by Nora Roberts
“Finn, darling!” She flew across the room, a curvy golden blossom stemmed in pale blue silk. Even as Finn rose from the sofa, she threw herself into his arms and fastened her mouth possessively on his. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” she murmured, sliding her fingers up into the thick tangle of his hair. “So much.”
She had an impact, Finn thought. She always did. The offer of unapologetic sex was there in the press of her body, the heat of her mouth. His body responded even as his mind took a wary step in retreat.
“It’s good to see you, too.” He untangled himself, holding her at arm’s length to study her. “You look wonderful.”
“Oh, so do you. Shame on you, Deanna.” But she didn’t take her eyes off Finn. “For not telling me the guest of honor was here.”
“I’m sorry.” Deanna resisted the urge to clear the huskiness from her throat. She wished now she had left the room the moment Angela had entered, but the greedy, knowing look on the woman’s face as she raced to Finn had rooted Deanna to the spot. “I was just about to.”
“She was going to mix me a drink first.” Finn looked over Angela’s shoulder to Deanna. There was still amusement there, Deanna noticed. And if she wasn’t mistaken, a faint touch of embarrassment.
“I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Turning, Angela slid one arm around Finn’s waist, cuddling her body back into the curve of his in a way only small, soft women could manage easily. “I can depend on Deanna for absolutely everything. And do. Oh, I forgot.” Laughing, she held out a hand for Deanna, as if to invite her into the charmed circle. “With all this confusion, I completely forgot about the excitement last night. I was nearly sick with worry when I heard about the plane.” She shuddered, and squeezed Deanna’s hand. “And I meant to tell you what a terrific job you did on the remote. Isn’t it just like Finn to hop right out of the center of a near disaster and do a report?”
Deanna’s eyes flicked up to Finn’s, then back to Angela’s. There was so much sexual heat in the room she could barely breathe. “I wouldn’t know. I’m sure the two of you would like some time alone before the guests arrive, and I really need to change.”
“Oh, of course, we’re keeping you. Deanna’s a tiger for timetables,” Angela added, tilting her head up to Finn’s. “Run along, dear.” Her voice was a purr as she released Deanna’s hand. “I’ll handle things from here.”
“Why don’t I fix that drink?” Finn shifted away from Angela when Deanna’s quick footsteps rapped up the stairs.
“I’m sure there’s champagne back there,” Angela told him as he walked behind the rosewood bar. “I want to toast your homecoming with the best.”
Obliging, Finn took a bottle from the small refrigerator built into the back of the bar. He considered several different ways to handle the situation with Angela as he removed the foil and twisted the wire.
“I tried to phone you several times last night,” she began.
“When I got in, I let the machine pick up. I was pretty wiped out.” The first lie—but not the last, he decided with a grimace as he popped the cork. Bubbling wine fizzed up to the lip, then retreated.
“I understand.” She crossed to the bar, laid a hand on his. “And you’re here now. It’s been a long six months.”
Saying nothing, he poured her wine and opened a bottle of club soda for himself.
“Aren’t you joining me?”
“I’ll stick with this for now.” He had a feeling he’d need a clear head tonight. “Angela, you went to an awful lot of trouble. It wasn’t necessary.”
“Nothing is too much trouble for you.” She sipped the wine, watching him over the rim.
Perhaps it was the coward’s way to keep the bar between them. But his eyes were direct, steady and cool. “We had some good times, Angela, but we can’t go back.”
“We’ll be moving forward,” she agreed. She brought his hand to her lips, drew the tip of his finger into her mouth. “We were so good together, Finn. You remember, don’t you?”
“I remember.” And his blood pounded in response. He cursed himself for being as mindless as one of Pavlov’s dogs. “It’s just not going to work.”
Her teeth nipped sharply into his flesh, surprising, and arousing, him. “You’re wrong,” she murmured. “I’ll show you.” The doorbell chimed again, and she smiled. “Later.”
