Everlasting (2 page)

“My lodge.” It was a statement, not a question.

Perry nodded. “It makes sense. According to the report, she flew into New York City from Tamrovia yesterday afternoon. She made one long stop at The New York Public Library and
then hopped on another plane. She arrived in Tucson today, the day you just happened to be here, showing up outside this theater. Now she's making a beeline in the direction of your lodge on Mount Lemmon.” He cast Zack an inquiring glance. “Do the security guards at the gatehouse have her on their list for automatic clearance?”

“No.” It had never occurred to Zack that she might ever come to him. “You'll have to call security and set up clearance for her. Have Juana make her comfortable until I can get there. Tell one of our people to check her out of her hotel and bring her luggage to the lodge. She'll be spending the night.”

He was tempted to leave now and to hell with the gala, but he had promised his full support of the event to the people at the Heritage Center. He would stay until the intermission was over and then have Perry help him slip out through the stage entrance. It wouldn't hurt to let Kira wait. With her volatile temperament she probably couldn't bear to wait for anything or anyone, he guessed. Her nerves would be tuned to a fine pitch
and that would be to his advantage. Unlike her, he had had to wait for everything he'd ever wanted.

Perry was once again opening the door of the box. “I'm surprised her name's not on your clearance list,” he said, clearly puzzled. “She's been protected by your security system all the time I've been working for you.”

It's been far longer than that, Zack thought, his expression passive as his gaze flicked idly to the musical extravaganza now taking place on the stage. “There's no reason why she should be on the list. We've never met.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Yet.”

Getting into this house had been too easy, Kira realized as the door of the library closed behind the Indian housekeeper. Billionaires had tight security and strangers, even titled strangers, simply didn't walk right into their homes. But she had. Why, she hadn't even been asked for identification! Both the guards at the gatehouse and the Indian servant who had opened the door had acted as if they expected her. Well, maybe they
did, Kira thought. Perhaps Marna had managed to invoke one of her spells to make all doors open for Kira. That wasn't likely, however, since Marna had problems with even short distances and it was a very long way from Tamrovia to Arizona. No, Kira's visit wasn't a surprise.

Or rather, a visit by a
lady
wasn't a surprise. Kira had learned from those frustratingly scanty articles she'd read in the library that a lady's presence in Damon's house and bed were not unusual. A number of beautiful and well-known women were rumored to have been his mistress at various times over the years. She didn't doubt even one of those rumors now that she had seen him. A raw sexuality radiated from him along with his aura of power, and both of those fierce, elemental qualities in him had disturbed her. Oh, dear, it would be just her luck to interrupt a lovers' rendezvous and have Damon toss her out before she even had a chance to talk to him. Well, he'd just have to wait to take Mallory what's-her-name to bed. Kira's problem was a good deal more important than Damon's immediate sexual gratification.

She might as well make herself comfortable,
she decided. There was no telling how long it might be before Damon showed up. She shrugged out of the black velvet cloak and tossed it on the long couch before an open fieldstone fireplace. She smoothed the amber chiffon of her gown with quick, trembling fingers, then realized how the gesture betrayed her nervousness, and deliberately stilled her hands.

Good heavens, she was acting as if
she
were Damon's date for the night instead of that gorgeous actress. Why had she worn this gown anyway? Maybe it would have been better to be cool and businesslike. She had instinctively armored herself for the coming interview in the only way she knew: by making herself look as alluring as possible. Enough men had told her she was attractive for her to believe that it was at least partially true. Some of them hadn't even had anything to gain by telling her, so maybe… Oh, what difference did it make? She wasn't in some kind of competition. Damon either would or would not do what she wanted.

She settled herself comfortably on the couch and gazed around the room, searching for a clue
to the personality and character of the man who used it. The contemporary furniture was all in earth colors—browns, beiges, and rusts. The lines were clean and comfortable yet austere. No clues there. The paintings on the walls also told her little. The works of El Greco, Delacroix, Titian, Russell, and Remington hung side by side. Damon evidently had varied and definite tastes. The painting over the fireplace, hung in a position of prominence, could be presumed to be a favorite of Damon's. Perhaps it revealed something of the man.

