Red Midnight (21 page)

It was growing late. She picked up her pen again.

Miss you and Ted very much. Please believe that I am fine and happy and don’t worry about me a second! Tell Casey I’ll write her soon, and I promise a much longer account when I get the time to really sit down!

All my love,

Erin

Erin carefully folded her letter and left it in a sealed envelope on the right hand corner of Jarod’s desk. She was about to leave the desk when another thought struck her and she reached for the telephone. It was growing late, but she hoped Tanya would still be up.

She chewed her lip as she waited for the call to go through. In moments of sanity during the day following that first delirious night together, Erin had begun to worry about the consequences of “adult behavior.” Consequences which could be disastrous in her situation.

“Tanya!” She breathed a little more easily when the Russian woman answered and assured Erin she hadn’t woken her.

Erin chattered idly for a second and zeroed in on what she hoped would sound like a casually asked question.

“Have you managed to get me a doctor’s appointment yet?”

“I believe I have a date for you—”

“Great! Next week?”

“I’m afraid not. In several weeks. Our medicine is socialized, you know, and emergencies always come first.”

Erin bit her lip unhappily.

“Erin—if you asked Jarod, I’m sure he could do something.”

“I, uh, Jarod isn’t here,” Erin said hastily. “And he’s so terribly busy right now I hate to bother him with trivia.”

She could hear Tanya’s pause. Trivia? They were husband and wife.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take care of this in the States,” Tanya murmured.

“Ahh …” Erin murmured weakly. “Bad planning on my part. Do the best you can to push it for me, will you, Tanya?”

“Sure,” Tanya promised. “But you should be all right—”

Erin knew what she was thinking. Tanya had reluctantly done some shopping for her in the local drugstore so that she would have a modicum of protection.

“I don’t like to rely on such methods,” Erin murmured nervously.

“I assure you, our products—”

“Tanya! I believe in your products!” Dear God, she hadn’t meant to offend her Russian friend. “I wouldn’t like to rely on such methods in the States!”

Tanya chuckled softly, appeased. “Erin, you really should speak with Jarod—”

Erin knew it troubled Tanya that she always avoided the issue, but she could do nothing else. “Maybe,” she said evasively, “but in the meantime keep pushing for me, will you?”

Tanya agreed, and they said their good-nights. Erin rose and stretched and left the den to walk into the bedroom.

It was her anniversary, she thought dryly. She had been married to a man who had been a total stranger for two full weeks. What a great record. Her first marriage had been for three months, her second would be for two months.

In her long flannel gown she tried to settle down to sleep. But she found herself staring at the moonglow entering in through the window.

She tossed and turned for hours of misery before she slept. It was the first night he had been away. Good God, what was going to happen when they split for good? If this were her torture now …

You’re a fool, Erin, you have to find some strength, some cool, cool authority of your own….

But as she fought for sleep, she only knew that she ached with missing him beside her, burned for his touch.

In another city, far into the Russian interior, Jarod Steele also lay awake and he was angered by his sleeplessness, angered by the need he felt for the woman he supposed rested easily in his bed.

She had gotten beneath his skin, bewitched him, enchanted him. She was like no other woman. A cool, assured beauty, an inferno, a wildfire in his arms.

He had awakened her, he had elicited her magic. He could close his eyes and think of her, of the boldness she had learned, of the lazy, seductive cast of her half-closed silver eyes as she padded softly to him with her long-legged walk of effortless grace. Putting her arms around him, drawing taunting strokes over his back and chest, she teased and teased and increased the fevered ardor until they were together again, her lithe body fulfilling all promises.

He stood up in a cold sweat and walked to the window. He was in Kiev on business. Erin McCabe—no, Steele, he reminded himself dryly—was just another woman, a beautiful woman, a sensual, passionate woman … but just a woman.

In a few months she would be gone, out of his life. He would form liaisons with other women went he felt the need.

Or would he be able to? he mocked himself. A widow he had known in the city had issued him veiled invitations tonight; he had politely and subtly refused…. Because I’m married, he told himself. Supposedly madly in love, a newlywed. That wasn’t it. No sane man could hold Erin and then seek another….

