Luring a Lady

by Nora Roberts

  With her mind still whirling, she walked into the kitchen to find him elbow deep in soapsuds. She set basket and bottle aside to pick up a dish towel.

  “Are you angry with me?” she ventured after a moment.

  “Some. More I’m puzzled by you.” And hurt, but he didn’t want her guilt or pity. “To be loved should make you happy, warm.”

  “Part of me is. The other half is afraid of moving too fast and risking spoiling what we’ve begun.” He needed honesty, she thought. Deserved it. She tried to give him what she had. “All day today I looked forward to being here with you, being able to talk to you, to be able to share with you what had happened. To listen to you. I knew you’d make me laugh, that my heart would speed up when you kissed me.” She set a dry bowl aside. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He only shook his head. “You don’t even know you’re in love with me. But it’s all right,” he decided, and offered her the next bowl. “You will.”

  “You’re so arrogant,” she said, only half-annoyed. “I’m never sure if I admire or detest that.”

  “You like it very much because it makes you want to fight back.”

  “I suppose you think I should be flattered because you love me.”

  “Of course.” He grinned at her. “Are you?”

  Thinking it over, she stacked the second bowl in the first, then took the skillet. “I suppose. It’s human nature. And you’re…”

  “I’m what?”

  She looked up at him again, the cocky grin, the dark amused eyes, the tumble of wild hair. “You’re so gorgeous.”

  His grin vanished when his mouth dropped open. When he managed to close it again, he pulled his hands out of the water and began to mutter.

  “Are you swearing at me?” Instead of answering her, he yanked the dishcloth away from her to dry his hands. “I think I embarrassed you.” Delighted, she laughed and cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, I did.”

  “Stop.” Thoroughly frazzled, he pushed her hands away. “I can’t think of the word for what I am.”

  “But you are gorgeous.” Before he could shake her off, she wound her arms around his neck. “When I first saw you, I thought you looked like a pirate, all dark and dashing.”

  This time he swore in English and she only smiled.

  “Maybe it’s the hair,” she considered, combing her fingers through it. “I used to imagine what it would be like to get my hands in it. Or the eyes. So moody, so dangerous.”

  His hands lowered to her hips. “I’m beginning to feel dangerous.”

  “Hmm. Or the mouth. It just might be the mouth.” She touched hers to it, then slowly, her eyes on his, outlined its shape with her tongue. “I can’t imagine there’s a woman still breathing who could resist it.”

  “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  She let her hands slide down, her fingers toying with his buttons. “Somebody has to.” She only hoped she could do it right. “Then, of course, there’s this wonderful body. The first time I saw you without a shirt, I nearly swallowed my tongue.” She parted his shirt to let her hands roam over his chest. His knees nearly buckled. “Your skin was wet and glistening, and there were all these muscles.” She forgot the game, seducing herself as completely as him. “So hard, and the skin so smooth. I wanted to touch, like this.”

  Her breath shuddered out as she pressed her fingers into his shoulders, kneading her way down his arms. When her eyes focused on his again, she saw that they were fiercely intense. Beneath her fingers, his arms were taut as steel. The words dried up in her mouth.

  “Do you know what you do to me?” he asked. He reached for the tiny black buttons on her jacket, and his fingers trembled. Beneath the sunny cap-sleeved suit, she wore lace the color of midnight. He could feel the fast dull thud of his heart in his head. “Or how much I need you?”

  She could only shake her head. “Just show me. It’s enough to show me.”

  She was caught fast and hard, her mouth fused to his, their bodies molded. When her arms locked around his neck, he lifted her an inch off the floor, circling slowly, his lips tangling with hers.

  Dizzy and desperate, she clung to him as he wound his way into the bedroom. She kicked her shoes off, heedless of where they flew. There was such freedom in the simple gesture, she laughed, then held tight as they fell to the bed.

  The mattress groaned and sagged, cupping them in the center. He was muttering her name, and she his, when their mouths met again.

