"Soon," Casey told her. "Just not tonight, okay? Please?"
"I suppose if I argue, you'll break the first date you've had in two years, won't you?"
"Damn right I will."
"Well, okay. I'll spend one more night at the hotel. For you. God knows I wouldn't want to be responsible for the longevity of your old-maidhood."
"Watch your mouth."
Laura grinned, crossed the suite that was costing them both a healthy portion of their weekly paychecks and sank into the leather sofa. "Now, tell me about him."
"There's not much to tell." Casey averted her eyes, wandering to the television stand to thumb through the TV Guide special holiday issue just for something to do. "I don't know him very well yet."
"Well, tell me what you do know. Is he gorgeous?"
"I think so."
"You think so? You mean you haven't even seen him yet?"
Casey shook her head. "He sounds gorgeous, though."
"Nice voice, huh?"
"Great voice."
"What's he do for a living?"
"Um…" Casey dropped the magazine, bent to pick it up again and straightened, banging her head on the stand. She rubbed her head, scowling. "He's sort of a public servant."
"Works for the government, hmm?"
"He's in … law enforcement."
"A cop?"
"He's more or less in … private practice."
"Oh, a lawyer."
"Let's drop this. I mean, it's only a first date. Not a big deal here."
"I can tell you're hoping it will be though," Laura said.
"You know me so well." Casey smiled through her gritted teeth. "Let's get some dinner." She wasn't the least bit hungry. In fact, the way her stomach was behaving, she doubted she'd be able to eat a thing. But it would help pass the time between now and her alleged "date." The park at midnight, indeed. She must be out of her mind.
"Okay, we'll eat," Laura said. "And afterward, I'll help you decide what to wear. We'll make sure you knock his socks off," she promised.
Casey suppressed a moan.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
It was dark. Damned dark. The duck pond lay like an oil slick, while its residents lined the shore with their heads tucked into their feathers. If Casey had half a brain she'd be doing the same—only the shore would be her bed at the hotel, and the feathers encased in a pillow. It was too dark.
Hell, she'd never seen it this dark.
She should have realized it would be. He wouldn't have suggested it without forethought, would he? No, not the elusive Guardian, a man who'd managed to keep his identity secret for all this time. He'd have taken the moon's phase into account even if it had never occurred to her to check a calendar. There was no moon tonight. And the stars did little but sit uselessly in the midwinter sky and twinkle. Lumination was not their thing.
She bumped her shin on the bench and hopped backward, swearing under her breath and rubbing the spot she'd no doubt bruised. At least she'd found the damned bench. Now if she could just find the guy who was supposed to be on it.
"Are you all right?"
She whirled when his voice sounded from behind her, then came to a halt and tried to breathe again.
He was only a dark shape, tall, looming so close she could feel the heat from his body. It was as if the night itself had taken on form, given itself a voice.
She tingled, told herself to stop it and tried to sound brisk. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I'm sorry."
"If you were so sorry you'd take me someplace with light. This is crazy."
"This is necessary," he said. "But if you'd rather call it off—"
"No. I'm here, let's get on with this." She strained her eyes in the darkness but could barely make out his shape, let alone see what he looked like. He was tall, too tall. She was on the short side, so she resented his height. She didn't like craning her neck to look up at people. Especially men who, in her opinion, felt superior enough without her helping them along by having to look up at them. He had nice shoulders. Wide. Powerful looking. His face was nothing but shadow. Shadow that moved when he spoke. She took a step closer, unaware of doing so until his hands came to her shoulders to keep her where she was. Big hands. But gentle. She went still when he touched her and tried to analyze the warm feeling pulsing in her skin where his hands were.
"Why don't we sit?" he suggested. And he took his hands away. Too soon. She hadn't figured out that feeling yet.
"All right." She turned, took a hesitant step toward the bench, then reached out with one hand, waving it back and forth in the darkness. Somewhere crickets chirped, and a chill breeze whispered across her nape.
She shivered, caught her toe on a piece of broken sidewalk and nearly fell.
And for the second time in as many minutes, he touched her. His hands clasped her waist and she sucked in a fast breath. What was that tingling sensation? Why did her flesh seem to come alive whenever his hands made contact? More important, was he aware of it, too?
"The bench is right here," he said, guiding her forward until she could feel the wood touch the fabric of the dress she wore. Had his voice been just a little unsteady? Slightly hoarse? His hands lingered a fraction of a second longer than was necessary before he took them away again. She didn't like this. All this … this feeling, as if the guy were giving off some kind of electrical charge. What did he look like? Suddenly she was dying to know.
She turned and lowered herself until she was sitting. But not relaxing. She perched on the edge, most of her weight on her feet, ready to spring up and run, should the need arise. Half-afraid he'd touch her again and jolt her right off the bench this time. Half-afraid he wouldn't touch her again at all.
"You're very nervous, aren't you?"
She nodded. Then remembered he couldn't see her. Or maybe he could. Maybe he was so used to encounters in total darkness that he could see like a cat. "I'm alone with a complete stranger in the middle of nowhere. You could be a maniac for all I know."
