The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove (19 page)

“You know me too.”

“I know that you love ballet, peanut butter, and
borscht;
that when you were growing up, you watched Elvis movies dubbed in Russian; that you want to hike the Grand Canyon and visit Disney World; that you favor simple clothes and complex books. A hundred little things. That leaves slightly less than a million more to learn.”

“Give me time. I’ve been preoccupied.” She caressed his cheek and looked at him somberly. “Is your adopted son still in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be going back to Mexico?”

“Perhaps. The next few days will tell.” He leaned his head against the couch, and she rubbed his temples. He felt the tingling glow in her fingertips. She was relaxing him, making the dull tension fade, seducing him so he’d confide in her.

And possibly say too much. She must never know she’d been a game piece in his plans. It would destroy everything between them. He’d spent the past few hours plotting his new course of action—and its consequences made sharp pain well in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, and laid her cheek against his hair. “What hurts you so much?”

“Turn off your psychic antennae. You’re getting your signals crossed. I have a headache, that’s all.” He reached behind him and grasped her hands then pulled them in front of him, where he gently trapped
them inside his own. “There. Behave, my little Slavic nymph.”

“I’m too old and large to be a nymph. And too modern. Yes. I’m going to be a sophisticated American woman, like the ones in all your magazines.”

“So you’re going to consult your horoscope, try a new diet every week, learn how to power-walk, power-dress, and have power-lunches, while doing a study of techniques for keeping your boss, lover, husband, parents and/or children free of waxy buildup. Oops. Pardon me. I’m getting my articles confused.”

“You’re very smug.” But her tone had a smile in it. “No, I’m just not going to be passive and dependent.”

“You’re neither of those now.”

“Oh? I have no money and no home, and I depend on you for everything.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Am I your mistress? Is that what Americans call it?”

“No, you’re my personal love slave. How’s that?”

“Hmmmph. It requires one to know one.”

“It
takes
one to know one. Yes, you’re right. We’re in the same boat as love slaves.”

“What’s this about boats?”

“Never mind.” He rubbed his thumbs across the backs of her hands, doing a little seducing of his own. “So you don’t want to depend on me.”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m not one of your rescue missions. I’m not a child you can adopt. Where do I fit into your life?”

“I don’t think there’s any point in discussing this until you’re established in this country as a permanent citizen. How can you know what you want until then?”

“I want a bookstore. With a coffee machine and comfortable chairs and lamps in one corner, and a stereo that plays pleasant music to read by. I want my own home to come back to every night with a cat that purrs when it sees me and a dog that wags its tail.”

“I’ve always planned to invest in a bookstore. And
I think I’d like to have a dog. I had a dog once, when I was little. A champion Afghan. I got to pet it every morning when the trainer took it for a walk. Yes, a dog would be nice, as long as you didn’t want a trainer with it. Cats don’t impress me one way or the other—my mother had a Persian. Lady Alison of Gallantree, and she was only entertaining because she’d upchuck fur balls on the maid’s bed.”

“And how did you know what the cat did on the maid’s bed?”

“I had an interest in housework, I was fourteen at the time. Housework fascinated me.”

“She taught you a great deal about it, did she?”

“Fur balls?”

“Beds.”

“She was plump and cuddly.”

“The maid?”

“No, the cat.”

Elena lowered her head beside his and bit his ear. “You love to manipulate a conversation, don’t you?”

“Ouch. Yes. So … a bookstore, a dog, a cat, and a home. No problem. You can certainly consider this your home. I’m awfully glad we settled all that. I’m getting sleepy.”

“Audubon, why haven’t you married?”

Silence settled between them. He wanted the strained yet teasing mood to continue, but it had fallen like a soufflé. He wanted to tell her he had never considered marriage a worthwhile institution before he met her. But that discussion would have to wait until Kash’s problem was settled. He wouldn’t make promises he might not be alive to keep. And she might not want them anyway. “Not everyone is qualified to be married. In fact, damned few people are any good at it.”

“Then all this talk about pets and bookstores is not a marriage proposal?”

“No. But it’s an offer of genuine love and my way of telling you that I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I see. I’ll have to think about it. So much has
happened to me in the last few weeks. My whole life has changed.”

