It wasn’t until many hours later, when the doctors had declared her baby boy just fine despite having consumed half a bar of soap at Miss Emily’s, that she even remembered the promise she’d made to the dark-eyed Roma King. And realized it was too late—much too late—to fulfill it.

  Chapter 5

  Two weeks later

  Having lived in Florida for the past several years, Damon had grown to love the beach. At home, in Jacksonville, he lived a short five-minute drive from the ocean and had spent a lot of his spare time there—swimming, running, catching an occasional beach volleyball game with friends. So this latest appearance with the carnival, in a small ocean town in Delaware, should have felt like coming home. It should at least have improved his mood.

  No such luck. His mood had been pure crap for a couple of weeks now, ever since he’d been aroused to the point of madness by a sexy little brunette, then stood up by her that same night. Allie Cavanaugh’s sultry whispers and helpless sighs had gotten him hotter than he’d ever been in his life.

  Damn her for not following through.

  “Hey Mr. Gypsy King, how’s it hanging?”

  He stiffened, wishing he hadn’t been seen by Jonesy, one of the old-time barkers who ran the ring-a-knife game. Jonesy was hard-core all the way and lived up to every negative carny stereotype ever created. From the stringy, graying hair, to the scars and prison tattoos, he was the kind of guy parents warned their kids about when they let them go off alone at the fair.

  “That little cock tease still got you tied up in knots?”

  “Shut the hell up,” he snarled.

  “I mean, she was hot, I give ya that, but nothing unique. I’d swear I saw a skank looked just like her on the beach this morning.”

  Allie and skank were not two words that went together, nor did Damon think there was any way the woman had followed him here. She’d had her chance with him two weeks ago in her own backyard and she’d made it clear she didn’t want it.

  “You know, some other carnival ho would do just as well.”

  “Go away.” He shot the man a glare, not slowing his pace as he maneuvered through the gauntlet of games lining either side of the midway. It was mid-afternoon, the second day of their appearance in Dalton Beach, a small town near Rehoboth, and the crowds hadn’t started pouring in yet. So the barkers were busy calling out insults to each other—and whoever passed. Lucky him.

  “Hit a nerve, huh?” Jonesy said with a phlegmy chuckle.

  “Not even close.”

  The barker left his booth and followed him. “You know, if you’re still all het up, I know a couple of the sideshow girls who’d take care of you. I could arrange it…for a small fee.”

  Damon knew the sideshow girls would take care of him for free, given their many offers. “Don’t you have kids to fleece?”

  “Too early. Kiddies are waiting for Daddy to get home from work,” Jonesy replied. Damon noted the absence of any denial by Jonesy about the fleecing part.

  Paulie prided himself on running a clean operation, but Damon wasn’t sure everyone had gotten the message. From bottle caps behind the woven slats of baskets—which would cause any ball landing in them to pop back out—to hoops too small for a basketball, some shady carnival traditions managed to stay alive.

  “Now, about my offer—”

  “Forget it.” Finally, knowing how to shake the other man off, Damon stopped. “I’m going to the security trailer for a meeting with Paulie and the local police. You coming, too?”

  Bingo. Without another word, Jonesy made a sharp U-turn and went back to his booth. Feeling as if he’d just scraped something from the pony ride off the bottom of his shoe, Damon made a mental note to talk to Paulie about the man.

  But for all his distaste for the messenger, the message had hit home. Damon spent the rest of the day thinking about the fact that his sex drive had returned with a vengeance. He was dreaming wild, erotic things every night—waking up hard and sweaty, reaching across his bed for someone who wasn’t there. Winding up frustrated, with her face in his brain and her name on his lips as he fucked his own hand to get relief, which was never enough.

  He needed to get laid. And while he couldn’t see himself getting it on with the multi-pierced sideshow manager, or one of her girls who liked to dance on glass or lie on beds of nails, he didn’t imagine it would be hard to find someone to help him slake the urge. This was a beach town, during the Fourth of July week. There would be lots of bikini-clad vacationers just as anxious to make a sexy mistake they would regret later but couldn’t bring themselves to care about now. Surely someone would appeal to him.

