“Well, you certainly couldn't tell from my point of view. You haven't moved for the last hour. I tried to wake you up, but nothing worked.” Marti began to pace back and forth, chain smoking. “I was ready to call 911, and I knew they would never believe my story."
“It was wonderful.” Nikki sighed and stretched, the languor of her vision still upon her. “So romantic."
Marti paced and shook her head. “You never should've done this. I shouldn't have suggested it. Promise me you won't do it again."
Nikki gave an easy and relaxed laugh. “If I could be guaranteed a dream about a certain handsome ship's captain again, I'd do it in a heart beat."
Marti eyed her skeptically. “Tell me about it."
“I dreamt about Max. We were both older, maybe in our late thirties or early forties. He was a ship's captain, and I was a retired opera singer. We spent one wonderful night together. After that, I left the ship, and it was over.” Her entire body seemed to radiate satisfaction. “This time it was nothing like the last one."
Nikki frowned. “Hold on. I just remembered something. The mask's provenance, said the ship's captain and the opera singer lived together, but he was lost at sea,” she sighed. “I guess there aren't any happy endings, are there?"
“Not many, but enough to keep us all hoping for one."
“I think I've read too many fairy tales. It's up to me to change my life, whether my handsome prince comes along for the ride or not."
Marti snorted. “Your handsome prince did come along, and you're already living in his house. I don't see what's stopping you. The man is obviously crazy about you. For Pete's sake, he flew over from France just to see you. “Don't you realize you're this far,” Marti said, measuring an inch with her thumb and forefinger, “from your happy ending."
“I don't know, Marti. I don't know.” Confused, she truly didn't know. Her friend was right. All the ingredients for a happy ending seemed to be there, except Nikki didn't have much faith in happy endings.
“But—” Marti's reply was cut off by the shrill chirping of the telephone. “We'll continue this in a bit. You're not off the hook yet.” She grabbed the telephone. “Hello."
“Yes, she is."
Nikki listened to the puzzling one-sided conversation.
“Yes..."
When Marti disconnected the cell phone with a frown, she gazed at Nikki with a curious expression.
“Marti? Are you okay? You're shivering."
“It was Max,” Marti said with a quiet and tentative smile.
“Max? What did he want?"
“He wanted to know if everything was all right here. He said he would talk to you later, sounded like he was in a restaurant."
Nikki nodded. “That fits. He and Alexa had dinner plans."
“I've got it! You and Max are linked,” Marti said with a knowing look in her dark brown eyes.
“And I think you're off-the-wall,” Nikki replied with good humor, although Marti might actually have something.
“Max sensed something was wrong. You're linked. No two ways about it."
“What difference does it make, supposing for one minute I did believe in reincarnation?” Nikki asked, leaning back and combing her fingers through her hair.
Marti paced about, lighting another cigarette. “More than you might think. If you and Max didn't work out your relationship in past lives, then according to the theories of reincarnation, you have another chance in this life."
“Oh, that's just great.” Nikki took a deep breath. “You really believe this, don't you?"
Marti shrugged. “I don't know, but it answers a lot of questions. I don't think any of us can ever really know, but it makes as much sense as some other things I could mention."
Nikki rose from the sofa and hugged Marti. “You're deep. Honestly, I had no idea."
“Don't be a smartass."
“All I do know is, I've had this mask on twice, and twice I've passed out and had two dreams that were as real as any day in my current life. I don't think I want to try it again. You're right. It's too weird."
~ * ~
It was nearly midnight when Nikki returned to the townhouse. As she unlocked the door, she nearly stepped on a small bundle of three red roses tied together with raffia. The hair stood up on her neck. Shivering, she recalled the last rose she'd found. She glanced around, but didn't see anyone. Again, there was a note attached. She unfolded it and read the hand-scrawled warning. I don't like it when you stay out too late. You never know what might happen.
She wadded the note into a small ball and stuffed it in her jacket pocket, then jammed her key in the lock, turned it, and stepped inside in one economic move. She entered the security code, then quickly re-set it. That was one advantage to living at Max's. He had one hell of a security system.
Whoever was playing games with the roses was starting to get on her nerves. She walked into the kitchen and removed a bottled water from the fridge, uncapped it and took a long drink. Taking the note from her pocket, she threw it in the trash, along with the roses.
“You didn't like the roses?"
Nikki screeched and jumped, then whirled toward Max. “You sent the roses?” She bent over and fished them from the trash.
“No, but obviously, someone did.” An expression of displeasure marred his angular face.
“Doesn't matter who sent them.” She grew uncomfortable under his intense gaze. She wished—hell, she didn't know what she wished.
“Did you have a nice dinner at Marti's?"
“Yes, she said you called. What was that about?"
Max's face went blank. “It was nothing—a whim. Sorry, I didn't mean to ... appear I was—uh—"
“What—checking up on me?"
“I wasn't checking up on you. I...” He paused. “It was nothing really."
“I see.” Of course, she didn't see, not for a second.
“Good night, Nikki.” Max turned and left the sunroom.
“G'night."
