Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  “I can.”

  She turned to look at him, an arrested expression on her face. “That’s your car?”

  “It is. I happen to like craftsmanship.”

  He was half expecting another snotty comment from her. Instead, she merely looked at him, considering. “Isn’t it a little small for you? You must have to drive lying down.”

  “I can do any number of things lying down,” he said, keeping his face a perfect blank.

  Suspicion darkened her wonderful eyes for a moment, then she clearly dismissed it, unable to believe he would be indulging in even the faintest innuendo. Obviously she didn’t think him capable of suggestive remarks. He was capable of a great deal more than that, when so moved, and Suzanna Molloy moved him, more than anyone in his recent memory.

  “I want to know where my car is,” she said.

  “Osborn probably had it towed.”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  “Bloodthirsty, aren’t you? What kind of car did you have? Some yuppie-mobile?”

  “Not likely. It’s an old wreck that barely runs.”

  “Then stop whining. If Osborn killed it he’ll have to replace it, and Beebe seems to have unlimited money. You play your cards right and you might end up with a Ferrari yourself.”

  He watched with fascination as she rubbed a surreptitious hand across her breast. He would have been more than happy to do the same, a fact which still surprised him. The heat was rising in his body, and he reached up and unfastened another button of his chambray shirt.

  “I don’t want a Ferrari, and I’m not the kind of reporter who takes bribes, Dr. Crompton,” she said severely. “I want my own car, and I’m not whining.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m going in to check on the lab. If you want to keep harping, feel free to stay here. That, or you can come with me.”

  She was torn, he could see it. He irritated the hell out of her, though he expected that wasn’t a difficult task. Anyone who wore a shirt that said Eat Quiche and Die had to have an attitude problem.

  That was something that didn’t bother him in the slightest. He was generally considered to be socially impaired, though he felt his own particular brand of charm was underrated. He had yet to exert it on Suzanna, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her reaction might be. She’d probably offer him quiche.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. “We can worry about my car later.”

  “I knew you were a sensible woman.”

  NOW WHY DIDN’T SHE LIKE the idea of Daniel Crompton considering her a sensible woman?

  The fact that he respected her brain, not her body, was a blessing, wasn’t it?

  Even if she happened to find him distractingly attractive.

  His blue shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a fact which irritated her. Who did he think he was—some lounge lizard? All he needed was a couple of gold chains to complete the look.

  Except that he was far too lean and mean to be a lounge lizard. That bristling intelligence shone in his dark, mesmerizing eyes, twisted his cynical mouth, and his quick, decisive energy wouldn’t know the meaning of the word lounge.

  She just wished he’d button up his damned shirt.

  Just as she wished she had a sweater. She’d been cold since she left the hospital, and she should have asked the man for something warmer to wear. Only the fact that she didn’t want to wrap herself in any of his clothing had stopped her. He disturbed her, and she wasn’t quite sure why. To be sure, he was annoyingly handsome. Condescending, impatient, brilliant, arrogant. There were any number of reasons why she didn’t particularly like him.

  What she couldn’t figure out was why he managed to get to her. She was used to brilliant men, impatient men, and God knows the vast majority of them tended to be arrogant and condescending. It made no sense that she reacted so strongly to Daniel Crompton, and had since she’d first seen him, at a Beebe press conference months ago. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Vinnie’s inside tip, she would have been more than happy to keep her distance from the man. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

  She could feel the heat emanating from his body. Strange, that. It was a cool day, and yet he was walking around, half-undressed, warmth radiating from his skin, and he wasn’t even sweating. She might almost have thought he had a fever, except the man seemed disgustingly healthy.

  Maybe he knew the effect he had on her, the irrational attraction that was putting her in such a toweringly bad mood. She wouldn’t put it past him. She had only one way to defend herself. Keep as bristly as possible. She might find the man luscious, but that didn’t mean she had to betray herself.

  She followed Crompton into the anonymous white building, keeping her head down. Even on a Saturday morning with an empty parking lot, the security desk was well manned. She didn’t recognize the uniformed guard. Yesterday it had been an elderly man. Today it looked like a Green Beret.

  Crompton didn’t even bother to slow his headlong pace. He put one of those strong, elegant hands under Suzanna’s elbow, and she almost screamed, biting down on her lip to stop her shriek. His flesh was burning hot against her own chilled skin, and it took all her self-control not to jerk away from him.

  “Dr. Crompton,” the guard growled. “No visitors are allowed on the premises today.”

  Daniel kept moving. “This isn’t a visitor.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but she doesn’t have security clearance—”

  They were already at the elevator. “Of course she does,” Crompton snapped. “Do you think I’d bring someone in who’d compromise my work? What kind of fool do you think I am?”

  The Green Beret was made of sterner stuff, and he didn’t quail in the face of Crompton’s biting contempt. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come back while I get clearance for your friend….”

  The elevator door swished open. “You get clearance,” Daniel said. “We’ll stop on our way back.” He hauled Suzanna into the elevator, punched the buttons, and a moment later the doors closed and the tiny box began to rise.

