For some reason tears began to threaten behind Brenna’s amber eyes. It was all too much. She didn’t know how to cope with everything happening at once like this: the crisis in her career; the crisis with this man. He was right about one thing, she thought wretchedly, she did need time. Brenna got to her feet in a quick, convulsive movement, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” she began very formally, striving to conquer the tears, “I’m going to take a walk. It’s been a difficult morning.” She turned half blindly and left the cabin.
Half an hour later she sat, knees drawn up and arms resting on top of them, and gazed out over the crystal-blue lake. She had found the small private cove a short distance from the cabin and it was exactly the place she needed. The tears had never actually fallen, to her vast relief. They had been a product of frustration and panic, and she was proud to have resisted the impulse to cry for such reasons. She could handle her life successfully without resorting to tears. Hadn’t she always managed to do so?
But she needed to think and so far she hadn’t gotten very far with the process. She still felt too on edge, too hemmed in, and a little frightened. The thought of calling her brother occurred briefly and was immediately dismissed. There was nothing he could do and a full explanation of the situation would only anger him. That thought brought a wry twist to her mouth. He wasn’t altogether unlike Ryder in his reactions. He’d come out of the corner fighting on her behalf even though this was clearly a case where violence was not very useful. It never was, she reminded herself staunchly.
A faint warning tingle made her glance up sharply to see Ryder emerging on catlike feet from the pines behind her. He was carrying a couple of books and a thermos.
“It’s a perfect day to sit and read by the lake with a cup of hot tea, isn’t it?” he inquired conversationally, sinking down beside her with a masculine grace that stirred up images of last night in her mind. The silver eyes met hers with a measure of understanding and reassurance.
“Ryder, I don’t—”
“I brought you a book,” he interrupted quietly, unscrewing the cap of the thermos.
Automatically she glanced down at the two volumes resting on his lap. One was the philosophy text she had thrown at him and the other was one of his own adventure tales, complete with lurid cover.
“Thanks,” she told him stiffly, “but I’m not in the mood to study philosophy at the moment.”
“I brought the philosophy book for me to read.” he murmured, handing her a mug of tea. “I brought the other book for you.”
Their eyes locked as his meaning registered. “You want me to read one of your stories?”
“I know the stuff isn’t exactly your taste in fiction, and I know I’m not the most brilliant of authors, but I would like you to read one of my books. Will you?”
“Why?” she heard herself ask huskily, picking up the paperback in his lap and examining it curiously.
“Because there’s something of me in my books and you’re an intelligent woman. You’ll find it. Maybe in the process you’ll learn something about me.”
She felt dazed, taken totally off guard. “And you’re going to tackle that book of philosophical readings?”
“I’m interested in finding out more about what you do for a living,” he answered smilingly, leaning back against the large boulder behind him and opening the textbook.
“There’s no point in this exercise,” she protested halfheartedly, focusing on the cover of the paperback. “We’re totally unlike, Ryder. What are you hoping to accomplish?”
“I’ve told you, a little mutual understanding. I think it’s important since we’re going to be living together,” he added, already flipping through the introductory pages of the book and studying the table of contents.
“Living together! Are you crazy? Ryder, last night was a mistake, you must see that!”
“Why?” he asked simply, lifting his head to study her earnest face.
“Because you’re assuming far too much from what happened!”
The silvery gaze moved over her. “The night you came sneaking through my window I knew I wanted you. Last night you proved you want me.”
“That’s not sufficient grounds on which to make a decision like living together,” she got out huskily. The tension his words generated in her was frightening. A part of her longed to agree with him, to surrender herself to the summer and to him.
“We also happen to need each other, lady,” he told her coolly.
“How can you say that? We hardly even know each other,” she exploded.
“I can’t explain it completely, not yet. I don’t have all the right words. But I’m sure of the feeling. Maybe that’s why I want you to read my book. Perhaps I’m hoping you’ll understand something of what I’m trying to say.”
She felt helpless in the face of the quiet plea. She was right, of course, there was no point to the exercise, but she didn’t know how to refuse him. Brenna glanced down again at the paperback he had given her.
“What if this doesn’t work? What if I’m still of the same opinion after I finish the book as I am now?”
“I don’t think you’ve got any clear-cut opinions right now.” He chuckled. “You’re much too mixed up at the moment to be thinking with any great clarity.”
“Hardly a good time to be studying your character through your stories,” she retorted, knowing already that she was going to do as he asked and read the book.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Maybe you’re the one who will be put off by my character when you get into that long, dry book of philosophy readings!” she challenged, settling back against the same sun-warmed rock he was leaning on. “Have you thought about that? You’re likely to realize I’m merely a dull, staid, unapproachable teacher of a subject that never interested you much in the first place.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” he asked in amusement.
Her mouth turned downward a little ruefully. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never thought of myself or my profession as dull and unapproachable, but I’m fully aware that others might see both that way.”
“There’s not much this book could do to change the image I already have of you, lady.” Ryder grinned. “It’s just going to give me a little more complete view, that’s all.”
