Night Moves (60th Anniversary)

by Heather Graham

  A sudden blast of music almost sent her rocketing up to the ceiling; her heart slowed its wild pounding as she realized a tape had been turned on. A tape of Lee Condor and his group doing “Lorena.”

  It began with a drum beat that had a rock sound about it, but more than that, it projected the image of men marching off to war. A fiddle joined in. Then, softly, the sound of a keyboard.

  And then Condor’s voice.

  It was a unique sound. His voice was a tenor, but a husky one, and it seemed as if it could reach inside the soul with its slightly raspy edge.

  Bryn’s nerves felt more on edge than ever. She felt as if his voice, like his eyes, could discover her secrets. As if it were an instrument that could strip one bare, expose the heart and the mind and leave them naked and vulnerable.

  The song was beautiful. When other voices joined his in perfect harmony for the refrain, she felt an absurb rush of tears sting her eyes. You could feel it all, the love found, the love lost, the wisdom and sadness of resignation.

  “Bryn, you’re here. Great!”

  Tony Asp was coming down the stairway, a tape recorder in his hand.

  “Can’t you just imagine when it’s all done?” he asked jovially. “It’s going to be wonderful. Just wonderful.”

  Bryn dredged up a weak smile. “I’m sure it will be.”

  “Set your bag down, honey, and take a minute to warm up. I’ll be ready at the foot of the stairs.”

  Bryn obediently did as she was told, wryly thinking she didn’t need much of a warm-up. They had “warmed her up” so much yesterday that she should be stretched and limber for years to come.

  Still, she knew the importance of keeping her muscles and tendons from being strained, so she set into a quick routine of exercises. Pli;aaes and stretches and, on the floor, more stretches. She rose, absently dusted her hands on her tights and walked the few feet to the stairway.

  “All set, Tony,” she told the dance director.

  “Good. We’re going to start back at the beginning, nice and slow,” he told her with a smile. “You’ll start working with Lee today instead of me.”

  “Lee?” She couldn’t prevent dismay from sounding in her voice.

  “Yes, Miss Keller. Me.”

  She hadn’t seen him; she hadn’t had the slightest idea that he was anywhere about.

  But he was. Walking down the stairway. And his movements were so quiet that it made perfect sense that she hadn’t heard him, but still she felt like screaming at him.

  It was obvious that he had been there all along. Watching her. Not covertly, openly. She just hadn’t known….

  Hadn’t sensed his presence.

  And now it was suddenly overwhelming.

  She stared at him blankly as he continued down to meet her. He was in a short-sleeved knit Izod, kelly-green. The color seemed to bring out the glitter of gold in his eyes. His arms were bare, and his biceps bespoke wiry, muscled strength. The shirt hugged his torso, the trim, flat expanse of his waist, the triangular breadth of his chest and shoulders. Barbara had been right again: he appeared slim at a distance, but the closer he came, the more you became aware of the power of his frame.

  She was still looking up when he reached the bottom step. He stood a full head taller than she. And when he was there, right there before her, she sensed him again, as well as saw him. His after-shave was very light, and it made her think of cool, misty woods. It was pleasant, seductive….

  And as frightening as that hot, leashed sense of energy about him.

  “Good morning, Miss Keller.”

  The sound of his voice razored through her blood stream. Chills, then fever, assailed her again.

  “Good morning.”

  “Tony has been through this with me already, so we might as well give it a quick spin and see where the problems will be. I like the idea of the five steps—if you can handle the distance. I assure you, I’ll catch you when you fall.”

  “Fine,” Bryn said crisply.

  “Tony?”

  “I’m ready. Walk it through from the foot of the stairs. Then we’ll try it with the music.”

  It had been so easy the day before. Today, as soon as Lee put his hands on her upper arms, she wanted to wrench away from him and run. She glanced uneasily at the fingers that locked over her gently. They were bronze from the sun, long, the nails blunt and clean. A spattering of jet hair feathered the backs of his hands. She found herself thinking that they were definitely a man’s hands….

