Topaz Dreams

by Marilyn Campbell

  Falcon turned to her. Gills? He hid his confusion this time. "Excuse me. I was preoccupied. You need not apologize. There is no question we have been misled several times this week. I also believed I saw Underwood enter the limo."

  "Of course! It was a disguise. I should have thought of that myself. Got any ideas for our next move?"

  "I need to get on his yacht. Perhaps tonight we will not be interrupted if we try again."

  "Fine with me." When Falcon began to lapse back into his own thoughts, Steve demanded, "There's something else, isn't there? I can tell you're bugged. What is it? You do blame me, don't you? I said I'm sorry. What do you want from me?"

  "Nothing, Steve. I am 'bugged' with myself. I will work it out."

  The only time she had seen that tense expression on his face was in their room in Las Vegas, right before he touched her temples and fed her a story about being a healer. "I don't understand, Falcon, and I want to. I've never seen anyone fight like you did back there, but you couldn't expect to win against a gun. You had to back off. I've had to do the same thing myself in other situations."

  "I cannot explain it, Steve. Please let it be." How could he tell her that he had just broken one of the basic laws of Innerworld? He had allowed his anger to rule him, and committed a vengeful act of violence. Along with the anger had come incredible physical strength. He had barely tapped into it to finish off his opponent. Falcon knew, in that moment, he had been capable of taking another life. The shockingly sweet taste of power had instantly turned to bile.

  With that realization came another. His human emotions were continuing to surface with increasing resistance to his control, yet his felan powers were not diminishing, as he had anticipated they would.

  In fact, he was discovering new talents each day. Falcon decided it was too soon to draw a definite conclusion. Only time would give him the answers he sought. Clearly, he was no longer in control.

  Steve let him sulk and found herself doing the same. She should not be annoyed that he did not care to confide in her. The only thing she was to him was a temporary partner on a case. A partner who almost got him killed because she could not resist being a hot dog P.I. Wouldn't Lou Dokes like to hear her admit that!

  Neither one moved very quickly as they boarded the houseboat. Falcon accepted Steve's offer to take the first shower, and Steve gave in to the need to collapse on her bed.

  She had not meant to doze off, but knew she had when his voice came to her from a different plane, telling her she could use the shower.

  Steve's eyelids fluttered open, then squinted shut again. She was fairly certain there was not an inch of her body that was not in serious pain. Slowly, she tested her toes and fingers, but when she tried to rise, she fell back with an audible groan.

  "You are in much pain, Steve. Let me touch you. It will help."

  He stood expectantly beside the bed as he casually tucked a towel around his waist. Steve wanted to assure him that she did not need his help, but the sight of him turned her tongue into a useless appendage. Smooth, hard-muscled thighs were braced inches from her face. Forcing her gaze past the towel, above his still-damp chest,

  she could not stop her slight intake of breath. His incredibly beautiful features were more pronounced with his wet hair brushed back, curling behind his ears and onto his bare shoulders. She was simply struck dumb, and he took it as her assent.

  Steve braced herself to feel his fingertips against her face, but when he sat down next to her, he picked up her hands instead. She watched him carefully, determined to figure out what he did when he touched people.

  Falcon held her hands in his and closed his eyes. Like every other part of her body, her fingers and palms radiated discomfort and tension. He concentrated on passing his strength to her, and lessening the physical pain in the same way as he would an emotional one. A gentle, shimmering warmth centered in his hands at the same time he visualized various parts that made up hers. The bones, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels took on a bright reddish hue where the damage was worst. He moved his fingers to those spots and pressed, massaged, and pressed again. The color cooled. He kept his eyes closed, using the anatomical image in his mind to guide his hands up her aching arms, bringing relief as he progressed.

  Her shoulders, neck, and arms received the same, efficient treatment. Falcon felt a certain exhilaration in the knowledge that she was not only improving by the moment, but allowing his touch without her usual wariness. Before he could work on her feet and legs he had to remove her shoes, socks, and jeans, and did so in a quick, impersonal manner, leaving her in her tee shirt and underwear.

