Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (16 page)
When he felt the last remnants of Steve's pain recede,
Falcon raised his gaze to hers. She wanted him to do precisely what he
wished. As carefully as he had touched the rest of her body, his
fingers crept up until they encountered her satin-covered breasts. When
she continued to welcome him with her eyes and thoughts, he molded her
into his hands, and brushed his thumbs over her taut nipples. The urge
to see what he was touching became overwhelming.
Steve's world
altered into one of slow motion, one where sensation replaced the
thought process. His massage had left her languid and wanting at the
same time. When Falcon stretched out beside her and hesitantly returned
one hand to her breast, she gave in to her desire to touch him in
return. The velvety texture of his skin against her fingertips seemed
somehow new and wondrous. Steve stroked his cheek, the outline of his
ear, and trailed downward to discover his nipples were as hard as her
own. She had not known a man's skin could feel so soft, like down on a
baby bird.
Falcon inhaled sharply at her exploration. Steve's touch
excited him beyond belief, and her scent filled him with a craving he
was certain could never be satisfied. He lowered his mouth to hers,
intending to caress her with infinite tenderness. Gentleness was
discarded when he tasted her, and a ravaging hunger guided his actions.
The beast demanded to be unleashed.
She had forgotten how strange
his tongue felt until he used it to outline her lips and stroke the
roof of her mouth. At once it tickled, teased, and consumed her like
nothing she had ever experienced.
One of Falcon's legs slid between
hers. The towel around his waist slipped aside/and Steve felt his rigid
manhood throbbing insistently against her thigh. He pressed his hips
forward, wordlessly requesting her touch. But she was not ready to look
at that part of him, let alone lower her hand, not even to investigate
whether his skin felt so smooth all over.
It shocked her to realize
she was actually shy. Of course, she had good reason to be. The only
lover she had ever had was Virmie Barbanell, and the last time she had
lain with him was almost four years ago. As if Falcon was aware that
her mind had wandered, his tongue grazed a burning path to her ear and
down her neck while his hand snaked down her abdomen, silently forcing
the return of her attention.
Falcon's mouth stifled Steve's moan as
his fingers glided over her panties to the sensitive flesh of her inner
thighs. Lightly, he stroked her skin, coming close but never quite
touching the center of her desire. She thought perhaps he understood
her need to go slowly, to savor each plateau as she came to it. Was his
touch really more sensual than Vinnie's had been or had it just been so
long since she'd felt a man's touch that it seemed that way? She could
not remember anything quite so delicious.
Despite his drugging
kisses, her stubborn common sense intruded again. What was she doing?
Why was she letting a virtual stranger handle her so intimately when
she had refused men she knew much better? Men who were clearly more
deserving of her gift?
"Falcon?" she managed to say in an exhale of held breath.
He
stilled his hand and raised his head to look at her. His topaz eyes
glowed with a golden fire that reflected what little light was in the
room. It was enough to convince her she was right to want to know more
about him before going on.
"How do you do the things you do?" Falcon
withdrew his hand, but Steve felt him withdraw much more than that. "I
don't know if you can understand this, but please try. I've never been
with any man but my ex-husband. I thought I could do this—enjoy an hour
of passion, no strings attached, but old habits die hard. I want you to
make love to me, but it isn't that simple for me. You have too many
secrets for me to be comfortable with you. I want you to share one with
me.
"You decide. Pick one incident and explain how you did it: how
you got from San Francisco to Los Angeles ahead of me, how we had so
much luck in the casino, what happened with the jungle cats, what you
do when you touch someone's temple?" Steve took a deep breath. "How you
make me melt just by coming near me?" She closed her eyes, shyness now
giving way to embarrassment. She had seen all these things, yet refused
to question them, because underlying all of it was her own primal urge
to be possessed by him no matter what he did. But in the end, it
mattered.
"Is it not enough to let me pleasure you? You cannot know how long I have waited for this same hour of passion."
"No. I need to know."
"And it is something you must not know. I cannot answer any of your questions. Will you not accept anything else?"
"No.
And thank you for reminding me of my priorities." She rolled away from
him and off the bed. "You do great massage, Falcon. I feel like a new
woman. I believe it was my turn for the shower."
