Dark Fire

by Peggy Webb

  o0o

  Across the courtyard in his darkened apartment, Sid stood at his window, watching. The piano was silent now, the music stilled. He had poured out his soul to her, and now she stood in her doorway with the moonlight caressing her skin. Rose Anne. A beautiful, unattainable goddess he only dared dream about.

  Except in his music. He had made love to her at the piano, then taken her in his arms and smoothered her perfect face with kisses.

  Had she heard? Did she know?

  Of course not. And she would never know. Nor would the rest of the world. His music was a private pleasure for him, too pure and honest to be corrupted by others.

  "You ought to do something with that talent," his best buddy Luther "Lightning" Snell was always telling him. "I bet if the right people heard you sing and play that stuff you write, you'd be so rich, you could buy the navy instead of flying for it."

  "My music is private, Luther," he would always say.

  And so it was. Selling his music would be like selling his soul.

  Sid strained his eyes in the darkness, seeking the lone figure in the French doors across the way. She tilted back her head and stretched her arms out into the night. Her white gown swirled around her legs, caressed her hips, molded itself to her breasts. Moonlight kissed her skin with soft, silvery lips.

  No footsteps on the stone courtyard marred the silence, no lights save hers marred the darkness. He was alone with her, alone with the night and his passion.

  Chapter Two

  All the fighter pilots were gathered in a dim, smoky nightclub on the Left Bank—Sid "Eagle" Granger, Ron "Hawk" Hiddleston, William "Gunslinger" McGuire, Luther "Lightning" Snell, Grayson "Panther" Malone. Buddies who had gone through Annapolis together, who had earned their wings together, who had flown the skies when they were friendly and flown when they were full of the enemy, who loved one another and protected one another . . . and who were willing at a moment's notice to die for one another. They were TOPGUNs, the flying elite.

  It was the second night of Sid's arrival, the first for his friends. They were high with anticipation and camaraderie and fatigue.

  "Hell, Eagle. Don't sit there and tell me you haven't already got a woman stashed away somewhere." Gunslinger McGuire tilted back in his chair, a lean, tall man who still had to look up to be eye to eye with Sid Granger.

  "Nope. I've been sightseeing."

  "Yeah. Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six . . . thirty-nine, twenty-three, forty." Panther Malone winked across the top of his beer glass at the pretty waitress passing by.

  "Forty!" Lightning Snell snorted into his beer. "That's getting a little on the heavy side."

  "I like my women with plenty of padding." They all laughed, and Panther quaffed his beer. Suddenly he set the glass on the table with a thunk. "Wait a minute! Hold everything! Look at what just walked through the door."

  Sid almost lost his breath. Rose Anne was poised in the doorway, a red dress of soft cloudlike material floating around her. She wore no jewelry, for the only adornment she needed was her perfect face.

  At her side was the woman she called Auntie, glowering around the room as if she expected to fend off attackers.

  "Good Lord." Gunslinger McGuire lifted his beer reverently to his heart.

  "I couldn't have said it better myself." Panther never took his eyes off Rose Anne as she glided across the room. Nor did the rest of them. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

  "Fellows," he added, turning around to grin at them. "I've just changed my mind about padded women."

  "Who is she?" Luther Snell asked, propping his elbows on the table and gazing at her like a lovestruck teenager.

  She was four tables away, out of hearing range but not out of view. The music of her soared through Sid's soul. Who is she? he thought. She's a vision, a dream.

  "Her name is Rose Anne, and her picture is on the cover of every magazine from here to eternity." Everybody turned to stare at Hawk Hiddleston. He gave them his famous grin. "She's known in the modeling world as the Face, and that formidable lady with her is Bitsy Rucker, aptly called the Dragon because she never lets a man within fifteen feet of her famous niece."

  "How did you know all that?" Gunslinger asked.

  "Inside information." Hawk winked.

  "His wife," Luther added.

  Hawk was the only one of them who was married. Panther and Gunslinger had had wives, two apiece, but couldn't seem to get one with staying power. Lightning and Eagle had never come close to the altar.

