"Tyler Windloe," he echoed. "The names familiar. Should I know who he is?"
"Perhaps. He was a steel tycoon before he became interested in the arts. He is the primary patron of the American Repertory Ballet Company, and our little Piper is its brightest star. Well, do you want to go backstage during the intermission?"
"Ill let you know after I've seen your 'remarkable* little Russian perform."
"She's only half Russian—her mother was Hungarian," Nina said. The houselights were dimming, and she added in a whisper, "And I think you're about to experience just how remarkable she is."
The experience began even before the curtains swung open. The wild, haunting strains of a flute wove their magic in the darkness, teasing the senses with their beauty. The curtain slowly opened on a set as appealing as the music, to reveal the Piper, on a moonlit hilltop silhouetted against the night sky.
The Piper was dressed only in pale gray tights, his
supple muscular upper torso completely bare. He was more Apollo than Pan, but the anomaly only made the scene more poignantly beautiful.
Then the quiet mysticism of the picture erupted with the excitement of a star-burst, as a slight, fragile figure bounded on the scene with a grace that caught at the heart. Gowned in drifts of scarlet chiffon, wearing slippers instead of toe shoes, Tania Orlinov was all flame and litheness. She was sheer artistry in motion as she portrayed the role of the young girl caught in the spell of the Piper and his music while fiercely resisting the power of his magic. Then, just as she seemed to have lost, to have succumbed, she suddenly halted center stage. Her arms lifted entreatingly, as if begging her gods for strength. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and a ripple of shock seemed to pass through her body. Her hands moved with studied slowness to the crown of her head. She took off a tight snood, and her shining hair fell to her waist, creating a wild, sensuous cloak about her. And with a deliberateness that was a silent challenge, she turned to face the Piper on the hilltop.
What came next was the most passionate dance of seduction that Jared had ever seen. She was Delilah and Salome in one as she played the enchantress and tempted the Piper down from the hilltop. In the slow and graceful adagio of the pas de deux that followed, she brought the Piper within her spell. Then their conflicts erupted in the maiden's and Piper's variations, where each danced to show superiority over the other. Finally, in a frenzied coda, just as it appeared she might triumph, she suddenly wilted, falling to her knees in despair, power ebbing from her. There was an unforgettable moment then, as if frozen in time, when the Piper, breathing heavily, every line of his body electrified with triumph, looked down at the fragile figure of his defeated adversary. Slowly raising the flute to his lips, he began to play once more his haunting siren call. He turned and moved back up to his hilltop while his captive rose jerkily to her feet and moved sluggishly after him, like a puppet pulled by hidden strings. The Piper paused at the crest of the hill to look back and ascertain that his captive was still enthralled, and the music of his flute became a gloating paean of triumph. His dominant figure disappeared from view as he moved down the other side of the hill, but the siren call of his mystical flute still drifted back over the maiden.
The scarlet-clad figure was poignantly fragile and alone. She drooped in despair as she reached the crest of the hill. She paused there, her head cocked, listening to the fading music of the Piper. She slowly raised her head, and there was an expression of such joyous mischievousness on her face that it came as a shock to every person in the audience! She whirled in a graceful series of turns before performing a grand jeté with exultant exuberance.
Then, her throat arched, her body singing with triumph, her lips parted once more in that smile of secret joyous victory, she leaped from view as she followed the Piper who thought he was the god.
There was a moment of dead silence before the crowded auditorium erupted into almost hysterical applause. It rose in volume as Tania and her partner appeared hand in hand to receive the adulation that was surging like a thundering wave from the audience.
"Well," Nina asked archly, her amused gaze on the absorbed face of the man next to her. "Do you want to go backstage?"
He did not hear her. He could see the rise and fall of the dancers small, perfect breasts beneath the sheer scarlet chiffon and the glow of the perspiration that beaded her forehead as she took her bows. He had a sudden impulse to gather her small body close and wipe her brow. That strong surge of protective tenderness caught him off-balance and filled him with impatience. It was as unreasonable and unwanted as the wild desire he'd experienced while she was dancing. He pulled his gaze away from Tania Orlinov with an effort.
