The Lady and the Lion (12 page)

"No—"

"Yes." She nodded. "Yes, it is.
Because I'm here.
Because I'm... a complication."

Had he made it so obvious, or was she perceptive enough to sense it? He didn't know. He wanted to hold her tightly and tell her this wasn't a mistake—but he couldn't be sure it wasn't. She didn't seem to expect reassurances, and that disturbed him more deeply than anything else.

"I'm also hungry," she finished in a lighter tone of voice. "As a matter of fact, I'm starving.
Room service?"

"Fine with me."

"Will you call, or—" Erin pushed herself up as she spoke, and broke off with a wince as a number of muscles protested the movement.

"Told you," Keith said, only his concern for her keeping him from yanking her back down on top of him. She was half sitting on one hip, a hand braced on the mattress and the other resting on his stomach. The covers had fallen to her waist, leaving far too much of her naked for his peace of mind. She didn't even seem to be aware of the provocative pose.

Eyeing him with a slight frown belied by smiling eyes, she said, "Well, don't gloat about it. I'm just a little stiff, that's all. If it hadn't been for the bath, I'd probably be in far worse shape—"

Then she blinked. "I didn't dream the bath, did I?"

"No," he answered after clearing his throat. He didn't know whether to laugh or curse out loud when he realized that he'd mentally counted back less than three hours to the dawn interlude of lovemaking and then assured himself somewhat desperately that he could let at
least
three hours pass without losing control like some randy teenager. He didn't know where he was getting the energy or the stamina. She was glowing, her bright hair, her eyes, her skin,
all
radiant—and if she didn't take her warm hand off his stomach soon, he was going to lunge.

She did move her hand, turning a bit gingerly to slide from the bed on her side, and then rising with only faint stiffness. Utterly unself-conscious, she moved naked around the room, gathering up the nightgown and negligee he had so carelessly thrown aside last night.

Keith closed his eyes, listening to what she was saying but not trusting himself to watch her.

"If you'll call room service, I'll go take a hot shower. That should ease the stiffness. Really, they never said a
thing
about that in sex education classes, not a word about using muscles you never knew you had." There was a pause, and then she said in a different voice, "Well, no wonder you were looking at me so strangely."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. She was standing at the mirror hanging above a low bureau, one hand holding her discarded sleepwear and the other attempting to smooth her gloriously tumbled hair as she frowned at her reflection.

"I look like a wild woman," she said, an indignant sound to her voice. "You could have told me instead of giving me that pained stare."

If it hadn't been for her mildly offended tone, Keith might have given in to his baser instincts because she looked so sexy standing there naked he could hardly think of anything else. But humor helped him to keep a grip on himself.

"I don't know why you're feeling insulted," he said. "Most people look their worst first thing in the morning, but you couldn't look less than gorgeous without the help of a special effects expert. And if I did look pained, it was because I am
in
pain."

She turned her head toward him, the dissatisfaction with her appearance completely forgotten. "Are you? I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

He met the total innocence of her gaze, and wondered how on earth she could be so unconscious of her effect on him after last night.
And this morning.
He couldn't even consider the question while he was looking at her, so he cleared his throat again and said, "Yes, there is something you can do. Go take your shower, while I order breakfast."

"But—"

"Erin," he said bluntly, "I woke you up twice during the night because I couldn't keep my hands off you. I'm hoping I can at least get through breakfast, for my own peace of mind. But it's very difficult with you standing there naked. Take your shower, please. And get dressed."

She looked very solemn, but there was a tiny smile in her eyes. A smile that was pleased and a little surprised and not at all shy. "What a nice thing for you to say."

He shut his eyes. "Erin..."

"All right, I'm going. Order lots of food, will you? I really am starving."

"Ummm."
He kept his eyes closed until he felt rather than heard her leave the room. She had gone back to her own suite. It was several minutes before he could summon the will to get up and find the room-service menu, and then place their order. After that, he went into his bathroom to shave and shower, trying not to remember the two A.M. bath that had triggered a passion so fierce he'd been shaking with it.

It was new to him, such wild desire. He had always tended to be a temperamental man, his emotions strong and impulsive, but he'd never felt the intensity of passion Erin roused in him. He told himself it was because they were still new to each other. Scarcely twenty-four hours had passed since he had first seen her; it was natural for passion to burn hotter at first. He reminded himself that the unusual pressures he was under, the vital need to contain so much of what he was feeling, undoubtedly increased his sex drive along with everything else.

It made perfect sense.

But he didn't believe it.
Any of it.

This was something else, something he hadn't counted on. In the last twenty-four hours, he had barely thought of anything except her, the strength of her appeal pushing even his obsession with justice out of his mind. It had required a stoic effort of concentration for him to think enough to insist on the terms that might keep her safe. He could barely tolerate being this far away from her now, and she hadn't been out of his sight for fifteen minutes.

What would happen tonight, when he had to leave her for hours?
And tomorrow night, and the next?
He had to concentrate on his role, play his part so perfectly that the men he was after would never suspect the truth. Could he even do it now? Could he put out of his mind this craving he had for her? Could he ignore, at least for hours, the memories of touching her and tasting her and losing himself in her?

Standing in the shower, Keith turned the water to lukewarm and then all the way to cold, trying to damp a fire that seemed unquenchable. It didn't work. By this point, he hadn't realty expected it to.

His mind went back to an earlier question, and he wondered again how she could possibly be so unconscious of her effect on him. He knew it was true, though, because the innocence in her eyes couldn't lie. She had said it wasn't possible these days for anyone to be totally innocent, and maybe she was right. Unless one were locked away from, or totally unaware of, the world, naiveté could hardly outlast childhood.

But physical innocence could, and emotional innocence.

Hers had.

