Dark Fire

by Peggy Webb

  Sid couldn't reply. He was on toe dance floor heart and mind and soul. Every beat of the music pulsed through his body. He felt the movement of Rose Anne's body, savored the silkiness of her skin, heard the soft rise and fall of her breathing.

  The sounds of his friends' voices swirled around him, but he didn't hear what they were saying. His entire focus was on the dance floor. His heart and mind were filled with the vision in red.

  When the song came to an end, Luther escorted Rose Anne back to her table, guiding her through the crowded club with a hand on her elbow. Sid didn't breathe easily until Luther left her with the Dragon and headed back to the table.

  "Way to go, Lightning." Panther pounded him on the back. "But the bet's not won. You still have to get her out to dinner."

  "The bet's off," Sid said.

  They all looked at him as if he had suddenly grown stripes and turned into a zebra.

  "What do you mean, the bet's off?" Panther, always the most vocal, was the first to speak.

  "Just what I said. She's not some prize at a county fair that goes to the highest bidder. She's a person."

  "She's a whole hell of a lot more than that." Panther spoke with reverent passion. "She's a sports car among pickup trucks. What's the harm in a little wager over dinner?"

  Hawk and Gunslinger chimed in, siding with Panther. The good-natured argument raged around Luther, who sat drinking his beer and watching the woman in red.

  "Sid's right," he finally said. "Anyhow, everything has changed."

  “What do you mean?" Sid turned to him.

  "I don't care about the money anymore." Luther set his beer on the table and faced them all. "I forfeit. I pull out."

  "Why?" Panther asked.

  "I really like her. I think I'm falling in love."

  Sid's heart nosedived. He felt as if he had just bailed out of his plane without a parachute.

  "You're in love with her?"

  "Not exactly. I don't think it happens that fast."

  Yes, it can, Sid thought. In an instant, true love can walk through a garden gate.

  "What I mean is—" Luther ran his hands through his curly hair. "I want to see her again, but not for any bet."

  "Well, I’ll be damned." Panther sat back in his chair, grinning. "Old Lightning has finally fallen for a woman."

  "It's about time." Gunslinger whacked him on the back. "Go for it, buddy. I did . . . twice. And it was good both times."

  Amid the general laughter, Sid glanced across the room. Rose Anne was still at her table, her head bent close to the Dragon. Was she in love too? It figured. She was beautiful, Luther was handsome. She was gentle, he was kind. They would make a great couple.

  He took one last, lingering look at Rose Anne. Letting go of a dream was heart-wrenching, even if the dream was impossible, had been impossible from the very first.

  "We're all pulling for you," Sid told Luther. "We'll stand up for you at the wedding."

  "I haven't even gotten her to agree to dinner yet."

  "She will. Just give her time. Who can resist you?"

  "She can. All she talked about was that note you wrote, how poetic it was, how beautiful."

  Sid didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Pride wasn't worth all that much when it was paired with hopelessness.

  "I need you, Eagle. I need you to be my mouthpiece."

  Panther snorted. "Hell, Lightning. Next thing I know you'll be asking him to do the honors on your wedding night."

  "Panther's right. You don't need me. When she gets to know you, she'll love you for yourself. Any woman in her right mind would."

  "I can't do it without you, Eagle."

  "No."

  “As a favor to me . . ."

  "I'm sorry. Not this time. Besides, it wouldn't work."

  Across the way Rose Anne and her aunt prepared to leave. Even with the distance that separated them, Sid was aware of her slightest movement. His head came up.

  She glanced his way and their gazes met and held. He didn't breathe. She didn't move. If the others noticed, they gave no indication.

  Heat collected under his collar and sweat rolled down the side of his neck. Sid couldn't have done anything except gaze at her if the club had suddenly caught fire.

  She nodded ever so slightly, and her lips curved in that marvelous half smile. The beauty of it dazzled Sid. Even when she turned to go, he sat in his chair, paralyzed.

  "Sid . . ."

  Rose Anne was at the door. He watched until there was nothing left to see, not even a glimpse of red.

  "What?" He turned slowly, like a man coming out of a trance.

