by Diana Palmer
“You’re very lovely,” he said without preamble.
“Thank you,” she replied, and lifted her empty cup to her lips to give her nervous hands something to do.
He drew an ashtray closer and started to reach for his cigarettes when the waiter came back, and he paused long enough to order another cup of coffee for them before he finished the action.
“Men my age get used to a routine of sorts with women, Carla,” he said gently, blowing out a cloud of gray smoke from his cigarette. “You disrupted mine.”
“I…hadn’t thought you’d expect that from me,” she said falteringly. “Not so soon, at least,” she added with a wistful smile. “I thought I’d have time to…”
“Don’t start that again,” he said. “I should have known what an innocent you are. All the signs were there, like banners. I was just too blind to see them. Anyway,” he added with a brief smile, “there was no harm done.”
“Wasn’t there?” she asked, gazing quietly at the hard lines of his leonine face. They never semed to soften very much, she thought, even in passion—especially in passion. She flushed. “You were so angry,” she recalled.
He chuckled softly. “Yes, I was. Hurting like hell, like I hadn’t hurt since years before I married. I could have choked you to death. Not knowing the whole story, I thought you were playing hard-to-get. And to tell the truth, I hadn’t planned to see you again.”
That hurt, more than she’d expected. Of course, most women her age were sophisticated and more permissive. But she’d been a late bloomer in all respects. Even now, when just looking at this dark, taciturn man could make her heart do flips, she couldn’t consider an affair. She knew instinctively that it would tear her to pieces emotionally, especially when it ended. And it would end sometime. He was too sophisticated and far too worldly, to be satisfied with a novice for long.
“Why did you change your mind?” she asked gently.
He lifted his coffee cup with a well-manicured hand. “Because I missed you.” A fleeting smile played around his chiseled lips. “It was unexpected. I’ve had women around since my wife died, but only briefly, and in one capacity. It occurred to me, belatedly, that I enjoyed having you around.” He looked straight into her eyes. “In any capacity.”
Her lips felt suddenly dry, and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. “I couldn’t handle an affair with you,” she said hesitantly.
“I won’t ask you to. But, if you don’t mind, honey,” he added with a wry smile, “I think we’ll keep it low key. I can’t handle frustration. It plays hell with my temper.”
She smiled self-consciously, remembering. Her jade eyes looked into his. “I hope you know that I wasn’t playing coy,” she added seriously.
“I know it now.” His dark eyes studied that portion of her above the table with a sensuous boldness that made her heart thump. “I’d say I wish I’d known it sooner, but I don’t. I can still close my eyes and taste you.”
She felt the heat in her face. “Low key, I believe you said?” she said breathlessly.
“Honey, for me this is low key.” He chuckled. “Finish your coffee, and we’ll take in a movie before we go home. Do you like science fiction?”
“I love it!” she said incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re a sci-fi fan, too?”
“Don’t let it get around but I sat through two showings of Star Wars,” he replied with a smile. “And if you aren’t in a hurry for your beauty sleep, I’ll sit you through two showings of this one.”
“Who wants to sleep?” she asked, gulping down the rest of the rich coffee. “Why are you sitting there?” she asked, standing. “The box office opens again at nine!”
“Just give me a minute to ease my aching old bones out of the chair,” he chuckled, leaning forward to stamp out his cigarette.
“Shall I get you a cane?” she asked with a mischievous smile. Her eyes traced his formidable bulk as he rose. “Or maybe a forklift?” she added, measuring him with her eyes.
“I’m not that big.”
“You’re not small,” she returned. “I’ll bet that’s why you got elected.”
He scowled. “What is?”
“Your size. The voters simply couldn’t see your opponents when they were out campaigning against you.”
His leonine head lifted, and he stared down his straight nose at her through narrowed, glittering eyes. “You,” he said, “are incorrigible.”
“Look who’s calling who names,” she replied saucily. “You wrote the book on it.”
He smiled down at her, a slow, wicked smile that was echoed by the look in his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that this kind of teasing raises a man’s blood pressure at least ten points?”
She turned and started toward the cashier’s counter. “I won’t do it any more,” she promised. “At your age, that could be extremely dangerous.”
“Why, you little…”
“You’re the one who was complaining about your age, not me,” she reminded him.
“You make me feel it,” he said with exasperation in his voice.
She waited patiently while he paid the check, her eyes drawn to an impressionistic study of ballerinas on a huge canvas on the wall. The delicate pink and white contrasts were exquisitely implied.
“Do you like ballet?” he asked at her shoulder.
“Very much,” she replied, turning to follow him out onto the sidewalk. “I studied ballet for two years, until they convinced me that I simply didn’t have the discipline to be good at it.”
“Discipline smooths the rough edges around any talent,” he said with a sideways glance. “But I’d have said you have it, as far as reporting goes.”
