by Kay Hooper
Kyle nearly laughed, but her humor fled when she looked into malicious black eyes.
“Princess” Zamara was a woman in her early thirties—perhaps. And there seemed little question that Latin blood of some kind ran in her veins. Apart from those reasonable assumptions, any certainty about her background and intentions was pretty much a matter for speculation.
She was five-foot-nothing and teetering on six-inch spike heels to make up for the lack of height, which gave her a dandy excuse to cling to the arm of any man she could latch on to—if she needed an excuse, which quite obviously she did not. Rome’s guests were dressed formally, and Zamara was showing off her best, which tonight was a glittering silver sheath with a neckline that plunged all the way to her navel and a slit up the front of the tight skirt that nearly met the neckline. Her black hair was dressed in a Gypsy-wild mass of long curls; she wore huge teardrop emeralds in her earlobes, while a third dangled between her voluptuous breasts; and silver bangles dressed each wrist in noisy profusion.
There was an earthy sexuality about the woman, an aura of animal passion that was easily noticed even by the women in the room. While the men generally seemed to be attracted in varying degrees to Zamara, every one of the women was suspicious of an accent that came and went, and a nasty feline habit of stroking male lapels.
Kyle, watching the supposed royal personage advancing toward her on Lucas’s arm, examined her own feelings and found no jealousy there. And she didn’t feel threatened by the other woman, except in a very basic way. She had the notion that Zamara was more dangerous to life and limb than to matters of the heart.
She hadn’t had the doubtful pleasure of being introduced to the princess yet, and Kyle could see that Zamara was bent on just that. It seemed a favorite tactic of hers, clinging to a man’s arm while that man introduced her to his wife or lover or friend.
Kyle winked slowly at Lucas, and the faint look of anxiety on his face eased somewhat. She was increasingly fascinated by this new version of the man, both moved and astonished to find that he was so unsure of himself right now. Whether it was the new delicacy of the bonds being forged between them or his memory of what lay behind them, Lucas was clearly concerned that no more misunderstandings or deceptions would exist between them.
But he didn’t have to worry about Zamara, Kyle thought, making a mental note to tell him so as soon as possible. She felt no more threatened by the woman than Raven did, but she was aware of sensitive hairs rising on the nape of her neck. And whatever else her heritage had given her, it had also provided the blood of generations of aristocratic noblemen and women who had perfected the social art of dealing with phonies.
Lucas introduced Kyle to the princess, reaching out to take her hand and acting as if the red-tipped grasp on his other arm didn’t exist. Subtlety was lost on Zamara, however. She continued to hold Lucas possessively with one hand while the other gently stroked his lapel.
“I remember you!” she told Kyle throatily, her accent no more than a faint overlay of rhythm that came and went. “You were a handmaiden at my court.”
Kyle smiled, her gaze drifting to those red-tipped fingers curled over Lucas’s arm. She studied the possessive hand for a fleeting moment, then looked back at Zamara’s face without losing her smile. “Was I really?” she said politely. “I hope I didn’t spill anything on you.”
Loftily Zamara said, “Oh, no, my dear, but you were terribly clumsy. Sacrificed, of course, and such a pity. No woman should have to die a virgin.”
In a very soft voice Kyle murmured something in a language that Lucas, Josh, and Raven didn’t understand. But Zamara’s eyes flickered. Without losing her own smile, she glanced across the room, found Martin Rome, and excused herself regally to totter off in his direction.
“What did you say to her?” Raven asked curiously.
Kyle’s smile had faded as she watched the other woman move away. “Hmmm? Oh, I just said that what you miss in one life you tend to find in another.”
“What language was that?” Josh asked. “It sounded familiar.”
“Know any Greek tycoons?” she asked him dryly.
Lucas was gazing down at Kyle, frowning a little. “She’s Greek, then?”
