Secret Star (9 page)

“He was guilty.”

“As sin,” Rossi agreed readily, “but I'd have hung that jury.”

As Rossi started to rehash the trial, Seth resigned himself to talking shop.

Across the room, Grace took a glass from a passing waiter and listened to her hostess's gossip with half an ear. She knew when to chuckle, when to lift a brow, purse her lips, make some interesting comment. It was all routine.

She wanted to leave immediately. She wanted to get Seth out of that dark suit. She wanted her hands on him, all over him. Lust was creeping along her skin like a hot rash. Sips of champagne did nothing to cool her throat, and only added to the bubbling in her blood.

“My dear Sarah.”

“Gregor, how lovely to see you.”

Grace shifted, sipped, smiled at the sleek, dark man with the creamy voice who bent gallantly over their hostess's hand. Mediterranean, she judged, by the charm of the accent. Fiftyish, but fit.

“You're looking particularly wonderful to
night,” he said, lingering over her hand. “And your hospitality, as always, is incomparable. And your guests.” He turned smiling pale silvery-blue eyes on Grace. “Perfect.”

“Gregor.” Sarah simpered, fluttered, then turned to Grace. “I don't believe you've met Gregor, Grace. He's fatally charming, so be very careful. Ambassador DeVane, I'd like to present Grace Fontaine, a dear friend.”

“I am honored.” He lifted Grace's hand, and his lips were warm and soft. “And enchanted.”

“Ambassador?” Grace slipped easily into the role. “I thought ambassadors were old and stodgy. All the ones I've met have been. That is, up until now.”

“I'll just leave you with Grace, Gregor. I see we have some late arrivals.”

“I'm sure I'm in delightful hands.” With obvious reluctance, he released Grace's fingers. “Are you perhaps a connection of Niles Fontaine?”

“He's an uncle, yes.”

“Ah. I had the pleasure of meeting your uncle and his charming wife in Capri a few years ago. We have a mutual hobby, coins.”

“Yes, Uncle Niles has quite a collection. He's mad for coins.” Grace brushed her hair back, lifted it off her bare shoulder. “And where are you from, Ambassador DeVane?”

“Gregor, please, in such friendly surroundings. Then I might be permitted to call you Grace.”

“Of course.” Her smile warmed to suit the new intimacy.

“I doubt you would have heard of my tiny country. We are only a small dot in the sea, known chiefly for our olive oil and wine.”

“Terresa?”

“Now I am flattered again that such a beautiful woman would know my humble country.”

“It's a beautiful island. I was there briefly, two years ago, and very much enjoyed it. Terresa is a small jewel in the sea, dramatic cliffs to the west, lush vineyards in the east, and sandy beaches as fine as sugar.”

He smiled at her, took her hand again. The connection was as unexpected as the woman, and he found himself compelled to touch. And to keep. “You must promise to return, to allow me to show you the country as it should be seen. I have a small villa in the west, and the view would almost be worthy of you.”

“I'd love to see it. How difficult it must be to spend the summer in muggy Washington, when you could be enjoying the sea breezes of Terresa.”

“Not at all difficult. Now.” He skimmed a thumb over her knuckles. “I find the treasures of your country more and more appealing. Perhaps
you would consider joining me one evening. Do you enjoy the opera?”

“Very much.”

“Then you must allow me to escort you. Perhaps—” He broke off, a flicker of annoyance marring his smooth features as Seth stepped up to them.

“Ambassador Gregor DeVane of Terresa, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Seth Buchanan.”

“You are military,” DeVane said, offering a hand.

“Cop,” Seth said shortly. He didn't like the ambassador's looks. Not one bit. When he saw DeVane with Grace, he'd had a fast, turbulent impulse to reach for his weapon. But, strangely, his instinctive movement hadn't been up, to his gun, but lower on the side. Where a man would carry a sword.

“Ah, the police.” DeVane blinked in surprise, though he already had a full dossier on Seth Buchanan. “How fascinating. I hope you'll forgive me for saying it's my fondest wish never to require your services.” Smoothly DeVane slipped a glass from a passing tray, handed it to Seth, then took one for himself. “But perhaps we should drink to crime. Without it, you'd be obsolete.”

Seth eyed him levelly. There was recognition, inexplicable, and utterly adversarial, when their
eyes locked, pale silver to dark gold. “I prefer drinking to justice.”

