Читать книгу Tall, Dark And Deadly - Madeline Harper - Страница 7

Alex Jourdan leaned back in an old rattan chair on the veranda of his hotel and surveyed the river. The Congo Queen was a day late. After five years in Porte Ivoire, Alex wasn’t surprised. No doubt the steamer left Brazzaville on schedule, but by the time it hit the far reaches of the Congo River anything could have happened.

He balanced the chair on its two back legs and propped his feet on the porch rail, his routine at this time of day, and one he was getting pretty tired of. He had an ache for something else, something far from Porte Ivoire, far from Brazzaville, and he didn’t even know what it was.

“Damn,” he swore aloud as he swatted at a mosquito. He was having trouble getting rid of the hotel, but there was another possibility on the horizon. If it worked, he’d be out of here. But would that be enough? The nagging ache persisted, but before he could respond to it, a familiar sound drifted toward him. It was the steamer, downriver, approaching port. The middle of the afternoon was a hell of a time for tourists to arrive, but he wasn’t complaining. It meant a night at his hotel for at least a handful of passengers. And if he was any judge, from the sound of the Congo Queen’s engine, they might be around for more than one night.

Alex took a long, cold sip of beer and watched the Congo Queen limp into port. Same scene, different day. And yet that unexplainable something persisted inside of him.

The old boat docked, and Alex watched as the passengers disembarked. Louis Bertrand was first. Alex meant to watch the Frenchman carefully, but his eyes moved inadvertently to the woman behind him.

Louis stopped, turned and offered his hand to her. Alex’s eyes narrowed with interest. Louis always knew how to find a good-looking woman, even on a decrepit old scow like the Queen a couple of thousand miles up the Congo.

When Louis stepped aside and the woman disembarked, Alex caught his breath. The Frenchman had found himself one hell of a good-looking female. Blond hair, shining in the sun, pulled back from her face. She was tall and athletic-looking but with rounded breasts and curving hips under her pale violet shirt and beige shorts. And nice long legs. He liked leggy blondes. So he watched her, and he was somehow relieved to see that as soon as Louis helped her off, he moved away. Only polite, not attached, Alex realized.

As she stopped at the wharf to wait for her luggage, Alex tore his eyes away to check out the rest of the guests.

Millicent Kittredge, a frequent visitor at the hotel and leader of innumerable tours of the river, moved along the dock giving orders to the waiting porters. She often recommended tourists to Alex’s hotel. For a price. Well, that was okay. Whatever it took.

Millicent was followed by Father Theroux, Porte Ivoire’s mission priest. Alex let his eyes drift along the dock until he sighted the blonde again. He got a sensual pleasure from resting his gaze on her cool beauty. The ache inside seemed to dissipate as he drank in her long, lean form.

Reluctantly, he went back to his survey of the other passengers on the debarking plank. Suddenly he sat up straighter and planted his feet on the porch floor. Betty Weston! Now, that was a surprise. He hadn’t seen her since...well, for a long time. And she wasn’t alone. A muscular young man walked down the plank beside her. Alex smiled knowingly. Betty wouldn’t be without the companionship of a man for long.

The last passenger off the boat was another familiar face, whom Alex glanced at briefly. Maurice Longongo was a minor government official and major pain in the ass. He was probably checking up again on some imagined violation of an obsolete law that he suspected Alex of breaking at the Stanley Hotel. Frowning, Alex looked at the man again, trying to read his body language. Trouble with the government was to be avoided, especially now.

Alex unwound himself and got up. As he descended the veranda steps and strolled toward the dock to meet the passengers, soon to be guests at his hotel, his pace was leisurely and his demeanor casual. His eyes were on the blonde. She looked hot but not frazzled and perspiring like the others. In fact she seemed to glisten in the midday sun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent bearing down on him like a locomotive. He stepped under the shade of a palm tree and waited. Millicent wore a large straw hat, and her stocky form was encased in what Alex called the Colonial costume, khaki safari jacket and trousers.

He leaned forward as she approached and gave her a kiss, knocking her hat slightly askew. “I see you’re still dressing the part, Millie.”