Falcon's body ached
with unfulfilled passion, but he hurt from something far worse than his
aborted sexual release. He had never understood how a human could have
a broken heart until he watched Steve, her back straight, leave the
room, and felt her unshed tears. Surely, his own heart would never be
whole again. Raising his hand to his face, he closed his eyes and
inhaled deeply. But the memory of her would be with him always.
descended the staircase in her bikini, her chin lifted defiantly, her
eyes warning Falcon to keep his distance. The sight of her brought back
the chest-clenching, stomach-churning sickness he had experienced
earlier that night. He had classified it as guilt—another human emotion
he would have rather done without.
She walked by him, picked up the
grappling device, and exited. Falcon was certain there must be a
dialogue appropriate for these circumstances, but his life experience
did not prepare him to deal with the melee of emotions emanating from
Steve: anger, disappointment, sexual frustration, and embarrassment,
all directed at him.
A splash alerted him to Steve's departure from the houseboat. Falcon hurried to jump in the warm water and swim after her.
Staying
close to the side of Underwood's yacht, they were able to remain in the
shadows caused by the bright moon and streetlights over the ship. A few
lights shone on board, but there was no sign of anyone.
Steve tried
to tread water and aim the hook, but could not hold it steady with one
hand. Falcon immediately assisted by placing his hands on her waist.
She twisted from his touch.
"You need both your hands, Steve. Allow me to help."
She
glared at him for a moment, then braced herself for the contact. Why
did such an inconsequential action have to make her pulse race? Why did
a stranger have to be the one to have such power over her? It did not
seem at all fair.
Less than a minute later, they were on board,
retrieving the rope they had used to shimmy up the side. Falcon touched
her shoulder and pointed in the direction he thought they should take.
Steve stayed close to him as they crept along the superstructure and
down a stairway to the cabin area. He ran his fingertips along the
walls and railing, occasionally coming to a stop and closing his eyes.
Without comprehending, she knew he was doing more than simply feeling
his way along the passageway. It gave her the creeps, but she continued
to follow his lead.
At one door Falcon paused, placed his palm flat
against the wood, then opened it. Steve quickly stepped in behind him
anid closed the door again. A bit of moonlight entering a porthole made
it possible for Steve to discern that they were in a fair-sized
stateroom cramped by an executive desk and a full complement of office
equipment.
Steve waited, wondering why Falcon had chosen to come in
this room, yet sensing that she should not interrupt him. His hand
roamed in small circles over the desk and chair, then halted on the
telephone. His eyes closed tightly, his head slightly angled as if
straining to hear, he remained frozen for what seemed like an eternity.
What was he doing now?
When he opened his eyes, he said, "Gordon
Underwood has never been here, Steve. His employee, King, has been
enacting a masquerade for our benefit. His orders were to waylay us in
any way he could, including bodily harm if necessary, as long as it
looked accidental."
Suddenly he turned his head from left to right.
He seemed to see something Steve could not. His fingers toyed with his
ring in a strangely purposeful manner as he stepped around the desk.
"Someone
is coming," he whispered as he drew close to her. There was no time for
explanations. In a move that brooked no argument, Falcon pulled her
against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
Steve was
incensed and confused one moment and terrified out of her wits the
next. The floor dropped out from under her; the room then the world
disappeared. She fell into a void where she no longer had a body. The
resulting sensation was similar to a roller-coaster ride in total
blackness, followed by no feeling at all. Was she dead? Had they been
discovered and killed? She had always assumed that the brain ceased
functioning when one died. Maybe she was in a coma. That might explain
it.
Before she adjusted to that idea, reality returned. Her feet
stood on a solid surface, Falcon's arms held her in a death grip, and
she smelled a trace of the soap he had used in the shower. Instinct
told her to proceed cautiously. Had seconds passed or some greater
amount of time while she was comatose? Her sense of balance restored,
she raised her head to look at Falcon and pushed away from his grasp.
"There
was no other way," he said quickly. "Please stay here. Do not move from
this location until I return." Falcon moved his fingers over his ring.
As
Steve opened her mouth to protest, her eyesight faltered. Falcon's
features blurred, then there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing.
