Lone Rider (26 page)

She haunted his sleep. In dreams he tasted her lips, felt her nails score his skin as her heat scorched his flesh. He’d awaken, throbbing hard,  on the edge of agony. He’d hear his own words:
Little fool. You mean nothing to me.
He felt the crack of her fist again and again.

He sighed. It had been tough. He’d known from the beginning that he was expected to turn and walk away. But it was the staying away, not even making casual contact with her, that had been excruciating. Their involvement had become a tricky issue, one
which
if not handled properly
,
could jeopardize the case. And this case was tricky enough without the personal nuances.

He thought back over the past few months, the questions he’d faced.
Had his involvement with Tess been appropriate? Was his behavior befitting an officer of the law? Were his loyalties compromised?
A case could, and would, be made for and against. Both sides of the fence would be played.

He knew the questions hadn’t been any easier for Tess. He also knew that despite the censure he’d received, the prejudices in a situation like this were still tipped in his favor. Too often men weren’t expected to rise above their animal instincts, while women were held to a stricter, more unforgiving standard. There were different levels of disapproval based on sex. Unfair as hell, but reality all the same.

Out of respect for her, Grey played by the rules and kept away, even though it damn near killed him.

Until today.

In a surprising phone call, Barry reversed his position and asked Grey to contact her immediately.

Tess, Barry explained, had suddenly decided she didn’t want to testify. Barry’s first concern was she’d been threatened. That wasn’t uncommon in a case of this scope. A second possibility was her f
amily pressuring her. The Marsh
s were scions of society. The notoriety surrounding the case would be anathema.

Of course Tess could be forced to testify, but an unwilling witness usually did more damage then good. Barry wanted Grey to talk with her, see if he could get her to open up. Find out what prompted the switch, then get her to change her mind without official action.

Grey had jumped at the opportunity to see her. Yeah, he was worried about why she’d changed her mind. He didn’t like the idea she might have been threatened. But he also didn’t like the thought of her being forced to testify if she honestly didn’t want to -- a direct conflict with his desire to see justice meted out. His jaw tightened recalling Matt Michaels’ fate.

He didn’t want to think about where his loyalties were right now. His family, those closest to his heart, had always come first. And Tess was definitely close to his heart. Maybe too close.

The elevator doors slid open with a subtle
bing
. Grey stepped out, looked around. Crashing the party had been easy. The hotel’s chief of security had taken one look at Grey’s tux and
official
ID, allowing him to pass without question.

A waiter glided up, offering wine. Accepting a glass
but not drinking
, Grey backed into the closest corner, feigning interest in a watercolor while he oriented himself with
in
the room.

The Marsh Manhattan was
New York
’s newest high
-
rise. The ballroom
was done in an elaborate, gold-
leaf baroque and featured an intricate glass spire that soared nearly three stories at its peak. A balcony provided an unparalleled view of the city that never slept.

“She’s going home with me.”

Grey turned to the older woman who had insinuated herself between him and the watercolor.

Diamonds flashed on her wrists and fingers as she gestured dismissively, trying to hide the piece with her scrawny arms. “The painting. You don’t fool me. I can tell you’re interested. But don’t even think about bidding against me. I want her and I’ll have her.”

He chuckled at the woman’s veracity. The term
dowager
came to mind. She looked harmless, but he bet she had a nasty-tempered, ruthless, Pomeranian at home that bit on command. He inclined his head, signifying acquiescence.

“She’s a beauty.”  But not the one he had in mind.

Pleased with her imagined triumph, the woman launched into a monologue of the artist’s biography. Grey’s gaze drifted imperceptibly as he systematically checked out the crowd.

He noticed more than one person watching him -- he was the newcomer; the unknown face. He avoided more than brief eye contact. There was only one person he was interested in.

And there she was.
On the dance floor.

Tess.

He lurched, unprepared for the punch of reaction the sight of her wrought. Seeing her again was painful. Like having nails hammered into his solar plexus.

Christ, she was beautiful. She was wearing a sparkly gown the same shade of blue as her eyes, her hair neatly piled atop her head in a chic
“
do
”
he could wreck in seconds. She looked spectacular.

His eyes dropped, then drifted upward, taking in her sexy heels, the long, shapely legs.
Legs he remembered wrapping around his waist.

Her partner laughed at something she’d said. Grey narrowed his eyes, watching the man squeeze Tess’ waist.

“That frown is back,” his matronly friend observed. “You’re not having second thoughts about bidding, are you?”

“No, ma’am. But I see another work I might be interested in. Will you excuse me?”

*     *     *

             
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

             
Embarrassed, Tess stared at her partner. She and Jack had gone to school together. Their families had been close. A successful stockbroker, he had recently joined a prestigious Wall Street firm.

             
“Bear market. Bull market.”  She’d caught a word here and there. “The semantics go over my head. I tend to look at the bottom line. You’ve done well with the portfolio you’re handling. I trust your judgment.”

             
Jack preened. “You still need to understand the logic,” he said, diving right back into a dissertation on market trends.

Tess’ attention drifted immediately. Perhaps after this dance she’d leave.

She was definitely preoccupied and with good reason, she thought, recalling the
threatening
note.

