Tempestuous Eden (31 page)

Chief! The word shrilled in her mind and she belatedly realized how stupid she had been. Merrill was always referred to as “the Chief.” He could be none other than the chief Craig had mentioned in his far-fetched tale.

Of course. Why hadn’t she realized? Merrill was Craig’s boss. And since, according to her father, Craig was Merrill’s number-one man, it stood to reason that he would be at the party if he were in the country.

He was.

She wasn’t sure what alerted her to his presence. Perhaps she heard his voice, low-timbred, quiet, assured. Maybe it was the very scent of him, crisp, unique, ingrained upon her senses—a subconscious trigger to a torrent of memories.

Maybe it was just a sixth sense. Or a combination of everything. But she was suddenly sure beyond a doubt that he was near her, long before Merrill hailed him and summoned him to their group.

“Craig, glad to see you made it, boy!” George Merrill called enthusiastically. Craig, who had been in conversation with an attractive blonde, excused himself and turned to Blair’s group, addressing his boss, but watching Blair, his yellow-streaked gaze portraying a taunting amusement that belied the gravity of his expression.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, sir,” Craig said cordially, shaking his superior’s hand and adding, “Many happy returns of the day.” He turned to Andrew Huntington and inclined his head. “Sir, nice to see you.”

“Good to see you, Taylor,” Huntington said cheerfully, offering a handshake.

“Blair …” Craig acknowledged her, and before she knew it, he had taken her hand and brought it to his lips, a perfect example of charming protocol.

“Mr. Taylor,” she said coolly, fighting to keep her tone level and her response equally calm and light for “protocol.” It was difficult. She had seemed to lose control of the natural act of breathing when he had neared, and the flesh on the hand he kissed seemed to burn, as if it had been seared with a brand.

“It’s a pleasure to see you,” Craig said, refusing to release her hand.

Even for protocol she couldn’t return that statement. It wasn’t a pleasure, or if it was, it was a pleasure that was mixed cruelly with pure torture. She forced a dry smile that was the working of facial muscles and nothing more. “It’s a surprise to see you, Mr. Taylor,” she said. “I would have thought you off on another diplomatic mission by now.”

Did a flicker of pain pass through his eyes? No, she must have imagined it. He was quirking a cynical brow toward the chief. “My last mission was hazardous. I needed a little relaxation tonight.”

Blair flicked her lashes with annoyance but held her composure as her father and Merrill both made attempts to hide their reactions.
She
had been Craig’s main hazard, as things worked out.

Blair decided it was time to opt out of the small gathering and find someone else, anyone she knew, and join any conversation that didn’t include Craig. “Excuse me—” she began.

“Excuse us,” Craig interrupted, securing a steady hold at her waist. “I hear a waltz, Mr. Huntington, and I’d like to steal your date if I may.”

“You two go right ahead,” Andrew Huntington dismissed them benignly. “The chief here and I can rehash old—let me correct that—
ancient
times all night.”

“Dad—” Blair protested, shooting him desperate pleas with her eyes which he appeared not to notice. She didn’t get any further. Craig was leading her to the dance floor, and, short of throwing herself on the floor, she had little choice but to follow, or rather, be dragged along. Even if she were to throw herself on the floor, she thought with fleeting resentment, he would probably pick her up, apologize to the crowd around them with his casual diplomacy, and calmly proceed.

“You have a hell of a lot of nerve!” Blair hissed as he swirled her into his arms on the dance floor. “I would have thought you would have realized I don’t wish to see you, speak to you, or be anywhere near you ever again!”
What a liar I am,
she thought, clenching her teeth and shutting her eyes as her cheek grazed the rough texture of his tuxedo. He was already overwhelming her, making her senses swim with his magnetic touch, guiding her in the centuries-old waltz with a strong and firm command.
And he’s different tonight,
she thought poignantly. In his ragged bush attire he had been shabby yet ruggedly appealing; in a tuxedo he was still every bit the rogue, but, damn, what a dashing renegade. His physique was such that the custom-tailored tuxedo hugged the lean muscles of his tall body, emphasizing broad shoulders and trim hips that surely made every female in the place shiver with a touch of longing. Rather than detracting from the raw masculinity no outfit would ever hide, the ruffles of his rich cream-colored shirt merely stood to complement the swashbuckling look of the adventurer.

