Novels: The Law is a Lady Page 9

  "As I please, mostly. Sports and hobbies are too demanding." She tossed back her hair. "I like to sleep."

  "You forget, I've seen you ride."

  "That's different." The wine had mellowed her mood. She didn't notice that the candles were growing low and the hour late. "It relaxes me. Clears my head."

  "Why do you live in a room in the hotel when you have a house right outside of town?" Her fingers tightened on the stem of the wineglass only slightly: He was an observant man.

  "It's simpler."

  Leave this one alone for a while, he warned himself. It's a very tender spot.

  "And what do you do when you're not making a major statement on film?" she asked, forcing her hand to relax.

  Phil accepted her change of subject without question. "Read scripts... watch movies."

  "Go to parties," Tory added sagely.

  "That too. It's all part of the game."

  "Isn't it difficult sometimes, living in a town where so much is pretense? Even considering the business end of your profession, you have to deal with the lunacy, the make-believe, even the desperation. How do you separate the truth from the fantasy?"

  "How do you in your profession?" he countered.

  Tory thought for a moment, then nodded. "Touche." Rising, she wandered to the window. She pushed aside the shade, surprised to see that the sun had gone down. A few red streaks hovered over the horizon, but in the east the sky was dark. A few early stars were already out. Phil sat where he was, watched her and wanted her.

  "There's Merle making his rounds," Tory said with a smile in her voice. "He's got his official expression on.

  I imagine he's hoping to be discovered. If he can't be a tough lawman from the nineteenth century, he'd settle for playing one." A car pulled into town, stopping in front of the pool hall with a sharp squeal of brakes. "Oh, God, it's the twins." She sighed, watching Merle turn and stride in their direction. "There's been no peace in town since that pair got their licenses. I suppose I'd better go down and see that they stay in line."

  "Can't Merle handle a couple of kids?"

  Tory's laugh was full of wicked appreciation. "You don't know the Kramers. There's Merle," she went on,

  "giving them basic lecture number twenty-two."

  "Did they wash all of Hollister's windows?" Phil asked as he rose to join her.

  Tory turned her head, surprised. "How did you know about that?"

  "Tod told me." He peeked through the window, finding he wanted a look at the infamous twins. They seemed harmless enough from a distance, and disconcertingly alike. "Which one's Zac?"

  "Ah...on the right, I think. Maybe," she added with a shake of her head. "Why?"

  " 'Zac Kramer don't hold with no woman sheriff,'" he quoted.

  Tory grinned up at him. "Is that so?"

  "Just so." Hardly aware he did so, Phil reached for her hair. "Obviously he's not a very perceptive boy."

  "Perceptive enough to wash Mr. Hollister's windows," Tory corrected, amused by the memory. "And to call me a foxy chick only under his breath when he thought I couldn't hear. Of course, that could have been Zeke."

  "'Foxy chick'?" Phil repeated.

  "Yes," Tory returned with mock hauteur. "'A very foxy chick.' It was his ultimate compliment."

  "Your head's easily turned," he decided. "What if I told you that you had a face that belongs in a Raphael painting?"

  Tory's eyes lit with humor. "I'd say you're reaching."

  "And hair," he said with a subtle change in his voice. "Hair that reminds me of night...a hot summer night that keeps you awake, and thinking, and wanting." He plunged both hands into it, letting his fingers tangle.

  The shade snapped back into place, cutting them off from the outside.

  "Phil," Tory began, unprepared for the suddenness of desire that rose in both of them.

  "And skin," he murmured, not even hearing her, "that makes me think of satin sheets and tastes like something forbidden." He touched his mouth to her cheek, allowing the tip of his tongue to brush over her.

  "Tory." She felt her name whisper along her skin and thrilled to it. She had her hands curled tightly around his arms, but not in protest. "Do you know how often I've thought of you these past weeks?"

  "No." She didn't want to resist. She wanted to feel that wild sweep of pleasure that came from the press of his mouth on hers. "No," she said again, and slid her arms around his neck.

  "Too much," he murmured, then swore. "Too damn much." And his mouth took her waiting one.

