Golden Threads, Page 4

  “Good luck.”

  He eyed her. “You don’t think I can do it?”

  “I imagine you could,” she said politely. “And I imagine the sun could rise in the west, given a slight change in the earth’s orbit.”

  Luke winced, but rallied quickly. “Tomorrow, I’ll come armed with tuna. In the meantime, have dinner with me tonight.”

  She smiled. “Sorry. I have plans.”

  “Tomorrow night, then?”

  “Why don’t we wait until tomorrow?”

  He sighed heavily. “I know what it is. Somebody else got here before me, damn him. No ring, so it can’t be a husband. Fiancé? Boyfriend? Just tell me the scoundrel’s name, and I’ll beat him to a pulp.”

  “I don’t approve of violence,” she said, still casual.

  “Lara, Susie’s ready for you,” Devon said, emerging from the shadows of the wings.

  “Thanks.” She smiled apologetically at Luke, who shrugged cheerfully and went back to work. She walked past Devon, giving him another smile, which he returned, then headed backstage toward the dressing rooms. Wondering suddenly how much Devon had heard of her conversation with Luke, she glanced back over her shoulder at him just before he was out of sight.

  He was standing with his hands in his pockets, gazing across the stage toward Luke. He wasn’t smiling any longer. His handsome face was still and hard.

  And dangerous.

  Chapter 3

  Lara told herself that her own uneasiness was making her suspicious of everything, but it didn’t help much. That look on Devon’s face bothered her; it hadn’t been jealousy or dislike of another man’s attentions to her, of that she was sure. It had been something else, something she couldn’t define.

  She stood in the dressing room while Susie measured her, then draped fabric around her, barely aware of the other woman’s occasional enthusiastic comments. She kept remembering her first impression of Devon as enigmatic and dispassionate, and reminded herself that he could well be a natural actor with the ability to cloak his true nature. But what was his true nature? Was he as complex as she was beginning to believe? Were his motives for the apparent interest in her as straightforward as they seemed?

  He had listened to her conversation with Luke; she was sure of it. But what did it mean? That hard stare at Luke…Not jealousy or possessiveness, but—what?

  Was she imagining things?

  Almost an hour later, as she sat across from Devon in a booth in one of Pinewood’s few restaurants, she still wasn’t sure. Devon was smiling at her, but not even the easy charm he could apparently turn on as if with a switch could hide the shadows in his eyes; and his burdened look tugged at her, virtually making her forget her vague suspicions.

  “You’re very quiet,” he said. “Is it because Ching was upset with us for abandoning him at your apartment?”

  “No.” She smiled. “He knows just how to make me feel guilty, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Lara realized she was pushing the food around on her plate and eating very little. “I’m not very hungry, that’s all.”

  “Sure it’s not the company?” he asked lightly.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Polite. But is it the truth?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Never answer a question with another question.”

  She managed a laugh. “Sorry. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t want to be. How’s that?”

  “Better.” His smile faded slightly. “But I’d be happier if you could bring yourself to say my name.”

  She looked at him, startled.

  “You haven’t, you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Devon.”

  “I hope it gets easier with practice. Especially since we’re supposed to be lovers. Eventually.”

  Lara had the strong feeling that he wasn’t talking about the play. But before she could comment he was going on in the same easy tone.

  “Nick did a good job adapting the fairy tale, don’t you think? I read the original version last night; it’s strictly a bare-bones kind of story.”

  “Most fairy tales are,” she said, matching his tone. “Just moralistic fables for children.”

  “Nick’s story isn’t for children. How do you feel about that, Lara?”

  The sudden change from the general to the specific caught her off guard, and she couldn’t look away from his intense eyes. She cleared her throat with a husky little sound. “As you said, Nick did a good job of adapting it for the stage.”

  “And for adults.” His smile went a bit crooked. “Lots of passionate embraces in his version. Before we begin rehearsing onstage, I thought we should talk about that.”

  “Oh?” She managed to yank her gaze from his, looking around the almost-deserted restaurant with what she hoped was careless interest. “I don’t see why.”

  “Lara.”

  That haunting voice. Tugged at irresistibly, she found herself meeting his gaze again. She’d never been so conscious of her name as when he spoke it, and she had never been so aware of her body as when he looked at her. “Stop it,” she whispered, not even sure what she was demanding.

  His face seemed to harden slightly as he looked at her, as though everything inside him went still for an instant. His eyes darkened, something hot and primitive flashing in their shadowy depths. “No. I can’t stop it. And neither can you.”

  Lara felt a stab of stark excitement, so piercing it stole her breath. He might as well have spoken a raw sexual invitation, one her body responded to like kindling to a match. It was there, in his voice, something so utterly male it held the ancient sounds of battle and struggle and mating, as if it came from the caves.

