Not at Eight, Darling

by Sherryl Woods

She gazed at him with serious brown eyes. “Michael, I have never played games with you. I’ve told you from the beginning that it couldn’t work between us.”

  Puzzlement suddenly filled his eyes. “Then what was last night all about?”

  “Last night was about two mature adults who needed each other.”

  Confusion changed to hurt, then anger. “That’s all it was for you? I don’t believe it. You wanted me, Barrie. Me, Michael. Not just some willing male body.”

  Barrie winced at the accusatory tone, the underlying plea for an acknowledgment of caring that she wasn’t prepared to make. Last night…this morning…had been special, but that didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t let it. She would send Michael on his way and tug her defensive cloak back into place. It had slipped during the long, tender night, but she hadn’t completely lost it.

  “Michael, please,” she begged softly. “Don’t do this. I loved what we shared. I just don’t want to magnify it all out of proportion.”

  Michael drew in a shocked breath, then exploded, “That is the most ridiculous comment I have ever heard in my life! You know we have something special between us, something the whole world searches for and hardly ever finds. Why won’t you admit it?”

  “I can’t,” she said simply. “It’s not real.”

  Her cool words seemed to incense him. He grabbed her roughly and pulled her into his arms. His lips against hers were hot, demanding, his hands possessive, sure. Barrie felt yet another stirring of excitement, as flames licked through her. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. His body next to hers was on fire, his arousal pressing against her thigh with a powerful, tantalizing intimacy. A shudder of dismay seemed to rack his body and then, at last, he pushed her away, as though half-afraid of where his anger might lead. He looked shattered.

  “Was that real enough for you?” he demanded, leaping out of bed and picking up his scattered clothes. He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, and Barrie heard the shower go on. It seemed to pound down with the unrelenting fury of a storm. She couldn’t bear listening to it another minute, imagining Michael’s naked body standing under the harsh spray tense with outrage.

  Barrie put on her robe and padded into the kitchen, her heart still thudding against her ribs. His violence hadn’t really scared her. She had known instinctively that Michael would never harm her. But the depth of his anger had shaken her. A sophisticated male was supposed to kiss and say goodbye with calm acceptance. In fact, most of them were absolutely delighted to discover that their night’s partner had no designs on their future independence. Why had Michael reacted so differently? Was it possible he actually cared about her?

  She fumbled with the coffee maker with fingers made shaky by lack of sleep and tension. She spilled her first spoonful of coffee all over the counter and finally managed to get the machine working properly. By the time Michael came into the living room, she was sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of very strong coffee. She looked up at him wearily.

  He raked his fingers through his still-damp hair, the brown tendrils falling haphazardly onto his brow, giving him an appealingly boyish appearance. But there was nothing boyish or innocent about his anguish. “Please don’t look at me like that,” he begged contritely. “I’m sorry, I was furious, but I had no right to take it out on you like that.”

  Barrie returned his gaze with a thoughtful, unwavering look. “Maybe you did,” she admitted at last. “Last night was important to you, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course it was important. I care about you. I’ve wanted to be with you for weeks now. Last night was just the way I knew it would be with us.”

  “Then I’m sorry if you thought I was demeaning it. I didn’t mean to. It was special for me, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She paused, then added slowly, “But now I need some distance.”

  She looked up at him hopefully. “Can you try to understand that?”

  He sighed, but nodded. “I can try, but you’re not giving me many clues.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have it all straight in my head yet.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to wait.”

  “I’ll call you later,” she offered. “If you want me to.”

  “I want you to.”

  He gazed at her tenderly once again, the blue-green of his eyes shadowed with desire once more. “I’d better get out of here, or my noble promises won’t be worth a hoot.”

  Barrie started to stand to walk him to the door. He waved her back.

  “Don’t move. I want to leave with the image of you curled up in the corner of the sofa like that. You look like a sleepy, contented cat.”

  “‘Night, Michael.”

  “It’s morning, love.” He stood in the doorway for several long minutes, just staring at her, then smiled. “Sleep well.”

  After he had gone, Barrie opened the present that had been left, forgotten, on the coffee table. It was a leather-bound copy of the script for the opening episode of Goodbye, Again. She clutched the thoughtful gift to her and tried to blink back her tears.

  Michael’s sensitivity, his touching generosity never ceased to surprise her. He was trying so hard to understand, but what he said was true. She wasn’t giving him many clues, and he deserved them. It was even more than that. He deserved not just clues, but clear, straightforward answers.

  She vowed to search her heart and find them for him.

  For both of them.

  Chapter Nine

  What’s he doing here?” Heath hissed as Barrie’s front door swung open to admit Michael to the cast’s already boisterous celebration of their premiere night.

  “Shut up,” Danielle muttered. “Barrie invited him.”

  “Nothing like bringing the enemy into the middle of your camp.”

  “Do you know a better way to disarm him?” she responded reasonably. “Besides, Barrie cares about him.”

  “Then she’s crazier than I’d ever imagined,” Heath snapped back. “The man’s a… Oh, forget it. I’m going out on the patio.”

