Carolina Heat Page 2
“I’d like to join this tour,” she said.
He turned around and greeted her with a lazy smile. “It will be a sincere pleasure to have you along this fine morning. My name is Mark, and I’ll be in charge of acquainting you with our fair city.”
“Mark!” she gasped in surprise. Well, surprise both at his appearance and at the spike of hot interest that seared through her upon seeing his tan biceps bulging from beneath his sleeves. “What are you doing here?”
“Weren’t you listening? I’m your tour guide.”
“This is an unexpected coincidence.” She mentally raced through their conversation of the night before. Had she said anything to blow her newly established cover?
Mark reached past her to accept money from a family of four. “I hate to bother a beautiful lady such as yourself with a triviality, but the tour is twenty dollars.” His tone was practiced, and missing the flirtation of the night before. With the rest of the tour group gathering, he maintained a professional distance.
“Of course. I was just about to ask the price.” Annabelle handed over her money and scrambled into the carriage, feeling equally the warmth of his hand on her back and the wide smile he’d bestowed upon her. Undeniable sparks had flown between them last night. Under different circumstances she would’ve eagerly accepted his company. Only a minute ago, her stomach twisted in excitement upon realizing it was him.
But today wasn’t merely a pleasant morning of sightseeing. Annabelle fluffed her already limp bangs with one hand. She was here to do a job, and needed to stay focused. No gawking at men with dreamy accents. And on that thought the carriage jolted, the horses started their leisurely gait, and the entire contraption began to sway.
“Welcome to historic Charleston! Our route this morning will start down Rainbow Row, a street of authentic, brightly colored antebellum homes.” Mark turned around to face his audience and winked at them over the microphone. “Admittedly, some of them are just authentically restored, but still a pleasure to gaze upon.”
Annabelle let his words wash over her while she took in the lush greenery. The picturesque magnolia trees would do nothing to help her yet-to-be-revealed investigation, but they’d give her something else to scribble down for her cover story. A guided tour served a dual purpose. It’d provide background fluff about the beauty of Charleston in late spring without wasting time on real research, and at the same time help her become familiar with the city’s layout for when she started officially snooping into Ralph’s mystery.
Annabelle jolted when the carriage stopped abruptly. She grimaced, rubbing her knee where it collided with the seat in front of her. Horse-drawn carriages looked nice enough, but as sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, she wished she’d signed up for a smooth, air-conditioned bus tour.
Mark’s voice broke into her thoughts. “We’ll stop here at the Battery for ten minutes. This is a chance for you to stretch your legs while you look at the cannons. Keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen, these are not reproductions. Both the cannons and the balls piled next to them are the genuine article. In case any of you are leery about the safety factor, let me reassure you all the cannons have been filled with cement to prevent any possible injuries. Although,” he continued, tongue-in-cheek, “it’d be difficult for the cannons to fire regardless of the cement, unless one of you brought along a healthy stash of gunpowder.” There was a smattering of polite laughter, and then people began to disembark.
Annabelle remained in her seat, digging through her voluminous tote for her notebook. She wanted to jot down a few impressions. And to her way of thinking, if you’d seen one cannon, you’d seen enough.
“Most people take a picture.” The deep male voice in her ear made Annabelle jump. Her notebook and pen flew out of her fingers and sailed onto the grass. Mark bent to lean in under the awning towards her. She favored him with a cool glare, partly for startling her, and mostly to take out on him the annoyance she felt with herself at her adolescent reaction to his presence.
“Would you mind retrieving my things?” Annabelle pointed with her chin to where they lay by his feet.
“Sorry if I startled you.” In a fluid motion, he returned the notebook and pen to her lap, and then took up a lazy stance against the side of the carriage. “I only meant to say that usually people record their vacations on film, rather than committing their memories to paper. It almost looks like you’re taking notes. Now, I pride myself on giving an entertaining and informative tour, but I didn’t realize I was this interesting.” He shot her a self-deprecating grin.
Annabelle’s lips twitched in response, despite herself. It was always a nice surprise to meet a man who didn’t take himself too seriously. She decided to test out her cover story. “Pictures aren’t enough in my business; I need the thousand words to go along with them. I’m a travel writer.”
“Miss Annabelle the travel writer—I never would’ve guessed,” he said, with a slightly bemused look.
“And why is that? There’s no stereotype for the genre.”
He crossed behind the carriage and settled himself next to her, long legs hanging out the open side. Long, tan, muscled legs dusted with dark hair that her fingers itched to touch. “Of course there is! Full safari gear; khakis, the little pith helmet, maybe even a rifle for protection…” His voice trailed off as she smirked at him.
“Only if I was writing about the bushlands of Africa fifty years ago. You can’t be serious?”
“No, I’m not.” Mark winked at her. “The real reason I didn’t peg you as a travel writer is because you’ve been oblivious to the surroundings since we started the tour. I can’t imagine you’d be able to write a single word about anything we’ve passed.” He nudged the corner of her notebook, trying to angle it to read her earlier notes.