  Dear God. He wasn’t touching her; there was a table between them. He was totally still, yet she felt enclosed by him. Her heart was hammering, and every nerve in her body felt as if it lay exposed and quivering, as if he had stripped her naked and left her achingly vulnerable. She had never in her life felt desire for a man, and she now had a single, awed thought: If he can do this to me with just his voice…

  She should have been frightened. It was too soon for them and too new to her for this to be something she could possibly understand or accept. But that peculiar link between them, the tugging inside her, left no room for fear. There was only want, filling her until she ached with it.

  Devon swore roughly beneath his breath and slid from the booth. Lara automatically matched his movements, vaguely aware that he had dropped money on the table, vividly aware of his big hand grasping hers in a strong, warm hold as he led her from the restaurant. She felt dazed, shocked by her response but not willing to fight it.

  There was enough light in the parking lot for her to see his face as he stopped beside his car and turned to her. She had the sudden realization that he was angry, and that perception was borne out when he released her hand and lifted both of his hands to frame her face. His hands were hard, yet his touch was gentle.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said in a low voice that grated. “Dammit, Lara—”

  She wasn’t afraid of him. She thought dimly that perhaps she should be afraid of him, because the anger in him was dark and powerful and violent. But he wasn’t angry with her, she knew that somehow, and it was enough. Staring up into the dark pools of his eyes, she managed a shaky smile. “I—I didn’t expect it either.”

  He was very still, gazing down at her. She could almost feel a struggle going on in him, a terrible silent battle, and she was suddenly afraid that she would be on the losing side. She didn’t want to lose, even though she couldn’t have defined what her loss would have been; she knew only that she needed something in him and didn’t care what it might cost her.

  Her hands lifted to his chest, fingers probing compulsively to seek hard muscle beneath the bulky wool of his sweater. “Maybe I’d better ask if—if you’re involved with somebody,” she murmured. His broad chest moved as he sighed roughly.

/>   “I am. I’m involved with you.” The words were terse, almost reluctant, but his deep voice was husky.

  Some part of Lara’s mind told her that this was insanity, that she had no right to get involved with any man, much less this virtual stranger. But he made her feel so alive, and she wanted to go on feeling that way.

  “Devon—” She had no idea what she was going to say, but whatever it was she never got the chance to say it. His powerful arms closed about her, pulling her fully against his hard body, and his mouth captured hers.

  Captured like something he thought might escape him.

  He didn’t waste time with the slow, tentative explorations of a first kiss; there was no hesitation in him, no supplication. With a certainty she couldn’t begin to fight, he demanded—and took—what belonged to him.

  Lara had never been kissed like that before. His lips were passionate, insistent, holding a stark need that seared her to her bones. The sensations and emotions rushing through her body and mind were so wild she almost cried out with the force of them. Her mouth opened willingly to his, her arms going around his lean waist and holding on to him.

  She didn’t give a damn that they were standing in a parking lot in full view of anyone who happened to look, and she didn’t feel the faint chill of the fall night. All she could feel was the heat blooming inside her and the hard strength of his body. And she could only stare up at him dazedly when he finally lifted his head.

  Devon drew a deep breath and muttered an oath. He set her away from him firmly, then opened the car door and put her into the passenger seat without another word. Lara said nothing, at first because she wasn’t sure she could speak and later because she didn’t know what to say. So the drive to her apartment was a silent one.

  Lara honestly didn’t know what would happen once they reached her place. Despite his unhidden hunger, she thought that Devon was still struggling against something, still fighting not to give in to his own passion. It puzzled her. Did he expect her to demand some kind of commitment, was that it? Or was the burdened look in his eyes an indication of past hurts?

  She didn’t know how to ask him.

  It was Devon who spoke first, taking her arm as they went up the stairs to her apartment. And though there was no evidence of strain on his hard face, the sound of it was in his voice.

  “Tell me you don’t want this, Lara.”

  They were at her door. She watched as he took her keys and unlocked the door, then looked up at him. His words had been a request rather than a challenge; he wasn’t asking her to deny the desire between them, if she could, but to refuse to do anything about that desire.

  She felt bewildered, half-angry, and both emotions were reflected in her voice. “We aren’t in high school, Devon,” she said, keeping the words low because they were still standing before her unopened apartment door. “And I won’t accept the sole responsibility of saying no. But I don’t have to, do I? You’ve already said it.”

  “Lara—”

  She snatched her keys from his hand and pushed open her apartment door, stepping inside and half-turning to shut him out.

  “Yarrr!”

  Lara had heard such a note in her cat’s voice only once before, and the memory of that night would haunt her for the rest of her life. She went motionless, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding her keys and gripping the jamb with whitened fingers. She didn’t have to look for Ching; he’d be under the couch.

  Devon’s hand covered the one on the jamb. “Lara? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been here,” she whispered. “In the apartment.”

  Swiftly, he pushed the door farther open and stepped inside. In a low voice, he said, “Stay here, and don’t close the door.”

  She didn’t move, just leaned back against the jamb and watched as he went silently down the short hallway that led to the kitchen and bedroom. She knew she should go to the telephone and call the number she’d memorized. Anything suspicious, they’d told her, anything at all. They’d check it out, and if it proved to be a threat to her safety, she’d be protected.

