Illegal Possession

by Kay Hooper

  “Sorry about that,” she murmured.

  Dallas addressed the ceiling. “Sorry, she says. Sorry. My ego is in absolute tatters, not to mention my heart, and she says sorry. The woman has no sense of decency. Does she fling her arms around my neck and tearfully apologize?”

  “My arms are around your neck,” she pointed out reprovingly.

  He ignored that. “No, she just says sorry about that. Sorry about that, Dallas, but it’s raining. Sorry about that, Dallas, the laundry left a spot on your shirt. Sorry about that, Dallas, but the Chinese takeout place forgot the egg rolls.”

  Troy was giggling helplessly. “Enough! Did it ever occur to you that it wasn’t my response but your timing that was at fault?”

  “What was wrong with my timing?” he demanded, injured.

  “It was definitely off. Now, may I please be allowed to go take a shower?”

  “Do I get an answer to my proposal?”

  “Not until I’ve had a shower and coffee.” Troy looked thoughtful. “And breakfast.”

  “You believe in being fortified, don’t you?” he asked wryly.

  “For all of life’s major decisions—certainly.”

  With deliberate lightness Dallas asked, “Does that mean you’re at least considering it seriously?”

  Troy matched his tone. “I always take proposals seriously. I found out the hard way that it saves trouble in the end.”

  “How’d you find that out?” Dallas released her and remained propped on his elbow as he watched her slide from the bed.

  She stood beside the bed and grimaced faintly as she looked down at the supposedly no-wrinkle material, which had wrinkled during the night. Running her fingers through her hair in a quick repair job, she answered his question reflectively. “Well, I was in North Africa once, and this Arab—robes and everything—more or less ordered me to become his wife. He was speaking Arabic, but—”

  “You speak Arabic?” Dallas interrupted.

  “A smattering. Enough to know what he was talking about. Anyway, I said something flippant like ‘Ready anytime you are, Clyde.’ The next day, the embassy was in an uproar because this guy—who turned out to be a sheikh—sent herds of camels and goats to buy me.” When Dallas burst out laughing, she frowned down at him.

  “Don’t laugh; it took weeks to convince Clyde to go shopping somewhere else.”

  “You should put a lid on that charm of yours!” Dallas laughed.

  “It had nothing to do with charm,” Troy said firmly. “It was my hair. Arabs are fascinated by blondes and redheads. Which way to the shower, please? You may remember that I was somewhat out of it last night and missed the guided tour. By the way, how did I get here?”

  Dallas sat up in bed and linked his arms loosely around his upraised knees. “I carried you.”

  “And I missed that?” Troy mourned. “Damn. I always wanted to be swept off my feet.”

  “I’ll make a note of it,” he said thoughtfully.

  “And the master bath is through those doors over there. Towels, soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and a new toothbrush are in the linen closet. Help yourself.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “And I’ll try to scrounge fresh clothes for you.”

  Troy stopped at the doors and turned to face him, lifting an eyebrow. Do you keep clothes here for your women? Nothing of yours would fit.”

  “For your information,” he told her calmly,

  “no woman other than my sister has spent the night here since I’ve owned the place. But I believe she left a pair of jeans here.” Mockingly stern, he warned, “And if you want breakfast, you’d better stop jumping to conclusions.”

  Troy bowed with exaggerated obeisance and Dallas threw a pillow at her.

  “Take your shower,” he directed, “before I decide to drown you for going to sleep on me last night.”

  Laughing, Troy disappeared into the bathroom.

  Dallas looked after her for a moment with a smile, then threw back the covers and got out of bed. He wondered vaguely if she realized that he’d spent the better part of the night gazing at her as she lay sleeping in his bed.

  SEVEN

  TROY STEPPED UNDER a steaming hot shower in the large bathroom, resisting the temptation of a tub deep enough to swim in and boasting every modern convenience. She automatically washed her hair, swearing softly when she remembered where she was; hopefully Dallas owned a dryer. The thought of where she was also caused her to turn the water ice-cold before she stepped out, shivering, onto the mat.

