That Boston Man

by Janet Dailey

  "You are Miss Templeton?" he asked for her confirmation. The pitch of his low voice was controlled and even, as was his expression.

  "Yes," she acknowledged with a brief nod.

  "This Miss Templeton?" The latest edition of the paper tossed onto her desk, opened to Shari Sullivan's column.

  "Yes, I am that Miss Templeton, Mr. Lockwood," she confirmed.

  There was an indolent flick of one dark brow and a measured glitter of amusement in the coal black depths of his gaze. "Then you do recognize me." Yet there was an underlying grimness to the straight line of his well-formed mouth.

  "Of course." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. As if he really believed he was not instantly recognized wherever he went, she thought.

  Her peripheral vision caught the approach of Mike Farragut, her assignment editor. He was a Hollywood image of a harried reporter, clothing rumpled, in need of a shave, a cigarette always in his hand, eyes squinting through smoke. Mike was coming to her rescue, or, more correctly, to the newspaper's rescue.

  "Mr. Lockwood," Mike greeted him, switching his cigarette to his left hand to shake hands. "Is there anything I can do for you? Mike Farragut's the name."

  "No, thank you. I merely wanted to speak to Miss Templeton," was the dangerously smooth reply.

  "I see." Mike, too, was in no doubt about the subject Rome Lockwood wished to discuss with Lexie. He glanced at her pointedly, his squinting eyes asking her a different question from the one he voiced. "Are you free?"

  The unfinished article in her typewriter gave Lexie an excuse, but she didn't choose to use it. Lexie felt no compunction to hide from this man. Granted, there was a rather intimidating aura of authority about Rome Lockwood, but he wasn't her employer.

  "Yes, I can spare Mr. Lockwood a few minutes." Her tone was cool and deliberately condescending.

  "Perhaps—" Mike's gaze swept the staff room, aware that the meeting between the two was the cynosure of all eyes and ears, regardless of the pretended interest elsewhere "—you would care to use my office for your discussion," he suggested tactfully. "It will afford you a bit more privacy."

  "That would be best. Don't you think so, Mr. Lockwood?" Lexie challenged.

  "Whatever you wish, Miss Templeton." The knowing glint in his eye seemed to mock her desire not to have an audience for their meeting, as if he anticipated she would come out second best.

  That ruffled her fur, but Lexie concealed her feelings, rising from her chair to walk around the desk. Although tall herself, she still had to tip her head back slightly to look at Rome Lockwood.

  At close quarters, she was also aware of how physically fit his leanly muscled frame was. There was a vague fluttering in the pit of her stomach. No man had a right to be so sexually attractive, she thought in irritation.

  "This way, Mr. Lockwood." Lexie took the lead in showing him to Mike's private office. When the door was closed and they were isolated from the others, she turned to confront him. "What exactly did you want to speak to me about?" As if she didn't know.

  "I'm curious, Miss Templeton." He appeared infuriatingly relaxed and in command. "I don't recall meeting you before. Perhaps you could enlighten me where and when it was?"

  Rome Lockwood remained just inside the room while Lexie walked leisurely to the front of Mike's desk and turned around, leaning backward against it and resting her hands on its top.

  "We haven't met before," she informed him. "I have seen you at several functions I have attended in the course of my position as a reporter, but we have never spoken to each other."

  "We have never met before," he repeated. "Yet according to what you've said in the paper, you claim to be an authority on me."

  "I have never claimed to know you personally Mr. Lockwood," Lexie corrected, "only your type."

  "Which is—unless I've missed one of the columns—a chauvinistic, rich gigolo, minus any sense of fidelity, whose business skills are questionable. Did I miss anything?" He tipped his head sideways in challenge, half-closed eyes not veiling the sharpness of his gaze.

  Listed that way, her remarks did seem to constitute an overly sweeping condemnation, but Lexie wasn't going to retract a word of it. "I believe that encompasses the bulk of it," she agreed.

  "It's a very despicable type you've classified me in, wouldn't you say?"

  "I'm sorry if you find my opinion objectionable, but there it is." It was worded as an apology, but it wasn't offered as such. It came out more like an ultimatum: take it or leave it.

