Ain’t Misbehaving

Chapter Seven

Kay tapped her foot in front of her open closet door. “Appear, ravishing outfit,” she commanded.

At least a dozen skirts and dresses mutely confronted her. Nothing was strictly wrong with any of them. At least nothing had seemed wrong with them yesterday.

Mitch had said it was to be a business dinner. With a man they would pick up at the Spokane airport. Stanley Hemerling. They would meet his flight, wine him and dine him, and put him back on the 10:45 plane to Los Angeles.

Very odd.

But she’d jumped at the chance to learn more about Mitch, to be included in his life. The only problem was what to wear. Formal? Casual? Was she supposed to impress or understate? Exactly what do you wear for two men who collect rocks for a living?

Rocks, she muttered dourly. Something was rotten in Denmark. But what can you expect from a man who interrupts an incredibly successful seduction to play football?

She tugged a violet-striped shirtdress from the closet, studied it and shoved it abruptly back in place. Boring. The red frock was dressy enough, but didn’t seem appropriate. Black made her skin look like a washed-out dust cloth; she hated the thing. The pink was just a little on the bright side.

At 6:25, she rapidly tugged on an Oriental number her mother had given her the Christmas before. Her mother had the same love for wild colors that Kay did. The dress was a blend of violets and pinks and orchids, with black piping at the mandarin collar and long sleeves. Viewing her image in the mirror, she grimaced. Conservative it wasn’t. Actually, expensive it wasn’t either; she just loved the crazy dress.

In the four minutes she had left to put on makeup, she played up her eyes with shadow and mascara. She was about to swing her hair up in a coil when the doorbell rang.

In the next life, of course, she was going to be punctual. She slipped on black heels as she pumped the perfume atomizer at her throat and wrists, and with a hairbrush in her hand raced for the door.

She took one look at Mitch and muttered a despairing “oh, God” before racing back to the bedroom.

“I know. We’re meeting a plane,” she called back. “Just give me five minutes, Mitch, no more, I promise-”

Thoroughly rattled, she fumbled with the frogs at the front of her dress while simultaneously glancing through her closet again. Oriental would not do. The dress slipped to the floor, ignored, as she fumbled with hangers.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Kay ducked instantly behind the closet door, still fumbling with hangers. When she had tugged on a black knit skirt, she ventured a quick glance around the door. Mitch was still standing there, looking totally intimidating in a stark navy Savile Row suit-he’d never bought that in Moscow-and a crisply starched white linen Oxford shirt.

The dark suit and his dark coloring brought out the dramatic intensity of his looks, but it wasn’t that. She could suddenly picture him in a boardroom, quelling people with a look, commanding respect with total authority. Nice, she thought wryly. Why did she keep telling herself he needed someone to pull him out of his shell? The man dripped assurance.

The only thing familiar about him at all was his eyes. They looked exceedingly wicked, and very familiar.

“Could you at least give me a small hint why you’re changing a perfectly good dress at this particular time?”

She could hear the distinct note of Patient Male in his voice. Ducking her head back inside the closet, she burrowed into the black knit top. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I can’t hear you.”

She finished tugging the top over her head and peered over at him with a sudden grin. Men could occasionally be ridiculously stupid. There was no point explaining that if he was dressed in a five-hundred-dollar suit, she could hardly pair up with him looking as if she’d just stepped out of a bargain basement. “Since you’re here you can make yourself useful.” She backed up.

He zipped. And then he watched her rapidly fuss with her hair, piling it all up into some kind of topknot. Her cheeks were flushed; he understood that she was embarrassed because he was in her bedroom while she was dressing, but he couldn’t move.

He stared at her, mesmerized. The black outfit was classically styled, and the knit clung faithfully to her figure, and he recognized the rope of pearls she slipped around her neck as very old and very good, probably an heirloom. She’d achieved the sophistication she had apparently been aiming for. And Mitch was fascinated with watching the transformation, the way she fussed with bottles and brushes and riffled through the tiny jewelry box on her bureau.

