by Nora Roberts
That was the moment, though she didn’t realize it, when Ryan fell in love.
She watched as he slipped a ball in and out of his fingers with continual motion. Ryan was as fascinated as the children. With a quick movement of his hand, the ball vanished, only to be plucked from the ear of a boy who squealed in delight.
His illusions were unsophisticated, flashy little bits of business an amateur could have performed. The ward was noisy with gasps and giggles and applause. It obviously meant more to Pierce than the thundering approval he heard on stage after a complicated feat of magic. His roots were there, among children. He had never forgotten it. He remembered too well the antiseptic and floral smell of a sick room and the confinement of a hospital bed. Boredom, he thought, could be the most debilitating disease there.
“You’ll notice I brought along a beautiful assistant,” Pierce pointed out. It took Ryan a moment to realize he meant her. Her eyes widened in astonishment, but he only smiled. “No magician travels without one. Ryan.” He held out a hand, palm up. Amid giggles and applauses, she had no choice but to join him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in a quick whisper.
“Making you a star,” he said easily before turning back to the audience of children in beds and wheelchairs. “Ryan will tell you she keeps her lovely smile by drinking three glasses of milk every day. Isn’t that so, Ryan?”
“Ah—yes.” She glanced around at the expectant faces. “Yes, that’s right.” What is he doing? She’d never had so many large, curious eyes on her at one time.
“I’m sure everyone here knows how important it is to drink milk.”
This was answered by some unenthusiastic agreements and a few muffled moans. Pierce looked surprised as he reached in his black bag and pulled out a glass already half-filled with white liquid. No one questioned why it hadn’t spilled. “You do all drink milk, don’t you?” He got laughter this time, along with more moans. Shaking his head, Pierce pulled out a newspaper and began to fashion it into a funnel. “This is a very tricky business. I don’t know if I can make it work unless everyone promises to drink his milk tonight.”
Immediately a chorus of promises sprang out. Ryan saw that he was as much Pied Piper as magician, as much psychologist as entertainer. Perhaps it was all the same. She noticed that Pierce was watching her with a lifted brow.
“Oh, I promise,” she said agreeably and smiled. She was as entranced as the children.
“Let’s see what happens,” he suggested. “Do you suppose you could pour the milk from that glass into here?” he asked Ryan, handing her the glass. “Slowly,” he warned, winking at the audience. “We wouldn’t want to spill it. It’s magic milk, you know. The only kind magicians drink.” Pierce took her hand and guided it, holding the top of the funnel just above her eye level.
His palm was warm and firm. There hung about him some scent she couldn’t place. It was of the outdoors, of the forest. Not pine, she decided, but something darker, deeper, closer to the earth. Her response to it was unexpected and unwanted. She tried to concentrate on holding the glass directly above the opening of the funnel. A few drops of milk dripped out of the bottom.
“Where do you buy magic milk?” one of the children wanted to know.
“Oh, you can’t buy it,” Pierce said gravely. “I have to get up very early and put a spell on a cow. There, now, that’s good.” Smoothly, Pierce dropped the empty glass back into his bag. “Now, if all’s gone well . . .” He stopped, then frowned into the funnel. “This was my milk, Ryan,” he said with a hint of censure. “You could have had yours later.”
As she opened her mouth to speak, he whipped the funnel open. Automatically, she gasped and stepped back to keep from being splashed. But the funnel was empty.
The children shrieked in delight as she gasped at him. “She’s still beautiful,” he told the audience as he kissed Ryan’s hand. “Even if she is greedy.”
“I poured that milk myself,” she stated later as they walked down the hospital corridor to the elevator. “It was dripping through the paper. I saw it.”
Pierce nudged her into the elevator. “The way things seem and the way things are. Fascinating, isn’t it, Ryan?”
She felt the elevator begin its descent and stood in silence for a moment. “You’re not entirely what you seem, either, are you?”
“No. Who is?”
“You did more for those kids in an hour than a dozen doctors could have done.” He looked down at her as she continued. “And I don’t think it’s the first time you’ve done this sort of thing.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Hospitals are a hell of a place to be when you’re a child,” he said simply. It was all the answer he would give her.
“They didn’t think so today.”
Pierce took her hand in his again when they reached the first level. “There’s no tougher audience than children. They’re very literal-minded.”
Ryan had to laugh. “I suppose you’re right. What adult would have thought to ask you where you buy your magic milk?” She shot Pierce a look. “I thought you handled that one rather smoothly.”
“I’ve had a bit of practice,” he told her. “Kids keep you on your toes. Adults are more easily distracted by some clever patter and flash.” He smiled down at her. “Even you. Though you watch me with very intriguing green eyes.”
Ryan looked across the parking lot as they stepped outside. When he looked at her, it wasn’t easy to focus on anything but him when he spoke. “Pierce, why did you ask me to come with you today?”
“I wanted your company.”
