The Lady and the Lion

by Kay Hooper

  He was a very big man with a curious aura of strength despite old age, upright and powerful though one of his elegant hands rested on a gold-headed cane. He was dressed all in white, his suit starkly formal in the casual setting, and both his thick hair and full beard were snowy, almost radiant. Dark, smiling eyes looked down at her with an oddly vivid wisdom, and his smile was…something special.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” he said softly. “If you’d rather, I can go away again.”

  Forever afterward, Erin was unable to explain the instant fascination she felt, the warm and certain trust. She had the most peculiar impulse to say: Where have you been, I’ve been waiting for you! And she had no idea why. It was almost dreamlike. She found herself gesturing toward a nearby cushioned, rattan chair, watching him pull it closer and sit down, looking into his face with wonder and pleasure.

  “Most people don’t recognize me,” he said in that amazingly kind, tranquil voice. “But you do, I think.”

  “I—I feel I do. I can’t explain it.”

  “There’s no need. My name is Fortune, if that helps.”

  She tilted her head a little as she looked at him, reaching up almost unconsciously to remove her sunglasses so there’d be no barrier between them. “Fortune…Yes, of course. I’ve seen you before. Long ago, when I was a child.”

  He nodded, smiling.

  “I was lost,” she remembered slowly. “I’d gone riding in the mountains, and my horse threw me. It was very cold, and I’d forgotten the way back. I was afraid. And then you were just there. You took my hand and walked with me for hours until we reached the lodge. I looked for you later, but you weren’t there, and nobody seemed to know you.” She paused, then added softly, “A blizzard came that night.”

  “Our lives have crossroads,” he said, answering a question she couldn’t put into words. “Sometimes all we need is a guiding hand to turn us in the right direction. You were meant to be here. I had to make sure you were.”

  Without hesitation, she said, “That’s why you’re here now.”

  “Yes, child.”

  “To help me.”

  “To help you both.”

  Erin half nodded, accepting. “He’s so angry,” she said. “I don’t know how to touch him there. I think I’m afraid to touch him there.”

  “You must, child. You’re the only one who can.”

  “Because I love him?”

  “Yes. He needs your love.”

  She didn’t find it at all strange to be talking this way to this man, and she wasn’t even aware of the trust in her voice. “But how can I, when he won’t let me?”

  Gently, Fortune said, “When grief and rage fill the emptiness in a man’s heart, it’s a terrible thing. If he holds it inside, it feeds on itself and grows stronger until it becomes the master. Then he walks in a dark place, too far from the light to see he’s lost his way.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Love him.”

  “He doesn’t want my love.”

  “Are you so sure? The love of a woman is a precious thing; few men throw it away carelessly. Child, in all matters of love, there comes a point when you must trust in the strength of what you feel. And to every man comes a moment when he must decide what it is he wants most of all. When that time comes, you’ll know.”

  Erin understood what he was saying, and it frightened her. “What if he turns away from me?” she whispered. “What if his anger is stronger than I am?”

  “Courage, child.” He reached out one elegant hand to fleetingly touch her cheek, and then rose to his feet. “The bond between you is strong, and rooted more deeply than his anger. Hold on to it. Trust your love for him.”

  She looked away from Fortune for the first time, gazing blindly at the sparkling blue water of the pool. When she looked back, he was gone.

  She didn’t question the strange meeting. Instead, she reached into the tote bag beside her chair and drew out her sketchpad. It was half filled with sketches now, most of which she had done last night after Keith had gone, and she turned the pages steadily until she reached a blank one. She drew for a long time, and when she was finished she tore out one of the two sketches she had just completed. She put it facedown on the chair where Fortune had sat, then took one of the fresh flowers from the vase on her breakfast tray and placed it on top of the sketch. Then she put the pad away.

  She rearranged her lounge chair and stretched out on her stomach, letting the sun’s heat seep into her muscles. She would have sworn she didn’t fall asleep, but the next time she glanced over at the chair, her offering was gone.

  It was after ten when Erin heard footsteps crossing the tile toward her, and for the first time that morning she was alone at the pool. She was sitting up again, wearing her sunglasses as she gazed meditatively toward the ocean, and though her pulse speeded up she was able to respond to Keith’s rather abrupt greeting calmly.

  “How long have you been out here? You’ll burn,” Keith said, sitting down in the chair beside her.

  “I never burn. Another result of good genes, I suppose. Besides, I’m wearing sunblock.”

  “That’s about all you’re wearing.”

  Erin looked down at her—quite modest—one-piece green swimsuit, then turned her gaze to Keith. Through her sunglasses, he looked brooding. If she hadn’t dreamed those words of love, and he had heard them, either he didn’t remember or else had no intention of bringing up the subject. She was suddenly terrified to let him see, terrified that he would take one look and walk away from what he didn’t want.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked, ignoring the remark about her swimsuit.

  “No.” He reached over and removed her sunglasses.

  She immediately looked away, saying, “You should. We could have an early lunch, or—”

  “Erin.”

