Sandra Marton - Slade Baron’s Bride Read online

  "...of the world," Lara said.

  "What?"

  "I said, it seems as if we're trapped in here, and the world has come to a stop."

  "Yes." Slade nodded. "Yes, it does."

  They both fell silent. He saw the way she looked at him, from under her lashes, and how she looked away, and he knew it was time.

  "You're beautiful," he said softly.

  Color flooded her face but she smiled. "Thank you."

  "What does your hair look like, when it's loose?"

  He saw a pulse flutter in the hollow of her throat.

  "What?"

  "Your hair. Is it long? Does it fall over your shoulders, and your breasts?" He took the cup from her and put it on the table beside him. "This isn't just another pickup line," he said. "You know it's not."

  He looked into her eyes and what he saw made his body harden. She knew what he was thinking, that he was imag­ining what it would be like to strip her of that oh-so-proper suit, take down that carefully tied-back hair, touch her and kiss her until she cried out with need for him.

  And in the middle of all those crazy thoughts, another announcement blared from the public-address system.

  All flights were grounded, for at least the next few hours. Passengers who wished to secure overnight arrangements were to come up to the desk.

  Lara cleared her throat. "Well," she said, and gave a forced laugh, "well, that's that."

  She was right. It was over, and he was glad. Whatever insanity had been going on between them was finished.

  "Yes." He smiled politely. "Are you going to wait it out here or try for a hotel?"

  "Here, I think. How about you?"

  "I'll hang in here," he started to say, but he never fin­ished the sentence. "The hell with this," he growled. "Come with me."

  Something flashed in her eyes and he thought, for a heart­beat, she was going to say yes.

  "No," she whispered. "I can't."

  He looked at her left hand, saw no ring. "Are you mar­ried?" She shook her head. "Engaged?" She shook her head again. Slade moved closer, until they were a breath apart. "Neither am I. We won't be hurting anyone." He reached out and took her hand. She let him do it, though he felt the tremor in her fingers. "Come to bed with me, Lara."

  The color rose in her face. "I can't."

  "We'll be incredible together," he said, his hand tight­ening on hers.

  She shook her head. "I—I don't even know you."

  "Yes, you do. You've known me forever, the same as I've known you." His voice was rough and low. "As for the details ...I'm an architect. I live in Boston. I'm straight, I'm not married, not committed to anyone. I'm twenty-eight years old, I just had my annual physical and my doctor says I'm healthy enough to outlive Methuselah. What more do you need to know, except that I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you?"

  And then—he'd never forgotten this—and then she'd looked at him, and something in that blue gaze changed. He'd felt as if he were being evaluated, not only as a man coming on to a woman but in some way he couldn't figure out. She looked at him with that strange expression on her face, the way she had an hour or so before.

  It made him uneasy, but the uneasiness was swept aside by a hot rush of longing when she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips.

  "It's—it's crazy. Even talking like this—"

  He lay a finger lightly against her mouth. He wanted to kiss her instead but touching her was all he dared to do in this public place without losing what little remained of his control.

  "I'll get a taxi. There's a hotel not far from here where I've stayed before. They know me. They'll find us a room."

  "A taxi. And a hotel, in weather like this?" She made a little sound that might have been a laugh. "You're very sure of yourself, Slade."

  "If I were sure of myself," he said softly, "I wouldn't be holding my breath while I wait for your answer."

  He could still remember the moment. The noise, all around them. The shuffle of feet and the press of bodies, as weary travelers headed for the desk, or laid claim to chairs and couches. And, in the middle of the confusion, her si­lence. The tilt of her head, as she looked up at him. That unreadable something, back in her eyes.

  "Yes," she said. Just that one word, but it was enough.

  He had no memory of leaving the lounge, or of flagging down a taxi. He could hardly recall the ride to the hotel, he only remembered stepping through the doors, his arm hard around her waist, and telling her that he had to leave her for a moment while he made a quick stop at the drugstore in the lobby.

  "No," she said, looking up at him. "It's not necessary."

  He remembered, too, the first shot of pleasure he'd felt at those words, knowing there'd be no barrier of latex be­tween them... and then the surprisingly harsh jolt of anger when he realized that she took care of her own birth control needs because she had sexual relationships apart from the one she was about to have with him.

  It was more than anger he felt. It was the sharp bite of primitive male possessiveness. But by then they were in the room with the door closed on the rest of the world, and he stopped thinking and reached for her.

  She panicked. "No!" Her voice quavered. "I'm sorry, Slade. I can't do this."

  He framed her face in his hands. "Just kiss me," he whis­pered. "Kiss me once, and I swear, if you want to leave, I won't try to stop you."

  She didn't move, she just looked up at him through wide, fear-filled eyes. He thought of something he'd stumbled upon years ago, back home at Espada. A stallion had broken loose from his stall and trapped a mare. He remembered the arch of the stallion's neck, the wild, rolling eyes. And he remembered the mare's terror, and how that terror had sud­denly become something else, once the stallion came over her.

  "Lara," he whispered. Slowly, carefully, watching the wary apprehension in her eyes, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was difficult, holding himself in check, but he did it, brushing his lips over hers until her mouth warmed and opened beneath his.

