The Enemy's Daughter Page 7

  Or maybe he hadn’t really thought love existed. He couldn’t even remember anymore why he’d thought he was in love with Angela. She’d been beautiful and attentive and he’d been young and dazzled. But he was positive he’d never seen the look in her eyes that he saw when Selene looked at him. And she’d certainly never tried to pretend more than cursory interest in anything he pursued. God, he could still practically taste the humiliation he’d felt when he’d overheard her with her best friend, laughing over his nonstop talk about the history of Savannah.

  Honey, I just tune him out when he starts with that old-time stuff.

  But, Ang, her girlfriend had said, how can you stand it?

  The Danforths are loaded with a capital L. Believe me, I can stand a lot more than being married to a bore for that kind of money.

  Selene started back toward him and he forgot all about the past, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her breasts and the play of muscle in her long, slim thighs. She hadn’t known who he was when she’d met him. And while John Van Gelder might not fall into the same category of wealth that Adam’s own family did, he certainly had more financial resources than the average American. So even if he was concerned that she was after his money, which he hadn’t considered at all after the first night, she would have no reason to need him in that way.

  No, the soft smile she was aiming at him had nothing to do with money and everything to do with happiness. The same simple happiness he’d felt when he first caught sight of her. The kind that made his heart feel as if it were going to burst right out of his chest.

  He wasn’t ready for the day to end. And as she stopped at his side, he dropped the blanket and reached for her.

  “Want to have dinner with me?” He had to stifle a groan of pleasure as her scantily clad body pressed flush against his.

  “I’d love to.” She stretched up to kiss his jaw. “I don’t have anything on my schedule for this evening.”

  Regretfully, he set her away from him. Much as he’d like to continue holding her, a guy in swim trunks on a public beach had to exercise a little self-control. And his was fading in inverse proportion to the fit of his trunks. “All right. If you don’t mind casual dining, the hotel right up there has an oceanside bar where we can order off the menu.”

  “That’s fine.” She tied a short skirt that matched her bikini around her hips. “Is this too casual? I can dress again if you like.”

  “No.” He couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “I think what you’re wearing right now will do nicely.”

  She shook a finger at him. “You’re so transparent.”

  He made a production of looking down at his trunks and acting scandalized. “I sure hope not.

  That startled a genuine laugh out of her, and they gathered up their things and took them to the car.

  “She’s gone for hours at a time,” John Van Gelder said to the burly man standing in front of his desk. “I want to know where my daughter goes and who she meets.”

  The man nodded. “Not a problem.”

  “She usually takes a taxi,” the politician said, “and comes home in one as well.”

  “I can pick her up no matter what kind of ride she’s got. You want pictures?” One beefy hand patted the camera hanging from a strap around the private investigator’s neck.

  “No! No pictures.” Van Gelder studied the man. He wasn’t altogether comfortable with this person, but the P.I. had been recommended by one of his constituents, so he probably was worrying for nothing. Just as he hoped he was worrying about Selene for nothing.

  She’d been so quiet when she’d first come home. So compliant. But lately she’d been flitting out of the house for long periods with no real explanation and she seemed…distant. She’d always been eager to please as a child and he hadn’t expected that to change. It worried him. What if she’d met some unscrupulous fellow who knew she was an heiress, if a modest one? What if she’d been seduced by some disreputable mongrel? There were a thousand unpleasant possibilities and he worried about every single one of them.

  Selene was all he had, and although he suspected she thought he was as rotten a father as he believed he had been, he did care about his daughter. He closed his eyes briefly as an image of Elisabetta came to mind. Grief struck, sharp as it had been the day his beloved wife had died. Had it really been more than two decades since he’d last held her in his arms? Not a minute of his life had been worth living after she’d died. He had poured himself into work, into politics and campaigning, simply because it occupied his mind, kept him from thinking.

  Until he saw Selene. His beautiful daughter so resembled the wife he’d lost that sometimes he barely could bring himself to look at her. It was an ignoble sentiment for a father, but there it was. Over the years, his life had been much easier to get through when Selene wasn’t around to remind him of what he’d lost.

  The recent months had been rough, but he needed her. And he was getting used to seeing that too-familiar face, almost looked forward to their usual breakfasts together. She’d grown into an astute, intelligent young woman. In any case, he needed Selene by his side, to counter that damned Danforth and his huge, seemingly perfect family that made for such great press. No matter what occurred with the Danforth tribe, Abe Danforth’s campaign managed to spin it into pure gold. He wished he’d thought of hiring Nicola Granville before Abe had gotten to her—

  “Mr. Van Gelder?” The gravelly voice brought him back to the present. “Anything else you want?”

  “No,” he said curtly, tossing an envelope containing the P.I.’s retainer across his desk toward the man. “Just go do your job. And get back to me as soon as you have information.”

  Adam knew he should take her home after dinner. Or to a busy corner where she could catch a cab, since he knew Selene would never consent to him driving her home. But he didn’t want the day to end.

  “Would you like to see where I live?” he asked as they drove back toward the city after a leisurely meal.