  With that in mind, once the sun went down and the midway lit up, he kept his eye out for any interesting woman who might pique his interest. Unfortunately, none did. Because in his head, he kept seeing the one woman he truly wanted. Allie.

  He had a bad case for her. Bad enough that he was considering going back to Trouble at the end of the run to confront her. He wanted to know why she’d led him along, then not followed through. Especially when he knew she’d wanted him just as much.

  She was so much on his mind that night that even while he was on stage, performing, he glanced over the crowd and thought he saw her face. That wasn’t unusual, though—hadn’t he been seeing it every place he looked? Especially in his bed, staring at him with ravenous hunger in those big blue eyes, begging him to take her, to put her out of the misery she’d caused them both.

  As he chose his next volunteer, a strange tingling started in the back of his neck. He felt as if he were being studied. Stared at. By someone interested in more than the performance.

  Yes, he got a lot of interest from his audience, especially the female audience members. But this felt…different. His skin prickled and his muscles tensed, awareness making his blood surge in his veins.

  He kept going, but glanced around, his eyes sliding over the crowd, not betraying his keen interest. And then he saw her. The woman he’d caught a brief glimpse of earlier. The one he’d thought looked a little like Allie Cavanaugh, of Trouble Pennsylvania. Now, having a better look, he realized something, and the stage almost dropped out from beneath his feet.

  It was Allie Cavanaugh from Trouble, Pennsylvania.

  ALLIE KNEW THE instant Damon spotted her. In the time it took her heart to beat twice, he segued from his smooth, sexy-and-dangerous Roma King persona to a dark, scowling, betrayed man. “Oh, hell, he’s still mad,” she muttered under her breath.

  She almost stood up and left, cursing the crazy impulse that had driven her here tonight. But it had seemed so destined. As if fate had decided they weren’t finished yet. How could she leave?

  To say she’d been surprised when she’d seen the Roma King’s truck parked at the fairgrounds near her oceanfront hotel this morning would have been like saying she’d be surprised if she found Elvis Presley in her house eating a peanut butter sandwich. She’d been stunned. What were the chances that she’d go on a business trip and bump right into the man who’d occupied her every waking thought for weeks?

  Slim. To. None. “You’re sure you didn’t plan this?” she asked her boss, Mortimer Potts, who sat beside her in the crowded tent. As usual, his shoulder-length white hair and prominent features, including a pair of blazingly intelligent eyes, had drawn the attention of everyone around them. Not to mention his extreme height and unusual dress—he was in cowboy mode this week, right down to the chaps hugging his skinny thighs.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Mortimer was focused on the stage, fascinated, as always, by anything mysterious and exciting. Maybe because they reminded him of his own life which, from the sound of it, had been those things and more.

  “I mean,” she muttered, still feeling the sear of Damon’s disdainful stare from several feet away, “did you know this carnival was going to be here when you decided we simply had to come down and check out this condo building this week?”

  It wasn’t impossible that her boss had set her up with this impromptu trip to the Delaware shore to look at some potential investment property. The old man was an incorrigible matchmaker, having taken delight at his role in bringing together his grandson, Max, and Allie’s sister. But how could he have known anything about what had happened between her and Damon Cole?

  “Well, don’t these quaint seaside communities often have carnivals to celebrate the Independence Day holiday?”

  Frankly, his innocent tone made her more skeptical rather than less. The man was a prankster who liked to get his way. Still, she didn’t think he’d set her up to be hurt. So maybe she was wrong, and it really had been fate. Fate that she’d be able to see Damon again, and hopefully explain why she hadn’t shown up. Maybe she could also question him about exactly what she had said to so shock her neighbors, who’d been whispering about her since the last night of the carnival.

