"And," continued Lindsay, "I believe you're very, very good at this kind of acting. I'll watch you for cues."
Catlin nodded, relaxing just a bit. At least she hadn't flinched at the idea of appearing to have an instant lover. For a woman like her, that was the first hurdle.
"What about other men?" he asked. Her file hadn't said anything about a current lover, but then, her file hadn't noted her mother's recent death, either.
Bronze strands swirled as Lindsay shook her head. "There's no one I owe explanations to, if that's what you mean."
"Good," he said bluntly, "because you wouldn't be allowed to make any that didn't agree with the image of a woman thrown headlong into a flaming affair."
Lindsay's unexpected smile made every one of Catlin's mate instincts come to full alert. Then her smile faded, leaving the honesty that was such an intriguing, dangerous aspect of her personality.
"I've never had one of those," she murmured, smiling at Catlin even as her eyes approved of the male planes of his face, lingering on the clean shape of his lips. "You'll have to tell me how to act."
"Do you want one?" he asked bluntly.
"What?"
"A flaming affair."
Lindsay's eyes widened in surprise.
"Then don't tease me," finished Catlin, his voice cold.
She flinched as though she had been slapped. Heightened color appeared above the blouse and swept up to her hairline. There was a long silence, because Catlin waited until the blush faded before he spoke.
"Listen to me, Lindsay. Listen to me as though your sanity depended on it. Because it does."
Beneath the resonance of his voice, she sensed anger and irritation, compassion and control. Control most of all.
"Look at me," Catlin demanded.
Lindsay made a small gesture with her hand, as though she lay restlessly in her bed, warding off attacks born of nightmares. The gesture went through Catlin like a knife, telling him that he had hurt her. He hadn't wanted that, but once she had accepted the job, he had known that hurting her would be inevitable. He could keep her body reasonably safe, but her mind was beyond his ability to protect. She had to do that herself, and he had to tell her how.
"One of the hardest parts of being undercover is keeping the public lies separate from the private truths," Catlin said, watching Lindsay's downturned face with brooding eyes. "You can flirt with me all you like in public in fact, it's required for the sake of appearances. But you be damn sure that you keep the act separate in your mind from the reality."
"There should be no conflict," Lindsay said, her voice neutral, her face still turned away from Catlin. "I don't flirt in public."
Her body language said that she didn't plan on beginning with him tonight, either. Or any other night in the foreseeable future. As far as she was concerned, he had just hit the bottom of the list of the world's desirable males.
Catlin's hand traced the slanting line of Lindsay's high cheekbone, smoothed over her hair, teased the sensitive curve of her ear. He tested the softness of her lips with the pad of his thumb as he bent down to her.
Then he spoke, and his voice was like a whip. "Quitting?"
Lindsay shivered and jerked away from his sensual touch. "What do you want from me?" she whispered, looking at him with wide, dark eyes.
"An act. That's all. Just an act."
"But-"
"I know. You're a terrible actress. So get out while you can, Lindsay Danner. Get out now."
Color rose in her face again, but this time its source was anger rather than embarrassment. "Go to hell, Catlin! I said I would do it and I will!"
He looked at the wash of heat and the intensity of her indigo eyes, the flash of emotion heightening every aspect of her beauty. He could not help wondering what it would be like to call that response out of her with passion rather than fury. The thought brought a hot shaft of desire that he ignored, Mei had taught him the deadly folly of being ruled by his own sexuality. It was a lesson he would never forget.
Catlin glanced down at his watch. They would be more than fashionably late if they didn't leave soon. Yet it was very clear that Lindsay wasn't ready to do a convincing performance of a woman enjoying an evening with her latest lover. Deliberately he reached for her, sliding his hand around to the back of her head, burying his fingers in the silky coolness of ha hair. As he had expected, she pulled back.
"Not good enough," he said in a clipped voice. "When I open that door, you're going to have to convince the world we're either already lovers or soon will be. Kiss me, Lindsay, Act like a woman humming with desire."
