Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set

by Sandra Marton

  "Sara," he murmured, "sweet Sara."

  "Please..." she said, but she no longer knew what she was pleading for.

  Peter kissed her again, his mouth moving over hers. She felt the touch of his tongue on her lips, and a flame sprang to life deep within her. Her hands touched his chest, moved up his shoulders to his neck; her lips parted beneath his.

  Suddenly, he clasped her shoulders and held her away from him. She swayed as she opened her eyes and focused blindly on his face. He smiled, and put his hand against her cheek.

  "The lights," he said softly.

  Sara blinked. The lights. Of course. They had gone out again. And this time they hadn't come back on.

  "The storm's getting worse," he whispered. "Wait here for me while I find Winstead and tell him the party's over." He bent to her, and brushed his mouth over hers. "Then I'll take you home, sweet Sara."

  The husky promise in his voice sent a tremor through her. "I'll go with you," she said. "Peter—"

  He laughed softly. "Like this?" His hands touched her hair, her lips, and she realized suddenly how she must look. Her hair had come loose from its clasp and lay in silken disarray on her shoulders. And her lips were swollen, hot with his kisses.

  "I won't be long." He cupped her face in his hands and lifted it to his. "Will you wait for me, sweet Sara?"

  Sara ran her tongue across her lips. She felt as if one of her dreams had come to life and she were living a fantasy. She looked into Peter Saxon's eyes and took her courage in her hands.

  One night. Just this one night…

  "Yes," she breathed. "I'll wait."

  His teeth flashed whitely in the dark room. "Give me five minutes."

  She watched as he hurried through the greenhouse. Matches flared in the darkness; she saw the flicker of candles, heard the murmur of voices but every fiber of her being was concentrated on Peter's retreating figure. Five minutes, he'd said. Five minutes, and then he would take her home.

  Her mouth went dry. There was no pretending she didn't know what he had meant by that. He was going to make love to her. His kisses, his hands, everything he'd done had carried the message. He would stay with her tonight, and then...

  Sara put her hand to her mouth. Was she crazy? I've never taken anything from a woman that she didn't gladly offer. His words rang in her head.

  Peter Saxon had tried every way possible to humiliate her. Moments ago, he'd finally found the one that worked.

  Quickly, cloaked by the darkness, Sara hurried through the greenhouse towards the little room just off the foyer where she'd left her coat. Tears of anger rose in her eyes and she brushed them away.

  It was a pity she could never tell her boss the truth, she thought, as she pulled on her coat and hurried to the front door. He had been worried about Peter Saxon stealing the Maharanee's jewels, but it wasn't the jewels Peter Saxon had been after tonight.

  The jewels were much too well-protected. Wasn't it unfortunate that she couldn't say the same thing about herself?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sara stepped through the front door and slammed it shut behind her. Snow, driven by a cold wind, stung her cheeks and eyes, but she paid no attention to it. Anger burned within her like a flame, directed as much at herself as at Peter Saxon.

  How could she have been so stupid? To think she'd let someone like that make a fool of her—to think that she'd... she'd almost...

  But she hadn't. That was what counted. If only she could step back into the house for a minute—just long enough to see his face when he came hurrying back to the greenhouse and realized his naive little conquest had fled the trap. She could at least imagine it, and that was almost satisfaction enough. That was...

  A sudden gust of wind drove into her with such force it almost took her breath away. Sara pulled her gloves from her pockets, and pulled them on her already numb hands. Lord, but it was freezing! And the snow was falling so heavily that she could hardly see past the end of her nose. Hank and Tommy had been at work—the long, circular driveway had been recently plowed and sanded—but at this rate the snow would soon obliterate their efforts.

  Sara drew up her coat-collar, then carefully made her way down the wide brick steps to the driveway. Cars hulked its length like silent, white-coated beasts.

  She took a tentative step forward, and clutched wildly at the air as her feet almost slid out from under her. Terrific! The packed snow was as slippery as glass. But there was nowhere else to walk—on the unplowed lawn, the snow lay in knee-high drifts.