“Of course. To the scales, shall we say, and their constant need for balancing?” Gregor drank, then inclined his head. “You'll excuse me, Lieutenant Buchanan, I've yet to greet my host. I was—” he turned to Grace and kissed her hand again “—beautifully distracted from my duty.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Gregor.”

“I hope to see you again.” He looked deeply into her eyes, held the moment. “Very soon.”

The moment he turned away, Grace shivered. There had been something almost possessive in that last, long stare. “What an odd and charming man,” she murmured.

Energy was shooting through Seth, the need to do battle. His system sparked with it. “Do you usually let odd and charming men drool over you in public?”

It was small of her, Grace supposed, but she enjoyed a kick of satisfaction at the annoyance in Seth's tone. “Of course. Since I so dislike them drooling over me in private.” She turned into him, so that their bodies brushed lightly. Then slanted a look up from under that thick curtain of lashes. “You don't plan to drool, do you?”

He could have damned her for shooting his system from slow burn up to sizzle. “Finish your
drink,” he said abruptly, “and say your goodbyes. We're going.”

Grace gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, I do love being dominated by a strong man.”

“We're about to put that to the test.” He took her half-finished drink, set it aside. “Let's go.”

DeVane watched them leave, studied the way Seth pressed a hand to the small of Grace's back to steer her through the crowd. He would have to punish the cop for touching her.

Grace was his property now, DeVane thought as he gritted his teeth painfully tight to suppress the rage. She was meant for him. He'd known it from the moment he took her hand and looked into her eyes. She was perfect, flawless. It wasn't just the Three Stars that were fated for him, but the woman who had held one, perhaps caressed it, as well.

She would understand their power. She would add to it.

Along with the Three Stars of Mithra, DeVane vowed, Grace Fontaine would be the treasure of his collection.

She would bring the Stars to him. And then she would belong to him. Forever.

 

As she stepped outside, Grace felt another shudder sprint down her spine. She hunched her shoulder blades against it, looked back. Through the tall
windows filled with light she could see the guests mingling.

And she saw DeVane, quite clearly. For a moment, she would have sworn their eyes met—but this time there was no charm. An irrational sense of fear lodged in her stomach, had her turning quickly away again.

When Seth pulled open the car door, she got in without complaint or comment. She wanted to go, to get away from those brilliantly lit windows and the man who seemed to watch her from beyond them. Briskly she rubbed the chill from her arms.

“You wouldn't be cold if you'd worn clothes.” Seth stuck the key in the ignition.

The single remark, issued with cold and savage control, made her chuckle and chased the chill away. “Why, Lieutenant, and here I was wondering how long you would let me keep on what I am wearing.”

“Not a hell of a lot longer,” he promised, and pulled out into the street.

“Good.” Determined to see that he kept that promise, she squirmed over and began to nibble his ear. “Let's break some laws,” she whispered.

“I could already charge myself with intent.”

She laughed again, quick, breathless, and had him hard as iron.

He wasn't sure how he managed to handle the
car, much less drive it through traffic out of D.C. and back into Maryland. She worked his tie off, undid half the buttons of his shirt. Her hands were everywhere, and her mouth teased his ear, his neck, his jaw, while she murmured husky promises, suggestions.

The fantasies she wove with unerring skill had the blood beating painfully in his loins.

He pulled to a jerky stop in his driveway, then dragged her across the seat. She lost one shoe in the car and the other halfway up the walk as he half carried her. Her laughter, dark, wild, damning, roared in his head. He all but broke his own door down to get her inside. The instant they were, he pushed her back against the wall and savaged her mouth.

He wasn't thinking. Couldn't think. It was all primal, violent need. In the darkened hallway, he hiked up her skirt with impatient hands, found the thin, lacy barrier beneath and ripped it aside. He freed himself, then, gripping her hips, plunged into her where they stood.

She cried out, not in protest, not in shock at the almost brutal treatment. But in pure, overwhelming pleasure. She locked herself around him, let him drive her ruthlessly, crest after torrential crest. And met him thrust for greedy, desperate thrust.

It was mindless and hot and vicious. And it was
all that mattered. Sheer animal need. Violent animal release.

Her body shattered, went limp, as she felt him pour into her.

He slapped his hand against the wall to keep his balance, struggled to slow his breathing, clear his fevered brain. They were no more than a step inside his door, he realized, and he'd mounted her like a rutting bull.