  It was as hot and reckless as before. Now she knew where they would go and strained to match his speed. The need to have him was as urgent as breath, and she struggled with his jeans, tugging at denim while he peeled away lace.

  She could feel the nubs of the bedspread beneath her bare back, and him, hard and restless above her. Through the open window, the heat poured in. And there was a rumble, low and distant, of thunder. She felt the answering power echo in her blood.

  He wanted the storm, outside, in her. Never before had he understood what it was to truly crave. He remembered hunger and a miserable wish for warmth. He remembered wanting the curves and softness of a woman. But all that was nothing, nothing like the violent need he felt for her.

  His hands hurried over her, wanting to touch every inch, and everywhere he touched she burned. If she trembled, he drove her further until she shuddered. When she moaned, he took and tormented until she cried out.

  And still he hungered.

  Thunder stalked closer, like a threat. Following it through the window came the passionate wail of the sax. The sun plunged down in the sky, tossing flame and shadows.

  Inside the hot, darkening room, they were aware of no time or sound. Reality had been whittled down to one man and one woman and the ruthless quest to mate.

  He filled. She surrounded.

  Crazed, he lifted her up until her legs circled his waist and her back arched like a bow. Shuddering from the power they made, he pressed his face to her shoulder and let it take him.

  The rain held off until the next afternoon, then came with a full chorus of thunder and lightning. With her phone on speaker, Sydney handled a tricky conference call. Though Janine sat across from her, she took notes of her own. Thanks to a morning of intense work between herself and her new assistant, she had the information needed at her fingertips.

  “Yes, Mr. Bernstein, I think the adjustments will be to everyone’s benefit.” She waited for the confirmation to run from Bernstein, to his lawyer, to his West Coast partner. “We’ll have the revised draft faxed to all of you by five, East Coast time, tomorrow.” She smiled to herself. “Yes, Hayward Industries believes in moving quickly. Thank you, gentlemen. Goodbye.”

  After disengaging the speaker, she glanced at Janine. “Well?”

  “You never even broke a sweat. Look at me.” Janine held out a hand. “My palms are wet. Those three were hoping to bulldoze you under and you came out dead even. Congratulations.”

  “I think that transaction should please the board.” Seven million, she thought. She’d just completed a seven-million-dollar deal. And Janine was right. She was steady as a rock. “Let’s get busy on the fine print, Janine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Even as she rose, the phone rang. Moving on automatic, she plucked up Sydney’s receiver. “Ms. Hayward’s office. One moment, please.” She clicked to hold. “Mr. Warfield.”

  The faintest wisp of fatigue clouded her eyes as she nodded. “I’ll take it. Thank you, Janine.”

  She waited until her door closed again before bringing him back on the line. “Hello, Channing.”

  “Sydney, I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of days. Where have you been hiding?”

  She thought of Mikhail’s lumpy bed and smiled. “I’m sorry, Channing. I’ve been…involved.”

  “All work and no play, darling,” he said, and set her teeth on edge. “I’m going to take you away from all that. How about lunch tomorrow? Lutece.”

  As a matter of course, she checked her calendar
. “I have a meeting.”

  “Meetings were made to be rescheduled.”

  “No, I really can’t. As it is, I have a couple of projects coming to a head, and I won’t be out of the office much all week.”

  “Now, Sydney, I promised Margerite I wouldn’t let you bury yourself under the desk. I’m a man of my word.”

  Why was it, she thought, she could handle a multimillion-dollar deal with a cool head, but this personal pressure was making her shoulders tense? “My mother worries unnecessarily. I’m really sorry, Channing, but I can’t chat now. I’ve got—I’m late for an appointment,” she improvised.

  “Beautiful women are entitled to be late. If I can’t get you out to lunch, I have to insist that you come with us on Friday. We have a group going to the theater. Drinks first, of course, and a light supper after.”

