by Nora Roberts
“Thank you.” Who would have thought the smell of wet male could be so terrific? “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Hold mine, too, Janine. And take a break yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With only a small envious sigh, she shut the door.
“Don’t you have an umbrella?” Sydney asked him, and leaned forward for a kiss. He kept his hands to himself.
“I can’t touch you, I’ll mess up your suit. Do you have a towel?”
“Just a minute.” She walked into the adjoining bath. “What are you doing uptown at this time of day?”
“The rain slows things up. I did paperwork and knocked off at four.” He took the towel she offered and rubbed it over his head.
“Is it that late?” She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly five.
“You’re busy.”
She thought of the resignation on her desk and the files she had to study. “A little.”
“When you’re not busy, maybe you’d like to go with me to the movies.”
“I’d love to.” She took the towel back. “I need an hour.”
“I’ll come back.” He reached out to toy with the pearls at her throat. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“My family goes to visit my sister this weekend. To have a barbecue. Will you go with me?”
“I’d love to go to a barbecue. When?”
“They leave Friday, after work.” He wanted to sketch her in those pearls. Just those pearls. Though he rarely worked in anything but wood, he thought he might carve her in alabaster. “We can go when you’re ready.”
“I should be able to get home and changed by six. Six-thirty,” she corrected. “All right?”
“All right.” He took her shoulders, holding her a few inches away from his damp clothes as he kissed her. “Natasha will like you.”
“I hope so.”
He kissed her again. “I love you.”
Emotion shuddered through her. “I know.”
“And you love me,” he murmured. “You’re just stubborn.” He toyed with her lips another moment. “But soon you’ll pose for me.”
“I…what?”
“Pose for me. I have a show in the fall, and I think I’ll use several pieces of you.”
“You never told me you had a show coming up.” The rest of it hit her. “Of me?”
“Yes, we’ll have to work very hard very soon. So now I leave you alone so you can work.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten all about files and phone calls. “Yes, I’ll see you in an hour.”
“And this weekend there will be no work. But next…” He nodded, his mind made up. Definitely in alabaster.
She ran the damp towel through her hands as he walked to the door. “Mikhail.”
With the door open, he stood with his hand on the knob. “Yes?”
“Where does your sister live?”
“West Virginia.” He grinned and shut the door behind her. Sydney stared at the blank panel for a full ten seconds.
“West Virginia?”
CHAPTER NINE
She’d never be ready in time. Always decisive about her wardrobe, Sydney had packed and unpacked twice. What did one wear for a weekend in West Virginia? A few days in Martinique—no problem. A quick trip to Rome would have been easy. But a weekend, a family weekend in West Virginia, had her searching frantically through her closet.
As she fastened her suitcase a third time, she promised herself she wouldn’t open it again. To help herself resist temptation, she carried the bag into the living room, then hurried back to the bedroom to change out of her business suit.
She’d just pulled on thin cotton slacks and a sleeveless top in mint green—and was preparing to tear them off again—when the knock sounded at her door.
It would have to do. It would do, she assured herself as she went to answer. They would be arriving so late at his sister’s home, it hardly mattered what she was wearing. With a restless hand she brushed her hair back, wondered if she should secure it with a scarf for the drive, then opened the door.
Sequined and sleek, Margerite stood on the other side.
“Sydney, darling.” As she glided inside, she kissed her daughter’s cheek.
“Mother. I didn’t know you were coming into the city today.”
“Of course you did.” She settled into a chair, crossed her legs. “Channing told you about our little theater party.”
“Yes, he did. I’d forgotten.”
“Sydney.” The name was a sigh. “You’re making me worry about you.”
Automatically Sydney crossed to the liquor cabinet to pour Margerite a glass of her favored brand of sherry. “There’s no need. I’m fine.”
“No need?” Margerite’s pretty coral-tipped fingers fluttered. “You turn down dozens of invitations, couldn’t even spare an afternoon to shop with your mother last week, bury yourself in that office for positively hours on end. And there’s no need for me to worry.” She smiled indulgently and she accepted the glass. “Well, we’re going to fix all of that. I want you to go in and change into something dashing. We’ll meet Channing and the rest of the party at Doubles for a drink before curtain.”
The odd thing was, Sydney realized, she’d very nearly murmured an agreement, so ingrained was her habit of doing what was expected of her. Instead, she perched on the arm of the sofa and hoped she could do this without hurting Margerite’s feelings.
“Mother, I’m sorry. If I’ve been turning down invitations, it’s because the transition at Hayward is taking up most of my time and energy.”
“Darling.” Margerite gestured with the glass before she sipped. “That’s exactly my point.”
But Sydney only shook her head. “And the simple fact is, I don’t feel the need to have my social calendar filled every night any longer. As for tonight, I appreciate, I really do, the fact that you’d like me to join you. But, as I explained to Channing, I have plans.”
