'Spare me the life history,' Dane cut in. 'I heard everything he said to you, including the bit about cheating on his wife, and how you were everything he'd ever hoped for! I always knew you'd be pretty hot stuff once you let yourself go, but like a fool I believed you when you said you were waiting till you married!' Angrily he grabbed her shoulders. 'If I'd known you were two-timing me, you'd have have been in my bed so fast it would have made your head spin!'
'I wasn't two-timing you,' Leslie protested, trying unsuccessfully to pull free of him. 'I've never cheated on you with any man.'
'Doesn't this so-called "cousin" count?' came the sarcastic question. 'Or is it a woman in drag?'
'Don't be stupid!' Anger gave Leslie the strength to wrench free of Dane's hold, and also to forget her sweetness-and-light act. 'I don't need to defend my morals to someone who doesn't even know the meaning of the word!'
Not waiting to hear his reply, she ran along the corridor to the elevator. The door opened immediately, and with a sigh of relief she stepped inside.
Back in her room, Leslie had plenty to think about as she showered and changed. Why was Dane at La Costa? Was it coincidence or had he come to look for her with reconciliation in mind?
One thing was sure. He was livid over Jack, which either meant wounded pride or jealousy. The idea of his being jealous was such a cheering thought that it lifted her mood, and she was bubbling with plans for Dane's future misery when she joined her cousins in the bar. Yet outwardly she was a tall, cool blonde in almond-pink silk, her simple camisole top and matching trousers making the other women look overdressed.
'Had a good massage?' Leslie asked Marybeth, taking a seat opposite her.
'Fantastic. And so are the plans for the house. Jack showed them to me.'
Her husband stopped a waiter. 'What'll you have, Leslie?'
'A Bloody Mary.'
'How about a vodka and caviar?'
'Oh sure,' she laughed, her silky hair abounce as she flung back her head. 'With a little foie gras on the side, to help it go down!'
'Why not, if it's what you fancy?'
'I also fancy a mink coat slung over the front seat of a Ferrari!' she teased.
'I'll get it for you,' he grinned, 'and knock it off your fee!'
'Do that, and I'll build you a house with no windows!'
Her cousins laughed, Marybeth stopping as she saw Leslie's eyes stray to the bar entrance.
'Are you expecting someone, honey?'
Why deny it? Leslie thought, especially since she and Dane were sure to bump into each other again. In fact it was essential they did.
'Not exactly,' she murmured. 'But… well..She glanced at Jack. 'After I left your suite this afternoon, I bumped into a client of mine—who's also an ex-boy- friend.'
Briefly she recounted what Dane had thought, and Jack, after a look of comical amazement, roared with laughter.
'I'm glad he thinks I could pull a young beauty like you!'
'It may be good for your ego,' his wife chided, 'but not for Leslie's!' Marybeth gave her a keen glance. 'Still, if he's an ex of yours, it's none of his business what you do!'
'Unless he still cares for you,' said Jack.
'And unless you care for him,' Marybeth added.
It was on the tip of Leslie's tongue to tell them who Dane was and why she had set her sights on marrying him, but she was reluctant to involve anyone else in her deception. She would have to say something, though.
'I care for him very much,' she murmured, 'and I think he feels the same about me. Trouble is, he's dead set against marriage, so I stopped seeing him.' At least that was no lie.
'So that's why he blew his top when he thought he'd caught you with Jack?' chortled Marybeth.
'Yes. And I'm hoping it's more than pique. That's why I want to meet him and clear the air.'
'Why not ask him to join us for dinner?' Jack suggested. 'Then he'll see for himself that we… '
He stopped as Leslie touched his arm and flicked her eyes towards the man entering the bar.
Six foot two of brawn and brain stood in the doorway, looking around him. A navy and white check jacket made his tan appear darker, his hair blue-black. The contrast with her own colouring could not have been more marked. Night and day, she mused, and realised it depicted their characters too. She went on watching him, tensing as he suddenly spied her and, without hesitation, headed in her direction.
