A Wilder Name

by Laura Resnick

  * * *

  Wildside

  http://www.wildsidepress.com/index2.htm

  Copyright ©1989 by Laura Resnick.

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  Other books by Laura Leone: (pen-name for Laura Resnick)

  Romance Novels:

  One Sultry Summer

  A Wilder Name

  Ulterior Motives

  Guilty Secrets

  A Woman’s Work

  Upon a Midnight Clear

  Celestial Bodies

  The Bandit King

  The Black Sheep

  Sleight of Hand

  Untouched by Man

  Under the Voodoo Moon

  Fever Dreams

  Written as Laura Resnick:

  Fantasy Novels:

  In Legend Born

  In Fire Forged

  Non-Fiction

  A Blond in Africa

  A Wilder Name

  Laura Leone

  WILDSIDE PRESS

  Berkeley Heights, New Jersey

  Originally published as a Silhouette Desire Romance in July, 1989 by Silhouette Books.

  Silhouette edition Copyright © 1989 by Laura Resnick.

  This Wildside edition copyright © 2000 by Laura Resnick.

  All rights reserved.

  First Wildside Press edition: October 2000

  Author’s Note

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Cover (Sunset—Pismo Beach) copyright © 2000 Alan Rodgers.

  A Wilder Name

  A publication of

  Wildside Press

  P.O. Box 45

  Gillette, NJ 07933-0045

  www.wildsidepress.com

  SECOND EDITION

  For Catherine, Magda,

  and Samantha

  amiche palermitane imporantissime

  One

  “Excuse me,” said a pleasant masculine voice.

  Nina looked up into a pair of warm brown eyes, which took in her appearance with frank admiration.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for Nina G ... Guh-na ... um...” The man consulted the slip of paper in his hand.

  “Gnagnarelli,” she supplied.

  “Come again?”

  “Gnagnarelli. Nya-nya-rel-li,” she said pronouncing it distinctly.

  “Right, that must be it. Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m Nina Gnagnarelli,” she replied, smiling up at him. He was clearly not an opera lover or he would have known her, she thought, smoothing her black satin evening gown.

  “Good. I’m presenting the jazz award with you tonight.”

  “Oh, but I thought Louis Evans—”

  “Yeah, I know. But he just phoned to say his flight was delayed by fog in London. He’s only just reached Kennedy Airport, so he won’t be here in time. I was the first person they found hanging around backstage, so they asked me to do it. And like the good-natured guy I am, I said yes.” He grinned affably at her. It was a strong, attractive face, framed by longish wavy brown hair. His smile showed even white teeth and made those warm dark eyes glitter. He was tall, strongly built with wide shoulders tapering down to narrow hips.

  She realized she’d been staring and that he’d noticed and was enjoying it. She blushed, and then felt annoyed with herself; staring and blushing were two gauche habits she thought she had conquered long ago.

  “You have the advantage of me,” she said politely.

  “I do?” He sounded amused.

  “I mean,” she said clearly, “you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are.”

  “Sorry, I guess I just get used to people knowing who I am. I’m Luke Swain.” He extended a strong, tanned hand. She placed her small, well-manicured hand in his, thinking that somehow the statement hadn’t sounded like an immodest boast, just a habit.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Nina said formally.

  “Are you?” he asked. Her blue eyes flashed up to meet candid eyes, which sparkled with amusement. Was he laughing at her?

  At that moment, one of the dozens of stagehands Nina had watched dash around with great purpose rushed up to tell them that they were slotted to appear several minutes after the next commercial break. She was amazed that the chaos behind the scenes didn’t extend to the music awards presenters appearing live on national television. As the stagehand rushed away again, Nina noticed a famous female vocalist nervously chain-smoking a few feet away from her.

  She returned her gaze to Luke Swain, and then realized she was still holding his hand. She jerked her hand away and spoke quickly to cover her embarrassment.

  “And what do you do, Mr. Swain?”

  “I’m a pop singer. And you, Miss Nan ... gan...”

  “Nya-nya-rel-li.”

  “Don’t you get tired of that?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Why didn’t you change it?”

  “I guess I figured if it was good enough for my father, it was good enough for me. Anyhow, I thought it would stand out in the cast listing. I’m an opera singer.”

  “Opera?” He raised one eyebrow. Just one. She hated people who could do that. “What are you doing presenting a jazz award?”

  “Mmm, I love jazz,” she replied. “And my favorite musician has been nominated. I suppose presenters are supposed to be impartial, but I can’t help hoping Jesse Harmon wins. He deserves it. And,” she added with a smile, “if he wins, I’ll get to meet him.”

  “You like the saxophone, I take it?”

  “I love the sax. It’s the only instrument more beautiful than the human voice. It sings like nothing else. Especially when Jesse Harmon plays. What about you, Mr. Swain? What’s your favorite instrument?”

  “Won’t you call me Luke so I can call you Nina? Be merciful,” he said with a grin.

  “Luke,” she amended.

