by Kay Hooper
“Better luck next time,” Jackie sympathized, smiling up at him with unshadowed love.
Cole didn’t appear to notice that look, since he was glancing around the room absently—but someone else did. Michele saw her brother coming toward them, and in the few seconds that Jon’s eyes rested on Jackie’s face, his feelings were as plain as neon.
He’s in love with her.
For the first time, Michele understood why her undoubtedly handsome brother dated rarely and tended to throw himself into his work. Jackie had never shown the slightest romantic interest in Jon, treating him with casual friendliness and nothing more; she had even confided in him about her romantic problems with other men. And now she was glowingly in love with Cole, totally unconscious of Jon except as Michele’s brother.
Michele felt a pang of compassion and wondered why she had been so blind to his feelings before this.
“I’m ready to eat,” Jon said calmly as he joined them. “How about the rest of you?”
There was nothing Michele could say to help him, so she said nothing. They went to the buffet together and then found a table, all four of them talking casually. The noise level in the room increased, and Michele could feel her tension increase as well until she could hardly stand it. She excused herself softly and left the table, but instead of going to the restroom she retrieved her cloak from the attendant and slipped out a side door that led to the rooftop terrace.
In good weather, the glass doors of the ballroom were left open so that guests could wander out onto the terrace. The frigid weather tonight made that impractical, so the doors had remained closed and the lights on the terrace hadn’t been turned on. Michele had been here more than once, and knew her way despite the darkness. She avoided the light spilling out from the ballroom as she made her way to the far corner of the terrace and stood looking out on the lights of the city.
It was bitterly cold, but the sleet had held off and there was no wind. Even high above the city, the air was still, the traffic noises from below only muted sounds.
Michele waited. And when he came to her, she turned instantly to burrow into his arms. “I couldn’t stand it anymore,” she whispered, all her senses flaring almost painfully at the touch of him against her.
“I know. I couldn’t either.” Ian turned her face up and kissed her, the first gentleness deepening rapidly to become intense hunger. He held her slender body tightly, knowing that this was the danger they’d faced by staying away from each other; the very passion that had drawn them together in the face of a centuries-old feud was literally too powerful to be denied, and the long separation had built pressure in them both like steam under a tightly closed lid.
It didn’t matter that more than a hundred people laughed and talked only a few yards away, many of whom would have been shocked to see a Logan and a Stuart in each other’s arms. All the reason and common sense and caution in the world couldn’t lessen their response to each other.
Chapter 8
“Michele. God, I’ve missed you.” Ian raised his head at last, staring down at her, realizing with a jolt that it would be years before he knew her face the way he needed to; every time he looked at her she was new and different and more lovely. Now, in the faint lights of the city all around them, she was almost unreal, like something he had dreamed out of the night.
She laughed shakily, clinging to him. “I’ve missed you, too, I knew it was crazy to come here tonight, but I had to see you, even if it was just for a little while—”
Ian kissed her again, trying to satisfy the craving inside him and knowing it was impossible. “A little while isn’t enough,” he said huskily. “Michele—”
He broke off abruptly as she stiffened in his arms. Even though the light was too faint for him to see it, he knew she had gone pale. Keeping one arm around her, he turned slowly and saw a tall figure moving toward them across the terrace. All his instincts told him who it was, and even though the light from the ballroom was behind Jon and left his features in shadow, Ian could feel himself tense warily.
“Ian.” There was no expression in the even voice, no hint of emotion or reaction of any kind. It was the first time he had spoken to Ian in their adult lives.
“Jon.” It was a peculiar feeling, Ian thought, a sense of knowledge without familiarity, of caution and understanding, affinity and distance. They had been set apart all their lives by the feud, but now the woman both of them loved was a connection between them.
Michele’s brother came toward them until he was only a few feet away, then stopped. Still without inflection, he said, “They’re paging you in the ballroom. An emergency call.”
The apparent calm of Jon’s reaction hadn’t eased Ian’s wariness, but he felt some of Michele’s stiffness drain away as if something in her brother’s voice had lessened her own fears. She looked up at him, clearly more worried by the message than by the messenger.
“Something’s happened?”
“I left this number with the security service at the building,” Ian told her.
“I’ll wait here,” she said. When he hesitated, she added quietly, “It’s all right.”
Ian knew from Michele’s reports that her brother had been looking for evidence just as they were, but she hadn’t been sure that he believed both families had a common enemy, which made Jon’s calm now hardly reassuring. Still, Ian had to trust Michele’s assessment, and he couldn’t believe her brother had any violent intentions.
Not, at least, at the moment.
“I’ll be back,” he told her, reluctantly leaving her to cross the terrace. As he came abreast of the other man, he hesitated, then said, “I’d never hurt her, Jon.”
After a moment, Jon’s only response was, “Better take your call.”
Ian glanced back at Michele, standing so quiet and still, then swore under his breath and left them alone.