She was beautiful…but black was not her color, and he knew instinctively that she wasn’t going to be his Kay for the entire evening. Her eyes were overbright, and when she confronted him in the doorway with the finished product, her posture was a little stiff-not at all Kay. And her hands didn’t quite know what to do with themselves.

That hint of vulnerability was supposed to be hidden under the sophisticated veneer. Kay wanted him to see her as a woman he would be proud to have on his arm, a woman he could easily take to a business dinner. Popcorn and football games and fire towers were fine, but she was a long way from childhood and so was he.

“You look beautiful,” he told her.

She relaxed, a little. “This is better, isn’t it?” she asked, but the question was rhetorical.

“There was absolutely nothing wrong with the dress you had on,” he told her.

She flicked imaginary lint from his shoulder and inhaled the faint scent of his aftershave. “It wasn’t right. I could tell the minute you walked in the door.”

“Kay, there’s no need to worry about this dinner. If I’d thought you’d be nervous, I would have told you-”

“I’m not in the least nervous,” she assured him instantly.

“You’re in an argumentative mood,” he murmured dryly.

“I am not.”

Mitch chuckled, steering her out of the bedroom. “Have I really caused all this trouble simply by showing up at your door in a suit? Most men do own suits, you know.”

Most men owned suits, but they didn’t look as sexy as he did in them. On the way to the airport she was aware that Mitch was making an effort to relax her, and thought wryly that the shoe was definitely on the other foot tonight. Up till now, she was the one who had made massive efforts to help him feel comfortable.

Not being the nervous type, she wasn’t exactly sure why she was all but trembling with nerves. The well was deeper than she’d thought; that was part of it. Mitch was not a simple man. And his wealth and assurance suddenly stood out like neon lights in darkness; she wasn’t at all sure what was expected of her at this dinner.

It didn’t help when he suddenly reached behind him to the backseat and brought up a small white box. Dropping it in her lap, he took his eyes off the road only long enough to wink at her. “Present,” he said lightly.

Her fingers opened the white tissue paper, while Mitch reached up to switch on the car’s overhead light. Giving him a startled glance, she gently fingered the exquisite carving. It was a fig tree, five inches high, its leaves delicately sculpted in green glass. Even in that odd light, the tiny ornament had so much brilliance that the plant almost seemed alive.

“You can overwater that one to your heart’s content and it still won’t die on you,” he remarked. He glanced over at her. “Good Lord, Kay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Tears trembled in her eyes. She reached over to give him a swift hug, but when she tried to move back, his arm tightened around her shoulder. She felt the brush of his lips in her hair. “Aren’t you silly?” he whispered.

“I don’t cry in a real crisis, you know. When the chips are down, I remain cool and levelheaded. I just have this problem, with weddings, and old movies-”

“And presents.”

“It’s ridiculous, and embarrassing.”

“It is not,” he denied.

She glanced up at him, her lips curving in a smile. “You’re in an argumentative mood, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

They both chuckled, and ended up laughing the rest of the drive and afterward, even during the tedious hour they waited for the late plane, carrying paper cups of cold coffee as they wandered around the Spokane airport. “When are you going to tell me what kind of business dinner this is?” Kay asked wryly. “I mean, do you do this often? Pick up people at an airport, take them to dinner and then just send them back on a plane again?”

“Not often, exactly.” Mitch cleared his throat suddenly. “Hemerling,” he admitted, “is a character. Actually, he’s sort of a fly-by-night crook.”

“What?”

“A legal crook,” Mitch corrected himself promptly, and shot her a sidelong glance. “And if you don’t enjoy this dinner, I’m going to be disappointed. The first hour will be boring for you, Kay, but the rest…”

The loudspeaker announced the arrival of the flight they were waiting for. Kay watched the passengers deplane, expecting…what? Someone who looked like Mitch?

When the palm at her back urged her forward to greet Stan Hemerling, she nearly gaped at the man whose hand was stretched out to hers. Stan was short, with stiff gray hair and slits for eyes. His suit was rumpled, and he clutched a worn briefcase under his arm as if it held gold. His eyes shifted everywhere, lighting once with masculine appraisal on Kay-she stiffened furiously-before blinking at everyone else in sight. He resembled a gangster in a B movie.