  She hesitated for a moment. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve been gone a long time.”

  “You didn’t have any plans for this evening, did you?”

  “No,” she admitted. “My father was having a campaign strategy meeting over dinner, so he didn’t need me. I imagine that will drag on for hours. They usually do.”

  “Then you have plenty of time for a visit,” he said, ignoring the hesitancy in her tone. Every time the campaign came up between them, she seemed to withdraw from him. He reached across the seat and laid his hand over hers, squeezing gently. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

  “All right.” She turned her hand up and he felt the tension drain from her as she let him link their fingers. “I’d like to see your home. But I can’t stay long.”

  Euphoria rose within him and he had to tamp down the urge to yell, “Yes!” Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the back of her fingers lightly. “Terrific.”

  When he pulled into a parking space in front of his home on West Gordon Street, Selene laughed aloud. “I suppose it would be very silly of me to imagine you living anywhere but here in the heart of the history of Savannah.”

  He felt a little sheepish. “I like the area,” he said. “And it’s not far from my main office, which is pretty handy.”

  “This is a lovely building,” she said as he came around and opened her door. She swung her legs out of the car and stood, still wearing the bikini top and little skirt she’d had on at dinner, and he took her hand.

  “I don’t live in the whole thing, although I own all of it,” he said. “It was a single-family home at one time, but in the late 1960s it was divided into two apartments. I have the main floor and there’s a tenant upstairs.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I graduated from college and went into business with my cousin.” He led her through the wrought-iron gate. “A couple of blocks that way,” he said, gesturing, “is Mercer House. A best-selling book was set there and they made a
movie from it. A lot of the scenes from the movie were actually filmed there.”

  “There are so many beautiful homes here,” she said, glancing up and down the street. “Have many of them been broken up like yours?”

  “A lot,” he said. “There are some beautifully restored old town houses two blocks over on Jones Street. There also are a lot of bed-and-breakfasts and inns. These old properties are astronomically expensive to maintain and there just aren’t that many people willing to pour a fortune into them.”

  “What a shame,” she said softly. “I understand, of course, and I think it’s wonderful that even in an altered state they still retain the historical ambience. But what a shame that things couldn’t simply stay the way they were. It’s much the same in Europe. Most of the old castles and historic buildings are either museums or tourist accommodations because the families simply can’t afford the upkeep.”

  He nodded as he escorted her up the steps to the wide front door. “That’s exactly what happened with this house, only it has an even more interesting tale. It was designed and built in 1819 by a famous Savannah architect named William Jay. Fortunately, it was located far enough south to survive the fire of 1820, which destroyed over four hundred homes closer to the waterfront. The original owner died in a yellow fever epidemic the following year and it was sold, but the family lost it after the Civil War when Sherman—” Suddenly, he realized he’d assumed a lecturing tone. “I’m sorry,” he said ruefully.

  “For what?” She tore her gaze away from the beautiful rose brick and white columns of the stately architecture and looked blankly at him.

  “For, ah, boring you,” he said. “I forget—”

  “You forget that this could never bore me,” she said firmly. “Tell me the rest.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I owe you an apology. I keep comparing you with other woman I’ve known.”

  “You must know a lot of the wrong type of woman.” She smiled and laid her hand on his arm. “There are just as many who appreciate the history and cultural heritage of an area. Now please, finish telling me about your home.”

  “There was another fire in 1889,” he said, “and that one came within a block of the house, but the owners and their servants stood outside with wet rags and beat out the sparks. They even got up on the roof and kept the embers from starting a fire. That family had the house the longest. In 1918, their only son was killed in World War I and the house was eventually left to a great-nephew, who lost it in the Crash of ’29. It’s been sold and resold several more times since then. The man who owned it before me is the one who split it up.”

  “How hard would it be to restore it?”

  “I don’t think it would be too difficult. He didn’t change anything significant except add a few nonload-bearing walls that could be knocked down again.”

  “It would be an extraordinary project to restore the place, wouldn’t it?” She made a sound of pure pleasure as he showed her into the grand entrance hall, comfortably cooled by the central air conditioning he’d installed. “Oh, Adam, this is lovely.”

  “The paint color is an original Savannah shade called ‘Peach Leather Tint,’” he told her. “If I ever do restore it, I want to combine period furnishings and fabric designs with modern conveniences so that it reflects both the past and the present.”

  She laughed. “You’re amazing,” she said. “You should do it.”

  He shrugged. “I never had anyone to share my interest before.”

  “And now?”

  “Now,” he said, “I am constantly amazed that I haven’t bored you to tears babbling on about Savannah history.”

  “You could never bore me,” she said softly. She turned and smiled at him with the same warm glow in her eyes that he saw every time they shared an intimate moment. His body responded to the look, reminding him forcefully that he was alone in his house with a very desirable woman wearing very few clothes. Selene lifted a hand to his cheek and touched him gently with a single finger, and his blood heated. And then he saw her shiver.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not being much of a host. Would you like to clean up and put on some dry clothes? I have a guest suite you can use.”