Blair became so immersed in her musings about his appearance that she almost missed his words.

“I do have a hell of a lot of nerve,” he replied blandly, shifting his hold slightly so that she was forced to lift her eyes and meet his. The yellow-gold stars in them sparkled with amusement. And danger. And determination. Blair’s fingers convulsively clutched into the fabric on his shoulders. “I want to talk to you,” he told her firmly.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” she responded instantly. Her voice wavered slightly because she did want to talk to him, but she was still furious and confused, and what good could possibly come of it? She knew that he didn’t really care for her; it had all been orders. And if, just if, he did care, it meant only pain.

A grim smile crept forbiddingly into Craig’s features, drawing his lips to a tight line. “Too bad, princess,” he said with a shrug, “because you are going to talk to me whether you want to or not.”

Blair had seen the scene in a dozen movies, and she had never expected to be the ingénue caught in the suave, smooth movement, but she was. Craig spun and swirled her cleanly across the floor before she could catch her breath, and then out the terrace doors.

He kept going until he found a secluded bench and his last guiding pressure on her elbow sent her plopping onto it. He released her and put his hands into his pockets, but he blocked any escape route by planting a polished shoe beside her and enclosing her with his body.

Blair glanced from his shoe to his eyes, hers blazing an angry, shocking emerald. “Okay, Taylor,” she hissed, having wisely judged her chances of eluding him as nil. “You want to talk, talk.”

“Nice party, isn’t it?” he drawled with a mockingly raised brow.

“It was,” she snapped. “Is that it? May I go back?”

“No, that’s not it,” he growled, fire replacing the amusement in his gaze. “You told me that you loved me, Blair.” He laughed with no mirth. “You even promised to wait out a jail term. What happened? You were willing to reform a terrorist, but you can’t love a government man? What’s the matter? You can’t play philanthropist this way? It’s not self-sacrificing enough?”

“What?” Blair screeched, astounded by the attack. She started to rise, but his hand fell to her shoulder. She shook it off as she sat again, her fury spouting over like steam from a teakettle, mincing her flow of words.

“You’re crazy, Taylor. I couldn’t care less that you work for the government; I’m delighted for you. Oh, no, Mr. Taylor, you play James Bond all you like, until you get yourself killed one day, and I’ll even send flowers. What you are isn’t even worth discussing. I’ve known what you are all along—a yes man—it doesn’t matter to whom! I despise, you, Taylor, because you made a fool out of me. You used me; you deceived me—”

“Just hold on a minute!” Craig roared in interruption, leaning an elbow on a knee and bringing the bold contours of his face to hers, nose to nose. “I couldn’t tell you the truth, Blair, and you damned well know it!”

“Because you’re a yes man!” she flared, not sure she was reasonable herself but tense with warring emotions and afraid to take the chance, the risky chance, that anything could ever exist between them. “Okay, you were working for my father. But still you could have reassured me, hinted at what you were. Instead you strung me along, let me behave like an idiot! Oh, you must have been vastly amused.”

“I was never amused, Blair, I was—”

“Following orders!” she screeched, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. She was wound up like a broken watch unable to stop until she had spun herself out. “Did it ever occur to you that your orders might be wrong! Or are you so mesmerized by reading the damn directions that you don’t exercise judgment anymore, or have an opinion, or the will to act—”

Craig was like a time bomb that finally went off. “Yes!” he roared, and the heat of his anger seemed to singe her face. “Yes, Mrs. Teile, I do sometimes disagree with directives. But yes, Mrs. Teile, I work for the government, and
yes
my superiors do make mistakes. The system is imperfect. But I’ve been around a lot, Mrs. Teile. An awful lot. Enough to know that although imperfect I’ll take what we’ve got. I make my opinions known, Mrs. Teile, and when my subordinates come to me, I listen to their opinions. But I’m in my position because I have the experience to deal with the decisions I have to make. Your father and Merrill are where they are because they learned what they were doing the hard way. And you’ll have to admit,
princess,
that this time they carried it all off well, damned well. No one was even scratched when an international fiasco could have blown up in our faces.”

For a moment Blair was silent, aware that he was reasonable, rational, and fiercely right. She couldn’t bring herself to say so. He had called her princess again with that scathing tone; he had decreed that she should love him still while giving no hint of the depth, or even the reality, of his own feelings.