  She reached for a large towel, muttering to herself. He’d been right, dammit; cold showers were no fun at all. She watched goose bumps rise on her arms, wondering if they were caused by the cold water or by her memory of just how hard it had been to leave his bed.

  She wrapped her hair in a second towel and was just about to start yelling for Dallas when he tapped on the door.

  “Clothes on the bed,” he called in a muffled voice. “And breakfast downstairs when you’re ready. Just follow your nose.”

  “Hey! D’you have a hair dryer?”

  “Top shelf of the linen closet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I’m going to take a shower myself; meet you downstairs.”

  “Okay.”

  Locating the hair dryer, Troy plugged it in and dried her hair, borrowing his comb to style it loosely. She put everything away neatly when she was finished, whistling softly to herself. Then, wearing only her towel, she opened the bathroom door and breezed out into the bedroom.

  And stopped dead.

  The woman was tall, slender, raven-haired—and gorgeous. She was casually dressed in slacks and a sweater that showed off every eye-stopping inch of a figure that Venus would have killed for. Her profile was toward Troy as she stood with hands on hips and stared at the rumpled bed bearing unmistakable signs of two occupants: two headprints on the pillow (Dallas had thrown his pillow at her, and it still lay on the floor by the bathroom doors), and the covers thrown back from both sides of the bed.

  For a moment—a single, eternal moment—Troy took in the woman’s presence in Dallas’s bedroom and felt a heart-jolting stab of jealousy.

  But then the woman turned to face her, and Troy relaxed. Torn between amusement and embarrassment at her sketchy attire, she said a little wryly, “Hi, I’m Troy Bennett.”

  “Hi,” the brunette responded in an equally wry tone. “I’m Andrea Cameron.” Her dark blue eyes laughed suddenly. “I came for my jeans, but I think you need them more than I do!”

  Dallas’s sister was twenty-six years old, a buyer for a rather famous antique dealer, and every bit as brilliant as she was beautiful. She was also completely delighted to have found Troy wrapped in a towel in her brother’s bedroom. And as she and Troy sat together in the dining room drinking coffee and waiting for Dallas before eating breakfast, she told Troy exactly why she was so delighted.

  “He was always so damn perfect,” she explained cheerfully, her lovely contralto voice wry.

  “Not stuffy; I don’t mean that. It’s just that Dallas never took a wrong step. Maybe it was because he’s the oldest, I don’t know. But it drove Tony and me crazy when we were kids; we gave up on the sibling rivalry bit before we reached high school. I mean, what was the point?”

  Troy was trying not to laugh. “That doesn’t explain why you’re so delighted to find me here. What is it—how the mighty are fallen?”

  Andrea laughed. “More like sauce for the goose. Ever since he moved his home office here to D.C., he’s been watching over me like a hen with one chick! Up until a week or so ago, that is, and I’m betting that’s when you two met.”

  Nodding, Troy understood exactly what the younger woman was getting at.

  Andrea chuckled softly. “That’s it. I have a feeling he’ll be too busy to worry about me—at least for a while.”

  Troy studied her speculatively, saying suddenly, “I have a friend you really should meet.”

  “Male, I hop
e?” Andrea lifted a brow.

  “Definitely, and I think you two would be perfect for each other. I have to warn you, though, he’s slippery as an eel.”

  Andrea pursed her lips thoughtfully, her blue eyes laughing. “A runner, huh? How far and how fast?”

  “He’ll probably break the record for the cross-country dash,” Troy said solemnly.

  “Mmm. Sounds like a lot of work. Is he worth it?”

  “Tom Elliot.”

  Andrea sat up straighter. “The blond god with the voice of pure honey? That Tom Elliot?”

  “That’s him.”

  Hitching her chair closer to Troy, Andrea said in a briskly conspiratorial tone, “Give me the lowdown on the course, friend. What kind of hurdles do I expect, and what’s my competition?”

  They were laughing together in perfect understanding and in an entirely feminine way when Dallas walked into the room a few moments later. He looked startled, but clearly not irritated by his sister’s presence. His gaze took in the two women and their air of conspiracy, noting along the way how well Andrea’s jeans and sweater fit Troy.

