Love Songs (13 page)

The day went on much as the one before. As the afternoon passed she grew increasingly apprehensive and Alex bore the brunt of her frustration. By six o’clock she had blamed him for everything from a broken copy machine to a misaligned finance sheet, not to mention the frequent daydreams that took her from her work. As on the evening before, she arrived at the clinic prepared for battle.

It was shortly before nine when she arrived and there was no sign of Alex. The lounge was empty. Ellen Henderson, however, was free and available; they spent some time together reviewing Alanna’s sleep charts and discussing her log. Ellen asked general questions relating to Alanna’s initial reaction to the program; Alanna answered each as honestly as she could, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to mention Alex’s name. There were, indeed, several awkward silences during which Alanna suspected that Ellen considered broaching the subject before yielding the initiative to Alanna, who said nothing. For the time being, she was grateful for the reprieve.

By the time she returned to her room it was nine-forty-five and the lounge, which she’d passed through en route, was still empty. Had he come yet? Where was he? Paperback in hand, she returned to the lounge and read—or attempted to read—for another hour. Had something happened to him? Was he all right? The other two members of the study had drifted through; now one approached and sat down. She was a pleasant enough woman, middle-aged and in the upper echelon of an insurance company. She spoke freely of the petty aggravations she’d had to face that day, of the added aggravation she’d have to face when she awoke in the middle of the night, of the doubts she had of the success of this program, and of anything else that came into her head. It was all Alanna could do to sit still.

There had been, still, no sign of Alex. As politely as possible Alanna excused herself and headed for her room. A shower and one hundred brush strokes later she sat propped in her chair, eying her watch. Eleven-thirty. What was keeping him? Had he been held up in New York? Had some evening meeting kept him? Was he—she gasped—on a date?

Eleven-thirty-five. Eleven-forty. Eleven-forty-five. As the time ticked on she pondered her own absurd state. When she’d first arrived at the clinic this evening, a good-sized chip on her shoulder, she had been marginally relieved that he hadn’t been there. As the time wore on she had grown upset, then worried. Now her annoyance was directed at herself for her folly. What was the matter with her? Alex Knight was a man whom she’d met barely two days ago. Granted, what they’d shared in the meantime had had its intimate and very personal moments. But the fact remained that they were still free and separate individuals. Alex had no more need to check in with her than she had to report back to him.

On that defiant thought she climbed into bed. Midnight. What had happened to that “early curfew” to which Ellen Henderson had referred? Did it apply to everyone but Alex Knight? Closing her eyes, she willed anger into abeyance and concentrated on nothing. Cool, clear nothing. Nothing … disturbed by the dark and handsome image of one Alex Knight. Nothing … hampered by worry that something might have happened to him. Nothing … marred by the fear that he might, for some unknown reason, have opted out of the IAT study. Despite the turmoil the man engendered within her, she
was
fearful of never seeing him again. Without stopping to consider her feelings more deeply, she hopped out of bed, drew on her robe, opened the door enough to see a clear way to his room and made a beeline for it, pausing on the threshold to still her thudding heart. Her intention was simply to see if he had come in during the past hour. Slowly and stealthily, she opened the door a crack. If he
was
there she would retrace her steps immediately.

The room was dark; no sound came from within. A slice of light from the hall angled across the bed and she opened the door further. There was still no sound. Yet there was a definite human shape on the bed,
in
the bed. Her gaze followed the outline of his body from his feet up, crossing the line where blanket ended and skin began, continuing over his chest to his face.

One long arm was thrown across his eyes, yet his voice was clear. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

Caught in the act, Alanna was not sure just what to do. While one part of her wanted simply to excuse herself and run, the other was still curious as to why, given his previous attentiveness, Alex had avoided her tonight. The latter impulse won. Slipping through the doorway, she closed the door behind her and hesitantly approached the bed.

“Well?” He sounded neither pleased nor angry, simply tired.

“I just wondered whether you got in all right. I didn’t see you earlier.”

“It was late; I arrived a little while ago. I thought you might be asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You don’t need to explain.…” she began, feeling guilty at having disturbed him, still wondering whether she should leave at once. As he had in the past, he read her mind.

“Come sit with me, Alanna,” he offered in soft invitation. “I could use the company.” His arm lifted from his eyes; his hand patted the bed beside him. Without a second thought she found herself there, concerned at his state of fatigue.

“Was it such a bad day?” she asked in a whisper.

The light from beneath the door was too dim to allow him to make out her features; rather, his fingers traced the lines of her face in greeting. “Everything went well in New York, if that’s what you mean.”

“What happened afterward?”

“Just a small family matter. You know how that kind of thing can eat at you.”

“I don’t,” she contradicted him gently. “I have no family. You’re the one who is privileged…”

His fingers touched her lips. “I sometimes wonder.” When his other hand met the first to cup her face and bring it down toward his she put a hand on his chest for support and eagerly met his kiss. His lips were gentle, tired yet sweet; he seemed to take his strength from her, gaining vibrancy with each moist taste.

It was as though Alanna had waited for this all day. Any anger she had felt earlier simply dissolved. There was only Alex and his warm, strong body. When his kiss ended with a light touch to her nose she moved on impulse to join him in bed, much as he had done earlier. With feline grace she stretched out beside him, finding a comfortable niche for her head on his shoulder, her legs falling easily by and between his. When her hand slid to his waist and hip, however, she jumped and made to retreat. Only his arm held her still.

Her whisper was hoarse with dismay. “Alex! You’ve got nothing on!”

“I always sleep this way,” he countered with nonchalance.

