The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  But none of it made up for what Luke had done. She’d be damned if she’d reward him by sharing her perfectly beautiful child and risking the steady balance of Nate’s happiness.

  Why couldn’t they see that?

  She glanced up when the kitchen door opened, and smiled at Alice as the woman crossed the courtyard. An ally, Roxanne thought, smug. Alice didn’t know Luke, had no emotional investment in him. She of all people would agree that a mother had the right to protect her child. And herself.

  “There was an awful wreck,” Nathaniel told Alice.

  Interested, she bent down, her wispy blond hair swung out, her full-skirted cotton dress nearly brushing the bricks. “Looks grim,” she agreed in her quiet voice. “Better call nine-one-one.”

  “Nine-one-one!” Nathaniel agreed, delighted, and began to make siren noises.

  “That’s the third wreck in fifteen minutes.” Roxanne scooted over on the iron bench so Alice could sit. “The fatalities are mounting.”

  “Those roads are treacherous.” Alice smiled her pretty, ethereal smile. “I’ve tried to educate him on the advantages of car pools, but he prefers traffic jams.”

  “He prefers traffic accidents. I hope it’s not warping his mind.”

  “Oh, I think we’re safe there.” Alice took a deep breath to bring in the scent of roses and sweet peas and freshly watered mulch. The courtyard was her favorite spot, a shady summery place designed for sitting and thinking. So typically Southern. As a transplanted Yankee, she embraced all that was South with the same fervor a converted Catholic embraces the Church. “I thought I’d take Nate to Jackson Square after preschool. Let him run around a little.”

  “I wish I could go with you. I never feel as though I’m spending enough time with him when I’m prepping for a job.”

  Alice had accepted all sides of the Nouvelles’ professions with philosophical ease. To her they weren’t stealing so much as spreading excess profits around. “You’re a wonderful mother, Roxanne. I’ve never seen you let work interfere with Nate’s needs.”

  “I hope not. His needs are the most important thing to me.” She laughed as he bashed two cars together and made crashing noises. “Homicidal?”

  “Healthy aggression.”

  “You’re good for me, Alice.” With a sigh, Roxanne sat back. But she was rubbing her hands together, a sure sign of nerves. “Everything seemed so balanced, so right, so easy. I like routine, you know? I suppose it comes from the discipline of magic.”

  Alice studied Roxanne with calm eyes. “I wouldn’t say you were a woman who disliked surprise.”

  “Some surprises. I won’t have Nate’s life disrupted. Or mine either, if it comes to that. I know what’s best for him. Damn it, I want to know what’s best for him. And I certainly know what’s best for me.”

  Alice was silent a moment. She wasn’t a woman to speak without thinking. She gathered those thoughts as carefully and as selectively as she would pick wildflowers. “You want me to tell you that keeping Nate a secret from his father is the right thing to do.”

  “It is.” Roxanne glanced at Nate, cautiously lowering her voice. “At least until I feel it’s time. He has no rights to Nate, Alice. He gave them up when he walked away from us.”

  “He didn’t know there was an us.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “It may be beside, or it may be the point. I’m not in a position to know.”

  “So.” Roxanne’s lips thinned at the new betrayal. “You’re lining up with the rest of them.”

  “It’s not like choosing sides for kickball, Roxanne.” Because friendship came first with Alice, she closed a hand over Roxanne’s rigid fingers. “Whatever you do or don’t do, we’re all behind you. Whether we agree or not.”

  “And you don’t.”

  With a sigh, Alice shook her head. “I don’t know what I would do in your position. And only you can know what you really feel in your heart. I can say that in the week since I met Luke, I like him. I like his intensity, his recklessness, his single-minded focus on a goal. Those are some of the same reasons I like you.”

  “So you’re saying I should let him in, trust him with Nate.”

  It was so hard to give advice, Alice thought. She wondered why so many people thrived on it. “I’m saying you should do what you feel is right. Whatever that is, it won’t change one simple fact. Luke is Nathaniel’s father.”