  He took her down the hallway to the guest room he’d restored. It had a private bath and he laid out towels and one of his bathrobes for her before forcing himself to walk toward the door. “I’m going to catch a quick shower, too,” he said. “Just come out to the living room when you’re finished.”

  He was in and out of the shower in ten minutes, and he caught himself pacing the living room after five more. He glanced at his watch. He estimated he had three-quarters of an hour or so before she showed up—

  “You have a lot of books,” Selene said as she appeared in the doorway.

  He spun around. “Wow,” he said at last. “I’ve never known a woman who could shower that fast.”

  She pretended to glare at him. “That’s an extremely sexist remark.”

  “It also was a compliment,” he said, grinning. He eyed her appreciatively.

  She wore his bathrobe belted around her slim figure; the sleeves draped well past the ends of her fingers. Her hair was wrapped in a large white towel, and still she looked hauntingly lovely. “I glanced into your library,” she said, apparently unaware of his thoughts. “Do you have a favorite genre?”

  He shrugged. It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying when he was all too aware that with one tug on the belt of that robe, he could have it open, have her soft, lovely flesh in his hands, put his mouth on the warm slope of her breast—

  “Tell me about your reading habits.” She smiled when his gaze met hers and there was no flirtation in the look. But as their eye contact held, he saw the moment when she became aware of his interest. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded and a small, secret smile curved her lips.

  He cleared his throat, determined to stop ogling her like a horny adolescent. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you. Would you like a drink first?”

  He opened a bottle of wine and they carried it to the library, where they discussed his book collection. He showed her the extensive trove of volumes on local history and was amused when she took the towel out of her hair, and sat right down on the carpet with one of his favorites, a compilation of Savannah’s history that included some of the earliest and most stunning photographs ever taken of the city.

  “You can borrow that,” he offered, sitting down beside her when she showed signs of forgetting his presence altogether.

  “Oh! Forgive me.” She laughed, slamming the book shut. “Willi used to get so mad when she tried to talk to me while I was reading. She says I’m hopeless.”

  Her face was lit with laughter, her striking eyes glowing emerald in the setting rays of sun slanting through the window. She was seated with her long legs tucked to the side and she lifted a hand, tucking her hair behind one ear as she chuckled.

  Adam felt something tighten in his chest, a warm fist of need and desire that shocked him with its intensity. He leaned forward and set his lips against her laughing mouth.

  Selene’s hands came up to grip his shoulders as she made a small, sexy sound that inflamed his desire even further. He leaned forward and slid an arm about her waist, pulling her into his lap. He parted her lips easily and invaded the sweet recesses of her mouth, and her body relaxed against him.

  The promise implicit in her surrender sent a bolt of heat boiling through his blood. “Selene,” he muttered. He gathered her closer, deepening the kiss as his hand slid up the length of her leg where the robe had fallen open. He skimmed lightly up her torso and burrowed beneath the terry cloth, flattening his hand against the warm, satiny skin below her throat, then sliding his hand down, seeking softer, richer treasures.

  Heedless of the bra she wore, he cupped her breast in his palm, seeing in his mind’s eye the firm flesh of her body in the scanty bikini she’d worn. Lightly, he let his thumb graze her nipple. She moaned and arched her back, pushing her
self against his hand, and he repeated the motion again and again until she was twisting and writhing in his lap.

  Her movements pressed her hip against him, and he rolled to one side, laying her on the carpet and leaning over her as he kissed her, his hand still at her breast. He threw one leg over hers, bringing the throbbing length of his arousal directly against her hip, and the breath whooshed out of his lungs when she turned and arched against him, pressing her soft belly directly against the hard ridge behind his shorts.

  He groaned, a harsh sound that echoed in the room as he yanked the fabric of the robe out of his way, baring her lacy bra to his avid gaze. “I want you,” he said hoarsely.

  Her cheeks were pink and her long lashes swept down to hide her eyes from his gaze, but she didn’t tell him no. He could see that her bra clasped in the front, and he lifted his hand, twisting his big fingers until it popped open with a snap. Almost reverently, he lifted the lacy covering away, revealing her breasts, and she was so pretty, so perfect, that he almost stopped breathing. Her breasts were round and generous, the flesh paler where her bathing suit shielded her from the sun. They were crested by tight little points of rosy pink, and when he bent and took one taut peak into his mouth, she gave a strangled cry as her hand came up to press his head even closer to her.

  He suckled her lightly, then paused to flick his tongue back and forth, blowing on her until her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back for a deeper taste again. He was only too happy to oblige, drawing her into his mouth with a strong suction and lightly scraping his teeth over the little pebbled point as her hips wriggled and pushed against him, shortening his breath with every motion.

  He tugged impatiently at the belt of the robe until he’d pulled the garment completely apart and her soft belly was bared to him. Then his hand went to the fastening of his own pants. He felt frantic, wild for her, his body begging for direct contact. He couldn’t open his zipper without fumbling, couldn’t free himself fast enough. And at last, when he finally shoved his briefs out of the way and brought his rigid, straining length against the soft warmth of her belly, the sensation was so exquisite he heaved a sigh of relief that was almost a groan.