by Ann Cristy
At two-thirty a hand came down over hers on the keyboard. "That's enough, darling. You're tired."
Misty nodded, staring mesmerized at Luc as his determined gaze kindled a warmth in her such as she had never felt before. "I think I could play all night," she whispered to him.
"I know," he told her, lifting her from the piano bench and slipping an arm around her. "Go and change. I'll drive you home tonight."
"Isn't this awfully late for you? Don't you have to work at the bank in the morning?"
"Yes to both questions. But I think I may have a solution to the problem."
"Oh?"
"Never mind that now. I'll tell you later." He led her to the wide corridor and patted her backside. "Go and change."
"I... I..." Misty stood, irresolute.
"Stop thinking up excuses, Mystique. I'll just have to refute them."
She turned away, frowning as she said good night to Willis and went into her dressing room. After scrubbing the makeup off her face, she changed into the velvet jeans and emerald green blouse she'd worn on her way over to the hotel. I don't understand him, she thought. He confuses me. Tonight I'm going to tell him again that I want nothing to do with him. She stifled the ache that the words brought deep inside. If she was to survive, she had to keep men like Luc Harrison out of her life. It was the only way. She left the dressing room, wearing no makeup except a little lip gloss.
Luc was waiting for her. He took the carrier out of her hands. "You look twelve years old," he said, staring at her. "I'm not."
"I'm glad," he said, imitating her stern tone. But his eyes glinted with amusement.
"Mr. Harrison..." she began as they walked out the front door to the Ferrari. Louis, the parking attendant, was holding open the passenger door. "Thank you, Louis." She tried to smile.
Luc got in, started the car, and pulled away from the curb. "Put your head back and rest," he told her. "You can say anything you want when we get home."
Misty turned in the seat to face him. "I want to tell you now, Mr. Harrison.
"Luc."
"All right, Luc. I want to tell you—"
"Put your head back and relax, love. Then you can talk
to me."
Misty settled back, her eyes skimming the facades of the buildings they passed and die darkened interior of the car. "You keep interrupting, me," she complained.
He laughed lightly. "I promise not to do it anymore," he said, pressing his hand on her knee for just a second, seeming not to notice when she quivered at his touch.
"Good," she said, suddenly hoarse. "Luc, I want you to stop coming to the Terrace Hotel."
"Darling, how can I? I'm one of the owners."
"You're doing it again," Misty said, rolling her head to stare at him.
"Sorry, sweet."
"We talked this through on New Year's Day, in your apartment." "My suite in the hotel," he corrected her. "Stop interrupting!" "All right," he whispered. "Luc!"
"I'm listening."
"We talked, and we decided we wouldn't see each other again."
"Now I have to interrupt," he said, trying to soothe her with a squeeze on her knee that made her jump. "I did not agree that we shouldn't see each other again. I admit that I was a little thrown by your demands, but I did not say that I wouldn't see you again."
"Well, now you can," Misty declared.
He shook his head. "I can't do that. Primarily because it would be a lie." He turned the car onto the entrance ramp leading to a small underground garage where only two other cars were parked.
With a start of surprise Misty sat up abruptly, looking around her. "Where are we?" she demanded.
"Now, don't panic. We're in the underground garage I share with three other brownstone owners in the neighborhood. Although the cost is outrageous—"
"I don't want to hear how expensive it is to park your Ferrari." Her voice rose to a shriek. "Take me home."
Luc parked the car, removed the keys, and got out. He went around to her side, opened the door, and leaned in to take her arm. She shrank back, cringing. Luc's mouth tightened ominously. "Darling, don't ever flinch from me." He went down on his haunches so that they were eye to eye and lifted her hand to his mouth, his eyes never leaving her face. "Please come in for a moment, Mystique. I want to show you something." He pulled an envelope from his pocket.
"I want to go home. It's late." She swallowed, her throat dry.
"Just let me show you these papers." He glanced around the garage. "This place is well lit, but not for reading. Besides, I want to show you something else."
