Trial By Seduction

She couldn’t help it. He made it all sound so ridiculous. And, she supposed, it probably was ridiculous to be so determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was just a man. No real threat to her, not in the long run.

She knew his type—the consummate flirt who found her reserve challenging, but who, having once conquered it, would yawn and prowl off toward his next victim.

So why did the idea of dancing with him still feel so dangerous?

“Goodness,” she protested mildly, careful not to overdo it. “You make me sound rather neurotic. But believe me, I’ve never once, in the whole twelve hours I’ve known you, been afraid of you. And I’m certainly not afraid to dance with anyone.”

His eyes glittered with something like triumph. “Wonderful,” he said, taking her hand in his. “In that case...I think they’re playing our song.”

The clever devil. It had all been carefully staged, hadn’t it? Like a complicated chess game. But her urge to laugh was fading fast. His hand was so warm over hers. She could feel the rich blood pulsing in his fingertips.

“I would love to,” she said as calmly as she could. “I truly would. Except that I really must stay here with Purcell.”

Mark glanced over at the photographer, who was still lost in huddled conversation with Maggie. “Must you, Snow Queen? Looks to me as if you could take a slow boat to the North Pole and be back again before he ever noticed you were gone.”

Glenna glared at Purcell, willing him to look up. But, damn the man, he seemed to have forgotten she was alive. Maggie’s trilling laughter wafted toward her, and she sighed, abandoning hope.

She was stuck. She would have to stand up, let Mark fold his strong, warm arms around her, rest his tanned cheek against her ear, enveloping her in the mist of sensuality he exuded. If only she really were made of ice, or snow, or brittle, glittering starlight...

“All right,” she said, swallowing her nerves and smoothing her skirt. “I’ll—”

But at that moment a tiny whirlwind of organdy came swirling toward them, launching itself at Mark’s knees.

“Mark! Help!” The little girl’s voice was desperate, and she wound her fists into his dress shirt. “Daddy says I have to go to bed after this song. He won’t dance with me, but you will, won’t you?”

As Mark hesitated, the little girl twisted her head, noticing Glenna.

“Oh,” she said, managing a smile through her shine of tears. “Hi, Ms. McBride.”

Glenna smiled back. She had met Amy, Edgerton’s five-year-old daughter, earlier that afternoon out on the beach. An uninhibited, precocious child, her yellow bathing suit slipping off one shoulder, her arms poking out to accommodate puffy plastic water wings, she’d been pathetically determined to befriend “the camera lady” and had followed Glenna around for an hour.

“Tell him to dance with me, Ms. McBride. I want to dance with Mark.” Amy’s stubborn frown was ferocious, but somehow, to Glenna, irresistible.

Glenna smiled up at Mark, whose rueful, one-sided grin proved he knew he’d been foiled. Leaning over, she freshened Amy’s crumpled white organdy bow and patted her soft blond hair. “I’m sure he would be honored, wouldn’t you, Mark?” She kept her tone innocent. “In fact, he was just saying that he felt like dancing.”

To his credit, Mark gave in graciously. “That’s right, haif pint. I was.”

Amy bounced gaily. “Awesome,” she said, clapping her hands. “And then when we’re finished, will you take me up to my room, Ms. McBride? Daddy can’t leave the party, and Mamma’s sick again—she’s been sleeping since lunch.”

Glenna looked into the little girl’s expressive eyes—and, though she might have been imagining things, she believed she saw a deep longing behind the brassy audacity. What a life this child seemed to have! Building solitary sandcastles, bothering strangers on the beach. Sleeping alone in a hotel room. Daddy always busy fawning over his important guests. Mamma too frail to bother...

“Sure,” she said impulsively, not allowing herself to wonder what the Connellys would think of such an intrusion. Mark could have stepped in, prevented her involvement simply by volunteering to take the little girl upstairs himself. But he hadn’t said a word. “I’d love to.”

“All right!” Amy threw her arms around Glenna’s neck, indifferent to the crush of expensive organdy ruffles. “Now you’ll both have to tell me stories. Two stories for me!”

“Both?” Glenna glanced at Mark quickly, her heart lurching in sudden nervous awareness. So that’s what his silence was all about. “Two stories?”

