Do You Love Me? Read online

  Darryl laced his fingers into the back of her hair, twisted it, forcing her to turn around, then shoved her forward, casting a warning glance at Peter. “Don’t try to be a hero, my friend. I won’t hurt her unless someone does something stupid and forces me to.”

  Peter allowed them to advance several paces before he sprang with catlike quickness. Darryl’s reflexes were too slow. Peter chopped his wrist with the heel of his hand. The knife raked down Savanna’s hip, slicing a gash in her slacks before Darryl’s fingers lost their hold.

  Savanna screamed.

  Darryl spun and sprinted into the setting sun, not moving at all like a drunk, Savanna thought dully. She felt herself coiling down.

  Peter caught her, wrapping her in his arms, breaking her fall as she folded.

  “I’m all right. Don’t let him get away, Peter. Please don’t let him get away Not this time.”

  Darryl’s discarded knife lay on the ground beside her. Peter grabbed it and darted across the pasture which had been reserved for parking, and on toward the gated cattle guard, the club’s only entrance and exit on the back side of the property.

  By cutting across, Peter got to the gate just as Darryl’s vehicle rolled through. Peter hurled the knife. It quivered as it penetrated the right front tire. The tire whistled and immediately shriveled causing the SUV to lurch peculiarly and settle onto its rim.

  Peter galloped to the passenger door, flung it open and hurdled through as Darryl threw himself out the driver’s side, shouting for help.

  Peter caught him in ten yards, grabbed his shirt collar, and spun Darryl around. Holding the man’s shirt placket with one hand, Peter hammered his fist into the culprit’s face once, then again, and again, and again, until the flesh on Darryl’s cheeks resembled slabs of tenderized meat.

  Darryl’s legs gave way but Peter held him up by his collar and pounded until several men, including Savanna’s father, coaxed him to turn loose. Speaking quietly, they were able to wrestle Darryl from Peter’s grasp.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Savanna had no energy left to argue when Carol insisted on staying over that night.

  Rowena and Browning Cavendish had accompanied them to the emergency room where a doctor appeased the anxious parents with three stitches, ones that Savanna felt pretty sure were not necessary.

  No one seemed to know where Peter had gone. He’d simply disappeared.

  According to phone calls Carol made at Savanna’s insistence, he’d left the Calcutta grounds soon after Carol and the Cavendishes went to the emergency room.

  There was no news the next day, while Savanna chafed at all the attention she drew for the three gratuitous little stitches.

  “Darryl’s in jail,” Carol announced on Monday. I called Jennifer to see what she knew. The city held him six hours until he sobered up.” She gave the report solemnly. “By then the assault charges had been filed. They’ll keep him until his arraignment tomorrow. The judge will set bail then and, if he can come up with the money, he’ll be out on bond. People say your dad plans to reward Peter for defending you.”

  Savanna glanced up.

  Carol’s grin faded. “No one’s seen or heard from Peter himself since Saturday night.”

  A week passed with no word from or about Peter.

  Savanna’s stitches came out and she covered the wound so she could at least enjoy a few last swims before she turned the heater on the pool off for the winter. Her life got back to normal.

  Carol packed her belongings and moved home.

  Angus and Merriam Bonito stayed in their quarters until eight o’clock every morning, allowing Savanna her private swim, at 7, just after sunup.

  She even began swimming nude again, jealous of the last remaining warm mornings. She felt relieved at having won back her privacy, a dubious consolation for losing her closest friend ever.

  She thought about him most of the time, wondering where he was. Her most comforting thought was that he continued to exist, somewhere.

  In week two of her solitude, Savanna walked to the side of the pool in the predawn darkness and noticed a Styrofoam cup on the table between the two chaises. She picked it up and deposited it in the trash before she removed her robe for her swim.

  The next morning, another cup occupied the table.

  She needed to ask Angus and Merriam if they had left it. The question slipped her mind until the third morning when, as she removed her cover-up, Savanna remembered and looked around to find another cup in the same place on the table.

