Larger than Life (6 page)

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said with forced calm. “Do whatever you like about dinner; I’m going to order room service.”

“I’ll order for both of us,” he said. “No need for them to make two trips.”

Saber headed for her bedroom and closed the door behind her, shutting out him and his last quiet words.

“Elusive. Always just out of reach.”

She changed her mind and took a long bath instead of a shower, hoping an immersion in hot water would draw the tension from her body. But the tension remained; what seeped away, she realized later, was a large chunk of her stubborn willpower.

Wary of spending too much time alone with Travis, Saber didn’t return to the sitting room after her bath. Only half-aware of her actions—and motivations—she chose the most shapeless nightgown in her case, not a flannel affair but one made
of thick terry cloth that reached to the floor. Then she stretched out on the wide bed and closed her eyes.

Saber was not given to afternoon naps; the driving energy that had taken her to the top of her profession in a short year tended to fill her days with action, with movement. But sleep was nature’s restorative, and both Saber’s anxious mind and tense body demanded it.

She woke to the vague realization of hours having passed unnoticed, conscious of the lazy heaviness of her still body. Conscious of that and of the quiet green eyes watching her.

“I didn’t pour water on you,” he said, his voice curiously soft, his smile crooked. “Even though our dinner will be here in a few minutes.”

Drowsy, Saber looked at him. Her sleep-fogged mind could identify no threat here, no reason to be guarded or wary. And her body, still gripped by the inertia of sleep, resisted even awareness. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome.” His hand moved to lay gently over hers where it rested, motionless, on the
bedspread. Then his fingers curled around hers and her hand was lifted to touch his lips.

Saber watched the movement, a part of her mind idly considering his gentleness. She felt the warmth of his hand and lips, but it was a sensation hovering on the edge of her perceptions and failed to alarm her.

Watching her, Travis wanted to hold his breath for fear she would realize what she was at this moment and hide from him again. Still at the edge of sleep, she was vulnerable; she was a lovely, delicate girl with a sweet face and gentle gray eyes, and he had only seen her before in a two-year-old photo. She looked at him curious and wondering, as a girl would look upon a man she might see before her as she rounded a corner. No alarm shadowed her eyes.

The controlled woman he’d known until now fascinated him, the flickering wildness in her eyes sparking something deep within him; her every movement drew his gaze, the feline beauty of her nearly stopped his heart. But this girl, so still and quiet, her dreamy eyes pondering some mystery,
this girl did stop his heart. He wanted to reach out and hold her, protect her against what the world would do to her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms to shut out cold reality. He wanted to build a world for her.

But Travis dared make no sudden move and dared not question, even silently, what he felt. Carefully, he sought to hold the moment.

“Who are you?” she asked suddenly, and it didn’t seem an odd question.

“Who am I?” His voice was husky, low. “I’m a man who loves children and animals and spring showers. I play tennis and swim and ride horses. I read books because ideas fascinate me, and I listen to music because my soul needs to hear it. That’s who I am, Saber.”

Still dreamy, she gazed at him. “Why are you here?”

Even more softly, he said, “Because I saw a shooting star one night and heard a voice I couldn’t believe.”

“Will you catch the star?” she asked.

“Only if you let me,” he whispered, and bent
forward, still holding her hand, to kiss her tenderly.

Saber felt the soft warmth of his lips, the feathery touch that was gentle and undemanding, and something deep inside of her uncurled tentatively to bask in that glowing feeling. She touched his cheek with her free hand as he slowly drew away, a gesture without thought or will but prompted by a need beyond reason.

Not even harsh knocks on the sitting room door had the power to disturb her.

“Dinner,” he murmured, looking down at her with a peculiarly intense light in his green eyes.

She nodded, feeling bereft when he released her hand and rose to his feet. She watched him leave her bedroom to deal with the waiter, then sat up and slid from the bed reluctantly. The last tendrils of sleep were leaving her, but she held on to this odd, softened mood; she could remember feeling like this, but the memory was a distant one. Not the distance of time, but the distance of experience.

