A Hard-Hearted Hero (Harlequin Temptation)

by Pamela Burford

  11

  “UPS WILL PICK THESE UP tomorrow.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on the carton she was sealing with packing tape.

  She walked to the lowboy dresser and laid the tape dispenser on the gleaming wood, then glanced up and saw Caleb’s reflection in the mirror. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom, leaning on the frame. Watching her. His face was rigid.

  She met his eyes in the mirror. “Are you in pain?”

  “Nó.”

  The wounds he’d incurred during their flight from Avalon two weeks ago were healing well. She was amazed by his resilience. He still walked with a limp but no longer needed a cane. Or her.

  She’d never forget her panic and anguish after the emergency-room personnel had rushed Caleb into surgery. Hour after hour she’d waited for word of his condition. When they’d asked what her relationship was to the patient, it took her a long moment to come up with “friend.”

  Prisoner. Lover. Comrade-in-arms. Friend. She hadn’t been able to sort it out then, and she was no closer to doing so now.

  During his stay in the hospital and his convalescence afterward, she’d willingly stuck by him, taking care of him, nursing him back to health. She wouldn’t have trusted that job to anyone else.

  They hadn’t made love again. Her choice. He’d made overtures, of course, even when he was obviously still too weak. She’d sensed his desperate urgency, his need to bind her to himself in this most elemental way. The truth was, she felt the same urgency, but refused to succumb to it. She needed to distance herself from him, to try to get a handle on what they truly meant to each other.

  Their relationship, if she could call it that, consisted of pure emotion. Peaks and valleys of passion without form or substance. A bizarre association forged of lies and coercion, and nurtured in the bubble of their insulated existence.

  Could such a relationship survive the real world? Would it evolve and grow? Or would it dry up and blow away in the unforgiving light of day? And could she bear it if it did?

  She’d worked hard for years, overcome tremendous odds to carve out a niche for herself in that real world. Now she was consumed with the need to rediscover that niche, to shore up her career and the independence she’d taken for granted until a few short weeks ago. To prove to herself she was still master of her life.

  She turned and faced him. “I’ll call a taxi to take me to the airport.”

  He didn’t move, but his eyes did. They caressed her features. “Let me come see you.”

  “No.” They’d been through this.

  “When will you contact me?” he asked. “How long will it take for you to realize we belong together?” When she remained silent, he said, “Will I ever see you again?”

  She swallowed hard. Don’t ask me that, she silently pleaded, afraid she knew the answer. “You’ve convinced yourself that I’m abandoning you. You know that’s not the way it is.”

  His mirthless chuckle said he knew no such thing.

  She took a deep breath. “The usual rules don’t apply to us. All bets were off the day I found myself trussed up and gagged and lying helpless and terrified in the back of your Land Rover. The day you decided to play God with my life.”

  His spontaneous, unguarded expression tore at her resolve. Just for an instant he looked almost vulnerable. In the sudden, eerie stillness he stared at her, and she met his intense silver gaze unflinchingly, surprised by the depth of anger still simmering deep inside. Her lingering resentment was another reason she had to leave him, something else to work through.

  She knew he deeply regretted his actions. He claimed to love her. He’d told her so many times during the last two weeks, when he’d tried to convince her to stay, to build on whatever it was they had. Just as she feared that her feelings for Caleb were an unhealthy psychological dependence on her captor, she had to wonder how great a role guilt played in his declarations of love.

  He said, “I told you I’d make it up to you, but I can’t do that if you run away from me, dammit! I’m just getting back on my feet. Give me a chance to—”

  “You no longer need me.”

  “Like hell.”

  “You know what I mean. You can take care of yourself now. You knew I’d be leaving as soon as you were strong enough.”

  He smiled sadly. “I guess I thought you’d changed your mind. It was...nice between us these last couple of weeks. Sweet.”

  She struggled to ignore his wistful tone. It had been sweet between them, once Caleb was out of danger. She’d gotten a brief taste of what life could be like for them, coexisting as equals.

