By the time they returned to their room Steve was able to find
the whole evening terribly funny. A bottle and a half of wine helped to
promote a case of the giggles.
"God, Falcon, that had to be the
wildest thing I have ever seen! I think those cats thought you were one
of them. Must be that mane of hair," she slurred unintentionally,
reaching up to touch his silky strands as she spoke. But he smoothly
moved away before she made contact.
"Perhaps we should get some
sleep now, Steve. You may have the shower first." He opened up a
brochure he found on the nightstand and leafed through it.
Steve was
too wound up to think of sleep. She had won a half-year's salary in one
night, seen a miracle, and had had a generally terrific time with a man
who kept her pulse at its peak workout level just by being in the same
room.
"I don't want to go to sleep yet." Steve thought her voice
sounded sulky and tried to improve it. "You know what I do want to do?"
She waited for Falcon to look up at her. "I want you to show me how you
got out of that hold I had you in today. I'd like to be able to do that
if somebody ever got me in that position—not that anyone ever has, mind
you, but you never know."
"I think it would be better if you went to
sleep. I believe you have overindulged in alcohol. I would not want to
hurt you by accident."
Steve marched up to him and poked her finger
at his chest. "I have not had too much to drink to handle you! I think
you're scared, Mister. You probably couldn't do it again!"
"You do not know what you are saying, Steve. Go to sleep."
She
refused to be put off. In a move only slightly impaired by her
inebriated state, she had him facedown on the carpet between the two
beds, with his arm bent behind his back. "Now. Show me what you did or
I won't let you up." Steve could no longer remember why she was
insisting on this, but she had an inkling it had something to do with
wanting to be handled by him again.
While she contemplated that, she
missed whatever it was he did, and she was once more pinned beneath
him. "You did it too fast," she complained, sounding like a whiny
child. As the seconds ticked by, however, all thoughts of fighting and
tricky moves slipped away.
This was why she had pushed him into
action. This was what she had wanted to feel again—his warm breath
against her face, his weight heavy upon her, being completely enveloped
by him. She felt his heartbeat racing with hers, his body growing hard
on top of her.
Steve watched his mouth come closer. As his lips
touched hers, she lowered her lashes, and sighed her willingness to
take this a step further. Instinctively, her hips tilted to accommodate
the change in his body.
Suddenly she felt the room's
air-conditioning replace his heat. Her eyes opened in time to see him
grab the room key off the table and open the door.
"Go to sleep, Steve."
He was gone.
Steve
sat in the middle of the floor, feeling incredibly foolish, and tried
to clear the fuzz from her brain. All of Vinnie's insults combined had
not made her feel so unfeminine. No matter how often her ex-husband had
accused her of wanting to be a man because she was not much of a woman,
all she had ever had to do to prove him wrong was to spread her legs
and he climbed aboard. He had never rejected her sexually; he had
rejected everything else about her instead.
What mistake had she
made? For the first time in three years she had met someone whom she
found desirable, the time and place were perfect, and he had been as
aroused as she. Yet he had walked away.
Sobriety returned with a
throbbing headache. She took a quick shower and crawled into bed. If
Vinnie's harsh words had not convinced her she was worthless, she was
certainly not going to let some stranger's rejection do it.
The more
she thought about it the more firmly she believed Falcon had not walked
out because of lack of interest. She eliminated the possibility that he
was homosexual. He could not hide the fact that his body had been
aroused when it pressed against hers.
Perhaps his Welsh background
gave him a higher moral standard about what was proper professional
behavior, especially when the lady in question was three sheets to the
wind. So much for the promiscuous super-spy myth! Yes, that had to be
it. Hadn't she always refused to date any of her coworkers or other law
enforcement officers she knew because she believed a man and woman who
worked together in the field should not have a more personal
relationship that might distract them?
It had to be the wine and the
excitement. Otherwise, she would never have acted like a horny twit.
Tomorrow she would show him she was just as professional as he was!
Damn! This nightshirt smells like him now.
Falcon
strode down the Strip with the determination of a man very late for an
important appointment. Thousands of neon lights lit the way, but he
paid little attention to the complex designs and colors of the
brilliant hotel signs. He intended to walk until he was too exhausted
to do anything but sleep when he returned to the room.
