"Don't start," Gabriel all but snarled. His exceedingly thin facade threatened to crack.

Lucifer sobered. "Who is she?"

With a definite snarl, Gabriel swung away, moving into the crowd, leaving Lucifer with his brows riding high and real concern in his eyes.

Whoever she was, she had to be here somewhere. Clinging to that conviction, Gabriel started to quarter the room.

Alathea was taking the long way back from the withdrawing room whence she'd retreated to escape her increasingly persistent cavaliers, when she came upon Gabriel in the crowd. As making any headway through the throng required constant tacking, despite being so tall, neither had any warning of the other's approach.

Suddenly, they were face to face-and very close.

They both jumped, tensed, Gabriel with his habitual reaction to her, instantly masked. Alathea saw it and prayed that he thought her reaction merely simple surprise, not the ground-shaking shock it had been. Her breathing had seized; her eyes had flown wide. She kept them locked on his. They were so close, she could sense his strength through every pore, could almost feel the shocking heat of that large body against hers. Wrapped intimately about hers, sunk deep into hers. She swayed slightly toward him, then caught herself. Heaven help her! Would it always be like this from now on?

His eyes narrowed. Dragging in a desperate breath, she stiffened her spine and lifted her head. His gaze rose to her beaded hairnet; she tilted her chin even higher and clung to her customary haughtiness.

"It might be gold, but…"

Temper came to her rescue. "It is not tawdry. If you dare say it is…" She held his gaze for an instant longer-long enough to realize that she had to get away. "I have nothing to say to you-I doubt you have anything civil to say to me. I have better things to do than stand here crossing swords with you."

"Indeed?"

That was accompanied by an infuriating lift of one brow.

"Indeed-and I don't wish to hear your opinion of anyone else, either."

"Because it might be true?"

"Regardless of their accuracy, to me, your opinions are neither here nor there." With that, she tried to step around him but the crowd was so tight-packed she couldn't get past unless he gave way.

He didn't immediately. His gaze skimmed her face, searching-she prayed not seeing. Then he inclined his head and shifted. "You will, as always, go to the devil in your own way."

She bestowed a look of regal indifference upon him, then pushed past. Her breast brushed his arm, one thigh touched his. The tremor that rocked her nearly buckled her knees. Lungs locked, she held her spine rigid and forged on and away. She didn't dare look back.

Inwardly shaking his head, Gabriel waited for the muscles that had seized at her touch to relax. They'd touched little over the years but her effect on him hadn't waned. As his chest eased, he dragged in a huge breath-

She was close.

Instantly, he scanned the surrounding crowd. Not one woman in sight was tall enough, but he couldn't mistake that perfume. It was the essence of her, the scent that wreathed his dreams. He breathed in again. The perfume was still strong, but dispersing. She'd been very… close…

His muscles locked like stone. Slowly, he turned, and stared at the slender back of the exceptionally tall woman who had, just a moment before, stood very close to him.

It couldn't be.

For one finite moment, his mind flatly rejected what his senses were screaming.

Then reality fractured.

Alathea felt Gabriel's gaze on her back, like a knife between her shoulder blades. Her lungs seized; panic clutching her stomach she shot a glance behind.

He was tacking through the crowd in her wake. His eyes met hers, their expression primitive. For an instant, the sight paralyzed her. Then she whirled and tried to go faster, to slip through the crowd and escape.

The crowd only got denser. Lady Hendricks called and waved-Alathea had to stop, smile, touch fingers. Then she was on her way again, breathlessly dodging, weaving, desperately seeking an easier path through the crush-

Hard fingers locked around her elbow.

She froze. In the instant her panicked wits reengaged, he bent his head and murmured, "Don't bother."

His lips brushed her ear. Suppressing a shiver, she stiffened. He stood at her right shoulder, her elbow in a viselike grip; even without his warning, she knew that grip would be unbreakable. And he was furious. Past furious. The anger pouring from him scorched her. What had given her away?

"This way."

He'd been looking over the sea of heads; now he steered her toward one side of the room. She forced her feet to move. She could not cause a scene, not here. In his present mood he was capable of anything, even picking her up, tossing her over his shoulder, and stalking off with her. His temper once aroused was a force to contend with; challenging it now would be foolhardy. As they moved toward one wall, she struggled to marshal her wits, her arguments, her denials, bracing herself for what was to come.

