The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove (15 page)

Giving a frown of self-rebuke, she turned and, hugging herself, head down in thought, walked back toward the main hall. The doors to his suite opened with a sudden swoosh of wood brushing over soft
rugs. She reeled, startled. He stood in the opening, one hand on each door, the light shadowing him. The man belonged in the theater. His natural sense of drama was breathtaking.

He wore black pajama bottoms and nothing else, and there was only a small brass lamp shining in the darkened, vague area behind him, but he didn’t have the disheveled look of a man who’d been in bed. “Is something wrong?” he asked brusquely.

“No. I was just exploring. I can’t sleep.”

“Guilt is a terrible bedmate.”

“So you can’t sleep, either, I assume.”

He held out a hand and coaxed in a fluid, provocative voice, “Come and let me give you the after-hours tour. You said you wanted to see my private rooms.”

She knew what he wanted—information—and that he wasn’t above tantalizing her to change her mood. “I’d like the tour, but I can’t pay the price of admission.”

“Oh, it’s free.”

“I know you too well, Audubon. You are nervous.”

“Calm me down, then. Keep me company for a few minutes. See what you think of the fox’s den. Or are you the nervous one? An honest change of heart is nothing to feel anxious about. Come in and unburden yourself of secrets.”

“No anxiety. No change of heart. My tour, please.” She entered his suite as he stepped aside and bowed, sweeping one arm toward the intimate shadows. Elena clasped her hands behind her back and glanced around casually, while the atmosphere seeped into her blood with disarming power and nearly made her dizzy.

“There’s something about Victorian style that appeals to the sensual side of human nature,” Audubon said, shutting the doors so quickly that the well-oiled snap of the heavy latch echoed in her pulse. The small room, a parlor or library, had an arched doorway on the other side—her escape route? Hardly. It led only to the rest of his private world.

Except for the contemporary news magazines and
newspapers scattered among the tapestry pillows of a curving, gilt-edged sofa, or the ebony armoire open to reveal an array of television and stereo equipment on its shelves, the room belonged in the last century.

“You see,” Audubon continued, strolling across richly patterned rugs that nearly hid the varnished floor, “the Victorian era was very straight-laced, even repressed.” He went to a window covered in heavy, emerald drapes and lifted a braided pull rope with a tasseled end. “Velvet drapes. A satin rope. I think Victorian men and women poured all that hidden passion into provocative decorations. The textures are incredible. Come and feel them.”

She floated forward, her hands trembling behind her, her common sense telling her that she knew exactly what he was trying to do and wasn’t fooled. Tempted, but not fooled.

“Yes, very nice,” she commented, scrubbing her knuckles along the curtains, then poking the thick rope with a fingernail.

“I designed these rooms to bring out the worst in my nature.”

“Oh? Are there secret panels everywhere?”

He laughed softly, the sound so plush, she could have lost herself in the sultry depth, as if it were the pillows, the rugs, the drapes. She could lose her control in his voice, in this place. He took her arm and led her toward the inner door. “My hedonistic nature. Under my busy, efficient facade is the heart of a centaur. I was really meant to lounge about naked on huge pillows with a garland of flowers on my head, eating grapes from the hands of a beautiful, adoring woman. Naked also, of course.”

“Centaur. Isn’t that a nasty, half-goat creature?”

“Half horse, my dear, cruel dove, half horse.”

He guided her with the disarming pressure of his fingers and palm on the back of her arm, and her thin silk robe did nothing to hamper the effect. Her breath stopped in her throat as they walked silently down a cozy hall lit by prismed wall sconces. “My bedroom,” he said, gesturing to a wide entrance
framed in carved wood. He reached past her with one arm, curving his body around her as he flicked a light switch on the crystal lamp atop a table inside the room. His scent and warmth enveloped her; his broad, furry chest was so close, it brushed her shoulder.

Elena’s knees went weak as she studied a room even more overstuffed with texture and emotion. The bed against the center wall was enormous and black-lacquered, the headboard, footboard, and tall posts designed in a combination of straight and curving patterns. Male and female. And on the mattress was a jumble of scarlet-and-gold brocade and shimmering ivory silk sheets, with large pillows scattered among the turbulence.