“Good for business,” she replied in her crisp British tones. “The tourists expect it, but Lord, it’s hot! We’re going to be with you a little longer than expected,” she added. “I’m told that the engine is totally out of commission this time, and the captain has to radio Brazzaville for a part.”

Alex grinned. Bad news for the passengers was good news for his pocketbook. Besides, he could use the extra time for his own purposes. Concealing his thoughts, he said, “It amazes me that people still book passage on that old tub.”

“Ambience,” Millie replied. “Tourists want to experience the real Africa.”

The other passengers began to straggle along the path toward the hotel. “Who’s the blonde?”

“I thought you’d notice her,” Millicent said with a knowing look in her pale blue eyes. “Her name’s Dana Baldwin. She’s an American. A professor.”

He looked past Millicent to the dock. The woman was having trouble with her luggage, and Louis was there to give assistance.

“How did you get away so fast, Millicent? All the other passengers seem to be stuck down there searching for their baggage.”

“You haven’t noticed in the past, Alex? I have a deal with the captain and his crew. They locate my things for the porters.”

“Of course. How stupid of me,” he said with a laugh. “I should have known you’d have an angle. Now about the blonde. What’s her name...Dana? How’d she get hooked up with your tour?”

“On a whim. She was spending the summer at some kind of language institute in Tangiers. She’s fascinated with this region of the Congo and has an obsession with the Pygmies. I told her, of course, that we weren’t trekking inland, only doing the river cruise. No Pygmies at all. Just hippos, chimps, the odd leopard on the bank and, of course, my wonderful birds.”

“Of course,” Alex said, mimicking Millicent’s speech. An expatriate British citizen, she’d turned her love of nature into a business and was an avid bird-watcher.

“Dana was determined to come along. Said she had a real need to see the area.”

“Hmm.” Alex was watching Dana at the wharf and wondering about her.

Millie removed her hat and fanned herself rapidly. “Forget it, Alex. She’s just an overzealous language teacher with no hidden agenda.”

“Maybe, but you know my philosophy, Millicent. People have only two reasons for traveling to this part of Africa, and that woman is no exception. Either she’s running toward something...or away from it.”

“You’re far too cynical,” Millie chastised.

“Porte Ivoire will do that to a person.”

“Why don’t you get out?”

“You know why, Millie. I can’t find a buyer for this damned hotel.”

“But you have other irons in the fire, don’t you, Alex, other schemes and deals?” Behind thick glasses, her blue eyes were inquisitive.

“Here come the guests,” Alex said, ignoring her question. “Time to play the gracious host.”

Alex and Millicent watched the commotion at the dock as Father Theroux, surrounded by a phalanx of villagers, turned in the opposite direction, toward his mission, while the others trudged toward the hotel.

Moments later, Betty Weston swept by, eyes cold, head high. “My usual room, Alex?”

“Check with the desk clerk, Betty. You’re first in line so you can have any room you want.” The muscular young man with her shot Alex a dirty look and followed after Betty.

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Cold shoulder, eh?”

“Icy, I’d say. I wonder why the hell she’s here.”

“Free-lance journalists are always on the lookout for a story,” Millie told him. “I ran into her in Brazzaville. Told her I had some magazine contacts in London eager to buy pieces about wildlife along the river. I assume the boyfriend, Yassif, is for recreational purposes.”

“And to put me in my place.”

“Did she succeed?” Millicent asked.

Alex laughed. “I’m just relieved that she has someone to occupy her time.” He was still watching the wharf. “Wonder what’s keeping Louis and the American?”

“Be patient, dear boy.” Millicent started to turn toward the hotel, but Alex stopped her. “Stay and introduce me, Millie. And nicely.”

“If you insist.” Millicent stepped off the path into the shade of the trees. “But let me remind you that it’s too late for ‘nice.’ She’s heard all about you. Remember that we’ve all been together for days on the boat. The talk—”

“Gossip, Millicent.”

“Talk, Alex. You can’t spend years behaving badly and not expect stories to get around. Your reputation precedes you.”

