by Diana Palmer
"No!" she gasped. If he did that, he would see her hip. She couldn't bear for him to see it!
He was incredibly perceptive. He knew that she wasn't protesting the thought of his eyes on her body. He had a good idea, from what Lang had said, why she was so reluctant.
"Which hip is it, chérie ? he asked softly.
She stopped moving and stared up at him, red-faced. "Which hip?"
She hesitated. "The... the left."
He smiled apologetically, and with slow, gentle hands, moved the fabric of her gown down over her hips and discarded it.
She lay frozen while he moved the elastic of her briefs to give him a full view of the damage that had been done in the wreck. There were scars against the smooth flesh, from the injury as well as the surgery that was needed to repair it. She held her breath, almost afraid to look at him.
But when she did, his eyes were gentle, patient. "Ah," he said softly. "Is that all?"
She shivered, in relief mingled with uncertainty.
"Brianna, such a body is a gift of the gods," he said very quietly. "A few small scars are of no consequence, except as marks of bravery and sacrifice. You are exquisite."
She felt odd. Embarrassment should have overcome her, but she didn't feel it. She searched his eyes with curiosity, wonder.
"And now there will be no more nightmares, yes?" he asked softly, smiling. "You will sleep and dream of my eyes upon you."
Heat burned into her cheeks. He smiled. "This is shyness," he said, tracing the redness across her cheekbones. "It delights me."
Without awkwardness, he pulled her gown back up and replaced the small straps on her shoulders. He bent and brushed his lips gently across her closed eyelids. "You have given me a gift of which you are truly ignorant, are you not?" he whispered. "You have invited me to be your first lover."
"I... didn't mean to," she replied uncertainly.
He lifted his head, and his eyes were tender. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he said with sincerity. "But we are fated for different roles in life than to be together. I would take your innocence only if I could offer you the future. I cannot."
He was closing a door. She felt sad, but it was nothing she hadn't known already. She had Tad, and Ahmed was from another country, another culture.
Her hand lifted to his face, hesitant, until he carried it the rest of the way. She traced his wide, firm mouth, his mustache, his high cheekbones and the thick ridge where his dark eyebrows lay. His hair was thick and black and cool to the touch. She found him devastating, as dozens of women before her must have.
He took her palm to his lips and savored it. His heartbeat was still visible. "Bonne nuit, ma chére," he whispered.
"I don't understand," she began shyly.
"You don't understand what?" he teased."French, or why you permitted me such a liberty?"
"Both, perhaps."
"You are very young," he said. "Curious and shy. I find it a disturbing combination. One day, a man will carry you to bed in his arms and you will learn that a scar means nothing to a man in love."
He put her hand back down and pulled the covers over her. "Sleep well."
"You, too."
He turned out the lamp and rose from the bed, tall and suddenly dear. He paused before he closed the door to look back at her with an inscrutable expression.
Brianna slept. And there were no more nightmares.
There was a new familiarity and an equally new tension between Brianna and Ahmed after that night. He made certain that he never touched her, nor did he refer to what had happened. Brianna could have believed from his behavior that it had never happened at all. For her own peace of mind, she supposed that she should try.
But he was tense and he became more so as the days passed. Lang discovered that he was still having food imported, and a confrontation rapidly ensued.
"I cannot live on oblong orange containers of meat of mysterious origin wrapped in buns!" Ahmed raged, waving his hands expressively. "I have a palate, which is unaccustomed to common fare!"
"Hot dogs are no worse for you than that high-priced cream-covered slop you eat!" Brianna shot back.
Lang looked heavenward for guidance. "Look," he said, stepping between them to face Ahmed, "you have to cooperate with us or we can't protect you."
"It is my own men who have been importing food for me," Ahmed informed him. He was as tall as Lang, although not quite as husky. He was formidable looking, just the same. "They have brought it in plain brown boxes, and not in their suits or native dress."
"Yes, but the restaurant where they're getting the food is a public place," Lang argued. "They've been seen coming around to the back laden with cardboard boxes. The police are watching them. They think they've stumbled onto a smuggling operation!"
Brianna hid her face in her hands and choked on laughter.
Ahmed was unamused. "You might enlighten them," he advised Lang.
"I have," he said irritably. "At considerable expense to my skin. They didn't take kindly to being left in the dark about the circumstances of your stay with Brianna."
"That is hardly my concern," the Arab said with cold hauteur.
"It should be," Lang countered. He paused, rubbing his hand over his chin, the other hand jammed into his pocket. "You're one major headache."
"If I were in charge," he informed Lang, "I should draw the assassins into the open and deal with them myself."
"We'd love to," Lang returned curtly. "But we have no idea where they are right now. We've searched the city, but we can't unearth them. We're fairly certain that they haven't made it into the country yet, although they were spotted on the Yucatan coast earlier this week. Meanwhile, it would be of great benefit to you, and to us, if you could be a little more discreet!"
Ahmed shrugged. "I have been discreet."
"Stop importing exotic food!"
"Tell her―" he pointed at Brianna "―to stop shoving oblong orange containers of suspicious meat wrapped in buns at me!"
"Hot dogs," Brianna corrected. "They're hot dogs!"
