Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  “Because they’re there.”

  Not the greatest show of confidence, but she decided to take what she could get, before Crompton decided not to trust her. “All right,” she said, glancing around the barren living room for a seat. There weren’t any, just the futon, which was too small for the two of them. She compromised by sitting on the floor, wincing slightly as she sank down on the bare wood.

  “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t miss a thing. She’d have to be extra careful around this man, for more reasons than one. “Just a little stiff from yesterday. I’m not used to being tossed on a floor and jumped on.”

  Again that faint glint of humor in his dark eyes. “It has its advantages.”

  She wasn’t going to let him wow her. “Not if you’re the one on the bottom,” she shot back.

  He shrugged, moving those gorgeous, bony shoulders of his, and she wondered what he’d say if she asked him to put on a shirt. Maybe he could even slick that long mane of hair back, find himself some ballpoint pens and a pocket protector. Hitch his jeans halfway up to his armpits, or better yet, find something polyester to wear.

  It would be a major mistake to let him guess what kind of effect he was having on her. She tossed her hair back, meeting his gaze defiantly. “Who do you think sabotaged your lab?” she said. “And do you think they meant to hurt you, as well?”

  “I never said I thought my lab was sabotaged.”

  “Give me a break, Crompton,” she snapped. “You aren’t the only person around here with a brain, even if yours is as oversized as your ego.”

  “All right. For argument’s sake let’s say someone set a bomb in my lab. You’re the obvious suspect, but for now we’re going to assume you had nothing to do with it. You simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” she said. “It’s going to make great copy.”

  “I’m sure it will. When I let you write it.”

  “Let me write it?” she echoed, incensed. “I’d like to see you try to stop me, buster. There is such a thing as free speech, and a free press, and—”

  “And if you want me to cooperate and tell you everything I know, then you’ll have to cooperate with me,” he interrupted smoothly. “I don’t want anything going public until I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “And you get to decide?”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  He was maddening. He also held all the cards, and Suzanna knew it. Much as she wanted to tell him off, throw his conditions back in that too-handsome face, she had too much sense. The truth about what was going on at Beebe, rife as it was with industrial sabotage, would give her career the kind of boost most people only fantasized about. Add to that what Uncle Vinnie had referred to as America’s secret weapon, and she had a story that would push her to the top of her profession.

  “I’ll take it,” she said firmly. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You keep me with you. You can call me your research assistant, your significant other, your sister or your housekeeper. I don’t care. You just make sure I’m in on things.”

  “My research assistants are working on their Ph.D.’s.”

  “I already have mine. Stanford, 1988, in physics,” she said succinctly, hoping he’d be impressed.

  He wasn’t. “I don’t have a sister, and I don’t need a housekeeper.”

  She glanced around the pristine confines of his apartment with transparent contempt. “You certainly don’t.”

  “So I suppose that makes you my mistress.”

  She blushed. It was the curse of her pale, freckled complexion, an inheritance from her Danish mother. “No,” she said flatly.

  “Think I’m going to take advantage, Molloy?” he said. “Use it as an excuse to grope you?”

  She remembered Henry Osborn, and she shivered. “I know scientists,” she said. “You spend so much time in the lab your hormones go awry, and it wouldn’t matter if I looked like a truck driver in drag. How about your cousin from out of town?”

  He shook his head. “Santa Cristina is a small town, Molloy. You’re too well-known. If you won’t pose as my mistress, how about a date? We can still be in the courting stage, not the falling-all-over-each-other stage.”

  “You have been locked in your lab too long,” she observed coolly. “Mistresses, courting. You must have read historical romances in your childhood.”

  Again that small, devastating smile. “I’ve read my share.”

  She didn’t believe him for a moment. “In this day and age, courtship, if it exists at all, consists of sharing lab tests before people do the deed,” she said primly.

  “Had a lot of experience, have you?”

  “More than you’ve had,” she shot back, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t gone to bed with anyone since her short-lived, very unsatisfactory engagement three years earlier.

  “You want to compare conquests?”

  “You’re not adding me to your list,” she warned him.

  “I wasn’t aware that I was asking.”

  She wanted to hit him. “Just in case you were considering it,” she said stonily.

  “I’m forewarned,” he said, still with that annoying trace of amusement. “Okay, so we’re not supposed to be lovers. How about friends?”

  She could be just as cynical. “That might be even harder to believe.”

  She startled him into laughing out loud. “Why don’t we let them draw their own conclusions?”

  “What if someone asks?”

  “I’m entirely capable of refusing to answer rude questions. I imagine you could do so, as well. You don’t strike me as the most cooperative person I’ve ever met.” He rose from the futon, his movements smooth and graceful as he walked to the window, and she watched, unwillingly, the play of muscles beneath his skin.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she demanded, unable to stand it any longer.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “No,” he said. “Are you?”

  “As a matter of fact, this room is downright chilly.”

  His dark eyes took on an abstract look. “Interesting,” he said. “I was thinking of opening a window.”

  “How about turning on the heat instead?”