  Luke, Luke, Luke. Roxanne fumed as she watched him run through his Woman in the Glass Box routine with Lily. Mouse and Jake stood off to the side, drawn away from the electronic jammer they’d been tinkering with to watch.

  Why was it Luke came back and he was suddenly the sun with all of them revolving like planets around him? She hated it.

  It was all wrong. They were rehearsing here, in his barnlike living room with its lofty ceilings and fancy plasterwork. Suddenly they were on his turf, with him calling the shots.

  There was rock music on the stereo. He was timing his bit to Springsteen’s Born to Run. They always worked with classical, Roxanne thought, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. Always. It infuriated her further that it suited him, and the illusion.

  It was fast, exciting, sexy. Everything he did fit those three words. She knew damn well the audience would love it. That only soured her mood.

  “Good.” Luke turned to Lily and kissed her flushed cheek. “Time, Jake?”

  “Three minutes, forty.” He’d already clicked off the stopwatch.

  “I think we can shave ten more seconds.” Despite the air-conditioning, he was sweating. Still, he liked keeping that particular illusion at a frantic pace, and was revved for more. “Can you handle another run, Lily?”

  “Sure.”

  Sure, Roxanne thought, sneering. Anything you want, Luke. Anytime you want it. Disgusted, she turned away to retreat to the far corner of the room. She’d work through the Spinning Crystal routine she hadn’t had time to perfect before the last performance. There, beside the massive stone fireplace, was a long folding table. A number of props were set up there, ready for practicing.

  She was particularly pleased with the diamond-shaped crystal, its rainbow facets. It was a good, solid weight in her hands. She imagined the strains of Tchaikovsky, envisioned the shadowy stage, the crisscrossed spotlights softened with blue gel, and herself sheathed from head to foot in pure glistening white.

  And swore when Springsteen’s primal yell shattered her concentration.

  Luke caught the bitter snarl she tossed at him, and grinned. “Mouse, how about setting up for the levitation? I think we’ve got this one.”

  “Sure.” Mouse lumbered off to oblige.

  “Pulling everyone’s string, aren’t you?” Roxanne said when Luke joined her at the table.

  “It’s called teamwork.”

  “I’ve got another name for it. Worming. Slithering.”

  “That’s two words.” He covered her hands over the crystal. “Think of it this way, Rox. Once we pull this off, you’ll never have to come within ten feet of me again. Unless you want to.”

  “I am thinking of that.” It was better than thinking of how just the touch of his hands on hers made her blood thicken. “I need to know more about the Wyatt job. You’re holding back, and I don’t like it.”

  “So are you,” he said evenly. “And neither do I.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But she’d broken eye contact. “Yes, you do. There’s something you’re not telling me. Something everyone’s holding their breath over. Once you come clean, we’ll deal with the situation.”

  “Come clean?” She cut her eyes back to his, and they were hot and lethal. “Something I’m not telling you? What could it be? Let’s see . . . could it be that I detest you?”

  “No.” He outmaneuvered her by running his hands up her arms while hers were trapped around the crystal. “You’ve been busy letting me know that for more than a week. And you only detest me whe
n you make yourself think about it.”

  “But it comes so naturally.” She smiled, sweet as a honeyed stiletto.

  “Only because you’re still crazy about me.” He kissed the tip of her nose when she hissed at him. “This is business, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So let’s get down to it.” His smile was slow and dangerous. “Then we’ll see what comes naturally.”

  “I want more information.”

  “And you’ll get it. Just like you’ll get the stone when it’s finished.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm when he started to turn. Unsteady, she set the crystal down again. “What are you saying?”

  “That the stone’s yours when it’s finished. One hundred percent.”

  She searched his face looking for the truth, wishing she could see him clearly as she once had. “Why?”

  “Because I love him, too.”

  There was nothing for her to say, because that was the truth, and that she could see clearly. Her chest tightened, restricting air as well as words. “I want to hate you, Callahan,” she managed. “I really want to hate you.”