The wistful note in his voice left her more confused than ever. Max was assuredly the most frustrating man she'd ever known. She'd committed to staying with Alexa, at least for the summer. She owed him that much. Her feelings ran deeper than mere gratitude, but how much more? How much of what she felt for him was the remnant of her teenage fantasies? Even now, when he gazed into her eyes, she was mesmerized. And there were times when the urge to touch his proud face was unbearably strong. Just once, she wished she could trace the line from his high cheekbones to his sensual lips.
She shut her eyes and chewed her bottom lip, living the moment.
~ * ~
Max walked back and stood in the doorway, watching Nikki. A shaft of moonlight bathed her in its shimmering pale beauty, rendering her long blonde hair into tones of silver and the occasional streak of gold. He wondered who or what caused the soft expression on her face. Was it for him, or was it for the person who'd sent her the roses?” Not wishing to intrude, in what was obviously a private moment, he turned and tiptoed back to his study.
He sensed the passion lying beneath her cool beauty, passion that struggled with her iron will. The street kid still lurked within her psyche. There were times, when he looked into her lovely face, he imagined he saw the traces of insecurity that fame and fortune hadn't been able to erase.
He looked at his watch, eleven. Might as well go to bed. He pulled the latest Dick Francis mystery from the bookshelf in his study and carried it upstairs. Perhaps, he could get Nikki off his mind for a time.
An hour later, he threw the book down in disgust. Dammit. She was all he could think about. He might as well admit it; he'd made a mistake asking her to move in.
Would she ever trust him? The violation she'd undergone years before had scarred her, but he'd never betrayed her trust. Why wouldn't she believe in his good intentions?
Possibly her reluctance was a simpler matter; the timing was wrong. They'd both denied their true feelings for too long. Maybe it was too late. The past seemed t
o be all they had in common. If he had the sense he was born with, he'd best look to the future and let the past go.
If he could only ... It didn't matter. She wanted no part of him. She was here only because of her love for Alexa and gratitude to him. He'd didn't want Nikki's gratitude. He wanted her.
But it was time he faced reality. He and Nikki would never be together. It was his fault, of course. Too many times, he'd vacillated between losing control and giving in to his desires and maintaining his self-control—to what end? He'd waited too long.
He'd passed on many opportunities over the years, unable to commit to anyone else because of Nikki's unspoken claim on his heart. Could he set his feelings for her aside and find happiness with someone else?
Max tossed and turned, punching his pillow in frustration. The same question came to him over and over. The past had ruled his life too long. Why did he dread a future without Nikki? That was the question he couldn't answer. Finally, his body's need for sleep overwhelmed him.
~ * ~
It had been a simple matter for Maximilian Ramos to remain single all his life, for few women desired the absentee husband he would have been. He could never relinquish the sea for a mere woman. The sea was unpredictable and beautiful in her fury. In her calm phases, she was the sensual lover any man could desire, for a mortal woman was never able to attain the mystery of the sea. Once you were married to one, the mystery vanished. They settled into their little houses and tried to suck all the joy from a man's life. He had seen too many men marry and attempt leaving the sea. But they always came back to her, for the sea was a mistress who would wait forever. Still, he was only human. Now, pleasure ... another thing entirely.
Maximilian remained overwhelmed by the lovely Nicola Vincenza. Visions of ivory limbs, pale in the moonlight, a kaleidoscope of expressions on her face, crying out her passion. They faded until, once again, he stood on the deck of his beloved ship.
Downcast, he watched her depart. She never looked back. Inexplicably, he felt as if his very life were being torn from him, leaving a chasm, wide and deep. For the first time, he had met a woman he wanted to follow to the ends of the earth, but something stopped him. Not this time, either, an inner voice told him. Not this time? What could it mean?
~ * ~
Max awakened. What could it mean? Again, frustration washed through him. Too many unanswered questions.
Twenty-four
The next three weeks passed in a flurry of activity. Nikki finalized arrangements for closings on her apartment and beach house while Alexa returned to school for the final three weeks of her term.
Max had been busy too, spending long hours at the agency, not coming home until after midnight most nights. She assumed he was avoiding her, and even she had to admit it did make their situation easier. There had been no more opportunities to talk or to avoid talking. He simply wasn't there.
She also spent one long afternoon, shopping for a computer. If she were going to write her autobiography, she wasn't going to do it in longhand. After more than a few calls to technical support, she set up her computer in the bright sunroom which ran across the back of the townhouse. She'd even chosen an ISP; she was on the information superhighway.
Now, there was nothing to stop her from working on her autobiography, but she felt she might have a better direction after her first official meeting with her editor. Her appointment with Geoffrey McHugh, her editor, was for the next day; and the day after that, Alexa would be home from school for the summer.
As for Alexa, Nikki had plans for that young lady.
~ * ~
Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. Nikki took a deep breath before walking into the building that housed Rafferty Publishing. She'd heard horror stories about editors. An editor could be an author's best friend or worst enemy. She wondered where Geoffrey McHugh would fall on the continuum. She'd dressed simply, wearing a beige silk pants suit with a turquoise silk blouse. She wore her blonde hair down, in soft waves. As for jewelry, she chose a watch, a gold rope necklace and gold-filigree hoops in her pierced ears.
