“Jesus, why aren’t you undressed?” Chelsea slammed the door behind her and ran across the room, the filmy skirts of her white gown floating behind her like wings. “I would have been.” She launched herself at him, her arms closing around his neck, pressing dozens of quick, fevered kisses on his face and throat. “Why can’t men be—”
“Shut up, Chelsea.” He stopped her words with a long, slow kiss. “I didn’t have time.” He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. God, she was light in his arms. It always surprised him how slight she was physically when contrasted to the dimensions of her personality. So much spirit and vitality, so much strength and loving generosity. “I’ve waited eight months for this, and I’m not going to let your harping spoil it.”
“Okay,” she said meekly as she nestled closer. “But if you were as eager to ball me as I am to—”
“Make love,” Jonathan corrected her as he laid her down on the bed and began to unbutton his shirt. During the last few times they had been together she had been using more and more street slang, and he knew damn well it was to point out the differences in their backgrounds. “You know what’s between us. Stop hiding behind sex and say it.”
“What’s in a word?” Chelsea said airily as she kicked off her shoes and knelt on the bed with her back to him. “Unzip me.”
“Say it.” Jonathan slipped the zipper down and lifted the shining fall of her hair to one side to nuzzle her nape. “Please?”
She laughed tremulously as she turned around. “I can never resist a gentleman who says please. Make love. Is that prettier?”
“Yes, and a hell of a lot more truthful.” Jonathan pushed the gown down to Chelsea’s waist. Her naked breasts rose high and perfectly curved, the nipples as hard and pointed as he remembered. God, it had been too long. “Chelsea, love . . .”
His head lowered and he forgot all about semantics.
“I’m actually beginning to feel the stirring of gratitude toward Karazov,” Jonathan said as he stroked a bright wing of hair back from Chelsea’s face. “Very dangerous.”
“How did he find out about us? We were so careful.”
“Who knows? He has certain connections.”
“I don’t like it. If he can find out, so can any enterprising reporter.”
“I don’t think so. Karazov is . . . unusual.”
“Can we trust him not to talk?”
“I think so.”
“You don’t sound very concerned.”
“Frankly, Chelsea, I don’t give a damn.”
She giggled. “A quote from the man from Charleston.”
“I am from Charleston.”
“But you’re much nicer than Rhett Butler.” Her smile faded. “Well, I do give a damn.”
“I know. That’s what this stupidity is all about. Where did you get the key to my room?”
“Karazov. I found it in my purse after he left my suite this evening before the party.”
“It appears he pays his debts.”
“Well, he’s no cupid.”
“Chelsea, my love, I have no desire to talk about Karazov tonight.” He studied her carefully. “You’re thinner than you were in Kingston.” His wide palm cupped Chelsea’s breast and squeezed gently. “I thought you’d lost weight when I first saw you tonight at the party.”
“Only a few pounds. You worry too much.” Chelsea nestled closer, tangling her legs between Jonathan’s. “Stop frowning at me. I can take care of myself.”
“Like hell you can,” Jonathan said grimly. “I saw the picture on the cover of Time with that damn spear sticking in the mast beside your head. You damned well almost got yourself harpooned.”
“I lost my temper,” she admitted sheepishly.
Jonathan suddenly chuckled. “From now on, if there’s any harpooning to be done, I want to do it.”
“Well, you certainly have the weapon for the job.” She reached down and her hand closed around him. “A whale of a weapon.”
“Compliments will get you—” He gasped as her hold tightened around him and he swiftly amended, “Another harpooning.”
She giggled and raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. “God, you’re easy.”
“I’m not easy. I’m passionate.” He pulled her head down to kiss her lingeringly. “All men in love are passionate.” He felt her stiffen against him and he kissed her again. “It’s time you learned that, Chelsea.”
She pulled away from him and sat up in bed. “I’m thirsty.” She swung her feet to the floor and stood up. “I’m going to get some mineral water. Do you want something?”
