by Sandra Brown
“Mr. Barrett?”
Her hesitant question brought him to the surface again. Maybe his face hadn’t been as unreadable as he imagined. “I thought you might already have been asleep,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“No. I’m tired, but the day has been too tumultuous, I guess. I don’t seem to be able to relax.” The sight of him hadn’t done anything to calm her. If she gave credence to her senses, his presence in the small room had increased her anxiety.
“Would you like something from the kitchen?”
“No. Thank you.” His civility was as unnerving as his former hostility.
She watched him warily as he took off the necktie that had been loosely knotted all day. He draped it over the back of a chair. Then he put both his palms to the small of his back and stretched, expanding his chest out in front of him. The play of muscles under his shirt was awesome. Finally, he released his breath in a long expulsion of air, and the muscles returned to their normal state.
“Which blanket do you want?” he asked as he sat down in a deep overstuffed chair. With the toe of one foot, he pushed the heel of his loafer off the other foot.
Staring at him, disbelieving his intention, Erin stammered, “You can’t mean—I—you’re not—this is—”
“Could you be a little more specific, Miss O’Shea?” he asked sardonically.
His teasing made her furious. “You’re not thinking of sleeping in that chair?”
He looked at the chair he was sitting in as if weighing its merits. “Well, I was planning to. But if you’d rather I join you on the couch—”
“You stay where you are,” she commanded, pointing an imperative finger at him as he moved to get out of the chair. “What are you trying to pull?” she demanded as she stood and took two steps toward him with her balled fists planted on her hips. “You must have a James Bond hangup, thinking you can bully a woman all day and then seduce her at night. Well, I’m informing you now, Mr. Barrett, that unlike those libidinous females in the movies, I can and will resist you.”
“You’re making far too much of this, Miss O’Shea,” he said quietly and reasonably. Her tirade sounded ridiculous. “Rest assured that my reasons for sharing this room with you are strictly professional. Believe me, I’d rather be across the street stretched out on the bed I’ve been using for the past ten days than sleeping in this chair.”
“I don’t require constant surveillance,” she flared.
Again his voice was annoyingly calm. “Probably not, but until I can confirm your identity, you stay under my watch. I wouldn’t want to allow a gunrunner or drug dealer to escape into the night.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” she groaned, rolling her brown eyes heavenward.
She flopped down on the couch in irritation and sulked for a moment while he began sorting through the blankets and pillows. His every movement attracted her attention and she couldn’t help but stare. If she would admit it, the idea of spending the night in the same room with him was exciting. She wasn’t nearly as irritated with him as she was with herself for the outrageous pounding of her heart and the murmurs of arousal that stirred her as never before.
When he had divided the linens equally, he turned around to face her. Her disparaging expression was well-known to her employees. It usually portended bad news for someone who had made a stupid mistake. “I would like to take a shower.”
“Forget it.”
“I need to go to the bathroom!” she exclaimed.
“That I’ll allow.”
“How kind,” she cooed. She pushed past him, picked up her two bags, and marched toward the door. “Lead the way, warden,” she said.
His golden eyebrows lowered menacingly over the piercing blue eyes, but he didn’t remark as he opened the door and showed her down the dim hallway to a tiny half-bath under the stairwell.
“Feel free to put on something more comfortable,” he said. He was standing close and they were almost in total darkness. Without the benefit of her high-heeled shoes, he loomed over her, and Erin’s knees suddenly seemed to lack the strength to support her. They trembled with the exertion.
In defense of her own uneasiness she said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She had intended her words to sound like an accusation, but to her dismay, they came out like a suggestion.
He took one step closer and she could feel his breath sweeping her upturned face, though the darkness obscured his features. He continued to incline toward her until he trapped her between him and the wall. His body was as rigid and tense as hers. It was like being pressed by a statue.
But the statue came to life.
The clay had not yet been baked to its rock hardness. Instead, it was still being molded—against her. It took shape by adjusting its form to hers until it was a perfect, complementing fit.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him raise his arm, and she thought that he was about to embrace her. But his outstretched hand flicked on the light switch in the bathroom behind her.
The sudden brightness dispelled the moment that seemed to have lasted for a small eternity. She turned away quickly and maneuvered her bags through the door of the bathroom.
“Don’t take too long or I’ll come in there and get you.”
“Aren’t you going to leave?” she asked in horror as he leaned against the doorjamb.
“Un-huh,” he said, shaking his head.
Her lips compressed in fury, and she deliberately slammed the door in his mocking face.
She dropped her luggage on the floor and supported herself against the lavatory with stiff arms. Drawing several deep breaths, she closed her eyes and tried to wipe out the vision of his face. It swam before her and she continued to tremble even as she turned on the cold water faucet.
He was a brute. Obnoxious. Unfeeling. Yet here she was, acting like an idiot, shaken and disoriented after one brief contact with him. She had actually wanted him to kiss her again. God forbid!
