More Than Paradise Part 8

"They're just being friendly."

"Yeah, it's not your throat they want to rip out."

She hung up and carefully tapped out her cigar against the sole of her boot. There was plenty left to smoke, so the doorman would be able to sell it. She wrapped it in a twenty instead of the less desirable local currency and handed it to him.

"Anyone comes asking for me," she said. "I'm in a card game."

The doorman palmed the tip impa.s.sively. "They already asked, mister."

"I had a feeling about that." Ash swatted a mosquito and headed back inside the refrigerated sanctuary of the lobby.

She waited there for a few, chewing a breath mint and letting the cigar smell dissipate. She had only one evening to enjoy with Charlotte and they weren't going to sleep together. Instead, she'd decided they were going to have fun the way people did in Port Moresby, drinking and dancing the night away at the Pongo. They could head over there after dinner and Charlotte would get the chance to check out the PNG version of a nightclub. She'd have a blast, talk to some locals, and end up with a few stories to tell her girlfriends back home. Then Ash would walk her back to her door and say good night. No drama. No regrets.

She was relieved. And the plan also meant she wouldn't have to set Charlotte straight about the gender issue. They weren't going to sleep together, so it didn't matter what she believed. If the right moment presented itself, Ash would tell her the truth. If it didn't, so what? No harm done.

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* 80 *

CHAPTER SEVEN.

I don't normally do this kind of thing." Charlotte left a shoe behind as she lurched into her room. A hand caught her arm, steadying her.

Ash asked, "What kind of thing?"

"Get really drunk and go dancing." She allowed Ash to guide her toward the bed, then opped onto the pillows, her head swimming.

"Thanks for helping me up here."

Ash scooped up the discarded shoe and removed the other one from Charlotte's foot. "Are you okay?"

"You mean other than setting myself up for a splitting headache tomorrow morning?"

"I'll tell housekeeping to send you up some aspirin."

"You know something." Charlotte wanted to sit up straight and speak clearly, but she stayed where she was and slurred like a lush, "You're a real gentleman."

Ash gave her an odd look. "Just on that...there's something I've been meaning to say."

"What?"

Charlotte collected her wits. Was this the moment she'd hoped to avoid, when she'd have to explain her s.e.xual orientation to a man hoping for more than a farewell kiss on the cheek? Things had been going so nicely, she'd started to think it wasn't going to happen. At some point during their after-dinner partying in the Pongo Tavern, she'd decided for certain that Ash was gay. It was the only plausible reason he hadn't hit on her. And it would also explain the odd mix of feelings she had around him. She felt safe and unself-conscious, like she could * 81 *

just be herself. She never felt that way with any of the perfectly nice lesbians she dated.

Then there was that odd feeling of connection. If she hadn't understood what it was about, all kinds of warning bells would have been ringing. But she and Ash shared the bond of strangers who'd colluded in a dangerous experience, and the ickers of attraction she kept noticing obviously stemmed from that bond. Also, in a purely cerebral sense, she could appreciate Ash's looks. Scrubbed up, with his scruffy charm ditched in favor of a distinctly urban sophistication, he seemed neither masculine nor feminine; in fact, she'd barely recognized him when she entered the bar earlier that evening.

The wavy hair she'd thought was dull mouse was actually sun-streaked dark corn blond. His face was not as creased as she'd thought, probably because it was now clean. But the same a.s.sessing cobalt eyes stared out from beneath a wave that drooped across his forehead and the same straight but sensuous mouth made him seem very serious until he smiled. The smile was roguish and infectious, ashing teeth that seemed extra white against his tan complexion. He looked like a tough guy with an artistic side. The artistic side had obviously chosen the clothes he was wearing tonight.

Most of the men dancing at the Pongo wore Hawaiian shirts and long, baggy shorts. Ash stuck out as the one who could t in strolling down any street in Milan. Even when he took off his ne dark weave jacket, he still looked like Mr. GQ in black pants and a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Yes, she concluded, he had to be gay. The alternative, one of those "metros.e.xual" males, would never choose to live in a place like PNG.

"I should have lled you in sooner." Ash dropped the jacket she was carrying onto an armchair and extracted a bottle of Evian from the minibar. "But I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Charlotte chewed her lip. Apparently she had missed something he'd just said because she was too busy contemplating how attractive he was. So much for her rock-solid lesbian credentials. In case she was wrong about the gay thing, she took a stab at the information she hadn't heard.

"Are you married?" With those looks, women would be breaking down his door if he were straight. "I mean, if you are there's no reason to feel guilty. We haven't done anything."

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"I'm not married." She took the cap off the Evian and said, "Here, drink some of this."

"I knew it." Charlotte reached for the bottle but it slid from her hand, spraying water in all directions.

Ash found a towel to put on the oor, then got another bottle and pa.s.sed it to her.

"You're gay, aren't you?" Charlotte announced. "It's okay to tell me. I'm not h.o.m.ophobic. Drunk, yes. But de nitely not a h.o.m.ophobe."