He needed time and space to sort out today's events, as well as to unwind the tight control he had sustained all day.
The
moment he saw Steve in the desert Falcon knew he was in trouble.
Against his better judgment he had coerced her into working with him.
He told himself it was because he needed some guidance and, in a sense,
she was a tracker like himself.
She had surprised him with her
strength and ability, and he believed it would be more efficient if
they worked together. Undoubtedly they could assist each other, for
there were so many things about her world with which he was not
familiar. But kissing her had had nothing to do with efficiency or
learning about her world.
Keeping her from knowing just how
unfamiliar he was with his surroundings turned out to be a serious
problem. Steve was trained to look for clues, anything out of the
ordinary. If he spoke, she evaluated what he said. If he was silent,
she took that as his agreement to whatever she said. For the most part
he had little objection to letting her give orders, at the moment. If
she could get him close to Underwood, then he would take over.
He
reasoned it was better to say as little as possible rather than to make
up lies to explain about himself or his abilities. How could he explain
that he had touched the secretary's mind to learn the truth, or that he
could see events and hear conversations that had occurred during the
previous twenty-four hours by touching objects in the room where those
events had unfolded?
Added to the obvious problem of concealing his
true identity was that his eyes were killing him, though the drops
Steve had suggested had helped somewhat. But he could not risk removing
the lenses in front of her. He would have to wait until he was alone in
the bathroom taking his shower. Then he would clean them and reinsert
them before he went to sleep. That would have to do for now.
It
would have been easier for him if she was not such an emotional
creature. On the two occasions when he had touched her mind to calm
her, he had resisted the strong urge to learn her exact thoughts; it
was bad enough knowing her feelings every minute. In the desert he had
felt her aggression, her readiness for battle, her elation when she
thought she had overpowered him, her fear when she had lost the fight.
He knew she had lied about the room, but not why. In the casino he had
absorbed her excitement, and during the show he had known her panic
when the cats had approached them. Through it all, he had felt her
desire for him, strong, powerful, and more
compelling than anything he had ever known.
He
wondered briefly, as he had before, if it was her desire that had
prompted him to kiss her, not once but thrice. And, as before, he knew
he could not use that as his excuse.
Falcon thought he had been
fighting the temptation to give in to desire for months. He had not
known what a real fight it was until today. Like fuel laying stagnant
in a puddle until a lit match was thrown on it, Steve seemed to be a
catalyst to his emotional explosion. He was not simply aware of what
she was feeling, he was feeling it as well. By the end of the day he
had not been able to differentiate between her happiness and his, her
desire and his. He needed more practice, but that was not an available
option at this time.
It was one thing to be aware of the emotions of
others, and to help ease their pain, but Falcon had always considered
emotionalism a terrible burden that others had to bear. Yet tonight he
had gotten a glimpse of how wonderful it could be. Happiness was quite
nice actually, like being underwater in a whirlpool and feeling all the
tiny bubbles skipping over your bare flesh on their way to the surface.
For
now he would have to work harder to control all the strange sensations
his newly developed emotions were causing. He needed all his abilities
intact as he searched for Underwood, and he still had no way of knowing
what would happen to those abilities if he allowed emotions to become a
permanent part of his life.
That brought Falcon to consider the
other surprises he had experienced tonight. He had been able to control
the machine Steve called the one-arm bandit, and, until his eyes began
to blur from the strain, he had directed the ball in the roulette
wheel. At the blackjack table he had first thought he was seeing
through the backs of the cards, in spite of his obstructive lenses.
Then he had realized he was receiving pictures of the cards in his
mind, as long as he kept his hands on the table, close to the shoe the
dealer used. Were these powers he had always had but never tested, or
were they new, like the emotions?
Calling the cats had been an
accident. They were so beautifully primitive he had longed to touch
them, and they had come. He had communicated with them as easily as he
did with humans. Had he always been able to do that? He did not know;
he certainly had never thought of trying to talk to animals before.
Was
that also happening with Steve? Was his desire for her so strong he
called to her without realizing it, rendering her powerless to his
desire? Or was she so sensual he could not resist her? That would
explain why in. all the previous months his sexual need never focused
on a particular female ... until now. There were too many questions,
and Falcon did not dare seek the answers.
