The Right Touch

Dev’s brows drew down, her eyes turning cobalt. “It was a white lie. White lies don’t hurt anyone,” she snapped. “By shading the truth, I wanted to let you and myself off the hook. There’s nothing wrong with that. Instead, you seem to like the bald truth, regardless of who it hurts.” She took another sip, a longer one.

And so did he. They glared at one another.

“I’m not in the mood for games tonight, Ms Hunter.”

Dev almost choked on her drink and backed off a good two feet from him, her eyes flashing. “Well, excuse me for being alive. You think you’re the only one that has a bad day now and then?” She reached down, positioning her heels and angrily stabbing her feet back into them. She looked ominously at him. “Don’t bother coming after me, Major. I’m in no mood for a sourpuss like you, either! I’ve got jet lag. I’m tired. My wrist hurts, and I’ve got the biggest competition of my life coming up. I don’t need your arrogance, insensitivity and snarling disposition on top of all that!”

Cal leaned back, pursing his lips as he watched Dev Hunter march off the patio and then disappear into the crowd. He turned and frowned. The beaded coolness of the tumbler between his long, spare fingers sedated his temper. Just as well. How long he stood there, gazing blindly out into the night, he didn’t remember. He did know when his tumbler was empty. Already, Cal could feel the numbing effect of alcohol, and he straightened and walked back to the noisy, crowded bar.

He was jostled into someone else and turned to say, “Excuse me.” Dev Hunter was behind him with a pained expression on her face. He had stepped directly on her right foot. His moodiness was momentarily pushed aside when he saw tears gather in her luminous eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly reaching out to steady her as she leaned down to grasp the injured foot.

“What are you doing back here?” Dev gritted out.

“Same thing you are. Getting another double. Can you walk?”

Dev sucked in her breath, hobbling away from the bar. “Of course! Just let me go. Haven’t you done enough damage for one night?” She sat down at a small table that had just been vacated, pulling off her heels. “I hate these things!” she griped, throwing them under the table.

Cal hovered nearby. “Can I make it up to you by getting you a drink?”

She snapped up her head, her lips compressed. “That’s the least you can do. Just get me a pop and leave me in peace. One piece.” Her pulse raced as she saw that slightly askew grin tug at one corner of his mouth again.

“Okay, redheaded witch, you’ve got a deal. I’ll get you that drink and then leave you alone.”

Dev was petulant when he returned. Her big toe was throbbing and bruised but not devastated. She barely acknowledged Cal when he set the drink down in front of her.

“Anything else before I leave?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dev’s mouth tightened. Now she was behaving like a spoiled child. At least he had had the manners to apologize for stepping on her foot! She looked up to apologize, but all she saw was the broadness of his shoulders tapering into a lean waist and hips as he was swallowed up by the milling, festive crowd. Following him with her gaze, Dev watched as Cal Travis went back out onto the patio. Alone. He was alone. Again. Angrily, Dev picked up the glass of pop. Why should she feel guilty? He was the one who had started this whole mess.

In her present feisty state, Dev didn’t invite anyone to sit down with her. She drowned herself in thoughts of the forthcoming fencing competition, watching some of the women who would be her competitors and mentally reviewing each of their particular weaknesses or strengths against her own abilities.

Chewing on her lower lip, Dev glanced up, straining to catch a glimpse of Major Travis. Yes, he was still out there, drink between his hands, staring off into the darkness. Her conscience pricked her. She wriggled her toe. It felt much better. Rising, Dev picked up her heels in one hand and her small white purse in the other and went out to the nearly deserted patio.

“Major Travis?”

Cal blinked slowly as if coming back from some far corner of his mind. He turned his head. “Yes?”

Dev put her hands behind her back, gripping the straps of her heels. “I, uh, just wanted to come out and say I was sorry for the way I behaved earlier. You apologized for stepping on my foot, and I didn’t even have the decency to thank you for getting my drink.”

