by Joan Hohl
“Bianca Perriot,” Wolf finished for her. “Bianca— Micki Durrant and Darrel Baxter.”
Returning the woman’s enchanting smile, Micki extended her hand, felt her fingers grasped in a firm handshake at the same time the two men performed the same act.
“Micki.” Bianca’s voice was every bit as enchanting as her smile. “What a delightful name. Is it a given name or a nickname?”
“Given,” Micki answered softly. “In honor of my Irish grandfather, who by all accounts, was a real Mick.”
Bianca’s laughter tinkled on the air like the sound of tiny bells before, turning to Darrel, she placed her hand in his and queried, “Baxter? Are you by any chance related to Martha Baxter?”
“My mother.” Darrel’s tone betrayed his surprise. ‘You’re acquainted with her?”
“I know her very well. I knew your father also.” Once again that enchanting smile came to her lips. “My late husband was as avid a golfer as your father was. They played together quite often, leaving your mother and me to amuse ourselves at the clubhouse.”
During this exchange, though Micki determinedly kept her attention centered on Bianca Perriot’s animated face, she was uncomfortably aware of Wolf’s eyes devouring her. When Darrel spoke again, his words went through her like a blast of arctic air.
“Were you and Wolf planning to have something to eat here?” At her assenting nod, Darrel asked, ‘Then won’t you join us? We’d love the company, wouldn’t we, Micki?”
What could she possibly say? Her eyes wide with shock, she swung her gaze to Wolf. The glittery spark that blended with the silver told her she’d get no assistance from him. He was enjoying her discomfort. Biting back a moan, she curved her lips in a parody of a smile and lied.
“Yes, of course, we’d love to have you join us.”
* * *
Chapter 8
Uncomfortable and uneasy, Micki stole another glance at Wolf as he seated Bianca. At the same moment his glance shifted to her, his eyes glittering wickedly.
“All set to start the new job tomorrow, Micki?”
The lazily drawled question turned her unease into dismay. With those few words Wolf had managed to convey a familiarity between them to Darrel and Bianca. Pretending she didn’t notice Darrel’s startled reaction, Micki glared daggers at Wolf, her lips straining to keep her smile in place.
“Yes,” she answered softly. “I’ve enjoyed my vacation, but I’m ready to go back to work.”
“Micki is a buyer for Something Different boutiques,” Wolf informed Bianca, adding to the familiarity. “She has just been transferred to the Atlantic City store.”
“Oh! But—” Bianca began, her face mirroring confusion.
“Promoted.”
The sharp word Darrel flung at Wolf cut across Bianca’s quiet voice. For several seconds his eyes blazed a challenge at Wolf, then, as if suddenly realizing his rudeness, he smiled at Bianca and murmured, “I’m sorry I interrupted. Micki was promoted.” His eyes flashed to Wolf. “Not transferred.”
“Yes, of course.” Wolf’s cold as steel eyes contradicted his smooth tone. “I knew that.”
Feeling caught in their crossfire and growing angry at the childish way they were squaring off at each other, Micki snapped, “Transferred, promoted, what difference does it make?”
Without waiting for a reply from either of them, Micki continued, “Either way, I begin tomorrow and I’m eager to start. Now,” she finished strongly, “can we drop the subject?”
Bianca’s puzzled expression slowly changed to one of amusement as her eyes shifted from one to the other of them. Her lips twitching, she soothed, “Micki’s right, it is unimportant and—oh, good, here’s our waitress.”
The tension around the table eased with the arrival of the waitress, even though Micki felt the angry stiffness in Darrel when his arm brushed hers as he drew his chair closer to the table.
The waitress placed the delicious-looking, open-face sandwiches in front of Micki and Darrel, whipped two menus out from under her arm, and offering them to Bianca and Wolf, chirped, “Can I get you folks something to drink?”
“I don’t need that.” Wolf waved the menu away. “I’ll have a Reuben and a beer.”
“And,” Bianca smiled, “as those sandwiches look good enough to eat, I’ll have one of those and a glass of Chardonnay.”