There was no point in apologies, he thought. They'd both wanted fast and urgent. No,
wanted
was too tame a word, he decided. They'd craved it, the way starving animals craved meat.

But he'd never treated a woman with less care, or so completely ignored the consequences.

“I meant to get you out of that dress,” he managed, and was pleased when she laughed.

“We'll get around to it.”

“There's something else I didn't get around to.” He eased back, studied her face in the dim light. “Is that going to be a problem?”

She understood. “No.” And though it was rash and foolish, she felt a twinge of regret that there would be no quickening of life inside her as a result of their carelessness. “I take care of myself.”

“I didn't want this to happen.” He took her chin in his hand. “I should have been able to keep my hands off you.”

Her eyes glimmered in the dark—confident and amused. “I hope you don't expect me to be sorry you didn't. I want them on me again. I want mine on you.”

“While they are.” He lifted her chin a little higher. “No one else's are. I don't share.”

Her lips curved slowly as she kept his gaze. “Neither do I.”

He nodded, accepting. “Let's go upstairs,” he said, and swept her into his arms.

H
e switched on the light as he carried her into his room. This time he needed to see her, to know when her eyes clouded or darkened, to witness those flickers of pleasure or shock.

This time he would remember man's advantage over the animal, and that the mind and heart could play a part.

She got a sense of a room of average size, simple buff-colored curtains at the windows, clean-lined furniture without color, a large bed with a navy spread tucked in with precise, military tidiness.

There were paintings on the walls that she told
herself she would study later, when her heart wasn't skipping. Scenes both urban and rural were depicted in misty, dreamy watercolors that made a personal contrast to the practical room.

But all thoughts of art and decor fled when he set her on her feet beside the bed. She reached out, undid the final buttons of his shirt, while he shrugged out of his jacket. Her brows lifted when she noted he wore his shoulder holster.

“Even to a cocktail party?”

“Habit,” he said simply, and took it off, hung it over a chair. He caught the look in her eye. “Is it a problem?”

“No. I was just thinking how it suits you. And wondering if you look as sexy putting it on as you do taking it off.” Then she turned, scooped her hair over her shoulder. “I could use some help.”

He let his gaze wander over her back. Instead of reaching for the zipper, he drew her against him and lowered his mouth to her bare shoulder. She sighed, tipped her head back.

“That's even better.”

“Round one took the edge off,” he murmured, then slid his hands around her waist, and up, until they cupped her breasts. “I want you whimpering, wanting, weak.”

His thumbs brushed the curves just above the bold blue silk. Focused on the sensation, she
reached back, linked her arms around his neck. Her body began to move, timed to his strokes, but when she tried to turn, he held her in place.

She moaned, shifted restlessly, when his fingers curved under her bodice, the backs teasing her nipples, making them heat and ache. “I want to touch you.”

“Whimpering,” he repeated, and ran his hands down her dress to the hem, then beneath. “Wanting.” And cupped her. “Weak.” Pierced her.

The orgasm flooded her, one long, slow wave that swamped the senses. The whimper he'd waited for shuddered through her lips.

He toed off his shoes, then lowered her zipper inch by inch. His fingers barely brushed her skin as he spread the parted material, eased it down her body until it pooled at her feet. He turned her, stepped back.

She wore only a garter, in the same hot blue as the dress, with stockings so sheer they appeared to be little more than mist. Her body was a fantasy of generous curves, and satin skin. Her hair fell like wild black rain over her shoulders.

“Too many men have told you you're beautiful for it to matter that I say it.”

“Just tell me you want me. That matters.”

“I want you, Grace.” He stepped to her again, took her into his arms, but instead of the greedy
kiss she'd expected, he gave her one to slowly drown in. Her arms clutched around him, then went limp, at this new assault to the senses.

“Kiss me again,” she murmured when his lips wandered to her throat. “Just like that. Again.”

So his mouth met hers, let her sink a second time. With a dreamy hum of pleasure, she slipped his shirt away, let her hands explore. It was lovely to be savored, to be given the gift of a slow kindling flame, to feel the control slip out of her hands into his. And to trust.

He let himself learn her body inch by generous inch. Pleasured them both by possessing those full firm breasts, first with hands, then with mouth. He lowered his hands, flicked the hooks of her stocking free one by one—hearing her quick catch of breath each time. Then slid his hands under the filmy fabric to flesh.