Nina's hand was on his arm. "Jared, do you want to go backstage?"
"Why not?" he asked with deliberate carelessness. "As you say, she's remarkable."
Tania shivered as the stage door down the corridor was opened, permitting cool October air to rush into the hall where she was standing outside her dressing room. She made a polite reply to the little old lady with the reserved expression and the razor-sharp eyes of a chairman of the board. What was her name? Leslie Vanning. That was it. And she was the chairman of the board of some cultural foundation or other, and Tyler had said she must be nice to her.
That shouldn't be difficult. There were very few people Tania met whom she didn't like. She had the idea that despite Mrs. Vanning's crustiness, the old lady would be dynamic. But tonight Tania had no desire to exert herself by probing that chilly facade.
Chilly. She wished she hadn't thought of that particular adjective. It reminded her how uncomfortable she was in the drafty hall, wearing only a flimsy chiffon costume. Well, it didn't matter. Another few minutes of accepting congratulations from the little crowd around her and she could plead weariness and disappear into her dressing room. She'd discovered early in her career that it was far easier to hold court outside her dressing room than to try to get balletomanes to leave once they were firmly ensconced.
"Tania, you were absolutely superb. It was a complete triumph for you." The voice was familiar, and
she looked over her shoulder to see Nina Bartlett smiling at her with the warm sincerity that characterized her.
"You thought so?" she asked. An impish grin lit her face. "So did I." Her dark eyes were dancing. "But then, I had to be utterly magnificent tonight. Your committee charged two hundred dollars a ticket, and that audience would have torn me apart if I'd disappointed them."
Leslie Vanning was quietly edging away and Tania was turning back to say a courteous farewell when a man's tuxedo jacket was suddenly draped over her bare shoulders. Her eyes widened in surprise as she heard Nina Bartlett's amused laugh behind her, and she turned to gaze at the man who'd appeared at Nina's side.
"How very gallant of you, Jared," Nina Bartlett drawled. "I had no idea you were so chivalrous." The amusement in her voice warred with the expression on her face as she glanced at the man next to her.
She cared for him, Tania realized, experiencing a sudden rush of pity. Though she didn't know Nina Bartlett well, she'd found her very pleasant, and it was clear her companion was not a safe man with whom to become emotionally involved.
"This is Dr. Jared Ryker, Tania," Nina continued lightly. "He found your performance as fascinating as the rest of us did."
"I'm happy you enjoyed it, Dr. Ryker," Tania said. She unconsciously drew the coat that was still warm from his body closer about her as she looked up to meet eyes that were surely the coldest and most piercing that she'd ever encountered. Clear-crystal gray that was almost silver, they were doubly startling in the golden darkness of his face. Cold? No, that wasn't quite right. They reflected the smoldering intensity that dry ice might possess, which could burn at a scant touch. She was vaguely conscious of a broad forehead, wide, Slavic cheekbones, a strong chin. His lips were surprisingly sensuous in that almost brutally powerful bone structure, and there was a wryly cynical set to his mouth that was a surprise in itself. Heavy dark hair threaded wi
th the faintest silver framed his face. "The Piper is my favorite role."
"I can see why," he drawled. For an instant there was a distinct twinkle in those icy eyes. "It not only gives you a showcase for your dancing but allows you to act as well." He raised a brow, mocking her. "I gathered from the rather surprising ending that the audience was supposed to assume that you were really the Piper in your little ballet."
She made a face. "My acting must not have been all that good if you have any doubts on that score." For some reason his mockery filled her with a strange unease and caused her voice to sharpen. "Of course I'm the Piper. Anyone could see that I was totally in control."
"Were you?" His silver gaze, narrowed on her face, inspired a queer breathlessness in her. "Then, why did you follow him?"
"It was a feint," she said impatiently. "The maiden was only pretending to give in, so that she could catch the Piper off-guard at a later time and assure herself of total victory." She had never had to explain before. Why couldn't the man see what was transparently obvious to everyone else?
