Okay, so she was being about as dog in the manger as it was possible to get. She wouldn’t let him near her, and now she was embarrassed that people knew it.
But they didn’t know. Not really. They only knew Raven wasn’t here solely because he was her lover. They probably still thought she and Raven were sleeping together.
Silently, Cat swore. She couldn’t believe she was pleased. Did she actually want her friends to think Raven was her lover? Was it possible she was so flustered because Raven had cracked open a niche in her personal armor? Sent a warm breeze wafting inside her shell, a sensuous swirl insinuating its way to her heart?
No. Wrong part of the anatomy. As she’d told herself that afternoon at the Archery Field, all she was feeling was the uncomplicated lust of a woman who’d gone too long without a man. Michael Turco just happened to come along at a weak moment. He was simply too much man to ignore. Big and tough . . . tenderhearted. Chivalrous.
And wouldn’t he hate to be called that!
Cat strode down the sandy road as if her abdomen didn’t scream with every step. If she’d thought to get away from Raven, she’d failed. He was swinging along beside her as if he hadn’t made his outrageous remark about making it with LALOC’s celibate knight. As if they weren’t headed back toward their tiny, intimate, dark tent, destined to spend the night side by side with nothing but a lantern between them.
“Look, Cat, I’m sorry. I’m feeling lean and mean and I took it out on you.” Three more paces, while unspoken thoughts zinged between them. “So I’m not cut out for undercover work and I’m no ladies man. What else is new? We still have a job to do. Are you with me?”
“Yes.” Cat didn’t slow down, didn’t turn her head.
Ahead, the lights of the wash house sent a glow over the trail. Too close to their camp for frank conversation, they closed the distance in silence. A party was just breaking up at the camp site to the tune of boisterous song, feminine giggles and the sonorous tones of their shire’s seneschal ordering that the torches be put out with great care. Raven and Cat waved to those who were cleaning up, made straight for their tent.
Cat didn’t even try to stifle a groan as she bent down to go through the low opening. Strong hands steadied her, eased her to the ground in the center of the small space. Raven hunkered down on his heels in front of her. In the faint light that shone through the screening, Cat found his rough-hewn face beautiful. Not handsome, never that. But beautiful in its character, the planes and angles of a man who had no trouble distinguishing right from wrong, the web lines worn more by caring than hard living. His black eyes blazed with some inner light even in the deep shadows of their nylon igloo.
When he spoke, his words echoed her own frantic thoughts. “Look, Cat, let’s face facts here. It’s a damn good thing you’re hurting tonight, because I admit I want you. I’d have to be some kind of alien robot not to. It’s wrong, it messes up my head, messes up my mission. But if you weren’t hurt, I’d probably be doing my damnedest to get you in the sack.” Raven tugged at her turned-back veil, his deft fingers easing out the hair pins. With care for her artistic creation, he gently laid the headdress aside. “Are we straight here, woman? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I can get a good night’s sleep?” Cat ventured, unsure if she was relieved, insulted, or exultant that he was truly interested.
“Do they make tents with two rooms?” Raven growled. “If so, I’m going to find one before the next Event.”
“Sure, lots of couples have them. One for sleeping, one for their garb.” Obviously, her brain was running on automatic. That wasn’t at all what she should have said. Raven actually had the nerve to chuckle.
And what happened when they got back to the real world? Cat wondered. When they were FHP Lieutenant Michael Turco and Kate Knight, the paralegal who created costumes on the side? Were they an item at LALOC only? Or did Michael have something more in mind?
“You need help getting out of your gown?” Raven sounded as if the sand had permeated his vocal cords.
“Just help getting up. I’ll change in the wash house.” Cat felt for the switch on the lantern, flicked it on so she could find her nightshirt.
Twenty minutes later they were each tucked up in their sleeping bags, the torches dark, the campsite silent except for the rustle of nighttime creatures in the surrounding woods, the chirp of insects, the occasional bellow of a distant frog.
“I meant it about the tent, Kate. I’m going to look for one after work Monday.”
“You don’t need to get a big one. We could have separate tents.”