Cal’s gaze lingered first on her flushed face, then traveled down her slender neck to her small breasts and finally to her feet. A slight grin pulled at his mouth. He was feeling no pain now with two doubles in him.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to go barefoot in public?”

Dev matched his burgeoning grin. “My mother taught me to be my own person. Besides, some big marine came by and stepped on my toe.”

“The brute.”

Her eyes glimmered with humor, and Dev walked over to where he stood, looking out over the bay toward Hong Kong. “Are all marines like that? Brutish?” she teased, relieved to find him less threatening.

Cal turned his glass around in his hands, studying it. “I don’t know. Are they?”

She shrugged, enjoying his teasing, noticing that the hardness in his face was no longer quite so evident. “I’ve never met one. Until now.”

Cal snorted softly and bowed his head for a moment. “I’m a lousy example, believe me,” he muttered.

Her heart gave a funny lurch as Dev saw his face lose its coldness for just a second. What she saw in its place stunned her. Something tragic had happened to Cal. Now she really felt guilty about being nasty to him. “I don’t think so,” she countered, her voice husky with feeling. “I just think you’re terribly alone.”

Cal tipped his head, studying Dev intently. He shook his head. “You look like a child, you know that? Those big blue eyes, soft mouth and that vulnerable aura about you.”

Heat rushed to her face; Dev didn’t know quite what to do. “Nah, I just behave like a spoiled brat when I get my toes stepped on, that’s all.”

He gave her a perceptive look, one that said, You don’t fool me. “By the way, how is your toe? I suppose it’s the one you have to fence on?”

“It’s feeling no pain right now, believe me. After a double?” She laughed softly, leaning languidly against the railing, totally at ease.

Cal turned, hip resting on the wrought iron, hungrily absorbing Dev into his memory. “No pain…. You know,” he said with a slight slur, “you’re right on target, Ms Hunter. No pain.” He turned and threw his head back and moved his shoulders as if freeing himself from some imaginary load. “No pain.”

“You can call me Dev if you want to,” she said, watching him.

He set down the tumbler. “Okay, Dev. How about another?”

“No, thank you.”

“Sure?” he asked, halting a few feet from her.

“Positive.”

His eyes darkened and held hers captive. “Will you be here when I get back, or are you going to run away from me again?”

Dev trembled, the low vibration of his voice moving through her as if he had reached out and caressed her. She took a ragged breath. “No, I’ll be here.”

“Your word as a fencer? You’re supposed to be chivalrous and all that.”

Her smile was winsome, her laughter silvery. “I’ll be here, Major.”

“Cal. You can call me Cal.”

“Okay, Cal. I’ll be here when you get back,” she promised softly.

He plunged through the crowd, head held high, shoulders pressed back like the wings of a proud eagle. Dev saw the women look up as he passed. A silly smile lurked on her lips. Careful, Dev, this is not a man you mess around with and come away from unhurt. She shivered with the memory of Cal’s intense, heated look. Her experience warned her that he played for keeps. No. He was a taker. What was his, was his. Excitement spread through Dev as she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be his. To belong to him. Because Major Cal Travis was an owner. Which had its darker side—one who took, who owned, could be selfish. A hunter. A stalker. Cal was dangerous, her instincts finally shouted. Dev returned her attention to the picturesque view of Hong Kong and mulled over the sudden change in their adversarial relationship.

Cal joined her as noiselessly as he had left her, which put Dev a little in awe of him. She met his unreadable gaze as he stood next to her, his elbow lightly resting near her own. The heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of him encircled her, and she felt giddy. Giddy and out of control, as if someone had waved a magic wand and the two of them were the only people in the world at that moment.

“You stayed,” he said, sipping the scotch.

“I told you I would. Fencer’s word,” she teased.

He cocked his head, studying her face for a long moment. “I don’t know anything about fencing.”

“I don’t know anything about marine jet pilots, either.”

His mouth lifted. “We’re usually called jet jockeys. Or fighter jocks.”

“Is that anything like Big Man On Campus?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ask any marine who’s the best military man in the world, and he’ll tell you it’s a marine.”