Saber stood just inside the sitting room, staring at his broad shoulders as he closed the door behind
the waiter. She was conscious of something fragile being in the room with them, something a careless word or gesture could destroy in an instant. Uneasiness flickered within her, a dim realization of her own vulnerability, but she dismissed it as he turned to face her.

The softened, fragile mood held—for a while. They ate their meal, watching as the night aged outside their windows, speaking quietly about inconsequential things. Travis watched her unobtrusively, still feeling as if he held his breath. The banked desires within him stirred, but he kept them under control, driven even more strongly by an urge to understand this gentle side of her.

Then, when the dinner remains had been sent away, they were left, alone with nothing to occupy them. Nothing but each other and a growing awareness.

Saber tried to ignore the restlessness, needing the brief peace she had felt. But there was something inside of her stronger than peace, something that had napped longer than her body and was now awakening within her. She wanted to cry out
in protest as she found herself pacing, found herself keeping distance between herself and Travis.

He was dangerous. That was what she had to remember. Against her will, she remembered a gentle kiss and an odd, hot tenderness in green eyes, and her thoughts shied violently.

“Saber?”

His deep voice seemed to play over her taut nerves like a physical caress, and when she turned from the window to face him it was with the stiff, jerky motion of reluctance.

Travis rose from the chair where he had watched her pacing, feeling his own face tighten as he saw the wariness in hers. Regret flowed through him, regret and frustration and a growing bewilderment. “How many women are you, Saber?” he mused. “What in your life divided you like this?”

“We were going to leave my past out of this,” she reminded him, holding herself still when she wanted so badly to—What? She didn’t know. Except that she
wanted.

He stepped toward her, the movement putting
his face in shadow as the lamp behind him silhouetted his lean body. “I don’t care who you were,” he said, his voice strained. “Not now. I only care about who you are. But you won’t let me get close. You won’t let me
in.”

Saber took a deep breath, fighting the temptation to tell him anything he wanted to know. Dimly, she realized that what had once seemed a wonderful and exciting secret to a child had become a woman’s intolerable burden. She wondered when that had happened; had it been instantaneous or a gradual thing? Had she awakened one morning to the shocked realization of what she was, what she would always be? Or had it come to her slowly over the years? When had her sense of power become a trap?

Dear God … she was so tired of hiding. And her escape from hiding had become a prison she had never intended.
This
was her prison. The prison of having no name, no past. The prison of gazing into a man’s puzzled eyes and being unable to answer his questions.

Travis took another step toward her, his hand
lifting as though he would have touched her. But Saber turned quickly toward her bedroom, her tension so great, so brittle, that she guarded herself from his touch as she would have guarded fragile crystal from a blow.

She’d shatter. If he touched her, she would shatter, and the dear Lord only knew if she could put herself back together again.

“Good night, Travis,” she said huskily.

He drew a deep breath, his hand falling. “Good night, Saber.”

It was a long time before Travis went into his own bedroom. He stood at the window and gazed out into the night, the ache within him now a familiar pain.

T
RAVIS STOOD IN
the wings, his gaze following Saber. The powerful lights turned her sequined evening gown to liquid gold, and her sensuous movements intensified that image. Music filled the huge building, and the roar from the audience was a steadily building force that seemed a living thing.

She was giving them everything inside her.

He felt it as he had before, as the audience felt it. He felt waves of power and passion emanating from the spotlighted woman until his throat tightened
with emotion and his hands gripped her wrap convulsively.

It was difficult to think clearly, but Travis forced himself to remember this long day. She had been more than elusive, more than just out of reach. She had been gone. Only a note had greeted him this morning, a brief apology that she had “things to take care of.” He had come here and waited, watching the band assemble, watching the rehearsal that had been explosive itself. Then she had disappeared again, leaving her gown here and having no reason to return to the hotel until after the performance.

It had been a very long day.

Travis, with little to do but think, came to several conclusions. In spite of the ache that left him sleepless, restless, he realized he could get no relief. If he pushed Saber too hard or too fast, she would put herself forever out of his reach. He realized that she would be even more wary because he had seen the vulnerable side of her. And he realized that—somehow—he had to convince her he was no threat.

