Annoyance surged through him. For God's sake, why should that face have such an effect on him? He'd known a hundred women more attractive than Tania Orlinov. There was no reason that she should be able to disturb his cool control more than any other woman. He forced himself to focus on her face, scrutinizing her features with analytical thoroughness. The cheekbones were definitely too high and the face too thin and fragile-looking. Her chin was a little too strong, and the dark wings of her brows above those enormous eyes only increased that elfin quality. Her long dark hair braided in a shining coronet should have lent her dignity, but instead it only served to make her look like a little girl playing fairy princess.
He wasn't a man who was attracted to pixies playing dress-up, he thought impatiently. He had always preferred his women to be coolly sophisticated and voluptuously sensual. As Tania Orlinovs face reflected neither of these qualities, it was totally unreasonable to feel such an explosive physical attraction the longer he looked at her picture.
He tossed the program back into Nina's lap. "I suppose you could say she has a certain fascination if you care for the type."
"I thought you'd be a bit more enthusiastic. And I had an idea she'd be very much your type. She's quite a remarkable woman."
"Remarkable?"
"You don't find many women who'd risk climbing the Andes in a snowstorm to defect. It took a great deal of courage to attempt that gambit, let alone to pull it off." Nina shrugged. "She almost didn't make it. She was suffering from hypothermia and frostbite when she stumbled into a village at the base of the mountain. The villagers thought she'd die long before they could get medical help or summon an official at the American Embassy in Santiago."
"But she didn't," Jared said softly. Why was he feeling this absurd tingle of pride? Somehow he knew it would take an enormous force to stem the vitality of that woman in the picture.
"No, she didn't." There was a glimmer of satisfaction in Nina's expression. "You are interested." She chuckled. "I knew you would be. You two really are a good deal alike, you know."
His brow lifted in surprise. "I can't say I'm flattered to be compared to a half-pint ballerina," he said dryly. "I'm afraid I can't perceive any similarities."
"You both have a fire burning in you," Nina said slowly. "The only difference is that Tania Orlinovs flame is burning free and bright, while yours is obscured, barely discernible. Oh, yes, my friend, despite your cool good manners and your sophisticated conversation, all very distancing, I assure you, still I can sense the fire is there . . . deep within you."
"What hogwash! I had no idea you had such a flair for the melodramatic, Nina." His smile mocked her. "But I do think I'm a little hurt that you consider me some land of ice man."
"You're no such thing," she snapped. "And be honest, Jared. You don't give a damn what I think about
you." For a moment her features revealed a flicker of regret, before she gave him a teasing grin. "Then, too, we both know what a satyr you are. I wouldn't dare insult your virility, or I'd be ravished before we got out of the taxi tonight." He expression was suddenly alight with curiosity. "Would you like to meet her after the performance?"
He shook his head. "Why do I feel that your next step will be arranging a blind date for us? I think I should be a bit insulted that you're not even a little jealous."
"What good would it do?" she asked serenely. "I know very well my place in your scheme of things. Besides, I'm quite safe being so marvelously civilized in this case. Rumor has it she's been Tyler Windloe's mistress for the last two years. Under those circumstances, you wouldn't consider it worth the bother."
"Tyler Windloe," he echoed. "The names familiar. Should I know who he is?"
"Perhaps. He was a steel tycoon before he became interested in the arts. He is the primary patron of the American Repertory Ballet Company, and our little Piper is its brightest star. Well, do you want to go backstage during the intermission?"
"Ill let you know after I've seen your 'remarkable* little Russian perform."
"She's only half Russian—her mother was Hungarian," Nina said. The houselights were dimming, and she added in a whisper, "And I think you're about to experience just how remarkable she is."
The experience began even before the curtains swung open. The wild, haunting strains of a flute wove their magic in the darkness, teasing the senses with their beauty. The curtain slowly opened on a set as appealing as the music, to reveal the Piper, on a moonlit hilltop silhouetted against the night sky.
The Piper was dressed only in pale gray tights, his
supple muscular upper torso completely bare. He was more Apollo than Pan, but the anomaly only made the scene more poignantly beautiful.
