Finger Prints by Barbara Delinsky Page B

not free.”
    Sensing her weakness, since it was his own as well, he offered a soft challenge. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that?”
    She hesitated, then her eyes slowly met his. Her expression was an amalgam of emotions, not the least of which was regret. “I’m not,” she whispered in anguish.
    Glancing down at her hand, he passed his thumb over her ring. “You don’t live with your husband.”
    “No. And I’m not attached to anyone else,” she added, anxious to head off the question she was sure would come. “But I have other things, other responsibilities. I really can’t let myself get involved.”
    “It’s just a dinner, Carly. What harm can come of that?”
    But he knew. He felt it himself, lured and captured by something far deeper in her wide gray eyes than the promise of companionship, of easy conversation, of a smile. He’d never had quite this reaction to a woman before, this sense of glimpsing a true treasure worth seeking. He felt suddenly stunned and frightened in his way, though he couldn’t turn his back as she had done. Very slowly, he climbed another step until he gazed down at her.
    Carly tipped her head up as he rose, helpless to either look away or escape. Her mouth felt dry; she swallowed hard. She felt the warmth of his gaze as it seared her eyes and cheeks before sliding to her lips in a vibrant caress. Catching in a sharp breath, she silently pleaded for him to stop. She couldn’t handle this kind of attraction, simply couldn’t handle it.
    But he didn’t let go. His hand turned once on hers to cradle it protectively. His thumb moved lightly on her palm. “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured. “I couldn’t hurt you. I don’t want you to be frightened.”
    “But I am!” she countered in a frantic whisper, all too aware of his long, lean body mere inches from her own. “Please, Ryan. Please let me go.”
    He dropped her hand, but only to gently touch her face. “I can’t do that. I’d never forgive myself.”
    “But I can’t be who you need! You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all! Leave me be, Ryan. Please?”
    He stared at her then for what seemed an eternity before slowly shaking his head. The backs of his fingers caressed her cheek; he ran a trembling thumb across her lips. He hesitated, entranced by the unadorned softness of her mouth. Then, yielding to a need as strong as any he’d ever known, he lowered his head.
    But Carly’s fingers were against his lips, holding him back at that last moment. “No!” she cried on the edge of panic, then forced her voice to a whisper when she felt his compliance. “I can’t handle this now. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She was aware of her fingers on his mouth and lingered for that briefest instant to savor his maleness, the soft bristle of his mustache and beard, the strength of his lips, before letting her hand drop to her side.
    “Can you tell me why?” When she shook her head, he went quickly on. “How can I fight something if I don’t know what it is?”
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, finally managing to avert her gaze. Fearing that if she lingered she might never have the chance again, she turned and ran up the stairs.
    Ryan’s voice carried clearly upward. “I’ll fight anyway, y’know!” He watched her round the second-floor railing and start toward the third, and raised his voice accordingly. “I don’t give up easily!” Then he leaned over the railing with his head tipped way back, reluctant to lose sight of her. His voice echoed in the silence. “I can play dirty….!”
    If he’d hoped to appeal to her sense of humor, he failed. The quiet opening and shutting of her door was the only response he got. Long after he knew she was once again entombed in her private world, he stood looking up.
    Finally, accepting temporary defeat, he dropped his head forward and began the slow climb. Whereas when he’d bounded in after her, he’d had all the energy in the world, now he felt