At five-thirty, Laura waved to Mitch as he drove away after dropping her off at the house. He had to pick up his dry cleaning. She opened the front door and hung the new coat in the closet, holding on to the feeling of hope it gave her. She loved touching it. Whenever Mitch wore his, she wanted to run her hands over it. But not as much as she wanted to run them over him.
They'd connected again. Was it because she'd told him she was leaving? Did he now feel he could trust her? She still sensed he was intent on keeping some distance between them. Because of her father? Or was it more personal?
Did intimacy and love frighten him? She so much wanted to show him love was meant to be experienced and shared. True, love could hurt. But it was magical and wonderful too.
She shut the closet door and homed in on voices in the sunroom. Just outside the door, she realized the voices belonged to Nora and Carey, not Nora and her father. She was just about to turn around and see if Mandy was with her grandfather when Laura heard Carey's raised voice.
"Mitch wouldn't give it to me. Ma, I need the money to get my life on track. Won't you talk to him and convince him to make the loan?"
"When Mitch sets his mind, he doesn't change it. If he thinks he has a good reason, nothing I say will make a difference. You know that."
"What am I going to do?" Carey's voice sounded desperate.
"I have some money. It's only a third of what you need. I've been saving what Mitch gives me."
"He'll pop his cork if he finds out."
"You decide, Carey. It's yours if you want it."
He was silent for at least a minute. "I'll take it."
"You won't do anything foolish?"
"No, Ma. Your stake is going to change my life. You'll see."
Laura heard his boots cross the ceramic floor and she guessed he kissed and hugged Nora.
"You go back to your crocheting. I have things to do."
Before she could move, Carey came out of the sunroom and saw her. They stared at each other silently.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It just sort of happened."
"Please don't tell Mitch."
"You should tell him and prevent the fireworks."
Carey seemed to cringe at the word. "It's not necessary. Why stir the pot when you don't have to? When I turn the money into what I need, I'll pay Ma back and the case will be closed. No arguments, no fuss."
"Turn the money into what you need?" Laura hoped she was wrong about what she was thinking. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to take one last chance."
"Tell me you're not going to gamble again."
He held up his hand and lowered his voice so his mother couldn't hear. "Just one more time. And it won't be gambling. I have friends at the track. I'll wait for a good solid tip."
"You're lying to yourself, Carey. There are no solid tips. Don't you know that by now? Call someone from Gamblers Anonymous. If I can't talk you out of--"
"I have to do this." His hand rested briefly on Laura's shoulder. "It will be all right. I know what I'm doing."
Laura knew all the words in the world wouldn't change his mind. "For your sake, I hope you do."
His fingers tightened. "Promise me you won't tell Mitch."
"That's a hard promise to make."
"Trust me with this, Laura. Please."
She doubted if anyone had trusted Carey in the past few years. He needed that, maybe more than he needed the money, though he didn't seem to realize it.
Knowing she was probably making a mistake, but unable to deprive Carey of the faith he needed, she pledged softly, "I won't tell Mitch." But a corner of her heart protested and she wondered if she'd just sunk her foot into quicksand.
CHAPTER TEN
When Laura entered Applegate Jewelers in Harrisburg with Mitch, it was immediately clear this was Mitchell Riley's exclusive domain. The security system was state of the art and the layout was more conducive to case shopping.
Pale blue plush carpeting formed a muted backdrop for the angled cases of wood and glass protecting the store's inventory. The store echoed class and quality, just like Mitch. He'd unbuttoned his suit coat and brushed it back. His hands were stuffed in his pockets.
"I like the atmosphere here, Mitch."
He grinned. "Not too formal and stilted?"
"No. It's elegant."
Mitch cupped her elbow. "I want to show you my workshop before I introduce you to everyone. You can leave your coat in there."
He'd been friendly since she'd accepted his present, but she hadn't seen much of him the past few days. He'd been here, preparing for this. Tonight he was also friendly and pleasant, but keeping his distance too. He was being careful not to get too close or touch her too often.
Laura followed him to the back of the store into a short hall. He opened the door to the right and flicked on the light.
She stepped over the threshold and blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the bright incandescent lighting. With difficulty she switched her attention from Mitch to the workroom. A sink stood under a four by four foot window with workbenches on either side. Vats next to the sink were used to dip the jewelry after the pieces were worked on. A hood hung over the soldering area and there was a switch to turn on the fan to ventilate the room. Small tools--files, screwdrivers, tweezers--were lined up on each worktable.
This workroom was similar to her father's but more modern. Cabinets with supplies lined a wall. In the corner stood a polishing machine. The tan walls and beige industrial tile floor added lightness to the room.
Laura crossed to a workbench, picked up a bracelet mandrel used to hold a bracelet while it was being worked and set it down. Glasses lay open on the pocked and lined surface. She picked them up. "Are these yours?"
"Um hmm. I need them for close work."
She remembered Nora's glasses and their very weak prescription. "I didn't know you wore glasses."
"I keep a pair here and a pair in my glove compartment so I have them when I need them."
She carried the glasses to Mitch. "Put them on. I want to see how they look."
"Laura..."
