It was a large house for a single man, but Troy didn’t have to be told that Dallas did a fair amount of business entertaining. Still, there seemed an excessive number of bedrooms—until Dallas explained.
“I’d love to fill these with kids,” he said casually, waving a hand toward a hall filled with currently unoccupied rooms.
Troy stopped abruptly and stared up at him. “That’s a tall order.”
“Not really,” he told her serenely. “Twins run in my family.”
She continued to stare at him, finally asking in a careful tone, “Any other little surprises you’d like to spring on me?”
He reflected. “Not at the moment.”
“Thanks.” Troy sighed. “I just may live to fight another day.”
“I’m counting on it, sweetheart.”
Jamie arrived about the time the tour concluded, bearing with him the requested clothes and arriving in his own large sedan, since he always refused to drive Troy’s little Porsche. He remained for coffee, subjecting neither of them to questions, but both to a benevolent stare that made Dallas more than a little uncomfortable—and Jamie didn’t say a word about the diamond. He left about an hour later, calmly assuring Troy that he’d take care of the business until she chose to return, and giving Dallas a handshake that was firm without—quite—breaking bones.
Dallas massaged his hand as he shut the door behind the big man, sending Troy a pained glance. “He doesn’t know his own strength.”
“Oh, yes he does.” Troy smiled gently. “To the last ounce.”
“Have I been warned?” Dallas demanded.
“Sorry about that. Jamie is a bit overprotective sometimes.”
“He looked intimidating.”
“He always looks that way.”
“I thought you said that if you wanted a watchdog, you’d buy a Doberman?”
“I didn’t have a choice with Jamie.”
The day was spent with relative calm compared to the hectic pace Troy normally maintained. And it was a peculiar day in many ways. They were virtually alone; Mrs. Bradley never appeared except during lunch. The phone never once rang, prompting Troy’s conclusion that Dallas had warned his office not to disturb him.
So they were alone. And since the sparkling diamond on her finger was a constant reminder to Troy of just how serious Dallas was about her, she found herself looking at him and responding to him in a new way. She spent most of the day rather puzzled though; while his eyes were warm and caressing whenever they rested on her, Dallas seemed to be avoiding any physical contact.
The logical reason for that, of course, occurred to Troy, but instead of being glad that he’d apparently decided not to pressure her, she found herself expressing quite a few decidedly unladylike sentiments to herself.
He really didn’t have to keep that much distance between them, she thought irritably. He’d said that he loved her; It certainly wasn’t evident by his touch-me-not attitude. Troy knew that she was being unreasonable again, and realized quite sanely that she couldn’t have it both ways. The spark between them was just waiting for kindling to feed its hunger, and the simplest of touches could easily start the fire.
But Troy, restlessly watching him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, wasn’t willing to be reasonable. Over a chessboard late that afternoon she stared at his hand as it hovered ready to move a piece and she remembered the touch of that hand when they’d danced together in her library. She recalled the curious feeling of suspended reality during that interlude and quite suddenly wanted to feel that again.
She wanted Dallas. Admitting it silently brought a rush of feverish intensity through her body, and an odd breathless dizziness. She felt shocked, painfully aware of him as she’d never been before.
“Check,” he said cheerfully, moving a piece decisively and then looking across the board at her. They were sitting comfortably on the carpet on either side of the big glass-topped coffee table in his large den, a fire blazing merrily in the stone hearth just a few feet away. Only the crackle of the flames broke the sudden silence.
“I…concede,” Troy said slowly, in a voice that seemed to her unfamiliar.
Dallas stared across at her, the golden, feverish intensity of her eyes holding him as if by a spell. She was looking at him, he thought, as if she’d never seen him before, the sudden awareness in her eyes a naked thing. “Troy?” he breathed huskily, questioning what he couldn’t put into words.
She reached out slowly, without taking her eyes off him, to tip her king over in acknowledgment of defeat. “I…concede,” she repeated softly.
And then, before either of them could move or speak again, the antique grandfather clock out in the hall announced the hour with the whirring, rasping sound of gallant old age. It was six o’clock.
Blindly Troy looked down at her watch. “We should get ready for the benefit,” she murmured. “There’s a dinner and dancing first, then the performance.”
“Your things were put in the master bedroom,” Dallas said, wanting to say something else. “I moved some of mine to the bedroom across the hall. You go on up: I’ll put the board away.”
Troy rose to her feet in silence and left the room, afraid to look at him again because she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave him even momentarily if she did.
She went up to the master bedroom, where they’d spent the night, her movements automatic. She took a shower and, wrapped in a towel, applied makeup and arranged her hair on top of her head in a deceptively casual style with loose strands framing her face. She dabbed on a small amount of her favorite perfume and placed diamond studs in her earlobes. Then she stepped into the bedroom to stare at the dress lying across the king-size bed.
The dress had been chosen for tonight days ago, but Troy wondered vaguely if she’d had some idea of starting a fire even then. Of all her wardrobe this dress had the best chance of being labeled combustible. She’d bought it in Paris, but she’d never had the nerve to wear it before and wasn’t sure she did tonight.