When he had gone, Michele watched her brother cross the remaining few feet between them and stand by the low terrace wall gazing out on the city. Having been braced for a thunderclap, this mild reaction made her more than a little wary, but she wondered now if the combination of Jon’s growing belief in their faceless enemy and his seemingly hopeless love for Jackie had made him examine his own feelings. All she knew for certain was that he hadn’t been surprised to find her out here with Ian.
“Cold place for a tryst,” he said finally in the same expressionless tone.
It was cold, but Michele was only now aware of it. She drew her cloak more closely around her. “Not a tryst. It wasn’t planned. None of it was planned.” Her voice was as quiet as his, almost hushed, as if they were both afraid of disturbing some fine, delicate balance of emotion.
He drew a short breath. “I think I always knew it would happen someday. From the time you were about fourteen, and your favorite story was Romeo and Juliet.”
“I’d forgotten that.”
“Had you?”
“Consciously, yes. I loved that story. But I hated the ending. People shouldn’t have to die for love, Jon. And they shouldn’t have to hurt their families because they love.”
After a moment, still without looking at her, Jon said, “When you came back from Martinique, I knew you were different. Then the day I got out of the hospital, you went out, and when you came home, I knew there was a man. I couldn’t even accept the possibility that it was Ian Stuart, but you were fighting so hard to prove they weren’t our enemies, and I couldn’t get that out of my mind. I—finally called your hotel in Martinique to find out if he’d been registered there.”
“When did you call?”
“A week ago.”
He had known that long and had said nothing. She had done her brother an injustice in believing he’d react instantly and with hate, Michele realized. It seemed that Jon had given this a great deal of thought before facing his sister.
“Dad doesn’t know.” It wasn’t a question.
“He isn’t ready to hear that. I don’t know if he ever will be, Michele.”
She stepped close to him. “And what about you? How do you feel about it?”
An odd little laugh escaped Jon, a sound that wasn’t amusement. “Hell, I don’t know. I thought I hated him. But I came out here expecting to find you two together…and I didn’t feel much of anything. I wanted to be suspicious of his motives, but I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you looked at him.”
“We didn’t want to hurt anyone. That’s why we’ve stayed away from each other. We want to prove to Dad and Ian’s father that someone else is working against the families, and stop the feud now before someone really gets hurt.” Michele hesitated, then added quietly, “We’re going to be married, Jon.”
Without surprise, her brother said, “Dad can’t stop you. But he won’t accept it.”
“Will you?”
Jon turned to look at her for the first time. “I have to, don’t I? You wouldn’t have gone this far without really thinking it through, not knowing all the risks you’re taking. There’s nothing I could say to you that you haven’t already said to yourself. It can’t have been easy for you. If you…love him after everything you’ve heard for twenty years, then it must be a pretty strong love.”
“It is. The strongest, surest thing I’ve ever felt.”
He half nodded. “That’s why I have to accept it. Maybe Dad can cut off his nose to spite his face, but I can’t. You’re my sister, Michele. I just want you to be happy.”
Though she was still afraid of her father’s reaction, Jon’s acceptance lifted at least part of her dread. “I was so afraid you’d hate me,” she said unsteadily.
He smiled crookedly. “No. Right now, I’m finding it a little hard to hate anyone. I’ve decided I don’t much fancy being a lemming. You were right about that. Five centuries is too long to hate.”
“Good,” Ian said in a quiet voice as he rejoined them. “We can use your help. Our not-so-friendly bomber has struck again.”
Michele half turned to him, instinctively reaching out until his long fingers closed over hers. “Not your building?”
“The elevators. All of them except one; apparently, the man was scared off by security before he could finish the job. The guards saw someone disappear into the stairwell, then everything hit the fan and they were too busy to chase him.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Michele asked anxiously.
“No. But I’d like to know how in hell he got into the building.”
She looked at her brother. “It wasn’t Dad, was it?”
Jon shook his head immediately. “No. He gave me his word he wouldn’t retaliate without telling me, and he doesn’t break his word.”
Accepting that. Michele looked back at Ian and told him what Jon had found out from the bribed inspector. He heard her out in silence, then said, “If that many people know someone else is involved, one of them may know something that can help us. I’ll start questioning our men in the morning.”
“I’ll do the same,” Jon said. “And our suppliers.”
Looking at Michele, Ian said reluctantly, “I have to get to the building. Dad was notified right after I was, so he’ll be there. I have to talk to him.”
“Will he listen?”
“He’ll listen.” Ian sounded grim. “I’m not going to give him a choice about it.”
“I’ll wait for you inside, Michele,” Jon said, leaving them alone on the terrace.
After a moment, Ian pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “Was he being tactful? Or does it test his resolution to see us together?”
A bit wryly, she said, “Maybe a bit of both. It wasn’t easy for him; I think he’s a little numb. But at least he’s on our side now.”
Ian kissed her. “I’m glad—for all our sakes, but especially for yours. I know how much it would have hurt you if he hadn’t been able to accept this.”
