Enemy Mine

by Kay Hooper

  For one of the very few times in his life, Kane felt helpless and uncertain. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he needed her, that he wanted no more partings between them, but he was afraid of pushing her even further away from him. Afraid . . . God, he was scared to death of losing her.

  “Kane?” She was staring at him, still frowning. “Are you all right?”

  He took two steps to stand before her, one hand lifting to cup her cheek. He bent his head and kissed her lightly, then said, “We aren’t hurting anyone, Ty. If anything, we have a chance of helping the contessa. If our chalice ends up belonging to her, she could sell the thing for enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. We aren’t planning to steal from her. Maybe the second chalice is here, but we aren’t going to take it; we just want to find out if it still exists.”

  She was staring up at him, her amber eyes shadowed by some emotion he couldn’t read. Her emotions had always been transparent to him, yet now she was hiding even in that way.

  “Something else is bothering you. What is it?” he demanded, an unconscious tension in his voice.

  Tyler couldn’t tell him the truth; that Erica Grayson’s blatant advances to him had awakened a demon of jealousy inside her and that it had made her all the more aware of the uncertainty of their relationship. She couldn’t tell him that. So she fell back on another fear, one that had been virtually absent from her thoughts since they had become lovers.

  “If we—if we end up with only one chalice . . .”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought we’d gotten past that, Ty,” he said roughly. “Do you still believe I’d steal the thing from you, or trick you in some way? Even now?”

  “I don’t know.” It was almost a whisper. “I don’t know what I believe.”

  “You trust me, you have to.” His voice was still harsh.

  Tyler fumbled for an explanation that wouldn’t sound as if she was being demanding or possessive. “I trust you to be honest with me—there,” she managed, nodding toward the bed. “I trust you not to pretend, not to offer—bedroom lies. But that’s only part of what we are, Kane.”

  “Rivals.”

  “Has that changed?” She looked at him, a wordless hope drowning inside her.

  Kane hesitated, then grasped her shoulders gently. “Yes.” His voice was quiet now, slow and almost tentative. “We crossed the line, Ty. You said it yourself, the rules are different now. And we can’t use what we are now to play the games on the other side of that line.”

  “What are we now?” She needed to hear his answer.

  “Lovers.” It was instant, certain.

  “And when we’re not lovers anymore?” The question was impossible to contain. “Do we step back over the line? Do we go back to being enemies and rivals, and fight for the chalice then?”

  Again, Kane hesitated, afraid of pushing too hard, of holding on to her too tightly. But she seemed to be asking for some kind of reassurance, and he had to risk it. He tried to make his voice calm, but he knew the strain showed through, knew that he sounded too intense. “Tyler, we won’t stop being lovers just because we find—or don’t find—the chalice. We won’t stop being lovers because we leave Italy.” His hands tightened gently on her shoulders.

  She looked up at him and said in a small voice, “There’s an ocean between us.”

  He hoped she was talking about the Atlantic. “We’ll work it out. I want you in my life.”

  Tyler managed a shaky smile, the hope inside her alive again. “Sure about that?”

  Kane followed her lead and deliberately lightened the conversation. “Definitely.” He kissed her, adding in the same intentionally light tone, “I haven’t spent all this time chasing you just to settle for a few weeks in your bed, you know.”

  She gave him a startled look, but quick amusement flashed in her eyes. “I seem to recall chasing you in a number of places, including North Africa—literally chasing you,” she said in a dry voice.

  “All right, so I’m a bit unorthodox.” Kane disappeared briefly as he carried his shaving kit into the bathroom, then returned to the bedroom and grinned at her. “I knew you’d come after me then, and seeing you on a camel was worth the wait.”

  Tyler couldn’t help but laugh, though her most vivid memory of that “chase” was the soreness she had felt for days afterward. Her earlier uncertainty had lessened; just knowing that Kane saw some future for them beyond their return to London was more than she had expected, and she was determined not to ask for more than he offered.

