Twist of Fate Page 13

  Four more days to go.

  “I don’t suppose you feel like packing one more carton of books tonight?” Hannah asked as she entered the living room of her aunt’s house. “We’re almost done.”

  “Not especially. But I wouldn’t mind having a brandy and sitting on the sofa while I watch you work.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “I’m glad you realize it.” He headed for the kitchen.

  Hannah walked over to the one set of bookshelves that had not yet been denuded. Cartons of materials, all precisely wrapped and labeled, were neatly stacked to the left of the door. The neatness of both packaging and labeling was one of Gideon’s chief contributions to the effort. Hannah had discovered early on that his handwriting was a good deal better than her own. It was probably a legacy of his early interest in maps, she had decided. Or perhaps the precision and control of it were simply a reflection of his character.

  Idly she plucked one of a series of slim, black, leather-bound volumes off the bottom shelf, opening it at random. Her aunt’s now-familiar handwriting covered the pages.

  “Gideon?”

  “Yeah?” Glasses clinked in the kitchen.

  “I think I’ve found something interesting.”

  “You’re always finding something interesting.” He gave her an indulgent smile as he came through the door bearing the snifters of brandy.

  “I’m serious. This looks like a journal. It goes back to the very beginning of her career. Back to when she was a grad student.” Hannah dropped cross-legged to the floor, spread the book on her lap, and scanned the pages with deepening interest. “This is going to be where the good stuff is. I know it. These are her personal journals and observations of her early studies. Not her formal papers and notes.”

  “What do you mean ‘good stuff’?” He sprawled on the sofa, watching her. “Sex?”

  “You’ve got a one-track mind.”

  “It wasn’t me who was planning to write the sleazy best-seller exposing her aunt’s exploration of bizarre sexual customs.”

  Hannah frowned over one of the pages. “Well, I may have to tone down the lesbian angle. Too bad. That would have been good for sales.”

  “Your aunt was straight after all?”

  “There’s definitely a man hanging around here at the beginning of her career. A ‘Dear Roddy.’”

  Gideon exposed his teeth. “Roddy?”

  “No worse than ‘Giddy.’”

  “You ever call me that and you’ll find yourself over my knee.”

  Hannah smiled, her eyes never leaving the page. “We haven’t tried it that way yet. Might be interesting.”

  “Interesting for me. Uncomfortable for you. What’s with Dear Roddy?”

  “Looks like he was a year or two ahead of her in his studies. Went with her on this field trip to research a Southwestern Indian tribe.”

  “Does it look like they shared the same field tent?”

  Hannah chuckled. “Nothing that indiscreet. But it’s obvious she was very excited both about the study and about Dear Roddy. Listen to this:

  Dear Roddy agrees with me that the vocabulary the women use is different in some ways from that of the men. It contains words the men do not use. He understood at once what I have discovered. I’m not sure he has accepted my conclusion about the importance of this find, however. He did point out that the lower prestige associated with certain words in the women’s vocabulary might help contribute to the stereotyped image the men have of them as fundamentally inferior. But he doesn’t agree that the women themselves might be using the extended vocabulary as a means of establishing a significant bond of communication among themselves.”

  Gideon swirled the brandy in his glass. “So what’s so important about the women’s vocabulary?”

  Hannah drummed her fingers on her knee, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, take mauve.”

  “You take it. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Exactly. Why wouldn’t you touch it?”

  Gideon narrowed his eyes. “It’s a silly word. A word for dress designers and fashion freaks and a few other groups I won’t mention.”

  “What other groups?”

  “All right, all right. It’s a woman’s word.”

  Hannah grinned. “Now you’ve got it. Big, tough, macho types such as yourself wouldn’t think of using a word like mauve or taupe.”

  “No reason to use them,” he grumbled into the brandy.

  “Are you kidding? Without them you can’t begin to describe certain shades of purple or brown nearly as accurately as I can.”

  “There is no need to describe those particular shades of purple or brown,” Gideon stated with absolute certainty.

  “Face it, Gideon. Without the word mauve in your vocabulary, you’re limited when it comes to describing colors. I could give you an example of other words you probably wouldn’t use because they seem silly and female to you. But by using them I can communicate much more precisely with my women friends or with an interior designer, for that matter. The drawback to my using them is that it might make me sound like a woman.”

  “You are a woman.”

  “Very observant. Given that fact and knowing nothing can change it, why should I deprive myself of the word?” Hannah went back to the page she was studying. “Actually, this was a very astute observation on my aunt’s part. She made these notes before the war, you know. Before linguistic analysis was as advanced as it is today.”

  “What’s Dear Roddy have to say about all this?”

  Hannah read a little further. “Apparently he was inclined to take a condescending attitude. Aunt Elizabeth gave him a detailed analysis of her findings and he just sort of patted her on the head and told her she was a bright girl. He’s lucky she didn’t kick him in the balls.”

  Gideon winced. “That’s not a very feminine thing to say.”