  He bent to kiss his sister’s cheek before heading for his chair. “Morning, Andy.”

  “Morning.” Andrea sat back and sent him a mock-baleful stare. “Should I read you the sisterly riot act now, or save it for later?”

  “The riot act?” He sat down and unfolded his napkin, smiling. “What have I done this time?”

  Andrea summoned a scandalized tone. “You’ve only abducted this poor child and held her against her will in your villainous abode—all night! She’s ruined, you brute!”

  Dallas sighed. “Before I repeat something I’ve said constantly over the years, just let me observe that it’d take a hell of a lot more than one night of sin to ruin Troy Bennett. I think she’s invincible.”

  Troy waved her fork for attention and hastily swallowed the bite of fruit she’d just taken. “Hey! You siblings stop discussing my reputation, will you, please? And it wasn’t a night of sin.”

  “Passion, then,” Dallas murmured.

  “You’re giving your sister the wrong idea,” Troy told him severely. She looked at Andrea gravely. “We were—uh—having a discussion last night, and I fell asleep on him.”

  Andrea choked on her juice, turning watering eyes to her brother. “You’ll have to polish up your prose style.”

  Dallas winced. “I’ll definitely repeat what I’ve said constantly over the years: Sisters should be strangled at birth.”

  The housekeeper entering the room with bacon and eggs prevented Andrea from retorting in kind, but her look at Dallas was full of awful promise.

  “Troy, did my graceless sister introduce you to my housekeeper, Mrs. Bradley?”

  “Yes, I did.” Andrea said indignantly.

  Troy smiled a little at Mrs. Bradley, resisting an impulse to respond to the laugh in her merry brown eyes. The middle-aged housekeeper seemed entirely accustomed to these two Camerons, and their amiable verbal fencing matches.

  As the housekeeper left the room, Andrea got to her feet with an insulted “And if you’re going to pick on me, I’m going home.”

  Dallas smiled gently at her.

  Hastily Troy said, “I’ll send your clothes back tomorrow, Andrea, if that’s okay.”

  Andrea pointedly ignored her brother. “That’s fine, Troy. Oh, and—give me a call next week about you-know-who.”

  “Right.”

  “Who?” Dallas demanded when his sister had gone.

  Troy thoughtfully crunched bacon, taking her time. “None of your business,” she said mildly.

  He sighed. “I think my future comfort would be more assured if you and my sister didn’t get along so well,” he observed.

  “Tough luck,” Troy commiserated.

  Peace reigned for a while—but just a short while. Troy realized only a few moments later that, breakfast and casual conversation aside, Dallas was watching her like a hawk.

  She placed her fork neatly on her plate and stared at him across the table.

  “Something wrong?” Dallas wanted to know.

  “You tell me.”

  “Come again?”

  “You’ve been staring at me. I was just wondering why.”

  “Well, you’ve nearly finished breakfast, haven’t you?”

  “And so?”

  “How soon we forget. My proposal.”

  “Oh. That.”

  Dallas propped an elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his hand in a gesture of despair. “People who invite pain,” he murmured,

  “have always puzzled me. Until now. I think I’m turning into a masochist.”

  Severely Troy said, “Well, any man who makes a proposal of marriage in the tone of a business deal deserves everything he gets!”

  Brightening, Dallas raised his head and tossed his napkin aside. “Is that the problem? Hell, why didn’t you say so sooner?” He stood and came around to her chair, pulling it out slightly, and then went down quite calmly on one knee.

  He should have looked ridiculous…but he didn’t. Troy gazed down at him and felt her heart flutter. She didn’t resist when he took both her hands in his, dimly realizing that if he’d used this tactic last night, the bed they had shared might have been a far cry from platonic.

  “Dallas…”

  “Marry me, sweetheart.” He lifted her hands to his lips, kissing each one in turn. “Please. I love you so much.”