“No.” He watched her walk naked across the bedroom toward the sitting room door. He loved to watch the way she moved, the way she held her shoulders squared as if marching against a foe, the short, springy steps that breathed vitality. It was her walk that first attracted him when he had seen her moving ahead of him into the White House dining room. Then he had found himself sitting beside her at the long table, and before the evening was over he had known that something rare and beautiful had come into his life. “Wait.” He picked up his pleated tuxedo shirt from the floor where he had dropped it. “The air-conditioning in here is too cool for you to run around butt naked.” He tossed her the shirt. “Put this on.”
She caught the shirt and slipped her arms into the sleeves, batting her lashes flirtatiously as she rolled up the cuffs. “Well, I do declare. I just love the caretaking ways of you southern gentlemen.” She turned and left the bedroom, and her words trailed after her. “It makes my little heart flutter and my mind—”
“My love, you’re a wonderful actress, but as a southern belle you’re a total washout.” Jonathan got out of bed, went to the armoire, and jerked his black velvet robe from the hanger. He slipped into it and followed Chelsea into the sitting room.
Chelsea was rummaging in the minibar across the room. “I’m glad you’ve finally realized that.” She pulled out a small bottle of Evian and unscrewed it. “I’m strictly Hollywood and Beverly Hills.”
“You’re anything you want to be.” Jonathan stood in the middle of the room and watched her pour the mineral water into a goblet. “You have limitless potential, my love.”
Her hand tightened on the goblet. “Stop calling me that. I’m not your love.”
He just stood looking at her, not speaking.
“I’m not,” she repeated defiantly. “It’s not love.” She lifted the goblet to her lips. “And I wish you wouldn’t keep saying you love me. It’s just sex—a good, healthy roll in the hay.”
He still didn’t speak.
“I don’t know why men have to get sentimental after they’ve been laid. For God’s sake, orgasms aren’t love. Sex isn’t anything to me. I can have an orgasm with anyone, anytime.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Hell, I can have an orgasm watching Baryshnikov do an élevé or Barry Bonds hit a home run.”
Jonathan’s lips twitched. “How very gratifying for you.”
She appeared momentarily disconcerted and then began to laugh. “Damn you.”
“Sorry, Chelsea, I know I’m supposed to be properly discouraged.” He moved closer to her. “Now, when are you going to marry me?”
“Never.” Chelsea took another sip of mineral water. “I told you that eight months ago and you accepted it.”
“I didn’t accept it. I just dropped the subject.”
“Well, accept it now. As long as we can do it discreetly, I don’t mind meeting you for a little ball—” She broke off as she met his gaze and then substituted, “Making love. But that’s the end of it. I have my life to live and you have yours and they wouldn’t mix.”
“We mixed very well a little while ago.” He smiled. “And I didn’t even have to do a dance step or hit a home run.”
“Listen to me.” She put the goblet down on the cabinet with careful precision. “It’s not negotiable.”
“Everything is negotiable.” Jonathan reached out and began to button the shirt. “It’s not goin
g to keep you warm if you don’t—”
“I can take care of myself.” She backed away from him. “I’m not one of your board members or a member of your family. You don’t have to do anything for me.”
“I don’t have to,” he said gently. “I regard it as my privilege.”
“Oh, Lord.” She shut her eyes tightly. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Come and live with me. Marry me. Let me give you another child as great as Marisa to love.”
“I can’t do that.” Her eyes opened to reveal eyes glittering with tears. “And I wish you’d just shut up about it.”
He shook his head. “Not this time. We’re going to bring it out in the open. Talk to me, Chelsea.”
“I don’t want to talk.” She took two steps and was in his arms, burrowing her face in his chest. “I’ve missed you. Lord, I’ve missed you, Jonathan.”
“That’s a good start.” His hand gently stroked the back of her head. “Now the rest of it.”
