Fast Courting

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Wrong to speak your mind?” His voice was smooth, in control.

  Innate honesty brought her head up, her gaze to his. “Wrong to take my frustration out on you. I’m sure that you’ve got your share of aggravation. Besides, you were right, back there in your office. You didn’t ask me to come here. For that matter, you didn’t ask to be chosen by Eastern Edge for its feature. I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your free time…and your lunch.”

  Daniel sat back against the rich leather of the bucket seat, stared forward for a minute, then glanced toward Nia. “You didn’t do that.” There was a deeper thread in his voice, one she might have ignored had it not been for the darker glint in his eye. Nia grew more conscious of the intimacy of the car and the long, lean example of masculinity beside her. For all her anger at him, she couldn’t deny the powerful draw of the man. He was a mass of good looks and subtle sensuality, kindling feelings within her that she simply couldn’t face.

  Cursing her own vulnerability, she tugged at the handle of the door, swearing softly when it wouldn’t give. The long arm that reached across her solved that problem with the flick of the lock, even as its nearness temporarily halted her flight. It recoiled slowly, retracing a path that skimmed her middle beneath her breasts. Its heat was vivid despite the layers of her sweater and coat.

  Nia caught her breath, wavered, then made her escape, only to be stopped once more at her own car by the deep voice that called to her, its sound easily besting the brisk breeze.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  Fearing she’d misheard him, Nia turned slowly. The sleek maroon body of Daniel’s car stood between them; his arm was outstretched on its roof. Now that he had her attention, he moved more leisurely around the car and came to stand before her.

  “I’ll consider it,” he repeated, raising both palms toward her in a gesture of peace. “I can’t promise that I’ll agree, but I will think about it.”

  Skepticism brought a frown to Nia’s gentle features, yet words eluded her. She felt confused, torn between regarding Daniel as a superb sportsman…or simply a superb man. Unsure, she pondered the choice as she distractedly unlocked her own door and slid into the driver’s seat. The slam of the door was a shot of encouragement; the token barrier was better than none. On impulse, she rolled down her window and squinted back up at Daniel, whose dark head was haloed by the afternoon sun.

  “You will?” she asked in childlike disbelief.

  He nodded, bending to bring his face closer. “I will.” The glint had become a gleam, fascinating Nia into lingering.

  “And…to what do I owe this change of heart?” She smiled more coyly than she had as yet. The quiet ring of her own voice, softer and more feminine, gave her the answer she sought. Her smile faded as her heart skipped a beat. Start the car, a tiny voice cried, but she was unable to move. Daniel’s eyes released her gaze only to fall to the lower lip she unknowingly chewed. Her eyes widened in uncharacteristic fear. This wasn’t what she wanted. It was far too dangerous. Daniel Strahan was too attractive a man; she shouldn’t play with this kind of fire.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, condensing her protest into one word of sanity.

  But Daniel silently overrode her objection, lowering his head until his face was close, so close. Once again she protested, shaking her head in slow denial of the force that seemed destined to draw them together. His warmth reached out to her, holding her suddenly still as he moved a fraction of an inch until his lips touched hers. The sweetness of his kiss overwhelmed her. It was light and gentle, dealing with her fear by tantalizing her with a wisp of a caress that left tingles at every touchpoint. She gasped when he drew back, but he kissed her again, as lightly as before and as briefly. Her lips felt cool when he left them once more, this time to take in the flush on her cheeks and the nascent light of desire in her eyes.

  His taunting had done its job, leaving her aware and receptive. She offered no resistance when his lips lowered a third time, meeting hers fully and with a persuasive power that set her senses reeling. The gentle command of his kiss had ensured her commitment; her response was inevitable.

  Slowly, Nia opened to him, with an involvement she hadn’t shown in years. She was curious, as interested in the depth of his virility as he was in her abandonment. Staking his claim, he deepened the kiss. If this was the first offering of his personal stock, she savored it fully. Eyes closed, she drank in the heady taste of his mouth, a taste tinged with the memory of coffee laced with cream and four sugars. Sensing her pleasure, he offered more, sampling the moistness of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. A tremor of sheer delight sizzled its way through her.