  He’d turned back to stare out the window, and something obviously caught his eye. Unable to resist, she rose and joined him, keeping her shoulder away from his as she glanced down at the neat little landscaped yard that adjoined the parking lot.

  “What’s so interesting?” she demanded, wishing she hadn’t moved quite so close, unwilling to betray her discomfort by moving away. One thing was sure—he was quite warm. She could feel the heat of his body through the inches of space between them, through her layers of clothing.

  “That car down there. I don’t remember seeing it before.”

  “You’ve memorized all the cars that park here?” she said, disbelieving.

  He glanced down at her, and the sensation was unnerving. His gaze was as heated as all that bare skin, which was far too close to hers. “I have that kind of mind,” he said. “It doesn’t require any effort on my part.”

  “Maybe there’s a new tenant.”

  “No. Two men were sitting in it, staring up at this building. This window.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They’re over there talking to the security guard. I wonder…”

  His voice trailed off as Suzanna leaned forward to get a better look at the two men. She felt her arm brush against his, and she controlled her nervous start. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Men didn’t make her nervous. Particularly men like Daniel Crompton, no matter how unexpectedly gorgeous he was turning out to be.

  She concentrated on the two men. They were almost ridiculously anonymous, with their dark suits and their bland, middle-aged, middle-class faces. And Daniel was absolutely right—they were in deep conversation with the security guard, and all three of the men were staring directly at
their window.

  “They’ve got an out-of-state license plate,” she said quietly. “Either that, or it’s some sort of official one. I can’t quite read it from this distance.”

  He tilted his head to stare at the gray sedan, focusing intently, and then rubbed his nose absently. “I think it’s got Oregon plates,” he said after a moment, moving closer, his arm resting against hers. “I can just make them out….”He twitched his elegant nose, staring at the back of the sedan.

  The explosion shattered the morning quiet. The shock of it knocked Suzanna back against Daniel, and his hands came up to catch her, holding her against his hot, hard chest for a breathless moment.

  She couldn’t move. He was burning up, so hot his hands burned through the soft cotton jersey of her T-shirt, so hot that the smooth skin of his chest scorched her back, so hot that she melted against him, wanting to sink into that heat, lose herself in the glorious warmth of him. And then the glow of the fire down below pulled her out of her momentary weakness, and she jerked herself away, uneasily aware of the fact she hadn’t wanted to move at all.

  If the touch of her body against his had disturbed him even a fraction as much as it had disturbed her, he didn’t show it. He simply leaned past her, looking out the window, a cool, caluclating expression on his face.

  “Must be another car bomb,” he murmured.

  “Another car bomb?” Suzanna shrieked, thoroughly rattled. “What are you talking about?”

  “The same thing happened when I was walking home this morning. A car exploded.” He didn’t seem unduly concerned by it all.

  “And you think it’s a coincidence?” she demanded.

  “No.” He looked down at her, and there was an unreadable expression in his dark, fire-lit eyes. “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

  It was such a melodramatic statement, said in such a matter-of-fact tone, but Suzanna could hardly argue with it. Not with the testimony of her own eyes.

  “Maybe I don’t want to hang around, after all,” she said uneasily.

  “And miss your chance at the scoop of the century?” he murmured. “Think of the fame and fortune.”

  “I can’t enjoy fame and fortune if I’m caught in the crossfire.” She wasn’t seriously thinking of wimping out. She’d never been a coward in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Tempting as the thought might be, she wasn’t quite ready to turn her back on Daniel Crompton, if for no other reason than her insatiable curiosity.

  “You think you can protect yourself?” he asked idly, moving away from the window as the resulting chaos of the fire lost his interest.

  “Do you think you can protect me?”

  “You’re probably safer with me, even though it makes things more difficult, as far as I’m concerned.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you, of course. It makes no difference to me.”

  The thought rankled. Another man would want to protect her, but then, she’d never been one who needed protection. Still, the man might at least show a trace of concern for her well-being.

  “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Crompton,” she said. “I didn’t like getting bathed in green slime any more than you did. I’d kind of like to find out who was behind it.”

  He didn’t move for a moment. “Then let’s go,” he said finally.

  He’d managed to startle her. “Go where?”

  “To the scene of the crime, of course. If we want answers, Beebe is the place to find them.”

  At least he’d have to put on a shirt. She viewed that prospect with definite mixed feelings. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat in this place? I’m starving.”

  “There’s some vegamin in the refrigerator.”

  “What’s that? It sounds like bug spray.”

  He’d disappeared into the bedroom, and she resisted the impulse to tiptoe after him and watch him get dressed. “It’s a nutritional drink,” he said. “Gives you all the nutrients, and you don’t have to bother with food.”

  “Bother with food?” she echoed, aghast. “Food is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

  “It’s a waste of time,” he said, reappearing in the bedroom door. He was buttoning a chambray shirt over his lean, muscled chest, and he’d shoved his feet into a worn pair of high tops. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been told it tastes like bug spray.”

  “I think I’ll pass. There’s a fast-food place on the way. I need coffee.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a car.”

  “It’s out at Beebe.”

