Her eyes were filled with puzzlement and the unease in her expression had grown. He didn’t know if it was a prudent wariness of strangers, or fear at the swift unexpected impact on her senses but he knew either one would cause her to bolt for safety with only a little more pressure. She began to protest hesitantly and he knew she was trying to act normally and sensibly despite scattered wits and tingling nerve-ends. “No…I…”
“Just for a minute.” He strove for a reasonable tone. “You can’t run around Seattle at midnight with blood on your hands. They’ll arrest you, or something.”
The wariness eased. She nodded. “Just for a minute.”
David almost sighed. He felt like he’d just won a major coup. As he helped her back onto the boat, he felt absurdly like letting out a war whoop.
Chapter Two
Anastasia climbed down into the small, luxurious cabin. Each step she took felt like another step down into a dream world outside time and reason. The air was soothing—warm, fresh and redolent of clean, good smells that told of loving maintenance and care. The insulation muffled the few outside noises that might travel across the silent water.
As a final inducement to sink into the spell, the boat rode gently on the water, lulling and soothing her with its rocking.
She was painfully aware of the man who had followed her down the short steps. She turned to face him. It was much better to face him than have him behind her where she couldn’t see what he was doing. He’d come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and was studying her.
He was so big! The roof barely cleared his head and his leather jacket merely emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.
Anastasia shivered again. She dropped her shoes to the floor and held up her hands. “Where can I wash my hands?” Her voice sounded harsh and too loud.
He moved to where a small sink was set into a sideboard and pumped water. He reached up onto a shelf and pulled down soap and a towel, which he put next to the sink.
She made no move toward the sink. The area was too confined and instinct told her not to get too close to him. She waited for him to step away.
He glanced at her. His eyes were a clear crystal gray and they seemed to look straight through to her soul. She knew he understood her reluctance, just as he had seemed to recognize and empathize with the emotions that had roiled inside her, earlier.
His gaze did not waver under her own. Those lucid eyes were articulating a non-verbal message that flew across the empty air between them and buried itself deep. Something turned inside her and the wanton desires she’d felt for a brief moment outside, the desires that had scared her, sizzled back through her body. Unconsciously, her tongue moistened her dry lips.
Beneath the jacket he was wearing a dark sweater in some fine material and the smooth skin at the base of his neck emerged from beneath the ribbed neck of the sweater. Above the neck, she saw his jaw move, as if he had clamped it tight as a means of control. He broke the hold of his gaze and looked away. He stepped aside, right across to the other side of the cabin and waved to the sink. “Help yourself.” His voice was even. The sound rippled down her spine.
She moved to the sink, plunged her hands in the cold water and scrubbed them, anxious to remove the offending blood. She felt the splash of water against her midriff and slowed her movements. The Edwardian tea dress was a genuine antique and she wasn’t sure it could withstand modern, caustic soap.
The dress was a find Anastasia had kept at the back of her wardrobe for months, waiting for an appropriate occasion to emerge. She had a busy social life but somehow, the occasion had never been quite right to wear such a different outfit, or the impression she would have made wearing it would have been inappropriate. Wearing it tonight had been a silent form of rebellion, a way of letting off the steam she had been unable to vent at home.
She’d left her hair down too. Another minor rebellion.
She was aware that people who knew her would be astonished by her appearance tonight. She normally restricted herself to well cut business suits and ensembles. An impulse had pushed her into taking her father’s unused charity theatre ticket. The same urge had also driven her to wear the outfit she had been fingering longingly for nearly a year.
“What were you doing down here tonight?” he asked from behind her.
“I went to see a play near here.” She reached for the towel to dry her hands, keeping her back to him. She didn’t want to look him in the eye again.
“On your own?” There was an implied disbelief in his voice.
“On my own.” She tried to sound as if it was a natural occurrence for her, despite his tone telling her he already knew it was not. She turned to face him. “It’s quite normal for people to go on their own, you know.”
“Not you,” he replied, confirming her assumption. It didn’t surprise her he had guessed that much. He could see everything in her—she knew that as surely as she knew the back of her own hand.
He was watching her again. His eyes were shadowed by the thick silk of his hair, where one weighty lock fell to touch the smooth skin above thick brows. The eyes were grave and knowing. “I don’t believe no one wanted to go with you tonight.”
It was a simple, non-threatening observation but it still stung because it was too close to the truth. She responded to the sting, not the intention. “I wanted to be alone.”
“Ah…” he said, as if that explained it all to him. She was sure it really did explain a lot to him. The inevitable knowledge he was delving from her would have supplied the answer. She had nowhere to hide and it was only the ethereal atmosphere that prevented her from caring that he could see so much of her.
With an equally direct gaze, she studied his face. He looked to be in his early thirties. His face was tanned, as if he spent a fair amount of time outdoors. Combined with the square, clean-shaved, almost heavy jaw and the depthless eyes, he took on the aura of rock-like steadiness and control. Mastery, even.
She tore her gaze away from him and looked for a place to put the damp towel, instead.