Damn her! his thoughts hissed. She created fires in his blood as no other woman before her, not even Cara. But Cara had been love, the folly, the recklessness, the wonder of youth. And Cara was gone. Love, tenderness, and the extreme heartache and extreme wonder of youth were gone, tenderly buried, cherished in memory.

But he wanted Erin. He had come to feel that somehow she was his; the ragged depth of fierce possession he felt for her was startling.

Jarod glanced at his watch and groaned. It was midnight; his day would start at five
A.M.

Damn her, he thought. Damn her and her guileless silver eyes. Eyes that seduced, eyes that could deceive.

He still didn’t know if he had bedded a devil or an angel

It didn’t matter in the heat of her midnight fires.

BY THE TIME SHE
woke up on Saturday morning, Erin was edgy and miserable. I’m acting like a wife, she told herself dryly as her agitated movements caused her to spill half the coffee she was pouring.

Wrapped in one of his velour robes, Erin took her coffee into the living room and prodded at the dying fire. Moscow was cold. She wondered if spring would ever come to the city.

Sitting tired and morose, Erin couldn’t control the fury that bubbled within her. He had been due home by dinner time last night at the latest. She had tried with her meager culinary skills to accomplish a beautiful rack of lamb. And at twelve thirty her beautiful rack of lamb had hit the garbage.

He could have called. Kiev. She wasn’t even sure of where the city was—somewhere inland. As usual, she had no idea of what he was doing. He had given her some type of explanation about seeking out all those whom Ivan had seen near the time of his arrest.

This damned Project Midnight business. He lived for his work. Or did he? she wondered suddenly, her imagination taking bitter flight. She knew she hadn’t interrupted Jarod in the middle of a love affair; the man had no necessity to love. But there were other types of affairs, and it had been evident all along that their marriage was an inconvenience. No real marriage. He might not have been in love—he hadn’t intended to ever remarry—but there might be a woman he did care for….

Catherine. He was always working with Catherine. Perhaps his business trip to Kiev hadn’t been business at all. Perhaps he wanted to be with this Catherine and he couldn’t do so in Moscow—not when he had married the “fiancée” he had supposedly brought over from the States. And what right would she have to say anything? None. She had no rights at all where Jarod was concerned. No right whatsoever to be so furious now. But she was. Her rack of lamb in the garbage was enough to whip her temper into full steam.

He should have called out of common courtesy—and it was the more unusual because Jarod was courteous even when distant. But he had made her sit and sit. She wasn’t even supposed to leave the apartment without Tanya, and he couldn’t bother with a call.

She had to get out, she was going crazy. And she would also be damned if she sat around at his beck and call while he disappeared for days on end—possibly with Catherine!

That was a sobering thought. One that reminded her that she had to cut loose. When they had started out, she had thought she could be adult. Handle the sexual relationship. But she hadn’t been in love with him at the time. Or if she had been, she hadn’t known it. And like an absolute idiot she had become dependent on him. Which was why she was so angry now … and hurt.

She had to reassert herself. Remember that she was Erin McCabe. With a fascinating life stretching ahead of her when she did return to the States in such a relatively short amount of time.

The phone started ringing and she leaped to her feet with anticipation. It would be Jarod. He would have an apology and an explanation.

It wasn’t Jarod, and her disappointment was so vast that tears sprang to her eyes.

“Erin?” Gil Sayer’s voice was anxious.

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the wire, but her voice was level and cheerful. “Yes, Gil, I’m here. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” he laughed, “but actually I called to ask you that question. I heard that Jarod was held over in Kiev. I thought you might be feeling a little lost m the city without him so I thought I’d call and offer my services! I don’t believe you’ve been to the circus yet. How about letting me take you?”

Why not, indeed? Erin wondered. Gil was with the American embassy. She doubted she could get into much trouble with him. Jarod certainly couldn’t care—and if he did, the hell with him.

“Thanks, Gil! That sounds wonderful. I have been going a little crazy cooped up in here. I’ve been doing some history trips with Tanya, but she’s been in Leningrad visiting her family for the last week. I’d love to get out!”