  “When you’re ready, Miss Keller.”

  She stared into his eyes. She saw the gold again, a deep burning fire, plunging into her soul. He was amused by her. She saw it as his lips twisted slightly into a sardonic smile.

  The spin! she reminded herself. She could wrench away from him….

  She spun into a pirouette, paused, turning right, and then left, then flew up the stairs. One, two, three, four, five…

  She felt his hand on her arm, gripping her, stopping her, spinning her around again. She executed the kick without thinking, then prayed that he would be there to catch her….

  He was. His right arm locked around her waist as she fell against the rock hardness of his torso; his left arm slipped beneath her, bending her knees, and she was floating as he began to carry her up the stairs. Floating…and staring into his eyes again. Feeling their heat…and that of his powerful arms about her…

  “Great!” Tony approved from the foot of the stairs. “Rough, but great. Bryn, the kick was a little slow. Lee, look angrier, less tense. You’re not going to drop her. Now let’s try it with the music.”

  The first try might have been “great,” but the second was a disaster. Bryn tripped on the second step. And, to her horror, she repeated the fumble once, and then again.

  It was Condor, she thought with defensive and heated anger. It was all his fault for that half smile of vast amusement he gave her each time he saw the resentment in her eyes….

  “Miss Keller, just what is the problem?” he inquired politely, but she could still see the laughter. “Have you had coffee yet? Tony, how could you let this young lady go to work without coffee?”

  She wanted to protest; she wanted to tell him that all she wanted was to get the rehearsal over. But before she could say anything, she found herself being ushered into a drawing room opposite the ballroom and staircase.

  And she was completely alone with him.

  Bryn stood silently as he poured a cup of coffee from a drip brewer.

  “Sugar?”

  “Black, please.”

  He handed her the cup and poured one for himself. He sipped from it, staring at her so pointedly that she wished she could disappear into the floorboards.

  “Have I ever met you before, Miss Keller?”

  “No.”

  “I was quite sure I hadn’t. I can’t imagine forgetting you. But if we’ve never met, I certainly can’t see how I might have offended you in any way. Why do you dislike me?”

  “I…I don’t,” Bryn protested.

  “But you do. Why?”

  Inadvertently she moistened her lips. It would be futile to lie. He wasn’t asking her if she disliked him, he was asking her why she did. And in the secluded drawing room, he suddenly seemed ridiculously dangerous to her. Taut, trim and powerful. Able to move soundlessly with the grace of a great cat. She surreptitiously scanned his hard features. The jet hair, short and feathered in front, longer in back, dead straight. She imagined him with a bandanna across his forehead again. His shirt off, a loincloth in place of jeans. Moving stealthily through the dark, attacking with a bloodcurdling war cry keening from his full lips…

  He wouldn’t need the costume. In jeans and knit shirt, the fluid agility of his body was still evident. His dry, mocking smiles added to her certainty that he was more than healthy—he was exceptionally virile, a sexual and sensual man. Dangerous? Yes, very. He was being cordial now, testing her. Perhaps giving her a chance. But she knew as he stared at her with that look that wa
s as hard as flint that things were done his way. He wouldn’t tolerate dissention in the ranks of his employees. She would dance to his tune—or not at all.

  Anger made an abrupt appearance, welling up from deep inside her. He wanted things on the line. Well, so did she.

  “To be quite truthful, Mr. Condor, I don’t quite know why I dislike you myself. But I won’t let it interfere with my work—here, or when we do your promo shots.”

  He laughed, easily, and his features didn’t seem so hard as a grin, which displayed a nice set of even white teeth, softened them.

  “Fine, Miss Keller, I’ll trust in your professionalism. Just as I’ll trust my own.”

  “What does that mean?” Bryn queried quickly.

  “It means, Miss Keller, that I may know you better than you know yourself. I believe you think that I mentally undress you each time I look at you.”

  “Perhaps,” Bryn replied coolly, hoping that her cheeks weren’t turning a telltale crimson.