  "Don't tell her we saw the Face," Hawk said. "If you do, she'll wonder why I didn't come back with an autograph."

  The five pilots gazed across the room at the Face, each with his separate fantasy.

  “I’ve got more in mind than an autograph," Gunslinger said.

  "Yeah. Lots more. In fact . . ." Grinning, Panther reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. "Here's fifty that says I can win her attentions before any of you dogs."

  "You're on." Gunslinger plunked down his fifty.

  "I don't know ..." Lightning said. Although he had the disposition of a saint and the face of an angel, he was almost tongue-tied around women. It came from growing up with six sisters who never let him get a word in edgewise.

  "Well, I do. If I enter the fray, all of you would lose." Hawk lifted his beer, leaned back in his chair, and grinned. "Of course, I'd have to learn to live without that part of my anatomy I prize so highly. My wife's already given me fair warning."

  Amid the laughter, Sid watched Rose Anne. She looked out of place in a dimly lit club, too pure, too beautiful for the smoky, slightly sleazy atmosphere. She sat In her chair, tall and regal, taking everything in with her eyes incredibly bright and impossibly green. A half smile played around her lips.

  She was worth more than a fifty-dollar bet.

  He turned back to his buddies and pinned Panther down with his dark, piercing eyes. "I want to know what you mean by 'winning her attentions.'"

  "Hell, Eagle. You know I wouldn't propose anything illegal and ignoble with you around. I don't want to get my Iowa butt whipped with your Kentucky principles." Panther leaned across the table to Sid. "How about, whoever gets her on the dance floor first?"

  Sid glanced at Rose Anne, then back to Panther. "I can live with that."

  "Are you in?" Panther asked him.

  "No. I've got two left feet. My nose keeps me off balance."

  "Count me out too." Luther Snell pretended a great interest in his beer. "You know how my tongue gets tangled. I'd probably call her a 'braving rudy' or something equally as foolish."

  "Dancing's too easy anyhow. You know she's going to dance with the first one of us who gets to the table. Who could turn any of us down?" Panther reached for a handful of pretzels, then considered as he chewed. "How about this . . . the dancing is just a prelude. Whoever gets her out to dinner first wins the pot."

  "I'll drink to that." Gunslinger lifted his glass. "Lightning? Eagle?"

  "Count me out." Sid was not about to pursue that impossible dream, and certainly not for a wager.

  "I'll still have to pass." Lightning glanced at Rose Anne and sighed. "Lord, what a shame. If I had the gift of words, I'd tell her . . . hey, wait a minute." He turned on Sid. "Eagle?"

  "No." Sid held up one hand. "Forget it."

  "Aw, come on. Eagle. You know I get damned near tongue-tied with women, and I'm already half in love with her." Lightning added the clencher. "Be my mouthpiece. Just this once. Just until she agrees to dinner."

  Sid gazed across the room at Rose Anne. She was beyond his reach. There was no question about it. But Luther, with his angelic face, had a chance.

  How he would love to court her. He would use poetry straight from the heart and music ripped out of his soul. Speaking for Luther, he could say all the things to her that he'd never dare say if he were speaking for himself.

  A vision of her in the courtyard bending over the white rose came to him. Suddenly, the idea of wooing
her anonymously took on a kind of appeal.

  "I’ll do it," he said before he changed his mind. "I'll be your spokesman. Lightning. Hand me that napkin."

  Sid pulled out his pen and began to write

  o0o

  "One of them is coming your way, Rose Anne."

  "Which one. Auntie?"

  "The tall, rawboned one."

  Rose Anne didn't look, but merely folded her hands in her lap, waiting. She'd seen the table full of men when she came In. They were hard to miss, men filled with a vitality and a sense of daring that was almost palpable.

  Bitsy patted her hand. "Don't worry, dear. I'll make quick work of him."

  "No." Rose Anne's reply startled them both. She settled back in her chair and tried to think why she would want to have anything to say to a man who didn't know her, a man who probably had recognized her and was obviously on the make.

