Authors: Heather Graham
She felt the movement of his hands again, firm, assured, but gliding with persuasion even as they sought new discoveries. They hovered over the conclave of her hip and abdomen, trailed lower over her thigh, beneath the hem of her skirt, upward, over the ultrasensitive flesh of her upper thigh once more.
Erin felt another gasp rising, but it wasn’t that at all. It was a moan, a whimper, a cry deep within her throat. It was fear overridden by need, the shuddering of terror compounded by the deliciousness of trailing fire that swamped her system.
This
is necessary, Steele? Jarod could hear the mocking voice screeching within him. An act was an act, but who was he kidding? Come on, Steele, ease up….
What had happened to him? He had started to touch her and the blood had boiled in his veins; his pulse had risen to thunder. Tempest winds had begun in his head, and he had discovered himself in the grip of a maelstrom, seized by a desire as strong and potent as an incoming tide.
Business, Steele, this is business….
His mouth lifted slowly from hers. The torment of feeling her legs pressed against his ended as his fingers touched upon her lips once more, seemingly fascinated with the touch of dampness upon them.
Erin opened her eyes slowly to feel a freeze steal over her body. Jarod touched her, but he didn’t glance at her. His face was still near hers—within an inch—but his eyes, always astute, always piercing with the dagger sharpness of crystal, were assessing the room.
Oh, God, Erin thought sickly, all that. All that just for I Spy to check out the room.
Something cataclysmic had happened to her body; something devastating to her life. And he who had been the catalyst hadn’t been truly involved; his simple mechanical expertise had seduced her into a loss of barriers that she could have sworn were impregnable.
She thought of all she had allowed him, of her quivering, innate response. She wanted to die, or at the very least, drop through a hole in the world and reappear a hemisphere a way.
She wanted him away from her. She wanted freedom from the deceit of the intoxicating heat and strength and security of his powerfully wired frame. Freedom from the hard thighs that touched with hypocritical demand against hers … freedom from the arms that held her, that so easily solicited trust and the most incredible, elemental, sexual need.
Of all the men in the world, why did Jarod Steele have to be the one with such overwhelming sexuality that he could still her defenses without effort, without thought?
She was angry, and she wanted to be angry. She wished she had the strength to push his rugged body from her and onto the floor. But she also had to admit to another of the fears that plagued her, one that went deeper than ego. Had he been disappointed? Had he already discovered that Erin McCabe was not mystery and passionate beauty but very simply a woman working with a great handicap, frightened, unsure?
She opened her eyes to discover that this time his gaze was upon her, thoughtful, pondering, totally enigmatic, and for once, not cold at all. The fire heat was in them, they seemed almost indigo, but it was still a heat she couldn’t begin to read, an indigo that was illusive.
The gentle touch of his fingers as he brushed stray wisps of hair from her forehead and lightly caressed her cheeks was also absent. His smile was almost a shrug; he inclined his head toward the top far corner of the room as he touched his own finger in a barely perceptible shushing action to his own lips.
Erin twisted slightly to see the object of his silent inclination. High in the wall, with no effort at concealment, was a microphone. Erin caught and held her breath and returned her eyes to Jarod’s.
He shook his head as if she shouldn’t worry, but his warning only stirred new fears. Everything he did was so subtle. Was there also a camera in the room? Why else the kiss … the warnings … his proximity still.
Why didn’t he move? Please, move! she thought silently. Surely he could hear the erratic pulsing of her heart, the pants that were still her effort at breathing. He had touched her; he knew that she responded to him physically. Why didn’t he move and save her further humiliation?
Instead, his lips moved over hers again as long strong fingers massaged the tendrils of hair at her temples, the curves of her cheekbones. His kiss was very light this time, yet it seemed to linger. When he lifted his head once more, that enigmatic, wondering indigo was still thawing the usual ice of his stare.
But then it had always been fire. Icefire. A cold that burned with raging intensity no matter what the veneer of polish and civility.
He spoke loudly as he slipped his body from hers and the bed with agility. “Damn, it’s hard to leave, darling. Perhaps we should make this a short engagement … very short. I can’t seem to work with you around and yet not with me…. Oh, well, let me get out of here while I can. I’ll be back at eight. Oh—dinners at Sergei’s are always very formal. Love you, darling….”