  Now what, Sara? she berated herself. You don't really think you can walk down the mountain, do you?

  No. Not in these thin-soled, high-heeled shoes; not on a night like this. She looked over her shoulder at the Winstead house. The windows were alive with the soft glow of candlelight. It looked warm and inviting, but she wasn't about to go inside. When Peter Saxon saw her, that damned cynical smile of his would turn to insolent laughter. He would probably say something witty that would make a fool of her in front of everybody—if she hadn't already done that herself. She didn't even want to think about how many people had probably seen the way she'd behaved on the dance-floor.

  And just why did you act that way? You never have before.

  Impatiently, she pushed the thought aside and burrowed deeper into her coat. What mattered now was finding a way down the mountain. She could always wait out here for Jim and Alice to leave.

  You could always wait out here and turn blue.

  There had to be another choice. There had to be some other way.

  Far down the long driveway a car engine coughed, then roared to life. Headlights blinked in the darkness and a dark shape began to move slowly towards the distant gate.

  Sara took a step forward, then another. "Hey... hey, wait!" She broke into an awkward run, trying not to fall, waving her hands over her head in a desperate bid for the driver's attention. But the car picked up speed, slid gently as it negotiated a long curve, and was swallowed up by the falling snow.

  Her breath puffed whitely as she tottered along the drive. There was still a good chance she could catch the car. It would have to slow when it reached the gate—there was a hairpin turn just past it that would be impossible to negotiate at speed on a night such as this. The electronic gate itself had been left open so that party-goers could come and go with ease. Peter Saxon had grumbled about how poor an idea that was while they'd waited for the guard who was checking invitations to pass them through.

  Yes, she could see the car now. The gate was just ahead, and the car was slowing as it eased into the turn.

  "Wait. Please wait!"

  Sara ran faster, but not fast enough. And there was no way the occupants would hear her with the windows closed and the defroster going. Her footsteps slowed and she finally stumbled to a halt, watching helplessly as the vehicle reached a straight stretch of road and picked up speed. The tail-lights winked in the dark, and then they were gone.

  Silence, punctuated only by the moan of the wind and the rasp of her own breath, settled around her. Sara peered over her shoulder. The house was somewhere far behind her, invisible in the storm. She would have to walk back, much as she hated the thought. But there was no choice. The snow was...

  Headlights materialized in the darkness, glowing like the great eyes of a jungle-cat. Another car was coming, this one moving far too rapidly for the icy road. But she could stop it. All she had to do was step in front of the lights.

  The car skidded as the driver slammed on the brakes. The sound of the tires vainly trying to grip the icy surface was a sibilant hiss. She watched, horrified, as the rear end began to fish-tail in lazy arcs. An eternity seemed to pass until, finally, the car came to a stop diagonally across the road.

  Sara lifted her skirt and ran towards it, as the driver's door opened and a figure stepped out.

  "Are you all right?" she asked. "I didn't mean to—"

  The words caught in her throat. Peter Saxon stood before her, glaring at her in fury.
<
br />   "What kind of stupid stunt was that? Were you trying to kill us both?"

  Sara stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm the one who's supposed to ask that question, Miss Mitchell."

  Her chin lifted. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm—I'm walking. I—"

  "Walking," he said in an expressionless voice.

  "That's right. So if you'll just—"

  "Get in the car."

  She shook her head. "Thanks, but I'd rather—hey! Hey, what do you think you're doing? Let go of me. Did you hear wh—"

  "Get in the car," he said through his teeth. His hand tightened on hers as he pulled her towards the passenger door.

  "No, I certainly will not. I—"

  Her protests were useless. Peter yanked the door open and shoved her into the seat. A second later, he was seated beside her. "Buckle your seat-belt," he ordered. Sara reached for the door-handle, and his hand closed around her wrist. Pinpoints of light glowed in his eyes as he looked at her. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and cold.

