Man of the Hour (9 page)

He lifted an eyebrow. “Right.”

She relaxed a little more. He did look marginally less rigid and austere. “I could have said something.”

“Of course. Exactly when did you think of saying something?”

She flushed and dropped her eyes.

“That’s when I thought of saying something. It was a bit late, of course.” He frowned slightly and his silver eyes twinkled. “It was very intense, wasn’t it? Even for you.”

“I’d wanted you for a long time,” she confessed quietly.

“And I, you.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “Well, it’s done. Now we have to live with it. I’ll get your ring out of the safe and bring it over. We are now officially reengaged.”

“But Steve, what about Daphne?” she exclaimed.

“If you mention Daphne one more time today, I’ll—!” he muttered. He let her go and got to his feet, pulling her up beside him. “She’ll understand.”

“You haven’t asked if I want to be engaged again,” she protested, trying to keep some control over her own destiny.

He pulled her to him and his hand curved around her flat stomach. “If you’ve got a baby in here, you don’t have much choice. My mother would bring the shotgun all the way from West Palm Beach and point it at both of us before she’d see her first grandchild born out of wedlock.”

She smiled, picturing his mother staggering under the weight of one of Steven’s hunting rifles. “I guess she would at that.” She glanced at him wryly. “And I’d already be sitting on your doorstep wearing a sign—
and
maternity clothes—so that everyone would know who got me pregnant in the first place.”

He felt the world spin around him. He mustn’t read too much into that beaming smile on her face, he told himself. After all, with her ankle in this condition, she had no career left. He was still second best in her life. At least she would want a child, if they’d made one.

She looked up and encountered the cold anger in his face and knew instantly that despite his hunger for her, all the bitterness was still there.

He shrugged. Bending, he pushed back her tousled hair. “I want you. You want me. Whatever else there is, we’ll have that.” He sighed gently. “Besides, if the attraction we feel is still strong enough four years after the fact to send us making love on the carpet, it isn’t likely to weaken, is it?”

“For heaven’s sake, Steve!” she exclaimed, outraged.

“Meg, you’re repressed.” He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You might stop embarrassing me,” she muttered.

His eyebrow jerked as he stared at her. “My beautiful Mary Margaret,” he said softly. “When I wake up in the morning, I’ll be sure that I was only dreaming again.”

“Did you dream of me?” she asked involuntarily.

“Oh, yes. For most of my life, I think.” He searched her soft eyes. “‘There be none of Beauty’s daughters with a magic like thee…’” he quoted tenderly, and watched the heat rise in her cheeks. “Do you like Lord Byron, Meg?”

“You never read poetry to me,” she said with a sad little smile.

“I wanted to. But you were very young,” he recalled, his face going hard. “And I was afraid to trust my heart too far.” He laughed suddenly as all the bitterness came sweeping back. “Good thing I didn’t. You walked out on me.”

“You made me,” she shot right back. “You know you did.” The anger eased as she saw the pained look on his face. “You haven’t had a lot of love, Steven,” she said. “I don’t think you trusted anyone enough to let them close to you—not Daphne, and certainly not me. You like my body, but you don’t want my heart.”

He was shocked. He stared at her, searching for words. He couldn’t even manage an answer.

“I’d love you, if you’d let me,” she said gently, her blue eyes smiling at him.

His jaw clenched. “You already did, on the floor,” he said coldly. All sorts of impossible things were forming in his mind. He felt vulnerable and he didn’t like it. He glared at her. “You didn’t even try to stop me. Since you can’t dance anymore, what a hell of a meal ticket I’ll make!”

She stared at him and suddenly saw right through the angry words. She knew with a flash of intuition that he was still fighting her. He cared. Perhaps he didn’t know it. Perhaps he’d even convinced himself that he really loved Daphne. But he didn’t. Even though she was innocent, Meg knew that men didn’t lose control as Steve had tonight unless there were some powerful emotions underlying the desire. He was fighting her. It had been that all along, his need to keep emotional entanglements at bay. He was afraid to risk his heart on her. Why hadn’t she seen that years ago?

“No comeback?” he taunted furiously.

She smiled again, feeling faintly mischievous. “Are you going to bring my ring back tonight?”

He hesitated. “Meg…”

“I know. It’s way after midnight and David will be home soon, I suppose,” she added. “But you could come to supper tomorrow night. And bring my ring back,” she emphasized. “I hope you haven’t lost it.”

He glared at her. “No, I haven’t lost it. I can’t bring it tomorrow night. I have a dinner meeting with Ahmed. Daphne’s coming along,” he reminded her.