“You can bring me a beer too,” Darrel inserted as the waitress moved to turn away. “Micki?”
“Another iced tea.” Micki smiled faintly at the woman before, in a chiding way that left little doubt she was reminding Darrel of his manners, she emphasized, “Please.”
At any other time Micki would have enjoyed being in Bianca’s company, even though the exact relationship between the attractive woman and Wolf tormented her more than she cared to admit to herself. Being a permanent year-round resident of Cape May, Bianca was a fount of information on the town’s history. Had it not been for her enlightening conversation, the atmosphere around the table would have been much more uncomfortable.
Even so Micki could hardly wait until the food had been consumed and the check was presented. Sighing with relief, Micki smiled brightly at the waitress when she placed the check on the table. The smile turned to a silent groan as hostilities were resumed between Wolf and Darrel.
“I’ll take care of that.”
Moving swiftly, Wolf’s hand grabbed the check out from under Darrel’s.
“But I invited you to join us.” Darrel’s angry glance clashed with glinting silver.
“But we intruded on your, er, privacy.” Hard finality laced Wolf’s tone as, turning away check in hand he strode toward the building’s entrance.
Finally they were back in the car heading for Ocean City.
“He’s the man, isn’t he?” Darrel shot the question at her savagely after some fifteen minutes of total silence. The suddenness of his attack startled Micki out of the blue funk she’d drifted into.
“W-what man?” she hedged.
“You know damned well what man,” he growled, frustrated. “The bastard who’s willing to fit you into his schedule now and then.”
“Darrel, please.”
“Please, hell,” he snorted. “Do you have any idea how it makes me feel, knowing you turned me down for a man like that? Oh, I grant you,” he sneered, “he’s got the kind of looks that attract women. Of all ages apparently. As lovely and charming as Bianca Perriot is, the fact remains she is old enough to be his mother.”
“Darrel.” Micki’s tone was sharp with admonishment. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t know—”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Darrel interrupted jeeringly. “A man like Wolf—how apt, that name—doesn’t waste his time on any woman unless she’s putting out.”
“Darrel!” Micki’s shocked exclamation revealed the depth of pain his words had inflicted.
“Darrel what?” Unrepentant, he continued to fling words at her like blows. “Face the facts, Micki, he’s a user and age means nothing. What does he do for a living?”
“I...” Micki paused, wet her lips, then admitted, “I don’t know.”
“I thought not.” He shot a pitying glance at her and went on mercilessly. “I’ll tell you what I think he does. I think the polite term is paid escort but, to call a spade a spade, I think he’s a stud for hire.”
“Be quiet!” Micki shouted angrily. “Don’t you dare say another word. Even if what you say is true, it is none of your business.” Her voice dwindling to a soft sigh, she added, “Or mine either.”
They covered the remaining miles to her home in uneasy silence. The minute he stopped the car in front of the house, Micki flung the door open and ran out.
“Micki, wait,” Darrel pleaded. “I’m sorry, I…
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Micki snapped coldly.
“May I call you later in the week?” he called after her.
“No,” Micki flung over her shoulder. “Or ever again.”
“Micki!”
Walking quickly, she went into the house and closed the door on the sound of his voice. Her breath coming in gasps, Micki ran up the stairs and into her room. Taking short, agitated steps, she paced her room, around the bed to the window, then, turning sharply, back to the door again.
It wasn’t true, she assured herself. What Darrel said wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, could it? No, of course it couldn’t be. But what did he do for a living? What kind of job was it that paid enough to afford him the expensive clothes he wore, that boat and—she winced—that fantastic car. How much did a car like that cost anyway? More bucks than an ordinary job paid, of that she was sure. And the pants and shirt he was wearing today! Micki’s trained eyes had told her they were hand tailored and had very probably cost him more than she earned in a month. And Bianca Perriot’s simple little summer frock had practically screamed the words created in Paris. Was she very wealthy? Very, very likely, Micki decided. And the suspicious little thought crept into her mind: Had Bianca’s still-smooth, diamond-bedecked slim hand written the check that had paid for Wolf’s clothes?
