Tamed Spirit

by Alison Tyler

  Luke had been more accurate in his observation than Cat would have cared to admit. All of a sudden she felt a distinct shift of the tables. For a woman who liked being in the driver's seat, she had just taken a definite tumble toward the backseat!

  Playing for time and searching for composure, she picked up one of the travel brochures from the desk. "Greece," she commented with more interest than she felt.

  "Yes," Luke concurred, the conversation taking an abrupt turn in the direction of banality. He began to question his observations about Cat's ready seductability. He also questioned the logic of tampering with matters he was not expecting and, if he forced the truth upon himself, not prepared to cope with. To say that they came from opposite ends of the universe would be a strong understatement.

  "I'm leaving for Greece in a few weeks—for a couple of months." He was comforted by the impending distance and by having shared the information with her.

  Cats reaction was to feel equally comforted. She liked dealing with all situations in defined time limits—men as well as movies. She liked the thrill, the newness, the excitement of the moment. Then she liked to move on to the next experience or adventure. There was so much out there, Cat sometimes felt like she would never find enough time to do it all.

  Besides, she reassured herself as she smiled up at Luke, she was leaving San Francisco in less than ten days, foreseeing no further complications on the shoot—like intriguing, attractive doctors attempting to rescue her in the line of duty. How much trouble could she get into in ten short days?

  "I love Greece," Cat said lightly, feeling more secure. "I've done a few films there. Unfortunately, were always so busy, I rarely get the chance to play tourist." Her eyes swept over the brochure as she had a fleeting fantasy of Luke and her cavorting around ancient ruins under a sultry Greek sun. The image caused her equilibrium to shift yet again. She'd been involved in filming too many love stories lately. She decided to put in for a good horror flick next time.

  "Well, I won't be purely a tourist, either," Luke was saying. "I'll be busy working on my book." His voice dropped slightly despite his attempt to sound casual.

  "Oh, yes, your book." She smiled. "Sexual freedom… right?"

  "Fulfillment, sexual fulfillment," he corrected sharply. "It's a manual—a reference book, really— based on my own research as well as others." He emphasized the latter as she lifted her eyes to his in another of her sensually curious gazes.

  He coughed. The cause was more discomfort than flu, but when Cat walked off to the kitchen to pour him some more of her secret formula, he was relieved. Those few minutes gave him a chance to reflect on the utter ludicrousness of the situation. What was he, a conservative, low-keyed psychiatrist, doing with this wild and reckless Hollywood spirit? Even in his fantasies he couldn't have come up with a more unlikely match-up.

  She handed him the hot drink. This time he didn't resist. Actually, he was beginning to like the way the stuff tasted.

  He sat down on the couch. Then standing abruptly, he asked, "What about you? Ah—would you like a drink?"

  Cat smiled warmly. "You'd better keep it all. Fortunately, flu bugs keep their distance from me. I can't afford to go into a coughing fit as I'm racing out of a burning building or leaping off an exploding bridge."

  "I meant something less medicinal, like a glass of wine or a Scotch…"

  He moved over to a small cabinet. Tucking his robe around him more securely, he bent down to inspect his liquor supply. Teri only drank Scotch, and he never did care for more than a glass or two of wine. He also had a few unopened bottles of rye whiskey—gifts from Christmas.

  "Wine would be nice."

  Luke stood up. "Red or white?"

  She joined him at the makeshift bar. An uncorked bottle of red stood on the top. She told him that one looked fine and watched him pour. She liked the way he did things: there was always this subtle hint of sensuality in his movements. She wondered if he knew how sexy she found him. On the surface he presented a picture of the conventional, organized, tidy intellectual—erudite and academically highbrow. He was also sensitive, concerned, empathetic, and gentle. Those qualities were the easy ones to discern. Cat, like Luke, had a knack for seeing beneath the surface. Now she saw a sensually desirable man with a very forceful, provocative presence. She clasped her hands tightly around her drink. She decided she had better swallow it down and get out before she started acting out a scene she was not ready to play. For some mysterious reason, she was having difficulty moving the glass to her lips.

