by Anne Stuart
He’d hauled her from the sofa before she had time to finish, pulling her up tight against him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips against his unmistakable erection. “If you think I’m cold, Suzanna,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice, “then you’re forgetting what my hands feel like when they touch you. If you think I’m methodical or controlled, then you haven’t been paying attention. And if you think I’m not ruled by my passions…” He kissed her then, hard, his hand threading through her hair to hold her head still, his mouth wet and hungry on hers, giving her no chance to evade him.
She didn’t want to. With a little whimper of passion, she threaded her arms around his neck, arching into his embrace. He lifted her against him, and her long legs wrapped around him. Together they tumbled back onto the sofa, and her hands were sliding up under his T-shirt, cool, arousing, as her mouth answered his, and he was ready—
The first cramp hit him with the force of a blow to the stomach. He fell back, away from her, as if he’d been shocked. He willed the damned pain to stop; but it didn’t—it washed over him, and he knew what was happening, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. He shuddered, and there was a flash of bone-chilling cold sweeping over him, and his jaw locked in a grimace of pain before he shut his eyes, trying to ride that pain.
When he opened them again, Suzanna was across the room, white-faced. He looked down and saw the too-familair fuzzy outline.
He’d vanished again.
SUZANNA WANTED TO S CREAM and cry. She felt buffeted by emotions, feelings she hadn’t experienced in years, if ever. Her body was hot, aroused, exquisitely sensitive, her mouth tender. And the damned man had the gall to disappear.
She had no idea where he was. Her own heart was beating too wildly, her own breath coming too rapidly, for her to hear his. She whirled around, heading for the stairs, stalking.
An unseen hand caught her wrist, halting her abruptly. She could feel the tensile strength in his fingers, and she remembered how easily those fingers had turned the metal lock to powder back at Beebe headquarters. He could do the same to her bones.
But he wouldn’t. Despite the danger she had seen in his eyes, despite his insistence that he was far from civilized, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. “Let go of me, Daniel,” she said in a very quiet voice.
His fingers encircled her wrist, his thumb stroking the pale, blue-veined pulse. She could see the movement of her skin beneath his touch, but she couldn’t see his hand.
And then he let her go. She sensed him moving across the room, away from her, but he had a gift for silence, something that was particularly frustrating. “I’m going to go for a walk.” His voice came from over by the door. “I’ll be back at eight.”
“You don’t need to go,” she found herself saying.
“Yes, I do.” There was no missing the suppressed violence in his voice. The door slammed behind him, and she was alone, bitterly alone in the cold house.
She missed him. Missed the heat of his body, the strength in his arms. Missed his mouth. She’d been ready to let him strip off her clothes and take her, right there and then, on that overstuffed sofa that was almost as wide as a bed. While she should be thanking her lucky stars that fate had intervened, she found instead that she was merely shaking with frustrated reaction.
She took a fast shower, a hot one, to warm her chilled skin. It wasn’t until she was pulling on a T-shirt that the obvious hit her.
Daniel Crompton wanted her. Wanted her quite badly, possibly as much as she wanted him. There was no disguising the passion in his mouth, the tension in his hands, the state of his arousal.
She sat down on the mattress, stunned. She could come up with all sorts of reasons why this realization should be disastrous. It was probably just a case of abstinence making the heart grow fonder. He probably had a bevy of willing females, back in Santa Cristina.
Maybe it was the danger that had caused his libido to react, making him reach for the nearest, the only female. Maybe he was the kind of man who simply had to make a pass at every woman.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was as drawn to her as she was to him. For whatever mysterious reason, no matter how impractical it might seem, there was something between them, something dark and dangerous, something bright and triumphant, something that went beyond petty misunderstandings or even the fate of the world.
She moved to the window, looking out into the morning light. It was cool and overcast, and she could see the blackened leaves that had been hit by the heavy frost. How long would he be gone? And what was he planning to do when he came back? Pretend it never happened?
Or finish what he started?
And she didn’t know which possibility frightened her more.
IN THE END, it didn’t matter. Daniel didn’t return at eight o’clock. By nine o’clock Suzanna began to worry. By eleven she was furious. By twelve she was terrified. By one she went in search of him.
There was a light rain falling, more of a mist than an actual cloudburst. She followed the path, deeper into the woods, all the time fighting the questions that hurtled themselves at her head. What if he’d stayed invisible this time? What if Osborn and his crew had caught him? What if he’d decided he’d do better on his own, and he’d abandoned her?
She kept climbing, as the rain started soaking into her T-shirt, chilling her to the bone. She couldn’t stand to go back to that cabin alone, not knowing what had happened to him.
In the distance she thought she caught a faint whiff of smoke, and she felt a sudden foreboding. She began to hurry, scrambling her way upward as the path steepened, sliding in the mud and scraping her arm, grabbing hold of old roots to haul herself up toward the ridge. When she finally reached the clearing, she paused, momentarily stunned by the glory of the view.
And then she was equally stunned by the sight of Daniel, sitting cross-legged on the wet ground, completely visible. He didn’t seem aware of her approach. He was busy staring at a row of several piles of refuse, brush and twigs and the like, and as she watched he set each one aflame.
