Date With a Devil

by Anne Stuart

  Gideon simply smiled.

  “YOU’RE REALLY expecting me to go out on a blind date?” Sam demanded, standing in front of the mirror in her favorite little red dress, silver-flecked hose on her legs, one platform heel on, one in her hand. Her tawny hair was a wild mane, her makeup had been applied with practiced skill, her honey-colored eyes were enhanced with colored contact lenses, her wide mouth painted a cherry-blossom pink.

  “You’ve gotten this far,” Jasmine said. “You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”

  “You know what blind dates are, don’t you?” Sam said in a dire voice as she pulled the other shoe on, pushing her normally five feet eleven inches to six foot two. “They’re an instrument of the devil. They’re for masochists and sadists and people who have nothing else in their lives.”

  “They’re for people who are willing to do a favor for a good friend, no matter how unpleasant,” Jasmine said softly. “You know how I feel about Aaron. He’s losing interest and I have to do something before it’s too late and he finds someone else. The only way he’d go out with me is if I fixed you up with his friend.”

  “And I still don’t understand what you see in someone like…”

  “Let’s not go over that again,” Jasmine said in a soft voice. “Love isn’t practical, it just is.”

  Sam smoothed the red silk down over her narrow hips. “I think you can be as practical about love as you are about anything else. Pheromones shouldn’t make your brain fly out the window.”

  “You’re a lot more levelheaded than I am, as well as a lot more discreet. I’ve known you for four years, shared a house with you for two, and I haven’t met one of your lovers.”

  “I keep my life compartmentalized,” Sam said. She glanced at herself again in one of the many mirrors that covered the walls of the small, rambling Spanish-style villa. Jasmine had put up those mirrors. Samantha didn’t need them—she knew perfectly well what she looked like. A certain combination of bone and muscle and skin, and a symmetry of body and face, that for some reason the American public found particularly pleasing. It was nothing more than a trick, a disguise, but even Jasmine didn’t seem to realize it.

  “So tell me about my date,” she said, turning away from the mirror with a resigned sigh. “Is he going to be all over me like the last one?”

  “Most of them are, sweetheart,” Jasmine said.

  Sam looked down at her skimpy designer dress. “Maybe I should wear something with a little more coverage.”

  “It wouldn’t matter. You could wear burlap and they’d be trying to jump your bones. Don’t worry— I’ve warned Aaron you’re doing this as a favor to me and that his friend needs to be on his best behavior.”

  “Any friend of Aaron probably doesn’t know much about good behavior,” Sam said. “How do they know each other? Did they go to Cal together?”

  “Aaron didn’t say. I’m not sure he even remembers. Just that he’s known Gideon all his life and that he’s a great guy.”

  “Gideon,” Sam said in a doleful voice. “He sounds like a wannabe rock star. He’s probably an accountant named George who changed his name and wears a comb-over.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Actually I might almost prefer that.”

  “I’ll tell Aaron you prefer comb-overs next time we double-date.”

  “We’re not doing this again, Jasmine. I love you, but there are limits, and blind dates are above and beyond the call of duty.” The doorbell rang, and Samantha froze. It was too late to run, too late to feign sick, though she would have liked nothing more than to have thrown up all over her unwanted escort for the evening.

  “Cheer up, Sam,” Jasmine said, heading for the door. “Everyone knows blind dates are from hell.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said gloomily. “I’d rather be at the dentist.”

  It was too late. Jasmine had opened the door, beaming up into the chiseled face of her beloved. His shadow dwarfed the man beside him, and Sam groaned inwardly. She was going out with a midget. Probably one who tried to compensate for his lack of height by being too aggressive. She couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it!

  “And this is the famous Samantha,” Aaron was saying, introducing her with an infuriating tone of ownership, as if she were a favored toy he was sharing with a friend. “Sam, this is Gideon Hyde.”

  She lifted her head, drew herself to her full height and looked at him. Not tiny, and if she hadn’t deliberately chosen the highest heels she owned, they might be close in height. As it was she could enjoy the sensation of looking down at him, a faintly haughty expression on her face. She didn’t hold out her hand.

