She saw his hand tighten on the saddle, and something flared hot and bright in his eyes.

Then his expression was once again veiled. He swung up into the saddle. "I don't think that would be such a good idea. Magic has a tendencyto disappear when disbelievers appear on the scene. You'd better continue your spinning on your own."

She mustn't let the rejection hurt so much. She knew he was wary of the effect she had on him physically. He had avoided touching her as if she were a plague victim. She could feel the tension in him whenever he brushed against her accidentally. She had thought, at first, that it was her imagination, that she was seeing her own desire reflected in him. But the signs were there, occurring too often to be mistaken. He wanted her. Why the devil wouldn't he give in and take her?

"Well, if you insist." She kicked the chestnut into a trot. "It's your loss. But you don't know what you're missing."

She was wrong. He knew exactly what he was missing, and that was the problem, he thought grimly. Perhaps this damnable abstinence would have been easier if he didn't know just how velvety her skin felt to the touch or how wonderfully tight she was around him as he moved. ... He felt the familiar heat begin to build In him and he checked the thought. He was having a difficult enough time resisting the emotional tumult of Pandora's nearness without risking a sexual maelstrom.

Pandora had reined in several yards away and was looking back over her shoulder In puzzlement. "What's wrong?" Her face lit with a teasing grin. "Having trouble keeping up, Philip?"

He started to laugh. His eyes were suddenly dancing as he spurred after her down the road. "That's an entirely subjective matter," he said solemnly. "There are any number of ways of looking at it."

She frowned. "I don't know what you mean." "Never mind. It's an in joke." He chuckled. "Or should I say, it's an up joke?" He had drawn abreast of her and was passing her in a cloud of dust. "What did you say about a race?"

* * *

The telephone call came when they were halfway through breakfast.

Pandora looked at Raoul in surprise. "For me? Who is it?"

"A Mr. Neal Sabine," Raoul said. "He's calling from Paris."

"Paris? What on earth is he doing in Paris?" she wondered aloud as she pushed back her chair. She was aware of Philip's sudden stiffening across the table from her.

"You're obviously going to jump up and run to find out," Philip said caustically. "You could call him back after breakfast."

"I'd die of curiosity before then. Besides, it might be important."

"What could be so important?" Philip's expression was forbidding. "You said you were through with Nemesis." His lips twisted. "Evidently that didn't include Sabine."

Oh heavens, Philip was going to be difficult. Why did this have to happen when everything was going so beautifully? Well, she'd just have to soothe him when she finished talking to Neal. She stood up. "Neal's my friend. He's done a good deal for me over the years. I'm never 'through' with friends," she said as she turned away. "I'll take the call in the library and be right back."

"Don't hurry." Philip took a sip of coffee, his expression hard. "We wouldn't want you to slight your 'friend' in any way."

She gave a helpless shrug. "I'll be right back," she repeated as she strode swiftly out of the breakfast room.

She returned a little over fifteen minutes later. There was a worried frown on her face as she sat down opposite him. She took a sip of coffee. It was cold. She made a face and set the cup down in the saucer and pushed it away.

"Well?" Philip asked with a cool smile. "How is your old friend?"

"Not so good." She took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I have to fly to Paris today."

His face showed both shock and pain before he wiped it clean of expression. "Really?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Philip, don't freeze me out like this," she said impatiently. "I've got to go. Neal, Gene, and Pauly are in Paris trying to put together a European tour. They have a new lead singer." She smiled fleetingly. "Neal said she has a great voice, but my legs are better."

"If they have a new singer, why do they need you?" She was going away. She was leaving him just as— He blocked the thought out and ignored the wild explosion of pain that seared through him. He kept his features carefully expressionless as he tried to fortify himself against the corrosive agony he knew so well.

"Dubois, the promoter, is giving them problems. He doesn't want to invest heavily in an unknown." Her face was earnest. "It's important that everything about the tour be first-rate. It can be very traumatic careerwise for a group to lose its lead singer. A triumphant European tour would give them the clout to ask for big bucks when they return to the U.S." She paused. "Dubois always liked me. He handled our first tour after Nemesis was formed. Neal thinks I can persuade him to take a chance on the new girl too. It's worth a try."

"Is it?" He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Then, of course, you must go. I'll tell Raoul to have the plane readied while you pack."

She felt a little shiver of panic run through her at the impersonal way he was speaking. "I have to go, Philip. It isn't as if I want to run off to Paris. I'll fly in today, see Dubois tonight, and be back tomorrow evening at the latest."

He shook his head. "No."

She went still. "What do you mean?"

"Don't come back. I don't want you here." There was suppressed anger beneath the coldness of his words. "I don't want you in my life. I've told you that before."

Agony ripped through her. "You do want me. I know you do." Her chin lifted defiantly. "I'll be back tomorrow night and everything will be the same. You'll see."

His lips twisted. "Don't count on it. You know I seldom keep a woman for more than a month. Be sure to take that pretty trinket I gave you in San Francisco. There won't be any more forthcoming."

"You know I don't want your damn gifts," she whispered. "Why are you doing this to me?"

A shadow of pain passed over his face. Then it was gone. "Don't come back," he said again. "You'll regret it if you do."

"I'll be home tomorrow evening," she said huskily. "I'm not going to let you do this to us, Philip."

"This is my home, not yours," he said as he turned away. "You're an outsider here. Remember that, Pandora." He didn't look at her again as he strode out of the room.

She closed her eyes, trying to fight back the waves of pain. Why? She had expected anger, even jealousy, but not this cold rejection. It was as if she'd touched a trigger that had set off a hidden land mine. She couldn't believe that the laughing man who had sat beside her on the cliff this morning could have changed in such a short time. No. She wouldn't accept it. That warm, gentle man was still there beneath the hardness. She just had to find him again.

She opened her eyes and stood up. The sooner she got this Paris business over with, the sooner she could start that search.

Her steps were quick and firm as she hurried from the room to start her packing.

Seven

It was already dark when the limousine pulled up in the courtyard the next evening. Philip's home resembled a gleaming palace from an Arabian nights storybook as the lights shone from the long, narrow windows and fell on the rich mosaic tiles of the courtyard. A palace that was remote and exotic and not at all welcoming.