His voice was a caress, it was husky, it was velvet. It was astoundingly believable … and she couldn’t even respond. She could only watch him with all that had been hers just moments—or had it been eons?—before hopelessly, irrevocably shattered.
T
HE HALL HERE WAS
the same, long and white and sterile. And at its end the picture was also the same, floor-to-ceiling machinery, reels and disks and memories and drives.
It might have been the same place.
It wasn’t. It was miles and miles and miles away.
This lady had been dubbed Catherine the Great.
He slipped his hand into the pit, waited for the whirring and lights of the computer, and leaned back in the chair.
GOOD EVENING, JAROD STEELE.
GOOD EVENING, CATHERINE II.
His mood was hardly at its best, and he hurriedly punched out keys.
PLEASE SPARE ME A WEATHER REPORT. I AM WELL AWARE THAT IT IS FREEZING AND MISERABLE.
Catherine II whirred a second; her drive lights blinked.
TESTY, TESTY, JAROD STEELE.
Jarod scowled. He needed this from a computer.
NO UNSOLICITED DATA PLEASE.
RUN A PROGRAM. FILE: PROJECT MIDNIGHT.
Jarod read the program, scanning the file for any little thing he might have missed. The information hadn’t changed any; he hadn’t really expected it to.
Somewhere along the line, Samuel Hughes had panicked. Perhaps he had known he had played his cards too far, or perhaps he had been so supremely confident that he had taken a perverse pleasure in filing information right beneath the noses of the U.N., the U.S.A., and Great Britain. And most likely he had somehow fed equivalent information to a Soviet counterpart.
A newcomer was involved, but whether the newcomer was actually in on the espionage, or merely a patsy to be used, Jarod didn’t know.
Code name Mc.
The Mc didn’t necessarily have to belong to a name, but none of the computer or cipher experts had been able to come up with anything else.
Mc.
McCabe.
And Sergei was also showing a tremendous interest in Erin.
We should be working on this together, Jarod thought. For once we are both determined to put an end to this dangerous double-dealing.
Perhaps they were working together, but they were also encircling one another warily.
FILE PLEASE: ERIN MCCABE
Jarod found himself scanning the words very carefully, propelled now by a driven curiosity that he had not had when he had first read the data from Catherine I. The file contained little on her personal life; no reason for the dissolution of her short-lived marriage. No mention of the bracelets.
Jarod began to fill in all that had happened since the train, finding that his observations could hardly be called objective. Annoyed with his own wordage, he added:
SUBJECT A BIT OF A KLUTZ, BUT SURPRISINGLY AWARE OF MUCH; DRESSES WELL FOR CLIMATE, SEEMS UP ON HISTORY AND CONTEMPORARY AFFAIRS. GRACIOUS PERSON; OFTEN RESERVED, IS ABLE TO HIDE EMOTIONS. ATTRACTIVE, BUT OVERLY SLENDER. SKIN AND BONES.
Jarod was startled as Catherine II whirred her motors after the last—giving him a double-check query on information filed.
SKIN AND BONES?
Jarod typed irritably:
YES I SAID SKIN AND BONES. WHY THE DOUBLE CHECK?
PROBABILITY LAW: A MAN WHO BECOMES SO INTENSELY INVOLVED IN A HOTEL ROOM DOES NOT CONSIDER THE OBJECT OF HIS INVOLVEMENT “SKIN AND BONES.”
Stunned, Jarod stared at the screen with his jaw somewhat slack. He snapped back quickly.
WHERE WAS THAT INFORMATION ACQUIRED?
FILTERED FROM KATERINA AT JUSTICE BUILDING IN KREMLIN.
“Damn!” Jarod murmured aloud. His suspicions had been well founded. Erin’s movements were being taped as well as recorded. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. The Soviet government monitored tourists frequently, doing random checks, something like the IRS. But if Catherine was managing to hone in on Katerina, was Katerina also tuning in to Catherine?
HAS KATERINA ACCESS TO OUR FILES?
NO. CODE HAS NOT YET BEEN BROKEN.
Jarod breathed a small sigh of relief. He desperately wanted to ferret this one out himself before an incident was created.
RETURN TO FILE. AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION, MADAME THE GREAT, HOTEL INCIDENT WAS IN THE LINE OF DUTY. SUBJECT NEEDED TO BE QUIETED.
Catherine’s whirr sounded like soft feminine laughter.
