Everlasting

Iris Johansen Everlasting

The ninth book in the Sedikhan series, 1986

Dear Reader,

Everlasting is what I call a take-me-away book. When I first wrote it I received so many letters from readers who said they had first picked it up because they wanted to forget about life's problems and just go somewhere else for a little while. We all have to face our realities but there's nothing wrong with taking a few hours vacation.

I admit I myself escaped into the world I created for Kira Rubinoff and Zack Damon. How could I help it? A princess trying to rescue a friend from imprisonment. A powerful industrialist ready to risk everything to help Kira.

Exotic settings, adventure, love, sex, gypsy magic.

I gave them all to Everlasting.

As I give Everlasting to you.

Enjoy your vacation!

Iris Johansen

ONE

“THERE HE IS! That's Zack Damon's car!”

With a nearly inaudible swoosh the Silver Shadow Rolls Royce drew to a halt before the auditorium. Photographers and reporters converged on the car with an eagerness they hadn't displayed for either the rock star who had just gone into the lobby or for the governor, who was still lingering outside to shake hands with his constituents.

The reaction of the press was perfectly under standable, Kira Rubinoff thought as she carefully drew the hood of her black velvet cloak forward to shadow her face. Both the star and the politician constantly made themselves available to the media, while Zack Damon was almost as publicity shy as Howard Hughes had been. Perhaps wariness of the media was a trait shared by billionaires in America, where as much attention was paid to self-made tycoons as it was to royalty in Europe. Yet Damon was known to be exceptionally reclusive in that elite set of the reclusive. The only public functions he had attended this year were selected benefits and special fundraisers for various American Indian welfare groups. By poring over newspaper and magazine articles in The New York Public Library reference room, Kira had learned a great deal about him, including the fact that he'd be attending this benefit. The Damon Foundation was a sponsor of the Indian Heritage Center; the Center had used Zack Damon's name and clout to pull in the galaxy of stars who were to perform tonight.

As the door of the Rolls was being opened by a uniformed chauffeur, Kira quickly stepped back into the shadowy mouth of the alley leading to the stage door. It was highly unlikely that Damon could spot her even if he were looking for her… which, most definitely, he was not. After all, he didn't even know her. Still, it didn't hurt to be cautious. In this, her first glimpse of the flesh-and-blood man, she definitely wanted to see, yet remain unseen.

Power. The word struck her like a blow as she watched him get out of the car. Quiet, effortless power. She knew from the articles she'd read that he was in his thirties, but he could well have been any age. He was tall and broad shouldered. Long, sleek muscles lent grace to the movements of his big body. By contrast, his face seemed brutal: black brows slashed across his forehead to frame eyes as night-black as his hair, and broad Slavic cheekbones ran parallel to a jawline that was firm and determined. That face, that composed, strong face revealed a man who had endured and waited, gathering about him forces only he could control.

He wore a black tuxedo with the casualness of one accustomed to evening wear, but who was still impatient with its necessity. And, she thought, he was handling questions from the reporters with much the same attitude he displayed toward the wearing of the tuxedo: accustomed, but impatient. Kira listened closely, not really interested in Damon's answers so much as the manner in which he gave them.

“You're not with Mallory Thane this evening. Does that mean your liaison is over?”

“I have no liaisons.”

“It was reported that she stayed the weekend with you in Acapulco.”

“I have no liaisons.”

Blunt, impassive, soft-spoken.

“Is it true that the AirFlow merger is being fought by the unions?”

“You'll have to ask them.”

“Are you half or quarter Apache, Mr. Damon?”

“Half. My grandfather was shaman of his tribe.”

“You're also illegitimate. Right?”

That question obviously struck a nerve. Damon's gaze fastened on the reporter who'd asked the question. The man took a hasty step backward. “Yes, I'm both a bastard and a half breed,” he said softly. “Considering what I've made of myself, I'd say that speaks well for being both. And just what have you made of your life to date, Mr…” He looked at the man's press badge. “Carter?”

The reporter didn't answer. He bent his head hastily over his notebook. Kira didn't blame him for avoiding Damon's challenging stare. She wasn't sure she would have had the courage to look Damon in the eye at that moment. How unnerving to experience the lethal swiftness with which he could change from neutrality to attack.

Another reporter spoke up. “You've been fighting for better education and employment opportunities for Indians for the last twelve years. Though I'm sure it's very laudable, don't you believe that a lot of what the American Indian experiences today is due to resentment of his savagery in the past?”

“No,” Damon responded quietly. “I think his present situation is due to the fact that he wasn't savage enough.”

But he would have been savage enough to hold what was his, Kira thought. She shivered. Oh lord, what had Marna gotten her into?

A small, graying man with a wide smile on his plump face had gotten out of the front seat of the Rolls. He was also dressed in a tuxedo, and he spoke as he stepped between Damon and the reporters. “Mr. Damon will give you a statement about his involvement with the Indian Heritage Center during the intermission. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse him now. It's time for him to go to his box.”

He plowed ahead, running interference for Damon with the media, fending questions as fast as they were fired. As they entered the lobby the crowd closed around them, hiding Damon from Kira's view.

She drew a deep breath and tried to relax the muscles of her shoulders. Until Damon had vanished from sight, she hadn't realized how tense she'd become while observing him. Maybe it would have been better “to beard the lion in his den” without any prior knowledge of him. At least she wouldn't have been nervous. Heavens, how silly she was being. She'd been dealing with powerful people since she was a child, and shouldn't be intimidated at all by Zack Damon. But then, she had never been a supplicant before. Begging for help for the first time was bound to put butterflies in anyone's stomach, she reassured herself.

In a swift gesture of bravado, she tossed the hood of her cloak back. A mass of riotous auburn curls tumbled over her shoulders. She stepped quickly out of the alley and walked briskly down the street to where her taxi was