"Come on," she urged, holding them out to him.
After he adjusted them on his nose, she swiveled his head to the side. Lightning struck when her fingers touched his jaw. She felt the jolt go through him too when the muscle in his cheek jumped.
Lowering her hand, she took a deep breath to steady her knees. "Very distinguished. I like them."
He turned his head so his eyes caught hers. The primitive desire there caused her pulse to thud.
He broke the circuit of sensual energy by taking off the glasses, folding them carefully, and laying them back on the workbench. Then he unnecessarily straightened a file folder. "I'm glad you approve."
Laura's intuition told her it wasn't just the sexual tension between them that was bothering Mitch. "Are you nervous?"
He rubbed his thumb along his chin and she saw vulnerability in his blue eyes. "Now's the time for that moral support."
Laura unbuttoned her new coat and slid it over a stool to keep herself from hugging him. "What's bothering you?"
He shook his head as if disgusted with himself. "I know it's stupid. I created what I wanted to create. And it shouldn't matter if anyone else likes it and wants to buy it. But it does. Oh, not so I can make the sale, though that's important. But because if someone wants to own it, that means they understand my concept of beauty and appreciate it."
Laura stepped toward him. "I know what you mean."
The bond between them at that moment was so strong, she felt paralyzed. Until Mitch reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. Then she felt so activated she could hardly stand still.
His eyes swept over her face and down her magenta sweater dress. His gaze scorched her as it touched her throat, her breasts, her waist, her calves. She trembled.
Mitch took a step back, but his voice was grating and sensual. His eyes darkened with the passion he wouldn't set free. "It's
time to face the public."
She wished he'd face his feelings. "I'm ready when you are."
Mitch introduced Laura to his assistant manager and three sales clerks. All of them urged her to find a place near the hexagonal case with the black velvet covering so she'd have a good view. She squeezed close, bumping elbows with the man on her right and shoulders with the woman on her left. Laura smiled in apology but wedged closer.
When Mitch tugged the covering away from the glass, a hush fell over the crowd. Jewelry was a language. It stated what a person felt about herself or himself--if he or she was confident, reserved, stylish, or traditional. Mitch expressed himself through the medium of this language with the same passion that had broken through in their hotel suite in Flagstaff. Each piece was an intense, individual statement. His work captured attention, stimulated curiosity and interest. It ranged from the deceptively simple to the obviously complex.
There was a Pegasus pin fashioned from copper...a silver owl sitting on an ivory branch...a fan created from gold, studded with abalone...another gold piece pierced and filed to create the illusion of a web...a sleek gold panther with a black pearl eye.
To the right side of the case were the more expensive pieces with precious gems--brooches, pendants, earrings.
The crowning achievement at the very center of the case was a monarch butterfly pin designed from baguette diamonds, amethysts and emeralds.
Mitch's collection wasn't a reflection of present vogue. It was unique and timeless. Each piece emanated vitality and was meant to be worn and treasured for a lifetime. Laura felt tears swim in her eyes. His jewelry revealed a facet of Mitch that had no other outlet. She was proud to know him.
The hush changed to a low hum as the customers moved around the glass. Laura stepped back and walked toward Mitch.
Beside him, she murmured, "They're beautiful, Mitch. So beautiful. You should be very proud."
When Mitch faced her, he saw the shimmering depth of her emotion and knew she understood. She hadn't been mouthing platitudes earlier. She really understood that his heart and soul and passion was here...in his work. "This is what I love to do. That's a year's work in that case, a year of stealing time where I could find it. My memory's a storehouse of colors, shapes, textures, lines and forms that are aching to come out. If I could, I'd do nothing but design."
"If you'd give your assistant manager more responsibility and hire someone to help with repair work, maybe you could."
"I've thought about that. But I'd have to be absolutely sure..." He stopped. He wasn't comfortable with a risk in his business life any more than in his personal life.
"Sure of what?"
"It would have to be worthwhile creatively and financially. The market has changed over the years from a few people buying large jewels to a multitude buying smaller investments. That's why there's been such a rise in quantity production, home network shopping. But there still are those customers who want and value the unique. I have to make sure the local market is big enough to warrant more of my time."
She touched his arm. "You have the market. Look around you. You're a success, Mitch. You can do whatever you want."
She made him feel like a success, like the world was at his feet. She was as shimmering as any of the gems he'd ever handled, as vibrant. She fairly hummed with life.
Mitch's assistant manager tapped him on the shoulder. Reluctantly he shifted his gaze from Laura to the younger man who had been running the store in Mitch's absence.
"Mrs. Waltheim wants to talk to you about designing another butterfly in different colors."
"Go ahead, Mitch," Laura encouraged. "I'll look around."
As Mitch talked to patrons, Laura circulated, admired the designs, and watched Mitch. Several times she caught him watching her. The potency of that gaze was enough to make her giddy.
When everyone had left, Mitch activated the security system and Laura fetched her coat from the workroom. He locked the door and glanced at his watch. "It's early. Would you like to see my apartment? Or do you want to get home?"
"Mandy's cold is gone. She's sleeping by now. I'd like to see where you live."