  “Delighted to meet you,” she said in a bored voice dripping insincerity.

  She didn’t get the reaction she was hoping for. He wasn’t standing there, openmouthed, awestruck. He simply nodded politely, then returned his attention to the chattering Jasmine, listening courteously.

  Sam stood motionless in astonishment. She wasn’t used to being ignored, in particular by a blind date. Not that she’d ever had to go on a blind date before—she was able to say no to anyone—except Jasmine, especially when she cried.

  But Gideon Hyde seemed to be totally uninterested in her, and Sam felt an irrational spurt of annoyance deep inside.

  “Hey, our reservation is in an hour, and it’s going to take at least that long to drive into the city from out here in the boonies,” Aaron said in his chummy voice. “Why don’t we head out? We’ve got Gideon’s car—a sweet little Mercedes. If you want, you can sit in the back with me, Sam.”

  And there was another problem. Aaron seemed to have a thing for her, and he expressed it any time he thought Jasmine wasn’t paying attention. She could just imagine what an hour-long ride in the cramped back seat of a Mercedes would be like. “I’ll sit up front with my…date,” she said sweetly. There was no reprimand in her voice, but Gideon turned and looked at her anyway, as if he’d only just remembered why he was here.

  “Good idea,” he murmured. He had a rich, musical voice, though she couldn’t tell what part of the country he came from. She liked his voice, even if she didn’t like his presence in her house.

  And she was tired of waiting around. The sooner this date from hell began, the sooner it would be over. “Let’s go,” she said briskly. “I’m starved.” And she walked out the open front door, knowing they wouldn’t be far behind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAMANTHA’S LONG LEGS quickly carried her to the car parked in the small yard of her little house, and she climbed into the front seat before her so-called date could open the door for her. She didn’t really want to find out whether he would have done it or not. If he held the door for her, it probably meant he was old-fashioned, condescending and searching for a way to look up her skirt. If he didn’t, it meant he was self-absorbed and rude. She’d already figured he was rude, but with hours left to this torment, she didn’t need to confirm it. Why make this date any harder than she had to?

  He drove fast and well down the winding road from her house perched on the hillside. A little too fast, she decided, casting a surreptitious glance over at him, ready to catalogue his flaws. She looked at his hands on the wheel. No rings at all, thank God. He had beautiful hands, with long fingers and narrow palms. She had a weakness for beautiful hands.

  He dressed well. He was wearing either Armani or something custom-made, and she knew clothes well enough to recognize the quality of the dark silk. He wore sunglasses, shielding his eyes, but his cheekbones were high, his face narrow, his mouth revealing nothing.

  His hair was the only anomaly for a young Californian on the make. It was long, much longer than was currently fashionable, shiny black and perfectly straight, and he had it tied back with a strip of silk. That hairstyle went out with Steven Seagal, and she wanted to tell him that, except for some reason it looked good on him. Exotic.

  She’d slipped her own sunglasses onto her face and slid down in the seat, keeping her legs stretched out in front of her. She was used to men
ogling her famous legs, but he seemed far more interested in the car and the road than the famous beauty beside him.

  Sam had no illusions about her beauty. It was a fact of life, a gift given her by mischievous gods, and she knew how to use it effectively when she had to, on the days when she was in the limelight. Today should have provided some downtime for her, when she could just hang around the house and play with the dogs, watch TV and read, not have to do a thing with clothes or makeup.

  But giving up one day for a friend was not so great a sacrifice. Especially since her blind date seemed totally impervious to her surface charms.

  “Nice car,” she said idly, when the silence had grown uncomfortable.

  He glanced at her, startled, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Very nice,” he agreed in that cool, mysterious voice. “I’ve never driven one before.”

  “Is this a rental?”

  For a moment it seemed as if he didn’t know the answer. “Yes,” he said finally.

  “You don’t live in California?”

  “No. I come from a place farther south and a lot hotter.” His answer seemed to amuse him.

  “San Diego?”

  He shook his head. “No place you’ve ever been.”