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what his lips would feel like in a tender kiss. The one he had given her earlier today had been a test. He had wanted to see how far she would carry her “brother” story. The kiss had been fierce and hard. But for one millesimal of a second, when his tongue had ceased to lash the hollows of her mouth, paused, and then merely touched the tip of her tongue, hadn’t she discerned an instant of sweet tenderness?
No! she thought as she brushed her teeth with a vigor hopefully strong enough to rid her mouth of every lingering trace of him.
She creamed her face and brushed her hair. It was no small task to open out her larger suitcase in the small space, but she managed to open a narrow wedge wide enough for her hand to explore its contents.
By feel, she located a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans weren’t the designer brand she usually wore starched and stiff. This pair was old and faded and laundered into softness. With much twisting and turning, she managed to get out of her wrinkled suit and pull on the jeans.
For a moment she deliberated about taking off her bra. She hated to sleep in one all night, so she unclasped it quickly before she could change her mind and sighed in relief at the freedom. Even though she had crossed the confidence-shattering line from her twenties on her last birthday, she knew that her model’s figure was still firm enough to forsake a bra now and then. Tonight it wouldn’t matter.
When she pulled the T-shirt over her head, she saw that since its recent washing, it was slightly tighter. It did matter that she hadn’t left on her bra. Her breasts looked far too impudent and eager to go without one. Sighing, she grasped the hem of the shirt and was about to take it off when Lance knocked on the door.
“Time’s up,” he said tersely.
“I’ll be out in a minute. I’m almost fin—”
Before she could complete the sentence, he opened the door. For a moment, with her arms crossed over her chest and the bottom of her shirt raised, he caught a glimpse of the smooth expanse of her stomach and the merest hint of two crescents
under soft pink cotton.
Erin pulled down the T-shirt. As though drawn by a magnet, his eyes riveted on her breasts. She could feel her nipples, hard and tingling, straining against the fabric. For years, before she was married to Joseph Greene and working as a house model, she had stood practically nude for hours at a time while designers and seamstresses made alterations. Never had she felt this self-conscious, this aware of her own body.
Forcing down her sudden attack of modesty, she cried, “You are unbelievably rude! I told you that I needed a few more minutes.”
Lance was finding it difficult to talk. His brain didn’t seem capable of transmitting the correct message to his tongue. He gulped and said with as much severity as he could muster, “And I told you that time was up.”
“Will you at least let me take a pill? I missed one today.” She was fishing in her makeup bag, willing her hands not to shake so visibly. She found the package of penicillin and pushed a tablet out of the foil backing. There was no glass, so she tossed the pill down her throat and then cupped several handfuls of water into her mouth, swallowing the tablet with difficulty. When she straightened, she saw Lance in the mirror, staring at her hips as she leaned over the sink. He hurriedly averted his eyes and mumbled, “You can leave your things in here if you want to. No one will bother them.” He walked softly down the hallway in his stockinged feet.
His suggestion was accepted without a comment from her. She’d leave her suitcases in the bathroom. He wasn’t gentlemanly enough to offer to carry them for her, and she felt drained of the energy or will to carry them herself. It was easier to not argue with him, to switch off the light, and to simply follow him meekly down the hallway to the paneled study.
Desultorily she entered the room and saw that Lance had turned out all the lights except one small lamp on the table beside his chair. She spread out one of the blankets on the leather sofa, placed a pillow in the corner of it, and sat down, stretching her legs along the couch and covering them with another blanket.
Lance waited patiently, staring moodily into space, not speaking. He made no effort to turn off the light and Erin couldn’t lie down while it was still on. That would make her too vulnerable, too exposed. Trying hard not to look at him, she glanced around the room, an occupation that had filled most of the afternoon.
“There has never been a fire in that fireplace,” she remarked idly.
Lance didn’t move his head, but his eyes shifted toward her. “What?”
“Did you notice that there has never been a fire in the fireplace? It has a lovely carved wood mantel, the logs are stacked, but there is no soot on the bricks. I can’t imagine having a fireplace and never lighting a fire in it.”
“That’s a very keen observation. Maybe you should have gone into my line of work.” She looked across at him to see him smiling at her from his slouched position in the chair. Without having to think about it, she smiled back. “Do you have a fireplace?” he asked.
“Three.”
“Three?”
She laughed at his astonishment. “Yes. I live in my parents’ house, the one that I grew up in. When Dad died, Mother wanted to sell it. I begged her to lease it for a while, and she did for several years. Then when I left New York and came back home, I moved into it. It’s modest, but very old and full of character. I’ve redecorated and refurbished it.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Most people would never give it a second look, but to me it’s home. I guess when you’ve been adopted, it’s very important to establish family traditions, things like that. It’s almost an essential part of your life to secure an identity.”
They were quiet for a long moment and then Lance asked, “The O’Sheas, they were good to you?”
“They were wonderful parents. No one could have asked for better. Dad was tall and robust. He always seemed huge to me, even after I was grown. He was the gentlest man I’ve ever known, despite his size. He was a carpenter. Mother is petite, spunky, and has laugh lines around the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.” Besides yours, she added to herself.