Reluctantly she swung her legs around and let Luc help her to her feet. "I won't stay long."
"It won't take you more than fifteen minutes to read these papers," Luc assured her, leading her to a doorway with a steel nameplate that read: Lucas S. Harrison. "This stairway leads to the basement of my brownstone," he explained. "Above us are the owners' four backyards. Each one is separated by trees and fencing to ensure a measure of privacy for all the tenants." He led her up cement steps, his hand enveloping hers. At the top he unlocked another steel door and switched on a light. 'This is the wine cellar. It feels cool, doesn't it? Through here, Mystique." He ushered her down a wide pathway with wine bottles on either side to a thick oak door, which he also opened. It led onto a more spacious area of the basement. "I keep gym equipment down here." He gestured toward a weight machine, a punching bag, and a padded exercise board.
"Nice," Misty murmured, glancing at the unfinished brick walls.
"If you'd like an exercycle, we can get that, too," he said.
Misty stared at him. "I don't care what you put in here. I swim at an athletic club three times a week."
Luc considered the room. "I don't think we could fit a pool in here, darling."
"I'm not your darling," she snapped, preceding him up a wide staircase that led into what Misty surmised to be the front foyer of the house.
"That's the front door leading to the street," Luc confirmed, pointing to an oak door inset with a stained-glass window. "We'll go into the living room. On the second floor is my library, on the third floor is the master suite, and on the fourth floor are three more bedrooms. There are four bathrooms. Down here, besides the living and dining rooms, is the kitchen and a larger room that I use for entertaining. I have day help, but no live-in—"
Just then Misty heard a rhythmic clicking coming across the oak floor. A large brown Doberman stuck his head around an open door. Misty stepped back, paralyzed with fright. A thousand remembered nightmares filled her thoughts, foremost among them the image of the dog that had bitten her when she was thirteen. The growling, snapping, and snarling seemed to be all around her, as fresh in her mind as the moment the animal had attacked her, leaping out at her as she walked past his house. Later, when the owner had suggested to her father that she had provoked the dog, her father had agreed without hesitation that she probably had.
"Darling, for God's sake!" Luc exclaimed. "Are you afraid of dogs?" He took her into his arms, cradling her, protecting her, trying to lift her chin, which she burrowed against his chest. "Bruno, down," he ordered. "Good boy."
Misty took several deep breaths. "A dog like that bit me," she said shakily. "It wasn't my fault."
"No, of course it wasn't. You're trembling." Luc tipped up her chin. "Don't be afraid."
Gradually, feeling warm in Luc's embrace, she grew calm. She turned her head to study the dog, who was lying on the floor, his head between his paws, whining softly. Misty gave a weak laugh. "He thinks I'm crazy, doesn't he?"
"I think he's worried about you. I found him on a country road when he was just a pup. He's been with me ever since. He's gentle and very intelligent."
"Yes," Misty agreed, though she still wasn't sure of the animal.
"I'll send him into the kitchen."
"Should I introduce myself?" She gasped at her own boldness, afraid yet wanting to rid herself of the fear.
"It might help," Luc agreed. "I'l
l hold you. Don't worry. Bruno, come." The Doberman rose in one fluid motion and stepped toward them, stopping inches away from Misty. She closed her eyes. Fear turned her legs to jelly. "Open your eyes, darling, and say hello," Luc whispered.
She opened one eye. "Hello, Bruno."
The dog wagged his stub of a tail.
"That's enough for the first lesson, I think." Luc ordered the dog to the kitchen and led her into a huge room with a fireplace and walls paneled in hand-carved oak. "Sit here." Luc gestured toward a couch that matched the green in the Persian carpet. He sank down near her feet and put a lit match to the kindling in the fireplace, then turned and handed her the papers he'd shown her in the garage. "Here's what I want you to read."
Misty tried to smile. "Why don't you just tell me what they say."