“I’d say so. I saw a ring like the one she was wearing in Greece, and I wanted to find out if she knew the language. She does, definitely.” Kyle shook her head suddenly. “Dammit, I bet I’ve put her on guard.”
“Maybe not,” Raven said thoughtfully. “That woman would bring out the cat in a saint, and for all she knows, Greek is just your second language. She may not know she gave herself away.”
Lucas looked at Josh, who shrugged and said, “I don’t know, but I think they’re ahead of us somehow.”
“Clue us in?” Lucas requested of Kyle.
“She’s just too bad to be real, Luc,” Kyle told him.
“So? We figured she was a phony going in.”
“I know, and we pretty much discounted her because of it. Maybe she just means to become Mrs. Martin Rome and all this overblown, mystical drama is part of it, but I think we’d better keep an eye on Her Highness. She’s dangerous.”
“Definitely,” Raven agreed.
“All right,” Josh said. “Since we planned to split up, anyway, Raven and I will keep Rome and the princess busy. You two circulate for a while, then ease out and case the joint.”
“My husband, the professional thug,” Raven murmured. “Darling, your language is deteriorating fast.”
“I got the point across, didn’t I?”
Chuckling, Lucas watched them stroll away, then looked down at Kyle. “I’ve gotten some very speculative looks,” he offered. “Nobody’s asked, but I gather they’re surprised that you turned up with a man.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly, then said, “I never have before. They’ll stop being surprised, though, if we—um—pull out the stops and chew the scenery.”
Lucas tried to ignore his pulse’s leaping response to the meaning behind her words. Carefully he said, “There’s nothing I’d rather do than give in to that suggestion. I’m sure it would put any suspicions about us to rest, but I’m not sure it’s at all wise right now.”
Kyle placed her glass on the tray of a passing maid, then slid her arms around his waist and stepped closer. “Afraid of moving too fast?” she murmured, smiling.
His hands came to rest on her upper back, and the bare warmth of her flesh woke up slumbering desires with a vengeance. She was wearing a black evening gown that was strapless and practically backless, apparently held in place by her own will since it defied every law of gravity. She wore no jewelry and needed none; her hair was piled atop her head in a loose style that made her appear amazingly fragile; and her enigmatic turquoise eyes looked even deeper and more mysterious than usual.
Lucas found that his fingers were moving just a little against the silky texture of her skin, and he knew that his willpower was a breath away from disappearing completely. “Kyle, I won’t have to act to make it obvious how much I want you.” He kept his voice low, searching the riddle of her eyes with what had become an obsessive need. “Hell, I couldn’t hide it if I had to. I just don’t know how much more I can stand—and I don’t want to ruin things by rushing you.”
“I don’t feel rushed,” she said softly. “And I don’t know how much more I can stand, either.”
He groaned. “I wish we were somewhere else.”
“We’re not, though.” Her smile was suddenly a whimsical expression, a fleeting bit of magic. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Now come on. I want to introduce you to a few of these people so they’ll know you aren’t just something handsome I’m wearing on my arm.”
His work for Long Enterprises was behind the scenes, and since much of his value to the company lay in his anonymity, Lucas wasn’t accustomed to mixing socially with the wealthy, powerful circles into which both Josh and Kyle had been born. But he was as adaptable as a chameleon, and he had no difficulty in
holding his own with this crowd. Instinctively he found the right responses, the correct smiles, the perfect blend of relaxed courtesy.
Only vaguely aware of his own easy charm, and almost wholly occupied with his feelings for Kyle, Lucas wasn’t even conscious that he was making a good impression, and, if he had been, he wouldn’t have cared. He had eyes only for Kyle, and so he missed the guardedly approving glances from many of the other guests.
For her part, and in some subtle manner that fascinated Lucas even as it inflamed him, Kyle behaved like a woman in love. There was nothing overt, no feline stroking or sultry looks such as Princess Zamara employed. Her hand rested lightly in the crook of his arm in a manner that was curiously unpossessive.
