Now You See Her Linda Howard(57)

"Depth of involvement, maybe, or the length of time you worked."

Trust Richard, she thought, to come up with a reasonable, logical explanation for what was innately illogical. At least he took her seriously and didn't assume she was having panic attacks or was hysterical. He believed her, about something she herself had a difficult time believing.

She lay quietly for a time, letting his heat soak through her skin, and felt herself begin to grow drowsy as she warmed. With this to look forward to, she was beginning to think getting severe chills wasn't such a bad thing. Remembering the time he had stripped them both down to their underwear made her breasts tighten and caused an ache deep inside. Maybe, she thought mischievously, if she put off calling him until she was really, really cold, he would do that again. Her entire body flushed as she remembered the explosion of pleasure she had experienced just rocking against him. She wanted to do that again. Often.

Sitting in his lap, she discovered, wasn't much better than lying down with him, in terms of temptation.

She ached with a physical need that shook her with its intensity. His erection was rock hard against her hip, and only sheer determination kept her from squirming around until she was astride him. "Sheer"

described her determination very well. It was gossamer thin, and getting thinner every day.

He stroked her hair back from her temple and pressed his lips to the fragile skin. "Good news," he murmured. "Candra has an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow. She would have done it today, but there had to be some additions and corrections made. I've already arranged to have the petition come before a judge next week."

She tilted her head back a little, staring at him. Considering the well-known backlog in New York City's civil court, she was astounded. He had "arranged" a small miracle. "How did you manage that?"

"Money." His tone was careless. "I have it, so people come to me for favors. I collected on a lot of debts." His hand on the back of her head, he settled her against him once more. His mouth lightly brushed her temple, and over to her eyelid. "After next week, when you get cold, I'll be able to warm you from the inside out."

Oh, God, he managed it now. Her heart leaped, and her pulse rate jumped to double time. "You're doing just fine as it is," she gasped.

"The way you shake and shudder, I won't even have to do any work. All I'll have to do is set you in place, then lie back and enjoy the ride."

Laughter burst out of her. Her arms were confined by the blanket he had wrapped around her, but she punched him with as much force as she could muster. Grinning, he subdued her by the simple method of kissing her.

She had never before had so much fun, she thought as she relaxed in his arms, her head cradled on his shoulder. Even under the circumstances, she enjoyed every moment with him. She managed to work one hand free and curled it around the back of his neck, nestling her fingers in his hair. The sensation was delicious; his hair, silky soft, was warm close to his scalp and cool on the outside. Evidently he detected some remnant of rebellion, because he kept on kissing her.

She wanted him to deepen the kisses. She waited for him to do so. But he pulled back with a sigh, his face taut, and she knew his determination was in the same shape as hers. His dark eyes were heavylidded, and a faint flush rode his high cheekbones. "If this keeps up, I won't be able to even kiss you,"

he said gruffly.

"Keeps up, or stays up?" She meant to tease, but her voice came out too husky for that.

The sound he made was more growl than laugh. "Either. Both." He breathed hard through his nostrils.

"Talk. Distract me. "

"What do you want to talk about?" Her mind felt mushy. She didn't know if she could muster a conversation, at least not a detailed one.



"Anything. Were you really born in Italy?"

"Really. Florence, to be exact. My mother felt the need to make some sort of pilgrimage—for her art, you understand. I was two weeks early, which evidently really fouled up her itinerary. I couldn't keep the formula down and was losing weight, so I stayed in the hospital while she salvaged as much of her trip as she could. Hardy woman, my mother. She was back on the road two days after having me.

When she was ready to come home, she swung by the hospital to pick me up, but when she tried to leave the country, there was a problem with the paperwork—she hadn't done any of it—so I ended up staying another week until everything was straightened out."

She said it humorously, because she had long since become accustomed to her mother's lack of concern for her offspring—not just for Sweeney, but for her brother, too. Richard didn't laugh, though.

He didn't even smile. His gaze turned flinty. "Do you mean," he said in an almost toneless voice, "that your mother left her sick baby in the hospital while she resumed her vacation?"

"Yeah, well, that's Mom." Sweeney tried to lighten the mood with an awkward laugh. It didn't work.

"Where was your father?"

"Working on a movie somewhere, I guess. I don't think I've ever heard."

Fascinated, she watched his jaw set. If it got any harder, it would probably shatter under the pressure.

His reaction startled her. She had long since stopped worrying about her parents' behavior; she neither justified or analyzed. "Hey," she said mildly, "they didn't beat me. They didn't pay any attention to us, period, but there are worse things."