"Perhaps," he said softly, his glance running over her features lingeringly, though noting her annoyance. "Or perhaps the Piper had grown bored with easy victories and wanted to keep the flame maiden as a constant challenge to ward off that boredom. It seems quite likely that a powerful sorcerer could feed a simple maiden just enough lure to make her want to follow him without converting her into a zombie." He was gazing at her inquiringly. "Don't you consider that a valid hypothesis?"
"No, I do not," she said crossly. She shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to him. She certainly wasn't cold now. On the contrary, she felt almost feverish. "It's completely ridiculous. There's no question whatever that I'm the Piper."
"You?" he asked pointedly, then took his jacket and draped it carelessly over his arm. "How can you be so sure?"
As she opened the door of the dressing room, she slanted a glance at him that was redolent of triumph and a touch of mischief. "Because I did the choreography, Dr. Ryker." She shut the door in his face with a soft click.
Tania leaned against the door for a moment, still feeling that quickening sense of excitement that was flooding her with a heady exhilaration. Anger and resentment were causing this sudden electrifying awareness, she assured herself. She had spoken only a few words to the man, and there was no possibility she could be attracted to an individual like Ryker. Oh, perhaps in a physical sense. There was no denying that he possessed a virile sensuality that was overpoweringly evident even at first glance.
She drew a deep breath and consciously tried to relax the muscles of her stomach that were knotted with tension. She was reacting to him like a teenager. She had known attractive men before whose sex appeal was just as potent as Jared Ryker's. She had recognized at once that he possessed a power and dominance that could be dangerous to any woman who couldn't respond with equal strength. She had even felt a touch of pity for Nina, who was obviously a little in love with him.
She moved briskly away from the door and crossed the room to seat herself at the dressing table. She had no doubt she had the strength to take on a dozen Jared Rykers. However, she had no desire to do so—not even to engage in a preliminary skirmish with the man. She
liked her life very well just as it was. After spending a lifetime of dancing to other peoples tunes, she was experiencing a fierce joy in playing the Piper and controlling her own destiny. She took a dollop of cleansing cream from the jar and began to remove her stage makeup. Shed had enough danger and excitement in her life in the past, and she had no need of any in the future. Let the Nina Bartletts of the world get their fingers bumed playing with the fiery and enigmatic Dr. Jared Ryker.
"It was a mistake, wasn't it?" Nina asked, as the doors of the elevator swished open at the ninth floor and Jared ushered her out. When he didn't answer but merely escorted her down the plush carpeted corridor toward his suite, she added, "My fault, I suppose. My curiosity always did get me into hot water, and I wanted to see the two of you together. I think I got more than I bargained for. You haven't spoken three sentences since we left the theater."
"Haven't I?" He roused himself from his abstraction to smile down at her. "But then, when have we ever needed words?" His hand moved caressingly down the soft skin of her forearm to the pulse point at her wrist. Nina's wrists had always been exquisitely sensitive, he recalled. He could feel the leap of response beneath the gentle friction of his thumb. "You're being a bit over-imaginative, you know."
She pulled her wrist away from his touch with a sudden force that startled him. "Stop it, Jared," she said sharply. "We both know you'll have no problem seducing me when the time comes." Her blue gaze was direct. "But I find I have a curious reluctance to being a stand-in for another woman. She really turned you on, didn't she?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes, she turned me on. And, yes, I'd like to go to bed with her." His gaze narrowed. "I think you expected that reaction from me, didn't you, Nina? It wasn't just curiosity that led you to introduce us."
"No, it wasn't," she agreed bluntly, her lips curving in a bittersweet smile. "I think I wanted to see you really tied up in knots over a woman." She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted you to want something or someone you couldn't have." She shrugged. "I didn't suspect I'd react on such a primitive level, though."
"Do you want me to take you home?" he asked quietly.
There was a flicker of pained indecision in her expression before she smiled with a brightness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Why should I go home? I think I have enough skill to make you forget a fleeting attraction for a pretty little ballet dancer."