  The passion was immediate, frenetic. It ruled both of them. Each of them sought the mindless excitement they had known briefly weeks before. Tory had thought she had intensified the sensation in her mind as the days had passed. Now she realized she had lessened it. This sort of fervor couldn't be imagined or described. It had to be experienced. Everything inside her seemed to speed up— her blood, her heart, her brain. And all sensation, all emotion, seemed to be centered in her mouth. The taste of him exploded on her tongue, shooting through her until she was so full of him, she could no longer separate herself. With a moan she tilted her head back, inviting him to plunge deeper into her mouth. But he wanted more.

  Her hair fell straight behind her, leaving her neck vulnerable. Surrendering to a desperate hunger, he savaged it with kisses. Tory made a sound that was mixed pain and pleasure. Her scent seemed focused there, heated by the pulse at her throat. It drove him nearer the edge. He dragged at the silk-covered buttons, impatient to find the hidden skin, the secret skin that had preyed on his mind. The groan sounded in his throat as he slipped his hand beneath the thin teddy and found her.

  She was firm, and slender enough to fit his palm. Her heartbeat pounded against it. Tory turned her head, but only to urge him to give the neglected side of her neck attention. With her hands in his hair she pulled him back to her. His hands searched everywhere with a sort of wild reverence, exploring, lingering, possessing. She could feel his murmurs as his lips played over her skin, although she could barely hear them and understood them not at all. The room seemed to grow closer and hotter, so that she longed to be rid of her clothes and find relief... and delight.

  Then he pulled her close so that their bodies pressed urgently. Their mouths met with fiery demand. It seemed the storm had just begun. Again and again they drew from each other until they were both breathless. Though he had fully intended to end the evening with Tory in his bed, Phil hadn't expected to be desperate. He hadn't known that all control could be so easily lost. The warm curves of a woman should bring easy pleasure, not this trembling pain. A kiss was a prelude, not an all-consuming force. He knew only that all of him, much more than his body, was crying out for her. Whatever was happening to him was beyond his power to stop. And she was the only answer he had.

  "God, Tory." He took his mouth on a wild journey of her face, then returned to her lips. "Come to bed. For God's sake, come to bed. I want you."

  She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff. The plunge had never seemed more tempting—

  or more dangerous. It would be so easy, so easy, just to lean forward and fly. But the fall... She fought for sanity through a brain clouded with the knowledge of one man. It was much too soon to take the step.

  "Phil." Shaken, she drew away from him to lean against the windowsill. "I...no,' she managed, lifting both hands to her temples. He drew her back against him.

  "Yes," he corrected, then crushed his lips to hers again. Her mouth yielded irresistibly. "You can't pretend you don't want me as much as I want you."

  "No." She let her head rest on his shoulder a moment before she pushed out of his arms. "I can't," she agreed in a voice thickened with passion. "But I don't do everything I want. That's one of the basic differences between us."

  His eyes flicked briefly down to the unbuttoned dress.

  "We also seem to have something important in common This doesn't happen every time—between every man and woman."

  "No." Carefully she began to
do up her buttons. "It shouldn't have happened between us. I didn't intend it to."

  "I did," he admitted. "But not quite this way."

  Her eyes lifted to his. She understood perfectly. This had been more intense than either of them had bargained for. "It's going to be a long summer, Phil," she murmured.

  "We're going to be together sooner or later, Tory. We both know it." He needed something to balance him.

  Going to the table, he poured out another glass of wine. He drank, drank again, then looked at her. "I have no intention of backing off."

  She nodded, accepting. But she didn't like the way her hands were shaking. "I'm not ready."

  "I can be a patient man when necessary." He wanted nothing more than to pull her to the bed and take what they both needed. Instead he took out a cigarette and reminded himself he was a civilized man.

  Tory drew herself up straight. "Let's both concentrate on our jobs, shall we?" she said coolly. She wanted to get out, but she didn't want to retreat. "I'll see you around, Kincaid."

  "Damn right you will," he murmured as she headed for the door.