  "I do find it objectionable," Rome Lockwood stated, "because you don't know me, Miss Templeton."

  "I don't care to know you. It's sufficient that I know of you," she retorted.

  "Meanwhile, your opinion of my so-called type continues to be printed in a widely circulated newspaper." The grim set of handsomely sculptured features indicated his displeasure.

  "I can't do anything about that," Lexie shrugged. "You'll have to speak to Miss Sullivan. She's the one who decides what goes into her column. I'm certain she would be more than willing to print any rebuttal you would care to make—"

  "I have no intention of giving any credence to your comments by making a public response to them, Miss Templeton," Rome Lockwood interrupted sharply, the pose of calmness stripped away by the slashing cut of his cold anger.

  "That's your decision to make." She remained calm, although that determined set of his jaw revealed a side of his character she had not thought existed. "If my comments are needling you, striking a little too close to home, you'll have to speak to Miss Sullivan. She prints them; I don't."

  "Your opinion doesn't bother me in the least," he stated. "I've been called worse by more erudite people than you. Unfortunately, there are members of my family who are hurt by the accusations you've made about me."

  "How selfless of you!" Her honey-coated response revealed that Lexie didn't believe for an instant that Rome Lockwood was concerned about the feelings of others.

  An unamused smile curved his mouth, a shadow of the charming look Lexie had seen him bestow on those he favoured with his presence. Still, she felt a fleeting wisp of its magic, compelling and entrancing. Luckily she had been graced with a built-in immunity almost from birth.

  "It's a pity I can't return the compliment," Rome mocked, "and declare that you, too, are selfless."

  "As I said before, Mr. Lockwood—" Lexie ignored his taunting comment "—if you have any complaints to make regarding the contents of Miss Sullivan's column, you'll have to take them up with the writer herself."

  "I make it a rule never to deal with a middleman when I can go directly to the source," he stated.

  "Middleperson," Lexie corrected.

  "And you're Miss Sullivan's source," Rome continued with hardly a break.

  "So what are you saying?" she challenged. "You want me to stop voicing my opinion or…what? You'll sue me or the paper or both for slander?"

  "If I contemplated taking legal action, now or in the future, my attorney would be speaking to you now, not me."

  Sighing, Lexie leaned more fully against the desk. "Then I'm afraid I don't understand what you're hoping to accomplish by seeing me."

  "I had hoped," his voice was dry, "that I might be able to reason with you."

  "Change my opinion of you, you mean." Laughter danced in the blue lights of her eyes, taunting him with the impossibility of the idea.

  "Perhaps," he conceded. "At the very least, I wanted to set your facts straight regarding the allegations you've made about me."

  "Which ones are those?" Lexie questioned, malicious satisfaction warming her blood. "Was it the comment I made about your money? You did inherit it from your parents, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And your job—if it can be called that—consists of managing the family holdings, doesn't it?" she retorted.

  "It can be more difficult to keep money than it is to make it, Miss Templeton," he stated, aware that her implication was that his job was an undemanding one.

&nbs
p; "Why? Have you made some bad investments?" Lexie countered.

  "Your comments have insinuated that I did."

  "All I said was that some of the opinions that have been expressed might be coming from people you've invested money in, therefore their claims that you are remarkably astute in business matters could be prejudiced in your favor for their own self-preservation." Her eyes rounded with false innocence. "I can't be responsible for the interpretation someone else might make of the remark."

  "Of course not," Rome agreed cynically. "You put all the right qualifying words in, didn't you? Might, some, could be. And you slide right off the hook." His narrowed gaze added "like a worm" and Lexie's fingers curled tightly around the edge of the desk top.

  "I believe," she continued, trying to remain relaxed and not let his unspoken gibe tighten her voice, "that I also made a reference to your playboy image. There are too many witnesses for you to deny that you have a steady variety of dates."

  "Because I'm not man enough to make one happy," he said, reminding Lexie of her comment.

