Man of the Hour (8 page)

“A fighter plane. Very advanced. All the latest technology. The government approves, because we’re allies of Ahmed’s strategically placed little nation.”

“But if they’re trying to stop the sale, why shoot at Steve?”

Meg was too quick. “Probably, they were shooting at both of them but Steve got the bullet,” he said.

“Oh.” She relaxed a little. “But what if they try again?”

“I told you, they’re going to be surrounded by government people.”

“Won’t they try to get Ahmed out of the country now?”

David grimaced. “I don’t know. Calm down now, Meg. Try not to worry so much. It’s all under control, believe me.”

Meg finally gave in. David did look less concerned now, and she had to accept that Steve would be protected from further attacks.

David, meanwhile, was shaking inside. What he and Steven had learned from the CIA agents and Ahmed was enough to terrify anyone. Ahmed couldn’t go home just now, and while he was in Wichita, he was in mortal danger. It was far more serious than a protest over an arms sale. A coup was in progress in Ahmed’s nation and Ahmed had been targeted by its leaders.

Ahmed’s position was top secret, so Meg couldn’t be told. Only Daphne knew, because of her engagement to Wayne Hicks, the blond CIA agent. She was an unofficial liaison between the government men and Ahmed. There were secrets within secrets here. It was a tricky situation, made more so by Steven’s apparent relationship with Daphne while Meg stood by helplessly and fumed.

Meg glanced at Steven. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked without meeting his eyes.

“I’m indestructible,” he said tautly. “I only needed a bandage, believe it or not. I’d better get Daphne home,” he added.

“Thanks, Steve,” Daphne said gently, smiling up at him.

Meg looked away, so she didn’t see Daphne’s expression or Steve’s. Her heart was breaking. She smiled dully and took David’s arm. “In that case, I’ll take my brother and go home. Good night, then.”

David got them a cab right outside the door. Presumably Daphne was going to drive Steven’s Jaguar.

Meg sat quietly in the corner of the cab, still trying to focus on the shocking, violent events of the night. The shots, Steve’s wound, Ahmed’s incredible transformation from indulgent friendliness to menacing authority, the police, the government men, the hospital…it all merged into a frightening blur. Meg closed her eyes on the memories. Daphne had won and the only course of action Meg had was to concede the field to the other woman once more. If Steve loved her, she’d stay and fight. But he didn’t. Hadn’t he made it abundantly clear that he preferred Daphne?

Always before, she’d had the sanctuary of her New York apartment to run to. But now, with her ankle in this shape, she knew for certain that it would be a very long time before she was fit enough to dance again. A very, very long time. She had to consider a new career. If she couldn’t dance, she had to find a way to support herself. A ballet school was the ideal way. She’d studied ballet all her life. She knew she could teach it. All she required was a small loan, a studio and the will to succeed.

The fly in the ointment was that it would have to be here in Wichita. New York City was full of ballet schools, and rental property cost a fortune. She’d never be able to afford to do it there. Here in Wichita, she was known in local circles, even if the family was no longer wealthy. Her roots went back four generations here. The downside was that she’d have to see Steven occasionally, but perhaps she could harden her heart.

Meanwhile, Steven and David would be fine now, surely, with the CIA watching. And of course, they’d get Ahmed out of the country.

But, would
she
be fine, she wondered? It was like losing Steven all over again. She didn’t know how she could bear it.

Meg went to bed and didn’t sleep. Steve had taken Daphne home. She was tormented by images of Daphne in Steven’s arms, being thrilled and delighted by his kisses. She couldn’t bear it.

She couldn’t sleep on Friday night, and was listless all day Saturday and Sunday. She worked on her exercises, but her lack
of progress just made her more depressed. She went to sleep on Sunday night, but again couldn’t rest easily. She got out of bed and decided to go down for a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe it would help her sleep.

She opened her door and heard movement downstairs. Her first thought was that it might be a burglar, but the lights were all on.

She went to the banister and leaned over. David was in the hall putting on a raincoat.

“David?” she called, surprised.

He glanced up at her. He held a briefcase under his arm. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I know. Well, I’ve got to run this stuff over to Ahmed…”

“It’s midnight!”