  Or was she just fooling herself? Their roles had reversed during Caleb’s convalescence, putting her in a position of power. He’d been dependent on her for his needs, just as she’d once been dependent on him. She reminded herself that, the last two placid weeks not-withstanding, this man was, after all, her spike-chomping commando. He’d been hurt before—far worse than this. She had little doubt that once he was completely recovered, he’d be his old overbearing self. Men like this didn’t miraculously transform into Alan Alda.

  Elizabeth started to move past him through the doorway. Neither looked at the other, even when his hand snaked out to bar the way. She didn’t push past him. She could have, but she didn’t. The truth was, she craved this. The drugging scent of him, the possessive heat of his touch.

  His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her to his side. He turned his head and nuzzled her hair, and she closed her eyes and slumped against him.

  In a few short hours she’d be back home in Brooklyn, calling her agent and slipping into her old routine. She’d allow herself this one last bittersweet moment

  He lifted her hair and pressed his lips to the sensitive curve between neck and shoulder. And again, a bare inch away, and yet again. His kisses were soft, unhurried, as if he was savoring the taste of her. The warm imprint of his lips lingered on her skin. She melted into him, boneless, her head dropping.

  She didn’t realize she’d said his name until he responded, “Hmm?”

  “I don’t want to leave,” she confessed, the words barely audible.

  His lips found the delicate bumps of her vertebrae. Shivering sparks raced down her spine, branching into a ghostly net of sensations linking her most intimate places.

  His breath whispered over her neck when he responded at last “I know you don’t”

  But I know you have to. She heard the unspoken words.

  “I hate this,” she said, tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyes. “God, I hate this.”

  He curled her into him, her back to his front, his long arms banded around her. She dung to his arms and blinked away the tears, drawing deep, shuddering breaths to keep the sobs at bay.

  He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “Be good to yourself, Elizabeth. Do it for me.”

  12

  FROM HIS CONCEALED location deep in the shadows, Caleb watched the woman he loved slide into another man’s arms.

  Elizabeth clutched Tony’s tuxedo jacket and stared adoringly into his eyes, her own misted with passion. Her magnificent body was sheathed in a clingy, red sequined evening gown. Backless. Slit to the thigh. Illegal cleavage. Light-years from his denim-and-flannel captive.

  She purred, “I feel like I’ve known you forever, Tony. Can it only be...eleven days?”

  “Twelve.” Tony chuckled, stroking her bare back. “But who’s counting?”

  Caleb drew a slow, deep breath and forced his jaw to unclench. He hadn’t seen her in over three months. Not since she’d packed up her meager belongings and run back to the city. Away from him.

  Now, watching her with Tony, Caleb was forced to admit his beautiful Elizabeth hadn’t spent the last three months pining for him. No, the lady had kept herself very busy indeed, while he’d done his damnedest to resume his life, throwing himself into his security-consulting business and maintenance of the estate. But each day without her brought more cruel reminders of the warm, vital woman who’d shared
his life for one precious month....

  Precious? He grimaced. To him, maybe. He knew that to Elizabeth, that interlude in her life had been frustrating and humiliating at best. Downright terrifying at times. Hadn’t he made sure of that? No doubt she wanted nothing more than to forget the nightmare he’d subjected her to.

  To forget him.

  But try as he might, he couldn’t forget her. His dreams were filled with the feel of her, the scent of her. She was burned into his soul, a part of him.

  He recalled their conversation in Avalon’s garage, after they’d made love. Hadn’t he warned her then that if she left, he’d find her, that she belonged to him now? As far as he was concerned, three months was more than enough time for her to decide she needed him. So here he was, coming after her once again—tracking and bagging his elusive quarry.

  This time for keeps.

  He watched tall, handsome Tony thread his fingers through her long, glossy brown hair and tip her head back. Saw the stark yearning in his eyes as he lowered his lips to hers.