  "I said I'm calling in a favor." Luther looked him straight in the eye. "For saving your butt over the Gulf."

  Filled with Rose Anne, with his vision of her, his dreams of her, Sid slowly nodded.

  "Does that mean yes? You’ll give me the right words to court her?"

  At that moment Sid would have sold his soul to the devil merely for the right to gaze at her from behind prison bars.

  "I'll do it, Luther. I’ll win the fair Rose Anne for you."

  Chapter Three

  Sid left the club early, excusing himself by telling his buddies he had to prepare a courtship plan for Luther. Lies. All lies.

  Two days in Paris, and he had changed from an honorable, loyal man to one full of deception and dark secrets. He was going to prepare a courtship plan all right, but it would be his heart he was pouring out to Rose Anne, his case he was stating. And all the while hiding behind Luther's handsome face.

  The bitter irony was that his plan was already working. He was winning her for another man.

  When he reached his apartment, he poured out his passion at the piano.

  o0o

  Across the courtyard Rose Anne lay in her bed, flat on her back so she wouldn't get pillow creases in her face as she slept. Soft night winds billowed the curtains at her open windows, bringing in the perfume of the rose garden. And with the wind came the music.

  When the first notes sounded. Rose Anne clutched her sheet and brought it up around her chin. The music was frighteningly passionate and darkly sensual. It invaded her.

  She clung to the sheet as if it would protect her from the fierce, seductive music. Her skin tingled. Her body heat increased. Restless, she tossed in the bed. The sheet dragged and pulled at her body like hot hands while the wild music swirled through her.

  Her breasts felt heavy, turgid, their nipples peaked and straining at the thin fabric of her gown. She cupped them, lifting them as if they were an offering to the dark god of music.

  The frantic musical rhythm pulsed through her. Groaning, she moved to its beat. The sheet tangled around her, touching her, holding her, seducing her.

  Rose Anne bit her bottom lip hard. And still the music invaded her. Enslaved by a nameless hunger, she welcomed it, embraced it. The music was demon lover, filling her with liquid fire.

  On and on the music played. Shining beads of sweat rolled between her breasts, slicked her thighs. The music pounded at her without mercy.

  "Please," she begged. "Please." She didn't know whether she was begging it to stop or begging for more.

  The music swelled and throbbed. Rose Anne trembled at its majesty, its power. Relentless, it washed over her, and she rode the waves. Higher and higher it carried her, its chords vibrating through her with dark intensity.

  When she thought she could endure no more, when she thought she might shatter into a million bright pieces, the music came to a thundering, crashing climax. Slack, Rose Anne sagged against the sheets.

  Echoes of music pulsed through the room, charging the silence with electricity. Rose Anne lay unmoving until the last echo died away, and then she reached to her night stand. Her hand touched the note. In the dark she clutched it to her breast. "Luther," she whispered.

  On the other side of the courtyard Sid pressed his hot forehead against the cool polished wood on the piano. "Rose Anne," he whispered.

  o0o

>   The day's shoot was in the Luxembourg Gardens. Rose Anne sat in the trailer that served as her portable dressing room while two men worked on her face and one worked on her hair. Charlie hovered nearby, wringing his hands.

  "Oh, my dear. Those dark circles under your eyes. And your lip." He patted his face with a yellow striped silk handkerchief. "What happened to your lip?"

  Before Rose Anne could explain, Bitsy intervened.

  "Now, Charlie, just calm yourself down." She took his elbow and dragged him outside, away from her niece. "No call to upset her. Haven't you ever had a sleepless night?"

  "Yes, but she's a model."

  "She's human." Bitsy propped her elbows on her hips and glowered at him. "I've seen other models come in looking like death on wheels, and after their makeup is finished they look like a million dollars."

  "She's not other models. She's the Face." He swabbed his brow. "What happened anyhow?"

  "When I saw her lip this morning, I asked the same thing. All she told me was that she had been restless last night."

  "Did she go out?"

  "We were at a nightclub for a couple of hours, but I was with her the whole time. She danced one dance, then we came home."

  "She didn't go anywhere after that?"

