Demon Lover (32 page)

Oh, I know, Chayne. I know because I’ve felt the same way watching you…in a fishing boat under a cobalt sky.

But she couldn’t speak; her mouth was parched while the rest of her grew liquid, warm and honeyed. She felt herself melting as she was suffused with desire.

"Your body knocks me out. It always has, you know that? From the very first time you took off your shirt for me, remember? Every muscle so perfectly defined, but soft, too, and made for touching. Skin so smooth and sweet…skin that blushes all over…"

She had turned her back and taken several unsteady steps away from him, trying to hide her flushed cheeks and ragged breathing, but he only laughed, a low rumble that whispered sensuously down her spine.

"You have a beautiful back, Guerita mia. And a truly delightful bottom. It fits my hands perfectly. But then, you know that, don’t you?"

His words were like kisses; she closed her eyes and let his voice move over her body like caressing fingers. She knew the wooing timbre of that voice, knew what he was doing, spinning a silken cocoon all around her, immobilizing her with his love spell. She had heard it before, in the darkness of a cave, and knew how potent was its magic.

"Chayne…what are you doing?"

The laughter touched her again with velvet fingers. "Loving you."

"Seducing me."

"I haven’t touched you."

"No. It seems you don’t have to."

"Oh, but I do." And then somehow he was. Instead of words, his breath stirred across the nape of her neck, and then his mouth took its place. His hands smoothed over her shoulders and drew her into the curve of his body, and she was enveloped in his furnace heat. His arms crisscrossed her body, one hand sliding beneath the top of her leotard to cover an aching, swollen breast, the other stroking downward over her belly to cup that part of her that most urgently demanded his touch.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered, pressing her hard against him, showing her the truth in his words. "Now."

"Now? Not…here."

"Here. And now."

"Chayne…"

"We’re locked in here, Julie. The world is locked out. The place is ours." The last word was a growl as he turned her in his arms.

His kiss was designed to dispose of inhibitions, wipe out lingering doubts and cut loose all restraints. She felt herself open to him; she let his passion pour into her and was immediately drunk on it. This time when he growled, "Let me love you, Julie," she could only whisper, "Yes…" so lost in him she never even knew when he lowered her gently to the mat.

* * *

"You know, the erotic possibilities of this place are mind–boggling," Chayne said lazily, his fingers drawing random designs along her rib cage and raising goose bumps on her gradually cooling skin.

Julie gave a breathy little giggle. "You are incredible. Impossible, incorrigible, insatiable."

"All of the above," Chayne said easily, and gave her bottom a pat. "Let me up, angel—I need my cigarettes."

She rolled onto her stomach, ducking her head to hide the smile and the glow that was creeping over her.
Angel.
It was the first endearment he’d ever used with her, except, of course, for Guerita. Ridiculous that it should make her feel so cherished.

She propped her chin on her fists and watched him walk to the balance beam and return with his cigarettes and lighter, as unselfconscious in his nakedness as the panther he so often brought to mind. He gave her a lazy smile as he settled beside her, then lit his cigarette and lay back with his head pillowed on his arm.

"Don’t know why I never noticed the erotic possibilities of a gym before," he mused, blowing smoke. "Never had the right inspiration, I guess."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Julie said, swallowing laughter. And then, with curiosity, "When did you spend time in a gym?"

He chuckled and sat up. "You’d be surprised. I’m no good at cartwheels or standing on my head, but there are certain skills that come in handy in my line of work."

"Yeah?" Julie rolled over and sat up, intrigued. "For instance?"

"A strategic forward roll can be very useful in evading a blow—or a bullet."

"I see," Julie said, her laughter gone. "I never thought of that. It wasn’t part of my basic training in self–defense."

"No," Chayne said softly, "I don’t suppose it was."

They were both silent. Chayne smoked, narrowing his eyes against the curl of smoke. Julie began to feel chilled and reached for her clothes. Chayne watched her dress without comment, then gave his cigarette a final drag and looked around for a place to dispose of it. He raised his eyebrows interrogatively at Julie. When she only shrugged unhelpfully, he tucked the cigarette between his lips, pulled on his pants and stalked off, muttering something under his breath about a "damned nuisance."

