a primal instinct for revenge deep into the swamp and into the depths of his own soul.
He wondered if someone like Rennie could ever understand the obsession he had to wander the swamp at night in search of some peace for his battered soul. Being a woman, would she see it as some irrational male thing?
He told himself that his attraction to her was hormonal. Beauty and vulnerability. What man could resist such a lethal combination? It brought out a crazy notion to protect her, although the only thing to protect her from out here was himself. And the best way to protect her from himself was to not get involved, which was really a laugh considering that he was in it up to his eyeballs.
John left his place by the window and crossed the room, his feet brushing the cypress planks with a noiselessness that came from years of tracking animals through the swamp. For many long moments he stared down at her. The brew he had given her would make her sleep through the night. Beyond the window some voiceless thing beckoned to him. Come. Hurry. The moon rises and it’s time to go hunting. If he left now, he would be back by sunrise and she would never know the difference.
But he didn’t move, not while there was still a sliver of daylight left and it fell so bewitchingly upon her face. Not while he was caught up in remembering what it was like to hold a woman’s soft body in his arms and feel her breath against his neck.
For just that moment the memory did not hurt. Instead, it gave him a feeling of undisciplined delight just to feel it again and to realize that he was human after all.
Chapter 3
“Don’t worry, she doesn’t suspect a thing. The wedding is in two months. If she finds out after that, I’ll handle it, but for now there’s too much riding on this marriage for anything to go wrong. That piece of prime coastal real estate is worth marrying a woman I don’t love.”
The words haunted Rennie even now as she tossed and turned in a sleep from which there was no waking.
She would never forget the look on Craig’s face as he talked on the telephone. She’d seen that look before—cold, inscrutable, wickedly determined—the night they met at a fund-raiser for the senator, when he asked her out and she declined, explaining that she had a faculty meeting to attend. His eyes had gone all cold and distant, and it was impossible to tell what he’d been thinking. In the next moment the chilling expression was gone, replaced by a smile friendly enough to charm a cobra. He’d asked her out for another night, making it clear that he would not take no for an answer.
She should have gotten an idea then of the lengths he would go to, to get what he wanted. A successful land developer like Craig Wolfson didn’t get where he was by letting opportunities slip by. At the time she was flattered to think that what he wanted was her.
He liked to boast that one of the advantages of being rich was possessing things that most people could not, like the expensive and illegal Cuban cigar he extracted from a silver-inlaid case and placed between his lips as he spoke. Even now, as she lay upon John Panther’s bed in the middle of the Everglades, her nose wrinkled at the awful smell of the cigar, and she shivered at the words that had been delivered like a slap across her face.
But as she had stood in the doorway, her shock turned slowly to outrage, and then to anger, raw and hot. She stormed into the room, her face white with fury, and broke off the engagement. She had no memory of taking the private elevator downstairs to the lobby, or of the doorman who held the door for her and wished her a good evening. All she could think about was the cold certainty with which he had assured her that the wedding would take place as she fled in tears.
Why hadn’t she noticed his condescending attitude before? Or that little smirk that she mistook for a smile? She had such little experience with love, how was she to know that she had been fooled by a clever manipulator?
The senator would be furious, of course, when he learned of the broken engagement. He’d been eager for the opportunity to combine his interests with those of Wolfson Industries. Hopefully, he would see things differently when he found out what a scoundrel Craig really was. She had to get word to him that she was all right without arousing his suspicions. She shuddered to think that Craig probably already had manpower at work to find her. Oh, God, what a mess.
She lay there, not daring to move, as if the slightest movement would signal her presence to the outside world. She could tell by the warm breeze that wafted through the air that it was light outside. Daylight had always brought a sense of reassurance. When she’d been a little girl afraid of the dark, her father’s soothing voice had calmed her fears. Then one day it was gone, the voice, the stroke of his finger across her cheek, the tender kiss on her forehead. After that, the only thing that made her feel safe was daybreak, telling her that she had made it through another dark and lonely night.
It was easier to face things in the light of day, but for Rennie there was no light beyond the swath of bandages. Locked in her blindness, the awful memories seemed only that much more real.
The powerful effect of the infusion that John gave her last night had worn off sometime before daybreak. But now, no longer lulled into a state of painlessness, she was acutely aware of every ache in every muscle. Even the mere act of breathing hurt.
“Can I get you more tea?”
She didn’t know he was there until he spoke in that deep, regretful voice. The air in the room was suddenly filled with him. How long had he been there, waiting in silence for her to surface? Could he read her thoughts as easily as he read her pain?
She turned her head toward him. In a ragged, untested voice, she said, “Maybe later. What time is it?”
“A little past three. Are you hungry?”
“I’d forgotten there was any such thing as food.”
“You should eat something if you want more tea later. That infusion can be rough on an empty stomach. Yesterday you were too out of it to notice.”
Rennie struggled to recall yesterday. God only knew how utterly pitiful she must have seemed to him. Too embarrassed to ask what she might have done or said, she stammered, “Was I— Did I—”
“You didn’t reveal anything I shouldn’t know. So…do you want some soup? I have chicken noodle, tomato and minestrone.”
“I thought you said we were out in the middle of nowhere.”
“We are. Why?”
“I guess I’m just surprised that you can cook.”
“Because I’m a man or because I’m an Indian?”
“Neither. I just didn’t think there was any electricity.”
The edge in his voice softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that. You learn pretty fast about preconceived notions when you’re Indian.”
Rennie sat up in bed, wincing from the pain. “It must be like growing up wealthy. You never know who loves you for yourself or for your money.” She realized she had spoken her thoughts out loud and glanced away, muttering, “Or so I’ve heard.”
The examples were different but the underlying emotions were the same, and it made John uncomfortable to think that there existed something like that in common between them.
“There’s a generator out back,” he said.
“In that case, I’ll have the chicken noodle. It’s my favorite.”
He frowned as he walked to the kitchen. It was another thing they had in common, not that there weren’t a million other people with the same taste in canned soup. Still, it made not liking her that much harder.
From the other room Rennie ventured, “You asked if there was anyone I want to contact.”
He forced the cylinder of soup from the can into a saucepan. “Is there?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid my cell phone is buried beneath the wreckage. Do you have a telephone I can use?”