by Nora Roberts
“I’ve watched Pierce’s rehearsals daily,” she began, wishing for a cup of coffee and a few moments to pull herself together. “I think you’ll find he has the technical areas and his own crew well in hand.” She glanced around the bedroom, looking for some sign of him. “He opened last night, flawlessly. We’ve already discussed some alterations for the special, but nothing’s firmed up as yet. At this point whatever new routines he’s worked out he’s keeping to himself.”
“I want some firm estimates on the set within two weeks,” he told her. “We might have a change in the scheduling. You work it out with Atkins. I want a list of his proposed routines and the time allowance for each one.”
“I’ve already discussed it with him,” Ryan said coolly, annoyed that her father was infringing on her territory. “I am the producer, aren’t I?”
“You are,” he agreed. “I’ll see you in my office when you get back.”
Hearing the click, Ryan hung up with a sigh of exasperation. It had been a typical Bennett Swan conversation. She pushed the phone call from her mind and scrambled from the bed. Pierce’s robe lay draped over a chair, and picking it up, Ryan slipped it on.
“Pierce?” Ryan hurried out into the living area of the suite but found it empty. “Pierce?” she called again, stepping on one of the lost buttons from her blouse. Absently, Ryan picked it up and dropped it in the pocket of the robe before she walked through the suite.
Empty. The pain started in her stomach and spread. He had left her alone. Shaking her head, Ryan searched the rooms again. He must have left her a note telling her why and where he’d gone. He wouldn’t just wake up and leave her, not after last night.
But there was nothing. Ryan shivered, suddenly cold.
It was the pattern of her life, she decided. Moving to the window, she stared out at unlit neon. Whoever she cared for, whoever she gave love to, always went their own way. Yet somehow, she still expected it to be different.
When she had been small, it had been her mother, a young, glamour-loving woman jetting off to follow Bennett Swan all over the world. You’re a big girl, Ryan, and so self-sufficient. I’ll be back in a few days. Or a few weeks, Ryan remembered. There had always been a housekeeper and other servants to see that she was tended to. No, she had never been neglected or abused. Just forgotten.
Later it had been her father, dashing here and there at a moment’s notice. But of course, he’d seen that she had had a solid, dependable nanny whom he had paid a very substantial salary. Then she’d been shipped off to Switzerland, the best boarding school available. That daughter of mine has a head on her shoulders. Top ten percent of her class.
There’d always been an expensive present on her birthday with a card from thousands of miles away telling her to keep up the good work. Of course, she had. She would never have risked disappointing him.
Nothing ever changes, Ryan thought as she turned to stare at herself in the mirror. Ryan’s strong. Ryan’s practical. Ryan doesn’t need all the things other women do—hugs, gentleness, romance.
They’re right, of course, she told herself. It’s foolish to be hurt. We wanted each other. We spent the night together. Why romanticize it? I don’t have any claim on Pierce. And he has none on me. She fingered the lapel of his robe, then quickly dropped her hand. Moving swiftly, Ryan stripped and went to shower.
Ryan kept the water almost unbearably hot, allowing it to beat full force against her skin. She wasn’t going to think. She knew herself well. If she kept her mind a blank, when she opened it again, she’d know what she had to do.
The air in the bath was steamy and moist when she stepped out to towel herself. Her moves were brisk again. There was work to be done—notes to write on ideas and plans. Ryan Swan, Executive Producer. That’s what she had to concentrate on. It was time to stop worrying about the people who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give her what she wanted. She had a name to make for herself in the industry. That was all that really mattered.
As she dressed, she was perfectly calm. Dreams were for sleeping, and she was wide awake. There were dozens of details to be seen to. She had meetings to set up, department heads to deal with. Decisions had to be made. She had been in Las Vegas long enough. She knew Pierce’s style as well as she ever would. And, more important to her at the moment, she knew precisely what she wanted in the finished product. Back in Los Angeles, Ryan could start putting her ideas into motion.
It was going to be her first production, but she’d be damned if it was going to be her last. This time she had places of her own to go to.
Ryan picked up her comb and ran it through her damp hair. The door opened behind her.
“So, you’re awake.” Pierce smiled and started to cross to her. The look in her eyes stopped him. Angry hurt—he could feel waves of it.
“Yes, I’m awake,” she said easily and continued to comb her hair. “I’ve been up for some time. My father called earlier. He wanted a progress report.”
“Oh?” Her emotions weren’t directed toward her father, Pierce decided, watching her steadily. “Have you ordered anything from room service?”
“No.”
“You’ll want some breakfast,” he said, taking another step toward her. He went no farther, feeling the wall she had thrown up between them.
“No, actually, I don’t.” Ryan took out her mascara and began to apply it with great care. “I’ll get some coffee at the airport. I’m going back to L.A. this morning.”
The cool, matter-of-fact tone had his stomach muscles tightening. Could he have been so wrong? Had the night they had shared meant so little to her? “This morning?” he repeated, matching her tone. “Why?”
