"Underestimating me again?"
"Maybe," she said so softly he could hardly hear her.
Francie's head spun and it had nothing to do with skating around the oval rink. Noah had taken her by surprise and she'd instinctively taken his hand and wrapped her arm around his waist in a standard position. Her fingers lay across his belt, the tips feeling the heat of his skin under his oxford shirt.
His chest was hard beside her. She remembered the tips of her fingers grazing it. If she could run her hands across it... No! Enjoy the music, enjoy the motion, pretend Noah is any man.
Oh, sure.
Francie didn't know how long they skated. One song melted into the next. Noah's hold became more natural yet more stimulating at the same time. His long fingers splayed close to her breasts as he shifted his hold.
She caught her breath. When he bent to her and his voice whispered close to her ear, she lost it again.
"Would you like to take a break? Veronica's on the floor now, too."
When Francie turned her head, her chin met his. She felt a slight stubble, could smell his woodsy cologne. If they hadn't been rolling along, she would have stumbled. But poise on skates was her specialty.
"I could use a bottle of water." The breathlessness in her voice surprised even her.
His lips seemed to linger close to her ear and she thought she felt the texture of them, but it happened so quickly she must have been mistaken.
When they rolled toward the reception area, Noah still held her even as the smooth surface of the floor changed to low-piled carpet. They rolled to a stop, neither of them moving, neither taking the steps to separate.
Francie turned slowly with Noah's arm still surrounding her. Her gaze met his. The music stopped. The lights dimmed. The temperature went up at least ten degrees. They were alone and the roll of skates became silent.
She took a breath.
Noah lowered his head.
CHAPTER SIX
Francie closed her eyes.
Nothing happened. She didn't feel Noah's arms close around her. She didn't feel the touch of his lips.
But the moment she opened her eyes, she saw his glowing dark and hot. He brushed his thumb across her cheek.
She felt bemused, lost, disappointed. She couldn't keep from asking, "Why?"
His thumb rubbed back and forth until she almost purred. His touch was sensual, caring, gentle. It almost softened the blow of his words.
"It would be a mistake, Francie. We both know that."
Her mind knew that but her heart didn't.
Being on roller skates had its advantages. She'd almost made a fool of herself. She turned away from him, his touch, and his logic, and took off for the ladies' room.
He called after her, but she pretended not to hear. She had nothing to say to him; he had nothing to say to her. A mistake. The kiss would have been a mistake. She repeated that to herself as the door closed behind her and she went to the sink to splash cool water on her face.
****
Saturday morning Francie ignored Noah. He knew he deserved her anger. But the problem was that she wasn't angry; she was indifferent. He could handle anger better than indifference. It wasn't natural for Francie. She was passionate about everything.
He shifted the paperwork on the desk. He should have handled the situation differently. Maybe he should have kissed her. No. A kiss with Francie could never be casual. To pretend otherwise wouldn't be right. He'd done what he had to do. As usual.
Francie came into the office, her expression impersonal. "I'll be in the lobby for a few minutes. Drew's father is coming in when he picks up Drew."
"Francie, about last night..."
She gave it a dismissive shrug. "Don't think twice about it, Noah. I'm not. Neither of us wants to make a mistake."
She said it with such...neutrality, he couldn't believe she meant it. Maybe he didn't want to believe she meant it. Was he having second thoughts about getting involved?
As if it was all part of the same subject, Francie continued, "I'll let you know when I'm back on the floor."
Francie went to the lobby and took a couple of deep breaths. Dealing with Noah in a businesslike manner should not cause so much turmoil. He was her boss; she was his employee. She had to remember that.
Drew and his father stood in the corner of the lobby. Francie crossed to them with a smile on her face. Mr. Pierson wasn't smiling. She extended her hand to the man anyway.
He took hers and shook it briefly. "Drew said you wanted to talk to me. I hope he hasn't been misbehaving."
"Oh, no. Nothing like that," she was quick to reassure him. "In fact, it was Drew who suggested I speak with you."
The eight-year-old tugged on his dad's sleeve. "I'm gonna wait outside with Rick. Okay, Dad?"
Mr. Pierson gave his son an inquiring look. "All right. But stay on the sidewalk."
Drew scampered outside.
"Mr. Pierson, Drew would like to skate with the other children his age and he asked me to talk with you about that."
"Drew has been badgering me about it at home."
Francie knew when a child wanted something badly enough, "no" was not the final word. "Accidents really are rare, Mr. Pierson. There are usually two skaters rolling around the rink for security reasons, to make sure no one skates too fast or pulls a stunt that could injure someone else. Of course there are some falls. But if Drew comes to the lessons Saturday mornings for beginners, he should be able to stay on his feet. I don't know what else to say to reassure you. This is your decision, but roller-skating can have many benefits besides Drew having fun. It's good exercise. And if Drew can skate with his peers, he'll feel as if he belongs. Children hate to be singled out. They don't like to be different from their friends."
Jud Pierson gazed out the window at his son. "I want to keep him safe."
"I know you do," she said quietly.
"Let me think about it, Ms. Piccard. I'll talk to my wife. If I decide to let Drew skate, I'll send a note with him next weekend."