Warm, smooth. He lowered her to the bed, felt her body yield beneath his. Soft, willing. Her lips answered his. Eager, generous.

They watched each other in the light. Moved together. First a sigh, then a groan. She found muscle, the rough skin of an old scar, and the taste of man. Shifting, she drew his slacks down, feasted on his chest as she undressed him. When he took her breasts again, pulled her closer to suckle, her
arms quivered and her hair drifted forward to curtain them both.

She felt the heat rising, sliding through her blood like a fever, until her breath was short and shallow. She could hear herself saying his name, over and over, as he patiently built her toward the edge.

Her eyes went cobalt, fascinating him. Her pillowsoft lips trembled, her glorious body quaked. Even as the need for release clawed at him, he continued to savor. Until he finally shifted her to her back and, with his eyes locked on hers, buried himself inside her.

She arched upward, her hands fisting in the sheets, her body stunned with pleasure. “Seth.” Her breath expelled in a rush, burned her lungs. “It's never… Not like this. Seth—”

Before she could speak again, he closed her mouth with his and took her.

 

When sleep came, Grace dreamed she was in her garden in the mountains, with the woods, thick and green and cool, surrounding her. The hollyhocks loomed taller than her head and bloomed in deep, rich reds and clear, shimmering whites. A hummingbird, shimmering sapphire and emerald, drank from a trumpet flower. Cosmos and coneflowers, dahlias and zinnias made a cheerful wave of mixed colors.

Pansies turned their exotic little faces toward the sun and smiled.

Here she was happy, at peace with herself. Alone, but never lonely. Here there was no sound but the song of the breeze through the leaves, the hum of bees, the faint music of the creek bubbling over rocks.

She watched deer walk quietly out of the woods to drink from the slow-moving creek, their hooves lost in the low-lying mist that hugged the ground. The dawn light shimmered like silver, sparkled off the soft dew, caught rainbows in the mist.

Content, she walked through her flowers, fingers brushing blooms, scents rising up to please her senses. She saw the glint among the blossoms, the bright, beckoning blue, and, stooping, plucked the stone from the ground.

Power shimmered in her hand. It was a clean, flowing sensation, pure as water, potent as wine. For a moment, she stood very still, her hand open. The stone resting in her palm danced with the morning light.

Hers to guard, she thought. To protect. And to give.

When she heard the rustle in the woods, she turned, smiling. It would be him, she was certain. She'd waited for him all her life, wanted so des
perately to welcome him, to walk into his arms and know they would wrap around her.

She stepped forward, the stone warming her palm, the faint vibrations from it traveling like music up her arm and toward her heart. She would give it to him, she thought. She would give him everything she had, everything she was. For love had no boundaries.

All at once, the light changed, hazed over. The air went cold and whipped with the wind. By the creek, the deer lifted their heads, alert, alarmed, then turned as one and fled into the sheltering trees. The hum of bees died into a rumble of thunder, and lightning snaked over the dingy sky.

There in the darkened wood, close, too close to where her flowers bloomed, something moved stealthily. Her fingers clutched reflexively, closing fast over the stone. And through the leaves she saw eyes, bright, greedy. And watching.

The shadows parted and opened the path to her.

“No.” Frantic, Grace pushed at the hands that held her. “I won't give it to you. It's not for you.”

“Easy.” Seth pulled her up, stroked her hair. “Just a nightmare. Shake it off now.”

“Watching me…” She moaned it, pressed her face into his strong, bare shoulder, drew in his scent and was soothed. “He's watching me. In the woods, watching me.”

“No, you're here with me.” Her heart was pounding hard enough to bring real concern. Seth tightened his grip, as if to slow it and block the tremors that shook her. “It's a dream. There's no one here but me. I've got you.”

“Don't let him touch me. I'll die if he touches me.”

“I won't.” He tipped her face back. “I've got you,” he repeated, and warmed her trembling lips with his.

“Seth.” Relief shuddered through her as she clutched at him. “I was waiting for you. In the garden, waiting for you.”

“Okay. I'm here now.” To protect, he thought. And then to cherish. Shaken by the depth of that, he eased her backward, brushed the tumbled hair away from her face. “Must have been a bad one. Do you have a lot of nightmares?”

“What?” Disoriented, trapped between the dream and the present, she only stared at him.