  It was something about his eyes, she guessed. They were dark and haunting, even across the

  room. She hadn't meant to stare, but she couldn't keep herself from looking.

  "It's all right. Auntie. I didn't come here tonight to get picked up, and I'm not about to let that happen. But I don't mind if all he wants to do is talk."

  "You're lonesome, aren't you, honey?"

  "Maybe. Just a little bit. I think it's because of that music I heard last night." She hadn't wanted to come to the nightclub, not really. But something about that music had made her restless. This brief outing was her way of holding the blues at bay ... if only for a little while.

  The tall man bore down on them, merely a table away. Curious now, Rose Anne studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was almost noble- looking. but certainly not handsome.

  "This one looks harmless enough," Bitsy said. "I'll go powder my nose, but if he gives you any trouble, just give a holler and I'll . . ."

  ". . . come running with a big stick." Rose Anne waved Bitsy off, laughing.

  She felt his presence before he spoke. He was a large shadow, towering over her. She felt the heat of him, the power of him.

  "Hello," he said politely. "My name is Sid Granger. I'm in Paris on leave with some of my navy buddies."

  Military, Rose Anne thought. She might have guessed. That accounted for the sense of danger that hovered over him.

  She smiled at him. Up close, his eyes were almost frightening in their intensity. She pressed one hand to the pulse fluttering in her throat.

  "Do you mind if I sit down?"

  His voice. Why did it make her think of that dark night music?

  "Not at all," she managed to say.

  He didn't sit in the chair next to hers and try to press his legs against her thighs as so many before him had. Instead, he took the chair across the table in a gesture of old-fashioned courtliness. Maybe she was mistaken about him. Maybe he was different from all the others.

  "You are Rose Anne, I believe."

  "Yes." So he did know. Somehow that disappointed her. "Jones," she added.

  "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Jones."

  Miss Jones? She felt almost as if she had stepped back into the nineteenth century.

  "I hear the cadences of the South In your voice, Mr. Granger."

  "Just Sid . . . I'm from a long line of Grangers who have never gotten far from the Kentucky border. Most of them believe Paris is on another planet."

  "Sometimes I think that too."

  Rose Anne relaxed. This man was easy to talk to in spite of that deep, dark voice that sent shivers along her spine.

  Are you here for business or pleasure?"

  "A modeling assignment. Strictly business." She smiled at him. "I stole this evening for pleasure . . . though I can't stay long."

  "In that case, you should take advantage of every moment. Do you enjoy dancing?"

  "I haven't danced in so long." Was he asking her?

  "Then you should."

  They watched each other across the table, and she waited. One dance, she thought. She would allow herself one dance, and then she would go home, back to that quiet apartment with nobody to disturb her sleep, nobody to take her in his arms and keep her awake with his passion, nobody to intrude upon the hours she needed for beauty sleep.

  She was very close to wallowing in self-pity.

  Angry at herself, she jerked her attention back to the moment and the man across the table from her. He seemed to be considering far more than one dance.

  "I have a friend," he finally said.

  "A friend?"

  "Lieutenant Luther Snell. He's a great pilot and a very fine gentleman." Sid Granger propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward her, his face intense.

  “The only problem with Luther is that he's extremely shy with women, and he's asked me to be his mouthpiece."

  "Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Granger?"

  "Sid." He fixed his long hands into a careful steeple, then gazed at her over the tips of his fingers. "I know this must sound strange to you—"

  "That's an understatement."

  "Unbelievable?" He grinned at her.

  It was such a lopsided, friendly grin, she couldn't resist smiling back.

  “You're getting close," she said.

  "Would you settle for weird?"

  "Yes. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I see my aunt coming." She made a move to stand.

  "Please don't go. Not yet." He reached across the table and touched her hand. Rose Anne didn't expect the sharp awareness that jolted through her.

  Sid withdrew his hand and pulled a folded paper napkin from his pocket. "Luther is shy in person but not on paper." He handed the napkin to her. "Would you please read this before you go?"

  Intrigued, Rose Anne unfolded the napkin. The words were written in bold strokes with black ink. It didn't look like the work of a shy man.

