“But I never asked you to lie for me!” Erin exclaimed irritably. “And I certainly never asked you to marry me—”
“Do you know, Erin,” he said, his jaw so tensed she was afraid he would crack his own teeth, “sometimes you sound so incredibly dense its difficult to believe that you function in this world as a businesswoman. The Soviets do not like spies—who are spying against them. But we’re not dealing with the norm here: countries will hold captured spies to make trades; The person—or persons—we’re all chasing like lunatics now is—or are—a mercenary or mercenaries. Information sold to the highest bidder. Damaging information. Both countries keep buying it, but both countries are getting wise. And the selling of nuclear secrets is considered to be high treason. I might also remind you that in the United States high treason is still a crime and those convicted could very easily find themselves executed. So if you find yourself being inconvenienced now because I made the mistake of assuming you would do just about anything to keep your high-fashion rear end safe, that is just too bad. When I can get you out of here credibly—and when I’m damned sure there’s no reason to detain you any longer—I will get you out.”
She stood, her eyes like silver rapiers, turned with inimitable grace and dignity, and walked out without a word.
Jarod stared after her, wondering why he was shaking furiously. Why had he been so cruel? And why had he lied?
Well, he thought, stooping to pick up the broken piece of the pencil, he hadn’t actually lied, but neither had he told the whole truth.
He could get her out of the country. He didn’t believe there was a single reason to detain her any longer. And neither did Sergei. He had never seen the slightest evidence that Erin could possibly be involved in anything. If someone had merely intended to use Erin, they had probably realized by now it would be absolutely impossible with both Sergei and himself on to the possibility.
And his story about incompatibility was going to have to be the same no matter when she left. True, the longer she stayed, the easier it was going to be. No matter what, he was going to appear to be either a liar or a lovesick fool. But there were few men, Russian or American, who would care to question him. He could silence almost anyone with a glance.
He should let her go. It was driving him mad to watch her silently moving around his home, dressing with understated elegance when she left on her sightseeing trips with Tanya, curling up in jeans and sweatshirt before the fire, slipping downstairs in a softly feminine flannel robe to fix herself a cup of tea before disappearing behind his bedroom door for the night.
But how, when he allowed himself to watch her covertly, brooding as he did so, he no longer thought of skin and bones. He could mentally strip her of jeans, dress, or gown, and know with agonizing certainty just what he would bare to his view and touch. His fingers would itch and burn to feel the silk of her skin and golden hair.
The small end of the pencil he had retrieved suddenly snapped in his hand. He looked down at it ruefully. I am not a cruel man, he thought reflectively. What am I doing? And exactly who is it that I am punishing, Erin or myself?
It was that night that Erin first heard the balalaika music. It was soft and plaintive, beautiful and wistful. It began at eleven, and ended at exactly eleven thirty, when she heard the outer door to the apartment opening and closing. He had gone again.
Despite her best efforts at sleep, she lay awake until she heard the opening and closing of the door once more, and knew that he had returned. It was still an agony to wonder where he went, but she closed her eyes to the possibilities.
He had, at least, come home.
Erin was surprised to find him at the dining room table sipping coffee when she came down in the morning. He was usually gone before she awoke.
He glanced at her immediately, taking in her dove-gray wool skirt suit and neat chignon with cool, enigmatic eyes.
“The coffee is fresh,” he informed her. “Pour yourself a cup and come back here, please. I need to talk to you.”
Erin didn’t reply but walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. She hated his politely aloof tone. It made her feel like a personal secretary.
Erin sat down at the table across from him and stared at him as she sipped her coffee. Why didn’t he ever look tired? she wondered resentfully. He couldn’t get more than five or six hours of sleep a night, yet the granite composure of his rugged features never changed.
His eyes were crystal sharp, and as usual, not even the sharp business suit he wore could take away from that primitive sexual appeal he exuded.