  “Actually I’ve never been to San Diego, though I’m not sure why. I was supposed to do a photo shoot at the Hotel Del but it got canceled at the last minute.” Now why in hell was she talking to him? It wasn’t as if she actually wanted to do anything more than get through the next few hours. When forced into a social occasion like this one, she usually made her way through it with a distant, slightly vacant boredom. And yet here she was, prattling away to a mysterious stranger like she actually wanted to.

  He didn’t say anything, making it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her conversation. She sank back into silence, plotting revenge on the totally preoccupied Jasmine, who was about to break all sorts of decency laws in the back seat, with Aaron’s enthusiastic assistance. She closed her eyes, thinking dark thoughts. She’d become and expert at enduring trying situations. She’d once stood for seven hours in the pouring rain on the Spanish Steps in Rome while on a photo shoot, and when the rain let up they sprayed her with hoses. She’d tromped through mud, posed in bathing suits amidst the snow, sat for hour after endless hour, unable to move and mar her perfectly arranged hair and makeup. At least tonight she could move, she could speak, she was neither wet nor freezing. She could just retreat into that quiet place she went to when the rest of the world got too noisy, and her obtuse blind date wouldn’t even see.

  She should have known they’d end up at Murph’s Steak ’n’ Grill, the latest, trendiest of restaurants. It was designed to look like a midwestern steakhouse chain, except that most of the steaks came from creatures far more exotic than steer, the waiting list for reservations stretched into next year and prices on the menu would support a third-world country for at least two years.

  Her date, and she’d already forgotten his name, pulled up to valet parking. By the time he’d climbed out and Aaron and Jasmine had disentangled themselves, she was tapping her foot on the sidewalk, waiting impatiently.

  Hyde, that was his name, she remembered. Gideon Hyde. He came over to her, seemingly unbothered by her deliberate attempt to dwarf him, and she straightened her back to increase the distance. He was probably five foot ten or eleven—her own height, in fact, but he couldn’t wear platform heels. He had no choice but to be overshadowed.

  It didn’t seem to bother him. Aaron had pushed between them, talking a mile a minute, and a slightly mussed Jasmine followed behind, looking slightly sheepish. Sam suppressed an inward sigh. The things she did for her friends.

  “Shall we?” Gideon said. If he put his hand on the small of her back, she’d kick him with her lethal shoes, but he wisely did no such thing. Odd, how he managed to sort of usher her into the ultratrendy restaurant without even touching her. She felt oddly protected. Not that she needed protection from anyone. Still, it was a strange, not uncomfortable, sensation.

  The noise assaulted her once she stepped inside. She’d long ago learned to ignore the eyes that focused on her when she was in a public place, and tonight was no different. She followed the circuitous route the maitre d’ led them, in order to show off their celebrity acquisition to as many guests as possible, before seating them at a far too public table. She considered asking for one out of the limelight, but Aaron had already plopped himself down, leaving Jasmine to fend for herself. He rubbed his hands together in visceral delight.

  “This is great, isn’t it? Just great!”

  Gideon moved around her, and she stiffened, waiting for his touch. Instead he pulled the chair out for Jasmine, and the sweetness of the smile he directed at her was a revelation.

  Sam didn’t wait for him to pull out her chair. If he didn’t she’d have to hit him; if he did she’d have to thank him. Right now she was far too interested in considering other possibilities, such as whether Gideon was really interested in Jasmine and had used this hellish blind date as a simple ruse to get close to her. If so, she could certainly applaud his good taste—Jasmine was worthy of devotion from far better than a lout like Aaron.

  Lout. She liked that word—it fit Aaron entirely too well. A boring, shallow lout. Whereas Gideon Hyde was an enigma, and more interesting than she cared to admit.

  He ordered single malt scotch, of course. “I don’t drink,” she said in a cool, serene tone.

  Jasmine didn’t blink—if she’d learned one thing it was not to contradict Sam in public. She didn’t say a word when Sam closed the huge menu and ordered a salad of mixed baby greens and nothing else. She’d had enough sense to pig out before they left, hoping a quick meal would make the end of the evening come that much faster.

