Wild Lady Part 16

But it was Claudia he cannoned into. Soft, warm, smelling like a dream in something silky that slipped beneath his fingers. Enticing, flimsy - "Mac!" His name was expelled from her on a sharp breath as he pushed her back against the wall with the rush of his attack. "Mac, let me go!"

She was backed against the wall, her arms pinned at her sides, her body yielding against his. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was let her go. He wanted to pull her back down with him into the warm coc.o.o.n of bedclothes, unwrap the silk and make love to her. The idea took a lot of resisting.

He managed it, just about, but he didn't immediately let her go. "Gabriel," he insisted.

"Come on, Mac," she said, struggling ineffectually, against his him, "this is ridiculous." Ridiculous he might argue with, but it certainly wasn't wise. She was not doing her cause any good at all. "For heaven's sake -" she exclaimed, then realizing she had no choice but to obey him, she conceded. "Gabriel," she snapped, crossly.

"Try harder, Claudia." The scent of her skin was undermining his good intentions and the bed was still very tempting.

She glared up at him. He smiled lazily back and he saw, in the semi-darkness, the very moment when she realized exactly what was going on, felt the stirring of his arousal against the smooth curve of her hip.

Her eyes widened slightly, the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tightened to hard peaks and her lips parted slightly as she cooled them with the tip of her tongue.

For a long moment the room was filled with a quiet so intense that the sound of his own heartbeat began to sound like a drum in his ears. "Please, Gabriel," she said, her voice mostly breath.

Very slowly he took his arms from about her and straightening, let her go. Equally slowly, it seemed to him, she eased away from him, backing along the wall so that they were no long touching. Then, she took a long, slightly unsteady breath and looked up at him with eyes that should carry a health hazard warning. "Tell me, Gabriel, did you forget to pack your pajamas?" she asked, her voice shaking noticeably. "Or do you always sleep in your skin."

"Did you want something, Claudia?" he demanded, brusquely, his voice thick with gravel. "Or are you just sightseeing?"

"Sightseeing?" She blinked, swallowed, fixed her gaze firmly on his face. "I thought I'd better give you a call," she said, quickly. "I'm due at the television studios at six-thirty. For an interview."

"What!" he demanded, grabbing a sheet from the bed and wrapping it about him.

"I forgot to tell you last night."

He couldn't believe it. "And when did you remember?"

"When I was in bed." She had been going to tell him. She'd made it as far as his bedroom door, but had lost her nerve. She hadn't wanted him to think ... well, what he would have had every right to think. "There didn't seem any point in disturbing you."

"Lady, you could disturb a three-toed sloth with a look."

"Could I?" He was no slouch in that department himself and making a slightly nervous gesture in the direction of the night table, Claudia began to back out of the room. "I ... um ... brought you a cup of tea."

"Well, thank you, Miss Beaumont," he said, following her, the sheet looped negligently around his waist. "I surely do appreciate that."

"We haven't got a lot of time..." She gestured vaguely behind her. "I won't be long in the shower."

He put his hand on the wall, blocking her exit. "We could save time by sharing it."

"Could we?" Her voice was so low that it was almost non-existent and there was dewy ache between her thighs. Then she caught the glint of something close to amus.e.m.e.nt in those dangerous blue eyes and she stiffened. "I don't think so." And she ducked beneath his arm and beat a hasty retreat.

That would teach her that coming uninvited to a man's bedroom smelling like heaven and looking like sin when his defenses were down, was not the brightest move, Mac thought, a touch wryly. He'd learned quite a bit himself.

She kept coming so close, he thought dwelling on the lingering image of enticing lips parted over small white teeth, her eyes uncertain as they had searched his face. So meltingly close that all it would take would be one touch to set her off. Dynamite.

Then she backed off like a nervous kitten. In fact, for a lady with something of a reputation for wildness, Claudia Beaumont seemed oddly reticent about embarking on a bed and breakfast flirtation. Or maybe it was just him she objected to. Which was probably as well, he thought, pushing himself away from the wall and closing the door with rather more regret than he would have antic.i.p.ated. Because he'd lied about the shower. It wouldn't save time. But it would have been a d.a.m.n sight more fun than an early morning call to a television studios.