He glowered at her. “Ahmed doesn’t recognize little things like the hour of the night. And before you start worrying, I’ve got an escort waiting outside. Try to get some sleep, will you?”

She sighed. “Okay. Be careful.”

“Sure thing.”

She wandered back into her bedroom. She heard a door slam twice and David’s car pulling away. Odd, two slams, but she was sleepy. Perhaps she’d counted wrong.

She looked at herself in the mirror, in the sexy little lavender night slip that stopped at her upper thighs. She looked very alluring, she decided, with her hair down her back and those spaghetti straps threatening to loosen the low bodice that
didn’t quite cover the firm swell of her creamy breasts. She sighed.

“Too bad your hair’s not platinum,” she told her reflection. “And your legs are too long.” She made a face at herself before she opened the bedroom door and wandered slowly downstairs, careful not to let her weak ankle make her fall as she negotiated her way down. A cup of hot chocolate might just do the trick.

She yawned as she ambled into the kitchen. But she stopped dead at the sight of the man standing there, staring at her with eyes that didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Steven!” she gasped.

He was fully dressed, a light blue sports jacket paired with navy slacks, a white shirt and a blue striped tie. But there was no bulge high up on his left arm, no bandage.

“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, getting her breath back. She refused to try to cover herself. Let him look, she thought bitterly. “And do try to remember not to sneeze,” she added, glancing around paranoidly. “They’ve probably got video cameras everywhere. Oh, Lord!” she added suddenly, glancing down at her state of undress and remembering that dark-haired agent with the wicked smile.

“There are no hidden cameras here,” he returned. “Why would there be?” His silver eyes narrowed. “Which is just as well, because I don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”

“For your eyes only?” she taunted. “Well, save it all for Daphne, Steve, darling. What do you want here? David just left.”

“I know. I’m here to keep an eye on you while he’s gone.” He
shouldered away from the door facing. “You aren’t planning to cut your visit short and go back to New York, are you?” he asked bluntly.

She didn’t want to answer that. Her ankle was killing her this morning, from the slight exercise it had been put through the night before. She could hardly walk on it. The thought of dancing on it made her nauseous.

“Am I being asked to leave town?” she hedged.

“No. Quite the contrary.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and studied her through narrowed eyes. “I think it might be better if you stay in Wichita. But don’t go out without David, will you?”

“They shot at you, not me,” she reminded him, and had to choke down the fear the words brought back. He could have been killed. She didn’t dare think about it too much. “You’re really all right, aren’t you?” she added reluctantly.

“I’m really all right.” He saw the concern she couldn’t hide, but he knew better than to read too much into it. She’d loved him once, or thought she had, before she decided that dancing was of prime importance. He stared at her with growing need. Dressed that way, she aroused him almost beyond bearing. He didn’t know if he could keep his hunger for her under control. That gown…!

She stared down at her bare feet. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

He didn’t reply. When she looked up again, it was to find his silver eyes riveted to her breasts, to the pink swell of them over her bodice. The look was intimate. Hungry. She could almost see his heartbeat increasing.

“Don’t, Steve,” she said quietly.

“If not me, who, then?” he asked roughly, moving slowly toward her. “You won’t give yourself to anyone else. You’re twenty-three and still a virgin.”

She gnawed her lower lip. “I like it that way,” she said unsteadily, because he was close now, towering over her. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the spicy cologne he wore. It was a fragrance that she’d always connected with him. It aroused her.

“The hell you do. You waited for me. You’re still waiting.” His silver eyes dropped to her bodice and found the evidence of her arousal. “You can’t even hide it,” he taunted huskily. “All I have to do is look at you, or stand close to you, and your body begins to swell with wanting me.”

She swallowed. “Don’t humiliate me!” she whispered tightly.

“That isn’t what I have in mind. Not at all.” His hands came out of his pockets. They moved slowly to the smooth curve of her shoulders and caressed away the tiny spaghetti straps. His breath was at her temple, on her nose, her mouth. She ached for him in every cell of her body.

“Steve.” She choked. “Steve, what about Daphne…?”