Suzanna scrambled to her feet, seething. He glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned back to his little experiment, dismissing her as easily as he’d dismissed her this morning.
She walked over to him and stood directly behind him, wondering how she could hurt him. She was looking around, trying to find something to hit him with, when he leaned back against her legs, his head against her thighs, the warmth shooting through her like an electric current.
She reached down. His long black hair hung wet and loose on his shoulders, and she sifted her fingers through the silky length. And yanked, as hard as she could.
He let out a truly satisfying shriek of pain, leaping away from her. He ended up crouched on the ground, staring at her, shock and affronted dignity warring for control.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded. “That hurt.”
“You’ve been gone for hours,” she said coolly. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”
“Something did happen to me. A crazy woman tried to pull my hair out.” He glared at her. “I don’t understand what your problem is. I told you I was going for a walk.”
“You left the house at six o’clock this morning. That was more than seven hours ago. I was afraid you might have fallen off a cliff.”
“It probably wouldn’t have hurt as much,” he said, rubbing his scalp. “As a matter of fact, I was working. I tend to forget about time when I’m involved in something.”
“Do tell,” she said acidly. “And what have you discovered?”
To her increased discomfort he suddenly smiled at her. “Any number of things. I found I could regulate the area in which I direct the flames, and the intensity, as well. I can scorch something, or turn it to ashes. It’s all a matter of control. I also checked the limits of my strength. I could push over that tree over there,” he nodded in the direction of a good-sized pine tree that lay on its side in the mud, its roots brutally
exposed, “but I couldn’t lift it. My vision is the same—no x-ray capabilities, and I’m not—” he glared at her again “—impervious to pain. I don’t think I quite qualify as a superman. My major talent seems to be reducing things to cinders.”
“Okay, you can be Cinderman,” she said. “It has a nice ring. I bet the National Enquirer will love it.”
“Don’t even think it.”
She was finding an even more satisfying revenge than yanking at his hair. “They pay quite well, I hear. Especially if you’ve got something unique, and you, my dear Daniel, are definitely tabloid material. It’s too bad we can’t throw in a Cinderman diet and tryst with Princess Di, but even so, I imagine we can drum up a fair amount of interest. I could even put my story out for auction. I could be set for life.”
She’d gone too far. The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he rose slowly and gracefully, the rain beating down around them on the high plateau overlooking the forest.
“You may not have a life,” he said. “Not if Osborn and his pals have their way.”
“Why? Why should they want to kill you, and me, as well? Why did they murder that man in the stairwell? And don’t give me that James Bond crap again. I want to know exactly what is going on.”
He considered it for a moment, watching her, and she half held her breath, waiting for another lie, another denial. Instead he came toward her, taking her hand in his and leading her back toward the steep path.
“I want answers,” she said, trying to hold back.
She might just as well have tried to stop a raging bull. Daniel kept moving, and his grip on Suzanna never loosened, so that she was forced along after him, skidding a bit in the mud.
“You’ll get your answers,” he said, starting down the steepest part. “But first I need a hot shower, some coffee and something to eat.”
“You can make your vitamin drink.”
He glanced back at her, and there was that damnable, seductive sweetess in his smile. “I think I’ve developed a taste for brownies,” he said. “Among other things. Come along, Suzanna.”
Following him down the narrow, winding path gave her plenty of time to think of revenge. Never once did he let go of her hand; even when she slid and skidded into him, he absorbed the blow with calm determination. She could always push him off the balcony, she thought. Or maybe get him to try his incendiary powers on a propane tank.
The house loomed up out of the mist, sooner than she would have thought. “Wait a minute,” he said, finally releasing her hand, not noticing that she did her best to snatch it to her in affronted dignity. “Stay put.”
He advanced on the house silently, doing a swift surveillance. He disappeared behind it, then came back. “I don’t think anyone’s been here,” he said.
“If you thought someone might show up, why did you leave me here alone?” she demanded.
“Oh, I knew you were more than a match for any of Armstead’s little army who might happen to show up. You could pull their hair,” he said cheerfully.
The balcony, she thought, fuming, brushing past him as she entered the house.
It was damp and chilly inside, and Suzanna shivered. “I’m going to change my clothes.”
The moment he closed the door behind him the temperature rose, as if someone had just turned on the heat. “Some coffee would be nice, to go with the brownies,” he said.
She just looked at him. “Learn to cook.”
Lord, the man shouldn’t have a smile like that! Just when he was already driving her crazy. “You can teach me,” he said.
“Daniel…” she called after him.
He paused, looking back at her. “What?”
She didn’t know what she wanted. Him to touch her, him to kiss her, him to disappear back into his lab or the ether or wherever so he wouldn’t be so infuriating, so distracting, so irresistible.
“Don’t take all the hot water,” she said.
You could take a shower with me, his mind said, so clearly that she thought she heard his voice speak the words.
“All right,” he agreed after a moment.
