The Lady and the Lion (7 page)

She sighed. What good was her confidence when he struggled so hard against it? No good.

Erin squared her shoulders and met his intense gaze with all the coolness she could muster. "If you've said what you came here for, then please leave. I have to finish packing."

"I don't want you to go," he said.

She wasn't given to emotional gestures, but if there had been something heavy nearby, Erin would have thrown it at him. Instead, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and counted silently to ten. Then, carefully, she said,
"I
want to go."

"Do you?"

"Stop it, Keith!" She looked around a little wildly, but there was nothing heavy close by.

An odd laugh escaped him. "I know—I'm not being consistent."

"Consistent? You're driving me crazy!" She controlled herself with an effort. "I don't want to do this. Do you understand? I don't want to feel like this. Maybe you enjoy stormy, bewildering relationships, but I don't." Even as her normally soft and gentle voice rose on the last words, Erin was completely unconscious of the transformation taking place inside her; she couldn't know that by tapping into the depths of her emotions, Keith had opened a door she hadn't realized was there.

Born into an elegant and ordered life, Erin had been insulated by her environment as much as by her looks. Molded first by the private schools whose job it was to turn out gracious and accomplished ladies, and then by the coolly dominant father who favored tranquil voices and graceful manners. Erin had never even suspected there was fire in her nature. She had never cared enough about anything or anyone to fight.

But here was Keith. He was so strong that his drive was like a visible aura, so complex that he confused her totally. Far from talking to her almost unconsciously and unguardedly as so many men did, he was blunt, abrupt, intense, and enigmatic. There was anger in him, and danger, and nothing in Erin's experience had taught her how to cope with such an explosive combination.

All she had left was instinct.

If there had been no fire in her own nature, being engulfed in his force could have burned her badly, leaving her, by this point, totally shattered and wanting only a dark corner in which to hide and lick her wounds. If she had been the completely gentle woman they both believed her to be, she could never have held her own with him. But by running hot and cold, Keith had blown on smoldering embers neither of them had recognized, and that fire was burning now.

"I
will not
play games with you," she said, almost spitting in her anger. "And I'm not about to stick around here while you make up your mind whether you have the inclination to get involved with me."

"I think you know what my inclination is," he murmured, eyes narrowed as he
gazed
at her.

Her eyes flashed at him. "There you go again!
Saying yes in one breath and no in the next.
Well, forget it, Keith. I value myself slightly above a doormat. I might have acted like one earlier today, but don't expect a repeat performance."

"You didn't act like a doormat," he said. "You acted like a very passionate woman. I should have paid closer attention."

Erin took three rapid steps away from him and then returned to glare at him. In a conversational tone, she said, "Why am I not calling the manager and having you hauled out of here?"

"Because you're three parts spitfire," Keith said, still gazing at her in fascination.

She made a sound that might have been mistaken for a snarl, and said between gritted teeth, "Go away. Leave."

Even more than before, Keith was torn. This new side of her, promising definite fireworks, was mesmerizing, and something
his own
vigorous nature was strongly attracted toward. If he had felt drawn to her before, it was nothing compared to the pull he felt now. Only the magnetism of her had changed—but none of the rest seemed so important now, while he was with her.

"Did you hear me?" she demanded.

"Loud and clear."

"Then why are you still here?"

He almost smiled at that aggrieved question. "Erin, would you like to have dinner with me?"

"No," she snapped.

"Would you like to go to bed with me?"

Her mouth opened and then closed, and she stared at him for at least half a minute before saying, "You are the most maddening man I have ever met in my life."

"Then you're forewarned." This time, he did smile. "I'm afraid I won't be good for you, but I can't seem to be reasonable about this. I have tried... You look surprised," he added, trying not to laugh.

"Then my face is kinder than my thoughts," she said in a wondering tone of voice. "I feel amazed.
Staggered.
Stunned.
You actually believe I'd go to bed with you after all this?"

"I'm lower than scum for suggesting it, I know," he said.

Erin turned away abruptly and went to the open balcony doors. Her back was stiff, and she didn't turn around to face him. "I think I hate you," she said coldly.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised."

"Arrogant bastard."

"Undoubtedly."

"Any woman crazy enough to get involved with you deserves everything she gets."

"Uh-huh. Eight o'clock okay with you for dinner?"

"Aren't you working?"

"Not tonight."

"Oh."

"Is eight o'clock all right?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"I'll come back for you in an hour," Keith said
matter-of-factly,
and left before she could change her mind.

It was a good minute before Erin turned to stare at the empty room. "I'm out of my mind," she said in a judicious tone. "I am certifiably mad." Moving carefully, she sat down at the small table and stared at her opened sketchpad.

The sketch, done in a fury of confused emotion during the afternoon, was of Keith. Without conceit, Erin knew it was good. The stark black-and-white portrait showed a complex man whose compelling face was brooding and sensual.
 
There were secrets in the hooded eyes and a devilish tilt to the eyebrows, and his mouth was curved in a dangerous smile.

"I should have drawn horns on you," she muttered, and firmly closed the sketchpad.

Erin had never felt so many diverse emotions all jumbled together inside her.
Passion, hurt, fury, indignation, and a wholly unwilling and somewhat staggered amusement at the sheer nerve of the man.
Since the morning, she'd ridden an emotional tidal wave, and had no idea where it was taking her.

It was unnerving to discover she was unwilling to save herself, and she was actually looking forward to the rest of the ride.

She thought about that while she was getting ready, unable to reach any conclusion except that she was obviously demented. The man was a devil, evidently amusing himself by yanking her around on the end of an emotional string, and she ought to have her head examined for letting him get away with it. On second thought, she didn't need her head examined; she
knew
she was crazy.

