Sinful Temptation (3 page)

On the other hand, what if she was now married to Paul?

That
possibility damn near gave him chills, so he decided to pretend that Paul had never existed, at least until he was presented with undeniable evidence to the contrary.

The studio was still stark and bright, though, with high ceilings, exposed pipes and beams, and a wall of paneled windows that looked out on the street below and let in every available glimmer of sunlight. There were drop cloths and drafting tables, the sharp smell of turpentine, and canvases of various sizes and shapes leaning against the walls.

The work was as brilliant as he remembered; he’d spent enough time studying art history in school and paintings at the auction house over the years to recognize a talented artist when he encountered one, and Talia was the real deal.

She had two portraits on easels. Were these her most recent works, then? The first was of a smiling woman with brown-and-white spaniels sitting on her lap. The colors were sharp and vibrant, and Talia had captured the woman’s personality in the amused quirk of her mouth. The dogs, meanwhile, had their ears cocked and looked restless, as though they’d been promised a chicken treat if they only sat still long enough to be captured on canvas.

The other portrait was of a mother and her toddler son, their heads bent low over a collection of wooden alphabet blocks as they built a tower.

He stopped and stared, awed and lost in the details of the nursery, the strands of gold in the woman’s tumbling red hair, her freckles and the rosy glow of the toddler’s fat cheeks.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Miss Personality, who was now standing at a workstation on the other side of the studio, putting items into one of the cardboard boxes, favored him with the beginnings of a smile.

“She’s amazing.”

He meandered, studying another collection of paintings, some leaning and some hanging on the walls. These were explosions of glowing color representing all kinds of things, as though Talia had painted an item, deconstructed it and put it back together using shapes, slashes and swirls that were infinitely more interesting than the original.

A field of flowers. A forest. A barn. Seashells.

And then, on another wall, a different collection that was as dark and forbidding as the others were warm and vivid. These paintings didn’t seem to represent anything other than all the ways that colors could come together and form…night. Despair. The complete absence of light.

He stared while dread crawled up his spine with prickly feet.

The change was extraordinary, as though he’d been inside a rainbow, blinked and discovered that he’d been sucked into the malevolent heart of a black hole. It seemed impossible that the same person could have produced all these different moods. Why would she paint such heartbreak? What had happened to her? He hated the idea of Talia occupying such a dismal place, even temporarily, and even if only in her imagination.

“What happened here?” he asked the woman, pointing to a dark painting that probably had a title like Tornado in Hell or Hope Screams Bloody Murder. “I don’t get why these are so different—”

Without warning, the door banged open again and a woman swept into the room, bringing the energy of ten people with her.

Tony froze.

His heart also clanged to a stop.

“I think we should work on the acrylics next, Glo,” the woman announced in the whiskey-smooth voice that’d been haunting his thoughts for as long as he could remember. “I won’t be needing them for a while— Oh, who’s this?”

Jesus. His brain emptied out, leaving him paralyzed and dumb.

Talia—there she finally was.

She went utterly still, as undone by the moment as he was.

Their gazes locked and held, and her gray eyes slowly went wide with astonishment. A flush crept over her light brown cheeks, making her look feverish, and her lush berry mouth dropped open in a gape.

Moving like a sleepwalker, she edged closer to study him better, and her fragrance teased his nose. She wore a feminine cocktail of something fruity, and he was surprised to find that forgotten detail about her now so electrifying.

And her bracelets…

Those silver bangles he’d teased her about, a thousand or so of them on her left arm, clinked gently as she walked. He felt such a rush of swelling joy it was as though his entire life had been nothing more than a prelude to this moment.

He stared, gathering up all of her quirks and features so he’d never forget anything about her ever again.

She was shorter and thinner than he’d remembered, her cheeks sharper, and she had that same collection of silver earrings marching up her lobes. Her long, summery dress was flowered and left her toned arms bare, and a quick downward glance revealed flat sandals, toe rings and white nail polish at the tips of her pretty feet.

Her hair, which had been black with springy haywire curls, was straight and pixie-short now, and—holy shit—blue. Not blue-black, either, but the electric-blue of a stove’s gas flame. He wasn’t a fan of rainbow colors when it came to hair, but the effect on her was oddly appropriate.

Bottom line?

She was more beautiful than the images he’d hoarded in his memory bank.

“Tony?”
she breathed.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, reaching for her.

“Oh, my God.”

They came together hard and fast, and then, for the first time ever, she was in his arms, and he couldn’t hold her tight enough.

Chapter 2

T
ony lifted her until only her toes grazed the floor, marveling at the perfect fit, the warmth and solidity of her, and the silky slide of the dress over her supple body. Her skin was a delicious combination of satin and velvet, and he buried his face in the sweet hollow between her neck and shoulder and inhaled, desperate to experience her with all of his senses.

“Tony.” Her voice cracked and overflowed with emotion.
“Tony.”

“Wow.” Miss Personality’s dry voice intruded. “I’m guessing you two really do know each other.”

Way to break the spell,
he thought.

