Roberta Leigh - Love in Store

by Roberta Leigh

  She longed to say something to him but was afraid she would give herself away. Instead she contented herself by murmuring his name over and over again as if it were a mantra. Zachary was silent too, save for the odd incoherent little whisper. She wondered if he too were afraid of giving away his thoughts or if he were keeping quiet because there was nothing he wanted to say; because for him this was merely the culmination of a pleasant evening; a kiss of propinquity and not love. It was a depressing thought and she pulled back from him. She was crazy to become involved with a man who already had a mistress. Another girl friend would have been hard enough to compete with, but a woman whom he actually kept, was impossible to fight.

  She saw him looking at her, his eyes a darker gray in the soft light that came from the shaded lamps.

  "Let's try it again," he said huskily, but when he went to draw her close, she stiffened. Instantly he became motionless. "You said you weren't scared of me."

  "I'm not."

  "Then relax." He remained with his shoulders leaning against the settee behind him. "I find myself in an unexpected position with you," he continued softly, "though on Saturday night I had a feeling it would end like this."

  "Why should our friendship end just because you have kissed me?" she asked with pretended naivete.

  "Is that how you read my remark? I didn't mean it that way. What I'm actually trying to say is that when I first met you I didn't realize I would become fond of you. And for God's sake don't take exception to that remark!"

  "Why should I?" she said. "The word 'fond' makes me feel safe and secure."

  "Now you're getting at me," he replied and gave her a teasing look which went well with his sensual mouth. "I would like to see more of you," he went on. "Much more."

  "Physically or in terms of hours?" she asked blandly.

  "Both, you saucy minx!" His voice deepened. "But it won't affect our business relationship if you refuse."

  "I didn't know we had a business relationship."

  "You're in an important position at Farrell's. I don't think you realize it."

  "I'd prefer not to. It makes me uncomfortable." She sat up and swung her legs to the ground, a movement as graceful as her pale blond appearance.

  "When you were lying down you looked like a child," he said, with a note of surprise in his voice and, reaching out, touched a strand of her hair. "It's surprisingly thick. Most blondes have fine hair."

  "Are you speaking from experience?"

  "Of course. The average blonde has some twenty thousand less hairs than a brunette, while redheads have even less."

  "About ninety thousand," she said demurely.

  "You read that article in the Times, too!" He rose and she laughed and made a face at him, which prompted him to hug her, a gesture that was friendly and without passion. "I had a wonderful evening with you, Samantha. Will you let me repeat it?"

  "Which part?"

  "Both," he said, echoing his previous answer. "Though if I have a choice I'll take the latter half."

  "Not quite half," she corrected, glancing at her watch.

  "You're the one who's turning me out," he said promptly and, pausing by the door, kissed the tip of her nose.

  Did he always like to make love to a girl at the end of a pleasant evening, she wondered, as she bolted the door behind him? If he did, it would be safer for her not to go out with him again. Zachary was seeing her because Marie was in America and only when the girl returned would she herself know exactly where she stood in his life. Sighing audibly she prepared for bed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  For the whole of the next day Samantha was keyed up in the expectation of hearing from Zachary. But the entire day passed without word from him and by five-thirty she went to the cloakroom to change into the light cotton dress that she had brought with her, having found it too depressing to leave here every day in her drab black uniform. She really must talk to Larry about it.

  She was still preoccupied with this when she walked out of the staff entrance and did not notice a small black car keeping pace with her until it hooted. Looking around, she saw Zachary behind the wheel. Instantly the sky was bluer, the setting sun warmer as she hurried to the curb to greet him.

  "Get in," he said with a smile. She did so, looking so guilty that he chuckled. "I'm sure that by now everyone knows who you really are."

  "Do you think so."

  "Farrell's has a grapevine louder than a tom- torn. Apart from which, you sat at the Directors' table at the staff party."

  "I'd forgotten that."

  "I bet you forgot me, too?"

  "No, I didn't." She was so happy she could have flung her arms wide. "I didn't think I was going to see you today," she confessed.

  "I know you don't like me to call you during working hours," he mocked.

  "You could always pretend it was business," she said solemnly.

  "Monkey business," he replied and reached out to squeeze her fingers. His hand remained on her lap for a moment and she felt its weight against the top of her leg. She trembled and he moved his hand quickly back to the wheel.

  "It's rude of me to assume you are free tonight," he said quietly, "but if you are, will you take pity on me?"

  "A bachelor in need of pity?" she teased, hoping he would say something about Marie. But he didn't, and she was forced to continue, "Shall I play hard to get and say I'm busy, or should I admit that the whole week stretches ahead of me without a single date?"

  "I wouldn't believe you if you said that."

  "It's true, though. But through inclination."

  "You don't need to tell me that," he assured her. "I am quite willing to believe you can go out every night of the week if you choose." He negotiated his way past a bus. "If you don't need to go back to your flat I can take you straight to mine. Unless you'd prefer to go out somewhere?"