"That's fine. And if I don't get a note, Drew will stick to just hanging with his friends."
Francie said good-bye to Drew's dad and went back to the office, relieved to see Noah wasn't there. She'd felt his gaze on her all morning. She needed a breather. She needed to think about...
The phone rang and she automatically scooped it up.
"Ms. Piccard, this is Tom Carson with Town Realty. Mr. Gordon said it would be all right to set up an appointment to show the rink either with you or him."
Her stomach jumped. "I see."
"I have a client who would like to view the property Wednesday at two. Will that suit you?"
She mentally ran through her schedule. "I have a class at that time."
"A class won't interfere with my client's examining the property. It's not necessary for you or Mr. Gordon to be present."
She felt powerless to prevent the inevitable. If they didn't come Wednesday, they'd come another time. "Then I suppose Wednesday is fine. If Mr. Gordon has a problem with it, he'll call you."
Francie's hand shook as she replaced the receiver on its base. The sale of the rink could soon be a reality. Noah had said it might take months. But depending on who wanted to buy it and their financial status, it could be a matter of weeks. She had the sensation of being on a merry-go-round that was spinning faster and faster. Somehow she had to stop it. Somehow she had to get control of everything happening around her.
There was one way to get some perspective. It was time to stop dilly-dallying and take action. She spoke to Veronica, then went to find Noah. He stood at the counter in the pro shop, looking over a list of inventory; Charlie wasn't in sight. So much the better.
"How'd it go?" Noah asked as she approached him.
"He's a reasonable man. He's going to think about it."
When she simply stood there, not saying more, Noah asked, "Is there something else?"
She kept her voice even, despite the turmoil inside her. "Yes, you
r real estate agent thinks he has a prospective buyer. He's bringing him through on Wednesday around two."
"It shouldn't interfere with your class."
"I'm going to cancel some of my classes this week. Veronica can take the others."
Noah came out from behind the counter. "Why?"
She clasped her hands and stood her ground. "You're moving ahead with your options, I have to move ahead with mine. I'm going to New York for a few days to watch Brent train."
Noah's eyes bored into her, his voice deepened. "When are you leaving?"
"I've already talked to Veronica and I'm going to call Brent. If it's all right with him, I'll drive up tomorrow."
"It's a long drive."
"About five hours."
"When do you think you'll return?"
"I'm not sure."
Noah didn't seem troubled by her news but took it matter-of-factly. "All right. I'll need a number in case anything comes up here I need to talk to you about."
"Like selling the rink."
"Possibly." He said the word simply, smoothly, with no emotion.
She knew she had to get a grip on her own emotions. "Nothing you've seen has changed your mind."
"Not enough to warrant keeping it."
She wasn't surprised. She wished the tension between her and Noah would go away. She wished he'd kiss her so she could get it over with and stop thinking about it. Lord, what was she thinking? Maybe the tension was good. It kept them from getting too friendly.
"I have a class now. After I call Brent, I'll leave the information on the desk."
Noah nodded. "Fine."
"Fine," she repeated. But as she left the pro shop, she knew everything wasn't fine and she'd never felt so confused in all of her twenty-five years.
****
Noah stood at his small kitchen window, looking out into the black night. His body was wired with a tension that not even his vigorous workout had dissipated. The shower hadn't helped, either. Simply staring over at the Piccard household wound him up more. Francie was probably up in her room. Packing.
She'd left him her cell phone number and the address where she'd be staying. The address wasn't a hotel. Would she be staying with McIntosh? Could the man convince her to be more than his skating partner again?
Noah swore, disgusted with himself. What Francie did or didn't do was none of his business. Then why did he feel she'd taken a piece of him and run away with it?
He closed the blind and grabbed his jacket from the kitchen chair. Maybe a long walk in the cold night air would help.
Walking up and down tree-lined streets, he paid little attention to the residential area, not caring where one street ended and another began. But even his brisk stride couldn't calm his body or his mind. Francie's face as she waited for his kiss was vivid and clear. The determination in her voice when she'd told him she was going to New York was like a repetitive soundtrack that wouldn't stop playing. But most of all, the confusion in her eyes because he was playing havoc with her future tore at him.
Returning to the garage apartment, he paused at the foot of the steps, no more tired or relaxed than when he'd started. The back porch light at the Piccard house shone brightly. It hadn't been on before he'd taken his walk. He saw a shadow of movement deeper into the yard and he started toward it, not sure why. Maybe he was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to so he could get his mind off Francie.
But it was Francie sitting in the yard, rocking slowly on an old wooden swing hanging from a sturdy sycamore.
Recognizing her, Noah took a deep breath of night air cold enough to burn his lungs. But the pain didn't matter. Suddenly nothing mattered but Francie, sitting on the swing, looking serious enough to blot out the blink of white stars, the buttery glow of a three-quarter moon.
He took a few steps forward and the swing went still.
"It's Noah," he called softly in case she thought a stranger had entered the yard.
The light from the back porch reached her face. She didn't look happy to see him.
"It's a cold night for swinging," he said.
She pushed at the ground with her toes, rocking back and forth once more. "I couldn't relax in the house. Mama kept asking me questions."