He felt like a man locked behind bars of velvet. The house was crowded with people, friends, coworkers, network brass, associates, all happily celebrating his return. The food was fabulous and exotic, the music low and bluesy. He wanted to escape.
He didn’t mind being rude, but understood if he attempted to leave, Angela would create a scene that would reverberate from coast to coast. There were too many people in the business here for an altercation to go unreported. And he much preferred reporting news, rather than being reported on. With that in mind, he opted to tough it out, even with the inevitable messy showdown with her at the end of the interminable party.
At least the air was clear and fresh on the terrace. He was a man who could appreciate the scent of spring blossoms and newly cut grass, of mingling women’s perfumes and spicy food. Perhaps he would have enjoyed being alone to absorb the night, but he’d learned to be flexible when there was no choice.
And he had the talent for listening and exchanging conversation while his mind wandered. For now he let it trail to his cabin, where he would sit by the fire with a book and a brandy, or hunch over his bait box making new lures. Alone. The fantasy of being alone kept him sane through discussions of ratings and programming.
“I tell you, Riley, if they don’t beef up Tuesday nights, we’re going to face another cutback in the news division. Makes me sick to think about it.”
“I know what you mean. Nobody’s forgotten the body count from two years ago.” He spotted Deanna. “Excuse me a minute, there’s something I have to do.” He squeezed through the crowd on the terrace and slipped his arms around her. When she stiffened, he shook his head. “This isn’t a come-on, it’s a diversion.”
“Oh?” Automatically, she matched her steps to his as he danced. “From what?”
“From a diatribe on network politics. Tuesday night’s schedule.”
“Ah.” She ran her tongue around her teeth. “We’re a little weak there, as I’m sure you know. Our lead-in for the late news is—”
“Shut up.” He smiled at her when she laughed, and enjoyed the fact that they were eye to eye. “You’re a long one, aren’t you?”
“So I’ve been told. You know, of course, that as the guest of honor, you’re required to mingle.”
“I hate rules.”
“I live for them.”
“Then consider this dance mingling. We’ll even make small talk. I like your dress.” It was true. The Adolfo gown’s simple lines and bold red color were a welcome change from Angela’s overly fussy pastels and lace.
“Thank you.” Curiously she studied his face. She could almost see the pain rapping at his temples. “Headache?”
“No, thanks, I have one already.”
“Let me get you some aspirin.”
“It’s all right. It’ll pass.” He drew her closer, laid his cheek against hers. “Better already. Where are you from?”
“Topeka.” She’d nearly sighed, nearly closed her eyes before she snapped back to attention. He was entirely too smooth, she decided, though the adjective seemed odd when she was pressed tight to a body that was tough as iron.
“Why Chicago?”
“My roommate from college settled here after she got married. She talked me into relocating. The position with CBC made the move easy.”
She smelled fabulous, he mused. The scent of her hair and skin made him think of spiced wine and quiet smoke. He thought of his lake, dappled in starlight, and the musical call of crickets in high grass. “Do you like to fish?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fish. Do you like to fish?”
She drew back to look at his face. “I have no
idea. What sort of fishing?”
He smiled. It wasn’t just the puzzlement in her eyes that caused his lips to curve. It was the fact that she was so obviously considering his question as seriously as one on world politics.
“You made the right move, Kansas. Curiosity like that should take you right to the top in this business. God knows you’ve got the face for it.”
“I prefer to think I’ve got the brains for it.”
“If you do, then you know that looks matter in television news. The public likes their death, destruction and dirty politics delivered by an attractive medium. And why the hell not?”
“How long did it take you to get that cynical?”
“About five minutes after I landed my first on-the-air job at the number-three station in Tulsa.” Finn’s thoughts veered forward; it would take only an inch to taste her ripe, sexy and serious mouth. “I beat out two other candidates because I looked better on tape.”
“And your work had nothing to do with it?”
“It does now.” He toyed with the ends of the hair that rained over her shoulders.
