Then Nick turned off the road into his driveway, and it was worse than she suspected.
The house wasn’t large, but it was beautiful, an architect’s miniature masterpiece of white planes and angles bisected by gleaming glass that reflected the moonlight. She’d been prepared to resist clapboard colonial or petite plantation or even pseudo-cedar Frank Lloyd Wright, but this was such a work of art that only a person blinded by prejudice could find it anything but lovely.
“Do you like it?” Nick asked when he’d cut the engine.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Tess said, and she felt him relax next to her. “When you brought me out here before it was finished, I never dreamed it would look like this. Who designed it? You?”
“Not exactly.” Nick eased down in his seat a little, surveying the house. “When I was in law school, a buddy of mine got in trouble. I helped him out, did all the legal legwork and saved his butt. He was a senior in architecture, and he took me out for a beer, and after a few, we started talking about the perfect house, and a month later he gave me the plans for this. So I saved up and bought the land, then I saved some more and built the house. It took me a while.”
Tess watched his face as he looked at his house, seeing the pride and love there.
“The builders were the best,” he said, “and the irony is, my buddy’s a big name now. Preston Delaney. People come by and photograph it because it’s an early, pure Delaney. I’ve only been in it a couple of weeks, and somebody’s already offered me twice what it cost to build it.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “Another investment.”
Nick shook his head. “Nope, it’s more than that. Wait until you see inside. It’s perfect. It was done a month after you left.” His grin faded. “That was one of the biggest disappointments about your dumping me. You never got to see it.” He turned to her in the moonlight. “I know we’re finished with each other, but I’m glad you’re here to see it.”
Tess bit her lip. “Thank you for inviting me to stay. I’ll try not to get it dirty.”
Nick patted her knee and then got out to open the car door for her while she stared at the house with fear and longing.
The interior left her speechless. The ground floor was one big room bisected by black lacquered folding doors with a staircase winding up the middle of it. To her right, through partially opened doors, Tess could see a massive ebony Parsons dining table and black lacquered chairs. To the left, huge overstuffed couches faced each other across thick rya rugs, flanking a cavernous white brick fireplace on one wall and a built-in wide-screen TV on another. The back wall was all glass looking out on an angular pool that reflected the moonlight like marcasite.
Except for the dining-room furniture, every single thing in the place was white. Tess felt very small and very dingy. She moved to one of the couches, touching it and then jerking her hand away.
“What’s the matter?” Nick asked.
“This couch is suede,” Tess said.
“I know.”
“Real suede?” Tess asked, knowing it was a dumb question. If it was Nick’s, it was real.
“Of course it’s real suede.”
“You have white suede couches,” Tess said and closed her eyes. “Do you live here? Does anybody live here?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s incredible. But I am definitely going to get it dirty.”
“That’s why a cleaning woman comes in twice a week,” Nick said.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Tess turned to the stairs. “Bedroom up here?”
“Three,” Nick said. “Take your pick.”
“Which one are you in?”
“The one at the back. Big bed. Black satin spread. The guest room is at the front.”
“Black,” Tess said. “You know, I don’t mean to criticize, but this place could use some color.”
“I like it this way. It looks expensive.” Nick started up the stairs with the duffel and the suitcase. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“Guest room.” Tess said, and followed him with the laundry basket.
TESS LAY AWAKE THAT NIGHT, listening for the screams and the shouts that weren’t there, trying not to worry about Angela and feeling guilty because she was so safe. The other tenants didn’t have rich, depraved conservative lawyers to sweep them off into sinful luxury. And then there was Gina, looking at Park with puppy-dog eyes. And the Foundation kids, now that she’d shot herself in the foot with the Sigler woman. And Lanny. The other problems were more pressing, but Lanny was the one she owed the most. Lanny had been there for her when she was eight; now she was going to be there for him.
She tossed and turned for another hour, shuffling her worries like a deck of cards. When she finally couldn’t stand it any longer, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake Nick, and went out to the pool. She stripped off her T-shirt and underpants, dove into the water and began to swim laps to exorcise her demons.
One lap for the apartment-house tenants and their unlocked doors.
One lap for Gina and her doomed love life and her job search.
One lap for the kids at the Foundation and their imperiled futures.
One lap for Lanny and his trashed vision.
One lap for Nick and his infuriating double personality.
Only one lap didn’t do it. Once she started to think about Nick warm in that damn black bed upstairs, she swam faster, but it didn’t help. All the images of him she’d ever tortured herself with came back —Nick laughing at her at the touch football game that had started it all, Nick’s arms in that rag of a sweatshirt as he teased her about her laundry, Nick beautiful in evening clothes— but now she had new memories, memories of Nick hot and naked, his body moving over hers, and she got dizzy just thinking about it, so dizzy that at the end of the last lap, she clung to the edge of the pool and gasped for breath.
“You okay?” she heard Nick say, and she looked up to see him standing there, in black silk boxers, his hair tousled from his pillow.
He looked wonderful.
Tess groaned and let herself slip under the water.