  That flat voice she knew so well. But she was afraid to look at him without the shield of the glasses, because she knew her heart would be in her eyes, she could still feel the sensation of naked neon emotion beaming from her. Anything would be better than losing him. Anything.

  Hurriedly, she said, “I think you’re right. I’ve been out here long enough.” She slid from the lounge, away from him, and stood to put on the wraparound skirt that went with her suit, and step into her sandals. Before she could reach for her tote, he was there, standing squarely in front of her, his hands reaching out to hold her bare, sun-warmed shoulders with a force that stopped just short of pain.

  “Erin, did I hurt you?” His voice was low now, a little rough. “Last night, when I came back, did I hurt you?”

  She stared at the top button of his casual sport shirt and shook her head. “No. No, of course not.”

  “Then what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, knowing that it was no good, she couldn’t lie or evade. “Because I broke the rules. Your rules.” Opening her eyes, she looked up at him.

  Keith was absolutely motionless for what seemed like eternity, his brilliant gaze locked with hers, and then he yanked her into his arms and held her tight. The hard angle of his jaw rubbed her temple as he muttered huskily, “I thought I was mistaken last night. But you did say it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She slipped her arms around his waist, holding on to him even though she knew all too well that in ten minutes he could still walk away. Right now, he wanted her love, and for right now that was enough. Her face was hidden against his neck, and she could feel a pulse hammering there, feel his heart beating quickly and hard in his chest.

  Keith drew back just a little, his hands lifting to surround her face. His expression was taut, his eyes still blazing with an intensity so bright she almost wanted to look away from it.

  “Say it again,” he ordered in a low voice.

  “I love you, Keith.” She said it simply, her voice gentle and eyes steady. “I have from the beginning. Even before we really met, I think.”

  He made a rough sound that wa
s almost an oath, angry, but he was kissing her and there was hunger in his kiss, and possessiveness, and a satisfaction that was fiercely male. Erin hadn’t expected tender words from him, but she felt a pang anyway, because it was a bittersweet feeling to offer her love and have it accepted so ambivalently. It didn’t help much to know he was torn, that a powerful conflict raged inside him; no woman wanted to know her love caused pain, that it hurt instead of healed.

  But she said nothing, because he’d granted her no right by accepting her love. There was still a wall between them, and she wasn’t yet ready to pit her own strength against it.

  Without another word, Keith released her and gathered up her things, then took her hand firmly and led her into the hotel. She knew what he wanted, what they both wanted; their passion was so strong and uncomplicated that it swept everything else aside, leaving no room for anything except the pleasure they found in each other’s arms. And because that was all he would give her now, because she was bound by her love to give him all that she was, she held nothing back.

  —

  That morning set the tone for the next two days. Having accepted her love, Keith was different only in that he didn’t say another word about their relationship; he didn’t question, didn’t insist he was bad for her, and was far less contradictory than he’d been before. His desire for her seemed to grow more intense, and her response deepened until even a glance from him was enough to kindle a fire inside her.

  He left each evening, literally tearing himself away from her, and returned in the dark predawn hours so tightly wound with strain it was like an aura around him. There was something hard-edged about him when he first returned, something almost violent and dangerous. He was rougher then, his need unhidden, his desire potent. She couldn’t help but respond to that, her body like a hair trigger to his touch. It never frightened her, but what she felt in him made her anxiety grow.

  The most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life was to ask him no questions. She couldn’t hold back her own words of love, not once he knew, but clung grimly to at least the spirit of the terms she’d agreed to. In her father’s world, with all its subtlety and deception, an agreement had to be honored, a promise upheld; over the years she had gained a deep understanding of how important it was to stand by one’s word.

  At first, it helped to know that she was good for Keith. The passion between them seemed to anchor him somehow, help him to regain his balance when he returned in the night so tormented by his demons. He slept deeply afterward, waking late in the morning, and for a few hours he’d be almost relaxed, able to laugh at her bemusement when she demanded to know how on earth they’d wound up on the floor, or when she told him some of the comical stories of growing up in the diplomatic corps.

  “You did what?”

  “Well, the American ambassador’s daughter told me that all sheikhs went berserk over redheads, and I knew his fourth wife was only a year older than I was, so when he gave Dad a camel, I was convinced he was trying to buy me. I was so terrified that I hid, and somehow or other I got locked into the women’s quarters, and Mother thought I’d been kidnapped….”

  He watched her constantly, and at first she thought the anger in him was lessening. But gradually she realized that it was stronger than ever—only more deeply contained. It dawned on her finally that there was a tug of war going on.

  By the third morning, she knew. She knew what this was costing him. He had returned later than usual last night, finding her awake on the balcony, and he’d been wearing a tuxedo that bore the faint scents of smoke and exotic perfume. He had held her as if she were his lifeline, with a desperation that had moved her unbearably, and even as she had responded wildly to his desire, she had recognized the moment Fortune had foretold.

  It was after ten when she heard Keith’s shower running. She was in the sitting room of his suite, dressed more decorously than usual in slacks and a sedate blouse. She had ordered brunch an hour before, but hadn’t been able to touch anything except coffee. She was on her third cup when he came out of his bedroom in jeans, his thick hair still damp from the shower.

