Night Moves (60th Anniversary)

by Heather Graham

  “Gin and tonic?”

  “With lime?”

  “Please.”

  She was still standing in the exact same spot after he had mixed her drink. He carried it over to her, took her clutch purse and tossed it on the couch, and took her elbow.

  “I thought you came willingly,” he told her with one brow lifted sardonically high. She flushed, but he still sensed her unease. She took a quick sip of her drink and pointed to the arrows on the wall.

  “Can you really shoot those things?”

  “Yes, I can really shoot them.”

  He felt an almost imperceptible shiver charge along her arm and he led her from the living room along the hall. “The kitchen and formal dining room are on the other side,” he said conversationally. “Game room and den are down here.”

  “Nice,” Bryn murmured.

  “I like it.”

  They started walking back. He felt he could hear the pounding of her heart more thoroughly than any drumbeat. She glanced up the stairway to the open balcony. “Gives you a good sense of spaciousness,” she approved.

  “Want to see upstairs?”

  “Sure.”

  She preceded him up the stairway, pausing to stare down below. “This really should be in ‘House Beautiful’ or something,” she said, offering him a soft smile.

  “Thanks. The length of this hallway is all bedrooms until you get past mine. There’s a sound studio beyond it.”

  “A studio? In the house?”

  “Umm. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The studio was fascinating. If Bryn hadn’t had a million worries on her mind, she would have loved to have explored it thoroughly. It occupied more than half of the upstairs, the half that sat over the kitchen and dining room, she surmised.

  From the floor rose about four feet of handsome paneling; from there up, the wall was glass. From outside she could see the drums and an elaborate keyboard system. A number of guitars, zipped away in their cases, lay against the far wall. There were wires and speakers all about; on a back wall was another assortment of instruments: tambourines, wind pipes, several wooden flutes and some things she didn’t even recognize. Within the glass-encased room there was another smaller room, housing all sorts of mechanical boards.

  “We record some of our things right here,” Lee told her. “It’s a complete sound studio. And this—” he rapped firmly on the outer glass “—is completely soundproof. We can play our hearts out and not even disturb the plants!”

  “It’s wonderful,” Bryn murmured. “I had no idea you could keep something so complete in your own home.”

  He was standing right next to her. Close enough so that she could feel him. His energy, his heat…his fascinating masculinity. She felt drawn to him, like metal to a magnet, and yet she wanted to run as far as she could, before she found herself consumed by his fire. She couldn’t run. She had to charm him, play the hunter rather than the hunted….

  Not yet! Not yet! She was shaking and shivering; chills racked her, followed by that dizzying sense of heat.

  Bryn swallowed, clenching her teeth, afraid suddenly that she would burst into tears. It seemed that it would be so easy right now to turn to him, to tell him the situation, to throw herself on his mercy and beg for his help.

  No, no! she reminded herself painfully. She had been warned. Don’t tell Condor; don’t tell the police. She didn’t dare tell him; she just couldn’t take the chance. Not when the children had been threatened and she could still close her eyes and see the remains of what had been her darkroom. And Lee… If she told him the truth now, he would despise her for the deception she had already played on him. He would be furious; he would never cooperate. He would demand that she call the police.

  No, she had to keep trying to seduce him. Well, not seduce him all the way. Just enough so that he would be willing to cater to her whims…

  She turned suddenly, smiling at him. “What’s behind this next door?” Nervously she opened it, then wished she hadn’t.

  It was obviously his bedroom.

  Neat and sparse, but having a feel of the man. The bed was large, covered with an Indian print spread. Throw rugs picked up the browns and oranges of the pattern, and the room gave her a sense of basic earthiness—as well as something a little raw and primeval. Despite all the rock star trappings that came along with Lee Condor, you could strip him down and still find a man, strong in his own right.

  She turned around to face him and saw that he was smiling with cool amusement. She had walked into his bedroom; he hadn’t led her there.

  “The doors are lovely,” she said, wondering if he was aware that she had swallowed quickly before she could manage to speak.

  “They lead to another balcony,” He walked across the room and threw open the French doors. Turning, he offered his hand to her. She set her drink on the bedside table as he had, then followed him out.

  The night was breathtaking. Thousands of stars seemed to glitter in the heavens, diamonds on black velvet. The air was pleasantly cool; she could feel it keenly on her bare shoulders and back.

  And the balcony looked over a lushly landscaped pool, complete with a Jacuzzi that sent a waterfall spilling into the larger body of water.

  A cry of real delight escaped her; the sight was beautiful. Garden lights in blue and green enhanced the mystical impression of a tropical lagoon; she would have loved to have forgotten everything and lost herself in the surroundings.

  Bryn moved to the railing to fully see and appreciate the view. “Did you design that yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s really…”

  Her voice trailed away as she felt his hands on her shoulders. The caress was gentle, and yet the roughness of his palms seemed to emphasize the complete maleness of him. She felt that he watched the movement of his hands over her flesh, and that his eyes caressed her. His body was solid and hard behind hers; she could feel his breathing and his being.

  And then he was turning her around. One arm slipped around her back; his free hand cupped her chin, tilting her head so that their eyes met.