  “So is mine. I guess we run.”

  “Run?” Suzanna echoed, horrified. “Are you crazy? Nothing short of life or death would make me run. You must be some sort of health fanatic.”

  “Not particularly. Running enlarges the arteries, which is always beneficial.”

  “My arteries are just fine,” she said firmly. “Let’s call a taxi.”

  “We could walk.”

  “Taxi,” she repeated. “And we’ll have him stop on the way.”

  DANIEL HAD NEVER REALIZED how good he’d be at manipulation. The very stubborn and surprisingly luscious Suzanna Molloy had done exactly as he wanted her to, with only the slightest bit of subtle prodding. There was no way he was going to let her out of his sight, but he knew perfectly well she’d fight that unless she thought it was her idea.

  It was simple enough to dangle his cooperation in front of those myopic brown eyes. The fact of the matter was, he was intent on keeping her with him, for a number of reasons. For one thing, she’d been in the same explosion he’d been in, an explosion that seemed to raise his body temperature and give him the uncanny ability to disappear. He didn’t know what else he could do, but he suspected his strange side effects weren’t at an end. He wanted to see if she was similarly affected.

  There was always the chance she was behind that explosion in the lab, though he doubted it. He laid the blame squarely at Henry Osborn’s door, and he hadn’t missed Suzanna’s squirm of discomfort when he brought up his name. Something had happened between them, and Daniel intended to find out what. He also meant to find out who his enemies were, and who were his friends.

  And then, of course, there was the little matter of sheer, unbridled lust. Ms. Suzanna Molloy happened to have the uncanny ability to push all the right buttons. He wasn’t used to being at the mercy of his physical nature. He drank vegamin to fuel his body, ran to keep his energy at peak, but in general he kept his appetites under rigid control.

  Molloy endangered that control. If he had any sense he’d keep away from her, but he wasn’t feeling particularly sensible. He was feeling adventuruous, edgy and hot.

  And that heat was directed at Suzanna Molloy.

  Chapter Five

  A couple of hours later, Daniel was still distracted by the woman. He had to admit it—Suzanna Molloy fascinated him. It was a novel situation. There was little that interested him outside of his work, but he was finding the bundle of contradictions that had picked the lock to his apartment to be downright mesmerizing. Enough so that he was almost ready to ignore the question of who or what was behind the sabotage at Beebe.

  However, even if he wanted to ignore it and concentrate on Molloy, he doubted whether she’d have any part of it. She seemed to have her own agenda, and she didn’t strike him as the sort who’d let anything get in her way.

  Daniel Crompton wasn’t the sort of man who followed anything but his own inclination. Fortunately, right now his inclination followed quite closely with Suzanna’s. He was more than willing to give in to her wishes, as long as they dovetailed with his.

  She sat as far away from him as she could in the back of the cab, a foam cup of coffee in one capable-looking hand, some disgusting breakfast concoction in the other. It smelled like eggs and sausage and grease, and she was eating it with obvious relish. He’d given her the approximate cholesterol count when she’d first unwrapped it, but her succinct reply had managed to shock him into silence, even as it amused him. Clearly Ms. Molloy
fancied herself one tough lady, from the tips of her black leather running shoes to the top of her silky straight hair. Too bad that the faintly yearning expression in her wonderful eyes betrayed her. Too bad her mouth was deliciously vulnerable when it wasn’t curled in hostility.

  She didn’t like him, he knew that much. But he was also quite certain he could change her mind, if he set himself to do so. The question was, why was he even considering such a thing?

  He leaned back in the corner of the cab, inhaling the aroma of coffee and grease and old cigarettes, and he smiled faintly. His behavior was completely uncharacteristic, a fact which disturbed him only slightly. He’d become too predictable in the last few years. He was more than ready to change his ways, and Suzanna Molloy offered him the perfect means to do just that.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded, delicately licking the grease off her fingers like an elegant cat.

  “Like what?”

  “You’re smirking at me,” she said. “I don’t trust men who smirk.”

  She had a trace of shining grease on the side of her mouth. He felt the sudden, irrational urge to kiss her there, to taste it. How very odd. “I’m not smirking,” he said with an attempt at severity. “I’m simply smiling. You amuse me.”

  “You’re easily amused.” As the taxi approached the front entrance to Beebe Control Systems International, she leaned forward and squinted through her wire-rimmed glasses. “Where’s my car?” she demanded suspiciously.

  The parking lot was practically empty, which was to be expected on a Saturday morning. For some reason the researchers at Beebe weren’t encouraged to work on weekends. “Where did you leave it?” He leaned forward and handed a ten-dollar bill to the long-suffering driver.

  “Not far away from that ridiculous car,” she said, clambering out of the taxi and staring around her in dismay. It was only a little after nine, and Daniel could see the faint mist rising from the surrounding fields. It was a cool morning, and he still felt hot.

  “Which ridiculous car?” he asked evenly. “You mean the Ferrari?”

  “Is that what it is? I wouldn’t have thought anyone working here could afford such a thing. I can’t imagine spending that much on something to drive you to work.”