  “My vocabulary isn’t limited to just feminine words.” Hannah read further. “Her basic conclusion is that the women’s language is richer and is used to express whole concepts and emotions that the men can’t understand. Here’s the bottom line, though. The paper she wrote on the subject was accepted for publication. Dear Roddy’s was not. Hah! Take that, Dear Roddy.”

  “The question is, was your aunt sleeping with him or not?”

  “If she was, apparently he wasn’t good enough in bed to change her mind about her research findings.” Hannah closed the journal. “Darn. This is interesting, of course, especially if I can ever find out exactly who Dear Roddy was. Wouldn’t it be great if he’s now some honcho in the anthro world?”

  “Revealing a leading academic’s past indiscretions with your famous aunt might make for some of the sleaze you want,” Gideon agreed musingly. “Probably would have more snap, though, if you could work the lesbian angle. A bit more shocking.”

  “I know. Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” Hannah scanned the row of thin black books. “No telling what other interesting tidbits are buried in these journals.”

  Gideon studied her quietly, the wry humor disappearing from his expression. “You’re really starting to think seriously about writing that book, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said simply. “I am.”

  “Out of a desire to get even with Vicky Armitage?”

  Unconsciously Hannah fingered the pendant around her neck. “It’s more than that, Gideon. Maybe I want to prove something to myself.”

  “Prove what? That you could have made it in anthropology if you’d wanted to go that route? Writing the book won’t prove it. You’ve said yourself, it’s not exactly going to carry the weight of anthropological expertise. You’re going for titillation and controversy, remember? You might sell a million copies but the academic world will probably still tear it apart and hang it up to dry.”

  “Let ’em.” Hannah’s mouth curved. “Whatever else they do, they won’t be able to ignore it. My aunt would have loved it.”

  Gideon set
down his glass, clasping his hands between his knees. “What’s the book going to do for you, Hannah?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “If you’re going to step into the ring, you need to have your goals very clearly in mind. You need to know how far you’ll go, how much punishment you can take, and whom you’re willing to kill to get where you want to be. Most of all you have to know where you want to be.”

  “Is that a warning from an expert?” she asked calmly.

  “Just thought I’d try my hand at a little guidance counseling.” His mouth crooked wryly but his gaze remained serious. “How am I doing?”

  “I’m more accustomed to giving advice than I am to taking it.”

  “I’m not used to taking advice, either. Maybe that’s why I was so rough on you this afternoon. I’m sorry, Hannah.”

  “I know. I figured you were when you decided to take me to dinner. It was your way of apologizing.”

  “Still think you can read me like a book?”

  “I’m getting more and more pieces of the puzzle together every day,” she assured him.

  “Come here, Hannah.” He held out his big hands with slow, sensual intent. “I’ll give you something else to add to the total picture.”

  She didn’t move but she felt the ready stirring of desire deep in her body. “You find this so easy, don’t you?”

  “Making love to you? Easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Because I’m a pushover?”

  “No.” He shook his head once. “Because it feels so right. You fit me like a warm glove, Hannah.”

  “I’m comfortable then? I’m not sure that’s any more impressive than being a pushover.”

  “Now who’s spoiling for a fight?”

  He came off the sofa in a smooth motion, bearing Hannah down until she was lying beneath him on the floor. She looked up at him, aware of the heat in his eyes and the heavy weight of him sprawled along the length of her body.

  “This wasn’t quite the fight I had in mind,” she whispered, eyes languid with the need he brought forth so effortlessly.

  “Yes, it is. I can feel it in you.” He lowered his head to her mouth, his hand closing over her breast. “And I like the feel of it.” His tongue slipped easily between her lips.

  Through the thin material of the oversize fatigue shirt she wore, Hannah felt her nipple tightening under his palm. She whispered Gideon’s name far back in her throat. He pushed his way between her thighs in response, urging himself against her softness. She was vividly aware of the heat in him, even though they were both still fully dressed.

  Gideon sighed in satisfaction as he felt Hannah softening beneath him. Like the sea she gave way when he pushed against her and then closed around him like liquid silk. He wondered if he could ever get enough of her. Deliberately he closed his mind to the fact that there were only four days left on Santa Inez. There was still too much to learn, too much to explore, too much to experience with this woman. With Hannah he felt new and revitalized. Going to bed with her was the greatest refreshment he had ever known. She would make him shudder with his need and afterward he knew he would be satiated, thoroughly content for a timeless interlude.

  But the best part of all was listening to the way she breathed his name when she trembled with her own satisfaction. Gideon decided he would never in a million years grow tired of his name on her lips. Her responsiveness was a feast at which he could dine again and again.

  He slipped open the buttons of her shirt. When he moved his hand inside to cup her breast his fingers brushed against the pendant. It was a cold, hard, worthless stone. He wondered what she saw in it. Then he forgot about the jewelry as his hand found a budding nipple. This was definitely not cold or worthless but there was a decided hardness to it that intrigued him enormously. Hungrily, Gideon bent to taste the firm peak.

  Hannah’s fingers clenched in his hair as he made the contact.

  “Ah, Gideon. Gideon!”

  “It’s coming, honey. There’s no rush.”

  “I’m in a rush,” she complained, lifting herself achingly against him.

