“And now?” Jake asked. “You've had your vacation. Do you wish that you were back in your old life?”
Molly could see the candlelight flickering in his eyes. “I can't ever go back to my old life,” she said. “Why do you ask? Are you hoping to hear me say that I'm glad? Would that ease your conscience?”
He exhaled a short breath. “I don't have a guilty conscience. I was just curious. You seem happy now, but I didn't know you before. All I saw was how you reacted to your father, that night on the phone.”
Molly hesitated. This topic had been on her mind for the past week, ever since that terrible conversation with Stanford. “I am happy,” she said, slowly. “It's interesting. Before Dean Fowler told me that I wouldn't be offered tenure, he said that my choice to spend my time working on
Pirate Gold
—instead of my academic research—didn't reflect the College Principles.”
“I can guess what those are,” Jake said. “Principle One: Do what you're told to do, not what you want to do.”
“I think I was supposed to want to work on my research,” Molly said. “But I didn't. I wanted to write novels. I argued with the dean about it then, but recently I've been wondering if he was right. The Belden College Principles don't seem very compatible with the Molly Shaw Principles.”
Jake looked curious. “And those are…?”
Molly smiled. “Never leave a glass of champagne half empty,” she said, and held hers out to him.
“Words to live by,” Jake said. He reached out with the bottle and refilled her glass. The foam rose to a rounded dome over the rim, then settled. “What's next?”
“Never share a wig with a cat.”
He grinned. “I'll keep that in mind. Any others?”
“Always keep your eyes open when men in white robes offer to awaken your chakras.”
“I'm not sure that applies to me,” Jake said. “But here's one that does. Never listen to short men in seersucker suits who tell you that I prefer voluptuous blondes.”
“Oh,” Molly said. “I like that.”
“Here's another one, then,” he said, leaning forward. His steady gaze held hers, and a shiver of excitement ran through her. “Never spend time talking if you could be doing something better.”
“Like attending to unfinished business?” Molly murmured. She stood up and came around the table to him. He pulled her down into his lap and began to kiss her hungrily, his tongue hot against hers. Molly slid her hands up under his T-shirt and ran her palms over the flat ridges and curves of his chest, loving the feel of soft skin over hard muscle. She grabbed the shirt's hem and lifted it, pulling it over Jake's head and off, with some help from him.
It was almost dark now, but the glow from the lanterns reflected softly off of his golden skin. The sight of him gave Molly a moment's pause, as she suddenly wondered what on earth she was doing here, in a tropical clearing, dizzy with champagne, kissing a man like this. But it was not the kind of situation that called for scholarly analysis, or logical thinking of any kind. It demanded action, and Molly was very willing to oblige.
One of Jake's hands was gripping her thigh, sliding upward, pushing the tight spandex hem of the pink minidress higher and higher. Molly looked into his eyes, biting her bottom lip, and saw his mouth curve knowingly as he read the anticipation on her face. He pulled his hand away…and they both jumped, startled, as the dress snapped back into place with an audible crack.
Molly stiffened, but Jake began to laugh. He stood up, easing her to her feet. “Nice dress,” he said. “What is it, some kind of chastity protection system? You'd never guess by looking at it.”
“It's a tease,” Molly said. “Like Sandra.”
“Let's get rid of it before it takes one of my fingers off.”
“What if someone comes?”
“Then we'll hide in the bushes and sic the dress on them,” Jake said. “But don't worry. It's dark, so we'll see headlights long before anyone gets this far.”
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Molly said as she wriggled out of the dress. She had already left the Sandra bra—and most of its contents—on the floor of the Jeep, and now she was wearing only a tiny scrap of a bikini that covered less than Eve's fig leaf. “I've never been naked outdoors before.”
“Never?” Jake asked. “Not even to swim?” He put his arms around her, and she shivered—though not with cold—as her nipples pressed against the bare skin of his chest. His hands slid down to grip the backs of her thighs, pulling her snugly up and against him.
“Never,” Molly whispered against his mouth as he bent his head to kiss her again. She could feel the warmth of the tropical night breeze against her whole body. Crickets had begun to trill in the bushes, and their song seemed to be pulsing in time with the beat of her heart.
