by Anne Stuart
“It was a deal to do the soundtrack for a big budget movie. I figured I need to be gainfully employed for the next year—there aren’t many modeling jobs on Maclean Island.” The words were coming and making sense. He could even see his house up there, and the doubts were dissolving and blowing away. He could see her at the house, even though she’d never been there. She’d like it, he knew she would. It was a big, rambling place, only half-finished, with plenty of room for dogs. And children.
She was still looking at him warily. “And why should the presence or absence of modeling jobs matter?”
“You shouldn’t have to give it up if you don’t want to.”
“I’m ready to,” she said flatly. “So what do you suggest I do on your island?”
“Anything you damned please,” he said, echoing her words from the first night they met. Strangely, he felt a burning pain in his shoulders, and the black T-shirt rubbed against them uncomfortably.
She was standing with her back against the crystal-blue water of the swimming pool, and the mouth that could be sweet and vulnerable curved in a haughty smile. “And what makes you think I’d want to leave everything and move up there?”
“More room for dogs?” he suggested. “And look at it this way—if you come home with me you’ll never have to have a blind date again.”
“I’ve sworn off them anyway,” she said.
“Come back with me,” he said urgently. Not knowing why, only knowing that he couldn’t live without her.
“Why?”
“Because I’m in love with you. And I think you’re in love with me.”
“I met you two days ago.”
“I didn’t say it made sense. I just said it was true.”
She was so close he could reach out and touch the icy perfection of her. “I’ll think about it,” she said after a moment. “I’m late for a photo shoot. And then I’m meeting Jasmine for coffee. She’s still shaken up about running out on Aaron at the altar—smart girl. Go on back to your hotel and call me in a few days.”
Her hands were shaking. Beneath her haughty demeanor her hands were shaking, and he knew if he took the sunglasses off her perfect nose he’d see the truth in her vulnerable eyes. He wanted to kiss her, needed to kiss her, and she needed him. It was that simple.
He moved toward her, and she stood her ground, watching his approach. If she tried to back away, and if she moved to either side he could reach out and stop her. He still wasn’t certain that was the thing to do, wouldn’t be until he saw her eyes.
But she didn’t move. He reached up and took the sunglasses away, and there it was again. Her eyes, staring into his, her defenses stripped bare. And he knew that the rest of her needed to be stripped bare as well.
“I need to leave,” she said, her voice shaky.
And he reached out and pushed her perfect body into the swimming pool, jumping in after her.
She surfaced, spluttered, her makeup running down her face, her hair soaked, her designer outfit ruined as she treaded water in her high heels. She glared at him. And then she laughed.
She dove at him, pushing him under the blessed coolness of the water. When they surfaced she’d managed to pull his T-shirt over his head. Her ruined silk dress was floating nearby, and he was kissing her. She was kissing him back, her body wrapped around his. She broke the kiss for a moment, pushing him away. Just a little bit away. “You’re lucky my dog likes you,” she said. “I trust his judgment better than my own.”
“Trust me,” he said, kissing her again. And as they sank beneath the cool blue water, she did.
THE HEAT on his shoulders woke him up, burning into his flesh. He was lying on his stomach, and he wasn’t alone. He turned his head, and Sam was lying next to him, her tawny hair cropped short, a sleepy smile on her face. He could hear the water nearby, and he knew they were home. On his island. Their island.
Sam put her hand on his mouth, touching it gently, and he saw the ring on her finger.
“I had a nightmare,” he said, not moving. “I dreamed you married a veterinarian.”
“It would save a lot on bills,” she said sleepily. “But I prefer a husband who plays the piano. Oh, what those hands can do,” she said, smiling again. “What are you doing awake so early? I thought you’d be sleeping until noon.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after eight.” She rolled over on her back, and he saw the faint swell of her belly beneath the pale blue sheet that covered her. “You’d better get all the sleep you can. In five months you’re not going to have the chance.”