  Looking at him, he seemed all man and very familiar and expert at the ways of satisfying a woman, A coursing heat flamed through her body before Lexie could check it with the reminder that his image was false. She wasn't about to fall into the embarrassing trap of trying to defend that statement.

  "You must admit that your stream of conquests has been long and varied." She didn't change from her original theme.

  "Assuming, of course, that I conquered them," Rome countered.

  "Please, Mr. Lockwood—" Lexie forced out a disbelieving laugh "—don't try to give me that old story that they were all just good friends. Next you'll be trying to convince me that you're practicing celibacy, waiting for the right woman to come into your life."

  "Is it so inconceivable?"

  Lexie smiled with feline case. "Are you a virgin?"

  There was a hint of a smile about his mouth and the darkening light of amusement in his eyes. "You come straight to the point, don't you?" he mused. "No. Are you?"

  She hadn't expected him to parry her thrust with the same question, and momentarily, it disconcerted her. "You'll never find out the answer to that, Mr. Lockwood."

  A wry smile quirked his mouth, not unattractively. "I forgot. With my chauvinistic tendencies, you're certain that I'll apply the double standard to your answer, believing that it's all right for a man, but not for a woman."

  Lexie glanced away from him, not letting him bait her into an answer. "The truth is you've done more to perpetuate the male myth of superiority in Boston than James Bond ever did."

  "With my 'equal opportunity' practices?" Rome mocked.

  Her gaze flashed back to him. "Admit it. Your fragile ego couldn't take a really liberated woman. You're no different from any other man. It's all right for somebody else's wife to be liberated as long as it isn't your own."

  "I wouldn't object in the least," he stated flatly.

  "Really?" She was openly scornful and skeptical, her memory flitting back to lunchtime. "You mean it wouldn't be a blow to your manhood if a woman paid for your meal? Took you out for an evening?"

  "I'm a gigolo, remember?" Rome recalled her words again. "Why would that bother me?"

  "Would your pride allow the woman to be the breadwinner?" Lexie continued.

  "Are you talking about equality or role-reversing?"

  "They're one and the same thing," she retorted. "If a man and woman are equal, why does it matter who does what? Has a woman ever asked you out? I don't mean to her home for a party, but out for the evening—at her expense."

  "No." He eyed her in a speculative fashion, vaguely withdrawn.

  "And if she did?" she prompted knowingly.

  "I would have no qualms about accepting the invitation," Rome insisted.

  "Empty words," Lexie dismissed his answer, certain he was saying it only in an attempt to influence her in his favor. "Do you have any plans for Friday evening?"

  He hesitated, considering her thoughtfully, before answering, "None that I recall."

  She moved in for the kill. There was no doubt in her mind that Rome Lockwood hadn't meant what he said. "Will you go out with me on Friday evening?" Lexie challenged.

  His dark gaze narrowed for a second. "I presume that a man retains the same prerogative as a woman and can choose which invitations he wishes to accept and which he would rather refuse. Or is he expected to go out with whoever asks him?"

  "Of course he has the prerogative." She had known all along that he would refuse to go out with her—from the very second she had thought of the idea. He would use the fact that she so heartily disliked him as an excuse for not wishing to spend an evening in her company, but she would prove her point just the same.

  "You expect me to reject your offer, don't you?" His speculative look was unnerving, but Lexie kept silent, not answering his astute question. After a few seconds, he went on, "My first reaction was a flat no, but on second thoughts, I'll accept."

  "You will?" Lexie breathed, trying to conceal her shock and dismay.

  "Yes, I will." His alert gaze noted her reaction and he smiled in satisfaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "For the sake of experimentation and because I'm just as anxious as you are to prove a point."

  "But you don't really want to go out with me," she protested impatiently.

  "Are you chickening out, Miss Templeton?" Rome taunted. "Empty words? Would you like some salt and pepper for seasoning while you eat them?"

  "No!" Lexie flashed.

  "Then your invitation stands?"

  "Yes!" she snapped.

  "I repeat, I accept." He was so smooth and so sure of himself when he spoke that Lexie wanted to pick up the water cooler and dump it on his raven-black head. "What time will you pick me up?"