Ash waited till she'd nished rambling, then said, "Yes, I'm gay."

"I guessed that! Even though you're all tough, I could tell."

Ash blinked. "I don't think you understand."

Charlotte didn't blurt out, Oh, my G.o.d. You're transs.e.xual? How did one tactfully inquire? "Are you...um..."

Ash's wry expression spoke volumes. "Charlotte, I'm a woman, not a gay man."

"A woman?" The cogs of her mind slowly ground to a conclusion.

"Are you saying you're FTM?"

"No, just a regular card-carrying butch."

Charlotte let go of Ash's hand and opped back into her pillows once more. Fuzzily, she stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry." Ash perched on the edge of the bed. "I didn't set out to deceive you. It just seemed like a good idea not to say anything at the bar because I thought you'd be upset about the kiss."

Charlotte touched her lips. The kiss. Horri ed, she blurted, "I'd never have done that if I knew."

"I gured."

"How can you be so casual about it!" She elbowed her way up the bed so she could prop her back against the headboard. "You should have told me."

"Yes, I should have said something in the taxi afterward. I apologize."

Charlotte snorted, lost for words and bewildered by her own blindness. How could she not have seen that Ash was a woman? Now that she knew, it was so obvious she had no idea how she could have missed every sign. No facial hair. A neck and throat that belonged to a woman. Shoulders and wrists slightly too narrow. Strong smooth hands, somewhat nely boned for a man's. Not much of a waist or b.u.t.t, * 83 *

but still enough shape that Charlotte should have gured it out, even though the cut of her pants wasn't feminine.

A woman could be quietly spoken, physically powerful, and carry weapons. A woman could be a pilot. Ash had never said she was a man.

Charlotte had a.s.sumed it, and even if she had failed to notice all the clues that had stared her in the face, the kiss was a neon sign. She'd never had a s.e.xual feeling for a man in her life. Why start now? That, if nothing else, should have made her stop and think.

"I am so stupid," she concluded, stunned by what now seemed like willful self-deception. Apparently she had believed what she wanted to believe. And she called herself a scientist!

"It's really no big deal." Ash seemed serenely un ustered. "People mistake me for a man all the time. And I have to tell you, it makes my life easier."

Charlotte could see how that would be true for someone living in a crime-torn city on the fringes of civilization. She could also see why Ash might not have told her in the bar. They'd walked out of there unscathed, which meant the het-couple conduct had been a good plan.

Only they both knew that phony kiss had turned out to be a whole lot more.

"You kissed me like..." Charlotte got stuck on the semantics.

"Like you're a desirable woman?" Ash supplied. "Yes, and you didn't seem to mind."

"Because I thought you were a man!"

"Exactly. And you reacted like any normal heteros.e.xual woman would."

Heteros.e.xual! Charlotte knew she was blushing, but she couldn't do a thing to arrest the pounding ow of blood to her cheeks. If she got up now to splash water on her face, she would only fall over.

Summoning all the dignity she could muster, she said, "I think you should leave."

"I think so, too." Emotion smoldered beneath the level blue gaze.

Charlotte wasn't sure how to read what she was seeing. If Ash was angry, it didn't show in her tone or her face. In fact, she seemed infuriatingly calm. Charlotte did exactly the same thing herself when she was in danger of losing her temper. She wished she could pull off her usual arrogant disdain now, but she'd blown her chances with that last champagne c.o.c.ktail.

Normally she drank very little, at risk of losing control and because * 84 *

drunkenness disgusted her. Tonight she'd made an exception because she was feeling at ease. Ash Evans had fooled her into lowering her guard. Angrily she searched her muddled mind for something to throw at the rst woman who'd gotten under her skin since Britt.

"Guess what," she said, wishing she could stop the wavering of her voice. "I'm not as heteros.e.xual as you think. I happen to be a lesbian and I kiss women all the time. For the record, you're nothing special in that department."

Ash's mouth moved a fraction, its taut line quirking like she found something comical in Charlotte's jibe. "You know something? I'm truly happy you feel that way."

Charlotte waited for the punch line, but Ash got to her feet and slid a hand into the pocket of her elegant pants. She was so effortlessly hot, Charlotte could only return her dispa.s.sionate regard with helpless fascination, reliving the kiss through a whole different frame of reference. Desire wrenched at her belly. Her mouth dried and her senses quivered.

"Why?" she croaked. "Why are you happy I said that?"

For a eeting instant, raw emotion wiped all sign of detachment from Ash's face and she almost seemed to be talking to herself. "Because if you felt any other way, I would not be able to walk out of here."

Before Charlotte could convert her surprise to intelligible speech, Ash swung her jacket from the chair and hooked it over her shoulder.

She paused as she opened the door, casting a long look back.

