Gigi, watching with an elbow propped on her desk and her delicate chin resting in her cupped palm, said sympathetically, “It is most disheartening, I’m sure.”
Disregarding the interpolation, Hagen continued to pace magnificently. “I knew it the moment he caught sight of her in the lobby. We’re on the point of capturing an assassin and terrorist who has successfully eluded the combined law enforcement and intelligence agencies of the world for years, and Skye Prescott takes one look at a woman and goes to pieces. A trained, experienced agent, mind you, and a man I would have said could have dispatched Adrian with his bare hands.”
In a reflective and somewhat dissatisfied tone, Gigi offered, “Not to pieces, not quite that.” She sighed before attempting to redirect Hagen’s thoughts. “You said Skye had found the explosives placed by Adrian, so he is obviously thinking of why you brought him here.”
Hagen wasn’t mollified. “He wasn’t thinking at all once he caught sight of your Katrina. Send her away, Gigi!”
“No.”
He stopped pacing, setting his palms on her desk and leaning toward her. In a voice of awful authority he said, “You must send her away.”
Unimpressed and even a little amused, Gigi retorted, “It would be better for your blood pressure, Hagen, if you could bring yourself to realize that you do not command me. I will not send Katrina away. And if you were as wise about human nature as you claim to be about virtually everything else, you would know that Skye wouldn’t be much good to you if I did.”
Hagen stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes steely. Then he moved to her visitor’s chair and sat down, heaving a gusty sigh. “I suppose not,” he said unexpectedly.
Gigi blinked, then smiled.
Seeing her expression, he said testily, “I am not such a fool as you seem to believe!”
“I have never thought you a fool,” she said definitely. “Egotistical, selfish, manipulative, arrogant, secretive, and always ruthless—but never a fool.”
This measured and masterly description of his character brought a gleam to Hagen’s eyes. “And I’ve never thought you a fool, my dear.”
“No,” she agreed, adding sweetly, “merely a lump of clay awaiting a molding hand.”
He winced. “If I ever believed that,” he muttered, “you rid me of the notion years ago.”
“Not completely.” Her voice was dry. “You continue to behave, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, as if you can bend me to your will.”
Hagen eyed her speculatively. “I’ve never been able to do that, have I, my dear?”
“No. And you never shall.” She watched his face and believed that for the first time he had accepted the truth. She saw something else as well, though no hint of that knowledge showed on her face. Skye, she thought, was not the only hard and capable agent who had allowed a woman to distract him from professional thoughts.
Hagen had forgotten all about Adrian.
—
The clowns of Fantasyland tended to wander all over the park, so it wasn’t very surprising that one of them stood near a docked riverboat in the section called Seafaring Days and talked to an antebellum gambler. But more than one passing visitor stifled a laugh, mostly because the happy clown was busy consuming, under the fascinated eye of the gambler, a foot-long hot dog that seemed to have everything on it.
“Want a bite?” she invited cheerfully.
Dane winced. “Thank you, but no. My mind balks, to say nothing of my stomach. Is that black stuff caviar?”
“Uh-huh.”
“On a hot dog?”
A faintly startled look refused to be hidden beneath her happy clown’s makeup. “That is strange, isn’t it? I’ve been putting it on everything lately.”
Dane’s firm mouth twitched. “A very extravagant craving,” he noted politely.
Her eyes gleamed at him. “You’ve got to learn how to be an indulgent husband. After I ordered a jar from room service and put some on waffles, Josh just bought a case of the stuff and put it in the refrigerator in our room. I left him there a little while ago taking care of some business calls, and he didn’t say a word when I got a jar out and put it in my money belt.” She indicated the belt meant to hold the proceeds from her balloon sales, explaining, “I knew the hot dog vendor wouldn’t have caviar.”
He watched her finish the hot dog with undiminished enjoyment, shaking his head, then said, “I hope you’ll pardon my inexperience in these matters, but should you be out here in this heat?”