OH REALLY, JAROD STEELE? A SIMPLE PECK ON THE CHEEK WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.
OH SHUT UP, CATHERINE. YOU KNOW DAMNED WELL
His fingers went still. Yes, the Catherine systems knew all about Jarod Steele. All about Cara Steele. Knew well that his wife’s death had devastated him, lost him years of his life, then put him where he was today, married to his job, the perfect candidate for a position that demanded all from one who had ceased to care about much else.
SCRATCH ENTRY, CATHERINE. NEW QUERY. THE SOVIETS BELIEVE THAT MISS MCCABE AND I ARE ENGAGED?
MOST CERTAINLY, JAROD STEELE. VERY CONVINCING PERFORMANCE. VERY, VERY CONVINCING PERFORMANCE.
THAT WILL DO!
Jarod typed in
INTERRUPTION
.Catherine’s whirring motors went still.
Jarod sat very still, sighed, then began typing again.
ALL RIGHT, CATHERINE, MISS MCCABE IS BLESSED WITH ONE OF THE NICEST ARRANGEMENTS OF SKIN AND BONES I HAVE YET TO COME ACROSS. SHE IS AN EXCEPTIONALLY ALLURING WOMAN, AND YES, I FIND HER UNDENIABLY SEDUCTIVE—YOU’RE THE COMPUTER HERE, NOT ME. I DIDN’T SWEAR OFF ALL PHYSICAL RESPONSES WHEN I TOOK THE JOB, AND I MUST STICK WITH MCCABE. EVERY POSITION CARRIES CERTAIN BENEFITS!
Catherine’s lights blinked and she whirred, filling the screen with an innocent question.
DID I SAY ANYTHING, JAROD STEELE?
“Oh, Christ!” Jarod muttered aloud in disgust. “I’m explaining myself to a computer!”
He punched the keys.
WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT UNSOLICITED OPINIONS? LET’S GET BACK TO FACTS AND BASICS.
Jarod proceeded to fill in information about Erin, focusing upon the strange panic he so oftened sensed from her when she was touched, on the look he had seen in her eyes when he had lifted her into the train. He mentioned the ever-present bracelets again, ended input, and typed out:
LAWS OF PROBABILITY: WHY?
Catherine barely whirred; her lights blinked but once.
COME, COME, JAROD STEELE. THIS DOES NOT TAKE A DEGREE IN PSYCHOLOGY OF THE HUMAN MIND OR EVEN BASIC
BEHAVIOR 101. SUBJECT HAS BEEN HURT SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE. BRACELETS? PERHAPS THEY HAVE SENTIMENTAL VALUE. MOST LOGICAL EXPLANATION.
Jarod assimilated the information on the screen with arched brows, then tapped keys without even thinking.
CAN’T I EVER GET A SIMPLE, STRAIGHT ANSWER FROM YOU?
IT IS NOT LIKELY. I AM PROGRAMMED TO RESPOND ON A THINK LEVEL.
“Great,” Jarod muttered. “When all else goes like hell, you can count on a wise-cracking pile of nuts and bolts and screws.” He typed out:
SIGNING OUT, CATHERINE II.
Catherine whirred a moment, then taunted:
HAVE A NICE NIGHT, JAROD STEELE. A NICE, NICE NIGHT.
He stood and watched as the computer went still, then turned to walk down the long white hall. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he muttered bitterly, “if I do have a nice night, I’m going to be damned sure it doesn’t appear on anyone’s files!”
J
AROD RETURNED BEFORE ERIN
had completed dressing. She was wandering around in her stockings when the knock sounded on the door, and she threw her teal blue velvet dress over her head, barely zipped it, and ran to answer the summons.
“Just a moment,” she murmured as he entered, “I need my shoes.”
“Take your time, darling,” he replied in a husky drawl. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Erin lowered her lashes and pursed her lips as she turned to leave him in the salon. She knew damned well the man didn’t think her stunning. Anything pleasant he said was for the benefit of others.
She didn’t want him hovering in her room long; his presence and the clean manly scent of him was a reminder of the afternoon—a period of time she had tried long and hard to forget while soaking in the tub until her skin pruned. She was no longer thrilled to know that a man could have an effect upon her—not when the man was Jarod Steele. She had never, never in her life experienced the unpleasantness of feeling so used.