'Dane, I take it?' Marybeth muttered.
'None other,' said Leslie.
'What a dish! I know what I'd have done if he'd asked me to choose between an affair and nothing!'
Leslie wondered if she would have done the same as Marybeth had the circumstances been different. Before she could reach a conclusion, Dane was standing beside her.
'Seems I owe you an apology,' he said gruffly.
'What for?' she questioned, determined not to let this worm off the hook. Let him wriggle!
'Not only for my stupid accusation,' he said, 'but my bigger stupidity in not accepting your word that I was wrong. After I cooled down, I knew you weren't the type to lie about your feelings.'
His reasoning—bearing in mind his cynicism—was complimentary, and Leslie gave him a slightly warmer smile and introduced him to her cousins.
'Sorry to barge in on you like this,' Dane apologised. 'I called Leslie's room, but she'd already left.'
'No sweat,' shrugged Jack. 'Sit down and have a drink.'
Accepting the offer, Dane took the chair next to Marybeth.
'So you're the famous divorce lawyer?' she said, recognising the name though luckily not associating it with Robert's divorce, for she and Jack had been abroad at the time.
'I'm afraid so,' he replied.
'Afraid, Mr Jordan?' This from Jack. 'But your reputation's legend.'
'Which is my problem. Wives get ideas just by looking at me!'
'I can see why,' Marybeth intoned, and Dane chuckled.
'But I wasn't talking about that kind of idea, Mrs Foster!'
'There's no likelihood of any other at this table,' her husband put in. 'Everything's in her name already!' He called the waiter and Dane asked for Scotch on the rocks.
'Staying long?' asked Marybeth with a look of innocence.
'For the weekend.'
'Are you on your own?'
Leslie held her breath, and out of the corner of her eye saw an amused quirk lift Dane's mouth, making it obvious he wasn't taken in by Marybeth's nonchalance.
'I'm visiting a friend of mine,' he said. 'He's here to lose weight.'
Leslie breathed easier. At least she wouldn't have to play second fiddle to one of his dumb-bells!
'How about you and your friend joining us for dinner?' Jack ventured.
'He's got a date,' Dane replied, 'and I'm hoping I can say the same.' He raised an eyebrow in Leslie's direction. 'I'd like to take this young woman to dinner—if you don't mind losing her for an evening.'
Good old Dane! Leslie thought wryly, taking her for granted again. But then why shouldn't he, when she had made herself act like a doormat these past few months in her efforts to win him over.
'Mind?' Marybeth squeaked. 'Why, we're delighted to be rid of her! Watching her stuff herself while we nibble at rabbit's food is enough to make a saint envious!'
Laughing, Dane glanced at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. Like everything else he wore, it was the best money could buy. 'I think we'd best get going. I've a reservation at The Chart Room and I don't want to lose it.'
'When did you book?' Leslie asked curiously as she followed him to the car park.
'Earlier this evening. And before you accuse me of taking you for granted, I assure you from past experience that it's the last thing I'd do! The Chart Room's the most popular restaurant in La Jolla'—he named the neighbouring town—'and I didn't want to lose out on a reservation if you agreed to come with me.'
A likely story! Even if she had turned him down, he would have had no problem finding an attractive com
panion, and he was conceited enough to know it!
They reached his car and she settled into her seat. The silk of her trousers clung to her shapely legs, and she was aware of his admiring gaze on them.
'Is this your first time in La Costa?' she asked quickly.
'No. I've been here several times.' He paused. 'Always alone.'
'Really?' She pretended unconcern.
'Scout's honour. Even I need a rest between beds!'
'Glad to hear it. At least I won't have to defend my honour tonight.'
'Don't bank on it,' he flipped back. 'My batteries are completely recharged!'
'In which case I'd better put a spanner in the works,' she said as he switched on the engine. 'No punctures in the middle of nowhere, and no pretending you've run out of gas!'
'Give me credit for a bit more subtlety!' he reproached her. 'I was thinking of using "My God, I'm dying, I need the kiss of life"!'