  Suddenly a raucous call, a shout, a long and suggestive whistle tore them apart, shattering the moment with an abrupt return to reality.

  “Not bad, coach …!”

  “Go get her, man!”

  “Heeeey, Professor…At-a-way …!”

  Releasing her lips with a shuddering moan, Daniel slowly straightened. His eyes held Nia’s for an instant of silent apology before he turned his head to glare at the three Breakers sauntering across the parking lot. The first thing Nia noted was their superior height; as had been obvious at the practice that morning, they towered over Daniel. The second, and far more startling, thing she noted was their response to the coach. He said nothing, simply stared at them, his hands cocked ominously on his hips. As though physically lashed, they shied away and hastened toward a waiting car, slithering in with a tangle of arms and legs, then belatedly minding their own business as the car sped off. It was an impressive show— this power of Daniel’s—but one that was consistent with the more private showing she’d had moments before. Nia was rudely awakened to her folly.

  When Daniel turned back and opened his mouth to speak she held out a hand to silence him. This time, when she shook her head, he kept his distance. Her distress was obvious.

  “I’ve got to go,” she whispered hoarsely; starting the car and backing out of the space, she drove out of the parking lot without a look back. More than anything, she needed to think. The cool air rushed in through her open window, gradually calming her senses and clearing her head. She had all of twenty minutes of travel time to make sense out of what had happened.

  Of the emotions that whirled about her mind, self-reproach took the lead. For the first time in her professional career, she had truly blown it! Oh, yes, Daniel Strahan had said that he’d consider her request. But would he really ever consent to the interview? No! She knew it in her heart.

  And, in her heart, she couldn’t really blame him. In her heart, she didn’t want him to give in. For she did believe him to be a very private person; he’d convinced her of that in deed as well as in word. To hound him further would be to violate something totally unexpected and surprisingly precious—her respect for him as a human being.

  In the course of her years as a writer Nia had come to rely on instinct in judging her quarry. Rarely were her first impressions wrong—exaggerated or understated, perhaps, but rarely wrong. Today, Daniel Strahan had struck her as a man of character, of dedication, of honesty. One part of her was reluctant to share him. And that was the crux of her dilemma.

  He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. By all reasonable estimates, she had broken the very first rule in the book. Hadn’t she been the one to lash out at Daniel when he’d spoken of “hunger” in such a seductive vein? Yet she had melted beneath his touch, offering little more than token resistance. In the matter of a few short hours she had ceased to view him as a subject and had begun to view him as a man. Tall. Virile. Compelling. But he was a basketball star. How could she have done it?

  The torrent of dismay tossed her one step ahead. There was no possible future with a man like Daniel, regardless of the strength of his appeal. He’d said as much himself; his lifestyle wreaked havoc with relationships. She should know.

  So, if a relationship was out of the question, what had been the justification for that kiss? Aside from the sheer pleasure of the
moment, there seemed to be none. And that was quite out of character. The need for physical experimentation had exhausted itself in Nia’s marriage. Yes, she dated often, but raw physical desire had never played a part in her social life since the divorce. What had happened today?

  The turnpike curved to the right and crested a rise, bringing the skyline of Boston into full view. Its sight was instantly comforting to Nia, as was the landscape of Cambridge to her left. This was home. Its nearness reassured her; its life enveloped her. By the time she had left the pike and negotiated the downtown streets she felt nearly normal. There was still the unfinished business of the eligible easterner feature that had caused her trouble from the start. But there were other things to think of, more immediate things. Daniel Strahan could wait his turn.

  Daniel Strahan, however, was not one to wait. He made his turn, taking the offensive, stealing the ball on the rebound and breaking fast with it. Nia scarcely had time to settle into a chair by Bill Austen’s desk when the phone rang.

  “Yes,” Bill clipped absently, then shot a glance at Nia. Both brows lifted in speculation, he held out the receiver.