Self-conscious and awkward now, Tony lowered Talia to her feet but kept an arm on her back because he needed the contact. Apparently, she didn’t. Stepping out of his grasp, she smoothed her hair and made a real project of avoiding his gaze.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Talia echoed. “You’ve met my sister, right?”

Sister?
“Not exactly.”

Talia flashed a dimple, but her smile never quite took hold. “Gloria Adams, this is Captain Antonios Davies.”

“Tony,” he said quickly, extending his hand.

Gloria’s appraising gaze, which was considerably more interested in him than it had been a minute ago, swept over him as they shook hands.

“Captain? Are you a marine, or—”

He shuddered. “God forbid. I’m army. Well, was. I’ve been discharged.”

The interrogation continued. “Honorable, or—”

“Gloria,” Talia snapped.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Honorable. Would you like to see my discharge papers?”

“Do you have them?” Gloria asked sweetly.

“Yeah, okay.” Talia hooked her elbow onto Gloria’s, marched her to the door and shoved her into the hall. “It’s time for you to go do that thing you needed to do.”

Gloria pulled a bewildered expression, but the amused glimmer in her eye didn’t fool anyone. “What thing?”

“That. Thing.”

Tony caught a glimpse of Gloria opening her mouth to argue, but then Talia closed the door in her sister’s face with a decisive snap.

Thank God,
he thought, his pulse kicking into overdrive.

Alone at last.

“Sorry about that.” Talia took her time coming back, and he had the feeling she was stalling. She had her fingers laced together in a white-knuckled grip that betrayed her nerves, and this, strangely, made him feel better, as he also felt as though he was drowning in awkwardness. “Nosy big sister and all.”

“It’s okay.”

They stared at each other, their breathing still uneven. Her face remained flushed, and his felt so hot he could fry bacon on his forehead.

Words overflowed from his heart, but he couldn’t get any of them to his mouth. He’d thought that after all this time of wanting
this
—to be in the same room with her again—he’d have prepared a sentence or two, but nothing seemed to fit this moment.

“It’s great to see you,” he finally said.

“You, too.”

More staring ensued.

She had a perfect round mole at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes tipped up at the corners. The dimple in her left cheek was more pronounced than the one in her right. Her eyes were more silvery than gray; why hadn’t he remembered that?

This cataloguing of her features showed signs of outlasting the Ice Age, but then she finally blinked and remembered her duties as a hostess.

“We should sit.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, trying to get his head in the game. “Sit. Good idea.”

He followed her to a sofa in front of one of the windows, where she perched on the edge. Since he wanted to face her, he sat on the trunk that apparently doubled as a coffee table, rested his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath.

“I should have called first,” he told her.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, further scrambling his thoughts. “Wonderful surprises are okay.”

“I’m, ah…I’m not dead.”

“That explains the whole walking and talking thing.”

He grinned, wondering when he’d last been this ridiculously inarticulate in a female’s presence. Sixth grade? “What I mean is—”

“I read about your ‘death’ in the paper. And then a few weeks ago I read in the paper about your being a POW. It’s a miracle that you escaped and made it back safely.”

“Oh,” he said, faltering.

Nothing chopped a man’s ego down to size quicker than knowing that the woman he wanted was so disinterested in the news of his resurrection that she hadn’t bothered to call or write. But of course she’d already made her position clear with that return-to-sender letter, hadn’t she?

Still, it hurt. Like a spiked wrecking ball to his gut.

He was a big boy, though, and he’d get over it. He hadn’t come all this way, physically and emotionally, to just go away quietly and give up on the idea of exploring a romantic relationship with her.

“So, yeah, I’ve been home for about a month.”

“Your brother and sister must be so thrilled.”

Did that mean that
she
wasn’t thrilled? “They are.”

A shadow crossed her face, telling him what was coming next. “Are you okay? I mean—physically?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

“Are you?” he asked.

He wasn’t normally the needy type, but then he wasn’t normally interested in a woman who knew if he was dead or alive only by reading the papers. Despite all his stern internal lectures about not getting his hopes up, he’d done exactly that, nursing all kinds of glorious reunion scenarios that ended with them tumbling into the nearest bed for a long and urgent interlude of getting-to-know-you.

That probably wasn’t going to happen.

Big surprise, right?

Worse, her growing polite coolness and his old familiar feeling of dread—he was always dreading something—had him in a stranglehold.

“Are you glad, I mean?” he continued.

“Yes.”

Her unabashed vehemence made him lose his head a little, and he reached for her. “Talia.”

He heard the husky vulnerability in his voice, but nothing mattered except the feel of her beautiful face between his palms—Christ, her skin was soft—and the need to feel her mouth moving against his. Her melting little sigh made his heart ache. He ducked his head, drowning in lust and need, and tipped her chin up to—

“I can’t.” At the very last second, she stiffened and turned away.

He was beyond hearing, so he didn’t let her go.

Talia…Talia…Talia…

Grabbing his wrists, she pulled free of his hands.
“I can’t.”

Tony reined himself in, hard, even though he’d waited so long and moved heaven and earth to arrive at this moment, and even though the flashing turbulence in her eyes didn’t match her sharp tone.

