A MAN CALLED BLUE

by EC Sheedy

"Very good, sir. This way then."

  Gus returned to his guests, leaving Simone and Blue to follow William up two flights of stairs and down an extended gallery hall ornamented, between countless doors, with busts and oils of long-departed English aristocracy. The endless hall, which might have been coldly formal, glowed with warmth and comfort thanks to modern lighting, an abundance of gilt frames, and a colorful, patterned carpet.

  William stopped at the last door in the hall. "Your room, mum." He opened the door, standing aside to let Simone and Blue step in.

  "Thank you," she said, surveying the room. "And where is Mr. Bludell's room?"

  "Directly across the hall, mum." He nodded through the open door while stacking her cases at the foot of the bed.

  Blue stood near the window, making no move to go. She glanced at William, briefly considered how it looked to the boy leaving Blue and her in the room alone, and decided she didn't care.

  "Thank you again, William. Would you please take Mr. Bludell's luggage to his room." She walked the young man to the door, closed it behind him, and leaned against it. She waited for Blue to speak, not even wondering why he hadn't left with William, but oddly glad he hadn't. Of course, she had no intention of letting him know that.

  "Do you think it's true what they say about these old English country homes?" he asked.

  "I don't know. What do they say?" She stayed by the door, braced by its solidity.

  "That the real weekend fun didn't start until lights out, when the lords and ladies made stealthy trips down the corridor to the bedroom—and partner—of their choice. The best hosts knew who would be sleeping with whom and made the trip as short as possible."

  "I wouldn't know," she said, thinking of the proximity of Blue's room to hers and warming from the inside out.

  "It was all very civilized, I'm told." He went on. "A rap on the door sometime after midnight, a whispered identification, and a polite request for entry." He smiled now, his blue eyes taunting as he took a step toward her.

  "Risky business," she said, feeling flushed and too conscious of his gaze, his gleaming hair, and his casual presence in her room. "Considering they were without the benefit of light and the number of doors in that hall, they must have made some embarrassing mistakes, and there was always the chance of rejection—of being turned away."

  "Ah, but that's the good part. If the object of desire did not want the encounter—or was otherwise occupied—she simply feigned sleep to protect the delicate ego of the suitor. Not risky at all. Besides, the truly accomplished London rake knew in advance who would welcome him to her bed." His gaze held hers.

  She held her breath, resisting the urge to fan herself. "And how would he know that?" she asked, her voice low and alien to her ear.

  Blue closed the space separating them and lifted her chin with his knuckle. She told herself to look away, to pull back. She did neither. His gaze in the shadowy room was intense, his vivid blue eyes smoky and dark. His voice was husky, all trace of tease gone. "By the way she looks at him, curious and expectant. By the way the temperature rises in any room they share, by the way her gaze falls to his mouth when he tells her he wants her."

  Her gaze fell to his mouth.

  He kissed her softly, a brush of lips more warm breath than caress. Simone tried to shore her defenses, stem the melt of bone and muscle. She should not do this! She steeled herself, until his head lifted and his eyes met hers with a hot craving look. He rubbed her lower lip, dropped his gaze to watch the play of his thumb.

  "And by the way, her lips tremble under his," he whispered, before taking her face in his hands to kiss her again, deeper, much deeper, easing her mouth open, insisting she yield to his tongue.

  His mouth, at first cool, heated, closed over hers in persuasive, masculine demand. His hands skimmed her shoulders, her upper arms, then moved to her buttocks, pulling her flush against him. She gloried in him, high and rigid on her belly.

  Simone's thoughts spun and eddied under the flood of sensations he evoked. She inhaled the scent of him, musk and man, and her fingers gripped and played in the thick silk of his hair. Holding it by the fistful, she anchored herself to him, arching her body to indicate a need as blatantly lusty, as frankly demanding as his. She wanted this, wanted Blue with a force that blinded her. There was no part of her—mind, body, or soul—not yearning to curl into him and give until the giving was done. Shaking, she pressed closer, overwhelmed by her own hunger.

  Blue growled softly, drew in a halting breath, and pulled back far enough to look at her with glazed eyes, before closing them and tilting his head back to breathe long and raggedly. He looked as rocked and confused as she was.