Her conversation with Barry Neilson had not been good. She knew he wasn’t buying her
I-just-don’t-want-to
excuse. He’d asked point-
blank whether she’d been warned against testifying.

Lying had made her feel awful. While much of what she told Barry was true -- that she was tired of the questions, tired of the complete disruption of her life -- the lie had wedged in her throat like a thin bone. Uncomfortable. Choking. In the end they’d agreed to discuss it later.

“Think about it over the weekend,” Barry said finally. “Promise me you won’t make any definite decision until we talk again Monday morning.”

In the end those were the very words that goaded Tess toward action. She hadn’t made a
definite decision
since her return from
Montana
. She’d reacted, not acted. She accepted the mantle of victim too willingly.

No more.

She’d gone ahead with her plans to attend the art auction, not wanting to stay in the
Hamptons
a day longer, but already she plotted a return to
Boston
. A return to the life she’d left behind.

“If you’re in town for the weekend, perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow night.”  Jack’s voice brought her back to the moment. “Catch up on old times. And no business. I promise.”

Tess tilted her head, tempted. Jack was a trusted friend. Dinner meant dinner. Catching up meant being entertained with zany tales about mutual acquaintances.

He wouldn’t pressure her for details on the trial or ask what her ordeal had been like. If she wanted to discuss it, of course
,
he’d listen. And offer sound advice. Jack was the type who’d offer to marry her if she told him she were pregnant. And he’d treat her and her child with loving respect.

She looked at him, tried to envision herself wedded to him. She couldn’t. It would be like marrying her brother.

Grey had left a discomforting legacy. On one hand, she knew she’d never again settle for a passionless relationship. On the other, she knew no lover would ever compare. So was she doomed to a life of celibacy? Or a vibrator?

Someone had walked up behind Jack, tapped his shoulder. Startled, Jack broke off mid-sentence and turned, releasing her.

Grey stepped forward and took her hand. “Good evening, Tess.”

Time snapped backward. “
Dallas
!”

“Grey.”

She shook her head in denial. Dismay. Disbelief.

He looked wonderful. Impossibly taller. Broader across the shoulders.

And totally different. She barely recognized him.

Gone were the long ponytail and mustache. In its place was a sleek, short haircut that accentuated his handsome, clean-shaven face, the strong jaw that she knew would have a five o’clock shadow by four.

That intimate memory gave her a chill, made her clench her fingers to keep from reaching out and stroking the smooth hollow beneath his cheek, the sexy cleft in his chin that had been hidden by the goatee he’d worn in Montana.

He looked...achingly gorgeous. Every bit the suave, handsome secret agent, a seducer of women in a black tux that fit him like a dream.
Bond.
James Bond
. Her heart skipped a beat, then another, as time skidded to an uneven, unstable, stop.

Too late she realized she was gawking and struggled to withdraw her hand from his.

Grey tightened his grip, refusing to free her. Without taking his eyes from hers, he slowly brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingers. She looked elegant, ethereal. And more aloof by the moment. Had he imagined the flash of desire in her eyes?

No matter. He’d broken through her defenses before, he’d do it again. Bu
t this time he’d do it gently.

He turned to Tess’ dance partner. “May I cut in? We’re old friends.”

Jack looked deferentially at Tess. “You know him?”

She nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Jack. About dinner,” she promised
,
as Grey tugged her away.

“Dinner?”  Grey arched an eyebrow.

She ignored his tone and his question, careful to keep her own voice low, modulated. “What are you doing here? This is a closed function.”

“I needed to see you.”

A lump formed in her throat. God, what she would have given to hear those words weeks ago. On those nights when the grief and loneliness felt unbearable. When doubt threatened to drown her.

She blinked back tears, leaning heavily on her pride. She knew exactly what prompted Grey’s visit. And it hurt.

“Barry sent you, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Does it matter? I should have been here a long time ago.” 

The floor was crowded, the music just loud enough to mute their words. Tucking her hand near his heart, he let his thighs brush hers. “You look lovely, Tess.” 
Too lovely
, he thought. There wasn’t a man in the room who hadn’t looked at her without lustful thoughts. Or wishful thoughts.

Grey drew her closer still, a predator openly marking territory.
She was his
. The soft scent of roses teased his senses, as potent as an ancient aphrodisiac.

A glutton for punishment he pressed his mouth close to her ear. She jumped slightly.

             
“Relax,” he murmured. “I won’t bite.”

Relax
,
she thought.
Impossible. She felt his breath on her neck, remembered the feel of his lips there. Heat radiated from his body
,
causing every cell in hers to tremble in response. Her hypersensitive breasts felt even heavier, her nipples tightening almost painfully. So
mething inside melted
, low.
Dangerous.

She noticed the looks they were starting to receive, knew Grey held her too tight. She tried to pull back. “This isn’t the place,” she began.

Damn straight
, he thought. The only place for her was his bed. A hundred shimmering images of her flashed through his mind, some memory, some illusion. In fantasies he’d explored all the territory they’d yet to chart.

             
He released a low growl. “We need a private place to talk.”

             
She misstepped, her hip bumping his as she struggled to keep her voice from fracturing. “I was told not to discuss the case.”