She was outdoors, in a city, in front of a building. Underwood's
building! Spinning around abruptly, she saw the Transamerica Pyramid.
Okay, she was in San Francisco. Alone in the dark. Was she suffering
from amnesia or insanity? Weren't she and Falcon in Miami Beach? Did he
really command her to stay there then disappear?
She could not
simply stand around indefinitely. A chilly gust of wind blew over her
causing her to hug her body and look for shelter. It was freezing out
here. Realization careened through her head. She was still in her
bikini, still wet from her recent swim in the Intracoastal Waterway. A
cold drop of water slid off her hair, intensifying the shiver that ran
down her spine.
In a reverse of his disappearing act, a blurred
vision of Falcon appeared before her, clarifying into the real thing as
she gaped. He was fully dressed and had both their traveling bags.
As
he pulled her shivering body into the recessed entranceway of
Underwood's building, he said, "I believe I retrieved all your
possessions. You had better get dressed before we go further." He
handed her her bag and turned his back, offering himself as a shield
against the eyes of anyone who might pass by.
What kind of an
explanation was that? Steve tried to question him, but her chattering
teeth refused to cooperate. Later. Unzipping her bag, she knew the only
way she would get warm was if she got out of her wet bathing suit.
Shivering uncontrollably, she managed to change into warmer clothes
using a variety of contortions and as much speed as she could muster.
As soon as she was dressed, Falcon turned around and pulled her into
his arms again.
"Sh-h-h-sh," he hissed, as his hands ran up and down her back.
Delicious
warmth swept through her. It felt too good to let her pride get in the
way. But with the return of comfort came the desperate need for
explanations, and her body tensed in preparation. "What the hell is
going on?" That one question summed it up as far as she was concerned.
Falcon
swallowed hard. He would have told her another falsehood, if one had
occurred to him, but absolutely nothing came to mind that she would
rationally accept. "I am unable to explain. We are back in San
Francisco, and I need to get into Underwood's office." He released her
and tested the door. "This entrance is locked and appears to have an
alarm attached to it. Would you know how to gain access?"
Steve
blinked and shook her head in disbelief. "That's it? Business as usual?
Listen, pal, I just aged twenty years because of that last little
trick." As her temper rose, she started pacing back and forth in the
protected entranceway. "How silly of me to think you had secrets
before. I hadn't seen anything yet, had I? I don't even want to know
anymore. I don't understand any of it, and I'm scared to death that
knowing would be even worse! She came to a decision and turned to
confront him. "Okay. I'm going home. Have a wonderful life. I hope I
never run into you again."
Grabbing her bag, she strode down the
sidewalk with hopes of finding a cab. What the hell time was it anyway?
They had climbed onto the yacht around two, so it must be about eleven
o'clock now.
"Steve."
Falcon's raspy voice brought her to a stop
more effectively than his hand on her elbow. It vibrated through her
like a kitten purring against her breast. He should not be allowed to
do that!
"Please, do not go. I need your help." And you, he added to himself.
Steve
fought to reinforce her resolve. Apparently, he thought he could
dissolve her into a mindless pool of gelatin with his sexy, pleading
voice and the pained expression on his handsome face, and the way his
thumb caressed her elbow, and ... Oh, damn! He was doing it to her
again.
She took a deep breath, stepped back, and crossed her arms in
front of her. "Explain." To make sure she did not give in without
getting an answer from him, Steve stared at a building in the distance
instead of his eyes.
His words came out haltingly, and he hoped she
could not tell he was making it up as he went along. "I have a few
psychic abilities. I was afraid it would frighten you if you knew."
"So,
I'm frightened and not terribly surprised by that news flash. How did
we get here from the yacht? And how did you zap back and forth like
that?"
"My ring is... an experimental transportation device. Very few people are aware of its existence."
"Let
me get this straight. You expect me to believe that some brainy
scientist figured out how to dematerialize and transport people across
thousands of miles in a matter of seconds, using a fake opal ring. Then
he decided to test it with an Interpol agent." Falcon's eyebrows raised
a notch. "Don't look so shocked. I've seen every episode of 'Star
Trek.' I know all about things like dematerialization. I also know no
one in this time period has invented it. Of course, you could have come
here from a future time. My, God! That's it, isn't it?"