She got up to read the title on the frame.
Song of the Talking Wire
by Henry Farny. It was a strong, lonely picture depicting an Indian who was no longer young, standing by a telephone pole in a desolate western landscape. He had been hunting and his kill was draped over a horse standing with as much dignity as the Indian man. There was a weariness as well as a strength about the old Indian. The weariness could have been the result of the hunt or the bewildering encroachment of white man's civilization, represented by the telephone pole against which he was leaning.

Had Damon, living in a world of two cultures, felt that same conflict? If he had, he obviously had resolved the conflict. There had been nothing discouraged or bewildered about the man who had stepped out of that Rolls tonight. He was the most confident and aware man she had ever seen. She sighed. The mystery of Zack Damon couldn't be solved by studying this painting. She felt a twinge of disappointment as she sat back down on the couch and curled up in the corner. She had always found that understanding made even the most intimidating people more approachable, but there was no reflection of any human foibles in Damon's surroundings. The room was as much of an enigma as the man himself. She would just have to wait until Damon himself appeared on the scene and then play it by instinct alone.

She wearily rubbed the tense muscles in the back of her neck. She had been traveling constantly and sleeping very little during the last few days. Her vitality was usually so great that flying didn't faze her. It was only because her nerves had been stretched to the breaking point that she had been unable to overcome jet lag. Her nerves were
still taut and she was growing more hyper with every passing moment. She had to try to relax or she would be in no condition to face Damon when he finally arrived. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep, steady breaths. There, that was better. She could feel the slightest ebbing of tension. If she could keep it up, perhaps she would be relaxed and refreshed when the time came to face Zack Damon.

Kira was asleep. Of all the states in which he had imagined he might encounter her, sleeping wasn't one. She was curled up, her head pillowed on the arm of the couch, her hair splayed in a fiery mass against the beige velvet of the cushions.

He stood looking down at her and felt an odd tightness in his throat. She seemed infinitely small and vulnerable at this moment. When she was awake she exuded a vitality and vivaciousness that was incandescent, making her appear larger, stronger. But now her lips were pink and crumpled looking, their look of sensitivity enhanced by being slightly parted. Her nose was small, her
cheekbones high; her triangular face was more fascinating than pretty. When she was awake her features were mobile and constantly alight with laughter and
joie de vivre
, but now sleep revealed a curious helplessness about her. He'd better enjoy that helplessness while he could, he thought, amused. When she lifted those long lashes, her sapphire eyes would hold challenge, not vulnerability, and her boneless grace would be transformed into a soft curvaceousness that could raise a response in a man to rival the heat of an Arizona summer.

He would not wake her. There was no hurry. He felt a deep contentment at the sight of her, relaxed and abandoned in this room, in his home. He moved swiftly to the easy chair across from the couch and sat down. He had no need to draw control and patience to him now. She was here. He would sit and watch her while she slept. His waiting game was almost at an end.

H
OW COULD SHE
have believed that his dark eyes were enigmatic? Kira wondered. They were gentle and wise and so deep that she felt lost in them. No, not lost. He would never let her be lost. He knew exactly where he was and his place in the scheme of things. If she clung to him tightly, she could never be lost again. He had a beautiful mouth too. She hadn't noticed how well shaped it was when she had first seen him.

The faintest smile curved those lips. “Good
evening, or perhaps I should say good morning? It's almost three o'clock, you know.”

She looked around for a clock and was immediately struck by the strangeness of her surroundings. Oh, Lord! She bolted upright, swinging her legs to the floor. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go to sleep.” She brushed unruly curls away from her cheeks, saying impulsively, “I haven't had much rest in the last few days and…” She drew a deep breath. This was ridiculous. She was acting like a frightened child. She straightened with royal dignity and lifted her chin. “How do you do, Mr. Damon. I'm Princess Kira Rubinoff.”