They had paused before the paneled oak door of his suite. Now he unlocked it and stepped aside for her to enter. She hesitated a moment, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "Are you going to see her again?"
He shook his head. "There's no place for a woman like Tania Orlinov in my life at the moment." God knew that was the truth, he thought wearily. The next six months were going to be difficult enough without an emotional complication on the scale that the dancer represented. She had touched him in a fashion he'd never experienced before. She had aroused not only an odd protective tenderness but the most intense desire he'd ever known. Even during that brief interval in the hall he'd had problems keeping his hands off her. He'd wanted to brush those little bits of chiffon aside and hold the swell of her small breasts in his hands. He'd found himself wondering if her nipples would be as dusky pink as the flush that had mounted to her cheeks when he'd been sparring with her. He frowned impatiently. All he needed was an obsessive affair with that defiant, black-eyed pixie. "No, I'm not going to contact her again."
His hand moved automatically to the light switch on the wall to the left of the door. But the living room was already illuminated by the ivory-shaded lamp on the end table across the room, and he unconsciously tensed, his muscles coiled in readiness. Then he exhaled resignedly as he recognized the fastidiously neat figure of the man in the gray Brooks Brothers suit who rose slowly to his feet and put the crossword magazine he'd been working on face down on the end table beside him.
"Hello, Betz," Jared said as he shut the door behind him. "I don't suppose I need bother to ask how you got in. Was it bribery or forced entry?" He glanced at the lock on the door. "Bribery."
Edward Betz gave him a reproachful look. His large brown eyes had always reminded Jared of a mournful Basset hound. "You shouldn't have left the chateau, Dr. Ryker. The senator was very unhappy that you hadn't obeyed his instructions."
"The senator doesn't give me instructions, Betz," Jared said softly, a thread of steel beneath the silkiness of his tone. "He suggests politely. Very politely." He turned to Nina, who was obviously filled with curiosity. "It seems I have a little business to conduct." His hand in the small of her back urged her forward. "Why don't you wait for me in the bedroom? I won't be long."
She nodded reluctantly and slowly crossed the sitting room to disappear into the bedroom. When th
e door had closed behind her, Jared strode forward to stand facing Betz. Carelessly he tossed the program he'd been carrying on the end table beside Betz's crossword book and loosened his black tie impatiendy. "Okay, let's have it. Why the hell are you here, Betz?"
"I could ask the same of you, Dr. Ryker," Ed Betz said stolidly. "You know you shouldn't be here. It's not
safe for you in New York. There's no way we can give you the security that's required in these surroundings. The senator is very worried about this move of yours."
"How unfortunate," Jared said ironically, his lips twisting. "I agreed to accept Sam Corbett's hospitality for twelve weeks while he prepared the way with the powers-that-be in Washington. That doesn't mean I intend to let myself be imprisoned in his Canadian version of Neuschwanstein. I'll go and come as I see fit." He paused before continuing deliberately. "And I won't tolerate your interference, Betz. If I were you, I'd go back to Washington and tell Corbett that."
Betz shook his head, his thinning brown hair, with its precise side part, gleaming in the lamplight. "I'm not going back to Washington. The senator says that I'm to replace Jenkins as head of security at the chateau." He frowned. "This is really most inconvenient, Dr. Ryker. That leaves Mr. Corbett temporarily without a security chief in the capital. It would simplify matters enormously if you'd just agree to return to the chateau until Senator Corbett can arrange for you to be safely installed in a house in D.C."
"I regret that I'm complicating your life to such an extent," Jared drawled, "but I'm afraid you're just going to have to adjust to the situation and make the best of it." Good Lord, the man was stubborn. When he'd first met Ed Betz, he'd wondered how a man as brilliant as Sam Corbett had ever been so stupid as to hire Betz as his head of security. The man was so slow as to border on retardation, and he had about as much initiative as a slug. It hadn't taken him long to realize the qualities that Corbett had seen and appreciated in Ed Betz, however. Ed Betz was completely, almost fanatically loyal to his employer, and he possessed the obstinacy and determination of a bulldog.
The Forever Dream Page 2