“Daphne who?” he breathed, and his mouth settled on hers as his hands moved abruptly, sending the gown careening recklessly down her body to land in a silken lavender pool at her feet.

R
ight and wrong no longer existed separately in Steve’s tormented mind. Meg wanted him and he wanted her. All the pain and anguish of the past four years fused in that one thought as he felt her mouth soften and open under his. He kissed her until she went limp in his arms, until his own body went rigid with insistent desire. And only then did he lift his head to look at what his hands had uncovered.

Meg felt the impact of Steven’s eyes on her bare breasts like a hot caress on her skin. She stood before him in only a pair of lacy, high-cut pink briefs, insecure in her nudity. But when her hands lifted automatically, he caught her wrists and drew her hands to his chest. His steely eyes held hers while he pressed them there.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said quietly. His eyes fell to her body and sketched its pink and mauve contours with slow, exquisite
appreciation. “You’re more beautiful than a Boticelli nude, Mary Margaret.”

“You’re forgetting Daphne.” She choked out the words, beyond protest. “She has a hold on you.”

He was still staring at her, unblinking. “You might say that.”

“Steve…”

“Don’t talk, Meg,” he replied, his voice deep and soft, almost lazy as his dark head started to bend toward her. “Talking doesn’t accomplish a damned thing.”

“Steven, you mustn’t…!”

“Oh, but I must,” he breathed as his mouth opened just above her taut nipple. “I must…!”

She felt the soft tracing of his tongue just before the faint suction that took her breast right into the dark warmth of his mouth.

Steve heard her gasp, felt her whole body go rigid in his grasp. But he didn’t stop. He nuzzled her gently and increased the warm pressure. A little sound passed her lips and then she began to push toward him, not away from him. He groaned against her as his hands slid up the silky softness of her back and drew her into the aroused curve of his body.

Meg had stopped thinking altogether. The insistent hunger of his mouth made her body throb in the most incredible way. She cradled his dark head against her, leaning back in his embrace. She felt as if she were floating, drifting.

Steve was kneeling, easing her down to the floor, his mouth against her. He pulled her over him, parting her smooth legs so
that they were hip to hip. His mouth moved to her other breast, then to her throat and finally up to her parted lips. He kissed her with slow, aching passion, all the while exploring her body with deft, sure hands. He whispered things she couldn’t even hear for the roar in her ears. And then he shifted her, just a little, and she felt the aroused thrust of him as his body began to rock sensually against hers.

She gasped and stiffened, because even their most intimate time hadn’t been quite this intimate.

He lifted his head. His silver eyes were misty with desire as he searched hers. He moved, deliberately, so that she felt him intimately, and a wave of pleasure rippled up her body. She couldn’t hide the shocked delight in her eyes. He smiled, slowly, and moved again. This time her hands gripped his shoulders and she relaxed, shyly bringing him into even greater intimacy with her.

His lean hand slid up her thigh, tracing its inner curve. She saw his mouth just before it settled on hers again. He touched her as he never had. Waves of pleasure jolted her. She tried to protest, but it was far too late. She began to whimper.

His tongue tangled with hers, thrust deep into her mouth. She felt tears in her eyes as he held her in thrall. Her body arched helplessly toward him. She felt his mouth sliding down to her breasts, possessing her. He stroked her until she was weeping with helpless desire, her voice breaking as she whispered, pleaded, begged.

The husky pleas, combined with the sensual movement of her
body over his, removed him sufficiently from reality so that it was impossible for him to pull back in time. He kissed her. His mouth bit into hers and she felt him move, felt the soft tearing of her briefs, felt the air on her body. She heard the rasp of a zipper, the metallic sound of a belt.

He pulled her up so that she was sitting with her legs on either side of him. She heard his breathing, rough and unsteady at her ear, as his lean hands suddenly gripped her bare thighs deliberately and he lifted her.

“Easy,” he whispered as he brought her to him and slowly pulled her down.

She had a second to wonder about the faint threat of his hold on her, and then his mouth opened on hers and she felt the first insistent thrust of him against the veil of her innocence.

