The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1 Page 27

  “The top,” she repeated. “Unhook it or I’ll get a line.”

  “Right.” No big deal, he told himself, but his fingers reached and pulled back from the simple hook twice before he was satisfied with his willpower.

  Now Roxanne did close her eyes, the better to absorb each rippling sensation. “Mmmm. You could get a job belowdecks with Inga.”

  “Inga?” Odd, he didn’t think he’d ever noticed how subtly her back tapered down to her waist.

  “The masseuse. I had a thirty-minute session last night, but she’s got nothing on you, Callahan. Daddy’s always admired your hands, you know?” Her chuckle was shaky as he trailed his fingers down to the small of her back. If she didn’t laugh, she’d groan. “For entirely different reasons, of course. As for me, I . . .” She trailed off on a throaty sigh when he smoothed his palms down her rib cage.

  Good God, her bones were melting under his hands. It was an impossibly erotic sensation to have her grow warmer, more fluid with each stroke. The nape of her neck tempted him desperately. His mouth watered at the thought of pressing his lips just there, tasting that lotion-slicked skin and feeling her tremble. It took little imagination to conjure a fantasy of her rolling over, that ridiculous band of emerald falling away as she let him explore those sleek curves. She’d groan for him, reach for him, open for him.

  And then, at last then . . .

  It was the sound of his own unsteady breathing that pulled him back. His hands were poised on the sides of her breasts, his fingers on the point of sliding beneath to claim that silky fullness.

  She was trembling, as obviously and completely aroused as he.

  They were on an open deck, he thought in disgust. In full sunlight. Worse, much worse, they were as closely related as two people could be without sharing blood.

  He snatched his hands back, capped the bottle after two fumbling attempts. “That’ll do it.”

  Her system shuddered with the broken promise of fulfillment. Roxanne lifted her head, bringing one hand up automatically to hold the loosened top in place, using the other to lower her glasses again. This time the eyes behind them were dark and heavy. “Will it?”

  Furious with the ease with which she could undermine his willpower, he clamped tense fingers on her jaw. “I’ve just seen to it you won’t get burned, Rox. Do us both a favor, and keep your distance from the heat.”

  She forced her lips into a smile. “Which one of us are you afraid for, Callahan?”

  Because he didn’t know the answer, he pulled back and stood. “Don’t push your luck, Roxy.”

  But she intended to push it, she thought when he strode across the deck and down the iron stairs. She intended to push until it broke, one way or the other.

  “Who you mad at, loup?”

  “No one.” Luke stood with LeClerc outside the casino, watching the dancers sway on the postage-stamp dance floor in the Monte Carlo Lounge. The quartet of Polish musicians was playing “Night and Day” with a touch of bebop.

  “So why you scowl?” LeClerc yanked at the detested tie he was obliged to wear on this last formal night of the first cruise. “That look in your eye makes the menfolk back away, and the women sigh and shiver.”

  Despite his mood, Luke’s lips twitched. “Maybe that’s how I like it. Where’s that silver-haired French fox you’ve been sniffing around?”

  “Marie-Clair. She’ll be along.” LeClerc chewed on his pipe while Luke lit a cigar. “A handsome woman, that. Meat on the bone and fire in the belly.” He grinned, making the pipe stem rattle against his teeth. “A rich widow is a gift from God to a man. She has jewelry. Ah.” He kissed his fingers and sighed. “Last night, I held her opal pendant in my hand. Ten carats, mon ami, perhaps twelve, circled by a dozen ten-point diamonds. But you and the rest, you make me feel guilty for even thinking about taking it from her. So tomorrow, I will bid her adieu, and she will go home to Montreal with her opal and her diamonds, with a ruby ring of exquisite proportion, and numerous other treasures that break the heart. Only her virtue will I have stolen.”

  Amused, Luke laid a hand on LeClerc’s shoulder. “Sometimes, mon ami, that is enough.” He glanced toward the forward entrance of the lounge.