  They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes to complete the unpacking, but she had to comment when she saw him hanging a black dinner jacket in his wardrobe.

  “So you did get one after all,” she murmured.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted with an obvious air of satisfaction. “The shop charged the earth for fitting—” He broke off suddenly and stared at her. Slowly, a gleam of rueful amusement showed in his eyes. “You little witch.”

  Tyler allowed a wicked smile to curve her own lips. “Well, you wouldn’t have gotten one if I hadn’t made it a challenge.”

  “How long have you been managing me?” he demanded.

  Clearly he was more pleased than angry at the realization; that surprised Tyler somewhat, but she kept it light. “Only on occasion, and always for your own good,” she said virtuously.

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes narrowed in a look of mock danger. “I’m going to have to pay more attention to your needling.”

  She kept her face innocent. “Worried, Kane?”

  “Only for my immortal soul,” he said dryly.

  Almost an hour later, as he watched Tyler moving around the room getting dressed, Kane reflected that he wouldn’t mind not calling his soul his own if Tyler claimed it. He was still feeling a bit sheepish over the realization that she had quite easily gotten him into a dinner jacket without in any way saying that she wanted him to wear one, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many of his past actions owed their existence to her deft guidance.

  Not that he cared.

  In all the time he’d known her, Kane had never before seen Tyler in formal dress; he had never seen her wear jewelry other than a somewhat masculine watch and plain gold studs in her earlobes; he had never seen her wear makeup or arrange her glorious hair in anything but a neat, simple style.

  Now, fascinated, he watched her. She was so accustomed to his presence by this time that she didn’t seem to notice his attention; she wore the intent yet curiously detached expression of a woman performing the little feminine rituals so alien to most men, and Kane couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was grace in every movement, from the tilt of her head as she replaced her simple earrings with heavy gold hoops to the way she lifted her arms to arrange her fiery hair in a sophisticated chignon.

  Light, deft makeup had given her lovely face an exotic air that was intensified by her clear amber eyes and the faintly Oriental design of her earrings. She was wearing a sleeveless black gown that was high-necked in front and backless. A wide, softly glittering black belt accentuated her tiny waist and made the rich curves above and below it all the more eye-catching.

  Kane could attest to the fact that she wore only a pair of brief black panties under the dress, and his own secret knowledge of the bare, creamy flesh demurely hidden by thin dark silk was driving him crazy.

  She stepped into a pair of black pumps and slipped a heavy gold bangle over one delicate wrist, then surveyed herself briefly with a critical gaze in the dressing mirror in one corner of the bedroom before turning away with a faint, unaware shrug.

  She didn’t know, Kane realized dimly. She had no idea of how beautiful she was. It was incredible.

  “We’re going to be late,” she said briskly. “Yes, I know it’s my fault, so you don’t have to say it.”

  “I wasn’t,” he protested as she picked up his dinner jacket from the bed and held it for him. He felt her fingers absently smooth the material over his shoulders a
s he shrugged into it, and that unconsciously familiar touch affected him like nothing he’d ever felt before. He turned and pulled her into his arms. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Tyler was a little startled, and a soft flush rose in her cheeks. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.” Pretty good? she thought a bit wildly. The starkly formal black dinner jacket made him so sexy she could hardly keep her hands off him. He was so big and obviously powerful that no clothing could hide it and, if anything, the formality only increased her awareness of the hard, muscled body cloaked by civilization.

  His hands moved slowly down her bare back and curved over her bottom, holding her against him. “I don’t suppose we could skip dinner,” he murmured.

  She managed to keep her voice steady despite her weakening legs and the curl of heat his touch always evoked. “What would the contessa think? Um, we’re going to be late.”

  Kane bent his head to kiss her, not lightly this time, and then released her. And when they rejoined the contessa and Erica Grayson downstairs moments later, he held Tyler’s hand firmly tucked into the crook of his arm.