* * *

DANA FELT comfortable with Louis. He smelled of French cigarettes and spicy after-shave. A good twenty years older than she but barely taller, he was attractive in a sophisticated, slightly dissipated way—a world-weary man. She’d misplaced a bag; he found it for her. Over her protests, he tipped her porter. Then he took her arm, and they headed up the path toward the hotel. She stopped for a moment, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and took a long look at the building that was their destination.

“So that’s the Stanley Hotel.” It was constructed of old brick, faded and mellow, surrounded by a two-story veranda. Charming from the distance, the building looked more and more rickety as they approached. The paint was peeling, the roof sagged and a tangle of vines displaced the mortar between the bricks.

Louis gave a little chuckle. “Not exactly a four-star establishment, eh?”

She was about to respond when someone else did.

“What the hell would you know about four-star hotels, Louis?”

A tall man had stepped out of the shadow of the palm trees and blocked their path. Millicent was standing beside him, but Dana scarcely noticed. She was lost in the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, cool eyes that met hers with a look of long and thorough appraisal. Dana tried to look away, but it wasn’t possible. Her eyes were locked on his.

She heard Millicent’s voice. “Dana, this is Alex Jourdan. Our host. Alex, meet Dana Baldwin, one of our tour members not yet initiated into the ways of Porte Ivoire.” Millicent gave an amused little twist to her smile.

Dana could feel Alex’s energy reach out to her, and the sultry African sun grew even hotter under his speculative gaze. Dana had to tilt her head to meet Alex’s green eyes; he had to be half a foot taller than her own five feet eight inches. He wore a faded blue T-shirt that molded the muscles of his arms and chest like a second skin. His cutoffs were frayed, his sandals scuffed, but the casual look didn’t hide his animal magnetism.

His full and sensual mouth curved in a half smile. His thick, dark brown hair grazed the neck of his shirt. Dana registered subliminally that he needed a haircut. What he didn’t need was one more ounce of virility. Sensuality simmered in the midday heat.

Dark, handsome, dangerous. Those were the words that came to her mind and wouldn’t go away.

“Bienvenu. Welcome to Porte Ivoire and to the Stanley Hotel,” he said at last in a voice that was deep and husky with a trace of French accent. Only a hint, enough to make it both memorable and sexy as hell. She’d heard a great deal on the boat about women who’d fallen under Alex Jourdan’s spell. Now she understood.

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” he added when she didn’t reply.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for a response. Dana finally managed to include the hotel in her gaze while not quite tearing it away from Alex. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every moment.” God, she thought, every moment! Why did she say that?

“The moments could turn to days,” Millicent reminded her. “If that engine doesn’t get repaired.”

Alex didn’t seem to be listening. “How do you like my hotel?”

“It’s very—interesting,” Dana managed to say.

Alex laughed, a deep, rich sound. “I think of the old building as a grand lady past her prime, a little tawdry but with quite a past. A lady with many secrets.” His smile intimated that he might be willing to share those secrets with Dana. “Let me take that for you.” He reached for the bag she had slung over her shoulder.

“That’s all right, I—”

It was too late. His hand was on her arm, insinuating upward and under the strap of the bag, which he slipped off her shoulder. “I’ll get you checked in.”

Louis spoke up. “Ignoring your old ami, eh, Alex? Well, in the company of one so lovely, that is understandable.”

Dana saw Alex’s eyes flicker quickly to Louis and then back to her. “I didn’t expect you to turn up, Bertrand,” he said coolly.

“But you know how much I love the river, and I needed a respite from the heat and crowds of Brazzaville. I had delightful company aboard the steamer. As for this young lady, you will be interested, as I certainly was, to learn that she shares my fascination with the Mgembe. The Pygmies, you know.”

Alex gave Louis a long look and shrugged. “To each his own, Bertrand. And now, ladies...” He bowed slightly. “If you’ll come into the lobby with me. Oh, and you, too, Bertrand,” he added as an afterthought.

“You have one more guest,” Louis reminded him. “Monsieur Longongo is still loading down the porters with his bags. He cannot manage to travel light.”