Ryan turned back to him. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Do you have to?” he asked. In the sunlight her hair was the color of early wheat. Pierce ran his fingers through it, then framed her face with his hands as he had done that first night. “Always?”
Ryan’s heart pounded in her throat. “Yes, I think . . .”
But his mouth was already on hers, and she could think no longer. It was just as it had been the first time. The gentle kiss drew everything from her. She felt a warm, fluttering ache pass through her as his fingers brushed her temple and then traveled to just under her heart. People walked by them, but she never knew. They were shadows, ghosts. The only things of substance were Pierce’s mouth and hands.
Was it the wind she felt, or his fingers gliding over her skin? Did he murmur something, or had she?
Pierce drew her away. Ryan’s eyes were clouded. They began to clear and focus as if she were coming out of a dream. He wasn’t ready for the dream to end. Bringing her back, he took her lips again and tasted the dark, mysterious flavor of her.
He had to fight with the need to crush her against him, to savage her warm, willing mouth. She was a woman made for a gentle touch. Desire tore at him, and he suppressed it. There were times when he was locked in a dark, airless box that he had to push back the need to rush, the urge to claw his way out. Now he almost felt the same hint of panic. What was she doing to him? The question ran through his mind even as he brought her closer. Pierce knew only that he wanted her with a desperation he hadn’t thought himself capable of.
Was there silk next to her skin again? Thin, fragile silk lightly scented with the fragrance she wore? He wanted to make love to her by candlelight or in a field with the sun pouring over her. Dear God, how he wanted her.
“Ryan, I want to be with you.” The words were whispered inside her mouth and made her tremble. “I need to be with you. Come with me now.” With his hands he tilted her head to another angle and kissed her again. “Now, Ryan. Let me love you.”
“Pierce.” She was sinking and struggling to find solid ground. She leaned against him even as she shook her head. “I don’t know you.”
Pierce controlled a sudden wild desire to drag her to his car, to take her back to his home. To his bed. “No.” He said it as much to himself as to Ryan. Drawing her away, he held her by the shoulders and studied her. “No,
you don’t. And Miss Swan would need to.” He didn’t like the erratic beating of his heart. Calm and control were intimate parts of his work, and therefore, of him. “When you know me,” he told her quietly, “we’ll be lovers.”
“No.” Ryan’s objection sprang from his matter-of-fact tone, not from the statement. “No, Pierce, we won’t be lovers unless it’s what I want. I make deals on contracts, not in my personal life.”
Pierce smiled, more relaxed with her annoyance than he would have been with malleability. Anything that came too easily he suspected. “Miss Swan,” he murmured as he took her arm. “We’ve already seen the cards.”
Chapter 6
Ryan arrived in Las Vegas alone. She had insisted on it. Once her nerves had settled and she had been able to think practically, she had decided it would be unwise to have too much personal contact with Pierce. When a man was able to make you forget the world around you with a kiss, you kept your distance. That was Ryan Swan’s new rule.
Through most of her life she had been totally dominated by her father. She had been able to do nothing without his approval. He might not have given her his time, but he had always given her his opinion. And his opinion had been law.
It was only upon reaching her early twenties that Ryan had begun to explore her own talents, her own independence. The taste of freedom had been very sweet. She wasn’t about to allow herself to be dominated again, certainly not by physical needs. She knew from experience that men weren’t particularly trustworthy. Why should Pierce Atkins be any different?
After paying off the cab, Ryan took a moment to look around. It was her first trip to Vegas. Even at ten in the morning it was an eye-opener. The Strip stretched long in both directions, and lining it were names like The Dunes, The Sahara, The MGM. The hotels vied for attention with gushing fountains, elaborate neon and fabulous flowers.
Billboards announced famous names in huge letters. Stars, stars, stars! The most beautiful women in the world, the most talented performers, the most colorful, the most exotic—they were all here. Everything was packed together; an adult amusement park circled by desert and ringed by mountains. The morning sun baked the streets; at night the neon would light them.
Ryan turned and looked at Caesar’s Palace. It was huge and white and opulent. Above her head in enormous letters was Pierce’s name and the dates of his engagements. What sort of feeling did it give a man like him, she wondered, to see his name advertised so boldly?
She lifted her bags and took the moving walkway that would transport her past the glittering fountain and Italian statues. In the morning quiet she could hear the water spurt up and splash down. She imagined that at night the streets would be noisy, filled with cars and people.
The moment she entered the hotel lobby, Ryan heard the whirl and chink of the slot machines. She had to curb a desire to walk into the casino for a look instead of going to the front desk.
“Ryan Swan.” She set down her suitcases at the foot of the long counter. “I have a reservation.”
“Yes, Miss Swan.” The desk clerk beamed at her without checking his files. “The bellboy will take your bags.” He signaled, then handed a key to the answering bellboy. “Enjoy your stay, Miss Swan. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
“Thank you.” Ryan accepted the clerk’s deference without a thought. When people knew she was Bennett Swan’s daughter, they treated her like a visiting dignitary. It was nothing new and only mildly annoying.