The thought brought him to a halt. Fun. He couldn't remember the last time he had even thought the word, let alone seriously considered indulging in the experience.

He'd have to go, Claudia decided, as she caught sight of Gabriel MacIntyre's razor laid on the bathroom worktop. She toweled herself dry with a quite unnecessary briskness. There was just too much of the man. He overflowed all over the place, all over her apartment, all over the theater, all over her life. She could hear him now, moving about in the kitchen, making himself quite at home.

And he would keep scooping her up. And kissing her at the slightest excuse. Her lips burned with the memory of the way he had kissed her in her dressing room. Like a lover. She glanced at herself in the mirror, all dewy eyed and idiotic for heaven's sake! She wasn't fooled by that was she?

She wasn't averse to having men fall in love with her; in fact she rather liked it. She had almost come to think of it as her right. But she didn't encourage expectations of a more physical kind.

What about Tony? her subconscious probed, unkindly. Claudia sighed. She had been so naive about Tony. She thought he had genuinely liked her when he must simply have been taking s.e.x for granted. Why else would a married man have bothered?

Why else was Mac bothering?

It wasn't as if she'd given him encouragement of any kind. Quite the reverse. Most men who'd been very publicly slapped would have backed off and you wouldn't have seen their heels for dust. But then Mac - no, Gabriel, she corrected herself carefully - wasn't like most men. He had a careless arrogance that set him apart. They shared that same cavalier disregard for the opinion of others, Claudia realized, if nothing else.

Except, of course, she did care. She just wasn't prepared to let it show. When people saw that you cared, they could hurt you.

She let herself out the bathroom. "It's all yours," she called, as she crossed the hall to her bedroom.

He appeared in the kitchen door with the sheet still looped casually about his waist. It was breaking all the laws of physics and defying gravity. But only just. "What is?" he asked, with look that was clearly calculated to provoke her.

You see, she told herself, closing the bedroom door with a crisp little click. Give him an inch and he'd help himself to the entire tape measure. And if she wasn't very careful she would be the one left measuring out her foolishness in heartache.

The sooner this mess was cleared up and he was on his way, the better. If only she could think of someone who might want to make her life a misery.

It wasn't as if she'd s.n.a.t.c.hed any plum roles from beneath the nose of some other actress. She pulled a face. At least not lately. If anything, it had been the other way around. She'd lost a part in a film because the leading man had wanted his latest girlfriend to have it. But that had been partly her fault too. As her agent, and her father, had both pointed out in an unnecessarily sanctimonious fashion, if she'd signed the contract on the dotted line instead of pushing for a better deal, they wouldn't have been able to switch her at the last minute.

Then a series of chocolate commercials had been canceled.

She had suggested to Mac that Luke had twisted her arm to appear in Private Lives. The truth was that at the time she was glad to do it. And then the television series had fallen into her lap at the last moment. She paused, one leg in a pair of exquisite wide-legged russet trousers; she'd replaced Joanna Gray at the last moment because Jo had broken her arm skiing just before filming was due to start. She might be feeling resentful ...

Claudia stopped, horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking. Joanna was an old friend from RADA; they'd worked together, partied together, flirted with the same men. And she was a professional. Joanna knew that film companies couldn't wait while broken arms healed. She certainly wouldn't be petty enough to blame her own misfortune on her replacement, or spiteful enough to write poisonous letters. They'd had lunch together just before the weekend and Jo had gone out of her way to rea.s.sure her about the wretched parachute jump when Claudia had made her promise she'd step into her role in Private Lives if she broke her leg. Or worse.

Claudia fastened the trousers, slipped on the long, straight collarless jacket and lifted the collar of her pale peach silk shirt so that it stood up a little. Then she caught her hair back at the nape of her neck with a comb. Elegant, but casual, she thought, pleased with the result. After-dark glamour for breakfast television was so tacky.

Leaning towards the mirror to double-check her light make-up, she realized it hadn't covered the shadow of the bruise on her cheek. She shrugged. She was certain to be asked about the parachute jump and it would provide a talking point. She just hoped no one asked her about Mac ... Gabriel. She'd better not get that wrong again. Why was she finding it so hard?

