Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  Ransom didn't hesitate for a moment. “Sure. And despite what a Barrington may think of ordinary people, my word is worth something.”

  They shook, and Barrington said, “I believe you, Mr. Ransom.”

  Barrington's secretary buzzed him on the intercom. “Miss Barrington is here, sir. She is accompanied by Mr. Haversham.”

  “Send them right in,” Barrington responded, going to the door.

  The elegant walnut doors to Barrington's office opened a moment later. Ransom heard Madeleine and her companion enter and greet her father, but he remained in his chair, with his back to the door. Now that she was there, in the same room with him, six months worth of memories and fantasies flooded his mind, and he was afraid to face her. Would she look the same? Would he want to fall to his knees and worship her with his body, as he had before? Would his hands shake with the need to touch her?

  “Sorry I'm late, sir,” she said.

  Her voice rippled through him, making his belly clench. He remembered her whispers, her moans, her sighs, even her screams.

  “It's all right, Madeleine. How are you, Preston?”

  Did any of them know how deep and lazy her voice sounded after sex? Did any of them know how sweet it sounded when she felt shy or uncertain?

  “Very well, thank you, sir. But I'm afraid Madeleine isn't feeling quite herself.”

  “Are you sick?” Barrington asked.

  That got Ransom's full attention. She couldn't be sick. He hated the thought of her being sick.

  “No, of course not,” she said.

  “She had quite a dizzy spell in the lobby.”

  Dizzy spells. Oh, no. She couldn't be pregnant, could she? No, surely not. He had been very careful about that.

  “And a bit nauseated, too, weren't you?” Preston continued. “I think her lunch didn't agree with her, sir.”

  Dizzy spells. Nausea. It had been six months. If she was pregnant, it would be pretty obvious by now. He'd know the moment he looked at her.

  “I'm fine. Really. I've come to meet Mr. Ransom, sir.”

  “Of course.”

  Recognizing his cue, and unable to wait another moment to get a look at her, Ransom stood up and turned around. “I'm Ransom.”

  She looked at him. She was more heartbreakingly beautiful than he had remembered. How could he have forgotten the subtle way her eyes tilted up at the corners? How could he have forgotten how wonderfully slim yet deliciously rounded she was? There was no baby, obviously. His heart pounded with recognition.

  Her eyes flew wide open, then filled with an expression of such horror he felt the floor tilt. She went white as a sheet, and her jaw dropped. She swayed dizzily and looked like she might be sick.

  “Darling!” The man at her side—Preston—seized her shoulders and hauled her over to a chair. She stumbled along without any of the grace Ransom remembered so well.

  Once she was seated, Preston knelt at her side. “Are you faint? Are you ill? What's wrong?”

  “I, uh, I'm just ... I...” She closed her eyes.

  Preston started patting her hand. Ransom rolled his eyes, then said to Barrington, “Get her a glass of water.”

  “Right.”

  Ransom bent over Madeleine and starting unbuttoning the high, tight collar of her pale silk suit.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped, shoving his hands away.

  “You're sealed up like a Victorian virgin,” he snapped back. “Now we can all stand back and watch you pass out, or we can help you. Take your pick, Miss Barrington.”

  She gasped at his use of her name.

  “Now see here, I think that tone is entirely—”

  “No, no, Preston,” Madeleine interrupted. “Don't provoke him.”

  “Yeah, you never know what a guy like me might do if he's provoked,” Ransom said, shoving Preston out of his way so he could unbutton the cuffs of Madeleine's sleeves. “Violence, vulgar language, vandalism.” He added deliberately, “Blackmail.”

  “Please,” Madeleine croaked.

  “Here's some water, Madeleine,” Barrington said, returning to her side.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She took a few sips, then vaguely tried to set down the cup. Ransom took it from her and used his fingers to splash her rather liberally with water.

  “What do you think you're doing?” Preston demanded.

  “Cooling her off,” Ransom answered.

  “I don't think—”

  “Nobody asked you. Who are you, anyhow?” He had noticed the man calling her “darling.”

