Reckless

by Amanda Carpenter

  Chapter One

  Leslie looked around the crowded disco interestedly. People always fascinated her, no matter what they were doing, whether they were working or playing, loving or hating. It was why she had gone into journalism, the people. And the dance floor was certainly packed with them. The music was so loud that the beat pounded in her chest, the song powerful and elemental. Her foot tapped on the floor, and she looked around to grab Wayne’s hand.

  “Come on!” she said to him. “I want to dance.” He obligingly followed her out on to the floor, and Leslie let go of his hand. She started to move, her body graceful, eye-catching, swift and sure. She danced well, having a natural aptitude for rhythm that had been enhanced by lessons, and she threw her soul into it, abandoning herself and laughing with brilliant eyes at the man who grinned to see her enjoyment.

  She worked very hard and now it was time to play hard, for she had some rare time off, and she intended to take advantage of it while she could. She was going to enjoy herself and stay out all night if she wanted, and do whatever her mood prompted her to do. She was free for three days, for a lifetime, and she wasn’t going to stop until she dropped. After the dance they went back to their seats and ordered drinks, Leslie feeling flushed and thirsty.

  “You’d think we see enough of each other on assignments!” she said, laughing at Wayne. “But here we are again, Laurel and Hardy, Batman and Robin—”

  “—Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” he finished drily. “I know it. But we’re a nice pair, we work well and compatibly together, and we like to play together occasionally, too, that’s all.” It was true. Wayne and she were good buddies and a good work team. They’d worked side by side for nearly three years now, and they knew each other’s method of thinking, and reasoning. Being newspaper reporters for a nationally syndicated paper was no easy task when you happened to be a foreign correspondence team. It called for leaving at the drop of a hat, and going wherever one was sent. It called for a cool, clear head under pressure and for quick thinking in times of potential danger. It called for trusting one’s work partner. He had to be there when you needed him. And you had to be there, in just the same way, stable, constant, and loyal.

  Wayne was a good photographer and they worked on a basis of mutual respect. Leslie had the cool, clear head needed for her particular brand of journalism. She had an unshakeable steadiness running as a stable underthread in just about everything she did. She held on to her perspective, she reserved judgment, and she was able to quickly grasp essential facts. She was also a bitingly sarcastic writer when aroused, if someone or something met with her criticism.

  “May we join you?” A smooth voice interposed through their light chatter, and they both looked up simultaneously. Leslie’s face immediately closed up, wary. The two men who stood in front of their table also worked for the newspaper as a journalist team, and they were good, very good. The taller of the two men, Jarred Caledonia, was the speaker. She didn’t know either one very well.

  Wayne stood up politely. “Please do.” And he turned to signal for a cocktail waitress. Leslie nodded to the two men and tried to remember the shorter man’s name. She couldn’t, which made her angry at herself, for she prided herself on her ability to remember names and faces. She smiled at both of them and said nothing. “So, Jarred, Scott,” Wayne said easily, sitting back down. “How’s everything going? You two are just back from Turkey, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” the shorter man spoke, and his voice was lower than either Wayne’s or Jarred’s. Scott, Wayne had said. Leslie mused. That’s it, Scott Bennett. He was very good. She liked his work. The man was incredible, had a mind like a ferret when it came to information. His ability to find underground sources and new facts was legendary. Her respect for him, now that she knew his identity, increased several notches. “And from the looks of things, we’re going to be heading back in a few days.”

  “What’s happened?” Wayne asked interestedly, and Leslie’s mind began to wander impatiently as the three men started to talk shop. She’d just had a harrowing two months, catapulting all over South America, El Salvador in particular, and she’d been in a constant state of tension and wariness in that troubled, volcanically explosive country. She didn’t want to talk work. She wanted to have fun and forget the vastness of the upheavals in the world. She wanted to dance and drink a few drinks, and maybe drink more than a few drinks, and to laugh and have a good, funny conversation. Maybe she could go to a matinee film tomorrow afternoon, and then see another tomorrow night. She was behind in her film going since she’d been out of the country, and there were some good flicks playing in the theatres. She should try to catch them before she left.