Then the quiet mysticism of the picture erupted with the excitement of a star-burst, as a slight, fragile figure bounded on the scene with a grace that caught at the heart. Gowned in drifts of scarlet chiffon, wearing slippers instead of toe shoes, Tania Orlinov was all flame and litheness. She was sheer artistry in motion as she portrayed the role of the young girl caught in the spell of the Piper and his music while fiercely resisting the power of his magic. Then, just as she seemed to have lost, to have succumbed, she suddenly halted center stage. Her arms lifted entreatingly, as if begging her gods for strength. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and a ripple of shock seemed to pass through her body. Her hands moved with studied slowness to the crown of her head. She took off a tight snood, and her shining hair fell to her waist, creating a wild, sensuous cloak about her. And with a deliberateness that was a silent challenge, she turned to face the Piper on the hilltop.
What came next was the most passionate dance of seduction that Jared had ever seen. She was Delilah and Salome in one as she played the enchantress and tempted the Piper down from the hilltop. In the slow and graceful adagio of the pas de deux that followed, she brought the Piper within her spell. Then their conflicts erupted in the maiden's and Piper's variations, where each danced to show superiority over the other. Finally, in a frenzied coda, just as it appeared she might triumph, she suddenly wilted, falling to her knees in despair, power ebbing from her. There was an unforgettable moment then, as if frozen in time, when the Piper, breathing heavily, every line of his body electrified with triumph, looked down at the fragile figure of his defeated adversary. Slowly raising the flute to his lips, he began to play once more his haunting siren call. He turned and moved back up to his hilltop while his captive rose jerkily to her feet and moved sluggishly after him, like a puppet pulled by hidden strings. The Piper paused at the crest of the hill to look back and ascertain that his captive was still enthralled, and the music of his flute became a gloating paean of triumph. His dominant figure disappeared from view as he moved down the other side of the hill, but the siren call of his mystical flute still drifted back over the maiden.
The scarlet-clad figure was poignantly fragile and alone. She drooped in despair as she reached the crest of the hill. She paused there, her head cocked, listening to the fading music of the Piper. She slowly raised her head, and there was an expression of such joyous mischievousness on her face that it came as a shock to every person in the audience! She whirled in a graceful series of turns before performing a grand jeté with exultant exuberance.
Then, her throat arched, her body singing with triumph, her lips parted once more in that smile of secret joyous victory, she leaped from view as she followed the Piper who thought he was the god.
There was a moment of dead silence before the crowded auditorium erupted into almost hysterical applause. It rose in volume as Tania and her partner appeared hand in hand to receive the adulation that was surging like a thundering wave from the audience.
"Well," Nina asked archly, her amused gaze on the absorbed face of the man next to her. "Do you want to go backstage?"
He did not hear her. He could see the rise and fall of the dancers small, perfect breasts beneath the sheer scarlet chiffon and the glow of the perspiration that beaded her forehead as she took her bows. He had a sudden impulse to gather her small body close and wipe her brow. That strong surge of protective tenderness caught him off-balance and filled him with impatience. It was as unreasonable and unwanted as the wild desire he'd experienced while she was dancing. He pulled his gaze away from Tania Orlinov with an effort.
Nina's hand was on his arm. "Jared, do you want to go backstage?"
"Why not?" he asked with deliberate carelessness. "As you say, she's remarkable."
Tania shivered as the stage door down the corridor was opened, permitting cool October air to rush into the hall where she was standing outside her dressing room. She made a polite reply to the little old lady with the reserved expression and the razor-sharp eyes of a chairman of the board. What was her name? Leslie Vanning. That was it. And she was the chairman of the board of some cultural foundation or other, and Tyler had said she must be nice to her.
That shouldn't be difficult. There were very few people Tania met whom she didn't like. She had the idea that despite Mrs. Vanning's crustiness, the old lady would be dynamic. But tonight Tania had no desire to exert herself by probing that chilly facade.
Chilly. She wished she hadn't thought of that particular adjective. It reminded her how uncomfortable she was in the drafty hall, wearing only a flimsy chiffon costume. Well, it didn't matter. Another few minutes of accepting congratulations from the little crowd around her and she could plead weariness and disappear into her dressing room. She'd discovered early in her career that it was far easier to hold court outside her dressing room than to try to get balletomanes to leave once they were firmly ensconced.
