away so much of the time.”
“You’re from Oklahoma, you said?” she asked, curious.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“I’m from Florida,” she said with a smile. “I design sportswear for a chain of boutiques.” She peeked up at him. “I could design you a great sundress.”
He glowered at her. “First the parrot, now this. I don’t know which is worse, lady, you or the last woman who lived here.”
“The woman I bought the cottage from?” she recalled, frowning. “What was wrong with her?”
“She liked to sunbathe nude when I was swimming,” he muttered darkly.
She grinned, remembering the woman very well. She was about fifty years old, at least a size twenty and only five feet tall.
“It’s not funny,” he commented.
“Yes, it is.” She laughed.
But he still didn’t smile. Despite his earlier flip remarks, he looked like a man who hadn’t much use for humor.
“I’ve got three hours of work left before I can sleep,” he said curtly, turning away. “From now on, cover that bird when he starts whooping. He’ll get the message sooner or later. And don’t keep him up late. It isn’t good for him. Birds need twelve hours each of daylight and dark.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Anything else, sir?” she asked pertly as she skipped along beside him to the door.
He stopped short, his dark eyes threatening. “How old are you, anyway? Past the age of consent?”
“I’m a candidate for the old folks’ home, in fact.” She grinned. “I’m pushing twenty-six. Still about twenty years your junior, though, I’ll bet, old man.”
He looked stunned, as if no one had ever dared speak to him in such a manner. “I’m thirty-nine,” he said absently.
“You look more like forty-five.” She sighed, studying his hard, care-creased face. “I’ll bet you take five-hour vacations and count your money every night. You have that look, you know.” His eyebrows shot up, and she wiggled hers. “Rich and miserable?”
“I’m filthy rich, but I’m not miserable.”
“Yes, you are,” she told him. “You just don’t realize it. But don’t worry. Now that I’m around, I’ll save you from yourself. In no time you’ll be a new man.”
“I like me fine the way I am,” he said tersely, glaring down at her. “So don’t pester me. I don’t care to be remodeled, least of all by some bored textile worker.”
“I’m a designer,” she shot back.
“You can’t possibly be old enough.” He patted her on the head, the first glimpse of real humor she’d seen in him. “Go to bed, child.”
“Mind you don’t trip over your long beard, Grandpa,” she called after him.
He didn’t look back or say another word. He just kept walking.
And that had been the beginning of an odd friendship. In the months that followed, Elissa had learned precious few actual facts about her taciturn neighbor, but she’d gleaned a great deal about his temperament. His full name was Kingston, and no one called him King. Except Elissa. He spent most of his waking hours on business. Although he traveled extensively, his home base was Jamaica because few people, except those who really needed to, knew how to get in touch with him there. He liked his privacy and avoided the social gatherings that seemed de rigueur for the Americans in their exclusive part of Montego Bay. He kept to himself and spent his rare free time walking on the beach, alone and apparently liking it. He might have gone on for years that way. But Elissa had saved him from himself.
Although she didn’t trust most men, she instinctively trusted King. He seemed totally uninterested in her as a woman, and when weeks went by without his making a suggestive remark or a pass, she began to feel totally safe with him. That allowed her to indulge her fantasy of being the sophisticated, worldly kind of woman she liked to read about in novels. It was an illusion, of course, but King didn’t seem to mind her outrageous flirting and sometimes suggestive remarks. He treated her much like a young girl, alternately indulging and teasing her. And that was fine with Elissa. She’d long since learned that she wouldn’t fit easily into the modern world. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep with a man just because it was the fashion. And since most men she dated expected that courtesy, she simply withdrew. She never took a date home—not anymore, at least. There had been a nice man when she was twenty. A real jewel, she’d thought—until she took him home to meet Mom and Dad.