Michael groaned. “Kate, we’ve only blown our cover to the VIPs. We have to do everything we can to maintain it for everyone else.”
“Oh.”
“So I’m going shopping.”
“Okay.”
Cat turned her back on Raven, tried to concentrate on the peacefulness of the night. She loved being out in the woods . . . away from modern civilization and its problems. Until recently, she thought she’d found her perfect niche. That of a loner buoyed up by the camaraderie of like-minded LALOC members. Now she was being forced to face reality. Sharing a tent with Michael Turco was more exciting than fighting, more stimulating than being knighted. She should be terrified . . . but she wasn’t. If he touched her she’d probably . . .
Whack him with her sword—
Kick him in the balls—
Her heart was thudding so loudly, he couldn’t fail to hear it! Cat buried her face in her pillow, muffling her gasps for air. A soft snore riffled across the short distance between them. Silently, Cat groaned. She was suffering, dammit, and Raven was asleep.
Four days later Kate Knight got out of her car, brushed aside a tendril of bougainvillea which was encroaching on the carport, and hauled herself up the steep steps to her mobile home. She still hurt like hell and hoped nobody was watching as she inched her way up, trying to avoid the inevitable stab of pain just below her sternum. She should take the blasted steps at her usual pace and be done with it. What was a little agony to a LALOC knight? Soonest done, soonest mended.
Not!
She should be getting lunch, but her appetite seemed to have gone with her ease of movement. Kate poured a tall glass of grapefruit juice laced with tangerine and lowered herself, gingerly, into the comfortably upholstered lavender chair. A mountain of pearls for Queen Eilis’s new gown was waiting in the sewing room next door. She wanted to cut out another Ren shirt for Raven. And here she sat, doing nothing. Except thinking. Moping. More thinking.
On Sunday morning they’d dressed in twenty-first century clothing, struck camp, then piled into the van for the long trip back to Golden Beach. When they were far enough back toward civilization to pick up a cellphone tower, Michael had called the hospital and been put through to Garth himself. The archer’s ever-cheerful voice informed them he was fine, he’d be going home in a day or two. No, he didn’t have an enemy in the world, no angry ex-girlfriends or girlfriends’ angry ex-boyfriends. “There’s a nut running around out there, man,” he’d told Raven. “Some kind of phantom creep who gets his jollies out of hurting people.”
Solemnly, Michael had agreed with him, while shrugging off Garth’s profuse thanks for his help. After repeating the conversation verbatim to the others in the van, Michael lapsed into almost total silence. Kate, who had woken to so much abdominal pain she could hardly get out of her sleeping bag, was as close-mouthed as Michael. Mona made a few desultory attempts at conversation, then gave up. When they got home, Michael helped unload the van, insisted on carrying all Kate’s gear, stowing every item away exactly where she told him. He’d said goodnight to Bubba and Mona, then stood in the middle of Kate’s compact living room, looking rather like a tiger in a bird cage. “Look, Kate,” he said, “there’s no way I can thank you enough. I got more than I bargained for this weekend . . .” Michael’s voice trailed away, his face twisting into the first sign of animation she’d seen that day. “A lot more,” he ad
ded, his dark eyes enigmatic, leaving Kate free to interpret his remark any way she wanted. Was he talking about life in Medieval times or . . .
“Kate?” Michael’s gaze held hers. One finger reached out, brushed a wayward blond wisp back behind her ear. “How do you feel? You going to be okay?”
She’d be fine if she didn’t die of a terminal attack of lust. “It’s going to take a while,” Cat replied lightly. “But I’ve been hurt before, so I know I’ll survive.”
Michael peered at her from under lowered lids. “Are you still with me, Kate? Are you game to keep going?”
Was that what was worrying him? Miserable man! Kate planted her feet wide, crossed her arms, stared him straight in the eye. “Sure,” she said. And let him make what he would of that. If he made too much, she’d flatten him.
Well, maybe next week when she felt better.
When he put his hands on both shoulders, Kate struggled to conceal the jolt of pure sexual tension that charged through her. Damn the man! It wasn’t fair he could do this to her.
