But he had underestimated his wily opponent. The figure spun about, jumping the rail with a fluid grace and tearing blindly through the shadowed house toward the hallway.
"Hell!"' he swore, gripping the rail and hurdling over once again. He raced through the hall. Past closed doors.To the den. Just in time to see the silhouette perched on the windowsill.
"Stop!" he commanded, allowing for no weakness this time. Reflexively he bunched his muscles and hurled himself at the figure. Instead of jumping out, the black-clad wraith jumped inward, eluding him.
Almost.
He caught a handful of soft wool. His grip was so tight that the sweater ripped, a swatch coming free in his hand.
The figure spun from him in wild desperation, realized that it would be impossible to reach the window and pelted toward the door.
He rolled, sprang to his feet and followed in hot pursuit again, aware now of something that the figure wasn't: There was no other way out.
Back into the living room they raced, to the stairwell rising to the balcony and the second floor. He was certain that the fleeing wraith was reasoning no more; just running blindly in desperation.
Running foolishly in panic.Clinging to the hope of escape until the last possible moment.
Their footsteps flew down the length of the wood-railed balcony that overlooked the living room.To the door at the end of the long hallway. The figure managed to throw the door open, then twisted wildly to see him an arm's length away...
The figure turned again, bolted into the room and tried to slam the door shut.
He sprang, his shoulder sending a thudding shudder rippling through the wood of the door, his arms clasping the intruder.
Together they flew through the darkness with the force of his impetus, landing hard upon the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. Arms flailed madly against him; thrashing legs kicked. The wraith writhed beneath him like a pinned cat. He worked silently and grimly to subdue the figure, and started for just a moment when his hands brushed something very lush.Firm, but soft.Full and tempting.
A woman's breast.
"No! Please!" The cry was very feminine.Panicked.No, terrified. He could feel her racingheartbeat, hear the rush of air in her lungs as she fought to breathe. But still she struggled...
With a grunt he straddled her and made quick work of securing her wrists.
"All right!" he muttered furiously and repeated, "Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
As suddenly as it had come earlier to create blackness, the cloud that had covered the moon drifted away. A silver glow poured through the glass panes of the French doors that led to the master suite's sky-topped terrace.
He could see her clearly, as she could see him.
He reached for the black ski mask that covered her head and face and ripped it away, exposing a wealth of shiny hair that caught themoonglow and gleamed as richly as a newly minted penny. And exposing her features...
Wide, thick-lashed, cat-green eyes stared into his. He quickly studied the woman's face.High, delicate cheekbones.Copper brows.Straight, aquiline nose. Well defined mouth with a lower lip that hinted at an innate sensuality.
She was still beneath him, only the rampant rise and fall of her breasts betraying the depth of her fear.
He sat back, resting his weight on his haunches yet keeping her firmly a prisoner with the pressure of his thighs about her hips. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept staring at her, his eyes narrowing to a dangerous gold-tinted gleam, his lips forming a mocking smile of cynicism.
He knew the luminous, cat-green eyes that stared into his.Just as he knew the lustrous length of deep copper hair.
And he knew why she had been able to leap the downstairs rail with ease, and spin and pivot with the ease of a dancer.
She was one.
He even knew something of the soft and supple form that quivered now beneath his. He had held her once, in the creation of an illusion. Held her, and started up a long, curving staircase.
And when his back had shielded her face from the camera, he had seen the hard glimmer of hostility fill her eyes. Felt in her rigid form dislike for the fact that she had to endure those moments in his arms...
He had seen her before the camera, and he had seen her behind the camera.
And he had seen her dance.
"Ah, Miss Keller.How very nice to have you over--yet, how strange this seems! You were reluctant to join me for a glass of wine, yet here we meet--touching hip to hip--upon my bed.Should I be flattered, Miss Keller? Pity, but I think not." He leaned low suddenly, palms on either side of her head, eyes flashing a chilling gold fire and bronzed features warningly tensed.
"Speak to me, Bryn. Why did you break in? What are you looking for? You didn't find it last night--"
"Last night!" she broke in with whispered alarm.
"Oh, cut it, will you?" he spat out harshly. "Yes, last night.
Believe me,honey, I know when my place has been searched." "But it wasn't me--"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html