No, it’s just me, she thought. I’m letting all this get to me. He isn’t extraordinary; he’s a normal man.
A normal man who still, despite the wall of ice between them, could touch her to a sizzling warmth with his voice, a look, a brush of his body against hers.
“Where are you going today?” he demanded, lighting a cigarette and pushing the pack across the table toward her.
Erin was glad his basic courtesy still extended to his making such gestures. Reaching for the pack and extracting a cigarette gave her time to think, to replace the coloring that had faded from her face at the unexpected question.
She accepted his light and leaned back in her chair exhaling. “Out with Tanya, of course,” she murmured, meeting his gaze with her composure regained and her silver eyes wide with mock innocence. “Where else am I allowed to go?”
He didn’t fall for the bait. “I know you’re going out with Tanya. Where?”
Erin shrugged uneasily. “Probably to the GUM department store, and to the Kremlin and to the Armory. We didn’t set anything too definite. Why? I didn’t realize I was supposed to give you an hour-by-hour agenda.”
“You’re not. I would simply like you to make sure you’re back here by four or five. We’re having a dinner party.”
Erin frowned. “We are? Tonight? You should have mentioned it earlier. There isn’t too much in the house—”
“I wasn’t expecting you to cook,” Jarod interrupted dryly. “Just be back in time to shower and change and act like a hostess.”
Erin lowered her lashes and sipped her coffee. His tone stung; no, he didn’t expect anything of her. All she had to do was follow house rules and not twist at the prison bars he had erected around her and everything was fine.
“Who is coming?”
“It will be small. Sergei and his wife, Joe Mahoney, Gil, and Tanya.”
“Are we having this dinner party for any special reason?”
“Certainly. We’ve been married three weeks. It’s time we did a little entertaining.”
They both fell silent. Had she been summarily dismissed? Erin wondered bitterly.
She raised her eyes to meet his again. “Is that all?”
“For the moment.”
Erin stubbed out her cigarette, picked up her coffee cup, and went on into the kitchen. Yes, sir, she thought bleakly. I’ll take care of this immediately. No problem. Except a secretary usually got a pat on the head. A nice lunch out. A bonus at Christmas. And two weeks summer vacation.
I am really going to go crazy, Erin thought, hands clasping the ridge of the counter in front of the sink as she stared blankly at the spigots. I’ve done this myself, I know, but how different could it have been?
The doorbell rang as she stood there, and she heard Jarod opening the door and greeting Tanya warmly. Their conversation suddenly turned to Russian and Erin’s fingers tightened. Please, Tanya, she prayed silently, don’t tell him where we’re really going.
Erin hastily grabbed her purse and coat and hurried into the hallway. The less time Jarod had to query Tanya the better off she was going to be.
“Good morning,” she called cheerfully.
“Good morning,” Tanya returned. “Ready?”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Erin smiled. She turned hesitantly to Jarod. “Ah … good-bye, darling.”
“Have a nice day,” he responded cordially. He took a step toward her. His blue eyes
touched upon her for a second, his arms came around her, and his lips brushed hers. “See you later,” he murmured, huskily.
The loving husband, Erin thought bitterly. But then she, too, had done her part.
But she could feel the touch of his lips on hers as she moved out into the cold with Tanya. Tears unaccountably stung in her eyes. How had things gone so terribly, terribly wrong? They had been lovers, almost friends; there had been times they had laughed together. And why was it still so damned cold? It was May, the snow should be gone, spring should be here….
Erin chatted idly with Tanya as they got into her small economy car, but once they were seated and moving into traffic, she felt the need to assure herself. She had come close to the Russian woman during her time in the Soviet Union, and she sensed that she could trust her—on a friendship level that went beyond cultural differences and the strange invasions of privacy Erin had learned existed within the country.
“You didn’t tell Jarod where we were going, did you?”
