Sorcerer: A Loveswept Contemporary Classic Romance

by Ruth Owen

  And I suppose your razor just came to hand as well. You never shave in the evening, but tonight you—

  “Enough!” he said aloud, as if a verbal reply could silence his nagging conscience. He gathered up the printouts on his desk and left his den, steering his course toward the stairway that led to the main vestibule and steering his mind back to the important matters at hand—locating Einstein and determining what sort of danger was threatening him. These were the quantifiable objectives, not analyzing what feelings he did or did not have for Ms. Jillian Polanski.

  He reached the top of the stairway, pausing to look down on the vestibule. The elegant creation of gold-veined marble and crystal chandeliers was the culmination of Samantha’s considerable decorating talents. It was beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking—and as coldly sterile as the inside of a tomb.

  Partridge had nicknamed it the Mausoleum, and had wanted to redecorate as soon as Samantha moved out. Ian, however, had resisted. The decor reminded him of his ex-wife, and the terrible mistake he’d made in marrying her. It reminded him to stick to science and leave the softer emotions to other, less-jaded men. It reminded him that he wasn’t built for romance, even if his simulator had temporarily cast him in the role of a knight in shining armor, and a matinee idol. In the real world he was the solitary Dr. Doom, who lived alone in a house that resembled a mausoleum. And if the doctor occasionally fantasized about a pair of doe-brown eyes, a fierce, determined little chin, and a soft, incredibly kissable mouth, it was just his own rotten lu—

  “Ohmigod!” said a startled voice from the vestibule below.

  She’s here, he thought, quickly dampening an unwanted surge of pleasure. He glanced down and saw Jillian step tentatively into the crystal room. She was wrapped in the most god-awful coat he’d ever seen, the engulfing material making her look young and vulnerable—and completely adorable. A soft smile tugged at his stern lips as he watched her wander like a lost sparrow through the glittering wonderland. I could replicate this room in a heartbeat in my simulator, but there’s no way on earth I could replicate her.

  Downstairs, Jill shivered as a familiar awareness tingled down her spine. It was almost as if Ian … but he wasn’t there. Good thing, too, she thought as she glanced around at the incredible room. She’d known from the fact that Ian had a chauffeur that he was wealthy—but not this wealthy. She needed a few minutes to get used to the idea. Hell, she needed a few months.

  People said money didn’t matter, but she’d spent enough of her life without it to know better. Money made people different. She’d hoped to spend the evening finding out things she and Ian had in common, but the more she learned about the enigmatic scientist, the more glaring their differences became. The only thing that kept her from walking back out the door was the fact that Ian had invited her there. He must see their differences as clearly as she did, but he’d asked her because he wanted to try to build a relationship. What other reason could there be?

  “It’s about time you got here,” said an unfamiliar voice on her right.

  Jill turned toward the speaker, who was entering the front hall through the living room door. The woman was stoutly built and almost painfully plain, and the severe, high-collared dress she wore did little to improve her appearance. But while her looks were unremarkable, the welcome shining in her honest face was anything but. This has got to be Partridge. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was running late.”

  “Well, you are, and I don’t just mean for dinner,” Partridge said cryptically. She held Jill at arm’s length and gave her a quick but thorough perusal. “Yes, you’ll do. I understood you thought the doctor and I were shacking up together.”

  Jill blinked at the light-speed change of subject. “I didn’t mean … that is, I misunderstood …”

  “No need to apologize,” Partridge said, patting Jill’s arm comfortingly. “My boy excels at misunderstandings. Couldn’t get the right words out if you tied his tongue to a truck and dragged them out of him. Why, I remember one time when he was just a little shaver he—”

  “That will do,” commanded a stern voice from above.

  Ian! Jill looked up, and saw him standing at the top of the gilded staircase, looking like a black king in a glittering white palace. His presence washed over her like a dark wave, stretching and tightening her body in delicious, frightening places. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry as dust. Just remember that he was the one who invited you here, she told herself as she watched him start down the stairway. Under that cool, confident façade he must he feeling just as nervous as I—

  And then she saw the printouts.

