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  "I don't know." She gazed at him, frowning. "I think it's because I thought I had something to offer you in the title. This is entirely different." Her hand left the mantel and her fingers raked distractedly through her hair. "Look, I don't know anything about being a mistress. It isn't very sophisticated of me to admit it, but I'm a virgin. I don't know how to please you, dammit. One time and you'd probably drop me like a hot potato."

  "I doubt that." He suddenly chuckled, his dark eyes dancing. "Undoubtedly I'd be magnanimous and give you a second chance. Practice makes perfect."

  "You don't mind—"

  "I don't mind anything but this inferiority com­plex you appear to have acquired." He rose lazily to his feet. "You agree to my terms. I agree to yours. Deal?"

  She nodded. "I guess so, but—"

  "Hush. Never quibble after a deal is made. It's very unprofessional." He was walking toward her.

  "I don't know much about deals and—"

  "I do." He was standing beside her and she felt suddenly smaller and more womanly than she ever had in her life. His warmth was surrounding her and she could catch the scent of soap and musk and something vaguely woodsy. "I'm an expert on making deals. I'll teach you. The first thing you should know is the difference between a takeover and a merger by mutual consent." His index finger touched the pulse point on her neck. It rested lightly, as if testing the pounding of her heart. She felt the throbbing go wild beneath his touch. She could tell by the sudden flickering in his dark eyes that he felt it too. "I've always preferred mergers by mutual consent. It makes for a much better assim­ilation of assets."

  His finger was slightly unsteady on her flesh. Was she having such an effect on him? It seemed incredible, but they were so close she could see the erratic throbbing in his temple. "Now?" she whispered. "What would you say if I said yes?" Her gaze met his steadily. "I don't know very much about deals, but I know about meeting obli­gations to the people I love. You'll be giving me far more than I will be giving you. Why should I object if you want to collect in advance?"

  "I can see we're going to have to do something about your sense of self-worth." His finger moved from her throat to her lips and she experienced a burning sensitivity that startled her. The tip of his

  finger gently smoothed the fullness of her lower lip and the same tingling followed in its wake. Her lips felt soft and swollen. "You're ripe for a takeover, Kira. If you don't start negotiating, we may both be lost."

  "But you said—"

  "A preliminary foray to seek out weakness." Her gaze was clinging helplessly to his. Lost. She had a fleeting memory of the complete trust she had felt in him at her first moment of awakening. If he were lost with her, she wouldn't be afraid, "Zack . . ."

  He closed his eyes. How many times had he imagined her saying his name in just that way? The scent of a light floral fragrance wafted to him from those tousled auburn curls. He knew Marna blended a perfume for Kira from gardenias and the very lightest touch of cinnamon. But how could he have guessed the effect it would have on his senses? He'd be drunk and dizzy with the scent of the perfume and of her when he buried his face in her hair and moved over her to . . .He blocked the thought, but it was too late. His groin was a solid ache of throbbing need and his stomach was knot­ted with tension. She was here and willing. Why not?

  "Zack?" It was a puzzled thread of sound.

  The mondava, dammit. Marna had sent Kira to him. She had expected him to take her. He knew that, yet there was something wrong about rushing her to bed as his body dictated. No, not wrong, but not right, either. And it must be very, very right.

  He opened his eyes and then wanted to close them again. Her blue eyes were mist-soft and ques­tioning and her lips were slightly parted. He had never tasted her, never really touched her, never threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her head back so her throat arched and her breasts pressed against his chest. His gaze dropped to the full swell of her breasts encased in the amber chif­fon. It would take so little to brush that veil of amber aside. She drew a deep, quivering breath and her breasts lifted and then fell. He knew she was aware of what he was thinking. She wouldn't stop him. He would take his time and pleasure her. He would roll her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. His lips would pull gently and his tongue would— Hell!