It was fashioned from a gold material that shimmered with every breath, until it seemed almost to breathe on its own. Fastened in a very flimsy knot on one shoulder and leaving the other shoulder bare, the material displayed little more flesh than most of her evening gowns. But, defying every law of gravity and not relying on strategically placed darts, the material draped seductively over her breasts, leaving her back almost bare, and clung to her hips and thighs. There was a slit up the right side almost to her hip, and it was absolutely impossible to wear anything underneath it.
Troy took a deep breath and determinedly got into the dress, deciding to leave whatever outcome there might be in the hands of the gods. Avoiding a long look in the mirror, she slid her feet into gold pumps and picked up her clutch and white fur jacket, then went downstairs.
Holding her purse and jacket in one hand, she used the other to pick up the long skirt as she carefully descended the stairs. She was paying complete attention to what she was doing and didn’t realize that Dallas was standing at the bottom watching her until he spoke.
“A flame,” he murmured huskily just as she reached the second step. “A beautiful, sexy flame. They say that one of man’s greatest accomplishments was the discovery of fire. But the fire was there all along, in woman. Especially you, sweetheart. You were born fire.”
“And what were you born?” she asked, wondering dimly at the throaty sound of her own voice, wondering how he could possibly look so shatteringly handsome dressed in stark black.
Dallas smiled slowly. “Judging by the way I feel, I was born wood.” His voice deepened suddenly. “And we’d better get out of here before I set the house on fire.”
Silently, conscious of an inner trembling she’d felt only once before, Troy stepped off the final stair and accepted his help in sliding into her jacket. They went out into the chilly evening air and got into the Mercedes, which he’d thoughtfully warmed, and started the drive across town.
The benefit was for a childr
en’s organization, and was being held in a large hotel. Washington society had turned out in force, and so had the press. Flashbulbs and strobes were going constantly, and questions—business, political, or just gossipy—were shouted at the guests as they arrived.
Having run the gauntlet outside, there was a second one of friends and acquaintances inside, and it was nearly half an hour before Troy and Dallas managed to reach their table. Along the way they’d encountered speculative looks and arch questions, which both had ignored for the simple reason that they were only marginally aware of anything but each other.
A barely audible voice in Troy’s head told her that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve for all the world to see, but she couldn’t stop gazing at Dallas. The bottomless depths of his blue eyes fascinated her; the way the taut flesh molded itself over the fine bones of his face fascinated her; the way he moved, the sound of his voice—all these fascinated her.
Dallas, who’d been fascinated and captivated from the beginning, could wish only that they were alone as he drank in the sight of Troy wearing a new and totally feminine hat. This Troy was one he’d searched for and hoped for since the beginning, and he was elated to have found her at last.
All through dinner they talked little, wrapped in their own world. The tension grew until it was quivering in the air between them. They ate what was put in front of them without noticing, heard the tumult of voices around them without listening. And when dinner was over and the music began for dancing, they rose with one mind.
It wasn’t enough, Troy thought as she slipped into his arms on the handkerchief-size dance floor, just to touch. Moments earlier the thought of touching him had seemed heaven, but now it was hell. She couldn’t be close enough to him, and to be only this close was torture. With arms around his neck her hands helplessly, compulsively stroked his thick black hair. She rested her cheek against the material of his jacket, stunningly aware of his breath softly stirring her hair and his hand resting like a brand of promise on the bare flesh of her back.
One dance, two, three—all in silence. They danced only the slow dances, and the seductive beat of the music seemed to enter Troy’s veins and pounded in her heart. She lost all track of time, and when Tom came by their table to collect her for the songs they were doing together, she very nearly asked him what he was talking about. But reluctantly she went with him. Neither she nor Dallas had said a word in nearly an hour.
She accompanied Tom into the curtained-off area beside the small stage, wishing with a small and distant part of her mind that they’d been able to rehearse here instead of having been forced to use the concert hall. But it didn’t really bother her. Nothing bothered her.
Tom brought her slightly back to earth.
“I’m happy for you, Blondie.” He gestured toward the diamond, smiling slightly. “And I’ll be even happier if you remember we’re supposed to be singing together out there.”
Troy blinked at him, then smiled. “I remember.”
“Good. You shouldn’t have any problems. They’re love songs.”
“You’ve been a good friend, Tommy,” she told him seriously.
He looked alarmed. “Hey! We won’t stop being friends just because Cameron finally found a way to catch you, will we? Or is he the jealous type?”
She shook her head ruefully. “I did sound as if I were about to abandon everything, didn’t I? I think I’ve gone over the edge, Tommy.”
“I know damn well you have,” Tom said definitely, then winked at her and strolled out on stage as the master of ceremonies announced his name.
Troy listened absently as Tom joked with the audience for a few moments, then squared her shoulders and stepped out onto the stage when he introduced his partner for the evening.
Odd, she thought. She didn’t even have butter-flies.
Troy didn’t remember very much of the performance when she looked back on it later. She remembered that the audience seemed pleased, and she remembered that she had no difficulty in locating Dallas in the crowd out front. She remembered singing directly to him because, as Tommy had said, they were love songs.
The rest of the evening stretched into an eternity. There were other performers she barely heard. There were more dances danced in silence. There were blue eyes across the table.