"Brianna, if we bring you some groceries, can you cook him something else?" Lang asked, trying to compromise.
"Bring me some mushrooms," she said with a venomous smile, "and hemlock and beef steak. I'll fix him a meal he'll never forget!"
"You can't poison foreign dignitaries," Lang explained patiently. "They have to be carefully handled."
"Spoilsport!"
"We'll get something right over," Lang promised Ahmed. "Now, will you please leave the catering alone?"
Ahmed was reluctant. "I suppose that I could. She is a passable cook," he added without looking at Brianna.
"I'm a good cook," she retorted.
"Make an apple pie with whipped cream, and I'll join you for supper," Lang said.
She smiled at him. "Would you, really? Bring me some apples and whipping cream, then."
He chuckled. "I'd be delighted."
Ahmed moved between them. "A bad idea, I'm afraid," he told Lang. "You have been seen by most of the terrorist group. It would hardly be politic for you to be seen here."
Lang grimaced. "He's right," he told Brianna sadly.
"I can save you a piece of apple pie," she said with a defiant look at Ahmed.
"That's a deal. Well, I'll say so long."
She walked him to the door, aware that Ahmed was watching every move she made.
She felt a new tension and wondered why.
"Watch out for him," Lang said, nodding toward the man in the distance. "He's a ladies' man, and you'd be a whole new experience for him."
She smiled at him. "Thanks, Lang. But I'm not totally stupid. I'll be fine."
"Okay. Take care."
"You, too."
She closed the door behind him, grateful that she was able to keep her expression blank. It wouldn't do to let Lang see that Ahmed had already discovered her for himself. She felt shaky inside remembering the feel of him against her. She couldn't afford to feel like that,
either. This was just a passing experience. She had to remember.
.She went back into the apartment and forced a smile. "How about a cup of coffee?" she offered brightly.
"Lang is attracted to you," he said shortly. "He leads a dangerous life, and he will not easily give it up."
"I know that." She was shocked. "I have no interest in Lang, except that he's very sweet and I like him."
He stared at her for a moment. Then he relaxed and turned back to drop onto the sofa. "I would enjoy a cup of coffee."
"Thank you," she prompted.
He frowned.
"Thank you," she repeated. "It's courteous to thank people when they offer to do things for you."
Ahmed continued to frown.
"A little courtesy makes people feel of value," she continued. "You might try it."
He hesitated until she went into the kitchen and started the coffee. But when she put it on the table, he looked up.
"Thank you," he said stiffly.
Brianna smiled. "You're welcome!"
Chapter Six
Lang didn't show up that night when Brianna went to see Tad, and Ahmed insisted on accompanying her. That meant he had to be crammed into the passenger seat of her tiny vehicle, and he complained all the way to the hospital parking lot.
"If you hate my poor little car so much, why insist on coming with me?" she asked angrily.
"Because it is dangerous for a woman to be outside after dark alone," he said, "in any city."
He was concerned for her. The realization made her feel warm inside, protected. She stared at him, entranced.
He touched her face lightly, aware that she was creating a sort of weakness in him. She pleasured him.
He withdrew his hand with reluctance, noticing that she had leaned closer involuntarily, trying to maintain the light touch.
"You disturb me, Brianna," he said huskily. "It is a weakness which I can ill afford. Come."
He unwound himself from the seat and waited for her to get out. He escorted her to the hospital with a firm hand under her elbow. But before they got to the front door, his hand had begun to slide down until his long fingers could intertwine sensuously with hers.
She stopped, aware of explosive sensations caused by his touch. He looked down at her, his jaw taut as the same feelings worked on him. His fingers contracted around hers, pressing his palm hard against hers, and for long minutes they stood on the sidewalk under a streetlight and simply stared at each other.
"This is unwise," he said, his voice deep and husky. But he moved closer, so that his body was right up against hers.
"Yes." She laid her cheek slowly on his chest, over the trench coat, and listened to the hard, heavy beat of his heart.
His hand freed hers. His arms came up, slowly, and around her. He drew her close and bent his dark head over hers. He rocked her gently against him in the damp darkness and wondered at the peace he felt.
When he let her go, she was hard-pressed not to wobble on her feet. She clung to his hand as they went up in the elevator. She left him reluctantly to go see Tad.
He waited, his eyes unseeing as he stared at the carpeted floor. Brianna was becoming too important in his life. He wasn't sure he could let her go when it became necessary. How odd that she'd managed to instill feelings in him that all the experienced women of his acquaintance couldn't. He felt tenderness with her. It was a new feeling entirely, for him to feel tender toward a woman.
When she came back, he was more disturbed than ever. He took her hand and led her back to the car, gently helping her into the driver's side before he got in beside her.
"How is he?" he asked.
She shook her head. "There's no change."
She started the car and drove back to her apartment. This time when they got out, he kept a distance between them. When they entered her apartment, he excused himself with a plea of fatigue and closeted himself in the guest bedroom.
Brianna was surprised by his sudden change of attitude. She hadn't known what to expect from him, but this certainly wasn't it. He seemed suddenly distant and unwilling to let her near him.