  His finger dropped from her lips and he took a step backward. "Anticipation," he said thickly. "It makes the pleasure infinitely sharper. I think we'll indulge in a few more preliminary forays before we conclude the merger."

  She should have been relieved. He was a stran­ger. She didn't really want—Yet, if she didn't really

  want him, why was she experiencing such a sink-ing feeling of disappointment. . . as if some long-awaited present had been moved suddenly out of her reach? Her lips still throbbed where he had touched them and her breasts felt as sensitive and swollen as if he had touched them as well. It was crazy. She had met attractive men before, yet never felt this volcanic sensual upheaval. She tried to smile, "Whatever you say. It's your deal." "Yes." He turned away abruptly and crossed to the desk. "I'll ring for Juana to show you to a guest room for the night."

  "I'm checked in at the Hilton in Tucson."

  He smiled. "No problem. I'll have someone check you out and pick up your bags. By the time you've showered and had a hot drink, they'll have delivered them to your room. I want you here tonight.

  We'II be leaving for Tamrovia in the morning." Her head lifted swiftly. "We will? You can man­age to get away that soon?"

  'You said you wanted Marna out immediately."

  He pressed a button on the console on the desk.

  "I'lI get her out. I'll work on the details and discuss them with you tomorrow on the plane. It shouldn't be too difficult to establish ourselves at the palace, if Stefan has no objection to me as your lover."

  "Won't he suspect something? One day I'm threatening to clobber him with his stupid royal scepter, and the next I show up with a lover no one knew about."

  "With his own scepter?" he asked, amused. "Now that is lese majesty. Don't worry. We'll con­coct a plausible story of a previous meeting. To prepare the way, I'll contact my public relations man tonight and have him leak the story of our flaming love affair to a few well-known gossip columnists in Europe, along with the fact that you spent the night here. You needn't trouble yourself about any­one questioning the validity of our affair once we reach the palace." He paused. "It will be clear even to the most casual observer that we're sharing a bed."

  Color flooded her cheeks. Damn, not only a virgin, but a blushing virgin. How unsophisticated could one get? She turned with relief as Juana appeared at the door. "Oh, well, I didn't think we should signal our purpose too obviously. Good night, Mr. Dam—Zack." Lord, five minutes ago she had been on the verge of tumbling into bed with him and she wasn't even comfortable calling him by his first name.

  He had caught the slip and there was suddenly a twinkle in his eyes. He bowed with mocking panache. "Good night, Princess Rubinoff. Juana will serve you breakfast in bed at nine. I'd like to be at the airport by eleven-thirty. I hope that will suit your highness's convenience?"

  As if he cared. If it had happened to suit his con­venience, he would have been in bed with her. "Fine," she said softly. "I'll see you in the morning then."

  The amusement on his face faded as he watched the door close behind her. It had been touch and go toward the end whether he'd let her leave, and he wasn't at all sure he hadn't been a damn fool to do it. He was so aroused that he was sure he wouldn't sleep at all, and it was definitely questionable whether or not he'd be able to play the game he'd set for himself. Anticipation of having Kira had gone on too long for him. He would try to go very slowly and get her accustomed to him, one inti­macy at a time, but— It was best not to think of those intimacies. He was hurting enough without adding fuel to the fire.

  He reached for the phone and dialed Perry's number at the hotel. When he was put through, a very drowsy voice answered.

&
nbsp; "Perry? Get moving and call Dubliss in Zurich and tell him we're postponing the Debuk project."

  Perry's voice was suddenly wide awake. "You're not going after her?"

  "I didn't say that. The project is still go—we're just handling it differently. I'm going in ahead tomorrow and I'll contact him with further instruc-

  tions when I arrive."

  "Am I going with you?"

  "No, you'll join Dubliss day after tomorrow when you've finished tying up the loose ends here."

  "Loose ends?" Perry asked warily.

  "I want you to stall the merger negotiations."

