Awaken the Devil

by A. J. Chase

  Only, as with so many things that pertained to Fielding French, he had been unable to keep his resolve. He wanted to see her and knowing that she was in the same building as he was, well, it was simply too much of a temptation. He had to go down there. He just simply wouldn't talk to her. He would watch her from the door. Sure, it was a little stalker-like, but at least it was better than her falling prey to an actual stalker.

  And when he only watched her from afar, not only would it save her from him, but it would save himself from Fielding. She was too good at breaking through his defenses. He didn't have that many left, and he couldn't afford to lose them now. They had been in place for too long.

  He wasn't sure which ballroom she was in, but it turned out not to be that hard to find her. He just went down to the main floor and followed the sound of her voice to the open door where men and women in opera-worthy evening gowns and tuxedos were pouring in and out. All the more reason not to go in. In gray slacks and a blue and gray pin stripped button up, he was way below the fashion average here. He stood off to the side, leaning against the doorjamb and looked up at the stage.

  She looked incredible. Her satiny red gown clung to her curves in a way that made him sorry he hadn't been able to see them while he touched her. Cursed dark! He hated that he had missed that chance. She was belting out "Someone to Watch over Me" in her throaty contralto, and he felt his defenses slip another notch.

  He was desperately afraid of her, he realized suddenly. Afraid of what she could do to him without even trying. What she had already managed to do. No one had ever actually touched him, but she had, and she wasn't even trying. What if she decided to try? The thought was horrifying.

  "Thank you all so much for coming. Mac will be leaving with his nurse now but the dance floor is still open for everyone else." He suddenly realized she'd stopped singing and was speaking. "A DJ is going to take over, and I hope that you all feel free to dance the night away." She gave the crowd a dazzling smile that he felt like a punch in the gut, and then she put the microphone back into its stand and made her way off the stage. She grabbed a glass of white wine from a waiter and drank it where she stood. She looked miserable, and it hit him as hard as her smile.

  The DJ turned on "I'll Be Home for Christmas," and she found another waiter to whom to give the empty glass. He saw her shoulders heave with an enormous sigh, and he felt his teeth clench. He was going to stay where he was. In fact, he was going to go back to his room. He was not going to talk to her. He was not going to rack his brain for a way to make her smile. He was going to be reasonable and strong when it came to her, for once. But, of course, it wasn't true.

  Heedless of falling short of the dress code, he strode into the crowd. The recorded tones of Frank Sinatra singing "If You Are but a Dream" floated through the air just as he reached her side. She was surprised to see him—that much was obvious. She confirmed it by asking, "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm staying here, at the Plaza. I came downstairs, and I heard your voice." She looked suspicious, so he immediately focused on the one thing he knew would distract her. "Would you like to dance?"

  "I…" She snapped her mouth shut. "Yes."

  He led her to the floor and stayed toward the corner, more in the shadows. She moved immediately into his arms without hesitation or argument, the same way she had responded the other times he had held her in his arms. As though she wanted him, as much as he wanted her. Although it seemed unlikely, he appreciated the sensation. The material of her dress was silky and cool under his fingers, and it slid over the skin at the base of her back in a way that made him long to see how it would slide off her body if he untied the straps at her shoulders. His groin instantly tightened, and he pulled her more tightly against him, deciding he was going to enjoy this short departure from reality.

  Fielding melted into him, her face against his neck. Her fingers played with the hair at the base of his skull, and he felt her lips touch the skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He shivered and closed his eyes. If he could just pretend for a minute that they were just any old man and woman, he could hold her like this without any guilt, without any fear.

  He felt her eyes on him and looked down at her. He saw a wealth of emotions he wasn't willing to acknowledge in their green depths. For whatever mad reason, she was fond of him, despite the way he was. He lowered his head to kiss her and managed to stop himself just in time, instead resting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes again staving off the dangerous rush of emotion he was feeling.

  When Old Blue Eyes finished crooning and Bing Crosby started promising a white Christmas he released her. "Thank you," he told her, ever polite in a social situation, but for once meaning it. "I shouldn't have come in here. I'm not dressed, and this is your party. I'm sorry." He had to escape her, escape the smothering weight of his feelings. He turned around and fled from the room, pushing through the crowd.

  "Chandler!" Fielding's momentary spell broke, and she was galvanized, chasing after him through the crowd. "Wait."

  He paused by the elevator, but didn't look at her. Irritation stabbed, quick and hot. Her frustration finally broke forth through her restraint. "You can't just appear at my party like some kind of ghost, ask me to dance, and then run away. What's the matter with you?"

  He looked over his shoulder quickly, and then pressed the button for the elevator. "We can't talk about this here."

  "Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Where can we talk about it? The theater, in between numbers?"

  He glanced back one more time then stepped into the elevator. "Room 1504. Don't wait too long. It's late."