“Who would normally go with you, then?” he asked.
She thought of Hugh and her father. Hugh hated anything “arty” but Anastasia was used to that attitude. Her father had the same barely concealed intolerance for the arts—although his prejudice stemmed from an entirely different source. Neither of them would have willingly come with her tonight.
“No one,” she replied, not hiding the resignation in her voice. There was no point in trying to disguise it.
“What upset you tonight, then? What pushed you into going to the theatre alone?”
She knew she should tell him to mind his own business but there was a note of compassion in his voice that prompted her to answer truthfully. “I…had an argument.”
“I see.”
“Besides,” she hurried on, suddenly hating the knowledge in his voice. “I enjoy being alone.”
“Do you?” He lifted a single brow in query, as if demanding more information.
She frowned. She wasn’t marrying Hugh solely for his artistic taste or lack of it and she was independent enough that she didn’t need him to go with her just for companionship’s sake. Although she loved Hugh and was always happy in his company, this night of solitude was a small island of stability in the frenetic whirlpool her life had become since she had agreed to marry him.
Between her busy work schedule in her father’s architectural business and the hectic social activities she’d had to squeeze in for Hugh’s sake, there was precious little time left for simple introspection. She had lost contact with her inner self for a while.
Which was one reason why she had been so shaken by her response to the poor albatross’s plight and to this strange man with remarkable eyes. Uncalled for passionate reactions disturbed the careful balance of her life. Their emergence meant she was overdue for some self-examination.
Her body was still tingling with the after-effects. Her breasts felt full and heavy and she knew she had been arous
ed to an extraordinary level by a simple look. No, not simple, she corrected herself. There was nothing simple about what his expression had been telling her. There were profound connotations—connotations that could embroil her in dangerously deep waters, if she lingered to explore them. It was dangerous to remain here.
She retrieved her shoes and straightened. She had to leave. She glanced at the hatchway, then dared to look back at him. He was standing quite still, watching her with fierce concentration.
“I have to go.”
“Not yet,” he murmured, moving closer to her. His clear gray eyes were mesmerizing up close.
She found her breath catching in her throat. His size dwarfed her, making her feel weak and defenceless. “I have to,” she repeated.
“Just one more minute,” he said and it might have been a plea, except his strong hand was gripping her upper arm and he was drawing her toward a long wide seat built into the other side of the cabin. He sat her down and sat next to her, swivelling sideways so he was facing her. He delved into a pocket of his leather jacket, pulled out a white handkerchief and shook out the folds.
“Let me,” he told her and she sat still as he gently wiped her cheeks dry of the last of her tears. He dabbed carefully beneath her eyes, avoiding smudging her makeup. She could feel warmth radiating from him, along with a good clean male smell, a spicy scent mixed up with the leather of his jacket and the crisp linen of the handkerchief in his large hand, which stole its way into her senses, making the pit of her stomach roil and her nerve ends zap. His inner thigh, encased in denim, was pushing against her knee as he ministered to her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw against the power of the swell of desire within her. The urge to reach out and draw him to her was making her tremble.
“I knew you had something else driving you tonight besides one distressed albatross.” His voice was low and even and she knew he was fighting for control just as she was. She could feel a minute tremble in his hand. “It’s my guess that you don’t always behave this way. Am I right?”
“Yes.” It didn’t feel shameful to confess the truth to him. He had already seen that and much more. She sighed and looked up at his face again, drawn by his wonderful eyes. The lock of hair resting against his brow was a dark, dark brown, not black as she’d assumed. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and brushed it back up into the rest of his hair, her fingertips burrowing into the heavy silken mass.
His breath checked and his hand came up to rest against the back of hers, his fingers cupping hers. Holding her arm still, he turned his head to press his lips to the delicate, sensitive skin of her inner wrist. At his hot touch, she felt a deep tremor run through her body. He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared a little as if he were sampling her scent. She gasped at the images that leapt into her mind—of lovers entwined, of his soft hair against her skin as he tasted her body, of sensual pleasures she had never considered before but now seemed infinitely desirable, as long as he provided them.
He groaned and opened his eyes, lowering their entwined hands. “Dear God,” he muttered thickly. “Who are you? Or have I conjured you up from the depths of my soul?”
She took a deep, slow, steadying breath and tried to still her racing heart. “I must go.”
“When can I see you again?” His eyes were staring into her soul again.
“No. Never… It’s impossible.” And she shook her head a little. “We can’t.”
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“I’m engaged,” she whispered and the words that normally fell proudly from her lips tasted like ashes to her.
“Ahhh…” His sigh spoke volumes and she could see he understood. “He won’t make you happy, Carmencita. No man who lets you run away when you’re upset can possibly understand the passion that drives you. He could never make you happy.”
Anastasia disentangled her hand from his, feeling the air cool the hot skin on the back of her hand where it had lain in his. She understood only too well what his endearment meant. She had seen that opera too. The implications of the name frightened her. “In the end he will help me to be happier than I would if I followed my…feelings. Passion can only lead to pain and heartbreak. I’ve seen what it can do. I won’t make that mistake myself.” She stood up. “I have to go,” she repeated.