Alex glanced at the little man just leaving the dock. “Maybe by the time he gets here, all my rooms will be booked.” With that, he slung Dana’s bag over his shoulder and led the way into the hotel.

* * *

DANA opened the door, stepped into her room and into a scene out of an old movie. Crossing on mahogany plank floors, she dropped her bag onto a simple iron bedstead painted white with a bright colored spread. Overhead a slow-moving ceiling fan circulated the humid air.

Admittedly, the flowered wallpaper was peeling a little, the throw rugs faded, the bedspread worn. But that was part of the charm. As Alex had said, the hotel was a little past its prime but still grand.

She closed the door, almost expecting a director to shout, “Cut.” A slight smile spread over her face. If she was acting out a role in an old movie, she was also thinking about the film’s hero, a handsome hotelier with a wicked reputation. She crossed the room and pushed open the French doors to the upper-level veranda. The Congo River lay before her, curving like a huge serpent, slithering into the depths of the tropical rain forest.

Her own private movie was interrupted when Betty Weston stepped onto the veranda next door. “At least the hotel has a nice view,” the redhead said grudgingly.

“All this is new to me,” Dana admitted, “and very exciting.”

Betty faced her, leaning back against the railing. “Yes, you are rather a novice.” Her brown eyes were hard and glittering. “I saw you with him.”

“Him?”

“Alex, of course. I thought you’d heard enough about him on the boat.”

“I try not to listen to gossip,” Dana responded.

Betty snorted with disgust. “You won’t have to worry about gossip if we’re here long enough. You’ll find out for yourself what a cold and ruthless man he is—”

Dana was speechless at the angry words.

“Oh, he’s interested in you,” Betty went on. “He always likes new women, but in the long run, he’s after one of two things. Sex or money. So remember to lock your door—and hide your valuables.”

The knock on Dana’s door was a welcome sound. Without hesitation, she made her apologies to Betty and left the veranda. Millicent was waiting at her door.

“Oh, there you are, dear. I’ve come to take you shopping.”

“But we just got here, Millicent. I haven’t even unpacked or had a chance to rest—”

“Rest, on your first day in Porte Ivoire? Ridiculous! You have to see the native quarter and go to the market. They’re just opening up again after the midday break. You won’t believe the beautiful fabrics. I know a little shop—”

Dana started to respond, but Millicent was on a roll. “Rest!” she repeated. “I’m sixty-three. Did you know that? And I can go all day. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Dana responded.

“Then you can probably keep up with me.”

“You bet I can,” Dana promised. “Let’s go shopping.”

* * *

DANA WISHED she could take back those words a dozen times during their shopping trip. Most of the villagers and half the inhabitants of the surrounding countryside seemed to be crowded into the Port Ivoire bazaar.

Shoppers called back and forth and children chased one another among the thatched-roof shops that sold everything from live chickens to intricately carved figurines. The scents of cooking meat and stewing spices wafted on the air, mingled with the cacophony of half a dozen different dialects. The market was loud and frenetic, hot and dusty. And overhead the relentless sun beat down.

The heat wasn’t all that got to Dana; so did Millicent’s relentless advice and cheerful instructions.

“No, no, dear. Not that pottery. You can buy it much more cheaply at another shop,” she whispered, drawing Dana away from a display of brightly painted pots. “Besides, this is not nearly as special as the carvings. And of course the cloth. And, oh, I know a wonderful shop where you can buy jewelry, authentic pieces, hand set—”

Dana asserted herself. “I’m not buying, I’m just looking, Millie. And I’m sure I’ll get around to all the shops eventually.”

Millicent sighed. “Of course. I forget what it’s like to come here for the first time. But when it’s time to buy, let me be your adviser, dear, so you won’t be taken advantage of.” She wagged a warning finger.

“Thanks, Millie. I will.” Dana stepped out of the sun into the doorway of a corner shop, hoping for a hint of breeze. There was none. She mopped at the dampness on her forehead with a tissue. “I’m a little overwhelmed by all this activity—and heat,” Dana admitted. “But I don’t want to hold you back, Millie.”