  "Your beauty is as rare as the white rose," the note read, "and just as sweet. One dance, fair

  lady, I beg of you. And I will treat you as gently as the most delicate flower In the courtyard."

  Rose Anne sucked in her breath. The white rose? The courtyard? Could it be that this Luther Snell, this man too shy to ask for a dance in person, was the same man who made beautiful music in the dark?

  She carefully refolded the napkin. "Where is he?"

  Triumph and jealousy warred in Sid. Triumph won. Luther was his best friend. He deserved a woman like Rose Anne.

  "Over there." He nodded toward his table. Hawk and Gunslinger and Panther and Lightning were all craning their necks, trying to make out what was going on between him and the Face. "The one with curly blond hair and the face like a movie star."

  "And he wrote this?" Rose Anne tapped a slender finger with a delicate pink nail against the note.

  "He sent it to you." Skirting the truth made Sid feel like a heel. Honesty was a point of honor with him. And yet, how could he quibble over one small lie when he had agreed to the biggest lie of all . . . courting a woman under the guise of friendship.

  After tonight he was finished with this game. He would get them to call off the whole damned thing. And if they refused, he would pay Luther's fifty and let the rest of them do what they wanted. His conscience would be clear.

  "Tell him yes."

  "Yes?" Sid had almost hoped she would say no. Then the whole thing would be over.

  "Are you so surprised? Not only is the note poetic, but If the man is as fine as you say he is, I'd be a fool to turn him down." She smiled. "You've done your job well, Sid Granger. Go tell your friend I'll give him one dance."

  Sid slid back his chair. "He will be honored." He left the table quickly, without looking back.

  "Hey, Eagle. What's the news?" Luther asked.

  Sid dragged back his chair, straddled it, then took a long drink of beer.

  "The way he's glowering, the news has to be bad. Right, Eagle?" Panther pounded him on the back. "Now, boys, watch how a real man does it."

  "Wrong, Panther." Sid set his glass down with such force he jarred the tabl
e. "The lady said yes."

  "She said yes?" Luther's elation lasted only seconds, then he tightened his jaw. "Now what am I going to do?"

  Sid pinned Luther down with fierce eyes. "Don't get fresh with her. Don't hold her too close, and none of that rubbing your hands all over her back. She's not a prize; she's a lovely and sensitive woman."

  "Hell, Eagle. You sound like her mother." Panther gave Eagle a wicked, knowing grin. He had always been able to see through deception.

  Sid moderated his approach. He had no desire for Panther or anybody else to discover his motives. "Just say I'm keeping my nose to the ground, sniffing out trouble before it starts." He grinned at them, then turned to Luther. "Get on over there before the lady changes her mind."

  "Yes sir." Luther snapped a salute, straightened his tie, then marched stiffly across the room.

  "Hell, if he doesn't loosen up, hell break before he even gets her in his arms." Gunslinger scooted back his chair to get a better view of Rose Anne's table.

  The rest of the pilots followed suit. Everybody except Sid. He had no intention of giving himself away by such blatant behavior.

  Across the room Luther bent over Rose Anne.

  She took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the small, crowded dance floor.

  Sid doubled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw. Luther would have to hold her close. There was no preventing it.

  The band was playing a slow and easy blues song, just right for cuddling cheek to cheek and dancing hip to hip. Sid thanked God he was tall enough so that he didn't have to crane his neck to see. Luther's arms were around Rose Anne, his chest pressed close enough to graze her breasts.

  A muscle ticked in the side of Sid's jaw. He would break Lightning into small pieces if he took advantage of her on the dance floor.

  The music pounded through his head. Luther moved stiffly on the floor, but Rose Anne floated, her dress flowing about her like a gentle red wind. Her skin was exquisite under the lights, petal soft and glowing. Her hands looked like flowers nestled in Luther's big paws.

  "Look at old Lightning go." Gunslinger reached over and clapped Sid on the shoulder. "You should be proud of your handiwork, Eagle. It looks like a romance in the making."