  From the corner of her eye Troy saw the door to the kitchen start to open and then swing quickly shut as Mrs. Bradley clearly decided not to intrude. If Dallas saw, it obviously didn’t bother him.

  She looked at him and wondered again at his willingness to be vulnerable, his openness in expressing his feelings. Without conscious thought, her right hand freed itself and lifted to touch his cheek, feeling the smoothness of his skin, feeling a knot of tension in his jaw.

  Dallas reached into a pocket of his slacks with his free hand, removing a small black velvet box. He thumbed the catch open, his eyes never leaving her face, to reveal a glittering marquise diamond engagement ring. “Marry me,” he said softly, fiercely.

  Troy looked at the ring and then his face. “I want to,” she whispered. “But I can’t promise, Dallas. It’s too soon.”

  He took a slow, deep breath. “Will you wear the ring?” When she hesitated, he added gently, “It’s not a promise, Troy; I just want to know you’re wearing it.”

  She nodded and watched gravely as he slid the ring onto her fourth finger. It fit perfectly. She managed a shaky smile. “Such odd times you choose to propose. First last night after I broke into your house, and now this morning over breakfast.”

  “I’ll have to choose moonlight and romance the next time,” he vowed thoughtfully, rising to his feet and pulling her gently up. Her reluctance to commit herself didn’t appear to disturb him unduly. He smiled down at her whimsically. “And while we’re discussing odd things, d’you think you could spare the time this week to be abducted?”

  Troy found herself torn between laughter and tears. “What?”

  “Abducted. As in I sling you over my saddle and ride off into the desert. Remember the sheikh who wanted to buy you? I want to steal you for a few days.”

  Troy couldn’t help it; she started laughing. “Why don’t you just borrow me for a while?” she gasped.

  He frowned at her reprovingly. “I’m serious. D’you think Jamie could hold down the fort without you for a while?”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” he said, “I’d like you to myself a little while. For a couple of reasons.”

  “Which are?” she inquired warily.

  “You’re tired, sweetheart. You need a break from that mad dash you do every day. And I’d like for us to spend some time together with only each other for company. We could stay here—or go somewhere, if you’d rather. But I think we need the time, Troy.”

  Troy, knowing very well that their sporadic time alone together was the majo
r reason they’d not yet become lovers, wondered if he knew what he was doing. Being Troy, she asked him.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  He grinned slightly. “I think I’m waving a lighted match at dynamite.”

  Calmly Troy said, “Well, just so you know.”

  He gave her a bemused stare. “You’ll stay?”

  “You’re more polite than the sheikh. I’ll stay.”

  “No demands up front for separate bedrooms?”

  “You’re a gentleman—remember?”

  “Damn. I knew I’d boxed myself in with that one.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dallas smiled wryly. “Well, at least you’re staying.”

  “Yes. But in case you’ve forgotten the benefit’s tonight. And since it’s formal, I don’t think your sister’s jeans and sweater will fit the bill. I’ll have to go home—or send home—for clothes.”

  “Send home,” he said immediately. “I don’t trust Jamie not to talk you into changing your mind.”

  “Jamie gave up on trying to change my mind about anything years ago,” she told him dryly.

  Dallas shook his head slightly, then had a sudden thought. “This benefit tonight?”

  “What about it?”

  “I just hope to hell you haven’t planned on another escort.”

  “Besides you, you mean?” She smiled oddly.

  “No. But you may live to regret it.”

  He looked down at her warily. “Why?”

  “The gossip columnists will be out in force, and both of us are sirloin for their meat grinders.” Troy had a sudden thought of her own, lifting her left hand and staring at the engagement ring. “And they’re sure to spot this.”

  Dallas looked at her steadily.

  She returned the stare for a moment, then shrugged recklessly. “What the hell. I don’t care if you don’t.”

  He relaxed visibly. “Then neither of us cares. Come on: you can call home for clothes and then I’ll give you the guided tour.”

  The guided tour showed off a truly beautiful home. The furnishings were an eclectic mixture of comfortable modern pieces and priceless antiques, with several really good paintings and lithographs, and lovely collections of jade and ivory.