Children of Destiny Books 1-3 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 9) Read online

  “What have you got against museums anyway?”

  “I hate closed-in places, cities... I’ve always lived outdoors.”

  “We have plenty of museums in New York.”

  “And I’ll bet you’ve been to all of them,” he said, gentle mockery in his deep voice.

  “Most of them, but I’m glad we took the boat. I can see museums on any trip. I never get out.” Her glance met his, and in his eyes she read some strange emotion. “I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before,” she said in a faltering tone.

  “So am I,” he murmured, his own voice odd.

  “I never realized how beautiful London was,” she said dreamily.

  “Neither did I.” He wasn’t looking at the city as she was, or at the river, but at her. He was admiring the way the damp breeze tousled her shining black hair, the way the loose tendrils blew against her rosily flushed cheeks, the way her breasts rose and fell beneath purple silken cloth, the way her waist seemed so narrow about her lushly curved thighs.

  She leaned back in the cockpit. Warm sunlight caressed her face. The world floated past. She was feeling things she’d never felt before.

  This day had been like no other in her life. The men she had met in New York had always dated her because she was a ballerina, and they had been in awe of her. They liked the status of being seen with a world-famous ballerina. They took her to benefits, openings and galas because she was a dazzling ornament on their arm. She couldn’t remember a man ever wanting to spend time with just her, alone. They appreciated her art, who she was, but not her.

  Kirk was the first man who had ever treated her as a human being, as a woman. He had skipped the awe and adulation and moved on to something deeper, something that touched some true part of her she’d never known existed. He didn’t seem to see her as some glamorous decorative creature in chiffon and lace but as a woman. A real woman that he wanted not only to bed but to know.

  She hadn’t realized how starved she’d been for something outside the world of dance. She was starved for people, life, thoughts, conversation, for alternatives to her ballet world. For a kind of freedom she had never known. Even though she feared those things.

  “So are you looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked, breaking into her silence. “To going back to New York?”

  A shadow stole across her face, but she tossed her head with a studied air of nonchalance. “Of course,” she said, but her voice sounded uncertain and toneless. For some reason she couldn’t look at him, so she looked over the side, deep into the dark brown, swirling waters.

  “I suppose New York is the only kind of place for a woman like you,” he persisted. “You couldn’t ever be happy anywhere else.”

  She started. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re famous. You’ve made it to the top in a difficult career. Where else are there more opportunities for a person who wants to dance? You have an appreciative audience and a man like Lincoln to guide and shape you.”

  She shifted nervously in her seat and tried to force a smile. Suddenly she wished she could turn the clock back so she could relive all the dangerous excitement they had shared together. She almost would have preferred the desert and the thirst, the terrible heat and fear, even the camel with its foul odor and terrifying teeth, to living without him. She wished she had the courage to face her past.

  Kirk was right, of course. Some part of her would always love all the beauty and movement of dance. But would she hate the life that went with it, now that she had known something different?

  What was she thinking? One simply did not throw away years of work, beauty, a job, money and fame... For what? A schoolgirl’s dream? A fairy-tale fantasy about true love? Kirk was a man with a life of his own, a life totally different from hers that could never include her.

  “Yes, I have to be sensible and go back...even though I know it won’t ever be the same.” She sighed. “I’ll want more than I had before. Much, much more.”

  By that she meant a man in her life, Kirk thought. He had awakened her sensual nature, and he doubted she would ever be able to live without sexual fulfillment again.

  His frown deepened. When he thought of her meeting a man, sleeping with him, Kirk’s stomach twisted into a knot. In his jealousy, he imagined some glib cosmopolitan New Yorker who could fit into her world, someone who would take her to museums and art galleries, some paragon who appreciated ballerinas as he never could, and Kirk’s fingers clenched the wheel savagely. “It won’t be the same for me either, going back to Texas, alone.” He hadn’t wanted to even think that to himself, much less to admit it to her. Ever.

  “But I’ll never be sorry,” she whispered weakly, desperately, “about anything. Even us... I’ll never forget you.”