“Do you know the first thing I ever heard said about you?” Her voice was muffled. “I was talking to Gerald Tibbets, the ambassador to Venezuela, and he nodded at you and he said, ‘Do you know who that is? That’s Jonathan Andreas, and he’s going to be the next president of the United States.’ ”
Jonathan chuckled. “Saying doesn’t make it so.”
“But you want it.” Her voice was suddenly fierce. “And you should want it. You’d be a terrific president.”
“And you’d be a terrific first lady.”
She shook her head. “I’m a movie star.”
“So was Ronald Reagan.”
“It’s different. And I spent fourteen months in jail. I was tarred and feathered by every tabloid from here to Timbuktu.”
“And you rose above it and became a great actress. And you are a superb human being.” He kissed her lightly. “Not to mention a fantastic lay.”
“I’m serious.” Her voice was shaking. “I’m not saying I’m ashamed of anything I’ve done.” She shook her head. “No, that’s a lie. I’m ashamed I was so stupid that I didn’t see the bastard was a threat to Marisa.”
“You were scarcely more than a child yourself.”
“When I brought a child into the world I gave up my right to stay a child.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’ve made other mistakes, but I’ve never felt . . . I grew from them.”
Jonathan quietly stroked her hair and waited for her to go on.
“But I don’t have the right to make another mistake that would hurt someone else. There’s no way the voters would accept you with me as your first lady.”
“How do you know? The world is changing. People aren’t nearly as narrow-minded as they used to be.”
“Tell that to Gary Hart,” she said. “Some of the tabloids claimed I was unfaithful to my husband and promiscuous later.”
“Were you?”
“No.” She shivered. “I couldn’t stand anyone to touch me for years after my marriage to that son of a bitch. I thought I’d—” She broke off. “But that doesn’t matter now.”
“It does to me. Everything about you matters to me.” He pushed her away from him and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You want the truth? Yes, I’d like to be president. If everything went well, I was planning in a few months to announce I’d run.”
She stiffened and forced a smile. “You see, my way is best.”
He shook his head. “I’ve dealt in power all my life, and the presidency isn’t the end-all of my existence. It’s only a job I’d like to do. Four years in the White House isn’t worth missing what we could have together for the rest of our lives.”
“Eight,” she said quickly. “They’d be insane not to reelect you.”
“Eight years isn’t worth it either.”
“Well, it will have to be.” She turned away and moved toward the bedroom. “However, if you’re extremely nice to me, I may let you slip me into the White House for fun and games as they say Kennedy did Marilyn Monroe.”
“You’re too flamboyant to be a president’s mistress.”
“So I’d work at it. I can do most things if I work at them.” She paused in the doorway of the bedroom. “Now I feel in the mood for a little skillful harpooning.” She grinned. “If you’re up to it.”
“With you I’m always up to it.” He paused. “This isn’t the end of the discussion.”
“I know.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You don’t know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, I do.” It was no use trying to batter down her defenses. He would do better to stop arguing and use gentle persistence. Thank God Karazov had maneuvered them both into a position where he now had enough time and opportunity to try to persuade her to his way of thinking. He moved toward her across the room. “Milk, vegetables, and oat bran are all good for me.” He slipped his arm around her waist and strolled back toward the bed with her. “And so is exercise. Long walks, swimming, tennis . . .” His hand dropped down to caress her buttocks through the material of his shirt. “And most particularly harpooning.”
It was three o’clock in the morning, but the phone was ringing when Alex unlocked the door at the house on the Place des Vosges.
He slammed the door and hurried into the salon to pick up the receiver.
“Alex, my boy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Ledford laughed. “But then, I knew you’d rise to the challenge. Anger and grief usually spur men to execute great deeds. Look at the way you managed to get the Wind Dancer here to bait me. Dazzling footwork, Alex.”
“Try to take it, Ledford.”
