The Glass Shoe

by Kay Hooper

  “It says here they do.” Ryder looked faintly baffled himself, but picked up the dice for his turn.

  Amanda watched him, feeling relaxed and comfortable. But then he looked at her, and she was instantly conscious of the electricity arcing between them. Hastily she reached for the cards. “Um…what travels in gaggles?”

  “Geese.”

  He felt it, too, she knew. It was in his voice, an almost imperceptible roughening, a suddenly husky note. That intensity creeping back. They couldn’t ignore the strange awareness for long, either of them. She realized that. It was unnerving—and exciting. All her senses felt almost painfully alive, sensitive to everything around her in a way they’d never been before.

  The lightness of the game was only an interlude. An area of calm between recognition and completion. But it was like the eye of a vast storm, with raw turbulence visible all around, a tangible force that could never be contained.

  “Amanda?”

  Quickly she reached for the next card. “The category?”

  “Geography,” he said after a moment.

  She kept her gaze fixed on the card she held. “What country would you have to visit to see the ruins of Troy?”

  “Turkey. I think.”

  “You think right. Next?”

  The intensity receded. But it didn’t vanish. It hovered close, on the edge of awareness.

  Ryder was able to answer correctly that the swallows were supposed to return to the San Juan Capistrano mission every March 19, and knew that the last major league baseball player to bat .400 was Ted Williams, but he didn’t know that the one thing in India you were forbidden to fly an airplane over was the Taj Mahal.

  Amanda knew that a ring-shaped coral island was better known as an atoll, but couldn’t remember that Sherlock Holmes’s landlady was Mrs. Hudson. She got her turn back quickly, however, since Ryder didn’t know that the only mammal with four knees was the elephant.

  “Four knees?” he demanded skeptically.

  “Says here.”

  “I knew that giraffes didn’t have vocal cords, but I didn’t know elephants had four knees.”

  Amanda suddenly recalled a circus visit years before. “Their back legs bend backward at the joint instead of forward. All four legs bend the same way. So they have four knees.”

  “Or four reversed elbows.” Ryder blinked and seemed to consider what he’d said. “Two knees and two reversed elbows?”

  “Reversed elbows?” Penny said, coming into the room with a tray. “What on earth—?”

  Looking up at Penny solemnly, Amanda said, “Elephants have four knees. Or two knees and two reversed elbows. Ryder was trying to decide.”

  Penny put the big tray down on the coffee table beside the game board. The tray held coffee and sandwiches. “I think,” she said in a conversational tone, “you two can definitely stand a little fuel for your systems. They seem to be operating at something less than full throttle.”

  “I resent that,” Ryder said to her.

  She eyed him. “I’m not surprised.”

  Amanda intervened hastily. “Is Sharon back yet?”

  “No. I just called in to town to check. They got there all right. But they won’t be heading back this way until the storm’s passed. Jake says even with the four-wheel-drive they found it rough going. The worst is supposed to be over within a couple of days, so they’ll try then.”

  “Do we have enough supplies?”

  Penny nodded. “Sure, for at least a week. And the bunkhouse has plenty. We’ll be fine.” She looked at Ryder again, and shook her head with exaggerated pity. “It’s a shame for a mind to go. And you barely in your prime.”

  He returned her gaze very seriously. “Did you know,” he said, “that you can’t fly an airplane over the Taj Mahal?”

  Chapter 6

  The storm raged, more or less, for two days. There were intervals of calm, but they never lasted long. The old house groaned and creaked in wind gusts of over forty miles an hour, and blowing snow was driven against the windows until it was almost impossible to see anything else.

  They kept a fire going all the time in the den fireplace, mainly because the furnace went out twice. The first time it happened, Amanda went down into the basement and spoke sternly to it, adding a well-placed kick for emphasis.

  “A furnace,” Ryder told her severely, “is a piece of machinery, not a stubborn human.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Amanda retorted.

  They both listened to the soft roar of an undeniably working furnace, and Ryder was forced to admit that her tactics had accomplished their objective.

  When the heat went off on the second day, it was Ryder who unearthed a tool kit left by some of the workmen and descended into the basement.

  “It’s an electric furnace,” he told Amanda and Penny in the kitchen as he was preparing to go down. “My business is electronics, after all.”

  Amanda, who had a strong feeling that electric furnaces were somewhat different from electronic games and computers, ventured to say, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “It’s just a piece of machinery,” he said, and gave them both a step-to-one-side-you-peasants look as he picked up the toolbox and turned away.

  They watched him disappear down the stairs to the basement. Amanda glanced at Penny. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’d better bring in more wood and keep the fire going. Just in case. The wind’s dropped for the moment, and Nemo needs to go out anyway.”

  Feeling slightly guilty at doubting Ryder’s electronic expertise, Amanda nonetheless shrugged into her coat to go help bring in wood. She told herself firmly that it wasn’t Ryder she was doubting, not really. It was just that the furnace had baffled men who specialized in furnaces.

  So they brought in wood and added some to the fire in the den. All the rooms not in use had been closed off, the furnace vents shut so that all available heat would be concentrated in the occupied parts of the house. Ryder had repacked his things and moved to a second-floor bedroom near Amanda’s so that they could close off the entire third floor.