  Nobody would volunteer the information, that was for sure. It was driving her batty, knowing something she’d said had made women whisper about her and men come on to her as if she’d suddenly grown J-Lo’s boobs and Angelina Jolie’s lips.

  “He’s very dramatic, isn’t he?” Mortimer nodded in approval. “Cuts a dashing figure. A young Errol Flynn, I’d say.”

  Allie didn’t even know who Mortimer was talking about, but there was no doubt Damon looked enticingly hot. As usual. Maybe even more so because of the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the tension so obvious in his tightly coiled body.

  “I might have to dust off the clothes given to me by that sea captain during my brief pirate excursion.”

  She didn’t know where to begin. With the clothes, the captain, the pirates. One never knew with Mortimer whether he was existing entirely in reality…or merely part-time. That was one of the things she liked best about him: his wild stories might actually be true…but they also might be a figment of the man’s brilliant imagination.

  “I think you’d look wonderful,” she murmured.

  He squeezed her hand. “I do believe that handsome man is looking straight at you, m’dear.”

  Not even having realized the show was over, she glanced up and met Damon’s blazing stare. Most of the people in the audience were heading toward the exit, though a few had stopped to talk to him. Several of them women, she noted with some disgust. But he was barely responding, he was too busy watching her. Angrily.

  “Oh, dear,” Mortimer said, obviously noticing. “Is there something I’ve missed? Do you know that man?”

  “I do. And I don’t think he’s very happy with me right now.”

  “Shall we go?”

  She could be a coward and slip away with Mortimer’s escort. Could avoid facing Damon’s anger and his disappointment. But she wouldn’t. She owed him an explanation. And he owed her the truth.

  “Thank you, but no. I need to talk to him.”

  Mortimer rose, his straight posture showing no signs that he was in his early eighties. “Very well. I’m sure Roderick’s patience is just about gone anyway. I should get back now.”

  Roderick, Mortimer’s majordomo, had refused to enter the carnival and was sitting in Mortimer’s air-conditioned limousine reading a book. The prissy Englishman’s loyalty to Mortimer was stronger than his dislike of such low things as carnivals, and he’d insisted on chaperoning, if only from the car.

  “You enjoy yourself, young lady, and call when you’re ready to return to the hotel. I’ll have the car pick you up.”

  “I just need a minute to speak to him. You can stay,” she said, suddenly panicked at the idea of being alone with an angry mesmerist who could hypnotize her into doing all sorts of things.

  Hmm. All sorts of things. That suddenly didn’t sound so bad.

  No. She needed to apologize and get the truth. Nothing else.

  “Don’t be silly, it’s early. Stay. Have some fun since I’ve dragged you here and forced you to work during a holiday.”

  “But Hank—”

  “Do you really think Mistress Emily has taken her eyes off that child for one moment since we left the hotel?”

  No, she probably hadn’t. Ever since the soap incident, for which Allie’s seventyish landlady felt horrible, she’d been incredibly protective. “It was very nice of you to invite her along to babysit so I didn’t have to leave him.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of leaving him behind!” Mortimer smiled and gave her a wink. “Besides, though he denies it, I think Roderick has developed a bit of a tendresse for the lady.”

  Allie chuckled. “I think it’s reciprocated.” Shrugging, she added, “You know, I once thought I’d try to set her up with you.”

  His chest puffed out as he laughed. “Me? Goodness, no, she’s much too nice, too quiet for the likes of me.”

  Considering Mortimer had liked being kidnapped and held as a sex slave by two old ladies last year, he might be right.

  Before she even really had time to prepare herself, much less figure out what to say, Mortimer had left, following the last audience members out. Now, just she and Damon remained in the tent. He didn’t say anything. Not a single word. The man was obviously going to make this very hard on her.

  “Hi,” she mumbled, mustering the courage to approach him.

  He stared down at her from the stage, a few feet above, looking big and remote—powerful—like some sea captain on the deck of a ship. Okay, enough with the romance novel images!