And then there were good nights and a silent drive across town in the Mercedes, and she realized that she didn’t even mind being driven by him. The night was cold and crisp, and there was a full moon made just to order for them. The house was quiet because Mrs. Bradley had gone and dim because only a few lights had been left on.
And perhaps she was an old-fashioned kind of lady, as Dallas had said, but even old-fashioned ladies could let down their hair when the door was closed and the world shut out. Even old-fashioned ladies could love and be loved. And there was nothing—nothing at all—wrong with that.
Troy waited silently as Dallas removed her purse from nerveless fingers and laid it on a hall table before sliding the fur jacket off and placing it there also. Something tapped at the back of her mind as he turned back to her, the blue fire in his eyes reminding her of a slight misunderstanding that really needed to be cleared up.
“Dallas…about all those lovers in my past—”
Suddenly, with an odd, controlled violence, Dallas reached out and hauled her against his hard body, the flame in his eyes blazing higher and hotter. Something leaped out at her from those blue fires for a moment, something wild and primitive, and the rawness of it shocked and compelled.
“I don’t want to hear, Troy,” he vowed fiercely, his head bending toward hers. “Not now. I don’t want to know—”
EIGHT
“DALLAS—”
“I don’t want to know,” he repeated urgently, his lips seeking and finding hers in a demanding firestorm of need.
Troy dismissed the subject from her mind. Her fingers locked in his hair as her mouth came alive beneath his, matching searing desire with her own burning passion, setting alight a fire that could never be put out. She felt the starkly possessive invasion of his tongue as her own dueled with his in the instinctive hunger of the ages.
The tremors that had shaken her all evening spread outward now, from the core of her being, like ripples in a pool. She was hot, then cold; strong, then weak. Colors whirled wildly behind her closed eyelids and every nerve ending seemed sensitized almost beyond bearing. Only his lips on hers smothered the cry of pleasure aching to escape when his hand slid probingly up her spine. Her body arched into his compulsively, and her desire spiraled suddenly into frantic necessity.
She felt herself lifted, his arms carrying her easily as he turned toward the stairs. Only then, reluctantly, did his mouth leave hers. Eyes closed, Troy turned her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne and only vaguely aware that he was carrying her into his bedroom.
Dallas set her gently on her feet beside the turned-down bed, only the lamp on the nightstand proving a soft glow. His hands framing her face tenderly, he feathered kisses across her brow and down her cheek, his thumb gliding back and forth over her lips in a rhythmic little caress.
For a few moments, her eyes still closed, Troy held his wrists as though they were lifelines. Then the fever demanded more, and as her eyes slowly opened, her hands were reaching to push the jacket off his shoulders. The garment fell unheeded to the floor as he shrugged out of it, his hands returning briefly to her face before helping her to unbutton his white shirt. The tie was thrown aside, followed by the shirt, and Troy discovered a new fascination in the muscled strength of his tanned chest.
She reached out tentatively, her fingers threading among the springy dark hairs to find the firm flesh beneath, and then she leaned forward suddenly to press her lips to him. She felt her hair falling free as his fingers dislodged the pins, and stepped out of her shoes automatically as he reached for the knot at her shoulder. Shimmering gold material slid down her body with a whispering sound to pool around her feet, and she heard Da
llas catch his breath sharply.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped softly, his eyes avidly searching out the curves shadowed and highlighted in the dim light.
Golden eyes gazed up at him dreamily for a moment, and then Troy slid her arms around his waist and pressed her body against his with a need beyond reason. Instinct fueled by desire made her languid movement far more sensual than she knew, and the strength in her lithe body added an unusual grace.
Dallas caught his breath harshly again, holding her to him fiercely for a moment before lifting her up into his arms and placing her on the bed.
Troy lay silently and watched with passion-dazed eyes as he hastily removed the remainder of his clothing. She felt neither embarrassed nor uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his stare; instead, something deep inside of her burst from seed and bloomed in a new awareness of her own womanhood. Something was unleashed, and the sound released from her throat as he moved down on the bed beside her was a sound born in the caves.
She felt the sensual abrasiveness of his hands as they shaped and molded willing flesh, and when he buried his face between her breasts, Troy tangled her fingers in his hair and gave herself up to pleasure. She didn’t realize that she had murmured something aloud until Dallas lifted his head and looked down at her with a curiously arrested expression in his hot eyes.
“What?” he murmured, one hand reaching to trace the clean line of her jaw.
Troy smiled at him a little uncertainly. “I said…no lovers. There are no lovers in my past, Dallas.”
He went so still that Troy was frightened for an eternal moment, but then he was kissing her with a new intensity and her fear disappeared.
“I was so afraid,” he muttered, “of ghosts. They tortured me, because I knew you had to care for them. They haunted me….”
Troy kept her fingers locked in his hair when his lips returned to her breasts, her body arching with a mind of its own at the first touch. Her eyes closed, and she shut out everything but the feel of his lips caressing, his tongue swirling hungrily. A moan rose up from the deepest part of her and escaped in a choked sound as his fingers probed erotically, and a restlessness prodded her toward something she’d never known before.