  “I’m glad you could come on such short notice,” he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve got most of the data from Einstein’s core dump stacked in the dining room. We can start analyzing the figures immediately.”

  “You asked me here … to analyze figures?”

  “Yes, and we’d better get to it,” he said brusquely, glancing at his watch. “We’re already running late—”

  “Oh, for Lord’s sake,” Partridge interrupted. “Can’t you even wait for the lass to take off her coat?”

  “There’s no need,” Jill said quietly. “I’d like to keep it on.” She had no intention of revealing the dress she hid beneath it—or the dreams that had just been shattered into dust. Ian had asked her there to look at core dumps, not to romance her. She’d misread his motives so completely, she could have laughed aloud—if her heart hadn’t been breaking.

  Well, this is the last time, she promised herself as she lifted her chin and followed Ian toward the dining room. She’d been fooled by the doctor’s feelings for her before, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. He could stay behind his hard, emotionless façade till doomsday. He could rot in this beautiful, soulless house for all she cared. Once they’d found Einstein, she was going back to her job at Sheffield, where she’d never have to see him again.

  And maybe, if she worked very hard at it, she’d forget how much she loved him.

  Dinner was a disaster. No matter what they said to each other, it lead to a battle, striking sparks between them like iron on flint. Einstein’s indecipherable data dumps only added to their frustration, giving them even more excuses to argue. By the end of the meal even “pass the salt” had become a bone of contention.

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Ian said as he headed for the living room, hoping the change in location would defuse the tension between them. “I merely said that studies showed that most Americans use too much salt—”

  “Great, now you’re trying to dictate my diet,” Jill snapped. “Thanks, Doctor, but I’ve been eating just fine on my own for years. I don’t need you to tell me how.”

  “I wasn’t—oh, what’s the use?” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushed to the edge by her argumentative attitude. He’d promised her he’d find Einstein. He’d asked her here to help him—something he thought she’d appreciate. But instead she stood in the opposite corner of the living room, like a fighter about to enter the ring. He’d gone several rounds with her already, and didn’t relish another battle. What in blazes was the matter with her? “I could use a drink,” he stated, turning to the wet bar. “Can I get you one?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied with brittle politeness.

  “Suit yourself.” He splashed a healthy portion of straight scotch into a glass, foregoing the ice. He hadn’t been this worked up over a female since—hell, he’d never been this worked up over a female. He took a long pull of liquor, relishing its clean, honest bite. Some things, at least, could be depended on. “I wish you would tell me why you’re so upset.”

  “Why, so you can log it with the rest of your test data?”

  He spun around, biting back a word he hadn’t used since adolescence. “I don’t … I asked you here to help find out what happened to Einstein. I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “Of course that’s what I wanted. What else would I want?”

>   She balled her hands into fists, shivering with barely contained ire. Her anger was a puzzle—and Ian was a master at solving puzzles. He leaned back against the wet bar, studying her for some clue to her inexplicable emotion. But all he saw was fury—desperate, anguished fury—like a bird beating its wings to get out of a trap she has no hope of escaping.

  “I’d like to go home now,” she said suddenly.

  Ian straightened, startled not so much by her statement, but by his fierce, gut-level reaction to it. Don’t let her go. Not now. Not ever. He took another pull on his drink, trying to make sense of his own chaotic feelings. “Of course, you can leave anytime you want to, but—”

  “No buts about it. I’ve endured this evening for as long as I intend to. I’ve endured you, Doctor,” she said, turning toward the door to the vestibule. “I want to go home.”

  “Well, you’re not going yet.” Pushed past the limit, he slammed down his glass and crossed the room in three strides. He took her arm, grasping the material of her horrible raincoat, anchoring her in place. “You’re not leaving until we have this out.”