“Great,” Gil said with flattering enthusiasm. “I’ll be there in an hour?”

“Perfect.”

It did turn out to be a perfect day. The Moscow circus was world-famous, and it was soon easy to see why. The performers were highly skilled, eliciting oohs and aahs from the audience with their death-daring feats. But even more wonderful than the exciting trapeze and wild-animal acts were the clowns.

Language barriers did not exist within the antics of the clowns. They were a delight, as were the people around Erin. All laughing, passing little snacks back and forth, warm and friendly despite the fact she didn’t understand a word being said. Gil translated for her occasionally, and she discovered that the Soviet people were fascinated by her; the circus was certainly a place where barriers were broken. By the time they left, she had received several chastisements from the “bubushkas,” or older matrons, who weren’t in the least shy about telling her she needed to put some flesh on her bones. Gil told her that that was why they had passed the candy in the first place.

“Oh, Gil,” she murmured, her silver eyes sparkling as they left the circus behind, “I’ve had an absolutely lovely time! Thank you for taking me. You’ve been a life saver!”

He blushed slightly, and Erin thought what a charming person he was—so handsome, and so completely charming, always there to try and help her.

She started thinking once more that it was a pity she hadn’t wound up playing farcical wife to him. How much easier it would have been. He was never cold, never distant. He never watched her with that callous speculation in his eyes. He, at least, really didn’t think she was a spy. And she wasn’t in love with him. Yes, it would have been much, much easier if she had found herself beside Gil Sayer on the Moscow train.

Gil set a comfortably friendly arm around her shoulder. “Shall we have some tea?”

“Lovely!” Erin agreed.

Over hot Russian tea and pastries Erin felt the bond tighten between herself and Gil. He was a career diplomat, she learned, originally from North Dakota. He was only three years older than she, and an antique buff as well. They chatted almost an hour before he asked about Jarod.

“I believe I went into a form of shock when I heard Jarod had crossed the border with a fiancée in tow—and that fiancée being Erin McCabe. Jarod has never lacked for feminine companionship, but marriage! I don’t believe a one of us thought he would ever marry again! And then to hear he was marrying you! The fantasies of my last few years lay in ruins at my feet! Where did you meet Jarod?”

Caught off guard, Erin fumbled in her purse for a cigarette. Gil reached across the table to light it for her. “We, ah, met in New York. In a little pub. We kind of collided with one another, and well, from there, things just seemed to happen.”

“I wish things like you would just happen to me,” Gil said wistfully, lightly touching her hand with his unbelievably smooth fingertips.

“Thank you again, Gil. You’re always very sweet.”

He grimaced. “Sweet was never quite what I had in mind for being to you, Erin, but … you are Jarod’s wife. I guess I have to settle for sweet. But if steely Steele ever gets to be too much for you, Erin, you call me anyway.”

A little catch seemed to form in her throat. Gil’s eyes were so giving, so vulnerable. He really cared for her. But that caring was painful. And it also touched off a chord of nervousness she couldn’t quite comprehend. He was no Jarod Steele. No enigma of brick. He could be easily touched, easily hurt.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Erin withdrew her hand and stubbed out her cigarette with a rueful smile. “I think I’d better get home, Gil, but it has been a lovely, lovely day.”

He smiled and stood, then silently escorted her from the restaurant. During the drive home he chatted amicably about various buildings they passed. It wasn’t until they reached the door to Jarod’s apartment that she caught the strange wistful look in his eyes again, and she wondered—no matter how charming and flattering Gil was—if she had been wise to spend the day with him. His concern was marvelous for her ego, and she did need friends here, but she didn’t want him hurt.

“Thanks again, Gil,” she said softly, touching his shoulders lightly as she kissed his cheek. “It was a wonderful day.”

“Yes—” Erin suddenly heard in deep velvet from behind her. She whirled in time to see the frost in Jarod’s eyes as he stood in the hallway, a frost that belied the pleasant tone of his voice. “I’ll add my thanks to that, Gil. I appreciate your taking the time to entertain my wife. Won’t you come in and have a drink?”