“And you’re not certain if anything you feel right now is going to last.”

“I didn’t say ‘I love you,’ because I was confused. And I didn’t mean that I love you
if
you marry me, or give me a bookstore.”

“It’s the dog and cat you’re negotiating for, then,” he joked weakly.

Her hands cooled. She pulled them away and got up from the couch. Audubon felt the whole conversation had gone badly, but for now he could only let explanations lay dormant. She scrutinized his face while frowning sadly. “I want to come out of hiding. It’s time I went to your State Department and asked for asylum.”

“Soon, but not now.”

“Why are we waiting?”

“It’s not safe yet. Be patient.”

“You have reasons you won’t admit.”

“I want to protect you. More than ever.” He got up, the silk oriental robe riding his shoulders like a mantle of lead. He felt a hundred years old. He felt cruel for keeping secrets from her. He knew he couldn’t use her future to save his son’s, so the only future he had left to bargain with was his own. He wanted all of her memories of him to be wonderful.

“I would rather die than let anything bad happen to you,” he whispered. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

She grasped the front of his robe and stared up at him with fear in her eyes. “Don’t say such things! Why do you have to be so melodramatic? You belong in a dark play by Chekhov!”

In a quick, powerful sequence of moves that caught her off guard, he swung her sideways, bent, scooped his arms under her, and picked her up. “I love you and I only want the best for you,” he told her. “Men aren’t nearly as good with words as women are, so all I can do is show you.”

He carried her upstairs, but not to his suite. Instead he went to hers, and stopped outside. His
throat was raw; his eyes had a grainy feel. Lack of sleep. Not emotion. He wouldn’t let himself cry from worry and frustration, or even desperate love. He never had before and he was too old to start now.

“I don’t make ugly demands on the people I love. You need time to realize that. Do you want to stay in your own room for now?”

“Yes.”

He put her down and she went inside immediately, one hand cupped over her mouth as if she were about to cry. He went back to his own suite, almost stumbling with fatigue, loneliness throbbing painfully in his head. He was trapped in a lifetime of solitude, and he wondered if he’d found Elena too late. He had asked her to accept too much on faith.

Dawn made pale borders around the heavy drapes in his bedroom, giving the room a gray, cool light that seemed like emptiness incarnate. Audubon sat on the side of the bed, avoiding the moment when he’d have to lay down in the happily jumbled covers scented with crushed flower petals and passion. He rubbed his face harshly and tried to will his emotions back into the tidy vault inside him where they belonged.

From the front room came the soft rattle of the door latch. He walked in just as Elena slowly shut the doors behind her. She grew still and looked at him with faltering dignity that reminded him of his own. “How could such a lovely day turn into such a mess?” she whispered.

“Too much emotion floating around, I suppose. Some of it was bound to get misdirected.”

“In America, is it common for two people who love each other to run off to separate bedrooms when they’re upset?”

“I can only tell you that it was common for my parents.”
But they didn’t love each other
.

“They had too many bedrooms then.”

He nodded.
Lord, am I blindly repeating their worst mistakes?
“I didn’t want you to go. But I’m
asking you to put aside too many questions. You can’t really trust me right now. I understand.”

“Trust, my love, is something I don’t give and take back easily. I may be angry with you sometimes, but I believe in your goodness. I’ve felt it inside me, I’ve heard it in your voice, watched it in your actions, seen it in your eyes.”

He couldn’t answer. He simply held out a hand. She came over quickly and wrapped it in loving warmth. They walked to the bedroom and undressed in silence. She helped him smooth the covers and straighten the pillows. She got into bed first and pulled the covers up, then held them open for him to slide in beside her.

He put his head on her shoulder and sighed when she gently stroked his hair and face. When she touched his damp cheek, she smoothed the moisture into her fingertips as if his tears were the most precious gift he could offer.

The clink of fine silver and the scent of sweet, warm bread woke her, and just as her eyes opened she realized she had slept with none of the restlessness she’d known all her life. The emotional confrontation before dawn seemed like a shadow that had faded with the night. It might return later, but she pushed it out of her mind for now. Her body felt pleasantly heavy, as if the muscles were soaked with relaxation.