Her eyes flew open. She cried out at the flash of hot pain. He held her still, breathing roughly. His face was rigid, his teeth clenched, his breathing audible through his nose. He looked into her wide, frightened eyes and held them as he pulled her slowly down on him again.

“Don’t be afraid, Meg,” he whispered deeply. “It’s only going to hurt for a few seconds.”

“But…Steve…” She gasped, trying to find the words to protest what was happening.

“Let me love you,” he said unsteadily. His hands tugged her over him and he shivered. His face was tormented, his eyes like silver fires. “God, baby…let me. Let me!” He ground out the words.

She knew that it would be impossible for him to stop. She loved him. That was all that really mattered now. She gave in, yielding to the pain, her hands taut on his shoulders. Her hold on him tightened and she flinched.

“Just a…little further. Oh, Meg,” he growled, shivering as he completed the motion and felt her all around him. His eyes closed and he shivered. Then they opened again and searched hers as he repeated the slow, deliberate movement of his hips until his possession of her was complete and the lines of strain left her face. Then he rested, his body intimately joined to hers, and gently pushed her disheveled hair back from her face.

She swallowed. There was awe in her eyes now, along with lingering pain and doubt and shock.

“I’ve waited so long, Meg,” he said unsteadily. “I’ve waited all my life for this. For you.”

Her fingers trembled on his shirtfront. “Steve, you’re…part of me,” she burst out.

Color burned along his high cheekbones. “Yes.” He moved, as if to emphasize it, and she blushed. “Unfasten my shirt, Meg. Let me feel your breasts against my skin while we love.”

While we love
. She must be insane, she thought. But she was too involved to stop, to pull back. She was in thrall to him. Her hands fumbled with his tie, his jacket, his shirt. She fumbled, but finally she stripped it all off him.

Her hands speared through the thick mat of hair that covered him from collarbone to below his lean waist. She looked down and stared helplessly, her body trembling. His powerful hands
lifted her up just a little, smiling even through his need at the expression on her face.

“Steve…”

He tilted her face and brought his mouth down on her lips with exquisite tenderness as he began to guide her hips again. This time there was no pain at all. There was a faint pleasure that began to grow, to swell, to encompass her. She gasped and her nails bit into his shoulders.

“Like this?” he whispered, and moved again.

She sobbed into his shoulder, her mouth open against his neck, clinging to him as he increased the rhythm and pressure of his body. His hand clenched in the hair at her nape and he caught his breath, shivering.

“Relax, now,” he said, sliding a hand under her thigh to pull her to him roughly. “Yes…!”

His image began to blur in her open, startled eyes as the pleasure became suddenly violent, insistent. She felt herself tense as he lifted to her as they knelt so intimately together, shivering with every movement, reaching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. Her strength gave out, but his was unfailing, endless.

“Help me,” she whispered brokenly.

“Tell me how it feels, Meg,” he whispered back, his voice rough, deep as he pushed up insistently. “Tell me!”

“It’s so sweet…I can’t…bear…it!” She wept.

“Neither can I.” His hands tightened on her thighs almost to bruising pain and he lost control. “Meg…. Meg….!”

She felt him go rigid just before her mind was submerged in
a heated rush of pleasure. It was a kind of pain, she thought blindly. A kind of sweet, unbearable pain that hit her like a lightning bolt, lifting her in his arms, making her cry out with the anguish it kindled. She didn’t know if she could bear it and stay alive.

Steven’s heart was beating. She felt the heavy, hard beat against her breasts, felt the blood pulsating through him as he eased her down on her back, still a part of him. He relaxed, his arms catching the bulk of his weight while he struggled to breathe normally. The intimacy of their position was beyond her wildest dreams. She closed her eyes, experiencing it through every cell of her body.

He could hardly believe what he’d done. The rush of pleasure had almost knocked him out. He’d been so desperate for her that he hadn’t even removed all his clothing. He’d fought them both out of their garments and taken her sitting up on the carpet, when her first time should have been in a bed with their wedding night before them and everything legal and neatly tied up. And worst of all, he hadn’t had the foresight to use any sort of protection. He groaned aloud as sanity came back in a cold rush. “Oh, hell!” He ground out the words.