"The door is not open," she said, biting off each word. Catlin's hand shot out and opened the door. He stood there, waiting.
Lindsay took a deep breath and stared up at him, her eyes nearly black against her pale skin. Then she smiled, but the curve of her mouth owed much more to anger than to sensual anticipation. She put her arms around Catlin's neck, stretched up on tiptoe and threaded her fingers deeply into his black hair. Her hands tightened, pulling his hair as her teeth closed less than delicately on his earlobe.
"You're a genuine bastard, Catlin," she whispered huskily.
"My parents will be surprised to hear that," he whispered in return, closing his arms around her in a grip that reminded her that two could play the punishment game. He turned his head suddenly, capturing her mouth.
Lindsay stiffened, expecting an angry male invasion. She was wrong. As always, Catlin managed to catch her off balance. He nuzzled her lips softly, gentling her. His hands moved slowly down the length of her back, stroking all the responsive points, caressing her with a sensitivity that she had never known from a man before. Without realizing it, she softened against him, seeking greater contact, not less.
There was a heady flow of warmth over her silk-clad body as he lifted her until her mouth was on a level with his. Her breath sighed out and she turned her head to follow the teasing, tantalizing lips that refused to hold still for the kiss she suddenly wanted. If he had tried to force her mouth to open for him, she could have resisted. But there was no force in his embrace, no punishing aggression, nothing but the skillful teasing of his tongue following the shape of her lips.
"Catlin," she said, torn between anger and sensual response, not knowing what to feel, what to do, how to act, how to-
And then her questions vanished as he moved his head again, taking her mouth with the same delicacy that he had used to seduce her lips. The taste of him swept over her senses, transforming anger into an entirely different response. Her hands loosened their too-tight grip on his hair. She savored the crisp thickness of it between her fingers even as she shivered at the hot touch of his tongue sliding over hers. She forgot her anger, her uneasiness, the front door open for all the world to see. She forgot everything but the heat and strength of the kiss that was consuming her.
It was a long time before Catlin lifted his head. "That should do it," he said very softly, measuring her flushed, slightly swollen lips and dilated eyes. "You look the part now."
Reality returned in a rush, making Lindsay feel as though she had been dropped into icewater. "Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered.
"You're doing it to yourself. You volunteered, remember?" He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor again. "No," he said quickly, covering her mouth with his own when she would have said more. "We'll argue about it later," he murmured, nuzzling against her ear like a lover even as his fingers closed just short of pain on her arms. "Don't ever forget the act when the door is open."
Lindsay looked up at the intent, saturnine face and comfortless amber eyes. She shook her head as though disoriented. The soft heat that had been unfolding deep within her body curled back on itself, leaving her empty, shaken. For a moment she closed her eyes, appalled at what a gullible fool she had been to let her own attraction to Catlin convince her that he was attracted to her, too.
Even as the thought
came, she realized that there was no time for recriminations, no time for anger, not even time to regain her balance. The door was open, so the show must go on.
Ill get better at this, she promised herself fiercely, silently. I have to!
"How how do I introduce you to people?" she asked numbly, hating the betraying catch in her voice.
"Catlin, Jacob MacArthur, Genuine Bastard," he suggested coolly, his voice low, reminding her that other people could appear at any moment.
"No disagreement there," Lindsay said in a voice as understated as his, "but what do you do for a living?"
"Didn't Stone brief you?" murmured Catlin against her hair. He took her keys because her hands were shaking too much for her to lock the door easily. He hoped that anyone watching would assume that desire rather than anger was the cause.
"Stone said you'd tell me whatever I needed to know," she muttered, holding out her hand for her keys as Catlin finished locking up. She put them in the tiny crystal-encrusted purse she carried. "I'm supposed to call him tomorrow."
A hard smile tightened the line of Catlin's mouth. He knew that Stone would be eager to talk to Lindsay. The FBI agent would pump her for every bit of information he could, hoping that Catlin had gotten careless and told her more than he had told Stone.
"I'm part owner and one of the resident experts at the Pacific Rim Institute," Catlin said, taking Lindsay's arm, "That's a think tank on Asian affairs," he added, assuming that the name was unfamiliar to her.