  Steve told herself to think of him like a doctor. Hell, her gynecologist saw more of her than this, and usually caused more discomfort than relief. If Falcon could pull off her jeans and not notice that she was a woman, she would not feel insulted this time. He was making her feel too good to complain, and not only because he was doing a great job of massaging her aches and pains. His hands heated her skin and left it tingling wherever he made contact. By the time he reached her thighs, she was vibrating with a different kind of ache, one she did not want to go away. At least not too swiftly.

  Falcon had made a serious mistake. He had opened his eyes for the brief minute it took to remove her jeans. A glimpse of white satin kept intruding on the more physiological image of muscle and bone he was trying to hold on to. Steve herself was making his task of healing impossibly difficult, not only with her tempting, female body, but her thoughts that sporadically made themselves known to him.

  Stop. Don't stop. Touch me. Please. Higher.

  He could touch her there, as she needed, and not take pleasure himself. That was a lie! He was already receiving more pleasure than he dreamed possible just by handling her arms and legs.

  He lifted his hands from her thighs and carefully slipped them under her shirt, wrapping his fingers around her rib cage. One bone had suffered a small crack. Falcon discovered he could take away the pain, but not repair the bone. The injury would have to heal in the usual manner. In spite of that limitation, he acknowledged the magnitude of this gift. The talent to draw pain from the physical body was rare among felans. He also admitted that he had never felt more desire for Steve than he was experiencing at this moment. The power and the emotions were not separate, competing entities, but partners, growing together. He had been wrong all along. His felan gifts would not desert him if he accepted his human emotions. So there was no reason to deny himself any longer.

  When he felt the last remnants of Steve's pain recede, Falcon raised his gaze to hers. She wanted him to do precisely what he wished. As carefully as he had touched the rest of her body, his fingers crept up until they encountered her satin-covered breasts. When she continued to welcome him with her eyes and thoughts, he molded her into his hands, and brushed his thumbs over her taut nipples. The urge to see what he was touching became overwhelming.

  Steve's world altered into one of slow motion, one where sensation replaced the thought process. His massage had left her languid and wanting at the same time. When Falcon stretched out beside her and hesitantly returned one hand to her breast, she gave in to her desire to touch him in return. The velvety texture of his skin against her fingertips seemed somehow new and wondrous. Steve stroked his cheek, the outline of his ear, and trailed downward to discover his nipples were as hard as her own. She had not known a man's skin could feel so soft, like down on a baby bird.

  Falcon inhaled sharply at her exploration. Steve's touch excited him beyond belief, and her scent filled him with a craving he was certain could never be satisfied. He lowered his mouth to hers, intending to caress her with infinite tenderness. Gentleness was discarded when he tasted her, and a ravaging hunger guided his actions. The beast demanded to be unleashed.

  She had forgotten how strange his tongue felt until he used it to outline her lips and stroke the roof of her mouth. At once it tickled, teased, and consumed her like nothing she had ever experienced.

  One
of Falcon's legs slid between hers. The towel around his waist slipped aside/and Steve felt his rigid manhood throbbing insistently against her thigh. He pressed his hips forward, wordlessly requesting her touch. But she was not ready to look at that part of him, let alone lower her hand, not even to investigate whether his skin felt so smooth all over.

  It shocked her to realize she was actually shy. Of course, she had good reason to be. The only lover she had ever had was Virmie Barbanell, and the last time she had lain with him was almost four years ago. As if Falcon was aware that her mind had wandered, his tongue grazed a burning path to her ear and down her neck while his hand snaked down her abdomen, silently forcing the return of her attention.

  Falcon's mouth stifled Steve's moan as his fingers glided over her panties to the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Lightly, he stroked her skin, coming close but never quite touching the center of her desire. She thought perhaps he understood her need to go slowly, to savor each plateau as she came to it. Was his touch really more sensual than Vinnie's had been or had it just been so long since she'd felt a man's touch that it seemed that way? She could not remember anything quite so delicious.