It had been terribly cruel
to walk out on Steve, knowing what she was feeling, especially if what
was happening between them was all his doing. He could not have stayed
in that room with her and not have taken what she had offered, nor
could he have explained his rejection of her.
There was no help for
it; he would just have to keep from touching her and control his
thoughts while he was with her, until they found Underwood. Then he
would separate himself from her as soon as possible.
Chapter Eight
When we think we lead we most are led. —George Gordon, Lord Byron
Ring! Steve's hand lashed out for the receiver before the telephone had another chance to sound its alarm.
"G'mornin'," she mumbled through what felt like a mouth full of alcohol-dried cotton.
"Don't
tell me you're just waking up! In case you've forgotten, today is
Thursday, not Saturday or Sunday." Dokes was teasing, of course. He
knew very well that with her two young children she was always up with
the sun.
Steve forced one eye open to look at her watch. Eight
o'clock already. "Oh, gawd! Let me call you right back, Lou. Ten
minutes, okay?"
She hung up, glancing briefly at the other bed where
Falcon began to stir. Quickly, she headed for the bathroom, deciding to
put off facing him for a few more minutes. As she splashed cold water
on her face, she assessed her physical condition. Her head pounded
ferociously, but some aspirin would take care of that. Stomach queasy,
but not rebellious. Juice, coffee, and Danish should help. She had not
had so much to drink since the night her divorce was final, and now she
remembered why not. Hopefully, Falcon was the understanding sort; he
had told her at dinner he never drank alcoholic beverages. So now he
had proven he was faster, stronger, more professional, and smarter.
Slowly,
she opened the door, preparing her apology as she did so, but the words
never left her mouth. Falcon stood by the bed with his back to her—his
very naked back.
Steve knew the polite thing would be for her to
turn away or to clear her throat so he would be aware of her presence
in the room, but that would be like one of her children giving back a
lollipop after taking the first lick.
Seeing him completely naked
for the first time, she was struck at how magnificent his body was:
from his wide, solid shoulders, down his muscled back, to his sculpted
thighs and calves. Narrow-molded buttocks flexed as he bent over to
slide one long leg into his slacks. No wonder when he had touched her
she had felt every intimate inch of him so clearly; he wore no
underwear.
The back of Falcon's body was flawlessly smooth, like his
chest and arms, and if he had any body hair, it was so blond and fine
it was unnoticeable. Steve understood American Indians had little or no
body hair, but Falcon said he was from Wales. She could not help wonder
if he turned around ....
He did—just as his fingers closed the
waistband on his perfectly fitted pants. Steve warmed under his hungry
gaze that swept over her from her head to her bare toes. An image of
the lead lion from last night's show flashed in her mind. Her heart
picked up its pace as she realized that the little her cotton
nightshirt covered was clearly outlined for his view. She tried to stop
the instant tightening in her breasts, and failed. Steve had the
distinct impression he had been aware of her appreciative scrutiny, and
was returning the compliment. Unlike her, however, he was not the least
bit embarrassed.
"Good morning, Steve," he said in his penetrating
voice that stroked her like velvet. "That shirt looks familiar. I
believe I like the way you fill it out better." He gave her a crooked
grin and turned around again as he donned his black shirt.
Steve
could not be' positive, but it sounded like he was actually making a
joke. Damn! His lack of a sense of humor was the one thing she thought
she could find fault with. As she rooted through her bag for clean
clothes and a toothbrush, she decided to get the worst of her
discomfort out of the way.
"Uh, Falcon, I want to apologize for last
night. I know getting drunk was stupid, and it's hardly an excuse for
behaving like a child. I mean, it was very unprofessional of me, and I
can assure you nothing like that will happen again. I was just really
excited about the money and..."
"It is quite all right. Please do not upset yourself further about it. Who was it who called?"
"It
was Lou. I told him I'll call him back," Steve answered automatically
as she headed for the bathroom, then stopped. "Wait a minute. Why
should I be ashamed of what I did last night? After all I'm not the one
who started it. You did! In the desert. You kissed me twice without my
invitation." Hell, she had enough to feel guilty about without feeling
bad about something that was not her fault.
"You started the fight, Steve, not me."
"There's a hell of a lot of difference between fighting and kissing!"
