From the Torrid Past Page 4

  It irritated D'Arcy to imagine the ease with which he could produce a product no doubt never used in this home until now.

  "So tell me about this son of yours," Keele persisted, pushing back the empty plate that he had devoured with the ease of an athlete, which D'Arcy knew him to be.

  "Let me finish first." She glared at him. "We can't all bolt our food like a stevedore."

  Maria, replacing another silver pot and taking the first, looked scandalized at D'Arcy and even more shocked when Keele laughed. She turned away, her body stiff with disapproval.

  "You have shocked Maria by being impolite to the kyrie," Keele observed mildly, swallowing the cauldron-hot coffee as though it were tepid.

  "You're the kyrie to her, not to me," D'Arcy snapped, dabbing at a bit of egg yoke that had escaped her mouth.

  "You've missed some," Keele observed, leaning forward before she could protest and wiping her chin with his napkin. "Stop glowering at me, D'Arcy. If you want the interview, you'll have to try being civil to me,"

  "Ha!" She sank back in her chair, holding her cup with two hands, feeling replete and more able to deal with the day. "As civil as your family, perhaps?"

  "If anyone is at all insolent to you, tell me." His cold voice sliced across the table. "You should have no trouble."

  D'Arcy's curiosity was piqued anew. What was said last night? How was it that Keele wielded so much power in his aunt's home?

  "Now tell me about your son. What's his name?"

  "His name is Sean," D'Arcy said carefully.

  Keele shrugged. "It's a nice name. Goes well with a name like Kincaid. What's he like?"

  "Big." D'Arcy smiled as she thought of him. "His hands and feet are large. He's big boned and he's all boy. He loves animals. He has a dog and a cat. He plays very hard, but even at four he shows a marked compassion for his animals." Her enthusiasm for her son made her forget for a moment that she wanted to be reticent with information.

  "Four?" Keele's chair came down on the tile with a crash, the front legs of the metal chair ringing like a bell as they struck. He was lounging no longer, the casual look gone from his face. He was leaning across the table, his teeth bared, a look of distaste on his face as though he had swallowed alum. "What the hell! Did you cross the ocean and jump into bed with the first man you saw?"

  D'Arcy cursed her lapse but vowed not to defend herself in any way. She rose to her feet, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "You have no business making remarks about my personal life. My offer to leave still stands," she gulped, as she watched him uncoil his length from the chair, a pulsing threat in every line of his body. She had the greatest desire to close her eyes. It took every ounce of nerve she had not to look away from that graven face.

  "You may remain here to get your interview, but stay out of my way. When you see me, walk away, or so help me I'll make you sorry you ever came to Keros." He jumped up and strode off, the violence of the motion tipping back his chair, but he never looked around.

  D'Arcy shivered, then eased herself down into her chair. She was sorry already that she had come to Keros! God, it was going to be difficult! She would have to watch every word, every move. She pressed her hand to her throat, feeling the heavy throbbing of the pulse there. Damn the man, he had an awful effect on her. It was a good thing she was so healthy, she thought in silent condemnation, otherwise he might send her blood pressure right through the roof. Probably if she had a stroke on this terrace, he would send a handyman to sweep her into the dust bin!

  "You are through?" Maria appeared at her side, making her jump.

  "Yes, thank you," D'Arcy said. "And I wish you would make a little noise instead of appearing like a wraith," she told the back of the woman. She looked at the sea, then back at Maria. "Maria, wait. Is it all right to swim from the beach there?" She pointed down the sloping cliff.

  "Yes." She shrugged as though the idea were foolish. "It is safe to swim there and it is the private beach of Madame Davos, but we do not have a costume for you. Madame does not swim."

  "I have my own suit."

  "Then I will get you a bath sheet."

  A few minutes later, an elated D'Arcy was wending her way down the curving path to the sea, glad to be free of everyone in the household.

  The water was warm as a baby's bath to her toe. Dropping her towel on the sand, D'Arcy sprinted into it, gasping as the water deepened and chilled more. She swam in slow cadence at first, warming up as she had been taught as a girl on her swim team and still did in her daily workouts at the health club. Her pace increased along with her exuberance. She would stop at short intervals to take stock of the distance she had traveled from shore, always aware of not overtiring herself. At one of these stops, as she treaded water and looked around her, she spotted a fast inboard boat curving her way with a laughing water skier behind it.