“I think I have a fairly good handle on how you work and what you’ll want for the special.” She kept her eyes focused only on her own in the mirror. “I should start on the preliminary stages, then we can set up a meeting when you’re back in California. I’ll call your agent.”
Pierce bit off the words he wanted to say. He never put chains on anyone but himself. “If that’s what you want.”
Ryan’s fingers tightened on the tube of mascara before she set it down. “We both have our jobs to do. Mine’s in L.A.; yours, for the moment, is here.” She turned to go to the closet, but he laid a hand on her shoulder. Pierce dropped it immediately when she stiffened.
“Ryan, have I hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” she repeated and continued on to the closet. Her tone was like a shrug, but he couldn’t see her eyes. “How could you have possibly hurt me?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke from directly behind her. Ryan pulled out an armful of clothes. “But I have.” He turned her to face him. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Forget it,” she told him. “I will.” She started to walk away, but this time he kept his hands firm.
“I can’t forget something unless I know what it is.” Though he kept his hands light, annoyance had crept into his tone. “Ryan, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Drop it, Pierce.”
“No.”
Ryan tried to jerk away again, and again he held her still. She told herself to be calm. “You left me!” she exploded and tossed the clothes aside. The passion erupted from her so swiftly, it left him staring and speechless. “I woke up and you were gone, without a word. I’m not used to one-night stands.”
His eyes kindled at that. “Ryan—”
“No, I don’t want to hear it.” She shook her head vigorously. “I expected something different from you. I was wrong. But that’s all right. A woman like me doesn’t need all the niceties. I’m an expert on surviving.” She twisted but found herself held against him. “Don’t! Let me go, I have to pack.”
“Ryan.” Even as she resisted, he held her closer. The hurt went deep, he thought, and hadn’t started with him. “I’m sorry.”
“I want you to let me go, Pierce.”
“You won’t listen to me if I do.” He stroked a hand down her wet hair. “I need you to listen.”
> “There’s nothing to say.”
Her voice had thickened, and he felt a wicked stab of self-blame. How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have seen what would be important to her?
“Ryan, I know a lot about one-night stands.” Pierce drew her away, just far enough so that he could see her eyes. “That isn’t what last night was for me.”
She shook her head fiercely, struggling for composure. “There’s no need for you to say that.”
“I told you once, I don’t lie, Ryan.” He slipped his hands up to her shoulders. “What we had together last night is very important to me.”
“You were gone when I woke up.” She swallowed and shut her eyes. “The bed was cold.”
“I’m sorry. I went down to smooth out a few things before tonight’s show.”
“If you’d woke me—”
“I never thought to wake you, Ryan,” he said quietly. “Just as I never thought how you might feel waking up alone. The sun was coming in when you fell asleep.”
“You were up as long as I was.” She tried to turn away again. “Pierce, please!” Hearing the desperation in the word, she bit her lip. “Let me go.”
He lowered his hands, then watched as she gathered her clothes again. “Ryan, I never sleep more than five or six hours. It’s all I need.” Was this panic he was feeling watching her fold a blouse into a suitcase? “I thought you’d still be sleeping when I got back.”
“I reached for you,” she said simply. “And you were gone.”
“Ryan—”
“No, it doesn’t matter.” She pressed her hands to her temples a moment and let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a fool. You haven’t done anything, Pierce. It’s me. I always expect too much. I’m always floored when I don’t get it.” Quickly, she began to pack again. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. Please forget it.”
“It isn’t something I want to forget,” he murmured.
“I’d feel less foolish if I knew you would,” she said, trying to make her voice light. “Just put it down to a lack of sleep and a bad disposition. I should be going back, though. I’ve a lot of work to do.”
He had seen her needs from the first—her response to gentleness, her pleasure in the gift of a flower. She was an emotional, romantic woman who tried very hard not to be. Pierce cursed himself, thinking how she must have felt to find the bed empty after the night they had spent together.
“Ryan, don’t go.” That was difficult for him. It was something he never asked of anyone.
Her fingers hesitated at the locks of her suitcase. Clicking them shut, Ryan set it on the floor, then turned. “Pierce, I’m not angry, honestly. A little embarrassed, maybe.” She managed a smile. “I really should go back and start things moving. There might be a change in the scheduling, and—”
“Stay,” he interrupted, unable to stop himself. “Please.”
Ryan remained silent a moment. Something she saw in his eyes had a block lodging in her throat. It was costing him something to ask. Just as it was going to cost her something to ask. “Why?”
“I need you.” He took a breath after what was for him a staggering admission. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Ryan took a step toward him. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. Yes, it matters.”
She waited for a moment but was unable to convince herself to walk out the door. “Show me,” she told him.
Going to her, he gathered her close. Ryan shut her eyes. It was exactly what she had needed—to be held, just to be held. His chest was firm against her cheek, his arms strong around her. Yet she knew she was being held as if she were something precious. Fragile, he had called her. For the first time in her life, Ryan wanted to be.
