Pages of Passion by Dara Girard Page A

remembering his conversation with Darren.
    “How are things going?” Darren had asked him.
    “Fine.”
    “You only say ‘fine’ when you’re worried. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll give you a report later.”
    “If you’re worried, your instincts are right.”
    “Why?”
    “I just discovered who Arlene’s uncle is.” He paused for effect. “Obsidian.”
    Michael swore. “Obsidian” was the nickname of Langston Webster, a known smuggler who wore apinkie ring with that gemstone and for years had eluded capture.
    “She and her sister had worked for him years ago. Arlene’s sister, Noreen, had gotten out first.”
    “Smart girl.”
    “Arlene wasn’t. She lasted nearly a year longer before things got real hot and Obsidian went underground. What a family. Their father, Vince Webster, cons everyone he meets and sleeps his way through high society, but he’s harmless. However, his brother isn’t.”
    “So maybe she’s not as dumb as we thought.”
    “That’s what I thought,” Darren agreed.
    “Thanks. This helps.”
    “I thought so. Be careful. Remember—”
    “I know,” Michael interrupted with a fierce sigh. “You don’t have to remind me.”
    “What else is going on? I can tell you’re worried about something.”
    “No, I just had a little mishap, but I’m recovering. Talk to you later,” he said then disconnected and tossed the phone on his bed and swore. Darren was right. He was worried because things weren’t fine. For the first time in his career he was falling for a target. And he was falling hard.
    Michael knew he was in trouble the moment he met Arlene on the deck at the pool that afternoon. He wore a pair of dark trunks and a white mesh T-shirt to cover his bruises. The lower deck was crowded. As he made his way to the pool he heard the sound of kids squealing with delight in the kiddie pool, loud splashes as peopledived off the diving board and low conversations of travelers lazing on lounge chairs.
    He remembered that Arlene had spotted him first and called out his name and he saw her waving at him from the pool. It had been more than an hour since they’d finished lunch and agreed to meet there. He’d needed that hour break from her to get a hold of his mixed feelings about her. He still hadn’t been able to figure her out. Michael walked over to the deep end of the pool. She swam to the edge and took off her goggles then rested her arms on the side and looked up at him.
    He grinned. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”
    “Sorry, I wanted to get in a quick swim before we met.” She pointed to something in the distance. “I reserved those two deck chairs for us.”
    Michael turned and saw two chairs loaded with towels, books and suntan lotion. “Great,” he said. He turned to her and blinked, amazed that she’d caused him such confusion before. The medication must have enhanced his attraction to her because he didn’t feel that same pull now. He stared at her bright, engaging grin and big brown eyes thinking how cute she was. She wore a dark blue swim cap that made her look as harmless as a pixie. He wasn’t in any danger. Yes, he was in complete control again. He inwardly laughed at himself.
    Then she got out of the water.
    He stopped laughing.
    She wore a bright orange bikini—her nipples pressing against the elastic fabric like little pebbles begging to be touched. Water streamed down her body, poolingin her cleavage and sliding down her hips and thighs in a way his hands wanted to. He watched her mouth move, hypnotized by her full, wet lips. He knew she was speaking, but he couldn’t hear a sound.
    Suddenly she turned and walked toward the deck chairs, giving him an enviable view of her backside.
    He stood, paralyzed, as he studied how the orange fabric of her bikini emphasized the seductive swish of her hips and the round curve of her butt. She abruptly stopped and turned to him. “Michael? Is something wrong?”
    He quickly lifted his eyes and saw