  “I’m booked, Channing. Have a lovely time though. Now, I really must ring off. Ciao.” Cursing herself, she settled the receiver on his pipe of protest.

  Why hadn’t she simply told him she was involved with someone?

  Simple question, she thought, simple answer. Channing would go to Margerite, and Sydney didn’t want her mother to know. What she had with Mikhail was hers, only hers, and she wanted to keep it that way for a little while longer.

  He loved her.

  Closing her eyes, she experienced the same quick trickle of pleasure and alarm. Maybe, in time, she would be able to love him back fully, totally, in the full-blooded way she was so afraid she was incapable of.

  She’d thought she’d been frigid, too. She’d certainly been wrong there. But that was only one step.

  Time, she thought again. She needed time to organize her emotions. And then…then they’d see.

  The knock on her office door brought her back to earth. “Yes?”

  “Sorry, Sydney.” Janine came in carrying a sheet of Hayward stationery. “This just came in from Mr. Bingham’s office. I thought you’d want to see it right away.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Sydney scanned the letter. It was carefully worded to disguise the rage and bitterness, but it was a resignation. Effective immediately. Carefully she set the letter aside. It took only a marginal ability to read between the lines to know it wasn’t over. “Janine, I’ll need some personnel files. We’ll want to fill Mr. Bingham’s position, and I want to see if we can do it in-house.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She started toward the door, then stopped. “Sydney, does being your executive assistant mean I can offer advice?”

  “It certainly does.”

  “Watch your back. There’s a man who would love to stick a knife in it.”

  “I know. I don’t intend to let him get behind me.” She rubbed at the pressure at the back of her neck. “Janine, before we deal with the files, how about some coffee? For both of us.”

  “Coming right up.” She turned and nearly collided with Mikhail as he strode through the door. “Excuse me.” The man was soaking wet and wore a plain white T-shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle. Janine entertained a brief fantasy of drying him off herself. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hayward is—”

  “It’s all right.” Sydney was already coming around the desk. “I’ll see Mr. Stanislaski.”

  Noting the look in her boss’s eye, Janine managed to fight back the worst of the envy. “Shall I hold your calls?”

  “Hmm?”

  Mikhail grinned. “Please. You’re Janine, with the promotion?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “Sydney tells me you are excellent in your work.”

  “Thank you.” Who would have thought the smell of wet male could be so terrific? “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Hold mine, too, Janine. And take a break yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” With only a small envious sigh, she shut the door.

  “Don’t you have an umbrella?” Sydney asked him, and leaned forward for a kiss. He kept his hands to himself.

  “I can’t touch you, I’ll mess up your suit. Do you have a towel?”

  “Just a minute.” She walked into the adjoining bath. “What are you doing uptown at this time of day?”

  “The rain slows things up. I did paperwork and knocked off at four.” He took the towel she offered and rubbed it over his head.

  “Is it that late?” She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly five.

  “You’re busy.”

  She thought of the resignation on her desk and the files she had to study. “A little.”

  “When you’re not busy, maybe you’d like to go with me to the movies.”

  “I’d love to.” She took the towel back. “I need an hour.”

  “I’ll come back.” He reached out to toy with the pearls at her throat. “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “My family goes to visit my sister this weekend. To have a barbecue. Will you go with me?”

  “I’d love to go to a barbecue. When?”

  “They leave Friday, after work.” He wanted to sketch her in those pearls. Just those pearls. Though he rarely worked in anything but wood, he thought he might carve her in alabaster. “We can go when you’re ready.”

  “I should be able to get home and changed by six. Six-thirty,” she corrected. “All right?”

  “All right.” He took her shoulders, holding her a few inches away from his damp clothes as he kissed her. “Natasha will like you.”

  “I hope so.”

  He kissed her again. “I love you.”

  Emotion shuddered through her. “I know.”

  “And you love me,” he murmured. “You’re just stubborn.” He toyed with her lips another moment. “But soon you’ll pose for me.”

  “I…what?”