  She had no trouble recognizing the skier—that build and glistening chestnut hair were Keele's. For a moment she reveled in the unaccustomed position of being able to stare at him without being observed. She stiffened when she saw the boat turn toward the shore but felt no real alarm, sure that the spotter or the driver would see her. But when the boat kept on coming, she began a dodge maneuver of her own. Knowing she couldn't outrun the powerful engine, she beat a path through the water perpendicular to the boat's, not heading into shore but paralleling it. Still the boat moved toward her.

  She turned her face out of the water to see the skier gesturing wildly, then she made another turn that pointed her toward the shore and pulled as hard as she could, her breathing labored. Unfortunately the boat was now out of her line of sight and she couldn't be sure it was not right on her tail. When the sound of the engines increased to ear splitting level, survival sent her diving deep. She felt the pulsing roar of the boat and the depth punishing her ears, exploding her lungs.

  She broke the surface in the middle of the boat's wake, mouth open, gasping for air. Before she could even stroke, a strong arm was about her.

  "I've got you, darling. Relax. I'll take you in." Keele flipped her on her back, his own voice surprisingly hoarse. "Are you all right? Were you hit?" he breathed next to her ear.

  D'Arcy shook her head, splashing water into her mouth. She made no effort to free herself, glad he was towing her body, now trembling with reaction.

  When she felt him stand, she made an effort to do so, but before she could really try she was swept up close to his chest, his hands gripping her tight, his face grim. "I can walk," she whispered.

  He looked at her but didn't pause until he reached her towel, then with one hand he reached down, still not releasing her. "You've had a shock. You must be kept warm." He swaddled her like a baby in the voluminous bath sheet, paying no more attention to her protests than he did to the diving sea birds that swooped over the beach and water.

  The hail from the boat was ignored by Keele.

  "Someone is calling you." D'Arcy cleared her throat. She watched his expression tighten, all the muscles pulling in on themselves so that his face looked etched in slate. His head swiveled toward the boat bobbing near the shoreline. He barked something in Greek and the boat reversed at high speed to race away, wake creaming out behind it.

  "Wasn't that your friend, Miss Arfos? Weren't you skiing with her?" D'Arcy asked, trying to get her arms free of the enfolding towel.

  "Yes to both questions," he answered, lifting her like a wrapped package and striding toward the cliff face.

  "Stop that! Put me down! I can't move like this. Put me down," she sputtered, only her face free of the heavy towel. But it was pressed against his chest, and the curly chestnut hair that arrowed down the middle of his chest tickled her cheek, its soft coarseness like an erotic massage with every movement Keele made.

  She remembered how he had looked to her in the lycra briefs as he had rubbed her dry, the black material emphasizing his bronzed skin. She felt her skin heat and was angry with herself. "Put me down at once. You can't possibly carry me up the slop
e. It's too steep."

  "You are heavier than you once were." He smiled, if that grim slash could be called a smile. "There is a great deal about you that has changed." She saw the heavy working of his throat as though he had just tried to swallow a golf ball. "You have had another man. Was he gentler than Alessio? Did you prefer him to me?"

  "How dare you ask me that? My personal life is none of your business and I will not answer your impertinent questions," she snapped, feeling those hands tighten on her like a vise.

  Maria was open-mouthed, her eyes snapping as Keele strode by her into the villa.

  "Get her tub filled, Maria. I want one of the girls to fill it with the essence that Constantia makes for Anna. I am going to give her a massage."

  "Not bloody likely," D'Arcy grated into his ear.

  "Oh, yes, my little spitfire, I am giving you a massage to get your blood going."

  "My blood is going," D'Arcy hissed at him as he allowed her to stand next to the tub now filling with steaming water.

  "Maria, let me know when she has her tub. I'll be in the massage room getting my oils together. Tell me if she gives you any trouble." He spun on his heels before D'Arcy could argue.

