Garden of the Moongate Read online

  "Forward, through the curtain. Straight down the aisle. Seat Six-J." The beauty lazily lifted one finger to point out the way. "By the window."

  Allendre came to an abrupt halt in the center of the aisle before she reached her seat and stared dismally at the man sitting in Seat Six-I, right next to her own assigned place. "This is definitely not my lucky day," she muttered disbelievingly to herself before taking a reluctant step forward. She nervously cleared her throat, preparing herself for the insult of an icy stare. But as the blue-gray eyes swept slowly over the length of her slender body up to her flushed face she was instead astonished to hear a short, deep-throated laugh.

  Shaking his head, the man raked his long fingers through the dark thickness of his hair. "Don't tell me. You're Six-J?" When she nodded with a weakly apologetic smile, he lifted himself out of his aisle seat with languid grace. "Sit down, then. Just let me get my feet out of your way."

  Suddenly, he seemed to be making much too much out of a few unfortunate encounters. Eyes flashing, Allendre flounced past him, subsiding with a huff in the window seat. And when he lowered himself down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him as much as possible in the cramped space, she lifted her chin and glared at him indignantly. "Maybe if your feet weren't as big as gunboats, they wouldn't be continually getting in my way," she suggested stiffly.

  "You're the only person who seems to have trouble with them," he replied, then added, in a patronizing tone, "But I'm a fair-minded man, so I'll give your suggestion careful consideration."

  Since Allendre had expected her insult to elicit a flare-up of temper, his more subtle put-down confused her considerably. She turned away from him, opening her tote bag and feigning a great interest in its contents.

  During the twenty minutes following takeoff, Allendre acted as if she were completely uninterested in the man seated next to her. When she was sure he wouldn't notice, she occasionally glanced his way, examining him out of the corner of her eye.

  Thirty or so, dressed in unmistakably expensive clothes, he impressed her as being the typical up-and-coming young executive. She watched him thumb through the papers from his briefcase, seemingly enthralled by his work. He was one of those willing slaves to his career, she decided, and, dismissing him as an ill-tempered workaholic, she took a paperback book from her purse and began to read.

  Allendre's concentration, however, was almost immediately disturbed by a sultry feminine voice.

  "Why, Ric, darling, it's been ages, hasn't it?" the raven-haired stewardess cooed, leaning over the man in seat Six-I. "I still fly this route quite often, and I haven't seen you in two or three years. But I must admit I do think about you a lot."

  "It's nice seeing you again, Judy," Ric responded; his answering smile etched attractive lines in his lean cheeks and gentled his finely chiseled features. "It has been a long time. And if I remember correctly, the last time I made the trip you told me you were about to be married, didn't you?"

  Judy giggled. "I did, and I was. And it's all over already. Art and I divorced last year, so I'm free again," she declared, her amber eyes issuing a blatant invitation, then drifting down to examine his tan left hand. "And I see you've managed to avoid tying yourself down with one little woman, so you're free, too. Right? And how long will you be staying in Bermuda?"

  "I'm not sure," he answered, loosening his wine-colored tie and unbuttoning his pin-striped vest. "Several weeks, probably."

  "Oh, how lucky for you," Judy said enthusiastically, then pursed her lips in a silly pout that made her look like an overgrown schoolgirl. "I'll only have a two-day layover there this time, but if we could see each other, I know I can make the most of such a short stay."

  "Maybe we can get together, then," he said noncommittally, apparently accustomed to women nearly begging him to take them out. "Call me tomorrow afternoon, why don't you? Maybe I can get away for dinner."

  "Oh, do try, love," Judy gushed; she trailed her crimson-tipped fingers over his long white shirt sleeve, allowing them to linger on his hair-roughened wrist. "We could have such a fabulous time, catching up on what we've missed the past three years. Now, would you care for a drink before we serve dinner?"

  Ric nodded. "Gin and tonic, please."

  "And you, miss?" Judy added as an afterthought, smiling insincerely at Allendre. "Would you care for something, too?"

  "Yes, I'll have a—"

  "Miss Corey will have orange juice," Ric interrupted astoundingly. "Straight."