It was impossible to keep a straight face, and her laughter rang out. 'That's certainly original!'
'I always try to be.'
Deciding it was safer to ignore this, she watched the passing scenery. There was little traffic on the road to La Jolla, and the Mercedes ate up the miles. She hadn't driven in this car before, and asked him if it was new.
'Rented,' he replied. 'I flew down.'
'I can give you a lift back, if you stay a few days longer.'
'I'd like nothing better, but I have to be in court first thing Monday, so I'm leaving tomorrow.'
'Another juicy divorce case?' Leslie tried unsuccessfully to keep the contempt from her voice.
'Yes.' He chose to ignore her criticism. 'A husband of seventy walked out on his wife and married a twenty-one-year-old—who's now divorcing him!’
'How many millions are you trying to get for her?’ Leslie asked sarcastically.
Dane's mouth tightened. 'Don't expect me to go easy on a man who walked out on gold to marry dross.'
'They say love is blind,' she persisted.
'They also say there's none so blind as those who don't want to see,' he retaliated.
Leslie sighed, knowing he was right. 'Handling all those sordid cases has made you a cynic,' she told him.
'I was cynical long before I became a lawyer.'
She longed to know why. An unhappy love affair in his youth would hardly have marked him for life.
'It hasn't anything to do with some youthful peccadillo either,' he added, divining her thoughts.
She waited for him to say what it did have to do with, but his silence told her she was waiting in vain. But then he never discussed his past. On the rare occasions she had led the conversation that way, he had adroitly changed the subject.
A short while later he swung into the car park of the pink-washed Spanish-style restaurant, and turning swiftly gave her a quick kiss on the mouth before getting out to open the door for her.
'Let's go,' he pronounced, clasping her hand in his.
But where will we be going tomorrow and all the other tomorrows? Leslie wondered as she stepped from the car, and knew it was a question that would soon have to be answered.
CHAPTER SIX
Entering the softly lit room, with piped music soothing the ear rather than assualting it, Leslie and Dane were led to one of the tables encircling a small dance-floor.
As always when she was with him, she was not only aware of being with the best-looking man in the room, but with one whose confidence made him his own man, answerable to no one. Yet no human being should consider themselves an island, and Dane's lack of compassion for his fellow men minimised him greatly.
'I detect some dark thoughts going on in that lovely head of yours,' he chided. 'I hope they're not about me.'
'I do occasionally think of other things,' she said demurely.
'Such as?'
'The state of the economy, nuclear war, human rights. Unimportant issues compared with my feelings for you—but then we're all entitled to a little light relief!'
'You've an answer for everything, even if it's not always truthful! No wonder I find you intriguing.'
'But not as intriguing as your ever-changing nymphs,' she declared. 'I'm beginning to realise why I've failed to capture you, Dane. I'm too old for you!'
'You know damn well that the problem is your crazy insistence on marriage,' he grunted.
'You make marriage sound like a sin!'
'It is to me.'
As she opened her mouth to make a snappy retort, he put up a hand to silence her.
'No, Leslie. Let's call it quits and declare a truce.'
'It seems the only solution,' she sighed, and picking up the menu, studied it. 'I don't know about you, but I'm ravenous.'
'Glad to hear it.' His appraisal of her held more than a hint of speculation. 'These past few weeks, whenever I saw you in a restaurant, I couldn't help noticing you only pecked at your food.'
Leslie kept her lids lowered. From the moment Marybeth had unwittingly given her away in the bar by saying how heartily she ate, she had been waiting for Dane to make this comment.
'I did lose my appetite for a while,' she lied. 'The mere sight of food made me feel quite ill. But my doctor prescribed some fantastic new pills.' She ran her tongue along her lips, giving an award-winning act of hesitancy. 'I—er—I just worry in case I have to take them too long. They have some pretty rotten side- effects!'
'Such as?'
'Hair-loss,' she fingered a silky blonde tress, 'and blurred vision. Still, anything's better than anorexia!'