  “Tough, isn’t it?” He skimmed a finger down her cheek. “I know, because I wanted to forget you. I really wanted to forget you.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and for the first time since his return he saw the opening. He’d wormed his way in all right, he thought with some disgust. Through her love for Max. It wasn’t the route he would have chosen.

  “Why?” She hadn’t wanted to ask, was afraid of the answer.

  “Because loving you, remembering loving you was killing me.”

  That shook her knees and loosened her heart. “You’re not going to get to me, Callahan.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He took her hand to lead her to the center of the room. “I am.”

  “Nearly set.” Mouse whistled through his teeth. It was great to have the two of them together again, he thought. Even if they weren’t smiling. It embarrassed him to feel the sparks fly from them. It seemed to Mouse that was something that should happen in the dark, when two people were alone. That kind of intimacy was rough on witnesses.

  Roxanne lifted her arms so that Mouse could fix his wires. But she never took her eyes from Luke. She hated to admit she liked this particular illusion. It sizzled, and it flowed, it had drama and it had poetry.

  Besides, she’d had fun squabbling with him over each and every detail.

  “Are we using the music?” she asked.

  “Yeah. My pick.”

  “Why—”

  “Because you chose the lighting.”

  She frowned, but it was tough to argue with quid pro quo. “So what is it?”

  “ ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ ” He grinned when she rolled hers. “The Platters, Rox. It’s not classical, but it is a classic.”

  “If you knew anything about creating a theme, you’d know that the music should be consistent throughout the show.”

  “If you knew anything about flair, you’d know that the change of pace adds pizzazz.”

  “Pizzazz.” She sniffed, tossed back her hair. “Let’s just do it.”

  “Fine. Cue the music.”

  She brought her hands up, swayed. He held his out, curling his fingers toward him in invitation. Or in command. Resisting, refusing, she lifted her arm over her face, her palm toward him and turned fluidly to the side. Not a retreat. An allurement. Focused on her, only on her, he mirrored her move, step for step, as if they were bound by invisible threads. Their fingers brushed, lingered, drew away.

  Roxanne felt the power ripple through her like wine.

  She didn’t need her memory of the script to keep her eyes on his. She couldn’t have looked away. The concentration on his face pierced her, so it was easy to allow her head to roll loosely, dreamily on her shoulders.

  Perhaps she could have won the duel. Or perhaps, in surrender, she already had.

  Luke threw up his hands, a dramatic demand which Roxanne resisted by gliding away. Only to stop, poised, when his arms lowered and reached out for her. Slowly, as if caught in a trance, she turned back.

  She didn’t move when he stepped close. His hand passed in front of her face. Her eyes shuddered closed. Never more than a whisper away from bodies brushing, he circled her. His gestures were long, slow, exaggerated as her feet tipped off the floor, as her hair rained back, as her body lifted.

  While the music built, his hands traced her, still that whisper away from contact. Her body quivered, beyond the control of her concentration. She watched him through her lashes, unable to help herself, certain she would scream with need and frustration if those hands continued to skim over her without touching.

  He thought he could hear her heart pounding. Barely, he resisted the urge to press his hand over her breast to feel that thud of life. His mouth was dry, and he knew he was breathing too quickly. But he was beyond illusion now.

  He’d meant the segment to be romantic, sexual, and had known he would be treading deep water. But he hadn’t known how quickly he could drown.

  He bent his head toward hers, his lips hovering, so close to tasting. The quiet sound she made as she struggled not to moan roared in his head.

  He took her hand, running his fingers over the palm, down the back. When their fingers were linked he, too, began to rise. His eyes were riveted on her face as they lay suspended together. As the music began to fade, he turned his body, cupped a hand under her head and brought his mouth to hers.

  Locked together, they tilted toward vertical, bodies revolving. When their feet touched the ground, his arms were still around her and her mouth was still a captive.

