Serpent in Paradise Page 3

  “I was the one who was wrong.” He nibbled at the corner of her lips, tasting her. “Amy, come home with me tonight. I’ll make it good for you. And I need you so.”

  “You need a woman,” she stressed, deliberately telling herself it was the truth, “any woman. Or think you do. I don’t intend to make up for the recent shortage of female tourists on Saint Clair!”

  His powerful hands tightened on her at the words, slipping down the length of her back and molding her body more tightly to his. “Perhaps I can make you need me a little,” he muttered with a new level of intensity. His mouth covered hers once more, forcing apart her lips. His tongue sought the warmth within as his hands curved around her buttocks.

  Amy caught her breath as the sensual assault registered on her nerves. When his invading tongue met hers, forcing a response, she tried to break the contact and couldn’t. The only option was to fight back, and somehow the battle only seemed to enhance the deep sensuality of the kiss. Her nails dug into his shirt, finding the muscled shoulder beneath, and Jase groaned. But it was a groan of male hunger, not protest.

  It wasn’t until Amy began to recognize the signs of her own response that she finally panicked. That was where the real danger lay, and she was woman enough to know it.

  “Stop it, Jase. Please!” The muttered words were an order, not a plea, as she managed to free her mouth.

  “Why should I stop now when we’re both enjoying it?” he inquired gently, lifting one hand to toy with a tendril of spice-colored hair that had fallen loose. With his other hand he kept her lower body pressed close to his own.

  “Because I want to go back to the inn. Because you’re supposed to be walking me home, not seducing me, and because I said to stop it. All reasons enough,” she snapped. When she met his eyes in the moonlight, though, she almost forgot what she was saying. The gleaming desire in his moon-silvered turquoise gaze sent a strange chill down her spine. It left her feeling weak and breathless and all the other stupid things that could get a woman into so much trouble.

  Are you afraid of me?” he asked musingly.

  “No, I am not. But I am getting a little annoyed with you!”

  The fingers that had been playing with her hair dropped lightly to her shoulder and then, with a casualness that startled Amy, to the curve of her breast. “I can feel your nipple,” he breathed in husky wonder. “Hard already. My God, you’re a responsive little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Let me go!” She glared up at him, trying to ignore the touch of his hand.

  Abruptly she was free. Jase watched through half-closed eyes as Amy found her balance and pulled away from him. “You see?” he said. “I’m harmless. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear that,” she grumbled waspishly, making a show of arranging her hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

  He smiled slightly. “I intend to finish walking you back to your room.” He took her arm and resumed his task of escorting her along the quay. Neither of them said another word until they stood in the tiny, slightly shabby lobby of the Marina Inn. The sleepy desk clerk nodded familiarly at Jase and then went back to the girlie magazine he had been reading.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jase said quietly as Amy prepared to make her way up the little staircase.

  “Will you?” She tried to sound totally uninterested.

  He shook his head in faint amusement. “You try so hard to be a tough little lady, don’t you? But I can see straight through to the softness.”

  “You missed your calling, then, didn’t you? You ought to have studied for a career in psychology instead of aiming to run a dockside bar on some forgotten island in the Pacific!” Without waiting for a response, Amy raced up the staircase and disappeared down the hall to her room.

  Jase watched her flee and then turned to find the grizzled old man behind the desk grinning at him. “What’s the matter, Jase? Couldn’t interest her in a souvenir of the island?”

  “I don’t think she finds me very picturesque,” Jase murmured, moving purposefully over to the desk to gaze down at the centerfold spread out across the clerk’s lap. “You ought to be careful of those girlie magazines, Sam. Too many centerfolds will make you go blind, you know.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Sam closed the magazine regretfully and tossed it on the desk. “Where’d you run into our little tourist?”

  “She wandered into The Serpent a couple of hours ago. I’m surprised you didn’t warn her off the place, Sam.”

  “I did. Could tell by looking at her it wasn’t her kind of place. Too many rowdy sailors. But then, Saint Clair isn’t exactly her kind of island either.”

  “True.” Jase gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. “Ever hear of a man called Dirk Haley?”

  “Haley?” Sam shook his head with certainty. “Nope. Can’t recollect anyone by that name.”

  “No reservations for anyone under that name?”

  “Don’t think so. Lemme see.” Sam flipped through the few names in his booking file. “No one by the name of Haley.”

  “If you should hear anything about him, will you let me know?” Jase persisted.

  “Sure. But why? What’s your interest in Haley?”

  “She’s interested in him,” Jase said simply.

  “And therefore you’re interested in him?”

  “Sam, you missed your calling. You should have studied for psychology instead of aiming to run the desk of a sleazy little inn on some forgotten island in the Pacific.”

  Sam considered that. “Do shrinks get to read girlie magazines while on duty?”

  “No. They’re aware of the fact that it might make them go blind,” Jase explained.

  “In that case I think I’ll stick with my chosen profession,” Sam decided, and picked up the magazine again.

