A Husband To Remember

A cynical smile slashed his jaw. “Then I’ll help.”

Her heart cracked a little, and she noticed the handsome lines of his face disguised by the scruffy beard and dark glasses. It would be too easy to fall for him, to trust him because she didn’t have much of a choice. But she was still her own woman, and though she’d grown to depend on him, she had to trust her own instincts, make up her own mind. “My father mentioned that I was going to Salvaje. I’d told him. But I hadn’t mentioned you.”

“Your choice.”

“Why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“Because you were afraid he might try and talk you out of it,” Trent said simply, turning his face to the horizon again. “You and your dad don’t always get along, Nikki, and he didn’t like you taking off to some small island so far from what he considers civilization.”

“So I snuck behind his back?” she asked, disbelieving.

“You just didn’t mention me.”

“Why not?”

He snorted and his eyes turned frigid as he assessed her. “Because you were afraid he wouldn’t approve of me.” He leaned an insolent hip against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. “From what little I know of your old man, you were probably right. Ted Carrothers would probably hate me on sight.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he had someone else picked out for you.”

“Dave,” she said, without thinking.

“That’s right.” The corners of his mouth pinched in irritation and he shoved his sleeves over his elbows. “Remember him?” She shook her head, and he grinned that wicked smile. “Well, he was a real Joe College type. Big, blond, shoes always polished. Went to Washington State on a football scholarship and graduated at the top of his class. Ended up going to law school and joined a firm that specializes in corporate taxes. Drives a BMW and works out at the most prestigious athletic club in the city.”

“This was a guy I dated?”

“The guy you planned to marry,” he corrected.

“You know him?”

“I know of him.”

Was it her imagination or did he flinch a little?

“How?”

“I checked him out,” he said with more than a trace of irritation.

“When?”

“Before we left Seattle.”

She wanted to argue with him, but there was something in his cocksure manner that convinced her he had his facts straight, that she had, indeed, been the fiancée of the man he described. “I assume you know why we broke up?”

He lifted a shoulder. “He was too conventional for you. Your dad loved him. Even your mother thought he was a great catch, but he wanted you to give up your career and concentrate on his. You weren’t ready for that.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, then, realizing how that sounded, quickly shut her mouth. But it was too late. Trent’s eyes gleamed devilishly, and Nikki was left with the distinct impression that he’d been conning her.

She plucked a purple bloom from the bougainvillea and twirled the blossom in her fingers. Could she trust Trent? Probably not. Was he lying to her? No doubt. But what choice did she have?

He slapped the peeling wrought iron as if he’d finally made an important decision. “I’ve got to go out for a while. Check things at the airport. You want to come?”

She shook her head. “I’d like to clean up, I think.”

“Just keep the door locked behind me.”

“Afraid I might run off?” she asked, unable to hide the sarcasm in her words.

He glanced at her still-swollen ankle. “Run off? No. But hobble off—well, maybe. Though even at that I don’t think you’d get far. Besides, there’s really nowhere to run on this island.”

Her temperature dropped several degrees at the realization that she was trapped. Her mouth suddenly turned to dust.

Trent cocked his head toward the French doors. “Come on, I’ll help you into the bathroom.”

“I can manage,” she said stiffly, and to prove her point, she stepped unevenly off the veranda, walked into the bathroom and locked the door firmly behind her. Wasting no time, she turned on the taps of the tub and began stripping. As steam began to rise from the warm water, she glanced in the mirror, scowled at her reflection and noticed the greenish tinge to the bruises on her rump and back. The scabs were working themselves off, but beneath her skin, blood had pooled at the bottom of her foot and ankle. “Miss America you’re not, Carrothers,” she told herself, then stopped when she realized her name was now Mc-Kenzie.

“Nikki McKenzie. Nicole McKenzie. Nicole Louise Carrothers McKenzie.” The name just didn’t roll easily off her tongue. She settled into the tub and let the warm water soothe her aching muscles. As best she could, she washed her hair and body, then let the water turn tepid before she climbed out of the tub and rubbed a towel carefully over her skin and hair.

Wrapping the thick terry cloth around her torso, she walked into the bedroom, but stopped short when she found Trent lying on his side of the bed, boots kicked off, ankles crossed, eyes trained on the door.

His eyelids were at half-mast and his gaze was more than interested as it climbed from her feet, past her knees, up her front and finally rested on her face.

“I—I thought you’d left,” she sputtered, clasping the towel as tightly as if she were a virgin with a stranger.

“I decided to wait.”

“Why?”

“It didn’t make sense to leave you alone in the bathroom where you could slip and hit your head, or worse.”

“I’m not an invalid!”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“And I don’t need a keeper.”

He let that one slide. “I just wanted to be handy in case you got into any trouble.”

“The only trouble I’ve gotten into is you,” she said, willing her feet to propel her toward the bureau where she snatched clean panties, bra, shorts and T-shirt from one of the drawers. It crossed her mind that he’d unpacked her clothes, touched her most intimate pieces of apparel, but she ignored the stain of embarrassment that crawled steadily up her neck. After all, if she could believe him, they’d been intimate—made love eagerly. So who cared about the damned underwear?

She started for the bathroom. “Don’t leave on my account,” he remarked, and when she turned to face him, her wet hair whipping across her face, she saw a glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes, as if he enjoyed her discomfiture.

“You mean I should just let the towel fall and dress at my leisure?”

“Great idea.” He stacked his hands behind his head and watched her. Waiting. Like a lion waits patiently for the gazelle to ignore the warning in the air and begin grazing peacefully again.

Just to wipe the smirk off his face she wanted to let go of the damned towel, stand in front of him stark naked and call his bluff. Would he continue to tease her, playing word games, or would he avert his eyes, or, worse yet, would he, as he’d implied earlier, be unable to control himself and sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed? How would she respond? With heart-melting passion? Oh, for crying out loud!