Carrera's Bride. Diana Palmer

hadn’t, which he seemed to find amusing.

      “Are you famous?” she ventured.

      “Infamous,” he replied. He finished the neat stitches, nipped the thread with strong white teeth and handed the dress back to her.

      She took it from him, feeling suddenly cold. The minute she put the dress back on, their unexpected tête-à-tête was over. She’d probably never see him again.

      “There’s something about ships that pass in the night…” she murmured absently.

      His jaw tautened as he looked at her, his reading glasses tossed lightly onto the top of the desk. He summed her up with his dark eyes, seeing innocence and attraction mingled with fear and nerves.

      His eyes narrowed. He’d rarely been drawn to a woman so quickly, especially one like this, who was clearly from another world. Her connections were going to make her very valuable to him, but he didn’t want to feel any sparks. He couldn’t afford them right now.

      “What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

      “Delia Mason,” she replied.

      “You’re Southern,” he guessed.

      She smiled. “I’m from Texas, a little town called Jacobsville, between San Antonio and Victoria.”

      “Lived there all your life?” he probed.

      She gave him a wicked grin. “Not yet.”

      He chuckled.

      “Where are you from, originally?” she asked, clutching her dress to the front of his robe. “Not the Bahamas?”

      He shook his head. “Chicago,” he replied.

      She sighed. “I’ve never been there. Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever been out of Texas.”

      He found that fascinating. “I’ve been everywhere.”

      She smiled. “It’s a big world.”

      “Very.” He studied her oval face with its big green eyes and soft, creamy complexion. Her mouth was full and sweet-looking. His eyes narrowed on it and he felt a sudden, unexpected surge of hunger.

      She moved uncomfortably. “I guess I’d better get dressed.” She hesitated. “Do the cabs run this late?” she added.

      “They run all night, but you won’t need one,” he said as he closed up his sewing kit and put it away. He thought of driving her back himself. But it was unwise to start things he couldn’t finish. This little violet would never fit into his thorny life. She couldn’t cope, even if she’d been older and more sophisticated. The thought irritated him and his voice was harsher than he meant it to be when he added, “I’ll have Smith run you back to your hotel.”

      The thought of a journey in company with the mysterious and dangerous Mr. Smith made her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to argue. She was grateful to have a ride. It was a long walk over the bridge to Nassau.

      “Thanks,” she mumbled with suppressed disappointment, and went into the bathroom to put her dress back on.

      She hung the robe up neatly and then checked her face in the mirror. Her breath sucked in as she saw the terrible bruise coming out on her cheek. She put a lot of face powder over it, but it didn’t do a lot to disguise the fact that she’d been slapped.

      She did the best she could and went back out into the security office. He was standing out on the balcony with his hand in his pockets, looking out to sea. He was a sophisticated man. He had a powerful figure, and she wasn’t surprised that he was in security work. He was big enough to intimidate most troublemakers, even without those threatening dark eyes that could threaten more than words.

      The wind caught strands of his wavy black hair and blew it around his ears. He looked alone. She felt sorry for him, although it was probably unnecessary and would be unwelcome if she confessed it. He wasn’t a man to need pity, she could see that right away.

      She thought of not seeing him again, and an emptiness opened up inside her. She’d just lost her mother. It was probably a bad time to get involved with a man. But there was something about this one that drew her, that made her hungry for new experiences, new feelings. She sighed heavily. She must be out of her mind. A man she’d only just met shouldn’t have such an effect on her.

      But, then, her recent past had been traumatic. The loss of her mother, invalid though she’d been, had been painful. It was worse because Delia’s mother had never loved her. At least, not as she loved Barb; dear Barb who was beautiful and talented, and who had made an excellent marriage. Delia was only a seamstress, unattractive to men and without the live-wire personality of her much-older sister. It had been hard to live in the shadow of Barb. Delia felt like a bad copy, rather than a whole person. Her mother had been full of suggestions to improve her dull daughter. None of them had been accepted. Delia was satisfied with herself, loneliness and all. If only her mother had loved her, praised her even just once in a while. But there had been only criticism. A lifetime of it. She often wondered what she’d done to make her mother dislike her so. It really felt as if she were being punished for something. Nobody knew, least of all Barb, how difficult it had been for Delia at home. She’d done what was expected of her, always.

      But when she looked at this man, this stranger, she wanted to do crazy things. She wanted to break all the rules, run away, fall off the edge of the world. She didn’t understand why he should make her so reckless, when she’d always been such a conventional person. Apparently there was something to that old saying, that different people brought out different qualities in you, when you let them into your life. He must be a bad influence, because she’d never wanted to break rules before.

      As if he sensed her presence—because he couldn’t have heard her quiet steps above the wind as she joined him on the balcony—he turned suddenly and looked right at her.

      She didn’t say a word. She moved beside him and stared out over the ocean, enjoying the sound of the wind, and farther away, the subdued roar of the surf.

      “You’re very quiet,” he remarked.

      She laughed nervously. “That’s me. I’ve spent my life fading into the background of the world.”

      He gave her an assessing gaze. “Maybe it’s time that changed.”

      Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him in the dim light from the office. His dark eyes met hers and held them while the wind blew around them in a strange, warm embrace.

      He made her think of ruins, of mysterious places in shadow and darkness, of storms and torrents of rain.

      “You’re staring,” he pointed out huskily.

      “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said unsteadily. “I’m just a small-town country girl. I’ve never been anywhere, done anything really reckless or exciting. I’ve never even been in a casino before in my life. But…but…” She couldn’t find the right words to express what she was feeling.

      His chin lifted and he moved a step closer, so that she could feel the strength and heat of his body close to her. “But you feel as if you’ve known me all your life,” he said huskily.

      Her eyelids flickered. “Well…yes…”

      He reached out with one big, powerful hand and lightly brushed her cheek with his fingertips. She trembled at that whisper of sensation and shock waves ran down her slender body into her sensible stacked high heels.

      “Oh, boy,” he ground out.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked in confusion.

      “And I’m old enough to know better, too,” he said, obviously thinking out loud. He looked confounded, even irritated, so she wasn’t really prepared when he suddenly reached for her.

      His big arms lifted her up against him as his head bent. His dark eyes riveted on her soft, parted