Dane swallowed the remainder of his Scotch, his serious expression denoting that he had swallowed her lie along with it. With difficulty she kept a straight face.
'Don't blame yourself because I can't get over you,' she pressed on, gently rubbing salt in the wound. 'It's not your fault you don't love me.'
She waited hopefully for him to deny it, but all she got was another assessing look as he raked his hands through his hair, ruffling the dark strands. The unruliness accentuated the grey flecks, and made him look more vulnerable. Yet when he spoke, he showed total command of the situation.
'I think it would be more sensible if you got someone else in your firm to take over the completion of my house. Then you won't have any need to see me.'
Hiding her fury at this suggestion—and she, poor fool, had actually believed he was weakening!—Leslie forced a slight catch to her voice.
'It makes no difference whether I see you or not. I still keep thinking of you. But that's my problem, Dane, and sooner or later I'll work it out. You know what they say about tunnels? No matter how long and dark they seem, there's always a light at the end of them. So stop worrying about me.'
'I can't help it. Are you sure you want to go on handling the house?'
'I'm positive.'
Although he allowed her the final word, Dane was unusually subdued as their meal progressed, and she was delighted to think he had food for thought as well as food to digest.
'That was the best duck a I'orange I've had in years,' she pronounced as the waiter removed their plates.
'I'm glad you enjoyed it,' said Dane. 'Care for dessert?'
She shook her head, and he signalled for coffee, then glanced towards the dance-floor.
Nodding, Leslie rose and preceded him on to it. It was not the first time they had danced together, and as always their bodies moved in unison, their steps effortless. They didn't speak and she rested her cheek against his shoulder, making a soft, murmuring sound as she did. The tempo slowed, and he pressed her closer to him and nuzzled his face in her hair.
'Delicious,' he murmured. 'Delicate as Arpege, with a slight hint of Shalimar—or is it Mitsouko?'
'Neither. It's Femme.'
'Hmm. I must remember it.'
So that he could dole it out to one of his dolly-birds, Leslie thought waspishly, and wished she had kept the name to herself. Yet it was difficult to think sour thoughts when his closeness was having such a sweet and unwelcome effect on her. She
was too aware of the hardness of his chest against her breasts, the firmness of his stomach, the steel-like muscles of his thighs pressing against hers. He was barely dancing; it was more a languid, swaying motion to the music, like making love standing up.
Her instinct was to pull away, but she quickly reminded herself she was meant to be in love with him and should show some response. The trouble was, it didn't require much effort, for his nearness was arousing her in the most unnerving way, making her question her long-held belief that sex without love was meaningless.
His fingers caressed the soft skin at the nape of her neck, then trailed across her back to her spine, his touch light as a butterfly's wing. She tried to fix her mind on other things: the people around her, the decor, the view of the shimmering ocean through the wide windows. But nothing helped. Slowly, insistently, her senses took possession of her brain, until she was lost in the warmth of him, the smell of him, the feel of him.
'I think our coffee's getting cold,' she managed to croak out, looking across at their table.
'I'm happy to let it ice up for the pleasure of holding you a bit longer!'
'And have me die of thirst?' 'You're having me die of hunger—for you!'
'Poor Dane,' she teased.
'Hard-hearted Leslie,' he rejoined, and led her back to the table.
As he went to refill her wine-glass, she stopped him. She had drunk more than half a bottle of Pinot Noir, and wouldn't answer for herself if she had any more. But maybe that was what he was hoping for!
'Just black coffee,' she stated. 'Extra strong.'
Dane half-smiled, as though divining her thoughts. 'Working on anything interesting?' he asked, finishing off the wine.
'As a matter of fact I am. A new church in Palo Alto.' She named the city that was the home of Stanford University.
'My old stomping ground,' he smiled. 'I got my degree there.'
'Somehow I imagined you at Harvard.'
'You imagine me in many places,' he quipped, and Leslie instantly had a vision of dozens of beds filled with blondes, redheads and brunettes.
Roberta Leigh - Too Bad to be True Page 5
