Page 4 of Til the End of Time

  "Did it?" His gaze was fixed intently on her face. "Yet you didn't say a word at the time."

  She shrugged. "What did you expect me to do? Screaming wouldn't have done any good." A faint twinkle appeared in her eyes. "And I'm too big to eap into your arms for protection. We would have both landed on the floor with the rat."

  "So you ignored it." Sandor slowly shook his head. "You're a very unusual woman. I'd give a good deal to know what experiences developed that uniqueness. I don't suppose you'd care to tell me the story of your life?"

  "No." She turned away from his probing glance. "You can stand here all night, but I'm going to get some rest. There's no telling what kind of hurdles you're going to put me through once we leave here." She strode across the room in the direction of the bedstead. "I'll take the bed."

  "Will you, indeed?" Sandor's lips curved in an amused smile. "Why do I have the feeling you're trying to take charge, Alessandra?"

  "I'm always in charge," she said serenely. "At the moment that fact might be obscured, but I assure you it will become clearer as time goes on." She sat down and kicked off her tennis shoes and swung her feet onto the counterpane of the bed. "Good night, Karpathan."

  "Sandor." He reached up and jerked the light cord. The cellar was suddenly engulfed in dark­ness. "I always insist on first names with a lady when I'm sharing her bed. It adds a comfortable note of intimacy."

  Alessandra inhaled sharply. She felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She had hoped to avoid this confrontation. Sometimes, if she was aggressive enough, it took the edge off an adversary's own aggressiveness. She should have known it wouldn't work with Sandor Karpathan. "You won't find this bed either comfortable or intimate." She deliberately threaded her tone with fierceness to hide the faint quaver she knew would be there. "And if you touch me, I'll take great pleasure in emasculating you, Karpathan."

  He laughed with genuine delight. "Damn, I think you would." He was moving toward her in the darkness. "And if I weren't so tired, I believe I'd accept your challenge, my ravishing Amazon." He paused beside the cot. "But I am tired, and I have no intention of napping on the cold concrete floor, when I could be resting beside you. All I'm asking is that you share your bed, not your body. Now, scoot over, Alessandra."

  "There's not enough room for both of us."

  "Then we'll make room." He sat down, and she had to scurry to the far side of the cot to keep from being sat on. She turned on her side, her back pressing against the wall.

  "See? It's amazing what a small amount of space two people can occupy when they try." He stretched out, and she felt the lean, hard muscles of his thigh brush against her leg. It felt warm and solid, and she tried to move closer to the wall to escape him. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm not trying to rape you. Relax."

  "I don't want to be here. Let me up."

  "Don't be stupid." He turned on his side to face her. "Look, I won't promise not to touch you. That would be impossible in a situation like this, but I will promise I won't assault you. You'll find my word is good."

  She was silent a moment. She knew Karpathan's word could be trusted. It was as much a part of the legend surrounding him as his brillance in military maneuvers. She forced herself to relax. "Your promise isn't precisely all-encompassing," she said warily. "I think I should ask you to add a clause or two."

  He chuckled. "You're as safe as you want to be. Beyond that, I'd be a fool to offer more." He paused. "You are aware of how much I want you, aren't you?"

  His words came as a shock. She hadn't expected him to be so frank. "Yes."

  "Don't get up-tight about it. I can practically feel you bristle. It's not as if you don't want me too."

  "I don't—" She broke off. She did want him, and the sensual electricity crackling between them had been too powerful for either of them to ig­nore. She refused to play the coy, simpering maiden. "Yes, but I'm not going to do anything about it." She paused deliberately. "And neither are you, Karpathan."

  "Damn, I love your bluntness." This time his low laugh held a note of curious pride. "And your honesty. I hate people who say one thing and do another. There's going to come a time when we're going to do a hell of a lot about it, Alessandra. No, don't bristle again. I just wanted to be as honest with you as you have been with me."

  The man was incredible. "Has it escaped your notice that threatening to shoot a lady doesn't exactly act as an aphrodisiac?" -

  "I was afraid that was going to be your reac­tion." He sighed. "I guess we'll just have to be satisfied with exchanging other intimacies for now."

