by Diana Palmer
“You’re kidding!” Her voice sounded high-pitched and uncertain.
There was a tiny noise and she jumped as “Gesundheit,” came in an amused drawl from the police car’s radio.
Steven was patched up, given a tetanus shot and released with an uneasy Daphne at his side. Ahmed and David kept Meg too busy talking to suffer too much at the sight.
Then they were all taken to police headquarters where two tall, tough-looking men—the same two who’d surrounded Ahmed after the shooting—sat down with the group and began to ask questions of everyone except Ahmed. That gentleman had been met by a small group of very respectful Arabs who surrounded him and preceded him into another room. It didn’t occur to Meg just then to wonder why, if Steve was the target, these government agents had rushed to protect Ahmed.
As he spoke with his people, Ahmed, again, looked like someone considerably more important than a minor cabinet minister of a Middle Eastern nation. His very bearing changed when he was approached, and he seemed not only more elegant, but almost frighteningly implacable. The liquid black eyes, which for Meg had always been smiling, were now icy cold and threatening. He spoke to the men in short, succinct phrases, which the other Arabs received with grimaces and something oddly like fear.
Meg frowned at the byplay, drawn back into the conversation by the CIA.
“Are you a permanent resident of Wichita?” the blond one asked.
She shook her head. “No. I live and work in New York most of the time. I’ve had a small injury…”
“Left ankle, torn ligaments, physical therapy and rest for one more week,” the big, dark-headed agent finished for her. Her mouth fell open and he leaned forward. “Gesundheit,” he said, grinning wickedly.
David laughed. “Meg, I hope you don’t have any skeletons in your closet.”
Meg suddenly remembered the night in Steve’s car and flushed. She didn’t dare look at him, but the big, dark agent pursed his lips and deliberately turned his head away. She could have gone through the floor.
There were a few more questions and some instructions, but it was soon over and they were allowed to leave.
Ahmed was in the hall with the other Arabs. The government agents greeted him with quiet respect and a brief conversation ensued. He nodded, said something in Arabic to his companions and moved forward to say goodbye to his friends.
Meg came last. He took her hand in both of his, and the dark authority in his face made her start. This was not the charming, pleasant, lazily friendly man she thought she knew. Ahmed was quite suddenly something out of her experience.
“I hope that the evening has not been too strained for you, mademoiselle. I hope to see you again soon, and under kinder circumstances. Au revoir.”
He kissed her hand, very lightly. With a nod to Steve and David, he strode back toward his men. They surrounded him quickly, flinging hurried, respectful questions after him, and followed him out into the night with the big dark government man a step behind.
Meg had the oddest feeling about Ahmed. She had to bite her tongue to keep the words from tumbling out. But her concern now was only for Steve. Her eyes slid around to where he was standing close to Daphne and the tall blond agent. “They’ll catch the men who tried to kill him, won’t they?” she asked David worriedly.
“Sure they will. Don’t worry, now, it’s nothing to do with you.” He held up a restraining hand when she opened her mouth to ask some more questions. “Steve was barely scratched, despite the amount of bleeding. He’ll be carefully looked after. Everything’s fine.”
“What is Steve selling to Ahmed?” she asked agitatedly.
“A fighter plane. Very advanced. All the latest technology. The government approves, because we’re allies of Ahmed’s strategically placed little nation.”
“But if they’re trying to stop the sale, why shoot at Steve?”
Meg was too quick. “Probably, they were shooting at both of them but Steve got the bullet,” he said.
“Oh.” She relaxed a little. “But what if they try again?”
“I told you, they’re going to be surrounded by government people.”
“Won’t they try to get Ahmed out of the country now?”
David grimaced. “I don’t know. Calm down now, Meg. Try not to worry so much. It’s all under control, believe me.”
Meg finally gave in. David did look less concerned now, and she had to accept that Steve would be protected from further attacks.
