by Ann Cristy
"No." Luc put his arm around her waist and began skating faster.
"Stop. I can't skate fast. It makes me dizzy," Misty argued as the twins' startled faces flashed past her. Finally Luc slowed to a stop. Misty leaned against him, panting. "What... in blazes... did you think you were... doing?" she demanded. "Trying to set a speed-skating record?"
"Tired?" He shot the word at her like a whip.
"No!" She gulped, then whirled away and skated out to the middle of the ice, where Mark and Mary were still trying to master the complicated turns being performed by the young girl Misty had first seen with Luc.
"Hi, Misty," Mary called. "I saw you skating with that man. Janie says he's her uncle. Isn't that funny?"
"Hilarious," Misty said flatly.
"This is Misty." Mark paused in doing figure eights and introduced Janie, who smiled and held out her hand.
Misty admired the young girl's poise. "Hello, Janie."
"Hi. Are you a friend of Uncle Lucas? He said he called a friend today and found out she'd gone skating. Was it you?"
"No," Misty denied. "Ah, what I mean is, I hardly know your uncle. It was very nice meeting you, Janie, but if Mary and Mark want to go to—"
"Rumpelmayer's!" Mary interrupted gleefully. "I want a hot chocolate and a milk shake. Nice meeting you, Janie. Maybe we'll see you again when Misty brings us."
"Yeah," Mark put in, a trace of reserve in his voice as he turned from the girl, and followed Misty and Mary off the ice.
"Mark likes Janie. Mark likes Janie," Mary chanted as they removed their skates.
Misty glimpsed a sheen of angry tears in Mark's eyes. She moved between the twins as she returned her rented skates. "All right, that's enough, Mary," Misty admonished. "If you want to go to Rumpelmayer's, don't say another word."
Mary made a face but fell silent.
Not wanting to catch sight of Luc, Misty kept her eyes on the two youngsters until they were out on the street. She hailed a cab to take them to the ice cream parlor. The sun was shining, but the wind had a cold bite to it. Had Luc called her? Misty wondered. If Aileen had heard the phone and answered it, would she have told Luc that she had gone skating? Misty struggled to keep from thinking of him.
As usual, Rumpelmayer's was a great success with the twins, but somehow the luster of the afternoon was gone for Misty. She had to fight to concentrate on the children who were chattering about their new friend Janie.
That night she shared a supper with David and Aileen after the twins were in bed. "Mary said you know Janie Patterson's uncle," Aileen said, sipping her coffee and watching Misty over the rim of her cup.
"Yes. The girl's uncle is Luc Harrison."
David whistled, then coughed when Aileen glared at him. "He called asking for you," Aileen told Misty.
She shrugged. "The twins loved Rumpelmayer's."
"They always do," Aileen agreed, not protesting Misty's abrupt change of subject. But several times that evening Misty felt her friend's anxious gaze fixed on her, and soon afterward she rose to say good night.
"Just be careful, Misty. Don't get hurt again," Aileen said at the door, hugging her.
"I have no intention of getting hurt," Misty assured her. But her smile wavered.
She smiled. "All right, I'll come. But remember, I have to be home early so I can take a nap before I go to work." The two girls broke into loud whoops and raced down the stairs.
Misty hurried through the rest of her chores, took a shower, and put on thermal underwear, cord jeans, a blue wool sweater, and a down vest.
When she arrived downstairs, the door to the Collinses' apartment stood open, and she walked in. "All right, slowpokes, let's move it—" She stopped short, her mouth falling open at the sight of Luc Harrison sitting at Aileen's kitchen table drinking coffee. The three children were already tugging on their coats and boots.
"Isn't this great?" Aileen exclaimed, rushing into nervous speech. "Janie wants to go for a bus ride, and Luc says he'll go, too." She laughed gaily, watching Misty the way a bird watches a snake.
"I see," Misty said calmly, though she wanted to shake her friend. She glared at Luc, who saluted her with his coffee cup, his eyes steady on her, his mouth lifting in a polite smile.
