Fire Under Snow (7 page)

He had the grace, or the subtlety, to look sheepish. “Fair enough. Come on. I'll show you the rest.”

Because she was still seething in righteous indignation on Shane's behalf as well as her own – he might be an old roué, but on this occasion he had been grievously misjudged – she allowed herself to be swept into Noel's private quarters. Although he called it a mini-flat, it was comparable to her own apartment in size and considerably more luxurious.

The carpet throughout was a rich chestnut color. The walls were creamy white, except in the tiny bathroom, where mirror tiles were used to create a more spacious effect. A stereophonic music deck took up half of one wall of the main room; the remaining portion of wall accommodated a bar. The floor-length drapes were in the same geometrical pattern as the silk covering of the sofa. In the bedroom, where she found herself before the subtlety of Noel's maneuver occurred to her, the rich chestnut carpet was further enhanced by a magnificent oriental rug. The twist-pleated brown silk wall light extended the full width of the bed and gave out a discreet glow that was kind to her blushes. Being in a bedroom with Noel was not a good idea.

She took a step toward the door, but he took two steps and forestalled her exit.

The welcome that had warmed his eyes when he first came in and saw her cooled to mockery. “Perhaps now I'm glad you chose to wait here in my private suite rather than in full public view. This is cozier. Surely that was the idea?” he said, censuring her backing-away movement.

She gasped. Did he think she had arranged it this way deliberately? Didn't he know she'd been motivated by shyness and a deep disinclination to sit at his table by herself, his reserved table where she would be the subject of gossip?

She said hesitatingly, “I thought you specially wanted to hear Toni Carr sing. If we don't go at once, we'll miss her.”

Her chin slid sideways to escape the grasp of his fingers, but she could not evade his eyes as they glided over her body.

His eyes triggered off a reaction wherever they touched. Each part of her body reacted differently, so that it was a different sensation depending on where his eyes rested. His mouth was tight over his lips. Such a sensuous mouth could never go into a hard thin line, but that was the impression it gave. Yet she knew he found her body both sexy and exciting and that he, too, was aroused. His eyes flicked quickly up and down her; all the different sensations combined, and it was more feeling than she could bear. Her skin was burning and yet she felt as though she were being held on ice.

The expression in his eyes was all too readable. He thought he had been good to bide his time for this long. He had seen her presence here as the promise that his patience was going to be rewarded. A promise she was now rescinding.

There was a coldness of purpose about him, a deep-grained resolution that told her more clearly than words that he had no intention of allowing her to escape him.

He said, with icy determination, “I'll take my chance of catching Toni Carr's act another time. That opportunity will undoubtedly present itself again. This one might not.”

He had backed away to look at her, but now he stepped closer, close enough for his fingers to slide along her bare shoulder and fiddle meaningfully with the narrow shoulder strap of her white dress.

“No,” she said huskily.

“Yes,” he said positively.

It was torment not to yield as he meddled with her shoulder strap in that sensuous, distracting fashion.

“Don't go any further, Noel.”

“Why? Will you slap me down as you would have slapped Shane down?”

His malicious teasing brought the color into her cheeks. “Yes.”

“For the same reasons?”

“No.”

“On this occasion the negative answer is the favorable one. You said you would have discouraged Shane because you weren't attracted to him. May I take it that you are attracted to me?”

“Yes.” Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She could not see the crescent imprints but only feel the pain as she said bitingly, “Of course I am. You know I am.”

“You also think Shane is too old for you. You are quite right, he is. Am I too old for you? The difference adds up to ten years in actual age, but considerably more in experience.”

“I don't think you're too old for me. That's not the reason, either.”

“But there is one?”

“Yes.”

His face was devoid of expression, not even touched by a flicker of scorn as he said, “It's because I haven't offered to put a ring on your finger.”

