Escapade. Diana Palmer

warehouse had long since been converted at St. George Wharf into individual stalls where crafts could be sold by Bahamian merchants to tourists on incoming ocean liners that docked at the bay. But this was a notoriously low-paying procedure, especially as tourists felt obliged to bargain the friendly merchants down so low that they were making the equivalent of one US dollar for a purse or hat that had taken all day to make.

      This sort of thing had irritated Josh, who knew full well that people who could afford the trip to the Bahamas could afford to pay five dollars for a handmade straw hat or purse. So he’d worked out a deal with a friend in Kansas who ran an import shop. Crafts made by his employees were marketed in a place far from the ocean, where such exotic goods were rare indeed and brought a fair price.

      Joshua furnished the raw materials from which the crafts were made by people on Opal Cay and arranged for their transport and sale. The islanders paid no rent. After all, he reasoned when some of them protested, wasn’t it their land to begin with? A piece of paper was no claim on land that generations had loved and nurtured. There was a resident nurse and a small clinic where a French physician called twice a week. Joshua made available modern amenities like electricity and running water, but only for those who wanted them. He forced change and acculturation on no one. Studying the Native American experience had convinced him that trying to absorb a culture and change it completely was nothing more than slow genocide. What he was doing on Opal Cay was meant only to give the people the means to do as they pleased with their own culture. They had requested that he appoint a manager for their profits, which he had. With investments and securities, they were amassing a sizable nest egg. If something ever happened to him, or his empire, they would not be at the mercy of some newcomer who might buy the island and value profit over native population.

      He felt at an ebb. The death of Amanda’s father had put more strain on him, and he was feeling the burden of endless rounds of talks and bargaining that he now had to shoulder alone. Brad was essentially a contact man, a public relations whiz who could charm just about anyone. But, if pushed hard enough, his brother would give in to deal-breaking points. Josh would crack wide open before he yielded an inch.

      He paused in the study long enough to pour himself a small brandy. He’d planned to go into Nassau again to talk to the minister of education about upgrading the computers in the school system, but the gentleman was out of town, and he couldn’t get an appointment until next week.

      He really was tired. Brad hadn’t come back from Montego Bay or telephoned, and he knew that meant one of two things: his baby brother had stumbled onto either a willing girl or a high-stakes poker game. He didn’t honestly know which would be worse. Brad was careful, but it was a dangerous world for a womanizer. His own reputation was more myth than fact, to keep women at bay. But Brad’s reputation was earned.

      While he was glaring into his brandy snifter, Amanda came into the room, in jeans and a white tank top with her long black hair in a braid down her back.

      She stopped at the door. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

      He studied her figure, liking its slender, elegant lines. “Imagine keeping a Lincoln just to drive around a tiny island. Extravagant, isn’t it, but visitors are impressed by it.”

      “No doubt.” He liked the way she looked, young and fresh and unpretentious. His heart ached at the sight of her.

      Almost involuntarily, he moved forward and touched his brandy snifter gently to her full lower lip, which was devoid of lipstick. “Taste.”

      “I don’t like brandy,” she began.

      “It’s an acquired taste. Acquire it.”

      He smiled slowly, and she couldn’t resist him. She tasted it and made a face as it stung her tongue.

      “You’re the one indulging in it. Why force me?” she asked, watching him reach out to place the snifter on the bar.

      “Because.”

      She smiled back at him, delighted at his playfulness, then stunned when he casually draped his arm around her. Amanda’s heart ran wild at the closeness, at the feel of all that warm strength and power so near. He looked tall and intimidating at this range. Far too handsome for comfort with the overhead light making metallic patterns in his blond hair, with his dark eyes narrow and sensuous looking into hers.

      Her breath caught as his fingers stroked down the side of her neck. His voice was deep and soft in the stillness. His eyes searched hers. She could feel his breath on her parted lips. “Being near you makes me hungry.”

      Amanda quivered and drew in her breath at the suggestion of such intimacy.

      He cocked an eyebrow at the betraying gasp and let his gaze fall deliberately to her mouth. He dragged his thumb over it. She wanted him. He wanted her. He kept fighting the temptation to give in to it, but it got worse by the day.

      He moved away from her abruptly and picked up his drink.

      “I must be more exhausted than I realized,” he said dryly as he bent his head to light a cigar. “Where do you fancy eating tonight?” he asked.

      Amanda was still trembling inside, but if he could shake off that kind of sensual temptation, so could she.

      “I still like seafood.”

      He turned, with frank admiration in his eyes. He didn’t like most women, but Amanda was unique: an independent woman with a mind of her own who could still be very, very feminine when she wanted to. “So do I. Go change and we’ll go.”

      “Okay,” she added, and hesitated. She looked worried.

      He sighed. “You can trust me. I don’t have plans to seduce you on the table.”

      She sighed. “Pity,” she murmured, tongue-in-cheek.

      She could learn to play his game if she had to, she thought to herself.

      He cocked an eyebrow. “I told you. I’m not that kind of man. I want some assurances, or I’m not leaving the island with you.”

      She laughed delightedly. She could manage her turbulent emotions with humor. Right now it was the only safety valve she had. “Oh, all right, then,” she laughed. His gaze slid over her without expression, although there was an unfamiliar glitter in it. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said quietly.

      He made it sound like a statement of intent. “When I’m ready?”

      “Are you going to dress?” he asked with polite interest. He flicked his wrist and checked the time. “Because I’ve got a long-distance call coming in three hours that I have to be back here for.”

      “Oh. Sorry. I’ll hurry.”

      He was, she thought as she rushed upstairs to dress, the most exasperating man she’d ever met. He wasn’t like Josh lately. He was intense and watchful. He’d wanted to kiss her, but he seemed always to catch himself in time. She wanted to push him off balance and see what happened. Something was bothering him, something deeply personal. She wished she could ask what it was.

      * * *

      BACK IN MONTEGO BAY, a frustrated Brad had spent a fruitless evening and morning trying to seduce one saucy little blonde waitress. He hadn’t had any success, and his own woes were playing on his mind.

      The call he’d just received was from Las Vegas, from a flunky who worked for the casino owner to whom he owed a fortune. Perhaps, he thought, if he could speak to the owner himself, he could buy enough time to tell Josh how much trouble he was in. He hadn’t managed that much nerve just yet.

      He picked up the phone in the suite he’d rented and dialed a stateside number, waiting impatiently for it to ring.

      “Desert Paradise Casino,” came the reply eventually, in a soft, seductive voice.

      “Let me speak to Marc Donner,” he said shortly.

      “One moment. I’ll see if Mr. Donner is in. May I tell him who’s calling, please?”

      “Tell