Falcon's
face relaxed into a smile. He wondered, if she could accept his being a
time traveler, could she accept his being from another world? His
intuition responded negatively. He would allow her to believe whatever
she was most comfortable with. "No one must know where I am from,
Steve. Will you keep my secret?" At least he had not actually lied to
her.
Steve's excitement had her pacing again. "I can't believe it,
but I do. How can I not after everything you've done? Will you tell me
about the future, Falcon? Where, I mean, when are you from? Is it
fantastic? Do we find a cure for cancer? Does the ..."
Falcon
stopped her by placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Please do
not make this more difficult for me. I can tell you no more than you
already know. I am here on a mission for my people. Will you continue
to help me find Gordon Underwood and not speak to anyone about my being
here?"
Steve's smile vanished as she removed his hands and stepped
away from him. "On one condition." Keeping both her eyes and voice
lowered, she stated her terms. "Stop seducing me. You don't need to do
that to get my cooperation."
Falcon was momentarily confused by her
demand and her reasoning. He sensed that her desire for him had not
lessened, and she seemed fairly satisfied with his explanations. He
reached out empathically for understanding and felt the answer—her
pride was bruised. When he tried to take her hands, she retreated
another step. "Steve, with the exception of what happened earlier this
evening, I have worked very hard at trying not to seduce you. I would
not use such a method to obtain your cooperation, even if it resulted
in something I wanted very much. But if that is your condition for
keeping my secret, I promise to do my best not to entice you. If you
will be honest, though, I should make the same demand of you."
If
she had to be honest, they were equally guilty when it came to
seduction and rejection. But when he referred to something he wanted
very much, why did she still wish that she, not Underwood, was that
something? Regardless of his meaning, his secret had just put the seal
on her resistance to his charms. Any hour he would be gone, not only
from her life, but from her time.
She needed to get back on track.
"I appreciate your promise, and return the same to you. Now, why do we
need to get into this building?"
"When we were in the office on the yacht, I overheard a telephone conversation between Underwood and King."
"What? You never picked up the phone."
"It
is one of my abilities, Steve. When I touch objects, I can sometimes
see and hear things that have occurred a short time before. You are
doubtful, I see. If you do not want to hear the answers, I would rather
you not ask the questions."
"Sorry. Go ahead."
"I told you what I
learned. I neither heard nor saw anything that revealed where Underwood
was during that conversation. I have deduced that the secretary here
knows where he is. She was too suspicious to let me near her before,
and now I am sure she would be more so. We do not know how many people
Underwood has instructed to stop us. If we could gain access to his
offices when no one is around, I am sure I would discover a clue to his
whereabouts."
"Why can't you just zap yourself in there with your trusty ring?"
Falcon
smiled in spite of her sarcastic tone. "I do not have an exact floor
plan or a signal to home in on. I would not care to transport myself
into a wall or piece of furniture. I had the exact coordinates of this
location since it is where I originally arrived, and, although I had
calculated the houseboat's position, this was the one I thought of
first when it became necessary to leave the yacht immediately. You see,
I recognized King's aura as he approached the office."
Steve pushed
down her next dozen questions with a groan. "Okay, but there's no easy
way to get into that building once it's closed, and it won't be open
until Monday morning, at least thirty hours from now. In the meantime,
you're welcome to stay at my house. I can only offer the couch tonight,
since Mom and the kids are asleep by now. Tomorrow I'll rearrange them
a little to give you a bed."
She did not wait for his acceptance
before going on, "My car's still at the airport. We'll take a cab out
there, then head to the house. I may as well warn you. My son is an
early riser, so I'd suggest you get what sleep you can as soon as we
get there. He has no sympathy for adults who sleep in late."
After
picking up her car at the airport, the trip to Kensington was quiet,
but not uncomfortable. Steve was too tired to try to get Falcon to
satisfy more of her curiosity about him, and he had closed his eyes
minutes after they got in her car. Whether he was sleeping or deep in
thought, she decided to leave him alone.
