Elusive Dawn (5 page)

After the waiter had deposited their glasses and left, Shane turned his full attention back to her, his green eyes warming almost as though the sight of her delighted him. "You look very beautiful today," he said softly. "Cool and calm-except for the slight trace of panic in your eyes."

Hastily, Robyn lifted her glass and took a sip of wine. She didn't want him to talk like that, flattering though it was. "Don't you want to know why I don't want to get involved with you?" she asked uneasily.

"Later," he answered easily. "You and I are going to have dinner and talk, get to know each other. Then we'll go back to my place, or yours, if you prefer. That'll be soon enough for explanations."

Somewhat to her surprise, Robyn found herself relaxing as the time passed. Shane, she found, was an interesting conversationalist, and he possessed a sinful amount of charm. He never once broached the subject of her marriage, but his casual questions covered practically every other phase of her life.

Astonished, she found herself telling him about her rootless childhood: about her mother, who'd died when Robyn was three; about her career-army father, whom she'd followed from base to base; and about Marty, who had raised her. Shane told her bits and pieces of his childhood in turn, confessing a love for animals and a powerful affection for his strong-willed mother.

It was a peculiar interlude, Robyn realized. Having leaped headfirst into the most intimate of relationships, they were now backtracking slowly, almost feeling their way.

She wanted to keep the conversation away from racing, but since that was a large part of Shane's life, the subject inevitably came up.

"My family wants me to settle down," he was saying now, casually. "I'm usually on the road from January through September, following the circuit."

"And the rest of the time?" she asked, toying with her wine glass.

"Wine."
He smiled slowly at her puzzled expression. "The vineyards," he clarified. "Of course, I take care of a lot of the business even when I'm on the road. But I really get into the thick of things when I'm
back
home."

"Do you enjoy the wine business?" she asked curiously.

"Sure. I've grown up in it. I helped harvest the grapes when I was just a kid. As a matter of fact, my father used to say that I was always underfoot-and making a nuisance of myself."

Robyn tried to picture an eager, black-haired little boy with bright green eyes, but the grown man across the table from her kept getting in the way. Her awareness of him was so powerful it felt almost like a fixation.

And that was scary. It didn't fit in with her neat little explanation for Friday night. But if Shane hadn't been just a reminder of Brian, then why had she...?

Robyn thrust the half-formed question from her mind. Of course he had been; there was no other possible explanation.

She would tell Shane the truth. He would be angry.
Angry and probably disgusted.
He would leave her life as abruptly as he had entered it. And he would leave hating her.

But it had to be that way. Involvement with him would only plunge her back into the strangling web of worry and terror that her marriage to Brian had woven around her. She wouldn't let that happen; her confession would drive him away from her. Now... before it was too late.

Hours later, Shane pulled the Porsche to a stop in the driveway of Robyn's home. She had chosen her own place rather than his hotel mainly because she had a feeling that she just might need moral support once Shane knew the truth. At least here she had Marty, although, judging by the darkened house, Marty was already in bed.

It was late. They had stayed in the restaurant for hours,
then
simply driven around Miami, still talking. Weary with pondering her emotions, Robyn had allowed herself-or, rather, forced herself-to think of the meeting as just another date, one that would be ending any time now.

"Nice place." Shane got out of the car and came around to open her door. "A little big, though."

Robyn waited until they were standing beneath the front porch light before responding to his comment, and when she did speak it was in a very deliberate tone. "Brian bought it shortly after we were married. We both wanted a large family." She sensed him tensing beside her, but she continued to pay careful attention to locating the keys in her purse.

Once they were found, she unlocked the door and silently moved ahead of him into the house, leading the way to the den, where a lamp burned. She turned on another lamp and dropped her purse into a chair, trying to fight the cravenness inside her that wanted to avoid this confrontation at all costs.

"Robyn-"

"There's the bar," she said quickly, pointing to one corner of the large room. "Help yourself."