  "Cripes, why was I afraid that was what you meant?" he asked gloomily. "The AirFlow Board of Directors will tear me apart. I may not be able to make it to Zurich in one piece."

  'You'll make it," Zack said. "Tell Dubliss to stay ready."

  "Right. The same general plan as before?"

  "We may have to make a few adjustments. I'll let you know. Good night, Perry."

  "Fat chance," Perry said sourly. "I have a few dozen things to do before I beard the AirFlow board. One of them is to build a fallout shelter." The dial tone sounded as the connection was broken.

  Zack replaced the receiver and dropped into the oversized desk chair. He should probably go to bed and try to rest, even if he couldn't sleep. He'd been on an exhaustive marathon lately with this merger pending. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He would go to bed soon. Now he wanted to sit and think about Kira, to savor the way she had looked, the responses she had made to him. Then he would think about the mondava.

  Three

  The early morning sunlight was strong, with the sort of clarity found only in the high country. The softening mist had burned off, leaving the Santa Catalinas stark and brutally beautiful against the cerulean sky.

  Kira breathed deeply, letting the pihon-scented breeze intoxicate her with its tangy fragrance. That same breeze lifted her hair away from her face :n a gentle caress and tugged like a playful child at her yellow robe. Her hands tightened on the red--wood railing of the balcony. No wonder Zack had built his lodge on the side of this mountain. The simplicity and power of the man were echoed in these surroundings.

  She crossed her arms over her chest as a little shiver ran through her. She had been determined not to let Zack Damon intimidate her, but, apparently, in order to block out uncertainty it was necessary not to think at all. Which was going to be a near impossible task when even the blasted moun- tains reminded her of him.

  She had been unable to sleep for a long time after she'd gone to bed. Her mind had been a turmoil of jumbled thoughts, impressions, and apprehen­sions. Why was she so upset? It wasn't like her to brood about things she couldn't help. There was a price to be paid and she would pay it. Zack Damon was both attractive physically and fascinating mentally. And, she went on thinking, there had to be scores of women who would do virtually any­thing to wind up in bed with him. It wasn't as if Kira had any hang-ups about her virginity, for heaven's sake. Stefan was the conservative one, not she. There just hadn't been a man who appealed to her in that way before.

  And there was certainly no doubt that Zack did appeal to her sensually, she thought, amused that she'd used such a tepid word as "appeal" to describe how he made her feel. Her reaction to him had been near inflammatory in the brief time they'd been together. It wouldn't be any hardship giving him what he'd asked, if she could only get rid of this uncharacteristic shyness.

  "Do you like my mountains?" Zack asked from behind her.

  She whirled to face him. He leaned against the jamb of the sliding glass doors, watching her. He was dressed in jeans and a cream-colored sweat­shirt, but the casual garb did nothing to diminish his aura of controlled power. If anything, it aug­mented it. Now he blended into his surroundings, rather than standing deliberately apart, and she again had the feeling he was drawing power from everything around him.

  "I didn't mean to startle you. I brought your breakfast tray. I knocked, but you evidently didn't hear me."

  "No." She felt suddenly tongue-tied as she gazed up at him. "I thought Juana was going to bring my tray. Do you usually provide personal service to your houseguests?"

  "I wanted to see you," he said simply. "I couldn't sleep for thinking about you last night." Her eyes widened. "Why?" "You persist in questioning the obvious." He smiled, his eyes bright with amusement. "If I tell you, do you promise to blush again?"

  "How unkind. I know it's provincial, but I can't help blushing. I assure you I'm working on eliminating it."

  "Don't. I like your blushes. Every time I see the heat beneath your skin I want to reach out and touch you, feel the heat, the softness, the silk."

  She tried, but couldn't manage, to look away from him. That maddening color rose to her cheeks. "Your words are very pretty, but I'd prefer to appear sophisticated rather than naive." Her lips were trembling as she smiled at him. "I'm not usually like this, you know. For some reason, you make me a bit nervous." His smile faded. "I don't want that. I want you to feel entirely comfortable with me."