Falcon raised his gaze to hers. She wanted him to do precisely what he
wished. As carefully as he had touched the rest of her body, his
fingers crept up until they encountered her satin-covered breasts. When
she continued to welcome him with her eyes and thoughts, he molded her
into his hands, and brushed his thumbs over her taut nipples. The urge
to see what he was touching became overwhelming.
Steve's world
altered into one of slow motion, one where sensation replaced the
thought process. His massage had left her languid and wanting at the
same time. When Falcon stretched out beside her and hesitantly returned
one hand to her breast, she gave in to her desire to touch him in
return. The velvety texture of his skin against her fingertips seemed
somehow new and wondrous. Steve stroked his cheek, the outline of his
ear, and trailed downward to discover his nipples were as hard as her
own. She had not known a man's skin could feel so soft, like down on a
baby bird.
Falcon inhaled sharply at her exploration. Steve's touch
excited him beyond belief, and her scent filled him with a craving he
was certain could never be satisfied. He lowered his mouth to hers,
intending to caress her with infinite tenderness. Gentleness was
discarded when he tasted her, and a ravaging hunger guided his actions.
The beast demanded to be unleashed.
She had forgotten how strange
his tongue felt until he used it to outline her lips and stroke the
roof of her mouth. At once it tickled, teased, and consumed her like
nothing she had ever experienced.
One of Falcon's legs slid between
hers. The towel around his waist slipped aside/and Steve felt his rigid
manhood throbbing insistently against her thigh. He pressed his hips
forward, wordlessly requesting her touch. But she was not ready to look
at that part of him, let alone lower her hand, not even to investigate
whether his skin felt so smooth all over.
It shocked her to realize
she was actually shy. Of course, she had good reason to be. The only
lover she had ever had was Virmie Barbanell, and the last time she had
lain with him was almost four years ago. As if Falcon was aware that
her mind had wandered, his tongue grazed a burning path to her ear and
down her neck while his hand snaked down her abdomen, silently forcing
the return of her attention.
Falcon's mouth stifled Steve's moan as
his fingers glided over her panties to the sensitive flesh of her inner
thighs. Lightly, he stroked her skin, coming close but never quite
touching the center of her desire. She thought perhaps he understood
her need to go slowly, to savor each plateau as she came to it. Was his
touch really more sensual than Vinnie's had been or had it just been so
long since she'd felt a man's touch that it seemed that way? She could
not remember anything quite so delicious.
Despite his drugging
kisses, her stubborn common sense intruded again. What was she doing?
Why was she letting a virtual stranger handle her so intimately when
she had refused men she knew much better? Men who were clearly more
deserving of her gift?
"Falcon?" she managed to say in an exhale of held breath.
He
stilled his hand and raised his head to look at her. His topaz eyes
glowed with a golden fire that reflected what little light was in the
room. It was enough to convince her she was right to want to know more
about him before going on.
"How do you do the things you do?" Falcon
withdrew his hand, but Steve felt him withdraw much more than that. "I
don't know if you can understand this, but please try. I've never been
with any man but my ex-husband. I thought I could do this—enjoy an hour
of passion, no strings attached, but old habits die hard. I want you to
make love to me, but it isn't that simple for me. You have too many
secrets for me to be comfortable with you. I want you to share one with
me.
"You decide. Pick one incident and explain how you did it: how
you got from San Francisco to Los Angeles ahead of me, how we had so
much luck in the casino, what happened with the jungle cats, what you
do when you touch someone's temple?" Steve took a deep breath. "How you
make me melt just by coming near me?" She closed her eyes, shyness now
giving way to embarrassment. She had seen all these things, yet refused
to question them, because underlying all of it was her own primal urge
to be possessed by him no matter what he did. But in the end, it
mattered.
"Is it not enough to let me pleasure you? You cannot know how long I have waited for this same hour of passion."
"No. I need to know."
"And it is something you must not know. I cannot answer any of your questions. Will you not accept anything else?"
"No.
And thank you for reminding me of my priorities." She rolled away from
him and off the bed. "You do great massage, Falcon. I feel like a new
woman. I believe it was my turn for the shower."