  Seeing it there made the hair crawl ominously along the back of her neck and she went back inside to put on a bathing suit.

  Later that morning, she asked.

  The Bonitos were genuinely dismayed by news of the cups’ daily appearances. They had no idea who might do such a thing. They would check for intruders during the night.

  Darryl was still in jail. His assets frozen, he was unable to post the fifty-thousand-dollar cash bond ordered on the two aggravated assault charges, and the embezzlement, which Savanna finally conceded needed to be brought to public attention.

  With Darryl out of the picture and Mary Edith Fletcher and her chums back at school, there were few viable suspects as to the source of the cups. Feeling her privacy threatened, Savanna again began wearing bathing suits for her morning swim.

  The fourth morning, she dragged a bar stool to the eight-foot privacy fence, climbed up, and peered over. There was no sign of anyone or anything out of place.

  At six a.m. on Day Five, Savanna went to the pool an hour earlier than usual. Without turning on any lights, she squinted into the darkness to see a cup in its usual place. She pursed her lips and slipped out of her robe, determined not to be distracted from her morning exercise, although she wore bathing suits those days.

  The water was uncomfortably cool at four-thirty a.m. on Day Six, even with the heater running, but there was no cup. She’d done a dozen laps quickly to warm herself before a shadow emerged from the cabana.

  Wrapped in a terry cloth robe, he carried a Styrofoam cup. She recognized his form but didn’t acknowledge his presence.

  Gradually, without taking his eyes off of her, Peter moved to the chaise where he sat and took occasional sips from the cup. Savanna pretended not to see him.

  When he had watched for a while, he stood and moved silently to the side of the pool to gaze directly down on her.

  Her breathing became erratic and she rolled into a side stroke but continued swimming, her eyes only slits, enabling her to watch him without his knowing for certain, she hoped, that she’d even seen him.

  He untied the robe and let it fall to the deck. In the predawn darkness, he stood flexing, tall and straight and supple and, quite magnificently, nude.

  His arousal was obvious. She had to concentrate in order not to inhale water. The air in her lungs grew hot. Because her erratic breathing did not feed her system enough oxygen, she slowed her strokes.

  Peter remained poolside but she could see his chest heaving as his breathing became labored and his arousal more pronounced. Unsure of his intentions, she continued the side stroke.

  Finally, she rotated onto her back, spraying water everywhere with powerful kicking, partially to screen his body from her own eyes. Her nether regions continued to quicken with the awareness of him.

  Without taking his eyes from her, Peter lowered himself into the water.

  Ignoring him, Savanna swam by as he stood in water chest deep.

  On her second pass, he caught her ankle just as it slid beyond him and tugged her back, his free hand skimming the side of her leg and up, over her hip to lock at her waist.

  Both hands gripping her middle, he stood her on her feet in front of him. He didn’t speak and Savanna could scarcely think, much less initiate a conversation, overwhelmed by his chest heaving as he breathed. Even though she didn’t look down into the water, she was stunningly aware of his pulsating nakedness beneath the surface.

  He bumped and bulldogged her to t
he side of the pool and stopped only when her back raked the wall. She caught a breath and faced him, hoping she looked defiant, although the muscles in her arms and legs had turned to jelly.

  Wordlessly, he pressed his body against hers. His mouth twitched as he lowered his lips. His fingers tangled in her thick, wet hair as he pulled her head back.

  Savanna fumbled, placing her hands at either side of his rib cage, sliding them to his chest and up along his straining biceps and shoulders. She ached to have him closer, kissing her, caressing her, and more.

  He pulled back to study her face, before his fingers began tracing a path from her neck to her collar bones and down. He slipped his hands under the straps of her bathing suit, slid them off her shoulders and down to expose her breasts. For a moment she stopped breathing, then idly wondered why she felt so lightheaded.

  Playfully, he cupped her breasts in his hands, smiling down at them before he dipped his head to nibble. She groaned involuntarily. He straightened and looked at her face, obviously pleased with her response.