His fingers felt entirely too good against her skin, Deanna realized, and shifted gears. “Where did you get the scar?”
“Which one?”
“This one.” She moved his hand between them, tilted the scar up.
“Oh. Bar fight. In . . .” His eyes narrowed as he tried to place the incident. “Belfast. A charming little pub that caters to the IRA.”
“Mmm.” As a precaution she kept his hand in hers. However intimate the gesture looked, it prevented him from touching her. “Don’t you think it’s undignified for a well-known television correspondent to brawl in bars?”
“I’m entitled to some entertainment, but it was a long time ago.” The scarred thumb brushed gently up the side of hers, down again, toward the wrist, where her pulse began to stutter. “I’m much more dignified now.” And he smiled, drawing her closer.
Every muscle in her body turned to water. “I don’t think so.”
“Try me.” It was a low, murmured challenge she had no answer for. “Someone’s looking for you.”
Shaking off the mood, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted Marshall. When their eyes met, he smiled and held up two glasses of champagne.
“I guess that’s my cue to let you go.” Finn did, then captured her hand for one last moment. “Just how seriously involved are you?”
She hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. The desire to link fingers was very strong. “I don’t know.” She met his eyes squarely. “I haven’t decided.”
“Let me know when you do.” He released her hand, and watched her walk away.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Marshall kissed her briefly before he offered Deanna a flute of champagne.
“It’s all right.” She sipped, surprised that her throat felt so dry.
“It’s a little chilly out here, isn’t it?” Concerned, he touched her hand. “You’re cold. Come inside.”
“All right.” She glanced back toward Finn as Marshall led her away. “I’m sorry the evening was spoiled yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it.” After a quick scan of the room, Marshall guided her toward a quiet corner. “We both face emergencies in our work.”
“I did call you after I got in.”
“Yes, I got the message from my service.” His eyes flicked down to his glass before he drank. “I decided to make it an early night.”
“Then you didn’t see the report.”
“Last night? No. But I did catch pieces of it on the morning news. Wasn’t that Finn Riley you were dancing with just now?”
“Yes.”
“He’s had quite a homecoming all in all. I can’t imagine being that concise and detached after being so close to death. I suppose he’s hardened to it.”
Deanna frowned. “I’d say it’s more a matter of instinct and training.”
“I’m glad your instinct and training haven’t made you so cold. Your report from the airport was very passionate, very genuine.”
She smiled weakly. “It was supposed to be objective and informative.”
“It was very informative.” He kissed her again. “And you looked beautiful in the rain.” Lingering over the kiss, he missed her wince of annoyance. “Barring news bulletins,” he said quietly, “can we plan on slipping away early, having some time alone?”
Twenty-four hours before, she would have said yes, she realized. Now, with the murmur of conversation around them, the music drifting in through the terrace doors, the fizz of champagne on her tongue, she hesitated. Marshall tipped a finger under her chin, a gesture she’d once found endearing.
“Problem?” he asked.
“No. Yes.” She let out a breath, impatient with her own wavering. It was time to step back, she thought, and take stock. “I’m sorry, Marshall, Angela’s counting on me to see this party through. And to be honest, things are moving a little fast for me.”
He didn’t remove his hand, but she sensed him drawing in. “I didn’t mean to push.”
“You weren’t. You haven’t.” She curled her fingers over his wrist in a gesture that was both apologetic and affectionate. “I tend to be cautious—maybe overcautious—in relationships. There are reasons, and I’ll explain them to you, when I can.”
“No need to rush.” He let his hand drop away from her chin. “You know how much I want to be with you, and it’s not simply sexual.”
“I know that.” Rising to her toes, she laid her cheek against his. And remembered, very clearly, the feel of her cheek resting against Finn’s as they’d danced.
He was tired, and he didn’t tire easily. Years of snatching sleep on trains and planes and buses, of camping out in jungles and deserts and behind enemy lines had toughened him. He enjoyed the fine linens and mint-bedecked pillows of luxury hotels, but Finn could sleep just as soundly with his head on a bedroll and the echoes of artillery fire as a lullaby.
