"When was that?"
"Spring."
"How many men have there been since then?"
His question was fair, but she still felt sick inside. "Dozens! Everybody knows I'll sleep with anybody who asks!"
In two long strides, he was at her side. "Dammit, don't do this! How many?"
"You want names and addresses?" She drew up her lip, trying to look hard and tough.
"Give me numbers first."
Her eyes began to sting. "You're going to have to trust me. I've told you that you don't have anything to worry about. My sexual history isn't any of your business."
"Right now, it's very much my business." He caught her arm, not hurting her, but letting her know she couldn't get away. "How many?"
"Don't do this to me!"
"How many, dammit?"
"There haven't been any! Just you."
"Right," he drawled.
His skepticism was the final drop in a night that had been an emotional roller coaster, and tears spilled over her lower lids. "Believe what you want to." She pulled away from him to head for the door.
His voice softened and he caught her before she could get away, turning her in his arms until she was pressed against his chest. "Don't cry on me. You don't have to cry, honey. Just tell me the truth."
"There hasn't been anybody for a long time," she said wearily. "A very long time."
He pulled back just far enough so he could gaze into her eyes, and she saw that his anger had been replaced by bewilderment. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"
She nodded.
He slid his fingers into her hair and gathered her against the shoulder of his robe. "I don't understand you at all."
"I know you don't," she whispered.
He drew her over to a cozy arm chair and pulled her into his lap. "What are we going to do about this? You've turned me inside out ever since the day we met." He tucked her head under his chin. "When you said it's been a long time, are we talking more than a year?"
She nodded.
"More than two?"
She nodded again.
"A lot more?"
Another nod.
"I'm starting to get a glimmer here." He stroked her hair. "You really loved Flores, didn't you?"
"More than I've ever loved anyone." Until now, she thought.
"Are you trying to tell me there hasn't been anyone in your life since then? Is that what this is about? Phoebe, he must have died six or seven years ago?"
She was going to have to do this. They had no hope for a future together unless she had the guts to tell him the truth and let him see her as she was, scars and all. But revealing so much scared her to death.
He didn't try to restrain her as she rose from his lap and crossed to the bed. She sat on the edge so that she was facing him, with her knees pressed together and her hands clasped in the shirt folds that lay in her lap.
"Arturo was gay, Dan. He wasn't my lover. In every way that counted, he was my father."
She had never seen him look so bewildered. "Then I don't understand anything."
Placing so much trust in another human being was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she loved him, and she could no longer live in the shadows. Gathering her courage, she told him about the rape, speaking in broken sentences and twisting her hands as she struggled to explain. She didn't realize until she saw the outrage on his face that she had been subconsciously preparing herself for disbelief, and the words came more quickly. As she spoke of those awful months in Paris when she'd slept with so many men, he showed no condemnation, only a sympathy that relaxed the tough lines of his face and made her yearn to throw herself into his arms. But she stayed where she was, nearly faltering as she attempted to describe how frozen she had felt for years and how impossible it had been for her to be intimate with anyone.
When she was done, she fell silent, her muscles screaming with tension, while she waited for him to absorb the fact that he was the man with whom she had chosen to end so many years of celibacy. He had not made a commitment of any kind to her, yet she was letting him know without words what he meant to her. Never had she risked so much.
She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and watched him rise from the chair. As he came toward her, she sensed his suppressed rage in the corded tension of his neck muscles, but, at the same time, the soft compassion in his eyes made her understand that his anger wasn't directed at her.
He gathered her into his arms, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so very, very sorry."
Dropping his head, he began to kiss her, the warmth of healing in the touch of his lips. Right then, she wanted to tell him she loved him, but his kiss deepened and he began to caress her. Before long, she was lost to reason as he vanquished the shadows of the past with the sweet, deep stroking of his body.
It was nearly three in the morning before he drove her home. She'd put her bondage dress back on, along with his sweatshirt and her evening coat. After the emotional turmoil of the night, she felt very much at peace, and he, too, seemed relaxed.
"You're going to be exhausted tomorrow," she said as she leaned against his arm.
"I don't need much sleep. Even when I was a little kid, I'd crawl out of bed and sneak outside."
"You rascal."
"I was a stubborn little cuss. My mother took a switch to me whenever she caught me, but no matter how much she beat me, I kept doin' it."
His tone had been mild, but she lifted her head slightly. "Your mother beat you?"
A small muscle throbbed in his jaw. "My parents weren't exactly into modern child-raising techniques. They were backwoods people, teenagers when they had to get married. They both pretty much resented being stuck with a baby."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to look so sad. It got better when I was older. My father was real proud of me once I started to play ball."
She experienced a flash of rage toward a father who had needed a Scoreboard to measure out love. "What about your mother?"
"She was an alcoholic. On her good days, she was proud of me, too. They were killed in an auto accident my freshman year in college." She understood what it was costing him to reveal so much of himself to her, and she remained silent so he could tell this his own way.