“I don’t allow my bed to be made,” he purred. “It’s part of my private delight in laziness.”

That bed was hardly a place to be lazy. Drained, delighted, and unable to budge from too much indulgence, perhaps, but not lazy. And if she came within caressing distance of the covers, with Audubon’s taunting, confident sensuality to push her over the edge … she’d dissolve into his arms and tell him anything he wanted to know, then beg him to do with her as he pleased.

She backed away and glanced about the hall, her head swimming from desperation. “Next?”

She shot a quick look at him and saw that his large, thickly lashed eyes were watching her with determined patience, the challenge barely concealed. “My dressing room.”

They moved farther down the hall. Again he reached past her into a dark entrance. The scent of fine colognes and fabrics added to the basic male appeal of the scent of his skin. The soft overhead light came on.

She looked distractedly into a wonderland of mirrors, closets, racks of clothes, racks of shoes, shelves filled with hats, open drawers spilling linen handkerchiefs and even … a black wicker clothes hamper in one corner, where a single black sock dangled,
caught under the lid. “You see,” he said beside her, his voice an amused rumble. “A dirty sock, just as you hoped to find. Aren’t you reassured that I’m human, vulnerable?”

Tears rose in her eyes. “I wish it was that simple. I would love to be reassured. I would love to—” Her voice broke. “But I’m only making a fool of myself. Forgive me for coming here tonight. I must be losing my mind.”

“Elena,” he said hoarsely, and it was a stark change from the teasing, the seduction, the charade. The sorrow in it broke her control, and she turned blindly, intent on leaving before recklessness overtook her. He caught her arms from behind. “Elena, there are a thousand things I wish I could say and do to make you happy.”

She twisted her head to look at him, and he made her lean against his bare chest in the process. She bit back a soft moan and said, “But none of them suits your plans—whatever those are.”

“I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t.”

Being cared for had never been so tormenting. He didn’t want to hurt her? But he didn’t want to love her, either, or share any part of his life with her. How badly he had hurt her already, without knowing it.

“Please let go of me. Please.”

He dropped his hands but didn’t move away. She was forced to make the hard step out of his reach, when the greedy, reckless part of her soul was demanding that she stay, if he’d have her. He didn’t even want to take her to bed, for fear of hurting her, he’d said. She was some kind of emotional cripple to him.

She walked swiftly up the hall, checking the tie of her robe, pulling the creamy lapels closer over her breasts. She felt as if he’d made love to her, and it seemed strange to be dressed. He strode after her, right on her heels, to the front room. Balanced on the balls of her feet for escape, she stopped by the double doors. “Good night.” She looked up into his
angry, sad, hypnotizing green eyes, and nearly sagged against him. “I know you thought I’d admit some fascinating secret. I apologize for wasting your time.”

“If you don’t leave, we’ll be in bed together within the next five minutes, and neither of us will care if making love is an unwise thing to do.”

Knowing what he said was true, she dragged the doors open and stumbled, in her hurry to leave. He caught her elbow to keep her from falling. “Take care, dove.” He sounded miserable. She pulled away and kept going without looking back, almost running down the big, empty hall.

She sat in front of the vanity mirror in her bathroom, trying to apply the eye makeup Mr. Rex had given her. Her hand shook, and she finally laid the mauve pencil down in defeat.

She hadn’t seen Audubon all day. In fact, she’d had to stay in her suite and play cards with Elgiva Kincaid until the florist and caterer had made their deliveries for the party. The party was in her honor. The party that was nothing more than an excuse for Audubon to present her to his curious cronies. They didn’t know about her unusual abilities, so they were probably baffled over their friend’s interest in hiding an average, ordinary Russian secretary. Maybe they thought he had lost a few of his expensive marbles, even.

Cronies. Lost marbles. She was learning American slang. And learning how to dress like a wealthy American woman. She looked over at the long, white taffeta skirt and fitted black jacket that waited on quilted hangers hooked over the door. The jacket had real onyx buttons up the back, and intricate gold piping swirled up the front in abstract patterns.

From her black patent shoes to her new hairstyle she’d be fashionable, just like the women in Audubon’s social set, and no one at this party would gawk at her ugliness. But that didn’t mean she’d
impress anyone with her social skills. She didn’t have any social skills.

