Part 6 (2/2)
”Good. As long as you understand that I'm calling the shots, then let's get started.”
”Doing what?”
”Looking for Hugh, of course. I want to begin our investigation.”
”Our investigation?”
”Yes, I want to be involved. I think we should start with the American consulate, then the local police.”
He was shaking his head slowly. ”I'd suggest we avoid the red tape of the official investigation and go straight to the source. I speak enough Portuguese and French to be understood by the locals. With some luck, we can trace Hugh's steps directly, starting with the hotel he was staying at.”
”All right,” she said hesitantly. She was more than prepared to make concessions if it meant speeding things up. It only made sense to let him handle the investigation. He was the expert at finding people, but at least now she had veto power.
Relaxing a little, she poured herself a cup of the rich black coffee and took one of the crusty rolls, aware that he was watching her with undisguised interest. He was probably wondering what kind of woman would do the things she'd done-get involved with a stranger on the road and then, ten years later, strike a s.e.xual bargain with that same stranger. Most men would have concluded that she was either desperate or a woman of easy virtue. She imagined Geoff Dias thought she was both ... and she was beginning to wonder if he was right.
She poured enough milk in the coffee to make it drinkable, then sipped it slowly, aware that it was too potent a brew to simply relax and enjoy, and yet at the same time, that it was undoubtedly habit-forming ... not unlike him.
Finally she set the cup down and turned to him, ready to unburden herself. She was surprised to see that he had smoothed out the drawing she'd crumpled. He was studying it with an expression that she couldn't immediately put a name to. Reflective, perhaps. Moody. Yes, he looked rather distracted.
”You have to understand that Hugh is the man I love,” she told him. ”I'm engaged to marry him, and I'd make any sacrifice to get him back, even ... ”
”Sleeping with me?” he finished as she hesitated.
”Even that.”
”The ultimate torture?”
When she didn't answer, he rose from the chair and walked to the wrought-iron railing that bordered the terrace. Turning his back to the bright blue sky, he leaned against the railing and stared at her. Haloed by sunlight, his face and body carved by shadows, he was breathtaking. The green of his eyes was brilliant, as though lit by an emotion even the shade couldn't subdue.
Arrested by the juxtaposition of man and nature, by the simplicity of his casual pose, Randy admitted to herself that she was far more attracted to him than she ever had been to Hugh. Irresistibly physically attracted.
And yet she knew physical attraction to a man wasn't enough. It could ruin a woman. It had ruined her mother's life. A man had to have character. He had to be stable and dependable. But try as she would to convince herself that she shouldn't be affected by Geoff Dias, the shakiness in her stomach wouldn't go away. She felt as loose and fluttery as the b.u.t.terflies wafting overhead. It seemed she was like her mother, doomed to be drawn to the wrong kind of man.
”I want to be with Hugh,” she said, uttering the words softly, urgently.
”You may want to be with him, but you don't love him. If I believed you did, I wouldn't be here.”
His voice was husky again, compellingly sincere. It made her feel strange and vulnerable when he talked that way. It made her throat ache. ”Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. ”What do you want?”
”Why did you do it to me? What was the point of seducing me and running off?”
Randy thought she saw a flaring of pain in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly, she couldn't be sure. She would never be sure with him. she realized. That was the problem. ”I don't know why I did it. I was hurting and terribly angry. Everybody thought I was a wild kid anyway, probably because of Edna. Since I already had the reputation, I thought I might as well live up to it.”
”So I was an experiment, an opportunity to find out just how wild you could be with a renegade biker?”
”Yes, maybe-I don't know. I wasn't thinking in those terms. I wasn't thinking at all, I guess.”
”Nothing's changed, has it?” he said, almost bitterly. ”Did it ever occur to you that I was anything more than an extension of that motorcycle, Randy? That I might have some feelings about what happened between us?”
She searched his face, looking for any evidence of the feelings he mentioned. He was good at hiding them. He was one of the coolest characters she'd ever come across, almost as if he were determined to control every vulnerable response, down to the tiniest spasm of nerves. And yet there was a darkness glowing in his features, a brightness glittering in the depths of his eyes that couldn't be controlled. They fascinated her, those glimpses of his inner world. She wanted to know what Geoff Dias was protecting, what he was feeling.
”I wasn't trying to hurt anyone,” she told him. ”But apparently I did, both of us. I'm sorry.”
