by Nora Roberts
Shade came out of the hotel and onto the street with Dave, his assistant. Between them, they carried all their luggage and equipment. They were going home. After four months of hard, often dangerous work in a city torn, ravaged and smoldering, they were going home. It had occurred to Shade that they were calling it close—but he’d called it close before. Every day they stayed on added to the risk of getting out at all. But there’d always been one more picture to take, one more statement to make. And there’d been Sung Lee.
She’d been so young, so eager, so wise. As a contact in the city, she’d been invaluable. She’d been just as invaluable to Shade personally. After a bumpy, unpleasant divorce from a wife who’d wanted more glamour and less reality, Shade had needed the long, demanding assignment. And he’d needed Sung Lee.
She was devoted, sweet, undemanding. When he’d taken her to bed, Shade had finally been able to block out the rest of the world and relax. His only regret in going back home was that she wouldn’t leave her country.
As they’d stepped out on the street, Shade had been thinking of her. They’d said their goodbyes the night before, but he was thinking of her. Perhaps if he hadn’t been he’d have sensed something. He’d asked himself that hundreds of times in the months that followed.
The city was quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful. The tension in the air could erupt at any time. Those who were getting out were doing so in a hurry. Tomorrow, the next day, the doors might be closed. Shade took one last look around as they started toward their car. One last picture, he’d thought, of the calm before the storm.
A few careless words to Dave and he was alone, standing on the curb pulling his camera out of its case. He laughed as Dave swore and struggled with the luggage on his way to the car. Just one last picture. The next time he lifted his camera to shoot, it would be on American soil.
“Hey, Colby!” Young, grinning, Dave stood beside the car. He looked like a college student on spring break. “How about taking one of a future award-winning photographer on his way out of Cambodia?”
With a laugh, Shade lifted his camera and framed in his assistant. He remembered exactly the way he’d looked. Blond, tanned, a bit gangly with a crooked front tooth and a faded USC T-shirt.
He took the shot. Dave turned the key in the lock.
“Let’s go home,” his assistant yelled the instant before the car exploded.
“Shade. Shade!” Heart pounding, Bryan shook him. “Shade, wake up, it’s a dream.” He grabbed her hard enough to make bruises but she kept talking. “It’s Bryan, Shade. You’re having a dream. Just a dream. We’re in Oklahoma, in your van. Shade.” She took his face in her hands and felt the skin cold and damp. “Just a dream,” she said quietly. “Try to relax. I’m right here.”
He was breathing too quickly. Shade felt himself straining for air and forced himself to calm. God, he was cold. He felt the warmth of Bryan’s skin under his hands, heard her voice, calm, low, soothing. With an oath he dropped back down again and waited for the shuddering to stop.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Scotch.”
“All right.” The moonlight was bright enough. She found the plastic cup and the bottle and poured. Behind her, she heard the flare of his lighter and the hiss as it caught paper and tobacco. When Bryan turned, he was sitting up on the bunk, resting back against the side of the van. She had no experience with whatever trauma haunted Shade, but she did know how to soothe nerves. She handed him the drink, then without asking sat beside him. She waited until he’d taken the first sip.
“Better?”
He took another sip, a deeper one. “Yeah.”
She touched his arm lightly, but the contact was made. “Tell me.”
He didn’t want to speak of it, not to anyone, not to her. Even as the refusal formed on his lips, she increased the grip on his arm.
“We’ll both feel better if you do. Shade…” She had to wait again, this time for him to turn and look at her. Her heartbeat was steadier now, and so, as her fingers lay over his wrist, was his. But there was still a thin sheen of sweat drying on his skin. “Nothing gets better and goes away if you hold it in.”
He’d held it in for years. It’d never gone away. Perhaps it never would. Maybe it was the quiet understanding in her voice, or the late hour, but he found himself talking.