  Startled, she took it. “Hello?”

  “Antonia …? It’s Dan.” How could she ever forget that voice? “Are you…all right?”

  For the past ten minutes, she’d been able to divert her mind from the embarrassment she felt. Now it was all back. With an audience, no less. Was she all right? If self-reproach, frustration and guilt were the normal state of things, she was fine.

  “Dan who?” she quipped, unable to resist the barb. But her voice was soft and a far cry from the expression of annoyance she’d intended.

  “Ahhh. She is all right.” He spoke slowly, deeply. Nia tried to picture him in his office, balanced back in his chair, half buried in a world she could never share. Unfortunately, the man stood out in her mind, tall and alluring. She heard the smile in his voice. “And sweet as ever.”

  “As ever.”

  He paused for a minute. “Are you angry?”

  “Hmmph.” She looked up to catch Bill’s sharpened gaze, then quickly averted her eyes, lowered her head, and turned from him to perch on the corner of his desk.

  “At me?” Momentary wariness came low over the wire.

  “Among others.”

  “At my…wards?”

  “They’re charming,” she offered in quiet sarcasm.

  Daniel hesitated, then plunged. “At yourself?”

  “Bingo.” Unconsciously, she put her little finger against the tight coil of the phone wire and began to work it around.

  “Well, don’t be. It takes two, you know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It takes two.”

  Nia bit her lip in a bid for patience. Bill shifted in his seat and Daniel, miraculously, saw it all.

  “Your boss is right there?”

  “Uh-huh.” And he was eyeing her very strangely.

  “Well, tell him I’m thinking about it.”

  “You’ll never do it.” The tip of her finger was all but hidden in the white coil.

  “I may.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Don’t you want me to?”

  She tucked her chin more tightly against her chest, so that her voice was nearly muffled. “No.” The resultant pause was predictable.

  “Now…that does surprise me. Was the decision made before…or after…we met?”

  “A little of both.” Bill’s restlessness was a glaring hint from the corner of her eye. “Listen,” she half whispered, “I’ve got to run.”

  “OK. Be good.” He accepted the brush-off without a fuss.

  “You, too.” The receiver had already left her ear when his parting shot brought it quickly back.

  “Will you be watching the game tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you try.”

  “Uh-uh.” The first joint of her pinkie had disappeared as well now.

  “It might be helpful…if you hope to write that article.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You may.”

  “It’s not about the game.”

  “Ahhh. That’s right. It’s about me. But …is there really a distinction?”

  Her voice rose for the first time, fraught with urgency. “Yes! You know there is!”

  Again, she heard his smile, could almost see it dancing at the corners of his firm lips. “Just as long as you do, too. Take care.” And he hung up, leaving her to stare dumbly at the receiver. It was Bill’s firm hand that re lieved her of the burden, replacing it on its cradle as she fumbled to free her finger from the cord. Her head was still down when Bill confronted her.

  “What was that all about?”

  The instant her gaze met his, she knew that deception would be a waste of time. If there was to be a new man in the number five slot for the eligible eastern men article, Bill Austen might as well know now.

  “That was Daniel Strahan.”

  Bill’s initial surprise quickly gave way to perception. “Uh-oh.”

  She grimaced. “Uh-oh is right! He won’t do it.”

  “An out-and-out no?”

  Again, she couldn’t lie. “Well, he said he’d consider it. But after spending the better part of two hours with the man, I can tell you that he won’t do it.”

  “Even after you spoke to me, you couldn’t convince him?”

  “Especially then.” Her mind’s eye replayed those concluding minutes and her cheeks warmed, quite against her will. Bill was all too aware of the flush. Strolling to the far side of the room, ostensibly to study the assignment board, he hid his expression from her.

  “Was today the first time you’ve met the man?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted a hand to stroke his jaw. “That’s interesting.”

  “What is?” she countered on impulse, sensing his drift only when he turned back to face her.