  “Miss Cavanaugh.” Ignoring her, he headed to the prop box on the side of the stage.

  “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “No, I’m not.” He didn’t even look over, instead reaching for the top button of his silky shirt and slipping it free.

  Allie had just inhaled a breath of air, but when she saw him slowly strip the shirt off his hard, golden body, that air turned into a lump in her throat. She choked on it, coughing into her fist, looking down—looking anywhere—but at that taut, rippled chest, sprinkled lightly with dark, wiry hair. Not to mention those broad shoulders, flexing with muscle and slick with sweat under the hot lights. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  He didn’t even look at her. “Changing.”

  “Don’t you have a dressing room or something?”

  Shrugging, he snagged a T-shirt out from amid the props and walked over, holding it in his hands. He took his damn sweet time putting it on, too, stretching it over his head, lifting his arms up and tugging it down over those impossibly broad shoulders. Each moment he delayed gave her another chance to drool over the incredible body. While every bit of him flexed and rolled with power, every bit of her went soft and gooey with want.

  Once he’d pulled the shirt on, he muttered, “Makes it easier to get from here to my camper if I’m not as easily recognizable.”

  Oh, sure. A tight T-shirt was going to disguise that hard form, that handsome face, those amazing eyes. It’d be easier for Jensen Ackles to go incognito at a Supernatural convention.

  “Well, bye,” he said, hopping off the stage and heading down the aisle toward the exit. He sounded so completely unaffected, uninterested, that she almost believed it was true. Almost.

  But the tension illustrated by his clenched fists and his rigid, hard steps away from her told her he was lying. He was affected. He was interested. He was just too angry to admit it.

  “Stop. Please. I need to talk to you.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder, raising a bored brow. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve had plenty of ladies follow me from town to town. Frankly, it seems kind of desperate. Especially because, once I leave a place, I always lose interest. In it…and in the people.”

  Direct hit. She flinched, as if he’d thrown a rock at her rather than just some harsh words. “Wow, you’re really angry at me for standing you up.”

  That got a reaction, and he spun around and stalked back until he towered directly over her. A blast of heat enveloped her, sparked by his tense form and his electric anger. “Don’t flatter yourself. I get offers every night of the week.”

  Yeah. He probably accepted a lot of them, too. Which meant she should be giving thanks she hadn’t become a member of his harem. Somehow, though, looking at his handsome face and stormy eyes, feeling the almost magnetic pull that urged her to wrap her arms around his neck and slide closer—just a bit closer—so that her breasts rubbed against that broad chest, she couldn’t manage to be grateful. All she felt was an indefinable sense of loss.

  The sadness over what might have been colored her perceptions of this man and her time with him—it probably always would. Men like Damon Cole weren’t used to women saying no, and they definitely weren’t the type who were stood up. Allie had done both from the minute she’d met him, and he had obviously run out of patience. And interest.

  She could try to explain, tell him she’d been called to the hospital for her baby. But she sensed it wouldn’t matter. He’d moved on—to the next town, to the next woman. No second chances. The only thing left to do was get the information she needed to reclaim her normal life back in Trouble.

  “I’m sorry I stood you up. But I need to talk to you,” she finally said, blinking away a hint of moisture in her eyes, a product of regret for something that might have been. “I didn’t come here to stalk you.”

  A disbelieving smirk told her how much he believed that one. “Right. I guess you were just passing by…like you were that first night in my tent.”

  Lifting her hands helplessly, she said, “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. My boss is thinking of investing in some condos here and needed me to come along.”

  “Sure.”

  “You probably saw him—the old man sitting beside me?”

  He thought about it for a second, and she thought his clenched arms relaxed the tiniest bit.

  “I was stunned when I saw the carnival set up here. I swear to you, Damon, I’m not a psycho, game-playing woman pulling some Fatal Attraction stunt.”

  The jaw clenched. “I don’t think the woman in Fatal Attraction went nuts until after the guy had nailed her in every way known to man and then dumped her.”