“Yes.” Mark rose and took Amy’s hand. “Stories from both Ms. McBride and me. I guess it’s your lucky night.” He cocked his eyebrow as he tossed Glenna a smile over his shoulder. “I think I’ll tell her the one about the Snow Queen.”

CHAPTER THREE

AN HOUR later, Amy was finally asleep.

Glenna saw right away that Amy had wanted an extra bedtime companion primarily to help delay the dreaded moment when she actually had to get in bed. First she’d insisted on touring Glenna through her entire collection of stuffed animats. Then she’d made a fuss worthy of a prima donna out of choosing a nightgown, soliciting Glenna’s female judgment on every detail.

Even after they’d tucked her in, she’d fought hard to stay awake. Mark had to improvise his way through The Snow Queen, The Snow Queen’s Revenge and Son of Snow Queen before the little girl finally gave in to the exhaustion she clearly felt.

As they tiptoed out, Glenna glanced around the room, aware that she had badly misjudged at least this one element of Amy’s life. Edgerton hadn’t selfishly transplanted his family to the Moonbird for the duration of the campaign simply to facilitate entertaining. They lived here, in a charming suite of rooms on the fifth floor of the hotel. The top floor, the one with the most commanding view of the Gulf. Of course.

“Oh, Mark, it’s you.” A quiet, thin voice came from the far side of the living room. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Glenna followed Mark’s gaze to the spot where a door had cracked open to reveal a pale, dark-haired woman standing hesitantly, holding the edge of the door with both hands as if unsure whether she should shut it or not.

“Hi, Dee,” Mark answered cheerfully, obviously not at all surprised to see her. “We just put Amy to bed.”

The woman sighed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I was sleeping.” She fumbled briefly with the lace at her wrists, adjusting it, and then, holding her robe closed around her throat, finally ventured out into the room. “I just came out to get a glass of water. To take some pills.”

Mark introduced them, and Glenna had to swallow a murmur of amazement. This was Deanna Connelly, Edgerton’s wife? She searched her memory, trying to dredge up a picture of Deanna in the old days—but she realized she had never actually seen her.

Edgerton had only just become engaged to socialite Deanna Fitzwilliam that summer ten years ago. Moon-bird Key was abuzz with the news. What a catch she was, even for a Connelly!

Whenever Glenna saw Edgerton nuzzling the neck of a bikinied blonde, she would ask Cindy if that was the fiancée. But Cindy had always said no, of course not, Mouse. Dee the Debutante wouldn’t risk getting sand in her tiara.

The bowed head of the woman standing here now didn’t look as if it could support the weight of a crown. After the introductions, Deanna seemed to summon up a little energy, but the effort to make small talk clearly wearied her.

Glenna once again revised her assessment of Amy’s family. Deanna wasn’t just a princess complaining over a pea. She was truly frail, apparently quite sick.

After exchanging stilted pleasantries with Glenna, she looked toward Mark. “I thought you might be Edgerton,” she told him, her voice low. “But that was foolish. Of course he’s busy. So many people to talk to, so much to do.”

Mark put his arm around her shoulder. “Oh, you know Edge,” he said lightly. “He’s got to be host, chef, gardener and chief dishwasher all in one. Perfectionists are like that. He’s probably down there right now telling the guy with the piccolo how to hit high C.”

Deanna nodded, fidgeting with the lace around her wrist. She tried to smile, but when she looked up, her eyes were red. “I know he thinks I should be there,” she said, her gaze locked on Mark, “but honestly, I’m really not well enough yet. And there are so many people....”

“Edgerton understands that, Dee.” Mark’s voice was even more gentle than it had been as he kissed Amy good-night. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to try. He just wants you to rest and get better.”

“Yes,” she said, obviously clutching his reassurances like a security blanket. She patted his shirtfront gratefully. “And I think I will. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better just go back to bed now and rest.”

And then, with a slight smile that hauntingly hinted at the beautiful, vibrant woman she ought to be, she was gone.

Mark stood watching the door she had shut behind her, his face expressionless. Glenna couldn’t quite imagine what he was thinking. She didn’t even know what she thought herself.

“She didn’t get her pills,” she said tentatively, just in case it was important.

“She doesn’t need them.” Mark’s voice sounded slightly harsh.

The silence stretched on. “Perhaps I’d better go,” Glenna ventured finally, when it became uncomfortable. “I’ll just say good-night to Purcell and—”

“No. Wait.”