  As the stewardess turned her attention to the con-tents of the beverage cart Allendre drew herself up straight, her eyes flashing green fire as she glared at Ric. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered furiously. "You have no right to decide what I'll have to drink. And I happen to loathe orange juice."

  "Make that juice a diet soft drink," Ric said over his shoulder to Judy, then smiled nonchalantly when he turned back to Allendre. "I assume that will suit you?"

  "Not really." She unconsciously smoothed her hands over her skirt, unaware that the action emphasized the slender outline of waist, hips, and thighs. "But I suppose that's your snide way of insinuating I need diet drinks."

  Shaking his head, he allowed his gaze to drift lazily over her, and his darkening eyes lingered on the generous rise of her breasts beneath the sheer fabric of her lilac blouse. "Considering your very nice shape, I'd have to be either blind or a complete fool to insinuate you need a diet drink, now, wouldn't I?" he asked, his voice low-timbred and provocative. "I just assumed you're like most young women your age, who avoid unnecessary calories as if they were poison."

  "You assumed wrong, then," she snapped at him, cursing herself for blushing at his blatant appraisal of her figure. "I dislike diet drinks almost as much as I do orange juice."

  "Sorry, but you're not having anything stronger." He gave her an insufferably smug smile. "God knows what you might do with a little alcohol in your bloodstream."

  "Really, you're too much," she muttered through clenched teeth. "And I'll have you know I had no intention of asking for anything alcoholic. Now, you tell your Judy that I want ginger ale."

  "Ginger ale for Miss Corey," he said, smiling winningly up at the stewardess, who was observing the exchange, curiosity warring with impatience in her amber eyes. "And I promise that's the final decision."

  "I should hope so," Judy said irritably, transferring all her attention to Allendre. "Now, you're sure it's ginger ale you want, miss? Speak now or forever hold your peace. I do have other passengers to serve."

  Not trusting herself to speak, Allendre merely shook her head, then proceeded to count slowly to ten in an effort to control her temper. However, she did manage a strangled "Thank you" when the stewardess handed her a glass of iced ginger ale and a minute square of a paper napkin.

  Allendre spent the next couple of minutes staring out her window at the layer of foglike white clouds swirling below, but at last her curiosity could no longer be contained. "Just one question," she began rather sharply, turning back toward Ric again. "How do you happen to know my name?"

  "I overheard your conversation with the ticket agent," he explained, not bothering to look up from his precious papers. "You're Allendre Corey and you don't particularly like to be called Allie."

  She stared at him. Actually, Allie didn't sound nearly so bad the way he pronounced it, with a much softer a, but she dismissed the fanciful notion that it almost sounded like an endearment that way. Still incensed with him for daring to tell her what she might and might not drink, she thrust out her chin. "You have a good memory. And I'm at a disadvantage, I'm afraid. Unless I can assume your name is Ric Darling or Ric Love."

  Her sarcasm didn't seem to bother him one whit. "Wrong assumptions," he said flatly. "It's neither love nor darling."

  Realizing he had no intention of telling her what his name really was, Allendre glared indignantly at him until, finally, he lifted his dark head and met her vibrant green eyes, his blue-gray ones seeming almost to issue a chal
lenge. Yet, when he spoke, his tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact. "You're traveling alone. Does that mean you live in Bermuda? Or are you just going to visit a boyfriend who's stationed at the U.S. naval base there?"

  "I'm just another tourist," she replied, then hastily concocted a story to explain why she was traveling alone. "A friend planned to come with me but had to cancel her plans at the last moment. So since this is the only time I could take my vacation, I decided to come by myself. I have no boyfriend at the naval base, and, unfortunately, I don't live in Bermuda."

  "Frankly, I'm relieved. Bermuda and the armed forces there may actually survive your visit. If you don't stay too long."

  The teasing note in his voice was as obvious as the mischievous gleam in his eyes, and despite a desire to remain cold and aloof Allendre couldn't suppress her smile. "Oh, all right," she conceded. "I can understand why you might think I'm a menace to society, considering the fact that I walked all over your feet twice in one hour. But, believe me, it just isn't one of my better days. I'm not usually so clumsy. Really."

