She ignored his last remark; that her father had come face-to-face with but one of her many lovers, didn't interest her at all. She wiggled onto the next bar stool and gazed at him with a seductive look burning in her eyes, the effect heightened by the long black hair winding around one shoulder. Her skin glowed like polished bronze under the dim lights of the cocktail lounge.
She whispered, «How about that drink?»
Pitt nodded at the bartender. «A Brandy Alexander for the… ah, lady.»
She scowled a little and then smiled. «Don't you know that being referred to as a lady is very old- fashioned?»
«An old carry-over. All men want a girl, just like the girl, that married dear old Dad.»
«Mom was a drag,» she said, her voice elaborately casual.
«How about Dad?»
«Dad was a will-o'-the-wisp. He was never home, always chasing after some smelly old derelict barge or a forgotten shipwreck. He loved the ocean more than he loved his own family. The night I was born, he was rescuing the crew of a sinking oil tanker in the mid-Pacific. When I graduated from high school, he was at sea searching for a missing aircraft. And when Mother died, our dear admiral was charting icebergs off Greenland with some long- haired freaks from the Eaton School of Oceanography.» Her eyes shifted just enough to let Pitt know he was onto her sore spot. «So don't bother shedding tears over this father-daughter relationship. The admiral and I tolerate each other purely out of social convenience.»
Pitt stared down at her. «You're all grown up now; why don't you leave home?»
The bartender brought her drink and she sipped it. «What better deal can a girl find? I'm continually surrounded by handsome males in uniform. Look at the odds; thousands of men and no competition. Why should I leave the old homestead and scrounge for leftovers? No, the admiral needs the image of a family man, and I need old Dad for the fringe benefits that come with being an admiral's daughter.» Then she looked at him, faking a shy and bashful expression. «My apartment? Shall we?»
«You'll have to take a raincheck, Miss Hunter,» said a delicate voice behind them. «The captain is waiting for me.»
Adrian and Pitt both turned in unison. There stood the most exotic-looking woman Pitt had ever seen. She possessed eyes so gray, they defied reality, and her hair fell in an enchanting cascade of red, presenting a vibrant contrast against the green, Oriental sheath dress that adhered to her curvaceous body.
Pitt quickly searched his memory, but with no success. He was certain he had never laid eyes on this beauty before. When he rose off the bar stool, he was pleasingly surprised to feel his heart accelerate. She was the first woman to ignite his emotions on a first meeting since a basset hound-eyed blond in the fifth grade who bit him on the arm during recess.
Adrian was the first to break the silence. «I'm sorry, honey, but as they say in the old family mining claim, you're trespassing.»
Adrian seemed to enjoy the situation. To her, the intruder was no more than a nuisance. She turned, offering her back to the girl, and began sipping her drink again.
The great gray eyes never strayed from Adrian. «Your rudeness, Miss Hunter, is only surpassed by your reputation as a tramp.»
Adrian was too cool to give up an inch. She sat immobile, staring straight ahead at the girl's reflection in the mirror behind the bar. «Fifty dollars?» she said loudly so all within thirty feet could hear. «Considering your amateur standing and less than mediocre talents, you're vastly overpriced.»
Several customers sitting in the immediate neighborhood of the bar were listening intently to the caustic exchange. The women were frowning, but the men were grinning, secretly envying the speechless male who was trapped in the no-man's-land of the sex battle. Pitt was adequately awed. It was a new experience to have two lovely females trading barbs over his possession. His ego basked in the sheer exhilaration of the moment.
«May I speak with you in private, Miss Hunter?» asked the mysterious girl in the green dress.
Adrian nodded. «Why not?» She turned and slid smoothly off the bar stool, following the stranger through the open doors that led to the hotel's private beach. Pitt stared in rapt fascination at both pairs of rounded hips as they rotated in a fluidlike motion that was, or so Pitt imagined, suggestive of two beach-balls caught in the same swirling whirlpool.
Pitt sighed and leaned limply against the bar, feeling like a spider eyeing two flies circling his net, and wishing they'd entangle somewhere else. Then he caught the open stares of his audience; he grinned and bowed, acknowledging their steadfast attention before he turned back to the bar.
There's been enough surprises for one day, he ruefully admitted to himself. Where will it all end? Heeding the call for more courage, he signaled the bartender and ordered another Cutty on the rocks— a double tins time.
Fifteen minutes later, Gray Eyes returned and stood silently behind him. Pitt was so deeply lost in thought that it took him several seconds before he sensed her presence and looked up to be met by her reflection in the mirror.
Her lips moved in what could have been the beginning of a smile. «To the victor goes the spoils?» It was a question asked hesitantly.
The bruise beneath her right eye had begun the transformation from red to purple, and a small cut on her lower lip unleashed a few drops of blood that trickled down her chin, failing with precise accuracy down the cleavage between her breasts. Pitt still thought she was the most desirable woman he'd ever seen.
«And the loser?» he asked.
«Shell be in need of heavy makeup for a few days, but I think shell survive to fight another day.»
He pulled his handkerchief from a pocket, wrapped it around an ice cube fished from his glass, and touched it lightly to her lip. «Here, keep this pressed against the cut It'll contain the swelling.»
She forced a wan smile and nodded a thank you.
His meddling audience was back, this time with a concerted leer that bordered on infamy. Quickly, he paid off the bartender, taking the girl by the arm and dragging her from the lounge to the beach outside. Pitt scanned the shoreline but there was no sign of Adrian.
«Mind telling me what happened?»
She had to remove the ice cube to speak. «Isn't it obvious? Miss Hunter wouldn't listen to reason.»
Pitt looked at her, half uncertainly, half specu-latively. Why elect me, he thought. Why fight over a man she'd never met? And the jackpot question— what was her game? Pitt didn't kid himself; no movie studio would ever star him in a remake of Don Juan. He'd had his share of women, but never before the usual preliminaries* the artful little lies, the step-by-step manuevers. He decided not to delve into her reasons but to let the mystery heighten the intrigue.
«Shall we walk along the beach?» he asked.
1 was hoping you'd suggest that» She smiled, and immediately had him in her power. And she knew it. She shrewdly watched Ms eyes wander to her breasts, then down her body to her legs.
Her breasts were surprisingly small and taut in contrast with the accented curves that abounded the rest of her figure. In the moonlight and the flaming glow from the torches staked around the hotel terrace, he could see where the deeply tanned flesh, speckled by blood, plunged invitingly beneath the dress. Lower and beyond, her waist gently tapered to a firm, flat stomach which then exploded into a brace of pneumatic hips that fought to escape the tight seams of their green prison. She looked Indian, but the flaming red hair that fell to the small of her back did not attest to it.
«If you keep staring at me, 111 be forced to charge you admission.»
Pitt made an effort to look shyly embarrassed but didn't pull it off. «I thought art galleries were free.»
She squeezed his arm. «Not if you wish to purchase something.»
«I like to browse. I rarely buy.»
«So you're a man of principles.»
«I have a few, but they don't apply to women.» Her perfume was getting to him, a fragrance that somehow seemed familiar.
She stopped, clinging to him for support, and removed her shoes, wriggling her toes in the cool sand of Waikiki Beach. They strolled on in silence for a few minutes, she tightened her grip on his arm and pulled herself close as they walked.
Her eyes glinted in the dim light and she said in a low voice, «My name is Summer.»