  "Other intimacies?"

  "Conversation, viewpoints, experiences. Noth­ing very threatening." His voice lowered to velvet

  gentleness. "I didn't want to threaten you, Ales-sandra. My life seems to be constituted of threats and force these days, but not because I want it that way."

  She wasn't sure his gentleness wasn't more threatening than the pistol he had pointed at her. She felt a minute melting somewhere within her, and she instantly braced against the breach in her defenses. "I'll try to remember that next time you're forcing me to do something against my wishes," she said caustically. "Unless you've de­cided to turn over a new leaf and let me go?"

  "No, I can't do that." There was sincere regret in the simple statement. "I can't even say I want to let you go. I want you in a position where I can study you."

  "Study? You make me feel like an insect under a microscope."

  "Hardly an insect, but you're definitely a new species to me." His hand reached out to gently touch her cheek. "Don't jump. I'm not going to hurt you. Anytime you want me to stop, just tell me."

  His fingertips were exploring the clean line of her cheekbone. His touch was infinitely tender, and she felt melting weakness again flow through her. The darkness, the soothing softness of his voice and gossamer touch were having a mesmer­izing effect on her. She found she wanted only to lie here and be lovingly stroked. Lovingly. How had the word suddenly insinuated its way into her consciousness?

  "I've wanted to pet you like this from the mo­ment I saw you in the ballroom."

  Her chest was so tight, she was having trouble forcing breath into her lungs. The darkness was heady with the scent of cinnamon and thyme and the clean, woodsy scent of the man beside her. It took a moment before she was able to force the words out. "Was that before or after you decided you might have to shoot me?"

  "Before, during, after. I'm beginning to think it may never change now."

  Loving. The word again brushed through her mind with the same delicacy as his touch on her cheek. It was crazy to think of the word in con­nection with Karpathan. He was hard and dan­gerous and . . . loving. The word popped up through the haze with maddening persistence. "What are you saying?"

  "That you have a very peculiar effect on me." His fingers drifted up to rub her temple with a touch as light as a breeze on a May morning. "I want to know you." His laugh held a note of won­der. "Lord, I've never wanted to know everything about a woman before, but I do now. I want to know what you like and don't like, what you think." His voice abruptly hardened. "And why the hell you have a lover who's more than twice your age." He felt her stiffen against him. "Oh, all right, forget that last, but we'll definitely be going back to it."

  "I don't think so." She spoke with a coolness she didn't feel. "Take your hand away, Karpathan."

  He removed it instantly, and she immediately experienced a wild sense of loss.

  "You see, no threat," he whispered. "But I think you're missing it as much as I am. I believe touch­ing each other may become addictive for us. Now that you've seen how obedient I am to your every wish, may I touch you again?"

  She opened her lips to refuse, but somehow the words didn't come. After all, what harm could it do? Being caressed by Karpathan was very pleas­ant, and, as he had said, there was no threat.

  He rightly took her silence for assent and his fingertips were once more stroking her temple. "That's right, relax. You don't have to do any­th
ing, not even make a decision. I'll take care of everything."

  It had been a long time since there had been no decisions for her to make. She closed her eyes and let the blissful warmth and security flow over her. "Only because I want to rest for a while, Karpathan. I'm still the one who's in charge."

  "Of course you are," he murmured. "But it wouldn't hurt to talk to me. That's what darkness like this is for. You can toss out a word or sen­tence and it just floats away. Talk to me, Ales-sandra." His fingers were smoothing the soft hair away from her temple. "Are you an American?"

  "I have an American passport. What is this, some kind of third degree?"

  "Perhaps. How long have you been with Bruner?"

  "Since I was fourteen."

  His hand hesitated before resuming stroking. "Remind me sometime to tell you what I think about dirty old men." The harshness in his voice was barely controlled. "He obviously wanted to catch you young enough to train you to his specifications."

