Authors: Sally Goldenbaum
Immediately following was a shot and a bellow and a scuffling of footsteps, although later Halley wouldn’t be able to tell anyone in what exact order these events had occurred.
She stood frozen in place, the hair on her arms and back of her neck standing upright.
And then, in seconds, impulse took over, and without a backward glance she plowed through the carefully manicured yew bushes and ran down toward the lake and the sound, her gown flattening against her body in the breeze.
A crowd had already gathered near the edge of the lake when Halley, breathless and disheveled, arrived. “What is it?” She said, panting. “I heard a scream!”
Herb Harrington stood nearby in an elegantly tailored smoking jacket, every gray hair in place and a finely carved pipe held comfortably between his fingers. He looked over at Halley with a pleased smile. “I do believe we have a crime on our hands.”
Halley looked more closely into the circle of people. A male figure was prone on the tiny strip of beach that bordered the lake, his head resting sideways on the sand. Halley recognized the dramatic flash of white hair and the aquiline nose as belonging to one of the guests she had met earlier.
“A … a … of course, a murder!” Realization swept over her, along with a rush of embarrassment. “Oh, Lord, I thought … I really thought—” She began to shiver as the adrenaline slowed and the night breeze chilled her arms. When she peered closer at the man, she noticed a slight rising and falling of his chest and caught the small smile that flickered across his lips just a moment before uniformed men lifted him onto a stretcher. Halley
grinned back at him, convinced he had gotten the best part to play. At least he got to sleep.
The deep, husky words that tickled her neck came from directly behind her. “And where were you, miss, at approximately 12:02
A.M
.?” Nick’s broad hands covered her bare shoulders.
Halley turned around slowly.
Nick was still dressed in his tuxedo, but the jacket was flung over one shoulder now, and the stiff, white shirt sleeves were rolled partway up his forearms. The dark thatches of hair on each arm contrasted with the moonlit white of his shirt.
She smiled. “I definitely wasn’t cut out for the life of a contessa, Baron, nor this life of murder and mayhem. I almost called the police. For real!”
Nick laughed. “Well, it was a bit eerie, the scream and shot and all.” He took her hand and pulled her slightly away while actors dressed as policemen edged their way through the crowd of guests. A small, mustached man talking like the famed Hercule Poirot seemed to be in charge.
“It’s too bad this crime wasn’t planned for the Orient Express,” Halley said as she watched the questioning of the guests. “That’s always been a secret dream of mine.”
“Well, then, if that’s a secret dream of yours, we’ll do it,” Nick said.
She chuckled. “Of course. And my glass slippers will be waiting in Istanbul.”
“And anything else your heart desires.”
Halley felt his gaze lower to her heart and was suddenly aware of the scant clothing that only partially covered her. She quickly crossed her arms over the filmy lace that stretched across her breasts.
“Cold?” Nick smiled.
Halley wet her bottom lip. She felt silly and embarrassed, standing in the moonlight in her nightgown. And she felt cold.
Freezing
, in fact.
“Yes.” Her fingers wrapped around her upper arms. “I think I’ll head back.”
“Before being questioned?” Nick touched the back of her neck and lifted his fingers into her hair. One thick brow lifted in reprimand. “Contessa, you may end up in jail!”
Halley tossed her head and smiled at him. “At least I won’t have pneumonia! ’Night, Baron.”
She turned and strode off into the night.
Nick followed. Several long strides brought him to her side. “I don’t think you should walk back alone. Not with a murderer on the loose,” he murmured.
Halley looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said, teasing, “How do I know I’m safe with you? Do
you
have an alibi for 12:02?”
“Well, I, ah—” He appeared confused.
Halley looked at him more closely, and the expression on his face answered her question. The Baron
did
have an alibi, and she was most probably curvaceous and lovely—one of the gorgeous lady guests who had showered such lavish attention on him earlier. She nodded knowingly and ignored the strange sense of discomfort she felt, then changed the subject quickly. “Nick, may I borrow your jacket?”
With a quick, smooth gesture he draped it over her bare shoulders. “Sorry, Contessa. I wasn’t thinking.” It wasn’t entirely true that he hadn’t been thinking. No, he’d been thinking a great deal about those bare shoulders … about the expanses of lovely, creamy skin that glistened in the moonlight and the pale, sensuous mounds visible beneath the web of fine lace. In fact, he’d thought a great deal about all parts of Contessa Ambrosia for several hours now. He looked down into the thick, silky mass of hair. “Better?”