  She stood, a quick, fluid movement, and restless. “I don’t know about any of you,” she said teasingly, interrupting the men. “But I’m going to find myself a partner and dance the night away. You can talk shop all you want. Not me, sirs. See you!” And with an airy wave, she started to head away from the table.

  Her arm was taken and she turned to see who had touched her. It was the taller man, Jarred, and he smiled down at her easily as he said, “I can’t blame you for not wanting to talk about work when such energetic music is playing! If you would be so kind…”

  And as the music was right and his manner so appealing, she laughed and bowed mockingly at him; in answer he bowed back. They went out on the dance floor and she turned to face him, steps light, movements compelling, her smile a vivid white. And she put a lot into that dance. She knew that he noticed and appreciated it, as did several other men nearby, for while she danced and moved lightly around him on the floor, never stopping or pausing, and while her actions seemed carefree and even frivolous, her mind never stopped working, storing data for further perusal. That was essentially Leslie. She never stopped watching and observing, even while she cajoled and charmed.

  One thing Leslie didn’t notice, though, was that she and Jarred were being watched by the two men back at their table. She didn’t see their eyes on her slim, quick figure, bright in a provocative summer outfit. She was certainly worth watching, for though in repose she could never be called beautiful, she was eye-riveting, and Leslie was never out of action. Movement was her life, and it showed in every gesture and laugh, every sparkle from her dark blue eyes. Scott’s eyes still followed her, the whip-like fluidity of her dancing, her chocolate brown hair bouncing with vitality around her vivaciousness in a perfect dark frame, when Wayne turned to say something to him.

  Leslie noticed her fresh drink at her empty seat when she and Jarred returned to the table. “Mm, thanks, Wayne,” she murmured, picking up the glass and drinking thankfully. It was gin and tonic, her usual.

  “Can’t take the credit, babe,” she was told cheerfully. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and she looked at Scott for a moment, silently questioning. He inclined his head, smiling crookedly.

  “You’re welcome,” was his deep, easy reply to her repeated thanks. Her eyes, which had lit on him in an impersonal and friendly way, became arrested on the man’s face. At first glance, Jarred was perhaps the more attractive of the two, but the other man certainly bore up well under scrutiny. Though shorter than Jarred, he was definitely the more powerfully built, with long, sensitive fingers on large, capable looking hands and wide, heavily muscled shoulders over lean, trim hips. His hair was nearly white from being bleached in the sun and in contrast his skin was nearly mahogany in colour, and his eyes were a dark, velvet brown, unusual with the skin and blond hair. Just now those eyes were holding an unmistakable, but subtle message as he smiled into her eyes. At least she thought that he’d smiled, but his facial expression had never shifted. Very subtle, she thought, and after the first arrested moment, her own dark blue eyes became amused. She held his glance a moment as
she smiled slowly at him, and then she drank delicately from her glass.

  It was convenient, she thought, that he should be sitting right by her. It took barely an effort for him to start a low voiced conversation with her, with that heavy, loud music in the background. They were quite effectively in their own little world, with the noise and the crowd of chattering, vivacious people. He leaned both arms on the table, bringing his head very close to hers, and he asked her quietly as he caressed her with his eyes, “You’re back from a hard stint of work yourself, aren’t you?”

  They talked a while, getting to know each other somewhat better. She was in a conversational mood and murmured the right things at the right time, meanwhile smiling at him with her eyes, fully aware of what he was doing.

  He asked her, “What was your last assignment like?”

