lustrous mahogany sheen of his hair. Dressed in a golden tan sports jacket and navy blue slacks and with his shirt unbuttoned, he looked casually elegant and totally at ease. Strangely, Julie wasn't.
His gaze centered on the flower behind her right ear. "Are you looking for a lover, Miss Lancaster?"
Her hand went guiltily to the blossom. "Is that what it means when you wear it on the right side? I accidentally picked it, and it was so pretty, I decided it was a shame to throw it away, so I stuck it in my hair."
"I have no idea if that's what it means when you wear a flower there," Ruel answered her initial question. "That was simply my first thought. Perhaps because you resemble a golden flower on a pale green stem. Or maybe because when a flower blooms it issues a beguiling fragrance to lure a bee to its center, thus achieving pollination."
All the time that he was speaking in that low, conversational tone, he never glanced at the flower in her hair. He studied her mouth. Her lips felt dry. She wanted to moisten them, but she sensed it would invite a different kind of pollination. His words had nothing to do with bees and flowers and pollination; they had been an analogy of male and female desire. Her heart seemed to trip over itself trying to find its regular beat.
"I hope no bee decides to pollinate . . . the flower in my hair." Julie tried to dismiss her sudden tension with a soft laugh and deliberate obtuseness. His mouth quirked at her response, amused in a cynical fashion.
"Ruel?" Malia called to him from the dining room door to the lanai. "There's a phone call for you."
"Thank you, Malia, I'll be right in," he answered, never taking his eyes from Julie. "Enjoy your stroll, Miss Lancaster."
When he had gone, Julie discovered she was trembling. How ridiculous, she scolded herself. Why should she become so disturbed by a little innocent sexual sparring with words? Surely she was more mature than that. But it was several minutes before she had control of her silly nerves. By then it was almost time for dinner.
Emily Harmon was at the table when she entered through the French doors. A place was set for Ruel, but he wasn't in the room. Julie took her regular chair. Malia entered the dining room and Emily gave her a sharp look.
"He's still on the telephone, Miss Emily."
"Go ahead and serve the soup, Malia," Emily ordered.
The housekeeper served the soup—a delectable bisque. Julie was haft-finished with hers when Ruel came striding into the room. He looked not the least bit upset that he was late, or that they had begun without him.
"Your soup is getting cold," Emily informed him.
Instead of walking to his chair at the head of the table, Ruel stopped at his aunt's. "Something has come up. I won't be able to have dinner with you tonight after all."
Disappointment drooped the corners of the older woman's mouth for an instant, but it was banished quickly by what could only be described as a "stiff upper lip."
"Why?" she demanded.
"I have to go into the city." He bent and lightly kissed the woman's forehead. "Don't wait up for me, Em."
The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at his aunt. Julie thought she detected an affectionate tone in his voice even as he gently mocked her.
The woman sniffed in disdain. "I haven't waited up for you in years, Ruel."
"Good night." It was an all encompassing farewell that Ruel issued as he walked from the room.
Julie thought it was best not to make any comment about his departure unless Emily mentioned it. Minutes later, the quiet of the evening was broken by the roar of the sports car as it accelerated from the house.
"Why does he have to drive so fast?" Emily muttered, masking her concern with anger. She caught Julie's glance and added, "I wouldn't have been surprised if Ruel had been in an accident instead of Deborah."
Julie waited until Malia had taken away the soup dishes, then tried to introduce a different topic. "Deborah mentioned that the cast
His gaze centered on the flower behind her right ear. "Are you looking for a lover, Miss Lancaster?"
Her hand went guiltily to the blossom. "Is that what it means when you wear it on the right side? I accidentally picked it, and it was so pretty, I decided it was a shame to throw it away, so I stuck it in my hair."
"I have no idea if that's what it means when you wear a flower there," Ruel answered her initial question. "That was simply my first thought. Perhaps because you resemble a golden flower on a pale green stem. Or maybe because when a flower blooms it issues a beguiling fragrance to lure a bee to its center, thus achieving pollination."
All the time that he was speaking in that low, conversational tone, he never glanced at the flower in her hair. He studied her mouth. Her lips felt dry. She wanted to moisten them, but she sensed it would invite a different kind of pollination. His words had nothing to do with bees and flowers and pollination; they had been an analogy of male and female desire. Her heart seemed to trip over itself trying to find its regular beat.
"I hope no bee decides to pollinate . . . the flower in my hair." Julie tried to dismiss her sudden tension with a soft laugh and deliberate obtuseness. His mouth quirked at her response, amused in a cynical fashion.
"Ruel?" Malia called to him from the dining room door to the lanai. "There's a phone call for you."
"Thank you, Malia, I'll be right in," he answered, never taking his eyes from Julie. "Enjoy your stroll, Miss Lancaster."
When he had gone, Julie discovered she was trembling. How ridiculous, she scolded herself. Why should she become so disturbed by a little innocent sexual sparring with words? Surely she was more mature than that. But it was several minutes before she had control of her silly nerves. By then it was almost time for dinner.
Emily Harmon was at the table when she entered through the French doors. A place was set for Ruel, but he wasn't in the room. Julie took her regular chair. Malia entered the dining room and Emily gave her a sharp look.
"He's still on the telephone, Miss Emily."
"Go ahead and serve the soup, Malia," Emily ordered.
The housekeeper served the soup—a delectable bisque. Julie was haft-finished with hers when Ruel came striding into the room. He looked not the least bit upset that he was late, or that they had begun without him.
"Your soup is getting cold," Emily informed him.
Instead of walking to his chair at the head of the table, Ruel stopped at his aunt's. "Something has come up. I won't be able to have dinner with you tonight after all."
Disappointment drooped the corners of the older woman's mouth for an instant, but it was banished quickly by what could only be described as a "stiff upper lip."
"Why?" she demanded.
"I have to go into the city." He bent and lightly kissed the woman's forehead. "Don't wait up for me, Em."
The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at his aunt. Julie thought she detected an affectionate tone in his voice even as he gently mocked her.
The woman sniffed in disdain. "I haven't waited up for you in years, Ruel."
"Good night." It was an all encompassing farewell that Ruel issued as he walked from the room.
Julie thought it was best not to make any comment about his departure unless Emily mentioned it. Minutes later, the quiet of the evening was broken by the roar of the sports car as it accelerated from the house.
"Why does he have to drive so fast?" Emily muttered, masking her concern with anger. She caught Julie's glance and added, "I wouldn't have been surprised if Ruel had been in an accident instead of Deborah."
Julie waited until Malia had taken away the soup dishes, then tried to introduce a different topic. "Deborah mentioned that the cast
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