“Come here!” He caught her arm and pulled, and she rolled against him, then sat back, the sheet falling around her waist. She was most definitely, gloriously pregnant, and he wondered why he was surprised. And even as he thought it, the surprise vanished, as if he’d always known it.
“You know what my favorite part of your body is?” she said, leaning over and kissing the small of his back.
“Yes.”
She slapped his butt. “Mind out of the gutter, Hyde,” she said. She kissed the nape of his neck, and his shoulders tingled. He could remember hands on his shoulders, shoving him. Strong, burning hands.
Another dream, because Sam was kissing his shoulders slowly, first one, then the other. “Your tattoos,” she said dreamily against his skin. She put her hands on him, exactly where the phantom hands had rested. “Though I think you have delusions of grandeur to get a pair of angel’s wings tattooed on your shoulders.”
It didn’t even surprise him. The past was fading rapidly, like fog dissolving in the light of day, and only here and now remained. “Maybe a fallen angel,” he said, turning over and pulling her down to his mouth.
“Just the way I like them,” she said, kissing him before pulling away.
He reached up and ruffled her short hair. “Just because we’re awake doesn’t mean we have to get up.”
“And what will Ralph do?”
“Ralph?”
“He’s a very old dog, and he’s been sitting there patiently, waiting for one of us to get up and let him out, for ages now.”
He turned. The old dog sat there, tongue hanging out, a big doggy grin on his face as he waited for them. “Has that always been his name?” he asked, momentarily disoriented.
“Of course it has, silly,” she said, leaning over to kiss him before pulling away.
“Ralph,” he echoed in a meditative voice. “You know, sometimes I think I knew Ralph in another lifetime,” he said, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed.
“He’s definitely an old soul,” Sam agreed. “I just hope dogs end up in the same heaven as people do. I want to find him waiting for me when I die.”
Gideon looked down at him for a moment. “He’ll be waiting,” he said.
And they headed out into the early morning sunrise, with Ralph bounding happily along beside them.
DANCE WITH THE DEVIL
Cherry Adair
CHAPTER ONE
MIA ROSSI paused in the doorway of her town house, a long-stemmed yellow rose in her hand. Narrowed-eyed, she looked down at the black limo purring at the curb, a plume of white exhaust billowing from it into the wintry night air.
Her blind date had correctly guessed her favorite color of rose, but apparently couldn’t be bothered to walk the six steps to her front door. Instead, he’d dispatched his driver.
He was either working hard to flaunt the appearance of status or he was too lazy—or disinterested—to walk twenty feet. Either way, it didn’t bode well for the evening.
The driver, who’d handed her the rose with a flourish and a self-conscious half smile, turned to look up as Mia hesitated to follow his down the stairs. “Ms. Rossi?”
The car just missed the pool of pale yellow light cast from a nearby streetlamp. The windows were tinted darkly enough to be impenetrable. Davis Sloan hadn’t sounded either mysterious or sinister the half-dozen times Mia had spoken to him on the phone. He’d sounded sexy, straig
htforward and amusing. His French accent had been subtle, yet intriguing—enough so that Mia had agreed to yet another one of her mother’s fix-ups. But now she wondered exactly what she’d gotten herself into.
Her mom, God help Mia, labored under the misconception that her only daughter desperately needed to work things out with Jack. And, as if to prove how right Jack Ryan had been for her, her mother provided a string of blind dates for comparison.
Sallye Rossi worked for the Federal Attorney’s office here in DC, and tended to fix her up with men she met at work. And while Mia didn’t have anything against attorneys per se, the idea of dating one still made her nervous. Not as nervous, say, as dating a cop, but nervous nevertheless. Attorneys had a way of asking questions she’d much rather not answer, although in her line of work—ex line of work—sleeping with a criminal attorney might just have its advantages.
Just in case a miracle occurred tonight, she’d shaved her legs, and put on her most seductive thong underwear and matching sheer black demi-bra underneath her little black dress. She’d never slept with a man on a first date in her life. But this was an emergency. She needed medicinal sex to get rid of the memory of Jack Ryan.
