Strangers At Dawn Part 3

"I ... no."

"How do I seem?"

She had to think about it before she put her thoughts into words. "You seem familiar." In truth, he felt like a long-lost friend and that was absurd. "But that's nonsense, of course. I'm sure we've never met."

"So am I." Gentle hands cupped her face. "I think you've bewitched me. What do you think? Tell me what you feel."

She felt as though she'd had too much to drink. She felt as though she had lost her bearings. She felt as though there was nothing in the world but this small room and the comforting presence of the man beside her.

It must be the darkness, the flickering lights, the rain that was now las.h.i.+ng against the windowpanes that wrapped them in this warm coc.o.o.n of intimacy. It couldn't last. It wouldn't stand the cold light of day.

She gazed up at him, straining to see him in that dim light. His hair was blond and his mouth was full and sensual-that much she knew, but the rest was left to her imagination. His eyes would be kind, she decided, and crinkling at the corners; kind eyes and a kind smile to match his voice.

"Do you want me to stay?" His lips brushed her cheek. "Tell me!"

This was madness. She mustn't say yes, but she couldn't seem to say no.

When she didn't respond, he took her lips again. She wasn't afraid. Now that she'd taken his measure, she knew that she could stop him any time she wanted to. She sank back on the pillows and he followed her down, covering her with the upper part of his body. Even that didn't frighten her. His mouth on hers was warm and gentle; she felt safe and sheltered in his arms.

He raised his lips an inch from hers. "Don't be frightened," he whispered. "I won't hurt you. I won't let it go too far. I just want to touch you. Just a little."

One hand went up and brushed his face. "I'm not afraid of you," she said.

"I know." He gave a throaty chuckle. "I think I'm the one who should be afraid."

She was puzzling over his words when his lips settled on hers once more. This time his kiss was hot and tasted of pa.s.sion. Her lips parted at the gentle urging of his. The hands that brushed over her from breast to waist to thigh were sweetly erotic. She felt as though she'd stepped into a gentle current that was taking her she knew not where.

He was going to make love to her.

It flashed into her mind that she wanted him to. She, Sara Carstairs, wanted this stranger to make love to her. She'd never felt this way before in her life, and doubted that she ever would again. But it would be a mistake to give into her feelings. She wasn't herself. She was overwrought, weighed down by all her worries. And he was kind. That's all it was. She would savor the strength of those sheltering arms for one moment more, then she would push him away.

Abruptly, the current she was floating in wasn't so gentle. His kisses grew hotter, deeper, wetter. He was no longer coaxing her; he was devouring her. Heat spread along her skin, making it unbearably sensitive to every brush of his hands. And those hands! There was magic in them. He knew just where to touch her to make her ache with wanting. She took one quick breath, then another, and suddenly she was fighting for every breath.

And she was drowning in pleasure.

She clutched at his shoulders to push him away and found herself clinging to him. As though she'd given him a signal, he covered her body with his, then adjusted his position so that she could feel the intimate press of his arousal through the fabric of his trousers. Her whole body contracted in shock.

His voice was hoa.r.s.e and oddly bemused. "I must be out of my mind to put myself through this torture. But you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

She was dimly aware of his words, but the feel of that powerfully aroused body grinding into hers was unbearably erotic. She tried to fight off the sensations that were beginning to overwhelm her, but she'd left it too late. A frantic little cry tore from her throat, then she convulsed against him as her body exploded with pleasure.

When it was over and she was floating back to a more rational frame of mind, he kissed her throat, her eyes, her lips, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Still fully aroused, he pulled himself off her and rose from the bed.

The amus.e.m.e.nt had returned to his voice. "I think," he said, "it's about time we introduced ourselves. But first, let's get a candle lit."

His words instantly dispelled the pleasant languor that had settled over her. "No!" She hauled herself up. "Lets not spoil things. This was ... an enchantment. Yes, that's what it was. Let's not examine it in the cold light of day." Then more softly, because she didn't want to hurt his feelings, "Let's say our good-byes now. Really, I think it's better this way."

