Free Illegal Possession by Kay Hooper Page A

herself.
    He turned that over in his mind, examined it from every angle, held it up to the mental searchlight that had always penetrated to truth. But there was still darkness, because he didn’t yet know enough about Troy to be able to see what was there.
    And then there was the matter of how to convince her that he didn’t consider her a thief. Dallas Cameron, boardroom strategist, tireless planner, went to work on that problem.
    With an effort that left her head aching, Troy put Dallas from her mind long enough to rehearse with Tom. But during the brief intermissions between songs, while Tom discussed various changes with the band, echoes of their conversation—confrontation?—disturbed her.
    “You’re not winning points for being stubborn, and I’m not winning them for being patient.”
    “I want to be a part of your life….”
    “It isn’t a game!”
    She didn’t look out into the dim auditorium. She wouldn’t let herself look to see if he was still out there watching. But reluctantly she realized that his accusation had been deserved. She
had
been wearing a chip on her shoulder all day. She had behaved with a grim determination, and that bothered her suddenly.
    What was wrong with her? If she didn’t want the man in her life, she had only to tell him that in no uncertain terms; he wasn’t, she knew intuitively, the kind of man to press his—attentions?—on a woman who really didn’t want him around.
    Why all the hedging? she wondered broodingly. Hedging and halfhearted protests—and “agreements,” for God’s sake. Why couldn’t she just flatly tell the man that she wasn’t interested?
    “Blondie! Hey, kid, pay attention!”
    Snapping back to her surroundings, Troy bent her mind to the songs, and tried to ignore Tom’s curious, speculative look. “Let’s see. Where were we?”
    “I don’t know where
you
were, but—”
    “Sing, Tommy.”
    “Uh…right.”
             
    After the rehearsal was finally concluded to their satisfaction, Tom cheerfully released the band and then reminded Troy politely that her
escort
was still waiting for her. With a faint grimace she waved and collected her jacket, going down the steps and into the still-dim auditorium. A patch of darkness detached itself from the second row and moved out into the aisle to join her.
    “You two sing well together,” Dallas said as they started for the lobby.
    “Thanks. Tommy has a wonderful voice.”
    “So have you.”
    Stiffly Troy replied, “I wasn’t fishing.”
    “I didn’t think you were.”
    Troy said nothing more. She was half puzzled and half wary; the even, controlled tone of his voice bothered her. Darkness had fallen while they’d been inside, and they walked beneath the harsh glare of the parking-lot lights in silence. Silently they got into the Porsche. Silently they made the drive back to Troy’s house.
    It was Dallas who broke the strained and uncomfortable silence when they reached her house. Ignoring the silver-gray Mercedes—obviously his, she realized for the first time—parked in her drive, Dallas joined her on the walkway, and said evenly, “Mind if I come in for a few minutes?”
    She wanted to say that she did, indeed, mind. Wanted to—but couldn’t somehow. Without speaking, she led the way up the walk and into the house.
    Bryce, for once a second ahead of her, opened the door for them. The butler took her jacket with a faintly gratified expression, telling her in his curiously paternal yet formal tone that dinner would be ready in an hour.
    Troy hesitated for a moment, then looked up at Dallas. “Join me?”
    “Maybe we’d better talk first,” he replied flatly.
    The rebuff stung, but it roused no anger in Troy. He was entitled, she thought, to that shot. She led the way into an informal den off the main hall and went immediately to a built-in bar in one corner, glancing back over her shoulder. “Drink?”
    “Dutch courage?” he asked.
    It didn’t sound like a