The Cinderella Hour (35 page)

And
as for offering him the chance to help his endangered twin? He hadn’t been
waiting for such an offer, didn’t
need
such an offer, not from her, not
from anyone.

 He
needed nothing from her. Nothing. And what needs he did have . . . well, he
could have any woman he wanted whenever he wanted her. Someone was probably
here right now, a woman with whom he shared sophisticated passion and stylish
repartée. She was in his bed, where they both had been, enjoying each other,
luxuriating in their privacy, until a signal alerted him that an uninvited
intruder was drawing near. He had left the bed, the intimacy, the
sex,
to
investigate. She was awaiting his return, impatient and restless.

As
was he. Caitlin saw his restlessness. And the immense power of his control. The
restlessness was coiled tight. But like his sexuality, it smoldered.

“Why?”
he repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

This
was not a man to whom one could lie. At least she couldn’t. He would see the
lie, and the blazing green fires would sear her soul.

Because
I need your blood.
The
prospect of getting his blood suddenly seemed beyond daunting. It seemed
impossible.

The
magical confidence of the sea was gone, drowned by the storm that was part of
him. She needed time to recover and to prepare an entirely new script, an
alternative approach to this man who was so very far from the kindred spirit
she had envisioned.

She
temporized. But she did not lie.

“Timothy
asked me to read your screenplay.”
And I will, when I return to LA, as soon
as I’ve finished giving Stephen Sheridan samples of your blood.

“And
you came here to discuss it with me? In the middle of the night? Despite a raging
storm? This sounds serious.”

His
green eyes glittered, amused, and not the least bit troubled by her apparently
major concerns with the script he had written for
Thief of Hearts
.

Jesse
Falconer was amused. But he was not fooled. And now a slight but ominous change
exposed the amusement for what it truly was: contempt.

“Yes,”
she said. “It is serious.”
Your twin is dying and I am going to convince you
to save him.

The
magic of the sea was returning, or perhaps it was the power of her own passion
for endangered hearts.
Saving hearts is what I do, who I am, all that I am
.

Her
surging wave of confidence was undermined by a sudden chill. The raindrops that
had evaded her hurried toweling had made a beeline for her bones, where they
had promptly turned to ice.

“You
need to shower and change before we talk.”

Caitlin
answered through teeth that threatened to chatter. “Yes.”

“And
sleep? Can our discussion wait until morning?”

It was a gift from him to her, an
overnight reprieve during which she could regroup. “That would be fine. What
time?”

“Whenever
you wake up.”

“Should
I call you then? Before I leave?”

“Leave
where?”

“Kapalua.
I’ll get a room at the hotel there.”

It
was faint, just the trace of a flicker, but Caitlin convinced herself it was
real. Surprise, in the man who could not be surprised. And now his gaze seemed
even more intense, as if appraising her anew—as if her willingness to descend
the treacherous road despite her quivering fatigue made him question some
judgment he had made about her.

“Not
a chance,” he told her. “You’ll spend the night here, in the guest wing where
Timothy and Lillian stayed.”

Lill
ith
,
Caitlin amended silently. “Thank you.”

Her
faintly blue-tinged lips offered a smile, which was not returned. The flicker
of surprise and the possibility of a more positive reassessment of her were
long gone.

“I
have one final question,” he said to his shivering guest.

“Yes?”

“Do
you have a name?”

Katherine Stone’s bestselling novel
THIEF
of HEARTS
is now available in ebook and trade paperback.