The elevator took her all the way to the top floor with the bellboy keeping a respectful silence. He led the way down the corridor, unlocked the door, then stepped back to let her enter.
Ryan’s first surprise was that it wasn’t a room but a suite. Her second was that it was already occupied. Pierce sat on the sofa working with papers he had spread out on the table in front of him.
“Ryan.” He rose, then, going to the bellboy, handed him a bill. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Atkins.”
Ryan waited until the door shut behind him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I have a rehearsal scheduled this afternoon,” he reminded her. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine,” she told him, annoyed with his answer and with the suspicions that were creeping into her mind.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” She glanced around the well-appointed room, took a brief glimpse out the window, then gestured broadly. “What the hell is this?”
Pierce lifted a brow at her tone but answered mildly. “Our suite.”
“Oh, no,” she said with a definite shake of her head. “Your suite.” Picking up her bags, she headed for the door.
“Ryan.” It was the calm quality of his voice that stopped her—and that snapped her temper.
“What a very small, very dirty trick!” Ryan dropped her bags with a thud and turned on him. “Did you really think you could change my reservation and—and—”
“And what?” he prompted.
She gestured around the room again. “Set me up here with you without me making a murmur? Did you really think I’d pop cozily into your bed because you arranged it so nicely? How dare you! How dare you lie to me about needing me to watch you perform when all you wanted was for me to keep your bed warm!”
Her voice had changed from low accusation to high fury before Pierce grabbed her wrist. The strength in his fingers had her gasping in surprise and alarm. “I don’t lie,” Pierce said softly, but his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. “And I don’t need tricks to find a woman for my bed.”
She didn’t try to free herself. Instinct warned her against it, but she couldn’t control her temper. “Then what do you call this?” she tossed back.
“A convenient arrangement.” He felt her pulse racing under his fingers. Anger made his voice dangerously cool.
“For whom?” she demanded.
“We’ll need to talk over a number of things in the next few days.” He spoke with quiet deliberation, but his grip never slackened. “I don’t intend to run down to your room every time I have something to say to you. I’m here to work,” he reminded her. “And so are you.”
“You should have consulted me.”
“I didn’t,” he countered icily. “And I don’t sleep with a woman unless she wants me to, Miss Swan.”
“I don’t appreciate you taking it upon yourself to change arrangements without discussing it with me first.” Ryan stood firm on this, though her knees were threatening to tremble. His fury was all the more frightening in its restraint.
“I warned you before, I do things in my own way. If you’re nervous, lock your door.”
The jibe made her voice sharp. “A lot of good that would do with you. A lock would hardly keep you out.”
His fingers tightened on her wrist quickly, painfully, before he tossed it aside. “Perhaps not.” Pierce opened the door. “But a simple no would.”
He was gone before Ryan could say any more. She leaned back against the door as the shudders ran through her. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how badly she had been frightened. She was accustomed to dealing with histrionic bursts of temper or sulky silences from her father. But this . . .
There had been ice-cold violence in Pierce’s eyes. Ryan would rather have faced the raging, shouting fury of any man than the look that could freeze her.
Without knowing she did so, Ryan rubbed her wrist. It throbbed lightly in each separate spot that Pierce’s fingers had gripped. She had been right when she had said she didn’t know him. There was more to him than she had ever guessed. Having uncovered one layer, she wasn’t entirely certain she could deal with what she had discovered. For another moment she leaned against the door, waiting for the shaking to stop.
She looked around the room. Perhaps she had been wrong to have reacted so strongly to a harmless business arrangement, she finally decided. Sharing a suite was essentially the same thing as having adjoining rooms.
If that had been the case, she would have thought nothing of it.
But he had been wrong, too, she reminded herself. They might have come to an easy agreement about the suite if he had only discussed it with her first. She had promised herself when she had left Switzerland that she would no longer be directed.
And Pierce’s phrasing had worried her. He didn’t sleep with a woman unless she wanted him to. Ryan was too aware that they both knew she wanted him.
A simple no would keep him out. Yes, she mused as she picked up her bags. That she could depend on. He would never force himself on any woman—very simply, he would have no need to. She wondered how long it would be before she forgot to say no.
Ryan shook her head. The project was as important to Pierce as it was to her. It wasn’t smart to start off by bickering over sleeping arrangements or worrying about remote possibilities. She knew her own mind. She went to unpack.
***
When Ryan went down to the theatre, the rehearsal was already underway. Pierce held center stage. There was a woman with him. Even though she was dressed plainly in jeans and a bulky sweatshirt, Ryan recognized the statuesque redhead who was Pierce’s assistant. On the tapes, Ryan recalled, she had worn brief, sparkling costumes or floaty dresses. No magician travels without a