  "And I thought the drive here was bad, wanting you more with every passing mile." He shook his head. "But this is true torture," he murmured, pulling her head to his shoulder and resting his chin on it. She could feel the heavy pound of his heart against her breast. With each beat, fragments of her lost reason returned.

  How did I let this happen? How did I get to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time with the wrong man? She clenched her eyelids closed, determined to open them on the world as it was before she kissed him.

  Blue must have sensed her retreat, because he tightened his grip. "Don't go away," he commanded softly, kissing her hair. "Not mentally. Not physically. Let me hold you." She relaxed, feeling his smile against her hair. "Come to think of it, maybe you should hold me. I don't usually kiss like that unless I'm horizontal."

  Still laboring to calm her erratic heartbeat, Simone grumbled her response. "And I don't usually kiss like that at all." She sounded like a no-nonsense prude and knew it.

  Blue stroked some stray hair back into her tight, severe hair style. "Good. Then it's a first for both of us." He kissed her again, nibbling at her lower lip. Embarrassed at her instant response, she moved out of his arms and took a couple of steps away on unreliable legs. When he reached for her, she held up a palm to stop him and took two full breaths before speaking.

  "We need to talk," she said, willing her voice to steady. "We can't keep doing this. You can't keep doing this." She gave him a stern look and ignored the voice yelling hypocrite as she tried to blame him for what was a sure case of spontaneous combustion.

  Blue gave her a long look before nodding. "I agree," he said finally, sober as a preacher, except for the glint in his eye. "But I'm afraid talk will have to wait." He tapped his watch, giving her a look of mock regret along with the irksome reminder they were both expected downstairs. "And I have to get into that black tie outfit you're so fond of."

  Damned if the man wasn't amused. She couldn't decide whether to bash him over the head or throw herself on him. He didn't give her the chance to do either. What he did was kiss her lightly on the cheek, grip her shoulders to move her aside, open the door, and stride without a backward glance across the hall to his room.

  Chapter 8

  Dinner dragged on and on and...

  Simone was seated next to Hallam at the head of the table. Blue was exactly—she counted—twelve place settings away, beside Shandra McQuaid. If Gus Hallam intended anything by putting Blue and her in rooms close together, he didn't carry the intention through to the dinner table.

  She yawned discreetly behind her napkin, grateful Hallam's attention was taken by the woman on his other side. The guests intoned about the state of the economy, and the damage the currently ruling political party would ultimately do to their fortunes, then came: taxes, property values, taxes, unions, taxes...

  The table hummed with colorless unanimity. Only Shandra McQuaid bubbled, seeming in a state of constant animation as she worked to keep Blue's attention fixed on her throughout dinner. Simone glanced down the table.

  Did the woman never stop talking?

  And did she need to touch his arm to punctuate every sentence?

  She saw Blue smile at the attractive redhead, and a chasm opened in her stomach. It was as though he'd given Shandra something belonging to her—only to her. She pu
shed at the lone strawberry in her untouched dessert with a gold handled spoon. If Shandra captured Blue's interest, she told herself firmly, it was just as well. He would leave her alone, and she would get back to the business at hand, instead of wasting mental energy on a man easily capable of destroying her well-ordered life.

  She risked another glance down the table. This time Blue's gaze collided with hers. When he smiled and gave her a bad boy wink, her well-ordered life took a direct hit to its bearing wall. He politely tilted his head toward the ever prattling Shandra, but his eyes never left Simone's. She dropped her gaze, suddenly intent on scooping that lonely strawberry into her dry-as-bone mouth.

  * * *

  "...Of course, I'd be happy to show you Blenheim Palace tomorrow. After that we could..."

  Blue tried to return his attention to Shandra, but failed. Beside his gray-eyed tiger, his flame-haired dinner companion paled. It was Simone dominating his thoughts, she had since he'd kissed her some two hours before.

  That kiss altered his universe. For the first time since he'd been shanghaied into this crazy upper-crust world, he was glad to be here, black tie and all. What began as an amusing, fixtureless pursuit of an attractive woman was now something quite different.

