Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [98]
“If you're so busy, I'm surprised you bothered to send for me,” she remarked as she finished the last bite of the sandwich and pushed the plate aside.
“All work makes Jake a dull boy,” he misquoted audaciously, his black eyes gleaming. “After working all day on that mish-mash of a script, I felt the need for the soothing pursuit of pure logic. In short, Jane Smith, you're going to give me a game of chess.”
She grimaced ruefully. “If you're looking for a game involving logic, you've made an unfortunate choice for a partner. My grandfather used to nearly tear his hair out in frustration at my game.”
“All the better,” Jake Dominic said promptly, with a tigerish grin. “It will be a little like destroying that damn screenwriter in effigy.”
“What a charming idea,” she said with sweet irony. “With my being said effigy, I assume?” A glint of determination shone in the golden eyes as she cradled her cup in her hands and looked him directly in the eyes. “It may not be as easy for you as you believe. I don't give up easily, Mr. Dominic.”
“I'd be disappointed if you did. I don't enjoy victory if it's handed to me on a plate.” He finished his coffee with one swallow and put his cup on the bar. “Shall we get to it?” he asked politely, gesturing to a game table in the corner.
“Why not?” Jane felt a thrill of anticipation run through her that was far in excess of the challenge involved. What was it about the man that made a simple game take on such excitement and significance?
Setting her empty cup on the bar beside his, Jane slipped off the stool and followed him to the game table, her eyes flitting curiously around the large lounge.
It was a singularly beautiful room. Its focal point was the magnificent Persian carpet that covered the highly polished wooden floor. The conversation center consisted of a long couch crafted in rich, tufted brown leather, and two huge easy chairs with their own matching ottomans. The walls were paneled in the same gorgeous walnut Jane had noted in the other cabins. On the walls were several paintings that were obviously originals.
Jane paused in front of one particularly fine El Greco, admiring, as she always did, the astonishing excitement he could convey in a simple landscape.
Jake Dominic retraced his steps to stand beside her, his eyes on her absorbed face. “You like El Greco?” he asked, his crooked eyebrow arching mockingly. “I should have guessed. He, too, was something of a revolutionary.”
Jane ignored the gibe as she continued to gaze enthralled at the painting. “He cared so passionately,” she said slowly. “You can see it in every brushstroke. Thank God you didn't have this in your cabin. I had nightmares about spraying one of your masterpieces by accident,” she confessed with a shudder.
“If you had, I would have broken your reckless little neck,” he told her with grim sincerity.
“I tried to be careful,” she said defensively. “I examined the entire area before I sprayed.”
“It was so dark you couldn't see a thing,” he said tersely. “How could you be sure?”
“The same way I knew you were naked,” she said unthinkingly. “I ran my hands over it.”
Then, as she realized what she had said, scarlet flooded her face. She avoided the spark of amusement in Dominic's dark eyes and rushed on desperately. “I'm ready to play now.”
His lips twitched as he said solemnly, “It's a pity you weren't ready to play then. If you'll recall, I was more than willing.”
Jane lifted her chin, swept with regal dignity to the game table, and seated herself sedately. “You know what I mean,” she said severely.
He nodded as he seated himself opposite her. “I hope your game is more concise than your words, Jane,” he drawled. He opened a drawer in the table and drew out a carved teak box. “You could be in deep trouble in no time at all.”
The next few hours proved