  "I'm positive. Besides, Rose Anne is not the sneaky type. She would never go anywhere without telling me, especially considering the disappointments she's had with men."

  "All that happened years ago. I though it was behind her."

  "If one man breaks your heart, that's not so bad. But when two in a row turn out to be scoundrels, that's harder to get over."

  One of the technicians approached Bitsy and Charlie.

  "I have a message for Rose Anne." He held out a sheet of paper, folded twice, and a single white rose.

  "For Rose Anne?" Bitsy took the paper and the flower. "Who sent it?"

  "That gentleman by the tree."

  Bitsy looked in the direction he had indicated, and saw the tall sailor from the night before leaning against the tree. When he saw her looking he nodded politely.

  "Who is he?" Charlie asked.

  "One of the navy pilots from the club last night."

  "Good grief. Navy! Throw that note away."

  "That's for Rose Anne to decide." Bitsy went inside the trailer.

  The makeup and hair people were finished with Rose Anne. Her long, flowing blond hair spilled over her shoulders, her exquisite face was glowing, and her slender body was draped with a forties-style chiffon gown that matched her sea- green eyes. A first glimpse of her would take most people's breath away, but Bitsy was accustomed to having a niece who was considered the most beautiful woman in the world. She didn't even blink an eye.

  "I've got a message for you."

  Rose Anne's eyes lit up when she saw the white rose. "What's Antoine doing sending me a white rose?"

  "Number one, he didn't send it. Number two, his wife would kill him if he did, even though his feelings are strictly paternal."

  "Then who?"

  "Read the note and find out."

  Rose Anne inhaled the fragrance of the rose, then pressed the soft petals against her cheek. Still holding the rose, she opened the note and began to read. "Time is but a powerful stead that speeds me to your side. Give me one precious moment of your time, beautiful one, and I will count the day not wasted."

  The note was unsigned. Smiling, she folded it carefully and tucked it inside her purse.

  “Where is he?" she asked.

  Outside. On the fringes of all this madness Charlie calls a shoot." Rose Anne stood up.

  "You're going to him?"

  "Tell them I'll be back in five minutes." Seeing Bitsy's skeptical look. Rose Anne patted her hand. "I must see him. Auntie."

  "I'm getting too old for this job of Dragon." Bitsy heaved a resigned sigh. "Be careful, honey."

  Rose Anne laughed. "There are at least fifty people milling around here. I'll be as safe as if I were in a church."

  o0o

  Sid's heart leapt when he saw her coming. Two days earlier he might have scoffed at such a romantic notion, but now he accepted it as a fact. Leaning against the tree, he watched her apprach. A breeze swirled her gown around her ankles and molded it to her body. She smiled when she saw him, and lifted her hand in greeting.

  His love note had brought her to him. Joy rushed through him, and, on its heels, desire. She was exquisite, sensational, sensuous. He clenched his jaw against the passion and rammed his fists into his pockets to still the joy.

  He was there as Luther's representative.

  "Hi," she said, stopping so close that her gossamer gown brushed against his legs.

  For a moment he was spellbound. The gown was little more than an illusion. Lush rosy nipples pushed against the thin fabric. Creamy skin, shining as if it had been slicked with dew, showed through the slashed opening of her bodice. Her here-to-eternity legs were clearly defined by the thin, billowing gown. The only concession to modesty was a tiny wisp of satin that hugged her hips.

  Blood roared in his ears. Passion surged through him. Excitement squeezed his heart. It was the same glorious feeling that came the first moment he lifted a powerful jet toward the endless horizon— the same and yet more, ever so much more.

  "How did you find me?" she asked.

  "It was easy. Half of Paris is keeping up with the activities of the world's most beautiful model."

  "I live in a fish bowl."

  "Does it bother you?"

  "In the beginning it didn't, but lately . . ." Her sigh was as gentle as the breeze that played in the leaves above their heads. "Sometimes I wish I could spend a day of complete anonymity."

  "The Paris Air Show might provide you that escape."

  "I've heard of it. Will the crowds be big?"

  "So big you would be swallowed up."

  "Like Jonah in the whale?"