  And that something had a name, Blue knew what it was, but couldn't say it—wouldn't say it—until he was sure, absolutely-without-a-doubt certain.

  "Ladies, gentlemen, shall we move to the drawing room?" Hallam stood and offered his hand to Simone. She took it, and as she rose with him, he tucked it possessively under his arm to lead her through a pair of arched doors.

  Blue's gut wrenched and coiled. That sleazy bas—

  "Blue?" Shandra stood behind his chair with a frankly curious look. "You okay?"

  "Fine," he ground out. "Just fine." He offered her his arm. "Shall we go?"

  The thirty-odd guests assembled in the formal high-ceilinged room, and over brandy and coffee resumed their dinner topics. Finding himself free of Shandra, who was now enjoying the attentions of Sir Michael's son, Geoffrey, Blue couldn't watch Hallam fawn over Simone a second longer; he headed for the terrace. He decided on a short walk through the gardens. Better a stroll in the moonlight than making a jealous ass of himself among Simone's business associates. Besides, he needed to think—and think hard.

  Twenty minutes later he came back. His foot was on the first step leading to the terrace when he heard Simone's voice.

  "Don't do this. Please. I came out here to discuss business. Nothing else." She sounded angry—and dismayed.

  "Ah, but, Simone darling, there's more than one kind of business and more than one kind of merger. Given the right incentive, perhaps you and I could—how do you Americans say it—'cut a deal' tonight."

  It was Hallam. Blue's pace quickened.

  "Gus, let go of me."

  "You don't really mean that, now do you?"

  Hallam's laugh pierced Blue's consciousness with the cut of a stiletto, and he took the last steps two at a time. His eyes quickly scanned the sweeping terrace. He saw them, backlit by the moon, standing on its outer rim. Simone pushed against Hallam's chest as he gripped her by the shoulders. Blue tamped his rage, fisted his hands in his pockets, and strode out of the dark toward them.

  "Nice night," he said, grinding the innocuous phrase out between clenched teeth and pasting a smile on his face. Hallam swung toward him, yanking his hands from Simone's shoulders as though they were electrically charged. When she immediately stepped away, Blue's breath came easier.

  Leaning casually on a terrace balustrade, Blue crossed his arms. Keeping his voice steady, he asked, "This is quite the place, Hallam. Must cost you a bundle to keep up. What've you got here? Fifty, sixty rooms?"

  "Seventy-five," he answered stiffly.

  Blue whistled. "Seventy-five rooms. How about that," he mused, glancing at Simone. She relaxed visibly. If the moon wasn't deceiving him, a grateful smile curved that delicious mouth of hers. He didn't stop to think how good that made him feel. He went on. "Good investment, I'd guess. How much would a place like this be worth?" he asked brashly.

  Hallam made no secret of his contempt for his tasteless inquiry. "What this place costs is none of your business, Bludell. Your question is as ignorant as it is presumptuous."

  "Is that right?" Blue stepped away from the rail.

  "That's right." Hallam snapped.

  "Well, I guess you'd know all about ignorance and presumption, wouldn't you?" He looked around blandly. "Still, I'd like to know how you finance this place. A man like me could retire here—with a generous pension, of course." Ignoring Simone's curious glance, Blue watched Hallam's reaction.

  Their gazes locked and the air thickened with threat. Hallam looked away first. By the time he looked back, he'd donned a smooth smile. "Don't know what you mean, old man. Long way from retirement myself. Now if you'll excuse us," he offered his arm to Simone. "I think we should return to my guests."

  Simone glanced at both men, but made no move to take Hallam's arm. Instead, she stepped up beside Blue. Blue leaned back against the balustrade.

  "Why don't you go back in, Gus? I think I'll stay out here and enjoy the night air." Simone gestured in the direction of the drawing room door.

  Even in the moonlight, Hallam's quick rise of temper was obvious. He looked at each of them in turn.