  Luke felt suddenly impetuous and slightly giddy. He was quick to deny that it was merely Cat's nearness, idly wondering again if she hadn't put something stronger than seaweed into that drink after all. Whatever the cause, he felt decidedly intoxicated and not in the mood to analyze his feelings. Without a further thought he abruptly turned to Cat, prying the drink from her still tightly clasped hands. Possessively, he slipped his arms around her, his mouth nuzzling the side of her neck. She smelled like fresh daffodils. He kissed her fragrant, silky skin. Her breasts, tight against his chest, heaved deeply. When she drew her head back, he wasted no time capturing that wild, tantalizing mane of hair, tugging her to him for a deep, urgent kiss. Her lips, slightly parted in prepared protest, opened wider as his mouth came down upon hers. His fingers wound through her hair as the kiss deepened.

  Cat felt the warmth of his body against her, the urgency of his desire as he gathered her in his arms. She shifted. His grasp tightened. Then she lost herself in the kiss, in the delicious warmth that suffused her. She gave in to her need to respond to him—a need that had begun to take hold hours ago on the ledge outside the window of that fourth-floor apartment.

  When they finally parted, Cat was acutely conscious of her own heartbeat and the tightening of her muscles. It was only a kiss, she chided herself, forcing her eyes to meet Luke's. As it turned out, he looked as disturbed and disoriented as she felt. That made her relax.

  Smiling, a mischievous twinkle in her dark blue eyes, she shook her hair from her face. "How are you feeling?"

  Luke, for all his sophistication and experience with women, actually flushed. And then he grinned. "I feel—very excited," he admitted huskily.

  "No, I mean your cold." It was Cat's turn to feel the warm flow of blood return to her cheeks.

  Luke laughed. The sound had a nice warm ring to it. "Hey, you know something. I feel a hell of a lot better. I don't know if it was that secret brew of yours or…" He intentionally let the sentence drop, tugging her toward him.

  She broke the movement with her hands planted flat against his chest.

  "It's the medicine," she said a little breathlessly— and a little too emphatically. "Don't let it fool you. You are still a sick guy. Well, now that I've accomplished my mission of mercy, you'd better tuck yourself into bed."

  Luke had a much better suggestion, but Cat was already picking up her jacket and hastily making her way to the door. As she reached for the knob, she turned and blew him a kiss.

  "I hope I've made up for this morning." Then with one of her crooked little smiles, she placed her cowboy hat jauntily on her head and glided out the door.

  Luke nodded. A very pleasant "mission of mercy." He laughed out loud. That understatement had to take the prize for the day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The rain had fizzled out. Cat glanced up at the sky, then shifted her gaze to the window ledge that Liz Fuller was stepping out on. The silence grew more intense as camera one zoomed in for a close-up. Cat grinned. She knew how much Liz hated heights, but the actress was a real trooper. There was not a hint of fear in those blue eyes as she glared insolently into the camera, daring anyone to try to stop her.

  "Okay, that's a wrap. Nice going, Liz. Harry, help her back inside." Carl Ramsey, the director who had offered Luke that juicy part yesterday, gave a thumbs-up sign and called to Cat to get ready.

  Liz walked out of the building and smiled at Cat. At first glance they could have been mis
taken for twins. In some ways they were almost too perfectly matched. Their hairstyles were exact duplicates as were their cranberry-colored gowns and thin-strapped heels. Even their rouge and lipstick were the same. Passing each other at the doorway, they exchanged warm smiles.

  Close-up, the differences between the two women were obvious. Cat was a good two inches taller than Liz, with dark blue-black eyes and a fuller, more mischievous smile. And while the smaller of the two exuded a sultry kind of glamour, the taller woman had a vivacious, spirited style that was written all over her.

  "It's all yours, sweetie," Liz Fuller said affectionately.

