She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms under her chest and gloated. “It’s just as I thought. You don’t know how to have fun.”
“My uncle always frowned on frivolity. But you, I take it, had no such restrictions.” He finished the last of her fries and tossed the empty packet among the discarded containers on his tray. “Enlighten me. What frivolous activities do you pursue?”
She held up her fingers and began to count. “There’s—”
“Yes?” His eyes encouraged her.
She cast about in her memory but could think of nothing but work. In the year since her parents’ deaths, she’d buried herself in the operation of Caswell & Associates to the exclusion of all else. No parties, no dates. Nothing but early morning jogs and long days that stretched into night at the office. Her life was as devoid of enjoyable recreation as that of the money machine across from her. She saw herself reflected in the driven man who watched her, and the similarity frightened her.
“I used to garden with my mother, before she died.” Memories of red Georgia clay, peonies and roses and her mother clipping flowers for the house drowned her in waves of nostalgia. “And Jill and I used to meet our friends at a different restaurant every week before taking in a movie or a concert.”
“And now?” He’d turned the tables on her with his question.
She squirmed beneath the inquisition of his gaze. “I was on vacation when I met you, remember?”
“This Money Man campaign. Do you find it relaxing?”
“No.” Exhilarating, challenging, provocative, but not relaxing.
Sadness tinged his smile. “Then it’s best I go back where I belong, so you can resume your holiday and enjoy the relaxation you value so highly.”
His insight made her uncomfortable. She’d tried to grill him on his habits and he’d turned the spotlight on her. She didn’t like what he’d shown her. A life devoid of friends and pleasure, filled only with work and obligations. What was she running from?
Commitment, her inner voice whispered, but she refused to listen. She scooted out of her chair.
“There’s a pay phone at the back of the restaurant. I’ll put in a call to Nellie, my housekeeper, to have the place ready for us this evening. Then I’ll meet you at the car.”
Without waiting for his reply, she picked up her tray, dumped her trash in the container by the door and headed for the pay phone.
* * *
TORY SQUINTED in the sunlight, donning her sunglasses as she walked toward her car. Rand was nowhere in sight.
The roar of motorcycles throttling up drew her attention to the far side of the lot, where sunlight bounced off the chrome of a dozen huge machines. The leather-clad men, intimidating with their bandannas, chains and tattoos, leaned back on their machines, revving up their engines. Riding two abreast as they exited the lot, they pulled into formation.
As the last pair drove past her, Rand peered around the massive bulk of one of the drivers, waving a cheerful farewell as the bikers roared onto the highway. In seconds they were out of sight, leaving Tory alone, staring at the cloud of dust swirling in their wake.
Chapter Six
He hadn’t even said goodbye. Tory stared for several long minutes down the narrow country road where Rand and the bikers had disappeared, then climbed into her car.
“Damn!”
She slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. She’d seen how the bikers intrigued him. Why hadn’t she warned him to stay clear of them? Most bikers were just out for fun and relaxation, but the possibility that this rough-looking crowd was up to no good gnawed at her. She shuddered as she considered where they might take him, what they might do. He carried several thousand dollars and he was clueless about modern culture. Would they steal his money and leave him in a ditch to die?
She climbed out of the car, debating whether to call the police. Rand was a grown man. He hadn’t been kidnapped and he wasn’t mentally incompetent. How could she explain to the cops why she feared for his safety?
She would have followed them herself and brought him back, but at the rate they’d roared onto the highway, they’d be too far ahead for her to catch up. And they could have taken any direction, headed for Chicago, Key West, New York or Los Angeles. Even if they didn’t kill him for his money, she’d probably never see him again. A yawning emptiness opened within her at the thought.
Fighting back tears, she settled in a swing on the restaurant’s playground, pushing sluggishly back and forth with the toe of her shoe. Images of Rand fast-forwarded through her mind—Rand catching his first glimpse of television; bringing flowers for her hair; brushing her forehead with his lips; sprawled asleep across the sofa bed; holding her close when Angelina reappeared.
She remembered the tenderness of his smile and the rugged beauty of his body, poised on the edge of the spa pool. And his uncanny ability to read her. He’d pegged her pretty accurately in the few hours he’d known her, recognizing her for the lonely, work-driven woman she’d refused to see herself.
Work. She’d forgotten entirely about the Money Man campaign. Somehow even the Benson, Jurgen and Ives account didn’t seem quite so important anymore. She’d have to call Kristin to cancel her previous instructions.
And then what? Back to the Bellevue? The hotel with its elegant ambience and romantic setting held no appeal without Rand to share it with her. She’d go back for the clothes she’d left behind, then return to Atlanta.
She pushed the swing faster. Just as well he had left. She’d become entirely too fond of him. If they’d spent many more days together, her determination to remain free of emotional involvement would have been seriously jeopardized. Dragging her toe, she stopped the swing and walked toward her car, head down, aching from the void his absence carved in her heart.
“Ready to go?”
Her head snapped up in surprise at the sound of his voice, and she spotted him leaning against the passenger door of her Toyota. Part of her longed to run to him and wrap her arms around him, while another part wanted nothing more than to smack his face for the worry he’d caused.