And yet, when she spoke to him, her voice was elusively lower and slightly husky. The turquoise color of her eyes looked darker, deeper. Her glances were intimate without in any way being suggestive. And though she didn’t brush up against him physically, touching only his arm, she managed to make him vividly aware of her body with no more than the fluid grace of its movements.
Lucas didn’t have to pretend that he was utterly beguiled and wanted her desperately. When they had circulated around the room for some minutes, he didn’t have to exaggerate his intentions when he guided her smoothly out of the salon.
Kyle took the lead as soon as they were out in the hallway, moving with some haste toward the back of the house.
“Where are you taking me?” he murmured, hoping for a room with a lock on the door. Any room.
“The library,” she answered, sounding a bit distracted. “There’s something I want to look for. And I think Martin’s safe is in that room.”
Lucas thought about that as they turned off one corridor and onto another. Then he said, “What makes you think I can open a safe?”
“Can’t you?”
“Yes. But what made you think I could?”
“A hunch. Maybe I’ve read too many books about private investigators.”
“I hope this house isn’t bugged,” he mused.
Kyle smothered a laugh. “No, I don’t think so. But all the paintings are wired with security devices, the trophy room and library are locked tight every night, and four guards with dogs patrol outside after the house is shut up.”
Lucas winced, even as he wondered how he had managed to divide his mind between his job and the powerful urge to yank Kyle into the nearest room and barricade the door. “Dogs? I hope Kelsey knows about that.”
“If the house has been under surveillance, he knows. Martin doesn’t make a secret of the guards.”
In Lucas’s divided thoughts, business suddenly took a backseat. “You look lovely tonight,” he said. “Always, but especially tonight.”
Kyle looked up at him as she guided him into a dark room. “Thank you,” she murmured. The door closed behind them, and she heard the click of the lock. “Um … Luc? Shouldn’t we be looking for something to help us?”
She felt his hands touch her waist and, as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, saw the glimmer of his smile.
“Later,” he murmured.
Kyle wasn’t at all inclined to argue with him, but she was dimly aware that what was between them couldn’t be allowed to interfere with his work a second time. She felt the smooth material of his lapels beneath her fingers, saw a flashing image of Zamara’s red-tipped fingers, and somewhat defiantly slid her arms up around his neck.
Strands of his thick hair slid through her fingers like silk, and she caught her breath when he pulled her lower body against his firmly. “I—I thought you didn’t want to rush things,” she managed unsteadily.
“I don’t.” His head bent, and his lips pressed warmly against the bare flesh of her shoulder. “But I have to touch you, Kyle. I’ve spent so many nights … in the dark like this … remembering the softness of your skin. Remembering how your body felt against mine. Feeling your heart beating under my hand until it was my heart, and it beat so hard that it hurt.”
His low, compelling voice was a caress, sliding over all her senses until she could feel the words, feel them flowing through her veins, tensing her muscles, weakening her bones. He was moving subtly against her, a sensual movement that made her vividly aware of the thrusting desire of his body and the aching, yielding need of her own. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw enough air through her constricted throat to sustain life, and yet her body had never been so alive.
She felt his hand move to her side, her rib cage, drift slowly upward over the tight silky material of her gown. And when those long fingers closed over her breast, trapping the pounding heart beneath, a rough little sound of hunger escaped the tightness of her throat. Her head tipped back as his lips burned a trail up her throat and her eyes closed, only to open a moment later when he lifted his head.
“Luc?”
Both his hands were at her waist now. He was very still, and she sensed he was trying to retain some small command over the needs of his body. And when he spoke, his voice was harsh with strain.
“When all this began, and I knew I’d see you again, I woke up one night remembering. Wondering what might have happened between us. I told myself you would have outgrown what you felt for me, but … oh, dear Lord, Kyle, I’ve made so many mistakes!”
