LITMIR.BIZ

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off a man who might get ideas?”

      She met his smile, then forced her attention back to threading the wires through the aluminum bell guard. “So far, I haven’t had to march anybody out at sword point. But,” she added, measuring him with a look, “there’s always a first time for everything.”

      “Is that warning for my benefit?”

      “Take it any way you want, Major Travis.”

      He scowled. “Now we’re back to formality.” He leaned forward, reaching out, his long, tapered fingers gently wrapping around her wrist. “I’m not a wolf, and you’re certainly not a defenseless rabbit. So relax, will you? You’re making me nervous, and I’m drunker than hell.”

      His touch was electrifying, making wild tingles race up her arm. Dev’s eyes rounded, and she froze beneath his hand until he released her. “It isn’t every day I meet a hotshot pilot who’s handsome and a playboy to boot,” she muttered, returning to her work and refusing to meet his eyes.

      Cal eased back, putting an arm along the top of the settee, finding himself enjoying her company. The light from the lamp made her hair come alive, and he was mesmerized by the copper, wine and gold colors. He wondered what her hair would feel like beneath his exploring hands and had to physically stop himself from satisfying his curiosity. “I might agree with the hotshot pilot label. Definitely with the handsome bit. But I’m not a playboy.”

      Dev hooted, throwing back her head. “Excuse me, Major. But there’s no wedding ring on your left hand, and you’ve got all the subtle, sexy moves calculated to melt a woman right into your arms. Oh, yes, you’re a playboy, all right. And very good at it, too.”

      His eyes glittered as he studied her. “So what’s wrong with enjoying women?”

      “Nothing. Not a thing. It’s just that I’m not prepared to be one of your conquests, that’s all.”

      “Well,” he drawled, “I’m not stupid enough to invite myself in here, judging by the way you handle those weapons. Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself.”

      Dev lifted her chin, meeting his smile. Cal seemed so warm and open; in that moment, she liked him. He wasn’t afraid to poke fun at himself. She liked his honesty.

      “They’re called pes,” she said, slipping the pistol-grip handle back onto the threaded steel that was welded to the blade.

      “They’re called dangerous.”

      She liked his mellow laughter. After taking a screwdriver and tightening the bolt, she handed him the épée butt first. “Nah, they’re not dangerous and neither am I.”

      Cal sat up, gingerly holding the long, triangular blade. “Correction: any redhead is dangerous.”

      “Just ones without freckles. See? I have freckles. Your basic, harmless type.”

      “In my book, no redhead is harmless.”

      “And I’ll bet you’ve got lots and lots of experience under your belt with women from around the world.”

      The knock at the door broke their friendly mood. Dev got lithely to her feet, skipping across the room. Cal sat back, enjoying watching her. The houseboy, dressed in black slacks and a white top, brought in the coffee. He placed it on the table, bowed, then left. Dev flopped down, crossed her legs beneath the table and poured. When she handed Cal the cup and saucer, he had the oddest expression on his face.

      “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

      Cal shook his head slightly, taking the fragrant coffee from her. “Don’t mind me, Dev. I’m drunk, remember?” She was so natural and unaffected. She had a way about her that shook his deteriorating control. Dev wore no makeup, looked utterly delicious in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt that lovingly outlined every contour and valley of her body and matched his wit at every turn. He saw her eyes darken momentarily with concern.

      “It’s starting to get to you, isn’t it? First the dizziness, and next, you’ll pass out.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or worse, get sick. I hate getting sick. That’s why I never drink much. Except for tonight.”

      You’re getting to me, Cal thought. “Did I drive you to drink tonight?”

      “You know you did.”

      “I haven’t been very good company,” he agreed.

      She tilted her head. “Are you feeling worse? You’re looking pale.”

      “A little,” he lied.

      “Are pilots known for understatement?”

      He sipped the scaldingly hot liquid, hoping to quell the increasing hunger coming to life in him. What would it be like to kiss those full, smiling lips that quirked, pouted and compressed according to her quicksilver mood? Or to allow his hands to outline those wonderfully shaped breasts? Or…Cal took a very long breath and expelled it slowly. Well, he was drunk. And he wasn’t feeling any pain now over Chief’s death. He was feeling another kind of pain, a sharp ache deep inside his chest, one that he couldn’t quite identify, having never felt it before. “Probably,” he admitted, forcing down more coffee.

      Dev poured herself some and added a hefty portion of cream and sugar to it. All the while, she was watching him. “I’m not exactly sober myself.”

      “You hold your liquor real well,” he congratulated her.

      “So do you. But I don’t see how you’re managing.”

      Dev was so flustered by the keen, incisive look Cal gave her that she nearly dropped the saucer. She quickly set it down on the table in front of her, getting back to work on the second èpè. The silence became awesome, and inwardly Dev tensed, realizing he was watching her every move.

      “When do you fence in this competition coming up?” Cal asked, trying to ease the uneasiness between them.

      “Wednesday. I’m lucky, I have a chance to recover from jet lag before I have to go out on the strip.”

      “Strip?”

      Dev eyed him, noticing he had a silly smile on his mouth. A mouth that was used to giving orders and having them carried out. She wondered blankly what it would be like to be kissed by a mouth like that. “Uh, we fence on a copper-mesh strip that’s approximately forty-six feet long and six-and-a-half feet wide. Epèe and foil are electrically scored, and the copper strip grounds us. Officially, it’s known as a piste, but we call it the strip, instead.”

      Cal finished the first cup, awkwardly pouring a second one, spilling a few drops on the table. “How long are you going to be here in Hong Kong?”

      “A week. I have to fence Wednesday and Friday. We leave on Sunday. What about you? How long will you be here?” She looked up, struck by how relaxed Cal looked.

      “One week.”

      “Must be nice. A paid vacation to ports all over the world.”

      He grimaced, not meeting her teasing blue gaze. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

      Dev picked up the bell guard. A flash of pain shot through her fingers and then up to her elbow. Her fingers became nerveless, and the bell dropped to the carpet. She bit down hard on her lower lip, instantly covering her injured wrist with her other hand.

      “What’s wrong?” Cal put the cup down on the table and leaned forward.

      “Oh, nothing,” she muttered. Damn it! She got up, holding her wrist, the pain increasing. She was so absorbed by the fact her wrist was giving her trouble again that she didn’t notice Cal get to his feet. It was only when his long fingers gently pulled her hand from her throbbing wrist that she realized he was there, standing over her. His brows were drawn down as he carefully examined the injury. Her pulse jumped; her heart thudded in her breast. Dev could feel the power radiating from Cal, making her dizzy, frightening her, thrilling her. She could smell his subtle cologne, and her nostrils

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