But this went beyond pleasure.
If he and Joanna Stratton acted out the fantasies that charged the air between them with fire and dreams, there would be no turning back. He would want everything she was. He would want to own her, heart and soul, to slip inside her mind and know her secret thoughts, her wildest dreams.
He pushed the thought from his head and refilled her wine instead. "Has Kathryn had any trouble with Stanley?" he asked.
Joanna shook her head. "None at all," she said, taking a sip of wine. "It's not her apartment."
"Yours?"
A drop of wine lingered on her bottom lip and he longed to touch his tongue to it and savor the mingled sweetness of her breath and the wine. The tip of her tongue darted out to catch it and his entire body responded to the artless eroticism of the act.
"My mother's." Her eyes lingered on his as if she knew what he'd been thinking.
"So that explains the name on the doorbell."
"You're very observant."
"It's part of the job."
"Which is?"
Damn it to hell. In just a few weeks of inactivity, he'd grown dangerously careless. Even if he managed to break free of the organization, a slip like that could cost innocent people their lives.
"Nonexistent." He grabbed onto the first idea that presented itself. "I'm part of the idle rich."
"Lucky you." She seemed to accept it.
"How do you keep body and soul together, Joanna Stratton?"
"I'm a makeup artist."
"Avon or Mary Kay?"
She laughed. "Neither. I do films, some stage, and a lot of still photography."
"Interesting work?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "Not to mention socially relevant."
"I imagine keeping Redford beautiful is serious business."
The soft lines of her dazzling face sharpened. "Care for me to make a few observations on the idle rich?"
"Entertainment is necessary for the soul. I didn't mean it as an insult, Joanna."
She sipped her wine. "I know you didn't. I'm going through a midlife career crisis at the moment and I guess I'm feeling hypersensitive."
"Aren't you a bit young for a midlife crisis?" She couldn't be more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
"I'm thirty-two," she said, "but I've been working since I was twenty." She shook her head in bemusement. "Can you imagine? Twelve years of worrying if the mascara is going to smudge or the foundation is properly blended. My epitaph will probably read, 'Joanna Stratton: She really knew her eye shadows.'"
"So why don't you change fields?"
She looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "Easy for a member of the idle rich to say. This is my one and only talent and since I'm my sole support . . . " She let her words trail off and his curiosity heightened.
"You've never been married."
"Once," she said quietly. "A thousand years ago."
A tactful change of subject was in order but tact had never been his strong suit. "Divorced?"
"That's none of your business, Ryder."
"You're not still married, are you?" He hadn't always been an example of moral rectitude but consorting with married women was strictly off-limits.
Joanna stood up and put her wineglass on the table. Her silk shirt was loose and flowing and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of bare skin.
"Eddie died in a crash twelve years ago," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "I thought he was on his way to Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa. He was really going to Texas to see the woman who was about to have his baby."
She turned toward the window, her back straight and proud, and memories he'd tried to keep at bay since Valerie rushed in at him. He'd forgotten how easily a heart could break.
Let her go, he thought as he memorized the sweet curve of her waist, the sleek line of her legs. If he remembered anything about real life, he would let this woman go.
She needed a man who went to work at nine and came home at six, a man whose world revolved around her, a man to sleep beside and raise a family with, a man whose tomorrows would be the same as his today.
She didn't need a man whose life had revolved on the axis of self, a man who owed so much to so many and had so little chance of finding his way back to the real world.
What Joanna needed wasn't his to give, and until he broke free of PAX any promises he made to her would be promises written in sand.
She deserved better.
And, unfortunately, so did he.
#
The words echoed in Joanna's head. No one, not even her mother or Holland, knew the entire truth about the tragic end of her marriage to Eddie Carr. She'd adopted the stance of the grief-stricken widow, while inside her, anger tore at her heart and eroded her self-esteem.
And now tonight, to this virtual stranger, Joanna had vomited up the words that had rested like bile in her throat for so long. She would have given anything to pull those ugly syllables back. The sense of inadequacy she'd felt when Eddie died and the Air Force uncovered the true story was as devastating today as it had been when she was a nineteen-year-old girl who believed in fairy tales and happy endings.
Let her mother look for orange blossoms and double-ring ceremonies, for happiness to come in the guise of a strong pair of shoulders. Joanna knew better.
Or at least she thought she did.
Just how Ryder O'Neal had managed to get under her skin like that, to probe so close to the secret part of her heart that had died along with Eddie, was a mystery better left unsolved.
She'd worked too hard to regain her sense of self and she wasn't about to let an ill-advised confession undermine the long years of growth.
"He was a damned fool," Ryder said. His cane scraped against the polished wood floor. "You know that, don't you?"
She turned around. "I know it now." She'd already said more than enough. There was no way on earth she was about to tell him about the darker times when she'd sought self-esteem in the arms of other men, only to pull away at any hint of real commitment. She'd acquired a reputation as a heartbreaker but hers was the only heart that had ever actually been broken.