Perversely, for reasons unknown even to herself, she did not immediately rush to correct his mistaken assumption that she was holding out for marriage. Perhaps, womanlike, she was curious to know how much he was prepared to give up. By her calculations he was thirty-three. To reach that age and still hold his bachelor status, he must place a higher value on his freedom than on any woman he had met. Could his attraction for her tilt the balance the other way? But what thoughts were these? The futility of wasting time on them made her shake her head.

“I couldn't marry you even if you asked me to.”

“Couldn't?” That word again. It ruffled him the wrong way and narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Why
couldn't
you?”

“Because ...” She faltered and lied on inspiration, “I couldn't marry a man I didn't love.”

He looked stunned; then he laughed, and she hated him for the superior mockery of his tone. “In that case, I won't complicate things more by asking you to marry me.”

He hadn't meant to ask her to marry him, she knew that. He'd spoken in cold jest, little realizing how much it would complicate her situation if he had asked her to become his wife.

His head started to come down. She read the conciliatory expression on his face, but her reactions weren't quick enough to stop her chin jerking aside and deflecting the kiss to her cheek.

“Oh, no, you don't,” he said gruffly, claiming her mouth in savage mastery.

Her brain had been a split second too late in relaying the message that when the conversation turned to marriage, his ardor had cooled. The first kiss had been intended as a token apology before going out as planned to the Cabana to hear Toni Carr sing. In avoiding his kiss she had incited his anger.

The relationship between them was combustible; it always would be. It needed only the smallest thing to set the flames roaring. And, small as her chin was, the gesture of turning it aside was a massive insult to his masculine pride. She knew now that he would never allow her to get away with that.

She had made his blood boil by running away from his kiss. Blood that boils in anger is also the right temperature for passion. She was on the retreat, and this excited him.

Somehow, in her stumbling, naive way, she had found the key to his interest. It was unfortunate that she lacked the adeptness to use it to her own advantage. Man was the hunter, and she brought his hunting instincts to the fore.

He moved in on her with a kiss of wrath that forced her head back into the viselike grip of his hand. The compelling dominance of his hard mouth was a demolishing force that ordered her to submit. His crushing mouth refused her lips the maneuverability to cry out in protest. The hot assault of his mouth ... the invasion of his hands – one on her neck, the other commanding the small of her back, lining her body along the length of his – made her almost insensible.

She had no fight left in her. She went limp in his arms, a doll who lifted her mouth in docile compliance. But that was not to his liking. He wanted a responsive plaything, and he knew how to get himself one. With undeniable expertise he awoke her own desires. His mouth no longer commanded hers in tyranny, but begged in gentle entreaty.

Her own mouth gained strength and urgency. Her hands were halfway around his neck before a spark of intelligent reasoning warned her of the foolhardiness of her actions.

She had made a mistake in choosing to wait for him in his private suite, giving him a totally wrong impression. This madness that was seizing her now, this desire to stay close in his arms and be taken into rapture by his kisses, was doing nothing to correct his misinterpretation of the situation. It would only seem to confirm that he'd read the message right. He might even think that she had pretended indignation so that he wouldn't think she was too easy, or that she was deliberately playing him along because a woman doesn't like being taken for granted and must be coaxed, not rushed.

How she managed to drag her mouth away from the compelling force of his she would never know. Wanting to go along with the sweetness of the moment, she found it torture to place her hands flat against his chest and gain a little breathing space for herself.

“No!” she gasped.

“No?”

“I can't, Noel. I'm sorry,” she said lamely.

“Sorry? You –” The name he had been about to call her was drawn in harshly on his breath. He looked livid enough to commit rape, and his next words told her that he would have felt justified, whatever he did. “All right. This time I'll accept that it's your prerogative to change your mind. But I warn you: if you ever make such a promise again, I'll hold you to it.”

“I never made any promise,” she denied vehemently.

“Oh, but you did. You promised by implication, and in my book that's just as binding as the spoken word. And don't you forget it. Now, do something with your hair. And your lipstick needs retouching. Let's hope we're not too late to catch the show.”