  “Like hell,” she cried, struggling against him. It wasn’t much of a struggle—Ian had ten times her strength, and he was fully prepared to use it. But Jill knew she had to get away. This place was suffocating her. He was suffocating her. Desperate, she untied the sash of her coat and slipped out of it, hoping to get past the front door and into the darkness before he could—

  “Bloody hell!”

  The shock of his voice brought her to a dead halt. She glanced back, and saw him staring at her as if she’d suddenly been stripped stark naked. Oh, God, she thought, slowly turning her gaze downward. The dress. She’d forgotten about the damning dress.

  She swallowed and spoke into the cavernous silence. “It’s Marsha’s,” she offered.

  “It’s not Marsha’s body,” he replied. His intense gaze stroked over her, burning her wherever it touched. “What possessed you to wear it?”

  Possessed. That was the word, all right. He possessed her thoughts for longer than she could remember, owning her emotions, stealing into her dreams. This afternoon she’d admitted to herself that she loved him, but the damage had been done long before that. He’d been in her mind from the moment she’d met him, and in her heart for nearly as long. God knows she wanted him out of both—and she’d tried! But she was obsessed beyond reason with the dark, enigmatic scientist. And the bastard didn’t give a damn about her.

  “Call Rogers,” she demanded. “I want to leave.”

  “Jill, we need to talk—”

  “I don’t want to talk with you!” She turned away, mortified that she was beginning to cry. She had to get out of there—fast. Even a block of wood like Ian would eventually figure out why she had worn the dress. And then she’d die, she’d just die. “If you won’t call Rogers, I’ll take a cab. There’s got to be a phone in here some—”

  Her words ended abruptly as Ian caught her wrist from behind and spun her roughly around to face him. He stared at her for one heart-stopping second. Then his mouth came down on hers. Hard.

  It was a ravaging kiss, demanding and receiving the full measure of her passion. Resistance wasn’t even a remote option. His lips consumed her, laving hot caresses on her cheeks and throat, devouring her in ways that left her aching and breathless, and eager for more. When he finally lifted his head, she sagged against him, clinging to him as she fought for breath. She nuzzled the open throat of his sweater, drinking in the musky smell of his skin. “Doctor,” she said shakily, “you present a very persuasive argument for staying.”

  His deep chuckle was almost as sexy as his kisses. “My pleasure, Ms. Polanski,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Why in blazes didn’t you take off that coat sooner?”

  “Printouts.”

  “What printouts?”

  She sighed, reluctantly lifting her head to meet his questioning gaze. “The ones you were carrying when you came downstairs. You made it clear that this was a business arrangement—period.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did,” he agreed, smiling grimly. “I was so busy convincing myself that I wasn’t interested in you that I convinced you too.” He shifted her slightly, nestling her head in the curve of his throat. “Sometimes I behave like a bloody idiot.”

  Against his neck her mouth pulled into a smile. “Only sometimes?” Then, turning serious, she asked quietly, “You’re not doing this out of … pity, are you?”

  His arms tightened protectively around her. “If you think this is pity, I must be more out of practice than I—”

  His comment was cut short by the sharp, insistent wail of his beeper. “Lord, not now!”

  “Do you have to answer it?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he said, grimacing at the number displayed on the pager. “It’s my custom-parts manufacturer in Germany. He needs some measurements … Jill, I’ve got to take this upstairs. It shouldn’t—it won’t take long. We need to talk—”

  “I know,” she said softly. “I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

  After Ian left, she returned to the living room and sat demurely on the couch to wait—but she bounced up a second later. She couldn’t sit still, not after what had happened, not with all the colors in the world boiling inside her. She placed her fingers against her lips, still tender from the ardent pressure of his kisses. She felt as if she could fly. Okay, so we’re different. He’s filthy rich, and I’m a farm girl from Nebraska. But differences can sometimes make a relationship stronger. Anything’s possible as long as we have love in common.…

  “My boy’s quite taken with you.”