She flipped the cover shut before he could see anything. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” Annabelle replied lightly as she fanned herself with the tiny book. “I caught up on my sleep last night, so it must be the humidity. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right person.” Mark tipped his straw boater low over one eye. “If you’d be willing to extend your tour, I’ll take you someplace guaranteed to cool you down.”
Before she could respond, he grabbed hold of the awning and swung to the ground as the other passengers started to re-board. He became the genial host again, asking a toddler if he’d climbed on the cannons, and helping settle two elderly ladies. Moments later the horses began plodding down the street, and the carriage resumed its gentle swaying motion.
As Mark waxed on enthusiastically about the full historical significance of the cobblestones—and how many more times would she have to hear that story?—Annabelle once more ignored her surroundings. She stared at Mark, or rather, tried to surreptitiously stare at him. He certainly had the good looks to match his considerable charm. Tall, dark and handsome might be a cliché, but it still packed a sensual punch.
Why not be a little adventurous and go with him? After all, last night she’d all but promised him a date. Trying to get out of it now would only lead to difficult questions. If nothing else, she’d get a better feel for the layout of the city after an extra hour with Mark. Giving in to impulse, Annabelle adjusted her plans to include the first man to catch her eye in a very long time.
CHAPTER TWO
“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for taking me on this excursion?” Annabelle asked. The official carriage tour had ended upon their return to Market Street, where several other horse-drawn carriages were rapidly filling with tourists. Although flattering, it seemed a tad strange that Mark would give up what promised to be a lucrative afternoon simply to escort her through the city.
“It all depends.” He led her down the street with one big hand nestled at the curve of her back. “I imagine if you aren’t sufficiently cooled and refreshed, I’ll be in trouble, all right. But I’m confident that won’t be the case.”
“Awfully sure of yourself, aren
’t you?” she said, her tone dry as dust. “But I meant with the tour company. Won’t they mind you taking the afternoon off?”
Deftly, he steered her through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds watching the basket weavers at the Old Market. “I don’t work for a company. The rig is privately owned. What you might call a one-man show. I’m just filling in today.”
“Sounds like an even worse scenario. If you want to stop and call in, I really don’t mind waiting.” Annabelle was starting to have second thoughts about this burst of spontaneity. If he were fired, she’d feel terrible.
“Why, that’s downright kind of you, ma’am.” Mark’s accent thickened a bit. “I appreciate the offer mightily, but it’s not necessary.”
“Chalk it up to generations of a Puritan work ethic. I worry about tiny details like unemployment.”
“The only thing you need to worry your pretty head about right now is if you can last for two more blocks.”
She set her teeth as she noticed he was more than a little amused at her discomfiture. “What are you; a throwback to Rhett Butler?”
“Pardon me?”
Annabelle dug her heels in and glared at him. This man was a living, breathing Southern stereotype. He needed a healthy dose of twenty-first-century reality. “My pretty little head will worry about whatever it wants. The Civil War ended a long time ago, and along with it the misconception that women can’t think for themselves.”
“The War Between the States,” Mark corrected in a gentle tone. His accent was now thick enough to cut with a knife. “We here in the South consider it a much more genteel way to refer to the whole unpleasantness.” With a flick of his wrist, he indicated she should resume walking. Annabelle grudgingly fell into step beside him.
“Oh yes, bloodshed, fires, raids, slavery….terribly unpleasant business. As a matter of fact, the mere thought of it has so upset me I believe I might swoon.” She fanned herself dramatically.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. I don’t believe for a second you could faint even if you tried. It takes our debutantes years of careful practice to master the art of a good swoon.”
The man was insufferable. And even worse, her body betrayed her with a noticeable flutter in her pulse one hundred percent attributable to his sexy accent. Hard to concentrate on what he was saying when every word out of his mouth dripped with dark honey. Annabelle drew a deep breath in preparation for a verbal assault on behalf of all womankind when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.
Try as he might to disguise it, the corners of Mark’s mouth twitched upward in what was obviously an earnest attempt not to smile. The rotten man was laughing at her. Perhaps he’d been laughing all along at her expense. Amusing himself by toying with a gullible tourist. Preying on her plainly biased opinion of Southerners.
Or maybe…he drew on the fact she so easily bought into the Southern stereotype. With an almost audible click, everything fell into place. Maybe Annabelle was on the well-deserved receiving end of a lesson on snap judgments. She’d been a jerk. Time to make a u-turn with this conversation and start over.
“I jumped to completely unfounded conclusions, didn’t I?” Annabelle looked up at him, repentant. “You’ve been teasing me this whole time.”
“Guilty as charged.” He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I wondered how long it would take you to catch on. Perpetuating the myth of Johnny Reb is hard work. I wasn’t sure I could keep a straight face much longer.”
To her dismay, his accent had now all but disappeared. “I’m sorry I was so rude,” she said. “I don’t know what to make of you, Mark, and you’ve been nothing but kind. It truly is sweet of you to show me around.” She broke into a fit of giggles.