He told her of Cambodia, and though his voice was flat, she could see it as he had. Ripe for explosion, crumbling, angry. Long, monotonous days punctuated by moments of terror. He told her how he’d reluctantly taken on an assistant and then learned to appreciate and enjoy the young man fresh out of college. And Sung Lee.
“We ran across her in a bar where most of the journalists hung out. It wasn’t until a long time later that I put together just how convenient the meeting was. She was twenty, beautiful, sad. For nearly three months, she gave us leads she supposedly learned from a cousin who worked at the embassy.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“No.” He drew on his cigarette until there was nothing left but filter. “But I cared. I wanted to help her. And I trusted her.”
He dropped his cigarette into an ashtray and concentrated on his drink. The panic was gone. He’d never realized he could talk about it calmly, think about it calmly. “Things were heating up and the magazine decided to pull its people out. We were going home. We were coming out of the hotel and I stopped to take a couple of shots. Like a tourist.” He swore and drained the rest of the Scotch. “Dave got to the car first. It’d been booby-trapped.”
“Oh, my God.” Without realizing it, she moved closer to him.
“He was twenty-three. Carried a picture of the girl he was going to marry.”
“I’m sorry.” She laid her head against his shoulder, wound her arm around him. “I’m so sorry.”
He braced himself against the flood of sympathy. He wasn’t ready for it. “I tried to find Sung Lee. She was gone; her apartment was empty. It turned out that I’d been her assignment. The group she’d worked for had let things leak through so I’d relax and trust her. They’d intended to make a statement by blowing away an important American reporter. They’d missed me. An assistant photographer on his first overseas assignment didn’t make any impact. The kid died for nothing.”
And he’d watched the car explode, she thought. Just as he’d watched the car explode tonight. What had it done to him—then and now? Was that why, she wondered, he’d coolly taken out his camera and recorded it all? He was so determined not to feel.
“You blame yourself,” she murmured. “You can’t.”
“He was a kid. I should’ve looked out for him.”
“How?” She shifted so that they were face-to-face again. His eyes were dark, full of cold anger and frustration. She’d never forget just how they looked at that moment. “How?” she repeated. “If you hadn’t stopped to take those pictures, you’d have gotten into the car with him. He’d still be dead.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly weary, Shade ran his hands over his face. The tension was gone, but not the bitterness. Perhaps that’s what he was weary of.
“Shade, after the accident—”
“Forget it.”
“No.” This time she had his hand caught in hers. “You were doing what you had to, for your own reasons. I said I wouldn’t judge those kids, but I was judging you. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her apology, but she gave it. He didn’t want her to cleanse him, but she was washing away the guilt. He’d seen so much—too much—of the dark side of human nature. She was offering him the light. It tempted him and it terrified him.
“I’ll never see things as you do,” he murmured. After a moment’s hesitation, he laced his fingers with hers. “I’ll never be as tolerant.”
Puzzled, she frowned as they stared at each other. “No, I don’t think you will. I don’t think you have to.”
“You were right earlier when you said my compassion was dead. I haven’t any.” She started to speak but he shook his
head. “I haven’t any patience, very little sympathy.”
Did he look at his own pictures? she wondered. Didn’t he see the carefully harnessed emotion in them? But she said nothing, letting him make whatever point he needed to.
“I stopped believing in intimacy, genuine intimacy, permanency between two people, a long time ago. But I do believe in honesty.”
She might’ve drawn away from him. There was something in his voice that warned her, but she stayed where she was. Their bodies were close. She could feel his heartbeat steady as hers began to race. “I think permanency works for some people.” Was that her voice? she wondered, so calm, so practical. “I stopped looking for it for myself.”
Isn’t that what he’d wanted to hear? Shade looked down at their joined hands and wondered why her words left him dissatisfied. “Then it’s understood that neither of us wants or needs promises.”
Bryan opened her mouth, amazed that she wanted to object. She swallowed. “No promises,” she managed. She had to think, had to have the distance to manage it. Deliberately she smiled. “I think we both could use some sleep, though.”