  “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

  Barrie overheard the biting remarks, but she was too engrossed in greeting Michael to care much about the impact of his arrival on Heath and the others. She had known some of them wouldn’t be overjoyed to have him here, but it was her party, and she wanted to see him, wanted to share this special night with him.

  They had talked only a few times in the past week. Apparently he had taken her request for distance to heart and had given her all that she wanted. More, in fact. He hadn’t called her once, waiting instead for her to call him. She’d never felt so lonely or abandoned in her life. After the decree she’d uttered only a few days earlier, she’d decided it was wiser not to try to figure out why she felt that way. As usual, though, Danielle had not been above offering a few pointed observations on the subject.

  To Barrie’s dismay, she was beginning to believe her friend might be right. At the very least, she had admitted to herself that she was clearly infatuated with Michael. Probably more than infatuated. Whatever label she stuck on it didn’t really matter. The important thing was that she had decided to put aside her doubts, to open herself up to the possibilities of the relationship. No longer would she hold him at arm’s length. Her newfound resolve gave a special warmth to her welcoming smile.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said, gazing up at him with brightly shining eyes no longer hidden behind glasses. Her new contacts had finally arrived, and she could actually see clearly just how spectacular he looked in his jeans and formfitting knit shirt.

  Michael surveyed the gathering of hostile faces and grinned at her. “You’re probably the only one.”

  “Ahh, but it’s my party. I’m the only one who counts.”

  “You’re the only one who counts with me, anyway.”

  “Let me get you a drink, and then you can mingle.”

  He feigned horror. “Mingle? With this crowd? They’ll tear me to
pieces. I thought you said you were glad to see me.”

  “I am. Very,” she said softly, tucking her arm through his. “But I’m also the hostess. I have things to do.”

  “What things?”

  She grinned at him and said airily, “Oh, you know. Hostessy things.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “Watch it, Mr. Compton,” Danielle warned, coming up to wrap an arm around Barrie’s waist. “She’ll have you in the kitchen wearing a frilly apron and chopping up bits of disgusting raw chicken livers, if you’re not careful.”

  “Chicken livers?” he repeated, eyeing Barrie skeptically. “Maybe I’ll just stay here and talk to your talented director.”

  Barrie sniffed. “Oh, no you don’t. You offered to help. Danielle abandoned me, just because I asked her to make a few little hors d’oeuvres.”

  “I did not sign on to touch that stuff,” she said with an exaggerated shiver. “Ugh.”

  “You eat that stuff,” Barrie reminded her.

  “Of course. But that’s after it’s been wrapped around a water chestnut, surrounded by bacon and broiled beyond recognition. If I’d had any idea what it looked like in its natural state, I’d never have touched it.”

  Barrie laughed. “Okay, you win. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll do KP all by myself.”

  Michael and Danielle exchanged a significant look. “Does that sound like the wounded cry of a martyr to you?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” she replied resignedly. “I suppose we both had better help, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  The three of them worked side by side in the kitchen, finishing up the preparation of the appetizers and stirring the big pot of chili Barrie had made the day before. Michael kept adding chili powder whenever Barrie’s back was turned. When she finally caught him at it and sampled the resulting spicy stew, her eyes watered, and she grabbed for a glass of ice water.

  “What have you done?” she finally choked out between gulps of cooling liquid that did nothing to soothe her throat but pacified her need to do something.

  “It needed a little oomph!” he informed her cheerfully. “Is it better now?”

  “Better? It’s lethal,” she sputtered. “Do you realize that half those guests in there probably have ulcers already? This stuff will kill them.”

  Danielle dished up a spoonful and tasted it. “Umm,” she said approvingly. “Barrie, what are you grumbling about? This is just right.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said with exaggerated appreciation, then stared pointedly at Barrie. “See.”

  Barrie shuddered. “Okay, you two. I hold you responsible for calling the ambulances when those people start writhing on the floor.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Danielle told Michael airily. “She has always been a culinary wimp. In college she once complained to the cafeteria manager that the gravy was too spicy. Can you imagine ever calling that bland, awful glue too spicy?”

  “That is not true, Danielle Lawrence.”

  “Well, it was something like that.”

  Danielle was not the least bit intimidated by Barrie’s outraged protest. Her irreverent—and, according to Barrie, greatly exaggerated—tales of Barrie’s college antics kept them all howling, until finally Heath and Melinda stuck their heads in the door to find out what was going on. They looked like two kids who were feeling left out of all the fun.

  “Hey, you guys,” Melinda said. “The party’s out here. You’re not supposed to be enjoying yourselves over the drudgery.”

  “What drudgery?” Danielle asked with feigned perplexity. “I thought Barrie had come up with a new party game.”

  “In that case, who’s winning?” Heath demanded.

  “I think I am,” Michael confessed. “I’m in here with two beautiful women all to myself.”

  “Maybe you should make it three,” Melinda suggested with coy seductiveness.

  “I think I’m in over my head with just the two of them, but what the heck,” he responded gallantly. “Come on in.”