  "Get into the tub, Madame Kincaid. It is better not to interfere with the kyrie when he is in this mood."

  "I don't give a cotton damn what kind of mood he is in, if he tries to give me a massage, I'll break his nose," D'Arcy pronounced, her fists clenched.

  Maria ignored her, throwing the towel that had been wrapped around her into a hamper. Then she took D'Arcy's arm, helped her take off her suit and slip down into the swirling water redolent of herbs.

  When D'Arcy finished her long soak and wash, even letting Maria shampoo her hair, she ignored the woman and the cream colored silken kimono she held out. She sailed into her bedroom intent on dressing.

  Keele was sitting on the side of her bed, his arms folded across his chest.

  Chapter 3

  D'Arcy crossed her arms over her breasts in a vain attempt to cover her nakedness. "Get the hell out of here!"

  Keele swung his legs off the bed, not taking his eyes from her for even a fleeting moment. "Stop swearing, D'Arcy."

  "That isn't swearing where I come from," she muttered, retreating into the folds of the kimono that a wooden-faced Maria held for her.

  "Are you coming quietly or do I carry you?" Keele asked gently, a strange flicker deep in his eyes.

  D'Arcy looked at the escaping Maria, then glared at Keele. "You are nothing but a bully. I'm a guest here and..."

  "Do I carry you?"

  "I'll walk."

  The massage room was adjacent to a steam room in a section of the house reached by a closed passage. D'Arcy gazed in fascination at the health equipment, weight machines, full-sized pool, exercise accoutrements. When she started to walk through a door into the gym, Keele took her arm.

  "You can see it all later. First, you're having a massage." As he said this, he lifted her as though she were doll weight and stretched her kimono-wrapped body on the table. He looked down at her glowering face, grinning. "You can release your death grip on the kimono, D'Arcy. When I make love to you, again, it will be in the utmost comfort and privacy, my little dove." He said this even as he flipped her onto her tummy.

  "I'm not little," D'Arcy gasped as those strong hands pulled the kimono down her back and began to push, rub, stroke. At first she stayed stiff, then gradually her delighted body betrayed her and she went limp, her mind slipping from its mooring and joining her body. She tried in vain to keep steady, but the effects of the oils and hands pulled her apart and left her floating. It seemed she could feel years of strain seeping away, eons of tension draining out of her, all worry vanishing. After Rudy's death she had gained some measure of composure, self-confidence, and strength, but being mother to Sean and holding a full-time job had taken its toll of her. It seemed to D'Arcy that for the first time in her life she was being pampered, truly taken care of. She tried to fight against it, knowing that she would have to maintain her toughness if she were to survive, that this was only an interlude and she mustn't succumb to it. That was her last thought.

  "D'Arcy? D'Arcy, I'm through." Keele's voice was at her ear, tickling it. She was too lazy to lift a finger and push him away.

  "Awright... Lovely... Thank you," she muttered, not protesting when he scooped her into his arms, liking the sound of his chuckle as it vibrated against her face, a face she had pushed into his throat.

  "Now you're to sleep for a while," he told her, lowering her into her bed and covering her with the hand-woven spread. "I'll have Maria waken you for dinner."

  "Awright." D'Arcy snuggled down into the warmth of the bed, imagining for a moment that she felt Keele kiss her forehead.

  When she opened her eyes, Maria was just putting fresh underthings on the chaise lounge near the dressing table. D'Arcy's long skirt of ecru cotton lace and matching off-the-shoulder blouse were hanging on the clothes tree. Maria looked at her, then held her brown strappy sandals in the air.

  D'Arcy nodded her head, her sense of well-being so pervasive she didn't want to speak and break the mood. God, she had never felt this relaxed. With a jolt she remembered Keele and his ministrations and she felt a blush suffuse her body. My God, she had acted like a purring Lolita with him. Then her thoughts went further back and she remembered the speedboat coming at her. How had Keele managed to get to her so quickly? He could have been killed! She squirmed in pain at the thought.

  "Will you dress now, Madame? Dinner will be soon. Unless you hurry you will be late," Maria said.

