Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover

“I’ve been nowhere—until now.” She smiled at the napkin. “Done nothing except work. I thought about changing, but I never had the courage to do it.”

“It takes courage, to break out of a mold,” he said. He pulled the ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m doing it anyway. This is one habit I don’t intend to break.”

“‘I’ll die of something someday,’” she quoted. “There are lots of other clichés, but I think that one’s dandy.”

He only laughed. “Smoking is the least dangerous thing I do.”

“What do you do?” she asked, curious.

He thought about that for a moment, and pursed his lips as he wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. She’d probably be out of that chair and out of his life so fast…He frowned. He didn’t like that idea.

“I’m in the military,” he said finally. “In a sense.”

“Oh. On active duty?” she continued, feeling her way because he seemed reluctant to elaborate.

“No. Inactive, at the moment.” He watched her through a veil of smoke from his cigarette.

“Is it dangerous, what you do?”

“Yes.”

“I feel like a panelist on ‘What’s My Line?’” she said unexpectedly, and grinned when he burst out laughing.

“Maybe you’re a double agent,” she supposed. “A spy.”

“I’m too tall,” he returned. “Agents are supposed to be under five feet tall so that they can hide in shrubbery.”

She stared at him until she realized he was joking, and she laughed.

“Your eyes laugh when you do,” he said absently. “Are you always this sunny?”

“Most of the time,” she confessed. She pushed her glasses back as they threatened to slide down her nose. “I have my bad days, too, like everyone else, but I try to leave them at home.”

“You could get contact lenses,” he remarked as he noticed her efforts to keep her glasses on her nose.

She shook her head. “I’m much too nervous to be putting them in and taking them out and putting them in solution all the time. I’m used to these.”

“They must get in the way when you kiss a man,” he murmured dryly.

“What way?” She laughed, a little embarrassed by his frankness. “My life isn’t overrun with amorous men.”

“We can take them off, I suppose,” he mused.

Her breath caught as she read the veiled promise in his dark eyes.

“Stark terror,” he taunted gently, watching her expression. “I didn’t realize I was so frightening.”

“Not that kind of frightening,” she corrected him. Her eyes lowered.

“Dani.”

He made her name sound like a prayer. She looked up.

“Seducing you is not on the agenda,” he said quietly. “But if something did happen, I’d marry you. That’s a promise, and I don’t give my word lightly.”

She began to tingle all over. “It would be a high price to pay for one mistake.”

He was watching her oddly. “Would it? I haven’t thought about marriage in years.” He leaned back in his chair to study her, the cigarette burning idly in his fingers. “I wonder what it would be like,” he mused, “having someone to come back to.”

What an odd way to put it, she thought. Surely he meant someone to come home to. She pulled herself up short as she realized that it was just conversation. He was only amusing himself; she had to remember that. Making memories, as he’d put it. They were strangers and they’d remain strangers. She couldn’t afford to mess up her whole life because of a holiday romance. That was all this was. A little light entertainment. She’d better remember that, too.

The waiter brought their food, and as they ate they talked about general things. He seemed very knowledgeable about foreign conflicts, and she imagined that he read a lot of military publications. That led to talk of the kind of weapons being used, and he seemed equally knowledgeable about those.

“My best friend’s husband likes to read about weapons,” Dani volunteered, remembering Harriett’s Dave and his fascination with weaponry. “He has volumes on those exotic things like…oh, what is it, the little nine-millimeter carbine—”

“The Uzi,” he offered. “It has a thirty-shot magazine and can throw off single shots as well as bursts. A formidable little carbine.”

She laughed. “I can shoot a twenty-two rifle. That’s about the extent of my knowledge of weapons.”

“I know more about knives than guns, as a rule, although I’ve used both.” He reached into his inside blazer pocket, produced a large folded knife and put it on the table.

She stared at it, fascinated. It was made of silvery metal, with a carved bone handle, and when she tugged the blade out, it was oddly shaped and had a sinister look.

“It’s not a pocket knife, is it?” she asked, lifting her eyes.

He shook his head. “Although it passes for one, going through customs.”

“Where did you find something so unusual?” she asked, fascinated by it.

“I made it.” He picked it up and repocketed it.

“Made it?” she exclaimed.

“Sure.” He laughed at her expression. “Where do you think knives come from? Someone has to make them.”

“Yes, of course, but I didn’t recognize…It’s very formidable looking,” she added.

“I don’t carry it for decoration,” he said. He leaned forward and sipped his coffee. “Would you like some dessert?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t like sweet things very much, thank God.”

He smiled. “Neither do I. Let’s go walk on the beach for a while.”

“Lovely!”

She waited while he paid the check and then followed him out into the darkness.

The night was warm, and she took off her sandals, which she’d worn without hose, and danced in and out of the waves. He watched her, laughing, his hands in his pockets, his blond hair pale and glowing in the light from the hotel.