He levered himself away from her and got to his feet a little shakily. He zipped his trousers with a vicious motion of his hands before he fumbled a cigarette out of the pocket of his discarded shirt and lit it. He put on his shirt. He didn’t look at Meg, who finally managed with trembling hands to slide her gown back on. The briefs were beyond wearing at all.

Steve smoked half the cigarette before he crushed it out in an ashtray on the table, one that David kept for him. He buttoned his shirt and replaced his tie and jacket before he spoke.

By then, Meg was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, feeling uncomfortable and very ashamed.

He stood over her, searching for the right words. Impossible, really. There weren’t any for what he’d done.

“You’ll be sore for a while,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you the pain.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

He knelt just in front of her, his hand on the sofa beside her as he searched her wan, drawn face.

“Meg,” he said roughly, “it’s all right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“Don’t I?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned. He pulled her down into his arms and sat on the carpet, cradling her against him. His lips found her throat and pressed there gently. “Meg, don’t cry.”

“I’m easy, I’m cheap…!”

“You are not.” He lifted his head and held her eyes. “We made love to each other. Is that so terrible? If I hadn’t gone crazy and chased you away, it would have happened four years ago, and you know it!”

She couldn’t really argue with that. He was telling the truth. “Will you tell Daphne?” she asked.

“No, I won’t tell Daphne,” he replied quietly. “It’s none of her business. It’s no one’s, except ours.”

She still felt miserable, but some of the pain eased away as he smoothed her against him. Her eyes closed and she wished that she never had to move away again. He was warm and strong and it felt right to be lying with him this way. What had happened felt right.

His lean hand smoothed over her flat belly. He drew back a little and stared down at it, his face troubled.

She knew what he was thinking. It had just occurred to her, too.

“You didn’t use anything,” she whispered.

“I know. Damn me for a fool, I was too far gone to care.” He lifted his eyes to hers and grimaced. “I’m sorry. It was irresponsible. Unforgivable.”

Her blue eyes sketched his dark face, down to his stubborn chin and the breadth of his shoulders.

“What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

“You were an only child,” she said. “Did your father have any sisters?”

He shook his head. His brows curved together and then a smile tugged at his firm mouth as he searched her eyes. “Boys run in my family, Meg. Is that what you wanted to know?”

She nodded, smiling shyly.

His big hand pressed slowly against her belly. “A baby would cost you your career,” he said slowly.

She looked up at him. “You don’t think my ankle won’t?”

The expression drained out of his face, leaving it blank. “What do you mean?”

She threw caution to the wind. It was time for honesty. Total honesty, despite the cost. She’d truly burned all her bridges.

“It hurts just from walking. It’s swollen. It’s been weeks, and it’s no better.” She traced a pearly button on his shirt with her fingernail as she forced herself to face the fear she’d been avoiding. “Rehearsals begin at the end of next week, but it might as well be yesterday. Steve, I won’t be able to dance. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

He didn’t move. His eyes searched her face, but he didn’t speak, either.

She looked up at him miserably. “What will happen to you and Daphne if I get pregnant? It would ruin everything for you.” She sighed wearily, closing her eyes as she laid her cheek on his chest. “Oh, Steve, why is life so complicated?”

“It isn’t, usually.”

“It is right now.” She bit her lower lip. “Would you…want a baby?”

His body began to throb. Light burst inside him. A child. A little boy, perhaps, since they ran in his family. A bond with Meg that nothing could break. The thought delighted him.

But he didn’t answer immediately, and Meg thought the worst. She had to fight tears. “I see,” she said brokenly. “I guess you’d want me to go to a clinic and—”

“No!”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Of course I wouldn’t!” he said curtly. He held her face up to
his. “Don’t you even think about it! I swear to God, Meg, if you do anything…!”

“But, I wouldn’t!” she said quickly. “That’s what I was going to tell you. I couldn’t!”

He relaxed. His hand moved to her cheek and brushed back the disheveled hair around its flushed contours. “Okay. Make sure you don’t. People who don’t want babies should think before they make them.”

“Like we just did,” she agreed with a flicker of her dry humor.