  It was a strange evening. Tyler, who had looked forward to talking with the contessa, found herself with ample opportunity since Erica attached herself to Kane with a blatant disregard for her marriage vows or his relationship with Tyler. It wasn’t quite so apparent at dinner, but once they returned to the sitting room for coffee afterward, the dark woman made her designs on Kane flagrantly obvious.

  The contessa was clearly upset by Erica’s behavior, but it was distress rather than surprise; evidently it was Erica’s habit to go after handsome men whenever her husband wasn’t present—and possibly when he was. She had smoothly claimed a place beside Kane on a low sofa and talked to him in a husky voice, occasionally stroking his arm or lapel with her nervous fingers.

  Tyler didn’t hear what was said, since she kept her own attention fixed on the contessa, but the quiet murmur of the dark woman’s voice quickly began grating on her nerves. She had the satisfaction of knowing that the attempted seduction was apparently having the opposite effect on Kane, since his mild smiles and veiled eyes were signs of temper rather than enjoyment, but Tyler could easily have slapped Erica for the distress she was causing the contessa.

  It didn’t really surprise her when the contessa commented on the situation; strong emotions tended to push aside the normal formality of virtual strangers, Tyler had found.

  “I’m sorry about Erica, my dear,” the contessa murmured with a somewhat strained smile. “Simon usually keeps her in line, but when he isn’t here . . .”

  Tyler smiled with genuine warmth at the fragile old lady. “Please don’t let her upset you, Contessa.” She suddenly remembered a female bandit intent on a more colorful seduction, and her smile turned wry. “Kane has a strong effect on most women, so I’m not really surprised.” But she was, because Erica’s determination was so obvious it was almost as if she were playing a role in which she had no clear idea of the limits. And to act the vamp, much less with such exaggerated intensity, under the eyes of her husband’s stepmother was both ludicrous and insane, Tyler would have thought.

  The contessa’s smile became more natural. “I shouldn’t think you’d have to worry about other women; he rarely takes his eyes off you.”

  Before Tyler could react to that surprising statement, the contessa continued.

  “I’ll try to keep Erica out of your way while the two of you work in the library, but if she does disturb you, please don’t hesitate to tell her so. She usually sleeps late and spends much of her time in her room.”

  “Contessa—”

  “Please, my dear, call me Elizabeth.”

  “If you’ll return the favor.”

  The contessa chuckled. “Gladly, Tyler. Does anyone shorten that, by the way?”

  “Only Kane. How about you?”

  “My husband did.” Her eyes turned misty. “My second husband, I should say. Stefano. He called me Beth. An odd diminutive for an Italian to use, isn’t it?”

  “I would have expected Liza or Lisa, something like that,” Tyler agreed.

  “Stefano was an unusual man. He loved America even before we met there, though he afterward said that was the reason for his affection for the States. But he was very proud to be Italian. He fought during the war—” She broke off and gave Tyler an apologetic smile. “I don’t know why I’m boring you with these old facts.”

  “Please, I’m very interested.” It wasn’t a lie; Tyler was interested, both for the sake of the contessa, whom she liked very much, and for the sake of the reason they were here.

  Still, as Elizabeth continued to gently and fondly tell Stefano Montegro’s story, Tyler allowed it to sink into her mind without examining what she was being told. From the corner of her eye, she saw Erica’s painted talons resting possessively on Kane’s thigh, and it required all her self-control to avoid giving the dark woman a glare that would have skewered her.

  She felt primitive, and the strength of those emotions shocked her somewhat. Jealousy and possessiveness were alien to her, or at least had been until now, and even though she was reasonably sure Kane wasn’t susceptible to Erica’s wiles, she couldn’t master her own feelings. Despite his earlier words, the lack of a commitment between her and Kane made her uncertainty linger painfully, and those other alien emotions . . .

  Get your claws off him! He’s mine!