  The door shut, and the elevator made a whooshing noise as it pulled away. Don't wait too long? She wasn't waiting at all. Hiking up the bottom of her skirt, she hurried onto the nearest elevator that opened. A middle-aged man gave her a glance, but then turned back to the folded paper in his hands. She pressed the key for the fifteenth floor making the assumption that was where she'd find 1504. She hissed in impatience as the elevator stopped at almost every floor in between. Now that she had been honest about wanting to talk about what happened between them, she was eager to get it over with.

  She got off on the fifteenth floor and searched until she found the right number etched on a metal doorplate. She hesitated a moment, her fingers hovering near the door. Should she knock? In the heat of the moment, she had wanted him to say something, anything, about that night. But now she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. She wasn't sure she could handle it if he said out loud that he was sorry he'd ever met her. Or worse yet, that he didn't even care enough to be sorry. She had more sense than this? What was she doing? Had she no pride?

  She turned on her heel just as he threw the door open. "Hello, Fielding."

  His voice was low and inviting. How had he known she was there? She had not touched his door, hadn't made a sound that she was aware of. He held the door wide open and didn't move while she came in, so that she was forced to brush against him to get inside. Even that tiny touch made her skin tingle. His room was gorgeous. She knew that the Plaza had undergone major renovations, but this exceeded all expectations.

  "This is nice," she murmured.

  He didn't take his eyes off her. He cocked his head to the side. "You're braver than most girls coming up here. You aren't afraid I'm going to kill you?" His voice was still a caress despite his morbid words. She was afraid he was going to destroy her life, but she had never really been afraid that he would take it.

  She shook her head slowly as the woodsy scent of his skin tickled her nose. She had not been this close to him since the Sunshine Theater, and she had a strong desire for a repeat performance. Blood rushed south, leaving her aching. She really shouldn't have come up here.

  "Why not?" He twirled a lock of her escaped hair around his finger, brushing her cheek.

  "I trust you." She had to push the words past her tight throat.

  He stroked the curve of her neck with one
finger, played with the strap of her gown, sliding his fingers under the silk. "Why would you trust me when all signs indicate that would be a very stupid thing to do?"

  She closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions and erotic sensations that his touch induced. "Because I don't trust signs. I trust you."

  She was shocked at how throaty her voice was. He lowered his mouth and kissed her softly, his lips barely brushing hers. His tongue barely breaking through her lips before retreating back into his own mouth. Goose bumps formed against her skin.

  "Why? Why would you come here, when all I would have to do is put my hand around your throat and squeeze?"

  He did put his hands around her throat, but he didn't choke her. He ran his fingers along the curve, nipped the lobe of her ear between his teeth. Her knees buckled and she leaned into him for support.

  Then she did the stupidest thing of all. She told the truth. She didn't mean to—it simply slipped out of her mouth. "Because I love you."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Her words spread a cold horror through Chandler's chest, moved up to choke him. Because I love you. It wasn't possible. More than anyone, he knew that love was an illusion. No one had ever really loved him, and no one ever would. Not even his parents, and if a boy was so flawed that the people who had borne him could not muster up even trifling affection, there was so little hope for his future.

  She had crippled him with those four words, made it impossible to think for a moment. Fear was replaced suddenly with fury. He could not escape the feeling that she was trying to manipulate him. Trying to control him with emotion. Women had tried it before, but he knew that, unlike them, Fielding could be successful.

  She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Finally she spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

  He cut off her choked out words. "I don't ever want to hear those words from you again."

  She shrank away slightly from the cold demand behind his response. A part of him knew she wasn't trying to manipulate him. He knew she wasn't that kind of girl, but he was panicked just the same, horrified by the word love.

  "Just don't. Good Lord, Fielding. I am far too old for you." Not to mention too bitter, too scared by this situation getting out of his control.

  "You're not too old." She countered suddenly regaining the spunk she had momentarily lost. "Don't treat me like I don't know my own mind. It was a stupid thing to allow to happen, but nevertheless I didn't guard my heart well enough. I'm in love with you. But it's not like I have any expectations from you. I know what you are."

  He had the horrifying insight that for the first time in his life, it was true. Someone finally knew what he was and wasn't using it to destroy him. But she could. So easily.

  "Don't confuse what you feel for me with something so grand."

  He came up behind her and curved his hands over her breast, rubbing her with a kind of force that made it a punishment. He whispered harshly in her ear. "This is what you want from me. You might as well admit it."

  His tongue dipped into the curve of her ear. For a second, she fell against him, letting him touch her, falling prey to the incredible attraction between them.

  Then she apparently regained her senses and pulled away from him. "Don't Chandler, okay. Don't treat me like that just because you're scared." Her voice was thick with disdain. "I'm going back to my party. I don't expect anything from you, but I won't be treated like I don't matter, either. See you around."

  He knew she was going to leave. She wasn't bluffing. She was offended, and she wasn't going to take his terrible behavior lying down. And he knew with a sharp clarity that if she walked out of that door, she would be through giving him chances to treat her like hell. He panicked again.

