A glance at his watch informed him that only three minutes had gone by since the last time he'd checked. The rain had stopped, but in the gray mist that clung to the mountains like a favorite cloak, it was impossible to guess exactly how long until sundown.
Tracker was literally counting the seconds. Sundown was nighty-night time at the Serenity Spa, and that meant that he could get into the offices and find Sophie's room number. He was allowing himself an hour to locate her, verify that she was here and then…
Well, then he figured he'd even have time for a nap before Millie Jean made her morning delivery.
And this time he was going to make sure the Princess never knew she'd been checked on.
*
As Lucas watched the towel drop to the floor, he was quite sure he'd never felt the blood drain so quickly from his head before.
In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her skin had the pale, creamy hue of porcelain. He knew exactly what it would feel like beneath his hands – still cool and slightly damp from her shower. He could smell the soap even from a distance.
He hadn't moved. He didn't know if he could. In the back of his mind he knew that he'd had a purpose for coming into the room. But all he could do now was look at her. Knowing that she was here, naked in his bedroom, understanding that she could be his in the time it took him to take three quick strides across the room – all of that had the need to touch her boiling in his blood.
"Lucas…"
He wanted her beneath him on that bed. Now. That thought, along with a sharp stab of desire, freed him from the paralysis that had gripped him since her towel had dropped. He'd taken those three steps toward her before he stopped himself.
This wasn't what he'd planned. Ruthlessly, he tried to dredge up the details he'd carefully mapped out. He was going to take her out … on a date. For the life of him, he couldn't remember where.
"Lucas…"
If she continued to look at him that way, there wasn't going to be any date.
She moistened her lips with her tongue as she moved toward him and laid a hand on his chest. "What I have in mind is…"
Bells began to ring in his head. There was a shyness in her voice, a tentativeness in her approach that hadn't been there with Lania or Sally or even Fiona. If this was yet another fantasy, he had to nip it in the bud.
"You dropped something," he said. He saw the quick leap of surprise in her eyes and something else before she lowered her gaze. Embarrassment? Hurt? He stooped over to retrieve the towel, then handed it to her. As she wrapped it around herself and tucked it securely into place, he became certain of one thing. This was Mac standing in front of him. Lania, Sally and Fiona weren't shy at all. But Mac was. She was also very neat and thorough about the way she tied a towel around herself.
And he'd just hurt her. He knew he had to make it right. Wanted to with all he had. More than anything, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he didn't trust himself to touch her. Still, he needed to erase the pain he'd seen in her eyes.
"Look at me, Mac."
When her eyes met his, he said, "For the record, I want to make love to you more than anything right now."
"Then why did you pick up my towel?"
"Because I was rough on you down in the lagoon, and I think we should both take a little break from … your research. And since it is finally my turn to call the shots—"
"It's not your turn."
Lucas frowned. "Time out. In the lobby earlier, you said it was your turn until we made love. We did. That means it's my turn."
"We made love two times. The second time was your turn. Now it's mine."
She had a point. More importantly, the hurt look had vanished from her eyes. "Look, we can argue about this, or we can compromise. What I was going to suggest is that we go out – on a date."
Mac blinked. "A date?"
She sounded as if she'd never heard the word before, and quite suddenly Lucas began to enjoy himself. For the first time since Mac had stepped off his plane, he was beginning to feel as if he had a slight advantage. He intended to keep it. "That didn't pop up in your research? I'm thinking of the kind of thing where a guy asks a girl out to dinner, maybe dancing. It's an old-fashioned way of getting to know one another—"
"I've heard of a date before."
The dry tone had him grinning. "I think we're overdue for one, don't you?"
"But we know each other."
"Most definitely in the biblical sense. However, there are lots of things we don't know yet. What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"
"Rum raisin."
"What do you have nightmares about?"
"Falling."
"Ah. That fits with the fear of heights. But the rum raisin is a surprise. I would have picked you for a strawberry girl."
She frowned, studying him as she turned over his proposal in her mind. Finally, she said, "This date wouldn't count as anyone's turn?"
"Scout's honor."
Still, she hesitated.
"Doc, it's just a date. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage. I want to go out with you for one evening in Key West. Just you and me. Mac and Lucas. We leave Lania, Sally and Fiona here in the room with John and the shipwrecked sailors."
She said nothing, and in the silence he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. He couldn't recall ever having a woman hesitate about accepting a date with him. Instead of being annoyed he had to clamp down on the urge to hug her.
"You're a tough sell, Doc. Let me sweeten the deal. If you'll come along quietly, I'll let you sneak in some of those questions on your questionnaire."
She studied him for one more minute before she held out her hand. "It's my turn when the date's over and we come back here to the room."
"You have my word on it."
While they were shaking on it, he said, "One other thing. I get final approval on what you're wearing this time."
"Don't push your luck."
Chapter 11
«
The moment they walked through the door, Mac felt her senses being bombarded from every direction at once. What she saw was a crowded, dimly lit room that might have been the set of a forties movie. If the lights had been brighter, she thought she might have even glimpsed Humphrey Bogart straddling one of the stools at the bar. She smelled perfume, liquor and cigarette smoke, mixing with the spicy scent of a pizza on the tray of a passing waiter. And through it all, she heard and felt the haunting, bluesy sound of a sax.
Nerves knotted in her stomach. How was she supposed to seduce a man in a crowded, noisy bar? Sally wouldn't have had a problem, but she'd promised to be Mac. And Mac didn't even have step one figured out in her mind.
"Lucas." A large man in tan slacks, a crisp white shirt and wide red suspenders slid from a bar stool and hurried toward them. Mac guessed his age to be in the seventies. "Welcome. It's been a long time." He grasped Lucas's hand and thumped him on the back. "I've got your grandfather's favorite table ready for you."
While Lucas introduced her to Joe Johnson, the current owner of the place, the large man ushered them past the band to a booth in a back corner. It was U-shaped with wooden partitions rising high on three sides and offering an illusion of privacy.
"You enjoy yourselves, hear?" Joe said as he left them.
"I've never been in a place like this," Mac said as she slid into the seat.
"Good."
But she wasn't so sure of that.
"I'd like to be able to tell you that Ernest Hemingway wrote To Have and Have Not while he was sitting at this very table."
She glanced down at the scarred wood of the table, then back at him. "But you're not telling me that."
"Not with absolute certainty. The place has been renovated since the days when he used to hang out here." He paused to glance around the room. "Some of the furniture goes back that far, I'm sure. What I can tell you is that this is the place where he wrote a lot of that novel – and others."
Mac stared at him. "But this isn't Sloppy Joe's. It says in the guidebooks that's where he wrote."
"This is the building that housed the original Sloppy Joe's. My grandfather used to bring me here, and then he'd tell me stories about the days when he and Papa Hemingway used to drink and fish. There's a back room they used to play pool in." He gestured toward a doorway next to the bar. "Each time he brought me here he'd swear that the table we were sitting at was the exact place where Hemingway had penned this or that story or scene."
Mac glanced quickly around the room. "Which one were you sitting at?"
Lucas grinned at her. "We were at a different table each time we came here."
She ran her hand reverently over the scarred wood in front of her. "But this was your grandfather's favorite. So it really could be the one?"
"Could be." He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I heard you talking to the bellhops in the lobby of the hotel. I thought you might like this even better than the museum."
"I do." She met his eyes then. "Thank you. You're a very kind man."
"No." His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that. Hasn't Sophie disabused you of that notion?"
Mac reached for his hand then. "Sophie appreciates that you care for her. Or she will as soon as she gets over that Bradley creep."