  She was not sure she wanted to go to his flat; The one thing she didn't want Zachary to think was that he could make love to her when the mood took him and then drop her like a hot potato once Marie came back into his life. Yet to say this would be leaving herself open to a rebuff and she was wondering how to phrase it when he spoke again.

  "Perhaps it might be best if I took you out. It's more fun for you to go to a restaurant."

  "I'm quite happy to be with you."

  "That's settled then," he said so quickly that she knew this was what he had wanted.

  He did indeed live around the corner from her, as he had said, but in an extremely elegant block. The main windows of his living room afforded a beautiful view of the park, and though it was not on the top floor, it had a large terrace set with garden furniture and a hammock. Window boxes ran along its entire length and she marveled at the beautiful display of flowers.

  "By courtesy of Farrell's," he said. "Our Gardening Department designed the terrace for me and takes care of it."

  "I knew they planned gardens but I didn't realize they took care of them."

  "Only mine," he said and gave her a quizzical look. "I hope you won't bring that up at our next Board meeting!"

  Red-faced she looked at him. "I would do the same again about Marie's clothes. It was the principle to which I objected."

  "Not the fact that I was the one doing it?"

  "No," she said firmly, and then added with honesty, "I might not be so unbiased now."

  His look became more quizzical. "I didn't know you were the jealous type."

  "All women are jealous," she said defensively. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just an instinct."

  "Like animals and their determination to keep their territory from being invaded?" he suggested.

  "That's it exactly." Quickly she changed the subject. "I'd like to wash, if I may."

  "Of course." He led her back through the lounge, which was spacious and furnished in muted shades of green and beige, and into a guest suite. "I think you will find everything you want here," he said. "If not, give me a call."

  Without moving, she watched as he went out and
closed the door, then looked carefully around her. The room was charmingly furnished and had an air of use about it; a fact which she noted wryly, since it suggested Marie or any other young woman who took his fancy.

  In the bathroom she found everything she could possibly want in the way of makeup. There were also three different kinds of scent, a freshly laundered bath robe, and even electric haircurlers. She examined the makeup carefully, pulling a face as she saw several shades of lipstick, powder, and eyeshadow. Zachary obviously believed in catering to different women and, if the makeup was anything to go by, he was somewhat eclectic in his taste.

  She would have liked to have had a shower but decided that would take too long, so satisfied herself with washing and reapplying lipstick and mascara. Her pale skin was tanned light honey and needed no powder, though she added a touch of shadow to her lids to highlight her gray eyes. How large and shiny they looked: the glitter of excitement and fear. Quickly she went back into the hall.

  Zachary was coming out of his own room and she had a glimpse of a dark blue carpet and blue covered bed. Seeing her look, he opened his door wider.

  "You are quite safe with me before dinner," he said, beckoning her forward.

  With a toss of her head she stepped past him into his room. This too looked out over the park and was much larger than the guest room. The bed was king-size and she averted her eyes from it as she went to the window. The decor was simple yet luxurious: the richness of navy velvet lightened with acid yellow and white.

  "Your taste," she asked, "or Farrell's?"

  "Farrell's. I merely told them what sort of bed I wanted."

  "That doesn't surprise me," she said, showing him he was not going to embarrass her so easily. He guessed that was her intention for his eyebrows rose wickedly as he asked her if she would like to test the mattress. "I had it especially sprung for me," he explained.

  "Do you have a bad back, then?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  "I would have had, if I hadn't ordered the bed!" Deciding he had teased her enough, he led her back into the lounge. "Let me know when you're ready to eat."

  "Right now I can do with a drink."

  He mixed her a Tom Collins and set a plate of canapes in front of her.

  "Yummy!" she said, tasting one. "Made by your own fair housekeeper's hands, of course?"

  "Of course."

  "Does she live in?"

  He shook his head. "She comes each day. She'd live in if I asked her, but I don't need it at the moment."

  "Do you do much entertaining here?"

  "I prefer restaurants. I keep my home for my personal friends."

  She was warmed by his compliment and made no protest when he pulled her across the settee to rest against him. She knew he wanted to kiss her and realized he was waiting for her to show she wanted him to do so. Deliberately she remained quiescent against him, determined not to give him the sign he wanted, and only realizing she had become rigid when he gave her a gentle shake and told her to relax.

  "I am relaxing," she protested, and half turned her face up to his.

  "Maybe this will help you to relax more," he whispered and tilted her face higher so that her lips were just below his own. "Darling Samantha," he breathed and with unexpected passion began to kiss her.

  Quickly she responded, wondering where her coolness had gone, yet not regretting its disappearance. Whatever happened in the future she would have this moment to remember. Perhaps if she could infiltrate into his life she would be able to carve a niche in it for herself before Marie returned? She waited for the thought of the girl to dismay her but, held close against Zachary, it was easy to forget anyone else. It was herself he was holding, her body he was touching, her skin he was caressing with his lips. Many different emotions welled inside her, but the strongest was the primeval urge to be possessed. For the first time with him she became afraid—not of Zachary but of her own weakness. Quickly she put her hands to his chest and pushed.

  He moved back from her. Not too far; only sufficiently for him to look into her face.