  Jill looked up. Partridge had entered the living room and was observing her intently. A lioness and her cub, Jill thought, loving him all the more for the affection he shared with this plain, good woman. “Well, I’m sort of taken with him too,” she confessed.

  Partridge nodded succinctly. She gave the rest of the room a quick glance, and immediately focused on Ian’s discarded glass. She walked to the wet bar and rinsed it out with an efficiency that defined English nannies everywhere. “That’s good. It’s about time my boy started seeing a nice, well-brought-up young gel instead of flash bits like that creature he married.”

  Well-brought-up, Jill thought with a sad smile. Partridge, if you only knew …

  “Now, don’t you think I’m telling tales behind her back,” she continued as she traveled around the room, plumping pillows and straightening ornaments. “I’ve said the same to Samantha many a time. I knew from the first she was no good for my boy, that she was only after his money and his title.”

  “Title? You mean his doctorates?”

  “Lord, no, lass. His hereditary title. The barony.”

  “Barony?” Jill repeated hollowly. “Ian’s a baron?”

  “The Baron of Carlisle, one of the most revered families in all Britain. He’s eighty-ninth in line to the throne,” she added with a pride that indicated she considered him far superior to the other eighty-eight. She turned and pointed to a picture on the wall, a beautifully framed lithograph from the last century that fit right in with Samantha’s royally appointed decorations. “That’s his castle.”

  Jill moved toward the picture like a man walking in front of a firing squad. She studied the impressive structure, trying not to let her growing despair show on her face. Rich was bad enough, but he’s got a damn castle.…

  Partridge prattled on, cheerfully relating stories of Ian’s privileged youth on the castle grounds. Jill nodded politely, but her frozen smile went no farther than her lips. No doubt good-hearted Partridge thought she was adding to Ian’s stature in Jill’s eyes. She had no idea she was helping to dig his grave.

  Jill could tell the difference between fantasy and reality. She knew that outside of storybooks and simulator programs, true love rarely conquered all. Her knowledge of royalty was limited to what she’d read in the headlines of the supermarket tabloids, but she was quite certain that a wealthy, titled
nobleman wasn’t likely to enter into a serious relationship with a woman who’d spent the first ten years of her life fleeing from creditors and angry wives through half the states in the Union. A woman whose capricious mother’s list of lovers read like the Miami phone book.

  A woman who didn’t even know the name of her own father.

  ELEVEN

  “I still think you should let Rogers drive you home, miss,” Partridge said as she peered through the front-door pane at the waiting taxi. “Or at least wait until the doctor comes back downstairs.”

  “I can’t wait. I’ve got … work,” Jill said, almost wincing at the lameness of the excuse. Calling Instant Cab had been a cowardly thing to do, but she had to get away from here. She knew she’d promised Ian, but that was before …

  “Please give the doctor my apologies, and thank him for inviting me to dinner. It was very kind of him.”

  Partridge’s eyes narrowed with canny concern. “I don’t believe he did it to be kind.”

  Jill turned away from the woman’s scrutiny. Trust me, Partridge, if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t want me anywhere near “your boy.” In Ian’s arms she’d felt like Cinderella at the ball, but it was time to get back to reality. And as she looked down, she saw that neither of her very unglasslike shoes were missing. Dreams, she told herself as she gave her raincoat belt a ruthless tug. Stupid, empty dreams. She started for the door. “Partridge, please tell the doctor that I … that I’ll see him at the simulator tomorrow afternoon.”

  She hurried to the taxi without a backward glance, eager to get as far away from Ian’s house—and Ian—as she could. He’d be hurt by her sudden departure, but he’d get over it. She wasn’t nearly so confident about herself. She needed to be alone, to think about her future—a practical future that didn’t include stern, soft-hearted, irresistibly sexy scientists who lured women into loving them without telling them they were royalty in disguise.