She watched him go, shaken. It had been her imagination. The result of God knew what kind of stress. She couldn’t have heard his thoughts—it simply wasn’t possible.
But it wasn’t possible that her twenty-year nearsightedness had suddenly been cured, and it wasn’t possible that Daniel Crompton could set things on fire and turn invisible from six to eight every morning and evening and have superhuman strength. Nevertheless that was exactly what had happened so far.
And now she could read his mind. It was a gift she could have done without, and if it were up to her she’d shut it off.
But it wasn’t necessarily up to her, any more than Daniel could control whether he turned invisible or not. She could only hope he’d figure out an antidote to the green goop fast. Before she developed any more unnerving talents.
Chapter Twelve
Suzanna stripped off her rain-sodden clothes, pulled on fresh ones and sat cross-legged on the futon mattress. She didn’t want to look at Crompton, didn’t want to give herself the opportunity to read his mind. Too much had happened in the last forty-eight hours or so, and she wasn’t quite ready to deal with all the ramifications. She didn’t want to be able to look into Crompton’s cool, dark eyes and see what he thought of her. There were some things better left unknown.
There were piles of books and newspapers in the bedroom as well as every other square inch of the house, and she grabbed for the first thing she could reach. To her amazement she found it was a book on the Spanish riding school in Austria, an odd choice, but in keeping with the catholic nature of his library. He seemed to have a book on almost every subject, and his interests were absurdly varied. She’d seen science fiction, books on car mechanics, financial guides, what seemed to be the complete works of Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen, the history of costume, mixed in with books on scientific subjects so arcane that even she, with her Ph.D., was appalled.
She’d never been particularly interested in horses, but as she heard Daniel leave that absurdly luxurious bathroom she opened the book and immersed herself in the text, determined not to let an errant thought, either hers or his, stray into her consciousness.
“I saved enough hot water for you.” His voice floated over the balcony of the loft bedroom.
She didn’t answer, concentrating instead on the fine points of dressage. Until she heard his voice at the bottom of the stairs.
“Suzanna?”
She didn’t want him coming up there. She didn’t want to be in the same small area, looking at him, remembering what had happened in the predawn, remembering the feel and the touch and the taste of him. “I’m fine,” she called back. “I’ll take a shower in a little while.”
Silence, and she held her breath, staring fixedly at the words as they swam in front of her. “I’ll be in the lab then,” he said. “I’m not likely to surface until you come and get me.”
“Fine,” she said airily.
Come and get me, his mind echoed in hers, and she pushed her face closer to the book, trying to push his thoughts away. A moment later the door to the lab closed, and she breathed a sigh of relief, rolling onto her back, the book forgotten at her side.
There was a roof window above and the autumn dusk was already settling around the funny little cabin. She could see the massive pines overhead, swaying in the wind. Despite her dry clothes, she was still chilled, and she pulled the duvet around her, turning her face into the pillow, closing her eyes, closing her mind, shutting out the doubts and fears that had been plaguing her. She never thought she was the kind of woman who had doubts and fears. She was tough; she met challenges head-on.
But these recent challenges were too much for her. She wanted peace, she wanted comfort, Lord, she wanted someone to take care of her! An extremely odd notion, when she’d learned through her life that the only person she could rely on was herself.
She wanted to rely on D
aniel Crompton. She wanted to know that she didn’t have to watch her back, that he’d be watching for her. Just as she could watch out for him, as well.
She wanted a partnership, true love, happy ever after, all that stupid, preprogrammed, fairy-tale stuff that she’d resisted all her life. And she wanted it with Daniel Crompton.
She could hear him moving about in the lab. If she held herself very still, she could hear his thoughts bubbling around in his brilliant mind. He wasn’t thinking about her, he was thinking about the green slime. A reassuring, disappointing realization, Suzanna thought with a wry grin.
And pulling the duvet over her head, she fell asleep.
FOR THE FIRST TIME in his life, Daniel was having trouble concentrating. As he hunched over the microscope, adjusting the field, he kept thinking about Suzanna. About the magnificent rage in her warm brown eyes, no longer fettered by glasses, the force in her hands as she’d yanked on his hair, the fury that had vibrated through her tall, gorgeous body.
He had looked at her out on that rain-swept ridge, at the rage and frustration in her face, and known that she loved him. He was still reeling from that knowledge.
She was fighting it—he knew that full well. She didn’t want to fall in love, and he couldn’t blame her. From what he’d observed, it was messy and inconvenient, distracting even the most disciplined mind from more important matters. Look what it was doing to him.
He lifted his head, stunned at the realization. Hell and damnation, he was not going to fall in love with Suzanna Molloy. She was beautiful, brilliant, cantankerous and an intrusion into his well-ordered life.
Except that his life had been far from well-ordered recently. Having his lab blown up, being covered with green slime, turning into—what had she called him? Cinderman?—had all been far from conventional. Falling in love would be the coup de grace, and he had every intention of fighting it tooth and nail.
That didn’t mean he didn’t revel in the fact that the mighty Suzanna Molloy had fallen. And he had every intention of taking advantage of that fact, as soon as she’d hold still enough for him to get her in bed.