  She had an uncomfortable moment when she thought about her car and its sad and aged state. It immediately became humorous as she imagined the suavely handsome Rome Lockwood sitting in the passenger seat as the car crow-hopped down the street.

  Mustering all her poise, Lexie asked, "Will seven o'clock be convenient?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll pick you up at seven, then." Lexie straightened from the desk, suddenly anxious to be out of the room and away from him so she could gather her scattered wits and plan what she was going to do. "If you'll excuse me, it's time I was getting back to my desk."

  As she started to brush past him to the door, he said quietly, "Would you like my address so you'll know where to pick me up?"

  The crimson flush in her cheeks nearly matched the color of her hair as she retraced her steps to the desk for pencil and paper. "Would you write it down for me, please?" Lexie requested stiffly and handed the pen and paper to him.

  Gleaming onyx eyes outlined by dark sooty lashes were laughing at her. It was a relief when they turned their attention to the paper while the hand guiding the pen made bold, slashing letters. Rome tore the paper with his address from the pad and handed it to Lexie.

  "Don't lose it," he mocked.

  She would have loved to put a match to it and destroy it, but that wouldn't alter the situation she was in, thanks to her rashness.

  "I won't." She slipped the paper into her pocket and returned Mike's pencil and pad to his desk.

  "You may find that a man's role is not quite as easy as you women seem to think it is," Rome offered as she again started for the door.

  "I doubt it," Lexie retorted. "Men are prone to exaggerate the importance of their role to assure themselves it is."

  "Were you a born man-hater?" he inquired with a curiously amused look.

  Lexie didn't know how he had meant the question, but she answered it seriously. "I don't hate all men—only certain types." Rome Lockwood had to know what category he was in.

  Without waiting to hear whatever rejoinder he might want to make to that, Lexie opened the door leading to the staff room. The low, taunting chuckle that came from deep in Rome Lockwood's throat was a more grating response than
anything he could have said.

  Again they were the cynosure of all eyes when the newspaper staff saw that they had reappeared. For a short distance, her path to her desk and Rome's path to the exit were the same. Her expression was deliberately closed so the others would not see her less than successful outcome from the meeting, by her standards. Since she walked slightly ahead of Rome Lockwood, she didn't know if his triumph was apparent in the darkly lean features.

  At the point where their paths diverged, Lexie quickened her steps while attempting to maintain her outward composure. Mike Farragut had commandeered her desk in return for his and stood at the sight of them. Lexie knew she would have to field a lot of probing questions from him—to satisfy his own curiosity as well as the company's interest in the outcome.

  She was bracing herself for that when she heard Rome say, in a voice that was unnecessarily clear and carried to the farthest corner of the hushed room, "Don't forget—this Friday evening at seven. I'm looking forward to our evening together with the greatest pleasure…Lexie." The use of her Christian name was done deliberately to suggest intimacy and Lexie seethed in silent indignation.

  She turned and smiled sweetly, "I won't forget…Rome," her voice was equally low and projected just as far as his.

  Rome seemed neither offended nor surprised by her quick adoption of his attitude. In fact, there was a distinct twitching around his mouth, as if he was controlling laughter. Lexie felt her temper nearing the boiling point, but he was already striding toward the exit door, out of range of her sputtering anger.

  "Did I hear right?" Mike claimed her attention.

  "You heard right," Lexie answered, her jaw clenching to keep her temper under control.

  The cigarette between his fingers had gone out, the filtered end unable to burn, but Mike didn't notice there wasn't any smoke to squint through as his gaze bored into Lexie's profile.

  "Maybe I didn't understand what I heard," he said. "Do you have a date with him on Friday?"

  "Yes, I do." She was gritting her teeth so tightly that they hurt.

  "I'll be damned," he muttered. Then louder, "I'll be gawddamned!" Mike started to laugh, a rollicking sound as he turned to the now intensely curious on-looking staff. "She's a witch," he declared to them, "a gawddamned, red-haired, genuine Salem witch! She's got Rome Lockwood eating out of her hand. She goes into my office with a man who was upset by all the things she was saying about him, and when they come out, she's got a date with him!"