Genuine Lies (41 page)

“I see no reason to check with you.”

“Then I’ll give you one.” He pulled her against him, crushing her mouth, jumbling her senses. The move was so violent, so unexpected, she didn’t have time to protest. She managed, barely, to draw in a breath.

“That’s not a—”

He covered her mouth again, cutting off her words, clouding her thoughts. On a throaty moan, she dropped the briefcase to hold him closer. In that instant when rational thought was overtaken by the senses, she gave him everything.

“Am I making myself clear enough?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just shut up.”

He closed his eyes, outrageously moved by the way she rested her head on his shoulder. The gesture, the catchy little sigh she made, had him wanting to carry her off somewhere safe and quiet. “You worry me, Julia.”

“Because I came to London?”

“No, because I came after you.” He drew her back. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “You’re at the Savoy?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go. I’d hate for one of my father’s servants to walk in while I’m making love with you.”

•   •   •

The bed felt safe. The room was quiet. Her body was as fluid, as intoxicating as wine under his. Each shudder, each sigh he eased from her had his blood swimming faster. He’d kept the curtains wide when she would have closed them, to give himself the pleasure of watching her face in the thin winter sunlight.

He hadn’t known there could be so much pleasure. It had surrounded him as he’d carefully, slowly, stripped her of the tidy business suit she wore, found the slither of silk beneath. It had pounded through him as he’d peeled that silk away, inch by erotic inch. She was there, delicate, mysterious, arousing, yielding with a sigh when he’d lowered her to the bed.

Now she was with him, slick, damp skin sliding over his, her breath trembling in his ear, her hands gentle, then greedy, then desperate. He could feel the needs vibrate from her, feel the wild excitement as he satisfied them one by one.

It was she who altered the pace, she who whipped up the speed until they were rolling over the bed in tangled, turbulent, titanic passion.

The bed was no longer safe, but full of dangerous delights. The room was no longer quiet, but echoing with whispered demands and broken moans. Outside, the weakening sun was swallowed up and rain fell in sheets. As gloom rushed into the room, he took her with a blind, ravenous hunger he feared would never be quenched.

And even when they lay quiet, wrapped close and listening to the rain, he could taste those little licks of hunger.

“I need to call Brandon,” Julia murmured.

“Mmmm.” Paul shifted, fitting his body to hers and cupping her breasts. “Go ahead.”

“No, I can’t … I mean I can’t call him while we’re …”

He chuckled, nuzzling her ear. “Jules, the telephone service is an auditory one, not a visual one.”

It didn’t matter if she felt like a fool, she shook her head and eased away. “No, really, I can’t.” She looked at her robe, where it lay over the back of a chair three feet away. Noting her expression, Paul grinned.

“Want me to close my eyes?”

“Of course not.” But it wasn’t easy for her to walk to the robe, slip into it, knowing he was watching her. “You’re sweet, Julia.”

She belted the robe, staring at her own hands. “If that’s your way of saying I’m unsophisticated—”

“Sweet,” he repeated. “And I’ve ego enough to be pleased you’re not used to being in this position with a man.” The need to ask her why that was true pulled at him, but he resisted, then glanced toward the rain driving at the windows. “I’d thought to show you a bit of London, but this doesn’t seem to be the day for it. Why don’t I go in the other room and ring up some lunch?”

“All right. Would you check for messages?”

She waited until he’d pulled on his slacks before she placed the call. Ten minutes later she walked into the parlor to see Paul standing by the window, lost in his own thoughts. She took what was for her a large step and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back.

“It’s seventy-eight and sunny in L.A. The Lakers lost to the Pistons and Brandon went to the zoo. Where are you?”

He laid his hands on hers. “I was standing here wondering why I always feel like a foreigner in the place where I was born. We had a flat in Eaton Square once, and I’m told my nanny often took me for walks in Hyde Park. I don’t feel it. Do you know I’ve never even set a book here? Whenever I come here, I expect to feel that click of recognition.”

“It doesn’t matter so much really. I don’t even know where I was born.”

“And it doesn’t concern you?”

“No. Well, sometimes, because of Brandon.” Wanting the contact, she nuzzled her cheek against his back. His flesh had cooled, and hers warmed it again. “But in the day-to-day
way of things, I rarely think of it. I loved my parents, and they loved me. They wanted me.” The way he brought her fingertips to his lips made her smile. “I suppose that’s the biggest part of being an adopted child—knowing you were wanted that badly, that completely. It can be the most sturdy of bonds.”

“I guess that’s the way it is for Eve and me. I never really knew what it was to be wanted until I was ten, and she walked into my life.” He turned, needing to see her face. “I wonder if you can understand, I never really knew what it was to want, until you.”

His words caused something inside her to shift, to open, to yearn. More than his touch, more than his desire, those simple words broke down all the walls. “I …” She moved away. Seeing clearly into her own heart didn’t make her less afraid. “I thought—I’d hoped,” she corrected herself, “after I’d realized we might be together, like this, that I’d be able to handle it—well, the way I imagine men handle affairs.”

Suddenly nervous, he thrust his hands into his pockets. “Which is?”

“You know, casually, enjoying the physical end of it without crowding in emotions or expectations.”

“I see.” He watched her move. The nerves weren’t all his, he realized. Julia always moved when she was tense. “Is that the way you think I’m handling this?”