Dev couldn’t help but smile. “And along with that goes adjectives such as ‘arrogant,’ ‘self-centered’ and ‘egotistical’?”

“Touché, Dev Hunter.” Cal lifted his tumbler in salute to her and took another drink. “But be careful that you don’t confuse my confidence with egotism. There’s a difference.”

“Touché, Cal Travis. I believe the score is now two to one for you.”

He nodded. “In fencing, how many points do you score to a game?”

She laughed. “They’re called bouts, and whoever scores five points first is the winner of that match.”

Cal was feeling pleasantly drunk. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a feisty redhead?”

Dev rested her chin on her hands, smiling distantly. “Well, at our age, Cal, I’m sure we’ve both been called a few things. Don’t you think?”

He scowled. “Age? God, you make it sound like we’re both over the hill.”

“Well, in two more years, I’ll be thirty,” she said lightly.

“You’re not twenty-five?”

“No. But thank you for the compliment, anyway. Want me to guess your age?”

He shook his head. “If I don’t look eighty, I should,” Cal admitted, his face becoming tense once again. He stared off into the night. “Maybe a hundred. Hell, I don’t know.”

Dev licked her lower lip. Cal Travis was complex and changeable. Already, she had seen his cold, ruthless side, a bit of his teasing demeanor, and now that desolate expression was on his face again. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take a chance. “Cal?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you so sad? I was watching you a while ago, and you seemed so unhappy.”

He grimaced. “God, don’t tell me I’m that transparent.”

“No. I don’t think you are. Maybe just to me. Fencers are trained to watch even the most minute of movements, facial expressions, that sort of thing.”

Cal hesitated. “Listen, my redheaded witch, you don’t want to open up Pandora’s box,” he warned.

“Why not?”

“Because it would be dangerous.”

“In what way?”

The look he gave her revealed nothing. “Either you like to live dangerously, lady, or you’re being naive.”

“At twenty-eight, I’m hardly naive, Cal. You want to tell me why you’re polishing off that third drink like your life depended on it? You won’t be able to walk out of here if you do.”

He held up the tumbler. “I guess fencers do like to live dangerously.” His voice hardened. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to make it over to Wanchai when I want to.”

Dev was nettled by his attitude. “Maybe it would help if you could talk about it.”

“Maybe I think you should mind your own business. I don’t like women who think they can mother me.”

“Why, you—God! You’re really exasperating! One minute you can be nice and the next minute a real bastard.”

Cal turned and blinked at her. Her eyes were narrowed midnight fire, her hair an unruly mass around her head by now, her hands resting imperiously on her slender hips. He smiled, feeling dizzy for a moment. “I was right: you are a witch.”

“Yes, and if I had a broom, believe me, I’d knock you over the head with it! Where do you get off taking my concern for a human being as mothering?”

He shrugged, enjoying her spirit. “Aren’t all women mothers?”

She set her lips, glaring at him. “I know some men that are real mothers.”

“Like me, for instance?”

Dev burst out laughing, unable to maintain her fury when he was baiting her. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. ‘Travis, you’re a ring-tailed bastard whose mistress is an airplane and whose mother is the marine corps.’” He turned, giving her a glazed look. “Doesn’t leave much room in my life for a wife, does it?”

“Who said anything about a wife?” she asked, watching him closely. His eyes were heavy lidded, and he was almost completely relaxed. Dev wondered when the alcohol was going to fell him.

“You.”

“Me? I didn’t, either!”

“See, there you go again. Exploding. You’re more sensitive than a laser-fired rocket, you know that?”

“That’s your fault.”

His smile was devastating. “You’d make good wifely material, Dev Hunter.”

“You’re drunk, Travis. Stone cold drunk. And if you don’t sit down, you’re going to fall down.”

