Game of Love Read online

  A Cerridwen Press Publication

  www.cerridwenpress.com

  Game of Love

  ISBN 9781419908514

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Game of Love Copyright© 2007 Jeannie James

  Edited by Helen Woodall.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: April 2007

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®

  Game of Love

  Jeannie James

  Dedication

  I would like to thank my wonderful writing partners Lavada and Kathie for their invaluable support and the Olympia Chapter of Romance Writers of America for being such a great source of positive energy and sound advice.

  Lots of credit goes to my fabulous dog Pokey for his patience while I was working on the computer instead of throwing Frisbees for him.

  And lastly but most importantly, thank you so much to my terrific husband Ken, without whose oceans of encouragement I would never have finished a single manuscript.

  Thank you all!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  IPOD: Apple Computer, Inc.

  Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited

  Seattle Mariners: The Baseball Club of Seattle, L.P.

  Chapter One

  “I dare myself,” Micki whispered aloud as she glanced around the empty balcony. She didn’t know many people at the party and it was a little boring. Obviously, she was going to have to make her own excitement. “I dare myself to balance on this railing and walk around to the next balcony.”

  Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, she kicked off her heels and hoisted herself up to the rough stone railing, balancing on the narrow surface. The noise from the party faded into a low buzz behind her and the light summer breeze swirled through her hair and danced, fresh and cool, against her bare arms.

  Below her, soft shrubs bordered a large expanse of lawn that sloped down to a small pond. Large, French-paned windows lined nearly the entire side of the house. Chiffon curtains swayed gently against the glass and light spilled through them, cutting through the dark evening, glinting off the pond and giving it an exotic, iridescent gleam.

  Micki shivered as a swift rush of fear overtook her, then quickly shook it off and reached her left foot out in front of the right.

  A rustling in the bushes below caught her by surprise and she stopped abruptly, waving her arms to keep her balance.

  “Excuse me.” The voice from below was masculine, low and pleasant. “You look so happy up there. What in the world are you doing?”

  She smiled graciously, talking to the bushes as if this were a natural part of her evening’s entertainment. “Just playing a game.”

  “What game is that? How to break your neck in one quick fall?” His voice was still pleasant, but the words seemed unnecessarily sharp.

  “Hey!” Micki protested. “I’m having fun! Don’t spoil it.”

  “I’m sorry. I most humbly beg your pardon.” He did, indeed, sound contrite and Micki generously decided to forgive him.

  “That’s better.” She nodded her head in approval. “Actually, I’ve decided to see if I can balance my way over to that next balcony.”

  “Why?”

  She frowned down at him. “Because I dared myself to do it, that’s why. I can’t back down from a dare.”

  “I see. Once you explain, it all sounds perfectly logical. One must follow through on one’s dares, mustn’t one?”

  “Of course.” Micki was firm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.” She attempted to ignore him as she continued, placing one foot in front of the other in short, deliberate steps.

  “Then I arrived in the nick of time.” He sounded pleased with himself. “Imagine my luck, chancing on a damsel in need.”

  Micki shook her head, still watching her feet. “I don’t need anyone.”

  “Of course you need someone. Me, I mean.” The voice was persuasive. “Waiting below to catch you.”

  Micki stopped and considered the concept carefully, then discarded it. “Wouldn’t be much of a game then, would it? I mean, what’s the use of a dare if there’s nothing to lose.”

  “It was just a thought. I’d hate to see you fall.”

  “I won’t fall,” Micki objected. “I’m an expert at balancing acts.” The words struck her as funny and she added with a giggle. “And at disappearing acts. I’m very good at disappearing.”

  “You’re a professional magician, then?” he inquired politely. He sounded willing to believe anything she said and for a minute she was tempted to spin him a tale about an enchanted past with a wicked stepmother and a father descended from a line of kings, but it seemed far too complicated and the impulse passed.

  “No. I’m not a magician. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She laughed. “But I have had ballet lessons,” she offered to the voice in the bushes.

  “Did you now?” He sounded impressed. “And when was that?”

  “When I was five years old,” she answered with solemn dignity, then lapsed into a giggling fit. “I fell then, too. That’s why I didn’t keep up the lessons.”

  He laughed with her. “Has anyone ever told you you’re crazy?”

  “Yes. But only once.”

  “Only once? That surprises me.”

  “They were never heard from again,” she answered darkly.

  She heard more rustling beneath her and felt a surprising touch of concern that he might leave her alone, balanced on the railing. But to her relief he was still there, inquiring, “So what’s your name, pretty ballerina-magician?”

  “Who wants to know?” She brushed a strand of her short, wavy red hair out of her face and bent, trying to peer into the brush while still keeping her balance. She couldn’t quite make out a face. “And why are you in the bushes?”

  “Don’t lean so far,” he warned. “You’re a little too tipsy to push the balancing act.”

