huge bed, the smooth satin sheets feeling cool and sexy against her skin. She was wearing a nightgown, but it was made of the finest cotton and slit to the hips on both sides. In front, it made a plunge to her navel. The daring pink negligee was part of her fantasy life, she admitted to herself. In some ways she might be repressed on the surface, but in her mind she was a beautiful siren who lured men to their dooms.
Only with King could she safely indulge that fantasy woman, however, because he never approached her physically. With King, she could flirt to her heart’s content. Although she was friendly to most men, she was careful not to tease. The instant a man mistook her playful friendliness for a come-on, she retreated into her shell, the fantasy shattered. It was one thing to pretend to be sexy, but quite another to follow through. A frightening experience in her teens had left her extremely wary in that regard.
King was safe, though, Elissa reminded herself. Over the past two years he’d become a friend and a confidant, and she wasn’t afraid to let down her guard with him. She wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing this revealing gown in front of anyone else. But despite their sometimes flirtatious camaraderie, King scarcely even seemed to notice that she had a body, so this little charade held no danger. She smiled to herself, feeling womanly and sexy and wildly come-hitherish. She would put on a great act for whoever this persistent female was, and later King could tell her all about it.
Kingston Roper, she mused. He could be such an enigma at times—like now. He was a big-time businessman, she knew—oil and gas and a few diversified interests, as she recalled. He’d inherited interest in the family company, which had been on the verge of bankruptcy, and had used his business savvy to make a fortune. Apparently his half brother, whose father had left the business to both sons, had been competing like mad to overtake King ever since.
Although they talked frequently and freely, she and King didn’t spend a whole lot of time discussing everyday details about themselves, and as a result, she now realized, she didn’t know all that much about his family. His half brother, Bobby, was married, and King had said something about expecting him and his wife for a visit. But that was at about the time she’d had to go back to the States to oversee her latest collection as it was assembled.
She smiled again as she thought about the success of that collection, which allowed her the luxury of spending time in Jamaica. Her name was her label—Elissa—and she catered to a unique clientele. Her sportswear was exotic, and its fantasy flair was designed to capture the eye as well as the imagination. She favored dramatic combinations of red and black and white, with the emphasis on cut and silhouette. Her styles had taken some time to catch on, but now that they had, sales were booming, and she was making a nice living. The cottage had been a godsend—she’d bought it at a terrific price when she’d been on a rare vacation—and for the past two years, whenever she needed rest or inspiration, she left the small Miami house she shared with her parents and came to sunny Jamaica.
She’d led a sheltered but happy life, one of the consequences of being the only child of former missionaries. Her parents were highly individualistic and encouraged Elissa to be the same—except in one respect. They were extremely moral people, and they had instilled that same morality into their daughter. As a result of her upbringing, Elissa was something of a misfit in the modern world, but in most respects—even in her wild designs—she was an individual.
When she came to Jamaica, she relaxed by watching out for King, who seemed to be in almost permanent residence these days. Two years ago she’d taken him on as a social project, since he kept so much to himself, never smiled and seemed to think about nothing except business. Gradually, she reflected, he’d thawed a little. She grinned, then tensed, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the next room. Realizing it was only Warchief mumbling to himself in his covered cage, she relaxed.
The big yellow-naped Amazon parrot belonged to Elissa, but she’d never taken him to the States. He belonged on his tropical island, and she loved him too much to