“Ryan,” he said carefully, “there’s no need for you to feel sorry for me.”
“No.” She shook her head, understanding his reluctance to accept sympathy. It had been the same with Bess. “I know that, but it’s difficult not to feel sorry for a small boy.”
He smiled, brushing a finger over her lips. “He was very resilient.” He set her away from him. “You’d better turn those steaks.”
Ryan busied herself with the steaks, knowing he wanted the subject dropped. How could she explain she was hungry for any detail of his life, anything that would bring him closer to her? And perhaps she was wrong, she thought, to touch on the past when she was afraid to touch on the future.
“How do you like them cooked?” she asked as she bent down to the broiler.
“Mmm, medium rare.” He was more interested in the view she provided as she leaned over. “Link has his own dressing made up for the salad. It’s quite good.”
“Where did he learn to cook?” she asked as she turned the second steak.
“It was a matter of necessity,” Pierce told her. “He likes to eat. Things were lean in the early days when we were on the road. It turned out he was a lot more handy with a can of soup than Bess or me.”
Ryan turned and sent him a smile. “You know, they were going to San Francisco today.”
“Yes.” He quirked a brow. “So?”
“He’s just as crazy about her as she is about him.”
“I know that, too.”
“You might have done something to move things along after all these years,” she stated, gesturing with the kitchen fork. “After all, they’re your friends.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t interfere,” he said mildly. “What did you do?”
“Well, I didn’t interfere,” she said with a sniff. “I merely gave him a very gentle shove in the right direction. I mentioned that Bess has a preference for piano players.”
“I see.”
“He’s so shy,” she said in exasperation. “He’ll be ready for social security before he works up the nerve to—to . . .”
“To what?” Pierce asked, grinning.
“To anything,” Ryan stated. “And stop leering at me.”
“Was I?”
“You know very well you were. And anyway—” She gasped and dropped the kitchen fork with a clatter when something brushed past her ankles.
“It’s just Circe,” Pierce pointed out, then grinned as Ryan sighed. “She smells the meat.” He picked up the fork to rinse it off while the cat rubbed against Ryan’s legs and purred lovingly. “She’ll do her best to convince you she deserves some for herself.”
“Your pets have a habit of catching me off guard.”
“Sorry.” But he smiled, not looking sorry at all.
Ryan put her hands on her hips. “You like to see me rattled, don’t you?”
“I like to see you,” he answered simply. He laughed and caught her up in his arms. “Though I have to admit, there’s something appealing about seeing you wear my clothes while you putter around the kitchen in your bare feet.”
“Oh,” she said knowingly. “The caveman syndrome.”
“Oh, no, Miss Swan.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’m your slave.”
“Really?” Ryan considered the interesting possibilities of the statement. “Then set the table,” she told him. “I’m starving.”
They ate by candlelight. Ryan never tasted a mouthful of the meal. She was too full of Pierce. There was wine—something smooth and mellow, but it might have been water, for all it mattered. In the baggy sweatshirt and jeans, she had never felt more like a woman. His eyes told her constantly that she was beautiful, interesting, desirable. It seemed as though they had never been lovers, never been intimate. He was wooing her.
He made her glow with a look, with a soft word or the touch of his hand on hers. It never ceased to please her, even overwhelm her, that he had so much romance in him. He had to know that she would be with him under any circumstances, yet he courted her. Flowers and candlelight and the words of a man captivated. Ryan fell in love again.
Long after both of them had lost any interest in the meal, they lingered. The wine grew warm, the candles low. He was content to watch her in the flickering light, to let her quiet voice flow over him. Whatever needs built inside him could be soothed by merely running his fingers over the back of her hand. He wanted nothing more than to be with her.
Passion would come later, he knew. In the night, in the dark when she lay beside him. But for now it was enough to see her smile.
“Will you wait for me in the parlor?” he murmured and kissed her fingers one at a time. Shivery delight shot up her arm.
“I’ll help with the dishes.” But her thoughts were far, far away from practical matters.
“No, I’ll see to it.” Pierce turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm. “Wait for me.”
Her knees trembled, but she rose when he drew her to her feet. She couldn’t take her eyes from his. “You won’t be long?”
“No.” He slid his hands down her arms. “I won’t be long, love.” Gently, he kissed her.
Ryan walked to the parlor in a daze. It hadn’t been the kiss but the one simple word of endearment that had her heart pounding. It seemed impossible, after what they had been to each other, that a casual word would send her pulses racing. But Pierce was careful with words.
