A MAN CALLED BLUE (12 page)

Blue's penchant for direct questions suddenly irritated her. She focused on her stirring anger. In an odd sort of way, it calmed her. "You're talking about sex, of course. I'd forgotten that when it comes to judging quality of life, men consider it
the
critical factor." She gave him a cold look. "Like I said, it's getting late." She turned to walk away.

He grasped her upper arm. "You didn't answer me."

The heat from his hand flashed up her arm, to her shoulder, her neck. He grasped her other arm and pulled her close to his chest, his eyes hot and questioning. The fresh leathery scent of his aftershave jolted her, and her body weakened and grew hot, her head clouded. She knew then. With one kiss, she'd regressed to the witless fool she'd been years ago, grasping at love with Harper MacMillan—the same starry-eyed innocent who believed in rainbow gold and fairy wishes.

She pulled away, determined to shock him. "Grow up, Blue. There's no shortage of sex for the rich and powerful—man or woman. It's always available. Safe and uncomplicated. All it takes is money." She resisted the urge to drop her gaze. "You met Henri. Josephine tells me he's charming, in and out of bed."

"You could do that?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

His question echoed the one she'd asked herself a thousand times. She held her ground. "Why not? I'm my mother's daughter, after all." She was at the door when she heard him, his question stopping her cold.

"So, how much does a good roll in the hay go for these days?" he asked, his voice without inflection. "I might be interested in moonlighting."

He wouldn't! Wordless, she spun to face him. He leaned against the wall near the window seat, ankles crossed, arms crossed. He was maddeningly casual, his gaze on her sure and unblinking, and as seductive as candle flame. What he read into her awkward silence, she couldn't know.

"You're not, you know," he said quietly, his voice silky and dark."You're not your mother's daughter—and you never will be, anymore than Nolan Smythe could be me."

Oddly, his words hurt and frightened. Josephine was a powerful, successful businesswoman. For years Simone had studied her every practiced move, struggled to develop her decisiveness and confidence. Always hoping one day Anjana would fill her life, as it had Josephine's. It took all her effort. And now she was president of Anjana. It didn't matter that doubts grew like weeds amidst her newly gained skills. It didn't matter that numbing anxiety accosted her at critical moments or that she slept poorly, if at all. She hid it, didn't she? Even from Josephine.

But not from Blue. He saw through her—but he was wrong. He had to be. A chill swept through her.
God, if she wasn't Josephine, couldn't be Josephine, who was she?

She turned from him, looking back when her hand tightly gripped the crystal doorknob. "You're wrong, Blue. That's exactly what I am. While we're working together, it would be a good idea to remember that. Some distance between us would be a good start."

As she turned her back on him, she felt his eyes on her, heard him whisper, more to himself than to her, "We can try, Tiger, we can try." She closed the door.

Chapter 7

For the next few days, Simone rarely saw Blue, and when Cranway no-showed—again—Blue all but disappeared. When she queried him about his whereabouts, he said he was talking to his London contacts, and when he found something, he'd let her know. He'd followed the promise with a mock salute and an even more mocking smile.

Irritating man.

He'd escorted her to two dinners in the last nine days, only because she'd insisted, and while unfailingly correct, his good-humored detachment at such times rankled her to the point she either canceled evening engagements or attended them alone. Present or absent, Blue played on her nerves, the cadence new and unsettling.

As she paced the quiet library, she realized she hadn't seen him since yesterday morning. She'd stepped out the front door on her way to a breakfast meeting just as Blue jogged up from his run. Simone tried not to reactivate the vision of Blue after a run, wearing the same T-shirt and shorts he'd worn when he'd met her at the plane. A vision that included his sweat-burnished shoulders, his lean muscular legs, how he looked with his straight collar-length hair, damp from physical exertion, pulled to a knot at his nape. She remembered, too, his wry look and the sound of his deep, exercise-ragged voice teasing her with a, "Have a nice day, dear," as she hurried past him.

And tonight, as usual, he wasn't here, but letting him out of this weekend at Hallwynd House was out of the question. She looked at her watch. After four-thirty.
Damn!
Hallam's place was at least a hundred miles or so west of London. They'd be late. No matter. Blue was going with her if she had to drag him.

After he returned his call, of course. A call she preferred not to think about.

* * *

Blue returned to the house at five. He stepped into its welcoming foyer brushing rain from his jacket, shrugged out of it just as Nance came in after parking the car.

"You going out again, Blue?" he asked.

"No, Nance, thanks, I—"

"Please bring the car around at five-thirty, Nance. We're due at Hallwynd this evening. Actually we were
expected
at six."

Blue turned to see Simone standing in the doorway to the library. She gave him a pointed look before going on. "I've already called to say we'd be detained due to the
unpredictable
nature of Mr. Bludell's schedule."

Blue feigned a grimace at the stern stare she directed at him. He hadn't forgotten the Hallam country weekend, only wished he could.

Nance nodded agreeably and lumbered off down the hall.

Brushing wet hair off his forehead, Blue watched him go and cursed silently. He hated the thought of spending two days with slick and slippery Hallam. He didn't have enough data to prove his and Simone's suspicions, but he was close, damn close.

He secretly dreaded a weekend with Simone. He wanted her; and his instincts—damned reliable in the past—told him she wanted him. It should be simple. It wasn't. Unless you got a kick out of making love to a thirty-two-year-old woman while she worried what her mother would think. No. There was nothing simple about wanting Simone Doucet.

