The Reluctant Lark Read Free Page A

that I can do pretty well as I please.”
    “Not with me you can’t! Besides, why would anyone want to follow a total stranger around the country?”
    He smiled lazily. “I’m tempted to tell you, but I don’t think you’re ready for it. Let’s just say that I’m doing some very important reconnoitering before I launch my offensive. I knew after your second concert that I was going to have a hell of a battle on my hands, and I took pains to make sure that I had all the ammunition needed to fight it.”
    “Battle?” she asked dazedly. “What battle?”
    “Not now, love,” he said softly, his eyes glowing amber gold. “You wouldn’t understand at the moment.” Gently he cupped her cheek in his hard, warm palm.“Let’s just say I’m planning on turning my mournful dove into a lark.”
    “You’re completely mad,” she whispered. She was suddenly acutely conscious of Challon’s vibrant nearness, the pulse that was beating in his strong bronzed throat, the heady scent of warm male flesh mixed with the clean odor of soap. Standing isolated between the curtain of gently falling rain and the barrier that the glass french doors formed between the two of them and the noisy party a few feet away, it was almost as if they were in a private world of their own.
    Sheena shook her head to clear it. Was she as insane as he was? Why was she feeling this melting, boneless warmth in her every limb? Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer for no better reason than that golden, intimate look, which seemed to wrap her tenderly yet securely in its velvet web.
    “God, but you’re a temptation, sweetheart,” Challon said thickly, his eyes accurately reading and interpreting the telltale glow in her jet black eyes. “If I hadn’t promised myself that I’d try patience and gentleness first, I’d whisk you out of here and take you home with me.”
    She could feel her cheeks turn warm, and she looked away hastily. “It might not be entirely your decision to make,” she said tartly, lifting her chin haughtily. “I’m not accustomed to letting strange men carry me home like some sort of trophy.”
    Challon chuckled, his lean cheeks creased with amusement. “Yes, I know, little dove. I’m going to have to exert all my expertise to overcome that convent upbringing.”
    “How did you …?” she started, then trailed off helplessly. Was there nothing the man didn’t know about her?
    “Tell me,” he asked suddenly, “are you doing ‘Rory’s Song’ tomorrow night?”
    She felt a little ripple of shock. “Of course I’m doing it,” she said. “Not that it concerns you.”
    “Everything you do concerns me, Sheena,” Challon said quietly. “But I admit that this particular decision comes as no surprise to me. It fits the pattern quite neatly with what I’ve observed in the past three months. Don’t you ever question any edicts issued by your dear uncle? Do you really enjoy being a lovely mindless puppet?”
    “Puppet!” she exclaimed, furious. “You have no idea at all of what you’re saying. My uncle loves me, and he only does what’s best for me.”
    “Would a man who loves you dress you in mourning black and send you up on stage in front of thousands of people to rip your soul to shreds?” Challon asked grimly.
    “It’s not like that!”
    “Oh, isn’t it? Then what is it like, Sheena? Tell me what you feel when you’re out there in front of that mob who only want to taste your tears and touch your agony.”
    Her huge dark eyes misted. “Please,” she pleaded huskily. “I don’t want to talk about it. Won’t you just go away?”
    He shook his head, his golden eyes tender. “Never again, little dove. There’s always pain before healing; you’re wounded, and I want to be there to kiss it better.”
    “Sheena, what are you doing out here?” Sean Reilly’s voice, unusually sharp, cut through that breathlessly intimate moment. He closed the french doors behind him and approached with his usual