His eyes glowed like a child’s at Christmas. “Those machines are magnificent. If I were going to remain in your time, I’d buy the biggest one I could find and explore the country on it.”
“I thought you were gone.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
He circled the car, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “You were really worried, weren’t you?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“But I was only gone a few minutes. I’d have been back sooner if I’d had better luck catching a ride.”
She gazed up at him, puzzled. “They let you go?”
“They were doing me a favor.” He slid his hands down her arms and laced his fingers with hers. “I was admiring their machines while you telephoned, and Jericho, the big man we noticed inside, asked if I’d like a ride. He offered to take me a few miles down the road.”
“Didn’t you know I’d be frantic?” Now that he was safe, anger took relief’s place.
“Those motorcycles are incredible, every bit as thrilling as horses.” His smoke-colored eyes radiated excitement. “We covered a little over a mile before he dropped me off, but it’s not a well-traveled road. I had to wait awhile before someone picked me up to bring me back.”
Her anger now equaled her former despair and she snarled at him through clenched teeth. “Don’t ever, ever do that to me again.”
He released her hands. “What is it? Afraid of losing your precious Money Man?”
The bitterness in his voice stung her, and she looked away from the stern set of his jaw, the tightened mouth and eyes that glittered like case-hardened steel; but her anger was too fresh and raw to fade completely.
“We’ve got a deal, remember?” she flung at him.
He jerked open the car door for her. “Then we’d better get moving so you can keep your part of it.”
Sh
e slipped into the driver’s seat, expecting him to slam the door behind her, but he simply pushed it shut, then circled the car and climbed in. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.
As she drove onto the interstate, she was grateful that the mirrored surface of his lenses spared her further viewing of the anger and disappointment in his eyes. Why had she panicked so at his disappearance? Two days ago she hadn’t known Randolph Trent existed. What difference would it make if he left her life as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d entered it?
She ignored the inner voice telling her she’d have a hole in her heart big enough to drive a Mack truck through if Rand disappeared. Instead she concentrated on her Money Man campaign. She’d call Kristin at their next stop to check on her assistant’s progress with the details.
* * *
BY THE TIME they reached Valdosta they’d left the Florida heat behind. Low, angry clouds scudded across a dull, gunmetal sky, hiding a pale disc of sun. A stiff north wind bit through her jacket and lightweight slacks as she filled the tank with gas at an exit convenience store. As she replaced the gas cap, Rand waved to her from inside, indicating he’d settle up what she owed.
Clearing the pumps, she drove to the corner of the building and a pay phone. Her receptionist put her through to Kristin within seconds.
“Tory, you lucky dog. We’re freezing our tushes off up here. How ‘bout sending some of that hot Florida sunshine our way?”
Tory wiped sleeting rain from her face. No need yet for Kristin to know about her wild-goose chase to North Carolina. “How are the Money Man preparations coming?”
“Josh is working on ad copy and Susan’s started the script. Stan has the art department making preliminary sketches. We’ll have a full presentation ready when you’re back from vacation.” Her assistant’s pleasant voice bubbled over the line.
“You’re a wonder, Kristin. Remind me to talk to you about a raise when I return.” She smiled, picturing the tiny woman with dark hair, eyes like a summer sky and enough energy to power the state of Georgia.
“Tory?” Kristin’s voice turned solemn. “Forget this campaign for now and enjoy yourself. This is your first vacation in ages. I have everything under control.”
She appreciated Kristin’s concern, but she’d never been able to abandon a project once she’d started it. “Leave me a message at the hotel if you have any problems.”
She found Rand still at the counter in the store. While a clerk took her order for a large black coffee, another filled a sack with Rand’s purchases—corn chips, potato chips, Ding-Dongs, Ho-Hos, Twinkies, cheese crackers and Snickers bars. He sipped a giant cola as they returned to the car.
“Expecting a famine?” She started the engine.
“Just a little something to tide me over until dinner. Want some?” The steel in his jaw softened as he offered her the bag. Evidently he’d chosen to forgive her earlier outburst of temper.
She shook her head. “Have to watch my weight, remember?”
He unwrapped a Snickers bar, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “These are delicious. I can’t get used to all this food, prepackaged and ready to eat. Someone must have made a fortune off these ideas.”
Money again. His focus was predictable, so why did she feel disappointed? “We call it junk food.”
“Junk?”
“As in garbage.”
His contented chewing slowed. He swallowed. “Why?”
“Because they have tons of calories and little nutritive value. You’re better off eating fresh fruits and vegetables.” She squirmed in her seat, realizing she sounded like her mother.
“But would I be enjoying it as much?”
His seductive baritone sent a tremor of pleasure through her, more satisfying than a sugar high, strumming every nerve ending in her body. She struggled to remain objective, reminding herself that his voice alone guaranteed success for her business.
“Are you saying you’re a hedonist?” she teased.
At first he didn’t answer, and as she drove northward into the deepening twilight to the swishing rhythm of wiper blades and the plaintive notes of Dolly Parton, she feared she’d offended him.