Raven crumpled up her napkin and tossed it accurately into a nearby trash can. Dryly she told him, “The days of ladies in interesting conditions being waited on hand and foot are long past, pal—though Josh would, if I’d let him. I’m fine, believe me. Aside from my odd cravings, that is.”
“If you say so.”
He seemed a bit doubtful, and Raven couldn’t help grinning. She had never in her life been treated like a frail flower, even by Josh, who openly adored her; pregnancy clearly changed all that, and it fascinated her. This “interesting condition” of hers was giving her a whole new perspective on the mysterious instincts of the male, and she was enjoying it. Being Raven, she explored the matter curiously.
“I realize that impending fatherhood must be as unnerving as impending motherhood,” she said to Dane, “but what is it that makes you men go all to pieces about it? Josh was fine when we first found out, but the next morning at breakfast he suddenly went white as a sheet. He said it had just hit him.”
Dane eyed her thoughtfully. “I can’t speak from experience, but I think that unnerving is the wrong word. Terrifying is probably closer to the mark.”
Raven considered that. “Well, I’ll admit that parenthood is a scary proposition. But you men—all of you, not just my darling husband—look at a pregnant woman with the most amazing fascination.”
“We can’t do it, you see,” Dane explained gravely.
Staring at him, she said bemusedly, “You know, I never really thought about it in quite that way. But women have been having babies for two million years; I’d have thought you men would have gotten used to it by now. Especially since science and Lamaze classes have pretty much robbed pregnancy of its mysteries.”
Thoughtfully Dane said, “I imagine every man gets a shock when the matter becomes a personal one. Besides, you women are biologically designed to cope. There aren’t any physical changes or hormonal influences on a man’s emotions when he’s about to become a father. He’s exactly the same as he was before. I think most of us would choose to share the emotions of our wives, but the simple fact is that we can’t feel the same, not really. We don’t know what the kick of a baby feels like from inside, and we have nothing to compare it to. What we do feel is fascination, because the process is so alien to us despite all the knowledge available to us. Pregnancy is so amazing.” He laughed suddenly. “And if Jenny ever asks me the same question, I’ll probably be totally incoherent when I try to answer.”
Raven was smiling. “Josh was. And he never is, you know.” She shook her head in bemusement, then asked abruptly, “How’s Skye?”
“I didn’t think you came out here just to share your lunch,” Dane said.
“It isn’t simple professional interest.” She looked at him seriously. “Once he came out of the dark and stopped being you, I could see the shadows still holding on to him. And shadows like his mean pain. You don’t have to tell me that the two of you are as different as night and day, but you’re both natural actors, very adept at hiding your feelings, and Skye’s method is a shell as hard as granite.”
“Not entirely a shell,” Dane said reluctantly.
Raven nodded. “Yes, that’s why I didn’t go to him directly. He’ll always be difficult only some of the time. And he’s probably,” she added in a thoughtful tone, “as obstinate as a mule.”
Dane grinned. “Woman’s intuition?”
She eyed him darkly. “No. Merely perception born of experience with a certain breed of man. Teddy calls them dragon slay
ers, and it’s as good a word as any. You’re one yourself, and don’t try to deny it. Most of them hide steel cores under a layer of deceptively softer material. Josh is charming; Rafferty is lazy; Zach is soft-spoken and mild—though he doesn’t hide the steel very well; Luc is charming; Kelsey is often absurd; Derek is calm. And you, pal, are the most tranquil man I’ve ever met. You hide the steel best of all. But it’s there.”
“And Skye?” Dane asked curiously.
Raven smiled faintly. “He doesn’t even try to hide it. Skye is hard and tough, impatient and reckless, and so intense he’s pretty well bound to go off the deep end no matter what emotion he’s coping with. I’d guess he’s about as easily pushed as a mountain and about that easy to lead, and if he ever loves a woman he’ll be putty in her hands.”
Dane’s eyes gleamed. “You ought to be burned at the stake,” he observed.