They needed a firebreak, one of those wide spaces cleared to keep sparks from jumping and igniting a firestorm. He'd been trying to build one all week, keep his distance. Now a weekend together? No way. It would mean trouble. He finger-combed his wet hair back with both hands and lifted his head, prepared to make his excuses. She stepped out of the doorway and walked toward him, her eyes dark with challenge.

Suddenly
trouble
looked good, damn good.

His heart stopped stone-still in his chest, not a beat, not a throb. He suspected if it didn't start soon he'd have to worry about oxygen deprivation to his brain. She looked extraordinary. Her hair was pulled straight back from her face, the light from the hall chandelier hitting the taut strands like blue tracers. Those gray eyes of hers looked enormous—and she was wearing white. He smiled inwardly. Deck white, he thought, as clean and untouched as the fresh paint on
Three Wishes.
He wondered if she'd mind being compared to a boat.

"You're staring," she accused tartly. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't, and where have you been all day?" she snapped.

"Miss me, sweetheart? Or did the pot roast get cold?" Amazed his voice still worked, Blue handed his sodden jacket to Dreiser, who had silently glided forth to do his butler duties. He disappeared just as silently.

Simone opened her mouth and closed it again. "You're—oh, never mind what you are," she said, spinning on her heels to head back to the library. "Just go and get ready, will you? I hate being late, and we've already missed cocktails."

Blue frowned after her, both confused and irritated by her regal tone. He'd thought they were past the lunge and parry stage.

At the library door, she turned. "By the way, a person named Lily called. She'd like you to call her right away. She sounded
most
anxious."

Her tone, along with a slight lift of a brow, definitely implied she couldn't conceive of a woman who would be anxious to talk to him. She cocked her head waiting for his response.
Or his reaction?

He grinned. She frowned.

She was jealous—or at the very least curious.
His heart thumped to life, that lift of a brow as telling as a bent twig to a tracker, a dead giveaway. Maybe he should follow the path it indicated.

"She didn't leave her number," she added finally when he didn't speak.

"I have it," he said without explanation, then glanced at his watch. "I'd better hustle. Mustn't keep old Gus waiting."

He took three steps up and she spoke again. Her voice carefully modulated. "Oh, and dinner at Hallwynd is sure to be black tie, Blue,
please."

"Right. Black tie." It was enough to make a grown man cry, but then so was the vision in white standing at the library door looking up at him. He took the rest of the stairs two at a time, and by the time he'd reached the top landing, he'd made up his mind. The firebreak idea was a bust. He decided to let Mother Nature take her usual chaotic course. Hell, he'd even help her along.

* * *

Simone stared out the window of the Rolls. The rain had stopped, giving way to a sapphire sky and drifts of pearl clouds. The countryside spread before them lush from the rain.

Blue was quiet and preoccupied, and Simone, uneasy with his silence, made several stabs at conversation. His answers were pleasant but terse. She caught him looking at her a couple of times, but when their eyes met, he would only smile mysteriously and glance away. After a time, she resolved to ignore him and to enjoy the country. She thought of Blue only when knees or thighs brushed during turns. The man, large as he was, occupied an inordinate amount of space, and unfortunately, the road was both narrow and winding, leaving her acutely aware of him for the better part of two hours.

They came upon Hallwynd in half-light. Simone was impressed. The place was fairy-tale England.

The enormous stone house settled into its surrounding lawn with the smug hauteur of an old and powerful dowager. Its staggered roofline rose high, boasting a forest of chimneys over gabled casement windows. Tall mullioned windows marked off the lower floor and marble columns girdled the main entrance. A lake crowded one side. On the other deep shadows trailed over gardens so triumphantly tended the most tenacious weed had no hope of a toehold.

Blue whistled low and appreciatively.

"Like it?" Simone asked, shifting to let him see the outline of the gigantic house more clearly. His shoulder brushed hers when he leaned to take a closer look. He settled back in his seat as the Rolls purred up the long driveway, the sound of its tires crunching along the crushed rock driveway like leather boots in frozen snow.

"I like history," he answered. "And it looks as if there's plenty of it behind those walls. Any idea how old it is?"

"It was built in 1749."

"How did Hallam get his hands on it?"

"Married it."

Blue gave her a quizzical look. She guessed he was thinking about Shandra, the woman with Gus at Josephine's dinner party.

"It belonged to his first wife, Margaret. She died five years ago. Her father was the tenth Earl of Hallwynd, but he died penniless. For Margaret the choice was to either open the house to the public, or marry money. Gus had wanted Hallwynd for years, so when his father died, and he inherited, he made Margaret an offer she couldn't refuse. They spent a fortune refurbishing it. Now—" she gestured toward the house which seemed to grow in size as they drew closer "—it's all his."

Blue stared out the window for moment. "Marriage for a house. Sounds like a cold-blooded arrangement."

Simone thought so too, but she was saved from answering when Nance pulled up to the house. "We're here," she said unnecessarily.

Immediately, the massive front door opened, spilling yellow light and a group of well-dressed people onto the sweeping portico anchoring the front of the house.

Nance opened the car door, and Gus Hallam offered his hand to assist her out. "Simone, so glad you could make it." In an overblown gesture, he took her hand in both of his and kissed it. Blue stepped out of the car behind her and extended his hand to Hallam. He shook it, but so dismissively Simone was instantly angry. Who was he to treat Blue as if he were a backstairs delivery boy? Her own guilt clutched at her. Isn't that what she'd done all week?