  How inadequate—to become nothing more than a treasured memory to her, paling into obscurity as the years passed, he thought.

  “Neither will I.” But his voice was harsh with pain.

  The boat slid beneath a dark canopy of trees, and when it emerged the sun was gone. The colors in the day grayed; the water darkened.

  A tension had come between the man and the woman that was almost suffocating, and suddenly they both wished they had said nothing.

  But it was too late to take back the words.

  Too late to take back the feelings.

  The narrow boat drifted lazily down the river toward Hampton Court.

  Nine

  Kirk was tense as he helped Dawn out of the cab in front of the New National Theater of Dance and Ballet. He’d been tense ever since they’d flown into New York the night before. Tense even when he’d stayed with her in that cramped maze of rooms she occupied on Central Park West. Tense even in her twin bed that was so small there had hardly been room for one of them, much less both of them.

  She had solved the problem by sleeping on top of him—as always. He had lain awake in the dark, holding her as he listened to the night sounds of a city that never slept, and that might have been his most pleasant time in New York if his thoughts hadn’t turned to Mercedes and the rest of the Jacksons.

  New York was what Dawn was determined to have instead of them. Kirk was equally determined to show her she could have both. He knew too well what it was to run from the past. She would never be able to be really happy until she accepted herself, everything about herself. It was because of him that she’d been separated from her family. It was his responsibility to restore her to the Jacksons.

  The streets and sidewalks were jammed in front of the New National Theater. Kirk glanced up at the theater, at the throng of people on the steps.

  It was as impossible to fit himself into her life as it was to fit himself into her bed or co-op. Was there no space—anywhere—for a man to stretch out and breathe in this city? He remembered the shock of her small refrigerator. It had been empty except for diet soda, a can of tuna, juice, seltzer water and cat food. Mostly cat food. When he’d asked about her cat she’d said a friend was keeping it, probably for good as the cat always seemed much happier there.

  Kirk had slammed the refrigerator door in disgust and then gone out and bought some real food and cooked a hearty meal for them both last night. She had laughed at him for stuffing her refrigerator. But she’d enjoyed every bite of the luscious sirloin and potato. And he had enjoyed watching her eat.

  “You know I can’t cook,” she had said.

  “Because you never eat.”

  “I’m too afraid I’ll get fat.”

  “What kind of life is it, when you can’t even eat?”

  “No life at all,” she’d whispered. “We dancers live only when we dance.”

  You’re right, he had wanted to say. No life at all.

  But he had known all along that he could never understand her world.

  The crowd rushed past them down the sidewalk in front of the theater. Three men began to fight over the cab as Kirk paid the cabbie.

  He had to remember this was her world, not his. This was where she belonged. He wis
hed he could get back in the cab and leave her. Forget her. He wanted to think she would be happy.

  He glanced at her and saw her beautiful face frozen with fear as she eyed the waiting crowd in front of the theater. With the desperation in her expression, she seemed so fragile, and he felt intensely protective toward her.

  Hell. This place was a jungle. The one thing that would never be possible for him would be to forget her. He had to make sure she would be all right. Most of all, he had to set her free from her past.

  Lincoln rushed down the stairs to greet them. A crowd of reporters who’d been waiting for Dawn’s arrival swarmed toward them and reached them first.

  As a dozen microphones were thrust toward her lips, Dawn seized Kirk’s hand and clung to him tightly. “Kirk, this is even worse than I thought it would be. I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Honey, I’m not going to.”

  Camera shutters and reporters’ questions snapped rapidly in their faces as Kirk forced his way through the crowd and led her up the stairs.

  “Miss Hayden, is it true that you’re having an affair with the soldier of fortune paid to get you out of Ali Naid?”

  “Who paid you, Mr. MacKay?”

  “What can a cowboy and a ballerina have in common?”

  Speculative glances raked over the powerful man and the tiny woman whose hand he held. A burst of lewd laughter ensued.

  “Can we tell our readers the ice princess has a lover at last?”

  “I’m from the Sun. Miss Hayden, do you plan to return to your career as a dancer?”