  Despite his drugging kisses, her stubborn common sense intruded again. What was she doing? Why was she letting a virtual stranger handle her so intimately when she had refused men she knew much better? Men who were clearly more deserving of her gift?

  "Falcon?" she managed to say in an exhale of held breath.

  He stilled his hand and raised his head to look at her. His topaz eyes glowed with a golden fire that reflected what little light was in the room. It was enough to convince her she was right to want to know more about him before going on.

  "How do you do the things you do?" Falcon withdrew his hand, but Steve felt him withdraw much more than that. "I don't know if you can understand this, but please try. I've never been with any man but my ex-husband. I thought I could do this—enjoy an hour of passion, no strings attached, but old habits die hard. I want you to make love to me, but it isn't that simple for me. You have too many secrets for me to be comfortable with you. I want you to share one with me.

  "You decide. Pick one incident and explain how you did it: how you got from San Francisco to Los Angeles ahead of me, how we had so much luck in the casino, what happened with the jungle cats, what you do when you touch someone's temple?" Steve took a deep breath. "How you make me melt just by coming near me?" She closed her eyes, shyness now giving way to embarrassment. She had seen all these things, yet refused to question them, because underlying all of it was her own primal urge to be possessed by him no matter what he did. But in the end, it mattered.

  "Is it not enough to let me pleasure you? You cannot know how long I have waited for this same hour of passion."

  "No. I need to know."

  "And it is something you must not know. I cannot answer any of your questions. Will you not accept anything else?"

  "No. And thank you for reminding me of my priorities." She rolled away from him and off the bed. "You do great massage, Falcon. I feel like a new woman. I believe it was my turn for the shower."

  Falcon's body ached with unfulfilled passion, but he hurt from something far worse than his aborted sexual release. He had never understood how a human could have a broken heart until he watched Steve, her back straight, leave the room, and felt her unshed tears. Surely, his own heart would never be whole again. Raising his hand to his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. But the memory of her would be with him always.

  Chapter Eleven

  I can believe anything, provided it is incredible.—Oscar Wilde

  Steve descended the staircase in her bikini, her chin lifted defiantly, her eyes warning Falcon to keep his distance. The sight of her brought back the chest-clenching, stomach-churning sickness he had experienced earlier that night. He had classified it as guilt—another human emotion he would have rather done without.

  She walked by him, picked up the grappling device, and exited. Falcon was certain there must be a dialogue appropriate for these circumstances, but his life experience did not prepare him to deal with the melee of emotions emanating from Steve: anger, disappointment, sexual frustration, and embarrassment, all directed at him.

  A splash alerted him to Steve's departure from the houseboat. Falcon hurried to jump in the warm water and swim after her.

  Staying close to the side of Underwood's yacht, they were able to remain in the shadows caused by the bright moon and streetlights over the ship. A few lights shone on board, but there was no sign of anyone.

  Steve tried to tread water and aim the hook, but could not hold it steady with one hand. Falcon immediately assisted by placing his hands on her waist. She twisted from his touch.

  "You need both your hands, Steve. Allow me to help."

  She glared at him for a moment, then braced herself for the contact. Why did such an inconsequential action have to make her pulse race? Why did a stranger have to be the one to have such power over her? It did not seem at all fair.

  Less than a minute later, they were on board, retrieving the rope they had used to shimmy up the side. Falcon touched her shoulder and pointed in the direction he thought they should take. Steve stayed close to him as they crept along the superstructure and down a stairway to the cabin area. He ran his fingertips along the walls and railing, occasionally coming to a stop and closing his eyes. Without comprehending, she knew he was doing more than simply feeling his way along the passageway. It gave her the creeps, but she continued to follow his lead.