  God, was that really her thinking like that? With all her independence, all her certainty in the belief that no one had the right to own another human being, she still couldn’t bear the sight of that woman’s predatory hands on her man.

  And wasn’t that, really, how she had always thought of him? With that small, possessive pronoun? My enemy. My rival. My lover. My man. Mine.

  “. . . his father had hidden away the valuables,” Elizabeth was saying. “And, after the war, when Stefano came home, the town was all but destroyed; he was surprised to see Villa Rosa still standing and unharmed.”

  “He must have been pleased,” Tyler said automatically.

  “Oh, yes. But his father was on his deathbed, and the war had changed so much. There was little money then, for anyone, and so much rebuilding to be done. Stefano did what he could, but it was very difficult for him. . . .”

  What would Kane say if she told him she loved him? How would he feel about that? Trapped or smothered? Would his desire for her die? Would he, God forbid, pity her? One-sided love was a thing to be pitied, after all, a thing fit for compassion. . . . And her love was that. It made her so rawly vulnerable that she wanted to scream with the anguish of it.

  Tyler had felt strong emotions before, had flinched under the brutal force of them. She had known pain, bitterness, grief, rage, hatred. But all of those primitive feelings paled in comparison to what she felt now, what Kane had awakened in her. For the first time she understood what the poets had tried to say about love, about the madness of it.

  Everything else in her life shrank to a dim insignificance and became terrifyingly unimportant.

  “If you’d like, Tyler, I can show you the library now. Stefano made an effort to organize some kind of reference system, but I’m afraid it’s very haphazard.” Elizabeth sounded a bit distressed again.

  Tyler glanced aside to find that Kane and Erica had left the room while she had been totally involved with her own miserable thoughts. She managed a smile for the contessa. “Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

  As they rose, Elizabeth said unhappily, “Erica probably offered to show him around the villa. I don’t know what’s gotten into her; she’s never been like this before.”

  Tyler heard the ghost of a laugh escape her lips. “Don’t worry about it, Elizabeth, please. Kane can take care of himself.” And she never doubted that, of course. Kane Pendleton was the least helpless man she had ever known, and perfectly capable of remaining on his own feet.

  Particularly since Erica had no henchmen to knock him out and tie him to a bed.


  WHEN HE CAME into their room a couple of hours later, Kane was feeling puzzled, disgusted and definitely on edge. The first two emotions were due to Erica Grayson, who had hung all over him until he was certain his dinner jacket had been stamped with her musky scent. She had played the vamp with an almost shrill, desperate determination, and Kane couldn’t believe it was because she’d been bowled over by him. He was neither that vain, nor that gullible. So what was the woman after?

  He was on edge partly because of Erica and her murky motives, and partly because of Tyler. She had seemed completely fascinated by her conversation with the contessa, not looking at him even when he’d gotten up and left with Erica, and her lack of interest had hurt him more than he cared to admit.

  Coming into their room now, he looked around swiftly and felt a surge of relief mixed with wryness when he saw her standing by one of the windows; obviously no pang of temper or jealousy had prompted her to pack her bags and move into another room.

  Only the dim glow of a lamp on the nightstand lit the room, leaving the corners in shadow, and he couldn’t read her expression. She had changed into something white and flowing, and taken her hair down, but she didn’t move to meet him or speak.

  So it was up to him. “Damn that woman,” he muttered, jerking his tie off and flinging it toward a wardrobe. “She must have taken a bath in that perfume of hers. I probably smell like a cathouse.”

  “You do,” she said dryly. “At least, I assume so. I can smell it from here.” She sounded faintly amused and nothing more.

  His jacket joined the tie on the floor. “I’m not wearing this again, Ty, not unless I can get it cleaned first.” He crossed the room to the bathroom door and reached in to flick on the light. “And I’m definitely going to take a shower.”

  Tyler reached up to draw back the curtains, turning her head away from him and gazing out on the moonlit countryside with an abstracted air. “You should,” she murmured. “That lipstick’s the wrong shade for you.”