Aghast at herself, Micki tore out of her room and along the hall to the stairs, running from her thoughts. It didn’t work; her thoughts followed her. A note on the kitchen table informed her that her father and Regina had gone out for dinner. Alone, the quiet of the house pressing in on her, she curled up in a corner of the sofa, paperback in hand, in a vain attempt to lose herself.
She was reading a paragraph for the third time when the phone rang. Silently apologizing to the author, she put the book down and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Micki?” Tony’s exuberant voice attacked her eardrum. “I couldn’t wait to send you an invitation, I had to call you.”
“You called her?” Micki exclaimed. “You talked to her?”
“I’m with her now,” Tony laughed. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I kept thinking about what you said, asking myself should I, shouldn’t I? Anyway, I called her first thing this morning and damned if you weren’t right. Not only is she not married, or getting married—except to me— there was no ex-boyfriend at all.” His laughter this time held a rueful note, and Micki could imagine him shaking his head. “I’ll tell you, friend, it’s a good thing I spilled my guts out to you last night; she was about ready to give up on me.”
“After waiting this long?” Micki chided. “I somehow doubt that.”
“Yes, well, she’s not waiting any longer,” Tony said determinedly. “And neither am I. We’re getting married next Saturday and we want you to come. Can you make it, Micki?”
The anxious note that had crept into Tony’s voice brought a rush of tears to Micki’s eyes. “Can birds fly?” she shot back at him with a shaky laugh. “Just tell me what time, where, and give me directions and I’ll be there with wedding bells on.”
“If you’d want to, you could fly into Albany and I could meet the plane,” he suggested. “Save you all that driving.”
“You’re on,” Micki agreed. “I’ll check into flight schedules tomorrow. Suppose you call me sometime midweek and I’ll let you know what time.”
“Will do. And Micki?” Tony’s voice went rough with emotion. “We both thank you.”
“You’re both welcome,” she whispered. Then she added, ‘Tony, does she have a name?”
“Shirley,” Tony laughed. “Don’t you love it?”
After she’d replaced the receiver, Micki went back to the sofa, a small smile curving her lips. Tony Menella getting married! Unbelievable. Memories rushed over her, and caught up in the flow, the tormenting suspicions about Wolf were pushed to the back of her mind.
* * * *
The first thing that greeted Micki when she walked into the shop Monday morning was an announcement. Georgine, her large, dark eyes bright with excitement, was fairly twitching with news.
“I’ve been transferred.”
Transferred?” Micki cried. “Where? When?”
“The boss was in the day after you were here,” Georgine laughed. ‘Told me they were opening a new store, asked me if I’d like to manage it”
“Manage? Georgine, that’s wonderful,” Micki enthused.
That’s what I thought,” she drawled. Then, when he told me where the store is he asked if I still wanted it” Her dark eyes rolled expressively. “I asked him if he’d like my eye teeth.” Her beautiful face was drawn into a sober cast and her voice rasped deeply. “‘No, thank you,’ the man said, ‘I’ve got a good set of fangs of my own.’“
The word fangs sent a picture of Wolf flashing into Micki’s mind, and shaking her head impatiently, she pleaded, “Georgine, will you tell me where the store is?”
Georgine mentioned a large hotel chain, adding casually, The one in Honolulu.”
“Honolulu?” Micki repeated in an awed tone, then, much louder, “Honolulu?”
Jennell’s soft laughter drifted to her from across the width of the shop, where both she and Lucy had stood watching Micki’s reaction to the news. With a grin she drawled huskily, “Isn’t it a shame? I mean, some poor girls have no luck at all. First Georgine can’t find a man, now she gets shipped almost to the end of the earth—poor thing.”
Georgine’s excitement infected them all and Micki’s first week at the store flew by without a hitch. Even her plans for attending Tony and Shirley’s wedding went smoothly. Plans were also made by Micki, Jennell, and Lucy to take Georgine for dinner on Friday night, as she was leaving for Honolulu on Monday.
When she learned Micki was flying to Albany Saturday morning, Jennell suggested she pack a valise, bring it with her to the shop Friday, and spend the weekend at her apartment.