  “I talked to villagers whose homes had been destroyed in El Salvador. We’ve an article and some photos on one of the families. The mother is a widow and her two sons have been shot. Her daughter is eleven years old and suffering from malnutrition. The village is rubble.” Leslie spoke emotionlessly. Her bitterness and rage had gone into the succinctly biting article she had written. It had been taut with the suppressed fury and energy she had held in all those weeks, afraid to display it, intent on keeping a low profile. It was, she knew, very good. And her emotions were back in rein after what she’d seen. Her eyes bounced sharply off the thoughtful man beside her, taking in with a lightning swiftness his irregular features, the tough, once-broken nose, the lean muscled jaw, the forceful forehead. Time to change the subject. “I like your work,” she told him candidly, letting her simple admiration show through for a moment to add sincerity to her words. “You’ve been in the business for some time now, haven’t you?”

  “Around eight years, I’d say,” he replied offhandedly, taking a quick drink from the beer he held cradled in his two large hands. She noted the clean, well kept fingernails and approved silently. You can tell a lot from a man’s hands. “Before that I was a business executive.” His eyes went to hers mockingly.

  She didn’t let him see the surprise that she was sure he’d expected. She had heard something of the like at work. “Makes for a diversified life,” she returned laconically, tilting her head and examining the archway adorned by two plants. They were fake. Scott must be around thirty-six or eight then, she mused silently. Without looking at him again, she stared at the tiled floor beneath the archway and thought that he was in very good shape for someone beginning to see the approach of the forty year mark. Very good shape indeed.

  Her thoughts halted right there, and she took a deep breath as she felt the tightness in her chest, her mind. Control it, she told herself. The music pounded through her veins and the room was hot. The room was very hot and too crowded, and she didn’t like all those people anymore. She smiled at Scott warmly just for the sheer hell of it, just to throw him off, and then she said quite pleasantly, “Good night.”

  She turned and said goodbye to the other two men who’d been talking animatedly at the other side of the table. Wayne nodded, knowing her too well to say anything or be surprised at her abrupt departure, and Jarred said a polite farewell also, not knowing her well enough to be surprised.

  She stood, nodded at Scott silently, noting his lazily raised eyebrow, and knowing that the wheels were clicking away in his head over her strange departure. She turned and walked lightly to the exit, swinging the shoulder length hair off her neck and feeling the slight dampness at the nape, under the heavy mass. Outside she paused at the front door, seeing the black of night and the glare of bright lights. Chicago was hot this summer, she thought, lifting the hair off the back of her neck and thinking without pleasure of her uncomfortable, empty apartment. No air conditioning in ninety degree weather, cooped up in that small living space, torture. Heat.

  As she paused on the pavement, undecided, she heard a footfall behind her. Across the parking lot, a car tooted its horn. Traffic was heavy on a Friday night, in this part of the city.

  Scott’s deep, lazy voice said behind her, “And what are you planning to do now?”

  Leslie stood still for a split second and then she stretched deliberately while she held the heavy weight of the hair off her neck, fully aware that Scott was watching her body and slightly appalled at her own recklessness tonight. She smiled. “Probably go home and take a long, cold shower,” she sighed. “Then get out, dry off, and do it again.”

  She didn’t look at him. Traffic sounds in the background. Dead silence between them. “My apartment has air conditioning,” he said softly. It was an invitation and she turned to stare at him, eyes giving nothing away. “You could come over for a nightcap if you’d like, and cool off for a while.”

  A moment, at once quickly gone and yet so slow in going. Leslie looked around, warring within herself. You know what he’s asking, she whispered to herself silently. You learned your lesson once, girl. You only needed to learn once in the past.

  She stared out into the black and glaring night, feeling the heat, the humid, sticky evening. An almost instantaneous succession of images flashed in her mind, the last being her empty apartment. She took a deep breath, feeling the muscles in her chest move, her lungs work, and then she turned slowly to look at Scott, at his wide, powerful shoulders and those trim hips. He was taller than she by a half a head, and much heavier. His legs were long and lean, as were hers. She smiled with her head half tilted at him, feeling his eyes on her, watching her, quietly waiting. “I’d like that,” she said.

  His apartment was spacious. She looked around in appreciation at the furnishings. It was a quiet place, much like the man himself. He moved to the kitchen and came back with an iced glass of gin and tonic, and something for him. She guessed it was whisky, as she took her drink with a thanks. It was a nice blend. He had a light touch, then. She smiled at him slowly, felt his eyes on her lips, and then turned away to walk aimlessly through the living room.

