by Nora Roberts
“I’m glad he was here for you after …” Christina trailed off, no longer interested in her tea. When she set her legs down, she touched Brie’s hand again, but the touch was firmer. “Brie, I wish you’d talk to me about it. The press is so vague. I know they haven’t caught the people responsible, and I can’t stand it.”
“The police are investigating.”
“But they haven’t caught anyone. Can you rest easily until they do? I can’t.”
“No.” Unable to sit, Brie rose, linking her hands. “No, I can’t. I’ve tried to go on with the daily business of life, but it’s like waiting, just waiting without knowing.”
“Oh, Brie.” Chris was at her side, hugging her. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but we’ve always shared everything. I was so frightened for you.” A tear brimmed over, but she brushed at it impatiently. “Damn, I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but I can’t help it. Every time I think about what it was like to pick up the paper and see the headline—”
Brie took a step back from the emotion. “You shouldn’t think about it. It’s over.”
The tears cleared, but now there was puzzlement. “I’m sorry.” Hurt, but unsure why, Christina looked down for her bag. “It’s too easy to forget sometimes who you are and what rules you have to live by.”
“No.” Torn between instinct and a promise, Brie hesitated. “Don’t go, Chris. I need—oh, God, I do need to talk to someone.” Brie looked at her then and chose. “We’re very good friends, aren’t we?”
Puzzlement and hurt became confusion. “Brie, you know—”
“No, just tell me.”
Christina set her bag back down again. “Eve’s my sister,” she said calmly. “And I love her. There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for her. I don’t love you any less.”
Brie closed her eyes a moment. “Sit down, please.” She waited, then sat down beside Christina. Taking one long breath, she told her friend everything.
Perhaps Christina paled a bit, perhaps her eyes widened, but she interrupted Brie only twice to clarify. When the story was finished, she sat in absolute silence for a moment. But, then, volcanoes often sit quietly.
“It stinks.”
She said the words in her soft Texas drawl so that Brie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“It stinks,” Christina repeated. “Politics usually does, and Americans are the first to say so, but this really stinks.”
For some reason, Christina’s sturdy, inelegant opinion made her comfortable. Brie smiled and reached for a cookie without thinking. “I can’t really blame politics. After all, I agreed to everything.”
“Well, what else were you going to do, for heaven’s sake?” Exasperated, Christina rose and walked over to a small cherry wood commode. She discovered she wanted badly to break something. Anything. “You were weak, disoriented and frightened.”
“Yes,” Brie murmured. “Yes, I was.” She watched Christina rummage and locate an exquisite little decanter.
“I need a brandy.” Without ceremony, Christina poured. “You?”
“Mmmm.” Brie only nodded an assent. “I didn’t even know that was there.”
Christina spilled a bit of brandy over the side of a glass, swore and blotted the drop with a finger. “You’ll remember.” She walked back, and her eyes were bright and strong when she handed Brie a snifter. “You’ll remember because you’re too stubborn not to.”
And for the first time Brie believed it, completely. With something like relief she touched her glass to Christina’s. “Thanks.”
“If I hadn’t let myself get talked out of it, I would have been here weeks ago.” With an unintelligible mutter, Christina sat on the arm of the sofa. “Your father, that Loubet and the wonderful Reeve MacGee should all be rounded up, corralled and horsewhipped. I’d like to give all three of them a piece of my mind.”
Brie laughed into her brandy. This was what she’d needed, she realized, to counterbalance that fierce protection from the men who cared for her. “I think you could do it.”
“Damn right I could. I’m surprised you haven’t.”
“Actually, I have.”
“That’s more like it.”
“The trouble is, my father does what he thinks best for me and the country. Loubet does what he thinks best for the country. I can’t fault either of them.”
“And Reeve?”
“And Reeve.” Brie looked up from her glass. “I’m in love with him.”
“Oh.” Christina drew the word out as she studied Brie’s face. She’d already made up her mind that she’d stay right there in Cordina until everything was resolved. Now she reaffirmed it. “So that part of it is real.”