Brenna hesitated, wanting to ask him exactly how he did see her but not quite having the nerve. Instead she said casually, “Ryder, about last night…”
He leaned forward and stopped her words by the simple expedient of sealing her mouth with a slow kiss. It was a lingering, tasting caress that spoke of remembered ecstasy and satisfaction. It spoke of satiated hunger that could be roused again with very little provocation. Brenna stayed quite still beneath the impact of it, finding it strangely soothing after the chaos of the morning.
“Let’s not spoil last night with any more words, sweet lady,” he growled, lifting his head with obvious reluctance.
Fingers trembling very faintly, Brenna picked up the paperback novel in her lap.
Chapter 6
It was called The Quicksilver Venture and the cover guaranteed it to be another tale of action and intrigue by Justin Murdock. The artwork featured the predictably lusty, well-muscled hero, menaced apparently by an assortment of cobras. The beautiful woman sprawled in terror at his feet was a redhead this time, and while the pose was decidedly sensual, Brenna had the impression that the manner in which she was clinging to the hero’s ankle was hampering his attempt to defend them both from the cobras. He was armed only with a thin-bladed knife.
Not quite certain why she had let herself be talked into reading the paperback when, by rights, she should have been trying to sort out the growing confusion of her career and her relationship with Damon Fielding, Brenna turned the page and began to read Perhaps it was a form of procrastination, she told herself fleetingly. Things were happening in her life, forcing choices upon her that she really didn’t want to face. Reading The Quick
silver Venture was a way of avoiding the facts. Or was it? she wondered as she began to read.
He was good, I had to admit, but he was probably still new to the business. He didn’t make allowances for either the age of the old hotel window or for the fact that agents who have stayed alive as long as I have tend to sleep a little differently than people who have nice, normal, routine jobs. Then, again, perhaps I was still half awake because of the dream about the blonde in Paris. Whatever the reason, I heard the faint creak and I didn’t spend any time telling myself it was the normal sort of sound one expected to hear in a venerable English inn. My hand under the pillow closed around the handle of the stiletto.
I didn’t move as he slipped silently into the room. Then I sensed my uninvited guest taking that quiet, mind-steadying breath you need when you’re aiming a gun at a target shrouded in shadows and you know you’ll only get one chance.
The stiletto left my hand in the same instant I dove for the floor on the opposite side of the bed. Sensing disaster, my visitor fired, but the muffled shot went wild because the long, thin blade that had become an extension of my fingers over the years was already burying itself in his throat. Like the silenced automatic, his scream was also muffled.
I picked myself up off the floor and flipped on the overhead light with a sigh of regret. It was, all in all, a hell of a way to start a vacation.
In spite of herself, Brenna experienced a flicker of wry amusement at the memory of how she had awakened Ryder that first night. Then the amusement faded rather abruptly. Perhaps she’d been rather lucky!
The action-packed tale moved quickly. By the end of the first chapter the hero, one Hunt Cameron, found himself immersed in a dangerous mission to bring a defector known only as Quicksilver out of Eastern Europe. But the relatively straightforward adventure was given a few twists. Cameron was assigned to work with a beautiful new agent, Cassandra Vaughn, who, Brenna presumed, was the redhead on the cover. Cassandra, apparently, was from a modern, technologically sophisticated school of espionage. She was highly skilled in computer-assisted analysis techniques, used the latest in communications gadgets, and was trained to work by the book. Quicksilver was to be her first mission.
Hunt Cameron, on the other hand, had thrown out the book years ago in order to stay alive in the field. He relied on such unscientific things as hunches, well-developed instincts, and a very non-routine way of handling matters. The only tool in which he put any trust was the stiletto he carried always, even to bed. He didn’t bother to take the risk of trusting people. Hunt and Cass clashed from the moment they met.
Underlying the conflict between the admittedly chauvinistic professional and the lovely, disdainful beginner was, of course, an undeniable physical attraction. Of course. Brenna found herself reading the love scenes with great attention.
At lunchtime she and Ryder, by quiet agreement, went back to his cabin for a sandwich and more tea. They ate in near silence, and Brenna was conscious of a certain restlessness to finish the story. Ryder eyed her obliquely but made no move to detain her. Within half an hour they were both back at the cove, immersed in their reading.
Out on the shimmering lake the occasional outboard roared past. The sun gleamed on the cold water. It was a peaceful mountain setting and Brenna read the remainder of The Quicksilver Venture without interruption. She was aware of Ryder beside her, seemingly engrossed in the book of philosophy readings, but all her attention was on the breakneck pace of the paperback adventure in her hands.
When she finally closed the book on the last page late that afternoon, she had to admit that Justin Murdock had given his readers their money’s worth. She wondered how many would realize he’d given them something more, too.
“Finished?” Ryder asked softly, closing his own book.
Brenna nodded, her chin resting on her folded arms, which were, in turn, propped on her drawn-up knees. She stared thoughtfully across at the opposite side of the lake. “You tell a great adventure tale, Ryder, but you’ve probably been told that any number of times.”