He glanced across the room at the eight-day clock that rested on the mantel over the fireplace. "It's late. I'd better get moving."
She forced a smile. "Busy day tomorrow?"
He smiled back. "You know how it is for us idle rich. Gotta keep American Expressin business."
"No, you don't," she said as she walked him to the door. "I manage to do that single-handedly."
The look he gave her reached deep into the shadows of her heart. "Why do I think that's the way you do most things?"
She said nothing. His accuracy stunned her.
"Am I wrong?"
There was no sense denying it. "How did you know?"
"I have good instincts."
"I'll keep that in mind." X-ray vision you could protect yourself against. X-ray instincts left you defenseless, and Joanna hated being defenseless more than anything on earth.
"There's something else."
She tensed. "Another observation?"
He adjusted his cane. "Of a different nature."
She tried to draw a deep breath but the look in his eyes made it impossible.
"We would have been good together."
"I beg your pardon?"
He smiled. "You were thinking that before, weren't you?"
Why try to deny it? The red flush covering her body was proof positive. "Yes. Are you psychic?" If he was, maybe the surgeon general should stamp a warning on his forehead to alert unsuspecting women given to flights of fantasy.
Those oddly beautiful hazel eyes of his seemed able to pierce right through her protective armor – whether she wanted them to or not.
"I'm not psychic," he said, never taking his gaze from her face. "I fantasize, too."
The powerful image of herself moving beneath him made her body feel touched by fire. She wasn't a naïve schoolgirl, nor was she unaware of the pure power
of desire for its own sake. But articulating her fantasies in the foyer of her mother's apartment was beyond her. Especially when the object of those fantasies was looking at her as if she were naked and he, ready for anything.
She gestured toward the crazily decorated cast on his right leg. "I edited out your broken leg."
"Good move," he said, his voice lower, deeper than before. "I gave us a big, wide bed and lots of time."
Her heart pounded wildly at all her pulse points in a way that was almost painful. "It was dark. Just the light from the moon and the stars."
"No, Joanna." Although he didn't move closer, she felt as if she'd been drawn into his embrace. "The light in the room is on. I want to be able to see you."
Desire, hot and wild, swept over her, and made her tremble with need.
Stop this, she thought. She was losing control, losing the cool air of reserve she'd worked so hard to acquire, the reserve that gave her the upper hand in relationships with men, the reserve that made it possible for her to make certain she would never be hurt again.
"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, "but I like it with the lights out."
"Is that negotiable?"
"Afraid not."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"So am I."
"We could have made each other very happy, Joanna."
She closed her eyes for a moment. "I know." Her entire body hungered for him.
And then, before she could think, he leaned forward and kissed her swiftly on the mouth.
He was gone before she realized just how much she'd wanted him to ask her one more time.
#
"You're a fool," Ryder muttered as he pushed the elevator button for the eleventh floor. "A goddamned idiot."
The erotic possibilities between them as they'd stood in the hallway of her mother's apartment had been limitless. Not even Alistair and one of his state-of-the-art computers could possibly have measured the throbbing , liquid tension that had polarized them, promising everything but ultimately delivering nothing at all.
He'd been around long enough to know that if he'd pursued her, pulled Joanna into his arms on that over-stuffed sofa and let his hands and mouth explore her body, those fantasies they'd spoken about would have become reality.
Where Valerie had been open and vulnerable years ago, so he was now. At first he'd thought he backed away from Joanna to save her from certain pain; now he recognized that for the lie it was.
When she told him the room would be dark with only moonlight to guide them, he'd hardened in anticipation, and it had taken a supreme act of will to keep from sliding his hands under that loose-fitting silk shirt of hers.
But even after he'd given her pleasure and had been pleasured by her, as well, it wouldn't have been enough. He would want her again and again, an endless chain of days and nights of wanting her body, her heart, and her soul.
He'd known women as beautiful; he'd known woman as witty and twice as willing. But he'd never come so far so fast, never been allowed to see beyond the façade and view the beating, fragile wonder of the human heart as he had tonight with Joanna. That simple act of exposing her soul had done more to seal his fate than sex ever could.
The elevator doors opened and he headed down the hallway to his PAX-provided apartment, pulling his PAX-provided key out of his pocket and inserting it into the PAX-provided lock.
He'd lived in a rarefied atmosphere for so long his lungs didn't know what to do with the air down at sea level. What in hell did he know about reality? For the past fifteen years he'd been guided and molded and encouraged by the best and the brightest the Western nations had to offer. His talents had guided the destinies of a score of countries. The lives of the great and the near-great had rested in his hands.
But when it came down to it, love was the deadliest emotion of them all, because it was the only one that held the power to destroy.
Chapter Eight
Another old wives' tale bit the dust.
Cold showers don't work.
One hour after Ryder left, Joanna toweled herself off and slipped into one of Cynthia's countless silky bathrobes that occupied a full third of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Cynthia might be a lunatic when it came to affairs of the heart, but there was something to be said for being the daughter of a devout Sybarite. The slither of satin against Joanna's skin was delicious—almost as delicious as the feel of Ryder's mouth on hers.