He rose from the table and drained the last of his coffee before putting the cup in the sink. "Very good coffee, Aileen. Thank you. Well, shall we go?" he asked the three youngsters, ignoring Misty's mutinous expression.
The children swept out the door, chattering nonstop. Luc and Misty followed side by side in silence.
Half a block from the bus stop, Misty said, "You had no right to come to the house."
"Janie wanted to skate with Mark and Mary again."
"Then you should have sent her alone. I would have been glad to take her with the twins."
"Thank you so much, but / can take care of my niece." Luc's voice was frigid.
"Then do so. But don't include me."
"I won't ever again."
"Good." Misty ran to catch the bus and stepped inside with change in her hand. But another hand pushed past hers and dropped money for all of them into the box. Ignoring that, she made her way to the middle of the bus where Mark, Mary, and Janie were crowded into two seats. Misty tried to sit down next to a plump woman with a big shopping bag on the seat, but the woman glared at her.
"There's an empty seat farther back," the woman muttered, making no effort to move her shopping bag.
"Come along, darling. We'll sit behind the children,' Luc said smoothly.
"Yeah, sit behind your kids. Disgusting the way these modern mothers ignore your brats. I never done that," the woman observed to an old man in another seat.
"You're just trying to make trouble," Misty accused Luc.
"I'm not the one ignoring our children," he teased mildly.
"They are not our children!"
"Mystique, that woman is looking back here again," he whispered. "She probably heard you say that and plans on turning us over to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children."
"Oh, you... you..." Misty sputtered.
"What's the matter, Misty?" Mark turned awkwardly around in his seat.
"Nothing, Mark," she said.
"Temper, temper," Luc whispered, a thread of laughter in his voice.
Misty shot a glance at him, surprised by his amusement. Earlier, he had been so furious with her.
Janie turned around, too, and smiled at her. "I like to skate. Do you, Mystique?"
"Her name's Misty," Mary informed her friend. "And she teaches us piano, too."
"Oh? Uncle Luc calls you Mystique, doesn't he?" Janie asked.
"That's the name I use professionally," Misty explained, acutely aware that Luc had draped an arm along the back of the seat.
"I think it's pretty," Janie assured her.
"So do I," Luc murmured.
"We call her Misty," Mark insisted, shooting a suspicious glance at Luc.
When they got off the bus, the three children ran ahead, shouting over their shoulders that they would be careful.
"They have fun together," Luc observed.
"Yes, they do," Misty said, not looking at him.
"Will you have dinner with me this evening?"
"No, thank you. I'm working." Misty was relieved to have an excuse.
"Join me for a meal first," Luc insisted, directing the children across the street.
"I generally don't eat before work. I have a light lunch a few hours before I leave, and that's enough." She clamped her mouth shut, annoyed with herself for having explained it to him.
"You're too thin," Luc observed.
Stung, Misty pulled away from his hold and hurried after the children.
"Stop being so defensive with me," Luc called, catching up with her. "I just meant that I think you should eat more nourishing meals."
"I thought we said everything there was to say to each other yesterday," Misty snapped.
"Yes, we did say quite a bit. I've be
en wanting to talk to you about that."
"Misty, hurry," Mary wailed. "We want to skate."
"Coming." Misty trotted after them, glad of the diversion as she ushered the children past the kiosk, not bothering to try to pay for them when Luc's hard eyes glinted at her.
She rented a pair of skates and stood on the sideline watching the children as they skated to an open area in the center of the rink and began practicing turns and twists.
"Shall we skate?" Luc took her arm in a firm grip and tugged her out onto the ice. "Don't worry, I have no intention of racing. I just thought you might like to waltz to the Strauss music." His brown eyes held a spark of recklessness that sent a frisson of alarm down Misty's spine.
"I like Strauss's music," she conceded grudgingly.
"Good." Luc spun her around the ice in a gentle waltz. As always, she was caught up in the music. She felt her body and spirit melt into the graceful rhythms of old Vienna.