  He came toward her, smiling, but the smile died and his eyes narrowed as he stopped suddenly a couple of feet from her position at one end of the couch. “What’s wrong?”

  “Am I so easy to read?”

  “Yes.”

  She was hardly surprised; the question had been a somewhat ironically rhetorical one. But she managed to keep her voice quiet and almost tranquil, leaning heavily on all the years of being a diplomat’s daughter and an asset to his career.

  “The coffee’s still hot,” she said.

  Barely taking his eyes off her, Keith went over to the table by the balcony doors and poured a cup for himself. Watching him, she wondered with a pang if he realized that there were new threads of silver in his hair and a finely drawn exhaustion in the tautness of his face. His will was relentless, his strength almost indomitable, but there was a limit beyond which even the strongest of men would be destroyed; she wondered if he even knew how close to the edge he really was.

  “What’s wrong, Erin?”

  She couldn’t put it off any longer, couldn’t deceive herself into hoping it wasn’t necessary. Steadily, she said, “I can’t stay with you, Keith. I have to go.”

  He set his cup back on the table with unnatural care, and his eyes went curiously blank. “What are you talking about?”

  It was almost impossible for her to hold on to control when he asked that harsh question, but she managed to. Barely. “Maybe you can’t see what it’s doing to you. Maybe you don’t want to see. But I do. And I can’t be a part of it anymore.”

  “Erin—”

  “It’s destroying you. You go out at night, and whatever you’re doing is eating you up inside, and then you come back to me but only halfway. I’ve felt it all along, but now I can see it, and it scares the hell out of me.”

  He moved slightly, jerkily, as if he would have crossed the space between them, but then went still. “Are you afraid of me?” he demanded in a stony voice.

  “No. I never was, even in the beginning. But I’m afraid for you. Whatever you’re doing is wrong, and it’s killing you.”

  “It isn’t wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you—”

  “Yes, you told me you weren’t a criminal, what you’re doing here isn’t illegal. It probably isn’t. There are some things the law just doesn’t cover. But it doesn’t make them right. I know you’re obsessed, and angry, and have been for a long time. But I promised not to ask questions, so I’m not asking, Keith. I’m just telling you I can’t be part of it anymore.”

  “You aren’t part of it.” His voice was edging away from control now, tensing with anger. “I made sure.”

  “By holding me away? Do you even realize what that made me? One side of a tug of war. You want me, but your obsession, your blind anger, keeps pulling you away. I don’t know what it is, or where it comes from, but I know you won’t let go of it. I know I can’t stay here and watch you be torn apart.”

  “I can handle it,” he said harshly.

  Erin looked away from him for the first time, her gaze dropping to her tightly laced fingers. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t leave. You love me.”

  After a moment, she raised her eyes to meet his again, hurting so much she knew he saw it. “That’s why I have to leave. I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry your obsession matters more to you than love.”

  It was his turn to look away, and he turned stiffly to stare out the open balcony door. He was so tense that his powerful shoulders were rigid, and when he began speaking abruptly his voice was taut with strain. He talked methodically, but as if some dam had burst despite all his efforts, as if every word was wrenched from him totally against his will.

  “My natural father died before I was born; he was an air force pilot, killed flying an experimental jet. I was a year old when my mother married Patrick Calloway. He raised me; I’ve a
lways thought of him as my real father.”

  Erin listened silently, her own body tense, sensing the root of his anger had to be exposed this way, slowly, a gradual uncovering of all the layers he had wrapped it in.

  “He insisted I keep the name I was born with, and explained it to me carefully when I was a kid and hurt that he wouldn’t adopt me. He said that my blood father had been cheated in never knowing me, and that all he’d been able to give me was his name; I had to honor him by keeping it. Dad—Patrick—had everything else, everything I would have given my father if he lived. And he treated me as if I’d been born to him.”

  “He sounds wonderful,” Erin said softly.

  “He was. So was my mother. I had a great childhood, filled with love and understanding. I was in high school when my sister was born, and I adored her from the first moment I set eyes on her. She was beautiful, I told you that, and she could wrap anyone around her little finger. She was a good kid, right from the first, not at all spoiled or willful. She would have grown into an incredible woman.”

  Erin was beginning to feel very cold, and only just stopped herself from crying out, Not all of them? But she forced herself to remain still and silent, watching his broad back that was so tense, feeling even across the distance between them the brutal rage clawing at him. She forced herself to wait, and after a moment he went on.

  “After college, I began working in Dad’s company; from the ground up, we both wanted it that way. It’s an engineering firm, based in New York, with offices on the West Coast and in Europe. After a few years, I took over the traveling for Dad, so he and Mom could enjoy more time together. I wasn’t home a lot, and I didn’t really know what was going on in their lives.”

  Keith’s voice had been growing steadily more remote, quieter and without force or emotion, as if now he was saying words that meant nothing to him. That chilled Erin, because it told her all the turbulent feelings were still trapped in him, and he still wasn’t willing or able to release them.