by Kay Hooper
“Agreed,” he said promptly. “All I ask is that you make allowances for a naturally … inquisitive nature.” He grinned. “I may well ask questions about Saber Duncan, but I’ll do my best to forget she was ever anyone else.”
THREE
SABER GAZED AT him for a moment, weighing, measuring. For an instant, she was tempted to end it here and now. A single phone call would put an army at her back, a quietly efficient army that would move Travis out of her life with no fuss or bother to herself.
To a man of Travis’s intelligence, however, that action would be not only a stimulus to search out her past, but also a clue to finding that past.
Saber dared not take that chance.
Slowly she nodded, accepting his word and accepting the responsibility of protecting herself on her own. Protecting herself …
“You look so lost,” he said quietly. “Why?”
Saber’s throat tightened as she stared at him, and she fought a second impulse to end it now. She was vulnerable, tired and vulnerable, and he was too dangerously perceptive a man to gamble her life on. “You’re seeing things,” she said, resisting the impulse again.
“You were going to drop your guard,” he reminded her, still quiet.
Looking into the depths of his serious green eyes, Saber felt the same sensation as last night. The room was shrinking, he was filling it with his presence, and she heard herself respond to his eyes rather than his voice. “When you guard … anything … long enough, it isn’t easy to stop.”
After a moment, he tossed his napkin aside and rose. Stepping around the table, he bent to grasp her hands and pulled her to her feet. Softly, he said, “You’re a beautiful woman, Saber. A woman who can haunt a man’s dreams even wearing a flannel nightgown. A woman who makes a man remember he is a man. Can’t we forget everything else for now?”
Saber tried to collect her thoughts, but it was impossible: she was too conscious of the warm hands holding hers. No man had ever come so close, said such words, gazed at her with such intensity. She was torn, a lifelong wariness leaving her feeling threatened and a newfound awareness stirring excitement somewhere within her.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Can we?”
Travis gazed down at her, a muscle tightening in his jaw. He knew that he, at least, could forget everything but what she was in this moment—a woman he wanted until his body ached with desire.
Huskily, he said, “I want you. I know that.” Before she could make more than an instinctive attempt to pull away from him, Travis released her hands only to draw her suddenly, powerfully, against the hard length of his body. “I’ll make you forget everything else,” he breathed, and then his mouth found hers.
Saber had believed until then that she knew what desire felt like, but the distant memory of a man’s arms around a girl faded to nothing as Travis held her. Panicked, she tried to douse the flames rising inside of her, fighting to keep something as wild as unreason caged deep within her. It was as if she were onstage, a part of her seeking an outlet in the faceless audience. But Travis was not faceless or nameless … or safe.
She could feel the strength of his body against hers, feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. And the lips slanting hungrily across hers drew desire from an unsuspected well at the core of her being. Who she was, what she was, what she had been—none of it mattered. In that moment, nothing mattered but the flames she felt licking at the bars of a cage.
Of their own volition, her hands slid up his chest until her fingers could tangle in the silky darkness of his hair. She wanted to be close to him, closer; she needed the strength of him. Caution withered in the heat blazing almost out of control.
Saber drew a ragged breath as his lips left hers, her eyes opening slowly, heavily. She stared up into green eyes gone impossibly dark, and an old instinct told her then that Travis threatened her future with more than knowledge of her past. He threatened her future with himself. If this stranger could make her feel this way …
As if he saw or sensed the beginnings of withdrawal, Travis kissed her again, fierce but oddly teasing as well. And with his kiss, the passion that had flickered uncertainly, then died to embers, now blazed anew.
It was curiously more compelling than outright hunger, bringing her senses alive in a surging rush of feelings. A heated tingle swirled to life somewhere inside her and spread outward in ripples of sensation.
A kiss, she thought dimly, astonished. Just a kiss!
When Travis lifted his head again, his breathing was rough and uneven, the darkened eyes hot. “That’s what we have, what we are,” he said hoarsely. “It’s all that matters right now, Saber. We can forget the rest.”
Stunned by her own response, Saber allowed her arms to fall away, backing a step as he released her. She wanted to tell him to leave, to get out of her life, but something stopped the words—something she couldn’t fight. And that frightened her because she had learned to fight elements stronger than any man could ever be.
“We can forget the rest,” he repeated, steadier now.
Saber stared at him, uncertain. But when his eyes flickered downward to focus briefly on her mouth, she felt an instant surge of longing. “For now,” she murmured. “We can forget … for now.”
Travis drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “That’s all I’m asking, Saber. For now, we’ll forget everything except that we’re a man and woman with something between us.” Determined to hear her admit it, he added. “You can’t deny that.”
It wasn’t a question: Saber knew it was a demand. And his eyes drew the truth from her before she could even consider evasion. “I can’t deny that.”
Travis smiled at her, his eyes still darkened and warm. “Where do we go from here?”
