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"No," he said, "Miranda."
But it was over. A sob of such awful desperation burst from her throat that he felt its impact in the marrow of his bones, and she twisted out of his embrace and slipped past him, fleeing into the night.
He stood looking after her, a man lost in a dream of what had almost been. At last, sanity returned. He drew a long breath, pulling the knife-sharp air deep into his lungs. Then he turned up his collar and set out after her, his pace steady, fast enough so he never lost sight of her, slow enough so there was no possibility he'd overtake her.
He stood in the shadows while she unlocked the gate in the courtyard of her apartment building but as she started towards the front door, he came up behind her. She swung towards him, her eyes as bright and wide as a cat's.
"Get away from me, O'Neil." Her voice was steady and cold. "Or I'll kick you where it hurts."
He smiled at that. He'd almost forgotten all the fancy moves she'd laid on him the other night.
"You won't have to," he said. "I'm just going to see you, to your door."
"Not in this lifetime."
She meant every word, he was sure of it. After a minute, he nodded.
"We'll compromise," he said. "You give me your keys, wait in the lobby while I check out your apartment."
Her chin lifted. In the faint light cast by the street lamp, he thought he saw a faint glitter of moisture in her eyes.
"You really expect me to trust you?"
Her words dripped contempt and he knew he deserved every bit of it, but he showed nothing.
"I'm all you've got," he said.
He saw her mouth tremble. Then she unlocked the door that led into the lobby. They stepped inside. Wordlessly, she dropped her keys into his outstretched hand.
Moments later, he rode down in the elevator.
"Everything's fine," he said. "I turned on a lamp in the living room. Switch it off, then on again once you've locked the door after you."
Miranda took her keys from him and got into the elevator. He waited until he heard the ancient mechanism groan to a stop. Then he went out to the street and looked up at her windows.
The light he'd left burning went out, then came back on. She was safe. He had done his job.
Conor turned his back on the lamp's glow and walked off into the night.
Chapter 10
Nita Carrington tucked back one corner of the crimson velvet drapes that covered the windows of her salon and peeked out at the street.
What a strange winter this was turning out to be. It hardly ever snowed in Paris but a light snow was falling again tonight, etching the winter-bare branches of the Tuileries Gardens with lace.
And, as she'd half-expected, there was Conor O'Neil's car, just pulling up across the way. The car, and the man, had become equally recognizable over the last few days.
He was persistent, she had to give him that. It was sure going to be interesting, seeing Miranda's reaction when she discovered him waiting out there.
Right now, Miranda was still in the bathroom, getting dressed. The two of them had come here after the Dior showing, Miranda hoping O'Neil would lose her trail so that she'd be able to shake him for the evening.
Uh-uh, Nita thought. "No such luck, girlfriend," she said softly.
Miranda was going to be royally pissed off but that wouldn't be anything new. She'd been hissing like a cat for days, ever since Mr. Conor O'Neil had come strutting onto the scene. Darned if she would hiss, if O'Nei
l turned his attention to her. Not that she had any hopes, even if he knew she was between men. O'Neil was single-minded; he had eyes for nobody but Miranda, although Miranda insisted it was all business.
Sighing, Nita let the drapes fall back into place. Maybe she'd meet somebody at the party tonight. Lord knew she was ready, not just for a new lover but for something different. Everything seemed boring lately. Paris, the showings, even this room.