"You're good," Luc whispered to her, bringing her out of her reverie. "So very, very good. I love the way you move."
"Oh!" Misty tried to look away from his mesmerizing gaze, but she found it too difficult to do so.
They danced close together across the ice for six waltzes.
When they finally slowed to a stop, Misty felt out of breath, partly from the exercise, partly from Luc's lips hovering so close to hers.
"The children," she gasped, pushing away from him. The man was hypnotizing her!
"They're fine," he whispered in her hair.
"See? There they are. Just about where we left them."
"I have to watch them," Misty said, breaking free of his hold and skating to the center of the rink. The children looked up at her and smiled.
"Hi, Misty. Look what I can do," Mary crowed, twirling around with her hands clasped over her head.
From then on, Misty stayed close to the children. Sometimes she skated with one or the other. Once when Luc came close, she Went off by herself. Wherever she was on the ice, she was constantly aware of his piercing gaze.
When it was time to go, both Mark and Mary held back. "Aw, Misty, just a little while longer," Mary begged.
"Come on, Misty," Mark wheedled.
"It's nice today. Not as crowded as other days," Janie offered.
Misty hesitated, wanting to please the children but knowing that if she didn't leave now she wouldn't have time for a nap before she had to go to work. Luc took the decision out of her hands.
"Everybody off with the skates," he commanded, sending the twins and Janie scurrying to the sidelines.
Misty stared after them, amazed to see that they appeared neither angry nor sullen. She glanced up at Luc. "Thank you. I should get home."
"But you would have given in to them," Luc said softly, a flicker of warmth in his brown eyes.
Misty shrugged. "I suppose so."
"You need someone to take care of you."
She stiffened; her temper flared. "No, thank you," she said coolly. "I take care of myself." She skated away, her back ramrod straight.
As they rode home on the bus, Luc and Misty sat close together but didn't speak. Misty was content to listen to the children's chatter. Gradually her ire settled into a renewed resolve not to get caught in any man's trap ever again.
Luc walked with them to the house, saw them inside, and left with his niece, his quiet nod toward Misty in marked contrast to the children's noisy good-byes.
Misty didn't stay long either, although she could tell Aileen was dying to ask her about the afternoon she had spent with Luc Harrison. "I really do have to get some sleep, so I'll pass on the offer of coffee," she told her disappointed friend.
Misty went up to her own apartment, deliberately erasing Luc Harrison from her thoughts. After packing the carrier with makeup and accessories, she climbed into the water bed, curled into a ball, and willed herself to go to sleep.
In the end she overslept and had to race through the apartment, making her bed, showering, and pulling on a pair of pale green velvet jeans and a matching chamois vest. Her emerald green blouse was almost the same color as her eyes. She wore tiny earrings that she would later exchange for dangling gold ones to complement her persimmon-colored silk dress.
She took the elevator downstairs, her purse and carrier bumping against her legs.
"Good night, Misty. Take care," Dave called out from the doorway of his apartment. "Why don't you hail a taxi instead of taking all that stuff on the bus?"
"I'm fine," she assured him, closing the heavy oak door behind her and hurrying down the stoop. Since she could afford a taxi only once a day, she saved it for coming home.
She had reached the sidewalk and was hitching the carrier higher on her shoulder when a familiar voice said, "I'll take that for you." She turned, aghast. Luc was standing beside her, removing the carrier from her shoulder and stuffing it into the trunk of a bronze-colored Ferrari parked at the curb.
Her mouth agape, Misty made no move to protest when he opened the passenger door and ushered her inside. "Where did you come from?" she demanded. "I didn't see you when I came out the door." She sank back against the soft leather upholstery; she knew she should get out of the car but for some reason she was unable to do so.
"You were too busy wrestling with that carrier. Do you take the bus to work every night?"
"I don't work every night." Feeling his gaze on her,
Misty kept her eyes focused straight ahead. "You're a proud little thing."
"I don't know why you keep coming around. We said everything there was to say yesterday morning."
"Not quite," he disagreed, firing the powerful engine and pulling smoothly into heavy traffic.