She hardly recognized the voice that came to her out of the darkness. The velvet had been replaced by steel. "Midsummer madness? I hardly think so. You want to run away. I can understand that. But I'm afraid I can't permit it."

This wasn't the voice of her long-lost friend. Where was the charm? The gentleness? Sara sank back on her elbows as she heard flint strike on iron. Her tame lamb didn't sound so tame any more.

And suddenly, she was very afraid.

*Chapter Four*

Max lit two of the candles on the mantelpiece, then slowly turned to look at the woman who had streaked into his...o...b..t with the velocity of a comet. Once, as a boy, he'd taken shelter under a tree that was struck by lightning, and he'd had a miraculous escape. He was hoping against hope that he would have a miraculous escape this time around as well.

She was picking up the pieces of broken gla.s.s that littered the floor. When she'd disposed of them in the wash basin, she turned to face him.

Her fiery dark hair fell about her shoulders in a torrent of tight waves; she had the kind of bones that were to be found on the sculptures of Greek deities. But it was her eyes that held him, dark and huge against the pallor of her skin.

Those dark eyes were wary, but they gazed at him directly all the same. He liked her directness. She wasn't going to cry rape or try to evade her share of responsibility for what had happened between them. The question was- what exactly had happened between them?

He couldn't put a name to it. All he would allow at this point was that he had no more intention of allowing this woman to walk out of his life than he had of giving up owners.h.i.+p of the Courier.

She'd noticed that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were bared. No blushes or hysterics, Max noted with approval. Her eyes still on his, she began to do up the b.u.t.tons on her bodice. It was just as well. Unsated desire was still a threat to his control, and they had a great deal to talk over.

He gave her a smile that was calculated to rea.s.sure her and melt her heart at the same time. "I'm really quite harmless," he said.

The wariness in her eyes slowly dissipated. "Are you? You don't look harmless to me. In fact, you look as though you've just come from the wars."

G.o.d, he loved her voice-husky, prim, sinfully seductive-a study in contradictions, just like the lady herself. Her words registered, and he looked down at his clothes, saw that his s.h.i.+rt and neckcloth were spattered with blood, then looked up and grinned. "I was in a fight," he said. "I lost." He touched a hand to his face. "I've been told that I'll have a black eye by morning." He worked his jaw, and felt his nose. "It could have been worse."

"Are you a Corinthian?"

He could tell by her tone that she didn't think much of Corinthians. "I suppose I am. Why?"

"I have two brothers who are Corinthians, or aspiring Corinthians, and they're always getting into fights."

"This was a contest. There is a difference."

She was weighing him up, taking in the cut of his garments, the tight fit of his trousers, her eyes lingering on his Hessian boots with their gold ta.s.sels.

He said humorously, "In case you're too shy to ask, Weston of Bond Street is my tailor, and Schulz is my bootmaker."

"So I gathered," she answered coolly.

She'd summed him up as a fribble, a member of the dandy set. Max didn't know whether to laugh out loud or get on his high horse and tell her that in the newspaper world he was known as a force to be reckoned with.

She'd learn that he was a force to be reckoned with soon enough.

Trying to make the movement as unthreatening as possible, he took a step toward her. She didn't flinch or bolt; she simply reached for her robe and slipped into it.

"Please," he said, "sit down. We have a lot to talk about."

"I prefer to stand."

He regretted that it had come to a tussle of wills so soon. "I really must insist."

It looked as though she might argue with him, but one glance at his unsmiling face was all the persuasion required to make her do as he wished. She chose a straight-backed chair at a small mahogany table. He took the chair opposite.

When he was silent, she said impatiently, "Well? What is it you wish to say to me?"

"First," he said, "let's get something out of the way."

He reached for her left hand. One glance told him all he needed to know. He allowed her to tug her hand free. "You're not married," he said. "Neither am I."

"So?"

"So that makes things simpler. My name is Max Worthe. And no, I don't usually climb in through the windows of ladies who are strangers to me. I'm not a disreputable character in spite of appearances or," he grinned wickedly, "what transpired in this room only moments ago."

No blushes, but those long lashes lowered to veil her expression. "Mr. Worthe," she began.

"Please, call me Max."

