"I think it would be better if you went to sleep. I believe you have overindulged in alcohol. I would not want to hurt you by accident."
Steve marched up to him and poked her finger at his chest. "I have not had too much to drink to handle you! I think you're scared, Mister. You probably couldn't do it again!"
"You do not know what you are saying, Steve. Go to sleep."
She refused to be put off. In a move only slightly impaired by her inebriated state, she had him facedown on the carpet between the two beds, with his arm bent behind his back. "Now. Show me what you did or I won't let you up." Steve could no longer remember why she was insisting on this, but she had an inkling it had something to do with wanting to be handled by him again.
While she contemplated that, she missed whatever it was he did, and she was once more pinned beneath him. "You did it too fast," she complained, sounding like a whiny child. As the seconds ticked by, however, all thoughts of fighting and tricky moves slipped away.
This was why she had pushed him into action. This was what she had wanted to feel again—his warm breath against her face, his weight heavy upon her, being completely enveloped by him. She felt his heartbeat racing with hers, his body growing hard on top of her.
Steve watched his mouth come closer. As his lips touched hers, she lowered her lashes, and sighed her willingness to take this a step further. Instinctively, her hips tilted to accommodate the change in his body.
Suddenly she felt the room's air-conditioning replace his heat. Her eyes opened in time to see him grab the room key off the table and open the door.
"Go to sleep, Steve."
He was gone.
Steve sat in the middle of the floor, feeling incredibly foolish, and tried to clear the fuzz from her brain. All of Vinnie's insults combined had not made her feel so unfeminine. No matter how often her ex-husband had accused her of wanting to be a man because she was not much of a woman, all she had ever had to do to prove him wrong was to spread her legs and he climbed aboard. He had never rejected her sexually; he had rejected everything else about her instead.
What mistake had she made? For the first time in three years she had met someone whom she found desirable, the time and place were perfect, and he had been as aroused as she. Yet he had walked away.
Sobriety returned with a throbbing headache. She took a quick shower and crawled into bed. If Vinnie's harsh words had not convinced her she was worthless, she was certainly not going to let some stranger's rejection do it.
The more she thought about it the more firmly she believed Falcon had not walked out because of lack of interest. She eliminated the possibility that he was homosexual. He could not hide the fact that his body had been aroused when it pressed against hers.
Perhaps his Welsh background gave him a higher moral standard about what was proper professional behavior, especially when the lady in question was three sheets to the wind. So much for the promiscuous super-spy myth! Yes, that had to be it. Hadn't she always refused to date any of her coworkers or other law enforcement officers she knew because she believed a man and woman who worked together in the field should not have a more personal relationship that might distract them?
It had to be the wine and the excitement. Otherwise, she would never have acted like a horny twit. Tomorrow she would show him she was just as professional as he was!
Damn! This nightshirt smells like him now.
Falcon strode down the Strip with the determination of a man very late for an important appointment. Thousands of neon lights lit the way, but he paid little attention to the complex designs and colors of the brilliant hotel signs. He intended to walk until he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep when he returned to the room.
He needed time and space to sort out today's events, as well as to unwind the tight control he had sustained all day.
The moment he saw Steve in the desert Falcon knew he was in trouble. Against his better judgment he had coerced her into working with him. He told himself it was because he needed some guidance and, in a sense, she was a tracker like himself.
She had surprised him with her strength and ability, and he believed it would be more efficient if they worked together. Undoubtedly they could assist each other, for there were so many things about her world with which he was not familiar. But kissing her had had nothing to do with efficiency or learning about her world.
Keeping her from knowing just how unfamiliar he was with his surroundings turned out to be a serious problem. Steve was trained to look for clues, anything out of the ordinary. If he spoke, she evaluated what he said. If he was silent, she took that as his agreement to whatever she said. For the most part he had little objection to letting her give orders, at the moment. If she could get him close to Underwood, then he would take over.
He reasoned it was better to say as little as possible rather than to make up lies to explain about himself or his abilities. How could he explain that he had touched the secretary's mind to learn the truth, or that he could see events and hear conversations that had occurred during the previous twenty-four hours by touching objects in the room where those events had unfolded?
Added to the obvious problem of concealing his true identity was that his eyes were killing him, though the drops Steve had suggested had helped somewhat. But he could not risk removing the lenses in front of her. He would have to wait until he was alone in the bathroom taking his shower. Then he would clean them and reinsert them before he went to sleep. That would have to do for now.
It would have been easier for him if she was not such an emotional creature. On the two occasions when he had touched her mind to calm her, he had resisted the strong urge to learn her exact thoughts; it was bad enough knowing her feelings every minute. In the desert he had felt her aggression, her readiness for battle, her elation when she thought she had overpowered him, her fear when she had lost the fight. He knew she had lied about the room, but not why. In the casino he had absorbed her excitement, and during the show he had known her panic when the cats had approached them. Through it all, he had felt her desire for him, strong, powerful, and more
compelling than anything he had ever known.