“Do you want the light?” He didn't wait for an answer, but reached around her to switch on the bedside lamp. Grace turned her face away from the glare, pressed her fisted hand against her heart. “Relax now. Come on.” He took her hand, started to open her fingers.

“No.” She jerked it back. “He wants it.”

“Wants what?”

“The Star. He's coming for it, and for me. He's coming.”

“Who?”

“I don't…I don't know.” Baffled now, she looked down at her hand, slowly opened it. “I was holding the stone.” She could still feel the heat, the weight. “I had it. I found it.”

“It was a dream. The diamonds are locked in a vault. They're safe.” He tipped a finger under her chin until her eyes met his. “You're safe.”

“It was a dream.” Saying it aloud brought both relief and embarrassment. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.” He studied her, saw that her face was white, her eyes were fragile. Something moved inside him, shifted, urged his hand to reach out, stroke that pale cheek. “You've had a rough few days, haven't you?”

It was just that, the quiet understanding in his voice, that had her eyes filling. She closed them to will back the tears and took careful breaths. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. “I'm going to get some water.”

He simply reached out and drew her in. She'd hidden all that fear and grief and weariness inside her very well, he realized. Until now. “Why don't you let it go?”

Her breath hitched, tore. “I just need to—”

“Let it go,” he repeated, and settled her head on his shoulder.

She shuddered once, then clung. Then wept.

He offered no words. He just held her.

 

At eight the next morning, Seth dropped her off at Cade's. She'd protested the hour at which he shook her out of sleep, tried to curl herself into the mattress. He'd dealt with that by simply picking her up, carrying her into the shower and turning it on. Cold.

He'd given her exactly thirty minutes to pull herself together, then packed her into the car.

“The gestapo could have taken lessons from you,” she commented as he pulled up behind M.J.'s car. “My hair's still wet.”

“I didn't have the hour to spare it must take to dry all that.”

“I didn't even have time to put my makeup on.”

“You don't need it.”

“I suppose that's your idea of a compliment.”

“No, it's just a fact.”

She turned to him, looking arousing, rumpled and erotic in the strapless dress. “You, on the other hand, look all pressed and tidy.”

“I didn't take twenty minutes in the shower.” She'd sung in the shower, he remembered. Unbe
lievably off-key. Thinking of it made him smile. “Go away. I've got work to do.”

She pouted, then reached for her purse. “Well, thanks for the lift, Lieutenant.” Then laughed when he pushed her back against the seat and gave her the long, thorough kiss she'd been hoping for.

“That almost makes up for the one miserly cup of coffee you allowed me this morning.” She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, and her eyes sparkled into his. “I want to see you tonight.”

“I'll come by. If I can.”

“I'll be here.” She opened the door, shot him a look over her shoulder. “If I can.”

Unable to resist, he watched her every sauntering step toward the house. The minute she closed the front door behind her, he shut his eyes.

My God, he thought, he was in love with her. And it was totally impossible.

Inside, Grace all but danced down the hall. She was in love. And it was glorious. It was new and fresh and the first. It was what she'd been waiting for her entire life. Her face glowed as she stepped into the kitchen and found Bailey and Cade at the table, sharing coffee.

“Good morning, troops.” She all but sang it as she headed to the coffeepot.

“Good morning to you.” Cade tucked his tongue in his cheek. “I like your pajamas.”

Laughing, she carried her cup to the table, then leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. “I just adore you. Bailey, I just adore this man. You'd better snap him up quick, before I get ideas.”

Bailey smiled dreamily into her coffee, then looked up, eyes shining and damp. “We're getting married in two weeks.”

“What?” Grace bobbled her mug, sloshed coffee dangerously close to the rim. “What?” she repeated, and sat heavily.

“He won't wait.”

“Why should I?” Reaching over the table, Cade took Bailey's hand. “I love you.”

“Married.” Grace looked down at their joined hands. A perfect match, she thought, and let out a shaky sigh. “That's wonderful. That's incredibly wonderful.” Laying a hand over theirs, she stared into Cade's eyes. And saw exactly what she needed to see. “You'll be good to her.” It wasn't a question, it was acceptance.

After giving his hand a quick squeeze, she sat back. “Well, a wedding to plan, and a whole two weeks to do it. That ought to make us all insane.”

“It's just going to be a small ceremony,” Bailey began. “Here at the house.”

“I'm going to say one word.” Cade put a plea in his voice.
“Elopement.”