“Take it easy now,” Michael urged. “Nothing more strenuous than your computer and your sewing machine, okay?”
Kate nodded. Words refused to go past the lump in her throat.
Then his lips were resting against her forehead, brushing down over her nose, finding her lips. She hadn’t lifted a finger to push him away, hadn’t so much as moved a muscle. Kate flinched at the memory. She’d stood there like some hypnotized victim and let him do it. Truthfully—she had to face it—he’d been oh-so-cautious, offering nothing more than a lingering touch, then pulling back, leaving her tempted, wanting more.
Wanting to fight him tooth and nail to keep from wanting, needing . . .
Sitting in a stupid lavender chair, thinking too much.
Today was Wednesday, and she hadn’t heard a word from him since that moment. Not even a measly phone call to ask how she was doing. Was he too busy shopping for a two-room tent? The blasted man didn’t even know the date of the next LALOC Event or about the Renaissance Fair in Largo this coming weekend.
She could call him, of course, but he’d said he had night duty this week and she didn’t want to wake him. Besides, it was his investigation. If he wasn’t interested enough to call . . .
Kate suddenly grinned. Was it possible the great Lieutenant Michael Turco was as afraid of her as she was of him?
Galvanized into action at last, Kate dragged herself out of the chair, whipped up a tuna salad sandwich on five-grain bread. To keep the smile on her face and the new spring in her step, she had to ignore the interrogation she’d been subjected to by Barbara Falk. Kate had left the office on Monday fully convinced her boss was more interested in matchmaking than she was in the outcome of Michael’s investigation. Blast! If only she could have her old life back . . .
What a liar she was.
Deciding to save the pearls for evening when there might be something decent on television to keep her company while she sewed each fake gem onto royal blue velvet by hand, Kate set to work on another shirt for Raven. Somehow, as she labored over the cutting board laid over her kitchen table, she realized it didn’t feel the same as cutting out costumes for other people. She felt . . . oh, damn it, she felt domestic. Yet she absolutely, positively, wasn’t the domestic type. She was a LALOC knight. A warrior.
A warrior who was thoroughly enjoying shaping a shirt to Michael’s exact fit. Enjoying the feel of the soft texture of the fabric that had caught her eye, demanding to be sewn into something for Raven. No ruffles this time. The ruffles had been a mistake . . . well, more of a taunt. Tossing LALOC in the FHP officer’s eyes. This time the shirt would be all Raven. A shirt for her LALOC lover . . .
Heaven help her, she’d gone off the deep end. Better to let him stay in his own world. Think gray uniforms and big black hats. Black and tans, flashing blue lights. Speeding tickets. Black leather holsters with guns the size of small cannons.
Kate kept cutting.
Shortly after five o’clock Mona burst through the door. She leaned against the doorframe of Kate’s tiny sewing room, tears streaking down her face. “He’s done it again,” she sobbed. “Oh, Kate, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Kate’s foot came off the sewing machine pedal. Leaving her work in place, she hugged her friend, steered her into the living room. After Kate ministered to Mona with a tissue and a glass of juice, she sat beside her on the couch. “Okay, tell me,” she said.
“You know Bubba’s got this new job?” Mona sniffed, Kate nodded. “Well, one kid has been giving him a real hard time. You know those kids are all about ten or fifteen years younger than Bubba. Well, last night . . .” Mona broke off, blew her nose, reached for another tissue, which she crushed in her hand as if holding on to a lifeline. “Last night the kid was so obnoxious Bubba picked him up and put him up on top of the shelves. You know, right up there next to the extra coolers and picnic umbrellas.”
Kate was trying very hard not to laugh. Bubba needed his job. “But the kid wasn’t hurt,” Kate said, “right?”
“Bubba said he was yelling and screaming and cursing to beat the band but, no, he wasn’t hurt.”
“Thank God for that. What did the store do?”
“Bubba says the other guys were kind of shame-faced about it. They told the night manager the truth, so Bubba’s only been suspended for three days. They’re giving him another chance.”
