as not. She had enjoyed a few lighthearted flirtations, and when they threatened to get out of hand, she had dealt with them skillfully, with no lasting harm done on either side, except perhaps in the case of Randy Collier; but nothing had prepared her for this . . . this mind-shattering, bone-melting assault on her senses by the man who was tantalizing her mouth with a sensuous barrage that made her want to tear off her clothes, or his, or both, and be done with it!

  With the little strength left to her, she backed away, acutely aware of the warmth of his hands as they slipped over her rib cage and lingered teasingly on the soft sides of her breasts. “Whoa,” she said
shakily. “I think, if it’s all the same to you, I’d better stick to soap and water from now on.” She held up her unsteady hands, the long, slender fingers bare of any adornment. There was an unfamiliar throbbing at the pit of her stomach that distracted her, and so she missed entirely the curious guardedness that slipped down over his opaque eyes.

  “Just as well,” he told her easily. “I think the first batch of these things is about ready.” He turned casually to the oven, just as if he hadn’t melted her down to a puddle of quivering nerve endings with one kiss only seconds ago.

  Lord, the man was a positive menace! Was this the way they had felt, all those overamorous men she had dated and danced with and then turned away with a quick good-night kiss? They had looked at her as if she were edible, a slightly sick longing in their eyes that had always made her vaguely uncomfortable, but if this was what she had inadvertently done to them, then it was a wonder they even spoke to her afterward!

  “Here, try one, but watch out! They’re hot!” Kiel placed the pan of brown, crispy-looking bars on a wooden block on the counter and poked gingerly at the one on the end.

  That night he insisted on taking her out to dinner. She had declined his invitations before, for reasons she little understood herself. Twice she had told him it was because she had to go to Hatteras and wasn’t sure when she’d be back, but perhaps it had been some deep-seated protective mechanism she didn’t even know she possessed that had begun exerting itself in the face of his threatening attraction.

  “There’s a new restaurant that does something Mediterranean with seafood. Have you tried it yet?” he tempted her. “I thought we’d dine about nine, and then, by the time we’re through, there’ll be little enough traffic so that you can see what you think about the handling and road-hugging ability of the Porsche. Aerodynamically, it’s much superior to the nine-twenty-four,” he assured her, thus setting the hook and reeling her in.

  Willy was ready for him by eight-thirty, as he could no doubt tell if he cared to look across the court. She seldom bothered to lower the shades, leaving the lights out, instead, during any critical stages. She had chosen to wear a midi-length dress of cotton piqué in a splashy print of navy, orange and white. It was cool and comfortable and, to an untutored eye, could have cost a fraction of what she had actually paid for it back in Florida. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she slipped on a pair of inexpensive earrings of white enamel as her only bit of jewelry. A splash of orangy red lip gloss, a whiff of light cologne, and she was ready except for her sandals, and she wriggled her feet into those as she surveyed her image in the mirror, approving of what she saw in a perfectly impersonal way. No amount of makeup could disguise the fact of her freckles and so she seldom bothered with using any, leaving her sandy-colored lashes and brows natural as well, instead of having to bother with removing mascara when she came home tired and sleepy.

  Willy believed in conserving energy. She didn’t mind going to any amount of trouble if she thought a thing worthwhile, but gilding the lily of her personal image meant little to her and she spent as little time and effort on it as she could get by with. She extended a foot and checked the strap of her cork and macrame sandal. It added two inches to her already considerable height, but Kiel could give her several inches, even so. She hadn’t realized at first just how tall he was, because of his broad shoulders and the beautifully coordinated way he moved . . . especially in trunks when he had just come from a long run down the beach.

  Several times she happened to be outside when he returned from an early-morning jog or a swim, and he had invited her to join him, but she had begged off, preferring to spend her spare time doing something less strenuous.

  “All that energy wasted,” she had chided on seeing him return from what must have been a three-mile run, considereing the time elapsed since he had crossed the dune. “You might at least be charging a battery or something useful.”

  “Could be I’m discharging a battery, or at least a buildup of potential energy,” he had retorted with a twisted grin. He had allowed his eyes to roam significantly over her bikini top as she leaned over her railing. “There’s more than one reason why schools stress sports, Willy girl.”

  She had not misunderstood him. It had served only to reinforce her own opinion that it wasn’t safe to accompany him on his solitary jaunts down the empty beach before daybreak, or to join him in his quick evening swims, either. She had found It virtually impossible to ignore the buildup of a strange sort of tension in herself and considered it wiser not to risk striking any sparks.

  Until tonight, that was. Staring helplessly up into the darkly handsome face as she opened the door to him some fifteen minutes later, Willy had cause to wonder if her brain had taken a holiday. This man was no Richy, to be indulged, teased gently and then sent on his way. Nor was he a Randy Collier, either, for that matter, to be flirted with mildly across the safe distance of a restaurant table, danced with under the stars and then turned away with a lukewarm kiss. It had blown up in her face on that dreadful last occasion and it was up to her to see that such a thing didn’t ever happen again.