“No.” She didn’t let herself look down at her ring. “Only my feelings are real. The rest is just as I told you.”
“Ah, well, that’s no problem.”
Though she didn’t want pity, she had been expecting a bit of sympathy. “It’s not?”
“Of course not. If you want him, you’ll get him.”
Both amusement and interest flickered over her face. “Will I? How?”
Christina took a quick swallow of brandy. “If you don’t remember all the men you had to brush out from around your feet, I’m not going to tell you. It isn’t good for my ego. Anyway, they’re not worth it.” She touched her glass to Brie’s.
“Who isn’t?”
“Men.” Christina crossed her stockinged feet and examined her toes. “Men aren’t worth it. Louses, every single one.”
Somehow Brie felt they’d had this conversation before. A laugh bubbled in her throat. “Every one?”
“Every single one, bless ’em.”
“Chris.” This time Brie reached out. “I’m glad you came.”
Chris leaned over and brushed her cheek. “Me, too. Now why don’t you come to my room and help me pick out something devastating for dinner tonight?”
* * *
When Reeve came to her rooms, she wasn’t there. He saw the depleted tray of cookies, the cooling tea. And the empty brandy snifters. Interesting, he thought. He knew Brie drank little, and almost never during the day. He thought she had either been relaxed or upset.
He’d been told Brie was entertaining Christina Hamilton, of the Houston Hamiltons. Rocking back on his heels, he studied the remains of the little tea party. He’d done some careful research on Brie’s old college friend. They had passed the point where he’d take any chances. A call to a friend in D.C. who owed him a favor, and Reeve had everything from Christina Hamilton’s birthday to her bank balance. He’d turned up nothing that shouldn’t have been there. Yet he felt uneasy.
Not uneasy, he admitted as he wandered around Brie’s sitting room. Jealous. Jealous because she was spending time with someone else. It was laughable. He hated to think himself so tied to a woman that they couldn’t spend an afternoon apart. He hated to think himself that unreasonable—or that sunk.
It was her safety, Reeve reminded himself. His feelings for her were tangled in concern. It was natural—but it wasn’t comfortable. When there wasn’t any more reason for concern, perhaps his feelings could change. It was logical. It would probably be for the best. It was, he thought ruefully, extremely unlikely.
He could smell her even now, though the room was delicate with the scent of the flowers that were always in vases here and there. It was here, that very feminine, very sexy, very French fragrance that habitually clung to her. He could picture her sitting on the love seat, sipping a cup of tea, nibbling at a cookie, perhaps, but without any real interest. She ate too little.
There had been strain. He knew it—hated it. She would feel dishonest talking with her old friend who was a stranger now.
Is that why he felt so strongly? he wondered. He was, of all the people in her life, the only one who had no strong ties from the past she couldn’t remember. There weren’t years of memories between them, drawing them together, pulling them apart. There was only now.
And that one night years
before when he’d waltzed with her in the moonlight.
Idiot. He dragged a hand through his hair. He was an idiot to think that even without the amnesia she would have remembered a few dances with a man on her sixteenth birthday. Just because he’d never forgotten. Had never been able to forget. Had he been in love with her all this time? With the image of her?
Reeve picked up an earring she’d taken off and set carelessly on a table. It was an elegant design of gold and diamonds. Complex and simple, it changed as he turned it—like a woman. Like the woman. He twisted it in his fingers for a moment and wondered if it was still the image that captivated him.
He knew too much about her, he thought. Too many details that he had no business knowing. She liked her bathwater too hot, collected old pictures of people she didn’t know. She’d once had a secret dream to dance with the Ballet Royal. When she’d been fifteen, she’d wondered if she was in love with a young gardener.
He knew before she did those foolish little details of her life. He’d stolen them from her, out of diaries he’d read to do a job. When she remembered all, when she looked at him then, how much would she resent the intrusion?