And it was a night for enchantment, she thought as she entered the parlor. A night made for love and romance. She walked to the window to look out at the sky. Even the moon was full, as if it knew it had to be. It was quiet enough that she could just hear the sound of waves against rock.
They were on an island, Ryan imagined. It was a small, windswept island in some dark sea. And the nights were long. There was no phone, no electricity. On impulse, she turned from the window and began to light the candles that were scattered around the room. The fire was laid, and she set a match to the kindling. The dry wood caught with a crackle.
Rising, she looked around the room. The light was just as she wanted it—insubstantial with shadows shifting. It added just a touch of mystery and seemed to reflect her own feelings toward Pierce.
Ryan glanced down at herself and brushed at the sweatshirt. If only she had something lovely to wear, something white and filmy. But perhaps Pierce’s imagination would be as active as hers.
Music, she thought suddenly and looked around. Surely he had a stereo, but she wouldn’t have any idea where to look for it. Inspired, she went to the piano.
Link’s staff paper was waiting. Between the glow from the fire behind her and the candles on the piano, Ryan could see the notes clearly enough. Sitting down, she began to play. It took only moments for her to be caught up in the melody.
Pierce stood in the doorway and watched her. Although her eyes were fixed on the paper in front of her, they seemed to be dreaming. He’d never seen her quite like this—so caught up in her own thoughts. Unwilling to break her mood, he stood where he was. He could have watched her forever.
In the candlelight her hair was only a mist falling over her shoulders. Her skin was pale. Only her eyes were dark, moved by the music she played. He caught the faint whiff of wood smoke and melting wax. It was a moment he knew he would remember for the rest of his life. Years and years could pass, and he would be able to close his eyes and see her just like this, hear the music drifting, smell the candles burning.
“Ryan.” He hadn’t meant to speak aloud, indeed had only whispered her name, but her eyes lifted to his.
She smiled, but the flickering light caught the glistening tears. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes.” Pierce could hardly trust himself to speak. A word, a wrong move might shatter the mood. What he saw, what he felt might be an illusion after all. “Please, play it again.”
Even after she had begun, he came no closer. He wanted the picture to remain exactly as it was. Her lips were just parted. He could taste them as he stood there. He
knew how her cheek would feel if he laid his hand on it. She would look up at him and smile with that special warmth in her eyes. But he wouldn’t touch her, only absorb all she was in this one special moment out of time.
The flames of the candles burned straight. A log shifted quietly in the grate. And then she was finished.
Her eyes lifted to his. Pierce went to her.
“I’ve never wanted you more,” he said in a low, almost whispering voice. “Or been more afraid to touch you.”
“Afraid?” Her fingers stayed lightly on the keys. “Why?”
“If I were to touch you, my hand might pass through you. You might only be a dream after all.”
Ryan took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “It’s no dream,” she murmured. “Not for either of us.”
Her skin was warm and real under his fingers. He was struck by a wave of incredible tenderness. Pierce lifted her other hand, holding it as though it were made of porcelain. “If you had one wish, Ryan, only one, what would it be?”
“That tonight, just tonight, you’d think of nothing and no one but me.”
Her eyes were brilliant in the dim, shifting light. Pierce drew her to her feet, then cupped her face in his hand. “You waste your wishes, Ryan, asking for something that already is.” He kissed her temples, then her cheeks, leaving her mouth trembling for the taste of his.
“I want to fill your mind,” she told him, her voice wavering, “so there’s no room for anything else. Tonight I want there to be only me. And tomorrow—”
“Shh.” He kissed her mouth to silence her, but so lightly she was left with only a promise of what was to come. “There’s no one but you, Ryan.” Her eyes were closed, and he brushed his lips delicately over the lids. “Come to bed,” he murmured. “Let me show you.”
Taking her hand, he walked through the room, putting out the candles. He lifted one, letting its quivering light show them the way.
Chapter 14
They had to be separated again. Ryan knew it was necessary in the course of preparing the special. When she was lonely for him, she had only to remember that last magic night they had spent together. It would be enough to hold her until she could see him again.
Though she saw him off and on during the next weeks, it was only professionally. He came to her for meetings or to oversee certain points of his own business. He kept to himself on these. Ryan still knew nothing about the construction of the props and gags he would use. He would give her a detailed list of the illusions he would perform, their time sequence and only the barest explanation of their mechanics.