  “Your apartment’s very nice,” she told him lightly, touching a heavy antique with a slim, stroking finger. “The executive position must have paid well.”

  “It paid enough,” he laconically agreed. He was behind her and she hadn’t heard any movement, so presumably he was still standing where she’d left him, probably sipping from his glass. She didn’t turn around, mildly diverted by her guessing game. A rustle of carpet and he was moving over to her left. A chink of glass on table. He was coming her way. She didn’t move, waiting for him to stop behind her. He did.

  “When do you leave again?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know. Probably in the next few days,” he replied automatically. She felt her stomach quiver with a laughter she wasn’t sure was unassumed. The laughter was probably a product of the tension, she thought. Even so, she didn’t even jump when his hand came down gently on her nearly naked shoulder, stroking the still heated skin lightly, fingers cool. “Where have you been in the last eight years?” he asked softly, voice deep, slightly amused. “How could I have missed you all that time?”

  The last eight years. She laughed quietly, and knew that Scott took her laughter in an entirely different way than as she’d meant it. That soft laughter hadn’t been amused. That soft laughter hadn’t been nice at all, if he’d only known.

  Leslie had been in the mood to swing either way. She really might have backed out before that moment. She truly hadn’t expected to give in to this crazy, wild, utterly foolish impulse. But everything had led up to this moment, this man, this way of life. And something gripped her, something new. She leaned ever so slightly into the palm of his hand as he stroked her back delicately, and she turned her head to look into his dark, lovely eyes fringed with darker blond hair. She could see herself in tiny twin reflections as he watched her. She’d decided to be alone for the rest of her life. She could still be alone, but she didn’t necessarily have to be lonely. He was a male, and he was very attractive.

  Their eyes held, and then he was moving his head down ver
y slowly. She knew what he was doing. He was giving her a way out, giving her time to react and decide. She smiled again, putting up her hand and fitting it to the back of his head, feeling the cords of strength in his muscle, and the silky warm, silver blond hair flowing over her fingers. She applied gentle pressure, and smiled as he complied to her persuasion. His mouth covered hers, moved, and then he was deepening the kiss and pulling her body into a tight, close fit against his. She tasted whisky in his mouth.

  She was unsurprised by the passion that gripped her in a slow mounting wave. She’d found this man attractive from the first, and she was well aware of her own sexual desires. What frightened her was the intensity of her need, and her feelings were consuming her self-control. She’d wanted to be in control, and now she knew she wasn’t.

  She tilted her head and couldn’t hold back the moan that rose from the back of her throat as Scott slanted his mouth down her neck, hitting the sensitive cords. No matter, she thought hazily, as he bent and picked her up with a suddenness that caught at her breathing. There would be time enough for control in the morning. She held on to his shoulders as he strode on down the hall and into a dark, shadowed room. He deposited her on the bed and remained bent over her for some time just looking at her, trying to make out her expression. Then his hands went to her shirt buttons. She sat up and helped him.

  Leslie was awakened in the middle of the night, in the very blackest of hours, by a large, calloused hand gently cupping her shoulder and pulling her around to face the man she was sharing the bed with. For an instant she froze in heart-stopping disbelief as old memories flooded back from a past that was no more. It couldn’t be! Then awareness hit her and her body relaxed again as she drew in a deep, shaky sigh. It wasn’t. Time had not rolled back. The past was truly past, and she was in bed with a man who had given her much pleasure. His hand roamed over her and, feeling his desire and her own again, she rose up on one elbow to kiss him, hair spilling over his face and shoulder. His hand came up and held her head in place as he deepened the kiss. Then he was pushing her back against the pillows and coming up from his reclining position to tower over her. She could see the moonlight hitting his right shoulder, making the warm skin seem like marble. She reached up and put her lips there. The skin was silken. There were no words spoken.