He knew now the two people who’d kidnapped her, changed her life, stolen her past. He knew who they were and why they’d done so. For her sake, he couldn’t tell her yet. He could only watch and protect. And when she knew all, when she looked at him then, how much would she resent the deception?
How could he tell her that two people close to her, two people she trusted, had plotted against her? Used her? It might ease his conscience, but what would it do to Brie?
He’d gone past the point where he’d take any chances.
He heard the door to the bedroom open and paused with the earring still in his hand.
“Yes, thank you, Bernadette. If you’ll just run the bath. I’ll see to my own hair. We’re dining en famille tonight.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He heard the maid move quietly into the bath, then the water striking porcelain. He imagined Brie undressing. Slowly. Unbuttoning the tailored little blouse he’d seen her put on that morning. Odd, he realized. He’d seen her dress in the mornings they’d woken together. But he’d never seen her undress. When he came to her she was already in a robe or nightgown. Or waiting naked in the bed.
Suddenly driven, he set down the earring and crossed into the bedroom.
She was standing in front of the mirror, but she hadn’t removed her clothes. There was a small porcelain box on her dresser with the lid off. She took pins from it, one by one, and swept up her hair.
She was thinking, but not, he realized, about what she was doing. Her eyes weren’t focused on the reflection. But she was smiling, just a little, as if she were content. It wasn’t often she smiled like that.
The maid came out to take a robe out of the closet. If she noticed Reeve in the sitting-room doorway, she gave no sign. As she laid the robe on the bed, Brie fastened the last pin.
“Thank you, Bernadette. I won’t need you any more tonight. Tomorrow,” she went on with a quick grin, “I’ll exhaust you.”
The maid curtsied. Reeve waited. The maid shut the door quietly behind her. Still, he waited. Brie put the top back on the box, running her finger over the porcelain when it was in place. With a little sigh, she stepped out of her shoes and stretched, eyes closed. Turning away from the mirror, she went to a small cabinet and switched on the CD player concealed inside. The music that came out was quiet, sultry. Something heard through open windows on summer nights. She unhooked her trim gray trousers, let them fall to the floor, then stepped out of them. While Reeve watched, she bent to pick them up, ran a hand down to smooth them and set them on the bed.
One by one, her mind on the music, she undid the buttons on her blouse. Beneath it she wore pearl-gray silk without frills. The teddy was as smooth as her skin, and very thin. She brushed the first slender strap from her shoulder before Reeve stepped forward.
“Gabriella.”
She would have jumped or gasped if she hadn’t recognized his voice. She turned slowly because she recognized the need in it, as well. He was standing just inside the room, but she could feel his heat and it immediately aroused her. He made no move, only watched, but she felt his touch slide over every inch of her. The sun was still strong enough to light the room, but her thoughts turned to night. And excitement.
Without a word she held out a hand.
Without a word he went to her.
They spoke with touches, the brush of a fingertip, the press of a palm. You’re mine. I’ve waited for you. I’ve ached for you. Mouth moved over mouth silently, but hundreds of things were said. This is all I’ve wanted. You’re all I’ve needed. You.
She undressed him, not too quickly. Each could feel the ache build to pain. It was exquisite. She drew his shirt from his shoulders, and still the only word that had been spoken between them was her name. In wordless agreement, they lowered themselves onto the bed.
He hadn’t known any woman could make him want so badly. He had only to think of her to need. But to touch her … to feel her, soft and strong against him, was enough to make him forget he’d had a life before Gabriella.
He ran his hand over the silk, feeling it warm with the friction, feeling her move beneath. Her skin and the silk slid along his own flesh. Temptation. Her hands roamed over him freely, seeking pleasure, giving it. Desire. A kiss went on endlessly until they both were surrounded by every soft, every sweet sensation. Surrender.
Brie went limp, weakened by a deluge of feeling too strong to measure. He could do no more than go where the kiss led him. Into her.