Mia shivered in the icy February night air. She refused to think about Jack. Not tonight. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the moon hid behind a thick cloud cover. She had high hopes for this blind date. The long-sleeved, bias-cut silk dress was conservative enough that if her instincts were wrong she wouldn’t feel as though she was sending out any mixed signals.
She’d promised her mother, and herself, she’d accept these blind dates with an open mind. She’d been on a dozen or more blind dates in the eight months since she and Jack had broken up, and generally speaking, she’d been pretty fortunate. None of them had been run-screaming-into-the-hills atrocious. In fact, some had even been quite pleasant. Pleasant being the operative word.
Not one of them had that special… She reined in that thought. None of them had rung her chimes. Until Davis. She’d been intrigued by him over the course of the past two weeks. He’d been everything Jack was not. For one thing he’d been open about his past. Of course it had been late at night, and he’d sounded exhausted when he’d called and woken her. Mia had lain there in the dark, and listened as he’d talked with disarming candor about his childhood. It hadn’t been pretty. But he was neither bitter nor did he dwell on it. He’d been raised in a series of foster homes. He’d grown up never knowing his parents and getting into more than his fair share of trouble. But he’d put himself through college and made something of the boy who hadn’t had much of a future.
Mia admired him for that. Some of his stories had brought empathetic tears to her eyes. She hadn’t wanted him to know she was crying for that lonely child, and had changed the subject happily when he’d moved on to something else.
He’d faced the odds and become the man he wanted to be with no one’s help but his own. And he’d been open enough to share that part of his past with her. Jack had always said, “Don’t live in the past, darling. It’s today that counts.” Jack hadn’t cared enough to let her in. Davis Sloan did. A pleasant change.
She was relieved to be out of the cloak-and-dagger business. Both professionally and socially.
Mia had known Jack for two years and the only information she had on him was his name and age. Jack Ryan. Thirty-four. Worked for the same alphabet soup acronym, government agency that she had. Big whoop. Jack had clearly taken a vow of silence long before they’d met. Too bad he hadn’t taken a vow of celibacy as well. They’d been like smoke and lightning together. Like a pair of minks… Damn it. Mia shut off the memory with a mental steel door. Locked it. Barred it. And painted it with mental invisible ink. A girl liked to know a little more about her lover than just his name and age.
Jack Ryan was her past. Perhaps Davis Sloan was her future.
Too bad he had to get a demerit before the evening even began.
With a small niggle of misgiving, Mia closed the door and followed the driver down to the sidewalk. She touched the slight lump of the .22 in her purse. She’d never shot anyone in her life, but there was always a first time. A girl had to be prepared. It was odd, if not downright rude, for her date not to come to the front door himself. Of course there may be a perfectly good explanation—
“Did Mr. Sloan break a leg?” Lord, was he missing his legs? A paraplegic? Oh God. If he’d told her about his childhood, wouldn’t he have mentioned if he were disabled?
Mia felt a flush ride her cheeks. That was something that hadn’t occurred to her. Davis Sloan had sounded so…vital on the phone. Not that it would make any difference if he was handicapped, but it would’ve been a good thing to know up front.
The driver, bundled in a heavy wool overcoat, paused as he reached for the handle of the rear door. He frowned as he answered, “He’s fighting fit as far as I can tell.” He opened the door for her.
If Mia hadn’t been pondering another possible excuse for his rudeness, she would’ve noticed the absence of the interior light as she slid into the back seat. The door snicked closed behind her.
The supple leather felt warm under her, indicating Davis had been sitting on her side of the car. Had he watched her come down the stairs from her apartment? Had he liked what he’d seen?
In the thick darkness, Mia jumped at the unexpected touch of his hand on hers. A bolt of white-hot lightning shot up her arm and sent a buzz zinging through her. Hot damn! A good start after all.
The limo slid away from the curb and picked up speed. “You look stunning,” a husky voice said out of the darkness.
That voice.