  She needed to get away from him. Why was she letting him do this? The powerful biceps flexed beneath her hands as he lifted and placed her on the side of the pool. Was he through? She had no idea what he was thinking. Awkwardly, she fumbled with the straps of her bathing suit, hiking it up, covering herself.

  “Go away.” She pivoted on the deck and scrambled to her feet, embarrassed.

  “Not until I’ve fulfilled my obligation.”

  “What obligation?”

  “The day you bought for your ten thousand dollars.”

  “I told you, that’s not necessary. I’ve released you from that obligation, granted you your freedom. We’re even now.”

  “No, we’re not even. I still owe you and I intend to pay, as a gigolo must pay, in full. My reputation as a lover is at stake.”

  She shivered as a cool dawn breeze caressed her wet body. Unexpected hot tears prickled behind her eyelids as she pretended an interest in locating her towel.

  “What do I have to do to call you off? Do you want money? If that’s what you want, I’ll give you money. How much must I pay to make you go away?”

  His jaw tightened and she saw his fingers whiten as he gripped the side of the pool. Good. She’d struck a nerve. His eyes narrowed. He looked thunderous, threatening. Maybe she’d hit too hard.

  “Money.” His voice sounded husky as he spat the word. “Of course, money. That would be your first thought.” He was silent a moment before raising his eyes to hers. When their gazes met, she shivered again as he continued speaking. “A thousand dollars, in small bills. Bring it home with you tonight. I’ll be back.”

  “A thousand dollars? That’s stupid. Only an idiot would ask for a measly thousand dollars under these circumstances.”

  He gave her an inscrutable smile. She stood astonished as he swam to the deep end of the pool, effortlessly slithered out and disappeared through the back gate, his bare buttocks tight, as muscular as the rest of him. A moment later, she heard the purr of his pickup.

  What a remarkable looking tush, she thought idly and wondered at the warm tears trickling down her face. How would he ever succeed in life with such meager expectations? A thousand dollars? He could have asked for and gotten much, much more.

  Then she had a new, unsettling thought: he probably shouldn’t be driving on city streets naked.

  Numbed, tears streaming, she walked to the house, up to her room, showered, and dressed for work.

  She dumped a box containing new shoes out on her bed, wadded and threw the tissue paper aside. She’d get him the thousand dollars in small bills all right, and good riddance. She’d give it to him in this shoe box. That seemed appropriate, the most acceptable way to pay off an extortionist. Oh, yes, she’d give him the thousand. Gladly.

  “Damn his tight gigolo butt.” Her words hissed. Why the hell had he looked so offended? What could he possibly have to be offended about?

  She slumped onto the side of the bed and buried her face in her hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Savanna tried to make the daily decisions and field the staff’s usual battery of questions, but her brain was sluggish and she felt as if she were functioning in slow motion. The morning dragged.

  At twelve-thirty, she sent Tina to the bank with a check for a thousand dollars to be drawn in small denominations. When her secretary returned with the bank bag, Savanna took it, said she had a headache and was going home. She saw Tina glance at the clock, noting the time. It was two-twenty.

  Savanna felt too restless to nap during the early afternoon, swam instead, and wondered if she had time for a massage. No, she needed to primp and get ready. Now there was a stupid idea. No way would she doll herself up for him.

  Unable or unwilling to endure company as twilight stole the sun, Savanna barely touched her supper. She wanted to have the house to herself.

  Barefooted, her hair uncombed, her rumpled shirttail hanging over faded shorts, she went down to the kitchen.

  “Are you ill?” Merriam eyed her curiously.

  “No. I’m just tired. I have a headache. You and Angus go on home.” Savanna eyed the untidied countertops. “I’ll finish up here.”

  Merriam’s expression grew cautious and her eyes narrowed. “I’ll send him home and I’ll sit with you a while.”

  “No.”

  Merriam’s back stiffened and she finished with the kitchen Still, she didn’t go. “I’m not leaving you alone in this peculiar mood.”