  "If I were you, Miss Mitchell, I wouldn't do anything to provoke me."

  She stared at him, and then she sank back against the seat.

  "Good girl," he said. "Now, go on—buckle your belt."

  "I don't need you to tell me what to do," Sara said, the bravado of her words a screen for the sudden fear beating in her blood.

  The car shot forward. "Then, use your head," he said unpleasantly. "I don't want you killed if we skid off this mountain." He looked over at her, and his teeth flashed in the darkness. "I'm saving that pleasure for myself."

  The light from the car's dashboard had joined with the snow's reflection to cast an eerie illumination on his face. She could see the gleam of his eyes, the narrowed hardness of his mouth, the tic of a muscle high in his cheek.

  "That was a neat bit of fancy footwork you pulled."

  It was safer to deliberately misunderstand him. "If you hadn't been driving so quickly—" she began, and he laughed coldly.

  "Please, let's not waste each other's time. You know damned well what I'm talking about."

  "Listen, Mr. Saxon, I don't have to explain—"

  "I spent a hell of a lot of time peering into corners, asking people if they had seen you, before I figured out that you'd conned me."

  "A charming choice of words," Sara said. It was amazing, she thought, that her voice could sound so cool and calm, even while her heart threatened to leap out from under her ribs.

  "Is that why you set me up? To teach a lesson to an ex-con?"

  "I told you, I don't have to explain myself to—"

  "I wouldn't have thought a woman like you would make a fool out of a man."

  A woman like you. Yes, she was right about him. He'd been playing with her all the time. But two could manage the same game.

  "It wasn't difficult," she said. "You didn't need much help at all."

  For a moment, she thought she'd pushed him too far. His head swung towards her and the coldness in his eyes made the chill of the winter night seem warm. Then he looked back at the road and laughed.

  "You've got guts, sweetheart. I'll give you that much." He leaned forward and wiped his hand over the rear-view mirror. "Just where were you going when you walked out of the house?"

  Sara stared straight ahead. "Home."

  "So you decided to sneak out the door—"

  "I didn't sneak out of the door. I simply—"

  "You skulked out of the house so you could hike a mile down Stone Mountain in the middle of a blizzard. That was really very clever." His voice was thick with sarcasm. "With a little luck you would have frozen to death and really done a number on me. I can see the headline now: "Con Kills Cutie." That would sell a million bits of supermarket trash!"

  "You're talking nonsense," Sara said sharply. "Nothing would have happened to me. I know this mountain—"

  "...and you always walk it in the dark, in the midst of a storm, with your skirts dragging in the snow and your shoes frozen to your feet. Yes, I'm sure."

  Sara shifted uncomfortably. Her feet were like lumps of ice. And the wet hem of her dress was sticking to her legs. The car's heater was on, but she was shivering anyway. However, if Peter Saxon expected her to thank him...

  "I'd have gotten a ride," she said stubbornly. "After all, the party's over."

  The car slowed as they neared the foot of the mountain. "Not by a long shot, it isn't. That damned fool Winstead says he won't call it a night until the champagne's all gone." He peered into the swirling snow as they reached the road's intersection with the highway, then accelerated. The car skidded delicately, then shot forward into the night. "Which means they'll still be partying some time tomorrow."

  Sara looked at him. "And you left anyway? I thought you said you would stay until the party ended."

  He glanced at her, and then at the road. "There was no point," he said curtly.

  "Yes, but—"

  "Which exit do we take to your house, Sara? The one coming up or the next?"

  "The next," she said. "But what about the jewels?"

  He laughed. "Stop worrying about them. Believe me, they're fine."

  "I'm sure they are. I just don't understand why you said—"

  The shrill wail of a siren cut through the night. Lights flashed in the oncoming lane, and a state police cruiser sped past them. Sara twisted around in her seat, staring after the car as it vanished into the darkness.

  "I wonder what that's all about?" she said slowly.