This was the kind of man Mitch did business with?

Kay rearranged her coffee cup for the seventh time. When the handle on the cup was perfectly aligned with the spoon, she glanced up on the off chance that she would catch Mitch looking her way.

Their eyes didn’t meet, which was definitely good news for Mitch. Sooner or later he’d have to give in, and when he did, she was going to murder him. Nothing fancy, no thrown knives or judo chops. Lethal eye darts were all she had in mind.

“So, like I was telling you, Kay,” Stan said earnestly, “half the people live underground in sandy-clay houses. It’s the only way they can bear the heat. There isn’t a tree for hundreds of miles, and men have made fortunes selling drinking water-it’s that hard to come by.”

“Fascinating,” Kay murmured. “Southwestern Australia, you said?”

“Coober Pedy,” Stan clarified.

The waitress stopped to refill their coffee cups, which would have been the ideal time for Kay to catch Mitch’s attention. If Stan hadn’t been beaming at her.

“A dust storm’ll howl for days in that part of the world, it will,” he told her. “Dust’ll rise up to fifteen thousand feet. You can’t see sky nor anything in front of you. When it’s all over, the whole town looks like it’s covered in ash.” Stan leaned back, rubbing his slightly protuberant belly as he picked up his coffee cup again. Kay had long since erased the gangster image. Stan’s rather sleazy appearance was only the result of living on a plane for three days. That he liked to clutch his briefcase-well, to each his own. And as for the slitted eyes-it wasn’t his fault he was born looking shifty. “And the temperatures-Lord, the temperatures at the height of the season’ll reach a hundred and thirty, day after day, and a man’ll work for months in that sun for nothing more than a promise of potch.”

“Potch?” Kay questioned.

Stan glanced at her with surprise. “The common stuff. No fire.”

“Ah.” She nodded. It would be nice if she had the least idea what he was talking about.

Stan hadn’t said so much as two words until Kay had asked him where he was from. He hadn’t shut up since.

Mitch had greeted the man with a firm handshake and introduced him to Kay. From then on, aside from ordering dinner from wine through dessert, Mitch had said very little. Twice she’d caught an amused half smile on his face, but there was no smile in his eyes for his colleague-or whatever Stan Hemerling was.

And while Stan had more moves than a nervous cat, Mitch remained totally laid back and relaxed.

Kay was as strung up as barbed wire. What was his business? What was going on here?

“We’ve been working together going on five years now, I’d say, right, Mitch?”

“Around that.”

“Really-” Stan turned again to Kay with another of his off-center smiles “-we’ve been more friends than business partners. His father brought me home one time to…uh…liven up Mitch’s life, and I sure enough did that. Took him for a ride on one flawed stone, but after that I taught him everything I knew and then some. Mitch took a while to forget that feathered culet, though, didn’t you, Mitch?”

Mitch smiled. “There’s nothing you taught me that I’ve forgotten,” he said dryly.

After the third cup of coffee, Stan rose with polite excuses and headed for the men’s room. Kay whirled in her chair with lips parted, prepared to cannon out four thousand questions, when Mitch said a quietly appreciative thank-you.

So much for the wind in her sails. As if she hadn’t just listened to an hour of incessant prattling on a subject she couldn’t fathom, she felt a soft quiet steal over her. Mitch’s eyes were warm. And as provocatively intimate as naked skin. Mitch gave her the feeling he could see through to bare flesh, at will. Like now.

“I thought you’d like the stories about Australia,” Mitch said quietly, “but I’d forgotten the way he takes for granted that everyone’s in the business. I’ll fill you in on the lingo later, Kay-but right now I just want to tell you I appreciate your patience with him. Not that I don’t like the old devil myself. But I find it almost impossible to concentrate, with his incessant talking, and a few minutes from now I’ll need every ounce of concentration I can beg, borrow or steal.” Mitch signed the check, handed it to the waitress and rose. “I’ll be a bit disappointed if he didn’t at least whet your curiosity,” he murmured as he steered her through the crowded restaurant lobby to the motel entrance.