  “I'm Miss Barrington's fiance, and I must say—”

  “No kidding?” Ransom struggled to conceal the shaft of pain that had just pierced him with vicious accuracy. On top of everything else, she was engaged?

  “Preston...” Madeleine protested weakly.

  “Well, nearly her fiance,” the man amended.

  “I see. Any chance she could be pregnant?”

  Madeleine gasped. Barrington cleared his throat. Preston flushed and snapped, “Certainly not! What kind of question is that?”

  “It's a reasonable one,” Ransom said. “Dizzy spells, nausea...” He shrugged. “Or maybe she's got the flu. Or a weak constitution. Or she's emotionally unstable.”

  “That's enough!” This time it was Madeleine who snapped, and with considerable force. She had had enough! The man—Ransom—may have shocked her into nearly fainting, manhandled her, splashed her with enough water to blotch her silk suit, and embarrassed her, but she would not tolerate his insulting comments. She yanked her hand out of Preston's and sat bolt upright. She pointed at Ransom and said, “You are not a doctor or a psychologist, so I suggest you keep your questions and your speculations to yourself.”

  “Madeleine,” Preston interjected gently, “I think you should see a doctor—”

  “There's nothing wrong with me!”

  “You're fainting—”

  “I'm not fainting.”

  “Dizzy and sick and going pale and then getting flushed,” Preston continued. “And, well, you must admit, you're acting very strangely.”

  That made her pause. Yes, Preston and her father were staring at her as if she'd grown another head. It was an extraordinary thing for her to keel over, and absolutely unheard of for her to lose her temper this way. Despite the horrific circumstances, she must get control of herself. In another moment, Preston and her father would guess that she and Ransom were not total strangers meeting for the first time. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I'm acting strangely, and I apologize. My behavior today has been reprehensible. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm ... very nervous about returning to Montedora.” She looked directly at Ransom as she continued, “I found it a dreadful place and I have nothing but bad memories of the time I spent there.”

  His eyes, those rich green eyes which could be so warm and teasing, so hot and passionate, were cold and sparkling with anger. “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes. That's a fact.”

  “Then, darling,” Preston said, “won't you please reconsider and send someone else?”

  “No need,” said Ransom. “She'll be safe with me.”

  “I hope you'll forgive me if I say I'm not entirely convinced of that,” Preston said.

  Ransom glanced at him. “Now why should I forgive you for saying a thing like that?”

  To her horror, Madeleine sputtered with involuntary laughter. She quickly turned it into a cough, drawing more concern from Preston. Finally, she turned to her father, addressing him formally, as she always did when they were at work. “I'm sorry, sir. I know you've gone to some trouble to hire Mr. Ransom, but I really think I'd rather go alone.”

  “I respect your feelings, Madeleine,” he said, “but I would feel much better if Ransom went with you. I have every confidence in his ability to keep you safe. Trust me on this, Preston,” he added, when that young man tried to protest. When Thackery Makepeace Barrington deman
ded trust, he usually got it.

  Just to press the point home, Ransom added, “It's a dangerous country for a woman alone, Miss Barrington. I'm surprised nothing unpleasant happened to you your first time there.”

  “Something did,” she said bitterly.

  “Darling!”

  “Madeleine!”

  “You never mentioned anything!” Preston cried.

  “How unpleasant was it, Miss Barrington?”

  “Oh, never mind,” she sighed, looking despairingly from one man to the next. “I survived, didn't I?”

  “Nevertheless, Madeleine, you should have said something. It's not like you to keep secrets,” Preston said.

  Ransom snorted, drawing a warning glare from Madeleine.

  Her father spoke in a tone that allowed no argument. “I'm afraid this alters the situation, Madeleine. My fatherly request must now be changed to an executive order. Mr. Ransom will accompany you, or you won't go to Montedora.”

  “Don't go,” Preston urged, looking at Ransom as if he were a rabid dog.

  “I have to,” she said wearily.

  “I think my daughter knows her duty,” Thackery said stiffly. “She has never backed down from a challenge or an obligation.”

