Golden Threads (5 page)

Lara glanced at Devon, who had taken a chair at the table and was frowning slightly as he looked at Ching. The frown gave his handsome face a hard look of danger, and she felt unsettled by it. Then he seemed to feel her gaze, and the frown vanished as he looked at her and smiled.

The smile unsettled her even more.

"I can't get the tune," Nick said with a shrug. "Maybe one of us'll get it eventually. In the meantime let's run through the rest of the script, and then Susie wants to measure you for costumes. Sonia, Pat, you two go ahead, since you aren't in this act."

Ching remained where he was on the end of the table, seemingly paying close attention as the remaining actors went over their lines with Nick. He continued, to purr until the director spoke firmly to him.

"Ching, we can't hear ourselves over your music."

The cat studied him for a moment, then stopped purring and began washing a striped forepaw.

"Damn," Nick muttered, then cleared his throat.
"Fine.
Okay—um—Lara, it's your line."

The reading continued without incident. They finished with this first run-through less than an hour later. Susie commandeered Devon for measurements and took him back to the dressing rooms, and Lara wandered out on stage. She'd left Ching to be petted and talked to by Sonia and Pat while a wary Melanie watched and Nick frowned over the notes on his script.

"How'd it go?" Luke asked cheerily, approaching where she stood near the wings.

"Fine, I guess." Lara slid her hands into the pockets of her denim skirt and shrugged. "I've never been in a play before, so I'm not really sure. The stage is looking good." She studied the garden scene, where the witch was to make her evil bargain with Rapunzel's father.

"I'm waiting for Nick's approval," Luke confessed. "I've never been involved with a play either."

"You haven't?" She looked up at him. "I thought community theaters would use the same stage crews every time. I don't know why I assumed that, but—"

"They usually do, I understand," Luke agreed. "But Nick's foreman was out of town or something, and he advertised. I happened to be passing through town—I'm sort of a gypsy at the moment—and I answered the ad.
Which is why I'm here losing my heart to Rapunzel.
"

"Blarney," she scoffed, accepting his words as lightly as they were uttered.

Luke assumed a hurt expression. "Now, is that any way to treat a man who lays his heart at your feet? Of course, I realize that I'll have to win over Ching first, but I have plans."

"Good luck."

He eyed her. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I imagine you could," she said politely. "And I imagine the sun could rise in the west, given a slight change in the earth's orbit."

Luke winced, but rallied quickly. "Tomorrow, I'll come armed with tuna. In the meantime, have dinner with me tonight."

She smiled. "Sorry. I have plans."

"Tomorrow night then?"

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow?"

He sighed heavily. "I know what it is. Somebody else got here before me, damn him. No ring, so it can't be a husband.
Fiancé?
Boyfriend?
Just tell me the scoundrel's name, and I'll beat him to a pulp."

"I don't approve of violence," she said, still casual.

"Lara, Susie's ready for you," Devon said, emerging from the shadows of the wings.

"Thanks." She smiled apologetically at Luke, who shrugged cheerfully and went back to work. She walked past Devon, giving him another smile, which he returned, then headed backstage toward the dressing rooms. Wondering suddenly how much Devon had heard of her conversation with Luke, she glanced back over her shoulder at him just before he was out of sight.

He was standing with his hands in his pockets, gazing across the stage toward Luke. He wasn't smiling any longer. His handsome face was still and hard.

And dangerous.

Lara told herself that her own uneasiness was making her suspicious of everything, but it didn't help much. That look on Devon's face bothered her; it hadn't been jealousy or dislike of another man's attentions to her, of that she was sure. It had been something else, something she couldn't define.

She stood in the dressing room while Susie measured her,
then
draped fabric around her, barely aware of the other woman's occasional enthusiastic comments. She kept remembering her first impression of Devon as enigmatic and dispassionate, and reminded herself that he could well be a natural actor with the ability to cloak his true nature. But what was his true nature? Was he as complex as she was beginning to believe? Were his motives for the apparent interest in her as straightforward as they seemed?

He had listened to her conversation with Luke; she was sure of it. But what did it mean?
That hard stare
at Luke... Not jealousy or possessiveness, but—what?

Was she imagining things?

Almost an hour later, as she sat across from Devon in a booth in one of Pinewood's few restaurants, she still wasn't sure. Devon was smiling at her, but not even the easy charm he could apparently turn as if with a switch could hide the shadows in his eyes; and his burdened look tugged at her, virtually making her forget her vague suspicions.

"You're very quiet," he said. "Is it because Ching was upset with us for abandoning him at your apartment?"

"No." She smiled. "He knows just how to make me feel guilty, but I've gotten used to it."

"Then what is it?"

Lara realized she was pushing the food around on her plate and eating very little. "I'm not very hungry, that's all."

"Sure it's not the company?" he asked lightly.

"No, of course not."

"Polite. But is it the truth?"

"Why would I lie?"

"Never answer a question with another question."

She managed a laugh. "Sorry. I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't want to be.
How's that?"

"Better." His smile faded slightly. "But I'd be happier if you could bring yourself to say my name."

She looked at him, startled.

"You haven't, you know."

"I'm sorry, Devon."

"I hope it gets easier with practice.
Especially since we're supposed to be lovers.
Eventually."

Lara had the strong feeling that he wasn't talking about the play. But before she could comment he was going on in the same easy tone.