She looked modest. “Just a natural talent.” Then she sobered and said, “But that doesn’t really help me in knowing if he’s all right. Katrina is a stranger to me, so I can’t begin to guess how she’s coping with the kind of intensity that would unnerve most women from ten feet away.”
Dane wasn’t surprised Raven knew Katrina’s name, even though he hadn’t told her. She had an uncanny knack of finding out things whenever her curiosity was aroused. And he wasn’t very surprised by her perceptive analysis of Skye’s character; she had known Skye as long as she’d known him and he didn’t doubt that once their secret had been disclosed, she had very accurately pinpointed those occasions during the past years when Dane had actually been Skye.
“How is she coping?” she asked him bluntly.
Dane frowned. “I haven’t seen enough of her to know. I don’t think Skye’s sure either.”
Raven stared at him for a moment. “Shadows. Pain. A dark and stormy past?”
He was startled by that. “You are a witch!”
“No. But dragon slayers tend to love only once, and be rather violent about it. I watched Skye with Hagen at the Ferris wheel a little while ago, and the pain was still there. Since Katrina hasn’t cured him of it, she must have caused it. Makes sense.”
“They got a second chance,” Dane said, tacitly confirming her guess.
“I hope they make it this time,” said Raven, who knew when to stop prying. Then, dryly, she added, “I suppose we should have known that any caper involving Hagen would spawn a romance. You might want to tell Skye that so far, our inadvertent cupid is batting a thousand.”
“I’ll tell him.” Dane chuckled suddenly. “Although, according to Skye, there may very well be a second romance in the offing.”
“Oh? Whose?”
“Hagen’s.”
Raven blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It appears that Hagen and Gigi aren’t quite the bitter enemies rumor has it they are. All sound and a fury that isn’t anger, if you get what I mean. And I happen to know that the staff of the hotel has two betting pools going. One concerned Skye and Katrina; the second, I hear, has been going on since the first time Hagen visited Gigi here years ago. And the odds have shortened. As of this morning, over half the hotel staff believes that Gigi will get him to the altar—this time.”
A smile of unholy amusement slowly matched the clown’s grin on Raven’s face. “Hoisted by his own petard! Ohhh! It’s priceless! Wait until Josh hears.”
Enjoying her delight, Dane nonetheless cautioned, “It isn’t a sure thing, you know. They’ve known each other for twenty years, and the staff seems to think Gigi’s been trying to catch him for the last ten.”
Raven’s smile remained, but the light in her eyes became speculative. “I wonder…”
Dane was a perceptive man and, moreover, had some experience with Raven’s shrewd, intelligent mind. So he felt torn between amusement and fascination as he watched her bright eyes and realized an idea was forming in that brilliant mind. “What’re you up to?” he demanded.
“I think I’ll call Serena,” Raven answered.
“Who?”
“Josh’s sister. She has a wonderfully devious mind and great instincts about people.”
After a moment Dane said, “Are we still talking about Hagen?”
“Yes. And his trip to the altar.”
Dane would have been the first to admit that Raven knew her ex-boss far better than he did, but he also knew Hagen’s reputation. “I wouldn’t have thought he could be any more easily led than Skye can,” he ventured.
An irrepressible giggle escaped Raven. “Oh, he’s very easily led, once you know how to do it. Just witness our present caper. And, in language you of all people will understand, we can’t possibly lose this game. Aces are wild—and we’re holding all of them.”
As he watched her stroll away, Dane reflected that she was quite right. Between them, Raven and her friends had stacked the deck very neatly for this unusual poker match.
Hagen, master gamesman though he was, was about to lose to a hand full of aces.
—
Katrina should have realized, after the previous day, that Skye wasn’t a man who allowed little things like schedules to interfere with his pleasures. It hadn’t occurred to her—first because she was so accustomed to having a job with fixed hours, and second because he had appeared both to accept and respect her duties in the hotel, that was, until Friday.