She decided to take the question literally and was just about to tell him where her vacation retreat was when the phone rang. With a slight gesture, she went to answer it, a bit startled to find the caller was her manager.
“Hello, Phil. What’s up?”
Travis only half listened to her end of the conversation at first, too occupied with watching her lovely face in profile and trying to calm his still racing pulse. Not that he could do that while his eyes rested on her and his thoughts were filled with her. Then she half turned to glance at him, and something in the depths of her silvery eyes drew his attention to the conversation.
“No, no, you were right to let me know. Yes, but the exposure’s worth it. What about the band?” She glanced at her watch. “They should be arriving in L.A. about now. Oh, have you? No, I don’t think we’ll need that. Tell them to take it easy until late tomorrow afternoon; we’ll run through it once, but I don’t think we need more than that. Right. Oh—and Phil?” Her eyes lifted to Travis again fleetingly. “Book two rooms for me, will you? Two separate rooms. No questions. All right. I will. Bye, Phil.” Saber cradled the receiver slowly.
“What was that all about?” Travis asked.
Saber sat down at the end of the couch and looked at him thoughtfully. “We’ve been trying to get a booking in Kansas City for the past year, but all schedules were filled. They’ve had a cancellation for tomorrow night. Phil’s already put the band on a plane out there: he knew I’d want it. They’ll advertise heavily on radio and television to alert the public.”
“Another concert?”
“That’s right.”
Travis was conscious of a curious feeling then. Not jealousy, but an inexplicable conviction that she would slip away from him once she stepped onstage again. She was guarded and elusive once more, the brief conversation with her manager having partially erected the walls he had fought his way through only moments before: she was hiding again behind a serene veil.
Bothered by that and by the weariness he had glimpsed in her eyes, Travis focused on the concrete. “Saber, you’ve done twelve cities in twelve days already. You need to rest.”
“I’ll fly out this afternoon and rest tonight,” she said. “A short rehearsal tomorrow afternoo
n, then the performance.”
Whether she intended it or not, Travis caught the subtle intimation in her words. She would fly out today: she could admit to there being something between them, but she would link them together in no other way. He sighed roughly. “I see. Is the extra room for me?”
“I’d hate for you to have to sleep on a couch again. If you’re coming, that is.”
“We’ve settled that.” He was abrupt and tried to dampen the frustration he felt.
“All right, then,” she said softly.
“Saber …”
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like I’m a stranger.”
She quickly looked away, almost hating him because he kept slipping through her guard. “You are a stranger. Look, why don’t we go ahead and get an early start to Kansas City? We can—” She rose as she spoke, breaking off abruptly when he crossed to stand before her and grasp her hands firmly. He said nothing for a moment, just lifted their hands until she could see them. And she saw before she felt: her fingers had twined instantly with his of their own volition. Slowly, she met his steady gaze.
“You’re so damned elusive,” he said in a soft, raspy tone of voice. His fingers tightened on hers. “But you don’t want to be, Saber. The way you respond to my touch tells me that.”
She stared at him mutely, unable to deny or defend. She was tired and she knew it. Too tired to do a show in Kansas City. Too tired to cope with bewildering new feelings and unnerving fears. And Travis must have realized because the expression on his face softened.
“All right,” he said on a sigh, squeezing her hands gently before releasing them. “I’ll try to back off a little. But it won’t be easy.” His gaze dropped to glide down over her body. “It won’t be easy at all.”
Saber took a step back, startled because when his eyes had touched her it was as if his hands had. She turned away, hoping to hide the reaction, speaking automatically. “Why don’t we get started?”
Thinking back on it, she decided later that that had been a loaded question.
They talked little until the Lear had left Chicago far behind, and even then the silences were long between them. Saber, always tensely occupied with controlling her fear before flying, found on this trip that awareness of a man could push even this strong a fear aside. She was almost painfully conscious of him sitting by her side, aware of words and silences and the woodsy scent of his cologne.
She had fought hard to gain control of her life, and what was happening to her now, she knew, was beyond her ability to control. The caged part of her surged and throbbed toward an outlet, toward freedom, and only the stage offered that. Until now. Now that restless force within her had been stirred to life by Travis, and it leaned toward him like a flower to the sun.
Saber wished the performance were only scant hours away, wished she could step out onto a stage instantly and free the wildness before it overwhelmed her. Before that part of her broke free of its own strength and reached for the outlet Travis offered.
She pushed that thought away violently even as steady hands landed the jet with automatic awareness. But she wanted to find a corner somewhere and creep into it, hide, until she understood what was happening to her.
By the time they reached their hotel and checked in, she had found that corner. In a sense. She had always faced her fears, but what she felt now was too nebulous to confront; so Saber turned away from it, ignored it. She clung to the one reality she knew to be certain—that of living from heartbeat to heartbeat. And if each beat throbbed a man’s name, she was unwilling to face that now.