He tightened his grip on her hand as she started to move. Honesty, he’d said. Though the words weren’t easy for him, he’d say what he meant. He looked at her a long time. What was left of the moonlight showered her face and shadowed her eyes. Caught in his, her hand was steady. Her pulse wasn’t.
“I need you, Bryan.”
There were so many things he could have said, and to any of them she’d have had an answer. Wants—no, wants weren’t enough. She’d already told him. Demands could be refused or shrugged off.
Needs. Needs were deeper, warmer, stronger. A need was enough.
He didn’t move. He waited. Watching him, Bryan knew he’d let her take the step toward or away. Choices. He was a man who demanded them for himself, yet he was also capable of giving them. How could he know she’d had none the moment he’d spoken?
Slowly, she drew her hand from his. Just as slowly, she lifted both hands to his face and brought her mouth to his. With their eyes open, they shared a long, quiet kiss. It was a move that both offered and took.
She offered, with her hands light on his skin. She took, with her mouth warm and certain. He accepted. He gave. And then in the same instant, they both forgot the rules.
Her lashes fluttered down, her lips parted. Mindlessly he pulled her against him until their bodies were crushed close. She didn’t resist, but went with him as they slid from the bunk and onto the rug.
She’d wanted this—the triumph and the weakness of being touched by him. She’d wanted the glory of letting herself go, of allowing her longings freedom. With his mouth hungry on hers, there was no need to think, no need to hold back what she’d wanted so desperately to give him. Only to him.
Take more. Her mind was reeling from the demands of her body. Take all. She could feel him tug at the wide neck of her sleep shirt until her shoulder was bare and vulnerable to his mouth. Still more. She skimmed her hands up his back, naked and warm from the night breeze flowing in the windows.
He wasn’t easy as a lover. Hadn’t she known it? There was no patience in him. Hadn’t he told her? She’d known it before, but she was already aware that she’d never know relaxation with Shade. He drove her quickly, thoroughly. While she experienced all, she had no time to luxuriate in separate sensations. Masses of them swirled around, inside her.
Tastes… his lips, his skin—dark flavor. Scents… flowers, flesh—sweet and pungent. Textures… the nap of the rug rubbing against her legs, the hard brush of his palm, the soft warmth of his mouth. Sounds… her heartbeat pounding in her head, the murmur of her name in his whisper. She could see shadows, moonlight, the gleam of his eyes before his mouth took hers again. Everything merged and mixed together until they were one overpowering sensation. Passion.
He pulled the shirt lower until her arms were pinned. For a moment, she was helpless as he trailed his lips down her breast, pausing to taste, taste thoroughly, with lips, tongue, teeth. Some women would’ve found him merciless.
Perhaps it was the sound of her moan that made him linger when he was driven to hurry on. She was so slender, so smooth. The moonlight filtered in so that he could see where her tan gave way to paler, more vulnerable skin. Once he’d have turned away from vulnerability, knowing the dangers of it. Now it drew him—the softness of it. Her scent was there, clinging to the underside of her breast where he could taste as well as smell it. Sexy, tempting, subtle. It was as she was, and he was lost.
He felt his control slip, skid away from him. Ruthlessly, he brought it back. They would make love once—a hundred times that night—but he’d stay in control. As he was now, he thought as she arched under him. As he’d promised himself he would be, always. He would drive her, but he would not, could not, be driven by her.
Pulling the material down, he explored every inch of her mercilessly. He would show no mercy to either of them. Already she was beyond thought and he knew it. Her skin was hot and somehow softer with the heat; her scent intensified with it. He could run those hungry, openmouthed kisses wherever he chose.
Her hands were free. Energy and passion raced together inside her. She tumbled over the first peak, breathless and strong. Now she could touch, now she could enrage him, entice him, weaken him. She moved quickly, demanding when he’d expected surrender. It was too sudden, too frantic to allow him to brace himself against it. Even as she raced to the next peak, she felt the change in him.