  “Now I’ve got a shower curtain,” he had said gravely.

  Amanda had managed not to look too guilty about the room she’d first assigned him, and had merely asked if there were enough blankets on his bed.

  That had been the night before. Now, helping Penny fix supper in the big, warm kitchen, she listened to the increasing wail of the wind outside and, occasionally, a curse that floated up the steps from the depths of the basement. There were a good many bangs and thumps as well.

  Amanda went down a half hour later to take Ryder a cup of hot coffee, but returned rather hastily, trying to smother giggles.

  “Not just a piece of machinery after all?” Penny murmured with a smile.

  “He says it’s got gremlins in it,” Amanda explained in a shaking voice. “At least I think that’s what he said…with all the other descriptive words deleted.”

  Penny looked reflective. “I like a man who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Or is he?”

  “Oh, definitely. And not just his hands. He had a smudge of oil or something across his nose.” That sentence prompted another thought, and she added, “Is the hot water heater okay?”

  “So far.”

  They worked together companionably for some time, both listening to the noises from the basement. Then there was a long silence. They looked at each other speculatively and waited. A couple of minutes later there was a final ringing thud—and the furnace started up.

  Amanda looked at the basement door and waited. When Ryder came through it, she kept her face expressionless with an effort. He looked, she thought, like the survivor of a war fought against a very greasy army.

  “I,” he said with exquisite control, “want a shower.”

  Penny eyed him, then said mildly, “Supper’s almost ready. Don’t dawdle.”

  When he was almost at the hall door, Amanda said gravely, “Ryder? How’d
you fix it?”

  He half turned to give her a goaded look. “I kicked it,” he said bitterly.

  —

  He was in a better mood by the time he got cleaned up and ate. In fact, Amanda thought later, he was a very even-tempered man. She glanced up from the book in her lap, taking the opportunity to study him since he seemed engrossed in his own book.

  They were both sitting on the couch in the den, Amanda curled up like a cat in one corner with her stocking feet half tucked under a faded old gingham pillow. It was becoming a habit to end up in the den and read in the hours before they turned in for the night.

  Penny, whose rooms were on the ground floor near the kitchen, watched television in her sitting room each evening; she’d said nothing about it, but it was fairly obvious that she was taking pains to leave them alone together as much as possible.

  Not that very much happened, Amanda reflected, unsure if she was glad or bothered by that. The awareness between them hovered, occasionally creeping nearer at odd moments, but Ryder had made no effort to take advantage of it. Other than very casual and somewhat offhand touches, he kept his distance, and if that was difficult for him he didn’t show it.

  He was, she admitted silently, a surprisingly comfortable companion. He was shrewd as well as intelligent, humorous, and appeared completely satisfied to play a game of cards or trivia or to read a book in her company.

  She looked at him, not thinking very much now. Outwardly he was the prince of fairy tales—tall, dark, and handsome. Inwardly, of course, he was as complex as real people always were, filled with shades and layers. She was just beginning to know the inward man, beginning to recognize his mood by the tone of his voice, the set of his lips, or the shade of his eyes.

  I’ve stopped falling, she realized suddenly. I’ve landed. Landed in love.

  The phrase was peculiarly the right one. She felt as if she had indeed been falling, breathless and half frightened, the drop ending with a sudden thud that was definite. And that was, she thought, the way love happened. One fell over the edge of caution, helpless to stop it, bewildered by the inevitable force of the thing.

  And landed.

  It had been a long time since she had thought she was in love, and that had felt different. More—what? More dreamy, more complacent. At nineteen, falling in love brought complacency, the gratification of knowing that you were just like everyone else, about to become one of a pair, half of a couple. The reassuring knowledge that you were walking steadily down the right path of life.

  Filled with expectations.

  It was different, she thought, at twenty-eight. Complacency had become uncertainty. There were many paths, no “right” one, and all of them bumpy. There was the memory of pain, of shattered illusions, and the awful knowledge that people could hurt each other so dreadfully, especially lovers.

  Amanda looked at him and told herself fiercely to expect nothing this time. To be grateful for his desire that was for her and not her possessions. To let herself feel these unfamiliar, exciting feelings without the murky shadow of expectations hanging over her.

  Ryder looked up suddenly, meeting her gaze, and his own eyes were dark. He knew, she realized, that she’d been watching him. He had felt it.

  “The book’s not holding your attention?” he murmured, the lurking intensity in his voice now.

  She managed what she knew was a strained smile. “No. I’ve already guessed whodunit.” They were both reading—or had been reading—murder mysteries.

  He continued to look at her for a long, steady moment. Then, very deliberately, he closed his book and leaned forward to place it on the coffee table. He took hers from her suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it there as well. Then he got to his feet and grasped her hands to pull her up.

  “Ryder—” She didn’t know what she was going to say but a gentle finger over her lips stopped the unformed words.

  In a casual tone with only a hint of tension, he said, “I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t answer with words. His mouth covered hers, parting her lips with insistent demand, and the thrust of his tongue made the strength flow out of her legs in a rush. She felt herself lean into him, her body instinctively seeking his, and her arms slid up around his neck. The sudden explosion of heat inside her burned intensely, jerking a moan from her throat and making her shudder.