“You'll forgive me if I don't stand and bow, Princess Rubinoff,” Zack Damon said in a lightly teasing tone, “but I've had a rather tiring day myself.” He stretched his long legs out before him. He had taken off his black tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt but was still dressed in the tuxedo he had worn at the gala. “I assure you I had no intention of committing lese majesty.”

She made a face. She'd probably sounded as stiff-necked as Stefan, she thought ruefully. “Insult this royal person in that way all you please. I'm
afraid that whenever I get flustered, I fall back on those pompous manners drilled into me from birth. Please call me Kira. Everyone does.” She smiled. “Besides, economically speaking, you're far more royal than I'll ever be. I have a wardrobe allowance, but little else. Stefan keeps me a virtual pauper.”

He lifted a brow. “Really? I had no idea Tamrovia was so poverty-stricken. Is the purpose of your visit to enlist foreign aid?”

“Foreign aid… well, yes. In a funny way, I guess that is why I'm here.” Her smile faded and her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “You know who I am. I wouldn't have thought you would. There are so many princesses running around Europe these days.”

“But you're an exceptionally newsworthy princess. It isn't every princess who dances in Rome's Trevi Fountain at midnight.”

“I wasn't dancing in it,” she said indignantly. “The
paparazzi
misrepresented the episode. Actually, when I tossed my coin in the fountain I was so furious that I made a horribly bloodthirsty wish against someone who was annoying me at
the time. Then I had second thoughts and decided he didn't really deserve such punishment.”

“So you tried to get your coin back and undo the curse?”

“Well, I didn't want to take chances. You never can tell what works and what doesn't.”

“No?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Were you also trying to undo a curse when you pushed the Spanish pretender to the throne off the dock at Corfu?”

“Hm-m. It seemed an effective way to get his pudgy hands off my body and keep them off. He appeared to be intent on adding this princess's scalp to his belt.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, dear, I shouldn't have said that, should I? I didn't mean to cast aspersions on your Indian heritage. So much for the foreign aid.” She heard a deep chuckle and her eyes flicked open. “Thank heaven you have a sense of humor.”

“I'm serious about my heritage, not fanatic.” He smiled faintly. “You'd be a most desirable prize whether you were a princess or not. I can't say I like the literal image of your scalp dangling from a warrior's belt, though.”

Kira felt oddly breathless. There was something … She breathed deeply. “I assure you that José wouldn't have wanted the scalp—or anything else—if I didn't have the title. I didn't realize that my escapades had been so well publicized in the States.” She shrugged. “Maybe it's because I went to college here. Well, all of that business with fountains and docks took place when I was much younger. I'm not so impulsive anymore.”

“I'm glad old age has tempered you,” he said solemnly. “You're how old now? Twenty-two or twenty-three?”

“Twenty-three,” she said, frowning. “Your newspapers seem to be very informative.”

“Not really. There was actually very little regarding your background. You're Princess Kira Rubinoff, your parents are dead, and you're under the guardianship of your brother, King Stefan of Tamrovia. You have another brother, Lance, who lives in Sedikhan and is an extremely gifted artist. I have a few of his paintings, by the way.”

“Isn't he wonderful? He painted a few portraits of me when I was a child, but hasn't used me as a subject since then. He says he's waiting
until I've ‘set.’” She wrinkled her nose. “Makes me sound about as appealing as watery Jell-O.”

“You seem to be quite fond of him.” His eyes narrowed. “Why didn't you ask him for help? I understand he's very well off.”

“He's closely linked to Alex Ben Raschid, the ruler of Sedikhan. I can't involve Sedikhan in my problems again. The last time I nearly caused a diplomatic incident. I'm trying to keep the knowledge of this mess from everyone in Sedikhan.” She nibbled at her lower lip. “It's not entirely a financial problem. That wasn't what I meant.”

“This sounds intriguing.” he said slowly. “Or it would if I had any idea what you were talking about. Suppose you clarify matters by telling me just why you've decided to pay me a visit at this unusual hour.”

“Well, I couldn't be sure of being able to contact you at any other time or place, I figured since you were in Tucson, you'd stay a day or two to conduct business.” She gestured vaguely. “You have gold mining interests or something here, don't you?”