The next morning, when she dressed and went to fix breakfast, she overheard him speaking to Lang on the telephone. What he was saying stopped her in her tracks, out of sight in the hall.
"I tell you, I cannot stay here!" he raged. "The situation is becoming unbearable. You must make other arrangements." There was a short pause while he listened. "Talk to them, then, but I expect solutions, not excuses!"
He slammed the telephone down and Brianna retreated to her room, almost in tears. So it was like that, was it? He couldn't bear to be around her anymore. Was he afraid that she was going to embarrass him by falling to her knees and confessing undying love or something? She flushed. She must have given away something of her tumultuous feelings the night before, when she'd laid her head so trustingly against his chest at the hospital. How could she have been so weak? He attracted her, made her aware of longings she'd never experienced. She wanted him. But there was more to it than even that. She...cared for him.
She stared at her white face in the mirror. This wouldn't do. She had to get a grip on herself. She must fix breakfast and go to work and not let this upset her. She had Tad to think of, and no hope of a normal life as long as he was comatose. She had to think about Tad, not herself.
With that firmly in mind, she pinched some color into her cheeks and went back down the hall again. Ahmed was sitting on the sofa.
"I'll fix something for you to eat before I leave," she began.
"That is not necessary. I am not hungry." She picked up her coat and purse.
"Suit yourself. Goodbye."
"Are you not going to have your toast and coffee?" he asked suddenly.
"I'm not hungry, either," she said without looking at him.
She opened the door and went out. She felt sick all over. It had been bad enough before, when they argued. Now it was worse. He couldn't bear even to be in the apartment with her.
She'd only just made it to the steps when he opened the apartment door and called to her.
"What?" she asked stiffly.
"It is not healthy to go without breakfast when you are accustomed to it," he replied formally.
She looked back at him with glaring blue eyes. "I can take care of myself, thank you."
His face closed up. "Eat something at work, then," he said shortly. "Presumably you have a coffee shop nearby."
"I'll eat when I feel like it!"
His dark eyes slid over her like seeking hands. She flushed and he made an annoyed sound. He went back into the apartment and closed the door with an audible snap.
Lang came by her office at lunchtime. He perched himself on the desk and studied her with too much interest for a casual observer.
"You've been crying," he remarked. "And I don't need three guesses."
"He wants to get rid of me," she said furiously. "And I want to get rid of him, too! I hate having my cooking insulted!"
He smiled wistfully. "He's protecting you," he said. She scowled. "What?"
"He's protecting you," he repeated. "I don't think he realizes it, but he's trying to get you out of the line of fire. He thinks you're in danger as long as he's around. You are, but we're Johnny-on-the-spot. You're both as safe as you can get. And moving him out of the apartment won't solve any problems, it will only create more. I told him that."
"What did he say?" she asked, trying to sound disinterested.
"That you mustn't be hurt, whatever the cost," he said, smiling.
She flushed. "How very nice of him. That wasn't how he sounded on the phone this morning." "He's got a lot on his mind."
"I suppose he does," she agreed reluctantly, "with spies and assassins following him around everywhere."
"And his own bodyguard," he reminded her. "That, too."
"You don't believe me, do you?" he mused. "You think I'm making up excuses for Ahmed, to keep you in our good graces."
"You s
pies are all alike," she said. "You do the job, whatever it takes."
"Well, I might have exaggerated a little," he confessed, "but not much. I still think Ahmed's main concern is that you might get hurt."
"That's not what he said."
He studied the fabric of his slacks. "Not exactly."
"What did he say, exactly?"
"That he'd be climbing the walls in another two days if I didn't get him out of there," he confessed.
"He won't be the only one," she shot back, infuriated. "He's driving me batty!"
He studied her flushed face, seeing far more than she wanted him to. He pursed his lips and smiled a little and she went scarlet.
"I'll see what I can do," he promised, rising from the desk. "Thanks, Lang."
"Meanwhile, wear pajamas at night, will you?" She gasped, horrified.
"He only said that you had a nightmare. And you were wearing a gown designed to undermine all a man's good resolutions and moral character."
"It was not!" she exclaimed. "It's just a common, ordinary, run-of-the-mill gown, and I never asked him to take it off me!"
Lang whistled and averted his eyes. She looked even more horrified. Her face went from scarlet to stark white and her hands covered her mouth.
"No wonder he's climbing walls," Lang said wickedly.
"You get him out of my apartment!" she snapped.
"With all haste, I promise," he said comfortingly. "Meanwhile―" he leaned closer "―wear pajamas!"
"I'll wear armor," she muttered.
He chuckled and left her sitting there, dreaming up ways and means of strangling her apartment dweller. How could he! How dared he!
She fumed all day long. When she got back to the apartment that night, she'd reached flash point.
"How dare you!" She exploded the minute she closed the door behind her.
Ahmed raised both eyebrows and pushed the Off button on the television remote control. "How dare I what?" he challenged.
"How dare you tell that Peeping Tom that I had on a gown!"
He looked stunned. "I said no such thing to him," he began slowly. "Nor would I have. The memory of it is a deeply personal thing, for the two of us alone to share. It would offend my sense of honor to divulge it to anyone else."