Part of him loved that, loved her unshadowed and guileless pleasure in his arms. She was so innately sensual, so warm and sweet and giving. And there wasn't an inhibited bone in her body. From her unself-conscious nakedness to her eager passion and the bemused enjoyment when he had bathed her, she wore the brand-new hat of a lover as if born to it.

He began to understand why some cultures still put a premium on virginity; when an unawakened woman found pleasure with her first lover, there was nothing to mar the experience for either of them. No ghosts, no painful memories, no comparisons for good or bad. Never hurt by a lover, she had no expectation of it.

Even though he had warned her.

He didn't know, even now, why she had accepted his terms. Perhaps—though he found it incredible—he was the first man to make her aware of her own passion. In fact, he was almost sure of that. But was it her reason? Was she content now because she was getting exactly what she wanted: exciting passion without strings or promises? Was she proving something, not to her father, but to herself? Proving that she was indeed free to make her own choices?

Was her passion for him, or had he simply released it?

Keith turned the water off and got out of the shower, not happy with any of his thoughts. As much as his mind insisted there could be no commitment between them, a more primitive instinct demanded that he know for certain if Erin wanted him... or only his passion.

Breakfast arrived about the time Keith finished dressing, and Erin came through the connecting door to say, "Perfect timing; the maid wants to do my room." Dressed in a casual denim skirt and pale blue, short-sleeved blouse, her hair loose but brushed into neat, burnished waves, she was radiant.

In reasonable command of himself now, Keith was able to say calmly, "She won't do mine until late afternoon. I made that request when I checked in. But tell her not to lock the connecting doors, will you?"

Erin went back into her suite, then reappeared a few moments later and pushed his side of the door closed so that they wouldn't be disturbed by the vacuum cleaner. "She looked more resigned and saddened than surprised
. '
Lord, what fools these mortals
be
.' I hope you ordered fruit. I love fruit."

Amused, Keith gestured to the laden table near his balcony.
"Lot's of it.
Tell me, are you usually this talkative in the morning, or is today special?"

For the first time, Erin looked a bit self-conscious. "I'm always like this. It's probably why I talked to you so much out on the balcony before we really met. Dad tried to break me of it because he hates conversation at the breakfast table, but it was the only thing I could never do for him. Does it bother you? I know
it's
hell if you can't wake up before coffee and somebody's chattering at you—"

Keith pulled her into his arms and kissed her, shutting off the flow. His night-owl hours of late were imposed rather than chosen; he was by nature a morning person, wide awake once his eyes opened, so her morning persona wouldn't have bothered him even if he hadn't loved the sound of her voice.

"I don't mind," he said, ending the kiss sooner then he liked because he was determined to hold on to his marginal control. Her response, instant and shatteringly sweet, tested that determination to the limits. He kept an arm around her as he guided her to one of the chairs at the table, knowing that if he didn't put some distance between them, he'd lose his battle.

"Are you sure? Unless I'm upset about something, I talk almost nonstop for the first hour or so."

"It doesn't bother me." He poured coffee for them. "By the way, have you called your father? You haven't mentioned it."

"No, I haven't talked to him." She was serving herself from a large fruit plate, and didn't look up at him. "The message light on my phone was blinking when I went in to take a shower. He wants me to call him today. I think he still believes that if he can just find the right combination of words, I'll be on the next plane to London."

"Is he so good with words?" Keith asked, transferring food to his own plate, but watching her intently.

"Expert.
He could talk a snake out of its skin."

"Interesting analogy."

She looked up at him,
then
smiled ruefully. "I suppose so.
But apt.
I've seen him deal with men who'd make your blood run cold, and never lose his smile."

Keith was too curious not to ask. "What does your father do?"

After a slight hesitation, Erin said, "He's an ambassador.
Has been for thirty years."

"Ambassador to England?"

"For England.
My mother was American, but Dad's British. I have a dual citizenship."

The news was unexpected, and it bothered Keith. He didn't much care what Erin's father did for a living, but when the public visibility of a nation's ambassador combined with the anxiety of a father, things could get tricky. If that father decided to cross the Atlantic in search of his erring daughter, it was entirely possible Keith would find himself in the middle of a most unwelcome spotlight. He tried to reassure himself on that point; the American press might not even notice the arrival of an English ambassador in this resort area. Unless...

"Your father isn't anything else, is he?"

"Like what?"

"Like titled."

Erin looked absurdly guilty. "He's an earl."

"Great," Keith muttered. "That makes you Lady Erin. And the American press loves titles."

"I don't use mine over here," she protested. "It's just a courtesy anyway."

"I'll bet your father uses his."

"Well, yes, but—" She broke off, frowning a little. "Are you worried that he might come here?"

Keith had known the first time he set eyes on Erin that it would be all too easy to tell her things, even things he didn't want her to know.
But this...
His hesitation was brief. "I really don't want any unusual attention right now, Erin. It could be a problem for me. Is he likely to come here?"

"I shouldn't think so. He has to take up a new post in a few weeks, so he'll be very busy. I've never seen him abandon his work for any reason. Even when Mother died, he just worked harder than ever."

"If he's worried about you..."

Erin couldn't imagine her father crossing the Atlantic just because of her, but said, "I'll call him later today and tell him I'll fly over in a week or so to talk; that should satisfy him." She studied Keith's face,
then
added very quietly, "He doesn't have to know you exist unless you want him to. I hadn't planned to tell him anything about us."

He had to look away from those luminous green eyes as he said, "Don't mention me.
To anyone."
Concentrating on eating, he tried to remind himself that all this was for the best. The only relationship he could have with Erin right now was a sexual one, and she had agreed to that. So why did he feel as if he were betraying her by insisting that his only place in her life was in her bed, and secretly at that?