  His deep, shattering kisses were a kind of possession, stark and raw, bringing all her senses vividly alive. The arms around her held her tightly, but she moved to be closer, fitting herself more intimately into his hardness. Her aching breasts flattened against the solid expanse of his chest, and she stood on tiptoe in an effort to be even closer as the burning hunger inside her flared.

  An odd, rough sound escaped Ryder as he raised his head at last. Without a word he lifted her completely into his arms and carried her from the den. It occurred to Amanda vaguely to tell him that she was perfectly capable of walking, but the point didn’t seem that important. She’d never been carried in a man’s arms before, and was both surprised and disturbed at how vulnerable it made her feel.

  Her weight seemed not to bother him at all as he carried her up the stairs to the second floor and her bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand was burning; she’d left it on when she had gone earlier for a book. The room was warm. Ryder closed the door behind them with a kick and carried her to the side of the bed before setting her on her feet. But then, pausing only to strip the covers back, he lifted her again and lowered her to the bed.

  Amanda didn’t try to deceive herself into believing she wasn’t eager for this. For him. She loved him and she wanted him, and nothing else seemed to matter. Her arms went around his neck as he joined her on the bed, her mouth instantly responsive to the hunger of his.

  He kissed her in that slow, shattering, absorbed way, as if lovemaking were only that, as if it were a completion instead of a preliminary activity. There was a dim astonishment in her that something she had always thought relatively simple and casual could, with Ryder, be so overwhelming.

  But it was only a prelude, a beginning, and the building desire in them both demanded more. Ryder’s lips left hers at last to move slowly down her throat, and one hand began unfastening the buttons of her flannel shirt. The heavy material was swiftly opened, the shirt somehow pushed off her shoulders and tossed aside. She felt his warm, hard fingers slipping beneath her back to unhook her bra, and then that was gone as well.

  Ryder had been struggling to hang on to his control, but when the scrap of lace covering her breasts was gone he very nearly lost it. She was beautiful, just as he’d known she would be, and the sight of her round, firm breasts, the pink nipples tight and hard, sent a jolt of pure hunger through him. He lowered his head and drew one hard bud into his mouth while his hand moved to surround the other breast, his thumb rasping gently over the nipple beneath it.

  Amanda gasped wordlessly, her body arching in a helpless response. The shock of pleasure was instant, spreading outward from deep inside her in ripples of sensation that stole her breath and clouded her mind. All her conscious awareness was focused on what he was doing to her. The erotic suction of his mouth was a caress that her body responded to with a wildness she couldn’t begin to control. She was burning and couldn’t be still, her head moving restlessly, her legs shifting, pressing together in an instinctive attempt to ease the throbbing ache that kept getting worse, stronger, until she thought she’d go mad with the awful tension.

  She was so wrapped up in the sensations, so totally involved in her awakened body, she automatically lifted her hips when he unfastened her jeans and pulled them and her panties off.

  “Amanda.” Her name was a husky murmur, and his hot gray eyes were fixed, intent as he looked at her.

  Caught in the desperate hunger he aroused in her, Amanda reached for the buttons of his shirt, frantic to tear away the last barriers between them. He helped her, his movements as jerky as her own. Clothing was thrown to the floor c
arelessly, blindly. When he was as naked as she, Amanda felt a primitive stab of excitement, a jolt at the realization that he was beautiful.

  His power when clothed had been an understated thing, more a matter of broad shoulders and lithe grace than of muscular strength. But the muscles were there, hard and well-defined, rippling under his bronze skin with every movement he made. His broad chest was covered with a mat of thick black hair that arrowed over his flat stomach.

  He was big and strong, his lean face taut and his eyes blazing with a hungry fire. She thought dimly that it would be easy to be afraid of his stark male power, to be wary of his unbidden need. But her own need was alive in her, and she felt no fear.

  Ryder moved one hand to her quivering stomach and rubbed gently while his mouth caressed her breasts. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders, heard the shaken moan of pleasure escape her, and another thread of his control snapped. She was so responsive…No barriers now, no elusiveness. The fire in her almost burned him, but he held his own raging desire in an iron grip.

  There was something more than desire driving him, and he was dimly aware of it. Something almost primal, a fierce need to bind her to him in some immutable way so she would unquestionably belong to him. He didn’t probe that need, he just accepted it. This was the way it had to be between them, an instinctive obedience to a force beyond knowledge or understanding.

  This was right.

  He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t stop touching her, learning her. His hand slid lower over her belly, settling over the soft copper curls and probing very gently.

  Amanda thought she might have stopped breathing because there was no room in her lungs. She was filled with ragged tension screaming in every nerve ending. She felt his touch, and her own fingers gripped his shoulders frantically as her body responded wildly. Instinct demanded that she open herself to him, and with a shudder her body obeyed as her legs parted. She felt a burst of raw, hot pleasure as he stroked her gently, and a moan jerked from her throat. The fire inside her was burning out of control, and she couldn’t hold herself still, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except give in to the blind, primitive drive toward release.