He stood too and his chest came to rest lightly against her back. “‘Have to’?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I must.” The words seemed so inadequate. But she needed to conceal from him the wrench this leave-taking would be, so she let them stand.
“I’ve always got what I wanted.” His breath stirred the curls lying against her cheek. “It may take me years and a hell of a lot of work but I’ve always got it in the end. And here I am, letting you go. You’ve done that.”
His revelation humbled, excited and scared her, all at once. If she could have such influence over him, what was he doing to her? She had to leave. Now. Without delay. Now, before he burrowed any deeper into her soul…before the change was irreparable.
Anastasia stepped away and turned to say goodbye. But she couldn’t leave it at that. Already he had moved beyond being a stranger to her, beyond mere acquaintanceship. He had bypassed all the standards she was used to reckoning her relationships with. Now he occupied a unique niche in her emotions and a simple goodbye wouldn’t be enough. Recklessly, she swayed against him and reached up, up, to kiss him.
He drew her closer, holding her tightly with one powerful arm protectively around the small of her back as he bent over her, the open jacket brushing past her arms as she was drawn in to him. His lips came down upon hers, returning the kiss with a hungry intensity that matched the expression she had seen in his eyes. It stole her breath, her mind and her strength and she clung to him, giving herself up to the fire inside her.
And then she was released and gently lowered to the floor again. He was letting her go. His eyes were wide, dilated and glittering, perhaps from the strength of will he was calling on to let her go. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment, before he lifted them away.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye.” She turned and walked over to the steps and looked back. He was watching her still, his arms crossed, his eyes steady.
Anastasia gave a trembling sigh and grasped the railing. Her feet felt like lead weights and it took every ounce of willpower she had to climb the steps…but she climbed them. She climbed each step as if she were ascending a gallows, when she was really only returning to her own safe, real world. She didn’t look back again. She knew if she did look back, he would still be watching her and she would never reach the top.
If she didn’t reach the top she would be lost forever.
Chapter Three
Anastasia emerged from the boat into the night air and shivered. The impact of the crisp September coldness was bracing. Her car was in the car park across the road from the marina. She slipped on her shoes, and wrapped the black wool cloak tightly around her and tried to hurry across the pavement. Her body cooperated sluggishly.
She had kissed a man and she didn’t even know his name. The memory of that kiss sent a shiver down her body and injected a dose of consternation more chilling than the night air. How could she have lost all sense of control so completely? What had got into her? It was too easy to say it was a side effect of tonight’s distressing events. Arguments at home weren’t unusual enough to justify her behaviour.
She shook her head at her own wildness as she strode between rows of cars, heading for her own. How could she have done it? Why? Tomorrow night she would be officially engaged to Hugh, for heavens’ sake. She was supposed to be so deeply in love that even the idea of looking at another man with anything like lust was incomprehensible. And as for kissing him…
She sighed. The memory of how she’d had to lift herself to reach his lips, until he had leaned over her, flicked through her mind.
Stop it! she told herself crossly. How can I get on with my life with anything
like peace if I keep dragging up images of him and remembering what his touch, his merest look, has done to my mind and body?
She reached her car, unlocked it and slid into the drivers’ seat. She was glad to get out of the cold. Although the convertible wasn’t as insulating as a normal sedan, it had a ferocious heater and she would soon be warm. She turned the car east and settled in for the hour-long drive back home.
Despite the cold, her body still tingled with the remnants of the emotional roller coaster she had just alighted from, just as her mind was echoing with the reverberating tones of the stranger’s voice. She tried to ignore both, while she negotiated the freeway lanes and attempted to sort out to her own satisfaction what had happened to her and why.
The night had started off with a three way argument between herself, Hugh and her father. Although arguments between her father and her were common enough, this was the first time Hugh had been dragged into one. He had been unwilling to add to the acrimony flying around the room but some perverse demon inside her had kept throwing insults and challenges at him until he returned the fire.
That demon was the reason for most of the evening’s events, she realized. She had been succumbing to impulse all night. Perhaps the demon was simply the vestiges of rebellious adolescence pushing to escape for one last time before being banished forever.
At twenty-six? a snide little voice whispered in her head but she dismissed it impatiently. Her adolescence had been long and rocky enough. And the intervening years had been full of the same mini-dramas, on a smaller scale. The fiery outbursts had continued to occur but with diminishing frequency, thanks to her growing control over her temper, her passions. Ahead of her stretched the comfortable, contented life she had planned to make up for all that turbulence.
She turned her lights onto high as she left the outskirts of the city and headed into the hills. She had grown up in these hills, surrounded by rolling acres of pasture. She knew every home she passed and was friendly with almost every owner. Her fascination with architecture had developed from her rambling walks around the area, with frequent pauses to study this or that house.
Inconvenient Lover Page 2