  "Slade," she sighed, and the sound of his name on her lips made him groan.

  His arms swept around her and he gathered her close. She rose toward him, looped her arms around his neck, buried her hands in his hair.

  "Please," she said, "oh please, please, please..."

  And then he was carrying her to the bed, undressing her, letting down that glorious hair and doing everything he'd wanted, everything she'd wanted, and more.

  The storm became a blizzard. It raged across the moun­tains all that day and night. And they spent all those minutes and hours in bed.

  It was like a dream. Lara, in his arms. Her scent, on his skin. The warmth of her, curled against him whenever they dropped into exhausted sleep. He told himself how lucky he was, that making love with this beautiful stranger while a winter storm raged outside would be an incredible memory in years to come.

  Toward dawn, something—the moan of the wind, per­haps—awakened him. Lara was asleep in the curve of his arm. He watched her and thought about how, when the storm ended, they'd go their separate ways. She lived in Atlanta, and she was an auditor. That was all she'd told him about herself. He thought, too, of the way she'd made it clear he didn't have to worry about condoms and the angry feeling because she had a life he knew nothing about ripped through him again.

  He tried to imagine her leading that life, living in a house he'd never seen, laughing with friends he didn't know. Dat­ing men he didn't want to think about. Lying in arms that weren't his.

  Something tightened around his heart. He woke her with kisses, and with the touch of his hand on her breast.

  "Lara," he whispered.

  Her eyes opened and she smiled sleepily. "Slade? What is it?"

  What, indeed? She lived in the South, he in the Northeast. What was he going to say? That he'd fly down to see her every weekend? He didn't see any woman every weekend. Well, yeah, he'd been known to establish relationships that lasted a couple of months, but getting involved
with a woman who lived in the same city wasn't like getting in­volved with one who lived hundreds of miles away.

  "Leave a toothbrush here," she'd say, "and some clothes." And then she'd expect him to show up on Fridays instead of Saturdays, and leave on Monday instead of Sunday, and who knew? Sooner or later, maybe she'd say, "You know, I've been thinking that I could move up to Boston..."

  "Slade?" Lara curved her hand around his stubbled jaw. "What's the matter?" She smiled. "You look like a little boy who just found out there really isn't a Santa Claus."

  He forced a smile to his lips and said he'd been hearing snowplows for a while now, that the roads were probably clear. And that he'd been thinking how terrific this had been and how he hoped that someday, if they could work out the details, they might find the time to get together again.

  "Lara, this was wonderful. Maybe-maybe we can manage to get together again some­time."

  "Ah," she said, after the barest hesitation, "yes, that sounds good."

  He wondered if he'd hurt her feelings but she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. She touched him. She made him wild for her and he rolled her beneath him and took her again. When it was over, he lay holding her close. He thought of how much he wanted more of this, more of her. It didn't have to be every weekend.

  He smiled, brought her face to his, and gave her a slow, tender kiss.

  "I don't know your address," he said softly, "or your phone number."

  And she smiled and stroked a lock of hair back from his eyes.

  "I'll write it all down," she whispered, "in the morn­ing."

  But when he awoke, in the morning, it was to sunshine, the sound of snowplows and cars and jet engines screaming overhead- and to an empty place in the bed.

  Lara was gone. No note. No message. He didn't even know her last name.

  She'd run out on him while he slept, and he'd been fu­rious. He'd tried telling himself she had no way of knowing he'd wanted more than the one night, but it didn't take away the feeling that he'd been—well, that somehow, he'd been used.

  What he did know was that what he'd felt making love to her, the sense that something special was happening, had been his imagination. Sex with a beautiful stranger, every man's fantasy, was all it had been. And, as he'd flown home, he'd thought about how this wasn't just going to be a great memory, it would be one hell of a story. I got snowed in in Denver, he'd say, and I ended up in bed with this incredibly hot babe for almost two days.

  Except, he never told that story, not to his partners or even to his brothers. And now, all these months later, he was standing at the window in an airport terminal and won­dering why he should still dream about the weekend and the woman because he did, dammit, he dreamed about her, about how it had been to make love to her, the stranger with the soft, sweet mouth and the deep blue eyes. He remem­bered how she'd felt, in his arms. The little sounds she'd made when he moved inside her, when she arched toward him, wrapped her legs around him...

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we're pleased to announce that we are now boarding all flights."

  Slade dropped back into reality, realized he was a long way from his gate and ran for his plane.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  LARA sat in her office overlooking the Baltimore harbor and told herself the next couple of hours were going to be a piece of cake.

  She was ready. More than ready, after two weeks of prep­aration. She'd gone through the proposal for the new head­quarters building more times than she could count. And she'd found the flaws she needed to keep Slade Baron out of Baltimore, and out of her life.

  Slade Baron. How perfectly the name suited the man. Lara puffed out a breath, reached for her coffee mug and brought it to her lips. No way he'd have gone through life with a name like Brown or Smith. "Baron," with all the medieval entitlements it suggested, suited a man like that just fine.