With an effortlessness that surprised her, Jake bent and hooked one arm around her waist and another under her knees, and scooped her up. She gasped, clutching at him, as he stepped backward and sat down in the chair again, with Molly cradled against him. His mouth moved down to taste the hollow at the base of her throat, and Molly tipped her head back, staring upward. The stars were coming out in a glittering profusion, so abundant that they blurred together like a smear of frost over the inky sky.
She slid one hand up the nape of his neck and knotted her fingers into his thick hair. “I have a new Molly Shaw Principle,” she murmured.
He lifted his head to look at her, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.
“Never be the only one naked outdoors,” she said, sliding her other hand down to fumble with the button at the waistband of his khaki shorts. Jake laughed softly, low in his throat, and pulled his arm out from under Molly's knees, reaching around to assist her.
“I'll do my best to comply,” he said seriously. “Because I'm starting to think that I want tenure.”
“A
nd then Ingrid told the guard that she didn't know me!” Elaine exclaimed. “They detained me for fifteen minutes, until they understood that I was a personal friend of Mr. Berenger. But by then, their apology was
totally
inadequate.” She put down her fork and dabbed at her lips with her napkin.
It was early on Sunday morning, and Molly and Jake were due to leave for New York at noon. Molly had come down to the resort to have breakfast at the cottage with Elaine and Carter and to hear the story of what had gone wrong with the previous day's plan.
The trouble had begun when the photo shoot ended. Molly and Rama Guru had been ensconced in the cabana, and Elaine, seizing the chance, had tried to step over the ropes to approach Ingrid. But a security guard had stopped her, then held her for questioning after Ingrid airily claimed that she'd never seen Elaine before in her life.
“I have never been more offended in my life,” Elaine said darkly. “That girl is too much of a fool to deserve my help. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”
“At least she's not Seeking the Light anymore,” Carter pointed out. “You did a good deed. Let your heart be warmed by that.”
Elaine glared at him. “Thank you, Carter, but I don't find much consolation in that, and neither does Michael.”
What had happened, according to Elaine—who had been released by security and arrived at the cabana only moments after Jake dragged Molly away—was that Ingrid had informed Rama Guru that his betrayal meant nothing, because there was another man who truly loved her, in a genuinely spiritual way.
Elaine had known a perfect opening when she saw one. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “That's right. And guess what, dear. He's here, waiting for you.”
“Who is?” Ingrid had asked.
“Michael, of course. He's come to take you home.”
“I'm not going back to Michael. I need a sensitive, artistic man. Michael is boring.”
“But he's been writing poetry for you,” Elaine protested. “It's very sensitive. ‘My love/is a dove/it flew over the ocean/to prove my devotion’ How about that!”
“I don't care. Pascal is the only man I want.”
“What?
Him?”
Elaine gasped, staring at the photographer, who winked at her.
Ingrid had then informed Elaine that she was already studying French so that she would be able to speak it with their baby, who was due in August. At that point, Elaine had washed her hands of the whole affair.
“Seems to me that Michael is actually taking it pretty well,” Carter remarked.
“What?” Elaine snapped. “Don't be absurd. The man is devastated.”
“If he was so desperate to have Ingrid back, then why did he bring the divorce papers with him?”
“Carter, you have no understanding of how an intelligent businessman's mind works. He gave it his best. He wrote poetry for her, for heaven's sake. But if she's going to be completely unreasonable, then Michael can't be blamed for having a backup plan.”
“He sure did. Who would have guessed that that guy in the plaid shorts was his lawyer?”
Elaine pursed her lips. “It's just as well that it's been wrapped up quickly.”
Carter nodded. “I'll bet Michael thinks so, too. I saw him talking to Brooke Metzner on the beach last night.”
“What?” Elaine's eyes widened. “Brooke is here?”
“Not anymore. She was on the ferry back to Antigua with Michael. She had a lot of luggage.”
Elaine was barely listening. “She's been on the hunt for a rich husband for ages. I arranged a date between her and that ill-fated heir to the Wallabee Chicken fortune last year, and it looked good for a while, but you know what happened to him. Oh, this is very interesting news. I'm going to call her right now and find out what happened. Excuse me.”