  “Pose for me. I have a show in the fall, and I think I’ll use several pieces of you.”

  “You never told me you had a show coming up.” The rest of it hit her. “Of me?”

  “Yes, we’ll have to work very hard very soon. So now I leave you alone so you can work.”

  “Oh.” She’d forgotten all about files and phone calls. “Yes, I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “And this weekend there will be no work. But next…” He nodded, his mind made up. Definitely in alabaster.

  She ran the damp towel through her hands as he walked to the door. “Mikhail.”

  With the door open, he stood with his hand on the knob. “Yes?”

  “Where does your sister live?”

  “West Virginia.” He grinned and shut the door behind her. Sydney stared at the blank panel for a full ten seconds.

  “West Virginia?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  She’d never be ready in time. Always decisive about her wardrobe, Sydney had packed and unpacked twice. What did one wear for a weekend in West Virginia? A few days in Martinique—no problem. A quick trip to Rome would have been easy. But a weekend, a family weekend in West Virginia, had her searching frantically through her closet.

  As she fastened her suitcase a third time, she promised herself she wouldn’t open it again. To help herself resist temptation, she carried the bag into the living room, then hurried back to the bedroom to change out of her business suit.

  She’d just pulled on thin cotton slacks and a sleeveless top in mint green—and was preparing to tear them off again—when the knock sounded at her door.

  It would have to do. It would do, she assured herself as she went to answer. They would be arriving so late at his sister’s home, it hardly mattered what she was wearing. With a restless hand she brushed her hair back, wondered if she should secure it with a scarf for the drive, then opened the door.

  Sequined and sleek, Margerite stood on the other side.

  “Sydney, darling.” As she glided inside, she kissed her daughter’s cheek.

  “Mother. I didn’t know you were coming into the city today.”

  “Of course you did.” She settled into a chair, crossed her legs. “Channing told you about our litt
le theater party.”

  “Yes, he did. I’d forgotten.”

  “Sydney.” The name was a sigh. “You’re making me worry about you.”

  Automatically Sydney crossed to the liquor cabinet to pour Margerite a glass of her favored brand of sherry. “There’s no need. I’m fine.”

  “No need?” Margerite’s pretty coral-tipped fingers fluttered. “You turn down dozens of invitations, couldn’t even spare an afternoon to shop with your mother last week, bury yourself in that office for positively hours on end. And there’s no need for me to worry.” She smiled indulgently and she accepted the glass. “Well, we’re going to fix all of that. I want you to go in and change into something dashing. We’ll meet Channing and the rest of the party at Doubles for a drink before curtain.”

  The odd thing was, Sydney realized, she’d very nearly murmured an agreement, so ingrained was her habit of doing what was expected of her. Instead, she perched on the arm of the sofa and hoped she could do this without hurting Margerite’s feelings.

  “Mother, I’m sorry. If I’ve been turning down invitations, it’s because the transition at Hayward is taking up most of my time and energy.”

  “Darling.” Margerite gestured with the glass before she sipped. “That’s exactly my point.”

  But Sydney only shook her head. “And the simple fact is, I don’t feel the need to have my social calendar filled every night any longer. As for tonight, I appreciate, I really do, the fact that you’d like me to join you. But, as I explained to Channing, I have plans.”

  Irritation sparked in Margerite’s eyes, but she only tapped a nail on the arm of the chair. “If you think I’m going to leave you here to spend the evening cooped up with some sort of nasty paperwork—”

  “I’m not working this weekend,” Sydney interrupted. “Actually, I’m going out of town for—” The quick rap at the door relieved her. “Excuse me a minute.” The moment she’d opened the door, Sydney reached out a hand for him. “Mikhail, my—”

  Obviously he didn’t want to talk until he’d kissed her, which he did, thoroughly, in the open doorway. Pale and rigid, Margerite pushed herself to her feet. She understood, as a woman would, that the kiss she was witnessing was the kind exchanged by lovers.