Larger than Life (8 page)

“Would you pose for me?” he asked, looking from one to the other with his shy smile.

“Do we have anything better to do?” Saber asked Travis.

“I’m game.” Travis had been formally introduced to Mark the first day, although he couldn’t help but realize that to the artist every human being but Cory was no more than a possible subject.

Laying his pad and pencils aside, Mark proved the force of this realization by briskly and critically arranging his subjects as if they were a still life of fruit or flowers on a table. He placed a meek Travis on his side and raised on one elbow with his other arm lying over an upraised knee, a wide tree trunk at his back. Saber was commanded to sit demurely
at his waist and lean back, turning slightly so that her back rested against Travis’s raised thigh and her left forearm lay across his ribs.

The position, both silently realized, was one that lovers might have assumed. They were left gazing at one another in an amused silence that insidiously became something else.

Mark, happily unaware of having disturbed his subjects, settled himself some little distance away with his sketchpad on his knees. “I’ve wanted you two for days,” he murmured, turning to a blank sheet and setting to work. “The perfect couple. No, don’t frown at me,” he admonished Saber as she turned her head to stare at him. “It’s lovely, but it isn’t you. Look at Travis. Yes. Pensive. And he looks at you as he always does. Waiting. Yearning.”

Saber gazed into green eyes that flickered briefly in surprise, then steadied to a faintly questioning look. She felt breathless beneath that look, and confused. Mark’s comments unsettled her; was the artist simply creating a mood, or was he, as seemed obvious from his words, merely looking for expressions
he’d seen on them both these past days? And if he had seen Travis gaze at her with yearning—why hadn’t she seen that?

“Oh, damn—I’ve broken the point on the number three. I’ll have to go and get another. Don’t move,” Mark ordered his subjects, then tenderly put aside his pad and hurried off toward the main house.

Saber took the opportunity to look anywhere but into those green eyes.

“It looks like our amiable artist has let the cat out of the bag,” Travis said quietly.

“Really?” She forced a lightness into her voice.

“He caught me wearing my heart on my sleeve. I should have remembered how perceptive any good artist is.”

She felt the warmth of his thigh through his jeans and her thin cotton blouse, and her fingers were suddenly far too aware of the lean ribs beneath his knit shirt. Green eyes drew her gaze, caught and held her captive. “He … must have been mistaken,” she finally managed to say.

“No. He wasn’t mistaken.”

Saber would have drawn away at that, but the arm behind her abruptly encircled her shoulders and pulled her so close she could feel his warm breath on her face.

“You’ve treated me like a friend these past few days, Saber, and I’m glad you trust me enough for that,” he said huskily. “Can you trust me enough to believe that I love you?”

Stunned, Saber couldn’t think. And there was no resistance in her when his hand slipped to the nape of her neck and drew her head toward him until his lips found hers. Hungry, demanding, he kissed her as though afraid he would never get another chance, and Saber could no more stand against that than she could willingly stop breathing.

She was not a reckless or naive woman, but she forgot everything in that moment. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d known each other for such a short time, or that he actually knew very little about her. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the compelling need of his kiss. Her body came to life in a way she’d never known before, vibrantly alive and aching with desire.
Her hand lifted to touch his cheek, and Saber renounced the world.

But the world wouldn’t go away.

“You moved,” Mark said indignantly. “Yes, that’s very pretty, but not what I had in mind!”

S
ABER WAS FORCED
to call on all her reserves of self-control to remain placid while Mark concluded their “sitting.” Obeying the artist, she gazed into Travis’s eyes, forcing her expression into the mold Mark requested. Pensive, he insisted.

Pensive?
She thought about that, because it was slightly less unsettling than thinking of what the artist had seen in Travis’s face. Pensive. Sad, wistfully reflective.

What had she to be sad about? As Travis had
said—she had fame, success, more money than she could ever spend. She had youth, health, friends. Why, then, had Mark seen sadness?

“Saber!”

Startled, she looked toward the young artist to find him frowning at her.