She felt a little uncertain of her ground, but something kept her going, prodded her on.

She moved toward him, watching his expressions change, watching his eyes glitter. She caught him by the lapels and went on tiptoe, softly brushing her body against his as she reached up and drew her mouth tantalizingly over his parted lips. She could
feel his heartbeat slamming at his ribs, hear his breathing. He was acting. It was a sham. She bit his lower lip, gently, and let go of him, moving away.

“What was that all about?” he asked gruffly.

“Didn’t you like it?” she asked softly.

His jaw clenched. “I have to go.”

“To dinner, perhaps. But not to Daphne’s bed. Not now.”

“What makes you so sure that I won’t?” he demanded with a mocking smile.

She searched his eyes. “Because it would be sacrilege to do with anyone else what we just did with each other.”

He would have denied it. He wanted to. But he couldn’t force the words out. He turned and went to the door, pausing just to make sure the lock was on before he glanced back.

“Buy a wedding gown,” he said curtly. “And if you try to run away from me this time, I’ll follow you straight to hell if I have to!”

He closed the door behind him, and Meg stared at it with a jumble of emotions, the foremost of which was utter joy.

Steve was feeling less than pleased. He had Meg, but it was a hollow victory. Despite the exquisite pleasure she’d given him, he was no closer to capturing her heart. He wanted it more than he’d ever realized.

She cared about him. She must, to give herself so generously. For Meg, physical need alone would never have caused such a sacrifice. But he had to remember that her career was no longer a point of contention between them. Her career was history.
Even if she cared about him, ballet would have come first if it had been an option. He knew it. And that was what made him so bitter.

L
ater that same night, after a refreshing shower, Meg went to bed, feeling tired. But she barely slept at all, wondering at the way things had changed in her life.

David gave her curious looks at the breakfast table. “You look like you haven’t slept at all,” he remarked.

“I haven’t,” she confessed, smiling at him. “Steven and I got engaged again last night.”

He caught his breath. The delight in his eyes said everything. “So he finally gave in.”

“Not noticeably,” she murmured dryly.

“He’s taken the first step,” he replied. “You can’t expect a fine fighting fish to just swallow a hook, you know.”

“This fighting fish is a piranha. He’s very bitter, David,” she said quietly. She sipped coffee, her brows knitted. “He’s never really forgiven me for leaving—even though he drove me away.”

He smiled at her, his eyes kind and full of warmth. “I gather that he’ll be over tonight?”

“Probably not. I doubt if Daphne can spare him,” she muttered. “He’s having dinner with her.”

He grimaced at the expression on her face. He knew what was going on, and that Steve couldn’t tell her. Neither could he.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” he began.

“It doesn’t matter, you know,” she replied with resignation. “I love him. I never stopped. The past four years have been so empty, David. I’m tired of running from it. At least he still wants me, you know. I may not win entirely, but I’ll give Daphne a run for her money,” she added with a tiny smile.

“That’s the spirit. You might consider, too, that if he didn’t care, why would he want to marry you?”

She couldn’t tell him that. She changed the subject and led him on a discussion of local politics.

But she did go around in a daze for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t have believed what had happened if it hadn’t been for the potent evidence of it in her untried body. Her memories were sweet. She couldn’t even be bothered to worry about Daphne anymore. She did worry about Steven. If a crazed terrorist was after him, how would the authorities be able to stop him? And what about Ahmed?

The questions worried her, so she found solace in her exercises. Even so, she only did them halfheartedly. Ballet had been her life for years, but now she thought about loving Steven and having a baby of her own. Suddenly her fear of childbirth seemed
to diminish, and her disappointment over her injury faded. Ballet was a hobby. It was nothing more than a hobby. She was daydreaming now, of little baby clothes and bassinets and toys scattered around a room that contained Steven and herself as well as a miniature version of one of them. Anything seemed possible; life was sweet.

Steven tossed and turned until dawn and went into the office in a cold, red-eyed daze. His life had shifted without warning. He’d made love to Meg and nothing would ever be the same again. If he was besotted with her before, it was nothing to what he was now that he’d known her intimately. He wasn’t certain that he could even work.

Daphne brought in the mail. She saw his worried expression and paused in front of the desk.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked with the ease of friendship. “Can I help?”

“Sure,” he agreed, leaning back in his big desk chair. “Tell me how to explain to Meg, to whom I’ve just become reengaged, why I’m going out with you tonight.”

She whistled. “That’s a good one.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Can’t you get permission to tell her the truth?”

He shook his head. “Your own fiancé told me not to tell. He thinks too many people are in the know already.” He closed his eyes with a long sigh. His body was pleasantly tired and still faintly throbbing from its exquisite knowledge of Meg.