  He withdrew his arm and nodded curtly. "Very well," he said, his tone frigid. He took a couple of steps toward the open doors of the drawing room and turned back. "By the by, old man, I wouldn't give too much thought to the cost of this place. It's quite beyond your means. Unless the perquisites of your present job are greater than I assume." He paused, then attached a sneer to his aristocratic features. "Of course anything's possible, I suppose. I'm told Anjana executives pay well for certain, uh, skills. So tell me what does a talented financial consultant earn for his services these days?"

  Not missing Hallam's double meaning, Blue moved toward him. "You son-of-a—"

  Simone's hand on his arm stayed him. "You're right, Gus," she said, giving him a direct stare. "Anjana does pay well. As for Blue's financial skills, you're right again. He's very talented—and thorough—as you'll see when he submits his final report on Hallam Porcelain." She eyed him coldly. "I can't wait to see it."

  Hallam hesitated. "What you'll see, Simone, is what I've told you you'll see, a sound company at a fair price."

  "Perhaps." Then with a slight lift of her chin, she added, "And perhaps not."

  Hallam glared, nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and left.

  When his temper cooled, Blue noticed Simone was still gripping his arm, her hand trembling, her breath short irregular gusts. "Hey, Tiger, it's okay. Relax."

  "I shouldn't have been so—" she stopped, clearly at a loss for words.

  "Honest?" he suggested.

  She pulled her hand away. "Unguarded. I might have ruined everything. I insulted the man."

  "Don't you think you've got it backward? I didn't see him pushing you away when I arrived on this terrace."

  "No, but—"

  "No buts about it. You were great. If it hadn't been for you, there would've been a brawl out here worthy of the seediest pub in London. That guy—" Blue gestured with his head to where Hallam had disappeared "—has a face badly in need of rearranging." He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty when she swallowed hard and tried to pull away. He held her, stroked her chin with his thumb. "Are you always this hard on yourself, so determined to second-guess every move?"

  To his surprise she closed her eyes, then leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and put her head on his shoulder.

  It was his turn to swallow, his turn to breath unevenly as he enfolded her in his arms. He knew her impetuous move toward him was a search for comfort, nothing more. She wanted to be held. That was all. The good part was she wanted to be held by him. It was a start. A damn good start. He kissed the top of her head, inhaled deeply of her scent, and wo
ndered where the scent of Paris ended and pure woman began. He intended to find out, but for now holding her was enough.

  "Blue?"

  "Uh-huh?"

  When she started to pull away, he tightened his grip. She settled against him.

  "What you said about me second-guessing myself. You were right. That's exactly what I do. It's as if I'm measuring myself against an invisible mark, or playing a game where I'm not sure of all the rules. Sometimes I—" she stopped.

  "Go on," he urged.

  "Sometimes I don't want to play." She tensed in his arms, her fingers curling into his lapels. "I want to run, but I don't know where."

  This time she did pull away. He let her, leaving his hand to rest where her shoulder met the warmth of her throat, waiting for her to finish.

  She shook her head and looked at her feet. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm sure I'm not making any sense at all." She smoothed her dress over her thighs and stepped back, looking awkward and slightly forlorn. Blue couldn't tell in the moonlight, but he sensed her blush. He knew he should say something, knew if Simone was any other woman, words would come easily, glibly. Now they stuck in his throat with the pain and weight of a metal wedge.

  His thoughts jammed as his heart pounded blood clear to his eardrums. He couldn't breathe.

  He loved her!

  He was damn well weak with loving her. He closed his eyes briefly against the swell of emotion, equal parts fear and anticipation, threatening to capsize him. When he opened them, she was staring at him, her gray eyes tentative, wary.

  "I've embarrassed you. I'm sorry, she said in her dusky voice. "We should go in now. They'll be wondering about us." She patted her hair and glanced in the direction taken by Hallam moments before.

  "Let them wonder," he said gruffly, his voice alien and untrustworthy. It wasn't everyday a man fell in love. He'd no idea that when it happened to him he'd spin like a cork in a whirlpool. He also didn't have a clue what to say, or do, next. Another new experience. What he did know was he did not want to rejoin that ragtag crew of would-be aristocrats inside. He wanted to be alone with the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He wondered what she'd think if she knew the line his thoughts were on. That thought made him grin, and the grin restored some of his equilibrium.