"Yes. And I have decided I like kissing much better."
"I don't give a damn what you like! You owe me an apology."
"No."
"And why not?"
"I
am not sorry. As I said before, you taste very interesting. I do
believe, however, that we should refrain from such activity during our
search as it does tend to be distracting."
"We should refrain? Of
all the . . ." Steve was across the room in four big strides. With a
frustrated grunt, she shoved him onto his bed. "You just keep your
hands and your mouth to yourself and we'll do fine, because I have no
intention of touching you again, even for a much-deserved punch in the
nose." In a huff she disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door
behind her.
Falcon sat staring at the closed door and suddenly
laughed. Steve might have been upset with him, but she still felt
attracted to him. What a beautiful contradiction she was! In spite of
the fact that he had spent most of the night reminding himself why he
had to keep his distance from her, he had to admit being around
Stephanie Barbanell was too much fun for him to stay away from her. He
had never considered that this journey would be as entertaining as it
was educational.
Steve brushed her teeth with more vigor than usual.
How dare he! She had never met a man who could make her want to kiss
him one minute then knock him down the next. Lou had warned her to keep
her temper in check, and she was trying, Lord knows, but this man was
so-o-o ... aggravating!
Once dressed in her jeans and pullover
shirt, she paid attention to Falcon only long enough to ask if he
wanted anything from room service, then turned her back on him while
she called for breakfast. When Falcon went into the bathroom, Steve
returned Lou's call.
"I'm almost human now. What's up?" "What's
wrong, Steve? You still sound strange." "You are not going to believe
what happened last night, and I'm not going to give you all the details
now, either. Suffice it to say Falcon and I won a bundle in the casino,
we were almost devoured by wild animals, and I got stinking drunk. So,
what have you got on Underwood?"
Dokes shelved the obvious questions
and got right to business. "We hit the jackpot on Underwood, too. He's
got a big merger in the works between one of his oil companies and a
competitor's. Since it's supposed to be a friendly move, all the
directors and their spouses from both companies have been politely
commanded to spend this weekend at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami
Beach. The arrangements were made rather suddenly yesterday, but
everyone is expected to show up.
"I was told that Underwood will be
personally involved in the negotiations. He'll be staying on his yacht,
which is docked across the street from the hotel. I couldn't find out
exactly when he's expected to arrive, but I got you a front row seat.
The houseboat docked next to his yacht has been reserved for you for
four nights starting tonight. The key can be picked up at the hotel's
front desk. Give them my name; it's already paid for.
"I can't give
you any specific schedule of events, either. Even the guests won't be
given it until they check in. You'll have to poke around until you find
out which meetings Underwood will be attending."
"Dear Uncle Lou,
you never cease to amaze me with what you can accomplish with a
telephone and what I will guess was another sleepless night. Okay,
we're heading for Miami. Anything else?"
Dokes passed on the few
other tidbits he had picked up and gave her the details of the travel
arrangements he had made for her and Falcon. "I assumed our foreign
friend would want to accompany you. How's the baby-sitting going
anyway?"
At that moment Falcon came out of the bathroom, and room
service knocked on the door. Steve motioned for him to take care of it.
"The baby is too big for his britches I think, but I'm handling it. I
said I would, didn't I?" Steve bit her tongue to make it stop flapping.
"Temper,
temper, young lady. Yesterday you talked like you had him heeling
nicely. Maybe you'd better take a minute to tell me more of what
happened last night after all
."
"Never
mind. I'm just tired and hung over. I'll call you in the morning. I
better call Mom now. Bye." Steve hung up before he had a chance to
interrogate her further.
The call to her mother went as expected.
Mom nagged about how Steve should have taken a desk job like her
brother, but assured her she and the kids would be fine for a few days.
Mary Ann and Vince each got five minutes to tell their sides of a story
that made no sense from either angle. Steve successfully distracted all
three of them by telling them about the money she had won and promising
a surprise for them when she got back. Maybe a real vacation. She had
only been gone one night and already she missed her children terribly.
After
loud kisses and good-byes to all, Steve stiffly joined Falcon at the
small table where he had already laid out their breakfast. It was a
nice gesture, and she thanked him for it before remembering that she
was still slightly miffed with him. They were both content to eat in
silence.