“Much. Thanks.”
“To where are we fleeing?”
“I’m not sure about you, Baron, but I’m pooped
and am heading for bed. I’m usually out like a light by eleven.”
“What an ordered life you must lead.”
Her laugh was husky. “Hardly! Although people have
tried
to impose some semblance of order on me for almost twenty-seven years now.”
Nick dropped one hand lightly onto her shoulder. “So you’re the spontaneous, impulsive sort.”
She looked up into his eyes. “No. Just disorganized. But I work well that way and manage to get things done. Give me a neat, orderly desk and I fall apart.”
Nick fingered a wayward slip of hair that had fallen across his hand. He was trying very hard to picture his lovely Tessa’s leading a disarrayed life. At a desk. Without the carefully applied makeup. Without those clothes …
“Here we are, Nick.”
Halley stopped walking when she reached the slight break in the bushes through which she had pushed herself earlier. She paused, then smiled up into Nick’s thoughtful gaze. “Well, good night.”
“May I come in?”
“Why?” The single, ungracious word jumped out, and Halley wished she could quickly grab it back. “I mean, it’s late, Nick. You must be tired, and we have a whole day of partying yet to go tomorrow. Conserve the resources, you know.” She laughed and slipped from beneath the warm, musky-smelling jacket. “Here’s your jacket, and thank you.”
Nick took it and stood there for a second, watching as Halley turned and pressed through the bushes. She was almost across the small flagstone patio when he separated the bushes farther and followed.
Halley spun around. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
Her voice was calm, but Nick caught the slight edge of irritation. “Wait, Contessa. Just a few minutes, please?”
His tone was gentle and friendly, and his eyes still flashed from dark depths, still held that sensuous sparkle. They also held something else, something Halley couldn’t quite put her finger on. Then it dawned on her: The Baron, for a brief second in the shadowy light of the moon, looked lonely.
Halley rubbed her cheek, then looked back into her suite. When she turned to Nick again, her face was lit by a smile.
“Okay, but only for a few minutes. I really do need sleep.”
Nick reached beyond her and opened the door. The boyishness melted away beneath his husky voice. “Certainly not for beauty.”
A bright blue knit cardigan was lying across one of the chairs, and Halley quickly moved toward it and slipped her arms through the sleeves. What was all this about, anyway? One minute he looked like he needed a sisterly hug and a chocolate malt; the next he was coming on to her and telling her—plain-Jane Halley Finnegan—that she was beautiful. Wouldn’t her romantic friend Rosie love it all!
“No, not for beauty, Baron.” She scooped up some books and a pair of glasses from the couch and dropped them onto the coffee table so Nick could sit down. “I don’t worry about that. Life is far too short.”
Nick watched her unaffected, casual movements as she slipped out of her slippers and sat down beside him. She curled her feet up beneath her and pulled the thick sweater down until it nearly covered the entire flimsy negligee. She was so damned unspoiled. And so sexy in an incredibly unpretentious way. His very own barefoot contessa. A delighted grin softened his face.
Halley’s brows lifted. “Now, Baron, was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”
Nick hadn’t the faintest idea why he had insisted on coming in. Oh, he knew what he’d
like
, but he’d
known, too, there was no way in hell he’d end up in bed tonight with the Contessa. Still, there was something there besides those fires she’d lit in him, and he couldn’t seem to let her go, to walk away from whatever that something was. “As a matter of fact, there is something else, Tessa.”
Halley leaned her head to one side, waiting.
“I … I find you intriguing.” Hell, he felt like a kid on a first date! His wide mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “As a matter of fact, I like you very much, Contessa-whoever-you-are.”
Halley rubbed her cheek thoughtfully with two fingers, a habit her friend Rosie teased her about. Watch out, she’d say with a laugh, Finnegan’s brain patterns are going berserk again! It wasn’t actually her brain patterns going berserk this time, it was her heart … and other parts of her. And on top of it all was the incredible urge to laugh at the whole crazy, irrational, extraordinary scene.
The laugh mellowed into a smile, and Halley’s gaze finally met the black eyes that hadn’t stopped staring at her face. “Good. Intriguing is something I’ve never quite carried off before. Perhaps I’ve gotten something from this weekend, after all.”
