Touch the Horizon (6 page)

For the first time since she had met him, his face hardened and the warmth entirely left his eyes. “I stand corrected,” he said curtly. “In every garden there are weeds that try to smother and destroy the useful and beautiful around them.” His smile had the cold glitter of a stiletto. “The only thing you can do to prevent their doing that is to pluck them out and destroy them first.”

She shivered as if the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud. She’d wanted to distract him and change the conversation, but this facet of David’s character frightened her a little. “Another flower allusion,” she said. “Your conversation certainly abounds with them. I suppose it’s natural, considering you’re something of a gardener. I saw that picture of you in the study. Was it painted here in Zalandan?”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “Lance Rubinoff painted that in the garden of the palace at Marasef. I have a garden here, too, but I think I like the one in Marasef better. It’s outdoors, and I’ve always liked the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. The air is too dry and harsh, here in the middle of the desert, for plant life to flourish, so Karim built me a greenhouse to work in. It’s very special to me too.” His face was grave. “I want to share it with you, but not right now, Billie. I want to save it for a time that will be special to us both. Now we’re just beginning to push through the earth to see the sun. I want to save it for the blossoming. Okay?”

The blossoming. What a beautiful and moving phrase. Almost as beautiful as the honey darkness of his voice when he said the words. “Okay,” she said dreamily, and was rewarded by that sudden blinding smile.

“Good.” He’d stopped before a carved teak door much like the one that graced the library, and he threw it open with a little flourish. “Now, step into my chamber and we’ll talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.” He winked. “And if you’re extremely lucky, I might just let you bolt down a morsel or two of food in between.”

David’s suite was even more luxurious and lovely than her own, if a trifle more masculine. The white mosiac floor was covered with a cream-and-beige Aubusson carpet, and the coverlet on the wide ottoman bed was the flaming scarlet of autumn leaves. One wall was dominated by a huge, age-silkened rosewood desk, where an IBM Selectric typewriter, several piles of paper, and a stack of books offered a surprisingly workmanlike contrast to the antique desk. There were plants and greenery everywhere, and one particularly lovely plant with exquisite white blooms stood tall and proud in a glossy ebony planter in the corner.

“Sit down.” David gestured to a scarlet-cushioned cane chair. He was shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket as he strode swiftly across the room toward another carved door. “I’ll be with you in just a minute. I’ll order our dinner to be served here and get rid of all this sartorial glory.” He grimaced. “Karim likes us to dress for dinner, but it’s all a little too grand for a cowboy like me.”

Billie gazed musingly at the intricate carving on the door even after it had closed behind him. Gardener, cowboy, friend of sheikhs and princes, Lisan. He was so many things, and wherever she turned a new facet was revealed. What would she discover next? Her gaze was drawn irresistibly toward those curiously workmanlike stacks of papers beside the typewriter and she found herself pulled across the room as if to a magnet.

Manuscript pages, very professional, with “Bradford” and the page number neatly typed in the upper right-hand corner. Her lips curved in tender amusement. Another facet revealed. It appeared that David was an aspiring author. Then her smile faded as something tugged at her memory, and she reached slowly for one of the two leather-bound volumes that sat carelessly on the corner of the desk. It was lettered in gold, and she knew even before she saw the spine what the script would say. She had a well-thumbed paperback copy in her duffel in the jeep.
The Growing Season,
by David Bradford, an incredibly moving novel that had sent critics into ecstasies and was still on the best-seller list after nine months.

“I’d like you to read it when you get the time,” David said quietly from the doorway. “A lot of me went into that book. I think you might get to know me a bit faster through it.” He was dressed in dark cords and was rolling up the sleeves of a soft cream shirt, which was left open to reveal the bronze column of his throat.

“I already have,” Billie said huskily. “It’s the most beautiful book I’ve ever read.” She laughed shakily. “But you don’t need me to tell you that. The critics are calling it the book of the century, a classic. I’ve been haunting the bookstores for your second one.”

“It came out four weeks ago,” David said carelessly. “My publisher says it’s doing better than the first one.”