  "Such big eyes, Samantha." His voice was so deep it seemed to come from somewhere low in his chest.

  "I'm not frightened of you" she confessed, "but of myself."

  His look was tender, as were the kisses he placed on her eyelids before he rose and went across to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

  "Lots of ice," he murmured, "though the way I feel now I could melt the North Pole! You are an extremely desirable female."

  "Maybe you rouse easily!"

  "I have never thought so." He came across to her but took a chair, as if he didn't trust himself to sit on the settee beside her. "I generally have to work myself up into the mood. Drinks to relax me, candlelight to soothe me, a bed on which I can fall comfortably… But with you… Just looking at you in the car in the middle of a stream of traffic makes my mind start to play tricks on my body."

  His voice was matter-of-fact though his words were anything but, and as she dropped her eyes from his face to his hands, she saw a slight tremor in them. So he was not talking for effect. He really did mean what he said.

  "I don't think Marie would be overjoyed to hear this conversation." She had not meant to say this, yet she was glad she had, even though he looked startled.

  "Neither would my other girl friends."

  "I didn't know you had more than one at a time!"

  "That is what a gentleman always likes a lady to believe!"

  "You're playing with words, Zachary."

  "Maybe it isn't the time to be serious."

  There was no doubt this was a rebuff and she reacted to it by jumping to her feet and walking over to the dining alcove. "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

  If he saw through the excuse, he gave no sign and held out a chair for her to sit down. The meal was excellent. There was ice-cold gazpacho, cold chicken, and salad, lemon mousse, and assorted cheeses.

  "I know Farrell's didn't prepare the food," she said when, supper over, they sipped their coffee on the terrace, "but they certainly provided it."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "The quality."

  "I'm proud of our Food Hall," he admitted. "As you know, I would like to expand it."

  "Get rid of Millinery."

  "I need more space on the ground floor. The second floor is no good to me. That's why I want to build the annex."

  "What else will you put in it?"

  "I haven't decided. I have an open mind."

  "That must be unusual!"

  "Now, now," he reproved. "You are supposed to be my friend."

  "That doesn't mean I'm blind to your faults."

  "Do you honestly think I have a closed mind?"

  "I think you can be obstinate," she said thoughtfully, "and I'm not sure if you like to admit when you are wrong." She put down her cup. "Now you can be unflattering about me."

  His lower lip jutted forward as he surveyed her. "Do you know," he said slowly, "I don't think there is anything about you I don't like."

  "I can't believe that," she protested.

  "It's true. I am sure you have faults but at the moment they are all lovable ones. Even the fact that you made me pay a higher price for Marie's clothes, I see only as your desire to play fair to the other directors."

  She was surprised he should refer to this incident so lightly and was piqued that he had no embarrassment in mentioning Marie. "Maybe it will teach you not to be so generous next time," she said flippantly. "Or do you always keep your girl friends in dresses?"

  "I would prefer to keep them without," he grinned. "And to answer your question, Miss Nosey, I didn't set out to pay for Marie's wardrobe. She just happened to see a dress she liked in Farrell's and I told her to get it. After that, it accelerated."

  "Like Topsy and her hair," Samantha smiled. "It just growed and growed!"

  "I'll call a halt one day," he shrugged.

  She thought he must be extremely rich not to have called a halt before now, but knew it was not her bu
siness to comment on his finances.

  "Why are we talking about Marie?" he said huskily. "All I want to talk about is you." He reached out for her and with a sharp movement pulled her across the space that divided them and onto his lap. "And not much talking either," he continued. "I can think of better things to do."

  Once again he started to kiss her. There was no strangeness in his touch and she knew with a despairing admission that she had found her final haven. If only she could believe that Zachary had found it, too.

  It was midnight before he drove her home, explaining that he had a business dinner the following evening and would see her the night after.

  "That's Friday," she said. "Aren't you going down to the country for the weekend?"

  "Only if you will come with me."

  She resisted the temptation and shook her head.

  "I thought you wouldn't," he said regretfully. "Is it because you don't trust me?"

  "I don't trust us," she corrected.

  "If I can rustle up some friends, will you come then?"

  "I would love to."

  "Take it as done." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it and then let it go.

  On Friday morning Larry came in search of her. She had not seen him since the previous Saturday and, looking into his handsome face, wondered why she was in love with Zachary and not his younger cousin. Larry was easier to understand and also easier to cope with.

  "Hello," she said lightly. "Long time no see."

  "That's your fault, not mine. I have rung you several evenings this week but you haven't been in."

  "I've been busy."

  He looked sour. "With Zachary, I gather."

  "Yes."

  "And this weekend too?"

  "Are you checking up on me?"

  "Zachary told me himself. I wanted to go down for the weekend but he said the house would be full."

  "Poor Larry," she teased. "Are you feeling left out in the cold?"

  "That isn't funny, Samantha. You know I'm keen on you. I've made that very plain."

  "I'm sure you'll be equally keen on another girl next month." She put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Larry, but it's much better if we don't see so much of each other."