“Isn’t she going back to New York temporarily?” Daphne asked.

“I’m afraid to let her,” he said wearily. “At least here she can be protected along with David. But I can’t tell her what’s going on. I’m going to have to ask her to trust me, when I never trusted her.”

“If she loves you enough, she will,” Daphne said with certainty. “And anyway, surely it will all be over soon.”

“God, I hope so!”

“How’s the arm?”

“Is wasn’t exactly a major wound,” he mused, chuckling. “The bullet broke a small vein. I’ve got a bandage over it. Funny, I didn’t even notice—” He broke off, feeling uncomfortable as he remembered the night before, when he and Meg had both forgotten it. He changed the subject, quickly. “Have we heard from Ahmed today?”

She grimaced. “Indeed we have. He came in surrounded by bodyguards and government agents, and eventually chewed up one of the girls in the typing pool, who stopped bawling long enough to take a leaf out of my very own book. She threw a paperweight at him on his way out.”

“What?”

“Calm down, it was a very small paperweight—not in the same league as the lamp I threw at you—and she missed on purpose, too,” Daphne said quickly, with a grin. “He was surprised, to say the least. In his country, women don’t react like that.”

“I don’t guess they do. Certainly not with Ahmed!”

“But, then, Brianna our typist didn’t know who he was,” Daphne reminded him. “And she still doesn’t. She told me that if he sets foot in the building again, she’s quitting,” she added. “She is a very angry young lady, indeed.”

“I need to have a word with your fiancé,” Steve said. “Just to see what else needs doing so we can wind up this mess.”

“Ahmed’s under twenty-four-hour guard. He’s used to it, of course. I understand he had a slight altercation with his bodyguard when they didn’t see the assassins coming last night.”

“I noticed the bruises,” Steven mentioned.

“I’m sorry about Meg,” Daphne said, grimacing. “I seem to keep complicating things for her.”

“Not your fault this time,” he said. “Or last time, either. It was my pride that sent her running. I hope I’ll have better luck now.”

“So do I,” Daphne told him sincerely. “We’re good friends, Steve. We always have been. I’m so happy. I hope you’re going to be, too, you and Meg.”

He only nodded. “We’d better get to work.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a grin. “I’ll send Wayne in.”

Daphne’s fiancé was blond and blue-eyed, a screaming contrast to his partner, who was tall and very dark and had a sense of humor that had already sent Steven up the wall.

The dark one looked around very carefully, even peering under Steve’s desk.

“Looking for bugs?” Steve asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“No,” he replied. “Paperweights and blue-eyed brunettes.” He grinned. “She’s a dish.”

“Yes, she is, but you’re on duty,” Wayne told his partner.

“So I am.” He straightened, wiped the smile off his face and stared grimly at Steven. “Sir, have you noticed any bombs or enemy missiles in your office—oof!”

Wayne calmly removed his elbow from his friend’s ribs. “I’m going to feed you to a shark on our next assignment.”

The taller man lifted both bushy eyebrows. “Copycat. James Bond did that to an enemy agent in one of his films.”

“Are you sure you’re suited to this line of work, Lang?” Wayne asked somberly.

“Plenty of people with badges have a sense of humor.” Lang glared at his friend. “Plenty more don’t, of course.”

“To the matter at hand,” Wayne interrupted, glancing at Steve. “We need your itinerary for the rest of the week, right down to the minute. And if you plan any more impromptu evening outings…”

“Not me,” Steven said with a slow grin, indicating his arm. “I’ve gone right off night life without adequate protection.”

“Fair enough. We’re now in the process of bugging everything you own, from cars to houses to aircraft, as well as Mr. Shannon’s home,” Wayne continued, noticing Steve’s faint color with absent curiosity. “We would have done it sooner, but until this morning we hadn’t quite decided about how much surveillance was required. It would be pretty stupid to overlook protection for your chief executive, Mr. Shannon, and his sister, especially
since they were seen in the company of Ahmed. These people will use whatever bargaining tools they can get, and Ahmed’s fondness for Miss Shannon was pretty obvious.”

Steve didn’t like remembering that. He was jealous of Ahmed now—jealous of any man who looked at Meg.

“Isn’t it dangerous politically to let Ahmed stay here, in the States?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Certainly,” Lang told him. “Suicidal, in fact.” He grinned and his dark eyes twinkled. “But we’re responsible for him. So if we send him home and somebody blows him away, guess who gets the blame?”

“We’re in between a rock and a hard place,” Wayne agreed. “That’s why we’re going to keep Ahmed here and see if we can draw the other agents out into the open again.”