“Well...” Millie adjusted her hat to better shade her face. “I am anxious to visit a friend at the other side of the bazaar. She sells the most fabulous handwoven rugs. I’m taking a few back to Brazzaville on consignment. You’d love—”

Dana laughed at Millie’s energy and enthusiasm. “I’m sure I would, but I’m not going to carry rugs back on the plane. Go ahead, see your friend. I’ll wander around on this side of the market. It’s a little shadier,” she added.

“Are you sure, dear?” Millie asked solicitously.

“I’m sure. I’ll look around for a little while and then go back to the hotel.” Dana could tell she was cramping Millie’s energetic style. “Go on. It’s okay.”

“Such a dear girl,” Millie said. “Now be careful what you eat around here or you might end up with toasted grub worms.” Millie chuckled at her humor.

“I’m going to browse, not eat,” Dana called after her. “And I’m not buying anything.”

* * *

BACK AT THE HOTEL, Dana looked at her purchases. Why, when she’d only meant to browse, had she invested in yards of bright colored cloth, a carved leopard and a huge straw hat? She’d have plenty of time later to explore the markets at her leisure, maybe find some real bargains on items she actually wanted. Oh, well, she decided, her purchases were interesting.

She tossed everything on a chair, kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her bed. As the fan whirred hypnotically, the sounds of the river seemed to recede and float away on the hot, moist air. Dana closed her eyes.

She forgot about Millicent, her shopping trip, the useless purchases...and she thought about Alex. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t stop herself. Behind closed eyes, she envisioned his face, imagined his voice, even felt his touch on her shoulder.

Betty was right. She’d heard about him on the boat coming upriver—and she had listened to the gossip; there was no denying that. Louis had told her about himself and Alex, that they’d been great friends until they’d argued violently over a woman. Louis also hinted that Millicent and Alex had some sort of deal going; he paid her a percentage for each guest she steered to his hotel. Even with engine trouble, the Congo Queen’s captain somehow managed to make it as far as the Stanley Hotel.

What had Millicent said about Alex? As Dana tried to remember, his face drifted in and out of her mind’s eye again. She tried to hold onto Millicent’s words, but his face kept smiling down at her suggestively.

Then she remembered. Millicent’s accusations involved smuggling. Diamonds? Gold? She wasn’t sure. But there was no doubt that Alex Jourdan had a reputation for walking a little outside the law.

And what about Betty? Dana thought of her bizarre encounter with the journalist. Never had she seen a woman so bitter over a failed affair, and everyone on the boat seemed to be sure there’d been one between Alex and Betty. More gossip, which Dana had tried unsuccessfully to avoid.

Now she put it out of her mind but couldn’t dismiss him so easily. Even as she felt herself drifting away on a soft wave of sleep, his face was still there. Then through the haze of drowsiness, she heard his voice again, but this time he was talking to someone. It sounded like Louis. They were arguing. Outside? On the veranda? In the hallway?

The voices seemed real, not imaginary, not dreamlike. They were raised in anger. She tried to concentrate on their words. She caught one. Pygmy. Something about the Pygmies... Everything went fuzzy in her mind, but Dana hung on, listening. They were arguing about—what? An elephant or elephants? Then she heard her name. Or thought she did.

Dana tried to hold onto consciousness, but she kept falling, falling. And then she slept.

* * *

SHE MADE IT to dinner that night with the conversation still ringing in her ears. And when she observed the two men seated at opposite ends of a long table, not speaking, their eyes rarely meeting, Dana decided the conversation hadn’t been a dream. But she chose to sit at their table anyway, rather than join Betty and Yassif or Mr. Longongo, who dined alone, or the captain and his crew, who shared another table.

Dana sat down beside Father Theroux. Apparently, he often dined at the hotel. Tonight he joined Millicent in trying to keep up a lively conversation while Alex and Louis silently glowered. As for Dana, she had her own agenda. Pygmies. And elephants. That’s what Alex and Louis had been arguing about, and she was determined to get it out in the open. Curiosity guiding her, Dana directed her questions to the priest, a willing participant.

