Time After Time (6 page)

Her tense shoulders relaxed; her head rose with the poise of calm pride; the faint frown disappeared from her brow; and the turbulent green eyes subsided into serenity.

“Because you wouldn’t blackmail me,” she answered finally, dispassionately. “You wouldn’t enjoy dominating me like that.”

Noah, still fascinated, barely heard her. Since in his own mind her lion-taming past seemed incredible, he was very conscious of that part of her life; he immediately understood her transformation, and a part of him was elated to elicit that reaction from her. She was wary … but she was
aware
.

After a moment he cleared his throat and murmured, “Should I growl or roll over or something?”

Startled, she blinked at him. Then, as realization
sank in, she bit her lip unsteadily. “Um, I beg your pardon?”

“The whip and chair weren’t physically present,” he decided thoughtfully, “but somehow they were here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she managed to say, avoiding his eyes to pretend to watch Caliban as he dragged his bear from the bedroom.

“Alex,” Noah said very gently, “I’m not a threat. Am I?”

She leaned forward to place her glass on the coffee table, mainly just to have something to do. Then she sat back and reluctantly turned to meet his steady, inquiring gaze. Softly, compelled to be honest by something in his eyes, she said, “Very few creatures are a threat—until they turn on you. But the possibility is always there.”

“And you guard against possibilities.”

“After four years in cages I don’t have a scar anywhere,” she said, steady. “Because I was always alert to the possibilities.”

“I would never hurt you.” He heard his own voice emerge quietly and was dimly aware that the
tables had been turned on them again—by his doing this time; what could have been light was now very serious.

“You know what they say about the road to hell.”

“Being paved with good intentions?” He hesitated, searching her face intently. Once more he had an odd feeling of déjà vu; their words seemed to echo in his ears as if he had heard them before and, curiously, a line from
The Tempest
whispered in his mind:
“What’s past is prologue.”

“You’re staring at me,” she murmured, uncomfortable.

Noah shook his head slightly, not denying her accusation but rather trying to throw off the peculiar thoughts. When he gazed into her green eyes, the thoughts—any thoughts—vanished of their own will. “It just isn’t fair,” he said huskily, leaning forward briefly to set his glass on the coffee table.

“What?” she asked, bemused.

His hand rose to touch her cheek. “That anyone should have eyes like that.”

Alex couldn’t look away, not even with her instinct for self-preservation clamoring a strident warning. And none of her other instincts would surface to protect her now because no bluff could overpower his own strength. “Noah …”

He leaned toward her slowly, his fingers still lightly touching her cheek. “I’m not a lion, Alex,” he whispered. “I’m just a man.”

As his lips found hers, she had time only to absorb the vast understatement he made with such confidence. Just a man? Then she was conscious of nothing but his touch, his kiss, and of the incredible force of the feelings rising instantly within her.

No one had ever warned her.

Vibrant colors pinwheeled before her closed eyes, so bright and shining that they made her ache. She could hear the roar of a rain-swelled stream, and smell the dark green of a forest. Then the crackle of a fire and the warm shelter of strong arms held her spellbound, enchanted. A fierce certainty gripped her body, the certainty, the familiarity, of coming home….

Alex opened her eyes, dazed, to look into his
equally blurred and bewildered stare. Very slowly Noah sat back, his uneven breathing obvious.

“I’ll risk it,” he said finally, deeply.

She swallowed. “Risk what?”

“The possibility that I’m … not your blue-ribbon affair.”

“Noah—”

“I’ll risk it, Alex. Will you?”

The blue of his eyes compelled her, pushed her past any thoughts of safe uninvolvement. “I … don’t think I have a choice.”

“Because you’re not sure? Because I could be?”

She nodded. “I thought I’d know right away.” It was a tacit denial of the knowledge, and only partly a lie. She knew it was a blue-ribbon affair for her. But was it the same for him?

Noah seemed to relax. “We have time,” he murmured as if to himself. He studied her for a moment, then smiled and abruptly changed the subject. “Tell me, did you learn to tell fortunes in that circus?”

Alex blinked at the change of subject, but was grateful for the opportunity to avoid serious
thought. “Not really. Oh, there was an old woman with the circus who claimed to be a Gypsy—and might have been, for all I know—but that stuff’s mostly fake. She talked to me a little about palmistry.”

He held out his right hand, palm up, and the blue eyes laughed. “Then tell me if I’ll meet someone tiny, blond, and beautiful….” he challenged her.

She laughed in spite of herself, but bent forward to study his hand. One neat oval nail traced the line curving at the base of his thumb, hesitating for an instant before continuing on until the line met those at the inside of his wrist. “You have a long lifeline,” she murmured.

“Is there a blonde in it?” he asked gravely.

Alex sat back and smiled easily at him, her muddled emotions held strictly under control. “If there is, she didn’t announce herself.”

“Some fortune-teller you are,” he complained.

The thud of footsteps on the stairs outside the loft caught their attention, and Alex glanced at a nearby clock. “Lunchtime; the painters are leaving. I wonder if they’ve finished with your loft.”

“I’ll take a look while I change,” he said, getting up and reaching for his robe. “If so, and your loft is next, we can put Caliban in one of the other lofts until they’re finished. That okay with you?”

“Fine,” Alex replied casually.

“How d’you feel about hamburgers for lunch?” he asked, shrugging into the robe. “I have a grill. Somewhere.”

“Mine’s unpacked, and I feel just fine about hamburgers. Go change.”