“Oh, Pierce, I’m an idiot.”
“No.” He lifted her chin with a finger and kissed her. “You’re very sweet.” He smiled then and laid his forehead on hers. “Are you going to complain when I wake you up after five hours sleep?”
“Never.” Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck. “Or maybe just a little.”
She smiled at him, but his eyes were suddenly serious. Pierce slid a hand up to cup the back of her neck before his mouth lowered to hers.
It was like the first time—the gentleness, the feather-light pressure that turned her blood to flame. She was utterly helpless when he kissed her like this, unable to pull him closer, unable to demand. She could only let him take in his own time.
Pierce knew that this time the power was his alone. It made his hands move tenderly as they undressed her. He let her blouse slip slowly off her shoulders, down her back, to flutter to the floor. Her skin quivered as his hands passed over it.
Unhooking her trousers, he drew them down her hips, letting his fingers toy with the tiny swatch of silk and lace that rose high at her thighs. All the while his mouth nibbled at hers. Her breath caught, then she moaned as he trailed a finger inside the silk. But he didn’t remove it. Instead, he slid his hand to her breast to stroke and tease until she began to tremble.
“I want you,” she said shakily. “Do you know how much I want you?”
“Yes.” He brushed soft, butterfly kisses over her face. “Yes.”
“Make love to me,” Ryan whispered. “Pierce, make love to me.”
“I am,” he murmured and pressed his mouth to the frantic pulse in her neck.
“Now,” she demanded, too weak to pull him to her.
He laughed, deep in his throat, and lowered her to the bed. “You drove me mad last night, Miss Swan, touching me like this.” Pierce trailed a finger down the center of her body, stopping to linger at the soft mound between her legs. Slowly, lazily, he took his mouth to follow the trail.
In the night a madness had been on him. He had known impatience, desperation. He had taken her again and again, passionately, but had been unable to savor. It was as though he had been starved, and greed had driven him. Now, though he wanted her no less, he could restrain the need. He could taste and sample and enjoy.
Ryan’s limbs were heavy. She couldn’t move them, could only let him touch and caress and kiss wherever he wished. The strength that had driven her the night before had been replaced by a honeyed weakness. She lay steeped in it.
His mouth loitered at her waist, his tongue circling lower while he ran his hands lightly over her, tracing the shape of her breasts, stroking her neck and shoulders. He teased rather than possessed, aroused rather than fulfilled.
He caught the waistband of the silk in his teeth and took it inches lower. Ryan arched and moaned. But it was the skin of her thigh he tasted, savoring until she knew madness was only a breath away. She heard herself sighing his name, a soft, urgent sound, but he made no answer. His mouth was busy doing wonderful things to the back of her knee.
Ryan felt the heated skin of his chest brush over her leg, though she had no idea how or when he had rid himself of his shirt. She had never been more aware of her own body. She learned of the drugging, heavenly pleasure that could come from the touch of a fingertip on the skin.
He was lifting her, Ryan thought mistily, though her back was pressed into the bed. He was levitating her, making her float. He was showing her magic, but this trance was no illusion.
They were both naked now, wrapped together as his mouth journeyed back to hers. He kissed her slowly, deeply, until she was limp. His nimble fingers aroused. She hadn’t known passion could pull two ways at once—into searing fire and into the clouds.
Her breath was heaving, but still he waited. He would give her everything first, every dram of pleasure, every dark delight he knew. Her skin was like water in his hands, flowing, rippling. He nibbled and sucked gently on her swollen lips and waited for her final moan of surrender.
“Now, love?” he asked, spreading light, whispering kisses over her face. “Now?”
She couldn’t answer. She was beyond words and reason. That was where he wanted her. Exhilarated, he laughed and pressed his mouth to her throat. “You’re m
ine, Ryan. Tell me. Mine.”
“Yes.” It came out on a husky breath, barely audible. “Yours.” But his mouth swallowed the words even as she said them. “Take me.” She didn’t hear herself say it. She thought the demand was only in her brain, but then he was inside her. Ryan gasped and arched to meet him. And still he moved with painful slowness.
The blood was roaring in her ears as he drew the ultimate pleasure to its fullest. His lips rubbed over hers, capturing each trembling breath.
Abruptly, he crushed his mouth on hers—no more gentleness, no more teasing. She cried out as he took her with a sudden, wild fury. The fire consumed them both, fusing skin and lips until Ryan thought they both had died.
Pierce lay on her, resting his head between her breasts. Under his ear he heard the thunder of her heartbeat. She had yet to stop trembling. Her arms were twined around him, with one hand still tangled in his hair. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep her like this—alone, naked, his. The fierce desire for possession shook him. It wasn’t his way. Had never been his way before Ryan. The drive was too strong to resist.
“Tell me again,” he demanded, lifting his face to watch hers.
Ryan’s eyes opened slowly. She was drugged with love, sated