There was a shocked silence while Lindsay realized that Catlin's name had seemed familiar to her not because he had collected bronzes in the past, but because he had earned a reputation for the kind of intelligence and insight into Asian affairs that made his advice de rigueur for Washington's legions of foreign affairs specialists.
"That's like saying Lafitte-Rothschild owns a nice little winery," muttered Lindsay, looking at Catlin as though she had never seen him before. She had heard the Pacific Rim Institute mentioned in the same terms of respect as were used for Rand's more highly publicized think tank. "You really do that?" she asked, hardly able to believe that this cold, controlled, physically powerful man was also one of the gray eminences who advised kings, premiers, presidents and lesser politicos on the state of the Asian nations.
Catlin gave her a sideways glance. "I really do. Why?"
"It's so, er, respectable."
For just an instant humor replaced coldness in Catlin's expression. "And I'm not?" he asked, his mouth lifting at one corner in an almost hidden smile.
Lindsay found herself smiling in return. "Are dragons respectable?"
"When it serves their purpose, yes," Catlin assured her smoothly.
"Is this serving your purpose?"
"It must be. I'm here."
"Then-"
Catlin made an impatient gesture, cutting off the questions he knew were coming. He turned and pulled Lindsay into his arms, easily overwhelming the instant of stiffness before she remembered her role. He bent and brushed his lips over hers, but his words were an icy counterpoint to his caressing touch.
"Think before you ask me anything else, Lindsay," he whispered against her lips. "Before this is over, you're going to need someone you feel you can trust. I won't lie to you, but I won't tell you more of the truth than I have to, either. And sometimes I won't answer at all. Do you understand?"
Lindsay stared at the impeccable ruffled shirt and sleek black dinner jacket that were just inches away from her face. "Ask you no questions and you'll tell me no lies, is that what you're saying?"
"Yes."
She hesitated, then looked directly into Catlin's unusual eyes. "Have you had a lot of experience living in hell?"
"Yes."
"Then I couldn't have a better guide, could I?"
"Remember that," Catlin murmured, tightening his arms painfully around Lindsay. "When we're alone, utterly alone, you may question me if you feel you must. But out in public you may not. Ever. If you can't accept that, call Stone right now and tell him to find another sucker. Our lives may depend on people believing that you are so infatuated that you will do anything to please me. Including sell your unblemished soul." Catlin stared down at Lindsay, his expression closed, offering neither comfort nor encouragement. "The act must begin tonight."
"I thought I thought it had begun last night," Lindsay said, her voice catching with the question she would not allow herself to ask.
Catlin said nothing. He knew that she was wondering whether he had stayed with her last night out of compassion and a desire for companionship, or simply as a calculated effort to win her trust. He also knew that she was too proud to ask. He was grateful for that, because he didn't know the answer.
He didn't want to know it, either.
Chapter 8
Lindsay watched in amusement as Mr. and Mrs. Stoltz unbent and became Tom and Harriet after a few moments of listening to Catlin's amusing conversation. The pomposity of the afterdinner speaker had helped to melt the social ice. It had been all Lindsay could do not to laugh aloud herself at Catlin's more outrageous asides to the speaker's pious phrases. She wondered if Catlin were as put off by pretensions to cultural superiority as she was, or if he simply had guessed that the Stoltzes disliked being lectured to on the subject of high art by a neon-nosed politico who couldn't tell painting from sculpture without a label.
Even as the question occurred to her, Lindsay shunted it aside. In public she must accept Catlin at his word. If she tried to dissect each action, each glance, each sentiment, she would turn in tighter and tighter mental circles until she was tangled hopelessly in a sticky net of her own weaving. She couldn't promise Catlin that she would become a great actress, but she would guarantee that she would learn the essentials of her role as quickly as possible. She would laugh at his incisive observations and not ask whether he was being witty in order to get closer to Qin's bronzes or because he genuinely was enjoying the evening with her.