  Though he didn't seem totally convinced, he smiled as he glanced down at her feet. "Well, at least you don't wear those lethal spike heels. Maybe I won't sue you for crippling me, after all."

  "Oh, and were you considering filing suit?"

  "I was considering something much more drastic than that after our second little mishap," he answered. His tone was slightly suggestive, and he surveyed her with disturbing intensity from her trim, crossed ankles to the flaxen hair that brushed her shoulders. Then he shrugged. "But since I'm such a gentleman…"

  "Oh, aren't you sweet?" she countered with mock humility. "I just can't wait to tell all my friends that chivalry isn't dead, after all." As he laughed she watched him with a bemused smile, wondering if he was one of those rare people who had a split personality. That was the only possible explanation, she thought, for his astonishing metamorphosis from grump to pleasant young man. Unless, of course, gin and tonic always made him more mellow.

  Taking advantage of his unexpected good humor, she asked him questions about Bermuda; about the people and the places of special interest, and about the weather. As she had guessed from his conversation with Judy, he had been there often, and it was obvious that he felt a strong affection for the island.

  When lunch was served, however, their conversation ceased. Though the silence between them was infinitely more comfortable now, Allendre wasn't particularly hungry. His description of neat, white-roofed houses overlooking the cool sapphire ocean had only increased her desire to arrive and see it all for herself. Excitement dulled her appetite so that she did little more than push her pepper steak around on its bed of fluffy rice. Lost in her daydreams, she was hardly aware of the turbulence that had begun to rock the plane slightly. Then she was brought back to reality with a frightening jolt. Suddenly, the plane seemed to drop in altitude, as if it might fall straight down into the ocean below. Gasping, she reached out to hold on to the full cup of coffee still sitting on her tray, but she only succeeded in sloshing the contents out over her own hand and, worse yet, over Ric's leg.

  "Oh, I've done it again!" she exclaimed miserably, feeling like a perfect idiot when she realized the plane had flown out of the turbulence again. Grabbing her napkin, she tried to undo some of the damage she had done to his trousers but drew back, chewing her lower lip, when he snatched the napkin away from her.

  "Never mind that," he nearly growled. "Did you burn your hand?"

  Though her fingers were stinging a bit, she shook her head. "No, I'm okay. Look, I'm really sorry about your pants. I'll pay to have them cleaned."

  "Don't worry about it," he muttered, crumpling the napkin and tossing it onto his tray. His blue-gray eyes pierced the soft green depths of hers. "Just make sure you stay away from the cockpit, for God's sake. I have no desire to swim to Bermuda."

  A muscle ticked with fascinating regularity in his jaw. This time he didn't seem to be teasing. Allendre murmured another apology and turned away, pressing herself as close to the window as she could. After a moment she dared a quick glance at Ric, but one glimpse of that dark carved profile was enough to make her rest her head back against her seat. She felt very tired and closed her eyes with a silent sigh.

  A feathery touch along her cheekbone awoke her, but she muttered a sleepy protest and turned her face into the cool fabric of the wing of her seat. At least she thought it was the wing of her seat until she detected the clean fragrance of lime mingling with the faintest scent of tobacco. Her eyes fluttered open, and just as she realized she had been nuzzling a muscular shoulder, a lean finger brushed over her cheek again, down beneath her chin, and gently tilted her face up. She blinked twice, then her eyes widened and her breath caught somewhere far down in her throat as she gazed up at Ric's darkly tanned face. Intensely intelligent eyes swept slowly over her delicate features, lingering, or so it seemed to her, on her parted lips for a breathtaking moment. His face was so close that his breath fanned the rising fire in her cheeks, and when his hand cupped her jaw without warning, rough fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. With a muffled exclamation she straightened immediately, her hands going up to smooth her rumpled hair.

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, unable to look directly at him. "You should have just pushed me away."

  "I didn't want to disturb you," he answered calmly. "I decided everyone on the plane would be much safer with you asleep."