The silk was brushed away with a stroke of his hand. When he slid inside her, the passion was subtle, timeless. Her breath shuddered. His muscles bunched, then flowed, then bunched again. Together they moved. Neither led, neither followed, because both were lost.
Her hands were firm on his shoulders; his fingers were curled into her hair. Their gazes locked as the rhythm matched the sultry heated music that dripped into the room.
It wasn’t a matter of control, his or hers, but of mood. Savor. Prolong. He couldn’t have described the sensations that rippled through him, overtook him, enclosed him, but he could have spoken in minute detail of what the sun did to her hair, of how pleasure affected her eyes.
She’d remember this always. If everything else was stripped from her again, Brie knew that this moment would remain perfectly clear.
There was no flash, no sudden storm of speed and desperation. They rose together, sweetly, gently, exquisitely. She could have wept from the beauty of it, but only smiled as his mouth touched hers.
They lay together comfortably, stretching out the moment a bit longer. The early-evening sunlight was quiet. If it hadn’t been for obligations, they’d have stayed just so until the morning.
“I missed you.”
Surprised, Brie tilted her head on his shoulder so that she could see his profile. “Did you?”
“I’ve hardly seen you today.” He didn’t feel as foolish saying it as he had felt thinking it. Smiling a little, he stroked her hair.
“I thought you might come up to the ballroom.”
“I came by a couple of times. You were busy.” And safe, he added to himself. Three of the workmen had carried guns under their vests.
“Tomorrow will be worse.” Content, she snuggled against him. “It’ll take hours to set up the flowers alone. Then there’s the wine and liquor, the musicians, the food. The people.”
She fell silent. Unconsciously he drew her closer. “Nervous.”
“A little. There will be so many faces, so many names. I wonder …”
“What?”
“I know just how important this ball is for the AHC and for Cordina. But I wonder if I can pull it off.”
“You’ve done more than anyone can expect already.” And he resented it. “Just relax and take it as it comes. Do what feels right for you, Brie.”
She didn’t speak for
a moment, then plunged. “I have already.” She shifted so that she could look at him directly. “I told Christina Hamilton everything.”
He started to speak, then stopped himself. She was waiting, he could see, for criticism, impatience, even anger. He saw both the apology and the defiance in her eyes. “Why?” But it was a question, not an accusation. He could almost feel the relief from her.
“I couldn’t lie to her. Maybe I couldn’t remember, but I felt. I really felt something with her, something I needed.” She paused only to make a sound of exasperation. “You’ll think I’m foolish.”
She started to sit up, so he went with her. “No.” To emphasize support, he laid a hand over hers. “Tell me what you felt.”
“I needed to talk to a woman.” She let out a long breath, then looked back at him. Her hair was tumbled, a sensuous mass over creamy shoulders. Her face still held the glow of passion. Yet vulnerability was there. “There are so many men in my life. Kind, concerned, but …” How could she phrase it so he’d understand? She couldn’t. “I just needed to talk to a woman.”
Of course she did. Reeve brought her hand to his lips. Why hadn’t any of them seen it? Father, brother, doctor … lover. But she’d had no one to give her the kind of support, the kind of empathy only those of the same sex can give one another. “Did it help?”
She closed her eyes a moment. “Yes. Chris is special to me—that’s what I felt.”
“What was her reaction?”
“She said that it stinks.” A giggle bubbled in her throat. A sound he’d heard too rarely. “She’s of the opinion that you, my father and Loubet should be horsewhipped.”
Reeve made a sound that might have been amusement or regret. Basically, it was agreement. “Sounds like a sensible woman.”
“She is. I can’t tell you what it meant just to talk to her. Reeve, she didn’t look at me as though I were ill or odd or … I don’t know.”
“Is that what we do?”
“Sometimes, yes.” She brushed her hair back, looking at him with an eagerness that asked for understanding. “Chris took it all in, stated her opinion, then asked me to help her pick out a dress. It was all so natural, so easy, as if there weren’t all these blanks between us. We were simply friends again, or still. I don’t know how to explain it.”