“And the one who caused the trouble?”
“Same thing.”
“All I can say is they’re both lucky good workers are hard to find.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Mona sighed. “But I had such hopes for this job . . . and now I wonder if there’s anything, anywhere that’s really going to work.”
For a moment Kate scrunched her eyes shut, tried to imagine living in Mona’s world. She couldn’t do it. Mona and Bubba were a living example that no matter how bad a person’s problems, there was always someone else who had it much worse. Mona Ellis could give lessons in coping with adversity. Kate took both her friend’s hands in hers. “Look, Mona, we’re going to get through this. You’re not alone, I promise. We could use a hefty dose of magic here, but all we’ve got is ourselves. We’ll manage. Now look at me. That’s right, look up. Wipe your eyes, blow your nose, and know we’re gonna do this. We just haven’t looked in the right places, haven’t found the right help. There has to be someone who can come up with a good idea. We’ll work on it together, okay?”
After a swift hug, Kate got up and fetched the tissue box, leaving it beside Mona on the couch. “How about a little gin in your juice?” she called from the kitchen.
Mona managed a watery chuckle. “Sounds good,” she said.
After supper that night Kate turned on the bath water, poured in a sinful amount of a bubble bath whose label claimed it also relieved tension. Undressing without bending over was still a problem but, finally, she sank into the clouds of white bubbles, immersing herself in the warm soothing fragrance which she could only hope lived up to its advertising. She lay back, closed her eyes, and tried to assure herself all was right with the world. At the moment, at least, things were surely looking up. Nothing beat a luxurious soak in the tub for lifting a person’s view on the world. Well . . . maybe a non-celibate female might have different priorities, Kate admitted, then shoved the wayward thought to the back of her mind.
The bathroom’s humid air smelled of strawberries, vanilla, maybe a hint of aloe. She was lost in a sea of white bubbles that hadn’t even started to pop yet. It was heavenly, the bath oil’s label correct. Her cares were dissolving, drifting away on the fragrant air. A few more minutes and . . .
Thunder rattled outside her door. Fists, not Mother Nature. Couldn’t be Bubba or Mona, they’d just walk right in. Kate seldom locked her door before bedtime. Now, when it was too late, it occurred to her that locking it while taking a bath would probably be a good idea.
The entry door was only a couple of feet across the narrow hallway fr
om the bathroom. Kate took a deep breath, waited for a lull in the pounding, and shouted, “Who’s there?”
“Michael.”
Dear God! She couldn’t very well tell him to get lost. They were partners, weren’t they? “Come in!” Kate called.
Steps sounded in the hallway, going toward the living area. “Kate? Kate? Where are you?” The steps started back down the hall.
“In the tub.”
The steps halted. He was right outside the door. “The bath tub?” His voice had dropped an octave.
“No, I got all of me into the sink.” Sarcasm—her sole line of defense.
“Door locked?”
Michael’s voice was louder as well as deeper. He must have his mouth to the crack. Dear Lord, Kate could only hope it wasn’t an eye! Mobiles couldn’t boast of being built like fortresses.
“No answer, Kate? Does that mean no lock?”
“I’m accustomed to privacy in my own home.” Kate Knight at her most prim and proper.
“A-ah!” Pause. “Are you using bubble bath?” Michael inquired, his voice shimmering with insinuation.
“Yes.”
“Can I see?”
“Michael!”
“If you’re wearing a bubble blanket, I’ve already seen more of you than that.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Wanna bet?”
Kate took a shuddering breath, fought to control her pulse which was racing out of control. The bubbles were beginning to pop. She caught glimpses of opaque water here and there. Pink flesh. Panic rose like steam from the water, threatening to engulf her.
“Hey, Kate . . . how’re the bubbles?”
“Disappearing.” She shouldn’t have said that!
“Come on, Kate, let me in.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, felt a tear squeeze out, trail down her cheek. If only she could do just that. Be like other women, accept what was being offered. It wasn’t as if they weren’t old enough to know their own minds, to come together without hurting others . . . or themselves. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.
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