Mark gave her a bemused stare. “Annabelle? What is it?”
“It’s just...those things you said in that exaggerated accent...” She giggled helplessly again, and put a hand on his biceps to steady herself. His hand covered hers a moment later. “About swooning; you made it sound like a subject women minor in at college.”
“Does this mean you won’t believe me if I mention the ‘airs and graces’ scholarship my cousin received from the College of Charleston?” He grinned back at her. It was a wide, easy grin that made her feel a part of the joke, rather than the butt of it. One flash of white teeth against his killer tan was all it took to remind her it had been a while since she’d laughed like this with a man. In Annabelle’s experience, any man confronted with one of her admittedly feminist rants ran immediately in the opposite direction. Mark’s roll-with-the-punches attitude was a refreshing change.
“At this point, I’m not sure I’d believe it if you told me America has fifty states.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started. Puerto Rico pays taxes, but they don’t get a star on the flag? Lucky for you, there’s no time to get into it now.” Mark gestured grandly with both hands. “We’ve arrived at our destination.”
They were at a plaza on the edge of the harbor. A long pier jutted out into the ocean, lined with quaint gliders big enough to hold six people. Immediately in front of them a whimsical modern fountain spouted water out of brightly colored tiles as people stepped on them.
“Welcome to Charleston Harbor.”
“Mmm—this is wonderful. I can feel the ocean breeze.” She lifted her hair off the back of her neck. “I’m cooler already.”
“This is nothing. Wait until we get to the water’s edge.”
Annabelle’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She made an apologetic face at Mark and answered.
“Sorry I had to cut you off last night, Carlyle. Thought the stewardess was about to rip the phone right out of my hand.”
About time he called. Also, the worst possible time. “Ralph, I’m in a very public place. Can I call you back?”
“No need. Let me lay all my cards on the table. I’m asking you to go way out on a limb here, and I need you to do it all by yourself.”
A tingle of intrigue shivered up her spine. “You’ve got my attention.” She took a few steps away from Mark, careful to keep her expression blank.
“Last month, my brother-in-law took a little vacation down in South Carolina. Tad’s a huge Civil War buff. He was on a pilgrimage to see Fort Sumter and everything else remotely connected with the war. But after a week he disappeared.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened in spite of herself. She waited for further elaboration. Ralph must’ve put her on speakerphone, because she could hear leather creak as he got up from his chair and began to pace.
“Tad’s a curator up in Boston. He was scheduled to only be gone five days because of a gala at his museum the next week. When he didn’t show up the day he was due back, his staff started calling around. My wife panicked immediately,” he snorted in disgust, “and I ignored her. Told her he was probably camped out on some battlefield. Thanks to my idiocy, we wasted two whole days before we started to look for him.”
“How responsible is your brother-in-law?” Annabelle asked delicately. His muffled footsteps drew to a halt.
“Tad’s incredibly protective of his museum. It’s like his child. The thought of all those people coming for the gala, not to mention the press invading, would be enough to have him working twenty hour days to make sure everything was ready. You can see why we were worried.”
“What happened next?” Annabelle tried to steer Ralph back on track. It was obvious this alleged disappearance disturbed him greatly.
“Called the hotel, of course. Left a slew of messages. After three days of it, the desk clerk told us Tad checked out. The next day a telegram arrived. It said he needed a vacation and would be in touch. Haven’t heard a word since.”
Annabelle watched the lively harbor scene while she tried to think of a diplomatic approach. First of all, she was already fixated on the problem of her own semi-missing person, her friend Vanessa. Second, there wasn’t really a story here for her to pursue. Tricky, since Ralph seemed too upset to react without bias.
“Damn it, Carlyle, I’m not finished!”
Her cell phone beeped and went dead. So stupid – in her haze of jet lag, she’d forgotten to charge it last night. The timing was probably for the best, though. Ralph needed to calm down. Tad’s disappearance, although hard on his family, was a matter for the police, not for her. What had Jack been thinking, sending her down here?
Unless there was more to it. There must be, she realized, or Jack wouldn’t have ordered her to help Ralph. Guilt nagged at her, but there was no way to finish the conversation at the water’s edge. She’d wrap up with Mark, and call Ralph from her room.
“Everything all right?” Mark asked.
“The usual work crisis,” she said, in a deliberately light tone. “Thanks for being patient.”
“I have a feeling you might be worth the wait. Now, as your tour guide, I’d be remiss to bring you here without indicating the obligatory points of interest. We’ll start with Patriot’s Point.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, Mark. I think I’ve reached my fill of history for the day.”
He tugged at his hair and looked down at the ground. “Sorry about that. I lean towards overkill when I do these tours. But give me two more minutes. It’ll be worth it.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Chances were it was a well-rehearsed move, but he was so cute she couldn’t resist. “Where is Patriot’s Point?”
“Look all the way across the harbor. If you scoot to your left, you’ll be able to catch a glimpse.”