Besides, did she really believe there was any doubt as to what motivated Jacob MacArthur Catlin?
"What do you think, Lindsay?"
Belatedly she realized that Mr. Stoltz had asked her a question. She turned away from her brooding study of Catlin's profile and said, "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't hear what you said."
Mr. Stoltz gave her a knowing smile. "Admiring the scenery, huh?"
"Er, yes," she mumbled, ducking her head to hide her annoyance at his genial leer. With an effort she schooled her features into their familiar expression of professional attentiveness. As she did, she wryly conceded to herself that being an actress might not be too hard after all; a variation of it was required in her daily work.
"Catlin was telling me you found a flawless Han hill-censer for him," continued Mr. Stoltz. "Old, but never buried."
"Yes," said Lindsay, sipping the late harvest Riesling that had been served with the rich cheesecake.
"Treasures like that don't come on the market very often. Wonder why the family gave it up?"
"Maybe they didn't" Catlin said matter-of-factly, turning toward Mr. Stoltz with a slight smile. "Maybe it was lost."
Catlin's expression said that a more appropriate word might be "stolen," and he didn't really give a damn one way or the other.
Lindsay bit back an instinctive defense of her own honesty as she remembered the role she had volunteered to play. On the other hand, she decided that it would seem odd if she changed completely overnight.
"I don't think so, darling," she murmured. "The papers showed that some other museum bought the censer from a refugee family early in 1920."
"And you always believe everything you see in print, hmm?" asked Catlin, running a fingertip indulgently down Lindsay's nose. He shrugged negligently, a motion that drew the fabric of his coat tightly across his wide shoulders. "All that matters is that the piece is genuine, and the museum didn't recognize it. You did." He bent and kissed her slowly on the lips. "Clever little honey cat. Ho
w did I get so lucky as to find you?"
A flush stained Lindsay's cheeks. Grimly she hoped that no one would recognize it for what it was anger at being so obviously patronized. When she trusted herself to look, Catlin was watching her. His eyes did not reflect the smiling indulgence of his mouth. They were like candle flames imprisoned within ice brilliant, entirely without warmth.
"You must have done something utterly marvelous in another life to deserve me," Lindsay said, her voice husky with the effort of controlling herself.
Catlin's laugh was soft, deep, as unexpected as the sudden flicker of real warmth in his expression. "Do you believe in more than one life?" he asked, watching her with the satisfied smile of a man who is sure of his hold on a woman.
"Having met you, how could I believe anything else?" she retorted throatily, smiling with more teeth than warmth.
Catlin's smile thinned as he realized that Lindsay was deliberately referring to the double life he had once led and that both of them were leading right now.
"You don't have any more Han bronzes up your sleeve, do you?" asked Mr. Stoltz.
Before Lindsay could answer, Catlin's hands moved slowly from Lindsay's shoulders to her fingertips. "Not a one," he said, turning toward the other man. "Sorry."
Mr. Stoltz's laugh was a harsh male bark. Vigorously he shook his half-bald head, lifting wisps of fine white hair. "No you aren't, and in your shoes I wouldn't be, either."
"Don't worry, Tom," said his wife, leaning forward, her sleekly cut gray hair gleaming like pewter in the light. "Catlin assured me that the Han purchase was unusual for him. His true passion is third century B.C. bronzes."
"Especially pieces from the time of Emperor Qin," added Catlin.
"Qin's dynasty lasted only fourteen years," Mrs. Stoltz said, dismissing it with a flawlessly manicured hand.
"Ah, but what years those were," countered Catlin, leaning toward the woman, his eyes intent. "In 221 B.C. one man unified all of China. One man's vision was imprinted on the face of the greatest nation on Earth. Think of it. In all Europe's history, where cultures and races were much less diverse than in China, there never was unity of government. Not even Rome managed it, though Lord knows they spent a lot of men trying. The northern cultures always evaded the Roman Peace. Perhaps all that Rome lacked was what Qin discovered the many and bloody uses of highly mobile cavalry against heavy war chariots."
Tell Me No Lies Page 12