  Roxanne stood with her hand being kissed by the ship’s first officer. The fact that the man was tall and bronzed and Greek was bad enough. Insult was added to injury by the sound of Roxanne’s low laughter.

  Her dress was a short, shimmery swath of aquamarine. Without benefit of straps, it left Roxanne’s arms and shoulders bare. It dispensed with a back altogether. What little material there was draped low at the hips and stopped teasingly at mid-thigh.

  The skin she’d warmed in the sun that afternoon glowed pale gold against the dreamy blue. She caught up her hair in a jeweled pin so that its mass tempted a man to free it and watch it spill fire.

  “She’s not going to get away with it.”

  “Eh?”

  “I know what she’s up to,” Luke said under his breath. “And it’s not going to work.” He stalked off to the bar to indulge in a single whiskey. LeClerc stayed where he was and chuckled.

  “It’s already worked, mon cher loup. The wolf is trapped by the vixen.”

  Two hours later, Roxanne stood in the shadows behind the stage awaiting her first cue. The show on the last night of the cruise involved all the entertainers. For their part, the Nouvelles intended to leave them gasping.

  Max and Lily were cashing in by leading off with one of their variations on the Divided Woman. The moment Lily was put back together for bows, Luke dashed out to keep the crowd warm with patter and pickpocket routines.

  While explaining the escape he planned with handcuffs and a locked trunk, he called for two volunteers from the audience, then proceeded to steal them blind, to the delight of the onlookers.

  A shake of hands, and he dangled the first man’s watch behind his head, while continuing to distract his two baffled volunteers with the handcuffs he offered for examination. He lifted wallets, penknives and pocket change from under their noses.

  “Now, once they’re locked on, I’ll have thirty seconds. Harry?” He smiled at the short, bespectacled man beside him. “I can call you Harry?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, Harry, I’m going to want you to time me. Got a second hand on your watch?”

  “Oh, yeah.” All cooperation, Harry turned his wrist and frowned at his bare wrist.

  “He’s really good, isn’t he?” Dori peeked over Roxanne’s shoulder.

  Luke finished up the routine, making both men grin sheepishly as he passed back their belongings. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, indicating the finish. “You were great. You can relax now. Take it easy.” He winked, handing Harry the tie he’d removed from the man’s neck. Then he made a business out of brushing down Harry’s shirt, fussing with his jacket, tugging the sleeves.

  “What’s he doing? Playing valet?” Dori demanded.

  “Just watch.”

  Luke tugged and smoothed and plucked, then stuck out his hand again for a last hearty shake. As Harry turned to walk offstage, Luke grasped the back of his shirt collar. A flick of the wrist and he held Harry’s baby-blue Arrow while the man goggled down at his bare chest showing beneath his suit jacket.

  “Holy cow! How’d he do that? How’d he get the arms out of the jacket?”

  Roxanne laughed, as she did every time she watched Luke pull off that particular trick. “Sorry, trade secret.” Roxanne grinned as she left to make her entrance.

  She was working with Luke at this point, flying through a fast-moving sleight-of-hand duel from either side of the stage. Her costume mirrored his as well, a tailored tux with spangled lapels. Precision timing was as essential as dexterity. Objects appeared and disappeared out of their hands, multiplied and changed color and size.

  To cap off the act, Luke made good on his promise of the trunk escape, cajoling what appeared to be reluctant assistance from Roxanne.

  “Come on, Roxy, don’t
embarrass me in front of all these nice people.”

  “Do it yourself, Callahan. I know what happened last time.”

  Luke turned toward the audience and spread his hands. “So she vanished for a couple of hours. I got her back eventually.”

  “No.”

  “Give me a break.” She shook her head again, and he sighed theatrically. “Okay, just hold up the curtain for me then.”

  She studied him through narrowed, suspicious eyes. “You just want me to hold up the curtain.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No funny business?”

  “Absolutely not.” He turned to the side with an exaggerated wink.

  “Okay. I’ll do it, but only because the audience is so great. Tell you what, I’ll even do the cuffs for you.”

  She dangled them, making the audience howl with laughter as Luke opened his eyes wide and patted his pockets.