“That’s understandable.” Her fingers moved caressingly over the smooth leather spine. “Everyone wants to touch something special, even if it’s only for a moment.” Her eyes lifted to meet his across the room. “You spoke of giving gifts. I’d like to thank you for giving me this one. It could have been written for me personally.” She shrugged and tried to laugh. “I’m sure millions of people feel the same way. That’s probably why it’s going to be a classic.”

“I don’t know about that,” David said, making a face. “I had no idea everybody would make such a fuss about it when I submitted it. I just wanted to tell a story and try to create something beautiful.” His expression became thoughtful. “I was restless and searching for something to do with my mind that would give me the same satisfaction I received from working with my plants.” There was a flicker of excitement in the depths of his eyes. “I found almost more than I had bargained for when I started to write. It’s like planting a brand-new garden with each story—plotting, then developing the characters, then nurturing and watching the story grow and blossom in your mind and then on the paper before you.” He shook his head and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, it’s all still new to me. I’m a little overenthusiastic.” He closed the distance between them, took the book out of her hand and tossed it casually on the desk. “My editor sent me a copy of my second book. If you’ll accept it, I’d like to give it to you.”

“No, I couldn’t….” she started politely. Then she bit her lip as she saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes. To hell with convention. That glimmer of pain had started an aching somewhere near her heart, and she
wanted
that book. It would be almost like having a part of this beautiful, eccentric boy-man with her always. “Yes,” she said impulsively. “Yes, please.”

A brilliant smile lit his face. “I’ll send it to your suite tomorrow. Tonight I want you to concentrate on the man, not the author.” There was a soft knock on the door. “But first I’ll let you concentrate on dinner. Karim has an excellent chef. Let’s see what he has for us.”

Throughout the meal that followed she was only vaguely conscious of the exotic dishes set before her by the deft, white-clad servant. Her attention was centered solely on the golden man seated across the small, damask-covered table. The conversation was light, the silences wonderfully comfortable, and always she was conscious of that magical pool of sunlit warmth that surrounded her. It melted all restraint, and she found herself deliberately blacking out everything but this moment. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself for the short time she was here? It had been ridiculous to be so wary and afraid of the responses David was arousing within her. She always welcomed new experiences, and this promised to be one of the most exciting yet. She felt a little tingle of excitement as she realized what that experience might entail. She found anticipation growing steadily as the servant cleared the table and filled the fluted crystal glasses with a clear golden wine that was no more heady than the thought of what might be.

She’d been aware of David’s gaze on her face for the last ten minutes, and the expression in his eyes was a combination of amusement, tenderness, and the same excitement that was surging through her. Such beautiful eyes, so warm and loving and wise.

The door had scarcely closed behind the servant when David decisively set his glass down on the table. “I thought he’d never leave,” he said with a boyish grin. He pushed back his chair, stood up, and was around the table in seconds. He took her glass from her hand and set it on the table before pulling her to her feet. “Come on, windflower, let’s see if we can push those slips a little higher into the sun.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, startled.

“I want to touch you,” he said simply. “And I think you want to touch me, too, don’t you, sweetheart?” He was leading her toward the wide, scarlet-draped bed. “I’m not going to force the pace, but I don’t see why we can’t have a little of what we want now.” He stopped beside the bed and met her eyes gravely. “Unless I’ve read you wrong?”

He was giving her the chance to back away. To pretend and play games if that was what she wanted. That wasn’t what she wanted. She’d always hated games, and, facing those clear, honest eyes, she knew she’d never be able to play them with David. “You haven’t read me wrong,” she said shakily. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? We only met this afternoon.” She licked her lips nervously. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Haven’t you?” David pushed her gently down on the bed and sat down beside her. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s all perfectly natural and beautiful. Like I said, we’re only going to caress the petals and breathe in the scents. You already know a little about my body, as I know about yours.” His eyes twinkled. “We’re just going to enlarge that knowledge without having a sandstorm to distract us.” He slowly eased a narrow strap down from her shoulder, and the very deliberateness of the motion caused a little tingle of heat to go through her. “Such pretty shoulders. They look so fragile and fine-boned, but they’re not really.” His head bent, and his lips brushed the soft hollow beneath her collarbone. “They’re strong and sturdy, just like the rest of you.” He pushed her gently back in a reclining position on the bed and smiled down at her while he slipped the other strap from her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re so strong and healthy, love. It would worry me to death if you were frail.”