  The roughness of the condemnation jarred her out of her dreamlike state of contentment. "You don't know what you're talking about. James isn't a dirty old man." A sad man, a tormented man, but certainly not lascivious. "And our relationship is none of your concern. I think you'd better let me up. I'll sleep on the floor."

  "No." His silence following the protest was charged with conflict. "I won't mention Bruner again. Stay."

  "No more questions?"

  "Not unless you want to ask them of me."

  "Why should I do that? Everyone knows about Karpathan, the Tanzar. The newspapers love you. You're a romantic hero."

  "Lord, what hogwash," he said with a growl. "I'm a soldier. Nothing more."

  That wasn't true. He was also a man, and she was becoming more conscious of his blatant mas­culinity every moment. "You're also the Duke of Limtana, playboy, millionaire, Oxford scholar, sec­ond cousin to deposed King Stefan. Your mother was Argentinian, and she inherited one of the larg­est ranches in Argentina. She returned to the pampas after your father died. You inherited a fortune from both your father and your maternal grandfather. The newspaper articles made a big fuss over your idealism in giving up your silver-spoon existence for your people." Her tone be­came faintly cynical. "But no matter what hap­pens to your revolution, your personal wealth is secure, isn't it? You can indulge yourself in your little adventure and lose nothing."

  "There's one thing I might lose that I consider irreplaceable," he said quietly. "My life. That's a high price to risk for adventure to relieve my boredom."

  She shrugged. "Some men like to live on the edge of danger. Before the revolution you were fond of mountain climbing and race-car driving."

  "You appear to be very well versed about my personal history."

  "I researched you very thoroughly before I came to Tamrovia." Then she added quickly, "Not from any personal interest, you understand. I made sure I knew just as much about Naldona."

  "Researched," he repeated thoughtfully. "That's a curious word to use. Now, why would James Bruner's mistress be curious enough to 'research' the two opposing sides of a war-torn country she was merely visiting?"

  Alessandra was silent.

  "It's none of my business. Right?" Exasperation and resignation threaded the words. "You're a very difficult woman, Alessandra Ballard." He sud­denly chuckled. "But I've never enjoyed anything that came easy. I haven't climbed a mountain in a longtime."

  "I may be large, but I'm not sure I like being compared to a mountain."

  "You're laughing. I'm relieved. I wasn't sure you had a sense of humor underneath all that fierce­ness."

  "Of course I have a sense of humor." It was ridiculous to feel so indignant. Why should it mat­ter what he thought of her? Yet it did. Good Lord, what was happening to her? She drew a deep breath and tried to block out the effect he was having on her emotions. His sensual effect on her was bad enough, but she was beginning to find she actually liked the man. She was discovering qualities of patience, humor, and gentleness she didn't want to acknowledge. He was a man to trust. She had developed an instinct over the years of separating the dross from the gold, and Karpathan was the real thing. The affection and re­spect she had noticed his men gave him was impossible to ignore. Well, she would ignore it. She must ignore it. "I don't want to talk any­more. " She closed her eyes determinedly. "I'm going to sleep now."

  "I think I'm being dismissed." His tone held only indulgent amusement. "All right, go to sleep. I'll watch over you."

  Karpathan would watch over her while she slept. The assurance filled her with warm contentment. After a lifetime of relying on no one but herself, for this brief period she could lower her guard. He was the enemy, but for some unexplainable rea­son she trusted him. She could feel the tension of years begin to splinter and then dissolve. She would have no trouble rebuilding those defenses later, she assured herself drowsily. "I don't need you to look after me, Karpathan. I can take care of myself." She didn't question the impulse that led her to cuddle closer, even as she murmured, "I don't need anyone to take care of me."

  Within a few minutes she had drifted off to sleep. Karpathan carefully shifted his position to slide his arm around her shoulders. Even in sleep she tensed with wariness before relaxing again. Soldiers in the field often developed an alertness that followed them into unconsciousness, and he had been forced to learn it himself. But how and where had the pampered mistress of an industri­alist acquired the instinct? She was an enigma.

