"Then perhaps I should stay--in fact, sir, the more I think on it the better the idea sounds."
"Please...do not think. You will only get us both into this deeper than we already are."
She sighed with frustration then turned and headed for the cabin.
Inside there was a quiet peace. Everything she saw reminded her of the man outside. She could not find any emotion in her heart except love. Hero worship--perhaps that's all it was.
A large white fur lay in front of the fireplace. Curiously, she walked to it and bent to run her fingers through it. The fur was one of the softest she'd ever touched, and as she sat on her knees staring into the fire, she saw them together, lying in front of the fire, kissing. His arms held her, protecting--loving. But it wasn't to be. She could never seduce him, and she didn't want him unless he truly loved her.
Was she really willing to throw her innocence away on an impulse? On something she knew could not last? Yes, if he would have her. She didn't want to be Savage's wife--not before she found a moment of love.
Tori sat before the fireplace, wishing she'd never met this man or felt the tenderness of his caress.
The door opened, and she didn't acknowledge his presence. One way or the other he hadn't abandoned her to Savage--not yet. Still, she knew he would leave soon, knew that one of these times the man walking through the door would be her fiancé.
He was silent for a moment. Then he asked curiously, "Haven't you found anything to wear? If you go to the dresser in the bedroom, you can have one of my shirts.
"This is his place not yours--his shirts not yours. I don't want to wear anything that is his," she said.
At first, his lack of response didn't surprise her. Then she was shocked to understand that he was so quiet because he was striding toward her. He stood over her for a heart-stopping minute.
"Get up."
When she didn't move, he bent over and pulled her from her knees.
He stood before her, only an arms length separating them. He wore only a loose-fitting shirt now, his tight-fitting body shirt gone, unbuttoned to the waist, with his skintight pants nearly smoldering on his body. His eyes were stormy, pent up fury radiating from them. She could feel the coldness between them. They were miles apart, separated by a great chasm. She saw the ripple of his muscles as he held her away from him.
Cold with an icy disdain, he pulled her toward him until they finally touched. "Perhaps I should give you what you want."
"Let go!" she cried out, her hands pressing against his chest. She had never seen this side of him. In all of their dealings, he had held her gently with tender concern. Even when he'd been so obviously angry, he'd been gentle.
"You pushed and pushed. You throw yourself at me, refusing to cover yourself. I know what you want, but it is not mine to give." His fingers pressed into her flesh, but then he dropped his hands to his side and stepped back.
She felt the raw fury emanating from him, as he seemed to fight his emotions. She was silent, staring at him. Had he given into his feelings, she would surely have learned what it was like to be loved by a man.
A moment of doubt, a tinge of guilt, but she pushed it aside, realizing this time her fear had stopped him. She moistened her lips, amazed at the discovery. He had been so very angry and had almost betrayed Savage and over what--a shirt.
"Don't accept my hospitality then, but be forewarned I might take what you seem so eager to give," he said furiously. Once more she saw the movement of his hand. It fell tenderly against the exposed area of her flesh, his finger gently probing the gaping fabric. Already torn, the material gave way with the slightest tug.
She stiffened, weary of his motive, unsure of what had just changed between them, but she was proud, refusing to cover herself even as she stood before him with so very little on.
The Phantom wasn't even looking at her body. Instead, his gaze held hers as if demanding the answers to a thousand questions. Then he turned away again, walking back to the door.
She wanted to call him back at that moment. She wanted him to hold her in his arms. She wanted to be able to explain all that was in her heart.
Tori continued to watch as he carelessly leaned against the door. Then he turned again, his gaze flickering over her as he bent down and tossed her his cape.
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I wouldn't want you to catch your death of cold." He was silent for a moment, and to Tori's exasperation, she felt her body's rush of pleasure. Maybe it was the heat in his eyes now. The way they lingered, traveling slowly over her. He was a proud man and she had tested him to his limits.
Even if he couldn't overcome his obligation to Savage, he honored her in his own way by denying what he felt for her.
"I am sorry. I don't know what has come over me."
She inclined her head slightly. "It seems I have had all my choices taken away from me, my freedom and my independence. I don't want his clothes to touch me."
"Ah, but in a day or two, more than just his clothes will touch you."
Tori stiffened once more. She felt the heat of her cheeks flushing crimson once more.
"Seek to deny that I have scaled walls to see this put into motion, a marriage to Cameron?"
She was quiet again, studying him. "You throw me to the lion then, not caring that he will know me intimately," she said. She meant her words to test his patience and perhaps to make him change his mind.
He shifted his stance, rising from his position against the wall, and she almost felt the cold fury that seemed to exude from him. "Stop, I apologize. It's only a shirt."