  “Pretty slick, Roxanne.”

  “I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeves. Assume the position, Callahan.”

  The music bounced out again as he offered his wrists. With big, exaggerated moves, Roxanne clamped the cuffs, locked them and pulled out a chain to wrap around his hands for good measure. She then turned the trunk in a circle, opening the lid so everyone could see it had four sides and a bottom. Luke climbed in and, taking advantage of his imprisoned hands, she bent to give him a hard kiss.

  “For luck.” Then she shoved his head down and lowered the top. She fastened the bolts, taking a key from her pocket to lock each one. Using a four-sided white curtain, she stood on the lid, letting the material drop until it had covered everything from her chin down.

  “On the count of three,” she called out. “One. Two.”

  Her head disappeared and Luke’s popped up. “Three.”

  The audience erupted with applause, continuing to thunder it out after Luke dropped the curtain. He wore a white tux now, spangled with silver. He took his bow with a flourish before glancing absently over his shoulder. Banging sounded from inside the box.

  “Whoops. Forgot something.” He snapped his fingers and revealed a key. After using it to unlock the trunk, he pushed the bolts back and threw up the lid.

  “Cute, Callahan. Real cute.”

  He only grinned, reaching down and lifting Roxanne out of the trunk into his arms. She, too, wore a white tuxedo, and now her hands were cuffed and chained. He took a final bow with her in his arms, then carried her offstage.

  “Got it?” he murmured.

  “Almost. Now.”

  He turned back toward the applause. He still carried her, only now her hands were free and his were cuffed.

  “You could have been a couple seconds faster,” he complained when he set her down in front of her dressing room. “You were a beat behind all during the sleight of hand.”

  “No, you were a beat ahead.” She smiled because she’d felt how hard his heart had been thumping when he’d carried her offstage. “Want to fight, Callahan?”

  “No. Just work on your damn timing.”

  “I’ve got it down,” she murmured when he turned away.

  She certainly hoped she did. God knew she was nervous as a cat, but it was now or never. For the fifth time, she checked out her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was artfully tousled, her face just touched with the most subtle of cosmetics. The long robe of ivory silk clung lovingly to each curve. She spritzed some scent into the air, then walked through the cloud of fragrance. With her mind made up, she kept walking out her cabin door, down the passageway and across the hall to Luke’s.

  He’d stripped down to gray sweatpants and was trying to ease his mind toward sleep by working out the bugs in a new escape.

  He only grunted when he heard the knock on the door. His absent glance up as the door opened turned into a gape when he saw Roxanne.

  “What? What? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t think so.” She leaned back against the door. It wasn’t a provocative move as much as one designed to give her legs a chance to stop shaking. She turned the lock. “I’m working on my timing,” she said as she crossed the room. He rose, braced to ward her off. She had only to lay her palm against the bare skin of his chest to break through the guard and make him quiver.

  “You were right.” She spread her fingers wide over the thud of his heart. The sensation made her bold, reckless, needy. “About my timing? This is something I should have moved on a long time ago.”

  He could feel his nerves grind and scream like crashing gears. She smelled like sin. “I’m busy, Roxanne, and it’s too late for riddles.”

  “You already have the answer to this one.” With a low, careless laugh, she skimmed her hands up his chest to his shoulders. The muscles there were bunched tight. “What do you get when you put a man and a woman together alone, at night, in a small room?”

  “I said—” But she moved quickly, and covered his mouth with hers. There was little he could do about the response that leaped into his system, the way a tiger leaps through the open doors of a cage. But he could keep it from going any further. He prayed to God he could.

  “There.” She brushed her lips over his once, twice, before drawing back just enough to smile into his eyes. “I knew you had the answer.”

  It cost him dearly, but he let his hands fall away and sidestepped. “Game’s over. Now get lost. I’ve got work to do.”

  The hurt snuck through, fast as a stiletto, and pierced. Okay, she thought, she might bleed, but she wasn’t backing down without a fight. She was at the seduction stage of Dori’s advice. Damned if she’d let him see how terrified she was.