Over a second cup of coffee, Falcon asked, "How old are your children, Steve?"
"Mary
Ann's seven and Vince is five. It's hard to believe they'll both be in
school in another six weeks. I still think of Vince as my baby."
"Yes, I heard you refer to a baby when you spoke with your friend, Lou."
Steve
flushed when she realized he had heard her nasty comment and hoped he
really did think she was referring to one of her children. "Anyway, I
hate to leave them like this, but it goes with the territory, and it
doesn't happen all that often, thank goodness.
I'm lucky to have my mother with me."
"She lives in your home, also?"
"Actually, we live in her house."
"And where are your mates?"
"Mates?
Oh, you mean husbands. My father was killed in a car accident five
years ago. As to my mate, he found somebody more compatible than I was."
Pain!
The sensation speared Falcon's mind so suddenly he closed his eyes
against it. It was horrible! How could she casually speak of something
that hurt her so much?
"Falcon!" Steve jumped up quickly, knocking
her chair over backward. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she
grasped his clenched fists in her hands. "My God, what's the matter?
Are you ill? What can I do?" Her voice was strained as she searched his
face for some indication of the source of his pain.
Falcon regained
control and slowly relaxed his hands, turning them over until he was
holding hers instead. "I am so sorry, Steve. Let me help you." He
released her hands and lifted his fingertips to the sides of her face.
When
she saw what he was about to do, she pushed herself away from him. "I
don't know what that is you keep doing, but I told you I don't want you
touching me anymore. I thought you were in some kind of pain."
"I
would not hurt you, Steve. It is not my pain, but yours. I feel I can
ease it for you. I must help you because your pain is hurting me." His
voice was barely a whisper of sound as he held his hand out to her.
"Let me touch you. Please."
It was the desperate way he said
"please" that did her in. Mechanically, she moved toward him and knelt
again at his feet. His hands lifted to her face. When his fingertips
gently touched her temples, she felt her eyelids close against her will.
Steve
had not been aware that she carried a heavy burden, but she suddenly
had a vivid picture in her mind of a huge boulder strapped to her back,
weighing her down as she struggled to walk. Falcon came to her side and
undid the ties. Effortlessly, he lifted the boulder from her back and
tossed it aside. The weight had been there for so long she had thought
it was part of her, and now it was gone. She was free! Her body felt
lighter. Steve opened her eyes when Falcon removed his hands from her
face.
"What are you?" she murmured. "A healer? Like an evangelist or
something?" She became more skeptical as the vision of the huge boulder
faded from her consciousness. "I don't believe in that kind of thing.
What did you just do?"
"I think a healer is an adequate term. I am
able to help people feel better, emotionally. You do feel better now,
and therefore, so do I."
"It's hypnosis, isn't it? You better not
have left any post-hypnotic suggestions or anything like that in my
mind." Now she was afraid that her guess was right. If he was a
hypnotist, that would certainly explain how she was so easily drawn
under his spell.
"You are much too suspicious, Steve. I would not
force you to do something against your will. I have already explained
myself to you as much as I am able. Now I would like you to advise me
of your conversation with Lou. I gather we will be going somewhere
today."
Steve decided there was nothing he could say that would make
her believe he had the power to heal, even if she did feel less
depressed and pounds lighter than she had in years. It was obviously a
trick of some kind. Again Steve assured herself she would not let him
touch her in the future.
She repeated Dokes's end of the
conversation for Falcon, filling him on the upcoming meeting in Miami.
"The real kicker is that Underwood actually did come out of hiding just
a few days ago. He was seen by a half- dozen different people in his
New York office. The oddest thing was that he bought an entire wardrobe
of women's clothing designed in the style of the Napoleonic era. Ill
bet the trashy newspapers will have a field day with that information."
Falcon leaned forward in his chair. "Why do you say that?"
"Underwood
isn't supposed to like women, at least no one has ever discovered a
romantic relationship serious enough to warrant his buying clothes for
a woman. It wasn't like he was picking out costumes for a party,
either. All the clothes were to be made for one woman's measurements.
The lady in question wasn't there. It's almost as if he's found himself
a lover and he's dressing her up in private for some crazy fantasy of
his. I wouldn't put anything eccentric past him, but it really doesn't
fit in with everything else I know about him."