  “Ummm. And perhaps you’re worried that I chose you from a crowd because I’d like to see more of you. Or drag you into bed.”

  “I don’t presume—”

  He chuckled softly again, and she heard the sound like a hot whisper that swept through the blood, caressing her heart.

  “Miss Keller, presume all you like. I chose you for Lorena because you’re talented, and you fit my image of the woman perfectly. As to the other…I’m afraid you’re right. I would like to see more of you—and I would definitely like to seduce you into bed. But don’t worry, I won’t let it interfere with work. Here, or when we do the promo shots.”

  She should have slapped him. She should have done something. But she was too stunned. She just stared at him as he set his cup on the fold-up table and sauntered out of the room. Silently.

  With a panther-light tread that was dangerously deceptive, totally contrary to all that the man was proving himself to be.

  He was professional, and competent—but he was there.

  And no matter how she fought the ridiculousness of it, he frightened the hell out of her.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bryn knew soon after she sat down at the large booth that the Chinese restaurant had been a mistake. Noodles were sliding across the slick veneer tabletop in seconds as the hungry kids grabbed at them; a water glass was tipped over almost immediately, and Adam slid off the plastic seat cover, bumped his head and broke into tears.

  Why couldn’t I have picked McDonald’s, she asked herself as she alternately soothed Adam and tried to sound like the wrath of God to Brian and Keith in a quiet tone so that they would settle down.

  Yes, it had definitely been a mistake.

  When Friday night had at last rolled around after the grueling and nerve-racking week, she had been ecstatic. She had promised herself that she was going to forget it all, go home cool and calm, and be entirely decent and loving to the kids.

  And for the first half hour everything had gone fine, just fine. But she had carried her Mother Goose act a little too far. And while she had been helping Brian to read Burrough’s “Tarzan,” Adam had looked up from his coloring book to inform her, “Something stinks!”

  “Yeah,” Keith had volunteered helpfully. “And it’s burning, too!”

  “Oh—” Don’t say it! Don’t say it! “Oh—sugar!” she groaned, flying up from the bottom bunk, bashing her head, and racing down to the kitchen. The meatloaf was irretrievably burned; her spinach was green glue inside the saucepan.

  The kids loved Chinese food, and they even ate Chinese vegetables. Wong’s was a great restaurant where they had a high tolerance for children. And she had already copped out with burgers and fries, and with pizza. They needed something healthy to eat.

  So here she was at Wong’s, wishing that she wasn’t.

  “I want the sweet and sour chicken…” Keith began.

  “Can I have the cashew chicken? We always have to order what Keith wants.”

  “Uggh! I don’t like cashew chicken. I don’t like cashews.”

  “Stop!” Bryn hissed as quietly as it was possible to do while still putting menace in her voice. She kissed Adam on the top of his blond head, sopped up the spilled water and did her best to collect the straying noodles. Then she gave the two older boys her most threatening scowl, until Keith lowered his red head, and Brian bowed his darker one in silent submission.

  “You three will act decent in a restaurant!” she warned, but then she leaned back more comfortably in the booth, resting her head against its back for a minute. It wasn’t their fault that it was so late and that they were half starving. Nor was it their fault that her week had been so miserable.

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own. And Lee Condor’s.

  He had barely spoken to her since they had talked in the drawing room. He had been professional and competent to a fault, polite—and strictly proper. It was almost as if he had actually asked her for a date and she had said a clear “No,” leaving him to agree with a simple “Fine.”

  And then again, it was if he was waiting…watching her. As if he knew that she had come to a point where she could sense his presence even when he silently appeared several feet away, sense the subtle, woodsy, masculine aroma of his after-shave.

  It was as if he knew that currents, alternately ice and fire, plagued her, rippling along her spine, playing havoc with her blood, each time he touched her.

  And he always looked at her as he walked up that stairway with her in his arms. The gold flame seemed to ignite something within her, and as soon as she could, she would close her eyes and hear his husky laughter….