Shane stared at her for a moment, obviously puzzled by her nervousness, then strode across the room and splashed some brandy into a snifter. He looked over his shoulder at her. "What will you have?"

"Nothing."
Robyn had never in her life wanted a drink as badly as she did right then, but she knew Dutch courage wouldn't help her. She sank down onto the couch and watched as he came over to lower his weight beside her. When he put his arm around her, she straightened tensely.

"Robyn..." There was a curiously bleak tone to his voice. "Honey, don't pull away from me."

She glanced at him, then rose to her feet, turning to face him and feeling a little less intimidated because he was still seated. Her mind kept repeating
Get it over with
as though it were a litany.

Steadily, she said, "Friday night was a mistake, Shane. What you think is between us-it isn't real."

He sipped his brandy slowly, watching her through hooded green eyes. "It felt real enough to me," he objected quietly.

"That's because you don't know why-why I left with you. Why it all happened."

"Then tell me." He continued to watch her steadily. "Why did it all happen?"

Almost inaudibly, she whispered, "You reminded me of-of Brian."

For a long moment, she thought he hadn't heard her, or hadn't understood. Then, with unnatural care, he reached out to set his glass on an end table, his eyes never leaving her face. And suddenly those emerald eyes were the only splash of color in his whitened face.

"What?" His voice was quiet, as unnaturally calm as his movements of a moment before.

A flashing memory of some of Brian's rages made Robyn take
an instinctive step backward, but even as she did so she realized that Shane wasn't angry. Instead, he seemed stunned. Would the rage come later?

"You... you reminded me of my husband, and I wanted to... spend one last night with him. It was a dream! It wasn't real!" she defended herself shakily.

Shane abruptly rose to his feet, as though he couldn't be still any longer, as though he desperately needed to move. "You pretended I was your dead husband?" he asked in a curiously dazed voice.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wanting suddenly to unsay the words, to wipe away the horrible stricken look on his face.

"Sorry," he repeated dully. "You're sorry." He turned away from her and walked jerkily to the window, standing with his back to her and staring out the window into darkness. "Too perfect to be real," he murmured, as if to himself.

Robyn wrapped her arms around herself, trying in vain to ward off the chill invading her. She didn't know how to cope with this; the intensity of his emotions unnerved her. Anger she had been prepared for, but this strange, quiet agony was totally unexpected. It was somehow more upsetting than rage would have been.

"You should have just let it end, Shane," she said huskily. "You shouldn't have made me tell you." He swung around abruptly and came toward her, and she involuntarily shrank back.

But the large hands that grasped her shoulders were as gentle as though they held a fragile, frightened bird. Though the green eyes were fierce, there was no anger in them.
Only disbelief.

"Tell me you
lied
, Robyn," he said hoarsely, the words a plea rather than a command. "Tell me there was no ghost in my bed that night!"

She shook her head silently, not trusting herself to speak.

"I don't believe you," he grated softly. "No, I don't believe you." His head swooped suddenly, taking her completely by surprise.

As his lips captured hers, his hands sliding down her back to pull her slender body almost roughly against the hardness of his, Robyn found
herself
totally unable to struggle. She told herself vaguely that it was the abruptness of his attack, the strength of his
embrace, that
had drained her resistance.

Except that it wasn't an attack.

His lips moved on hers with gentle, insidious persuasion, pleading for rather than demanding a response. Of their own volition Robyn's arms slid around his neck, her lips parting instinctively beneath his. She felt the now familiar flood of wild emotion sweep her
body,
and she gave herself up totally to the joy of the feelings he aroused in her.

He slid the zipper of her strapless sundress down, and the colorful material fell in a heap around her feet. The cool air on her skin seemed to intensify the raging sensations in her body, bringing a vivid, almost painful awareness to her fogged senses.