She felt Nick’s hand grab her arm and drag her ruthlessly to the surface.
“I know you’re depressed, dummy,” Nick said, holding on to her. “But don’t drown yourself in my pool. My insurance rates will go up. Not to mention I’ll never get another date again if it gets out that being with me makes women suicidal.”
“I’m not suicidal,” Tess said, and then realized he was never going to make love to her again. “Well, maybe I am.”
“Actually what you are is naked.” Nick sounded distracted, but he didn’t let go of her arm.
“It’s a private pool.” Tess was too depressed to argue with any enthusiasm. “It’s not illegal.”
“No, but it’s probably immoral,” Nick said. “Whatever it is, I like it. Let’s go back to my bed and discuss it.”
Tess blinked up at him, treading water a little faster. “I thought we were finished.”
“Well, we were until your apartment got trashed and I thought about losing you, and then you ended up naked in my pool,” Nick said. “I remember being sure I never wanted to see you again. I just don’t remember why at the moment.”
Tess sighed. “It was probably something about your career. Everything with you is.”
“What career?”
“Really?” Tess said, her voice suddenly bright with hope.
“I’m thinking about becoming a pool boy,” Nick said. “You meet such naked people.”
Tess jerked the arm he was holding and yanked him into the pool.
“Hey,” he sputtered when he surfaced, but by then she’d wrapped herself around him and found his mouth with hers, and they slipped under the water as she kissed him.
Nick kicked them both to the surface again and held her tight against him as he tried to get his breath back. Tess trailed kisses down his neck, licking the water from his skin with her tongue
, loving the feel of the muscle against her mouth.
“A bed,” Nick gasped. “I have this great bed—”
“Here,” Tess said, and kissed him. She felt him relax into her as he pulled her hips tight against his, and she wrapped her legs around him again, feeling the slick wet silk of his shorts against her thighs. “Those have got to go,” she told him, and began to slide her fingers under the waistband to yank them down.
“Wait a minute,” Nick said, grabbing her hand, still trying to keep them afloat. “About my bed—”
“Here,” Tess said, tugging downward on his shorts.
“The neighbors—” Nick said, tugging upward.
“Here,” Tess said tugging harder.
“I really think my bed—” Nick tried again, prying her fingers from his waistband.
Tess gave a scream of fury and pushed him away. “Forget it,” she said. “Just forget it.”
“Look, is this the romantic thing again?” Nick groped through the water for her again. “Because I don’t see what’s so romantic about a damn pool.”
“It’s not just romantic,” Tess said, kicking backward to get away from him. “It’s spontaneous. It’s sexy. It doesn’t feel like a damn career move!” She was so mad she dove underwater to get away from him, and when she surfaced he was gone.
Well, good. The hell with him. If she’d given in, she’d have ended up having sex in bedrooms for the rest of her life. Which of course, wouldn’t have been an entirely bad thing since it would have been with Nick. It was actually pretty cosmic when she thought about it. But she wasn’t going to think about it because he was the most unspontaneous, conservative, let’s-plan-every-move man she’d ever met. Which did, of course, often lead to great sex since he made sure...
Oh, hell.
Tess dove for the bottom again and swam across it, only to swallow half the pool when somebody grabbed her ankle.
Nick hauled her to the surface, patting her on the back while she choked.
“Don’t do that!” she said when she could talk. “I almost drowned.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Nick said, and kissed her.
“I thought you left,” she said when she came up for air. “Is this come-up-to-my-bed, part two, because if so...” She stopped, distracted by the realization that he wasn’t wearing his shorts.
“No,” Nick said, pulling her against him. “This is the-hell-with-the-neighbors-but-I-had-to-get-a-condom, part one. Do you know if chlorine has any effect on latex?”
“No idea.” Tess locked her legs around him, not caring what chlorine did to latex.
“Well, let’s find out,” Nick said, and then they almost did drown.
WHEN TESS WOKE UP the next morning, there was a note on the black silk pillow beside her with a twenty-dollar bill and a key.
She looked at the ceiling in exasperation and then picked up the note. “Dear Tess,” it read. “The twenty bucks is for cab fare so you can get out of the house today, so stop scowling at the ceiling. I took some swimming-pool water with me to the office so I can snort the chlorine and think of you all day. I’ll bring dinner with me when I get home at six. I’m glad your apartment got trashed. Love, Nick.”
She cocked an eyebrow at the note and smiled. It wasn’t “How do I love thee, let me count the ways,” but it wasn’t bad at all.
She snuggled back down under the comforter and thought about her day ahead. She had to go back to the apartment to find Angela. She had to go to the police station to fill out forms on the break-in. She had to call Alan Sigler to tell him that she definitely wanted the job at Decker even if his wife did hate her. She had to stop by the Foundation and catch up on her tutoring. She had to call her mother and ask about Lanny. And then there was Gina...
She reached out for the white phone beside Nick’s bed and dialed Gina’s number, but there was no answer, so she crawled out of bed and went to get dressed. The police station wasn’t a problem, but Alan Sigler...