She left the table.
“And so it continues,” Carter said. “Ingrid has escaped my sister's web of intrigue, but Michael never will. Not unless his stock takes another dive, that is.”
“I have to go, too,” Molly said. “I'm supposed to meet Jake at the heliport.”
“Not yet,” Carter said quickly. “Have some more coffee. Elaine and I are flying back to Chicago tomorrow, but I'll be in New York on Wednesday. I've got a meeting with
Vanity Fair.
Do you want to get together for lunch?”
“Sure. Are you staying at the Grand?”
“No, the Plaza. Call me. After that, who knows when I'll see you again?”
“In April,” Molly said. “When all of this is over.”
Carter bent down to fumble in the canvas beach bag sitting by the foot of his chair. “I have something for you,” he said.
He straightened up again, holding a wadded-up green sweater, which he plopped onto the tablecloth. Molly frowned at it, wondering why he wanted to give her his old sweater, but then he handed her a copy of the latest
Time
magazine, opened to a half-page article featuring a picture of her—one of the early publicity shots that had been taken when she arrived at Gold Bay. “Have you seen this?” he asked. “They describe you as a ‘literary sensation’ who single-handedly revived the market for historical sagas.”
“Yes,” Molly said. It was one of a number of pieces that Tom had placed in major magazines, and Cora had already shown it to her. The “interview” had been taken from her conversation with the Associated Press reporter at the Berenger Grand opening.
“I'll bet you're glad you agreed to fake this engagement,” Carter said. “The publicity has been very good for your book sales.”
Molly glanced at him curiously. His expression was neutral, but she thought that she'd heard a slight edge to his tone. If so, she could hardly blame him for it. Carter had always been hungry for fame—much more so than she was. She knew that he was happy for her, but it couldn't be easy for him to stand on the sidelines and watch her achieve what he so desperately wanted for himself. He was doing a heroic job of concealing his feelings, though, and she was touched by his effort.
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Carter,” she said, “thank you. You're a good friend.”
He looked surprised, then began to blush, to her amusement. “I want the best for you, Molly,” he said. “I truly do. That's what friends are for.”
“I know. We'll have a good time in Chicago when this is all over,” she said, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach at the thought of Jake fading out of her life forever. By now, she knew how it would happen. There would be no drama, no breakup announcement. Just a gradual slowing down of available news. It would all be done carefully and quietly, handled by Tom, who would keep it under the media's radar until some point in the future when it was already obvious to everyone that she and Jake were no longer a couple.
“Will you be glad?” Carter asked. “When this fake engagement is over, I mean?”
“I don't know,” Molly said. “In some ways, yes. I'm tired of lies and deception, for anyone's sake. I'm done with that. I'm going to live on my own terms for a change.” That much, she knew. She was ready to abandon the dutiful daughter, the tense academic, the tottering bombshell, and the cardboard fiancée. The only person left standing in April would be the real Molly Shaw, for better or for worse.
“What happens if Atlas Group acquires Berenger before April? Does the plan end early?”
“I don't know,” Molly said. “I guess so. We haven't talked about it.”
“What if the stock price doesn't go up fast enough, and Jake decides that he would get better publicity if you two really got married?”
“What? That's ridiculous.”
“But just hypothetically speaking, if he asked you to do it, would you? Marry him?”
“No,” Molly said. The sunny sparkle of the morning suddenly dimmed, and she felt a twist of pain in her heart. “I couldn't actually marry Jake. I don't mind pretending to be engaged, but there's only so far I'm willing to go to help raise the Berenger stock price, and that seems a little extreme.”
Carter grinned suddenly.
“What?” Molly asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I'm just glad to hear that.”
She looked curiously at him. “You are? I would've thought that you would tell me to go ahead with something like that. Think of the access…the inside scoop…” She was teasing him, but he didn't smile.
“Molly,” he said, “I'm trying to be helpful. Your crush on Jake is affecting your brain, and it's my duty to help you regain your perspective.”