She hesitated, waiting for a response. When he didn't react, she probed a little further. ”You seem so determined to prove that Hugh is wrong for me,” she said. ”Why do you care? Did what happen between us shake you up that badly?”
He flared without warning, striding toward her, pulling her out of the chair. ”I'll tell you when I'm hurting, sweetness. You'll be the first to know.” His voice was low, almost harsh as he noticed the hand he was gripping, the bright coral polish she'd painted on her nails.
”What's the occasion?” he asked. ”Is this for me?”
Randy was too shaken to remind him of the house rules. ”Not for you,” she said angrily, ”because of you. I needed a distraction, but don't flatter yourself that it means anything.”
His hand tightened on her wrist as he glared at her, caught somewhere between male rage and the need to control it. Seconds ticked by, each one a tiny bomb exploding in Randy's head. She was no match for him. She couldn't possibly stop him if he decided to get physical, if he decided to- ”Let's get going,” he said abruptly. ”The sooner we find your beloved fiance, the sooner you pay up.”
His fingers were biting into her flesh, but there was something in his voice, a tone, a drumbeat, that told Randy he was more than angry. He was dangerously jealous.
Seven.
”A MOTORCYCLE?” RANDY HESITATED, casting a suspicious glance at the gleaming black low-rider conspicuously parked in the crescent-shaped driveway that fronted their hotel. ”Where did that come from?” Now she understood why Geoff hadn't called a taxi as she'd suggested. She'd thought he was still angry.
Geoff brushed past her and walked to the sleek machine. ”Must be black magic,” he said sardonically. ”We need transportation and a bike materializes.” He settled himself on the leather seat like a cowboy sliding into a new saddle he was looking forward to breaking in. ”Actually, I had the hotel concierge rent it for me,” he said by way of explanation as he gripped the handlebars and generally got the feel of the bike.
”Don't they rent cars in this country?” Randy asked.
Geoff glanced up and caught her off guard. His eyes were as cold and green as a slick ocean surface. Randy could feel the chill. She sensed the undercurrents. He was still angry.
”You coming?” It was more a command than a question.
With bells on, she thought, but didn't say it.
Moments later they were rolling down Avenida Atlantica, the famous ocean boulevard that paralleled Copacabana Beach. The heavy traffic forced them to go slowly, allowing Randy to relax a little and soak up the ambience. Everywhere she looked, strolling troubadours were playing mandolins and young boys were beating feverishly on bongo drums.
The rich smells of b.u.t.tered popcorn and caramel wafted from pushcarts as beach vendors energetically hawked their wares. A wizened older man labored to carry a huge red umbrella studded with woven straw sunhats for sale, while a young girl held up a rainbowlike array of cotton candy, that looked like mountains of clouds.
Randy found herself so distracted by the colorful commotion, she almost forgot she was hostage to a bad-tempered mercenary and his rumbling, grumbling motorcycle. Dizzying mosaic patterns decorated the sidewalks that fronted the beach, and the expanse of white sand beyond was swarming with sunbathers of all sizes, ages, and colors. If Cariocas wors.h.i.+ped the sun, they also wors.h.i.+ped the human body, Randy realized. The common goal seemed to be to expose as much skin as possible to the elements.
Fascinated by the spectacle, she watched near-naked children frolic in the surf and small groups of topless women stroll unselfconsciously over the sand, their b.r.e.a.s.t.s bobbing as they walked, their lithe bodies glistening in the sun. Every now and then she caught a whiff of rich suntan lotion mingled with the pungency of moist, hot female flesh.
Geoff was undoubtedly distracted too, she imagined.
The traffic slowed in front of them, and as Geoff geared down. Randy became reacquainted with the powerful vibrations of the machine beneath her. They trembled through her clenched thighs and radiated up her body almost pleasurably. Normally she would have felt compelled to cut off the sensations, but today she found herself contemplating her responses, tuning in to them as she wondered what it would be like to experience such feelings willingly, and without fear.
She was also aware of the potent tropical suns.h.i.+ne pouring its heat over the city, and of the throbbing native drums that saturated the air with their fervent sensuality. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the drumbeats to fill her senses and the motorcycle's deep vibrations to course through her body. As the energy zinged out to her fingertips and down to her toes, she found herself smiling, beginning to understand the thrill of a big bike. It had to be terribly exhilarating having all that horsepower at your command.
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