What on earth had made her call him that in the first place? The way he had held her, the way he had kissed her. Like a lover. She recoiled from the word. Was she going quite mad? A tap on the door saved her from the embarra.s.sment of answering herself.

"Good grief," Gabriel exclaimed as she opened the door.

"That bad, huh?"

"You look fabulous. In less than fifteen minutes. How on earth do you do it?"

She wasn't sure whether to be pleased with the compliment, or cross at his a.s.sumption that it would take hours to make herself look presentable. She settled for neutral. "I've had years of practice, Gabriel." See? It wasn't so very hard, was it? "The ability to transform yourself into someone else is part of the job. You don't have hours when the performance is live."

He frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

"So?" Her eyes flickered quickly over the close fitting denims, the soft linen shirt he was wearing. He looked pretty good himself. Whatever had made her think of him as rough-hewn? "Are you ready?" she asked.

"You should have some breakfast before you go."

n.o.body had been that concerned about her since she had waved good-bye to her last nanny. It was unexpected, a little unnerving. The man had a way of getting to her, but she couldn't afford to be soft.

"Should I?" she asked. "One of your bacon doorsteps?"

"Don't mock, breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Nanny knows best. Fruit sounds healthy but it isn't enough. A bowl of cereal and a boiled egg, that's what you need to set you up for the day. "That depends who you're having it with." She threw the words away carelessly enough, but as she deliberately put the distance between them, her throat closed tight. Don't make a fuss of me, she begged silently. Don't pretend to care.

His jaw tightened noticeably. "I made some toast."

"How domesticated of you. I never could get the hang of that toaster," she said, dismissively. "But they'll give us a proper breakfast at the studio. Provided we're not late."

He glanced at his watch. "We've got plenty of time. I'd like to call at the theater on the way. I left my briefcase there last night and if I'm going to be sitting around half the morning waiting for you, I might just be able to get on with some work."

"Not half the morning." She managed a smile. "And I can promise you, darling, you won't be doing much sitting around today."

"Oh? Is there something else you've forgotten to tell me about?"

"I don't think so. I did mention that I have a late night chat show - after the performance tonight?"

"Yes, you did." She spread her hands out, as if that was sufficient explanation. "So?" he demanded, apparently unable to make the connection.

"So I need a new dress. So this morning I'm going shopping."

He exploded. "No. Absolutely not. I forbid it."

"Forbid it?" she repeated, her voice dangerously low.

He must have realized that it was a mistake to challenge her because he immediately changed his tactics. "Be reasonable, Claudia." He was learning fast, she thought. "I can't possibly guarantee your safety while you trawl the shops..."

But not fast enough. "Trawl the shops" indeed! "I need a new dress, Gabriel, not a parcel of herring."

"For heaven's sake, you must have something suitable." He didn't wait to be told, but strode across to the wardrobe and flung open the door while the protest was still forming in her head. "There," he said, as if he had proved his point. "It's full of dresses."

An exaggeration. It was full of clothes and there were quite a few evening dresses, but nothing right. "I need a new one."

He wasn't so easily persuaded, but pulled out the first one he laid his hand on. Then he looked at it and swore, very softly. It was that kind of dress, a bright red sheath of clinging material that shimmered from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her ankles. It was, in fact, the dress she had planned to wear, but she had decided, when she had looked at it last night, that she didn't feel quite comfortable in it any more. He must have felt the same way about it, because he quickly pushed it back, grabbing for the safety of a little black number.

"I don't think so," Claudia said, regarding the once treasured dress dispa.s.sionately. "It's a style that's become rather pa.s.se."

He considered it. "It does have one thing in its favor." She raised an inquiring brow. "If the slasher had a go at it you could just add a few more safety pins and no one would ever..." She could actually see the moment he realized he had put his foot in his mouth. Right up to the ankle. "You're right," he said. "You are in desperate need of a new dress."

"I knew you'd understand. But you don't have to come with me. I was going to ask Melanie to keep me company."

"Considering the size of my mouth I consider that a most generous offer, Claudia. But I'm afraid I do have to come with you. I promised -"

"Luke," she completed for him. "I knew I should never have left you two alone to gang up on me."

"It wouldn't have made any difference if you'd been there."

"You really believe that?"