“You’re moving,” he complained.

Glancing down, Saber realized that the heel of her right hand was rubbing steadily, unconsciously, against her upper thigh. She halted the movement and turned her eyes back to Travis.

Softly, he said, “You do that often.”

“What?” she murmured.

His green gaze flicked downward to a point half-way up from her knee, then lifted again to her face. “Rub your leg as if it aches. But you never seem to realize you’re doing it.”

It was another mental jolt, and one Saber could have done without. Though the gesture Travis and the artist had noticed was unconscious, she knew, of course, that it had become a habit. Now, she couldn’t think of anything to say in response to Travis’s comment.

Suddenly the artist closed his sketchbook and rose, a look of mild disgust in his amiable face. “It’s no good,” he told them. “I’ve lost you today. Maybe we can try again later?” He didn’t wait for a response but immediately headed toward the main house.

Saber occupied herself with scrambling to her feet and gathering their picnic things together. She didn’t look at Travis. So Mark had “lost them” for the moment? Travis’s face had gone unreadable, she’d noted, and her own expression had most likely become unreadable, too, in an effort to guard against betraying her thoughts. She wondered vaguely if Mark would ever be able to capture expressions of which both she and Travis were now painfully aware.

And why had she gazed into Travis’s eyes and felt—again—that she was seeing him for the first time?
Still waters run deep.
Now what, she wondered, did that cliché have to do with anything? It was just Mark making her aware, of course. Had to be.

“Saber?”

His quiet voice caught all her attention, but she still refused to look at him as she folded the blanket they’d so recently lain on. “Yes?”

“Don’t let it spoil things.”

She realized he was on his feet and standing close behind her.
Too close
, she thought, and experienced the unnerving certainty that it was not his physical nearness but something far more elusive that had panicked her. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, again imposing an iron self-control.

He caught her shoulder suddenly, turning her to face him; she looked up instinctively—and wished she hadn’t. There was an understanding on his face, in his green eyes, that she’d never seen before.

“You’re like a touch-me-not flower,” he said quietly. “Someone comes too near and you close up. What is it you’re afraid to let anyone see, Saber? What are you hiding?”

She didn’t say, “Nothing,” because it would have been a lie. But Travis didn’t seem to expect an answer.

He held her shoulders gently, ignoring the
folded blanket she clutched almost like a shield between them. “I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want you to feel I’m asking more than you can give. But I can’t deny my own feelings, Saber.”

“You don’t know me.” It was someone else’s voice she heard, and it was gritty with emotions she wouldn’t let herself understand.

“I know what I feel,” he insisted firmly. Green eyes searched her face. “I love you, Saber.”

She stepped back. “No.”

“Saber—”

“D’you mind taking everything back to the cottage?” She tossed him the blanket. “I want … I need to be alone for a while.”

Clearly reluctant, his expression anxious, Travis nonetheless nodded in acceptance. “All right. But Saber … don’t go too far?”

She knew he wasn’t referring to physical distance. Nodding, she headed off through the woods, making instinctively for a mountain path she knew well. It took an hour or more before she reached her favorite spot: a cluster of large boulders that
jutted out from the mountainside, providing a breathtaking view of the valley below.

Saber climbed onto the largest of the boulders, allowing her legs to dangle over the edge. She had no fear of heights, and the dizzying drop from her seat to the valley floor earned no more than a careless glance from her. She looked out over the valley, absently watching the distant movements of Cory’s guests.

The panic died away only gradually; she didn’t try to think until even the faintest echoes of alarm had vanished. Then, very carefully, she etched an analysis in her mind.

Travis’s avowed love frightened her. Why? Because she was afraid of love? No. Afraid of him? No. What was it he’d called her? A touch-me-not flower.

His understanding seemed to be—had to be—instinctive. He knew nothing of her past, nothing of the months “missing” from her life. Yet he saw a touch-me-not plant wincing away from contact. A flower that would open cheerfully to warmth and
light but shrink from a touch. Not a physical touch, but the touch of someone … too close.

Was that she?

