Free Illegal Possession by Kay Hooper

to be a part of mine.”
    Troy stared up at him, mentally resisting, physically stiff.
    Dallas returned her stare, feeling frustration well up inside of him. “What are you afraid of?” he demanded softly. “Me?”
    She stepped back, shrugging away his hands. In a voice so low, he barely caught the words, she murmured, “No. Me.” Then she went down the aisle and climbed the steps to the brightly lit stage.
    He followed more slowly, stopping short of the stage to take a seat in the second row. All things considered, he decided that he really didn’t want to have to shake hands with Tom Elliot. And he needed the dim privacy of the seats; he needed to think.
    “Hi, Blondie,” Tom called cheerfully as Troy tossed her jacket to the grinning drummer and approached the piano.
    “Hi,” she returned calmly, picking up a tall stool on the way and hefting it like a weapon.
    “Any last requests before I kill you?”
    “The punch?”
    “In spades. I woke up with somebody else’s head this morning.”
    Tom lifted his shoulders in a shrug and spread his hands defenselessly. “I told you it had a kick,” he reminded innocently.
    “Uh-huh.” Troy sighed as she set the stool beside the piano and climbed up on it. “I am definitely going to kill you. Once for that damn punch, and once for roping me into what’s going to go down in history as this infamous duet.”
    “I’d like to rope you into joining the band permanently.”
    “Forget it, chum.”
    It was Tom’s turn to sigh. “Don’t you think I get tired of hearing the sound of my own voice?” he asked in a long-suffering tone. “I swear if one more hostess archly asks me to sing for my supper, I’ll—”
    Amused, Troy said, “It’s your own fault for living in a city full of parties and hostesses. Live in Hollywood instead; there are so many entertainers out there, they’d never notice you.”
    Tom grimaced slightly. “Not a chance.”
    “Not going to accept the studio’s offer, then?”
    “Oh, no. I’ve seen what happens when some misguided studio decides to turn a singer into an actor; I can deal with the potshots from music critics, but I don’t need film critics blasting me as well.”
    Smiling at him, Troy picked up a sheaf of music from the top of the piano. “Probably a wise decision, although you’d make a terrific actor.”
    “Why, thank—”
    “You’re pure ham.”
    “—you very much!” Tom’s pleased tone turned indignant on the last three words.
    “You’re welcome.”
    Tom leaned an elbow on the piano. “While we’re attacking personalities, was that Ace Cameron I saw you come in with?”
    “Whose personality are you attacking with that question?” Troy inquired dryly.
    “Don’t avoid the question.”
    “It’s him.”
    “Mmm. Should I ask why you brought him along?”
    “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t.”
    “In other words, mind my own business?”
    “Those words cover it nicely.”
    “I only wondered,” Tom said innocently, “because it looked as if you two were having a disagreement up there in the aisle.”
    “You see too much, Tommy.”
    “Shut up and sing, huh?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Oh, all right. But if you need a shoulder, Blondie—”
    “I’ll keep you in mind.”
             
    For the next two hours, Dallas sat quietly, watching and listening as Troy rehearsed several songs with Tom Elliot and his band. Her voice, though untrained, was richly powerful and huskily seductive, and Dallas wondered idly if anyone had ever told her just how good she was.
    A chameleon, that’s what she was. As changeable and unpredictable as a spring storm.
    And afraid of…herself.
    Since he wasn’t a vain man, Dallas didn’t believe that by that admission she meant she was afraid of how he could make her feel. Troy was a blunt woman; if she’d meant,
I’m afraid of how you make me feel
, then that’s what she would have said. No, for some reason he didn’t—yet—understand, she was afraid of