“They were in the open last night.”

“Ah,” Lang replied, “but it was just a routine surveillance until then. We didn’t have any advanced warning of an assassination try until the coup attempt was made in Ahmed’s home country. And by then the terrorists were already in position here and making their move. Now that we know what’s afoot, we’re ready, too.”

“We’re on it. We’ll handle this. How about Miss Shannon?” Wayne asked Steven. “Can you get her out of town?”

“I can,” Steven agreed. “But what if they find out that she and I are engaged again and make a grab for her, where she’s totally unprotected?”

The smile vanished from Lang’s face. “You’re engaged again?”

Steven nodded.

Lang exchanged a long glance with Wayne. “That changes things. We’d better keep her in town. But she can’t know why,” he emphasized.

Steven just nodded, because Wayne had already told him that. He could break their confidence, of course, but now that the house and his car and God knew what else was bugged, he couldn’t tell Meg anyplace that they wouldn’t overhear. He was going to have to watch what he said altogether. And the complication was that he not only couldn’t tell Meg that, but he wouldn’t be able to touch her without being overheard. He could have groaned out loud.

Meg was home alone that afternoon. David was still at work.

Steven drove up to the Shannon house just a few minutes after quitting time, casually dressed in jeans and a knit shirt, topped off with a suede jacket.

He smiled at Meg when she opened the door, approving the pretty blue sundress that complemented her fairness. She’d left her hair down, and he ached to get his hands in its silky length.

“Give me your hand,” he said without preamble.

She lifted the left one, and he slid the sapphire and diamond engagement ring he’d given her four years ago smoothly onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

He lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it very gently.

“Oh, Steve,” she whispered, reaching up to him.

He caught her wrists and stepped back, painfully aware of sur
veillance techniques that could pick up heavy breathing a mile away. He laughed a little shortly, trying to ignore Meg’s shocked, embarrassed expression.

“How about some coffee?” he asked.

She faltered a little. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just make some.” She was near tears. They’d made love, they’d just gotten reengaged, and suddenly Steven couldn’t bear her to touch him!

He followed her into the kitchen, grimacing at her expression. He couldn’t tell her everything, but he had to tell her this, at least.

As she turned on the faucet to fill the drip coffee maker, Steve reached over her shoulder and took the coffeepot away, leaving the water running just briefly.

He bent to kiss her, whispering under his breath, “We’re on Candid Camera.”

She let him kiss her, but her wide eyes stayed open. He drew back, shutting off the faucet.

She was suddenly very alert. She looked around the room. “Achoo?” she whispered.

“Gesundheit!” came the deep, chuckled reply.

Meg went every shade of scarlet under the sun as she looked at Steven. She gasped in horror.

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “They’ve only just done it!”

She chewed the ends of her fingers as the flat statement finally began to make sense and she relaxed. “Oh, thank goodness!”

The back door opened and the big, dark agent entered, a finger to his lips.

He whipped out a pad and pencil and wrote something on it, showing it to Meg and Steve. He’d written:
Our team wasn’t the only one wrangling bugs around here this afternoon. Watch what you say
.

Do they have cameras?
Steve scribbled on the paper.

The agent shook his head, grinning. He made a sign with two forked fingers like someone poking eyes out.

Steve gave him a thumbs-up sign. The agent put away his pad and pencil and looked at the coffeepot longingly.

Meg held up five fingers. He grinned and started back out. Then he glanced at the two of them and made a kissing motion followed by a firm shaking of his head. Meg stuck her tongue out at him. He smothered a laugh as he let himself back out the door.

Meg busied herself with the coffeepot, worried about living in a goldfish bowl. It would be like this from now on, she was sure, until they caught the people who were responsible for the attack at the restaurant.

“Cream?” Steven asked when she poured coffee into two cups.

“I’ll get it.”

She handed it to him, carrying a cup of black coffee to the back door. A huge hand came out and accepted it. She peered around the door, eyebrows raised. The agent made a sign with his thumb and forefinger and eased back around the side of the house with his cup.

Meg closed the door gently and followed Steve back into the living room.

“I can’t stay long. I have a date,” he told Meg.

She glared at him. “Of course. With Daphne.”

“And Ahmed,” he replied. “At the Sheraton. More business discussions.”

It didn’t occur to her right then why Steve had given away his movements, when he knew the house was bugged. “I don’t suppose I could come along?” she asked.

“No.”

“I like Ahmed. He likes me, too.”

“Of course he likes you. You’re blond.”

She glared at him.

“And pretty.”

The glare softened.

“And very, very sweet.”

She smiled.