He rose from the floor to sit close beside her. "All right." He put the papers in his lap, lifting the first one. "This is my bank statement certified by my board of directors and accountants. With it is a list of my tangible assets and liabilities. I'm a rich man, Mystique."
"That has nothing to do with me," she said in a faint voice, staring from the papers to his face and back again.
"Shhh. You mustn't interrupt me. There, you can peruse my financial statements at your leisure, and of course you are free to ask further questions and get any additional proof you might want."
"Proof?" she repeated.
He lifted the second paper. "This is a statement from my personal physician with a copy of all tests that I've had in the last three years. I'm very healthy and, as you specified, free of disease."
"Lord..." Misty groaned.
"Shhh. You can look at all the X-rays and tests I've had, and of course you can question my doctor."
She shook her head, unable to say anything. A terrible dread had settled over her. She could almost guess what was coming next.
"This last paper is our marriage license, which is valid as of today. Since I see no reason to wait, I've arranged for us to be married tomorrow afternoon, upstate in the town of Hudson. I managed to get your blood test waived, so we're all set."
Misty sagged against the back of the couch, staring in shocked speechlessness at the man beside her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Misty surged to her feet. "I have to go home." If need be, she'd run to Alaska to get away from Luc Harrison.
"You're tired, darling. Why don't you sleep here tonight? Then we'll have a leisurely drive up to Hudson tomorrow." He stood up, clasping her lightly to his side.
"I can't marry you," Misty said with a gasp.
From Luc's expression she could tell he felt affronted. "I won't accept that," he said firmly. "I fulfilled all your specifications. There is no insanity in the family—well, no overt insanity. I have a few strange relatives, but what family doesn't?"
"You don't know me," Misty protested.
"I do know you. The day I first saw you playing the piano in the Edwardian Room I hired a private investigator to learn all about you."
"You what!" She was shocked. "Checking to see if I was a social pariah, I suppose," she said with deadly sarcasm.
"No. Checking to see if you had a husband I would have to take care of."
"What would you have done? Bought him off? Killed him?"
"Yes," Luc said promptly.
Misty stared at him. Her mouth had gone dry. "I won't marry anybody who's investigated me like the FBI."
"Why not? You're free to investigate me. I've never been married, though I've had a mistress or two."
"Or forty," Misty shot back with scathing anger, feeling less and less numb as she began to recover from the initial shock.
"All right, I shouldn't have had you investigated. But I had to know all about you. I couldn't wait to court you and ask you questions about your marital status. I was in a hurry. You are going to marry me."
"You don't know anything about me. I... I've had my share of problems. I'm not the kind of woman who will fit in with your family." She had no intention of telling him that her father had once accused her of being a whore.
"Then we won't see my family," Luc assured her. "I'm fond of them, but I don't see them all the time. Of course I'll want you to meet my father and mother." Luc smiled down at her. "Father thinks you're beautiful. He told me my mother's hair was just a shade lighter than yours when they were first married, but my mother says her hair was more blond."
"Your parents know who I am?"
"Yes, but they'll really get to know you after we're married. I took them to hear you play at the hotel, and they were very impressed, as I knew they would be. You play so well."
"Luc, you didn't... I didn't see them with you," Misty babbled.
"We were sitting at a corner table out of your line of vision." He opened the double doors of the living room and led her out to the foyer. "Shall we say good night to Bruno?"
"If you have to walk him, I'll wait here," Misty said, her mind awhirl.
"You're thinking that you'll run out the door and go home while I'm walking the dog. But I'm not about to let you roam the streets of Manhattan at this time of night. Besides, I would come after you and take you up to Hudson to get married anyway."
"We aren't in love."
He shrugged. "Define love for me. I know I want to marry you. I know you told me you wanted no other type of relationship with a man. So, I'm all set." He looked down at her, determination showing in his rigid stance and hard jaw.
Misty was at a loss for words. She felt as if she'd been swept up in a strong current and washed helplessly downstream.
"Didn't you tell me that you wanted marriage?" Luc queried.