  “Then this should be fun,” Ransom said.

  “Don't count on it,” Madeleine warned him.

  “The last time I was in Montedora, I learned not to count on anything, Miss Barrington.”

  Their eyes locked, and they both counted on trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Madeline splashed cold water on her face again and again, but her overheated blood kept pounding ruthlessly through her temples, flushing her face and making her head ache abominably.

  He's here, he's here, dear God, he's here!

  She had excused herself five minutes ago and escaped to the relative safety of the private bathroom next to her father's office, putting a locked door between her and that man. But it wasn't enough. Her stomach churned as she stared at her wet reflection in the mirror.

  Ransom!

  How could this have happened to her? How could she have known on that hot, sultry night in Montedora that he would one day walk straight into Barrington Enterprises and consult with her father?

  “Montedora,” she moaned, realizing the full ramifications of the situation. He was going back to Montedora with her! Her vision swam, and she thought she might be sick. She sat down abruptly.

  She had wondered many times—in the privacy of her bedroom, in the soothing warmth of her bathtub, in the maddening Friday afternoon traffic leaving Manhattan, in the shadowy depth of her dreams—what the stranger had been doing in Montedora. And while she was planning this second trip to Montedora, she had worried about running into him again, all the while telling herself that such an event was astronomically improbable.

  There was a part of her that had wanted to see him again, the part that tormented her with erotic dreams, shocking memories, and a lingering taste of the wild pleasure she'd known with him. But even that part of Madeleine Barrington, so sternly repressed and smoothly concealed, was cringing with horror at the moment.

  Madeleine ran shaking hands through her hair and realized it needed to be tidied. She searched her purse for the silver comb her mother had given her years ago and started pulling it through her hair with jerky little strokes.

  He looked the same. Slim and agile, and just powerful enough to be intimidating. He'd combed his hair for this meeting, but one sun-streaked lock was already flopping down over his brow. Those dark-lashed eyes were greener than she had remembered, and they glittered with anger just as guilelessly as they had burned with passion at its height and shone with tenderness in its aftermath.

  Helpless tears welled up in Madeleine's eyes. She swallowed and took several deep, steadying breaths. Make-up, she thought vaguely. She had to fix her make-up.

  He looked just as dangerous as he had that night in Montedora, far too wild and reckless for these tame surroundings. For an awful moment, she'd been afraid he would hit Preston.

  Preston! Madeleine's eyes flew wide open and her stomach lurched again. Good God! She had to get Ransom away from Preston! And from her father, too! What could she possibly be thinking of? Why was she hiding in here while that man was saying God-only-knew what to her father and her almost-fiance? She must separate them! Ransom mustn't be left alone with anyone until she'd had time to figure out what to do about him.

  Hastily fixing her make-up, she wondered if he'd tracked her down, or if he was as surprised as she by today's turn of events. What would he want now? Money? Influence? More sex? Madeleine gripped the edge of the marble basin and tried to calm her nerves. There was no sense in jumping to conclusions. She'd get him alone and find out. Right away.

  She finished applying her lipstick, took another deep breath, opened the bathroom door, and faced her demon.

  Ransom looked up as Madeleine re-entered the room, though he didn't bother to rise for her entrance the way Preston and Barrington did. She looked perfect again, he noted cynically. And not just physically—there was a coolness in her eyes and a composure in her face that hadn't been there five minutes ago. He had to give her credit. The woman had moxie. He watched with bitter amusement as she smoothly took over the proceedings, suggested that her father would like to get back to work, and convinced her boyfriend to leave.

  “Yes, of course,” the fiance said, accepting the dismissal with good grace. What did a woman like Madeleine see in this wimp? Wealth and position equal to her own, Ransom supposed. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven o'clock, then?”

  “Fine,” Madeleine answered absently.

  “See you tomorrow evening, sir,” Preston said to Barrington, shaking his hand.

  “Hmmm?”

  “The dinner party, sir,” Preston reminded him.

  Barrington tore his gaze away from Madeleine and said, “Oh, yes, of course. Tomorrow evening, then.”