He couldn’t stop it. She wouldn’t permit him to take without giving. His mind swam. Though he tried to clear it, fought to hold himself back, she seduced. Not his body, he’d have given that freely. She seduced his mind until it reeled with her. Emotion raged through him. Clean, hot, strong.
Tangled together, body and mind, they drove each other higher. They took each other over.
Chapter 8
They were both very careful. Neither Bryan nor Shade wanted to say anything the other could misunderstand. They’d made love, and for each of them it had been more intense, more vital than anything they’d ever experienced. They’d set rules, and for each of them the need to abide by them was paramount.
What had happened between them had left them both more than a little stunned, and more wary than ever.
For a woman like Bryan who was used to saying what she wanted, doing as she pleased, it wasn’t easy to walk on eggs twenty-four hours a day. But they’d made themselves clear before making love, she reminded herself. No complications, no commitments. No promises. They’d both failed once at the most important of relationships, marriage. Why should either of them risk failure again?
They traveled in Oklahoma, giving an entire day to a small-town rodeo. Bryan hadn’t enjoyed anything as much since the Fourth of July celebrations they’d seen in Kansas. She enjoyed watching the heat of competition, the pitting of man against animal and man against man and the clock. Every man who’d lowered himself onto a bronc or a bull had been determined to make it to the bell.
Some had been young, others had been seasoned, but all had one goal. To win, and then to go on to the next round. She’d liked seeing that a game could be turned into a way of life.
Unable to resist, she bought a pair of boots with fancy stitching and a stubby heel. Since the van was too small to permit indiscriminate souvenir buying, she’d restrained herself this far. But there wasn’t any point in being a martyr about it. The boots made her happy, but she resisted buying a leather belt with an oversize silver buckle for Shade. It was just the sort of gesture he might misunderstand. No, they wouldn’t give each other flowers or trinkets or pretty words.
She drove south toward Texas while Shade read the paper in the seat beside her. On the radio was a raspy Tina Turner number that was unapologetically sexy. Summer had reached the point when the heat began to simmer. Bryan didn’t need the radio announcer to tell her it was ninety-seven and climbing, but both she and Shade had agreed to use the air-conditioning spari
ngly on the long trips. On the open highway, the breeze was almost enough. In defense, she was wearing a skimpy tank top and shorts while she drove in her bare feet. She thought of Dallas and an air-conditioned hotel room with cool sheets on a soft mattress.
“I’ve never been to Texas,” she said idly. “I can’t imagine any place that has cities fifty and sixty miles across. A cab ride across town could cost you a week’s pay.”
The paper crackled as he flipped the page. “You live in Dallas or Houston, you own a car.”
It was like him to give a brief practical answer and she’d come to accept it. “I’m glad we’re taking a couple of days in Dallas to print. Ever spent any time there?”
“A little.” He shrugged as he turned the next section of the paper. “Dallas, Houston—those cities are Texas. Big, sprawling, wealthy. Plenty of Tex-Mex restaurants, luxury hotels and a freeway system that leaves the out-of-towner reeling. That’s why I routed in San Antonio as well. It’s something apart from the rest of Texas. It’s elegant, serene, more European.”
She nodded, glancing out at the road signs. “Did you have an assignment in Texas?”
“I tried living in Dallas for a couple of years in between the overseas work.”
It surprised her. She just couldn’t picture him anywhere but L.A. “How’d you like it?”
“Not my style,” he said simply. “My ex-wife stayed on and married oil.” It was the first time he’d made any sort of reference to his marriage. Bryan wiped her damp hands on her shorts and wondered how to handle it. “You don’t mind going back?”
“No.”
“Does it…” She trailed off, wondering if she were getting in deeper than she should.
Shade tossed the paper aside. “What?”
“Well, does it bother you that she’s remarried and settled? Don’t you ever think back and try to figure out what messed things up?”