by Cathie Linz
She smiled at him over a cup of steaming ginger tea. “I’ve really been looking forward to tonight,” she confessed. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out on Sunday, but it’s going to be even better now. We—I really have something to celebrate.”
Cliff shifted in his seat. “Yes. Well.”
But she interrupted him. “But we’ve been talking about me all through the meal. What about you? How’s your work going?”
With precise care he positioned his cup on the table and didn’t meet her eyes. “Busy, of course.”
“I know what you mean,” she said when he failed to expand on that comment. Something was bothering him, but what? “Is anything wrong at work?”
He smiled too quickly. “Of course not”
She believed that just about as much as she expected the sun to rise over the Pacific some morning real soon. On the other hand, she didn’t want to pry if he didn’t want to talk. “Maybe we should go home,” she suggested. And maybe you’ll feel more like talking once we have some privacy.
“Uh, that’s the problem, Mallory.”
She froze, her chair half-shoved back from the table. “Problem?” Had he changed his mind about their agreement? Was this dinner together merely a way of telling her he didn’t want a relationship with her after all?
Or was he a lot angrier about her lateness this evening than he’d let on?
“Cliff, if this is about my being late,” she said carefully, “we did agree that—”
His surprised look cut her off. “Why would I be mad about that? I know your job entails unexpected demands.”
“Oh.” She paused, still balanced on the edge of her chair, afraid to either continue or abort the movement. “So what’s the problem?”
He took her hand. The warmth of his palm against hers melted the frozen lump inside her and let her relax again against her chair. “I just feel like I got you out here under false pretences. I know I implied we’d go home from here and...well, anyway, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible tonight.”
“Why not?” Whatever his message, she didn’t understand it.
His words came out in a rush. “Mallory, I have to go back to work tonight after we leave here.”
“On a Friday night?” she asked blankly.
“Yes.” His gaze searched her face while he explained. “The firm is going to take on a major case—the Bartlett murder trial—and the client is coming to the office tomorrow morning to talk about it with us. I’ve got to review everything for the meeting. I’m up for a position on the defense team—and if I get it, I’ll be the only nonpartner included.”
Fiona Bartlett was a much-married socialite who had—according to the press accounts—shot her fourth husband when she caught him in bed with another woman. The husband and his lover were killed, and Fiona allegedly wiped the gun, cleaned up, and left the house to go to their Palm Springs home. When the police arrived there to notify her of her husband’s demise, she had put on an impressive show of histrionics. Ten days later, after a highly publicized investigation, she had been charged with two counts of first-degree murder.
The case promised to be nothing less than a circus. Women’s groups claimed that if Fiona indeed had done the crime, it was because her husband abused her and drove her to murder. The prosecutor insisted Fiona planned the entire thing with cold-blooded calculation. Fiona professed her innocence and great love for the slain husband everyone knew she planned to divorce.
Meanwhile, the public gobbled up every salacious detail of the Bartletts’ opulent, sensual life-style. In fact, Mallory’s news reports offered updates on the case nearly every day.
Immediately she understood the implications of his words, and her palm gripped his fiercely. “Cliff, this could be an incredible break for you. Surely the senior attorneys must think very highly of you to consider including you on a case like this!”
As if he suddenly realized that she was congratulating him, not condemning him for a disappointing evening, he relaxed and let a huge grin surface. “I’ve been told that my participation in a successful resolution of this case would definitely result in ‘positive appreciation from the powers that be.’ I think that means a partnership could well be in the works.”
She couldn’t resist planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Wonderful! I’m so pleased for you.”
“But I’m afraid we’re going to have to put off our evening together until another time.” Genuine regret shone in his eyes, which went a long way toward soothing any frustration that lingered.
She waved the comment away. “Of course. You’re right. You have to go back to work and prepare for the meeting tomorrow.”
They left the restaurant and Cliff walked her to her car. When she had opened the driver’s door, his hand stopped her from getting in. “You know, I really hated having to tell you our evening had to be canceled. What a relief to know you understand.”
Mallory turned to face him, only to find herself all but surrounded by his arms and the open car door. “I do understand, Cliff. It’s a tremendous opportunity for you. And I’m glad you’re not angry about my being late tonight.”
He tipped his head, considering. “Well, about that...don’t you think I should get some kind of reward for being so sympathetic?”
Even in the distorted illumination of the parking lot lights, she could see the gleam of sensual teasing in his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” The breathiness in her voice surprised her.
“Maybe... a kiss?” His mouth lowered, just a whisper away from hers.
She hesitated a moment to savor the anticipation, then lifted her face just enough to make contact. Her lips molded to his and clung, focusing her attention on the moist warmth radiating from him.
Her arms slipped around his neck. With an equally smooth motion, his arms moved around her waist and pulled her into the curve of his body. Automatically she fit herself against him, savoring his heat and strength.
He lifted one hand and used a thumb to nudge her mouth open, and his tongue took immediate advantage of the opening, swooping inside her mouth in a territorial claim she had no wish to deny. Her tongue dueled with his.
By the time he broke the contact just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both were almost breathless.