They were so close, their breaths mingling as they stared at each other, that she wanted nothing more than to forget the deceit of the past and the fear of the future and bring her lips that one inch closer to meet explosively with his.
No,
she begged herself,
please, no, don’t let him take you again.

“Taylor,” she clipped, “what you did to me wasn’t necessary. You let me think I was in the hands of a terrorist and then—” She choked off, unable to remind him that he had held her willingly in his arms, so in love was she that she would give herself to her captor. “Never mind! Just leave me alone and go on to your next assignment, James Bond. I don’t want to be around when you say yes once too often.”

Craig continued his close scrutiny of her, but suddenly the anger flashed out of his eyes. They were sparked again by the sizzling gold fire of amusement.

“You are still in love with me,” he said, and if she didn’t know him better, she would have thought his cynical tone was touched by awe.

“I’m not!”

“You were; you told me so.”

“I was infatuated,” Blair said, protesting as she felt the furious thumping of her heart and praying her denial would be strong enough to keep herself from being read by his searing, leonine eyes. “I fell in and out of love equally quickly, Mr. Taylor. A sexual attraction,” she said coolly, giving him a bitter, dry smile. “I’m sure I was just one of many for you.”

“Really?” Craig no longer seemed angry at all, merely fascinated by the conversation. He drew away from her and rested an elbow on his bent knee. He grinned with a secret mirth. “Go on, Mrs. Teile,” he urged her. “I’ve never had my character analyzed by a psychologist before.”

Unnerved by his sudden turnaround and certain that he mocked her, Blair batted her lashes while she struggled for a suitable reply. “You don’t need a psychologist to tell you your behavior was purposely deceitful, Taylor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Craig said, the dancing fire in his eyes belying his humble tone.

He was mocking her again, Blair thought furiously. “You’re a lying con artist. I don’t care what government you work for!” she charged him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Craig repeated. He grin broadened, a devil-may-care, enticing mask of amusement. He was sure now, sure for both of them, sure about the rest of their lives. And yet he couldn’t make offers yet, no promises. He had to go. Leave tomorrow. All he could do tonight was take and pray and talk. And for the first time in his life, he feared not coming back. He wanted so much, so badly. A shiver hit him. He wanted a life with his princess, the woman who stared at him now, outraged by his behavior. She truly was a princess tonight, an American princess, breathtakingly regal in the empire velvet, her breasts heaving slightly, intoxicatingly, with her agitation. Her fine features were as light and lovely as crystal. But unlike crystal, they were strong and vibrant, characterized by the power of the mind he loved so dearly that lurked behind them.
Forget tomorrow, win her tonight, make her wait … take tonight.

“I don’t love you, Taylor. I don’t give a damn about you. I never did. Can’t you get that through your thick, uncrackable skull?” she demanded.

“Oh, yes, ma’am!” Craig rejoined with a start. He had to cajole her from anger before anything else. “Only because you’re right, my love.”

“I’m not your love,” Blair snapped, “and I no longer care to allow you to amuse yourself at my expense. I—”

“Then don’t amuse me,” Craig commanded, his voice growing tense while a wistful, nonmocking smile appeared on his features.

“What?” Blair murmured, riddled with new confusion.

“Don’t amuse me,” Craig repeated softly, his head lowering once more toward hers. “Thrill me,” he directed, “tease me, torment me … kiss me.” His voice was a rasp of velvet caressing her as the warmth of his breath caressed her cheeks. His eyes held hers as if by magnetic power, as if she were drowning in compelling golden suns, pulled by the force of gravity, unable to look away. She seemed paralyzed as his lips descended ever closer to hers; her body was cold, as if frozen to immobility. Then his lips finally touched hers and the cold was dispelled as liquid fire seeped through her. His kiss was a brush of lightness, a slow savoring as his tongue moved to outline her mouth, tasting the nectar as might a wine connoisseur before giving vent to indulging in a fine bouquet.

Blair was startled, stunned, simply too astounded to protest at first, taken as easily as a deer frozen by oncoming lights. Then she had no chance to weigh choice, to raise the objections she knew made so much sense, the denial that would save her so much pain and self-reproach later.