  Peter glanced in the rear-view mirror. "There's probably an accident behind us somewhere. There'll be a dozen before the night's over."

  She nodded. "I suppose so. This is a bad road under the best of conditions, and—"

  Lights flashed ahead of them again. This time, a pair of police cars flew past, their tires spewing snow and ice as they skidded through a curve. Sara peered over her shoulder and watched them until they disappeared.

  "Do you think they went up Stone Mountain Road?"

  "If they did, it's because some fool went off that curve at the gate."

  Sara looked at him. "The jewels—"

  "The jewels are fine. If you want to worry about something, worry about this road."

  "Yes, but—"

  Peter's voice was harsh. "Dammit, Sara, I could use another pair of eyes."

  "You're taking this awfully calmly, aren't you? Those jewels are your responsibility. I should think—"

  "You're letting your imagination run wild, Sara. Besides, they're the museum's responsibility now. Their representative is satisfied with the arrangements." He glanced at her and then at the road. "For heaven's sake, relax! The safe won't even be opened until the jewels are transferred to the museum for exhibit."

  "I just don't understand you at all," she said. "This morning—"

  A dark shape bolted from the brush and streaked across the road.

  "Hang on!" Peter yelled, and he spun the wheel hard to the right.

  The car floated gracefully across the icy road, the tires spinning uselessly against the frozen surface. Trees loomed darkly through the heavy snowfall; there was the blare of a horn as a truck sped by them. Sara watched in stunned silence as Peter struggled to bring the car under control. Finally, with a crunch, it lurched heavily on to the verge of the road, then came to a shuddering halt.

  "Hell," Peter whispered. Quickly, he put the car in neutral, unfastened his seat-belt, and swiveled towards Sara. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes," she whispered. "Fine. I... What was that in the road? Did we hit it?"

  "A dog. Or a fox, maybe. We missed it." He laughed shakily. "I hope the little beggar appreciates the sacrifice we almost made. That was one hell of a skid. We hit the shoulder pretty hard." He wrenched open the door, and a blast of frigid air swept into the car. "I'd better check and make sure we didn't blow a tire."

  Sara fumbled to unfasten her belt. "I'll get out, too. I can look for whatever ran acro
ss the road."

  Peter shook his head. "I'll do it. You stay put. There's no sense in both of us freezing our tails off."

  The door closed after him. Sara shuddered, and dug her hands deep into her coat pockets. What a close call that had been! It was nice to know Peter was the kind of man who would...

  She laughed and leaned her head back against the seat. He was the kind of man who stole for a living. He was the kind of man who thought nothing of playing with a woman, of making her look foolish and stupid. Anyone would try to avoid an animal in the road. That didn't prove anything at all.

  She turned in her seat, watching as he walked slowly back along the road, checking it carefully, until finally the falling snow swallowed him up. When he reappeared, he was shaking his head.

  "Nothing there!" he yelled, his voice barely audible through the closed windows.

  He bent down, and she knew he was looking at the rear tires. After a few minutes, he walked to the front of the car. There was a thudding sound—he was kicking the tire, Sara thought—and then he straightened and walked towards her. She put her window down a bit and looked at him.

  "The damned tire's flat. I'll have to change it."

  She wound the window down a little further. His hair was wind-tossed and covered with snow; his nose and cheeks were red.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing." He gave her a quick smile. "Just stay in the car and keep warm for both of us."

  "Don't be silly. You have to jack the car up. I'll get out so that—"

  "Stay put, Sara. It's as cold as the North Pole out here." He pulled off his gloves, stuffed them into his pockets, and smiled again.

  "Peter, that's crazy. I—"

  His smile fled, and his voice grew harsh. "Dammit, Sara, don't argue with me! Just stay where you are."

  Color flared in her cheeks, and she hit the button harder than she to, glowering as the window slid closed. Fine. Let him play at being Superman! If he wanted to stand out there and freeze, who was she to complain?