" Lyon, you're being fanciful," Christina interrupted. "This is only the second-no, the third time I've seen you, if you count two times in one evening-"
"You're doing it again," Lyon said.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to push me off center."
"I couldn't push you anywhere. You're too big. I know my strengths, Lyon."
"Do you take everything in literal meaning?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you're the one who has trouble making sense. Yes," Christina added with a quick nod. "You see, Lyon, you don't ask logical questions."
She laughed when he glared. "Why are you here?" she asked again.
She was back to staring at her hands again. A faint blush covered her cheeks. She was suddenly embarrassed about something.
He didn't have any idea what or why. That didn't surprise him, though. The unusual was becoming commonplace where Christina was concerned. Lyon thought he was ready for just about anything now. He was confident he'd have her game found out before the end of their visit.
"I really do know why you came to see me," Christina whispered timidly.
"Oh?" Lyon asked. "What is that reason?"
"You like being with me," she answered, daring a quick look up to see his reaction. When he didn't seem irritated by her honesty, she warmed to her topic.
" Lyon? Do you believe in destiny?"
Oh, dear, he was looking confused again. Christina let out a long sigh. "Well, you do admit you like being with me, don't you?" she coached.
"Yes, but God only knows why," Lyon confessed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
"Yes, the Great Spirit does know why."
"Great Spirit?" Lyon shook his head. "Lord, I'm starting to sound like an echo. All right, I'll ask. Who is this Great Spirit?"
"God, of course. Different cultures have their own names for the All Powerful, Lyon. Surely you know that. You aren't a heathen, are you?" She sounded quite appalled at that possibility.
"No, I'm not a heathen."
"Well, you needn't get irritated with me. I only asked."
He stared at her a long, silent minute. Then he stood up. Before Christina knew what he was going to do, he'd pulled her up into his arms. He hugged her to him and rested his chin against the top of her head. "I'm either going to strangle you or kiss you," he announced. "The choice is yours."
Christina sighed. "I would prefer that you kiss me. But first, please answer my question, Lyon. It's important to me."
"What question?"
"I asked you if you believed in destiny," she said. She pulled away from him and looked up at his face. "You really do have trouble holding a thought, don't you?"
She had the gall to sound disgruntled. "I don't have any trouble holding a thought," he muttered.
Christina didn't look like she believed him. She was a witch, trying to cast her magical spell on him. Lyon felt as besotted as a silly, worthless fop and as puny as an infant when her gaze was directed on him so enchantingly.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Lyon asked. He shook his head over his ridiculous reaction to the nymph glaring up at him. A lock of hair fell forward, concealing a part of his scar. Christina quit trying to pull away from him and reached up to smooth the lock back in place. The gentle touch jarred him back to her question.
"No, I don't believe in destiny."
"That's a pity."
She acted as though he'd just confessed a grave, unforgivable sin. "All right," he announced. "I know better than to ask, but God help me, I'm going to anyway. Why is it a pity?"
"Dare you laugh at me?" she asked when she saw his smile.
"Never," he lied.
"Well, I guess it really doesn't matter."
"That I laugh at you?"
"No, it doesn't matter if you believe in destiny," Christina answered.
"Why doesn't it matter?"
"Because what will happen will happen whether you believe or not. See how simple it is?"
"Ah," Lyon said, drawing the sound out. "You're a philosopher, I see."
She stiffened in his arms and glared at him again. The change in her mood happened so swiftly that Lyon was thrown off center. "Did I just say something to upset you?" he asked.
"I'm not a flirt. How can you so easily slander me? Why, I've been honest with you all during this conversation. I came right out and said I liked looking at you, and that I'd like you to kiss me. A philosopher, indeed."
The woman was making him daft. "Christina, a philosopher is a man who devotes his mind to the study of various beliefs. It was not slander for me to call you such."
"Spell this word, please," she said, looking extremely suspicious.
Lyon did as she requested. "Oh, I see now," she said. "I believe I've confused philanderer with this man who studies. Yes, that's what I've done. Don't look so confused, Lyon. It was an easy mistake to make."