  “Tipsy? Who are you calling tipsy?” She stamped her foot in indignation at the unjust accusation, then lost her balance and slid, safely but gracelessly, down to the floor of the balcony. “Oh! Now look what you made me do.”

  “I’m sorry. But it was a wonderfully controlled fall. I’m impressed. Your years of ballet shine through.”

  “Why thank you.” She stayed heaped in a pile, nodding her head in agreement. Surely he was a discerning, intelligent fellow.

  “Good balance. Coordination under duress. Courageous.” It was almost as if he was ticking off a list of requirements and she nodded her head at each point. “Ma’am, you may be just the woman I need.”

  “Hmm.” His last words caught her by surprise. She stopped nodding her head and looked through the stone pillars into the darkness. “Just exactly what do you mean by that?”

  He laughed. “All I meant was that you seem to be a kind and caring soul.”

  She narrowed her eyes through the railing at the unseen intruder. “What do you need a kind and caring soul for?”

  “To effect a rescue mission.” His voice took on a strong, solid air, as if he were a military leader inspiring his troops. “This is a top secret rescue mission of utmost importance. Only th
e strongest and most capable are asked to enlist.”

  She leaned her head to one side. “Is this a game? I like games.”

  “A game, maybe,” he allowed. “But a game of major importance.” He whispered meaningfully, “Life and death.”

  Curiosity got the best of her and she had to ask. “All right. What is it?”

  His voice remained crisp and no-nonsense. “You and I must wade across to the island in the middle of the pond and rescue a helpless feline.”

  “What feline? A cougar?” She glanced at the island. It looked dark and remote, with only a few rays of moonlight hitting it.

  “Nothing quite that grandiose. We must rescue a poor, helpless house cat.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “It’s a good line. I’ll certainly grant you that. You are original and maybe I am a bit tipsy. But I don’t think I’ll fall for you tonight.”

  “Honest.” His voice resumed its charming air. “There’s a cat on the island who needs rescuing. Come on down here, closer to the water’s edge. You can hear him meowing.”

  She held back. “You never answered my question. Why are you spying on me from the bushes?”

  “I wasn’t spying, I was just taking a breather on the lawn. Escaping the party for a while, like you I suppose, when I heard the cat meowing for help.”

  It certainly was a plausible explanation and she had a soft heart. If a cat really needed her help, she certainly couldn’t turn her back.

  From the bushes below came the man’s soft voice, “I dare you.”

  Well, that certainly settled it. Micki looked around the deck for a way down to the ground. The only exit was through the French doors, back into the house and past the party inside. That didn’t appeal at all. “Hold onto your hat,” she called down to the bushes. “I’m coming down.”

  “I thought you’d never offer.”

  She gathered her shoes and dropped them through the railing to the ground below. Hoisting herself on top of the railing, she swung her legs up and over. The concrete was rough and uncomfortable and it caught at her dress as she pushed herself forward and then dropped down into his outstretched arms.

  He had a strong embrace with a wonderfully broad chest. He lowered her gently so her feet were on solid ground and when he loosened his grip and let his hands rest for a moment on her hips, she couldn’t help but shiver. She twisted to stare at him. He was a big man, well over six feet, with jet-black hair, a broad handsome face and a wide-open smile that implied he knew she hadn’t shivered from the cold. His deep blue eyes held approval for her athletic stunt and more than just a tinge of mischievousness. He looked like a handsome daredevil, out for a lark.

  “That’s a girl,” he approved. “A very good jump. You must have some gymnast blood mixed in with your ballerina-magician origins.”

  She held herself back from his arms. “I am not,” she stated firmly, “a girl.”

  “Not to worry.” He let her disentangle herself. “It was just an expression. In that dress, you most definitely will never be mistaken for a mere girl.”

  “What’s wrong with this dress?” she demanded with a worried frown. It was a mid-length, full-skirted dress, deceptively demure, but following her every curve. The black silk with golden glitters brought out the highlights in her tousled, flame red hair.

  “Not a thing,” he reassured her. “You outshine everyone else at the party.”

  She was unsatisfied with the answer and gave him the benefit of a twirl. “See? It’s totally prim and totally proper.”

  “If you say so.” His eyes took in her appearance in obvious appreciation and his mischievous smile grew broader as he turned toward the pond. “Well, come along then Ms. Totally Proper. May I call you Totally? We still have a cat to rescue, if you recall. Are you up for it?”

  “I’m up for anything.” But still she held back. What am I doing? She didn’t even know this man and the island was awfully dark.

  “Come on.” He turned and held out a hand. “I won’t bite.”

  Hadn’t she just been looking for some excitement? She took his hand doubtfully and let him lead her across the well-tended grounds to the edge of the pond. The grass was soft and comfortably squishy under her feet. The small, manicured island appeared to be about twenty feet away from the shore.

  “Now listen,” he turned his ear expectantly toward the island. “You can hear the cat meow.”