"If you want to know the truth, I felt like I'd lost them a long time before that. It's strange. A couple of months ago, this guy was tailing me." He told her about Ray Hardesty, the Stars' player who had been cut from the team, and his father's apparent vendetta against Dan. "I haven't seen Hardesty since, so I assume he came to his senses. But when I had that man up against the side of his van, I felt like I was looking into my old man's eyes all over again. It was obvious that Hardesty had never made anything of himself, and he'd been living his life through his son. He wasn't grieving for Ray; he was grieving for himself. That's sick."
She shuddered at the idea of Dan's having someone stalking him.
His voice grew gruff. "That's why—It's a hard thing to explain, but family's important to me. A real family with kids and parents who care about each other."
"Was that why your marriage broke up?"
"Val never had any interest in kids. I'm not blaming her because things didn't work out, you understand. It was more my fault than hers. I should have gotten my priorities sorted out before I married her. She always said I was jealous of her career, but that wasn't it at all. Val's dedication to her work was one of the things I most admired about her. But I wanted her to care about family, too, and I can't ever let myself make a mistake like that again with a woman. I don't want my kids growing up with the kind of parents I had. I don't want to be the kind of father who makes his kid feel as if he has to score a touchdown before he can get any affection. And I want them to have a mother who's a real mother."
She gazed at him as he turned into her drive, trying to understand what he meant by that. Was he simply sharing his past with her because she'd told him about her
own, or was there a deeper meaning behind this conversation? The intimacy between them was too new and fragile for her to ask.
He came around to help her out, and when they reached her door, he kissed her temple, then her lips. Long minutes passed before they drew apart. "I'm going to miss you."
"We see each other every day."
"I know, but it's not the same." He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek with his thumb. "I'll be pretty busy the rest of the week getting ready for the Bills' game, so don't read anything into it if I don't stop by here."
She smiled. "I won't."
"You keep your chin up this week, hear?" He stroked her hair and gave her a gaze so tender she felt as if he were making love to her all over again. "Honey, I understand how much you've got riding on Saturday. We're gonna do our best."
"I know that."
For a moment she thought he was going to say more. Instead, he squeezed her hand, kissed her again, and began to walk away.
"Dan?" As he turned back, her voice dropped to a gentle whisper. "Kick some Buffalo butt for me, will you?"
His response was as soft as an Alabama breeze. "Sure enough, sweetheart."
Even though the pace was unbelievably hectic, Phoebe felt as if she danced through the rest of the week. She found herself laughing for no reason at all and flirting with everyone—male, female, young, old, it made no difference. She sailed through her interviews with the press and even managed to be polite to Reed when he called with good luck wishes that rang hollow because he couldn't quite hide his frustration at how long it was taking him to get his hands on the Stars.
The more she mulled over Dan's revelations about his childhood, the more she wanted to believe that he had been sounding her out to discover her feelings about having a family. His disclosures allowed her to unearth all those precious dreams she had kept locked away for years, dreams of a husband who loved her and of a house filled with children who would never know what it was like to grow up unloved.
The few times she and Dan passed each other in the hallway, she felt something warm and wonderful travel between them. Still, her love for him frightened her. How was she going to put herself back together if he didn't return that love? For so long she had lived in the shadows. Was it possible that she could finally walk in the sunshine?
The Stars-Bills game was scoreless at the end of the first quarter, and as Phoebe left the field and entered the skybox, she was so tense she wished she could spend the next three quarters hiding out with a VCR and an old Doris Day movie. She took a glass of tomato juice from the bartender and watched as the skybox's two television sets faded to a Nike commercial.
"You're always complaining about having to watch the game with men, so I've brought you a companion."
She turned to see Ron standing at her side accompanied by a young woman with curly red hair and a friendly, rather shy smile.
"My friend here was stuck in the VIP skybox next door, but the cigarette smoke was giving her trouble."
"I hope you don't mind," the woman said. "Smoke makes me wheeze, and Ron said you didn't allow it in here."
"I don't mind at all." There was something endearing about her small, almost elfin features and freckled nose. Phoebe decided she was a definite improvement over the tall socialites Ron had been dating lately and found herself automatically returning her smile.
One of Ron's assistants popped up at his side, and he excused himself.
"I feel like I'm barging in," the young woman said.
"Nonsense. I'm glad to have company. Maybe you can distract me. I was just trying to figure out how I was going to get through the rest of the game without either throwing up or fainting." She extended her hand. "I'm Phoebe Somerville."
"Sharon Anderson." The woman returned her handshake.
"Let me get you something to drink." Phoebe led her over to the bar where Sharon requested a Diet Pepsi. "You're a two-fisted drinker like I am."
"Alcohol gives me a headache. I was voted the most boring girl in my college sorority."
Phoebe laughed. She had missed her female friends, and she liked this young woman's self-deprecating sense of humor.
The second quarter was beginning, and they took their drinks over to seats at the window. Phoebe gazed down at Dan and then turned to watch a close-up of him on the television screen as he barked orders into his headset while he kept his eyes riveted on the Stars' defense.