  Jase walked back toward The Serpent with a strange feeling of new energy. He ought to be feeling frustrated, he told himself as he headed toward the bar. Frustrated and angry and annoyed at one particularly uncooperative little tourist with spice-colored hair and honest eyes. Or else he ought to be disgusted with himself for wasting his time on a woman he knew wasn’t the right sort.

  But he didn’t feel any of those things. In fact, Jase decided with wry amazement, he was feeling a curious sense of anticipation. That kiss tonight had been oddly satisfying in its own way, even though it had left him hungry for more. The feel of her body on his had made him long for a warm bed and her willing agreement to share it with him, but the kiss would hold him for tonight.

  And he would be seeing her tomorrow.

  That was where the sense of anticipation came in, he thought. He was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow, even though he hadn’t gotten what he wanted and needed tonight. Jase wasn’t used to thinking about tomorrow.

  He was on the veranda of The Serpent when another thought struck him: How would he be viewing the prospect of seeing Amy Shannon tomorrow if he had managed to talk her into bed tonight?

  Some instinct told him that he would be feeling something a hell of a lot stronger than mere anticipation. His fist closed a little violently around the bamboo railing. He didn’t want to consider the ramifications of that. The last thing on earth he could afford to do was to find himself feeling possessive about a woman like Amy Shannon.

  But the irony of living at the end of the world was that a man sometimes found himself thinking about the last things on earth.

  “Damn!”

  “Something wrong, boss?” The bartender arched an eyebrow as Jase slid onto a stool and hooked a foot over the brass rung. Ray finished drying a glass and slid it into the overhead rack with one hand while reaching for a bottle of rum with the other. Without being asked, he set up Jase’s drink. “You strike out with the lady tourist?”

  “No, I dragged her down
onto the beach and made mad, passionate love to her in the sand. Just like in a movie.” Jase reached for the glass in front of him.

  “You don’t look very sandy,” the younger man noted with a grin.

  “I’m neat by nature,” Jase growled. “Ray, do we know anyone named Dirk Haley?”

  Ray Mathews went through the incredible mental file of names and faces acquired by an active bartender and then shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Should it?”

  “The lady is looking for him,” Jase explained with a frown as he downed a swallow of the rum.,

  “Ah.”

  “What the hell’s that mean, ‘Ah’?”

  Ray shrugged, refusing to be intimidated by the glittering turquoise eyes of the man who was his boss. From long experience he knew when Jase Lassiter was dangerous and when he was not. “It means ‘Ah’! Now I know why you’re interested in this Haley character—because the lady is interested in him.”

  “You know, you and Sam over at the Marina Inn both seem to have missed your calling,” Jase muttered. “Should have been shrinks, what with your amazing ability to see through to the inner motivations of folks like me.”

  “I didn’t miss my calling. All good bartenders are pretty fair psychologists. We just don’t make as much money as our colleagues who happen to have formal degrees.”

  “Get a degree to hang up on the wall behind the booze cabinet and I’ll raise your salary at least a dollar a week.”

  “Geez, boss. A buck-a-week raise isn’t even going to be enough to pay off the guy I’ll have to hire to forge the degree!” Ray complained.

  “Yeah, well, that’s the way it goes when you choose to practice your profession on some damn forgotten island in the Pacific. Upward mobility is limited.”

  Ray leaned both elbows on the polished surface of the bar and eyed his boss. “The lady tourist got to you, didn’t she? How’d that happen?”

  “Beats me.” Jase stared down at his drink. “How many of these have I had tonight, Ray?”

  Ray followed his gaze to the glass of rum. I wasn’t counting. Want I should start?”

  Jase’s mouth tightened. “No. But maybe I should start paying closer attention. We’ve both seen what too much of this stuff can do to a man out here.”

  “You’re a long way from that stage,” Ray murmured.

  “That’s probably what all the others said en route to ‘that stage,” Jase decided, staring broodingly at his unfinished rum.

  “Hell, that little tourist really did get to you, didn’t she?” Ray observed with a low whistle. “Don’t worry, boss. She’ll be gone in a few days. Tourists never stay long on Saint Clair. Especially the nice ones. She liked my paintings, you know.”

  “So that makes her one of the nice ones, doesn’t it?” Jase chuckled dryly. He pushed aside his drink and got to his feet. “Keep your eyes open for anything on that Haley guy I mentioned, okay?”

  “Sure.” Ray nodded and went back to polishing glassware.

  Jase decided to do something he hadn’t done in a long time: He decided to go to bed before two in the morning. It made a nice change.

  Amy had also gone to bed before two in the morning, but she didn’t get to sleep until nearly three. She found herself tossing and turning between the old worn sheets provided by the Marina Inn management. The rattle of the ancient window air conditioner eventually proved more obnoxious than the heat of the night, so she slid out of bed, her two-hundred-dollar French nightgown trailing gracefully behind her, and shut off the offending contraption.

  Standing at the open window for a moment before going back to bed, Amy leaned against the sill and stared down at the night-shrouded harbor. The Nights of The Serpent and a few of the other local bars near the wharf were the chief evidence of life at this hour. There was a Navy ship in the bay, and occasionally a gaggle of seamen weaved their way along the dockside below her.