It took him a good long time to wrestle his frustration into submission, and longer to get past the delicious sensation of touching her skin.

“You can’t?” he echoed dully.

“No.”

“Because of Paul?”

Her brows contracted with bewilderment. “Paul?”

He reached for her left hand and pulled it out where he could examine it. She wore a silver butterfly ring, but no wedding band, so that was good. Great, actually.

Still, the idea of having lost her forever while the Taliban had kept him hostage and helpless turned his heart to stone.

“Did you marry him?” he demanded.

“What? No.”

That was a small step in the right direction. “But you’re still together?”

“No.”

“There’s someone else?”

“No, Tony—”

He stared at her; she kept her head bowed.

Deep inside, he felt that snake’s nest of dread twist and writhe.

“Help me out, then. I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.” She hesitated, shrugging. “You’re making assumptions. That’s the problem.”

Assumptions?

He supposed he was. Hell. Wasn’t this whole trip down to the Village to see her all about one giant assumption?

And yet…

She was into him, too. He knew it. He could feel it.

Straining his brain, he tried to think of the letter—the exact paragraph, sentence and words—where she’d admitted she had feelings for him. She had said it, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t he remember? Why had he taken her precious letters with him that last day, tucked inside his vest pocket for luck? Luck. Yeah. Funny. Luck hadn’t saved him from being captured, and it hadn’t saved his letters, which had probably been kindling for some insurgent’s fire.

Now he couldn’t reread them and find the proof he needed.

Oh, but it got worse.

In this cold light of a May day, months later, he had to admit that it was possible he’d imagined something between the lines of her letters—something that had never been there.

Had he imagined her tenderness?

Was he that deluded, on top of the PTSD?

No,
something shouted inside him.

Where did the absolute certainty come from? Maybe it was that crawling gut instinct that had repeatedly kept him alive during the war, or maybe he was just insane, pure and simple.

“Talia.” He chose his words carefully, afraid of getting everything wrong and driving her away by sounding like an arrogant jackass. “I thought we were developing something.”

She nodded, her gaze now fixed on some immovable point to the right of his eyes. “We were. Friendship. That’s all. I don’t have romantic feelings for you.”

Bullshit,
screamed his gut instinct. Inside him, the frustration rose.

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s that cut-and-dried, why aren’t you looking at me?”

That got her. Her gaze flickered to her fingers, which were twined and buried in her lap, then to his collar. She opened and closed her mouth. Opened it again. Finally looked into his eyes.

The utter darkness he saw there made him flinch. It was like staring into one of her black hole paintings. It leached the soul out of his body and left nothing but emptiness.

“I don’t want a relationship right now, Tony. I’m not sure I’ll ever want one. I don’t have room in my life—”

“Why not?”

Her mouth worked and worked, but no words came out.

“Why not?”

“I’m taking time off from work. I want to travel. I’ve hardly been anywhere in my life—”

“Travel, then. I’d never try to stop you from doing what you want to do, Talia—”

“—and I just… I can’t handle any complications right now.”

“Wow. That’s pretty much everything and the kitchen sink. Anything else?”

Her brows contracted into an indignant line. “Is this a cross-examination? Am I on trial? Is that what’s going on?”

“You’re not on trial. But I don’t believe anything you just said. Especially the part about not having feelings for me.”

She nailed him with a glare that nearly made his face bleed. “Nice. Arrogant, much?”

Brilliant, Davies.

He ran a hand over his nape, trying hard to arrange his features into an expression that felt less intense. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…” He fumbled, struggling for words that kept skittering just out of reach. If he’d cut out his tongue with his boot knife, the conversation still would have been easier than this. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Your letters meant so much to me. And then when you refused the last one—”

“I didn’t think it was fair for me to give you mixed messages. That’s why I sent it back. You were reading too much into it.”

Funny she should mention mixed messages.

He stared into her face, seeing her turbulence, and he felt the ghostly imprint of her body fitted perfectly against his. He heard the echoes of her joyful cry when she had first seen him just now, and of her needy sigh when he’d almost kissed her.

Most of all, he remembered the unspoken subtext of longing in her letters.

Weighing all of that against her unimpressive denials, he decided that, while he might well be crazy, it was more likely that she was a liar.

Since he couldn’t figure out why she would lie if she wasn’t involved with someone else, he felt the first twinges of anger.

“You’re pretty good at giving mixed messages, Talia.”

Something flashed in her eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was anger, fear or garden variety turmoil. He was still struggling to make sense of this giant and incomprehensible puzzle when she speared him right through the heart with the worst possible weapon against him.

“They were only letters, Tony,” she said coolly. “I’d’ve done the same for any soldier.”

Drenched in sweat and arms pumping, Tony sprinted around the Reservoir in Central Park for the third time, which meant he was flirting with three miles so far. He’d need at least three more before he had any hope of quieting the relentless chatter in his head, so he kept going, working harder and crashing through all the limits of his endurance. His lungs burned; his thighs screamed; his heart was a frantic beat or two away from exploding out of his chest.