She walked into Rafferty's reception area and stopped at the reception desk. “I'm Nikki Prentice, she said, keeping her voice low. “I have an appointment with Geoffrey McHugh."
The receptionist responded brightly, “Yes, Miss Prentice. He's waiting for you. If you'll take the hall to the left, his office is the third on the right."
“Thank you."
Nikki followed the simple directions and was met by Geoffrey McHugh himself. He was about her height for they were eye to eye. His strawberry blond hair was worn short, but the natural curl couldn't be disguised. He was handsome with a square jaw and a nose that tended toward the aquiline. Dressed casually in jeans, open necked shirt and a camel jacket, her editor gave her a bright smile and flashed even, white teeth.
In truth, it seemed that his blue-gray eyes fairly twinkled with merriment under heavy lids. Bedroom eyes, she thought. At least that's what Maman would've called them.
“Miss Prentice, welcome to Rafferty's den of iniquity,” he said with a decidedly rakish grin.
“Den of iniquity?” she asked, baffled at his reference. If anything, Rafferty's was known for its somewhat stodgy literary reputation. The fact they were interested in publishing a book about her life was a departure from the norm.
“One can always hope,” he replied, arching an eyebrow.
“I see.” She suppressed a giggle and wondered how or why Rafferty's had managed to hire the maverick she saw before her. He must be someone's nephew.
“Nepotism,” he replied.
“What?” Nikki'd often been told her face was like an open book. Apparently, it was true.
“I'm the great-great grandson of the original Ryan Rafferty, founder of this esteemed institution,” he said, leading her into his office. He motioned for her to sit on a sofa placed at right angles to his own comfortable chair. His mouth twitched as he continued, “I'm being groomed to take over some day, but I've also been given the privilege of bringing our readership into the twenty-first century. It's going to be painful for some here at Rafferty's, since they're still operating in the mindset of the mid-fifties. You, Ms. Nikki Prentice, are one of our first ventures into the popular culture genre."
She swallowed, suddenly overcome by insecurity. “That's quite a responsibility for you ... and me."
“Hmm, I understand that you don't want a ghost writer.
“That's right."
“You've written before?"
“Just my journals, but I love writing really. I want this book to be all mine, not some ghost writer's version of me."
McHugh nodded, then grinned. “I need to get an idea of how much time I'm going to spend with you."
Was he flirting with her? “I hope I won't prove to be too onerous, Mr. McHugh,” she said with a smile. He was flirting with her. She found it somewhat disconcerting, even if he were cute as the very devil. “I've been keeping a journal for the last ten years, which should provide me with plenty of back ground material for the proposed book ... as well as familiarity with the written word.”
She widened her grin to let him know she was on to him. “Well, then I'd like to know, other than your relationship to the founder of this company, exactly what are your qualifications to act as editor on my book?"
McHugh gave Nikki a sheepish smile. “I have a master's degree in comparative literature. I apologize. I'm usually more diplomatic."
“I'd be surprised if that were actually the truth, Mr. McHugh. I think you have a way of saying exactly what you mean, whether it's diplomatic or not,” she parried.
“Touché. You're correct, of course. I'd like to see your journals, and then we can go from there,” he suggested.
“No.” Her refusal was automatic and unequivocal.
“No? What do you mean no?"
“I mean that they're too personal to just hand over to anyone. I mean we may come to know each other quite well before this book is complete
d, but there's no way, I can let you read my most private thoughts. If that is what you expect, then I'm very much afraid that we're in trouble.” Her face grew hot when she thought about all her adolescent longings spilled onto those pages.
“Now, don't get all fired up. I assure you I'm not peeking into your most private secrets, but surely, there's some part of your journal you would allow me to read.” He gave her a coaxing grin. “Just to get an idea of your strengths and weaknesses."
“I suppose there might be something, I could let you see,” she conceded slowly, her nerves calming. She couldn't help but smile back at him. Geoffrey McHugh was a dangerously charming man.
“That's better. You know they might not let me take over, if I lose one of my first authors,” he said with a disarming smile.
“Well, that would be a pity, Mr. McHugh. I'd hate to be the ruin of your promising career.” He definitely had a way about him. She found herself warming to his easy banter.
“May we start over then? First of all, please call me Geoff. May I call you Nikki?” he asked.
“Of course. Everyone does."
“Well, I didn't want to presume,” he said flashing his ready smile once again.
“Right.” Presumption would probably be the least of his faults.
Geoff settled back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the chair arms. He seemed to have a lot of nervous energy. “Have you thought about how you would start the book? Simply starting with your birth and trudging to the present in ABC fashion is not always all that interesting. How are you going to hook your readers? I realize your beautiful face on the cover will encourage a lot of readers into buying the book, but how are you going to keep them interested in Nikki, who evolved from a kid on the streets to a famous supermodel?"
Nikki settled on the sofa. “I've thought about it. It would be nice if a message of hard work and hope would keep them turning the pages, but realistically, I know it'll take more than that. I've thought about starting with the night I was rescued by Max Devereaux. You know, starting with the fairy tale element before exploring what came before and after."
See You In My Dreams Page 23