  They laughed together. Instinctively he reached for her hand. It felt like a soft, exotic baby bird resting in his big paws.

  "Exactly," he said. "Except that you won't have to wait three days to come back out into the daylight . . . unless you want to."

  Her eyes widened and her free hand flew to her throat. Captivated, Sid gazed into her eyes, forgetting that he was courting for Luther.

  "Come with me." His voice was deep, urgent, seductive.

  Rose Anne met his gaze. His eyes were dark and powerful, fierce and penetrating. Suddenly all the love words on the notes and all the passionate music of the night seemed centered in Sid Granger's eyes. She leaned forward, inexplicably drawn to him. Shivers crawled along her skin, and desire clawed at her loins. She felt her nipples harden.

  What was happening? How could this craggy- faced, rugged-looking man cause such sensations? It was the music that seduced her, the crashing, thundering dark music . . . and the notes, the poetic notes written with a bold hand.

  They had not come from this man. He was merely Luther's emissary.

  "Did Luther send you?" she whispered, and the spell was broken.

  Sid released her hand and stepped back, out of the reach of her seductive gown. But even with the small distance he put between them, he could still feel the brush of silk against his legs, still see the tight rosy nipples that strained against her gown, still almost taste the moisture that shimmered on her skin.

  "I came for Luther," he said.

  "And that beautiful note?"

  "I brought it for him."

  "Then you're here to invite me to the air show on his behalf?"

  Yes. That was a slip of the tongue earlier. But I will be there."

  "You'll be there?" Somehow the news quickened her pulse.

  "Yes. One of the reasons for spending my leave in Paris is the air show."

  "Will I see you?"

  Do you want to see me? he longed to ask. But this was Luther's courtship.

  A muscle ticked in his tight jaw, and he rammed his fists hard Into his pockets.

  "You'll see all of us
. . . Hawk, Gunslinger, Panther, Lightning."

  "Your flying buddies?"

  "Yes. Those are our call signs, the names we use to communicate with each other when we're in the air."

  "And what is yours?"

  "Eagle."

  Smiling, she tilted her head to study him. "It's appropriate, I think."

  "How?" he asked, forgetting for the moment his eagle's beak that passed for a nose.

  "The eagle is a fierce and noble creature, not a beautiful bird, but awesome in its majesty."

  He almost grew wings and soared. Reminding himself that women were given to flights of fancy, he kept his feet firmly on the ground.

  "Thank you, beautiful lady." He bent gallantly over her hand and pressed his lips to her soft skin. He would remember the taste of her forever. "I don't think that's what my buddies had in mind," he added, laughing.

  He didn't know which one of them drew back, but suddenly the contact was broken.

  "I have to get back."

  She sounded sorry to go. Was she?

  "I . . . Luther will pick you up on Saturday. Is ten too early?"

  "It's fine. Do you have something to write my address on?"

  "I already know it." It was engraved on his heart.

  She smiled. "Another bit of detective work?"

  "Just plain luck. We're staying at the same inn."

  Rose Anne grew very still. The music. She had known it had come from him. Gazing into his dark eyes, she shivered. No. Not him.

  "Is Luther staying there too?"

  "Yes."

  She breathed a sigh of relief. It was Luther who wrote the poetic notes, Luther who composed the hauntingly seductive music.

  "Rose Anne!" The sound of Charlie's voice brought her out of the trancelike state she was in. Charlie hurried up, puffing. "They're ready for you, my dear."

  She looked into Sid's dark eyes. There was nothing left to say, not even good-bye. She inclined her head as if to seal the bargain, then linked her hand through Charlie's arm and returned to the set.

  The photographer, the director, and the technicians were there waiting for her.

  "You look stunning. Rose Anne. Absolutely smashing." The director, Claude Demoville, took her arm and led her toward the makeshift set—three plaster of Paris Corinthian columns arranged in the formal French gardens. "Hand here, my dear. That's my girl." He placed her left hand on one of the columns. "Head . . . like so." He tilted it slightly back so the wind would blow the scarf at her throat. "Do we have enough natural wind?" he yelled. "Do we need the wind machine?"