  They stood silently, still holding hands. The noise from the party formed a bright, artificial roar in the distance and Micki felt like she was in a warm cocoon, finally safe from the cares of the world. He squeezed her hand and began massaging her palm softly with his thumb.

  She moved uneasily. “I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.

  He frowned, as if just now remembering their mission. “Leave it to a dratted cat to turn traitor,” he complained. The man turned to the island and called out, “Kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty.” He glanced back at her, trying to enlist her support. “They really are sad, pathetic cries for help. Honestly. You’ve got to come with me.”

  She pulled her hand out from his and gathered her skirt with dignity. “I think, sir, that you are a cad. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe that I’ll return to the party.”

  A sharp meow split through the night.

  “See?” He turned to her in triumph. “What did I tell you? A sad and pathetic meow. Now you have to stay and help with the rescue.”

  She examined the island. “That was more vicious than pathetic. If it is a cat, how did he get there?”

  “I imagine he dropped from that tree and can’t get back.” He pointed to a large weeping willow whose limbs spread out over the pond.

  She nodded indecisively. It certainly seemed plausible enough. “And what do you need me for? Why don’t you just rescue him?”

  “It needs a woman’s touch.” The man nodded with a knowing air. “I just don’t have a way with cats.”

  “What makes you think I do?”

  “You have an air about you.” He seemed quite serious. “You appear to be a woman who couldn’t possibly turn her back on an animal in need.”

  She had to give him a point for that one. But then, the same would hold true for most women, so the odds of him guessing correctly were well in his favor.

  “Come on now,” he urged. “The pond’s not deep.”

  “And just how would you know that?” she demanded, her suspicions increasing. “Exactly how many women have you led to this island before?”

  “Not a one.” The man looked innocent as he held fingers in front of his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” At her look of resistance he added, “Jan and I are old friends. I watched her design this place. I saw the contractors dig the indent for the pond.”

  “This pond is manmade?” She looked around in surprise. It seemed to fit into the surroundings as a natural, integral element.

  “Absolutely. Designed by your hostess Jan herself, right down to the size and color of the rocks at the bottom.”

  Micki sighed in resignation. That was so typical of Jan. She was a wonderful woman but very controlling and very, very conscious of current trends in design and fashion. Micki could picture Jan paging through the latest architectural magazines, finding just the exact touches she wanted for her own private pool.

  Another meow erupted from the island and the man raised an eyebrow at her. “Well,” he demanded. “Are we going to stand here talking all night? Or finish our heroic mission of mercy to rescue a pathetic little kitten?”

  Lifting her skirt above her knees, Micki fell in behind him as he slipped off his shoes and led the way across the pond. She watched him moving through the water, unconcerned that the waves were rippling against the bottom of his slacks.

  Danny would have done this. A blazing flash of déjà vu slammed through her head. He would have gone out of his way to rescue a small kitten. In the deserts of eastern Oregon, they had seen a woodchuck frozen by fear in the center of the road. Danny had
stopped the car to prod the animal out of harm’s way. And on a drive through the South once, he had stopped to carry two lumbering box turtles across the road to keep them from being flattened by the next oncoming car.

  Micki stood still, staring straight ahead of her, her thoughts swirling in a white cloud of memories, taking her back.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  Who was that talking? She struggled to remember. It was a man. The man from the bushes. The man she had just met tonight. He had turned to see what was wrong and his words were penetrating the thick mental haze surrounding her.

  Of course I am. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words, so she nodded her head at him as slowly, brick by brick, she rebuilt her mental barrier. What was it about this man, that he was bringing back those awful memories? She hadn’t thought about Danny in a long time and she wasn’t about to start now. She was Micki Vaughn, contract worker, on temporary assignment in Seattle. There was no Danny. It was just her, living on her own and having a fine time doing it, thank you very much. She took a quick gulp of breath.

  A firm hand grasped hers and she looked down at it in surprise. The man was obviously concerned. “Let me help you back to shore. You aren’t scared of water, are you? Or cats?”

  “No and no. I thought I’d stepped on something, that’s all. Let’s go on.” The white cloud had lifted and she attempted to add a teasing note, “I might be scared of you, though.”

  “No!” He looked taken aback, but she could see the suppressed grin. The adventure of the moment recaptured her. Laughing, she met his eyes and felt a shiver of excitement. He did have the nicest smile. The grip on her hand loosened and became a gentle caress. He gave it a quick squeeze, then resumed wading across the pond, holding her hand loosely.

  “Now where is that cat?” They had just reached dry land on the island and he looked around them, parting shrubs to peer beneath.

  Micki gasped as a black bundle of fur with glowing green eyes rushed from the grass in front of them as if a ferocious predator was chasing it. The cat ran straight across their feet, made a flying leap and landed back in the branches of the willow tree. Climbing up the branches to the trunk of the tree, it turned, meowed at them and jumped lightly down to the mainland, disappearing into the night.