  “Look this way, Dawn, and give our viewers a big smile.”

  “Kiss MacKay for us.”

  A man grabbed Kirk by the sleeve. “Sir, what do you have to say about hijacking that Turkish jet? Who in London pulled the right strings and got you out of jail?”

  Kirk’s scowl darkened, but to all these questions, he replied tersely, “No comment, gentlemen.” He whispered to Dawn. “Just smile. We’re almost inside.”

  Before they could reach the doors, a short fat man grabbed Dawn. “Tell us about your experience as a hostage. What did Aslam Nouri and his men do to you? Is it true that they violated...” The question trailed away luridly.

  Dawn blanched, and a wild desperation came into her eyes. What gave him the right to pry into her private affairs? To publish them to entertain his audience?

  Kirk seized the little man by his jacket and lifted him onto his toes. “Leave her alone,” Kirk snarled. “What kind of man would ask a woman who went through what she did a question like that?”

  For an instant the crowd backed away. Frightened by the threat of violence and the dangerous power they sensed in Kirk, a deathlike quiet descended upon the reporters. Then they recovered themselves and began taking pictures, screaming questions more rapidly than before and scribbling notes as Kirk dragged Dawn up the stairs.

  Blocking their path, Lincoln accosted the struggling couple. He ignored Kirk and swept Dawn into his arms for a long dramatic bear hug. The reporters closed in on the handsome blond man and his dark-haired ballerina. Dozens of shutters clicked.

  Lincoln ran a bronzed hand through his flaxen hair and beamed at the reporters. Obviously he wanted to make the most of this chance for publicity. He thrived on crowds, public attention, on the very things that a man of Kirk’s private temperament despised. Lincoln knew that publicity increased ticket sales at the box office. The kidnapping and rescue of Dawn Hayden had captured headlines for weeks.

  “Mr. Wilde, is it true Miss Hayden left the New National Theater to dance in Europe and in the Middle East because she quarreled with you over her career?”

  Dawn’s face was pale and haggard. Lincoln was beaming. “Absolutely not.” He punctuated this lie by flashing his most gorgeous smile.

  “Isn’t it true she wanted the part of Beauty in your new ballet? And that you wouldn’t give it to her?”

  “The role is hers, gentlemen. Or any other role she wants for that matter. Miss Hayden is and always has been my prima ballerina. She will dance Beauty the moment she feels up to it. Now, if you will excuse me, Miss Hayden is suffering with an injured ankle. She is exhausted.”

  Lincoln guided her through the doors, and a furious Kirk trailed silently behind them.

  *

  Dawn and Kirk were in Lincoln’s lavish corner office suite overlooking one of the most famous intersections in Manhattan. Along the walls were posters and photographs of famous ballerinas. One of them was Anna Montez. Dawn tried to avoid looking at the photograph, but she found her eyes inexorably drawn to it. The resemblance between herself and the dancer was striking.

  Her mother’s sister... Dawn was both fascinated and repelled. She could not look at the photograph without wondering what her own mother looked like. She could feel the terror welling up inside her, but she forced herself to ignore it. Dawn wanted to know about Anna, everything, and yet she was afraid to know.

  “So.” Lincoln arched his brows toward Dawn. “You are back.” He fought to suppress his eagerness. “Everything I told them outside is true. You can have everything you want.”

  Dawn’s eyes slanted toward Kirk, who was staring silently out the window at the traffic-clogged street below. His hands were jammed into his pockets, his great body tense. She wished she knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but his dark face was unreadable. She longed to go to him, to let him fold her possessively into his arms, but she didn’t dare. He’d been remote, cold, ever since their arrival in New York. It was as if the city itself symbolized all the barriers they were both determined to erect between one another. He was set on her coming to terms with her past. She was set on an opposite path. She no longer knew how to reach him.

  Everything? she thought. The brand-new black suit and tie Kirk wore gave him a cultured look, but it didn’t conceal the latent power of his body. Nor did it soften the harsh edges of his bronzed face. Her eyes devoured the broad shoulders, the narrow waist and hips, the thickly muscled thighs of the man she loved. A stark longing for something that could never be hers threatened to consume her.