Cal dismissed her with a wave of his hand, feeling no pain. At last, he was free of the anguish. He felt good. Dev made him happy just by being herself. “Sure, you’d make someone a great wife. Nice body, good sense of humor—”

“You want to look at my teeth before you buy, Travis?” she snapped back, becoming truly concerned as he leaned precariously on the rail. Dev reached out, taking the tumbler from his fingers before he dropped it. She heard someone approaching and looked up. Her heart sank—two marine pilots.

“Hey, Cal, you ready to go over to Wanchai? I think we’ve punched the ticket long enough. What do you say, buddy?”

Cal tipped his head toward Dev. “Nah, you go on, Scotty. Got my hands full here.”

“You sure?”

Dev gave Cal Travis a deadly look and turned to the pilot named Scotty. “Correction: he hasn’t got his hands full of anything. He’s so drunk that he’s ready to keel over. Why don’t you take him back to the boat and—”

“Ship, Dev. It’s called a ship, not a boat,” Cal corrected her, grinning lopsidedly.

She glared at him. “Thanks for the naval lesson, Major Travis. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I don’t want to keep you from Wanchai or whatever it’s called!”

Cal looked dismayed, watching her stalk off in anger, her auburn hair a burnished red and gold beneath the light of the chandeliers as she went inside to the party that was still going full steam. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. And then a grin creased his features. She didn’t have her shoes on! He watched as she whipped between two groups of people. One of the heels she was carrying in her hand flew out of her grasp, dropping unnoticed to the floor.

Scotty shot a glance over to him. “Whew, she’s a redhead, all right.”

With a concentrated effort, Cal launched himself to his feet from his leaning position at the rail. “Yeah. Feisty. But nice. I was a little rough on her. Listen, you go on, there’s one thing I’ve got to do before I leave,” he told them, eyeing the white heel that lay on the floor.

“Going to apologize, Travis?” Scotty drawled.

“She’d probably nail me with a right hook if I tried to. No, she dropped one of her heels. I’ll take it up to her and then grab a taxi over to Wanchai. You guys going to be at the Golden Dragon?”

“Is there any other place?”

“No. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Scotty grinned. “Yeah, well, try and stay on your feet, Travis. And don’t get nailed.”

2

IN THE MIDDLE of her beautifully appointed room, Dev wriggled out of her dress. She tossed the Victor Kosta on one of the double beds and stalked over to the mahogany dresser, jerking open a drawer. Who in the hell did Cal Travis think he was? What an arrogant ass! She yanked on a pair of her favorite threadbare jeans that were almost white from so much wear and a bright-red T-shirt emblazoned in white and silver with a fencer wielding an èpè. She spotted one of her heels. Where was the other? Muttering under her breath, Dev searched every square inch of her room. Where could it be?

“Damn it.” She sat back on her heels. In exasperation, she loosened her auburn hair, and it tumbled down around her shoulders in wavy abandon, framing her face. Throwing her hands on her hips, she glared around the area. “It’s all your fault, Major Travis! My only pair of heels. I’ll bet I lost it when I left the party.” A knock on the door startled her. Immediately, her brows knit in a frown.

“Who is it?” she yelled. She wasn’t in any mood for Sarah or any of her other fencing friends to visit her right now. All she wanted was to soak her aching wrist in Epsom salts, work on her fencing gear and then go to bed.

Another knock.

Dev leaped to her feet, angry at whoever it was because he or she didn’t even have the decency to respond to her call. Barefoot, she marched down the long hall, unchained the door and removed the dead bolt. With a yank, the door was open.

“What do you want?” she demanded, glaring up at the marine. Dev tried to still her leaping pulse. Cal Travis looked remarkably relaxed.

“Is that the way you always answer your door?” he asked silkily. Damn, she looked gorgeous, Cal thought, his gaze hungrily taking in her unruly hair, slender body emphasized by nice rounded breasts and those delicious, beautifully curved thighs. He was coming to appreciate fencers and fencing, he thought, laughing to himself.

“When it’s an arrogant marine corps pilot like you, you bet I do!” Dev flared back. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve lost one of my heels, and I’ve got to go back upstairs to find it.”

