by Irene Hannon
“Laura! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I finally found the champagne,” he greeted her, forcing a pleasant, conversational tone into his voice.
Laura’s eyes flew to his, and he could see the relief flood through them. “Thanks, Nick. I wondered where you went.” Her voice sounded a bit unsteady, but she took his lead gamely. His hand brushed hers as he offered her the champagne, and he noted that her fingers felt icy as she took the glass, holding it with both hands.
The fortyish, balding man looked from Nick to Laura, his flushed face indicating that he’d had his share of the freely flowing champagne. “You two are together? Sorry. Why didn’t you say so?” he mumbled, his hands dropping to his sides. Nick saw the red mark his grip had left on Laura’s arm and his jaw tightened. “I think I’ll go find some more champagne,” the man said, glancing around fuzzily.
“Maybe you’ve had enough,” Nick suggested curtly, but the man had already turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Laura carefully set her champagne glass down on the table next to her and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t do much.” He watched her closely, aware that she was deeply upset.
“Well, your timing was perfect,” she replied, a forced lightness in her tone. She reached for her purse, unsnapped the clasp and retrieved a mirror. “I think I’m about to lose an earring,” she said, buying herself some time while she regained her composure. She reached up and tightened the already secure rhinestone clip.
She was putting on a good show, Nick thought. But he wasn’t fooled. He could hear the strain in her voice and he could see the unsteadiness of her hands. “Maybe you should drink this,” he suggested quietly, picking up her glass of champagne.
She looked at it distastefully and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
He glanced in the direction of her “admirer.”
“I guess I don’t blame you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t have anything against moderate drinking,” she said. “But I have no tolerance for abuse.” Her eyes dropped to the silver filigreed mirror in her hands, and she played with it nervously before setting it on the table. She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again there was a husky uncertainty in her voice. “I do appreciate your help, Nick. I—I’m not very good at handling those kinds of situations.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” he said, with an edge to his voice that made her look up in surprise. “No woman should.”
She was taken aback by the vehemence of his tone, given that she’d labeled him a male chauvinist. “Yes, well, it sounds good in theory.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, Nick, I think I’m going to head home. It’s been a long day.”
“Did you work all day?”
She nodded. “Up until about three hours ago.”
“That hardly looks like your usual work attire,” he said, hoping that the warmth of his smile would ease some of the tension he sensed in her body. “If I may say so, you look stunning.”
“Well, you didn’t expect me to come in my jeans, did you?” she asked, unexpectedly pleased by his compliment. When he didn’t reply, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Or did you?”
“No, of course not,” he said quickly. He didn’t tell her that he thought she might have stayed away due to lack of appropriate attire rather than lack of taste. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you wear anything but work clothes.”
She tilted her chin up slightly, and there was a touch of defensiveness in her voice when she spoke. “Jeans and overalls suit my job. This outfit would hardly be appropriate at a construction site. I don’t have an office job, Nick. And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
Nick frowned at her misinterpretation of his remark. “I realize that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Laura. My comment was meant as a compliment, not a criticism.”
Laura looked at him, lost for a moment in the depth of his eyes. What else did he realize? she wondered. Did he realize that for some unaccountable reason her heart was hammering in her chest? Did he realize that her breathing had become slightly erratic? And did he realize that neither of those reactions was a result of her unpleasant encounter? Distractedly she pushed the hair back from her face. “I’ve really got to be going,” she said, retrieving her purse from the chair at her side.
“Are you here alone?” Nick asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Well, can I at least walk you to your car?”
“I’m fine, really. But thanks for the offer. Good night, Nick.”
He hesitated, reluctant to let her leave alone, knowing he couldn’t stop her. When Laura looked at him curiously, he found his voice. “Good night, Laura.”
He watched her thread her way through the thinning crowd, frustrated by his inability to…to what? he wondered. He’d done all that was necessary by helping her out of an offensive situation. Yet he felt she’d needed something more, something he couldn’t give. She’d seemed unaccountably shaken by the encounter, and he doubted whether she’d fully recovered. Certainly it had been unpleasant, but there’d been no real danger. Yet he’d caught the glimmer of fear in her eyes, of vulnerability. He wished she had at least let him walk her to her car. And where was her husband? he wondered, suddenly angry. She did have one. Or at least he assumed she did. Yet she always seemed so alone.
He continued to stare pensively into the crowd long after she’d disappeared from sight. Only when he realized that the majority of guests had departed did he rouse himself to do the same. It was time to call it a day.
Nick turned to set his glass on the table, and his eyes fell on Laura’s silver mirror, obviously forgotten in her haste to depart. He picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, turning it over to examine it more closely. It looked quite old, perhaps a family heir-loom, he mused. He’d have to call Laura immediately and let her know it was safe. Hopefully he could reach her even before she realized it was missing. She’d had enough stress for one day, he thought, a muscle in his jaw tightening.