Ryan found this frustrating, but she had little else to complain about. The set was forming along the lines she, Bloomfield and Pierce had ultimately agreed on. Elaine Fisher was signed for a guest appearance. Ryan had managed to hold her own through the series of tough, emotional meetings. And so, she recalled with amusement, had Pierce.
He could say more with his long silences and one or two calm words than a dozen frantic, bickering department heads. He sat through their demands and complaints with complete amiability and always came out on top.
He wouldn’t agree to use a professional script for the show. It was as simple as that. He said no. And he had stuck to it—because he knew he was right. He had his own music, his own director, his own prop crew. Nothing would sway him from using his own people on key posts. He turned down six costume sketches with a careless shake of the head.
Pierce did things his own way and bent only when it suited him to bend. Yet Ryan saw that the creative staff, as temperamental as they came, offered little complaint about him. He charmed them, she noted. He had a way with people. He would warm you or freeze you—it only took a look.
Bess was to have the final say on her own wardrobe. Pierce simply stated that she knew best what suited her. He refused to rehearse unless the set was closed. Then he entertained the stagehands with sleight of hand and card tricks. He knew how to keep control without rippling the waters.
Ryan, however, found it difficult to function around the restrictions he put on her and her staff. She tried reasoning, arguing, pleading. She got nowhere.
“Pierce.” Ryan cornered him on the set during a break in rehearsal. “I have to talk to you.”
“Hmm?” He watched his crew set up the torches for the next segment. “Exactly eight inches apart,” he told them.
“Pierce, this is important.”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“You can’t bar Ned from the set during rehearsal,” she said and tugged on his arm to get his full attention.
“Yes, I can. I did. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Yes, he told me.” She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Pierce, as production coordinator, he has a perfectly legitimate reason to be here.”
“He gets in the way. Make sure there’s a foot between the rows, please.”
“Pierce!”
“What?” he said pleasantly and turned back to her. “Have I told you that you look lovely today, Miss Swan?” He ran the lapel of her jacket between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s a very nice suit.”
“Listen, Pierce, you’ve got to give my people a little more room.” She tried to ignore the smile in his eyes and continued. “Your crew is very efficient, but on a production of this size we need more hands. Your people know your work, but they don’t know television.”
“I can’t have your people poking into my props, Ryan. Or wandering around when I’m setting up.”
“Good grief, do you want them to sign a blood oath not to reveal your secrets?” she demanded, waving her clipboard. “We could set it up for the next full moon.”
“A good idea, but I don’t know how many of your people would go along with it. Not your production coordinator, at any rate,” he added with a grin. “I don’t think he’d care for the sight of his own blood.”
Ryan lifted a brow. “Are you jealous?”
He laughed with such great enjoyment she wanted to hit him. “Don’t be absurd. He’s hardly a threat.”
“That’s not the point,” she muttered, miffed. “He’s very good at his job, but he can hardly do it if you won’t be reasonable.”
“Ryan,” he said, looking convincingly surprised, “I’m always reasonable. What would you like me to do?”
“I’d like you to let Ned do what he has to do. And I’d like you to let my people in the studio.”
“Certainly,” he agreed. “But not when I’m rehearsing.”
“Pierce,” she said dangerously. “You’re tying my hands. You have to make certain concessions for television.”
“I’m aware of that, Ryan, and I will.” He kissed her brow. “When I’m ready. No,” he continued before she could speak again, “you have to let me work with my own crew until I’m sure it’s smooth.”
“And how long is that going to take?” She knew he was winning her over as he had everyone from Coogar down.
“A few more days.” He took her free hand. “Your key people are here, in any case.”
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “But by the end of the week the lighting crew will have to be in on rehearsals. That’s essential.”
“Agreed.” He gave her hand a solemn shake. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” Ryan straightened her shoulders and shot him a level look. “The time for the first segment runs over by ten seconds. You’re going to have to alter it to fit the scheduled run of the commercials.”
“No, you’ll have to alter the scheduled run of commercials.” He gave her a light kiss before he walked away.
Before she could shout at him, Ryan found there was a rosebud pinned to her lapel. Pleasure mixed with fury until it was too late to act.
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
Ryan turned her head to see Elaine Fisher. “Something,” she agreed. “I hope you’re satisfied with everything, Miss Fisher,” she continued, then smiled at the petite, kittenlike blonde. “Your dressing room’s agreeable?”
 
; “It’s fine.” Elaine flashed her winning, toothy smile. “There’s a bulb burned out on my mirror, though.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Elaine watched Pierce and gave her quick, bubbling laugh. “I’ve