Cal drew the white leather heel from behind his back, dangling it like a carrot before her. “I found it.”

Dev pouted, feeling some of her anger abate. Well, he wasn’t a total bastard, after all. She reached out for it, her long fingers wrapping around the strap.

He didn’t let go.

Dev’s mouth narrowed dangerously. His eyes were a warm, inviting gray. He was silently laughing at her.

“Let me have my shoe, Major.”

“Only if you invite me in for a cup of coffee first,” he said huskily.

Dev felt a thrill along her fingers as his hand remained lightly against her own. “If you think you’re coming in for a roll in the hay, forget it. Go to your Wanchai or whatever it is.”

Cal’s mouth slowly drew into a mocking grin. “Are all fencers as blunt and paranoid as you?”

Her eyes glittered. Dev felt embarrassed and stupid standing out in the hall with her heel gripped firmly between them. A warning bell went off inside her: he reminded her of a big cat playing with a cornered mouse. And she was his dinner. “Only when they’re under attack,” she parried nervously beneath his heavy-lidded appraisal. God, the man could melt butter with those eyes of his!

“But I’m not attacking you. I brought you your heel, and I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved earlier.”

“Apologize?” Her lips parted, and she ruthlessly searched his enigmatic expression for some telltale sign that he was lying through his playboy teeth.

Cal released the shoe, lounged against the doorjamb and stuck his hands deep into his pockets, watching her. She was sensuous in that outfit. Tall and built like a racing greyhound. And not an inch of fat or flab on her. “Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t much of a gentleman earlier. I embarrassed the hell out of you in front of my friends.” His voice lowered. “And I am sorry. It’s been a tough week, and I really didn’t want to come to this function. I figured if I got drunk, I wouldn’t feel anything.” Cal glanced up, meeting and melting beneath her suddenly compassionate blue eyes. “I hadn’t counted on meeting a highly fascinating, not to mention beautiful, red-haired woman tonight.” Cal forced himself back to his feet, dizziness stalking him as he took his hands out of his pockets. He gave her a warm smile. “That’s all I wanted to say, Dev. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

Dev watched him turn and slowly walk down the hall toward the elevators. He was weaving. “Wait!” she called, her voice carrying strongly. “Cal?”

He stopped and turned. “What?”

She held up the heel. “How about that coffee? I mean, you drank a lot. And you’re walking like a duck.”

His grin was irrepressible as he turned and came back toward her. “A duck?”

“Sort of. You had three doubles. That’s a lot of liquor. Come on in.”

Cal wandered through the door, taking a look around her room. He spotted the cocktail dress in a heap on one of the beds. In one corner were two green canvas bags, holding, he was sure, some of her fencing weapons. On the coffee table directly in front of him were two weapons lying disassembled with electrical wires sticking out of the bell guards of the blades. He carefully made his way around the table, unbuttoned his jacket and dropped it across the back of the blue silk settee before he sat down. He unbuttoned the shirt at his throat, loosened his tie and pulled the collar open. He hated ties. Although he was dizzy and out of sorts, his focus on Dev was all too clear. She was attractive, and he added another word—fearless. He liked the low, husky tone of her voice and listened to it as she ordered the lifesaving liquid.

“The coffee will be here in five minutes,” Dev promised, putting the phone back into the cradle. Why did she suddenly feel nervous? She wasn’t eighteen and this certainly wasn’t a date. Yet the look in Cal’s eyes instantly made Dev feel breathless…and then afraid that she might want this man one day. He was male. Totally male, the strong column of his throat exposed at the open collar, a few dark hairs peeking out from above the white T-shirt he wore beneath his uniform. She swallowed and gave him a nervous smile, coming to sit down in the chair at the end of the coffee table. Wanting to somehow quell her nervousness, Dev reached for her small toolbox near the leg of the chair and began reassembling one of the weapons.

“This is a first,” Cal said, amusement in his voice.

Dev looked up briefly. “What?”

“A woman with weapons in her bedroom. Do you always keep them lying around to scare 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.”