  “Are you?” He reached down to unfasten the snap of her jeans and then he slid his fingers through the curling nest that shielded the tight, sensitive bud. “Then I’ll give you a little something to tide you over until the main meal.”

  She gasped and twisted her hips as he began to stroke. Her fingertips tightened again in his hair and then slipped down to his shoulders.

  When he used both hands to slide the jeans off completely she started to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. Laughing softly he caught her hands.

  “Not yet. We’re going to give you an appetizer first, remember?” Cupping her buttocks in his hands he went lower, seeking with his mouth the hot, fluid heart of her passion.

  “Gideon!” His name was a soft scream of excitement and wonder. “Oh, my God, Gideon.”

  His fingers sank into her skin. “Don’t fight it. Let it happen. Just let go. I want to feel you when it hits.” The insides of her thighs were so warm, so very soft. The scent of her was filling his head, driving him half crazy with wanting.

  Hannah tightened. He sensed the quickening tension, knew she was on the edge of release. Gideon deepened the intimate kiss and suddenly she was trembling in his grasp. The ripples of fulfillment moved through her like rain over the ocean. Gideon drank in her satisfaction as if it were his own.

  “Gideon, I wanted to wait. I wanted to be with you when it happened.” Hannah’s protests were uttered before the gentle convulsions had faded. There was a wistfulness in her words.

  Gideon moved up her body, eyes gleaming with anticipation. His mouth closed over hers, letting her taste herself on his lips.

  “Now we’ll go for the main meal.” He saw the pleased astonishment in her eyes as he fit his body to hers and thrust forward. He entered her to the hilt and felt her fiercely feminine reaction.

  “I don’t think I can. Not so soon after. But I’d love it if you went ahead and had your wicked way with me,” she murmured dreamily.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be there with me the next time. You’ve got all kinds of hidden talent.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE DAWNING SUN seemed to fill the room with a light that was almost too clear, too fresh and new. The crimson frangipani that always appeared to be trying to grow through the louvers of the window could have been part of a painting. Acrylics or oils, Hannah decided. The red was too strong to capture with watercolors. The island had a way of making one think of trying one’s hand at painting. For the first time in her life she was tempted to buy a brush and some paints and find out if she had any ability in that direction. Waste of time. She knew her own assets and abilities and art wasn’t on the list.

  Hannah lay still for a moment, blinking into wakefulness. Beside her Gideon slept in a magnificent sprawl that covered more than half the bed.

  Turning carefully onto her side and bracing herself on her elbow Hannah looked at the man who, in the manner of a conquering army, occupied the bed. In the brilliant light he, too, was much too vivid and intense to catch with watercolors. The white sheet was twisted around one muscular leg. His other foot hung off the edge of the bed. Gideon lay on his stomach, his head turned away from her. The darkness of his hair was a harsh contrast to the pillow. Even in sleep the powerful contours of his shoulders spelled out the internal force in the man.

  Hannah thought about the driving energy and will that motivated Gideon and wondered why he had followed her first to Seattle and then to Santa Inez. She was willing to bet this was the first time in his life he had let himself be distracted so completely while business was pressing. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or wary. A little of both, perhaps.

  It couldn’t last, of course. She knew that. This week in paradise was a stolen one. She had resigned herself to that almost from the beginning, even though a part of her hadn’t fully accepted the inevitable.

  Gently Hannah pushed back th
e sheet. The brilliant light and her thoughts were making her restless. She felt strangely edgy. Naked except for the pendant, which she had forgotten to remove before going to bed, she walked to the window. Through the grove of palms that sheltered the cove she could see the hard, white light on the sea. Suddenly Hannah knew what she needed to work off this uneasy restlessness.

  Gideon was still sound asleep as she slipped from the room with her swimsuit in hand. She dressed in the front room, slung a towel over her shoulder and opened the double doors to step out into the early morning light.

  The small beach was extraordinarily pristine today, clean and white and untouched. The arm of the cove framed water that was too clear, almost unreal. Dropping the towel, Hannah waded into the sea.

  This was the fourth day of her vacation. Hannah floated on her back and thought about what she would be doing this time next week. Gideon would be in Tucson. Would he call? She knew he wouldn’t write. Men as busy as Gideon didn’t write. The truth was that she would probably never see him again.

  Hannah turned over and started stroking slowly toward the mouth of the cove. She had her own life to live and the odds were against Gideon ever being a permanent part of it. Unless he changed, no woman would ever be a permanent part of his life. He probably would never even notice what he’d missed.

  Gideon wasn’t unique. Aunt Elizabeth hadn’t missed Dear Roddy apparently. There was no mention of him in her later notes. It would be fascinating to trace his story through the private journals. It occurred to Hannah that in some ways Gideon and Elizabeth Nord were alike. Both had achieved a large measure of personal power in the worlds they chose to occupy. Both seemed content to go through life alone.

  It wasn’t just that they were independent, Hannah decided as she tried to analyze the two people who had never met. Hannah, herself, was independent. She had been reasonably content with her career and her friends and her life-style. No, it was something else. There was something qualitatively different about the kind of aloneness characteristic of both her aunt and Gideon.