  Moved again. Uprooted, vanishing from this life only to appear in another one. Like a penciled line disappearing under the stroke of an eraser, Lara Callahan would simply cease to be.

  No…not again.

  Ching muttered softly from under the couch, and Lara closed the door and came into the living room. There was no one here now, she knew. She dropped her keys on the coffee table and gazed around the room for a moment, then crossed to her drafting board and stared at it.

  “Nothing,” Devon said, emerging from the hallway. “What makes you think someone was here?”

  “Ching told me,” she murmured.

  “Where is he?”

  “Under the couch.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Devon called the cat’s name firmly. Lara half-turned to watch her feline friend emerge from beneath the couch and leap lightly to the coffee table, where he sat with flattened ears and a lashing tail.

  “Yah!” he said in an emphatic tone.

  Devon studied the cat, then looked at Lara. “He’s obviously upset, but he was when we left.”

  Lara reached to unpin a drawing from the board, holding up the two pieces so that Devon could see them; a dreamy watercolor of a castle had been cut from corner to corner. “Just something I was doing for myself,” she said in the same even, detached tone. She put the ruined picture down and added, “The knife cut right into the board.”

  “Are you going to call the police?”

  “No. Nothing’s missing. There won’t be any fingerprints.”

  Devon took a step toward her, and his voice was taut when he demanded, “Lara, what the hell is going on?”

  She went over to the couch and sat down, suddenly aware of trembling legs. “What makes you think I know?”

  “Don’t give me that. I want an answer.”

  An answer, she thought. Well, she had her answer now. This wasn’t a vague suspicion. This was fact. Someone had broken into her apartment, had searched neatly and professionally through her belongings, touched her clothing. She felt violated. And frightened. And alone.

  “Lara.” His haunting voice was quiet now. “Let me help you.”

  She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust anyone—and how stupid of her to have forgotten that. “You’re confusing the play with reality, Devon.” Her voice sounded calm, she thought. “In real life, the prince never comes storming to the rescue.”

  He moved around the end of the couch and sat down beside her, not quite touching. “Give me a chance.”

  She didn’t look at him; she didn’t dare, wary of losing her precarious control. “I don’t want this,” she said clearly, giving him an answer he had demanded earlier. “You said you couldn’t stop it. You said I couldn’t, even though you wanted me to. But I will. I’ll stop it. I don’t want you in my life, Devon.”

  “You’re lying,” he said flatly.

  Lara could feel the tension growing inside her, quivering like glass about to shatter. With all the will she could command, she kept her voice even and detached. “No. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You wanted me to say no, and that’s what I’m saying. Now, please leave.”

  “Look at me, Lara.” When she didn’t move, he leaned over and grasped both her shoulders, turning her firmly.

  She wanted to flinch away from his touch, his gaze, because she knew her will could never stand against his. Not when he looked at her. Not when he touched her.

  “Stop it,” she whispered, just as she had in the restaurant. She was caught again, tugged at in that profound, overpowering way, and she couldn’t fight it.

  “I won’t leave,” he said. “I won’t walk out because you’re determined to face this, whatever it is, alone. I want you, Lara. And you want me. Admit it.”

  She had no choice. Even now, with the shadows of fear closing in on her, she couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. She wanted to throw herself in
to his arms, to be enclosed by him and revel in his warmth and strength.

  “Yes,” she admitted finally, defeated. “But you said—”

  “Never mind what I said.” A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Even if you’d told me you didn’t want this, I probably—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Just never mind. We’ll talk about all of it later.”

  Lara remained half-turned toward him as he released her and sat back. She knew what he wanted to talk about now, but she was still uncertain. Tell no one, they’d said. And she didn’t know him, after all, no matter how he could make her feel. But he’d been with her; he couldn’t be involved in it.

  Could he? An accomplice could have done the dirty work while Devon charmed his way into her life…her bed.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said in a sudden, low growling tone of voice.

  She shifted her gaze to the hands clasped together in her lap, then looked back at him because she couldn’t help herself.

  He sighed roughly and half-lifted a hand as if to touch her. But the powerful hand fell back to his thigh and clenched briefly into a fist. “The truck last night,” he said tersely. “Now your apartment. What’s going on, Lara?”

  Those burdened eyes. What would he do, she wondered dimly, if she offered him her own burden? Would his desire for her force him to share it? Or would her troubles quite effectively provide the no he had wanted her to utter?

  “Dammit, Lara, tell me.”

  She felt a sigh escape her, but tried to warn him. “In real life, there are worse things than witches with spells…and prisons aren’t always made of stone.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Are you imprisoned?”

  “In a way.”

  “Tell me.”

  Was he involved? She didn’t know, couldn’t know. She gave him her trust blindly. And there was a certain relief in finally telling someone.

  “A year ago I was living with my father in another state. He was working for an electronics company, where they designed state-of-the-art computers. The company held several government contracts, so everyone was upset, very upset, when it was discovered that some of their designs had been pirated.”