  Slowly he lowered his lips to hers. They touched down gently, persuasively, and yet with full, consuming purpose. Her lips parted to his, and his leisurely exploration continued. His tongue was rough velvet as it delved to find hers and gently duel. She found herself moving closer to him, feeling all of him with that kiss, the male power and security of his embrace, the pressure of his hips, the potency of his manhood. It frightened her; it fascinated her. It made her breathless as the night spun around her. The scent and taste of him, the wonder…

  She could so easily be lost. So easily forget pain, forget the future. Forget that it would be easy to fall in love with him, love him deeply if she gave herself half a chance, and then know a heartache as deep as her love, regret as bitter as his touch was sweet. Forget…

  Forget…the pictures!

  Bryn placed her hands against his chest and at length broke the embrace, lowering her head against his shoulder, then trying to smile enticingly as she met his eyes again. She needed to seduce; not to be seduced. If he had any more of her, he would have the power; he would have control of her senses, and his strength, if she played too far, was far greater than hers. You couldn’t tease a man like this one….

  “Go slowly, please, Lee?” she whispered shakily, but at least it sounded real. Her lips were moist and trembling; her head was spinning.

  He smiled, releasing her, and at last she felt steady—and annoyed to realize that the kiss had played far more havoc with her senses than his.

  “As slow as you like,” he told her.

  She smiled again, moving away a bit.

  “Let’s go back downstairs,” he said. She nodded, collected her drink from him, took his hand and followed him out.

  Lee showed her the large, modern kitchen, the handsomely appointed dining room, then led her back to the modular sofa.

  “Want your drink freshened?”

  “Please.”


  A moment later he was sitting beside her again. Watching her. A little shiver rippled through her as she gazed back into his eyes. The gold seemed extremely sharp and alert. Did he know that she had come in pursuit of something?

  “Tell me about yourself, Lee,” she said hurriedly, taking a long sip of her gin and tonic. “Where were you born?”

  “In the Black Hills.”

  “You grew up there?”

  “Some. But we spent a lot of time in New York. You?”

  “Born and raised in Lake Tahoe.” Bryn hesitated, wondering why she was asking the question. “Barbara said that you had been married…for five years. That you’re a widower.”

  “Yes.”

  Just yes, nothing more. She didn’t seem to be wedging her way into his confidence very well.

  Lee was surprised when she turned to him slightly and touched his face, gently running her knuckles over the contours of his cheeks. Her eyes followed her movements; her lips were slightly parted, and though she had claimed she wanted to go slowly, she was very seductively poised.

  Too seductively. He wasn’t sure how far he could trust his control if she moved against him again, sleek, coming to him like an elegant kitten. She closed her eyes and came even closer, seeming to melt into his arms. He could feel the contours of her body, so gracefully sliding against him. And she was a very beautiful woman, especially in the physical sense. The breasts that taunted him were high and provocatively full. His hand moved to her invitingly trim waistline; the flare of her hip was an irresistible temptation…

  She kissed him. Lightly. She had meant to move away quickly, he was certain, but he caught her and swept her long legs over his lap, imprisoning her in his embrace. He deepened the kiss and allowed his palm to move leisurely down her cheek to her throat, to cover and caress the swell of her breast….

  He took his lips from hers, but kissed her cheek. His fingers tangled in the silk of her hair, and he kissed that ivory length, drawing lazy patterns with the tip of his tongue.

  “Lee…”

  “Hmmm?”

  “We…uh…we still haven’t talked much.”

  He stopped kissing her and stared into her eyes. There was a gentle, amused gleam in them as he cradled her close.

  “Talk,” he said softly. She didn’t detect the note of suspicion and danger in his tone.

  “I…uh…”

  He tried not to increase his pleasant smile as she stumbled; he was moving his fingers higher and higher up the sleek, nyloned length of her leg. And it was obviously causing her distress. She was rigid, but she didn’t stop him.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking, Lee. I really don’t think I did you justice.”

  “Oh?” He started to draw lazy circles high on her thigh, moving intimately close.

  “Those…pictures I took.” She started as the casual graze on her flesh traveled to her inner thigh.

  “Yes? The pictures?”

  “I want them back, Lee. I owe you so much more. I can take a new set—”

  His left hand stayed on her thigh. His right began to caress the base of her throat. “You want the pictures back, is that it, Bryn?”

  “Yes. I was being rather obnoxious that day, and I…” He was making it impossible to concentrate. “I think it influenced my work. I think I could do much better…for you.”

  “It’s nice of you…to be concerned.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her again. She returned the kiss with all the emotion she could, stroking his cheek, edgy, but willing herself not to fight the intimacy of his hands. She explored the sensual line of his lips with the tip of her tongue, then joined him again in a passionate meeting of their mouths that allowed her hunger to soar with his.

  They were both breathless as they broke apart, their arms laced around each other.

  “Can I…take the pictures back, Lee?” she begged with a sultry look.

  His eyes were on her, gleaming a cat gold. He smoothed a straying hair tenderly from her cheek. “How badly do you want them?”

  “What?” Bryn whispered.