And then an idea slowly took form in his mind. Why not drop it off on his way home? That way he could assure himself that she had gotten home all right and, perhaps in the process, meet the elusive Mr. Taylor.
Nick slipped the mirror into the pocket of his jacket and turned to go, only to find a board member at his elbow. His patience was stretched to the breaking point by the time he could tactfully disengage himself from a discussion of the importance of art to the St. Louis community. Then it took another ten minutes to find a phone directory so he could look up Laura’s address. With a frustrated sigh, he glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. Laura was probably home by now. He could just call and let her know he had the mirror, he told himself. There was no urgency about returning it. But somehow that wasn’t good enough. He wanted to go. And he wasn’t going to waste time analyzing the reasons why.
Laura stirred the spaghetti sauce, raising the spoon to her lips for a taste. Perfect, she thought with a satisfied smile. But then, Grandmother’s recipe never failed. It was one of those things you could always count on. And there weren’t a lot of them in this world, she mused, her smile fading. There was her faith, of course. It had been her anchor in the difficult years of her marriage and the struggle for survival that followed. Her trust in the Lord was stable, sure and strong, and even in her darkest hours, it had offered her hope and comfort. The Lord had always stretched out his hand to steady her when she felt most shaky and lost. Yes, she could count on her faith.
She could also count on her family. And Sam. But certainly not men. Or at least not her judgment of them. How could she have been so wrong? she asked herself again, as she had countless times before. But the answer always eluded her.
As her mood started to darken, Laura fiercely took herself in hand. She refused to become melancholy over a stupid little incident that she’d blown out of all proportion, she told herself angrily. Okay, so the man’s steel grip on her arm and
the smell of liquor on his breath had brought back painful memories. So what? She wasn’t the only one in the world with painful memories, and it was about time that she laid hers to rest.
At the same time, she had made progress, she consoled herself. She turned the spaghetti sauce down to simmer, removed her large white apron and headed for the bedroom to change clothes. Three or four years ago she probably would have been a basket case after that scene. She’d held up all right. Of course, if Nick hadn’t come along…
Nick. Her arm froze as she reached around to unzip the black cocktail dress. Thoughts of him were almost as disturbing as thoughts of the unpleasant encounter. Both caused her breathing to quicken and her pulse rate to accelerate. Both made her stomach churn and her legs grow weak. Both made her nervous and uncertain.
But for very different reasons, she acknowledged honestly. Ever since Sam had planted the seed of romance in her head about Nick, Laura had reacted like a skittish colt whenever she was around him. And the explanation was simple. She felt attracted to him. Heaven help her, but she did. There was simply no way to honestly deny it, and Laura had learned through the years that being honest with herself was essential to her survival.
Slowly she unzipped the dress, stepped out of it and made her way toward the closet. When she passed the full-length mirror behind her door she hesitated, and then glanced at her reflection. It wasn’t something she did often; for too many years she had disliked herself and her body so intensely that she avoided mirrors whenever possible. She was still much too thin, but at least her self-image had improved enough in the past few years that she could now look at herself without cringing.
One thing for sure, she thought with a wry smile, her job might be physically demanding, but it helped keep her in shape. Her body was that of a twenty-year-old—muscles toned, stomach flat, thighs firm. Joe had enjoyed her body once, she thought, allowing a moment of wistful recollection. At least he had until the problems started and she’d begun to lose weight. Then he’d started making fun of her thinness. And her looks. And her ambition. And her faith.
His loss of faith and belittlement of hers had been one of the most painful things to endure during those last difficult months. As their relationship had deteriorated, she’d turned more and more to her faith to sustain her, finding great comfort in the Bible. Joe, on the other hand, had found no solace there, had laughed when she suggested they spend some time each evening reading a few verses out loud. It was almost as if he was jealous of her faith, resenting the consolation she found there. She had tried to help, tried to share her faith with him, but he had resisted every attempt she’d made. In the end, his ridicule of all she had been raised to believe in had killed whatever love still survived in their relationship.
A lump formed in her throat, and she forced herself to swallow past it. The power of love—both constructive and destructive—never ceased to amaze her. Her faith had survived, but little else had, including her self-esteem. Even now, more than ten years later, she was still self-conscious about her body. “Bony,” Joe had called her. She’d gained a little weight since then, but she was still probably too thin to be desirable. Not that she’d cared about that over the years. But for some reason Nick had activated hormones that she’d thought had died long ago. After Joe, Laura had been convinced that she would never be attracted to another man. With a shudder she recalled how the sweetness of their young love had gradually soured, how in the end lovemaking had become an ordeal, an act devoid of all tenderness, to be endured, not enjoyed. Even now the memories filled her with shame and disgust. It had taken her years to accept emotionally what she’d always known intellectually—that Joe’s actions had been the result of his own sickness rather than anything she had done. She had dealt with the guilt—as much as she would ever be able to, knowing that some would always remain. And she had stopped asking the “what if?” questions ten times a day. But she had never recovered enough to risk another relationship.