Louis seemed disinterested, more concerned about his bottle of wine than conversation, while Alex lounged back in his chair and observed the room. He’d obviously just bathed. His skin gleamed, and drops of water still sparkled in his hair. He’d changed into a clean, crisp white shirt of gauzy material that draped across the muscles of his shoulders and chest. His rolled-up sleeves revealed the strength of his lower arms, and the white shirt set off his tan and green eyes. Dana had to force her attention away from Alex’s physical attributes and back to the priest.

“Yes, it is true that I have lived all my life in the Congo,” Theroux said in answer to a question, “but I have seen the Pygmy only a few times. And never has one member of the Mgembe tribe been converted to Catholicism.” His dark eyes glowed sadly. “It would gladden my heart if such would happen, but—” He shrugged his thin shoulders.

“Maybe someday,” Dana said.

Millicent spoke up. “I’m appalled that the Mgembe still hunt elephant, which is an endangered species. Everyone knows that.”

Conveniently, Millicent had switched from Pygmies to elephants, almost as if she’d been guided by Dana. “Is that true?” Dana asked. “Do they still hunt?”

“Elephants are protected,” the priest said, “but the Pygmies obey no rules except their own. Who knows what they do, hidden away in the rain forest.”

Alex suddenly leaned forward, his gaze on Dana. For an instant she thought there was suspicion in his eyes. Or was it just curiosity, like her own? “Why are you so interested in the Pygmies?” he asked. “Most of the world has never heard of the Mgembe.”

“I inherited my interest from my father, Phillip Baldwin. He was in the Congo years ago and began a study that I would like to complete. If only I could get to the Pygmies...”

“Not much chance of that,” Alex said dismissively. But if he paid little attention to her goals, he paid plenty to her, surveying her with his potent gaze.

“It’s true that not many people know about the Mgembe,” Dana agreed. “Except for Monsieur Bertrand.” She smiled at Louis, who was pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Louis is a wonder, isn’t he?” Alex commented. “So eager to share his knowledge, especially if the questioner is young and pretty.”

Dana felt herself flush, and to cover, she turned on Alex. “Louis was only being polite by answering my questions.”

Millicent, who’d watched the byplay speculatively, directed her remark to Alex. “You and Louis used to be such good friends, I hate to see you on the outs.”

Louis rose from his chair. “Alex is not an easy man for one to remain friends with, madame. If you will excuse me...” Wineglass in hand, he headed for the veranda.

“I’ll see after him,” Father Theroux offered.

“Coffee?” Alex asked the women without skipping a beat, as if nothing had happened. “Perhaps in the garden...”

Millicent spoke for both of them. “That would be delightful. And a little cognac, too, Alex, dear.”

But Millicent didn’t make it to the garden. Mr. Longongo cornered her, and as Dana passed by his table, she heard a snatch of his long, involved questions about a partial refund of his tour fee since the boat had broken down. He reminded Dana of a ferret with sharp little features and darting black eyes. There was something creepy about the man, she decided as she drifted into the garden alone.

The air was sweet with the fragrance of jungle flowers and, as always, the dark mysterious scent of the mighty Congo. Dana wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, throwing back her head, breathing the rich, heady scent of the jungle air. The moon rode low in the sky, huge, round, so close she felt she could touch it. Despite the delays and problems, the petty arguments of the others, she felt wonderful.

She was in Africa! A stone’s throw from the Congo, and even if she never saw her first Pygmy, this was already the adventure of her life. She closed her eyes and inhaled pure excitement.

She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching on the sandy path, and when a hand touched her shoulder, Dana jumped, startled. “Don’t be afraid,” a voice told her, in a tone so soft and low that it heightened her fear rather than dispelling it. She started to move away, toward the hotel, and then she recognized him.

The vague shadowy figure in the moonlight was Alex. “I decided to skip the coffee,” he told her. “My cognac is excellent. French. A hundred years old and saved for special guests.” He handed her a glass.