She felt his tongue moving in a possessive invasion of her mouth, and she found herself mindlessly responding, her own tongue joining his in a passionate duel. A sudden feeling of vertigo told her that he had lifted her into his arms, and then she felt the softness of the plush couch beneath her back.

Tearing his lips from hers, Shane pressed hot kisses down her throat to the pulse beating madly in the hollow of her shoulder. Robyn bit her lip with a soft moan as he expertly unfastened the front clasp of her strapless bra and smoothed the lacy material aside.

"Tell me you
lied
," he whispered raggedly, sensually abrasive fingers tracing the curve of her full breast, thumb and forefinger tugging gently at the hardening nipple. "
Dammit
, tell me you lied!"

His harsh, cracked voice and the demand he made vibrated against her flesh, somehow making its way through the veils of need and desire. Realizing that her lips had parted to tell him just what he wanted to hear, she felt panic sweep over her.

"No," she moaned desperately, her arms falling away from him as she tried to gain control over her scattered senses.

"You lied," he grated roughly, his fingers locking in her hair as he raised his head and stared down at her. "You lied to me, didn't you?"

Robyn saw something terrible happening in his eyes, on his face. She had never before seen such sheer primitive emotion in a man, such naked hunger, and it awed her as rage never could have.

"No," she repeated in a whisper, trying to shrink away from him. "I told you the truth."

He stared down at her, breathing
raspily
, for a long moment. Then, as though it were torture for him, he pulled himself away from her to sit on the edge of the couch. "You're afraid of me," he muttered in obvious disbelief, shock adding to the whirlpool of emotion in his eyes. "My God, you're afraid of me!"

Robyn's fear drained away as she realized finally, completely, that Shane wouldn't hurt her. As obviously upset as he was-had been, from the moment of her confession-he was in complete control of whatever disturbing emotions he felt. But before she could say anything, he had risen to his feet, still gazing down at her.

"
Dammit
to hell, Robyn-" He broke off abruptly and strode to the door, looking back over his shoulder only once, his face taut and masklike. And then he was gone.

Automatically, Robyn fastened her bra and dragged herself from the couch to find and put on her dress. Listening to the violent roar of the Porsche as it pulled out of her drive, she murmured very softly to the empty room, "Liar."

She had lied to him, told him something no one should ever have to hear-that he had been a stand-in for another man.

She knew then that she hadn't pretended Shane was her husband on Friday night. Not even in the beginning. Even when she had wished his green eyes blue, there had been no ghost between them. She had only been trying to find some reasonable, rational explanation for what had been happening between them-for her own irrational, uncharacteristic behavior. And she'd latched on to pretending that a stranger was her husband. It was not an impossible fantasy.
Contemptible, perhaps-certainly pathetic.
But not impossible.

Love at first sight was impossible. Not reasonable or rational. Not
real.
A
dream.
Two people finding one another by chance, by fate, sharing a dream.

But the dream had shattered the moment she'd found out that Shane Justice raced. Like Brian had.

Feeling a misery such as she had never known, Robyn silently turned off the lamps and made her way from the den, heading for the wing of the house that contained its five spacious bedrooms. The hall light came on as she was crossing the foyer, and Marty came forward, wearing a battered robe over her nightgown.

"Robyn?" Dispensing with the half-teasing formality she normally assumed, the older woman sounded concerned. "Are you all right? I thought I heard-" She broke off abruptly as Robyn came fully into the light.

"I'm fine," Robyn answered quietly. Noticing Marty's stare, she put up a hand to find that her cheeks were wet. Odd, she hadn't even realized she was crying.

In a strange tone, Marty said, "I haven't seen you cry since you were a little girl. Not even when your father died. Not even when Brian was killed. What's happened, Robyn?"

Not sure
herself
, Robyn could only shrug wearily.

Marty glanced toward the front door. "I heard a car leave. Was it the man from Friday night, Robyn?" She had wormed the bare facts from Robyn and Kris and, while not condemning Robyn's behavior, she clearly hadn't entirely approved, either.