Falcon's body ached
with unfulfilled passion, but he hurt from something far worse than his
aborted sexual release. He had never understood how a human could have
a broken heart until he watched Steve, her back straight, leave the
room, and felt her unshed tears. Surely, his own heart would never be
whole again. Raising his hand to his face, he closed his eyes and
inhaled deeply. But the memory of her would be with him always.
Chapter Eleven
I can believe anything, provided it is incredible.—Oscar Wilde
Stevedescended the staircase in her bikini, her chin lifted defiantly, her
eyes warning Falcon to keep his distance. The sight of her brought back
the chest-clenching, stomach-churning sickness he had experienced
earlier that night. He had classified it as guilt—another human emotion
he would have rather done without.
She walked by him, picked up the
grappling device, and exited. Falcon was certain there must be a
dialogue appropriate for these circumstances, but his life experience
did not prepare him to deal with the melee of emotions emanating from
Steve: anger, disappointment, sexual frustration, and embarrassment,
all directed at him.
A splash alerted him to Steve's departure from the houseboat. Falcon hurried to jump in the warm water and swim after her.
Staying
close to the side of Underwood's yacht, they were able to remain in the
shadows caused by the bright moon and streetlights over the ship. A few
lights shone on board, but there was no sign of anyone.
Steve tried
to tread water and aim the hook, but could not hold it steady with one
hand. Falcon immediately assisted by placing his hands on her waist.
She twisted from his touch.
"You need both your hands, Steve. Allow me to help."
She
glared at him for a moment, then braced herself for the contact. Why
did such an inconsequential action have to make her pulse race? Why did
a stranger have to be the one to have such power over her? It did not
seem at all fair.
Less than a minute later, they were on board,
retrieving the rope they had used to shimmy up the side. Falcon touched
her shoulder and pointed in the direction he thought they should take.
Steve stayed close to him as they crept along the superstructure and
down a stairway to the cabin area. He ran his fingertips along the
walls and railing, occasionally coming to a stop and closing his eyes.
Without comprehending, she knew he was doing more than simply feeling
his way along the passageway. It gave her the creeps, but she continued
to follow his lead.
At one door Falcon paused, placed his palm flat
against the wood, then opened it. Steve quickly stepped in behind him
anid closed the door again. A bit of moonlight entering a porthole made
it possible for Steve to discern that they were in a fair-sized
stateroom cramped by an executive desk and a full complement of office
equipment.
Steve waited, wondering why Falcon had chosen to come in
this room, yet sensing that she should not interrupt him. His hand
roamed in small circles over the desk and chair, then halted on the
telephone. His eyes closed tightly, his head slightly angled as if
straining to hear, he remained frozen for what seemed like an eternity.
What was he doing now?
When he opened his eyes, he said, "Gordon
Underwood has never been here, Steve. His employee, King, has been
enacting a masquerade for our benefit. His orders were to waylay us in
any way he could, including bodily harm if necessary, as long as it
looked accidental."
Suddenly he turned his head from left to right.
He seemed to see something Steve could not. His fingers toyed with his
ring in a strangely purposeful manner as he stepped around the desk.
"Someone
is coming," he whispered as he drew close to her. There was no time for
explanations. In a move that brooked no argument, Falcon pulled her
against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
Steve was
incensed and confused one moment and terrified out of her wits the
next. The floor dropped out from under her; the room then the world
disappeared. She fell into a void where she no longer had a body. The
resulting sensation was similar to a roller-coaster ride in total
blackness, followed by no feeling at all. Was she dead? Had they been
discovered and killed? She had always assumed that the brain ceased
functioning when one died. Maybe she was in a coma. That might explain
it.
Before she adjusted to that idea, reality returned. Her feet
stood on a solid surface, Falcon's arms held her in a death grip, and
she smelled a trace of the soap he had used in the shower. Instinct
told her to proceed cautiously. Had seconds passed or some greater
amount of time while she was comatose? Her sense of balance restored,
she raised her head to look at Falcon and pushed away from his grasp.
"There
was no other way," he said quickly. "Please stay here. Do not move from
this location until I return." Falcon moved his fingers over his ring.