"And did you come prepared for that eventuality?"
"What?"
She heard him moving, felt his warmth as he sat down beside her, not close enough to touch her, but she could feel him as if he were. There was an intense awareness between them. Or maybe it was that power surge she'd felt when they touched—maybe she could feel it even without physical contact. Maybe just being near him was enough to make the hairs at her nape stand upright.
Or maybe it was just a natural reaction to being in the dark. The other senses heightening the way they did when one lost one's vision. Or maybe she was letting her imagination get out of hand here.
"You don't seem to me the type of woman who would come into a situation like this one unprepared."
She thought about the mace in her pocket. The little flip phone in the other. She'd put 911 on speed dial. "I took a few precautions," she admitted.
"Good. You'd have been foolish not to."
"So we've established I'm no fool. Have we accomplished anything else?" She was trying hard, maybe too hard. Being cute, being flip, trying to hide the tension that gnawed at her belly with this man. Trying to keep some semblance of control.
"Such as?" She didn't reply, and eventually he understood. "Ah, my decision."
"That's what this meeting was about, wasn't it?" He moved a little. She jumped, almost off the seat. Damn. So much for maintaining a cool demeanor.
He went still, and she could feel him studying her face, though she didn't know if he could see her.
"What can I do to make you more comfortable in this situation, Ms. Jones?"
She shrugged. "You can call me Casey. And … and give me something to call you besides Guardian."
"I can call you Casey," he said.
"But you won't tell me your name."
"My name is unimportant."
"Names are always important. There's power in words, you know. Especially in names."
"Is there?
"
"You know there is. That's why you won't tell me yours."
"Do you think so?"
She sighed. The breeze picked up, blew her hair into her face. Then his hand was there, pushing it aside. His fingers were warm, strong. That shiver of awareness melted into her skin, and she closed her eyes, very nearly pressed her face closer to his touch. But then she realized what she was about to do, and opened her eyes wide again. "You can see me, can't you?"
"A little."
"You must spend a lot of time in the dark."
He said nothing for a moment. But his hand fell away, and she almost sighed at its absence.
"Tell me about your sister, Casey."
"All right." She had to pause a moment, gather her thoughts, recover from his touch. Imagine having to recover from someone's casual touch. She was in trouble here. But she lifted her chin, drew a breath. She could get through this. Deal with him. Figure out why he caused such odd reactions in her. She could.
"Laura … wasn't always my sister. My parents adopted her when she was six."
"I see."
"It wasn't something they'd talked about doing. There was no planning, no lead-up to it. They just brought her home one day. And I knew there was something more going on. Secrets they were keeping. It drove me nuts for a long time."
"You … dislike secrets?"
"Can't stand them. Never could."
"Sometimes they're necessary."
"I don't think so." She leaned back on the bench, looked up at the stars. "I think the truth is always better." She thought about the secret she was keeping from him. That she was a journalist, a reporter, and more than that, a reporter whose forte was revealing other people's secrets. Now, here she was, keeping secrets of her own.
"Why is that?" he was asking.
"Why is the truth better?" She narrowed her eyes on the dim silhouette of his face. "Because when you keep a secret, you live in constant fear of it being found out. You go over and over what might happen if someone reveals the truth." She shook her head. "I suppose you're right—sometimes it's necessary. But it's no way to live."
"You sound like the voice of experience."
She shrugged and said nothing.
"Do you have secrets of your own, Casey?"
"I might have one. A small one. Nothing like the bundles of deception you and my sister are carrying around."
He was quiet for a while. When she decided he wasn't going to reply to that, she went on. "I think this trouble she's in started back then, before I even knew her. Whatever happened to her before she came to us … whatever tore her from her real family…" She shook her head. "But I don't know that for sure. I only know she was scared then, and now she has that same look in her eyes."
"Where is she now?"
"Safe," Casey said. "At a hotel. We've been staying there since the break-in. But I'd really like to go back to the house. Laura would, too."
"You'll be able to do that soon."
She turned toward him quickly. "Will we?"
He drew a breath. It was deep and sensual, the sound of the night air filling his lungs. "You'll be safe there. I'll watch the house from outside to make sure of it."
"Then you've decided to trust me?"
She thought he might have smiled, but of course she couldn't be sure. "I've decided that you are telling the truth about needing my help. I'm still not sure I can trust you."
"But you're going to help me anyway," she whispered.
"Yes."
Of course he was. Who'd turn down ten grand just because of a little mistrust? "I'll have to go to the bank tomorrow. Withdraw the money. I suppose you'll want it in cash—"
"I don't want your money, Casey."
She blinked, tilting her head to one side and wishing she could see his face. "You don't?"
"That's not why I do this."
She realized she was gaping, snapped her mouth closed, shook her head slowly in wonder. "Then why do you? You intrigue me, Guardian. What kind of man lives in utter solitude just to maintain a secret identity that enables him to be everyone's hero? How did you end up where you are, anyway?"