“We both have,” she whispered. The darkness of the room, she thought, left them vulnerable as they could never be in the light, and she shied away from that only because there was so little time to do what they had come here to do, and she couldn’t allow a repeat of what had happened before. As important as their feelings were, a second failure to complete the job he was entrusted with could destroy Lucas.
She reached beside his shoulder to find the light switch, flicked it, and several lamps came on at once in the large room.
“We aren’t going to make mistakes like those again, Luc. And we won’t let the past poison the future. It’s over—finished. It’s behind us.”
“Kyle—”
“No.” She gazed up at him, her eyes direct and certain. “I won’t be haunted anymore. I won’t let you be. It happened a long time ago. I think we both paid, but nobody’s asking us to go on paying.”
“A reprieve isn’t a pardon,” he said finally, gruffly.
Kyle touched his cheek with gentle fingers. “I can’t pardon you, Luc. I can understand and forgive—and I have. I can stop looking back and look forward. I have. Now there are only two things from the past left to deal with.”
“Which are?”
“You have to do the job you were sent here to do. I think we both realize there’s a danger in something similar happening again. A danger of me coming between you and your job again.”
“Kyle—”
“It’s true. We both know it. Not the same kind of interference, but there’s still a danger.”
Finally he nodded. “Yes. And the second thing?”
“That pardon you were talking about.” Her voice was soft. “It isn’t mine to grant, Luc. It’s yours. I forgave you. Now you have to forgive yourself.”
He realized then that she was right. He hadn’t forgiven himself, had never done so, and that self-betrayal had colored his life ever since. He had hurt her, hurt himself, walked away from his responsibilities, broken the law by destroying evidence and lying to his superiors. For ten years he had lived with the knowledge that out of whatever motives he had failed badly during a critical moment in his life.
He had failed.
Gently she said, “When you asked if I wanted atonement, you were asking for yourself, weren’t you? You’re the one who can’t forgive yourself for being human.”
Lucas felt shaken, but he also felt a sense of release somewhere deep inside him. As real as the maze outside was the one within him, and ever since coming back into her life he had been feeling his way blindly, finding unexpected turns and dead ends. But she had led him to the center now, and he stood confronting his own grinding sense of failure.
Kyle wanted to turn her eyes from
the wounded look in his, but she didn’t. If he could show her that naked anguish, she could find the strength not to flinch from it.
With quiet certainty she said, “It’s over. Past. Put it behind you, Luc, and go on.”
He didn’t resist when she stepped back, but his hands lifted to hold her shoulders. “The worst failure,” he said roughly, “was the one with you. That’s the one I can’t forget.”
“You didn’t fail with me,” she told him. “I don’t think I was ready then for real love. I don’t think I would have known or valued what either of us had to give. Not then.”
“We might have had ten years,” he said.
Kyle looked reflective. “I read something once that some wise poet said. Something about the saddest words of tongue or pen being ‘what might have been.’ Would we have had ten years, Luc? I don’t think so. If you had told me who you really were, I think I would have run from that. And if you hadn’t told me, well, I would have run, anyway, eventually. I wasn’t ready to love you completely. What we have now—within our reach—is so much stronger than what we would have had then. Because we’re both stronger. From triumphs and failures and time.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, a bit wry but trying for lightness.
“I know I am.” She smiled at him. “But first we have our work cut out for us this weekend: to find the secret of this house. And this is Friday night.”
He followed her lead, realizing they both needed a little breathing space from their turbulent emotions. He felt almost exhausted, yet his body throbbed slowly, achingly. Releasing her shoulders, he tried not to think about that. “All right. Where’s the safe? And what is it you’re looking for in here?”
Kyle turned to survey the book-lined room, frowning. “I think the safe’s behind those bookshelves by the window. There’s a catch somewhere near the third shelf. And what I’m looking for is a book about the Rome family—and this house. A private history printed almost a hundred years ago.”
Lucas moved to the area of the room she had indicated, his mind shifting reluctantly back to business. “Is there such a book?” he asked, running sensitive fingers over the third shelf.