  She couldn’t help but wonder about him. She knew that he had made a whole host of new fans in Tahoe; everyone working on the video was crazy about him. He knew when to work, and when to laugh. When to demand discipline, when to let loose. And just as she sensed that dangerous fire within his eyes, she sensed a deep wisdom within their depths, one that had come from living…and from hurting? It was hard to imagine that he might have known trauma or pain. But Barbara had told her that he was widower. Was it possible that such a man could have loved one woman, and loved her so completely that her death had brought him a never-ending pain?

  “Aunt Bryn?” Brian asked quietly. “Can I get cashew chicken?”

  They usually had to share a meal. There were no children’s portions here, and the tab could get high. But tonight…

  She waved a hand in the air with helpless resignation. “Get whatever you want.” She closed her eyes again for a minute. When she opened them, a pretty Oriental girl was waiting to take her order. “A large glass of wine first, please,” Bryn murmured. “And we’ll have the cashew chicken, the sweet and sour chicken—and Adam, what would you like?”

  “A hot dog!” Adam said.

  “They don’t have hot dogs, Adam. This is a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Ummm…chicken.”

  Bryn shrugged at the waitress. “I’d better take a side order of egg rolls and ribs. And the special fried rice with the shrimp, please.”

  The waitress was a doll. She returned quickly with Bryn’s wine, and with sodas for the boys with little umbrellas sticking out of the straws.

  That will be good for at least two minutes’ entertainment, Bryn thought gratefully.

  The food arrived while they were still engrossed with the umbrellas, giving Bryn a chance to dole out portions to the three boys, and to dissect Adam’s eggroll. He didn’t like the “dark green things” in it.

  Well, if nothing else, she reminded herself as she spooned out the fried rice, the wildlife shots were all completed. And Barbara was taking a few weeks off from her show and had promised to baby-sit a couple nights next week so that Bryn could go out and have dinner and drinks with a few of the other dancers. That would be nice. A night of utter relaxation…

  “Aunt Bryn.”

  It was Brian’s voice. Low, excited.

  “There’s a man coming this way. I think he’s coming to see you.”
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  Her eyes flew open, and she stared across the restaurant in dismay. There was a man coming toward them, and he was definitely coming to see her.

  It was Lee Condor.

  What was he doing here, she wondered bleakly. The restaurant was nice, but not ritzy. He should have been at some sleek night spot, dining on steak Diane, dancing, and throwing some of his overabundance of money away at the crap tables.

  “Hello, Miss Keller.” His eyes moved quickly around the table; Brian and Keith were surveying him with open mouths, and Adam was showing overt hostility, with his mouth set in a pout.

  “Hello,” Bryn murmured. She was surprised that he had come to see her when she had three small children at her table. Most men would have run in the other direction.

  But there were nice smile lines that crinkled about his eyes, and he looked both interested and amused as he turned his gaze to her once more. “Is this your family? Foolish question, they must be. They all bear a resemblance.”

  “She’s not our mother!” Brian supplied quickly. “She’s our aunt.”

  “Oh, is she?” Lee queried. “Not yours, huh?” he asked Bryn.

  “Not mine—but, yes, mine.”

  Keith liked to think of himself as old and mature; but his lip trembled a little when he hopped into the conversation. “My mother and father are…they live with Jesus now. And we live with Aunt Bryn.”

  “Well, that sounds like a good arrangement,” Lee said amiably. “And you’re—”

  “Keith Keller. That’s Adam.”

  “Well, Keith Keller, would you mind scooting over for a minute? I’d like to join you for a few seconds, if you don’t mind.”

  Keith agreeably scooted over. And to Bryn’s horror Lee Condor sat down and smiled at her.

  She tried to smile back, but the effort was a dismal failure. At least, she thought, he wouldn’t want to hop into bed with her after tonight. She had showered, but that had been it. Her hair was still damp; it felt as if it was plastered to her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered with new makeup, and she had thrown on an old tube top and a faded calico wraparound skirt.