  How could she when the mere sight of him caused her breath to catch in her throat and her legs to turn boneless? She glanced away. "I will. It will just take time. I've never met anyone like you before. I'm more accustomed to men who are social butterfly types than to men who are so serious about everything."

  He frowned. "You think I lack a sense of humor?"

  "No, you're just more . . . intense."

  "Yes, I am intense. I don't believe you should do anything unless you're prepared to throw every­thing you have into it. But then, you should under­stand. You're an exceptionally intense person yourself."

  Her gaze flew back to him. "Who me? You have the wrong lady. I'm known as the original scatter­brained madcap. Ask anyone."

  "I don't need to ask anyone. I prefer to form my own judgments." His eyes narrowed on her face. "And I think you're probably one of the most intense people I've ever met. I wonder why you're so determined to hide that intensity?"

  "I'm not hiding anything." She turned her back on him and stared at the mountains. "You asked me if I like your mountains. Do you own them?"

  He walked to her side. "I own them. I don't have a deed to them, but they're still mine."

  "What?" she asked, puzzled.

  "My grandfather used to say that if you love something enough, you become one with it. One entity flows into the other to merge and then to seal." His gaze was fixed on the mountains with possessiveness as well as affection. "Yes, in spirit these mountains belong to me."

  "That's rather an abstract philosophy for a tough businessman to have adopted. I would think your instincts would lead you to pin down anything you wanted, to buy it outright and to have the deed in your pocket."

  "No one has just one face, particularly not me. There are times when I want to reach out and grab." His gaze was still fastened on the mountain peaks. "And there are other times when I think that the only way to keep what's mine is to let it go." He turned to face her, his gaze meeting her own with the same intensity with which he had regarded the mountains. "That's what many Indian tribes believed, you know. They would strive very hard to acquire rich trappings, slaves, and horses, only to give them away to show how lit­tle material wealth actually meant to them. It wasn't the acquisition but the release that was important." His tone was halting, as if he were try­ing to express something beyond the surface meaning of the words. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" She shook her head. "I don't think so. It's clear you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you gave everything away, so you must subscribe to a more materialistic philosophy than your grandfa-ther's." He was silent for a moment and then he smiled cynically. "You're right, of course. I'm probably far more philistine than shaman. I suppose I wanted to justify myself in your eyes. I don't know why. I've never been tempted to do that before." He turned away abruptly. "Come along inside and have your breakfast. The plane will be ready in two hours."

  She
was troubled as she trailed him into the room, pausing beside the bed on which he had deposited the wicker breakfast tray. She had the vague impression that she had hurt him in some way, and it was causing an odd aching deep inside her. "I may not understand you, but I'm not stupid enough to think I have any right to judge an unknown quantity," she said gently. "Marna trusts you, so I'm sure you can't be as ruthless as you've been portrayed."

  "But I am ruthless," he said softly. "It's the other side of the coin. Not with you, though, Kira. You won't ever have to worry about seeing the ruthless-ness in me."

  His expression was enigmatic, yet it once again generated within her the warm languid heat she had known last night. She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried to smile. "I'll be very grateful for that. I don't think I'm equipped to handle a man like you, Zack."

  There was a sudden glint of mischief in his eyes. "It's a skill I expect to enjoy teaching you. It will be an exquisite pleasure being handled by you." He held out his hand. "Starting now. Come here, Kira."

  She hesitated. "You said we had to leave soon," she murmured.

  "Not that soon." He smiled with a warmth that bemused her. Such a lovely smile, full of gentleness and understanding and . . . "Come to me."

  Her gaze clung to his as she moved slowly toward him. There was something there, waiting just beyond his glowing intensity. She came to a halt before him and looked up at him searchingly. It was still there, still waiting. She had always hated waiting, she thought hazily, and this waiting was centuries old and curiously timeless.