  Correction, she told herself: it was up to her to see that she didn’t change her mind about what she wanted. No involvement with any man, not since the fiasco engineered by her own father, was going to trap her again. She had escaped that one time by the skin of her teeth and she wasn’t going to allow herself to be vulnerable ever again.

  “You look ravishing, as I’m certain you know,” Kiel told her, his deep velvet voice registering on her whole body instead of only on her ears.

  She murmured her thanks, gathered up a cobwebby stole and latched the door behind her. “You’ll notice that I do take the normal precautions when I’m going to be out,” she pointed out, “so you see, I’m not a total fool.”

  “It never once occurred to me that you were,” he told her solemnly, handing her into the well-sprung car.

  Disdaining the menu, Kiel ordered for them both, an arrogant habit she had noticed without too much surprise before. He selected a dry white port to go with the antipasto, a Rhine to accompany the oysters on the half-shell, and then he ordered both gamberi alla siciliana, a succulent shrimp dish, and scombro ripieno, skillfully seasoned mackerel stuffed with Romano and mushrooms, which they proceeded to divide and wash down with a well-chilled Riesling.

  “Oh, you’re killing me with kindness,” Willy groaned, reaching over to pick the last mushroom from his plate.

  “I never met a more willing victim, then,” he came back, smiling at her in a way that filtered through to the very soles of her feet. “Dessert? No, on second thought, I’ll see to that, myself . . . later.”

  “Forget it,” Willy implored. “I couldn’t eat another bite!”

  They stood up and moved out onto a screened porch where several couples moved lethargically to recorded Italian love songs, and when Kiel took her in his arms, Willy wrapped both her own arms around his shoulders and more or less draped herself on him.

  “Kiel, I’m utterly disgusting, I know, but I don’t think I can even stand, much less dance. The wine ...”

  “Then just don’t put up any resistance and I’ll see if a little passive exercise will help matters any.” He laughed, swaying her gently from side 'to side.

  She followed him perfectly, for he moved with an easy, natural grace that required little effort on her part, and when she became aware of a certain tension after a while in the way he was holding her, she straightened away from him, allowing her arms to assume a more conventional position.

  “Don’t change,” he murmured against her hair.

  “You plied me with liquor,” she accused, laughter burbling in her husky drawl, “and what’s worse, at least where I’m concerned, you plied me with food that was totally irresistible.” She let her head rest against his neck, her eyes on a level with the pulse that beat just under his jaw. She felt satiated with food and drink and something else she didn’t dare analyze, something she had no desir
e to resist.

  “Hedonist. You’re an amazingly easy target, you know.”

  She responded lazily to the teasing note in his voice. “I am, aren’t I? I’m making all sorts of alarming discoveries about Miss Willy Silverthorne these days.”

  His feet slowed to a stop and his arms tightened until she was acutely aware of every muscle in the length of his body. “I think we’d better get out of here or I’m going to start on my dessert beforetimes,” he growled, leading her out the screened door and around to where they had left the car. “I’ll give you a rain check on that road test. I don’t think you’re in any condition to appreciate the subtleties of engineering tonight, hmmm?”

  They went straight home and Willy suppressed a minor surge of disappointment as he wheeled into his garage. It was too early for the evening to end, especially as she was feeling— How was she feeling? Full, but not uncomfortable . . . woozy, but not drunk . . . satisfied, yet strangely unsatisfied. And when Kiel led her across the uneven pavement to the dunes that led onto the beach, she followed along as if she had had a last-minute reprieve.

  “Leave your shoes here,” he ordered, slipping off his own and turning the cuffs of his white trousers up a couple of turns. He took off his natural linen jacket, turned back the sleeves of his brown silk shirt, and they began to walk.

  There was no one on the beach. Between the crests of the high row of dunes, the lights of an occasional cottage glimmered, but for all Willy cared, they could have been alone in the world, so still was the night, so bright the moon; and when Kiel began to speak after they had walked for perhaps a quarter of a mile, Willy had trouble shifting from a purely sensual creature to a rational one in order to grasp his words.

  “Why don’t you ride to work with me from now on?”

  “What? Oh ...” She considered the idea and rejected it, and Kiel wanted to know why not.

  Her refusal had been instinctive, based on the crazy, exhilarating feeling of skating on thin ice she had when she was with him, but she tried to rationalize it. “Oh ... I don’t know, Kiel. It’s enough of a coincidence, our working so close and living so close. I mean, who would have expected you accidentally to move into the house closest to mine when we happen to work in adjoining buildings. If we suddenly started showing up for work together, people might— Oh, you know what I mean! So far, no one’s even seen us out together, but if we suddenly start letting it be known that we practically live in each other’s pockets, then tongues will start wagging and I can do without that sort of thing.”