As
Steve opened her mouth to protest, her eyesight faltered. Falcon's
features blurred, then there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing.
She was outdoors, in a city, in front of a building. Underwood's
building! Spinning around abruptly, she saw the Transamerica Pyramid.
Okay, she was in San Francisco. Alone in the dark. Was she suffering
from amnesia or insanity? Weren't she and Falcon in Miami Beach? Did he
really command her to stay there then disappear?
She could not
simply stand around indefinitely. A chilly gust of wind blew over her
causing her to hug her body and look for shelter. It was freezing out
here. Realization careened through her head. She was still in her
bikini, still wet from her recent swim in the Intracoastal Waterway. A
cold drop of water slid off her hair, intensifying the shiver that ran
down her spine.
In a reverse of his disappearing act, a blurred
vision of Falcon appeared before her, clarifying into the real thing as
she gaped. He was fully dressed and had both their traveling bags.
As
he pulled her shivering body into the recessed entranceway of
Underwood's building, he said, "I believe I retrieved all your
possessions. You had better get dressed before we go further." He
handed her her bag and turned his back, offering himself as a shield
against the eyes of anyone who might pass by.
What kind of an
explanation was that? Steve tried to question him, but her chattering
teeth refused to cooperate. Later. Unzipping her bag, she knew the only
way she would get warm was if she got out of her wet bathing suit.
Shivering uncontrollably, she managed to change into warmer clothes
using a variety of contortions and as much speed as she could muster.
As soon as she was dressed, Falcon turned around and pulled her into
his arms again.
"Sh-h-h-sh," he hissed, as his hands ran up and down her back.
Delicious
warmth swept through her. It felt too good to let her pride get in the
way. But with the return of comfort came the desperate need for
explanations, and her body tensed in preparation. "What the hell is
going on?" That one question summed it up as far as she was concerned.
Falcon
swallowed hard. He would have told her another falsehood, if one had
occurred to him, but absolutely nothing came to mind that she would
rationally accept. "I am unable to explain. We are back in San
Francisco, and I need to get into Underwood's office." He released her
and tested the door. "This entrance is locked and appears to have an
alarm attached to it. Would you know how to gain access?"
Steve
blinked and shook her head in disbelief. "That's it? Business as usual?
Listen, pal, I just aged twenty years because of that last little
trick." As her temper rose, she started pacing back and forth in the
protected entranceway. "How silly of me to think you had secrets
before. I hadn't seen anything yet, had I? I don't even want to know
anymore. I don't understand any of it, and I'm scared to death that
knowing would be even worse! She came to a decision and turned to
confront him. "Okay. I'm going home. Have a wonderful life. I hope I
never run into you again."
Grabbing her bag, she strode down the
sidewalk with hopes of finding a cab. What the hell time was it anyway?
They had climbed onto the yacht around two, so it must be about eleven
o'clock now.
"Steve."
Falcon's raspy voice brought her to a stop
more effectively than his hand on her elbow. It vibrated through her
like a kitten purring against her breast. He should not be allowed to
do that!
"Please, do not go. I need your help." And you, he added to himself.
Steve
fought to reinforce her resolve. Apparently, he thought he could
dissolve her into a mindless pool of gelatin with his sexy, pleading
voice and the pained expression on his handsome face, and the way his
thumb caressed her elbow, and ... Oh, damn! He was doing it to her
again.
She took a deep breath, stepped back, and crossed her arms in
front of her. "Explain." To make sure she did not give in without
getting an answer from him, Steve stared at a building in the distance
instead of his eyes.
His words came out haltingly, and he hoped she
could not tell he was making it up as he went along. "I have a few
psychic abilities. I was afraid it would frighten you if you knew."
"So,
I'm frightened and not terribly surprised by that news flash. How did
we get here from the yacht? And how did you zap back and forth like
that?"
"My ring is... an experimental transportation device. Very few people are aware of its existence."
"Let
me get this straight. You expect me to believe that some brainy
scientist figured out how to dematerialize and transport people across
thousands of miles in a matter of seconds, using a fake opal ring. Then
he decided to test it with an Interpol agent." Falcon's eyebrows raised
a notch. "Don't look so shocked. I've seen every episode of 'Star
Trek.' I know all about things like dematerialization. I also know no
one in this time period has invented it. Of course, you could have come
here from a future time. My, God! That's it, isn't it?"
