The Dream (Crosslyn Rise Trilogy)

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Well, I’m snowed.”

  “By the presentation, maybe, but do you like what’s in it?”

  At first glance, she did. At his caveat, she took a closer look, moving one large sheet aside to look at the next.

  “I’ve drawn the main house in cross sections, as I envision it looking once all the work is done,” he explained, “and a head-on view of the condo cluster at the duck pond. Since the clusters will all be based on the same concept, a variation on the Georgian theme, I wanted to try out one cluster on you first.”

  Her eyes were glued to the drawing. “It’s incredible.”

  “Is it what you imagined?”

  “No. It looks more Cape-ish than Georgian. But it’s real. More modern. Interesting.”

  He wasn’t sure if “interesting” was good or bad, but when he asked, she held up a hand and studied the drawing in silence for several minutes. “Interesting,” she repeated, but there was a warmth in the word. Then she smiled. “Nice.”

  Carter basked in her smile, which was some consolation for the fact that he wanted to hug her but didn’t dare. Not only did he sense that she wasn’t ready for more hugs, but he feared that if he touched her, office or no, he wouldn’t be able to stop this time. As it was, her smile, which was so rare, did dangerous things to him.

  He cleared his throat. “Obviously this is rough. But I wanted to convey the general idea.” He touched a lean finger to one area, then another. “The roof angle here is what reminds you of a Cape. It can be modified, but it allows for skylights. Today’s market loves skylights.” His finger shifted. “I’ve deliberately scaled down the pillars and balconies so that they don’t compete with the main house. The main house should set the tone for stateliness. The clusters can echo it, but they ought to be more subtle. I want them to nestle into their surroundings. In some ways the focus of the clusters is those surroundings.”

  Jessica cast a sideways glance at him. He had a long arm propped straight on the drafting table and was close enough to touch, close enough to smell, close enough to want. Ignoring the last and the buzzing that played havoc with her insides, she said, “I think you’re hung up on those surroundings.”

  “Me?” His dark eyes shone with indulgence one moment, vehemence the next. “No way. At least, not enough that it would color my better judgment. And my better judgment tells me that people will buy at Crosslyn Rise for the setting, nearly as much as for the nuts and bolts of what they’re getting. Which isn’t to say that we can skimp on those nuts and bolts.” Again he referred to the drawing, tracing sweeping lines with his finger. “I’ve angled each of the units differently, partly for interest, partly for privacy. Either you and Gordon—or if you want to wait, the consortium—will have to decide on the size of the units. Personally, I’d hate to do anything less than a three bedroom setup. People usually want more space rather than less.”

  Jessica hadn’t thought that far. “The person to speak with about that might be Nina Stone. She’s a broker. She’d have a feel for what people in this area want.”

  “Do I know Nina Stone?” Carter asked, trying to place the name.

  “She knew you,” Jessica replied, wondering whether the two of them would hit it off and not sure she liked that idea. “Or rather, she knew of you. Your reputation precedes you.”

  Once he’d left New York, Carter had worked long and hard to establish himself and his name. “That’s gratifying.”

  “Uh-huh. She already has you pegged as a ruggedly masculine individual.”

  Which wasn’t the most professional of assessments, he mused. “You discussed me with her?”

  “I mentioned we were working together.”

  He nodded his understanding, but, to Jessica’s selfish delight, had no particular interest in knowing more about Nina. His finger was back on the drawing, this time tapping his rendition of the duck pond. “We may run into a problem with water. The land in this area is wetter than in the others. When we reach the point of having the backers lined up, I’ll have a geological specialist take a look.”

  “Could the problem be serious?”

  “Nah. It shouldn’t be more than a matter of shifting the clusters to the right or the left, and I want them set back anyway so the ducks won’t be disturbed. The main house draws water from its own wells. I’m assuming the condos would do the same, but an expert could tell us more on that, too.”

  Up to that point, Jessica had been aware of only two problems—coming to terms with the sale of Crosslyn Rise, and dealing with Carter Malloy. Now, mention of a possible water problem brought another to mind. “What if we can’t get enough backers?”

  Surprised by the question, he shot her a look. Her eyes were wide with concern. “To invest in the project? We’ll get enough.”

  “Will we? You’ve had more experience in this kind of thing than I have. Is there a chance we’ll come up with plans that no one will support?”

  “It’s not probable.”

  “But is it possible?”

  “Anything’s possible. It’s possible that the economy will crash at ten past ten tomorrow morning, but it’s no more probable that it will happen than that Gordon won’t be able to find the backers we need.” He paused, sliding his gaze over her face. “You’re really worried?”

  “I haven’t been. I haven’t thought about it much at all, but suddenly here you are with exciting drawings, and the project seems very real. I’d hate to go through all this and then have the whole thing fizzle.”

  Throwing caution to the winds, he did put his arm around her then. “It won’t. Trust me. It won’t.”

  The confidence in his voice, even more so than the words, was what did it. That, and the support his body offered. For the first time, she truly felt as though Carter shared the responsibility of Crosslyn Rise with her, and while a week or two before, that thought would have driven her wild, she was comfortable with it now. She’d come a long way.