David, meanwhile, was shaking inside. What he and Steven had learned from the CIA agents and Ahmed was enough to terrify anyone. Ahmed couldn’t go home just now, and while he was in Wichita, he was in mortal danger. It was far more serious than a protest over an arms sale. A coup was in progress in Ahmed’s nation and Ahmed had been targeted by its leaders.
Ahmed’s position was top secret, so Meg couldn’t be told. Only Daphne knew, because of her engagement to Wayne Hicks, the blond CIA agent. She was an unofficial liaison between the government men and Ahmed. There were secrets within secrets here. It was a tricky situation, made more so by Steven’s apparent relationship with Daphne while Meg stood by helplessly and fumed.
Meg glanced at Steven. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked without meeting his eyes.
“I’m indestructible,” he said tautly. “I only needed a bandage, believe it or not. I’d better get Daphne home,” he added.
“Thanks, Steve,” Daphne said gently, smiling up at him.
Meg looked away, so she didn’t see Daphne’s expression or Steve’s. Her heart was breaking. She smiled dully and took David’s arm. “In that case, I’ll take my brother and go home. Good night, then.”
David got them a cab right outside the door. Presumably Daphne was going to drive Steven’s Jaguar.
Meg sat quietly in the corner of the cab, still trying to focus on the shocking, violent events of the night. The shots, Steve’s wound, Ahmed’s incredible transformation from indulgent friendliness to menacing authority, the police, the government men, the hospital…it all merged into a frightening blur. Meg closed her eyes on the memories. Daphne had won and the only course of action Meg had was to concede the field to the other woman once more. If Steve loved her, she’d stay and fight. But he didn’t. Hadn’t he made it abundantly clear that he preferred Daphne?
Always before, she’d had the sanctuary of her New York apartment to run to. But now, with her ankle in this shape, she knew for certain that it would be a very long time before she was fit enough to dance again. A very, very long time. She had to consider a new career. If she couldn’t dance, she had to find a way to support herself. A ballet school was the ideal way. She’d studied ballet all her life. She knew she could teach it. All she required was a small loan, a studio and the will to succeed.
The fly in the ointment was that it would have to be here in Wichita. New York City was full of ballet schools, and rental property cost a fortune. She’d never be able to afford to do it there. Here in Wichita, she was known in local circles, even if the family was no longer wealthy. Her roots went back four generations here. The downside was that she’d have to see Steven occasionally, but perhaps she could harden her heart.
Meanwhile, Steven and David would be fine now, surely, with the CIA watching. And of course, they’d get Ahmed out of the country.
But, would she be fine, she wondered? It was like losing Steven all over again. She didn’t know how she could bear it.
Meg went to bed and didn’t sleep. Steve had taken Daphne home. She was tormented by images of Daphne in Steven’s arms, being thrilled and delighted by his kisses. She couldn’t bear it.
She couldn’t sleep on Friday night, and was listless all day Saturday and Sunday. She worked on her exercises, but her lack of progress just made her more depressed. She went to sleep on Sunday night, but again couldn’t rest easily. She got out of bed and decided to go down for a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe it would help her sleep.
She opened her door and heard movement downs
tairs. Her first thought was that it might be a burglar, but the lights were all on.
She went to the banister and leaned over. David was in the hall putting on a raincoat.
“David?” she called, surprised.
He glanced up at her. He held a briefcase under his arm. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“I know. Well, I’ve got to run this stuff over to Ahmed…”
“It’s midnight!”
He glowered at her. “Ahmed doesn’t recognize little things like the hour of the night. And before you start worrying, I’ve got an escort waiting outside. Try to get some sleep, will you?”
She sighed. “Okay. Be careful.”
“Sure thing.”
She wandered back into her bedroom. She heard a door slam twice and David’s car pulling away. Odd, two slams, but she was sleepy. Perhaps she’d counted wrong.