She was also crazy for choosing to wear a gold dress that shimmered faintly with every move she made. It was vaguely Grecian in design, leaving one shoulder bare and clinging closely to her body from breasts to hips before falling more loosely in a knee-length skirt. She knew the color suited her, and the style emphasized every curve. Delicate sandals showed off trim ankles and slender legs, and her loose hairstyle implied less control and dignity than was at all wise.

Dressed for battle, she thought somewhat grimly, and didn't like to consider what that might mean.

The flowers that arrived at a quarter to eight didn't do much to clarify her mood—they just disconcerted her even more. He'd sent roses.
White roses.
She hoped the choice had been automatic or that of the hotel florist; as well as she remembered, white roses symbolized eternity. No
message
on the card, just his name, bold enough to belong to any villain.

By the time she went to answer the knock on her door at eight, Erin was in a tenuous state best described as guarded. The man was a warlock, and she was bewitched—there was no other explanation for it.

When she opened the door, Keith took one look at the dress she had chosen to wear and said simply, "Gold is your color."

"Thank you. And thank you for the flowers."

His crooked smile dawned. "I would have brought them myself, but I figured you'd throw them in my face."

"Perceptive of you."

"She's still feeling hostile," he murmured, stepping back so she could come out into the hall.

"Do admit she has reason," Erin retorted, pulling her door shut behind her.

"I’ll admit it." He took her arm in a light grasp as they walked toward the elevator. "I'll even admit that I'll probably get worse before I get better."

Vaguely wishing he didn't look so devastating in a formal suit and tie, Erin said in a very polite tone, "Oh, are you planning to get better?
".

He chuckled. "I'm hoping you can reform me."

Erin glanced up at him, very conscious of the intensity lurking beneath his composed surface. She was wary of this new mood of his, and painfully aware of how quickly and easily she'd caved in when he asked her to dinner. She hadn't even been able to
pretend
she had any pride left. Bewitched, that was it. The man had her bewitched and beguiled, and she wasn't even sure how he'd managed to do it. She didn't respond to his comment, remaining silent as they took the elevator down and walked across the lobby to the most elegant restaurant the hotel boasted.

She could feel the stares as they were conducted to their table, and while that was a familiar sensation, what she sensed in Keith was not. He was, she realized in surprise, focused on
her
totally. He was completely indifferent to the eyes on them, and there was nothing proprietary or arrogantly possessive in the way he held her arm. Having been regarded by many men as an ornament they displayed proudly in public, Erin had grown to hate entering any crowded room on a man's arm; they always seemed to feel that there was some kind of male triumph in being the escort of a woman other men watched.

She was accustomed to most men acting differently when they were with her in public. The most quiet and unassuming man tended to become more assertive, to sit taller and speak louder, while the ones with natural confidence surrounded her with an air of intimacy as though they were lovers.

But not Keith.
He was exactly the same in public as in private, and as maddening as she found him she was very grateful for that evidence of consistency.

"You're smiling," he noted as the waiter left with their drink orders.

She looked him in the eye, and said calmly, "You have your secrets—I have mine."

"Which is as it should be," he said.

Erin decided not to pursue the subject.

"Have you canceled your plans to leave?" he asked, as if he hadn't expected her to reply to the statement.

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean—exactly?"

She sighed. "It means that I have airline reservations for tomorrow afternoon."

He gazed steadily at her, his expression unreadable. "I see.
So tonight will determine whether you'll get on the plane."

It didn't sound like a question, but Erin knew it was. She managed a shrug, and hoped she didn't look defensive.

Keith didn't say anything until their waiter had delivered the drinks and left, and when he did speak his voice was very quiet. "I know you're angry, and I can't blame you. I can't even explain why I've been so... contradictory."

"Try," she requested evenly.

He shook his head a little,
more,
it seemed, at himself than at her. "Erin, my life is very complicated right now. I'm under a lot of pressure, and it's having a negative effect on me.
On my emotions, my temper."

"Pressure?
From what?"
As curious about the careful way he was telling her this as she was about what he was saying, Erin listened intently as she tried to pick up subtle nuances in his deep voice.

"From my work.
Work I don't want to talk about. I know it isn't fair to you, and I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be. I'm not a criminal. I'm not doing anything illegal. In another week, two at most, my work here will be finished."

"And then?"

That, Keith thought, was a loaded question. To see the end of what had obsessed him for nearly a year... what would it do to him? How would it change him? Could he ever go back to being the man he had been before all this began? He didn't know. And all he could do was to answer Erin's question in the simplest way possible.

"Then the pressure will be gone. I have a home in New York, a business.
A normal life."

Erin gazed at him, trying to understand. "What you're doing here isn't a part of your normal life?"

"No, this is something else. Something I have to do."

"A man of mystery," she murmured.

"Hardly.
The point is, I won't be a very good... companion until my work's finished. I know that I should escort you to the plane tomorrow, let you go. Later, when I'm through here, I could follow you."

"But?"
Erin prompted when he fell silent and looked at her broodingly.

"But... no matter how many times I tell myself to do that, I can't seem to listen to reason. This is the worst possible time to begin any kind of relationship, but I don't want you to go. I'm selfish, Erin. I want you with me.
On my terms."

The waiter came to take their orders then, allowing Erin a few moments to gather her thoughts. She ordered automatically, hardly paying attention to her choices, her mind in turmoil.

His terms?
She thought she knew what those would be. No commitment, no demands—and no questions. Any woman would be a fool to accept that, she knew. Where he went and what he did at night would be none of her
business, that
half of his life closed to her. Even if it were only a week or two, she had heard the strain and edginess in his voice during their dawn conversations, had sensed the smoldering anger in him, and even though she wasn't afraid of him, how could she cope with emotions like that when she had no understanding of the source?