  “The guitar is the instrument I’m most familiar with. I guess the trumpet is the one I most enjoy listening to.”

  They engaged in an animated argument about the merits of each brass instrument until they were called to go onstage. As was customary, Nina slipped her arm through his before they walked into the lights. She haughtily ignored the laughing glance Luke tossed her. He seemed to know that touching him flustered her.

  “And now, to present the next award,” boomed a hearty voice over the loudspeaker, “Luke Swain and Nina Ganagarelli.” Nina’s jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth.

  The audience’s reception was enthusiastic as she and Luke walked toward the podium. She assumed it was mostly meant for him. She was widely recognized within the opera world, but not well known outside of it—not yet. Besides, she thought loftily, opera lovers were usually too refined to make some of the noises she was hearing.

  “Good evening,” Luke said as they reached the microphone. “Allow me to introduce you to Nina Gnagnarelli.”

  He had pronounced her name impeccably. She shot him a grateful look before they began reading their cue cards.

  Finally, Luke opened the envelope saying, “And the winner is...” He peered at the name inside and then, with a grin, he handed the envelope to Nina so she could announce the name.

  Her smile
was broader than his as she announced enthusiastically, “Jesse Harmon!” Everyone, including Nina and Luke, applauded as the seasoned old musician clambered onstage to accept the award. Nina tried to shake his hand, but he hugged her and to her surprise hugged Luke, as well. He made a brief speech, explained his shyness of audiences unless he had his horn with him, and walked into the wings with Luke and Nina.

  As soon as they were backstage, the old man clapped Luke on the shoulder. “Luke, man, where the hell have you been? I ain’t seen you for a coon’s age!”

  “Coon’s age?” Luke repeated incredulously. “Are you making fun of this poor country boy, or are you just getting quaint in your old age?”

  Nina looked from one man to the other in astonishment. “You know him?” she almost shrieked, forgetting her usual elegant manners. A stagehand shushed her. “Why didn’t you say so?” she demanded in a lower voice.

  “I didn’t want you to think I was bragging,” Luke said innocently. “Jesse, this is Nina Gnagnarelli, the opera singer. Don’t bother trying to get your mouth around the last name—”

  “Of course I’ve heard of you, Miss Gnagnarelli,” said Jesse, pronouncing her name perfectly. He raised her delicate hand to his lips. “I am an admirer. You’re surely someday gonna be one of the greatest sopranos in the whole world.”

  “Look, why don’t I just leave you two here to stroke each other’s egos? A few minutes ago she was babbling on in rapture about you and your horn.” Luke tried to sound annoyed, but his eyes were dancing with enjoyment.

  “I never babble,” corrected Nina, and although she was only five foot three and he was at least six feet tall, she gave the impression of looking down her nose at him.

  “Don’t mind him, honey,” said Jesse. “He’s just miffed ‘cause he’s used to all the girls drooling over him. But tonight’s my night, buddy!”

  “It certainly is,” said Nina warmly. “And you deserve it, Jesse. I may be among the best someday, but you are the best now. Nobody can play the sax like you. You make it sing to me.”

  “Whoowhee! You sure know how to flatter an old man” Jesse laughed. “Just you be sure that you’re retired by the time you’re as old as me. It’s a crazy life, ain’t it, though.”

  They chatted easily for a while about the music business—the long hours, the late nights, the lonely tours—before Jesse finally said, “Look, my wife and kids and a few friends are out in the audience. We were thinkin’ of goin’ to a little place I know down in the Village as soon as this is over. Nothing fancy. Just a place I go to jam with old friends on special occasions. Why don’t you join us?”

  Nina’s eyes glowed like a child’s. “Oh, I’d love to!” she agreed.

  “Mind if I come along?” asked Luke dryly.

  “Who asked you, man?” Jesse laughed, slapping Luke on the back. Luke’s eyes widened, then rolled heavenward.

  They all arranged to meet after the program was over. There was to be a finale, very crass in Nina’s opinion, in which all the presenters and award winners sang together onstage while the cameras picked out as many famous faces as they could.

  In the good-natured confusion that followed the end of the program, Luke watched several men try to make Nina’s acquaintance. His eyes took in her petite, well-proportioned figure, creamy skin, and blue eyes so rich in color they were almost violet. Her shiny, midnight black hair only emphasized her well-shaped nose, dramatic cheekbones and long, slender neck. He could understand why she hadn’t gone unnoticed in this crowd.

  Despite the obvious interest of one or two attractive men, Nina was in a hurry to leave; an invitation from the aging and happily married Jesse Harmon was by far the most exciting prospect of the evening.

  As soon as she could, Nina collected her belongings and then stepped into a powder room to check her appearance.

  Nina’s ex-husband Philippe had taught her how best to finish the work nature had begun. The result was an elegant woman with the sort of classic appearance that never goes out of style. Her unruly hair was styled by the best—though not the most expensive—hairdresser in New York, and a regular monthly appointment kept it in exactly the right shape, a simple elegant style which came just to her shoulders, framing her face and contrasting with the milky whiteness of her skin.