Tanya glanced at Erin and then returned her eyes to the road. “No, I didn’t tell him.” She fell silent for a moment, and then asked the question bothering her. “But I still don’t know why you would not talk to your husband. It is a natural thing. He could have gotten you this appointment long ago!”
Erin shrugged uncomfortably. Why hadn’t she been able to speak with Jarod in those first pleasant days of her marriage? Because we were lovers, she thought, but still strangers. She simply couldn’t have calmly discussed birth control with him, and she had taken certain precautions. Now she finally had her appointment—when it didn’t seem so terribly necessary. But she was in love with Jarod, and she didn’t trust herself. If he just touched her, she might not have the strength to refuse to reach out in return.
Sensibly, logically, maturely—it could only be to her own best interests to be prepared should anything happen again. It was frightening to realize she had first been so caught up in emotion and then in whirlwind abandon that her head had been in the clouds and she had not thought of the possible consequences until later. Of course, then she had protected herself, but the precautions had left her terribly uneasy. She couldn’t take any more chances.
Erin realized suddenly that Tanya was waiting for a reply.
“Jarod is very busy,” Erin murmured. “It’s as I told you before: I don’t like to bother him with … with problems I can handle myself.”
Tanya said nothing, and Erin knew her answer sounded as feeble as it had the night they had spoken on the phone. She knew that the Russian woman was still wondering why Erin hadn’t taken care of this in the States. Erin could think of no feasible explanation, so she gave none. It would be impossible to say that her first marriage had left her in terror of anything so small as a kiss; impossible to say that it had taken a trip to the Soviet Union and a strange meeting with a dark and mysterious man to break the spell of fear and, in a devastating detour into tenderness, teach her that things could be shatteringly beautiful.
The doctor’s office was near GUM, the state department store. Erin breathed a sigh of relief. She could shop after the appointment and Jarod would have no questions.
I’m being paranoid, she warned herself. If she went out with Tanya, Jarod never questioned her anyway. In fact, the trust he had in Tanya was almost annoying.
The doctor’s office was like a doctor’s office anywhere—except that Erin needed Tanya to interpret for her as the doctor asked his questions. She found it irritatingly difficult to answer the simplest question without stuttering. His exam was as crisp and clean and professional as the sterile white of the office. And it was thorough. Erin breathed a sigh of relief on leaving; she had been sure the doctor would discover a tiny malfunction within her body and detain her.
Tanya laughed as they left the office. “You look as if you have just walked out of the Siberian snows!”
Erin flushed. “I always hate doctors’ appointments.”
“So do I,” Tanya admitted. “Let’s stop somewhere and have a drink and then we shall purchase something at GUM to ease that guilty conscious of yours.”
“My conscious isn’t guilty!” Erin protested.
Tanya lightly quirked her brows, saying nothing until they were seated in a pleasant lunch establishment. It wasn’t a tourist restaurant, and therefore Erin had to rely upon her guide’s translations. After they had ordered drinks and sandwiches, Erin once more found Tanya gazing at her speculatively. She grimaced and suddenly blurted out, “Erin, you do know that I am your friend.”
Erin smiled quizzically. “Thank you, Tanya. I believe that.”
Tanya took a sip of dark Russian beer. “I know that you are alone here—except for your husband, of course. But there are things a woman doesn’t always wish to discuss with a man. I feel that you are having a problem with your marriage, and I would like to help in any way that I can. I think so very much of both you and Jarod.” Tanya smiled warmly. “I have three married sisters, and I have the feeling that newlywed difficulties are very similar, be we Russians or Americans.”
Erin grimaced. “I’ll bet you’re right, Tanya.” How she hated lying to this woman, who really was her only friend in the Soviet Union. But she couldn’t tell the truth, any of it. “There really isn’t anything wrong, Tanya. We, ah, simply weren’t expecting to get married in the Soviet Union, and I don’t like to bother Jarod with anything now because he is so very busy.”