He wondered briefly, as he had before, if it was her desire that had prompted him to kiss her, not once but thrice. And, as before, he knew he could not use that as his excuse.
Falcon thought he had been fighting the temptation to give in to desire for months. He had not known what a real fight it was until today. Like fuel laying stagnant in a puddle until a lit match was thrown on it, Steve seemed to be a catalyst to his emotional explosion. He was not simply aware of what she was feeling, he was feeling it as well. By the end of the day he had not been able to differentiate between her happiness and his, her desire and his. He needed more practice, but that was not an available option at this time.
It was one thing to be aware of the emotions of others, and to help ease their pain, but Falcon had always considered emotionalism a terrible burden that others had to bear. Yet tonight he had gotten a glimpse of how wonderful it could be. Happiness was quite nice actually, like being underwater in a whirlpool and feeling all the tiny bubbles skipping over your bare flesh on their way to the surface.
For now he would have to work harder to control all the strange sensations his newly developed emotions were causing. He needed all his abilities intact as he searched for Underwood, and he still had no way of knowing what would happen to those abilities if he allowed emotions to become a permanent part of his life.
That brought Falcon to consider the other surprises he had experienced tonight. He had been able to control the machine Steve called the one-arm bandit, and, until his eyes began to blur from the strain, he had directed the ball in the roulette wheel. At the blackjack table he had first thought he was seeing through the backs of the cards, in spite of his obstructive lenses. Then he had realized he was receiving pictures of the cards in his mind, as long as he kept his hands on the table, close to the shoe the dealer use
d. Were these powers he had always had but never tested, or were they new, like the emotions?
Calling the cats had been an accident. They were so beautifully primitive he had longed to touch them, and they had come. He had communicated with them as easily as he did with humans. Had he always been able to do that? He did not know; he certainly had never thought of trying to talk to animals before.
Was that also happening with Steve? Was his desire for her so strong he called to her without realizing it, rendering her powerless to his desire? Or was she so sensual he could not resist her? That would explain why in. all the previous months his sexual need never focused on a particular female ... until now. There were too many questions, and Falcon did not dare seek the answers.
It had been terribly cruel to walk out on Steve, knowing what she was feeling, especially if what was happening between them was all his doing. He could not have stayed in that room with her and not have taken what she had offered, nor could he have explained his rejection of her.
There was no help for it; he would just have to keep from touching her and control his thoughts while he was with her, until they found Underwood. Then he would separate himself from her as soon as possible.
Chapter Eight
When we think we lead we most are led. —George Gordon, Lord Byron
Ring! Steve's hand lashed out for the receiver before the telephone had another chance to sound its alarm.
"G'mornin'," she mumbled through what felt like a mouth full of alcohol-dried cotton.
"Don't tell me you're just waking up! In case you've forgotten, today is Thursday, not Saturday or Sunday." Dokes was teasing, of course. He knew very well that with her two young children she was always up with the sun.
Steve forced one eye open to look at her watch. Eight o'clock already. "Oh, gawd! Let me call you right back, Lou. Ten minutes, okay?"
She hung up, glancing briefly at the other bed where Falcon began to stir. Quickly, she headed for the bathroom, deciding to put off facing him for a few more minutes. As she splashed cold water on her face, she assessed her physical condition. Her head pounded ferociously, but some aspirin would take care of that. Stomach queasy, but not rebellious. Juice, coffee, and Danish should help. She had not had so much to drink since the night her divorce was final, and now she remembered why not. Hopefully, Falcon was the understanding sort; he had told her at dinner he never drank alcoholic beverages. So now he had proven he was faster, stronger, more professional, and smarter.
Slowly, she opened the door, preparing her apology as she did so, but the words never left her mouth. Falcon stood by the bed with his back to her—his very naked back.
Steve knew the polite thing would be for her to turn away or to clear her throat so he would be aware of her presence in the room, but that would be like one of her children giving back a lollipop after taking the first lick.
Seeing him completely naked for the first time, she was struck at how magnificent his body was: from his wide, solid shoulders, down his muscled back, to his sculpted thighs and calves. Narrow-molded buttocks flexed as he bent over to slide one long leg into his slacks. No wonder when he had touched her she had felt every intimate inch of him so clearly; he wore no underwear.
The back of Falcon's body was flawlessly smooth, like his chest and arms, and if he had any body hair, it was so blond and fine it was unnoticeable. Steve understood American Indians had little or no body hair, but Falcon said he was from Wales. She could not help wonder if he turned around ....
He did—just as his fingers closed the waistband on his perfectly fitted pants. Steve warmed under his hungry gaze that swept over her from her head to her bare toes. An image of the lead lion from last night's show flashed in her mind. Her heart picked up its pace as she realized that the little her cotton nightshirt covered was clearly outlined for his view. She tried to stop the instant tightening in her breasts, and failed. Steve had the distinct impression he had been aware of her appreciative scrutiny, and was returning the compliment. Unlike her, however, he was not the least bit embarrassed.