  “I have theater tickets for Thursday night,” came Carter’s low voice. “Come with me.”

  Taken totally off guard, she didn’t know what to say.

  His breath was warm on her hair. “Do you have other plans?”

  “No.”

  “They’re for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

  Tipping her head, she looked up at him. “You got tickets,” she breathed in awe, because she’d been trying to get them for weeks without success. But going to the theater with Carter was a date.

  “Will you come?”

  “I don’t know,” she said a bit helplessly. Everything physical about him lured her, as did, increasingly, everything else about him. He was so good to be with. The problem, as always, lay with her.

  “If you won’t, I’m giving the tickets back. There’s no one else I want to take, and I don’t want to go alone.”

  “That’s blackmail,” she argued.

  “Not blackmail. Just a chance to see the hottest revival of the decade.”

  “I know, I know,” she murmured, weakening. It was easy to do that when someone as strong as Carter was offering support.

  “The semester’s over. What better way to celebrate?”

  “I have to be at school all day Thursday planning for the summer term.”

  “But the pressure’s off. So before it’s on again, have a little fun. You deserve it.”

  She wasn’t as concerned with what she deserved as with what going on a date with Carter would mean. It would mean a shift in their relationship, a broadening of it. Going on a date with Carter would mean being with him at night in a crowded theater, perhaps alone before or after. All kinds of things could happen. She wasn’t sure she was ready.

  Then again, she wasn’t sure she could resist.

  “Come on, Jessica. I really want to go.”

  So do I, Jessica thought. Her eyes fell to his mouth. She liked looking at his mouth. “I’d have to meet you there.”

  “Why can’t I pick you up?” he asked, and the corners of that mouth turned down.
/>   “Because I don’t know exactly where I’ll be.”

  “You could call me at the office and let me know. It’s only a ten-minute drive to Cambridge.”

  Her eyes met his. “More in traffic. And it’s silly for you to go back and forth like that.”

  “I want to go back and forth.” If he was taking her out for the evening, he wanted to do it right. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of her traveling alone.

  Jessica, though, was used to traveling alone. More than that, she was determined to keep things light and casual. It was the only way she could handle the thought of a date with Carter. “Tell me where to meet you and when. I’ll be there.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn?” he asked. In the next breath, he relented. “Sorry. Six-thirty at the Sweetwater Café.”

  “I thought Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was at the Colonial.” She knew very well it was—and what he was trying to do.

  His naughty eyes didn’t deny it. “The Sweetwater Café is close by. We can get something to eat there before the show.” When she looked momentarily skeptical, he said, “You have to eat, Jessica.” When still she hesitated, he added, “Indulge me. I’m letting you meet me there, which I don’t like. So at least let me feed you first.”

  Looking up into his dark eyes, she came to an abrupt realization. It was no longer a matter of not being sure. She couldn’t resist—not when he had an arm draped so protectively across her shoulders, not when he was looking at her so intently, not when she wanted both to go on forever and ever. He made her feel special. Cared for. Feminine. She doubted, at that minute, that she’d have been able to refuse him a thing.

  * * *

  So she agreed. Naturally she had second thoughts, but after a day of suffering through those, she lost patience with herself. Since she’d agreed to go out with Carter, she told herself, she was going, and since she was going, she intended to make the most of it. She had her share of pride, and that pride dictated that she do everything in her power to make sure Carter didn’t regret having asked her out.

  He didn’t regret it so far, at least; he called her each night just to say hello. But talking on the phone or having a business meeting or even driving north on a Sunday was different from going out at night to something that had nothing to do with work. She wanted to look good.

  To that end, she arranged to finish up with work by two on Thursday. The first stop she made then was to the boutique where she’d bought the sweater she’d worn to Maine; if stylish had worked once, she figured it would work again. But stylish in that shop was funky, which wasn’t her style at all. She was about to give up hope when the owner brought a dress from the back that was perfect. A lime-green sheath of silk that was self-sashed and fell to just above the knee, it was sleeveless and had a high turtleneck that draped her neck in the same graceful way that the rest of the fabric draped her body. The dress was feminine without being frilly. She felt special enough in it not to look at the price tag, and by the time she had to write out a check, she was committed enough to it not to mind the higher-than-normal cost.

  Her second stop was at a shoe store, where she picked up a pair of black patent leather heels and a small bag to match.

  Her third stop was at Mario’s. Mario had been doing her hair—a blunt cut to keep the ends under control—bimonthly for several years, and for the first time she allowed him more freedom. Enhancing her own natural wave with rollers and a heat lamp, he gave her a look that was softer and more stylish than anything she’d ever worn. As the icing on the cake, he caught one side high over her ear with a pearl clip. The look pleased Jessica so much that she left the salon, went to the jewelry store next door and splurged on a pair of pearl earrings to match the clip. Then she returned to her office, where she’d left cosmetics and stockings.

  The day had been warm and humid, as late spring days often were, and when Jessica left Harvard, retrieved her car and set off for Boston, dull gray clouds were dotting the sky. She barely noticed. Her thoughts were on the way she looked and the comments she’d drawn from the few of her colleagues she’d happened to pass as she left. They had done double takes, which either said she looked really good, or so different from how she usually looked that they couldn’t believe it was her.