"But why do you keep coming?" she repeated, confused. "I won't change my mind."
"I know. I've changed mine."
"About what?"
He didn't answer. Instead he concentrated on maneuvering the sleek car through the congested traffic. Misty gazed distractedly out the window at the people hurrying along the sidewalks. Where were they going? Home? Out to dinner? To a show?
Finally Luc drew the car up outside the Terrace Hotel. As Misty began fumbling with the door handle he said mildly, "Don't bother, darling. It's locked on the wheel." He parked and turned to her. "I've thought over what you told me yesterday, and I realize your request has merit." He pressed a button on the steering wheel, and the door on her side of the car unlocked. Then he got out, removed her things from the trunk, and ushered her up the steps to the entrance.
"What do you mean?" Misty asked as a thin thread of panic uncurled inside her.
"Shall I park your car, sir?" the parking attendant asked Luc.
"No, thank you," Luc replied. He walked with Misty into the lobby, handed her the carrier, kissed her on the cheek, and left without explaining how he'd changed his mind.
Misty stood staring after him, thoroughly perplexed. But in another moment she realized it was time to change and she hurried to her dressing room. Once dressed, she studied herself in the mirror. Morey had been right again. For some reason the persimmon-colored gown seemed to enhance her hair rather than clash with it. She applied pale gold eye shadow—tonight she would have cat's eyes—and leaned closer to the mirror. Was the gown cut a shade too low in front?
The crisp silk was molded tightly to her bosom and clung as though magnetized to her form. The wide neckline skimmed her shoulders, and the long sleeves ended tightly above her wrists. There was no extra material to get in her way as she played the piano. The dress was light and very comfortable, and it gave the skin on her neck and above her breasts a peachy pearlescence. Misty laughed with delight at her image as she put on dangling gold earrings, her only jewelry except for a thin gold watch. She found costume jewelry a distraction when she played and rarely wore it.
Misty strolled out of the dressing room twenty minutes early and went over to Willis, who was gesturing to her. "Hi. How's the crowd in the Edwardian Room?" she asked.
"We're full up, as we
've been since you began playing here," Willis told her. "Here. You have time to eat some soup and bread and drink a glass of milk. I've put it all out for you on the little table behind the palm tree."
Misty blinked at him in surprise. "Willis, you know I never eat before I play."
"But this won't be a lot of food. Come on and sit down." He ushered her to a chair at the small corner table and gestured to one of the waiters.
"I don't think I should do this," she protested faintly, tantalized in spite of herself by the fragrant soup.
"Eat," Willis commanded.
She did. The clear beef broth with vegetables tasted great with the French crackers, while the glass of milk was a welcome addition. "Thank you, Willis. That was delicious. I do feel better." Misty put her hand on the maitre d's sleeve.
"It's about time I fed you. I don't know why I didn't think of it before," he grumbled, then turned away to speak to a portly man in a cashmere suit.
Misty wanted to ask Willis what he meant, but he was busy and, besides, it was time to begin playing.
Her sense of well-being affected her playing in a positive manner. She found herself straying from her usual repertoire of popular songs and show tunes to play a rousing piece by Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov. She smiled at the audience's burst of applause, then moved immediately into Rachmaninoff, chuckling when she heard a collective sigh rise from some of the diners. She returned to her standard repertoire feeling refreshed.
The evening passed quickly. At midnight she realized she felt less fatigued than usual. She looked up to smile at her audience... and gazed right into Luc Harrison's brown eyes. He raised his glass to her and tipped some of the brown liquid into his mouth. She caught her breath as a tingling warmth started in her toes and worked its way upward.
After that, she couldn't seem to control her eyes. They strayed at will toward Luc. Each time, she found him watching her. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they skimmed skillfully over the piano keys. A few stragglers lingered in the dining room and applauded loudly after each song as she continued to play, putting all her heart and soul into the music.
Finally there was no one left but Luc. In accordance with house rules, she could have quit for the night, but she didn't. Instead, she continued to play ever more difficult pieces.
