won't run for the rest of my life."
"Then what?" His voice hardened. "Roll over and die for them?"
"They haven't hurt me."
"Not yet. Do you really believe they'll take the chance of leaving you alive when they think you know something?"
"I won't run. I won't."
"Lara, for God's sake, be reasonable."
She laughed again, not bitterly but not amused. "How ironic that I'm about to occupy center stage in a fairy tale. It isn't so easy to be a prince in real life, is it? Stay out of it, Devon. The witch might blind you for real. Or worse."
He rose from the couch, watching her as she paced the room. "You think I'm going to run out on you," he said slowly.
"I think you should," she said in a flat tone, not looking at him. "You'd be a fool not to. In real life, I don't need a prince—I need a bloody army." She was hardly aware of her own sardonic tone.
Devon chuckled suddenly.
Lara swung around to stare at him in surprise, then heard a giggle escape her. "Hysteria," she offered as an excuse for her choked laugh.
He was smiling a little. "No, just a sense of humor. But if you aren't willing to call out the FBI's army, I'm afraid you're going to have to settle for a prince. I'm not going anywhere, Lara."
"Now who's not being reasonable?" It was the only thing she could think to say.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, powerful shoulders moving in a faint shrug. "I’ll admit I've never thought of myself as a prince, but I'm willing to give it a shot."
"Why?"
His smile faded, then changed, reappearing as a sweet, determined expression that was indescribably male. "You know why."
Lara felt her knees weaken. The man possessed an uncanny ability to scatter what she fondly called her wits, she decided dazedly. She forced herself to make one last attempt to make him see this situation sanely. "Devon, this isn't a fairy tale; there won't be any helpful magic. It isn't a play; there won't be applause when it's over. It's real, and I can't see a happy ending."
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough."
"I don't dare look any harder." She had held her voice steady with great effort.
He came to her slowly, but didn't touch her when he stood only a foot or so away. There was an expression in his eyes she had seen before, that inward-turned anger that was so dark, and his handsome face tautened until it was almost masklike.
He's fighting again. The thought was clear in her mind, but the knowledge was bewildering. What was he fighting?
"Devon—"
"You can't talk me out of it, Lara." He was terse, his voice clipped. "So, we'd better come up with strategy of some kind."
"For instance?" She refused to admit to herself how relieved she felt. "Pull up the drawbridge and flood the moat?"
"I don't suppose you'd consider something along those lines?"
Lara shook her head. "No, not if you mean staying put in the apartment. Besides, this is hardly an impregnable castle, as the events of tonight proved."
He frowned. "They should have put you in a building with more security; the front entrance isn't even locked."
"This is a small town. Apartment buildings don't have security here. They've never needed it."
"You need it," he pointed out.
"Not now. I have a prince." She had intended to sound sardonic, but somehow her voice had emerged with a tremor in it.
Devon made a slight movement, as if he wanted to touch her. But he didn't. "Such as he is," he said lightly, then went on, "Look, it's late; we can talk about ways and means tomorrow. Why don't you go to bed. I'll bunk down on the couch—"
"No, you won't," she interrupted, controlling her voice this time and making it sound firm. "They won't try anything else tonight. If they'd wanted to, they would have been waiting here for me."
"Not if they knew I was with you."
"I'II be fine, Devon. Go home."
"Did anybody ever tell you that you're a stubborn woman?"
"Yes." She managed a smile.
He swore softly. "I don't want to leave you."
Lara chose to interpret that as concern
"Then what?" His voice hardened. "Roll over and die for them?"
"They haven't hurt me."
"Not yet. Do you really believe they'll take the chance of leaving you alive when they think you know something?"
"I won't run. I won't."
"Lara, for God's sake, be reasonable."
She laughed again, not bitterly but not amused. "How ironic that I'm about to occupy center stage in a fairy tale. It isn't so easy to be a prince in real life, is it? Stay out of it, Devon. The witch might blind you for real. Or worse."
He rose from the couch, watching her as she paced the room. "You think I'm going to run out on you," he said slowly.
"I think you should," she said in a flat tone, not looking at him. "You'd be a fool not to. In real life, I don't need a prince—I need a bloody army." She was hardly aware of her own sardonic tone.
Devon chuckled suddenly.
Lara swung around to stare at him in surprise, then heard a giggle escape her. "Hysteria," she offered as an excuse for her choked laugh.
He was smiling a little. "No, just a sense of humor. But if you aren't willing to call out the FBI's army, I'm afraid you're going to have to settle for a prince. I'm not going anywhere, Lara."
"Now who's not being reasonable?" It was the only thing she could think to say.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, powerful shoulders moving in a faint shrug. "I’ll admit I've never thought of myself as a prince, but I'm willing to give it a shot."
"Why?"
His smile faded, then changed, reappearing as a sweet, determined expression that was indescribably male. "You know why."
Lara felt her knees weaken. The man possessed an uncanny ability to scatter what she fondly called her wits, she decided dazedly. She forced herself to make one last attempt to make him see this situation sanely. "Devon, this isn't a fairy tale; there won't be any helpful magic. It isn't a play; there won't be applause when it's over. It's real, and I can't see a happy ending."
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough."
"I don't dare look any harder." She had held her voice steady with great effort.
He came to her slowly, but didn't touch her when he stood only a foot or so away. There was an expression in his eyes she had seen before, that inward-turned anger that was so dark, and his handsome face tautened until it was almost masklike.
He's fighting again. The thought was clear in her mind, but the knowledge was bewildering. What was he fighting?
"Devon—"
"You can't talk me out of it, Lara." He was terse, his voice clipped. "So, we'd better come up with strategy of some kind."
"For instance?" She refused to admit to herself how relieved she felt. "Pull up the drawbridge and flood the moat?"
"I don't suppose you'd consider something along those lines?"
Lara shook her head. "No, not if you mean staying put in the apartment. Besides, this is hardly an impregnable castle, as the events of tonight proved."
He frowned. "They should have put you in a building with more security; the front entrance isn't even locked."
"This is a small town. Apartment buildings don't have security here. They've never needed it."
"You need it," he pointed out.
"Not now. I have a prince." She had intended to sound sardonic, but somehow her voice had emerged with a tremor in it.
Devon made a slight movement, as if he wanted to touch her. But he didn't. "Such as he is," he said lightly, then went on, "Look, it's late; we can talk about ways and means tomorrow. Why don't you go to bed. I'll bunk down on the couch—"
"No, you won't," she interrupted, controlling her voice this time and making it sound firm. "They won't try anything else tonight. If they'd wanted to, they would have been waiting here for me."
"Not if they knew I was with you."
"I'II be fine, Devon. Go home."
"Did anybody ever tell you that you're a stubborn woman?"
"Yes." She managed a smile.
He swore softly. "I don't want to leave you."
Lara chose to interpret that as concern
Similar Books