  She couldn’t quite believe it was her. For one thing, the fact that she liked the way she looked was a first. For another, the fact that she was heading for a date with a man like Carter Malloy was incredible. Unable to reconcile either, given that her nerves were jangling with excitement, she half decided that it wasn’t her in the car at all, but another woman. That thought brought a silly grin to her face.

  The grin faded, but the excitement didn’t. It was overshadowing her nervousness by the time she parked in the garage under the Boston Common, and by the time she emerged onto the Common itself and realized that she was at the corner farthest from where she as going, she was feeling too high to mind. Her step was quick, in no way slowed by the unfamiliarity of the new heels.

  What gave her pause, though, were the drops of rain that, one by one, in slow succession, began to hit her. They were large and warm. She looked worriedly at the sky, not at all reassured by the ominous cloud overhead or the blue that surrounded it in too distant a way. Furious at herself for not having brought an umbrella, she walked faster. She could beat the rain, she decided, but she wished she’d parked closer.

  To her dismay, the drops grew larger, came harder and more often. She broke into a half run, holding her handbag over her head, looking around for shelter. But there was none. Trees were scattered on either side of the paved walks, but they were of the variety whose branches were too high to provide any shelter at all.

  For a split second she stopped and looked frantically back at the entrance to the parking garage, but it seemed suddenly distant, separated from her by a million thick raindrops. If she returned there, she’d be farther than ever from the Sweetwater Café—and drenched anyway.

  So she ran faster, but within minutes, the rain reached downpour proportions. She was engulfed as much by it as by disbelief. Other people rushed along, trying to protect themselves as she was, but she paid them no heed. All she could think of was the beautiful green silk dress that was growing wetter by the minute, the painstakingly styled hair that was growing wilder by the minute, the shiny black shoes that were growing more speckled by the minute.

  Panicked, she drew up under a large-trunked tree in the hope that something, anything would be better than nothing. But as though to mock her, the rain began to come sideways. When she shifted around the tree, it shifted, too. Horrified at what was happening but helpless to stop it, she looked from side to side for help but there was none. She was caught in the worst kind of nightmare.

  Unable to contain it, she cried out in frustration, then cried out again when the first one didn’t help. The second didn’t, either, and she felt nearly as much a fool for making it as for standing there in the rain. So she started off again, running as fast as she could given that her glasses were streaked with rain, her shoes were soaked and her heart felt like lead.

  It was still pouring when she finally turned down the alley that led to the Sweetwater Café. As the brick walkway widened into a courtyard, she slowed her step. Rushing was pointless. There was nothing the rain could do to her that it already hadn’t. She couldn’t possibly go to the theater with Carter. The evening was ruined. All that was left was to tell him, return to her car and drive home.

  Shortly before she reached the café’s entrance, her legs betrayed her. Stumbling to the nearby brick wall, she leaned her shoulder against it, covered her face with her hands and began to cry.

  That was how Carter found her, as he came from the opposite end of the courtyard. He wasn’t sure it was her at first; he hadn’t expected such a deep green dress, such a wild array of hair or nearly so much leg. But as he slowed his own step, he sensed the familiar in the defeated way she stood. His insides went from hot to cold in the few seconds it took him to reach her si
de.

  “Jessica?” he asked, his heart pounding in dread. He reached out, touched the back of her hand. “Are you all right?”

  With a mournful moan, she shrank into herself.

  Heedless of the rain that continued to fall, he put a hand to the wall and used his body to shield her from the curious eyes of those who passed. “Jessica?” He speared his fingers into her hair to lift it away from her face. “What happened?” When she continued to cry, he grasped her wrist. “Are you all right? Tell me what happened. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m wet!” she cried from behind her hands.

  He could see that, but there was still an icy cold image of something violent hovering in his mind. “Is that all? You weren’t mugged or … anything?”

  “I’m just wet! I got caught in the downpour, and there wasn’t anywhere to go, and I wanted to look so nice. I’m a mess, Carter.”

  Carter was so relieved that she hadn’t been bodily harmed in some other, darker, narrower alley, that he gave her a tight hug. “You’re not a mess—”

  “I’ll get you wet,” she protested, struggling to free herself from his hold.

  He ignored her struggles. “You’re looking goddamned sexy with that dress clinging to every blessed curve.” When she gave a soft wail and went limp, he said, “Come on. Let’s get you dry.”

  The next few minutes were a blur in Jessica’s mind, principally because she didn’t raise her eyes once. For the first time in her life, she was grateful that her hair was wild, because it fell by her cheeks like a veil. She didn’t want Carter to see her, didn’t want anyone to see her. She felt like a drowned rat, all the more pathetic in her own mind by contrast to the way she looked when she left Cambridge.

  With a strong arm around her shoulder, Carter guided her out of the alley and into a cab. He didn’t let her go even then, but spoke soft words to her during the short ride to his apartment. Wallowing in misery, she heard precious few of them. She kept her head down and her shoulders hunched. If she’d been able to slide under the seat, she’d have done just that.