He nodded to her. The hard lines around his eyes softened and she thought he might smile, sensing victory, she assumed. Well, he had won.
"Well, I'm relieved to hear that you mean to dress yourself," he said softly. "Despite my good intentions, I'm not sure I could resist your sweet innocence much longer. It was either drowning myself in the lake or succumbing to something I know I'd regret as soon as it was finished."
She smiled at his admission and decided to hold on to the words spoken with surprising warmth.
"Are you hungry?" Before she could nod, he was out the door. She stood there, remembering the strength of his embrace, the unrelenting pressure of his mouth on hers.
The desire hidden deep within that blossomed with just the thought of his arms around her.
Then she swept up the shirt and for a moment held it against her cheek. It smelled surprisingly like this man, not Cameron Savage. She took her own shirt off then slipped her arms through the sleeves of his and quickly buttoned it from top to bottom, thinking of Nessa who never, ever left a button undone.
Now she understood why.
Suddenly she realized it was one thing to play with a man's emotions, yet a far different thing to experience it.
The Phantom
For the next few hours, Cameron waged a terrible battle with his conscience. He had left the cabin, walking halfway around the lake then back again. He hadn't thought of anything but Victoria's words, her condemnation of Cameron Savage, of him. Almost an hour ago, he'd ripped the mask from his head, intent on confrontation, but that would not bring the satisfaction he sought.
Now he stood in front of the door, hand raised to knock. Hell, it was his cabin. She was soon to be his wife. He did not need to knock.
He clenched his fists. This was truly a debacle. Now with hindsight dodging his footsteps, he could not figure out why he'd attempted the charade. Surely, she would have gone with him if she'd known his identity.
If he had it to do over again, he might have wished that Morray would suffer as he did now, because she could make the staunchest soul miserable and Morray was far more deserving of that than he was. Within the same second, she could make him lose his temper, then she would beguile him with her sweet smile and gentle innocence, and he would find his passion raging out of control. More than anything, he wanted to give her everything she desired.
Well, Cameron had a long ways to go to make
her accept him. She might be his in principle and soon his on paper, but he craved so much more. And his hunger did not stem from the need to possess the modern research center that would be his when the deal was finally concluded, or the inheritance, which was offered as further enticement.
To his dismay, his hunger was solely for Victoria DeMontville. Marriage would be a torment, simply because she despised him, no, loathed him. He swore he would never take her to his bed unless she came willingly. He might tease and taunt her with wedded bliss, but he'd never coerce her to his bed.
Until he could convince her he was not such a bad sort, his life would be hell. If she were so willing to defy and humiliate Cameron with The Phantom, he would never get her to surrender to him.
His bed would be cold, he knew, until she learned what kind of man he was. And he'd tried to tell her through The Phantom, but she had not listened because she was so willing to think the worst of him.
She was in love with a mythical hero and he had an uphill battle to fight.
One moment he was tortured that he would never curb her wild impetuous nature, and the next he was afraid he would. If that happened, all he would see would be the haunting sadness in her eyes, and all he would feel would be the growing surge of love.
He never should have kissed her. No matter the lesson he meant to teach or the horrible craving he felt within, he should have never held her. Never should have felt the soft curve of her breast against him or the long length of her thighs nestled intimately between his.
Never should have felt the passion in the woman. Desire lay deep within her. A hunger for truth and a craving for knowledge, but that wasn't all.
Very deep inside she held a great passion for life and love, a love she had yet to understand. He wanted to be her teacher.
"Hell," he said aloud, running his hand through his hair and turning from the door just before he knocked. "Hell and damnation. I must confront her. I will not humble myself. I've done nothing but the noble thing."
What would Morray have done to her by now? If he had held her, she would have fought him, perhaps to the death, or he would have raped her. A shudder ripped through him.
"Ah, babe, you are fortunate," he said softly. "Maybe I will watch your every move, hover just over your shoulder as you work, but you will not suffer the likes of Quentin Morray as long as I'm alive." He would find a way to have her, to coax her to his bed. He suddenly had such high expectations for this union.
"If I'm to win her, I must let her meet Cameron. The longer this goes on the harder it will be. But now is not the right time."
He slipped the mask over his head, laced it tightly, and strode inside the cabin, not bothering to knock or announce his presence in any way. She had donned one of his shirts and it gave him a strange sense of pleasure that she wore something of his. Yet watching her standing before the fireplace, warming her hands, he felt a moment's guilt. He could have started the fire for her, should have seen to her needs, but he'd been so upset when he'd left.