  D'Arcy dived for the bathroom, giving herself a quick wash. She was about to tell Maria that she needed no help to don the lined skirt that required no slip to rumple its straight effect. Since the blouse was also lined, she rarely wore a bra with it, and her own firm, high breasts were outlined cleanly by the cotton lace lined in cream. She let Maria help her, though, knowing the older woman would not approve that her only undergarment was a pair of bikini briefs. She wore no stockings, liking the feel of her bare feet in the sandals. She added a chunky necklace in coral with matching chunky earrings. She applied makeup sparingly but to good effect, and then stepped back to look at herself. The off-the-shoulder blouse emphasized her long neck, the coral jewelry drew attention to her curly red hair that she had left swinging on her shoulders.

  She clicked down the stairs, hurrying, paused at the door to the lounge, took a deep breath, and entered. She saw Madame Davos look up, a tiny frown touching her face for a moment before the usual mask dropped into place. There were two men besides Elena Arfos sitting there. Keele was standing at the teak wood bar. The two men rose at her entrance while Elena Arfos looked at her in cool assessment. D'Arcy didn't so much as glance at Keele, but she knew his eyes were on her. He took quick strides to her side.

  "D'Arcy, these are some people I'd like you to meet. This is Elena's father, Gregor Arfos, and this is my plant manager in the States, Steve Linnett. Gentlemen, this is D'Arcy Kincaid from DAY magazine. She has come to interview Anna."

  Gregor Arfos had a bass voice with a laugh to match. "She should be interviewing you', shouldn't she, Keele?" The laugh rumbled from his mouth.

  D'Arcy caught the glare that Anna Davos threw at Arfos and the quick look Keele gave him as well.

  Gregor shrugged, then took D'Arcy's hand. "Greeks like that particular shade of red, Miss Kincaid..."

  "It's Mrs. Kincaid," Keele barked, staring at Arfos's and D'Arcy's clasped hands.

  "It's Ms. Kincaid," D'Arcy interjected, sensing Keele's head swinging toward her, the sudden menace in him. "I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Arfos." She removed her hand and extended it to the other man. "And I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Linnett."

  "Steve. Please call me Steve. You know we Americans never stand on ceremony with each other." With the carefully phrased sentence, Steve had allied himself with D'Arcy.

  She laughed, admiring the maneuver. "True. Please call me D'Arcy."

&
nbsp; "Now why haven't I run into you in Manhattan?"

  "Maybe eight million others got in the way." D'Arcy laughed again, liking the easy manners of the tall slim man.

  "And you must call me Gregor." The voice boomed at her shoulder, making D'Arcy turn.

  She caught the flint-eyed look Keele was giving her. He tipped the glass of whiskey down his throat and turned away to refill it.

  Elena rose and glided toward them, touching her father's arm with scalpel-like nails colored a rich plum. "Men are so attracted to American women. They are so easy, such party girls I've heard."

  Keele's bark of laughter was like a slap to D'Arcy. She could feel her temper heat.

  "If you mean that American women can move in any social circle, you are right. We are intelligent enough not to be intimidated by situations that stop lesser women."

  Elena's lips peeled back in the semblance of a smile, but before she could answer, her father guffawed.

  "American women are quick in every way, eh, daughter?" He gave his barrel laugh again.

  Anna Davos rose to her feet. "It is time to eat." She looked at Steve who extended his arm at once.

  Before D'Arcy could move, Keele had her arm which he jerked through his own, almost unbalancing her. "Must you be a cave man?" she hissed at him, trying to free her arm.

  He didn't answer her or look at anyone. He led her to a seat on his left at the head of the table.

  D'Arcy's face burned as she noticed Anna Davos looking at her with puzzled irritation. The others took their seats in a confused way, making D'Arcy feel that she was not sitting in the seat that had been assigned to her.

  She ate the food put in front of her, liking some, finding the meat too strong, the salad delicious. She neither asked for nor offered to take part in the dinner conversation.

  "You do not like the lamb?" Keele asked in flat tones.

  "No."

  "I'll get you something else." He lifted the bell in front of him.

  D'Arcy grabbed his arm. "I don't want anything else and if you ring that bell, I'll... I'll throw this wine in your face," she muttered, noting the others were beginning to look their way.