His sigh was long and low. And his breath touched her face like a caress. "It's long, complicated … and private." He shook his head. "Besides, you wouldn't understand it. You have to live it to understand it."
"You could try me."
He got to his feet, stood towering over her and finally reached for her hands and pulled her up, as well. And then he looked downward, as if studying his own hands wrapped so intimately around hers in the night. "This meeting is over. I'll be at your house when you and your sister arrive tomorrow evening."
"But I won't see you, will I?"
"That's the way I work. And in this case I … I think it's for the best."
Then he did feel something—that strange energy surging when they touched. It was pulsing right now from their clasped hands. He must feel it … or did he?
He released her hands and took a step backward, and she realized that, elusive as he was, she might never get the chance to know what he looked like again. And she had to know … she had to. Impulsively, she lifted her hands and pressed her fingers to his face. He drew away fast, then stood very still.
"What are you—"
"Let me touch you," she said, and her voice came out softer than it ever had. "If I can't see you, let me feel what you look like, Guardian." She took a step closer, brought her hands up again, touched him, waited.
He didn't back away this time. "Casey, this is … this is not a good idea."
"It's only fair," she whispered. "You've seen me. At least let me have something to build on. So I can create a face for you in my mind. I need to picture something when I think of you, don't I?"
Her fingers ran across his forehead, smooth and warm. She traced his eyebrows and then ran her hands over the sides of his face, cheekbones, strong jaw, firm chin.
"You shouldn't be thinking of me at all," he whispered.
Why was he whispering? Was this as shattering to him as it was to her? As erotic? Was his heart beating faster? Hers was. She touched his nose, which was prominent and not quite straight, and his eyes, which were closed. And finally, she touched his mouth. Full lips, moist. They parted just slightly when her fingertips danced over them. And for just an instant the insane urge to press her forefinger between those lips assaulted her. To feel them close around it, sucking gently…
She drew her hand away, lowered her head, tried to calm her racing heart, catch her breath.
"Do you think you know me better now?" he asked her. He sounded a little breathless himself. "Can you tell what I look like just by touching me, Casey Jones?"
"No," she said softly. "But I can tell what you feel like."
Marcus thought that if Casey knew what he felt like right now, she'd run all the way back to her car. He'd never been touched that way before. So intimately. So thoroughly, and with such devastating results. He wouldn't have been trembling more if he'd been having sex with the woman. Yet all she'd done was touch him.
He could still feel her. Her soft fingers roaming his face while he stood there, battling the urge to pull away, submitting to her examination without flinching. He thought she'd feel less afraid of him if he did so. But he'd had no idea the sort of reaction her touch would create in him.
He was attracted to her. Had been from his first glimpse of her in her car. But it was more than that now. She'd stood there with the breeze riffling her light brown hair, and she'd caressed him like a lover. And the part of him that wanted to draw away had done battle with another part of him. A part he'd kept in tight control all his life. The part that wanted to pull her closer. Touch her in return. All of her. Taste her. Feel the way she'd shiver in his arms.
She would. Because she was afraid of him. Drawn to him, too, yes, but afraid of him all the same. And it was a good thing to keep her that way, he realized. Because the woman was dangerous to him in more ways than he had at first understood.
"Walk me to my car?" she asked him.
"Of course."
She turned in the direction of the parking lot, and he fell into step beside her. She stumbled, and his arm flashed out, his reflexes too honed to do otherwise. He put his arm around her waist, drew her to his side to keep her from falling. And she stayed there. He could see her. See the way she closed her eyes, bit her lip. She felt it, too. This pull.
"I'm going to break my neck," she said.
"I'll keep you safe." And he kept his arm where it was, walked with her tucked close to his side. Her thigh brushed his. Her hip. Her shoulder. Her hair moved with the breeze, tickling his face, and he inhaled its scent and writhed inside.
"Where did you tell your sister you were going tonight?" he asked her, because he had to say something to break the tension building in his groin.
She released a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. "I told her I had a blind date. Didn't know how right I was, did I?"
"She believed you?"
Casey nodded. Then, as if still thinking he couldn't see her, she spoke aloud. "She was amazed. I haven't had a date in…" Biting her lip, she lowered her head.
"It's been a while, I take it."
"Yeah," she whispered. "It's been a while." She lifted her head, looking blindly up toward his face. "How about you?"
He thought about his answer. "Socializing doesn't fit in with my life-style."
"That sounds like an excuse."
"Does it?" He led her to her car, almost sorry they'd reached it so soon.
"I … I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"No," he told her. "You won't see me at all." Not if he had an ounce of common sense left, she wouldn't. He couldn't let this—this thing between them take over. He was in control, he had to remember that. He'd always been in complete and utter control—
No, Marcus, not always…
And nothing as trivial as a passing physical attraction was going to change that. Even one as intense as this one. He'd simply nip it in the bud. Refuse to allow it to enter his mind again. Keeping as far away from her as possible would make that a lot easier. Though … keeping away from her while keeping her and her sister alive was going to be a challenge.
THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN Page 4