"You're just so used to getting your own way, Claudia that you think you can ride rough shod over other people. It doesn't always work. I promised Luke I would look after you and that's what I intend to do. Whether you like it or not." He paused, offering her the chance to argue, but she didn't take it. She knew when she was on a hiding to nothing. And apparently satisfied that he had made his point, he replaced the black dress in the wardrobe and closed the door.

She might have been put very firmly in her place, Claudia decided, but honors were just about even, since she had won over the shopping trip and because of that she was prepared to be generous. "There'll be no crowds, I promise. Just a few little boutiques. And just to prove how much I appreciate it, I'll take you out to lunch."

He muttered something under his breath, but he made no further objection to her plans. Claudia tactfully kept her smile of satisfaction to herself, but mentally she chalked it up as a definite win on points.

While Claudia did her stuff for the television cameras, expertly fielding questions about rumors of romance, telling the viewers what it was like to step into her mother's shoes and take over a role she had made her own, Gabriel MacIntyre listened to the tapes he had collected from the theater.

As he antic.i.p.ated, there was nothing of earth-shattering interest. Certainly nothing that appeared to threaten Claudia, although that didn't mean anything very much. Only that if someone inside the theater wished her harm, they were too bright to tell anyone else, at least on the telephone. Disappointingly, Phillip Redmond's calls were strictly business.

He left the tape from Claudia's telephone until last. He found the idea of eavesdropping on her private calls particularly distasteful, but if she did suspect who was involved and was protecting the culprit out of some misguided sense of loyalty, he had to know.

He didn't discover anything about the attacker, but he did discover something else. Something that made him smile. Claudia had suggested to her father that he should go and see Diana, because her pub and the village green were ideal as the location for a new television program he was planning. And she had suggested Heather might be used in some minor role, a kindness the girl scarcely deserved.

Shopping was a nightmare. In the linen-fold paneled study at Winterbourne Manor it had seemed easy to rationalize his promise to Luke Devlin to look after his sister-in-law. He had his own reasons for wanting to know who had managed to get to her parachute, after all a security company that couldn't keep its own premises secure wouldn't be in business for long.

And Claudia's security wouldn't be a problem. He'd a.s.sign someone reliable, install CCTV cameras, intercept her calls and mail and within a week it would all be over.

Then he'd heard himself telling her that the best way to handle close security was for him to move in with her, play the lover for a media panting for the story and throw the anonymous letter writer off the scent.

It had sounded right. He had apparently convinced her. He must have convinced himself because until half-an-hour ago, Gabriel realized, he had believed it. But the minute he had walked into a Knightsbridge boutique he had recognized the sham for what it was. He would never, never have come into a dress shop with another client. He'd have summoned up female reinforcements and retired to a safe distance; there were plenty of well-trained women who would have jumped at the chance to show him what they could do when it came to close protection.

But he discovered that he wasn't prepared to trust Claudia's safety to anyone else, even when it meant he had to sit on a small, spindly-legged chair while Claudia explained exactly what she had in mind to the frighteningly elegant woman who owned the boutique.

"It's not your usual style, Claudia."

"I know, Lucy. But I think I'm getting a little bit tired of shocking people just for the sake of it. The trouble is whenever I attempt elegance I'm always compared with my mother. Unfavorably."

"No one can compete with perfection. I know everyone was raving over that photograph of you, but I'm not at all sure it was wise of you to pose for it, even if it meant you were on the cover. You're not a bit like Elaine French."

"Not perfect?"

"There's something so unnerving about perfection, don't you think? You should be concentrating on your own image, Claudia."

"It's my image that's bothering me."

"I'm inclined to agree that you're getting a little bit old to be playing the enfante terrible."

Claudia didn't take offense at this remark. She'd once heard Lucy tell a twenty-year-old she was too old to be wearing white broderie anglaise frills. "It's why I've come to you, Lucy. I need to reinvent myself and I trust your judgment."

"Reinventing yourself takes time. Unless you do it gradually people are inclined to notice and sn.i.g.g.e.r. Of course you could get married and produce an infant." Lucy glanced at Gabriel sitting on the far side of the boutique, looking decidedly ill-at-ease. "The tabloid press are such suckers for motherhood."