“Wow,” Cliff whispered.
“Wow, yourself.” Her hands loosened, to slide to his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me about your earthshaking skills?”
“Me? I thought it was you.”
With a compliment like that, how could she resist? She stretched on tiptoe to kiss him again. She’d always believed good behavior should be rewarded, she thought hazily while his lips captured hers and took charge of their kiss. And this was reward enough—or almost enough.
This time it took the raucous blare of a horn to separate them.
Reluctantly stepping away from her, Cliff’s hands lingered on her waist before dropping to his side.
Mallory tipped her head and peered up at him. A few deep breaths steadied her voice. She hoped. “You’ve got to go back to work. Remember?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move.
“Work? The meeting tomorrow? Remember?” If he didn’t move, she knew she couldn’t. Not while he was standing there looking as sinfully tempting as a box of Godiva chocolates.
Finally he shook his head and took another step away. “You’re dangerous, woman. You know that?”
“I could say the same about you.”
He traced a shaky finger down her cheek. Automatically she tilted her head into the slight pressure. “I’m likely to be tied up all day tomorrow. What do you think about continuing this sometime Sunday?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” At last free of the spell he wove so effortlessly, she slid into her car. Her keys rattled loudly as she blindly stuffed the right one into the ignition. Habit was a wonderful thing sometimes. “Go to work, Cliff. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”
But as she drove away she could see him
standing in the parking lot watching her leave.
HOURS LATER, Mallory still hadn’t gotten to sleep. Fantasies of being with Cliff invaded every speck of consciousness. Every time she dropped off to sleep, heated dreams of the two of them, entwined in ecstatic explorations, reappeared. Her sheets twisted into knots and her stomach churned from the need writhing inside her.
When the telephone trilled at 3:27, she was wide awake, staring at the black ceiling. Hastily, she grabbed the receiver. Was Cliff home? Was he burning for her as she was for him?
“Hello?” She winced at her own eagerness.
“Hi, Mallory. It’s Mother.”
Mallory’s desire dissolved like the morning fog under a July sun. Another glance at the illuminated clock in her bedroom confirmed the time. She was probably the only person in America whose mother would call her in the middle of the night.
“Hi, Mother. How are you so early in the morning?”
“Fine, dear. Uh, early?”
“Yes. Early. It’s three-thirty out here.”
“But it’s six-thirty here and you’re three hours ahead, right?”
Mallory gave up. For a woman with a Ph.D. and an acclaimed academic career, her mother never could keep straight the time difference between the East Coast and the West. “That’s all right Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, no. I just heard from your father. Enjoying himself immensely. He’s in the middle of that concert tour. Eastern Europe, I believe. The Europeans so appreciate classical music, you know.”
“That’s nice. Did he ask you to contact me?” Mallory couldn’t help the stiffness that iced her voice. Her parents maintained an apparently happy two-career marriage in which neither partner spent more than a few weeks a year in the same city as the other. It worked well for them, but not as well for Mallory. After her grandmother died when Mallory was twelve, she was brought up by expensive nannies and spent much of her time in boarding schools.
“Of course, dear. He is always very interested in how you are doing.”
I’ve heard that lie my whole life. “I’m fine. Was there something you needed?”
“Well, yes, there was.”
Disappointment tightened Mallory’s stomach before she deliberately forced it to relax. She should be used to this by now. “What can I do for you, Mother?”
“I’m going to be on the West Coast in a couple of weeks. I’m meeting with Jonassen up at Stanford to prepare for this summer’s dig. I thought you and I might get together for a lunch or something while I’m out there.”
“Mother, Stanford is in the Bay Area. It’s six hundred miles from San Diego.”
“Oh.”
Damn her for sounding disappointed! Of course Mallory gave in. Again. “I’ll see what I can do, all right?”
“That’s fine, dear. I was cleaning out some of your grandmother’s things and found a few items to give you. I thought it would be just a little cold to put them in a box and mail them.”
Cold, Mallory could deal with. A token maternal visit chilled her more than polite formality at arm’s length.
“I see.” Mallory scribbled down the dates and times of her mother’s trip and promised again to try to arrange to meet with her while she was here.
Conversation over, Mallory tried to recapture the dreams that had kept her company all night long. Better the physical frustration of wanting Cliff and not having him than dealing with the lifelong frustration of wanting a parent who simply couldn’t be bothered.
CLIFF FRETTED with anticipation until Sunday afternoon finally arrived. By the time he opened the door to Mallory’s knock, he could barely restrain himself to a single, sizzling kiss. “The barbecue’s hot. The salmon steaks are marinating in the fridge. Let’s go to bed.”
She actually giggled. “What kind of a greeting is that?”
Leading her out to the patio at the back of his condo, he said, “An honest one?” He gave his best Snidely Whiplash leer.
She settled comfortably into a padded patio chair, propped her feet on a convenient stool, and waved him to his cooking duties with a grand gesture. “Don’t distract me, slave. I’ve survived a very hard week, and I am here to be waited upon.”