  "Seems to me we played this scene before." Cat grinned. "Oh, well, it's a nice day for leaping tall buildings…"

  Actually, it was a lousy day—gray, chilly, with an intermittent drizzle. Cat and the crew were probably the only group in San Francisco pleased with the bleak lighting. All they prayed for was no downpour until they wrapped up.

  "Sorry to do this to you, Cat," the young crewman said apologetically and then turned the hose on her at the entry before she had a chance to hold her breath. She sputtered a bit and shivered for a moment as the cold water blasted her.

  "The show must go on," Cat sighed, shaking herself off. She kept a towel around her shoulders until she got upstairs. Dropping it on the floor, she walked to the window, opened it, and stepped outside. There was no hesitation in her movements despite the high heels and the narrowness of the ledge. She might have been standing on a terrace checking the weather.

  "Over a little to the left." The director motioned her with his hand while he shouted.

  Easily, she glided a few more inches away from the window, waiting patiently for the jump signal. There was some kind of difficulty with one of the cameras, so the filming was held up for a couple of minutes.

  Her eyes followed the line of windows in the building across the road, coming to rest on Luke's kitchen window.

  She smiled to herself, remembering that look on his face when he saw her standing on the ledge yesterday. It was obvious that he had no idea what was really going on. Again she wondered exactly why she had let him believe she was contemplating suicide. She had seen him staring at her from his window, but she knew he probably couldn't tell. Nor could he have made out her half-smile as she saw the frantic upset in his features. She couldn't help smiling at him. He must have thought she was crazy. Then she saw him dash across the street. Surely, he'd notice they were filming. But he had been so disturbed, he'd automatically assumed the cameras were out to capture another San Francisco suicide leap. He'd barged through the crowds and raced to save her.

  She was going to tell him the truth right away, but…

  He was so earnest, so caring, so sincerely concerned. He was also charming and very attractive. And to top it off, he had a special vulnerable appeal. Maybe it was his miserable cold that made him seem that way, but Cat guessed there was more to it. Anyway, she found herself letting him go on while she played the role he was casting her in. She admitted to herself afterward that it was a cruel thing to do, but she hadn't meant it that way. She had told Luke the truth yesterday. She had gotten carried away, finding herself caught up in their private film—finding herself more than a little attracted to Dr. Luke Eliot.

  When she'd looked back up at him after that leap, she knew he was boiling mad. It made matters worse when she grinned. She couldn't help it, though. In the midst of his rage at Carl, he kept coughing and sneezing, and despite the angry set to his face, his eyes still looked stunned by the whole thing.

  When he stormed off, Cat found herself debating whether or not to leave well enough alone. When she started back to her hotel, she toyed with the idea of sending Luke a note of apology. No point in going any further than that. So what if she had found him attractive. She had enough complications in her life right now not to go looking for more. And somehow she sensed that Luke Eliot would definitely cause additional complications.

  Then she passed that health-food shop. Cat decided it was part fate and a greater part impulsiveness that made her buy the ingredients for the special recipe she had teasingly offered Luke up on that ledge.

  She almost threw the stuff out back at her hotel. A dumb idea, she told herself. She certainly had no interest in starting anything. Besides, two people couldn't have gotten off to a poorer start. Not to mention that he wasn't her type and they lived in two totally different worlds.

  Cat came up with several more points to her argument on the way to Luke's apartment, but when he opened the door in the middle of a sneezing attack, she forgot about her inner debate. He looked so miserable, so vulnerable. He also looked remarkably attractive in that terry-cloth robe. She let herself be comforted by the fact that he was a sick man and she was merely responding to a budding maternal instinct.

  She had underestimated Dr. Luke Eliot's appeal. To make matters worse, she had also underestimated how appealing he found her. This could be trouble with a capital T. When he slipped his arms around her yesterday afternoon, Cat knew it was time to leave. He provoked too many sensations, and she was not looking for a ten-day affair. Or a longer one.