  Suzanna did not like enclosed spaces. She’d used the stairs yesterday, ostensibly because she was less likely to be caught, but really because she never trusted elevators. The cage began to rise smoothly, and then it jerked to a halt, throwing Suzanna back against the smooth metal walls.

  “Damn,” Crompton muttered.

  Suzanna managed a strained smile, hoping she could fool him. “What happened?”

  “I’d think it was obvious. The security guard stopped the elevator.”

  “Between floors?” She couldn’t keep the hollow note out of her voice.

  Daniel was busy pushing the various floor buttons, all to no avail. “Not for long. He’ll probably try to bring us back down.”

  Thank God, Suzanna thought devoutly.

  “However, I intend to stop him.” He shoved open the metal door above the buttons and reached in, coming out with a handful of multicolor wires.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” They’d already started to descend once more, something she could only view with relief.

  “I’m stopping him.” He yanked, hard, and the elevator stopped once more. The lights flickered, and then the tiny cage was plunged into claustrophobic darkness.

  She thought she did scream then, though in the tiny airless cubicle it came out as nothing more than a helpless whimper. It was pitch-black, airless, smothering, and the heat was suddenly intolerable, an inferno, emanating from Daniel Crompton’s dangerously beautiful body.

  “Suzanna.” His voice was deep, cool and infinitely patient, and she realized distantly that it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. She had backed up against the walls of the elevator, but even the coolness of the metal against her splayed hands couldn’t calm her.

  “The emergency light,” she managed to choke out.

  “Doesn’t seem to be working.” Again that cool, soothing tone. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

  It was so cold in there, cold and hot at the sam
e time, like burning ice. She pushed herself harder against the unyielding walls, wishing she could just disappear. “No,” she said, trying to sound hostile, knowing that she sounded scared.

  He’d crossed the vast, dead space of the pitch-black elevator, and he was standing close, very close. For the first time she didn’t find it threatening. The danger from the suffocating darkness was far worse than the danger from one distractingly attractive man.

  “Claustrophobic?” he murmured again, coaxing, soothing.

  “No,” she said, furious that her voice wavered. “I j-j-just don’t l-l-l-like elevators.”

  The touch of his hand on her arm was tentative, gentle, accustoming her to his presence rather than grabbing her out of the darkness like a fiend from hell. She could feel the heat in his fingers, and even in the darkness she could see them—long, elegant, stained with compounds, marked with nicks and scars from long-ago experiments. She wanted those hands on her, holding her against the smothering darkness. She needed those hands on her.

  When he pulled her into his arms she didn’t even pretend to resist, just closed off her brain, with all its doubts and anger, all its warnings. She sank against Daniel Crompton’s fiery body, absorbing the heat, and shut her eyes, as his hand cupped the back of her head and pushed her face against his shoulder, gently, protectively.

  A tiny mutinous part of her cried out that she didn’t need protecting. But that part was quickly silenced, as she absorbed his heat, his strength and his comfort. As her panicked heartbeat began to slow, the icy chill of fear left her, and she was able to breathe once more.

  He seemed to know moments before she did that she needed to pull away. When he released her, the darkness slammed about her once more, but this time she could cope. She took a deep breath, willing the panic to retreat.

  “Better now?” His voice was infinitely pragmatic, as if holding her in his arms was a commonplace occurrence.

  “Fine,” she said, wishing she could have put a little more edge into her voice. Though she suspected, even in the darkness, that she couldn’t fool him. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

  “Certainly.” She heard a rustling in the darkness, a muffled, shifting noise that made her want to scream. A moment later a square of pale light appeared in the ceiling, and she could see Crompton’s vague outline.

  “You first,” he said. “Unless you’re afraid of heights, as well.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she shot back, an obvious lie. “What do you mean, me first?”

  “If you want to get out of this elevator, there’s only one way, and that’s up.”

  “I’m not about to—”

  “It’s up,” he said ruthlessly, “or stay here for what will probably be another two hours. And you’ll do it alone. I’m out of here.”

  “You know what I like about you, Dr. Crompton?” she asked in a silken voice that almost masked her panic.

  “No, what?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  As a matter of fact, she wasn’t particularly crazy about heights. She was even less fond of climbing upward through a narrow, constricted tube, above an object that might suddenly start moving and end up squashing her against the ceiling of the building like a fat bug.

  But she wasn’t about to spend a minute longer in that elevator than she had to. Particularly not alone.

  “Get me out of here, Crompton,” she muttered, moving toward him, perversely glad that the darkness hid the expression on her face.

  “Up you go,” he said, putting his big, hot hands on her waist and hoisting her upward with a total effortlessness that just managed to get through her fear enough to astonish her. She reached out instinctively as he pushed her through the opening, his hands sliding down her hips to cup her rear before she managed to grab hold of something and scramble out of his way.

  A moment later he’d vaulted up beside her, and in the improved light she could see his eyes gleaming in the shadows. “That was easy enough.”

  “Too easy, Crompton. I weigh a hundred and thirty-seven pounds.”

  “That’s not my fault, Molloy. You eat too much grease.”