Until she met Nick, Laura had been content to live the solitary life she’d created for herself, a life where no one made demands of her, no one belittled her, no one hurt her. It was a safe, if insulated, existence. Sam had been after her for years to reconsider her self-imposed physical and emotional celibacy, but, until Nick, Laura had never even been tempted. The idea of opening up again to any man had turned her off completely, and her passionate side was kept firmly under wraps.
So why were her hormones kicking in now? she wondered. Sure, Nick was a handsome man. And he seemed nice enough. After their initial confrontation, he’d proven to be a fair and considerate business associate. But until this afternoon she’d never related to him on anything but a professional level. Not that she should consider today’s encounter very significant, she reminded herself. He had simply helped her out of an awkward situation, his action prompted more by good manners than personal interest. Yet the way he’d looked at her, as if he sensed the trauma of the situation for her and cared how she felt, had sent shock waves along her nerve endings and filled her with an almost forgotten warmth.
Laura took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? Had she suppressed her needs for so long that even the slightest kindness and warmth from a man sent them clamoring for release?
Impatiently Laura pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She had to get a grip on her emotions. Nick was a business associate. Period. Her reaction to him was just the result of long-suppressed physical needs. She would never again give herself to a man, now or in the future. It was simply too dangerous. No matter what Sam thought!
By the time Nick turned down Laura’s street, it was nearly seven-thirty. He’d grown more uncertain with every mile he’d driven. Maybe her husband wouldn’t appreciate his visit. And the last thing he wanted to do was cause Laura any further distress.
He still felt undecided when he pulled up in front of her apartment. He parked the car but remained behind the wheel, glancing around the neighborhood. Not the best part of town, he thought grimly. She lived in a four-family unit in the south part of the city, on a side street lined with similar brick flats. The buildings in this part of the city were probably at least seventy years old, and judging by the cars lining the street, it was not an affluent area. In fact, the longer he sat there, the more he began to realize that the surroundings were actually a little seedy. He frowned. He’d known money was tight, but she had a nice storefront office, albeit small, in one of the nicer suburbs, so he hadn’t expected that she would live in such a run-down area.
He thought of his own West County condo, with its tennis courts and swimming pool and health club, and a surge of guilt washed over him. Nick was certain that Laura worked just as hard—if not harder—than he did, and she obviously had much less to show for it. Even in his leaner years, Nick’s life-style had never been this impoverished.
He glanced at Laura’s apartment building, still undecided. Why was he agonizing over a simple decision? he asked himself impatiently. After all, the worst that could happen would be that he would be treated as an unwelcome intruder. If so, he could make a hasty departure. It was no big deal.
Determinedly, Nick stepped out of his car, which was attracting interested glances from a few teenagers gathered on a neighboring porch. He felt them staring at the back of his tux as he bent to carefully lock the door, and he paused uncertainly, fiddling unnecessarily with the key. Was it wise to leave the car unattended? But he wouldn’t be staying long, he assured himself. He strode inside, found that Laura lived on the top floor and took the steps two at a time.
Laura heard the doorbell and frowned, glancing at the clock. Sam was out of town until tomorrow, so it couldn’t be her. Curiously she walked over to the door and peered through the peephole.
Her eyes widened, and with a muffled exclamation she stepped back from the door in alarm, her hand going to her throat. She began to take deep breaths, trying to steady the staccato beat of her heart. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. Not after t
he thoughts she’d just been having. Maybe she could just ignore him, she thought hopefully. Surely he’d go away if she didn’t answer the door. But then logic took over. Why was he here? It must be something important for him to track her down at home. Was there a problem with the Arts Center, something he’d discovered after she’d left the party? That must be it, because he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his tux. He’d come directly from the party. It had to be urgent.
Laura took another deep breath and stepped forward, sliding back the bolt and swinging the door open. “Nick! Is something wrong?” she asked without preamble.
Nick stared at the woman across from him. Her hair still swung loose and full, but she’d changed into shorts that snugly hugged her hips and revealed even more of her incredible legs than the cocktail dress had. A T-shirt clung softly to her upper body, the sea blue color complementing her hair and eyes. Suddenly aware that the silence was lengthening noticeably, he cleared his throat. “That’s not the most enthusiastic welcome I’ve ever received,” he said, flashing a quick, uncertain grin.
“Sorry,” she said, flushing as she stepped aside. “Come in.”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude…”
“I’m just making dinner.”
“Well, only for a minute.” He crossed the threshold into a tiny foyer and Laura shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing toward the living room, and Nick stepped into the softly lit room, which Laura had decorated in an English country style. Floral-patterned chintz covered the couches and chairs, and an old trunk served as a coffee table. Baskets of dried flowers and the soft yellow walls gave the room a warm, homey feel. A drafting table stood in one corner, with a wooden desk nearby, and lace curtains hung at the windows. There was a dining nook to one side, separated from the galley kitchen by a counter, and a glance down the hall revealed a bathroom door slightly ajar and a closed door that must be a bedroom.