Falcon's
face relaxed into a smile. He wondered, if she could accept his being a
time traveler, could she accept his being from another world? His
intuition responded negatively. He would allow her to believe whatever
she was most comfortable with. "No one must know where I am from,
Steve. Will you keep my secret?" At least he had not actually lied to
her.
Steve's excitement had her pacing again. "I can't believe it,
but I do. How can I not after everything you've done? Will you tell me
about the future, Falcon? Where, I mean, when are you from? Is it
fantastic? Do we find a cure for cancer? Does the ..."
Falcon
stopped her by placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Please do
not make this more difficult for me. I can tell you no more than you
already know. I am here on a mission for my people. Will you continue
to help me find Gordon Underwood and not speak to anyone about my being
here?"
Steve's smile vanished as she removed his hands and stepped
away from him. "On one condition." Keeping both her eyes and voice
lowered, she stated her terms. "Stop seducing me. You don't need to do
that to get my cooperation."
Falcon was momentarily confused by her
demand and her reasoning. He sensed that her desire for him had not
lessened, and she seemed fairly satisfied with his explanations. He
reached out empathically for understanding and felt the answer—her
pride was bruised. When he tried to take her hands, she retreated
another step. "Steve, with the exception of what happened earlier this
evening, I have worked very hard at trying not to seduce you. I would
not use such a method to obtain your cooperation, even if it resulted
in something I wanted very much. But if that is your condition for
keeping my secret, I promise to do my best not to entice you. If you
will be honest, though, I should make the same demand of you."
If
she had to be honest, they were equally guilty when it came to
seduction and rejection. But when he referred to something he wanted
very much, why did she still wish that she, not Underwood, was that
something? Regardless of his meaning, his secret had just put the seal
on her resistance to his charms. Any hour he would be gone, not only
from her life, but from her time.
She needed to get back on track.
"I appreciate your promise, and return the same to you. Now, why do we
need to get into this building?"
"When we were in the office on the yacht, I overheard a telephone conversation between Underwood and King."
"What? You never picked up the phone."
"It
is one of my abilities, Steve. When I touch objects, I can sometimes
see and hear things that have occurred a short time before. You are
doubtful, I see. If you do not want to hear the answers, I would rather
you not ask the questions."
"Sorry. Go ahead."
"I told you what I
learned. I neither heard nor saw anything that revealed where Underwood
was during that conversation. I have deduced that the secretary here
knows where he is. She was too suspicious to let me near her before,
and now I am sure she would be more so. We do not know how many people
Underwood has instructed to stop us. If we could gain access to his
offices when no one is around, I am sure I would discover a clue to his
whereabouts."
"Why can't you just zap yourself in there with your trusty ring?"
Falcon
smiled in spite of her sarcastic tone. "I do not have an exact floor
plan or a signal to home in on. I would not care to transport myself
into a wall or piece of furniture. I had the exact coordinates of this
location since it is where I originally arrived, and, although I had
calculated the houseboat's position, this was the one I thought of
first when it became necessary to leave the yacht immediately. You see,
I recognized King's aura as he approached the office."
Steve pushed
down her next dozen questions with a groan. "Okay, but there's no easy
way to get into that building once it's closed, and it won't be open
until Monday morning, at least thirty hours from now. In the meantime,
you're welcome to stay at my house. I can only offer the couch tonight,
since Mom and the kids are asleep by now. Tomorrow I'll rearrange them
a little to give you a bed."
She did not wait for his acceptance
before going on, "My car's still at the airport. We'll take a cab out
there, then head to the house. I may as well warn you. My son is an
early riser, so I'd suggest you get what sleep you can as soon as we
get there. He has no sympathy for adults who sleep in late."
After
picking up her car at the airport, the trip to Kensington was quiet,
but not uncomfortable. Steve was too tired to try to get Falcon to
satisfy more of her curiosity about him, and he had closed his eyes
minutes after they got in her car. Whether he was sleeping or deep in
thought, she decided to leave him alone.
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