  He chuckled, a husky sound that meant many things. It was teasing…and a little sinister. And even a little exciting. And so dangerously insinutating that she knew she could do nothing but stall for time.

  “You heard me, Bryn.” He was smiling as if it were all a sexual game, nothing more. But a serious game. She had thought she could seduce him just so far, have her way with a winning smile and sultry kisses. She had never expected to reach this point. But she had, and it seemed as if her body was inwardly torn, shaken with electrical charges. What should she do? What should she say? She had always known that she could want him; she was learning now that she liked him, was fascinated by him.

  She lowered her lashes quickly. She had to have the pictures. She would do anything to obtain them. That was real; it was a fact. But wasn’t there more that she would also have to admit? That it would be no great noble act, no sacrifice. She would be able to…know him, explore the mystical, fulfill her secret desires—and still, in her heart and mind, fall back on the belief that she’d had no choice.

  “Bryn?”

  She laughed as he had, so nervous that it was a sultry breath of air, a bantering…a teasing.

  “Lee…does it matter?” She touched his chin tenderly with one nail. “Events will take their course, no matter what we say or do. But I would like to have those pictures. Very badly. Will you give them to me? I’ll—” For a minute she didn’t think she could go through with it. Her turmoil was too great. He was too close to her, touching her; but though the touch was tender, she knew there was an underlying male strength and power that could sweep her away and leave her heart bruised and battered on a distant shore. And would she deserve any more? She was—despite the sensual laughter and banter—selling herself.

  Did any of that matter, she screamed in silent impatience. The pictures mattered; her nephews mattered; her peace of mind and possibly her health mattered. The children’s health…

  “I’ll do anything…for the pictures,” she said clearly, as sweetly and as sensually as she could.

  He picked up her hands. He kissed them both. His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

  “Lee…?”

  “No,” he said bluntly.

  “What?” she gasped.

  He dropped her hands, setting her free from him with a swift movement, and stood, arms crossed over his chest as he confronted her.

  “You heard me—no. I don’t believe you’re ‘concerned’ for a second. The charade’s over. I don’t know what this is all about, and since it seems you’re not going to tell me, you’re not going to use sex to back out on a business deal.” The cat-gold gleam swept over her assessingly. “The prize is tempting, my love, but I’m afraid a bartered bedding is not quite good enough.”

  She stared at him a second, a myriad of emotions racing through her.

  Rage won out. She’d made an absolute fool of herself—for nothing!

  “You bastard! You egotistical bastard!”

  She was on her feet and he thought it only natural that she would try to strike him. He was ready, and caught her flying fist.

  “When you want me, Bryn, come back.”

  “Hell will freeze over first!” she promised, wrenching her wrist away. She spun blindly to leave and tripped over the sofa. He tried to help her, but she slapped his hand away.

  He chuckled softly. “Maybe hell will freeze over,” he told her with a mocking tone.

  “Never! I hope you rot. I hope you die. I hope your fans tear you into little pieces and feed you to the vultures—”

  “I get your drift, Bryn.”

  He was standing before the rack of arrows, golden eyes narrowed, hands firmly on his hips—the total image of masculine power and danger—when she slammed out the front door, still cursing like crazy.

  In the car, she burst into tears as the wheels spun, sending the gravel flying.

  CHAPTER 7


  Bryn spent the fifteen minutes it took her to drive home alternating between rage and despair.

  What was she going to do now? When the damned whisperer called again, she would have to say that she had tried everything, and if the pictures were so important, Condor was the man that they had to be gotten from. It was that simple.

  She should have called the police. At the very beginning. Spared herself the fear and the anguish and the aggravation and the…

  Humiliation of this disastrous evening!

  He had known from the beginning that she wanted something. From the very beginning. And he had played her along, picked up on her game with the same smooth expertise with which he played the drums. Letting her come to him, back off, come again, knowing all the while that he didn’t intend to give her a thing.

  Damn him! She had made a fool of herself, made something worse of herself with her sexual bargaining. And she didn’t even have the pictures!

  She screeched the van into the driveway, then sat, shaking, at the wheel, stunned to find herself actually home already. It was a good thing she knew Lake Tahoe like the back of her hand. Instinct had brought her home.

  Deep breaths, Bryn, she told herself silently. And calm down. You have to go inside and speak with Barbara calmly, as if nothing in the world is going on.

  She had grabbed her bag, but her wrap was still at Condor’s. Small loss. She felt like burning the dress she was wearing.

  Don’t slam the door, Bryn! Don’t. The kids are asleep. Come up with a nice wide smile for Barbara; tell her you had a few drinks and a nice evening.

  It wasn’t until she was actually at the door that a frown began to spread its way across her brow.

  The porch light wasn’t on. Barbara was a fanatic about the porch light—much more so than Bryn. Anytime she went out, Barbara put the light on. Muggers, Barb was convinced, would be far more prone to attack in the darkness than if a glaring light was burning.

  Bryn forgot about Lee as she fumbled to fit her key in the lock. The door swung inward, and she paused, puzzled.

  She could hear the television set. The parlor light was on, as was the kitchen light. Everything appeared to be normal. She could even see Barb’s feet propped up at the end of the couch.