A few minutes later, Elgiva came to the suite and rescued her from the makeup chores. Elgiva made no claim to glamour, but she achieved it anyway. Her tall, curvaceous body was swathed in soft blue satin, sapphires gleaming in her ears, her mane of auburn hair twisted up in a loose, wispy style.

She plunked down next to Elena on the vanity bench and sang under her breath as she dabbed makeup on Elena’s closed eyes. “My Douglas and I are pregnant! I just told him today.”

Elena gave her a hug. “I’m very happy for you, my friend.”

“I’m 36 years old, you see, and I never had children with my first husband. Twelve years—I was sure it was my fault.” Elgiva’s expression grew wistful. “When Douglas and I married I didna’ know if we’d have any bairns together, and I told him so. The lovely man promised it didna’ matter, but a year ago we decided to try. I was beginning to be afraid nothing would happen.” She patted her abdomen. “But it
did
happen. Two months. The wee babe is two months along. I waited until it was absolutely certain before I told Douglas.”

“He’s very happy, I’m sure.”

“Happy?” Elgiva laughed with pure joy. “There’s no word to describe how happy we are.”

“I’d like to have children someday. And a husband. I suppose anything’s possible, now that I’m free.” But she didn’t feel very free, or like marrying anyone. Other than Audubon. It was alarming how much that daydream had taken hold of her thoughts lately.

Elgiva put an arm around her. “You look so sad. You do love Audubon, I can see it.”

Elena shuddered with defeat. She could tell Elgiva, at least. “Yes. Isn’t that something? I waited a lifetime to find him, and he doesn’t want me.”

“Nooo, or I must be blind, and Douglas too. And
just wait until the old gang sees Audubon with you. Ask them if they’ve ever witnessed the like before.”

“Who are they, really? Audubon is in the business of rescuing people—he told me about it. It’s safe for you to explain a little.”

Elgiva hesitated, then sighed. “The crew you’ll meet are all retired agents of his. All of them had backgrounds in the military or the police before coming to work for Audubon. They worked for him for many years, but none are older than himself. It’s a tough business, and the ones you’ll meet tonight were wise to let fresh people take their places. Though Audubon has never forgiven a one of them for leaving him.”

“Why?”

“They all went off and got married. He will no’ have a married agent working for him—it’s his rule. The work’s too demanding and too dangerous, he says. And too confidential. But it goads him that his old friends left him. He’s like a race horse who’s still racing when the others are enjoying themselves in the pasture.”

“I’ll make them like me.”

“They’ll like you just as you are, lass. Relax.”

Elena smiled as if it was that simple, but she already had a plan. She looked at her slender, tapering hands, pretty by most standards, but nothing special. Tonight, using every control technique she had learned over the years, she’d focus the wonderful power that poured through them. She’d win the friendship of Audubon’s elite circle and prove to him she was worthy. She could hurt herself if she wasn’t careful, but taking risks was what freedom—and love—was all about.

He could only think about Elena, about bringing her downstairs to meet his guests, about making certain they liked her. Not that he doubted their loyalty; each of the dozen men he’d invited here tonight would gladly help her if anything happened to him. But he wanted them to see her as the strong,
courageous, beautiful person she was. None of them knew about her unique gift, and didn’t need to know, right now. Maybe later, if the situation became desperate.

But he wanted to preserve her secret, the secret only he and she shared. The men here tonight, and their remarkable wives, only needed to know that Elena was his treasure, even if he didn’t admit she was also his love.

They would have trouble believing Audubon could feel love—blinding, sentimental love. It would have made them choke on their champagne, if he announced it. He wasn’t about to. Better that no one knew, considering how dim the future was. They had heard about Kash, that he was still missing. He was another of the reasons they’d traveled from their far-flung homes to see Audubon.

A glowing amber sunset had just disappeared into the horizon when the last of the guests arrived in limousines from the airport. In the great room that opened into the pool house they talked in small groups, enjoying their reunion the way old soldiers enjoy rehashing battles, the wives listening patiently, as Bernard replenished trays of hors d’oeuvres and tended bar.