When he came back, he settled himself on a rolled–up mat and fixed Julie with a steady blue gaze. She felt the full electric charge of those eyes and waited, her heart beating in a slow, measured cadence. Suspense built with every heartbeat until Chayne cleared his throat, breaking it.

"You wanted time," he said, his voice harsh. "I came to tell you that you can have it."

Julie stared at him, not understanding.
Please don’t let him leave me. Oh God, please don’t let it be another assignment.

She licked her lips and said painfully, "Are you leaving?"

"Yes. I’m flying to Washington."

"When?" She thought her throat would crack.

"In about—" he checked his watch "—four hours."

"When will you be back?"

"That," Chayne said softly, "depends on you."

"I
DON’T UNDERSTAND,"
Julie said in a low voice, fighting panic.

Chayne got up and walked slowly to the climbing rope. He stood idly running his hand up and down it, staring at the place where it disappeared into the shadows. "I have some decisions to make," he said at last, dropping his hand.

"Decisions," Julie murmured, and held her breath.

"Yeah." He gave his sharp, savage laugh. "It seems I can choose a new line of work, or a new face. You see," he went on, the distance between them making him sound cold and remote, "thanks to a certain network cameraman, my usefulness to SAT is over. My face has been flashed around the world via satellite, as they like to say in the media." He smiled crookedly and lifted his shoulders in a shrug of self–deprecation. "My face isn’t exactly the kind you forget five minutes after you’ve seen it."

"No," Julie whispered.

"I think you can see how that could be a problem for an undercover operative."

"Yes …"

"They want to keep me badly enough to offer me this… new identity. Plastic surgery—" he waved a hand over his naked torso "—to remove all distinguishing marks, a new face, contact lenses—the works."

"Good God," Julie said faintly.

"Yeah."

"Why—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Why am I telling you this?" His eyes were narrowed; he sounded tense, almost angry. "Don’t you think you figure in this somewhere?"

Julie kept her tone calm with a great deal of effort and ignored the question. "Does the job with SAT mean that much to you?" she asked instead, praying her voice wouldn’t break.

"Damn it, Julie." He gave the rope an angry tug. "I don’t know. The question is, could you accept me with a different face? And more important—"

"What a question!"

"And more important—could you accept my job?"

Julie swallowed and murmured evasively, "Could I accept your…job?"

Chayne gave her a long considering look, and then without a word went hand over hand up the rope. In seconds he was hanging in midair high above the mat.

It took Julie completely by surprise. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry and waited, frozen with fear, for him to come down. It seemed an eternity before he was safely back on the ground and walking slowly toward her across the mat, brushing at his hands. There was a grim little smile on his face as he took her chin in his hand and subjected her once more to the full laser blast of his eyes.

"Yes," he said gently, "it’s there."

"What?"

"Fear."

He turned away from her as she lied futilely, "I don’t know what you mean."

He waved an impatient hand at the rope. "You were afraid I’d fall."

"Of course I was! What did you expect? You took me by surprise. I had no idea—and it doesn’t mean— Look, Chayne, I’m not exactly unfamiliar with the kind of job you do, after all."

"I know," he said softly. "I think that’s why you’re afraid. You understand better than most people what my work entails. Especially after being with me in Baja. The question is, could you live with it?"

The question hung in the air between them. Finally Julie said in a low voice, "Maybe a better question would be, could you live without it?"

Chayne gave a sharp bark of laughter and raked his hand through his hair. "I don’t know." He lifted his hands and let them drop. And then he repeated tiredly, as he turned away from her, "I don’t know, Julie."

He paced a little way off, then came back to her. "You know," he said, smiling ruefully, "you accused me once of being a war lover. I put you through a pretty rough time denying it. But the irony of it is, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve decided you’re probably right."