  “You don’t eat meat?” Gideon said. He still wore his sunglasses, as did half the people in the darkened room, but it annoyed her. “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “A vegan. I don’t partake of flesh of any sort, but since the menu is unfortunately devoid of tofu I’ll have to make do with salad.”

  “Tofu,” Aaron said with a shudder.

  “A steak house was probably not the best choice of restaurant then,” Gideon said.

  There was something behind those dark glasses, something behind that odd, liquid voice that she couldn’t quite define. She wondered what he’d do if she pulled the glasses from his narrow, strong nose and threw them across the room.

  She was going to do no such thing, of course. That would require touching him, and she certainly wasn’t about to do that. “She’ll be fine,” Aaron said carelessly. “Models don’t eat anything, anyway. Too easy to get fat.” He was sitting to one side of her, and he reached out and pinched her thigh with one meaty hand.

  She jumped, not expecting it, and glared at him. If Jasmine hadn’t been sitting there looking so lovelorn she would have thrown her water glass at him. As it was, the night was still wretchedly young, and she would just as likely have a chance to do it later.

  “You don’t drink, you don’t eat,” Gideon said. “Do you have any weaknesses at all?”

  “None that concerns you.” She cast a suspicious eye at Aaron. “You chose this place, didn’t you?”

  “Hey, I’ve been trying to get in here for months. It was only when I used your name that a table magically opened up. Come on, Sam, you’ll love it. They serve everything from emu to baby seal, and the chef’s an animal lover. He keeps his pet bichon frise with him in the kitchen.”

  “In case he runs out of meat?” she drawled.

  “Ewww,” Jasmine said.

  “They eat dog in Vietnam,” Gideon said.

  “Thank God you didn’t choose a Vietnamese restaurant,” Sam said. “I can’t stand dogs, but I’d just as soon not eat one.” She picked up her glass of Pellegrino, tossed her thick mane over her shoulder, and gave Gideon a cool, assessing look. Daring him to say something.

  They’d brought him his scotch, and he held it up, a silen
t, almost mocking toast, before taking a drink. For some reason she watched his mouth, the line of his throat as he swallowed the liquor. For some reason she felt uncomfortably hot. She wondered if the taste lingered in his mouth.

  “Would you prefer to go somewhere else, Samantha?” he asked.

  She’d always hated the name her mother had saddled her with, and she deliberately used it only for her professional life, to keep her personal and professional worlds separate. “We’re here now. We might as well stay,” she said. She was treading a fine line between elegant boredom and outright rudeness, and she wasn’t quite sure why. She knew how to behave, but Gideon Hyde with his dark glasses and his liquid, silvery voice managed to get under her skin.

  He reached over and patted her hand like a pediatrician comforting a fretful child anticipating a shot. “Don’t worry—it will all be over soon.”

  She snatched her hand away as if burned, and put it in her lap under the table. And she gave him her coldest, chilliest smile, one that could freeze the fires of hell itself.

  He simply smiled back, unmoved.

  YES, SAMANTHA was beautiful. Cold as ice, which should have appealed to Gideon after his endless incarceration in such a hot climate. He genuinely liked women, thought he understood them, but Sam wasn’t quite so easy to read. When she looked at him, which was as infrequently as possible, she seemed to view him as a cross between a serial killer and a pervert. As far as he could remember he was neither, but maybe she was psychic.

  He didn’t think so. He wouldn’t put it past Ralph to send a twisted murderer back to earth, just for his own entertainment, but despite the few concrete facts he possessed about himself, Gideon didn’t think he was a truly bad man, even if he had ended up in hell.

  No, the problem rested with the astonishingly beautiful woman sitting beside him. Her luminous tawny eyes were cool and emotionless, her perfectly tinted lips held only the most dismissing of smiles, except when it came to her friend. Jasmine was vulnerable, sweet and not too bright, and she seemed to incite the only emotions Samantha was capable of feeling, or at least showing. Maybe Ralph was wrong; maybe her sexual orientation was toward other women. That wouldn’t stop him from seducing her, but Ralph had assured him she was neither gay nor frigid. She just hadn’t found the right man.