  “That…conversation you just had with him.” He darted an insinuating glance at the phone. “I would have thought you were talking with an old friend, perhaps a lover …despite that ‘Dan who?’ you threw out at the start.”

  Nia’s blush deepened with her consternation. “He’s not an old friend or a lover. But he does have this…way…of getting to you.”

  “To you, perhaps. Not me. That was very definitely a feminine response he drew from you just now.”

  “Then you interview him, Bill,” she implored gently, desperately. “I’ve had problems with this one from the first. If you feel that I’m too susceptible to him, you do it. You know how I feel about anything to do with basketball.”

  It wasn’t often that Bill Austen, or anyone at Eastern Edge, for that matter, saw Nia Phillips quite so disturbed. Taking momentary pity on her plight, he spoke more kindly. “Still that bad?”

  “Uh-huh.” She emphasized each syllable with suitable disgust.

  “But you did like Strahan…as a person?”

  Nia could see the wheels of his mind turning and didn’t like their direction. “Bill…”

  Sympathy was a thing of the past; Bill had reached his decision. “Stick with it, Nia. Just a little longer. See if you can get him to come around.”

  “Bill,” she readied for the fight, “I don’t think—”

  “Now, about this collegiate item.” He cast a pointed look at his watch. “We’ve got an hour to get it downstairs.”

  Courting danger, she stared at him, then shook her head and sighed, suddenly tired. Nothing had been settled, but at least Bill knew where she stood. When the Strahan interview fell through, as she was sure it would, she would have given Bill fair warning. If they were pinched at the last minute in finding a replacement, it wouldn’t be her fault. If Bill was content to let the matter ride for the time being, so was she. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple.

  Daniel Strahan was a bug in her ear, impossible to dislodge. She found herself thinking about him that night as she drove home in the dark, across the Charles River to her Cambridge
home. Had he called her from the arena? Or had he been at home? Where was home—in Weston, as he had implied? What was home—a house, an apartment, a condominium? Surely he was at the arena now; the game would be starting within the half hour. Was he, at this moment, preparing to face the press?

  Nia lived in an older, quiet section, on a residential street just beyond the central Harvard University crush. Most days she walked the ten minutes into the square, hopped the rapid transit, and was downtown in a matter of another ten or fifteen minutes. If it rained, she could get a bus at the end of her street. On days like today, with appointments away from Boston, she took her car.

  Pulling into the gravel drive of the two-family house, she parked alongside the battered Volvo owned by her tenant, Frederick Maxwell. Dr. Max, as he was affectionately called by the academic community, was professor emeritus in history at Harvard. A remarkable man despite his almost eighty years, he went to “work” every day, spending hours reading and gathering his thoughts for the masterpiece he still planned to write. Friends and colleagues indulged him both his eccentricities and his age, picking up papers he unknowingly dropped in his shuffle down the hall, flipping light switches off after him, seeing that the tail end of his car was tucked safely alongside the curb.

  Now Nia smiled as she stepped from her own car to turn off the headlights Dr. Max had left on, saving him the hassle of a dead battery the next morning. As his landlord and friend, she was glad to do things for the old man whenever she could, though his pride and determination kept him from asking. He had lived in the house when she and David had bought it ten years ago; he was as unobtrusive a tenant as one could hope to have.

  Briefcase in hand, shoulder bag in place, she climbed the porch steps and unlocked her front door. From the lower apartment came the faint sound of the evening news. It was a noise akin to the occasional distant siren, one she had easily learned to ignore. On this night, however, it sparked thoughts of another program shortly to go on the air. He had asked her to watch the game; should she? The very thought sent ripples of tension through her, a purely reflexive response conditioned by years of waiting and wondering. David had never wished to include her in his professional life, preferring that she remain at home on the grounds that he was working and couldn’t be distracted. On occasion she’d turned on the television set to catch sight of him; finally, she gave that up as well and sought refuge in her own life, gradually basing a full-time career on her writing skill. Eventually she had no time to watch televised games …much less the desire to do so.