She spread her clothes out on the white bed in the guest room and stared at them in dismay. They were fine for the police, fine for the Foundation, fine for protesting, fine for going out for pizza, but for making an impression on Alan Sigler?
Okay, she could get by with her blue skirt. Nobody ever looked at skirts, anyway. But she had to have something classy on top. People looked at stuff like shirts and jackets and...
She put on her skirt and went back to Nick’s bedroom and opened his closet.
It was just as she expected. Racks of beautiful shirts, gorgeous jackets. Of course, they were all white and black, but robbers couldn’t be choosers. She pulled a white shirt off a hanger and read the label: Armani. “Figures,” she said, and then stopped, remembering that Angela wasn’t around to talk to. She’d go back to the apartment to look for Angela first.
She shrugged the shirt on without thinking any more about it, rolling the cuffs several times. When she looked in the mirror, the shirt was beautiful but a little too big. She went back to the closet and pulled out one of Nick’s black vests and put it on. Better. Now she looked like Annie Hall with legs. If she put on earrings, she’d look feminine enough to get away with it.
She grabbed the twenty off the bed and went to call a cab and Gina one more time.
“YOU’RE LATE,” CHRISTINE SAID to Nick as he breezed through the outer office and into his own. “Park left you the Welch file.”
“Christine, I’m the boss.” Nick dropped into his desk chair and pushed the Welch file to one side. “I’m never late. Your world revolves around me.”
“Mr. Patterson called,” Christine said. “He wants to have lunch with you.”
“Not today,” Nick said.
“You’re kidding,” Christine said, and Nick looked up at the expression in her voice.
“No, I’m not kidding. I’m busy. Call Annalise Donaldson and make an early lunch date for today at The Levee. Call Alan Sigler and make a dinner date for tomorrow at The Levee. Find out who the landlord is at this apartment house—” he handed her a card “—and get him on the phone immediately. Then get me Thom Nordhausen at the Charles Theater for racquetball at two. That’ll get me out of a long lunch with Annalise. Reserve a court.” He stared at his desk for a moment. “What am I forgetting?”
“The law firm?” Christine said.
Nick frowned up at her. “Do you know what effect chlorine has on latex?”
“Not good,” Christine said. “Don’t do that again.”
“Remind me to have my pool drained,” Nick said. “Now go. I want those people yesterday.”
She was gone before he finished the last word.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the Welch file.
Plagiarism.
Nick closed his eyes and thought. If it wasn’t for the partnership, he’d be running as fast as he could away from Welch. If Tess was right about the earlier story —and Tess was invariably right about injustice, because she had an instinct for injustice— then this was going to be a huge tangle.
But it might get him partner.
Hell, he’d handled huge tangles before. It wouldn’t kill him to undo another one. He thought about it for a few more minutes and then hit the intercom button. “Christine, I need to set up a dinner later this week with Norbert Welch. Get him for me, please, but I’ll talk to him.”
“You’re on for lunch with Donaldson and racquetball with Nordhausen at three,” Christine said. “I’m working on the Siglers. Ray Briggs is on line two.”
“Who the hell is Ray Briggs?”
“Landlord.”
“Christine, you are a wonder.”
“I need a raise,” she said.
TESS SPENT THE ENTIRE MORNING at the police station, a lonely lunch hour in her old apartment waiting for Angela to come back and an hour in the afternoon with Alan Sigler in his paneled office, talking about education, the Decker Academy and the board.
“It’s really up to the board now,” he’d told her as he walked her to the door at the
end of the meeting. “I’ll give you my highest recommendation, but it’s the board’s decision. And they can’t act until the end of the month. One of the old board members resigned, and we’re still screening replacements, so we won’t handle the staffing problems until the next meeting. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“Thank you,” Tess said, shaking his hand. “I really want to work at Decker.”
“I know,” Sigler said, clearly puzzled. “I’m not sure why, though. You don’t seem the type to be impressed by prestige and money.”
“I just want to teach,” Tess said, omitting to tell him she just wanted to teach at the Foundation.
It wasn’t really being dishonest. It was being tactful.
Maybe Nick was starting to rub off on her, after all.
She left the Foundation early to catch the bus home, and it dropped her off at the end of Nick’s street at four-thirty. As she walked home, she absentmindedly computed how long it would be until he got home. An hour and a half at least. Maybe two. Not too long.
She let herself into the house and changed into her sweats, relieved to be out of hose and heels. Then she wandered about the house, afraid to touch anything, missing Angela and trying not to miss Nick. It wasn’t a big house, but it was extremely white and it echoed and it seemed cold although the thermostat said seventy.
Not the kind of place Lanny would have built.
Now that’s ridiculous, she told herself. This was not about Lanny. This was about...
Lanny. Lanny and the manuscript.
She kicked off her flats and went to the phone.
“Elise?” she said when her mother answered. “It’s me.”
“Tessie?” Elise’s voice came over the wire, enthusiastic and vague as always, as if she was really glad to hear from Tess but couldn’t quite remember who she was.
Strange Bedpersons Page 11