"Good morning, Steve," he said in his penetrating voice that stroked her like velvet. "That shirt looks familiar. I believe I like the way you fill it out better." He gave her a crooked grin and turned around again as he donned his black shirt.
Steve could not be' positive, but it sounded like he was actually making a joke. Damn! His lack of a sense of humor was the one thing she thought she could find fault with. As she rooted through her bag for clean clothes and a toothbrush, she decided to get the worst of her discomfort out of the way.
"Uh, Falcon, I want to apologize for last night. I know getting drunk was stupid, and it's hardly an excuse for behaving like a child. I mean, it was very unprofessional of me, and I can assure you nothing like that will happen again. I was just really excited about the money and..."
"It is quite all right. Please do not upset yourself further about it. Who was it who called?"
"It was Lou. I told him I'll call him back," Steve answered automatically as she headed for the bathroom, then stopped. "Wait a minute. Why should I be ashamed of what I did last night? After all I'm not the one who started it. You did! In the desert. You kissed me twice without my invitation." Hell, she had enough to feel guilty about without feeling bad about something that was not her fault.
"You started the fight, Steve, not me."
"There's a hell of a lot of difference between fighting and kissing!"
"Yes. And I have decided I like kissing much better."
"I don't give a damn what you like! You owe me an apology."
"No."
"And why not?"
"I am not sorry. As I said before, you taste very interesting. I do believe, however, that we should refrain from such activity during our search as it does tend to be distracting."
"We should refrain? Of all the . . ." Steve was across the room in four big strides. With a frustrated grunt, she shoved him onto his bed. "You just keep your hands and your mouth to yourself and we'll do fine, because I have no intention of touching you again, even for a much-deserved punch in the nose." In a huff she disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Falcon sat staring at the closed door and suddenly laughed. Steve might have been upset with him, but she still felt attracted to him. What a beautiful contradiction she was! In spite of the fact that he had spent most of the night reminding himself why he had to keep his distance from her, he had to admit being around Stephanie Barbanell was too much fun for him to stay away from her. He had never considered that this journey would be as entertaining as it was educational.
Steve brushed her teeth with more vigor than usual. How dare he! She had never met a man who could make her want to kiss him one minute then knock him down the next. Lou had warned her to keep her temper in check, and she was trying, Lord knows, but this man was so-o-o ... aggravating!
Once dressed in her jeans and pullover shirt, she paid attention to Falcon only long enough to ask if he wanted anything from room service, then turned her back on him while she called for breakfast. When Falcon went into the bathroom, Steve returned Lou's call.
"I'm almost human now. What's up?" "What's wrong, Steve? You still sound strange." "You are not going to believe what happened last night, and I'm not going to give you all the details now, either. Suffice it to say Falcon and I won a bundle in the casino, we were almost devoured by wild animals, and I got stinking drunk. So, what have you got on Underwood?"
Dokes shelved the obvious questions and got right to business. "We hit the jackpot on Underwood, too. He's got a big merger in the works between one of his oil companies and a competitor's. Since it's supposed to be a friendly move, all the directors and their spouses from both companies have been politely commanded to spend this weekend at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. The arrangements were made rather suddenly yesterday, but everyone is expected to show up.
"I was told that Underwood will be personally involved in the negoti
ations. He'll be staying on his yacht, which is docked across the street from the hotel. I couldn't find out exactly when he's expected to arrive, but I got you a front row seat. The houseboat docked next to his yacht has been reserved for you for four nights starting tonight. The key can be picked up at the hotel's front desk. Give them my name; it's already paid for.
"I can't give you any specific schedule of events, either. Even the guests won't be given it until they check in. You'll have to poke around until you find out which meetings Underwood will be attending."
"Dear Uncle Lou, you never cease to amaze me with what you can accomplish with a telephone and what I will guess was another sleepless night. Okay, we're heading for Miami. Anything else?"
Dokes passed on the few other tidbits he had picked up and gave her the details of the travel arrangements he had made for her and Falcon. "I assumed our foreign friend would want to accompany you. How's the baby-sitting going anyway?"
At that moment Falcon came out of the bathroom, and room service knocked on the door. Steve motioned for him to take care of it. "The baby is too big for his britches I think, but I'm handling it. I said I would, didn't I?" Steve bit her tongue to make it stop flapping.
"Temper, temper, young lady. Yesterday you talked like you had him heeling nicely. Maybe you'd better take a minute to tell me more of what happened last night after all."
"Never mind. I'm just tired and hung over. I'll call you in the morning. I better call Mom now. Bye." Steve hung up before he had a chance to interrogate her further.
The call to her mother went as expected. Mom nagged about how Steve should have taken a desk job like her brother, but assured her she and the kids would be fine for a few days. Mary Ann and Vince each got five minutes to tell their sides of a story that made no sense from either angle. Steve successfully distracted all three of them by telling them about the money she had won and promising a surprise for them when she got back. Maybe a real vacation. She had only been gone one night and already she missed her children terribly.
Topaz Dreams Page 10