  Jake clicked off the stopwatch and cleared his throat. “Don’t guess anybody cares about time,” he murmured and stuck the watch in his pocket. “Radio Shack,” he said, inspired. “Come on, Mouse. We gotta get to the mall.”

  “Huh?”

  “The mall, the mall. We need those parts.”

  Mouse blinked in confusion. “What parts?”

  “Those parts.” Jake rolled his eyes and jerked his head toward Roxanne and Luke. They’d drawn apart now, but only far enough to stare at each other.

  “Oh, I need some things, too.” Teary-eyed, Lily grabbed Mouse and pulled. “I need lots of things. Let’s get going.”

  “But rehearsal—”

  “I think they’ve got it cold,” Jake said and was grinning as they pulled Mouse out of the house.

  The silence spun in Roxanne’s already dizzy head. “It—it ran long.”

  “You’re telling me.” He’d been ready to explode. Now he ran his hands gently up and down her back before freeing her from the levitation harness. “But it’s going to be a hell of a finale.”

  “Needs work.”

  “I’m not talking about that finale.” He released himself.

  “I’m talking about you and me.” Watching her, he skimmed his hands under her sweatshirt and let them roam over the warm, smooth skin of her back. “And this.” He kissed her again, softly.

  She had no choice but to grip his shoulders for balance. “You’re not going to seduce me.”

  He traced his lips over her jaw, knowing just where to nip to make her shiver. “Want to bet?”

  “I can walk away from you anytime.” But her body was pressed against his, and her mouth was racing over his face. “I don’t need you.”

  “Me either.” He scooped her up and started toward the stairs.

  If her body would stop shivering she was sure she’d regain her bearings. For now it seemed best to hold on tight.

  She knew what she was doing. God, she hoped she knew. This terrible ragged yearning made everything else seem so small and pitiful. This was all there was, all there needed to be. On a moan, she pressed her face against his neck.

  “Hurry,” was all she said.

  He’d have flown up the stairs if he’d been able. It felt as though he had the way his muscles were quivering and his breath heaving. Once he’d kicked the bedroom
door closed behind them, he sought her lips again. He could only thank whatever powers there were that he’d had the foresight to buy a bed.

  And a hell of a bed it was. The huge, cushy four-poster gave like a cloud when they fell onto it. He paused for a moment, only a moment, to look down at her and remember—to force her to remember all they had been to each other, what they had done for each other, and to each other, beyond that gulf of five years.

  He saw the struggle for denial in her eyes and battered it with a greedy kiss. She wouldn’t hold back from him now, he wouldn’t permit it. Cuffing her wrists in his hands he drew her arms high over her head. If she touched him he’d ignite like a stick of dynamite. First he wanted to make sure she felt everything he wanted her to feel.

  She twisted against his hold, her heart leaping to her throat to bang like a drum in the hollow. He only lowered his lips to it as a prelude to an exploitation of every secret he remembered.

  He’d dreamed of this countless times, in countless rooms in countless places. Only this was more potent than any fantasy. The taste of her, rioting through him, was like a feast after years of fasting. He wouldn’t deny himself now, or ever again.

  She didn’t struggle against the flood of sensation. Couldn’t bear to. He was giving her back everything he’d taken away, and more. She’d nearly forgotten what it was to crave, and had never really understood what it meant to abandon all will. After so long an abstinence it was so simple, so right, to only feel. Every time his lips found hers, there was a shock of recognition and a shiver of the unknown.

  His blood burned when he heard his name tumble from her lips. Each sigh, each moan was a hammer thrust in his gut. Frantic for more, he released her hands to tug at her clothes. He groaned in violent pleasure when he found her gloriously naked beneath.

  “Hurry,” she said again, tearing his shirt in her rush to be flesh against flesh. The furnace building inside her was nearing flash point. She wanted him in her when it exploded. She wanted him stoking that fire inside her.

  He wanted to savor. He needed to devour. Gasping for air, he fought the snap of his jeans while her hands tortured him and her mouth seared like lightning over his shoulders and chest.