“I’ve always been strong as an ox,” she said breathlessly, and closed her eyes in disgust. “Oh, Lord, that sounded romantic as hell. I told you I wasn’t used to situations like this.”

She heard his low chuckle and then felt the shock of his lips on her other shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” he drawled, and she felt herself shifted as he lay down beside her. “And soon you’ll be doing even better.”

“You would have a red bedspread,” she chattered nervously. “I look terrible in red. My hair…” She inhaled sharply as she felt the silken warmth of his lips on the rise of her breast. Her lashes flew open to see the sun-lightened gold of his hair only a few inches away. “It clashes,” she whispered.

“I didn’t notice,” he said as he lifted his head to look down at her. He brushed a copper curl behind her ear. “So it does.” His eyes held hers as he slowly bent so that his lips were hovering tantalizingly over her own. “But we don’t clash, do we, love? We fit together.” He was brushing her with quick, gentle kisses between every phrase. “We complement each other. Your softness against my hardness.” He rubbed the slight stubble of his cheek against her with sensuous pleasure. “Your smoothness against my roughness.” He placed his hand lightly on her throat, observing with pleasure the bronze darkness of his skin against her lighter, creamy gold. “Even the colors are right.” His lips dipped to cover her own in a kiss of such exquisite tenderness that it made her throat ache with emotion. “All of our togetherness is right.” He kissed her again. “And it always will be. Forever, Billie.”

Her hands moved up to curl in the thick crispness of the hair at the nape of his neck. Forever. It sounded so beautiful, she thought, as beautiful as this dreamlike loving. Suddenly she stiffened and pushed him a little away. This wasn’t a dream, and she didn’t believe in forever. Not for her. She couldn’t let this weaver of magic be fooled into thinking she did. He was already too dear to her to risk hurting. “No.” she said quietly, her hands moving with unconscious yearning over his shoulders. “Now. Tomorrow. Perhaps the next day. But not forever, David. You’ve got to know that.”

His eyes narrowed on her troubled face. “Poor little windflower. You’re trying your best not to hurt me, aren’t you? That conscience of yours won’t let you take your pleasure without being sure that no one is going to suffer for it.” He took her hands from his shoulders and held her palms against his chest. “Don’t worry. You’ve given me fair warning. I’m not going to blame you if I come out of this with a scar or two.” He was moving her hands up and down over the strong, supple muscles of his chest, an expression of almost feline pleasure on his face. “Some things are worth risking a great deal for.” Then, as she opened her lips to speak, he dipped his head and sealed them with a long kiss that took her breath away and caused her lips to part yearningly to have more of him.

She could feel his heart begin to thunder beneath her palms as he began to taste with the delicate hunger of a gourmet who wished to savor every nuance of an exquisite feast. He explored the smoothness of her teeth, the warm darkness of her mouth, before stroking her tongue with an erotically teasing finesse that caused an aching heat to begin to build between her thighs. He raised his head, his chest laboring with the force of his breathing, a pulse leaping erratically in the hollow of his throat. “Turnabout is fair play, love,” he said hoarsely. “Would you like to taste me too?” She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed compulsively on the parted lips so close to her own. “Then, come to me. Take me.”

She needed no second invitation. She pulled his head down with a trembling eagerness, her tongue exploring his lips and teeth with delight before capturing his tongue with her lips and sucking gently. He stiffened and groaned deep in his throat, his hips suddenly jerking forward against the cradle of her thighs. He plunged his tongue deeper within her, pressing the hollow of her cheeks gently with his fingertips, and she obeyed the signal by increasing the pressure and nibbling teasingly with her teeth. He jerked again, and she could feel his heart trying to burst through the wall of his chest. He raised his head and drew a deep, shaky breath, his eyes dark and glazed. “We’d better stop that, sweetheart. It comes too close to the real thing. I keep thinking of how sweet and hot it’s going to be when I’m drawn into you and held that tightly.” He moved down and rested his head lightly on her breast. “Your heart is beating as crazily as mine.” He rubbed his head back and forth against her. “And it’s causing mine to beat even harder to know I can make you that excited.” His hands were at the top of her dress. “I want to feel your heart under my hand. I want to taste your pretty breasts. Is that all right with you, windflower?”