  Caleb crushed the play program in his fist. The woman sitting in front of him shot a glare over her shoulder. He cleared his throat and shifted on the hard wooden bench. Onstage, Elizabeth’s ersatz lover swept her into a toe-curling clinch of a kiss as darkness descended, to thunderous applause.

  Seconds later, the stage lights snapped on, and she and the other players took their bows. Caleb wondered how she’d react if she knew he was in the audience. Would the knowledge thrill her—or would that dazzling smile falter? Damn, his palms were clammy. He felt like he was about to face a few dozen heavily armed terrorists.

  A stagehand brought out an enormous bouquet of pink roses, which Tony presented to Elizabeth to mark this, the final performance of Stranger Things, a contemporary romantic comedy by an unknown Neil Simon wannabe. The director appeared onstage, to a roaring standing ovation. Caleb unfolded himself from the butt-numbing bench and joined in the accolades.

  At last the stage emptied and the houselights went up. He made his way down the bleacher-style seats that adjoined the small proscenium stage. The auditorium was so cozy that during the barroom brawl in Act Two the front-row patrons had been forced to pull in their feet to avoid becoming part of the action.

  This storefront walk-up theater forty blocks north of Times Square had been billed as “off-Broadway.” Caleb decided a few extra “offs” might be more accurate. Still, the production had been surprisingly professional, and Elizabeth had, of course, been outstanding in the lead role.

  Now, if only he could cast her as his own leading lady, he’d consider his mission a success.

  He shuffled out of the cramped auditorium with the fifty or so other playgoers and managed to locate his shearling jacket in the cluttered coatroom. He approached the young woman who’d sold him his ticket. “I’m a friend of Elizabeth Lancaster’s. Where can I find her?”

  She pointed down a long corridor. “The women’s dressing room. She’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  He positioned himself behind a corner where he could unobtrusively observe the door to the dressing room. He waited as actors and actresses drifted by on their way out. Ten minutes passed...fifteen. He thought of her peeling off that slinky red thing, wriggling out of it...

  Muttering under his breath, he fastened his long jacket over the subversive part of him that screamed, To hell with time and distance and sorting things out—grab her by the hair and drag her back to the cave, dammit! Now!

  His reflexes kicked into high gear when he spied her coming out of the dressing room, wearing a puffy, waist-length ski jacket over a long, swingy skirt and scuffed cowboy boots. He grinned. No slave to fashion, his Elizabeth.

  No sooner had she entered the corridor, slinging a large purse over her shoulder, than someone else who’d apparently been waiting for her stepped forward. This guy was short, slim, self-possessed. She appeared leery at first—had she encountered her share of stage-door Johnnies?—but was soon all smiles. Her eyes glowed and a blush stained her cheeks. They scooted into an out-of-the-way corner to continue their conversation.

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed. just how busy had she been these last three months?

  After watching them chat for several minutes, he could stand it no longer. Abandoning his covert observation post, he strolled down the corridor within plain view of Elizabeth. She never glanced at him; all her attention was on her new pal and their animated conversation. She beamed at Slim with an expression that could only be called dreamy. Caleb couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more—kiss that goofy look off her face or feed the guy to a wood chipper. Feetfirst.

  As Caleb stepped up to the pair, Slim presented her with a business card, which she handled as if it were the Shroud of Turin. “So I’ll be in touch,” he said. “We’ll set something up for next week, Liz.”

  Caleb growled, “It’s Elizabeth.”

  Ah, the lady deigned to notice him at last. That pretty rose bloom fled her cheeks in a heartbeat, leaving her white with shock.

  Slim spared a glance for Caleb, a quick, polite smile. “Elizabeth, then.”

  “Um, yes,” she managed to murmur. “Next week. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Slim left. Caleb and Elizabeth stood in uncomfortable silence as actors, staff and lingering patrons scurried around them. Not exactly the reunion he’d hoped for.

