Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover. Diana Palmer
hair out of the way and stared at her reflection. What ravishing good looks, she thought sarcastically. No wonder he wasn’t interested. Looking the way she did, it was unlikely that even a shark would be tempted.
Go to Mexico, have fun, her friend Harriett Gaynor had said. Sparkle! Attract men! Dani sighed miserably. Back home it was spring and things were beginning to bloom, and books were selling well—especially romances. And here Dani was, with nothing changed at all except her surroundings. Alone and unloved and unwanted, as usual. She glared at herself and impulsively she called the beauty salon downstairs and made an appointment to have her hair cut.
They had a cancellation, and could take her immediately. Several minutes later she sat watching the unruly locks of hair being neatly sheared off, leaving her delicate features framed by a simple, wavy short cut that curled toward her wide eyes and gave her an impish look. She grinned at herself, pleased, and after paying the girl at the counter, she danced back upstairs and put on her bathing suit. She even added some of the makeup she never used, and perfume. The result wasn’t beauty-queen glamour, but it was a definite improvement.
Then she stared at her bodice ruefully. Well, there wouldn’t be any miracle to correct this problem, she told herself, and pulled on a beach wrap. It was colorful, tinted with shades of lavender, and it concealed very well. She got the beach bag she’d bought in the hotel lobby and stuffed suntan lotion and her beach towel into it. Then, with her prescription sunglasses firmly over her eyes, she set off for the beach.
It was glorious. Beach and sun and the lazy rhythm of the water all combined to relax her. She stretched, loving the beauty around her, the history of this ancient port. She wondered what the first explorers would have thought of the tourist attraction their old stomping grounds made.
Feeling as if someone were staring at her, she opened her eyes and twisted her head just a little. She saw Dutch wandering along the beach, cigarette in hand, blond head shining like white gold in the sun. He was darkly tanned, shirtless, and her fascinated eyes clung to him helplessly. He wasn’t a hairy man, but there was a wedge of curling dark blond hair over the darkly tanned muscles of his chest and stomach. His legs were feathered with it, too: long, powerful legs in cutoff denim shorts, and he wore thongs, as most of the people on the beach did, to protect against unexpected objects in the sand.
She turned her head away so that she didn’t have to see him. He was a sensuous man, devastating to a woman who knew next to nothing about the male sex. He had to be aware of her naivete, and it probably amused him, she thought bitterly.
He watched her head turn, and irritation flashed in his dark eyes. Why was she always gazing at him with that helpless-child longing? She disturbed him. His eyes narrowed. New haircut, wasn’t it? The haircut suited her, but why in hell was she wrapped up like a newly caught fish? He’d yet to see her in anything that didn’t cover her from neck to waist. He frowned. Probably she was flat-chested and didn’t want to call attention to it. But didn’t she realize that her attempts at camouflage were only pointing out her shortcoming?
He glowered at her. Long legs, nice legs, he mused, narrowing his eyes as he studied the relaxed body on the giant beach towel. Nice hips, too. Flat, very smooth lines. Tiny waist. But then there was the coverup. She’d said she needed to lose weight, but he couldn’t imagine where. She looked perfect to him.
She was just a woman, he thought, pulling himself up. Just another faithless flirt, out for what she could get. Would he never learn? Hadn’t he paid for his one great love affair already? Love affair, he thought bitterly. Never that. An infatuation that had cost him everything he held dear. His home, his future, the savings his parents had sacrificed to give him…
He tore his eyes away and turned them seaward. Sometimes it got the better of him. It had no part of the present. In fact, neither did Miss Frump over there.
He turned, blatantly staring at her, a tiny smile playing around his mouth. She was a different species of woman, unfamiliar to him. He found he was curious about her, about what made her tick.
He moved forward slowly, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She felt her pulse exploding as he came closer. No, she pleaded silently, closing her eyes. Please, go away. Don’t encourage me. Don’t come near me. You make me vulnerable, and that’s the one thing I mustn’t be.
“You won’t get much sun in that,” he remarked, indicating the top as he plopped down beside her. He leaned on an elbow, stretched full-length beside her, and she could feel the heat of him, smell the cologne that clung to him.
“I don’t want to burn,” she said in a strangled tone.
“Still angry about what I said last night?” he asked on a smile.
“A little, yes,” she said honestly.
He leaned over and tugged her sunglasses away from her eyes so that they were naked and vulnerable. He was worldly and it showed, and so did her fear of him.
“I didn’t mean to ridicule you. I’m not used to women,” he said bluntly. “I’ve lived a long time without them.”
“And you don’t like them, either,” she said perceptively.
He scowled briefly, letting his eyes drop to her mouth. “Occasionally. In bed.” He chuckled softly at her telltale color. “Don’t tell me I embarrass you? Not considering the type of reading material you carry around with you. Surely every detail is there in black and white.”
“Not the way you’re thinking,” she protested.
“Little Southern lady,” he murmured, watching her. She had a softness that he wasn’t used to, a vulnerability. But there was steel under it. He sensed a spirit as strong as his own beneath shyness. “Do I frighten you?”
“Yes. I…don’t have much to do with men,” she said quietly. “And I’m not very worldly.”
“Are you always that honest?” he asked absently as he studied her nose. There were a few scattered freckles on its bridge.
“I don’t like being lied to,” she said. “So I try very hard not to lie to other people.”
“The golden rule?” He fingered a short strand of her brown hair, noticing the way it shone in the sunlight, as sleek as mink, silky in his hand. “I like your haircut.”
“It was hot having it long…” She faltered. She wasn’t used to being touched, and there was something magnetic about this man. It was unsettling to have so much vibrant masculinity so close that she could have run her hands over his body. He made her feel things she hadn’t experienced since her teens, innocent longings that made her tense with mingled fear and need.
“Why are you wearing this?” he asked, and his hand went to the buttons of her shapeless over-blouse. “Do you really need it?”
She could hardly swallow. He had her so rattled, she didn’t know her name. “I…no, but…” she began.
“Then take it off,” he said quietly. “I want to see what you look like.”
There had been a similar passage in the latest book by her favorite author. She’d read it and gotten breathless. But this was real, and the look in his dark eyes made her tremble. She forgot why she was wearing the wrap and watched his hard face as he eased the buttons skillfully out of their holes and finally drew the garment from around her body.
His breath caught audibly. He seemed to stop breathing as he looked down on what he’d uncovered. “My God,” he whispered.
She was blushing again, feeling like a nervous adolescent.
“Why?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She shifted restlessly. “Well, I’m…I feel…men stare,” she finished miserably.
“My God, of course they stare! You’re exquisite!”
She’d never heard it put that way. She searched his eyes, looking for ridicule, but there was none. He was staring again, and she found that a part of her she didn’t