It was disturbing to think of herself in that way. She didn’t
want
to be that way. Yet now that she considered it, she realized her entire life had molded just that trait. Guardedness, a sense of wariness where other people were concerned. Never allowing anyone to get too close, never letting her inner self be touched.

Until Travis.

Pushing all emotion aside with an effort, Saber made use of the “worst” scenario she had taught herself in order to keep things in perspective. What was the worst that could happen if she became more deeply involved with Travis? She could give her heart and be left empty and alone. Could she take the worst and refuse to let it destroy her? She didn’t know.

A part of her wanted badly to reach for what Travis offered. He was an intelligent, humorous, sensitive man, possessing an innate warmth and a great sexuality that drew her strongly. Instinct told
her now that he would keep her secrets as well as she could herself, but she had no idea how those secrets would affect their tenuous relationship.

It was ironic in a way. Always, she’d wanted to be loved for what she was, not who she was. She’d fought to escape a life thick with the risk of being taken at value of face—or bank account. Now, by her own ability, she was again a
who
, a personage. As he’d said … a larger-than-life personality.

Which did Travis believe he loved—that larger-than-life person or the woman he barely knew? Could it matter to him that that part of her had been born in a hell of survival?

He was fascinated by the abrupt change from girl to woman, and she couldn’t help wondering if he, too, would prefer the girl she had been to the woman she now was.

Was that what she feared? That he would learn the truth of her physical and emotional catharsis and, the mystery solved, fold up his tent and steal away into her past? Case solved and on to elusive horizons? It was fun, sweetie, and let’s do it again sometime?

Saber smiled in spite of herself. No, Travis would never be flippant. He thought that he loved her; she believed that. Only time could sort out her own tangled emotions, and only time and honesty could prove his to be real.

Thoughtfully, she climbed down off the boulder and began the walk back to the ranch. There was still a ghostly panic in the back of her mind; she expected it and accepted it with equanimity. She was strong enough, she believed, to be able to deal with that. And strong enough to take a chance, because she’d realized sometime during the past moments that she had to.

She was already half in love with Travis Foxx.

He was waiting for her near the valley floor, leaning on a whitewashed fence and watching as she approached. She could see as well as feel a certain tautness in him, a tense waiting, and felt a sudden compunction that she’d left him so abruptly. Something he needed to know about her ….

“I’m sorry, Travis,” she said as she reached him.
“A habit of mine: whenever I’m bothered I go off alone to think things through. I should have explained.”

He smiled, still watchful. “I’ll remember next time.”

They turned to follow the fence line back toward the still-distant cluster of buildings, and she felt a sudden warmth when he reached to clasp her hand firmly.

“And did you think things through?”

She nodded. “I tried.”

“Will I be getting my marching orders?” he asked lightly.

But she could hear the strain. And it was an odd strain, she thought, confused. Again she had an instinctive urge to walk away and avoid… what? Something dangerous. Like a volcano churning at its core: unthreatening on the outside, but potentially overpowering.

Saber pushed the thoughts aside. “Not unless you want them.”

“I don’t.” A roughness crept into his voice, but
he cleared his throat before continuing. “And so, Miss Duncan? We go on from here?”

Saber took a deep breath and nodded again. “I can’t—promise anything, Travis. I don’t know if I can give you what you want, and I don’t know what I want myself. But I won’t send you away. Or run away myself.”

His fingers tightened slightly. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? But you’re going to face it.”

She no longer felt startled by his perception. “I don’t like to allow fear to control me. I may … shy away from time to time. But I’ll have to face it.”

Travis was quiet for a while; they were almost at the main house before he spoke. “If I push, tell me.”

“All right.”

He stopped just as they approached the path to their cottage, gazing down at her with warm, restless eyes. “How can I help?”

Saber didn’t have to think. “Make me laugh.” She felt suddenly that she wanted to cry, and was
surprised. She hadn’t cried in a long time. In spite of the urge, she found herself smiling. “Teach me how to open up. Just be yourself, Travis.”