  It would be a waste of time to hit him. She could at least wait until he’d gotten her out of this place. “I mean you don’t seem the slightest bit strained.”

  “I’m used to lifting weights.”

  The hell with waiting, she was going to hit him. “We’re not talking about a male-dominated distortion of aesthetics, Dr. Crompton,” she said icily. “We’re talking about—”

  “Why are we wasting our time talking? I thought you wanted to get out of here.”

  “I do.”

  “Then stop complaining about your weight and follow me.”

  She spent a moment fondly contemplating his immediate demise, when light began to stream into the elevator shaft. It took her a moment to realize he’d reached over his head and was prying open the doors to the next floor.

  Well, maybe she wouldn’t kill him after all. Just hurt him very badly.

  “Climb up,” he offered.

  “I’ll need a hand.”

  “The doors will close again.”

  “I can pry them open. I may not lift weights, but I’m far from a weak woman.”

  “I never made the mistake of assuming you were weak. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be able to open them yourself. Climb up.”

  “But how…?”

  “Use my body,” he said blandly.

  The suggestion was startling, until she realized what he meant. “I don’t know…”

  “Listen, I want to get out of here as much as you do, and I’d like to do it before they get someone in here who can override the system and make this thing start up again. Now move your butt, Molloy, or I’ll move it for you.”

  She’d hurt him with a great deal of pain, she thought fondly, reaching out to touch him. He was hot, something which didn’t surprise her. The odd thing was, his clothes were cool to the touch.

  She could feel the tension in his muscles. It was an unnerving experience, but as far as she could see, she really had no choice. “All right,” she said in a tight little voice. “How do you expect me to do this?”

  “Grab hold of my shoulders and start climbing.”

  He hadn’t tied his hair back, and it brushed against her fingers as she settled them on his shoulders, the cool chambray beneath her hands. He was holding very still, keeping the doors open, his arms directly overhead. “I don’t think this is going to work,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Think how much fun you’re going to have, stomping all over me. Use your feet, Molloy.”

  She braced one sneakered foot against his leg, her fingers digging into the bunched-up shoulder muscles, and tried to hoist herself up. Her knee slammed into his stomach, her foot came perilously close to his groin, and the feel of his iron-hard body beneath hers was incredibly distracting.

  He was wearing a wide leather belt, and she managed to rest her foot against it, pushing herself upward. Her stomach was face level, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against the zipper of her jeans. Her foot slipped, and she fell against him, his face buried in her crotch.

  It didn’t take his muffled laughter to send her flying upward through the pried-open doors, belly-flopping onto the carpet. She scrambled out of the way, rolling over in time to see him follow her, just as the door slammed shut behind him.

  The power was out in the hall, as well, but the midday sun managed to send squares of light into the corridor, and Suzanna sank back, drinking in the diffuse brightness of the day and the blessed feel of the floor beneath her. “Was that, by any chance, a pass, Molloy?” he inquired.

  “Go to hell, Dr. Crompton,” she said, pulling herself upright. He was standing there in the shadowed hallway, tall, superior, a gleam of mocking humor in his dark eyes. Now was the time to kill him.

  “Let’s get moving,” he said, reaching out a hand. “We probably won’t have much time before Beebe’s private army arr
ives.”

  She looked up at him. His shirt had come unbuttoned, pulled out of his jeans, and she remembered the feel of his skin beneath her clutching hands. “Maybe I’ll wait to kill you,” she muttered, putting her hand in his outstretched one.

  His was much larger. It closed around hers, warm and strong, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “That might be wise,” he murmured. “Not much farther, Nancy Drew. Come on.”

  And he left her to race after him down the hallway, once she’d gotten over her initial shock.

  Chapter Six

  This situation was getting more and more interesting, Daniel thought, moving down the darkened hallway at a brisk pace. Despite his ongoing fascination with his research project, he found he’d gotten into a rut recently. Certainly the last twenty-four hours had provided enough novelty to keep him entertained for the next twenty-four years.

  He was immensely strong. It had taken very little effort to pry open those pneumatic doors, very little to send Suzanna’s well-rounded figure up and over the portal and into the hall. Levering himself after her had also been surprisingly simple. He wished he had a moment to experiment further, but he wasn’t about to do that with an audience. He wanted to keep Suzanna with him, but he wasn’t quite ready to share what was going on with his body.

  Fortunately she seemed willing to accompany him, though he didn’t have any illusions about her motives. She wanted the truth. She wanted a story, a scoop, and she’d betray him in a flash if she had to. He had no intention of giving her the chance.

  He opened the fire door to the staircase. “Think you can handle this?” he asked. “The emergency lights are out here, as well.”

  “When you pull the plug you don’t settle for halfway measures, do you?” she said. “I can do it.” She moved past him, into the enveloping darkness of the hallway, and as her body brushed by he could smell the faint trace of soap that clung to her. It was surprisingly erotic.

  He let the door swing shut behind him, following her up the stairs in the inky darkness. He could see her quite clearly, hear her struggle to control her nervous breathing as she climbed, slowly, steadily, her hand clutching the metal stair rail.