Erin sensed that Tanya didn’t believe her, but the Russian woman pressed no further. Tanya shrugged and went on to talk about her family, amusing Erin with stories about her nephews and nieces. When they finished lunch, they went on to pick up a few items at the department store and then Tanya brought Erin home, assuring her she would return for the dinner party.
Erin heard Jarod’s movements in the den as she mounted the staircase, but she would have gone on straight to the bedroom if he hadn’t called her. She paused in the doorway as he clipped out her name.
“Did you have a nice day?” he inquired, the blue of his eyes very penetrating upon her. Why did she feel as if he could see straight through flesh and dig into her soul?
“Yes,” she replied. “It was fine. We went to lunch and poked around the GUM.”
He nodded absently. “I’ve arranged your transport out. We’ll leave here on the first of June.”
Erin felt as if a cold shaft had hit her, as if she would buckle in the doorway. But she didn’t buckle, she didn’t move, she didn’t even blink. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
“I wanted to let you know in case you had agents or managers or anyone to contact.”
“Thank you.” She suddenly remembered the letter she had left on his desk to Mary before his disastrous return from Kiev. “Oh, Jarod—” she began.
“I mailed your letter the day I saw it,” he told her before she could go further.
“Thank you,” Erin murmured again.
His eyes had returned to his desk. She walked on into the bedroom, fighting the urge to burst into tears. She was glad to know her departure date. She wanted to go home, she wanted to end this torture. And she would never see him again.
It seemed as if her mind waged silent battles, then went numb as she showered and dressed for the party. She chose a navy velvet gown to wear, one with long sleeves and a Chinese collar. Elegant and conservative. Jarod, she thought, would approve.
When she emerged from the bedroom she discovered the apartment full of activity. A plump cook as wide as she was short was busy in the kitchen creating things that smelled divine, and two younger women were setting the dining room table with shimmering silver and crystal. Erin didn’t see Jarod, so she smiled tentatively at the women, poured herself a glass of wine, and slipped into the music room—out of the way. She found herself glancing at the balalaika and wondering again at the man who could play the old instrument so beautifully. Then her glance fell to the diamond she wore—the diamond given to her by both Jarod and Sergei. It seemed to mock her as it b
rilliantly dazzled.
Suddenly determined, Erin set her wine down and marched into the kitchen, excusing herself to the amicably grinning cook. She squeezed a portion of dish soap over her hand and began to work at the ring, which refused to slide over her knuckle. She became so engrossed that she didn’t hear Jarod come up behind her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, startling her.
She flew around, splaying him with soap and water. And of course he was already dressed, in velvet. His eyes closed, and a long sigh of resigned control escaped him.
“I’m sorry—” Erin began.
“Just hand me a towel, please.”
Erin groped for the hand towel and passed it to him. Luckily, no real damage was done. He brushed his shirt and jacket quickly with the terry cloth and it was apparent they would dry without staining. Erin kept staring at him, annoyed that she was once more appearing like the disaster that waited to happen. “You startled me,” she accused.
“I asked you what you were doing.”
“I … uh …” Erin stumbled for only a minute, then” noticed that the hired cook was watching them uncomfortably. She stiffened. “Could we talk in the music room, please.”
He inclined his head toward her sardonically. “Certainly.”
Erin retrieved her wine glass as soon as they entered the room. She took a sip, then spun to face him. “I insist upon giving this ring back to Sergei. I’m leaving in a little over a month, and it isn’t right that I take—”
“Oh, dammit, that again!” Jarod interrupted irritably. “Will you please listen and try to understand? The ring is mine, and it means nothing. While you are here, I prefer that you wear it. When you return home, do whatever you please: keep it, dump it, sell it, or give it away. Just please don’t bring it up again!”
Erin was too startled by his vehemence to give an immediate reply, and by that time he was going on. “I’d like this party to break up at about eleven—I have to go out after. I’d appreciate it if you would help see that things go smoothly so that our guests will leave by then.”
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