Irritation sparked in Margerite’s eyes, but she only tapped a nail on the arm of the chair. “If you think I’m going to leave you here to spend the evening cooped up with some sort of nasty paperwork—”
“I’m not working this weekend,” Sydney interrupted. “Actually, I’m going out of town for—” The quick rap at the door relieved her. “Excuse me a minute.” The moment she’d opened the door, Sydney reached out a hand for him. “Mikhail, my—”
Obviously he didn’t want to talk until he’d kissed her, which he did, thoroughly, in the open doorway. Pale and rigid, Margerite pushed herself to her feet. She understood, as a woman would, that the kiss she was witnessing was the kind exchanged by lovers.
“Mikhail.” Sydney managed to draw back an inch.
“I’m not finished yet.”
One hand braced against his chest as she gestured helplessly with the other. “My mother…”
He glanced over, caught the white-faced fury and shifted Sydney easily to his side. A subtle gesture of protection. “Margerite.”
“Isn’t there a rule,” she said stiffly, “about mixing business and pleasure?” She lifted her brows as her gaze skimmed over him. “But then, you wouldn’t be a rule follower, would you, Mikhail?”
“Some rules are important, some are not.” His voice was gentle, but without regret and without apology. “Honesty is important, Margerite. I was honest with you.”
She turned away, refusing to acknowledge the truth of that. “I’d prefer a moment with you, alone, Sydney.”
There was a pounding at the base of her skull as she looked at her mother’s rigid back. “Mikhail, would you take my bag to the car? I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
He cupped her chin, troubled by what he read in her eyes. “I’ll stay with you.”
“No.” She put a hand to his wrist. “It would be best if you left us alone. Just a few minutes.” Her fingers tightened. “Please.”
She left him no choice. Muttering to himself,
he picked up her suitcase. The moment the door closed behind him, Margerite whirled. Sydney was already braced. It was rare, very rare for Margerite to go on a tirade. But when she did, it was always an ugly scene with vicious words.
“You fool. You’ve been sleeping with him.”
“I don’t see that as your concern. But, yes, I have.”
“Do you think you have the sense or skill to handle a man like that?” There was the crack of glass against wood as she slapped the little crystal goblet onto the table. “This sordid little liaison could ruin you, ruin everything I’ve worked for. God knows you did enough damage by divorcing Peter, but I managed to put that right. Now this. Sneaking off for a weekend at some motel.”
Sydney’s fists balled at her sides. “There is nothing sordid about my relationship with Mikhail, and I’m not sneaking anywhere. As for Peter, I will not discuss him with you.”
Eyes hard, Margerite stepped forward. “From the day you were born, I used everything at my disposal to be certain you had what you deserved as a Hayward. The finest schools, the proper friends, even the right husband. Now, you’re tossing it all back at me, all the planning, all the sacrificing. And for what?”
She whirled around the room as Sydney remained stiff and silent.
“Oh, believe me, I understand that man’s appeal. I’d even toyed with the idea of having a discreet affair with him myself.” The wound to her vanity was raw and throbbing. “A woman’s entitled to a wild fling with a magnificent animal now and again. And his artistic talents and reputation are certainly in his favor. But his background is nothing, less than nothing. Gypsies and farmers and peasants. I have the experience to handle him—had I chosen to. I also have no ties at the moment to make an affair awkward. You, however, are on the verge of making a commitment to Channing. Do you think he’d have you if he ever learned you’d been taking that magnificent brute to bed?”
“That’s enough.” Sydney moved forward to take her mother’s arm. “That’s past enough. For someone who’s so proud of the Hayward lineage, you certainly made no attempt to keep the name yourself. It was always my burden to be a proper Hayward, to do nothing to damage the Hayward name. Well, I’ve been a proper Hayward, and right now I’m working day and night to be certain the Hayward name remains above reproach. But my personal time, and whom I decide to spend that personal time with, is my business.”
Pale with shock, Margerite jerked her hand away. Not once, from the day she’d been born, had Sydney spoken to her in such a manner. “Don’t you dare use that tone with me. Are you so blinded with lust that you’ve forgotten where your loyalties lie?”
“I’ve never forgotten my loyalties,” Sydney tossed back. “And at the moment, this is the most reasonable tone I can summon.” It surprised her as well, this fast, torrid venom, but she couldn’t stop it. “Listen to me, Mother, as far as Channing goes, I have never been on the verge of making a commitment to him, nor do I ever intend to do so. That’s what you intended. And I will never, never, be pressured into making that kind of commitment again. If it would help disabuse Channing of the notion, I’d gladly take out a full-page ad in the Times announcing my relationship with Mikhail. As to that, you know nothing about Mikhail’s family, you know nothing about him, as a man. You never got beyond his looks.”
Margerite’s chin lifted. “And you have?”
“Yes, I have, and he’s a caring, compassionate man. An honest man who knows what he wants out of life and goes after it. You’d understand that, but the difference is he’d never use or hurt anyone to get it. He loves me. And I…” It flashed through her like light, clear, warm and utterly simple. “I love him.”
“Love?” Stunned, Margerite reared back. “Now I know you’ve taken leave of your senses. My God, Sydney, do you believe everything a man says in bed?”
“I believe what Mikhail says. Now, I’m keeping him waiting, and we have a long trip to make.”
Head high, chin set, Margerite streamed toward the door, then tossed a last look over her shoulder. “He’ll break your heart, and make a fool of you in the bargain. But perhaps that’s what you need to remind you of your responsibilities.”