  The doorbell rang. Merriam flashed Savanna a questioning look, then scurried through the swinging door from the kitchen and down the hallway to answer.

  Savanna heard the hum of muffled voices, then Merriam returned, removing her apron as she came and leaving the swinging door open.

  Savanna studied the older woman, who avoided returning her look. “Who was it?”

  Merriam threw her sweater around her shoulders. Obviously, she’d changed her mind and was suddenly willing to leave. Savanna watched her suspiciously until a shadow in the entry hall cleared his throat.

  “We’ll see you in the morning.” Merriam shot a final warning look at Savanna. “Be nice.”

  Peter didn’t seem to notice Savanna’s scruffy appearance as his jade green eyes glowered at her, his eyebrows in an ominous V. “Did you get the money?” His voice was as sinister as his eyes when he stepped into the lighted kitchen. He wore jeans and a V-necked sweater over a T-shirt.

  “Yes, I have the money.”

  He waited for her to move. When she didn’t, he spoke again. “Upstairs.”

  “The money’s in the den and you know our rule. You’re not allowed upstairs.”

  “Get it.” His voice sounded strangled and his eyes glittered with an unfathomable shine.

  She took her time walking to the den where she retrieved the shoe box. Waiting in the hallway, he motioned her to lead. She felt like a condemned person as she carried the box up the stairs, only the rustling of his clothes to indicate he followed.

  What was he thinking? Did he have some diabolical punishment in mind? Why was she going along, a willing accomplice/victim to his plan? Peter had saved her when Darryl showed up threatening, in an abusive mood. Who was there to save her from him? Why did she seem to have this effect on men these days?

  While she was apprehensive, she was not exactly afraid of Peter. She had no idea why she still trusted him, but she did.

  Savanna nearly smiled at that thought. Even under these circumstances, she did trust him. That might be a mistake when he was behaving so peculiarly.

  With a hand, he gestured her toward her bedroom and followed her inside, then closed the door. He didn’t turn on the lights. Her drapes were open, as usual. The fading daylight and fiber optics reflecting off the water below cast an uncanny glow into the room.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You’re going to pay me for my services.”

  She shook the box in front of his face. “The money�
�s right here.” She put it on the bed and removed the lid to reveal the cash inside.

  “Give me fifty dollars.”

  She froze, uncertain what kind of game they were playing.

  “I must be paid in advance,” he said. “It’s a rule of the profession.” He sounded strange, angry perhaps. What did he have to be angry about? He’d asked for the money. She’d done exactly as he’d asked. “Do it!”

  In the half light, it took her a moment to find two twenties and a ten. She handed them to him.

  With exaggerated movements, he licked his thumb and counted them.

  Meticulously keeping the currency neatly stacked, he placed the bills on her dresser, then turned to face her. Without raising his eyes to hers, he removed his sweater and T-shirt, baring his marvelous chest. “Touch me.”

  “What?”

  “Put your hands on my chest, my shoulders, my arms, my face, on any flesh that’s exposed.”

  He flexed one arm and reached for her hand with his free one. His voice grew taut. “You’ve paid for the privilege, now touch me.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, then looked away embarrassed. His hold on her wrist tightened. His voice seethed with determination or annoyance or something she couldn’t identify. “I said touch me.”

  She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held her firmly and pulled her doubled fist over the bunching muscles in his upper arm and across his chest.

  “I don’t want to do this…not this way.”

  “This is the only way you understand, Savanna, and you are going to get your money’s worth. Full value. I promise you that. Now do as you’re told.”

  When she didn’t move, his voice grew quiet. “You want to be finished with me, don’t you? You want closure, an end to our project, don’t you? You want the satisfaction of knowing that you have achieved another charitable success, don’t you?”

  She stared into his face. “Yes. I guess. No!” Suddenly she was furious, anger raging through her like a squall driving a storm. “There’s no feeling of accomplishment for me in this.”