  "The way my day's been going, you're probably right," she agreed, searching through the jumbled contents of her purse for mirror and lipstick. After assuring herself that she looked fairly presentable again, she lifted her head, forcing herself to meet Ric's watchful gaze. "Uh, how… long did I sleep?"

  "Nearly an hour; in fact, we'll be landing in about five minutes." He gestured in the direction of her window. "Look out. You'll be able to sight the island anytime now."

  Her embarrassment gave way to excitement as she stared down at the gently moving waters below. The ocean lightened to a jewel-clear sapphire blue, its waves edging white stretches of beach where sunlight glinted against dazzling sands. Bermuda was heavenly, she decided in that instant, smiling down at the white-roofed houses that Ric had described. Inland, the island was lushly green, but she had little time to appreciate the beauty before a long expanse of runway came into view.

  The landing was smooth, and the passengers scurried to gather their belongings and disembark. Ric slipped his long arms into his suit coat, then rose to his feet, buttoning his collar and tightening his tie with deft brown fingers.

  Poised on the edge of her seat, Allendre wasn't really aware she was watching him so intently until he looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. She blushed and gestured uncertainly. "I'm sorry if I've made your trip a disaster," she apologized once again. "It really wasn't intentional."

  He shrugged, and for a moment a smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of his mouth; but then his expression became unreadable again. "When are you flying back to New York?" he asked, straightening his cuffs. "What date?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," she told him. "Why?"

  "If I knew precisely when you were going, I could make certain I book a flight on a different day."

  Though she detected a hint of amusement in his tone, she resented his words. Squaring her shoulders, she gave him a withering look, but her annoyance only grew when he laughed softly at her as he picked up his briefcase.

  "Have a nice vacation, Allie," he said, then followed the last of the first-class passengers to the exit.

  As Allendre left the plane a few moments later Ric was striding across the sun-washed tarmac, and by the time she entered the terminal she had lost sight of him. She claimed her two suitcases, then followed a group of fellow passengers to an exit where several minibuses waited. After finding the one that was bound for Shannon House, she watched as her luggage was tossed unceremoniously into the back of the bus along with several other suitcases. Unimpressed by the welcoming committee, she drew
a disgruntled breath and looked away, then stood immobile, staring across the concrete parking lot. Ric stood beside a gleaming black BMW sedan, and as she watched he waved the driver into the passenger seat, slid in beneath the steering wheel, and drove away. Allendre's excitement ebbed slowly away as she suddenly realized that Ric was the only person in Bermuda she knew. He hadn't been overly friendly, but at least he was now a familiar face. And as she packed herself into the tiny bus with several other grumbling passengers she was beginning to feel very lonely.

  Chapter Two

  The driver of the bus took to the road like a madman. Or perhaps it only seemed that way since he stayed to the left and rarely applied the brake as he negotiated the narrow, twisting road. Bracing her feet against the floor, Allendre tried to do some very limited sightseeing. Here and there, she was able to catch a glimpse of a clean blue bay where brightly colored small boats bobbed on the gently moving surface of the water. Then, before she could appreciate the cool sea breeze drifting through the bus windows, they were passing through clusters of limestone-block houses, white-roofed and clinging to the sides of the hill the road bisected. Shutters, hinged at the top and pushed out from the bottom, graced the windows, providing shade from the bright sun while also giving access to the cool sea breeze. It was a charming sight. Small trees laden with pink oleander blossoms spilled their lush branches over the walls that lined the way. Huge, showier scarlet hibiscus flowers swayed in the gentle wind, and the bushy shrubs on which they grew shaded oversized purple morning glories that somehow managed to stay open, though it was the middle of the day.

  "I told you the flowers were just lovely. Didn't I tell you that, Myrtle?" one of the elderly ladies crammed into the bus managed to say to a companion who was almost sitting on her lap. "Now aren't you glad you came?"

  "I'll be gladder when I get out of this bus," Myrtle answered candidly. "I'm too old to contort my body so I can fit this fanny of mine onto three square inches of seat."