Leslie very slowly moved off the bed while her eyes never left the sleeping face of the man with whom she’d just spent the night. Scott lay with the sheet twisted around his hips, his naked shoulders wide and dark against the utter whiteness of the sheet underneath him. His arm was flung out. It had just covered her a moment before. His silver blond hair was tousled, and his rough face relaxed. She hadn’t disturbed his slumber.
She gathered up her clothes and crept into the bathroom, where she hurriedly washed and dressed, combing her hair with rough, impatient strokes. She was sore. Then she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, having a quick cup herself and leaving the rest on the warmer. It would be ready for him when he awoke. After that, she went to the living room, slipped on her dress sandals, picked up her handbag and silently left the apartment.
She had to take a cab back to the parking lot where she’d left her car. She made the drive back to her apartment in record time, anxious to be back in the solitude of the living space that she’d dreaded last night. She parked her car, ran up the stairs, and unlocked her door. When she was finally inside and locking the door behind her, the enormity of what she’d done hit her and she sagged against the wood, aghast. Incredible, she thought, how could I have done it? A trembling spasm rocked her.
But she knew. She knew and understood herself, which made it no easier to take. It had been four years since Dennis and Jennifer had died. Four full, action packed years. After the shock and the grief had subsided, they had become good years. She’d become successful in her job. She loved her work.
But the four years had been lived alone. She’d had no one to share her bed with. She’d made good on her own and loved her freedom, but she had been married once, and had known her own sexuality, had felt it awakened. She’d known what it was to make love with a man, and last night her longings had simply overcome her. She wasn’t proud of that. She should be in better control. Others may slip up, but not her.
Oh, Dennis. Jenny, Jenny… Her eyes filled with tears and she moved away from the door like an old woman. She went through the small apartment and into her bedroom, over to her dresser. She picked up a framed photograph with hands that shook, while the ache in her heart felt like a heavy, hurting stone. There they were, the two of them. Dennis was laughing, tall and lean and darkly handsome. Jenny stood hanging on her father’s legs, begging to be picked up. She was three in that picture, just barely three years old, with beautiful blonde wavy hair and a beautiful, sunny smile. My Jenny, Leslie thought, and the tears came again.
They were both so utterly dead.
She would have been seven. She would have been going to school and coming home each day, laughing her wonderful laugh, spreading sunshine better than the sun. She would have been right there for Leslie to hug and love, if it hadn’t been for the accident.
That icy winter day and the pond down the hill from their house. She had come home from a day at college, the term nearly over with. Christmas vacation nearly on them, and no shopping done yet. That snowy white day had been the blackest day of her life. Down at the pond there had already been a crowd of people, for several boys had gone to play and found the ice broken by two bodies. She would never see her Jenny again, never feel that warm, wriggly body hurtle against her for an exuberant hug, never see her running or playing or laughing or loving again.
And Dennis. Leslie still felt guilt about Dennis. She sat on the bed and carefully wiped a tear off the photograph. Dennis had been so handsome and kind, and so very patient with Jenny. In the beginning Leslie had thought their marriage was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. She’d been just twenty-one to Dennis’s thirty. She had adored him, and he had genuinely loved her. That first year was one of her happiest memories, filled with joy and love and the excitement of her pregnancy.
It was hard to pin-point when things had changed. She still wasn’t sure when it had happened, still couldn’t decide. She had gradually grown into a self-confident, capable woman while Dennis had still seen her as a rather shy young girl. She’d wanted to explore the world, wanted to see things on her own and with Dennis, wanted to share her growth with him. But gradually she had come to realise that he was stubbornly holding on to his image of her when they’d first married. And she was no longer that girl.
Her family had loved him, absolutely worshipped the ground he’d walked on. After the first tentative expressions of restlessness, Leslie had kept her feelings to herself. Her sisters hadn’t wanted to hear. Dennis was the best catch in the neighbourhood, the area, hell, the whole state. He had a fantastic, well-paying job. Leslie didn’t even have to clean house if she didn’t want to. He adored her, everyone could see that.
He’d just adored her for the wrong reasons. Leslie had finally managed to go to college after a great deal of cajoling and pouting, pleading and wheedling. She was bored. She only wanted a class here and there, to keep her occupied, like tennis classes or dancing lessons. Finally he had agreed, and she had gone to college, picking up classes a little at a time, surreptitiously and systematically getting the credits that she needed for an English major and her degree and lying through her teeth about it to everyone else.
Emotional blackmail is a funny thing. Now Leslie felt a slow burning rage at herself and everyone else who had conspired to keep her in her place, to keep her in the niche they had carved for her. But at the time she’d been genuinely trapped. She’d felt trapped because she’d truly loved Dennis, loved him for his gentleness and his kindness, loved him for his good-natured disposition and his faithfulness to her. She’d felt trapped because she could really understand his bewilderment at the changes in her. She’d felt trapped because she couldn’t see leaving him and depriving Jenny of her father’s daily, steady influence.