Phil had reserved separate rooms all right. A two-bedroom suite. A large and expensive suite that was very beautiful and very private. Saber avoided the look she felt directed at her from Travis, hoping vaguely that no gossip-hungry reporter found out. And, she reminded herself, it was only for two nights. What could happen in two nights?
“You should rest,” Travis said when the bellman had gone.
Saber moved restlessly to turn a blind gaze to the view outside their sitting room window, knowing from experience that rest wouldn’t help her. Only an explosive performance would drain her to the point of not thinking and hardly feeling—which was what she wanted, needed.
“I’m not tired,” she said, and it was only partly a lie. She wasn’t tired enough. Unconsciously, she tried to ease tense shoulders, stiffening even more when she felt his presence behind her and his hands move to gently probe taut muscles.
“You’re tense,” he said quietly.
She closed her eyes, his touch half pain and half pleasure. “It’s just … preperformance jitters.”
His long fingers continued to knead firmly and gently, soothing even as she was made more stingingly aware of him. She could feel the heat of him through her sweater and fought the urge to lean back against him. One of his hands slid down to probe the small of her back, stroking in a tiny, gentle circle until she felt weakness invade her knees. She wanted to tell him to stop, but when his other hand slipped beneath her hair to rub the nape of her neck, she could only let her head fall forward in mute acceptance.
There had been little touching in her life, and she realized only dimly that a part of her was hungry for touch. His touch. Wary of that, she forced her body to shift away from him. But the hand at her back moved around to encircle her waist, holding her in place.
“Travis—”
“You’re such a tiny thing.” His voice was soft, his tone whimsical. His hand lay over her flat stomach, fingers spread, the thumb just beneath the swell of her breasts. “Onstage you explode like a tiny dynamo, sending current in a dozen directions at once. And offstage … offstage you hold that inside as if it’s a life force you’re afraid to waste. Where’s the switch, Saber? What turns that current on? Is it the singing itself? Or do you reflect the power an audience feeds you? Is it yours … or is it theirs?”
Saber bit her lip against the cry, Mine! I earned it! He wouldn’t understand, and she would not fling what she was at the feet of a stranger. But he didn’t seem to expect an answer.
“When I touch you,” he murmured, “I can almost feel that power. Like fire surging just beneath the skin. It’s addictive, Saber. I have to touch you.”
“What do you want from me?” she cried suddenly, breaking away and whirling to stare at him. Intense green eyes met hers.
“That,” he breathed. “The part you only give an audience. That’s what I want.”
Saber shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said huskily.
“Do you?”
It was an odd question, and she stared at him in bewilderment.
Travis reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers lingering. As if to himself, he murmured, “No, you have to be aware of it. You have to know it’s more than stage presence.”
Trying to defend that hidden part of her, Saber unwillingly faced what she wanted to avoid. “You said we’d forget everything except what’s between us,” she reminded him.
“But that’s it, Saber,” he told her, intensity creeping into his voice. “That is what’s between us. Don’t you see? That’s why I have to touch you, and why you have to respond.”
She took a step back, feeling cornered, both excitement and fear flickering inside her. For a moment, she wondered if he did somehow spark that caged part of her. Then she denied the possibility with inner violence. If he was right, it would change her life forever. If he was wrong … if he was wrong …
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said with forced calm. “Do whatever you like about dinner; I’m going to order room service.”
“I’ll order for both of us,” he said. “No need for them to make two trips.”
Saber headed for her bedroom and closed the door behind her, shutting out him and his last quiet words.
“Elusive. Always just out of reach.”
She changed her mind and took a long bath instead of a shower, hoping an immersion in hot water would
draw the tension from her body. But the tension remained; what seeped away, she realized later, was a large chunk of her stubborn willpower.
Wary of spending too much time alone with Travis, Saber didn’t return to the sitting room after her bath. Only half-aware of her actions—and motivations—she chose the most shapeless nightgown in her case, not a flannel affair but one made of thick terry cloth that reached to the floor. Then she stretched out on the wide bed and closed her eyes.
Saber was not given to afternoon naps; the driving energy that had taken her to the top of her profession in a short year tended to fill her days with action, with movement. But sleep was nature’s restorative, and both Saber’s anxious mind and tense body demanded it.
She woke to the vague realization of hours having passed unnoticed, conscious of the lazy heaviness of her still body. Conscious of that and of the quiet green eyes watching her.
“I didn’t pour water on you,” he said, his voice curiously soft, his smile crooked. “Even though our dinner will be here in a few minutes.”
Drowsy, Saber looked at him. Her sleep-fogged mind could identify no threat here, no reason to be guarded or wary. And her body, still gripped by the inertia of sleep, resisted even awareness. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome.” His hand moved to lay gently over hers where it rested, motionless, on the bedspread. Then his fingers curled around hers and her hand was lifted to touch his lips.
Saber watched the movement, a part of her mind idly considering his gentleness. She felt the warmth of his hand and lips, but it was a sensation hovering on the edge of her perceptions and failed to alarm her.