He stretched his arms high over his head while he yawned broadly, then raked his fingers through the gilded brown hair. “You’d better get some sleep. Good night,” he said as he switched off the light.
“Good night.”
She shifted down between the blankets until she was lying on her back, staring into the darkness. She could hear Lance making himself as comfortable as he could in the chair. There was a rustle of covers, a deep sigh, then silence fell over the room.
After long, silent minutes, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t asleep, Erin whispered, “Mr. Barrett?”
“Hm?”
She plucked at the blanket with nervous fingers. The darkness lent an intimacy to the situation. Like lovers after… “What will happen to my brother when you find him?”
Sounds of him changing his position in the chair reached her out of the darkness. His voice was low, hesitant… sad? when he answered, “I don’t know. That’s beyond my realm of expertise. He embezzled a tremendous amount of money from a national bank. The theft alone would be enough to keep him incarcerated for years. The federal government gets sticky about someone taking its money.”
“He’ll have to go to prison,” she said without emotion. It was a mere statement of fact. She hadn’t thought of it before now.
“Yes. It may help that his father-in-law is president of the bank. Winslow didn’t call in the local police, though we’re using some of their men who are trained to find needles in haystacks, so to speak. Maybe if Lyman hasn’t spent the money and can return it, he’ll only be slapped with a stiff fine and a long probation.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?”
His voice sounded tired and resigned when he said, “No.” Moments later he said, “In all my years of doing this kind of work, I’ve never understood the criminal mind.”
“My brother is not a criminal!” she cried.
“He committed a crime. By definition that makes him a criminal,” he reasoned.
She drew a deep sigh of remorse. “Of course you’re right. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“Well, it looks to me like he had so much going for him. Why did he do it? Why did he risk everything? Leave Mrs. Lyman? It was a dumb, stupid thing to do. He must know we’ll catch him.”
Erin was surprised to hear the anger in his voice. It was almost as if he wished he didn’t have to find Ken. “Melanie will be so terribly hurt by all of this. I don’t think she realizes the gravity of the situation.”
“She doesn’t. She’s a sweet kid. We could have set up our base of operation anywhere, you know. We’re here partly to protect her. We don’t know if Lyman was working alone or if he was involved in something bigger. She may become the innocent victim of someone seeking revenge. Hell, I don’t know.” His exasperation with the case was all too clear, and Erin felt a pang of contrition for having added to his headaches.
Softly she asked, “What about me? Do you think I’m an unlikely-looking assassin that came in with a sob story to win the affection of a vulnerable girl and then murder her?”
There was a significant pause before he admitted, “It crossed my mind.”
“I see,” she whispered.
Her head was whirling with all he had told her, but it seemed too light to remain on the pillow. She tossed restlessly on the narrow space of the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position that would allow her to drift into a much needed sleep. Finally, annoyed with her insomnia, she lay on her back and flung her arms over her head.
Was it the soft swishing of clothes or the popping of his knees as he crouched down beside the sofa that first alerted her that he was no longer in the chair? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he was suddenly so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She lay utterly still, not even daring to blink.
“I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but you’re not an assassin.” His voice was hus
ky with emotion, but she barely had time to analyze it before she felt the brush of his lips across hers.
Did a small sigh of pleasure escape her lips? Did she turn her head in a gesture of entreaty? What made his lips linger, hovering over hers for a heartbeat before melting against them and claiming total possession?
The cloak of darkness that enveloped them extinguished the hostility, the wariness, the suspicion, the resentment that had sprung between them. In that black velvet cocoon where no judgments are made and secrets are kept, they lost their identities. The differences between them seemed petty, indeed they ceased to exist. They were only two people, equalized by a need, seeking fulfillment for a longing as puissant as it was indefinable.
Erin’s lips were sweet and tender beneath his and parted in anticipation. He tasted, savored, memorized her with his lips and teeth and tongue until she breathlessly sighed his name.
Of their own volition, her arms lowered, and her hands clasped the sides of his head. He trailed hot, fervent kisses along her neck. His hands settled on her rib cage, almost encompassing it with their wide span. Tantalizingly she felt his thumbs move to the undercurves of her breasts and stroke them lightly.
She entwined her fingers in the thick golden hair as his face oscillated between her breasts. Moist breath scorched her skin through her T-shirt. With her help, he removed that last barrier. His fingers delighted in the texture of her skin and sought to explore every inch of it from her neck to her waist.
Then he kissed her, once on each breast. Completely covering the tip with his mouth, he flexed his cheek muscles. As though they were connected by an invisible cord, she felt that sweet tugging on her nipple deep in her womb. It caused a tiny volcano to erupt inside her, filling her veins with molten lava and bathing her body with its own liquid fire.
“Oh God.” His moan was born of the agony of self-denial. He covered her breasts with his palms. His lips came down on hers once again. His ferocious hunger was tempered only by a desire to bring her as much pleasure as he found in the kiss. Though his tongue coaxed her to kiss in a way she had never kissed before, it was a gentle persuasion.