"I bought a small bottle of champagne in case I had something to celebrate." He looked sheepish, like a boy revealing he still slept with his teddy bear. "We sold everything, so we have reason."
"Even if you hadn't sold everything, you'd have reason."
He seemed embarrassed, as if praise was foreign to him. She took his arm. "I'm ready for bubbles to tickle my nose."
His look said tickling her nose might be the last item on his list.
The silence between them was rife with expectancy as Mitch drove through the capital city to Front Street along the Susquehanna River. The moon light bounced in a rippling strip from the horizon to the water's edge. Laura was filled to the brim with anticipation but wasn't sure what she was anticipating.
Mitch drove into a parking garage then escorted Laura to the main door of the apartment building. The security guard nodded as they walked in the front door. The elevator took them to the tenth floor and Laura stood to the side as Mitch unlocked the door, flipped the light switch, and motioned her ahead of him. He was always a gentleman. He did it without thinking, and it made her feel special.
The apartment was beautiful--rust and navy the predominant colors. Deep carpeting in a light shade of rust led down two steps to a sunken living room. The extra-long quilted sofa and two black leather wing chairs curved around a white stone fireplace. Laura could see through an archway where an oak and bronzed glass table and chairs sat under a Tiffany lamp. She guessed the kitchen lay beyond.
"Make yourself at home," Mitch suggested as he crossed to a CD player and flipped it on. Soothing strains of a jazz saxophone floated out. He disappeared into the dining room. "I'll be right back."
Laura descended the steps into the living room, tossed her purse on the end table and sat on the sofa. Mitch returned with glasses of champagne. The sofa gave with his weight as his thigh brushed hers.
He handed her a glass and raised his in a toast. "To success."
"To your success," she corrected.
He clinked his glass against hers and they took a sip at the same time, their eyes locking.
Mitch slowly set his glass on the coffee table. "What do you think of my place? Do you like it?"
She took another sip, loving the zip of the bubbles. "Who wouldn't? It's fabulous. But does it ever looked lived-in?"
"Lived-in?"
"Newspapers on the floor, sneakers under the chair, half a mug of coffee on the table."
Mitch's broad shoulders lifted and fell. "I like order. There wasn't much of it when I was a kid. Mom tried. But Dad... Any order she managed, he destroyed. He didn't respect her or our home--" He stopped abruptly. "I don't want to talk about him. Not tonight."
She set her glass next to his. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
He waited, but didn't look guarded as he sometimes did. "Why wouldn't you dance at the Halloween Party?"
"I did."
"Once. A slow one."
"I'm not Carey," he said almost angrily.
"I would never confuse the two of you."
"Because he knows how to have fun?"
There was so much hurt there. She wished she understood it and could learn what had caused it. "Because your eyes are two shades darker than his."
He was taken aback, not expecting that kind of answer. After a moment, he confessed, "I don't know how to dance like that. I never learned."
She should have guessed. Nora had told her Mitch had worked since he could find neighbors or store owners who needed something done. He hadn't had time for proms, football games, or learning the latest dance moves.
Laura smiled. "It's never too late."
He scowled. "I've seen men out there looking like roosters flapping their wings. No thanks." The mellow music wound about him and a potent darkness gathered in his eyes. "Would you like to dance now?"
"I'd love to."
His grin was crooked as he took her into his arms in the middle of the room. When their bodies touched, the grin vanished. His body tensed and for a second she thought he was going to put space between them. He seemed to make a decision. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer.
Laura's arms circled his neck eagerly. He was tall. She was short. He was strong and wide and encompassing. She was a reed in his arms.
When he looked down at her, she knew something was going to happen. Something important. He bent his head, his lips molded to hers, and she felt as if she'd finally come home. His tongue teased her lips, urgently, hungrily, as if he couldn't slow himself down or wait another moment for the intimacy he'd been avoiding. The taste of champagne on his tongue was heady. His texture, his heat and his desire became hers until the kiss exploded with more need than either of them could handle.
Mitch pulled back, his breath as hot as the steaminess of the kiss when he whispered, "I don't want to fight this any more. I can't."
His tense and yearning body told her more clearly than words how much he wanted her. "You don't have to."
His hands caressed her bottom, pushing her closer. Her imagination created pictures of legs intertwined, arms embracing, lips kissing. She was a teenager again--free of responsibilities, chains or restriction. His tongue filled her mouth, emphasizing the emptiness below. She wanted him inside her, satisfying the need he created so easily. She pushed against him and he groaned. His forward thrust promised fulfillment. He curled his tongue in her mouth, sweeping and arousing until she responded wildly, invading the cavern beyond his teeth. He drew on her until she thought she'd faint.
Need careened through her like a flash flood sweeping the land. She couldn't swim against the raging currents of desire any more than he could. She didn't want to. Should she analyze the feelings? Should she pretend Mitch was experiencing more than desire? Passion was one thing. Passion with deep-seated feelings was another. Could she tell the difference or was she fooling herself?
An aching need coalesced in her to erase his sadness, to give him joy. But could she? If they continued this, would he embrace their passion or regret it? Suddenly, she felt afraid. What if making love put a barrier between them again? Her hands tightened on his shoulders.
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