"Good-bye, Charlotte," she said with disquieting tenderness. "I'll think of you."

v Ash's most important customer had once lived the Spartan life of a British SAS of cer. He was making up for it now in an opulent fortress perched above the hillside mansions of Pom's elite. A couple of gilt lions guarded the ma.s.sive security gates, along with a security detachment Colonel Tobias Nagle, as he was known on the company Web site, claimed made a good advertis.e.m.e.nt for his services.

Like the rest of his private army, the detail had their own special sand-colored uniforms with the Nagle Global Diligence emblem on the epaulettes, belt buckles, and berets. Tubby paid a starting salary of $120K for his full-timers, recruiting former military from all over * 85 *

the world. He'd been in the business for thirty years, starting out as a mercenary in Africa and gradually working his way up to the pinnacle of his profession-legitimate government contracts.

Rebel wars and covert ops were always a lucrative source of revenue for soldiers of fortune, but they lacked the respectability Tubby seemed to crave. If he couldn't have genuine military credentials, he wanted at least to sit at the same table as those who did, to dine with generals and have regular troops call him "sir" like they used to. He wanted his own men to wear the NGD uniform with pride and to see themselves as elite forces, just like any other.

Consequently, he was still reeling that his archrival Tim Spicer had nailed the $300 million Pentagon contract for Iraq. This was the same loser responsible for the Sandline disaster and the Arms-to-Africa scandal, debacles apparently seen by the White House as compelling evidence of his competence for the job at hand. And if you wanted to believe Tubby's jaundiced opinion, Spicer was a trigger-happy opportunist without a strategic-planning bone in his body.

Ash only knew the guy by reputation and it seemed like things had panned out pretty well for him. She got regular offers from his company, Aegis. Every boss in the private military services sector was desperate for chopper pilots with special ops experience. And with the Bush Administration ignoring overbilling and bleeding a river of money into the coffers of war pro teers, Spicer and compet.i.tors like Blackwater were all cashed up and willing to pay top dollar.

Ash knew this was why Tubby watched her every move and tried to keep her on a short leash by piling on the work. He needed to beat out potential rivals if he wanted to keep her on the payroll. She supposed this could be the motivation for his latest fat offer. Fifty large for hand-holding a few scientists. She'd be laughing all the way to the bank if that was as demanding as it got.

To make her happy, Tubby had his slavering guard dogs penned up when she arrived and he waved a bottle of the nest Kentucky sipping whiskey money could buy. He was a single malt drinker himself and tried to convert her every time they shot the breeze. This week, as an additional temptation to visitors, he had procured the services of a couple of Australian escorts, own in from Brisbane. They were predictably named Bambi and Misty and their job involved lounging around the pool and providing any other services guests required. Tubby thought * 86 *

this type of hospitality made the right impression when he entertained mining executives.

He had a wife stashed somewhere spending his money, and a couple of sons attending a fancy school in England. He liked to show Ash videos of them playing cricket and rowing boats, footage taken by their bodyguards. Tonight he had a snapshot of them standing in the grounds of a castle with a group of their schoolmates, all wearing top hats and tails.

"They met Her Majesty," he said, and in case Ash didn't know who he was talking about, "I mean Queen Elizabeth of England. A garden party at Windsor Castle, this was."

Ash said, "You must be very proud."

Tubby directed her attention to the oodlit terraces beyond a wall of bulletproof gla.s.s. Bambi and Misty were frolicking topless in the pool. That had to get old, Ash thought, spending a week at a time in and out of chlorinated water, pretending all you wanted to do was sip c.o.c.ktails and toss a beach ball around while listening to Bryan Ferry turned up loud on the outdoor speakers. And in between times f.u.c.king a corpulent sixty-year-old who kept a doctor on call in case the v.i.a.g.r.a gave him a heart attack.

Tubby caught her looking at the women and mistook her quizzical disinterest for something else. With a pointed wink, he said, "Just say the word. Anything you want, my love. You name it."

"This isn't a social call," Ash responded coolly. "But thanks for the mammaries."

Tubby chuckled and sipped his scotch with the gravity of a man about to dazzle those around him. "Okay, here's the deal." In the most formal version of his British accent, he con ded, "NGD is breaking into a whole new arena. Take a look at this."

He hit a remote and the at screen on the opposite wall came alive. The scene was a laboratory, everything white and gla.s.sy. People in white coats and masks hung over microscopes and glided robotically around, holding test tubes. Ash wondered if Charlotte was working in a facility like that. No wonder she was germ-phobic.

She asked Tubby, "We're going to be providing chemical hazard zone security?"

"f.u.c.k, no." He dismissed that idea like the small potatoes it was.

"That's only part of it. We're moving into multilevel diligence for the * 87 *

drug companies. Not as big as oil and commodities, but it's a low-risk niche. Something for the career mobile leatherneck who doesn't want his head cut off by heathen. See those gla.s.s tubes? That could be the cure for cancer."

"Well," Ash conceded, "they xed impotence."