She looked at herself in the mirror, in the sexy little lavender night slip that stopped at her upper thighs. She looked very alluring, she decided, with her hair down her back and those spaghetti straps threatening to loosen the low bodice that didn’t quite cover the firm swell of her creamy breasts. She sighed.
“Too bad your hair’s not platinum,” she told her reflection. “And your legs are too long.” She made a face at herself before she opened the bedroom door and wandered slowly downstairs, careful not to let her weak ankle make her fall as she negotiated her way down. A cup of hot chocolate might just do the trick.
She yawned as she ambled into the kitchen. But she stopped dead at the sight of the man standing there, staring at her with eyes that didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Steven!” she gasped.
He was fully dressed, a light blue sports jacket paired with navy slacks, a white shirt and a blue striped tie. But there was no bulge high up on his left arm, no bandage.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, getting her breath back. She refused to try to cover herself. Let him look, she thought bitterly. “And do try to remember not to sneeze,” she added, glancing around paranoidly. “They’ve probably got video cameras everywhere. Oh, Lord!” she added suddenly, glancing down at her state of undress and remembering that dark-haired agent with the wicked smile.
“There are no hidden cameras here,” he returned. “Why would there be?” His silver eyes narrowed. “Which is just as well, because I don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”
“For your eyes only?” she taunted. “Well, save it all for Daphne, Steve, darling. What do you want here? David just left.”
“I know. I’m here to keep an eye on you while he’s gone.” He shouldered away from the door facing. “You aren’t planning to cut your visit short and go back to New York, are you?” he asked bluntly.
She didn’t want to answer that. Her ankle was killing her this morning, from the slight exercise it had been put through the night before. She could hardly walk on it. The thought of dancing on it made her nauseous.
“Am I being asked to leave town?” she hedged.
“No. Quite the contrary.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and studied her through narrowed eyes. “I think it might be better if you stay in Wichita. But don’t go out without David, will you?”
“They shot at you, not me,” she reminded him, and had to choke down the fear the words brought back. He could have been killed. She didn’t dare think about it too much. “You’re really all right, aren’t you?” she added reluctantly.
“I’m really all right.” He saw the concern she couldn’t hide, but he knew better than to read too much into it. She’d loved him once, or thought she had, before she decided that dancing was of prime importance. He stared at her with growing need. Dressed that way, she aroused him almost beyond bearing. He didn’t know if he could keep his hunger for her under control. That gown…!
She stared down at her bare feet. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
He didn’t reply. When she looked up again, it was to find his silver eyes riveted to her breasts, to the pink swell of them over her bodice. The look was intimate. Hungry. She could almost see his heartbeat increasing.
“Don’t, Steve,” she said quietly.
“If not me, who, then?” he asked roughly, moving slowly toward her. “You won’t give yourself to anyone else. You’re twenty-three and still a virgin.”
She gnawed her lower lip. “I like it that way,” she said unsteadily, because he was close now, towering over her. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the spicy cologne he wore. It was a fragrance that she’d always connected with him. It aroused her.
“The hell you do. You waited for me. You’re still waiting.” His silver eyes dropped to her bodice and found the evidence of her arousal. “You can’t even hide it,” he taunted huskily. “All I have to do is look at you, or stand close to you, and your body begins to swell with wanting me.”
She swallowed. “Don’t humiliate me!” she whispered tightly.
“That isn’t what I have in mind. Not at all.” His hands came out of his pockets. They moved slowly to the smooth curve of her shoulders and caressed away the tiny spaghetti straps. His breath was at her temple, on her nose, her mouth. She ached for him in every cell of her body.
“Steve.” She choked. “Steve, what about Daphne…?”
“Daphne who?” he breathed, and his mouth settled on hers as his hands moved abruptly, sending the gown careening recklessly down her body to land in a silken lavender pool at her feet.
7
Right and wrong no longer existed separately in Steve’s tormented mind. Meg wanted him and he wanted her. All the pain and anguish of the past four years fused in that one thought as he felt her mouth soften and open under his. He kissed her until she went limp in his arms, until his own body went rigid with insistent desire. And only then did he lift his head to look at what his hands had uncovered.