“I’ll drive you to the airport Saturday morning and pick you up again Saturday night,” Jennell said. “That way you won’t have to leave your car at the airport.”
All Micki’s arguments about not wanting to put Jennell out ended up against a stone wall. Jennell was determined and Micki finally, laughingly, gave in.
Friday night was pure fun. After a wildly expensive dinner they went bar hopping, having decided there was safety in numbers, flirting madly and dancing until Micki thought she’d drop.
Saturday morning, still half asleep, Micki waved goodbye to an equally sleepy Jennell, boarded the plane, and promptly fell asleep, dead to the world until the plane touched down in Albany. A grinning Tony woke her completely with a bear hug and resounding kiss on the mouth.
“What are you up to?” Micki grinned back at him when he released her.
“I wanted to bring Shirl with me to meet you, but I’m not allowed to see the bride before the ceremony.” His grin flashed again. “So come on, friend. You and I are going to have some lunch and you can hold my hand between now and then. Maybe you can even prevent the nervous fit I feel coming on.”
Micki’s first glimpse of Shirley was just before the ceremony and with that quick look she knew why Tony had put the young woman on a pedestal and had hesitated about making love to her. Small, fragile Shirley had the face of a cover model. Her own breath catching in her throat, Micki could well imagine the impact Shirley had on a supper-club crowd.
Although the ceremony was brief, it was beautiful and moving, and as Micki left the small church, she had to dab quickly at her eyes to blot the tears.
At the champagne supper given by the bride’s parents, Micki discovered the girl behind the breathtaking face was not only very nice, but intelligent and quick-witted as well. When they saw her off at the airport, Micki kissed Shirl on the cheek and whispered, “I know you’ll be very happy.” Then loud enough for Tony to hear, “Keep this clown in line, won’t you?”
“This clown wants a kiss too,” Tony retorted, repeating his bear hug performance of that morning.
Tears in her eyes, Micki kissed him, warned him he’d better take damned good care of her new friend, then walked away from them with the advice they get on with the honeymoon and let her sniffle in peace.
* * * *
Jennell was waiting as promised and had to hear all the wedding details on the way back to her apartment. Micki had all day Sunday to rest in the apartment by herself, as Jennell decided to do her boyfriend a favor and spend the day—and night—with him.
The nighttime part Micki found out about when Jennell telephoned the apartment around nine.
“Would you be all right on your own tonight, honey?” Jennell drawled the question hesitantly.
“Of course,” Micki said at once. “Why?”
“Well, this deliciously bad man wants me to stay with him tonight, but I told him I’d have to confer with you first.”
“Would you like to stay?” Micki asked devilishly.
“Is the ocean salty?” Jennell laid the drawl on thickly.
“Then stay,” Micki laughed. “And Jennell—”
“Yes?”
“Be good.”
“Are you crazy?” Jennell purred. “I’ll be terrific.”
Laughing softly, Micki replaced the receiver, then went still as a strange thought struck her. Why was it, she wondered, that she was so liberal-minded about her friends’ sleeping arrangements and so rigid about her own? She knew, because Jennell had been open and frank, that this “deliciously bad” man was not the first Jennell had slept with, yet she in no way thought of Jennell as promiscuous.
In fact, now that she gave it some thought, Micki could not come up with one name out of all her female friends who had not unashamedly admitted to sleeping with their current man. Why did she have to be odd woman out? Were her moral guidelines too narrow? Micki had never thought so, but, damn, she was the one alone tonight, every night.
The questions, all with the same theme, chased each other around in her mind as she prepared for bed. As she slid between the sheets the answer, which had been demanding exposure, finally broke through her self-imposed mental barrier. Very simply, she had felt no desire or even the slightest urge to be with any man other than one Wolf Renninger. And that one man scared the hell out of her. What had Darrel called him? A user of women? From her own experience Micki was very much afraid Darrel’s judgment was correct. And what scared her was the almost certain feeling that should he get his hands on her again she would revel in his using, lose herself completely, and when his use of her was over, be lost forever.