"I said I wouldn't have any other type of relationship, but... but I didn't—"
"I'm holding you to that, Mystique."
"Misty. Everyone calls me Misty," she declared, losing her patience.
"Except your husband-to-be."
"We can't get married. People like us don't get married. They live together until they're sure, and then... then..."
"You don't want that, and I've found that I don't want it either. You can sleep alone tonight if you wish, but no matter what you decide, I want two things from you now."
"What?" Her voice had a hollow ring.
"I don't want you to try to leave this house alone, and I want you to promise that you won't go back on our agreement."
"What agreement? I didn't make any—" "We're just going around and around in circles, love. You're tired. We'll talk in the morning. Come on, I'll show you our room. You can sleep there tonight. I'll sleep upstairs."
"This is crazy, this is crazy," Misty kept whispering to herself all the way up the stairs.
She was too distraught to appreciate the beautiful beige and cream-colored bedroom with the huge bed in the center. "I have a water bed," she said inanely.
"We'll toss this one out and get a water bed," Luc offered.
"I have to have my piano. It costs a great deal to move a concert grand," she informed him as he unzipped her jeans.
"I know. I had three Steinways moved in here two weeks ago. They're all in perfect tune, so you should have no trouble."
"Three Steinways? That's disgusting," she told him, her voice going hoarse. Without thinking, she stepped out of her jeans.
"Would you like to sleep in the buff, sweets, or do you want the top of my pajamas?"
"I sleep in a flannel nightgown, and sometimes in flannel pajamas," she babbled.
"With feet in them, I'll bet."
"I used to until we were able to buy a better heating system for the house," Misty told him blankly. "This is a dream." Her voice was muffled as he slipped his silk pajama top over her head. "What will you wear now that I have your pajamas?" She looked down at herself, noting that the hem of the top fell below her knees.
"My mother buys them for me so that if the place burns down I won't have to run naked into the street. She has high hopes that I'll at least keep them at my bedside."
"You sleep in the nu
de," Misty pronounced solemnly.
"Yes. You'll get used to it."
"I am signing myself into an asylum tomorrow," she told him, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.
"I'll make you happy," he promised.
"You'll hate me in three months," she vowed.
"Never." Luc led her to the bed and stared down at her with an expression that sent warmth to all her extremities and set off a throbbing pulse in her very core. After a few moments he urged her under the sheets. "Would you like some company to keep you warm?" he asked, his voice sounding thick to Misty, who was half asleep.
"No." She yawned. "I always sleep alone. You go walk the dog."
"After tomorrow you won't sleep alone," he muttered, his voice growing fainter as Misty sank deeper into sleep.
The sound of an insistent buzzing almost awakened her. Then the noise stopped, and she snuggled into the warm down quilt that covered her, rolling over onto her stomach.
"Wake up, darling." Luc shook her gently, chuckling when she groaned as he pulled the quilt off the bed. "I fully intended to let you sleep longer, but we have a problem that—Lord, where did you get those scars on your backside?" He cursed softly as he lifted the pajama top higher and examined her. "If you hadn't twisted the top up, I might not have noticed these. I sure as hell didn't notice them when I undressed you." He muttered another low curse as his hand gently traced the raised welts.
Misty shivered and, pushing the pillow off her head, turned on her side to face him, trying in vain to pull the pajama top down. "Give me back the covers," she mumbled, regarding him through bleary eyes.
Luc didn't bother to remove the towel from around his waist before he slipped into bed beside her and gathered her close to him. "Tell me. Was that where the dog bit you, darling?"
Misty nodded, burrowing her face into his neck and reveling in his warmth. "I hadn't teased the dog. I was just walking past on the sidewalk."
"And your father accused you of teasing the animal," Luc said in low tones.
"Yes." She gulped. "He and Mr. Marris, the owner of the dog, said that I must have provoked it because Sandy was usually friendly." The words bubbled from her like air escaping from a balloon.