She flinched as the Bills' running back found a huge hole in the Stars' defensive line and made a fifteen-yard gain before Webster brought him down. "I don't think I can last three more quarters. I wish somebody would knock me out until this is over."
"It must be hard to watch the game when you have so much at stake."
"I used to hate football. It was—" She gasped with dismay and jumped up from her seat as the Bills completed a twenty-one-yard pass. "That's it! I have to get out of here. Stay and enjoy yourself; I'm going to take a walk in the hallway to settle myself down."
Sharon stood. "I'll go with you."
"You don't have to. Really."
"I don't mind. To be honest, I'm not much of a football fan. Unless you'd rather be alone."
"I'd love the company."
The carpeted hallway outside was deserted but noisy with the sounds of blaring televisions, cheers, and groans coming from behind the doors of the other sky boxes.
Phoebe crossed her arms tightly over her chest and began to walk. Hoping to distract herself, she asked, "How long have you and Ron been dating?"
"Oh, we're not dating. We just met today. He's really a nice guy, though."
"The best. The fact that he's gorgeous doesn't hurt, either."
"I must admit it's nice to be around a man who doesn't tower over me. I'm so short that most of them do. That's one of the best things about my job. Everybody's smaller than me."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a nursery school teacher."
"Do you like it?"
"I love it. Not that I don't look forward to the end of the day. Kids are cute, but exhausting."
They'd reached a bend in the hallway. As much as Phoebe didn't want to watch the action, neither did she want to be too far away, and she turned so they could retract their steps. "My sister Molly baby-sits for a set of twins who live next door. Sometimes she brings them over to our house when they've gotten cranky and she's having trouble controlling them. They're little stinkers, but I love playing with them."
Sharon regarded her curiously. "You don't look like the type of—" Breaking off, she dropped her eyes in embarrassment.
"I don't look like the type of woman who enjoys children?"
"I'm sorry. That sounds like an insult, and I didn't intend it that way. You're just so glamorous."
"Thank you, but you're not the first person to think that about me. Not even people with good imaginations seem to be able to see me as a mother." She bit her lip as all of her anxieties about her future with Dan crept back.
"Is something wrong?"
A collective groan echoed from the nearby skyboxes, all of them held by Star fans, and Phoebe picked up the pace. "Children are very important to the man I'm sort of involved with. They are to me, too, but he hasn't discovered that yet."
She smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid it's easier for him to picture me popping out of a cake at a bachelor party than as his children's mother. Since he hasn't actually stated his intentions, it's tough figuring out how to let him know I feel the same way he does about having a family."
"Believe me, I understand from personal experience."
"Are you involved with someone?"
"Yes." She suddenly looked shy, and Phoebe gave her an encouraging smile. Sharon sighed. "It's a strange relationship. All my life I've attracted ordinary guys—brothers of my girlfriends, quiet, sweet men, not too exciting, but steady. And then this Greek god pops into my life out of nowhere, the kind of man who always passes up ordinary women like me for glamorous women like you. He's been subtly feeling me out a
bout marriage and children for weeks, and I'm fairly certain he's going to get around to proposing any day now, but I still can't figure out what he sees in me."
"Maybe the same thing I do—a very nice woman who'd make a wonderful wife."
"Thanks, Phoebe. I wish I could believe that. He's making me crazy. In this day and age—I mean, if you were ready to propose marriage to somebody, wouldn't you expect—" Sharon turned red and blurted out, "He treats me like the Virgin Mary!"
"You're not sleeping together?"
Sharon tugged on her hair and looked embarrassed. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. I haven't even told my sister about this, and I tell her everything."
"We're meeting under a crisis situation. Like two strangers sitting next to each other on a doomed airplane." Another chorus of groans erupted from the nearby skyboxes, and Phoebe flinched. "Your secret's safe with me. To tell you the truth, I'm a little envious. At least you'll never have to be afraid that he only wants you for sex."
"I suppose you're right. And to be honest, I haven't encouraged him at all. He's the most exciting man I've ever known, but I can't seem to relax with him. It's complicated." Phoebe recalled Ron's saying that Sharon had been in the next skybox, the one the Stars used as an overflow for visiting VIPs. Sharon's suitor was obviously someone with a high profile, and she couldn't resist a gentle probe. "I haven't heard any unusual gossip, so you and your Greek god must be keeping this quiet."
"The local press had a field day with his divorce, so we've been careful about appearing together in public. This is the first game I've attended. As a matter of fact, there have been more rumors about the two of you than about us. Your friendship seems to mean a lot to him."
Phoebe looked at her quizzically, and then everything inside her went still. Wild cheering broke out in the skyboxes, but she didn't hear it. She didn't hear anything except the clamoring of her own heart.
Sharon failed to notice that anything was wrong. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Dan never mentioned me to you."
"No. No, he didn't." Her voice seemed to be coming from a great distance.
It Had to Be You Page 31