When the door snapped shut, Sydney lowered onto the arm of the sofa. Mikhail would have to wait another moment.
* * *
He wasn’t waiting; he was prowling. Back and forth in front of the garage elevators he paced, hands jammed into his pockets, thoughts as black as smoke. When the elevator doors slid open, he was on Sydney in a heartbeat.
“Are you all right?” He had her face in his hands. “No, I can see you are not.”
“I am, really. It was unpleasant. Family arguments always are.”
For him, family arguments were fierce and furious and inventive. They could either leave him enraged or laughing, but never drained as she was now. “Come, we can go upstairs, leave in the morning when you’re feeling better.”
“No, I’d like to go now.”
“I’m sorry.” He kissed both of her hands. “I don’t like to cause bad feelings between you and your mama.”
“It wasn’t you. Really.” Because she needed it, she rested her head on his chest, soothed when his arms came around her. “It was old business, Mikhail, buried too long. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You keep too much from me, Sydney.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach muscles dance, her throat drying up. It couldn’t be so hard to say the words. “I love you, Mikhail.”
The hand stroking her back went still, then dived into her hair to draw her head back. His eyes were intense, like two dark suns searching hers. He saw what he wanted to see, what he needed desperately to see. “So, you’ve stopped being stubborn.” His voice was thick with emotion, and his mouth, when it met hers, gave her more than dozens of soft endearments. “You can tell me again while we drive. I like to hear it.”
Laughing, she linked an arm through his as they walked to the car. “All right.”
“And while you drive, I tell you.”
Eyes wide, she stopped. “I drive?”
“Yes.” He opened the passenger door for her. “I start, then you have a turn. You have license, yes?”
She glanced dubiously at the gauges on the dash. “Yes.”
“You aren’t afraid?”
She looked back up to see him grinning. “Not tonight, I’m not.”
* * *
It was after midnight when Mikhail pulled up at the big brick house in Shepherdstown. It was cooler now. There wasn’t a cloud in the star-scattered sky to hold in the heat. Beside him, Sydney slept with her head resting on a curled fist. He remembered that she had taken the wheel on the turnpike, driving from New Jersey into Delaware with verve and enthusiasm. Soon after they’d crossed the border into Maryland and she’d snuggled into the passenger seat again, she’d drifted off.
Always he had known he would love like this. That he would find the one woman who would change the zigzagging course of his life into a smooth circle. She was with him now, dreaming in an open car on a quiet road.
When he looked at her, he could envision how their lives would be. Not perfectly. To see perfectly meant there would be no surprises. But he could imagine waking beside her in the morning, in the big bedroom of the old house they would buy and make into a home together. He could see her coming home at night, wearing one of those pretty suits, her face reflecting the annoyance or the success of the day. And they would sit together and talk, of her work, of his.
One day, her body would grow ripe with child. He would feel their son or daughter move inside her. And they would fill their home with children and watch them grow.
But he was moving too quickly. They had come far already, and he wanted to treasure each moment.
He leaned over to nuzzle his lips over her throat. “I’ve crossed the states with you, milaya.” She stirred, murmuring sleepily. “Over rivers and mountains. Kiss me.”
She came awake with his mouth
warm on hers and her hand resting against his cheek. She felt the flutter of a night breeze on her skin and smelled the fragrance of roses and honeysuckle. And the stir of desire was just as warm, just as sweet.
“Where are we?”
“The sign said, Wild, Wonderful West Virginia.” He nipped at her lip. “You will tell me if you think it is so.”
Any place, any place at all was wild and wonderful, when he was there, she thought as her arms came around him. He gave a quiet groan, then a grunt as the gearshift pressed into a particularly sensitive portion of his anatomy. “I must be getting old. It is not so easy as it was to seduce a woman in a car.”
“I thought you were doing a pretty good job.”
He felt the quick excitement stir his blood, fantasized briefly, then shook his head. “I’m intimidated because my mama may peek out the window any minute. Come. We’ll find your bed, then I’ll sneak into it.”
She laughed as he unfolded his long legs out of the open door. “Now I’m intimidated.” Pushing her hair back, she turned to look at the house. It was big and brick, with lights glowing gold in the windows of the first floor. Huge leafy trees shaded it, pretty box hedges shielded it from the street.
When Mikhail joined her with their bags, they started up the stone steps that cut through the slope of lawn. And here were the flowers, the roses she had smelled, and dozens of others. No formal garden this, but a splashy display that seemed to grow wild and willfully. She saw the shadow of a tricycle near the porch. In the spill of light from the windows, she noted that a bed of petunias had been recently and ruthlessly dug up.
“I think Ivan has been to work,” Mikhail commented, noting the direction of Sydney’s gaze. “If he is smart, he hides until it’s time to go home again.”
Before they had crossed the porch, she heard the laughter and music.
“It sounds as though they’re up,” Sydney said. “I thought they might have gone to bed.”
“We have only two days together. We won’t spend much of it sleeping.” He opened the screen door and entered without knocking. After setting the bags near the stairs, then taking Sydney’s hand, he dragged her down the hall toward the party sounds.