Hugging as much of him as she could, Michele said fiercely, “I just wish it were over. I don’t want to be afraid that something terrible’s going to happen. I want to be with you. I love you so much…”
“I love you, too, baby,” he murmured.
The endearment brought vividly to mind what she wanted to tell him, but there just wasn’t time. It wasn’t something meant to be related during a brief phone call or hurriedly in a stolen meeting on a cold terrace.
She drew away slowly. “You’d better go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Ian framed her face in his hands and kissed her, then again because it wasn’t enough, it could never be enough between them. “Be careful,” he warned tautly. “Whoever he is, this enemy’s too bomb-happy for my peace of mind.”
Michele nodded and watched as he crossed the terrace and went inside. For the first time, she felt very, very cold. And very much alone.
—
He had watched and listened from the deepest shadows of the terrace, his bitter rage growing. Damn them! They’d made peace among them, forming a solid union despite the odds and a lingering wariness between the men. He should have destroyed the love affair at the first sign, he realized, shattered it before bonds of trust could be formed. Now the three members of the younger generation had formed an alliance, all working to neutralize his attempts to disrupt the careful balance between their families.
And even worse. They knew about him. It was only a matter of time before they put all the pieces together and discovered who their common enemy was.
For an instant, as the woman stood alone near the edge of the terrace, he was tempted to leap across the darkness separating them and push her over. Just a quick shove, and she’d fall to her death. Problem at least partially solved.
But he resisted the hot impulse, watching with glittering eyes as she went slowly back inside. He had to get them all, the three of them. And he had to do it in such a way that their fathers would be utterly convinced who was guilty.
That, he thought with satisfaction, would certainly push them both over the brink of sanity. Their children engulfed by the feud, neither of them would stop until one or both of them was dead. With a little luck—it would be both.
The plan began forming rapidly in his feverish mind. They thought the feud should end—so did he. But he wanted a swifter, cleaner death than the whimpering peace they sought. He intended for the pure white flame of revenge to annihilate all the dark, twisted remnants of hate.
Even the ones inside himself.
He had to do it. They’d given him no choice. He had to burn away the darkness before it consumed him.
—
Ian looked at the damage, thinking that even if the security guards had failed to capture the culprit, at least they’d managed to prevent the spread of a fire that could have been a great deal worse. All the elevators except one had been locked off on the tenth floor, and that was where they’d been rigged to explode. The charges had been powerful enough to snap the cables and send the cars crashing to the bottom of the shafts, and the saboteur had covered his retreat by flinging a bottle filled with gasoline and a lit fuse against a wall as he fled.
The remaining express elevator had escaped destruction, either because it had been on the ground floor while the saboteur worked or because the man had simply run out of time. Following their instructions, the security guards had not alerted the police, and no one outside the building had reported the explosions; with the size of the structure, it was unlikely that anyone had even heard. Their elusive enemy, Ian thought, seemed to be careful not to call too much attention to his work; apparently, he wanted the fight to be between the families and no one else.
Ian had ordered the express elevator thoroughly checked, but there’d been no sign of tampering. The other elevators stood open on this floor, their bare, smoke-blackened shafts all that was visible, and since the doors had been jammed by the explosions, he had roped them off. He glanced aside where his father stood talking to one of the guards, and braced himself mentally for the struggle he expected to take place.
A few minutes later, as Brandon Stuart joined his son,
he said bitterly, “Damn them.”
“The Logans aren’t responsible,” Ian said quietly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ian—”
Ian turned away from his father and walked down the hall to a lounge area that was partly furnished since this floor had been completed. Some of the security guards and a couple of the company electricians were still grouped around the elevators, and he had no intention of discussing the situation with too many listening ears; at this point, he wasn’t sure whom he could trust. He sat down on the arm of a chair and loosened his tie, waiting for his father to join him.
As he did, Brandon said, “Surely you’ve given up on those fantasies of yours.”
“They aren’t fantasies, Dad. Someone else is stirring up trouble between the families. Someone who knows just how to use the feud to his own advantage.”
“What advantage? Who would have anything to gain by such a scheme?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Flatly, Brandon said, “I’ve given you all the time I could, Ian, and you haven’t been able to answer that question. So I will. None of our competitors would go this far. Except the Logans. And they have everything to gain.”
“It isn’t them.”
“What makes you so damned sure?”
“Because Jon and Michele Logan are working just as hard as I am to prove someone else is involved.”
“I don’t believe it. No matter what you’ve heard—”
“Will you listen to me? It is not them. We’ve agreed both families have an enemy, and it’s beginning to look like it isn’t a business competitor at all.”
“Agreed?” Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve talked to them about this?”
Very quietly, Ian said, “I’m in love with Michele.”
“What?” It was little more than a whisper, genuinely shocked.
Ian kept his own voice quiet and calm. “We met on Martinique. We’re going to be married, Dad.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“No. We’re going to be married.”