She didn't see the door until they stood before it; he opened it and marched her into an unlit and thankfully uninhabited gallery. He didn't stop until they were at the end where a long window, curtains wide, poured moonlight into the narrow room.

Placing her directly in the silver beam, he swung to face her.

His gaze raked her face, devoured her features as if he'd never seen them before. His face was chiseled, harder than stone, every edge sharp. Lips compressed, his jaw set, his heavy lids too low for her to see his eyes, he studied her. His gaze lingered on her jaw, then he lifted his lids and looked into her eyes. For a long moment, he held her gaze, hazel to hazel. Tense beyond bearing, her nerves stretched tight, she wondered what he could see.

"It was you."

Although laced with wonder, his tone brooked no argument. She raised her brows. "What on earth are you on about?"

His brows rose but his expression didn't waver. "Denial? Surely you can do better than that?"

"I dare say if I knew what misbegotten notion you've taken into your fevered brain I could more specifically address it, but as I don't, denial seems the safest option." She looked away, too afraid that if she continued to meet his eyes she would see his knowledge of her-his physical knowledge of her-blazoned in the hazel. Then she'd remember, too, and vulnerability would sweep her-and he'd pounce.

The touch of long fingers curving about her face nearly brought her to her knees. His grip firmed; deliberately, he turned her head until her eyes met his again.

"Oh, you know-there's no point denying it." His words were clipped; fury raged beneath them. He hesitated, then added, "Your perfume gave you away."

Her perfume? The tweeny. Tidying. Emptying her jewelry box onto the table. Then putting everything back in. Two identical flacons, one in, one out.

Her expression had blanked; her lips started to form an "Oh." Alathea caught herself and glared. "What about my perfume?"

He smiled, not with amusement. "Too late."

"Nonsense!" She lifted her chin from his fingers. "It's simply a particular blend-I dare say many ladies use it."

"Perhaps, but none so tall. So… accomplished."

When she merely raised a weary brow, he supplied, "So capable of picking locks."

Alathea frowned. "Am I to understand that you're searching for some woman-a tall woman-who wears the same perfume as I and can pick locks?"

"No-you're to understand that I've found her."

His ringing certainty had her looking up-he trapped her gaze. His eyes narrowed, then his gaze dropped to her lips. Insidious, mesmeric attraction flared between them…

He stepped closer. Alathea's breath caught in her throat. Eyes widening, her gaze fixed on his hard face, she quivered-

The door from the ballroom opened; other guests ambled in.

Gabriel glanced around.

Alathea sucked in a breath. "You're completely and absolutely mistaken."

His head snapped back, but she'd already stepped around him. She swept past the other guests with a regal nod. Head high, in a glide just short of a run, she escaped back into the ballroom.

Chapter 13

A waltz was just starting. Alathea's mad dash nearly sent her into the dancers. She teetered on the edge of the dance floor-

A hard arm collected her, sliding about her waist, swinging her forward, then expertly steadying her. She swallowed a shriek, then fought to catch her breath-and her balance, and her scattered wits, only to lose all three as Gabriel locked his arm around her, trapping her from breast to thigh against him. One hand held fast, he whirled her down the room.

Her body instantly came alive. Her breasts swelled. She fought to hold herself stiffly, but her body molded to his, thighs brushing evocatively at every turn. Their hips swayed together; memories churned.

Within seconds, she'd softened. She refused to meet his eyes, too busy struggling to master her whirling wits, to gather her resolution, to find some way forward. Her composure was all she had left; desperately, she clung to it.

He was holding her very close. As her head continued to whirl, as her body continued to heat with every revolution, she fixed her gaze over his shoulder, and hissed, "You're holding me too close."

Gabriel looked at her face, so achingly familiar yet… had he ever truly seen it before? His temper was up and running, his emotions rioting; he had no idea what he thought or felt. He could barely believe the truth in his arms. His hold on his impulses was tenuous as he let his gaze roam the long slender lines of her throat, the creamy expanse of skin above her neckline, over the rounded swells, now firm, hot and tight, pressed against his chest. "I've held you closer, if you recall."