"Nick did a good job adapting the fairy tale, don't you think? I read the original version last night; it's strictly a bare-bones kind of story."

"Most fairy tales are," she said, matching his tone.
"Just moralistic fables for children."

"Nick's story isn't for children. How do you feel about that, Lara?"

The sudden change from the general to the specific caught her off guard, and she couldn't look away from his intense eyes. She cleared her throat with a husky little sound. "As you said, Nick did a good job of adapting it for the stage."

"And for adults."
His smile went a bit crooked.
"Lots of passionate embraces in his version.
Before we begin rehearsing on stage, I thought we should talk about that."

"Oh?" She managed to yank her gaze from his, looking around the almost-deserted restaurant with what she hoped was careless interest. "I don't see why."

"Lara."

That haunting voice.
Tugged at irresistibly, she found herself meeting his gaze again. She'd never been
so
conscious of her name as when he spoke it, and she had never been so aware of her body as when he looked at her. "Stop it," she whispered, not even sure what she was demanding.

His face seemed to harden slightly as he looked at her, as though everything inside him went still for an instant.
His eyes darkened, something hot and primitive flashing in their shadowy depths.
"No. I can't stop it. And neither can you."

Lara felt a stab of stark excitement, so piercing it stole her breath. He might as well have spoken a rawly sexual invitation, one her body responded to like kindling to a match. It was there, in his voice, something so utterly male it held the ancient sounds of battle and struggle and mating, as if it came from the caves.

Dear God... He wasn't touching her; there was a table between them. He was totally still, yet she felt enclosed by him. Her heart was hammering, and every nerve in her body felt as if it lay exposed and quivering, as if he had stripped her naked and left her achingly vulnerable. She had never in her life felt desire for a man, and she now had a single, awed thought: If he can do this to me with just his voice...

She should have been frightened. It was too soon for them and too new to her for this to be something she could possibly understand or accept. But that peculiar link between them, the tugging inside her, left no room for fear. There was only want, filling her until she ached with it.

Devon swore roughly beneath his breath and slid from the booth. Lara automatically matched his movements, vaguely aware that he had dropped money on the table, vividly aware of his big hand grasping hers in a strong, warm hold as he led her from the restaurant. She felt dazed, shocked by her response but not willing to fight it.

There was enough light in the parking lot for her to see his face as he stopped beside his car and turned to her. She had the sudden realization that he was angry, and that perception was borne out when he released her hand and lifted both of his hands to frame her face. His hands were hard, yet his touch was gentle.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said in a low voice that grated. "Dammit, Lara—"

She wasn't afraid of him. She thought dimly that perhaps she should be afraid of him, because the anger in him was dark and powerful and violent. But he wasn't angry with her, she knew that somehow, and it was enough. Staring up into the dark pools of his eyes, she managed a shaky smile. "I—I didn't expect it either."

He was very still, gazing down at her. She could almost feel a struggle going on in him, a terrible silent battle, and she was suddenly afraid that she would be on the losing side. She didn't want to lose, even though she couldn't have defined what her loss would have been; she knew only that she needed something in him and didn't care what it might cost her.

Her hands lifted to his chest, fingers probing compulsively to seek hard muscle beneath the bulky wool of his sweater. "Maybe I'd better ask if—if you're involved with somebody," she murmured. His broad chest moved as he sighed roughly.

"I am. I'm involved with you." The words were terse, almost reluctant, but his deep voice was husky.

Some part of Lara's mind told her that this was insanity, that she had no right to get involved with any man, much less this virtual stranger. But he made her feel so alive, and she wanted to go on feeling that way.

"Devon—" She had no idea what she was going to say, but whatever it was she never got the chance to say it. His powerful arms closed about her, pulling her fully against his hard body, and his mouth captured hers.

Captured like something he thought might escape him.

He didn't waste time with the slow, tentative explorations of a first kiss; there was no hesitation in him, no supplication. With a certainty she couldn't begin to fight, he demanded—and took—what belonged to him.

Lara had never been kissed like that before. His lips were passionate, insistent, holding a stark need that seared her to her bones. The sensations and emotions rushing through her body and mind were so wild she almost cried out with the force of them. Her mouth opened willingly to his, her arms going around his lean waist and holding on to him.

She didn't give a damn that they were standing in a parking lot in full view of anyone who happened to look, and she didn't feel the faint chill of the fall night. All she could feel was the heat blooming inside her and the hard strength of his body. And she could only stare up at him dazedly when he finally lifted his head.

Devon drew a deep breath and muttered an oath. He set her away from him firmly, then opened the car door and put her into the passenger seat without another word. Lara said nothing, at first because she wasn't sure she could speak and later because she didn't know what to say. So the drive to her apartment was a silent one.

Lara honestly didn't know what would happen once they reached her place. Despite his unhidden hunger, she thought that Devon was still struggling against something, still fighting not to give in to his own passion. It puzzled her. Did he expect her to demand some kind of commitment, was that it? Or was the burdened look in his eyes
an
indication of past hurts?

She didn't know how to ask him.

It was Devon who spoke first, taking her arm as they went up the stairs to her apartment. And though there was no evidence of strain on his hard face, the sound of it was in his voice.

"Tell me you don't want this, Lara."

They were at her door. She watched as he took her keys and unlocked the door, then looked up at him. His words had been a request rather than a challenge; he wasn't asking her to deny the desire between them, if she could, but to refuse to do anything about that desire.