  She flicked the lock off, then turned to him with a half smile. "Keep out of trouble," she ordered, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 6

  Phil sat beside the cameraman on the Tulip crane. "Boom up." At his order the crane operator took them seventeen feet above the town of Friendly. It was just dawn. He'd arranged to have everyone off the streets, although there was a crowd of onlookers behind the crane and equipment. All entrances to town had been blocked off on the off chance that someone might drive through. He wanted desolation and the tired beginning of a new day.

  Glancing down, he saw that Bicks was checking the lighting and angles. Brutes, the big spotlights, were set to give daylight balance. He knew, to an inch, where he wanted the shadows to fall. For this shot Phil would act as assistant cameraman, pulling the focus himself.

  Phil turned his attention back to the street. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted to capture it as the sun rose, with as much natural light as possible. He looked through the lens and set the shot himself. The crane WAS set on tracks. He would have the cameraman begin with a wide shot of the horizon and the rising sun, then dolly back to take in the entire main street of Friendly. No soli focus there, just harsh reality. He wanted to pick up the dust on the storefront windows. Satisfied with what he saw through the camera lens, Phil marked the angle with tape, then nodded to his assistant director.

  "Quiet on the set."

  "New Chance, scene three, take one."

  "Roll it," Phil ordered, then waited. With his eyes narrowed, he could visualize what his cameraman saw through the lens. The light was good. Perfect. They'd have to get it in three takes or less or else they'd have to beef it up with gels and filters. That wasn't what he wanted here. He felt the crane roll backward slowly on cue. A straight shot, no panning right to left. They'd take in the heart of the town in one long shot.

  Chipped paint, sagging wood, torn screens. Later they'd cut in the scene of the leading man walking in from the train station. He was coming home, Phil mused, because there was no place else to go. And he found it, exactly as he had left it twenty years before.

  "Cut." The noise on the ground started immediately. "I want another take. Same speed."

  At the back of the crowd Tory watched. She wasn't thrilled with being up at dawn. Both her sense of duty and her curiosity had brought her. Phil had been perfectly clear about anyone peeking through windows during this shot. He wanted emptiness. She told herself she'd come to keep the people out of mischief, but when it was all said and done, she had wanted to see Phil at work.

  H e was very commanding and totally at ease with it, she reasoned as she stuck her hands in her back pock-|

  i t didn't seem so hard. Moving a little to the side, she tried to see the scene she was imagining. The town looked tired, she decided, and a little reluctant to face the new day. Though the horizon was touched with golds and pinks, a gray haze lay over the street and buildings.

  It was the first time he had shot anything there. For the past week he had been filming landscapes. Tory had stayed in Friendly, sending Merle out occasionally to check on things. It had kept him happy and had given Tory the distance she wanted. As her deputy came back brimming with reports and enthusiasm, she was kept , a b r e a s t in any case.

  But today the urge to see for herself had been too strong lo resist. It had been several days—and several long nights—since their evening together. She had managed to keep herself busier than necessary in order to avoid him. But Tory wasn't a woman to avoid a problem for long. Phil Kincaid was still a problem.

  Apparently satisfied, Phil ordered the operator to lower the crane. People buzzed around Tory like bees. A few children complained about being sent off to school. Spotting Tod, Tory smiled and waved him over.

  "Isn't it neat?" he demanded the moment he was beside her. "I wanted to go up in it," he continued, indicating the crane, "but Mr. Kincaid said something about insurance. Steve let me see his camera though, even let me take some pictures. It's a thirty-five millimeter with all kinds of lenses." "Steve?"

  "The guy who was sitting next to Mr. Kincaid. He's the cameraman." Tod glanced over, watching Phil in a discussion with his cameraman and several members of the crew. "Isn't he something?"

  "Steve?" Tory repeated, smiling at Tod's pleasure.

  "Well, yeah, but I meant Mr. Kincaid." Shaking his head, he let out a long breath. "He's awful smart. You should hear some of the words he uses. And boy, when he says so, everybody jumps."

  "Do they?" Tory murmured, frowning over at the man under discussion.

