Always - Iris Johansen [8]
Clancy slowly replaced the receiver. Damn Alex, anyway. They were so close that it had always been impossible to deceive him even if he succeeded in deceiving himself.
Alex was right. His primary reason for keeping Lisa Landon on Paradise Cay had altered drastically in the brief time in her dressing room. Yet how could he explain to Alex what he didn’t understand himself? His responses had always been firmly under his control until that spotlight had suddenly highlighted Lisa Landon’s serene figure sitting on the tiny stage. Now he didn’t know how to sort out what he was feeling. Admiration for her integrity mixed with sympathy, jealousy, possessiveness, desire—and anger at her ability to arouse and confuse him to this extent.
He had never lied to himself, and he wasn’t about to start now. Even if Lisa hadn’t been the key to capturing Baldwin, he would still have found a way to see that she stayed here. What was he thinking? He’d been exposed to Alex’s Eastern temperament too long. He wasn’t an impulsive boy like Galbraith; he was a mature man. He couldn’t just grab a woman and expect her not to cause an uproar. He would have to be gentle and patient and let her become accustomed to the idea that she belonged—He was doing it again, dammit. She didn’t belong to him. She was an independent woman.
He strolled restlessly to the French doors and out into the courtyard. The night air was soft and fragrant with hibiscus and honeysuckle. Would she like it here? She was rather like a flower herself—soft and fragrant, yet with a quiet strength that revealed her sturdy roots. He would like to see her in this serene oasis with its mosaic fountain and flowering shrubs … or better still, in his garden at home in Marasef. He shook his head ruefully. Now he sounded like his old friend David Bradford, with his gardener’s passion for flowers. This was evidently his night for behaving out of character. He was a man of action, not a poet or a gardener. He straightened his shoulders and turned back to the house.
And now it was time for him to do what he did best. Lisa had said she was leaving in the morning, and that meant there wasn’t much time to accomplish his purpose. He’d have to phone Galbraith and Berthold and give orders and instructions. There’d be no trouble with Galbraith, but Berthold might balk. He showed definite signs of becoming a problem. The easy life did that to some people. Clancy’s pace quickened with brisk determination as he entered the library. His former weariness was forgotten as he headed for the phone on the desk. There wasn’t time to indulge himself to that extent. He had a kidnapping to arrange.
THE WARM NIGHT air was like a gentle caress against her cheek, and the moonlight silvered the dark waters of the surf beneath her balcony with an exquisite radiance. It was winter in New York now, Lisa remembered with a shiver. She had always hated winter. What would it be like to live forever on an island where winter never came? Wearily she brushed back a lock of hair from her temple. She would never know, and it was foolishly fanciful even to wonder. Singing engagements on tropical islands came very rarely. She had been elated when her agent had told her about the offer of this job on Paradise Cay, and she’d jumped at the chance to get away from the snows and slush of New York.
Well, it was obvious she had jumped too readily at the carrot Clancy Donahue had dangled before her. Martin again. Would she never be free of him? Sometimes she felt he would always be there, casting a dark shadow, igniting memories of Tommy—No, she mustn’t think. As long as she didn’t think, that part of her remained frozen and blessedly painless. She had fought hard to gain that shield of ice, that forgetfulness. If she’d been forced to yield laughter and a zest for life in exchange, she still regarded it as a fair trade.
The phone rang and she started in surprise. It was after midnight and she knew no one who would call at this hour.
Except Martin.
For the past three years, Martin had called her at all