  “That didn’t work very well when I was twelve.” She stepped closer, out of the light, into the shadows, effectively maneuvering him into the corner. “It doesn’t work at all now. You watch me.” The curve of her lips was witchlike, powerful in its confidence. She stepped closer yet so that his hands shot out to take her arms and prevent her body from brushing dangerously against his. “I can feel you watch me when I’m across a room. I can almost hear what you’re thinking when you do.” Her eyes were like dark, deep seas, and he was already drowning. When she spoke, her voice misted over him like fog. “You wonder what it would be like between us.” She cupped a hand on his chin, trailing those long fingers down his jaw. Everything he felt, everything he wanted, careened from his brain to thunder in the blood. “So do I. You wonder what it would feel like to have me, to do all those secret things you’ve wanted to do. And so do I.”

  He had to fight every breath into his lungs. Each gulp he took carried the scent of her into his system until he thought he’d explode. If this was seduction, he’d never experienced it before, never imagined she could wrap the hot chains of it so expertly around him. Trapped, was all he could think. He was trapped in a cage of unspeakable needs and the only door out was his own draining will.

  The lamplight shimmered in her hair. Before he could think, he’d lifted a hand and had taken a fistful of flame.

  “You don’t know what I want to do. If you did, you’d run screaming.”

  Her body leaned forward with a longing much stronger than fear. “I’m not running. I’m not afraid.”

  “You haven’t the sense to be.” But he did. He released her hair and shoved her away in one jerky movement. “I’m not one of your trusty college boys, Rox. I wouldn’t be polite and make promises and tell you what you think you want to hear. I’ve got where I came from inside me, and it’s staying there, whatever shows on the outside.” She saw a flare in his eyes—self-disgust, regret, anger—she couldn’t be sure. Then it was gone. “So be a good girl and run along.”

  She felt the prickle of tears at the back of her throat, but her head remained high, her eyes dry. “I’ve never been a good girl. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  He sighed. There was such amused exasperation in it, she winced. “Roxy, you’re putting me in the position where I have to hurt your feelings.” With legs that felt like brittle glass, he walked over and patted
her head. A slap, he knew, would have been less insulting. “I know you worked yourself up to try out this big seduction scene. And I’m flattered, really, that you’ve got this crush on me.”

  “Crush?” she managed when she found her voice. He could see by the daggers in her eyes he’d pressed the right button.

  “It’s sweet, and I appreciate it, but I’m just not interested. You’re not my type, babe.” He leaned casually against the dresser. “You’re pretty, and I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t had a couple of interesting fantasies over the years when you’ve been costar, but let’s get real.”

  “You . . .” The stab of rejection nearly brought her to her knees. “You’re saying you don’t want me.”

  “That’s as clear as it gets.” He plucked a cigar off the dresser. “I don’t want you, Roxanne.”

  She would have believed him. His voice was so mild, so insultingly apologetic and understanding. There was a light of amusement in his eyes that sliced like a blade and the faintest of smiles on his lips. She would have believed him. But she saw that his hands were clenched into fists so tight the knuckles were white. He’d already mangled the cigar.

  She kept her eyes cast down a moment, knowing she needed that long to put out the gleam of triumph in them. “Well, all right, Luke. I’ll only ask one thing.”

  He took one measured breath, tasted relief. “Don’t worry, Rox, I won’t mention this to anyone.”

  “That’s not it.” She brought her head up and the staggering power of her beauty wiped the easy smile off his face. “The one thing I have to ask you is—prove it.”

  She reached up and untied the belt at her waist.

  “Stop it.” He dropped the crushed cigar and backed up. “Christ, Roxanne, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Just showing you what you claim not to want.” Watching him, she rolled her shoulders and sent the ivory silk slithering to the floor. There was more silk beneath it, a thin chemise of that same soft ivory, trimmed in lace. While he tried to catch his breath, one slender strap slipped seductively from her shoulder. “If you’re telling the truth, it shouldn’t be any problem. Should it?”