  "You bet," Tod confirmed. "And I heard Mr. Bicks say to Steve that he'd rather work with Mr. Kincaid than anybody. He's a tough sonofa—" Catching himself, Tod broke off and flushed. ' I mean, he said he was tough, but the best there was."

  As she watched, Phil was pointing, using one hand and then the other as he outlined his needs for the next shot. It was very clear that he knew what he wanted and that he'd get it. She could study him now. He was too involved to notice her or the crowd of people who stared and mumbled behind the barrier of equipment.

  He wore jeans and a pale blue T-shirt with scuffed sneakers. Hanging from his belt was a case that held sunglasses and another for a two-way radio. He was very intense, she noted, when working. There was none of the careless humor in his eyes. He talked quickly, punctuating the words with hand gestures. Once or twice he interrupted what he was saying to call out another order to the grips who were setting up light stands.

  A perfectionist, she concluded, and realized it shouldn't surprise her. His movies projected the intimate care she was now seeing firsthand. A stocky man in a fielder's cap lumbered up to him, talking over an enormous wad of fum.

  "That's Mr. Bicks," Tod murmured reverently. "The cinematographer. He's got two Oscars and owns part of a boxer."

  Whatever he was saying, Phil listened carefully, then simply shook his head. Bicks argued another moment, shrugged, then gave Phil what appeared to be a solid punch on the shoulder before he walked away. A tough sonofabitch, Tory mused. Apparently so.

  Turning to Tod, she mussed his hair absently. "You'd better get to school."

  "Aw, but..."

  She lifted her brow, effectively cutting off his excuse. "It's nearly time for summer vacation. They'll still be here."

  He mumbled a protest, but she caught the look in his eye as he gazed up at her. Uh-oh, she thought, just as Phil had. Why hadn't she seen this coming? She was going to have to be careful to be gentle while pointing the boy in another direction. A teenage crush was nothing to smile at and brush away.

  "I'll come by after school," he said, beaming up at her. Before she could respond, he was dashing off, leaving her gnawing on her bottom lip and worrying about him.

  "Sheriff."

  Tory whirled sharply and found herself facing Phil. 11, smiled slowly, setting the sunglasses in front of his
eyes, It annoyed her that she had to strain to see his expression through the tinted glass. "Kincaid," she responded. "How's it going?"

  "Good. Your people are very cooperative."

  "And yours," she said. "So far."

  He grinned at that. "We're expecting the cast this af ternoon. The location manager's cleared it with you about parking the trailers and so forth?"

  "She's very efficient," Tory agreed. "Are you getting what you want?"

  He took a moment to answer. "With regard to the film, yes, so far." Casually he reached down to run a finger over her badge. "You've been busy the last few days."

  "So have you."

  "Not that busy. I've left messages for you." "I know."

  "When are you going to see me?"

  She lifted both brows. "I'm seeing you right now." He took a step closer and cupped the back of her neck in his hand. "Phil—"

  "Soon," he said quietly.

  Though she could feel the texture of each of his fingers on the back of her neck, she gave him a cool look.

  "Kincaid, create your scenes on the other side of the camera. Accosting a peace officer will land you back in that cell. You'll find it difficult to direct from there."

  "Oh, I'm going to accost you," he warned under his breath. ' 'With or without that damn badge, Victoria.

  Think about it."

  She didn't step back or remove his hand, although she knew several pair of curious eyes were on them. "I'll give it a few minutes," she promised dryly.

  Only the tensing of his fingers on her neck revealed his annoyance. She thought he was about to release her and relaxed. His mouth was on hers so quickly, she could only stand in shock. Before she could think to push him away, he set her free. Her eyes were sharply green and furious when he grinned down at her.

  "See you, Sheriff," he said cheerfully, and sauntered hack to his crew.

  For the better part of the day Tory stayed in her office and fumed. Now and again Phil's voice carried through her open window as he called out instructions. She knew they were doing pans of the town and stayed away from the window. She had work to do, she reminded herself. And in any case she had no interest in the filming. It was understandable that the townspeople would stand around and gawk, but she had better things to do.