She had managed to reconstruct her control after he’d shattered it this morning, and was working steadily at her desk when he came into her office just before lunch. The computer screen before her flickered with the swiftly moving data of the hotel’s accounts, and she was concentrating fixedly.
Some part of her felt him come in, but she was able to keep most of her mind on the work, and that was something of a relief. Without looking up she said, “Did you show it to Hagen?” He had told her what he’d done this morning at breakfast and that he intended to take Hagen out there.
“Yes. He had me ‘disarm’ it but leave it there. He’s now busy trying to outthink Adrian on the matter of random chance.” Skye moved around the desk until he was beside her and bent to kiss the bare nape of her neck.
Katrina controlled a shiver and glared at the computer’s inoffensive screen. “Just as you thought. What do you mean to do now?”
“Take you upstairs,” he said, exploring the scented flesh beneath her right ear.
She had automatically hit the key that stopped the program she was running, but managed to hold her body stiff. “Skye, I have to do these accounts. It’s the end of the month, and they have to be done today.”
“Later,” he dismissed her impatiently.
“It’ll take all day, even with the computer. I’m not even planning on breaking for lunch.”
He suddenly yanked her up from the chair and pulled her into his arms. “Then quit the damned job,” he said in a voice that was little more than a growl.
Skye knew it was a mistake the moment the words left him. He had spoken without thinking as usual, and as usual it was because she was hiding from him. Her cool, elegant figure behind the desk inflamed him because she looked so damned untouchable, and her faintly absent tone made it worse. He could barely think when she was nearby; in fact, he had enraged Hagen by losing the thread of conversation as he watched her walk through the lobby over an hour before.
And his own loss of control was doubly galling because her control appeared so solid. She lost it in passion, and in anger, but it never deserted her for long. And as far as he could tell, a casual glance or touch from him never so much as rippled the smooth surface of her serenity. She was aloof except when she was in his arms. As cool and elusive as moonlight, as hot and bright as sunlight; the paradox of her maddened him.
He had thought that finding the fire in her would be enough, but he had discovered it wasn’t. He wanted her to burn for him, always, the way he burned for her always. He hated everything that took her attention away from him for even an instant, and knowing his ferocity stemmed from his own insecurity about her
feelings for him did nothing to change it.
“What?” she gasped now, staring up at him.
He gazed at her lovely face, and what he wanted to say was I’m going crazy with wanting you; don’t shut me out! But, incurably graceless whenever strong emotions gripped him, he of course said the last thing he should have.
“I said quit the damned job,” he repeated impatiently, and rapidly made bad worse. “You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.”
Katrina shoved him away with unexpected strength, her amber eyes snapping. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said tightly. “I may be a fallen woman, as you so aptly put it, but I’ll be damned if I’m a kept one!”
She wasn’t composed now, but Skye was belatedly aware that this kind of fire was likely to burn more than his hands. He had never before seen her this angry, and even while he was busy cursing himself he couldn’t help but be fascinated. “Oh, hell, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Trina—God, you’re beautiful,” he interrupted himself to say intensely.
The impulsive comment didn’t mollify her in the least. In fact, if she’d been angry before, she was furious now. “You may think my job is nothing, an inconvenience in your sex life, but you can think again,” she snapped. “I won’t drop everything when you whistle, and I sure as hell won’t be tumbled into bed because you’re in the mood for a quickie!”
He laughed, unable to help himself, as her innately gentle voice shaped the blunt words. If he had considered it, he would have been surprised that her burst of rage did nothing to spark his own ready temper; oddly enough, he felt no anger at all, but only a sheepish desire to make amends.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she practically shouted.
“I’m not,” he assured her hastily, reaching out for her and being held off when she shoved the chair between them. “Trina, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded—”
“I don’t care how you meant it,” she snarled.
“Please, sweetheart—”
“Get out of my office,” she ordered with a sudden and fiery dignity. She pushed the chair away and began shoving him toward the door.
Somewhat to his surprise, he found himself going. “Trina, for heaven’s sake!”