  No, dear Lincoln. Not everything... Never again will life be so simple that you can give me everything. I will have to give up something.

  “If you’d listened to me and never gone to Ali Naid—” Lincoln began.

  She cut him off. “I know. You’re right. You always are.”

  Pacified, he smiled his most charming smile. “See that you remember that.”

  She smiled back at him, but now that she was no longer looking at Kirk, hers was a sad smile without enthusiasm.

  “You are different,” Lincoln said, and for the first time an uneasiness crept into his voice. He too cast a nervous look at the dark brooding figure at the opposite side of the room.

  “Anyone would be,” Kirk muttered.

  “I suppose so,” Lincoln said, without looking at Kirk. Lincoln took Dawn’s hand. “Especially after what you’ve been through. And yet it is dangerous for a performer to change.”

  “Yes. But without change, there cannot be growth,” she said.

  “You were wonderful before.”

  “But not wonderful enough to dance Beauty,” she murmured.

  “A man who is never wrong cannot very easily admit his mistakes,” Lincoln whispered. He was his most charming self. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “So am I,” she replied listlessly.

  “Without you, there was no one to fight with. Life was too easy. It’s good that you left. Now, because of the publicity, you will be a sensation. They will say you’re the greatest ballerina on earth. Your heart’s fondest dream will come true.”

  “Yes...” She smiled faintly, thinking it odd that she felt so hollow inside.

  *

  Kirk eyed the pale northern sunlight that slanted through the skylights and through the long windows of the studio as Dawn warmed up for her rehearsals. Kirk had been in New York a week. It was Friday, and tonight Dawn was to dance the role of A
urora in The Sleeping Beauty to a sellout audience. Afterward Lincoln was throwing a party for the whole company in her honor at his loft. Though Kirk hadn’t told her, he’d arranged for the Jacksons to be in the audience.

  Sinking down onto a bench Kirk watched from the shadows as Dawn’s pink toe shoes whirled lightly across the wooden floor. Not for the first time, he marveled that she could dance with her ankle wrapped. He had watched her pack it in ice, warm it up again, suffer treatments from the sound machine time and time again. It was a chronic sprain, she had told him. She’d told him she’d danced with the pain for so many years, she scarcely felt it anymore, but he didn’t believe her.

  A dozen girls dressed mostly in pink sat along one wall, sewing ribbons onto their toe shoes for their performance that night, cracking their necks, stretching their toes, braiding their hair as they watched. A few stood at the barre. They were thin girls that could do with a man who would feed them a steak or two, pretty girls with smiling, powdered, look-alike doll faces, and all of them were more conscious of him than they were of Dawn.

  He wore jeans and boots, a blue cotton shirt open at the throat and a leather bomber jacket. Virile and masculine to the core, he might have felt out of place in such a feminine environment had not all the ballerinas made him feel so welcome. If Lincoln loathed Kirk’s constant presence in his theater, the ballerinas spoiled Kirk with constant attention, bringing him cokes, potato chips, cigarettes—these even when he informed them he didn’t smoke.

  “You have acquired a harem,” Dawn had teased, slightly jealous.

  “There’s more to ballet than I thought,” he’d agreed.

  “You just like all the pretty girls.”

  “What man wouldn’t?”

  “I thought you didn’t like skinny girls.”

  “You gave me a taste for them.” He had laughed and swept her into his arms.

  He must be getting soft, but the week in New York had not made him nearly as crazy as he’d thought it would. Dawn had attended two classes a day and rehearsals; the rest of the time she’d spent with him. He’d gotten into the habit of jogging in Central Park every morning. One afternoon she had taken him out to Montauk where there were windswept dunes and boats for hire. On another day, she’d taken him to Fire Island State Park where he’d taught her to fish. Twice they’d taken a train to Connecticut where friends had a house in the country and kept Arabians. Kirk had persuaded her to ride with him again...on her own horse...without openly trying to make her remember her past. Although he tried to make her remember in a thousand little ways.