  She had become an expert at applying makeup to highlight her best features while making it appear that she was scarcely wearing makeup at all. Every piece of her wardrobe was carefully selected to suit her size and coloring, and to last for years. Her shoes were Italian, her perfume was French and her small supply of jewelry was genuine and utterly tasteful. An attractive appearance was important in show business, and with the single-minded dedication to her career which had characterized most of her life, Nina cultivated her assets.

  She made a few minor repairs to her hair and face—she’d been enthusiastically hugged by a dozen people she’d never met in her life—and donned her wrap. She wore a simple black evening gown and a pearl necklace. They had tried to put some glitzy costume jewelry on her when she’d arrived at the ceremony, but she had adamantly refused. Amidst all the sequins and rhinestones she saw around her, she felt sure a style of classic simplicity would stand out. She shrugged. It was one of her first TV appearances, and if she had made a mistake, she would learn from it.

  Nina smoothed the gown over her flat stomach. She was excited. Her eyes glowed as if with a secret, and her cheeks had a rosy color she hadn’t brushed on. A face flashed in her mind’s eye, but instead of Jesse’s wizened grin, it was Luke Swain’s warm, laughing eyes she pictured looking down at her. She frowned as she made her way outside.

  “You are going out to enjoy the company of a great musician,” she reminded herself sternly. “You are not going to flirt with some hotshot rock singer.”

  * * * *

  Luke was the first person she saw, and his words were not encouraging.

  “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “It’s mink,” said Nina, looking down at her furry black wrap.

  “Mink? Mink! And what are you carrying?” He grabbed her small purse.

  “It’s crocodile skin,” she said, struggling to maintain her hold on it. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

  “I don’t mind people wearing animal hide for practical purposes; leather shoes, for instance—”

  “Oh, that’s very magnanimous of you—”

  “But I cannot understand this sort of thing! The slaughter of helpless, harmless animals simply to feed human vanity.”

  “Helpless? How many harmless crocodiles do you know? And minks, I’ll have you know, are vile, nasty little creatures.”

  “So you feel all right about killing them to wear around your shoulders?”

  “I didn’t kill them!” she shouted. Remembering herself, she tried to speak more calmly. “And I’m not responsible for someone else killing them. These things were long dead when I bought them, and if I hadn’t bought them, someone else would have.”

  “If people would stop buying these ... ghoulish fashion accessories, this kind of wasteful slaughter of animal life for strictly cosmetic purposes would cease,” he retorted. “There are perfectly good fakes available, just as attractive as—”

  “I never wear fakes. Of anything,” Nina said icily.

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. There was no warmth in them now. He started to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Jesse and the rest of the group.

  The party consisted of Jesse and his wife, Rebecca, their son and daughter and their spouses, Nina, Luke, and several other people whose names Nina couldn’t keep straight. Everyone was very friendly, but she was irked that they seemed to think she and Luke were “together.”

  Admittedly, she probably wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him, but she scarcely knew the man and was beginning to dislike him. Intensely.

  The group piled into two separate cabs. Nina and Luke were in the same cab, but she coolly ignored him. She became even more irked when, instea
d of noticing her snub, he became absorbed in a conversation with a middle-aged woman. A conversation which, as far as Nina could tell, had something to do with a mutual friend whose adventures sounded highly irresponsible to her. The rest of them were laughing as if he were some great hero. Jesse was in the other taxi and feeling like the odd man out, Nina stared moodily out the window all the way to Greenwich Village.

  The jazz club, Rootie’s, was in a cellar underneath a new wave boutique. Although fair-sized, it was packed with people, all hot and perspiring and obviously having a good time. Because their group was with Jesse Harmon, there was a table ready and waiting for them. It took them some time to reach it, however, since their progress was slowed by dozens of people warmly congratulating Jesse. A few people seemed to recognize Luke, and one young woman—obviously not a personal acquaintance—started screaming, “Ohmigawd! It’s Luke Swain! You’re Luke Swain! He’s Luke Swain!” She was reaching out to him, touching him as though he was a miracle healer, before her date finally got hold of her. He grinned and shouted, “Great music, Luke!” and propelled the girl away.

  “Thanks,” said Luke feebly.

  Jesse laughed, enjoying it immensely. “Even on my home turf, this no-account Kansas boy has to steal the action!” he shouted. Everyone was shouting. The music was very loud.

  When they finally reached their table, Nina was pleased and flattered that Jesse insisted she sit next to him. He called her “the guest of honor of the guest of honor.” Luke sat down on her other side, returning her icy stare with a wicked grin. A waitress came to take their order. Everyone else in the party wanted beer.

  “Brandy Alexander, please,” said Nina.

  “You must be joking, girl,” said the waitress.

  Nina wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

  Jesse laughed. “They don’t do fancy stuff here, Nina.”

  “Oh.”

  “Bring her a beer,” Luke told the waitress. Nina’s eyes met his. There was a challenge in them she didn’t understand but wasn’t going to back away from.