“But this is a hospital—”

“And Ellen said to sleep in whatever we were accustomed to. I’m doing just that!”

“I don’t know.” Her wariness persisted. “Maybe I should go back to my own bed.”

“Don’t you dare. I like you right here,” his hand curved to her hip, “by my side.”

She was more than by his side. She was practically molded to him; their bodies fit that closely together. Desperate to break the aura of sensuality, Alanna cleared her throat and tipped her head back to study his dimly lit features. “What’s the problem in your family? Anything you’d like to discuss?”

Just as this morning she had wondered whether he would freely share information regarding his work, so now she wondered just how much he would trust her with something so personal. As earlier, she was warmed by his open and honest response.

“It’s my father. He’s having some trouble adjusting to retirement.”

“How old is he?”

“Sixty-three. He turned the company over to me four years ago, shortly before his sixtieth birthday.”

“What has he been doing since then?”

“He and my mother travel a lot, visiting their various grandchildren. They’ve also taken several extended trips—the most recent one to China.

“But your father isn’t comfortable?”

“He’s torn. He firmly believes that I should hold the reins of the foundation, yet he can’t quite let go completely. It can be … very difficult.…”

“In what way?”

“Second-guessing. Backseat driving. Monday morning quarterbacking. Should I go on?”

Alanna smiled against his chest, absently rubbing her cheek against the fine hazing of hair there. “I think I understand. Why don’t you put him to work?”

“That’s what I’ve suggested.”

“Well … what’s the problem?”

“The problem, love, is his determination to be retired. It’s either all or nothing with him. He can’t see things quite as clearly as we do and therefore can’t see that he’s already got several fingers irrevocably in the pie.”

“Can’t you give him his own division? Something that really needs
his
expertise and experience behind it?”

Alex was quiet for several moments. “You phrase it very well, Alanna. From me, it sounds like a consolation prize. From you, it’s an opportunity that demands skill.” Again he was silent, pensive, and she was satisfied merely to listen to the steady thump of his heart. His arm tightened around her before he spoke again. “I’ll have to remember that—‘his expertise and experience.’ That might convince him. Better still,” he angled his head down toward her face, “you’ll come and have dinner with us one night. You can tell him to his face exactly how much the company needs him.”

“Oh, no, I won’t, Alex Knight. He’s
your
father.”

“You’d like him—
and
my mother,” he crooned invitingly.

But Alanna was determined to stay clear of that powerful trap and refused to even consider the question with any degree of seriousness. “I’m sure I would,” she quipped lightly. “But it would be totally impertinent of me to walk in and tell your father what to do. I’m no Knight—”

“—not yet.”

“Alex…!” Her protest was silenced by the lips which captured hers in their sensual net. Suddenly protest was nonexistent. In a moment of accumulated desire—desire built up through an evening of worry and brought to a head by their present intimacy—Alanna was transported to a world encompassing only Alexander Knight.

In the delirium of his kiss she
was
a Knight, with every right to the luxuries he offered. His lips drank in her goodness in turn; his tongue set off explosive charges deep within her mouth. His legs moved against hers with electrifying friction, binding her to his body. He was fit and solid beside her, beneath her.

“Alex!” She tried again, gasping against his cheek. “This has to stop!” Even her whisper was hoarse.

“Why?” He smoothed her hair from her face and held it back with both hands.

“It’s … dangerous. You know where we are.…”

A faint flicker of white broke through the darkness when he grinned. “We’re in bed.”

“We’re in a hospital room!” she countered, trying desperately to ignore the span of lean stomach spread beneath her palm. When she tried to push against it and lever herself away Alex held her closer. His hands slid down, one to her back, one to her hips, to press her more fully against him. Her protest was aimed as much at herself as it was at him. “I’d better leave, Alex. This is getting out of hand.”

“To the contrary.” He squeezed her gently. “It’s very well
in
hand.”

“Alex! This is absurd—”

“And lovely.” He moved ever so slightly against her, sending ripples of excitement tingling through her extremities.

“Oh…” she exhaled, feeling herself losing touch with reality. “Why do you do this to me?”

“We’re made for each other, love. Don’t you see that? Why must you fight it so?” His hands held her and molded her, doing wicked things in utter innocence.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, closing her eyes as his lips planted light, dreamy kisses all over her face. “I don’t know.” The pleasure was exquisite. What
was
there to fight?

“Let yourself go. Trust me. Let me pleasure you.”

With a soft moan of surrender she turned her mouth to his and welcomed the full force of his kiss as it spread the flame of desire to every last pocket of her resistance. Her immediate future was in his hands, yet he worshipped her as though she held the reins.

Alanna’s body was aflame, Alex’s was its fuel. Her survival seemingly depended on him and she arched toward him eagerly. The feel of his body intoxicated her. She combed her hands across his chest, exploring its every sinew. Its manly hardness pleasured her fingertips beyond description, luring her palms hungrily over him. At her touch he sucked in the taut muscles of his stomach, offering a lean plane for her hands to glide across.

His deft fingers released the tie of her robe, slipped it from her slender shoulders and pulled it from beneath her. As she lay on her back he hovered over her, balancing himself on one elbow, visually caressing her. She caught her breath when his fingers slid the strap of her nightgown from her shoulder, pulling it down enough to free a swollen breast from its silken confines. Within seconds his mouth had encompassed a rosy nipple, gently sucking, sending passion racing through the warmest depths of her body. She cried aloud at the feeling, then cried again when his tongue and teeth played at her nipple, toying it into a hard, dark peak.