The last few years before the accident had been such a mixture of pleasure and pain, the good and the bad, the contentment and the stilling cage. Leslie looked back and could see that she’d been heading for a crisis, that she and Dennis would have had a head on collision sooner or later, that things couldn’t have continued the way they had.
And she felt so horribly guilty because she felt such a release at his death. It was a terrible thing to even think, she mused, feeling the guilt lurk at the back of her mind. She’d never in a million years have wanted him dead. She had loved him. She had loved Jenny so very much, and even now missed her so badly it ached. But she knew that she missed Jenny far more than she did Dennis, and that made her feel like dirt.
Leslie sat on the bed and remembered how she had wandered around the empty house for months in a state of numb shock after their deaths. She remembered the tears that wouldn’t fall for a long time. She remembered how she had then cried hysterically when she finally walked into Jenny’s room to clear away the toys and the clothes.
She hadn’t felt free even then. She had looked ahead at the blank future and felt a crippling fear. But somehow she had got through that first year, had got through the last few courses in college and graduated, four years older than most of the others in her class. She had put their lovely old house up for sale, gritted her teeth and went recklessly up to Chicago to look for a job.
Everyone had said she was crazy. They’d said that she’d be back within a few months, and why for God’s sake would she want to work when Dennis had provided for her so generously? She had listened politely to what everyone had to say, packed her bags, and had gone anyway. She was good. She’d been a good student and was good at writing, and knew it. Everyone at home had been surprised when she had landed the job at the Chicago Times, but she had never had any doubts about it. If it hadn’t been the Times, then it would have been someone else, for her mind was made up. She wouldn’t have stopped trying until she secured a job.
The last three years had been wonderful. She was eager for every adventure, every new experience. She had to go out in the world and see as much as she possibly could. It was in her blood, so deeply rooted that she would never get it out. She was re
ally free for the first time in her life. She threw herself into the job with such energy and enthusiasm, and she was one of the best reporters that the Times employed. She was respected and liked, and she was good.
She was twenty-nine and alone. She was reaching the best years of her life and she wasn’t going to wreck it now by getting trapped again, by being stifled, pushed down, smothered. She wouldn’t think of last night and her loss of control. She wasn’t going to look back; ahead was where everything was for her.
Her finger went out and caressed the cold, impersonal glass in the frame. Jenny.
Chapter Two
Leslie walked down the hall with the swift and easy movement of a woman in shape and in control. It was, for a change, cool and cloudy outside, and so she had on a black sweater and slacks, with a plain, severe white blouse underneath. The outfit was saved from utter severity by a single pink rose in full bloom tucked into the lapel of her open necked shirt. Her dark brown hair was up in a business-like knot, and her eyes were alert, expectant.
She always felt this way after a nice rest from work. She was always eager to get back to the grindstone, to wrestle with issues, to grapple with her limited understanding of the hugeness of the world. She walked without hesitation into an empty conference room and threw down her handbag. Then she moved over to the window and started to fight with the stubborn window catch that always stuck before giving reluctantly. It finally opened with a protesting screech, and she pushed the window wide with a sigh as cool air wafted into the room almost immediately. She inhaled with appreciation and then turned around calmly. She didn’t know why afterwards, when she thought of it. There had been no sound.
Scott leaned against the closed door, his rough features impassive, eyes thoughtful as they travelled down the length of her and then back up to her face. One wide, strong shoulder was higher than the other, and his arms were crossed casually. He didn’t move.
After the first startled instant, her own face smoothed into inscrutability, eyes slightly amused as she regarded him gravely. She wasn’t acting the amusement. She was indeed feeling a certain bitter irony at herself and this man, and the whole intensely uncomfortable situation. She’d always been so sure she would not be caught in something like this.
The silence had at first been contemplative, and now it became acutely heavy, and her eyes had lost their amusement as she tried in vain to think of what he was wanting, looking for. That he was looking for something, she had no doubt, as his eyes searched her face over and over again.
She grimly decided to break that heavy silence, which had become terrible. “Hello,” she said, with deliberate inanity. Kill him with superficiality, she thought, and it put the gleam back into her blue, blue eyes. “How are you today? And how on earth did you know where to find me this morning?”
“I talked to Carl,” he replied simply, saying a lot with that line. So he knew her editor, did he? He was still watching her, and it was getting on her nerves.
“I’m getting briefed for a new assignment,” she continued conversationally, moving away from the window and perching on the edge of the table. She started to swing one leg back and forth, watching her slim foot. “It will be interesting to see just where I’ll end up going this time. Did Carl already tell you that?” she asked him innocently, and looked up to see his lips tighten slightly. She smiled at him slowly, using her own brand of surface charm, and she could see that he was getting angry.
“Thank you for the coffee you made before you so abruptly left,” he said politely. The very tone of his statement made it both an accusation and a question.
“You’re welcome,” was her bland reply. “I helped myself to a cup, so it wasn’t a totally unselfish action. Do you think it will rain?”
“I have no earthly idea.” She could almost hear his mind work behind the impassive exterior. She couldn’t blame him. If she’d been in his shoes, she would be trying to figure her out, too. Her amusement deepened at the thought. When he reached the conclusion he was meant to reach, he’d be hopping in the other direction like a cat who’d touched water, and trying to get away from it as quickly as possible. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
“No, thank you,” she told him with a studied politeness. “I’m busy.”