  Moving with caution to avoid alerting those in­stincts, he slowly brought her close until her cheek was resting on his shoulder. Her hair smelled faintly floral, and he lowered his head to breathe in the scent that clung to her skin. The fragrance was as individual, basic, and full-bodied as Ales-sandra herself.

  He supposed he should try to go to sleep, though the possibility was extremely unlikely. His arousal was responding to the touch and scent of her with aching sharpness. He drew a shuddering breath and then wished he hadn't. The lush, se­ductive woman scent was going straight from his head to his loins. His lower body moved in a thrusting, yearning movement against her. God, he was hurting. Control. He had to maintain con­trol. By some miracle Alessandra had been per­suaded to trust him, and he mustn't betray her. He had an idea she gave her trust with great rarity. His arms tightened around her for a brief moment. Let her go. He knew he had to let her go, but, dammit, he ... He set his teeth and forced his arms to loosen and then withdraw entirely from around her.

  He gazed unseeingly into the darkness. His mus­cles were stiff and unyielding as he tried to fasten his thoughts on something, anything to keep them away from the woman whose cheek still lay pillowed so trustingly in the hollow of his shoulder.

  Three

  "A labone is a sewer? No wonder you told your friend I'd need a raincoat." Alessandra gazed dis­tastefully at the round, gaping mouth of the man­hole. "I presume it's damp as hell down there."

  Sandor nodded. "Sorry. Belajo is a very old city, and the walls of the sewer system have a tendency to spring leaks." He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "But you'll be glad to know I've seen only a few rats when I've been down there."

  "How very comforting," she said dryly as she edged closer to the manhole. She shivered and drew the folds of the black oilcloth poncho closer to her body. She wasn't sure if the shiver was caused by the thought of going down into the darkness of another unknown labyrinth or from the predawn chill. She should have suspected Karpathan would have an unpleasant surprise for her when he had led her to this alley behind Jannot's cafe. She didn't like burrowing around beneath the ground, dammit. "I'm going to present you with a formidable bill very soon, Karpathan. I'm definitely going to get you."

  "I hope so," he murmured as he watched her negotiate the first rungs of the ladder. "Or vice versa."

  She glanced up and had to smother a smile. She was grateful it was still dark and the smile went unnoticed. She wouldn't have wanted him to know of the strangely companionable mood she'd found herself experie
ncing since he'd wake­ned her twenty minutes earlier.

  After a night spent in his arms, she was having problems convincing herself he was still the en­emy. It was really a pity. He would have made a wonderful comrade in the old days. Together they would have run rings around the guards, and he wouldn't have been intolerant of Dimitri, as the others had been. ...

  "There are several inches of water in the sewer. When you reach the bottom rung, step to the left. There's a foot-wide ledge that's usually above the water level. Be careful. I can't risk turning on the flashlight until I'm in the sewer and the cover is back in place."

  Usually above the water level? She cast an ap­prehensive glance downward. The air here in the sewer was moist and heavy and smelled abomina­ble. She thought she could faintly discern the glitter of water just below her, and she shifted uneasily on the ladder. She had no intention of landing in that murky water if she could prevent it. There was no telling what manner of disgust­ing debris was floating in a sewer. She carefully lowered a foot past the bottom rung of the ladder.

  The tip of her shoe touched liquid, and she quickly jerked it back.

  "Are you all right?" Karpathan asked.

  "Did you ever hear the story about there being alligators in the sewers?"

  He laughed with genuine amusement. "Yes, but it's just a myth."

  "I'm glad you're so confident." Her foot touched the ledge, and she carefully moved to it from the ladder and pressed back against the damp wall of the sewer. "I wouldn't think of questioning your source. If you're wrong, I don't want to know. I'm on the ledge now."

  She cautiously sidled a few feet forward. It was awfully slippery. She wished Karpathan would turn on the flashlight. It was even darker down there than before, now that he'd replaced the manhole cover. She heard his steps echoing on the metal of the ladder, but he was only another dark sil­houette in a tube of shadows. Then he was on the ledge, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was odd how much more secure she felt with Karpathan at her side.