"Dangerous thoughts," she said out loud as she headed toward the kitchen and her long-forgotten dinner. Too dangerous to let get out of hand.
She'd be damned if she allowed herself to become involved with a man who was as obviously wrong for her as Ryder O'Neal. One mistake in a lifetime was more than enough.
It wasn't hard to see that Ryder was everything she'd been avoiding all these years, the reason she'd avoided actors and other charismatic types she worked with and gravitated toward attorneys and businessmen, men who were sedate and safe in their three-piece suits. Men she could outrun and outmaneuver and forget as quickly as she herself was forgotten. There was a certain security in knowing that by lowering your hopes, you also lowered your chances of being hurt.
Ryder O'Neal was witty and independent and unlikely to be bothered with petty things like commitment and security. Unfortunately, Joanna had learned just how important those petty things were to her.
She'd learned it the hard way years ago.
It had been the rainiest November in New York history and Thanksgiving Day was no exception.
All through dinner, Joanna Stratton Carr tried to pretend it was a normal family celebration but the gloomy weather more than matched her mood.
Her mother flitted in and out of the enormous kitchen, supervising the caterer and his assistants, while Mark VanDyke, her third husband, argued with Eddie about Vietnam. Eddie, dressed in his Army uniform, did his best to stick up for the government's point of view, but Joanna could tell by the twitch in his left shoulder that Mark's stinging comments got under her husband's skin.
Not a very good way for a young married couple to spend their last few hours together. The minutes were slipping away faster than Joanna could pull them back in a desperate attempt to hang on to this first bit of security she'd ever known. Despite these frequent U.S. Army-induced separations, Eddie Carr represented a safe haven, true love, the prospect of a home and family – all the things she'd dreamed of as a little girl.
When the taxi came to take Eddie to the airport, Joanna was practically in tears.
"Don’t go," she said as they embraced in the lobby of the Carillon. "Stay just one more night, Eddie. You don't have to report to San Francisco until Saturday morning." She kissed his cheek, his jaw, his throat. "We'll stay in a hotel. We'll –" She whispered something in his car so the doorman wouldn't hear her.
Eddie, however, had obviously already made his break from civilian life. He removed her hands from around his neck and kissed each palm.
"You're making it harder on me, Jo." His voice sounded far away.
"Good. I want to make it hard so you won't leave me." Don't leave me, Eddie. I can't live without you.
"I don't have any choice. You know that."
"A few more hours then, Eddie. Just a few more hours." They'd been married less than a year and, thanks to Uncle Sam, had been apart more than half of that time. PFC Edward Carr was the first wonderful thing to ever happen to Joanna Stratton, and she was young enough and naïve enough to believe that she could succeed where her mother had failed repeatedly. "I need you more than the Army does." Don't make me step back into Cynthia's life when I was to start living my own.
He'd simply looked at her, his dark brown eyes unreadable, then smiled that long, lazy smile that had twisted her stomach into knots the first night they met. Joanna and her mother were alike in that one respect: Both women were suckers for a pretty face.
"Just six months, Jo," he said, pushing her long black hair away from her eyes, "and I'll have R and R in Hawaii. You can m
eet me there."
It didn't matter that between them they had barely enough money for the cab ride to JFK, much less Joanna's plane fare to Hawaii. His words were exactly what she needed to hear – and what she wanted to believe.
"I'll drop out of school and get a job," she said. "If I live with Cynthia and Mark while you're away, we can save a fortune." That wonderful Cape Cod house in Levittown with the white picket fence might someday become a reality.
He smiled but she could tell his mind was far away.
Next to them, the doorman discreetly cleared his throat. "Your taxi's here, folks."
Eddie pulled Joanna to him, and she closed her eyes and began to cry. For eighteen years she'd searched for someone to love her the way Eddie loved her, someone who would protect her and cherish her, all the things she'd longed for as a child but never found.
"Everything will be fine," Eddie said, kissing her for the very last time. "I'll be back before you know it."
And he was.
He died two days later in a car crash just outside San Antonio, Texas, while driving his pregnant girlfriend to her obstetrician's office.
Private First Class Edward Joseph Carr came back home on Sunday, November 25. He was buried on Tuesday, November 27 in Pine Lawn Cemetery.
The last of Joanna's illusions were buried along with him.
#
"Damn it!" Joanna slammed her fist down on the kitchen counter and curled up on the window seat overlooking the street in front of the Carillon.
Why couldn't Ryder O'Neal be an investment banker or an English professor or a periodontist? Why couldn't he be tweedy and weathered and content to sit before a fire with Joanna on his left and an Irish setter on his right? She wanted a man to share her life with, not one who would keep his own counsel.
Mysterious, handsome strangers were wonderful heroes in the movies, but they made lousy partners in real life. That was why she'd made it a point to spurn the advances of the show business types she came in contact with on the job and to limit her romances to the men who came more conservatively packaged.
Playing for Time Page 8
