In many ways, they’re far simpler than men.”
“Thanks,” Gwen murmured.
“That’s not meant as an insult.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Let’s put this indecision behind us and set a date.”
Tension made a fist in Gwen’s chest. “I’d like a little more wine first, if you don’t mind.”
“By all means, if it’ll make you more cooperative.” He ushered her back to the table and held the chair out for her. Gwen tried not to gulp her drink and sought desperately for a way to distract Mitch.
You won’t be able to do it forever, she told herself. You’re so proud of your honesty. You’ll have to be honest with him.
And what exactly did that mean? She was very fond of Mitch. Most of the time he was reasonable. He was usually an ally at the Sentinel. She found him attractive, often witty, generally decent…though he could show a surprisingly ruthless side when he was pursuing a story.
For all that, she was never quite sure she really knew him. Most women would have given their eyeteeth just to have him look at them, but Gwen couldn’t escape the feeling that rushing into marriage with Mitch Hogan would be the worst mistake of her life.
If I loved him, I wouldn’t have so much doubt. But she’d never quite been able to bring herself to say the words, even in her own heart.
Maybe I can’t love anyone. Maybe it’s just not in me.
Unwillingly, she found her thoughts flashing back to the warehouse and to a cool, unreadable face that had none of Mitch’s charm. Dorian and Mitch couldn’t be more different. Mitch was serious now, but he was capable of playfulness when he was in the right mood. Dorian was about as lighthearted as an undertaker.
But something strange had happened when she’d taken Dorian’s hand just before she’d left the warehouse. The literary cliché was very apt: a bolt of electricity had shot right through her, and she’d known that Dorian Black was far more dangerous than she’d let herself believe. Oh, not because he would hurt her. What she’d glimpsed behind his eyes had heated her like three gins drunk straight.
And she couldn’t seem to forget the feeling of his hand on hers.
“Thinking about that date?” Mitch said.
She smiled, covering her confusion. “I promise I’ll consider it.”
“Not too long.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “I want you, Gwen. In every way.”
His hand was warm and firm, but his touch had almost no effect on her. Maybe it would have been enough if she’d felt a spark of desire when he held her. It just wasn’t there.
“Let’s dance,” she said.
They did. Mitch almost crushed her in his embrace, as if he had begun to sense the depth of her doubts. His arms felt like a cage. She pretended not to care.
And did her best not to think of Dorian Black.
SOMETHING WAS WRONG.
Mitch knew Gwen…her walk, her speech, every expression and every mood. She was as easy to read as a headline and an utter failure at deception. He knew by the ever-so-slight stiffness in her body that she was not entirely there with him on the dance floor.
Someone else was present. And he had no idea who that someone could be.
When dinner ended, he was the one to suggest that they both needed a good night’s sleep. Gwen didn’t argue. She looked positively relieved, and her slender body relaxed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Mitch walked her to the curb, tipped the valet, and drove Gwen home. She hardly spoke. Her mind was on that other presence, and Mitch could barely control his anger. If he challenged her now, she would only retreat with a quip and an even deeper silence. She was more forthright than most women, but she was fully capable of fighting dirty.
Gwen thanked him and gave him a peck on the cheek when he dropped her at her apartment building. He grabbed her and kissed her before she could escape. It took several seconds before her lips softened under his, and even then he could feel her resistance. Most men would hardly have noticed. Mitch had his worst assumptions confirmed.
He watched her cross the sidewalk and slip through the door into the lobby. The seductive sway of her hips was entirely unconscious, but it only aroused his anger the more. Any man could enjoy her figure, poured into that scarlet satin gown like a glass of wine waiting to be sipped. Any man could imagine himself in her bed, savoring that lovely body.
So far no one, not even Mitch, had made it that far. Mitch wasn’t about to let another fellow poach on his territory. He’d been more than patient with Gwen’s starts and peculiar theories. She needed discipline and guidance from a man who cared about her…a man who wouldn’t be moved by her foolish ideas.
Once she was his wife, she wouldn’t need to rely on her career for fulfillment.
You don’t know what’s good for you, Guinevere, he thought. But I’ll teach you. And you’ll learn to enjoy the lesson.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THREE O’CLOCK in the afternoon, Dorian knew Walter couldn’t wait any longer. His body was wracked with fever, and his pulse beat frantically beneath his nearly translucent skin. He would no longer drink the water Dorian offered; his lips were like parchment.
Only a human physician could care for him now.
Dorian threw on his long coat, put on his hat and wrapped a scarf around his neck and lower face, grateful that the cooler weather made the garments less conspicuous. He bundled Walter up in his cleanest blankets and lifted the old man in his arms. Walter was all bone and sinew; he weighed little more than a child.
The nearest hospital was a dozen blocks away. Dorian didn’t have enough money for a taxi, but he could move very fast when it became necessary.
Longshoremen and laborers turned to stare as he ran past. He dodged from the path of a cumbersome platform truck, whose driver cursed him roundly. He might never have noticed Gwen if not for the sudden, powerful awareness that sliced through his preoccupation.
“Dorian!”
He slowed, debating whether or not to ignore her. Gwen was carrying bundles stacked up to her chin, her face a pale blur above them. She was a distraction he could ill afford, and the dark of the moon was only hours away. But she had money that could pay for a taxi, and there was no doubt in Dorian’s mind that she would want to help Walter as much as he did.
Gwen ran up to him as he came to a stop. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, peering into Walter’s face. “Is he sick?”
“Yes.” Dorian found himself all too inclined to gaze at Gwen like any infatuated human. It was a dangerous lapse under the circumstances. “He needs the services of a doctor. Will you summon a taxi?”
“Of course!” Abandoning her packages, she paced Dorian as he broke into a jog. “What happened?”
“I