She sighed. "I presume this is an apology. It isn't necessary, you know." Her eyes lifted to meet his in one of her direct stares. "I don't see why you're making such a fuss. After all, nothing of any significance happened. We're both adults, both responsible for our actions. But it's over now. It was a ... " She swallowed hard, and that made Max smile. "... a pleasant interlude. But, as I said, it's over, and it's time to call it quits."

His bark of laughter startled her, and she frowned. Shaking his head, Max said, "I can't tell you how often I've used those words myself at the end of an affair, but in this case, they won't do. In the first place, this is not an apology, and in the second, nothing of any significance happened, as you say, only because I didn't want it to."

He gave her a moment to absorb his words, noted the quick rise and fall of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and, at last, the faint blush that ran under her skin, and he went on, not without a certain degree of satisfaction, "I say this only to convince you that I'm a man of honor. I promised I wouldn't go too far and I didn't."

She made to rise, saw something in his expression that warned her against the attempt, and sank back in her chair. "If you want my grat.i.tude," she said, "you have it. But where is this conversation leading? What is it you want from me?" She breathed deeply. "I warn you that my grat.i.tude extends only so far. If you think you can persuade me to go to bed with you, you have vastly mistaken my character."

This little speech delighted Max. The lady was no missish prude. There was no false modesty or counterfeit outrage. Her speech was as direct as the looks she kept giving him.

"I don't know where this is leading," he said, bending the truth a little. He knew where he wanted it to lead. He wanted her with an intensity that both shocked and delighted him. He'd never met her like before. But he was a civilized man. He could defer what he wanted until the circ.u.mstances were right.

"That is, I want to get to know you better, as though we'd been introduced properly in my mother's drawing room." He gave her one of his disarming smiles. "Then we'll go on from there."

She leaned toward him. "It's almost three o'clock in the morning."

"I've never felt more awake in my life. You can begin by telling me your name."

"Then will you leave?"

"Perhaps."

"It's Sara," she said at once.

"Go on."

"Sara Childe."

"Sara," he said, savoring the sound of her name. "And who is William?"

She sat back in her chair. "William?"

"You said his name as I climbed in the window."

She bristled. "I might well ask you who Deirdre is."

"Deirdre," he said seriously, "has just become ancient history. You need not trouble yourself about her."

She studied him as though he were an odious weed she had just discovered in her flower garden. "That sounds heartless."

"I'm not heartless," Max protested. "Deirdre and I have an arrangement. It can be terminated by either of us at any time of our choosing. You don't approve?"

"I don't care one way or the other, just as long as you don't terminate your arrangement with your mistress because of me."

So, she didn't approve of such arrangements. Pity.

"Did I say something to amuse you?"

Max erased his smile. "It just occurred to me that I might be coming down with a bad case of gout, and I was wondering how I could avoid it. Go on, you were about to tell me about William."

Her look of perplexity gradually faded. "William," she said, "is ancient history as well."

"A former lover."

"Not in the way you mean."

When she took refuge in silence again, Max let out a long, impatient sigh. "Look," he said, "we'll be here all night if you don't tell me what I want to know. You said William's name when I climbed in the window, then you tried to brain me. That leads me to believe that you're afraid of this man. I want to know why."

She stiffened as a thought occurred to her. "If you heard me say William's name, you must have known I wasn't your Deirdre."

Max made a face. "She's not my Deirdre. She's married, and her husband's name is William. Now don't go pursing your lips like that. It doesn't suit you. Deirdre and her husband have an understanding. They're free to go their separate ways."

She stopped pouting, but all she said was, "I see."

Max stifled a sigh. He was beginning to suspect it would be gout or nothing with this woman, and that did not sit well with him at all. Maybe once he got to know her better, her appeal would fade. It happened all the time More than one mistress had called him a fickle lover, and it was the truth.

"You were telling me about William," he said. "Why are you afraid of him? "

"I'm not afraid of him."

"That's not how it appeared to me."

"William is dead. And I said his name because ... because I'd been thinking about him. That's all there is to it."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to hear more about him. It's not just idle curiosity. If you're in some kind of trouble, I'd like to help you."

"You're ... "