He didn’t know if he had the patience. His deepest instincts urged him to hold her tightly with the first firm grasp he could manage, but his mind warned him that he would never hold her unless she allowed him to. That would take time. And trust. If it came at all.

And now …

Travis listened to that naked voice, everything stripped from it but raw emotion. He watched her fling that powerful, invisible part of herself out into a faceless audience with the savage release of an electric current gone wild, and it crackled around her.

He had never seen her give so much, and when she stumbled from the stage he was quickly and silently there to drop the wrap around her shoulders and lead her toward the exit. They were too quick for the fans surging around the building to get a closer look at Saber; the limo pulled away even as the first shouts reached them.

She was tense beside him in the darkness, and Travis said nothing. He remained silent during the ride to the hotel and in the elevator up to their
suite. His first words came only when she returned to the sitting room after showering and changing into a loose robe to find the coffee he had ordered waiting for her.

“I still don’t agree with coffee this late,” he said dryly, handing her a cup.

“It works for me.” Saber sat down at the end of the long couch, her face nearly translucent with exhaustion.

He sat down near her, watching her sip the coffee. “You’ll burn yourself out if you keep this up.”

Saber smiled a little. “No. I can rest now.” Then she sent him an oblique glance. “Or can I?”

Travis linked his fingers together and gazed down at them for a long moment. When his eyes lifted, something regretful and pained shimmered there. “I pushed,” he said.

She knew he was referring to the day before, which had been answered by her disappearing act today. “You pushed.” She nodded. “I don’t like running away, Travis. Don’t make me run away again.”

“All right,” he said quietly. “We’ll just get to
know each other. You need rest after tonight … after this tour … and we’ll take all the time you need for that. I promise, Saber.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she managed to say. The glaze of her weariness was between them, and Saber welcomed it. She didn’t want to think about anything for a while. Not what she was beginning to feel for him. Not her past or future. Nothing. At least for a while.

“Go to bed,” he ordered gently.

She didn’t think about arguing, either. She went to bed.

Only the ringing of the phone disturbed their breakfast the next morning. Saber had awakened cheerful, her manner toward Travis light; clearly, she was at least willing to accept his word for the moment. And he was determined to make no more mistakes. Patience had become his watchword.

With a faintly apologetic gesture, she rose and went to sit on the couch, lifting the receiver from its place on the end table. “Hello?”

Travis watched her unobtrusively as he finished his meal. He saw her face change, soften, even as it turned curiously wary.

“No, it went well,” she said into the phone. “Yes, I am, and I’m planning to take a rest. Cory’s place; it isn’t crowded this time of the year, and I’ve taken a cottage …. The landing strip in Prescott, then a car.” She frowned suddenly. “No, don’t do that. I know what I—It’s the back of beyond out there. There’s no need to—” She listened to her caller in frowning silence for a moment, then spoke wryly. “I know there’s a pad, but I’d really prefer not to make use of it …
. I’m
being unreasonable? Look, I’ll arrange it, all right? Yes, I promise. Right. Bye.”

Saber cradled the receiver and sat frowning at Travis for a moment.

“Is it something I’ve done?” he asked politely.

She blinked, then smiled. “No. Do you object to helicopters?”

“On principle, no,” he answered, taking the question at face value.

“Good.” She picked up the receiver again and
placed a long-distance call, reaching her party almost instantly. “Cory Stewart, please. Oh, hi …. No, but you sounded harassed …. Really? Well, everybody’s curious about you and you can’t blame them …. All right, since I value my neck, I’ll shut up about that.” She smiled a little, apparently listening to a somewhat lengthy response. “All right. Yes, I’ll be heading your way in an hour or so. Cory, does Lee still fly his charter service? Oh, damn, I wanted to—You did? Well, I wondered when you’d get around to it. Can I trust you with my precious skin?” Her smile widened. “Don’t be rude to a paying customer. Okay, I’ll call you in about an hour and let you know when we’ll be arriving. … Just a stray I picked up: can you spare him a room?” Saber grinned as Travis made a face at her, then briskly ended her conversation. “Great. I’ll call in about an hour.”