“I like hearing it from you,” he admitted. She wasn’t looking at him but she could feel the faint smile.
There was a short silence and she knew he was waiting for her to go on. “Lots of violence in the story,” she mused, knowing she was stepping around the main issue.
“There are certain conventions to be followed in writing that kind of tale,” he pointed out dryly. Brenna sensed he was well aware that she was going to have to take her time working up to the important aspects.
“Are the love scenes part of the ‘conventions’?” she heard herself ask and immediately could have bitten out her tongue. She sat very stiffly as she awaited his response.
“They aren’t love scenes,” Ryder murmured. “They’re sex scenes. And, yes, they’re one of the things the reader expects. I told you once I’m selling sex along with the violence and intrigue.”
Her head swung around sharply as she turned to stare at him. “But they were love scenes!” she protested.
“Why do you say that?” he asked blandly, but there was a flicker of hungry curiosity deep in the silver gaze as he watched her frowning features.
“Because, aside from wanting each other, Hunt and Cass learn during the course of the story that they need each other. What they have together isn’t just sex, Ryder. Good lord! Why am I telling you that? You’re the one who wrote the scenes!”
“Go on,” he urged. “I’m fascinated to hear the way a professor of philosophy analyzes a sleazy pulp novel. How can you say the sexy parts were love scenes, though? Never once during the whole course of the story does Hunt tell Cass he loves her.”
“And she never gets around to telling him that she loves him, either,” Brenna finished on a note of complaint. “You could have put that in on the last page, Ryder. I mean, it was obvious they were deeply in love by the end of the book, anyhow.”
“There was nothing mushy or sloppily sentimental about how they felt toward each other.”
“You think love is sloppy and sentimental?” she queried, aware of a sense of disappointment.
“My readers would!” he retorted with great conviction.
Brenna laughed at that and turned back to look at the lake as she contemplated another thought. “I like the ending,” she finally said simply. “I liked the fact that they both realized they wanted something else out of life and had the courage to go looking for it.” Hunt and Cass had both decided to get out of the hard, dangerous profession they had chosen. At the conclusion of the story they had mutually agreed to quietly resign and find another life for themselves, one they could build together.
“You didn’t find Cameron too much of a male chauvinist?” Ryder taunted gently.
“Well, strictly speaking, he certainly was in many respects,” Brenna said. “I mean, he was always stepping in to handle the rough stuff because he didn’t trust Cass to be able to do it. No, I take that back. He stepped in to do the bloody work because he didn’t want her to have to do it. He simply used his lack of trust in her commando training as an excuse. He was trying to protect her from finding out how devastating it can be to kill another human being, wasn’t he? And to shield her from danger.”
“Yes.” Ryder spoke the single word very softly.
“Definitely a male chauvinist. He was also aggressive, cynical, ruthless, and dangerous. But I liked him,” Brenna whispered, staring very hard now at the opposite shore. “I would have trusted him to the ends of the earth. He was a man of honor and integrity, even if he did make his own rules. Or perhaps he was that way because he made them,” she added with a sense of wonder. “How much of yourself did you put into Hunt Cameron, Ryder?” she asked very steadily.
“Beats me,” he retorted smoothly. “I think I’ll leave that for you to decide.”
She didn’t look at him as she mulled that over. In her trained, analytical brain some unavoidable conclusions were beginning to form. Brenna wasn’t at all sure she liked them.
> They revolved around the fact that she really had wound up admiring Hunt Cameron and the code he lived by. Like Cass in the story, she found herself attracted to the strength and integrity in the man even though she periodically became thoroughly irritated with his methods and manners. And Brenna was honest enough with herself to realize that her feelings for Ryder were in danger of paralleling those of the heroine in Quicksilver for the hero. The knowledge was frightening. It washed over Brenna like a cold wave and automatically she raised the first defense she could find.
“You didn’t have to hit Damon this morning!”
As if he could read her mind, he followed the non sequitur immediately. “You belong to me now, Brenna. There’s no way on earth I could let another man get away with striking you. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
Brenna absorbed the impact of the quiet, forceful statement, knowing the truth behind it. Ryder lived by his own code. He felt she had given herself to him last night and he would protect what was his. But, as with Cass in The Quicksilver Venture, Brenna felt a need to protest his autocratic assumptions. Ryder was not the right man for her! She needed and wanted someone like Damon Fielding…
But she knew even as she repeated the words to herself that the reason she had hurled accusations at Fielding that morning was precisely because he had fallen far short of her ideal. She had wanted him to defend and protect her in an uncompromising manner.
It wasn’t that she wouldn’t or couldn’t take a stand on her own behalf. Brenna knew she was fully capable of defending herself. But an undeniable part of her had wanted the man she was contemplating marrying to prove himself totally on her side when the going got rough. She had wanted to know that she was the most important thing in his life and that he would not make compromises when it came to protecting her.
All of which was totally unfair, she reasoned deliberately. Damon had tried to protect her in his own way. He had logically advised her to think of her career and her future first, rather than the injustice of the moment. His method was the right approach.
Affair of Honor Page 9