  The mug trembled in her hand. She whispered a short, sharp word and put it down before she ended up spilling coffee on her suit. The last thing she needed was to walk into that meeting feeling anything less than perfectly put together.

  She'd be fine. Just fine. Of course she would. Lara stroked her hand lightly over the folder on her desk, pushed back her chair and walked to the window. She had a wonderful view from here, straight out over the harbor. A corner office, she thought, with a little smile. It had taken her six long years to work up to one but she'd done it. She had every­thing she'd ever wanted. A career. A title. A handsome little house in a pleasant neighborhood. And the joy of her life, the very heart of her life...

  The intercom buzzed. She swung around and hit the On button.

  "Yes, Nancy?"

  "Mr. Dobbs's secretary phoned, Ms. Stevens. Mr. Baron's plane finally got in. He should be here soon."

  Lara felt her stomach lurch. She touched her fingertips to her forehead, which felt as if somebody with a jackhammer had been working away at it most of the morning.

  "Thank you, Nancy. Let me know when the meeting be­gins, please."

  "Of course, Ms. Stevens."

  The panic was threatening to overwhelm her. Be calm, she told herself again. She'd done what she had to do, that night eighteen months ago in Denver. Heaven knew she didn't regret it. Slade had been a means to an end, that was all. Just a means to...

  His arms, hard around her. His mouth against hers. The feel of him deep within her, and the way he'd held her afterward, as if he cherished her...

  Lara shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. There was no point in thinking that way. She didn't have to romanticize what she'd done. Slade had gotten what he'd wanted and so had she, and now she had to make sure it stayed like that.

  She let her gaze wander out over the water. The day was muggy, the sky filled with clouds. The weather had been very different, when she'd met Slade. Lara closed her eyes. She didn't want to remember that day...

  That day in Denver.

  The sky had been a dirty gray, and the snow as thick as feathers spilling from a torn pillow. Lara, trapped in the waiting area at the Denver airport, had felt impatient and irritable.

  It was her thirtieth birthday, and this was one hell of a way to celebrate it.

  Nothing had gone right for her that entire week, starting with not one but two baby showers for women she worked with, and ending with an ultra polite kiss-off from Tom. Not that the relationship had gone beyond dinner and the theater but still, it wasn't pleasant, getting an earnest speech about how she was a wonderful woman, an intelligent woman...

  What he'd meant was that they weren't getting anywhere. She didn't make men think about white picket fences and wedding rings. Other men had given her the same message, and she thought about that while she waited for the snow to let up.

  She knew Tom was right. She had nothing against men. Maybe she was a little cool, a little distant. She'd been told that by a couple of guys. Maybe she didn't think sex was the mind-blowing experience other women did, but so what? She liked men well enough.

  It was just that marriage was something else. In her heart, she knew she really didn't want to be anybody's wife. She was self-sufficient and independent, and she'd seen, first­hand, what a mess a man could make of a woman's life. Her mother, and now her sister, could have been advertise­ments extolling the benefits of spinsterhood.

  No, marriage wasn't for her, but motherhood was. She'd known that ever since her teens, when she'd earned pocket money baby-sitting. Having babies was more than a biolog­ical need: it was a need of the heart. There was something indescribably wonderful about children. Their trust in you. Their innocence. The way they gave their love, uncondi­tionally, and accepted yours in return.

  Lara had all the love in the world to give, but her time was running out. She was thirty, and she figured she had about as much chance of having a child as an Eskimo had of getting conked on the head by a falling coconut. Thirty was far from middle-aged but there were times she felt as if she were the only woman in the world who didn't have a baby
in her arms or in her belly, and that most of the women who did were years her junior.

  Like the two girls she worked with. Goodness knew she wished both of them well but watching their excitement at their baby showers, she'd felt an awful emptiness because she'd suddenly known she'd never share that special joy.

  She knew single women adopted babies all the time but, perhaps selfishly, Lara yearned for a child of her own. She knew about artificial insemination, too, but the thought of knowing little about the prospective father made her uneasy. She'd even considered asking someone like Tom, someone she liked and respected, to make her pregnant, but there'd been an item on the TV news about a man who'd agreed to just such an arrangement until he saw his son. All of a sudden, he'd changed his mind. Now, he was suing for joint custody.

  "If I'd picked up a stranger in a bar," the girl had said, her eyes red and teary, "some guy with looks and enough brains to carry on an intelligent conversation, I'd have my baby but I wouldn't be in this mess."

  Lara sat thinking all these things on that fateful afternoon in Denver, while she waited for the snow to stop.

  The public address system bleated out guarded encour­agement from time to time, but you didn't need a degree in meteorology to see that the storm was getting worse instead of better. After a while, she collected her computer and her carry-on, made her way to the first-class lounge, found a seat and settled in. Her mood was as foul as the weather. She took out her computer and turned it on. Solitaire was mindless; she could play it until her brain went numb.

  Except that her computer wouldn't start. The battery was dead. It was the final straw, and she glared at the damned thing, contemplated hurling it to the floor, then settled for telling it what she thought of it, under her breath.

  She heard a soft, masculine chuckle, and then a man's voice.