Oh no, oh no, oh freaking no! “Damn it to hell, Jack!” Tethered to him or not, Mia threw the rose at him and lunged for the door.
Damn. Damn. Damn! She’d recognize Jack Ryan if she were blindfolded in a pitch-dark room.
Something cool and hard brushed the wrist he was holding. She tugged harder. “What the hell do you…” A metallic click cut her off midrant.
Handcuffs?
The bastard.
She remembered then that Jack had eyes like a cat. She could practically feel his gaze on her exposed skin. Nerve endings she’d almost forgotten she had prickled back to life with a vengeance. “You son of a bitch. Unlock these things this instant.”
“Hear me out, Mia. Just give me five.” There was a faint threat of menace in his tone despite the conciliatory words.
Mia bristled. “I already wasted five months of my time. Thanks, but no thanks.” With her right hand, she fumbled in her small clutch beside her, searching for her cell phone. Or the .22. At the moment, she didn’t care which she found first. The fact that she’d automatically packed the .22 for this particular blind date should’ve given her a clue. A psychic premonition?
“Darling, you’re not going to call the cops.” Jack’s warm hand brushed hers as he shifted his long legs more comfortably in his seat. He was too close. Too familiar. Too damn annoying for Mia to even glance his way. Not that it would’ve helped. The inside of the limo was as dark as a crypt. She could feel him though. Hot. His body had always been like a furnace. He was sitting too close. Much too close.
She grabbed the phone, lucky for him, and hit number two speed dial on her phone. There was no number one anymore. Jack damn-him-to-hell-for-breaking-her-heart Ryan had filled that slot, and she’d erased him finally. Once and for all.
“Worse,” she snapped. She didn’t bother trying to tug her hand free. The s.o.b. had her left wrist handcuffed to his right, both hands resting in her lap. His palm felt hot on her thigh, but she refused to give in to the immediate chemical reaction of once again being touched by him. She pretended, to both of them, that she didn’t notice.
“I’m calling your partner in crime— Sallye? No, you’re no longer Mom to me. You are so busted. How could you?” Mia glared at Jack in a darkness that even the faint streetlights flashing barely penetrated.
She tugged uselessly at her shackled wrist. “
My blind date has me handcuffed to his wrist, you traitor.” Mia rolled her eyes. “No, Mother, that is not sweet, nor is it romantic. Yes, I know how you feel about J— No, I don’t want to listen to why he— If you’d stop interrupting, I would make sense.”
Beside her, Jack was stupid enough to chuckle. Mia yanked at the cuffs, the chain jangled and he shut up.
Oh Lord, she didn’t stand a chance between Steamroller Sallye Rossi and Jack The Pitbull Ryan. “No, I will not tell him that.” Mia snorted when her mother yelled, “Tell Jack I still love him.”
“Love you too, Sallye,” Jack yelled back.
Mia jerked at the cuffs on her wrist again and cut her mother off in the middle of the love fest. It was hell on wheels having her mother and the man she’d dumped still like each other. Where was the motherly concern? Where was the loyalty? Where was the key to these silver bracelets?
“You low-down, no good, lying, son of a—” she said bitterly. “Stop the car this instant.”
She sensed his feral smile. “Not a chance.”
Mia yanked hard at their cuffed wrists, wincing as the clasp dug into the tender skin of her inner wrist. “I’m not kidding, Jack. Have your driver turn around. Right. Now.”
“Here.” Jack pressed something small and round into her hand.
“What’s this?” Mia demanded, her fingers automatically closing around the pill. “Planning on drugging me into submission?”
“Nothing’s that strong,” Jack said under his breath, then more audibly, “Antacid.”
“I don’t need it.” Her stomach burned like the fiery depths of hell. Jack Ryan hell.
“Suit yourself.”
“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.” Mia glanced out the window, squinting to see better, and slipped the antacid into her mouth to let it melt on her tongue. If he didn’t always give her indigestion, he wouldn’t have to carry around the remedy.
“Are we really going to the South African ambassador’s party, or was that also a lie?”