When the song ended, Rand leaned forward and turned off the radio. “Until I came here, the only pleasure in my life was my work. I slept because I needed to, ate because it was set before me, and I had no time for diversions. But whatever happened to me night before last sharpened my senses. I’m inundated with sights and sounds, tastes and smells like never before.”
The heated air of the enclosed car intensified the pleasingly masculine scent of him. “Don’t you think that’s true of anyone in a new environment?”
He shook his head and held his hands out before him, considering them as if he’d never seen them before. “My fingers tingle in response to textures I’ve never noticed. It’s as if before my body was dead to the world around it, and now it’s suddenly come alive.”
He lay back against the headrest and from the corner of her eye she watched him taking in the passing scenery. He’d adjusted to a new century with remarkable confidence. He must have been truly formidable in his own time and place.
Rand closed his eyes, remembering the velvet smoothness of her skin and the delicate gossamer of her hair beneath his fingers. Her magnolia fragrance tortured him with a longing that flared in his groin. For a moment at the restaurant, he’d imagined affection mixed with the worry in her eyes, but he should have known she worried only for the profit his part in her campaign would bring her. In the end, money was all that had mattered to Selena. Why should he expect women of the 1990s to be any different?
* * *
TORY TURNED into the driveway and eased into the garage of her antebellum-style house in the Atlanta suburb. After removing the suitcases from the trunk, Rand followed her along the cloistered walkway into the kitchen.
“Just leave the bags there for now.” She pointed to the mudroom. “We’ll carry them up after dinner.”
He dropped the suitcases and trailed behind her into the airy kitchen with its high ceiling, white cabinets and granite-topped island. She plucked up a note propped prominently against a verdant trailing ivy on the counter and read the barely legible scrawl.
“Nellie says she’s left lasagna and salad in the fridge.”
He looked up from the food processor he’d been inspecting. “Fridge?”
She opened the refrigerator door with a flourish and withdrew a covered casserole and Tupperware container filled with salad. Then she stopped short before picking up a bottle off the counter by the refrigerator. “Good grief, who’d have believed this?”
“It’s a bottle of wine, one of the few items in here I recognize,” he said.
She made a face at him. “I know it’s wine. But Nellie would never buy this. She’s a teetotaler.”
“Maybe she fell off the wagon.”
“Not that kind of teetotaler. She’s never had a drink in her life. It’s against her religion. That’s why I’m shocked she bought this—but it will go great with the lasagna.”
He studied the label of the Valpolicella. “Was 1991 a good year?”
“It was a great year.”
She remembered the kitchen as it was when her family fixed Sunday supper together, with Jill setting the places at the island where they sat on tall stools to eat, her mother stirring her famous Portuguese stone soup on the stove top, and her father filling wineglasses while she tossed salad. She could almost hear their laughter and smell the spicy aroma of leeks and pepperoni. Until now, without her family, the room had seemed cold and sterile.
“How about some supper?” Rand’s voice broke through her memories. “I’ll open the wine.”
“How can you be hungry?” He’d transformed his cache of junk food into a litter bag of wrappers during the course of their journey.
“I’m always hungry.”
She turned hastily away from the heat in his eyes and rummaged in the drawer for the corkscrew. The
n she popped the casserole in the microwave and frozen garlic bread in the oven. Within minutes, succulent aromas permeated the room and Rand, humming a Garth Brooks tune in a husky baritone as he filled the wineglasses, drove her loneliness away.
“Here.” He handed her a glass. “How about a toast?”
As she took the glass from him, his fingers brushed hers, sending a delicious tingle up her arm. “To what?”
He raised his glass to hers. “To the success of tomorrow’s mission.”
“Tomorrow’s mission.” She clinked her glass against his, avoiding his eyes. Success for Rand meant finding a way to return to his time. Success for her meant keeping him with her—at least long enough for her ad campaign.
She sipped the full-bodied wine, then set her glass aside as she put out bright Mediterranean print place mats, flatware and dishes. A feeling of well-being penetrated her body and she realized with a jolt she felt truly happy for the first time since her parents’ deaths. With Rand there with her, the big house embraced her with warmth, light, and treasured memories instead of mocking her with its emptiness. Once again it felt like home.
The microwave dinged and she withdrew the bubbling casserole and placed it on the island.
“Amazing. This was stone-cold minutes ago.” He held his hand above its radiating heat, and his face held the stunned look of a man who’d witnessed miracles.
She filled glasses with ice and water from spigots in the refrigerator door. “You’ll take all these conveniences for granted after you’ve lived here awhile.”
“Here?”
“In this time.” But that wasn’t what she’d meant.
She drank more of her wine as her mind swirled with images of Rand in her house, eating in her kitchen, working in her garden, sleeping in her bed.
She set down her glass and examined it curiously. Maybe alcohol didn’t agree with her. Lately, every time she drank, she either lost her concentration or her imagination ran wild.
Later, after Rand had polished off the last of Nellie’s lasagna, then scraped plates into the disposal while she loaded the dishwasher, she carried a tray of coffee and mugs into the den and set them on the table before the sofa.
It's About Time Page 8