She simply tossed Mitch a glance, as Stan ambled back into view. Why on earth should she be curious? Simply because a man flew in from a few thousand miles away just to have dinner? Simply because that same man rambled on about Cooper Pedy and potch and feathered culets as if such things should be familiar to her? Simply because the man didn’t seem to have two figs in common with Mitch? Simply because the men were now getting a key to a motel room?

“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” Kay muttered darkly as she felt Mitch’s palm at the small of her back, leading her inexorably toward room 114. Even the number had a sinister sound.

“Same room as last time,” Stan mentioned, as if that thoroughly satisfied him.

Kay smiled happily.

She continued to smile happily as Mitch opened the door to a bedroom, done tastefully in blues and greens. When the three of them were inside, Stan closed the drapes while Mitch locked the dead bolt. Kay couldn’t think of anything equally clever to do. She set down her purse. That took less than half a second. Not that she felt uncomfortable because the double bed took up eighty percent of the available space, but she just wasn’t used to business meetings in these particular surroundings. Now, with just Mitch alone, she might not have minded.

By the time she turned around, the standard motel desk was covered with a white velvet cloth. Mitch was unplugging a lamp and carting it over to double the lighting. Fumbling with the key to his case, Stan produced a small, collapsible ultraviolet light. A microscope appeared from nowhere.

Kay sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. Lascivious ideas obviously had no future here. The two men were rattling off terms like “cabochons” and “crystallized fossils” and “floaters,” and suddenly nobody was smiling. Stan’s face closed up tighter than a vain woman’s girdle. “I’ve got the best stuff you’ve ever seen,” he told Mitch gruffly. “But I never told you it’d be cheap.”

“I knew you didn’t come all this way to sell tiddlywinks.” Mitch took the desk chair and removed a small cylindrical magnifying glass from his jacket pocket, fitting it to his eye. “Kay?”

She sidled up behind him, still worried about being in the way. The bag came out of the zippered inside pocket of Stan’s case, and when he carefully emptied its contents onto the white velvet cloth, she no longer had time to worry about being in the way because she was too busy having heart failure.

Mitch started talking in low quiet tones, his words obviously meant just for her. “None of that jargon you heard during dinner could have made any sense to you, but now you’ll see what we were talking about, sweet. Opals are valued in terms of their fire-that is, the brilliance of the stone. A ‘potch’ is an opal too bland in color to be worth anything. A feather is a crack in the stone, a flaw. Cabochon is the facetless cut you use on stones when you want a smooth convex surface. Diamonds are never cut that way. Opals almost always…”

Kay certainly hoped Mitch wasn’t expecting her to hear a word he was saying.

There was only a handful of “stones” spread out on the table. Seven in all. Two of the opals were as big as a baby’s fist and had a milky, translucent background. The others were black opals, and prisms of color burst from their base of dark smoke.

The whole table seemed aglow. Rainbow crystals danced under the special light; the stone Mitch picked up to show her radiated a mesmerizing vibrancy from its center, as if light and brilliance were darting around within it.

Stan said something. Mitch didn’t answer him; he was staring at Kay, studying her response to the jewels with the most enigmatic expression. His features were statue-still, watchful. Worried?

Completely bemused, Kay opened her mouth to say something, but instantly forgot it. Shock was setting in, and for the next hour total silence reigned in the room. A fortune was clearly displayed on the white velvet cloth. Mitch appeared used to evaluating fortunes. And he turned to Stan only once, to hand him a stone.

Stan abruptly flushed. “I saw the flaw,” he said gruffly. “The stone will be good, though, if it’s cut right. You know that as well as I do.”

Mitch said absolutely nothing, but Kay could have made Popsicles in the coolness of his stare. Was this her big, gentle man, with his so-well-hidden shy side? The one who defined tenderness every time he touched her? She had expected to get to know him better tonight; instead, he was now more a mystery to her than ever.