“Oh, I will.” He paused. “You expected it tonight at Versailles, didn’t you? I can just see you wandering around that magnificent hall, looking behind potted plants and waiting for me to come. I admit I almost obliged you just so you wouldn’t be disappointed.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My associate objected to any trouble at the party tonight and I graciously acceded to his wishes. You see, he’s not at all pleased with my insistence on stealing the Wind Dancer. I had to make a bargain with him that would please us both.”
“Another theft?”
“No, the other side of the operation.” His tone became mocking. “And one that involves a certain personal sacrifice for me. You know my love for antiquities. I hope you appreciate the lengths I’m going to please you.”
“I want to see you.”
“You will, in time. How can I stay away from you?” His tone lost its mockery. “Perhaps all my trouble is really for you and not the Wind Dancer. Perhaps all your efforts aren’t for revenge but a way to bring us closer. Did you ever think of that?”
“No.”
“No, of course not. You’d never admit it even to yourself.” Ledford was silent a moment. “I was always a little jealous of Pavel. That’s why I let them toy with him.”
Alex felt the white-hot rage twist inside him. “You bastard.”
“That’s not kind and I’m always kind to you. In fact, I’m dedicating this business tonight to you. It’s not every man who can inspire such a magnificent gesture of destruction.”
“I don’t want your gestures,” Alex said with icy precision. “I want your life.”
“Sorry.” Ledford paused. “You should be able to hear the explosion quite well from the Place des Vosges. By the way, that’s a lovely house you’re leasing. I was tempted to come and visit you and see the decor. You have such exquisite taste.”
“The door’s always open.”
Ledford chuckled. “I’ll remember that.” He paused. “I understand you had a female companion there with you for a time. I don’t like that, Alex.”
Alex felt a chill. He forgot to breathe.
“I hadn’t been told about the lady when we last talked, or I would have reproved you then.” Ledford went on softly. “Your attention should be entirely on me and our little competition. I’d think you would have learned with Angela.”
“Angela?”
“You didn’
t know? They didn’t move fast enough to get her out of reach, but I promise you it was very quick.”
“My God.”
“I considered forgetting about her. After all, there was no real reason it should be done. But after I saw you again I found I couldn’t bear the thought of you two together, so I indulged myself. I was much happier once I knew she was dead.” Ledford’s tone switched to briskness. “Well, I really must go. It was stimulating chatting with you, but there’s work to be done tonight. You can be sure I’ll be in touch.”
The receiver was replaced on the other end of the line.
Alex gazed without seeing at the mirror on the wall across the salon. Ledford was a maniac. No, it would be safer if he were a maniac. He was completely and coldly amoral. Alex’s stomach twisted with sudden fear as he remembered how he had hoped Ledford would categorize Caitlin in the same innocuous position as he had Angela.
Caitlin!
He grabbed the receiver and dialed Caitlin’s number at the InterContinental. The phone was picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hello,” Caitlin answered drowsily.
Relief poured through him in a dizzying stream. “Caitlin, are you all right?”
“I was until you woke me up. What’s the—”
“Stay where you are with the door locked. I’m calling Jonathan to come to your room to stay with you until I get there. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Don’t open the door to anyone but him.”
“Alex, what’s the—” she stopped. “Ledford?”
“He didn’t mention you by name. He may not know who you are, but I can’t be sure.”
“Dear God,” she whispered. “The Wind Dancer.”
“I’m not worried about the damned statue. Keep your door locked.” He hung up and dialed Jonathan’s room number at the hotel. When Jonathan answered the phone, Alex said tersely, “Go to Caitlin’s room and stay with her until I get there. Then phone Peter from her room and tell him to check on the Wind Dancer.”
“What the hell’s happening? Karazov?”
“Just do it.” He pressed the hook again, dialed the operator, and asked to be connected to the police. When he was connected he said quickly, “The Black Medina will strike tonight. It involves an explosion. An antiquity.” He replaced the receiver.
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