  “Actually I think you all should get out here,” Heath interjected. “The show’s coming on in just a couple of minutes.”

  In the living room everyone had gathered around the large-screen set by the time Barrie and Michael and the others came in. Barrie found a spot on the floor, and Michael sat right behind her. She leaned back against his chest, liking the comfort that broad, solid expanse offered her. One hand rested on his leg. His very muscular, very tempting leg. Her other hand kept creeping toward her mouth as she fought unsuccessfully against the temptation to bite her nails.

  For the next half hour the group chuckled as they saw themselves on the air, laughing at Heath’s clever dialogue and grinning as Melinda’s Karen kept Mason decisively at arm’s length, while taunting him with veiled promises. Barrie listened closely for Michael’s laughter, cringed when it didn’t come on cue, beamed with satisfaction when it did. As caught up as she was in the pride of creation, though, she knew there was something missing. It wasn’t only Michael’s tautness that told her that. She sensed it instinctively. There was a critical beat missing, some elusive ingredient that they would have to find if the characters were to blend perfectly.

  At the end, when the others were congratulating each other, she gazed into Michael’s face, saw the internal struggle he waged to find words that wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t hurt any of them.

  “It was bad, wasn’t it?” she asked softly, so the others couldn’t hear.

  “No.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t bad. The characters are good. The concept is good. The performances were great.”

  “But something’s missing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea what it is?”

  “Nope. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  “Neither can I.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. “Let’s not worry about it tonight. Tonight we’ll celebrate, and next week we’ll take a look at the show more closely. I don’t want us to throw a damper on your party.”

  From that moment on, it was as though Goodbye, Again hadn’t even aired. Michael did his best to put the others guests at ease, to make them forget he was a network vice president. He showed them his warmth, his humor and, most of all, he was obvious about his deep affection for their producer. As protective as they all were of each other, that alone would have endeared him to them. By the end of the evening, Barrie noted, even Heath had mellowed.

  “He hasn’t called me a cretin once,” Michael whispered triumphantly to Barrie when they were alone in the kitchen sipping cups of coffee.

  She looked at him incredulously. “You knew he’d called you that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Kevin, I suppose.”

  “A network executive never reveals his sources.”

  “I thought that was reporters.”

  “Them, too.” He nuzzled her neck. “Do you suppose these friends of yours would be offended if I suggested it was time for them to leave?”

  “Probably.”

  “What about if you told them?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” she taunted impishly.

  “So you can run your hands over my incredible thighs,” he murmured with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Barrie’s mouth dropped open, and she flushed with embarrassment. “You know about that, too?”

  He nodded.

  “I think I’ll order a closed set first thing Monday morning.”

  “Won’t work,” he told her seriously. “My spies are everywhere.”

  “Danielle again,” she muttered in disgust. “What am I going to do with her?”

  “Treasure her. She’s a terrific friend.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Who’s a terrific friend?” the woman in question inquired tartly, sticking her head in the door.

  “You are.” Michael confirmed, just as Barrie responded “Nobody.”

  Danielle gazed from one to the other, her sharp eyes missing
nothing. Barrie knew that she had witnessed their growing closeness, measured it and approved wholeheartedly. She also guessed she would connive to encourage it. Her next comment proved it.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve nudged everyone else out of here,” she announced proudly. “They all said thanks and good-night.”

  “See what I mean?” Michael murmured, nibbling on Barrie’s ear. “She’s a jewel.”

  “Notice that she hasn’t left yet,” Barrie reminded him significantly.

  “I’m on my way. See you two on Monday,” she said breezily. She winked at Michael. “Have a wonderful night.”

  “Goodbye, Danielle,” Barrie said firmly.

  “What about me?” Michael inquired when they were alone. “Do I go or stay?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Then I’d say you should follow your instincts.”

  The rest of the weekend passed in a wonderfully tender, sensual blur. It was a time for new discoveries, for more talk, long walks on the beach and passionate lovemaking. This time Barrie did not pull away afterward. Instead she hugged Michael to her and held on, delighting in this newfound excitement that rocked her senses, the tenderness that touched her heart, the matching of wits that brought them ever closer.

  By Tuesday, though, the memory of those moments of mental and emotional intimacy had dimmed, replaced by new concerns over Goodbye, Again. When the ratings for the premiere came in during the week, Barrie felt shell-shocked as she stared at the national Neilsen numbers. She had anticipated problems because of the time slot but nothing like this.

  Better to confront Michael about this head-on, she decided. She was just reaching for the phone to call him when it rang.

  “Hello, dear. It’s Mrs. Hastings. Mr. Compton would like to see you, Mr. Donaldson and Miss Lawrence in his office.”

  “When?” Barrie asked with a sense of dread, wishing she’d had a chance to initiate the meeting on her own terms.

  “As soon as you can get here.”

  “We’re in the middle of a rehearsal.”

  “I know, dear, but I think he wants you here now, anyway.” She paused, and Barrie thought she could hear Michael’s voice in the background. When Mrs. Hastings came back on the line, she confirmed it. “He said immediately, Miss MacDonald.”