Obediently, he opened the gas grill. “Well, I’ve certainly raised waiting to a fine art after this week.”
“As in waiting for me?”
He snatched a quick nibble behind her ear as he handed her a glass of iced sangria and a huge bowl of salad fixings. “Of course, I mean you. But while you’re waiting to be fed, could you toss the salad?”
She smiled and agreed, but he noticed a fine tremor in her hands as she took the bowl.
While he fussed with the grill, they chatted about their work. But silently, he pondered the quiver he’d seen. Now that he looked at her, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes—artfully disguised by makeup, but present nevertheless. What the hell was wrong?
When he caught her stifling a third yawn, he said, “You have had a long week, haven’t you? Anything wrong?”
She shook her head. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
What’s wrong, Mallory? Why aren’t you sleeping? Everything inside him wanted to ask the question, but he hesitated. Would such a question be considered unwanted interference? Too intrusive? If she was simply working too many hours to have time for sleep, would she assume he was criticizing her?
A sudden glimpse of the pitfalls of their career-friendly agreement kept him silent. No doubt as they settled into their new relationship, such issues would disappear, he assured himself as he turned the salmon on the grill. They would find a way to work things out.
The doorbell interrupted his silent, unconvincing argument. “I’ll be right back,” he promised with a smile. “Keep an eye on the salmon for me, all right?”
Long strides took him to the front door. He had every intention of ejecting his untimely caller—posthaste. But once he opened the front door a crack, a size-twelve, sneaker-clad foot jammed it the rest of the way open. Then the foot was followed by a tall, muscular frame and a shock of black hair.
“Lemme in, Cliff.”
“You already seem to be in. It’s nice to see you. Are you ready to leave yet?” Subtlety accomplished nothing with Todd Sinewski, Cliff knew. His best friend, accountant, and sometime handball buddy simply didn’t recognize the concept. It merely rolled off his hide like water off a suntan-oil-slicked beach bunny.
“Aw, c’mon, buddy. I got problems.”
“Too bad. Maybe you can solve them somewhere else.”
“Nah. You’ve got a way with babes. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
Before Cliff could refuse, Todd launched into a detailed account of his latest dating fiasco. He never paused for breath as he described every aspect of his unhappy situation. Only when he finally ran down did Cliff get a chance to insert a word.
“Have you ever considered that asking a nineties woman if she’ll do your laundry might be considered just a tad, uh, retro?” Cliff asked.
Todd nodded. “I was afraid of that. But it was an emergency. I swear.”
Cliff lifted one eyebrow in silent query.
“It was,” Todd insisted. “A grateful client gave me tickets to the Lakers game and I had to go up to L.A.—the Chicago Bulls were in town.”
Cliff whistled in appreciation. Yeah, Lakers tickets for a game of that magnitude were more precious than gold.
“And I had a big client consultation the next morning—and no clean shirts! I mean, what was I supposed to do?”
Cliff hardened his heart against the man-to-man appeal. “Your laundry?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the silent patio. His masculine instinct for self-preservation told him he might find himself on shaky ground unless he got back to Mallory. He took Todd by the arm and aimed him toward the door.
“Look, Todd, it’s too bad your girlfriend doesn’t appreciate the necessity of going to an important basketball game—but you’ve got to handle your trauma by yo
urself. I’m busy right now.” He gave a meaningful nod toward the patio.
His friend dug in his heels for a moment, then relaxed and—finally—began to cooperate in his eviction. Todd lowered his voice to a booming whisper that no doubt carried halfway down the block. “Jeez, I’m sorry, Cliff. You’ve got a girl here, don’t you?”
Cliff nodded, still urging more progress toward the front door. “Yes. Goodbye.”
“’Bye.” Todd finally exited, then poked his head back in before Cliff could slam the door. “Does your babe do laundry? If so, I’ve got a pile at home—”
Cliff pushed Todd’s head out and slammed the door shut. What a disaster! Still, he’d managed to get rid of his buddy in only—he checked his watch—seventeen minutes, a new record. With steps that grew jauntier by the second, he walked back to the patio, only to stop short at the threshold.
Two perfectly tossed salads, glistening with dressing, sat in splendor on the table, while the cooked salmon kept warm off to one side of the grill. But it wasn’t the teasing aroma of marinated fish or raspberry vinaigrette that stopped him in his tracks. It was the even more tempting sight of Mallory, curled up in a lounge chair like a contented kitten, her head nestled in one hand, her legs drawn up in a sexy curve....
And her eyes closed in deep sleep.
4
DISAPPOINTMENT BURNED like acid in Cliff’s veins. He took one slow step onto the patio, then stopped again. Should he wake her? Or let her sleep?
Wake her up! Wake her up! You’ve been waiting for this for days. It’s time to get this affair going.
But his nobler half had a different argument. Yes, but she was so tired earlier. She even admitted she hasn’t been sleeping well. It’d be cruel to wake her now that she’s finally resting.
While the debate raged within him, he softly moved to the gas grill and turned it off. He eyed the salads waiting on the patio table. Maybe he should take them inside to the refrigerator? They could be brought out again later when...if...