She wasted no time in following his orders. She still felt that she wasn't wholly at fault and that he was just as much to blame for assessing the situation incorrectly. Yet, at the same time, she hadn't expected to be spared. She must guard against such a thing happening again, because next time she wouldn't be let off so lightly.

“Give me five minutes,” she said, scooping up her evening purse and disappearing into the bathroom.

As they claimed their table at the Cabana the cabaret spot was just ending and Toni Carr was blowing kisses to the applauding audience.

With a glint in his eye Noel said, “I hope her voice is as good as the rest of her. Perhaps she'll come back and do an encore.”

“Maybe that was the encore,” Lorraine speculated dryly.

Toni Carr was certainly a looker. Tall, flamboyant, with the sultry beauty only a brunette can have, she possessed the kind of figure men like best. Ripe curves, long, long legs, fragile wrists, waist and ankles. Her flame was not hidden; it was there in every warm and provocative sway of her lovely body. Her dress, a skintight sheath with a deep side slit, appropriately flame colored, molded to her curves, emphasizing her smoldering sensuality. The back was nonexistent, and the low-cut front was more than suggestive, clinging only to the lower curve of her breasts, revealing most of the upper swell. As she took the final bow, the hopeful wolf whistles told Lorraine that she was not the only one to think that Miss Carr was taking quite a risk.

“Well, well, well! Wouldn't mind handling her,” Noel said, his gray eyes coming around to fix teasingly on Lorraine's face. “In a strictly business capacity, of course.”

She refused to let her feelings show. She was well aware of the fact that someone as blatant as Toni Carr would not be to his taste, but the singer would provide a useful weapon to use against her unless she could plot to disarm him. She could steal his ammunition by not letting him know that she was seething underneath, maybe even give him a gentle push in the singer's direction. Seething underneath! She must stop this. She must not allow herself to feel proprietorial toward him.

“Why don't you give her a try?” she suggested casually. “I'm sure if you asked her nicely, she would grant you a private audition.”

“In my apartment, you mean? I do have a piano, so it is a feasible proposition.”

The rat, he was paying her back in her own coin. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing. The manager, who happens to be a buddy of mine, is standing by the bar. I'll get him to pass the message on that I want to see her. I'll invite her to join us for a meal. I won't be long, my sweet. You can study the menu while I'm gone.”

Meeting the gleam in his gray eyes, wondering how he could look puckish and scathing at the same time, she said coolly, “Take your time. I'm a slow reader.”

She had little interest in the menu. She didn't care what she ate. It seemed a million years since lunchtime, so perhaps she had got past the idea of food. Her mind was absorbed to capacity by Noel, who was now propping the bar up, deep in conversation with his manager friend. She allowed herself the smallest peep in his direction, knowing any prolonged observation of him would be noticed because his view of her was likewise unobscured.

“Lorraine, my dear, how wonderful to see you. May I join you for a while, just until your escort returns?”

The voice turned her eyes. The kindly face, not exactly handsome but very distinguished looking, transformed her expression, and the warmest smile turned up her mouth and flooded her eyes.

With overflowing joy she said, “Please do sit down for a moment, Sir William. It's good to see you, too.”

“How long ago it seems since we last met. And what a transformation!” exclaimed the brilliant surgeon who had given her back her looks. His eyes, a bright paintbox blue, grew warm. “You look fantastic. I saw you come in and I couldn't take my eyes off you. You really are exquisitely beautiful. Tell me, have you regained your confidence?”

“I will. As you told me I would. It's just a matter of time.”

“But you've had time. That inhuman, stupid, heartless young scoundrel has a lot to answer for.” He pounded his balled fist into the open palm of his hand, and she knew he was wishing that Jamie's jaw was on the receiving end of the punch. “Puny character that he was, I can't even remember his name.”