  “Mr. Ransom.” Preston barely nodded in his direction before departing.

  “Nice guy,” Ransom said blandly as the door closed behind Preston. “Are you really gonna marry him?”

  “That's none of your business,” Madeleine snapped. A look of alarm washed across her features a moment later, and she turned quickly to her father. “We'll leave you now, sir. I'm sure you have things to attend to.”

  “Yes, of course...” Barrington stared at his daughter for a moment longer before finally turning to smile briefly at Ransom. “I've enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Ransom, and I'm relieved to know that Madeleine will be accompanied by a capable protector.”

  Recognizing the dismissal, Ransom nodded and stood up. He saw a glint of steel in Barrington's eyes as the man shook his hand and added, “And I know you'll keep your word.”

  “She'll be safe with me,” Ransom reiterated gruffly, starting to wish he hadn't promised. Why the hell didn't he just quit this assignment?

  Barrington nodded and, to Ransom's surprise, clapped him on the shoulder. Then he turned to his daughter. “We'll expect you and Preston around eight o'clock tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Ransom?” Without waiting, she turned and led the way out of her father's office.

  Ransom followed Madeleine out the door, through the reception area, and toward the private elevator. Ignoring him, she pressed a button to call for the elevator and stared at a fern while they waited. The double doors swished open a moment later, admitting them to a plushly decorated elevator nearly as big as Ransom's first apartment. The doors closed behind them. Madeleine turned her back on Ransom and pressed a button on the control panel.

  “Alone at last,” he said.

  She flinched, as if she expected him to jump her. “Don't say that!” Her voice was tight.

  “You ca—”

  “Don't say anything,” she ordered, regaining her composure.

  He frowned. “For how long?”

  “Until we're in my office.”

  Irritated, he decided to ruffle her fea
thers some more. “Got a couch in your office?”

  The fact that she did nearly made Madeleine's eyes cross. Instead, she glared at him. “That isn't funny.”

  “Damned right, it isn't funny.” He loosened the leash on his own temper. “Who the hell do you think you are? Where do you—”

  “You have some nerve saying that to me! By what right—”

  “What right?” he practically shouted.

  “To come here—”

  “I was hired—”

  “And ambush me!”

  “Ambush you? How was I to know?” He was shouting now. “Listen, lady, you were the one who said no names!”

  “And I had a good reason!” she shouted back.

  “Did you re—”

  “How dare—”

  The elevators doors swished open, and they both stopped in mid-shout. Madeleine drew in a quick breath and paled when a dozen people near the elevator bank stopped talking and turned to stare at her and Ransom.

  Ransom shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, trying to get control of himself. Between Doby Dune and Madeleine Barrington, he was liable to wind up killing someone with his bare hands one of these days.

  “Um, is everything all right, Miss Barrington?” someone finally asked.

  “Yes,” Madeleine said, clenching her teeth with the effort to speak calmly. “Quite all right. Just a slight disagreement.”

  A young man stepped forward. Good-looking, well-dressed. “Do you, uh ... Is this person leaving now?”

  Realizing the guy was prepared to bodily evict him on Madeleine's say-so, Ransom felt his sense of proportion returning. He certainly didn't want to fight—and possibly injure—a Barrington employee just because Madeleine couldn't control her temper. Fortunately, she pulled herself together and assured everyone that she didn't need any assistance.

  “Shall we step into my office, Mr. Ransom?”

  “By all means, Maddie.”

  Her jaw flexed in a way that made him suspect she was grinding her teeth. Awkward silences and curious stares followed them along the elegant corridor to Madeleine's office. He didn't need anyone to tell him that she was never seen shouting in public like that. The office was at the end of the corridor. A discreet plaque informed visitors that Madeleine was the company's vice president in charge of operations. Her office was as big as Ransom's current apartment, but a lot more luxurious. It wasn't opulent, though. Every inch of the room evinced wealth beyond his wildest ambitions, but it was nonetheless discreet, tasteful, and elegant. That annoyed him.