“Good afternoon,” Audubon whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. He was sitting beside her, one updrawn leg pressed cozily against her hip. She glanced down, wishing the covers and his crisp tan trousers didn’t separate his skin from hers.

With the trousers he wore a white polo shirt with a tiny gold griffin stitched on the left breast. The shirt was custom-made, she knew, because he’d explained that all his clothes were created for him by an exclusive men’s shop in England. The griffin came from the Audubon family crest.

A belt of fine, woven leather with a slender gold buckle circled his waist. His silver hair was glossy with brushing, every strand in its regal place. His hand, as he stroked his fingers down her cheek, carried the faint trace of some expensive cologne and a sweet citrus fragrance.
She decided not to comment on the purple shadows under his eyes, or the emotional distress etched in his face. She was worried about him and their situation, but she felt that talking about it might only make them both feel worse. She let herself float in his affectionate gaze. “You, sir, are a feast for my senses. But why are you fully dressed and out of bed, while I’m naked and most definitely
in
bed, waiting?”

His soft chuckle added to the sensual provocation. “I have a meeting downstairs in five minutes. I brought you breakfast.”

She glanced at the silver teapot and china cup on the nightstand. Also on the small silver tray was a bowl of strawberries and cream, plus a plate filled with muffins covered in orange marmalade.

Elena took his orange-spiced fingers and kissed them. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed before. It’s a very decadent American custom. Let’s do it often.”

“I look forward to it.”

She reached over and ran a finger through the marmalade, then dabbed it to the center of his lips. He licked her fingertip, and his green eyes turned dark with intensity. But he clasped her willful hand and shook his head. “If I gave into temptation, I’d be here for hours.”

“I’m afraid so. I’d tie you to a bedpost.”

“I’d let you.”

“Perhaps I’d just tie you to me.”

“I’d let you.”

She sighed. “Go to your meeting before I wrap my arms around your knees and refuse to let go.”

“Now
that
could be interesting.” He groaned in exasperation. “I wish I hadn’t overslept, but it’s your fault.”

“I was minding my own business.”

“You were breathing against my ear. I kept dreaming we were at the ocean. You were part of the tide. It was seductive, all that coming in and going out.”

“I’d love to indulge your dream. I want to go back to the ocean. I’d never seen one before I came to
America. Looking at it made me feel there were no boundaries in the world.”

“Well go, then. I’ll take you to beaches so beautiful, you can’t imagine them.”

“I’d love it.” She cupped her hand along his face, caressing his cheek. “You really have to go downstairs this minute?”

“Afraid so. It’s important.”

She fought off the feeling of dull dread in her stomach. “The meeting’s about your son?”

“Yes. Some of the men you met the other night are here to discuss his problem. This is one time when I’m asking for their help as friends, not former employees.”

She hesitated, wondering if he were any less reluctant to trust her with his work. Elena had avoided asking questions because not asking was easier than being hurt by his secrecy. “Ask,” he coaxed, reading her face with disturbing ease. “It’s all right.”

“What sort of work is Kash doing in Mexico?”

“He went to find the wife and children of an archaeologist who died recently.”

“Forgive me—what is an archaeologist?”

“A scientist who studies the things left behind by ancient civilizations.”

“Ah. You knew this scientist personally?”

“Yes. Dr. Juarez and I met in college. We’d been friends for more than twenty years.”

“Oh, Audubon, I’m sorry he died. How did it happen?”

“He was shot while working alone at a project site. Murdered. He’d learned that a wealthy businessman was looting the ancient art treasures for a private collection. He was about to go to the police.”

“You sent Kash to help his family?”

“Yes, to make certain they got out of the country. Kash accomplished that easily, but then he couldn’t resist investigating the murder.” Audubon smiled sadly, but with fierce pride glinting in his eyes. “I’m afraid I encouraged him to be too independent. He was supposed to leave the investigation to me. He
didn’t.” Audubon drew a finger down one of her breasts and gently stroked the nipple. His distracted expression told her his thoughts were in Mexico, with his adopted son. His touch seemed to seek solace in her softness and warmth.