"Tania, you were absolutely superb. It was a complete triumph for you." The voice was familiar, and
she looked over her shoulder to see Nina Bartlett smiling at her with the warm sincerity that characterized her.
"You thought so?" she asked. An impish grin lit her face. "So did I." Her dark eyes were dancing. "But then, I had to be utterly magnificent tonight. Your committee charged two hundred dollars a ticket, and that audience would have torn me apart if I'd disappointed them."
Leslie Vanning was quietly edging away and Tania was turning back to say a courteous farewell when a man's tuxedo jacket was suddenly draped over her bare shoulders. Her eyes widened in surprise as she heard Nina Bartlett's amused laugh behind her, and she turned to gaze at the man who'd appeared at Nina's side.
"How very gallant of you, Jared," Nina Bartlett drawled. "I had no idea you were so chivalrous." The amusement in her voice warred with the expression on her face as she glanced at the man next to her.
She cared for him, Tania realized, experiencing a sudden rush of pity. Though she didn't know Nina Bartlett well, she'd found her very pleasant, and it was clear her companion was not a safe man with whom to become emotionally involved.
"This is Dr. Jared Ryker, Tania," Nina continued lightly. "He found your performance as fascinating as the rest of us did."
"I'm happy you enjoyed it, Dr. Ryker," Tania said. She unconsciously drew the coat that was still warm from his body closer about her as she looked up to meet eyes that were surely the coldest and most piercing that she'd ever encountered. Clear-crystal gray that was almost silver, they were doubly startling in the golden darkness of his face. Cold? No, that wasn't quite right. They reflected the smoldering intensity that dry ice might possess, which could burn at a scant touch. She was vaguely conscious of a broad forehead, wide, Slavic cheekbones, a strong chin. His lips were surprisingly sensuous in that almost brutally powerful bone structure, and there was a wryly cynical set to his mouth that was a surprise in itself. Heavy dark hair threaded with the faintest silver framed his face. "The Piper is my favorite role."
"I can see why," he drawled. For an instant there was a distinct twinkle in those icy eyes. "It not only gives you a showcase for your dancing but allows you to act as well." He raised a brow, mocking her. "I gathered from the rather surprising ending that the audience was supposed to assume that you were really the Piper in your little ballet."
She made a face. "My acting must not have been all that good if you have any doubts on that score." For some reason his mockery filled her with a strange unease and caused her voice to sharpen. "Of course I'm the Piper. Anyone could see that I was totally in control."
"Were you?" His silver gaze, narrowed on her face, inspired a queer breathlessness in her. "Then, why did you follow him?"
"It was a feint," she said impatiently. "The maiden was only pretending to give in, so that she could catch the Piper off-guard at a later time and assure herself of total victory." She had never had to explain before. Why couldn't the man see what was transparently obvious to everyone else?
"Perhaps," he said softly, his glance running over her features lingeringly, though noting her annoyance. "Or perhaps the Piper had grown bored with easy victories and wanted to keep the flame maiden as a constant challenge to ward off that boredom. It seems quite likely that a powerful sorcerer could feed a simple maiden just enough lure to make her want to follow him without converting her into a zombie." He was gazing at her inquiringly. "Don't you consider that a valid hypothesis?"
"No, I do not," she said crossly. She shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to him. She certainly wasn't cold now. On the contrary, she felt almost feverish. "It's completely ridiculous. There's no question whatever that I'm the Piper."
"You?" he asked pointedly, then took his jacket and draped it carelessly over his arm. "How can you be so sure?"
As she opened the door of the dressing room, she slanted a glance at him that was redolent of triumph and a touch of mischief. "Because I did the choreography, Dr. Ryker." She shut the door in his face with a soft click.
Tania leaned against the door for a moment, still feeling that quickening sense of excitement that was flooding her with a heady exhilaration. Anger and resentment were causing this sudden electrifying awareness, she assured herself. She had spoken only a few words to the man, and there was no possibility she could be attracted to an individual like Ryker. Oh, perhaps in a physical sense. There was no denying that he possessed a virile sensuality that was overpoweringly evident even at first glance.