"Easy?" He told himself not to ask. Curiosity won out again. "Why is it easy?"
"Because the words are close in spelling," she answered.
She sounded as though she was instructing a simpleminded child. He took immediate exception to her manner. "That is without a doubt the most illogical explanation I've ever heard. Unless of course… you've only just learned to speak English, haven't you, Christina?"
Because he seemed so pleased by his conclusion, Christina really didn't have the heart to tell him no, she hadn't just learned English. She'd been speaking the difficult language for several years now.
"Yes, Lyon," she lied. "I speak many languages and sometimes confuse my words. I'm not at all a bluenose, though. And I only seem to forget the laws when I'm with you. I do prefer to speak French. It's a much easier language, you see."
It all fell into place in Lyon 's head. He'd solved the puzzle. "No wonder I had difficulty understanding you, Christina. It's because you've just learned our language, isn't that so?"
He was so happy he'd reasoned it all out, he'd just repeated his statement.
Christina shook her head. "I don't think so, Lyon. No one else seems to have the least bit of trouble understanding me. Have you been speaking English long?"
He hugged her again and laughed over the outrageous way she'd just turned the tables on him. In the corner of his mind was the thought that he could be content standing in the center of her salon holding her for the rest of the morning.
" Lyon? Would it make you unhappy if I really was a bluestocking? Aunt says it's not at all fashionable to even admit to reading. For that reason I must also pretend to be uninformed."
"Must also pretend?" Lyon asked, homing in on that odd remark.
"I really do like to read," Christina confessed, ignoring his question. "My favorite is the story of your King Arthur. Have you read it, by chance?"
"Yes, love, I have. Sir Thomas Mallory wrote it," Lyon said. "Now I know where you get your fantasies. Knights, warriors-both are the same. You have a very romantic nature, Christina."
"I do?" Christina asked, smiling. "That's good to know," she added when Lyon nodded. "Being romantic is a nice quality for a gentle lady to have, isn't it, Lyon?"
"Yes, it is," he drawled.
"Of course, we mustn't let Aunt Patricia know of this inclination, for it would surely-"
"Let me guess," Lyon interrupted. "It would displease her, right?"
"Yes, I fear it would. You'd better go home now. When you remember what it was you wanted to speak to me about, you may call again."
Lyon wasn't going anywhere. He told himself he couldn't take much more of her conversation, though. He decided to kiss her just to gain a moment's peace. Then he'd have her submissive enough to answer a few pertinent questions, providing of course that he could remember what those questions were. He'd already gained quite a bit of information about her. Christina had obviously been raised in France, or in a French-speaking neighborhood. Now he wanted to find out why she guarded that simple truth so ferociously. Was she ashamed, embarrassed? Perhaps the war was the reason for her reticence.
Lyon caressed her back to distract her from dismissing him again. Then he leaned down and tenderly nuzzled her lips while his hands continued to stroke her, gentle her. Christina moved into his embrace again. Her hands slowly found their way up around his neck.
She obviously liked the distraction. When Lyon finally quit teasing her and claimed her mouth completely, she was leaning up on her tiptoes. Her fingers threaded through his hair, sending a shudder through him. Lyon lifted her off the floor, bringing her mouth level with his own.
It was a strange sensation to be held in such a way, though not nearly as strange as the way Lyon was affecting her senses. His scent drove her wild. It was so masculine, so earthy. Desire swept through her in waves of heat when Lyon 's tongue slid inside her mouth to deepen the intimacy.
It didn't take Christina any time at all to become as bold as Lyon was. Her tongue mated with his, timidly at first, and then with growing ardor. She knew he liked her boldness, for his mouth slanted almost savagely over hers and she could hear his groan of pleasure.
Christina was the most responsive woman Lyon had ever encountered. Her wild enthusiasm stunned him. He was a man conditioned to the game of innocence most women played. Christina, however, was refreshingly honest with her desire. She aroused him quickly, too. Lyon was actually shaking when he dragged his mouth away. His breath was choppy, uneven.