Meg felt the impact of Steven’s eyes on her bare breasts like a hot caress on her skin. She stood before him in only a pair of lacy, high-cut pink briefs, insecure in her nudity. But when her hands lifted automatically, he caught her wrists and drew her hands to his chest. His steely eyes held hers while he pressed them there.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said quietly. His eyes fell to her body and sketched its pink and mauve contours with slow, exquisite appreciation. “You’re more beautiful than a Boticelli nude, Mary Margaret.”
“You’re forgetting Daphne.” She choked out the words, beyond protest. “She has a hold on you.”
He was still staring at her, unblinking. “You might say that.”
“Steve…”
“Don’t talk, Meg,” he replied, his voice deep and soft, almost lazy as his dark head started to bend toward her. “Talking doesn’t accomplish a damned thing.”
“Steven, you mustn’t…!”
“Oh, but I must,” he breathed as his mouth opened just above her taut nipple. “I must…!”
She felt the soft tracing of his tongue just before the faint suction that took her breast right into the dark warmth of his mouth.
Steve heard her gasp, felt her whole body go rigid in his grasp. But he didn’t stop. He nuzzled her gently and increased the warm pressure. A little sound passed her lips and then she began to push toward him, not away from him. He groaned against her as his hands slid up the silky softness of her back and drew her into the aroused curve of his body.
Meg had stopped thinking altogether. The insistent hunger of his mouth made her body throb in the most incredible way. She cradled his dark head against her, leaning back in his embrace. She felt as if she were floating, drifting.
Steve was kneeling, easing her down to the floor, his mouth against her. He pulled her over him, parting her smooth legs so that they were hip to hip. His mouth moved to her other breast, then to her throat and finally up to her parted lips. He kissed her with slow, aching passion, all the while exploring her body with deft, sure hands. He whispered things she couldn�
�t even hear for the roar in her ears. And then he shifted her, just a little, and she felt the aroused thrust of him as his body began to rock sensually against hers.
She gasped and stiffened, because even their most intimate time hadn’t been quite this intimate.
He lifted his head. His silver eyes were misty with desire as he searched hers. He moved, deliberately, so that she felt him intimately, and a wave of pleasure rippled up her body. She couldn’t hide the shocked delight in her eyes. He smiled, slowly, and moved again. This time her hands gripped his shoulders and she relaxed, shyly bringing him into even greater intimacy with her.
His lean hand slid up her thigh, tracing its inner curve. She saw his mouth just before it settled on hers again. He touched her as he never had. Waves of pleasure jolted her. She tried to protest, but it was far too late. She began to whimper.
His tongue tangled with hers, thrust deep into her mouth. She felt tears in her eyes as he held her in thrall. Her body arched helplessly toward him. She felt his mouth sliding down to her breasts, possessing her. He stroked her until she was weeping with helpless desire, her voice breaking as she whispered, pleaded, begged.
The husky pleas, combined with the sensual movement of her body over his, removed him sufficiently from reality so that it was impossible for him to pull back in time. He kissed her. His mouth bit into hers and she felt him move, felt the soft tearing of her briefs, felt the air on her body. She heard the rasp of a zipper, the metallic sound of a belt.
He pulled her up so that she was sitting with her legs on either side of him. She heard his breathing, rough and unsteady at her ear, as his lean hands suddenly gripped her bare thighs deliberately and he lifted her.
“Easy,” he whispered as he brought her to him and slowly pulled her down.
She had a second to wonder about the faint threat of his hold on her, and then his mouth opened on hers and she felt the first insistent thrust of him against the veil of her innocence.
Her eyes flew open. She cried out at the flash of hot pain. He held her still, breathing roughly. His face was rigid, his teeth clenched, his breathing audible through his nose. He looked into her wide, frightened eyes and held them as he pulled her slowly down on him again.