For a few seconds he watched her, feeling heat suffuse his body. The length of her hair shimmered like warm brandy in the firelight. It seemed to cascade around her now as an enticement for his caress as if calling him. She was looking at him with a sweet innocence he was beginning to associate with her.
All the time he studied her, the power of his desire kept him frozen halfway between paradise and hell. Then he walked into the room, turning into the kitchen in hopes of avoiding her and perhaps appeasing another hunger. He searched through the pantry. He found a bottle of fine Bordeaux and two crystal goblets, found a long loaf of French bread and some brie.
Occasionally, he'd look out the door and he'd find her watching, but then when she noticed him, she'd turn back to the fire, pretending indifference.
"Hungry?"
Ah, but that brought on another overpowering surge of desire. He was his own worst nightmare.
She looked up then, her eyes wide. She smiled.
Maybe she knew what he'd been thinking, perhaps not, but that smile of hers left him gritting his teeth and his cock hard.
"Yes," she said, rising and walking slowly toward him.
The shirt was far too sheer to hide the soft curve of her breast or camouflage the dark shadows where they crested and held the fabric up to his devouring eyes. It reached to a point just above her knees, but the last button was much higher, and as she walked, he was enticed further with a tantalizing provocative view of her legs.
He held up one of the glasses of wine, and as she accepted the drink, their fingers touched. Their eyes met. His breath caught, and he thought surely his heart had ceased to beat. Hell! She would torture him his entire life, wondering just how to find some middle ground with her.
No. He did not want to find a middle ground. He wanted the entire woman, all of her.
Ignoring his emotions and his frustration, he broke off a piece of bread for her. She accepted it and sat down.
"Thank you," she said, smiling. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your mask off? What difference would it make, now, if I were to see your face?" She grinned. "I could help you take it off."
He stiffened, surprised by her comment. "No one, not even you should know my identity. It would jeopardize many."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Trust me."
The words struck home. Trust me. No, he might feel the most potent desire for her, but he did not trust her. Not yet. He shook his head. "You ask too much." He picked up the goblet of wine and swallowed it down as if it were water, shuddering fiercely but glad of the warmth that filled him. If his refusal bothered her, she didn't show it. She demurely lifted her own glass to her lips. Again, her eyes met his and he was sure he saw the depth of her desire within them.
"Do I?" she challenged.
He refilled her glass. "Drink," and for a moment he thought that if she had enough of the wine, she might even tolerate Cameron Savage.
"Here's to The Phantom," she said.
"To Victoria," he countered, and swallowed down his wine.
He poured another cup for each of them, still amused by her obvious antics.
She was not a quitter. But if she did not stop soon, she would regret it in the morning--when he brought the real Cameron Savage to meet her.
"When will Savage be here?" Her blatant question startled him then he laughed. It was the way she said his name that caused his mirth.
"You are in a hurry to meet him again."
"Of course not," she bristled.
He poured them both more, finally beginning to enjoy this game for what it was.
This time she brought the glass close so she could smell the bouquet. "Umm, this shouldn't be wasted. It should--" Her ploy was an obvious attempt to change the direction of the conversation.
She broke off abruptly when she realized her words were already slightly slurred. What was she going to say?
He leaned forward. "It should be what?"
"It should be savored," she said lightly. "Have some more."
He smiled mockingly. "More?" One eyebrow rose. Love should be savored also. "Why not? There must be more where this came from. Savage must have more in the cellar. We can savor later."
He gritted his teeth again, knowing full well what she had in mind. It wasn't going to work. She wasn't going to seduce him with wine.
"I don't think Savage would be pleased to find his betrothed drunk, naked in my bed and in my arms when he arrives here."
"How crude. And he would blame you, wouldn't he? Vile man. I'll simply tell him you had nothing to do with this." She broke off a piece of cheese and managed to consume it quickly and very daintily then she looked up. She was both very hungry and very eager to seduce him. Were he not caught in the middle, the entire situation might be amusing.
Her hand touched his. She rose suddenly, moving around the table to stand next to him. Her hair rested on his shoulder as she leaned over him, and he could see beneath her shirt, see all that was meant for Savage. The l
ittle hellion.
"Sit down, Victoria." His voice quavered tensely. His hands clenched the arms of his chair fiercely so he would not be tempted to touch that which was being offered to him at this very moment.
She smiled and moved even closer. "I don't want to."
He felt her against him, breathed her sweet feminine scent. Her dove-gray eyes had darkened and were shimmering with volatile emotions. Her hair cascaded down her back and across her breasts, framing them and displaying them blatantly. He had reached an impasse. He wanted her desperately, and he no longer had any thought of denying himself. She waited for him, her body tense, almost as if she were afraid of what she had conjured.
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