“I don’t know. I can speak only for myself.” She forced herself to stop, to turn and face him. It was easier with the width of the room between them. “I wanted to be able to take this relationship at face value, to enjoy it for what it was. Good sex between two adults who were attracted to each other.” She made a concerted effort to take in one quiet breath and release it slowly. “And I wanted to be sure I could walk away when it was over, completely unscathed. The problem is I can’t. When you walked in this morning, all I could think was how much I’d wanted to see you, how much I’d missed you, how unhappy I’d been because we were angry with each other.”

She stopped, straightened her shoulders. He was grinning
at her, rocking back and forth on his heels. In a minute she was sure he’d be whistling. “I’d appreciate it if you’d take that smug look off your face. This isn’t—” “I love you, Julia.”

Numb, she lowered herself to the arm of a chair. If he’d jammed a fist into her solar plexus, he couldn’t have taken her breath away more efficiently. “You—you were supposed to let me finish, and then say something about appreciating each moment for what it was.”

“Sorry. Do you really think I jumped on the Concorde with hardly more than a change of underwear just so I could spend the afternoon in bed?”

She said the first thing that came to mind. “Yes.”

His laugh was quick and deep. “You’re good, Jules, but not that damn good.”

Not quite sure how to take that, she angled her chin. “A few minutes ago you said—actually, it was more of a groan— that I was magnificent. Yes,” she said, and folded her arms. “That was the word.
Magnificent.”

“Did I?” Christ knew, she was. “Well, that’s entirely possible. But even magnificent sex wouldn’t have pulled me away from a very difficult stage of my book. At least not for more than an hour or so.”

And that, she supposed, put her in her place. “Then why the hell did you come?”

“When you’re mad, your eyes go the color of soot. Not a very flattering description, but accurate. I came here,” he continued before she could think of a proper response, “because I was worried about you, because I was furious you went off without me, because I want to be with you if there’s any kind of trouble. And because I love you so much I can barely breathe when you’re not with me.”

“Oh.” Now that, she thought, very truly did put her in her place. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She stood up again to pace. “I had it all worked out, logically, sensibly. You weren’t supposed to make me feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I can’t live without you. Dammit, Paul, I don’t know what to do.”

“How about this?” He snatched her in mid-stride, nearly lifting her off her feet. The kiss did the rest. After a short, final struggle, she fell into it.

“I do love you.” She held on tight to that, and to him. “I don’t know how to deal with it, but I love you.”

“You’re finished dealing with things alone.” He pulled her away enough so that she could see he meant everything he said. “Do you understand, Julia?”

“I don’t understand anything. Maybe, for right now, I don’t need to.”

Content with that, he lowered his mouth to hers. The knock on the door had them both sighing. “I can send the waiter away.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No. Suddenly I’m starving.”

“At least the champagne I ordered won’t go to waste.” He kissed her once, then again, lingeringly, as the knock sounded a second time.

When Paul admitted the waiter, she saw that he’d also ordered flowers, a dozen delicate pink roses just budding. She slipped one from the vase, holding it to her cheek as their lunch was set up.

“Two messages for you, Miss Summers,” the waiter told her, offering the envelopes as Paul signed the check. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your lunch,” he said, adding a cheery smile at his tip.

“It feels decadent,” Julia said when they were alone. “Champagne, romance, flowers, in the middle of the day in a hotel.” She laughed as the cork popped. “I like it.”

“Then we’ll have to make it a habit.” He lifted a brow as he poured. “Tonight’s tickets?”

“Yes. Front row, center. I wonder how he managed it.”

“My father can manage almost anything he wants to.”

“I liked him,” Julia continued as she ripped open the
second envelope. “It isn’t often you find the man so much like the image. Charming, urbane, sexy—” “Please.”

Her laugh was low and rich and delighted. “You’re too much like him to appreciate it. I really hope we …”

She trailed off, going dead white. The envelope fluttered to the floor as she studied the sheet of paper in her hand.

TWO WRONGS DON’T MAKE A RIGHT.

Paul set the bottle and glass aside so quickly that the champagne frothed over the lip. When he put both hands on Julia’s shoulders to ease her into a chair, she folded into it as if the bones had melted out of her legs. The only sound in the room was the hum from the heater and the splat of sleet on the glass. He crouched beside her, but she didn’t look at him, only continued to stare at the paper she held in one tensed hand, while her other pressed low on her stomach.

“Let it out,” he ordered as his fingers began to rub at her shoulders. “You’re holding your breath, Jules. Let it out.”

The air escaped in a long, shaky stream. Feeling as though she’d just fought her way above a dragging current, she gulped another breath and forced herself to expel this one slowly.

“Nice going. Now, what is it?”

After a quick, helpless shake of her head, she handed the slip to him.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right?” Curious, he glanced up again to study her. She was no longer white to the lips, which was some relief to him, but her hands had gripped
together in her lap. “Do trite sayings usually send you into shock?”

“When they follow me six thousand miles, they do.” “Are you going to explain?”

They rose together, he to stand, she to pace. “Someone’s trying to frighten me,” she said, half to herself. “And it infuriates me that it’s working. That’s not the first little homily I’ve received. I got one a few days after we’d been in California. It was left on the stoop in front of the house. Brandon picked it up.”