Tonight he pined for bed and oblivion. Unfortunately, there was unfinished business. He might have been a man to ignore rules, but he never ignored problems.
“That was the last of them.” Angela swept back into the living room looking as fresh and lovely as she had hours earlier. “Everyone was so glad to see you again.” She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head beneath his shoulder.
His hand lifted to stroke her hair in a habitual gesture. She felt soft, and somehow pink, he thought. It was like being tangled in a fragrant, climbing vine. If he didn’t nip off the feelers, it would certainly choke him.
“Let’s sit down. We need to talk.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m about talked out.” She skimmed a hand down his shirt, then back up to toy with his top button. “And I’ve been waiting all evening to be alone with you, to give you your real homecoming.” She leaned forward for a kiss. Her eyes flashed like jagged cobalt when he held her off.
“Angela, I’m sorry. I’m not interested in picking up where we left off six months ago.” He kept his hands firm on her shoulders. “We ended it badly, and I regret that, but we did end it.”
“You’re not going to punish me for being overly emotional, for saying things in the heat of the moment. Finn, we meant too much to each other.”
“We had an affair,” he corrected. “We had sex. It was great sex. And we had a kind of odd friendship. We might be able to salvage the friendship if we put the rest out of the picture.”
“You’re being cruel.”
“I’m being honest.”
“You don’t want me?” She tossed back her head and laughed. The sound, like her eyes, was glassy. “I know you do. I can feel it.” Her skin was glowing as she stepped toward him again. Her lips parted, curved, as she watched his eyes drop to them and linger. “You know what I can do for you, Finn. What I’ll let you do to me. You want as much as I want.”
“I don’t take everything I want.”
“But you took me. Right here, on this floo
r the first time. Remember?” With her eyes locked on his, she slid her hands up his chest, shivering with triumph when she felt the unsteady thud of his heart under her palm. “I drove you crazy; you tore my clothes off of me. Remember what it was like?” Her voice lowered, sliding through his system like tainted honey.
He remembered, and the memory made him sick with desire. The bite of her fingernails on his back, her teeth at his shoulder. She’d drawn blood and he hadn’t given a damn.
“I want you to take me again, Finn.” She watched his face as her hand crept downward.
His fingers curled at her back, digging into the silk. He knew what it would be like and, for a moment, desperately craved that moment of violent pleasure. But he remembered much more than the urgent sex and the dazzling fantasies.
“It isn’t going to happen again, Angela.” He let his hands drop away from her back. She was quick. He should have been prepared, but her vicious backhanded blow knocked him back two steps.
His eyes heated like suns, but he lifted a hand and coolly wiped the blood from his lip. “More than this room hasn’t changed, I see.”
“It’s because I’m older than you, isn’t it?” She hurled the words at him as her fury contorted the careful beauty of her face. “You think you can find someone younger, someone you can mold and train and teach to grovel.”
“We’ve played that tune before. I’d say we’ve played them all.” He turned, heading for the door. He was nearly across the foyer when she threw herself at his feet.
“Don’t. Don’t leave me!” She clung to his legs, sobbing. Rejection sliced at her, bringing as much fear as pain. As it always did. As it always would. “I’m sorry.” And she meant it, completely, utterly, at that moment. It only made it worse. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave me.”
“For God’s sake, Angela.” Pummeled by pity and disgust, he dragged her to her feet. “Don’t do this.”
“I love you. I love you so much.” With her arms twined around his neck, she wept against his shoulder. The love was as true as her earlier fury, as volatile, and as capricious.
“If I thought you meant that, I’d feel sorry for both of us.” He jerked her back, gave her a quick shake. Tears. He’d always considered them a woman’s most potent and most underhanded weapon. “Turn it off, damn it. Do you think I could have slept with you on and off for three months and not know when you’re manipulating me? You don’t love me, and you only want me because I walked away.”