  Cat had always been high-spirited and fiercely independent. Her father, who had raised her alone from the time she was three, told her that even as a small child she would tolerate few restrictions. Justin Roy, known by all as Dodger, was one of Hollywood's top stunt men, and as much as he wished Cat wouldn't follow in his footsteps, he knew from the start that he was fighting a losing battle. Cat was fearless and she learned quickly. And like her father, she always had to be on the move. The only thing she ever felt afraid of was being tied down. Professionally, she was heading toward the top of the ladder. Things had not gone so well in her personal life. Maybe she was too caught up with her career, or maybe she always chose the wrong men. Cat kept looking for simple, undemanding relationships that did not interfere with her life-style. Inevitably, all her relationships ended the same way. When the pressure was put on, she made a hasty exit.

  When Luke had kissed her yesterday and she had responded so passionately, Cat realized that she was getting in over her head. When she walked out, she had no intention of seeing him again. Her propensity for picking the wrong guy had reached the limit with Luke Eliot.

  She was so intent on her thoughts that, although her eyes were unconsciously focused on Luke's window, she almost missed spotting him.

  This time there was no look of panic in his expression. In fact, Cat wasn't sure what he was feeling. She smiled but couldn't tell if he smiled back or not. Forget it, she ordered herself, forcing her eyes on the director, waiting for the go-ahead signal. Just as he gave it and Cat leaned forward, Luke took a step closer to the window.

  She felt the impact of her landing more than she usually did. Too tense. One of the crew helped her off.

  He must have seen her wince. "Are you okay?"

  "Sure," she said quickly. "You know I'm made of rubber."

  He grinned and walked off. Carl called it a wrap and walked over to Cat, giving her an affectionate hug.

  "Beautiful job. Monday, all you have to do is jump out of a burning car," he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Cat laughed. "A piece of cake."

  A powerfully built man, dark hair streaked with gray, came over to Cat. "Let's see that wrist."

  "I'm fine." She stuck her hand behind her back.

  Carl's face flashed concern. "What happened, Cat? Did you hurt yourself in that landing?"

  "Come on, fellers. All this worry is comforting, but I'm a pro, remember?"

  The dark-haired man caught her elbow, pulling her hand from behind and spotting the barely perceptible wince. "Probably only a sprain, but I want it X-rayed. And no lip, Cat." He gave her a piercing look, then eyed Carl Ramsey with the same stare, squashing any lip from either one of them. Before he walked off, he put his arm around Cat, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and smiled with satisfaction, knowing that his orders would be carried out.

  "Mo
unt Zion is just a few blocks away. I'll get Harry to zip you over." Carl was already motioning to the burly crewman as he spoke.

  Cat shrugged her consent. What choice did she have?

  This was another one of those early rising days for Luke, even though it was the start of the weekend. He always scheduled a seven a.m. appointment on Saturdays so that he would be forced to get going at the crack of dawn instead of idling his morning hours away. He'd left the house at six-thirty, spend a difficult fifty-minute hour with a new patient, and was back home before nine.

  He had planned to head right over to the university library after his morning appointment. He had even carted his briefcase full of notes with him. When he stepped out of his office, not bothering to open his umbrella against the light drizzle, he changed his mind, deciding to return home instead.

  He told himself he ought to go through the new journals he had on his desk before checking out the current reprints at the library. He also told himself that the refilming of the suicide stunt would most likely be cancelled since today it wasn't raining like it had the day before. So much for what Luke Eliot understood about movie magic. Either that, or he was playing mind games with himself, pretending that he had absolutely no interest in seeing Cat Roy leap out of another building.

  Sometimes it was a curse being a psychiatrist, he decided. He always saw so easily through his rationalizations. Today was no exception. He was hurrying home on the chance that Cat would be there, that she might stop by his apartment again. Shed left her Thermos there after all. He smiled, thinking how often he told patients who forgot items at his office that it was their way of maintaining a connection with him, as well as a reason to return before their scheduled appointments. He wondered if Cat was aware of that theory. She'd said she was savvy about therapy. Maybe it had even been a conscious maneuver. Cat Roy was not a meek, tentative lady. Luke grinned. This must be his week for understatements.