He didn't think twice. "About?"
"Brent. The trip. What I'm going to do while I'm there."
Noah had plenty of questions himself but could see Francie needed space and privacy, not badgering. He went around to the back of the swing and took hold of the ropes.
"I'll push you," he offered.
She looked over her shoulder at him and saw he was serious. Lifting her feet, she relaxed her hold on the ropes.
Noah pushed the ropes the first time. On her second pass, he pushed the small of her back. He couldn't feel her through her down jacket.
"Higher," Francie insisted.
He used more force.
"Higher," she repeated as she pointed her toes at the sky.
"Do you plan to reach the moon?" he teased.
"I wish," floated back to him.
She swung as if she were trying to escape gravity's hold, trying to escape the decisions she had to make. He pushed harder, wanting to help her soar above her problems. The clear night, the velvet sky, the refreshing cold, suddenly became gifts that made the moment more precious than tomorrow.
After awhile, Francie's weight shifted on the swing, her legs lowering slightly, and Noah sensed she was ready to stop. His pushes became slower, less powerful, until Francie dragged her feet and the swing slowed to a halt.
"Did you know you can own a star?" she asked, gazing at the heavens.
"Seriously?"
She stood, still holding on to the swing's rope with one hand. "Gina showed me an ad online a few years ago. There's a celestial governing board that discovers new stars. If you e-mail them, they'll tell you where the star is and, for a fee, they'll give it your name."
"You'd like a star?"
She glanced at him and then looked up at the sky again. "After Gina told me about it, I thought it was a nice idea. When I traveled so much, I'd look up at the sky and think about my family looking at the same moon, the same stars. Somehow I felt closer to them."
Her words touched Noah's heart in places that had never been touched before. She had such a strong sense of belonging—something he'd never had. But more important, he knew she realized how precious that sense of belonging was, how lucky she was to have it.
Her beautiful long hair flowed along her cheek and down her back. With her face lifted to the sky, her profile became the perfect cameo. He ached to touch her delicate nose, her determined chin, her sensually curved lips. Instead he clasped her shoulder and she looked from the stars to him. Strands of hair teased his hand. He'd wanted to run his fingers through it from the first moment he'd laid eyes on it. Lifting his hand, he took a lock of black silk between his fingers. He'd never felt anything so soft, so sensual. One handful wasn't enough.
With both hands, he brushed her hair back from her face. Francie let go of the rope and closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair again, and then again. She swayed toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders for balance. With gentle fingers, he traced the classic lines of her face, memorizing the softness, the texture, the beauty. He caressed her brows, stroked her cheeks, teasingly grazed the point of her chin. But he didn't touch her lips; he was saving them for last.
"I regret not kissing you last night. I'm not going to have those same regrets tonight," he murmured.
As he leaned toward her, her fingers curled on his shoulders. He gave her time to back away. She didn't. She raised her head and met him.
The first touch of his lips on hers aroused him. He savored the sensations, just as he savored Francie. He wasn't about to hurry this; it was already turning into a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Splaying his fingers through her hair, he cradled her head in his hands.
She was softness and sweetness and passion—everything he could want or need. Lightl
y rubbing his lips across hers, he teased them both. Francie parted her lips. But still Noah didn't enter. He took her lower lip between his teeth, laving it with his tongue. Francie caught her breath and gave a small erotic moan, fueling Noah's desire.
He let go of her head and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her body closer. His leather jacket, her down one, created inhibiting barriers, leaving the kiss to become their only means of contact. With the tip of his tongue, Noah touched Francie's. She was still for a moment, then shyly stroked against him. Desire rushed through him and throbbed in his lower body until he almost hurt from the need. When had he needed so much? When had passion left him so breathless? When had a simple kiss brought him to such full, immediate arousal? Never before.
The wintry air emphasized the burning heat of their kiss. The night silence created a bubble of intimacy he didn't want to burst before he could get his fill of Francie. She tasted as warm and sweet and natural as honey on a summer afternoon.
His tongue chased hers. She tagged him back. Their play became tantalizing, quicker, feverish. Noah knew he should break away. He knew he couldn't go any further with her. The knowing sharpened his control but made the wanting and needing that much more unbearable. He wanted so much more than a kiss. He needed more than a padded embrace.
Francie sought Noah's heat, wanting his warmth under her hands. His leather jacket was as cold as the night. She abandoned it in favor of the warm skin of his neck. She caressed with her thumbs, ruffling the hair at his nape. Thick and healthy, it felt like rich fur over her fingers. The scent of wood burning in a neighbor's fireplace wrapped around them and mingled with Noah's manly scent. Not cologne, but soap and Noah, an intoxicating combination.
One that made her forget kissing Noah could be a mistake, made her forget she wasn't ready to give her heart to anyone, made her forget Noah would be leaving in a couple of weeks, made her forget he was her boss.
Each time he stroked her tongue, caressed her back, or pulled her even closer, her excitement escalated and she wanted more. The passion between them became a palpable need. Her shivering had nothing to do with the winter night, everything to do with being in Noah's arms.
Because of Francie Page 8