  How had a man like Jase Lassiter wound up in a place like this? For some reason Amy found herself filled with a deep and abiding curiosity on the subject. There was a fundamental strength in him that didn’t seem to fit into a sleazy South Seas harbor town. On the other hand, she reminded herself grimly, perhaps it took that kind of strength to survive in this sort of atmosphere. She wondered about the wife who had left him. Not many women would be foolish enough to set up permanent housekeeping on Saint Clair. The unknown wife had probably had good reason for divorcing Jase Lassiter.

  With a small sigh Amy turned away from the window and went back to bed. She had other matters to worry about on Saint Clair. The history and future prospects of one Jase Lassiter were the least of her concerns.

  Still, when she finally did drift off to sleep that night, it was to dream of turquoise eyes that gleamed with controlled hunger and of a man’s mouth that sought both to dominate and persuade. Somehow, in the realm of the dream, the hunger seemed more than simple male desire, and the dominance and persuasion combined into a plea that made no sense at all to Amy.

  The morning sun managed to dazzle Saint Clair with a tropical brilliance that hid a little of the weathered, seamy side of the harbor. It really was a lovely island, Amy decided as she dressed for breakfast. But who would want to spend his whole life here? Men who couldn’t handle real responsibility?

  She brushed her hair into a coil and clipped it high on her head. The easy-fitting, softly pleated white trousers and matching wrap shirt were the best she could do by way of dealing with the oncoming heat and humidity of the day. She belted the outfit with a sash of black and slipped on black-and-white canvas shoes before going downstairs to the small café attached to the inn.

  The place was filled with a colorful variety of locals and a handful of seasoned tourists. Amy took a corner table and ordered coffee. When she saw the way a few of the local fishermen were wolfing down the cook’s fried eggs, she decided to risk some herself.

  From where she was sitting she could see the entrance to the café, but Amy was too busy examining the huge platter of greasy eggs and toast that had just been delivered to her table to notice the exact moment when Jase Lassiter entered the room. The first warning she had, in fact, was the ripple of familiar greetings that went through the room. By the time she glanced up, he was nearly at her table.

  “Good morning, Amy.” Jase favored her with a polite, hopeful smile as he slid into the booth across from her. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I’d be around in the morning, didn’t I? I thought you might like to go swimming.”

  He was wearing khaki trousers and a matching shirt again. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up on his forearms, revealing a sinewy length of arm that was sprinkled with mahogany-colored hairs. In the crisp morning light the heavy pelt of red-brown hair on his head gleamed damply from a shower. The turquoise eyes were vivid and penetrating as he studied her cautious expression. He looked, she decided with a feeling of confused astonishment, a little younger than he had the day before.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Amy began carefully, “but I’m afraid I...”

  “Good. When you finish breakfast we can take off for this nice little cove I know on the other side of the island. Are you going to eat all that toast?”

  “Er, no. No, I’m not,” she admitted, surveying the huge stack in front of her. “Help yourself,” she invited politely. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. “But about your invitation to go swimming, I think I’d better decline. The man I’m supposed to meet may show up this afternoon. He may have been delayed last night.”

  “No problem,” Jase said coolly, munching toast. “I told Ray to keep an eye out for strangers. If the guy shows, he’ll be told you’re here on the island.” Jase waited.

  Amy saw the prepared expression in his turquoise eyes and stifled a groan. She knew without being told that he would counter whatever excuse she thought up. What did it matter? she added silently. She ha
d actually been instructed to meet her contact during the evening hours. There was no real reason to think that Dirk Haley would show up during the day and expect to find her. Why not accept Jase’s invitation? “All right,” she surrendered with a small smile. “Thank you.”

  Jase appeared amused by the play of expression across her face as she came to the final conclusion. “Don’t fret. I’m really quite harmless.”

  Amy’s brows beetled into a frown. “Why do I keep getting this nagging feeling that your self-assessment may not be entirely accurate?”

  “You’re not a very trusting sort, are you?”

  Amy thought about that. “No,” she said finally, “I’m afraid I’m not”

  “Finish your breakfast and we’ll be on our way.” Jase reached for another slice of toast, smoothly terminating the discussion.

  Twenty minutes later Amy found herself in an open Jeep racing along a narrow island road. On one side the surf crashed with a picturesqueness that could have qualified the scene for Hawaii. On the other, tall palms lined the winding pavement. The island was virtually uninhabited outside the small port town, and there was not a house in sight.

  But it wasn’t the scenery that kept drawing Amy’s cautious, speculative glances; it was the profile of the man beside her. Her first thought on seeing Jase that morning had been that he looked younger than he had the night before. Now, with the wind ruffling his mahogany hair and his hand resting with casual expertise on the wheel of the Jeep, she realized that he didn’t exactly look younger, he just looked happier. There was an almost carefree enthusiasm in the way he drove, and the hard lines of his face seemed more relaxed.

  “Still worrying about being kidnapped?” He slid her a taunting glance as he slowed the Jeep and pulled off to the side of the road.