Noah smiled at her, a new and disturbing intensity in his eyes, then cheerfully left her loft.

After a long moment Alex slowly lifted her right hand and stared at the palm. Then she got to her feet and headed for her bedroom. “I am going round the bend,” she told Caliban as she passed him, her voice definite. “The man’s driven me crazy; that’s the only answer.” Leaving her pet alone while she went to change, Alex wished she believed her own words.

Because she didn’t believe in fate.

“Y
OUR BROTHERS WOULD
kill me if they found us here.”

She laughed and tossed her head, black curls falling down her back and green eyes brilliant with the half-wild spirit he loved. “They don’t trust you,” she confirmed merrily. “They say the son of an earl would never wed a Gypsy girl.”

“They’re wrong,” he said huskily, pulling her down beside him on a bed of green moss. “You’re mine, Tina. You’ll always be mine.”

She laughed again softly, exultant because he would always be hers….

Alex came awake with a start, her heart pounding erratically. Sleeping in the middle of the day? But she never napped and—Lord!—what dreams!

“You were smiling in your sleep,” Noah said softly. “What were you dreaming about?”

She sat up on the lounge and self-consciously tugged the slipping neckline of her peasant blouse up over a bare shoulder. “Oh, nothing important,” she said evasively.

They had grilled hamburgers outside and then hidden Cal in one of the empty lofts before the painters returned from their own lunch. The paint smell still remained in Noah’s loft, and since the painters were now in Alex’s loft, they could hardly remain there. Shaded by a makeshift awning beside the pool, they’d elected to stay outside.

Noah, raised on an elbow in his own lounge chair, was smiling at her. “You look very young when you sleep. Very innocent.”

Alex wanted to avoid the warmth in his vivid blue eyes, but found herself unable to look away. Disturbed by the thought of him watching her sleep, she changed the subject. “You never told me what kind of photographic work you do.”

“Didn’t I?” He was still smiling, but allowed the change of subject. “Basically I photograph whatever I’m asked to. Hotels and resorts for their postcards and brochures. Buildings for advertisements. People, of course: family groups, publicity stills and the like. Even animals.”

“I’ll have to see how you do with Cal as a subject.”

“He’s probably a ham.”

Alex laughed. “As a matter of fact, he is.”

“I’d like to photograph you,” Noah said.

A shout from her loft saved Alex the necessity of responding, and she was soon busy inside the building. The painters were working quickly to get the first two lofts finished, and a crew of carpenters had started the finish work on two of the other lofts. The foreman of the crew had to consult both Alex and Noah on the placement of walls and
doorways since Noah had discovered that his architect had taken liberties with the plans, rendering them almost useless.

Decisions made, the crew got down to work. Alex was kept busy between the painters and carpenters, especially since Noah had approved several inexpensive additions she had suggested to individualize each loft. She spent an hour dashing up and down the stairs with the sketches she’d drawn up for the workers’ benefit, busy out of habit, interest in the subject, and a desire to avoid thinking about anything else.

As usual, she did more than her own work. Union representatives would most likely have been appalled, but not a single member of either crew objected.

In the middle of everything Noah went upstairs, unpacked and loaded one of his cameras, and then came back down to literally blend in with the woodwork until no one noticed him. It was innate, that ability, but also one he had worked to perfect; both people and animals, he’d found,
responded much better to a camera they weren’t aware of.

So Noah made himself virtually invisible, the soft sounds his camera made undetectable in the general melée. And at several points during the afternoon he wished he had a tape recorder as well, because the process whereby Alex turned herself into both a painter and a carpenter boasted sound effects and dialogue every bit as amusing and fascinating as the images he was steadily capturing on film.

“Who told Alex she could use pliers to get nails out of the walls?”

“She didn’t ask, boss, or I would’ve—”

“Never mind. Here, Alex, take this hammer. No! Don’t—It’s all right, Alex, I’m sure you didn’t break Willie’s toe. No, he’s always that color. Aren’t you, Willie?”

“You said
green
for this room, Alex. What? That
is
green! Well, maybe not
green
green, but—All right, all right. Just get off the ladder, please.”

“Here, Alex, wear these coveralls. Because I’m paying my men to
work
, not look at your legs, that’s why.”

“Boss, we’d never—”

“Shut up, Willie. You were looking harder than anybody. See, Alex, I told you he was always that color.”

“Sam? Sam? Alex, what’d you do with Sam? Well, what’s he doing in the closet? Hiding from you? Nonsense. Sam, come out of there. Where’d you get the shiner? Oh. Well, it isn’t Alex’s fault you ran into her elbow; you shouldn’t have been in her way.”

“Alex! Where’d you learn words like that? Wipe that grin off your face, Willie!”

“The wallpaper isn’t upside down, Alex, I promise. I’m sure. I’m
positive
. Do the flowers in my garden do what? Oh. No, I guess they don’t grow upside down at that. Fix the wallpaper, Sam.”

“Get off the ladder, Alex. Because my insurance doesn’t cover you, that’s why. Look, I don’t care if you did trapeze work in a circus—What? You did? Well … there’s no net. Get down from there.”

By the end of the afternoon Noah had used several rolls of film. He had also come to a better understanding of the bewildered expressions two of Alex’s former clients had worn. Throughout the day he had watched her win the exasperated affection of a dozen working men, had heard her tiny voice swearing with the cheerful fluency of a sailor,
and had seen her throw herself into the work with enthusiasm—never mind that she didn’t know what she was doing half the time.