She made a strangled sound of protest, but he shushed her with a gesture. "No—there is something…I don‘t know… addictive about living on the razor’s edge. It’s like some kind of mind–expanding drug, I guess—a kind of perpetual high. Your senses are heightened; all systems are humming along in overdrive. Every day is a miracle. Hell, Julie, I don’t have to explain this to you. You know what I’m talking about." He took Julie’s arms and looked deep into her eyes, then gave her a little shake and said quietly, "You do know what I mean, don’t you, Julie? About the thrill, the excitement, the old adrenaline pumping."

"No! I’ve never— I don’t feel that way at all. And anyway, I’ve quit my job."

"Yeah. And have you thought about what you’ll do instead? A desk job, Julie? How about being a housewife? That appeal to you? Cooking and cleaning and driving a station wagon to the market?"

He waited, tense and glaring, for her to answer, then steered her to the vaulting runway and released her. "Do something for me, Julie. Take a shot at that horse." When she only stared at him as if he had lost his mind, he gave her a little nudge and said harshly, "Go on. A simple flip will do—nothing fancy."

He seemed so tightly strung, like a spring wound to the breaking point. Julie tried to read his dark, set face and then lifted her chin and tossed him a look full of all the pain and confusion that had haunted her for days. And then she took a deep breath, raced down the runway, hurled herself into her spring and hit the horse with a slap that jarred clear to her shoulders. Her body snapped up and over. The landing was clumsy, off–balance; she wobbled, took two steps and regained control.

Turning on Chayne, she said shakily, "Satisfied?"

He was breathing almost as hard as she was, and his eyes were very bright. "Now you tell me," he rasped, "what did you feel just now? A thrill? Excitement? Freedom? How about power?" He closed the distance between them in quick, angry strides and took her arms again. "That’s why you do this, Julie, don’t kid yourself. And don’t kid me. You do it for all those things you can’t find in a nice, safe, ordinary nine–to–five existence. You do it for the thrill of it, pure and simple. And you know something else?" He gave a strange laugh full of pain and wonder and shook his head. "Just now, when you made that damned vault, I knew exactly how you felt when I went up the rope. Right then, for the first time, it hit me that what you do may look beautiful and graceful, even sexy, but it’s dangerous. A wrong move and you could spend the rest of your life dead from the neck down."

She went into his arms, pressing her face into his heaving chest, and they held on to each other until their breathing had quieted and their trembling had stopped.

"Ah, Julie," Chayne sighed, stroking her hair, "I guess we’ve both got some decisions to make."

Julie shook her head sharply and stood back, brushing at her cheeks. "No," she said thickly.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Chayne, would you ever ask me to give up gymnastics?"

"Of course not. What a question. No more than I’d ask you to stop being a Border Patrol agent. That was your decision."

"Right. And this has to be yours. I can’t ask you to give up your whole career. I’d never do that."

"I know that! It’s important to me to know how you feel."

She shook her head, adamant. "You have to make this decision on your own, Chayne. Based on the way
you
feel. And then…I guess I’d have to decide whether I could live with it."
Decide whether I could live with you disappearing for weeks and months at a time, never knowing whether or not you’re going to come back…

She managed a tight smile. "I can’t imagine you with a different face, so don’t ask me how I’d feel about that. Probably it wouldn’t matter once I got used to it."
You’d still be Chayne, and I’d love you if you had two heads!
"But it would matter, to both of us, if I was responsible for making you give up something important to you."

"If I make the decision to quit SAT now, you’ll think it was your fault anyway, won’t you?" Chayne’s eyes were sad, his smile ironic.

Julie sniffed and shrugged helplessly. "Probably."

"And if I don’t quit SAT, I’ll probably lose you."

"I don’t know! I just don’t know. Oh, Chayne," she cried, laughing as tears ran down her cheeks, "I think this is what’s known as a dilemma."

He held her again, pressing his lips to her hair and stroking her back. And saying nothing because, it seemed, there was nothing left to say.

* * *

Chayne was gone. When Julie woke in the morning and knew  his plane was at that moment streaking east into the afternoon, the air around her became flat and tepid, and all the colors gray.