  He said, “You’re looking...You were...” Damn.

  “What are you doing here, Caleb?”

  No. Not the reunion he’d hoped for at all. Keeping his expression impassive, he said, “Enjoying a very good play, actually.”

  She dropped her eyes. “I didn’t mean... You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “Listen, I, uh, I guess I shouldn’t have homed in with that guy. It’s none of my business who you...”

  Sure as hell is! the caveman in him hollered.

  That bedazzled smile appeared again. She gazed reverentially at the business card she still clutched. “Do you know who that was?”

  “Uh...” A dozen malignant responses were perched on the tip of his tongue. He leashed them with an effort. “No. Who?”

  “Philip Ogilvy.” She stared at him, waiting for recognition. “The Broadway producer!”

  He turned to gawk, but the little man had already disappeared. “That was Philip Ogilvy?”

  She was practically hopping. “Yes! Yes! He was impressed says I gave a stirring performance wants me to audition for his new show some revival he’s gonna call my agent first thing tomorrow to get the ball rolling that was Philip Ogilvy!” She ended on a squeal.

  “Don’t you think you could muster a little enthusiasm?” Behind Caleb’s teasing was the disquieting awareness that he’d never before seen her happy, excited. Her stay with him had had its moments of camaraderie and contentment, especially during the last two weeks, but nothing approaching this manic joy. Was he even capable of making her happy? For her sake he should simply buy her a cup of coffee and walk away. It’s been fun, have a nice life.

  The door to the men’s dressing room opened and the actor who’d played Tony emerged. Caleb felt his blood pressure leap till he saw someone step forward to give the actor a big hug and a kiss and a congratulatory box of Godiva chocolates.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Caleb muttered, watching the two handsome young men saunter off, practically glued to each other. “That guy’s one hell of an actor.”

  Elizabeth smirked. “Be nice.”

  “What did I say?” Caleb asked, all innocence.

  “Come on.” She hooked her arm in his. Even that much contact, muted by layers of goose down and sheepskin, was heaven. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Earlier, the air had felt ponderous and damp with the promise of snow. Now, as they emerged from the warm theater into a frigid February night, glittering snowflakes swirled around them and dusted everything in sight, from parked cars to garbage cans.

  Drawing her parka around her throat, she asked,
“Do you have the Land Rover here?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. We won’t have to take the subway.”

  “Where?”

  “To my place in Brooklyn.”

  “Let’s go.” He led her to a parking garage, where he ransomed his vehicle. Soon they were headed south on Broadway.

  She directed, “Go all the way down to the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  He plunged right in. “I expected to hear from you by now.”

  She stared straight ahead out the windshield, her breath smoking. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “I guess not. Were you ever going to contact me?”

  She sighed heavily. “I needed to work through...a lot.”

  “I know. I hope you found some answers.”

  “I did. I think.it might be easier talking about it now than it was back then.”

  “I’m listening.” His gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel. Did he really want to hear this?

  She began haltingly. “When you...kidnapped me and held me at your estate, it was like I...disappeared in your shadow. It was like everything I’d been up to then—my career, my home, my life—they no longer existed...I no longer existed.”

  “It was a strange time for both of us,” he said quietly.

  “It was different for you. You were the one in control. I was...” She hesitated.

  He anticipated her words. Helpless? Vulnerable? Victimized?

  “I was this...thing being manipulated by you. I had lost all free will, all authority over my own life. All sense of my own identity.”

  He frowned as her words sank in. He’d heard the same sort of thing from a couple of his buddies who’d been POWs. He fumbled with the wipers and the heater switch, unable to meet her eyes.

  She said, “I don’t think you understand the effect you have on people, Caleb. Maybe it’s because of your background, all those years in Special Forces, I don’t know. You have this overwhelming presence. Of command. Authority. Strength. Standing up to you is like going against a steamroller.”

  “You managed to bring that steamroller to a screeching halt a few times, as I recall.” He smiled, remembering.