“Thanks.” For an instant his long fingers curled around hers. He was so near that she could smell the scent of his tangy after-shave and hear the even flow of his breathing. There was something dark and compelling about him that made her nervous even as it attracted her. She didn’t know how to behave around him, and she certainly had no idea what he would do next.

She took a step away from him and raised the glass to her lips. A warm glow began in the pit of her stomach and spread upward, but she couldn’t relax. Not when Alex was still too damn close to her, not when her heart refused to slow down.

She wanted him to move away. The blatant sexuality that emanated from him made her uncomfortable. He seemed so damned sure of himself, as if she was his for the asking, as if she’d arranged a romantic rendezvous in the garden especially for him. To cover her nervousness, she took another sip from her glass.

“Like it?” His voice was as smooth and rich as the cognac, and she was afraid that it could have the same power over her.

“Yes, it’s wonderful. But now—” She handed Alex the glass and attempted to step around him.

Holding her with his his eyes, he let both glasses slip from his grasp and drop onto the sandy path. She looked down at them, startled. Then he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her close. “You’re not running away from me, are you, Dana?” The strength that she’d feared in his voice had become a power of intimacy—and danger.

“No, of course not,” she lied. “I just want to get away from, I mean get out of, the night air. It’s...” Her voice trailed off and she realized she didn’t want to get away at all, not when she saw Alex so clearly in the moonlight, his lips parted in a smile to reveal even white teeth that gleamed against his tanned skin. Hungry light glowed deep in his green eyes. Dana shivered, and she didn’t know why. Was it excitement—or fear?

He still held her, easily now, with one hand lingering on her waist, the other at the small of her back. The warmth from his body reached out and caressed her. She felt an urge to touch his face, run her fingers across his cheek and chin. But she willed her hands to stay at her sides. Alex Jourdan was trouble.

He looked at her with a knowing, intimate smile as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for you, Dana.” His breath was warm against her face.

“What do you mean by waiting?” Her voice sounded breathy, surprised, not like her at all. And her heart—why couldn’t she control its erratic pounding?

“Waiting for a long-legged blonde to come into my life. Now you’re here, and I’m glad.”

He slid his hand from her waist upward along her back, beneath the fabric of her blouse. His touch was sensual, practiced, erotic. And her skin tingled wherever he touched her.

Alarm bells went off inside Dana’s head even while her body responded. Alex Jourdan was handsome and exciting, and there was a part of her that wanted to know him, that desired to be swept away by his dark, romantic power.

But the other side of her was more careful, even wary. He was a man with a disreputable past, a womanizer and, according to the gossip, a probable cheat if not a possible crook. He was certainly a stranger, not someone to be alone with in the dark night.

Dana struggled to get her voice under control. “I didn’t come here for a romantic fling.” Even as she made the statement, she realized how uptight and foolish she sounded.

To make her seem even more ridiculous, he repeated the words. “A romantic fling?” His voice was amused. “I never suggested that, Professor. But since you mention it, just why did you come to Porte Ivoire?”

To find you. The thought blazed across her mind even while she fought to keep from saying it aloud. The intensity of it frightened her. And when his eyes met hers in a long look, she was held by what she saw there. Recognition. Acceptance. Desire. For an instant in the moonlight his face was serious, almost brooding, and she was overcome again by an irresistible urge to touch his face, draw his mouth down on hers.

Instead, she took a deep breath and shoved against his chest with both hands. “Let me go, Alex. If you don’t I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he teased. “You don’t seem like a violent woman.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “But I might become one. Now let me go.”

He took one step backward, shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed at her, a sardonic smile playing around his lips. He appeared more amused than perturbed by her reaction. “You have even more fire than I imagined, Dana Baldwin. I like that. Cool on the outside, hot and—”

Dana turned and walked away with his words echoing in her head. Her legs were shaky, and her hands were damp with perspiration. Dammit, she was doing just what he’d said. She was running. Fleeing from him and herself. She was confused by her reaction to Alex and the emotions he unleashed. She hadn’t handled the situation well at all, and she vowed to be more in charge next time they met. Or to stay away from him. That was the best way, she decided as she hurried up the steps, across the veranda—and straight into Louis Bertrand.