“You don’t like weekend parties?”
“It depends.”
“On?” Nick had moved several inches closer to her on the couch.
Halley wondered why breathing had suddenly become complicated. “This is fine, as parties go.” She wanted to smile and laugh and tell him about late-night pizza parties on the floor of her living room, and picnics following the library fund-raisers.
Her
kind of parties. But she couldn’t seem to say another word.
“Contessa, I’m deadly serious.”
Halley forced a laugh. “Oh, dear,
deadly
isn’t a word to throw around lightly here.”
Nick touched her lightly on the shoulder. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured.
Oh, dear, no. If this was safe, what was
dangerous
in this man’s world? Halley swallowed hard.
“I meant what I said before, Tessa. You’re lovely and different, and I hope we can make the most of this weekend.”
“Stop it!” Halley’s face was so close to his, she could feel his breath on her cheeks and her heart beat wildly. “I think the fantasy element of this weekend has gone to your head, Baron.”
“It’s not my
head
I’m worried about.”
“You don’t even know who I am or what I do. I could be a lady of the streets, an actress hired by the mystery troupe … a … a …” She was breathing hard now and wasn’t even aware that her sweater had fallen open and her nearly naked breasts were almost touching his body.
“I don’t give a damn what you do, but I’m absolutely intrigued by who you are. I’d like to know lots more about you, Tessa. Find out what books you read and what you like in your coffee—”
“I don’t drink coffee,” Halley said quickly.
He moved closer. “I want to learn why you blush when I flirt with you, then appear so damn competent and sure of yourself when you pull away.”
“I
am
competent. The competent contessa, that’s me,” Halley whispered. The chill that had been in the air earlier had long disappeared, and she felt a thin beading of perspiration collecting between her breasts. She was sure the lights were dimming, as his hand settled lightly on her leg.
“I … love … competence …” he said as his lips closed over hers with gentle, sure pressure.
“Hmm,” she answered as her eyelashes swept down and she gave in to the warm surge of delight that eased through her body. She opened her eyes halfway.
“I’m still here,” he murmured in the tiny space between them.
“I thought so,” she said.
Nick’s eyes were wide open, caressing her face. He touched her cheek with one finger, running it lightly across her lips and up over the delicate cheekbones. How could one kiss bring him to the brink like this? He felt the pressure building and squeezed his eyes shut.
Halley waited, but instead of the warm press of his lips, a cold draft of air swept across her face. Her eyes shot wide open.
Nick was lifting himself off the couch, his long legs firm in front of her. He turned and leaned over, one arm straddling each side of her, his hands brushing her thighs as they pressed into the couch.
Halley dared to look up at him.
Nick dipped his head and kissed the end of her nose. If he didn’t get out that door in one minute, he wouldn’t be able to account for his actions, and what it would mean to the Contessa tomorrow. For reasons his foggy mind couldn’t come to grips with right now, Nick cared about tomorrow. “It’s late.”
Halley nodded mutely.
“And you’re tired.”
“Oh, very,” Halley answered in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
Nick laughed as if she had said something funny, and dipped his head lower until a shock of his black hair fell forward and touched her face. He rotated his head gently, his smooth skin sliding across her heated forehead. Then he dropped tiny kisses across her cheeks and stretched back up to his full height. “I even love your freckles, Tessa. Now get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He was gone in a flash of black-and-white tuxedo, and in his wake was a vast ocean of heat.
• • •
“Contessa!” Nick strode across the library from where he’d stood next to the carved fireplace. A dozen heads turned and watched him, their gazes settling with obvious enjoyment on the figure in the doorway.
Halley stood still, waiting for him to reach her side. Protection, that’s what she needed, although she was not for one minute going to admit that Rosie’s choice for the Contessa’s “day outfit” embarrassed her silly. It was the kind of outfit one saw in
Vogue
and laughed at, knowing no one—absolutely
no one
—but 110-pound models ever wore such things. The black ultrasuede skirt was just above her knees and fit to perfection, and the dips and plunges of the pure silk emerald blouse were definitely designed by a
man
, one with a fertile imagination. Halley fingered the filmy scarf that was tied Isadora Duncan–style around her neck. She lifted her chin and held her contessa smile carefully in place. “Good morning, Baron.”