Cole’s mouth flattened. ‘I thought we might eat at the Commodore Club. They have an excellent restaurant, and you might like to visit the casino later.’
Joanna nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She tucked her leather bag against her side, and slid her fingers round his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
The muscles of his upper arm were taut beneath her grip. She sensed he would like to release himself, and she wondered how he had expected her to behave. It was obvious he was confused by her apparent willingness to co-operate, and he was wary of her appearance, and the provocation it presented.
A row of taxis waited on the forecourt of the hotel, and a black-suited major-domo summoned one at Cole’s request. Joanna climbed into the back of the cab unaided, smoothing down her tight skirt as she scrambled across the seat. She had noticed before that no one bothered to walk round the cabs, and get in at the opposite side. And Cole was no exception as he followed her inside.
But she noticed he kept his distance during the fifteen-minute ride to the Commodore Club. His dark-clad thigh—had he bought a whole wardrobe at the hotel shop?—rested on the worn leather upholstery, several inches away from hers. And, because the majority of taxis Joanna had seen were old American limousines, there was plenty of room.
Getting out of the taxi, he was obliged to offer her his hand. Whatever else he might be, Cole considered himself a gentleman. One of the South Carolina ‘good ole boys’, thought Joanna cynically. Just like his father, and his father before him.
Even so, putting her hand into Cole’s was a disturbing experience. His hand was cool and firm, with calluses at the base of his fingers. And when those fingers curled around hers she was hard-pressed not to hold on.
But, even if she’d wanted to, Cole had to pay the fare. After helping her out, under the striped canopy of the club, he bent to speak to their driver. Then, returning his wallet to his hip pocket, he straightened, urging her into the foyer, with his hand in the small of her back.
It saved touching her skin, Joanna thought ruefully, as they stepped on to the escalator which would take them up to the bar and restaurant. She wondered what he was thinking. Somehow, she sensed she was not going to have it all her own way.
‘Do you want a drink before we eat?’ Cole asked, as they crossed the carpeted upper floor, and Joanna tilted her head.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Something long and cool, with a bite to it. What would you recommend?’
Cole’s eyes glinted. ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ he said, guiding her towards an empty table. ‘I seem to remember you had quite a fancy for mint-juleps. You used to down quite a few of them, while Pa and I were out in the fields.’
Joanna’s lips tightened for a moment, as the memories his words evoked came back to haunt her. But when she looked at him none of her anguish showed in her face. You shouldn’t have said that, Cole, she thought malevolently. I’m going to make you pay for every little dig you make!
‘So I did,’ she warbled now, and no one listening to her would have imagined the offence she had felt at his words. Bastard, she said silently, while her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘I was a pain, wasn’t I? No wonder you preferred Sammy-Jean to me.’
It was Cole’s turn to look bitter now, but the arrival of the waiter to take their order prevented him from venting his spleen. Besides, she guessed he couldn’t be entirely sure exactly how she had meant it, and although he might suspect her motives he really had no proof.
‘Bourbon and branch,’ he said sourly, ‘and something sweet for the lady. What do you suggest?’
‘How about pineapple rum?’ asked the waiter cheerfully. ‘Pineapple rum, coconut rum, and pineapple juice, shaken over ice. Delicious!’
‘It sounds it,’ put in Joanna smoothly, crossing her legs, and running spread fingers over her knee. She smiled at the man. ‘Cold, but hot. Exactly what I need.’
The waiter’s eyes danced. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, swinging on his heel, and walking back to the bar. ‘A Valentine’s Special, man,’ he ordered from the bar-keep. ‘And make it real cold!’
Cole’s eyes were far from friendly when he looked at Joanna again. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his tone hard and explosive. ‘Do you want everyone to think you’re using?’
‘Using?’ Joanna’s eyes widened innocently. ‘Using what?’
‘You know!’ retorted Cole savagely. ‘Hell, maybe you are. What would I know about it?’
Joanna’s humour evaporated. ‘I don’t use—or shoot up—or mainline—or any of the other ways people take drugs,’ she declared scornfully. ‘I was having fun, that’s all. Fun! Or have you forgotten the meaning of the word?’
Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘You weren’t just having fun,’ he argued. ‘God, you were coming on to the man!’
Joanna’s brief spurt of anger died. ‘What’s the matter, Cole?’ she asked mockingly. ‘You jealous?’
Their drinks came before Cole could make any response, but his brooding expression was eloquent of his feelings. Oh, this was fun, thought Joanna, a little breathlessly. Why had she never realised it was far more exciting to be bad?
The pineapple rum was delicious. It came complete with an assortment of tropical fruits, with a long curling straw to enable her to avoid the tiny striped umbrella. The umbrella bore the logo of the Commodore Club, and she was tempted to keep it as a souvenir of the evening.
‘Have you and Sammy-Jean had any family yet?’ she queried after a moment, risking Cole’s displeasure yet again. She knew perfectly well that had Cole become a father she would have heard about it. Grace would surely have told her. But why should she avoid a subject that was clearly so exploitable?
Cole regarded her over the rim of his glass. ‘No,’ he said, and she could tell by his tone that he was not unaware of her intentions. ‘But it’s not for want of trying, if that’s what you’re implying.’
Joanna looked down into her drink. Her hands had tightened around the stem, and, noticing her white knuckles, she forced herself to relax. If she wasn’t careful, the glass would break, and Cole would imagine he had scored a victory. What did it matter to her how many times Cole made love with Sammy-Jean? Sammy-Jean was his wife now, and she, Joanna, didn’t give a damn!
‘Something wrong?’ Cole’s blue eyes were smugly intent, and Joanna expelled her breath on a rueful sigh.
‘No,’ she said, deliberately wistful. ‘I was just remembering how good you were in bed.’
‘Good God!’ Cole’s jaw hardened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He swallowed the remainder of his drink in one violent gulp, and gestured for the waiter to bring him another. ‘What do you want from me, Jo? Blood?’
Joanna knew a fleeting sense of conscience, but then the waiter arrived to replace Cole’s glass, and she consoled herself by taking another mouthful of her own drink. But her lips around the pink straw were unconsciously provocative, and Cole uttered an imprecation as he lifted his bourbon to his mouth.
‘You folks dinin’?’ enquired the waiter, and at Cole’s curt nod he flourished two enormous menus from under his arm. ‘Take your time,’ he added, his knowing gaze taking in the situation at a glance. ‘I’ll be back later to take your order.’
Propping her menu on the table in front of her, Joanna continued to enjoy her drink as she studied its contents. There was a vast array of dishes to choose from, with imported American steaks and locally caught seafood providing the main selections.