Alexandra Sellers - (Harlequin) - ...

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"I CAN MAKE LOVE ONLY WITH WORDS."Mischa's voice was seductively soft. "Shall I tell you how I would touch your hair, your lips, your full young breasts? Shall I describe what we would have together if the world were different? "Laddy said breathlessly, "Mischa.... "He glanced at the art exhibited around them. "Look at this painting by my friend," he commanded. "This is a woman in love body and soul, as you will someday be, but not with me. If I were the one, how could I keep from touching you? When I am next in prison," he continued, "I will remember this moment as though I had touched your flesh, as though we had become one."Laddy felt sudden tears at the thought of the years stretching ahead, desolate and loveless, while she waited for this man, the man who could never come to her....This book is dedicatedto prisoners everywhereand to you.Published, February 1982First printing October 1981 Second-printing December 1981ISBN0-373-70.013-XCopyright (c) 1982 by Alexandra Sellers. All rights reserved. Philippine copyright 1982. Australian copyright 1982. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.All the characters in this book have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.The Superromance trademark, consisting of the word SUPERROMANCE, and the Worldwide trademark, consisting of a globe and the word Worldwide in which the letter "o" is represented by a depiction of a globe, are registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks OfficePrinted in U.S.A.PROLOGUETHE JET stood at some distance from the terminal building, engines quiet, its door open on the steps that ran down to the tarmac. Near it, on the runway exit ramp, was parked a long black car. The two machines had been standing in these positions for half an hour, while men walked back and forth at intervals between them. Throughout there had been an unnatural silence; no one ran, no one shouted; if they spoke, their voices did not carry.A moment before, a gray-haired man in a nondescript coat had come out of the plane and rejoined two that stood waiting by the car."This is it," he said quietly, and his two companions, in similar dress, turned to open the rear door of the car.Now the first whisper of excitement breathed across the scene, for the man who got out of the back seat of the long car was not in the mold of the other three. As he stood beside them, short, thin and wiry, his tension was palpable. Beside the nondescript coats of his companions his leather jacket and creased trousers seemed incongruous, as did his obvious emotion.His three escorts surrounded him, and at the aircraft four men appeared at the top of the steps. As though at a signal, these two groups started silently forward, across the tarmac and down the steps, and so measured was their motion that an alien being might have watched, fascinated, for this elaborate ritual of the coming together of eight to produce, perhaps, a ninth.Simultaneously, at a distance of about five yards from each other, both parties stopped, and it then became obvious that a fourth man in the group from the plane also did not fit the mold of his three protectors. He was easily the tallest of all and very thin; his broad gaunt frame was covered by a badly fitting suit, and his hair was shaved close like a convict's. His eyes searched hungrily over the heads of his escort, though there was nothing to see in the fading light save grass and tarmac and, in the near distance, the large terminal building. In the far distance there were the lights of tall buildings, but it was impossible to say whether it was at these that he gazed.Without apparent signal, 'the two waiting groups parted within themselves to allow each odd fourth man, slowly and hesitantly, to walk toward the center of that empty space between them. The short man walked easily, his well-knit, wiry muscles giving him a smooth gait, but the big man held himself rigidly and walked stiffly, as though he saved himself from stumbling only by an effort of will.There was no sign of salute as the two passed each other and moved toward the opposing groups without pause.In that moment there was not a whisper, a breath of movement, from the waiting six. The motion of the two men, one jaunty, the other painstaking, seemed to require all the concentration of the watchers, until each group had been joined by a new fourth man.Then a sudden burst of emotion electrified the atmosphere. Each group received its newcomer protectively, joyously, like a mother bear or a lioness with her lost cub, and drew him, quickly now, back to each respective den.The blast of noise of the jet engines drowned out that of the car, and within moments the only evidence that the scene had taken place was their departing roar.CHAPTER ONE"You WHAT?" asked Harry Waller, his manner preoccupied, as he looked up at the girl leaning intently over his desk on the back bench of the newsroom of the London Evening Herald.He was not surprised to see Laddy Penreith waving the last edition of that evening's paper practically under his nose, because Harry Waller had been the news editor of the Herald for nearly seven years now and very little had the power to surprise him anymore. But he was interested, because he was always interested in the things that got particular people going, especially Laddy. In her three years on the paper he had grown used to her appearing in front of his desk every now and then, passionately demanding that something be said about an injustice or asking to be assigned to cover a story that interested her."What is it this time?" he began, and then he realized, and he smiled at the memory of how the story had broken just in time to catch the last edition."BUSNETSKY RELEASED" was the headline she was pointing to, all right, and he waited to hear why.Laddy's name on her birth certificate and her byline was Lucy Laedelia Penreith, but she had been Laddy as long as she could remember. It had suited her in the days when she had looked more like a boy than a girl, when she had worn torn shirts and grubby trousers, and raced along fences and climbed trees with the best of them. But she didn't look like a boy anymore. Now, at twenty-five, she was very much a woman - slim and full breasted, with "the longest legs in the newsroom" - and there were times when her dark eyes and full mouth made her almost beautiful.This was not one of those times. When her "conscience was up," nobody noticed whether Laddy was beautiful or not. They only saw that her eyes were alight with the fires of passion and truth and that it seemed as though she would be consumed by them."Harry," she said, as he knew she would, "I've got to go on this story. You've got to let me cover Mischa Busnetsky's arrival." Her low voice had a faint transatlantic accent, and Harry Waller was conscious of being soothed by it. But he couldn't resist his little gibe. He threw down his pencil, leaned back and regarded her with the amused look she knew so well."You know, my love, when you get to be as old and jaded as I am, it's a great pleasure to see the young ones running around caring about Issues.Now why, I ask myself, has this one got our Laddy so concerned? Mmm?"Laddy laughed. "What a liar you are, Harry. A less jaded man in this newsroom I do not know, but you say what you like. And you know perfectly well that I'm always interested in dissidents."That was certainly true, but Mischa Busnetsky was much more than a dissident in Laddy's mind. Harry could not have said how he knew that, but he was as certain as if she'd said it aloud."Dear girl," he said, "as far as I can make out, you are interested in everything." Certainly, she had dedication, but Harry was trying to see if he could lead her off the topic, and Laddy laughed."Come on, Harry, someone's got to do it, with Brian away," she pressed, and her dark eyes lost their smile and willed him to say yes.Harry Waller added this information to his mental file of what made Laddy Penreith tick. "Brian may be back in time," he said, for no other reason than to see her face fall."But he's bound to be in Brussels till tomorrow, isn't he?" she protested. "When is Busnetsky arriving?""We don't know," said Harry.Laddy burst out, "Harry, you must have a very good idea!"Of course, she would realize that he had read the national press-release bulletin and even that he had been the one to dash off the front-page story that afternoon, and he always had some information that was not going to be printed.Abruptly Harry tired of his game. "He'll be staying the night in Zurich," he told her, "but the word's out he's flying straight on to London tomorrow. I'll call you when I get the word.""Tomorrow!" Laddy breathed. "Thanks, Harry."There was too much relief in her voice, and Harry's curiosity, already aroused, heightened."What - " he began, but she had already left him to go back to her own desk, and Harry shelved his curiosity and went back to the overnight report that he would be leaving for the night-duty reporter.Harry blessed the powers that be for the timing of Busnetsky's release. The news had broken in time for the last edition of the evening papers, and now the morning papers would be scrambling for a new angle on what would otherwise be stale news. W... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]