  At one door Falcon paused, placed his palm flat against the wood, then opened it. Steve quickly stepped in behind him anid closed the door again. A bit of moonlight entering a porthole made it possible for Steve to discern that they were in a fair-sized stateroom cramped by an executive desk and a full complement of office equipment.

  Steve waited, wondering why Falcon had chosen to come in this room, yet sensing that she should not interrupt him. His hand roamed in small circles over the desk and chair, then halted on the telephone. His eyes closed tightly, his head slightly angled as if straining to hear, he remained frozen for what seemed like an eternity. What was he doing now?

  When he opened his eyes, he said, "Gordon Underwood has never been here, Steve. His employee, King, has been enacting a masquerade for our benefit. His orders were to waylay us in any way he could, including bodily harm if necessary, as long as it looked accidental."

  Suddenly he turned his head from left to right. He seemed to see something Steve could not. His fingers toyed with his ring in a strangely purposeful manner as he stepped around the desk.

  "Someone is coming," he whispered as he drew close to her. There was no time for explanations. In a move that brooked no argument, Falcon pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  Steve was incensed and confused one moment and terrified out of her wits the next. The floor dropped out from under her; the room then the world disappeared. She fell into a void where she no longer had a body. The resulting sensation was similar to a roller-coaster ride in total blackness, followed by no feeling at all. Was she dead? Had they been discovered and killed? She had always assumed that the brain ceased functioning when one died. Maybe she was in a coma. That might explain it.

  Before she adjusted to that idea, reality returned. Her feet stood on a solid surface, Falcon's arms held her in a death grip, and she smelled a trace of the soap he had used in the shower. Instinct told her to proceed cautiously. Had seconds passed or some greater amount of time while she was comatose? Her sense of balance restored, she raised her head to look at Falcon and pushed away from his grasp.

  "There was no other way," he said quickly. "Please stay here. Do not move from this location until I return." Falcon moved his fingers over his ring.

  As Steve opened her mouth to protest, her eyesight faltered. Falcon's features blurred, then there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. She was outdoors, in a city, in front of a building. Un
derwood's building! Spinning around abruptly, she saw the Transamerica Pyramid. Okay, she was in San Francisco. Alone in the dark. Was she suffering from amnesia or insanity? Weren't she and Falcon in Miami Beach? Did he really command her to stay there then disappear?

  She could not simply stand around indefinitely. A chilly gust of wind blew over her causing her to hug her body and look for shelter. It was freezing out here. Realization careened through her head. She was still in her bikini, still wet from her recent swim in the Intracoastal Waterway. A cold drop of water slid off her hair, intensifying the shiver that ran down her spine.

  In a reverse of his disappearing act, a blurred vision of Falcon appeared before her, clarifying into the real thing as she gaped. He was fully dressed and had both their traveling bags.

  As he pulled her shivering body into the recessed entranceway of Underwood's building, he said, "I believe I retrieved all your possessions. You had better get dressed before we go further." He handed her her bag and turned his back, offering himself as a shield against the eyes of anyone who might pass by.

  What kind of an explanation was that? Steve tried to question him, but her chattering teeth refused to cooperate. Later. Unzipping her bag, she knew the only way she would get warm was if she got out of her wet bathing suit. Shivering uncontrollably, she managed to change into warmer clothes using a variety of contortions and as much speed as she could muster. As soon as she was dressed, Falcon turned around and pulled her into his arms again.

  "Sh-h-h-sh," he hissed, as his hands ran up and down her back.

  Delicious warmth swept through her. It felt too good to let her pride get in the way. But with the return of comfort came the desperate need for explanations, and her body tensed in preparation. "What the hell is going on?" That one question summed it up as far as she was concerned.

  Falcon swallowed hard. He would have told her another falsehood, if one had occurred to him, but absolutely nothing came to mind that she would rationally accept. "I am unable to explain. We are back in San Francisco, and I need to get into Underwood's office." He released her and tested the door. "This entrance is locked and appears to have an alarm attached to it. Would you know how to gain access?"