No change in expression, just those dark, watchful eyes. She suddenly had a furious desire to see his face change, but controlled herself as best she could. What was he thinking? “Would tomorrow suit you better? I know a place where we can sit back, relax, and just talk.” His quiet, unemotional voice had a peculiar inflexibility to it, and her eyebrow rose as she realised that he was going to push it.
“I am,” she said very gently, “going to be very busy every night from now on.” Though her tone was gentle, her eyes were not, and they watched him every bit as alertly as he watched her. She was, for some strange reason, beginning to feel distinctly wary. “Thank you very much, anyway.”
“Perhaps lunch would suit you better, then,” he continued, and she felt a wave of anger at his deliberate obtuseness. He knew what she’d meant. The man was intelligent. She didn’t deign to reply but merely shook her wrist out and looked at her slim gold watch with impatience. Wayne and Carl were to have been here ten minutes ago. “I took the liberty of informing them you would be a half an hour late,” Scott said calmly.
Her temper nearly erupted. Calm down, Les, she told herself. This is one time when anger will get you absolutely nowhere. Her eyes were attracted to his figure as he shifted in a lazy fashion and stood upright, the slight movement rippling muscles under the thin cotton shirt. Her attention became diverted by a sudden, unwelcome memory of how silky his skin was and how thin the veneer over hard, unyielding muscle. Warmth flooded her and her cheeks tinted lightly pink. She cursed inwardly at herself and him, for his eyes had never moved from her face and she was positive he had seen her blush. “I don’t eat lunch,” she returned, shutting her teeth with a decided snap.
“Pity. You’re too thin.” He cocked his head to one side and studied her very seriously, while Leslie fought to control her conflicting urges. She wanted to hit him for his provocative behaviour, and she wanted to run as fast as she could away from him. That brought her head up. He was the one who was supposed to be doing the running. Her eyes narrowed. “It’s funny, but I just hadn’t figured you for the sort of person who goes in for one night stands,” he continued in that easy, pleasant tone of voice, and she suddenly realised that he was utterly, totally furious with her for walking out without saying goodbye or at least saying something to him, the day before yesterday.
“If I’d thought it was going to be anything but a one night stand,” she retorted tartly, shooting him a sharp glance, “I wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” His facial bone structure seemed to go rigid, and her brows rose. “Oh, does that bother you?” she murmured, mockingly commiserate. “I hadn’t realised you were that sort of person.”
His eyes shuttered, and the very lack of expression in them threw a chill over her like nothing she’d ever experienced. He was not only furious, he was actively battling with his rage right in front of her, and she’d mocked him too far. “Sometimes one can be surprised out of first impressions,” he said unemotionally. “I just hadn’t figured you for a—”
“Whore?” she supplied helpfully, furious now herself. He just looked at her. She realised his hands were curled into fists. “Don’t, please, make value judgements, will you? As I recall, you issued the invitation.”
“But now I’m wondering who seduced whom?” He arched an eyebrow at her, and she wished that she was a thousand miles away from this scene. It could be arranged, she knew, and the amusement was there again in her eyes as she realised that she’d soon be far away. Soon everything would be put into perspective, and she could put her awful mistake behind her. His question she didn’t even bother to answer, as they’d both been active participants. She winced at the thought. Contrary to what he was bound to believe, she had never slept wi
th anyone besides her husband.
“Well,” she said briskly, pushing off the table and standing upright herself. “I can’t say it’s been pleasant, because it hasn’t, but at least we know where we stand now.”
“Do we?” he asked strangely, cocking his head to one side. “Somehow I don’t think we both do and, at the moment, I have no idea which one of us it is. You are a strange mixture of contrasts, Leslie.” She felt an unexpected quiver run through her at his easy use of her first name and the bizarre combination of intimacy and alienation she felt for this man. It was awful. “And the only thing I can think is that I’m not seeing the whole picture of you just yet. I wonder what I don’t know.”
“Nothing important,” she murmured, feeling deep alarm. Nothing important. Her sweet baby. A lance of old pain shot through her and it showed very briefly. His eyes sharpened. “I really must cut this short,” she continued determinedly, gritting her teeth. “I do have a job to do.”
And with an impersonal nod, she picked up her handbag and started for the door. She had to walk by him and suddenly she couldn’t, as he whipped her around with a swiftness that took away her breath, and his head darted down as he pushed open her lips and kissed her deeply, furiously. Her head fell back, and she nearly lost her balance. His hands snaked around to her back and gripped her firmly. After that first stunned moment she tried to jerk away but couldn’t, and so she kissed him back just as furiously. She nearly fell again as he took his hands away and stared at her.
After the first stunned moment, he just softly laughed and shook his head. “I’ve work to do, too,” he told her, while she shook with rage and reaction. He crossed to the door and opened it, looking back briefly. Something showed in his eyes and then was gone. “I’ll be seeing you, Leslie,” he said, and she knew that he fully meant it. He left the room.
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