  He wasn't ready for her to walk away from him. He touched her bare shoulder. He didn't apply any force, but she stopped anyway. She didn't look at him. She faced the door her arms crossed over her breasts.

  "I'm sorry." He had to force the words out of his tightly constricted throat. He wasn't used to saying them.

  Her posture relaxed slightly, but still she didn't turn around. He traced over the arch of her shoulders and over the back of her slender neck. Her hair had come down from her upsweep near the bottom, and tiny blondish-brown tendrils invited his fingers to touch. "Don't leave. I am sorry. I just…please."

  Her shoulders drooped, and he knew he had won over her resistance. At least for the moment. She turned to him, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. Now that the immediate emergency was over, he felt slightly in control again. "I'm asking you to never say those words again, please."

  Saying the word please twice in one conversation was totally outside of his experience, but Fielding would not be strong-armed. She had more spine than that, and he didn't want to infuriate her again, not when she was standing so close to the door.

  She nodded slightly. "All right." She still had her arms across her chest, and he knew she was still vacillating between staying and going. He only knew one way to insure that she stayed with him. And it was low, but he was going to do it anyway because he was uncharacteristically desperate.

  He turned up her head and feasted on her sweet mouth, making sure to use soft touches, and tried to bury the rage-like need that he always felt in her presence. He wasn't secure until he felt her body lose its tension, going pliant against him and her tongue tangle with his, stroking with some of the urgency he felt. He squelched his feeling of triumph. He had won this round; she would be staying.

  Fielding cursed herself as an idiot one more time, but he tasted so good, and she wanted him so badly, even though she knew he probably wasn't worth the kind of grief he caused her. But she wasn't worth the grief she was going to cause him either, so maybe they were even.

  It was just starting to get light when Chandler pulled himself out of bed and crossed the room to gather up some of his clothes and things for the shower. He slid on his glasses, so he could find his way to the bathroom. He had to get dressed and get away from her before he forgot all the reasons he couldn't spend another night like last night. Buried inside her over and over, sleeping only when neither of them could stay awake any more. He pulled on some pants before he changed his mind and got back into that warm bed and then into that hot woman. He didn't bother with a shirt. He had at least some modicum of control still left.

  Then he admitted he was merely lying to himself. Even a suit of armor would be unlikely to keep him from her if he didn't get out of this room. He stared at her sleeping form, her hand pulled up under her cheek like a child. But there was nothing childish about her naked body tangled in the sheets. Sun streamed in from the window and illuminated her like some kind of angel. His chest tightened. Heat flowed over him, the heat of terror and desperation.

  Sick fear again tightened its hold on him. He was in love with her. He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but there was no point in denying it. He was in love with her in that stupid man way. He wanted to protect her, to save her, take care of her, possess her. He had scoffed at other men for that weakness, but he couldn't shove the desires away. God help him, he was in love with her. Never mind him, God help her.

  His phone suddenly vibrated, clacking against the table. He snapped it up and kept his voice down so as not to wake Fielding. "Hello." He listened for a moment watching her sleep. His head jerked up sharply. "When? I'll be on the next plane."

  He slid his shirt ruthlessly over his head and grabbed his bag, shoving everything he had brought with him into it. He thought about leaving Fielding a note, but while he saw hotel paper handy, he could not find a pen, and he had no time to waste. He grabbed his shoes and headed for the elevator leaving the key on the table for Fielding, though he was quite certain she wouldn't want to hang around a strange room after she realized he was gone.

  He shut the door quietly and encountered another man standing in the hallway dressed in Armani and staring at him with raised eyebrows. Haughty supremacy was something that this man had no corner on compared t
o him. He might have been scruffy, half dressed, and smelling of sex, but he was still a duke, and that was good for some things after all. Arrogance had been bred into him like some kind of specialized show dog. He gave the man a hard look and got on the elevator slinging his bag over his shoulder on the way.

  She knew that he was gone the instant she woke up. She could actually feel his absence in the room before she even opened her eyes. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. Why couldn't she control herself when it came to him? She had told herself when she'd stepped into his arms last night that she was not going to suffer recriminations in the morning. But here it was, bright, sunlit morning, and that was not true. She was sorry that she hadn't been stronger and walked away, and then he had walked away first. She was an idiot.

  Wondering where he'd gone, she crossed into the bathroom. She wished she had something else to change into besides the dress that would feel too tight this morning and no doubt irritate her oversensitive breasts without a bra. She took a shower, annoyed through the entire thing. She packed up her purse and grabbed her shoes. Her hand was nearly on the door handle when a maid opened the door and wandered in. She stopped and stared when she caught sight of Fielding.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, señorita. When Señor 1504 checked out, I thought the room was empty." She stepped back, banging into her vacuum cleaner.

  "He checked out?" Fielding gasped, even more humiliated. How could he just have checked out and left her there like some kind of common prostitute? She was furious at him.