“Thank you,” she said gravely. “I try to do my best. Although sometimes, it’s easier than others. I could have gone through the ground that day I got into it with Edward King on your ghetto tour.”
He raised a heavy eyebrow at her. “That wasn’t the end of it, either,” he informed her. “I got an earful when I walked into my office.”
She flushed. “He was pretty mad, I guess,” she probed.
“Putting it mildly, he was frothing at the mouth,” he replied.
She drew in a weary breath. “I’m bound to do my job,” she said quietly. “I still feel that Mr. King is being unnecessarily evasive about that land purchase, and I intend to pursue it until I get the truth.”
His jaw tautened. “I think you’re making a mountain out of a lump, little girl,” he said flatly. “Ed’s like a mule. When someone tries to force him along, he balks. It’s in his nature.”
“And not being put off is in mine,” she returned with spirit. She stopped under a streetlight and stared up at him. “Why can’t I see the records of the land purchase?”
“I told you before, you’ll have to knock that around with Ed. I’m not interfering,” he said gruffly.
“Green says…” She caught herself just in time. It wouldn’t do to give away her hand, even though she was dying to know if Green’s accusation about Moreland and King being such thick friends was true. And it was beginning to look bad; almost as if Moreland was involved, and had something to hide.
“Yes?” he said curtly, taking her up on the unfinished statement, his face like a thundercloud. “What does he say?”
She shrugged. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget to leave my job at the office.”
He said nothing, leading her to the parked car in an ominous silence. “I’d better get you into the theater before we come to blows,” he said, and she could hear the anger in his voice.
She felt a twinge of guilt, glancing at his set features as he climbed behind the wheel and started the black Jaguar.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently.
Something in his posture relaxed. He pulled out into the traffic, all without looking at her. “Let’s leave politics alone from now on. We both tend to overheat a little.”
“All right,” she agreed. She glanced at him again, her eyes searching his dark
face for some softening. There was none.
“I don’t hold it against you that you’re the mayor,” she reminded him.
A hint of a smile flared briefly on his lips. “I’ll trade jobs any time you like.”
“No, thanks.” Her eyes were drawn to his dark, beautiful hands as he controlled the powerful car with ease and skill. The onyx ring on his little finger sparkled in the sporadic streetlights. “Why did you want to be mayor, anyway?”
“Are we conducting an interview?” he mused.
“No,” she said, “but I’m curious.”
“I saw some things that needed to be done. They weren’t being done. I thought I could do them,” he said.
“And, have you?” she asked, genuinely curious, because her brief time in the city wasn’t enough for her to know.
“Some of them,” he admitted. “I’m bound by the city charter and the council. My hands are tied a good bit of the time.”
“It looks like you’ll get your redevelopment program through, though.”
His face clouded in the dim light. “Maybe. It depends on my support.”
He pulled into a vacant parking spot right in front of the theater.
“That never happens for me,” she sighed wistfully.
He half-turned in his seat. “What?” he asked with a curious smile.
“A vacant parking spot where I want to go.” She shook her head. “You must be incredibly lucky.”
“I was, until I met you,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.
She saw what he was talking about and felt the color run into her face just as he got out to open the door for her.
The movie was a dud, one of its main features being a brief flash of bare flesh and some passionate love scenes that Carla found frankly embarrassing to watch in mixed company.
“You little puritan,” he accused gently when the film was finally over and they were leaving the crowded lobby. “I could see you blushing even in the dark.”
“I’m a country girl,” she muttered.
“Come out to my farm in the spring, and let’s see if you blush any less,” he challenged dryly.
“Will you hush?” she burst out.
He laughed at her, a pleasant, deep sound. “I’d rather tease you than eat. Ready to go home, little one?”
No, she thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye as they walked down the sidewalk toward the car. I never want to leave you. The thought was incredible and she could barely believe what her stirred senses were telling her. She got a tight rein on her emotions, and slid gracefully into the car when he held the door open for her.
“I am a little tired,” she admitted, forcing down her disappointment.
“I’ll drop you by your apartment before I go home for my warm milk and crackers,” he said dryly, sparing her an amused glance as he started the car and pulled out into the street.
“If you’re drinking warm milk,” she observed, “it’s probably spiked.”
He chuckled softly. “Probably.”
They managed a companionable silence the rest of the way back to her apartment. It wasn’t until they went up in the elevator that he broke it.
“Do you like to bowl?” he asked.
She laughed. “I like to try,” she admitted. “Most of the time the ball goes down the alley.”
“I’ll teach you,” he told her. “All it takes is the right technique and a little practice.”
“I’d like that,” she said, smiling up at him.
He searched her soft green eyes and scowled as they left the elevator and walked down the carpeted hall to her door.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, when they reached her apartment.
He rammed his hands in his pockets and sighed heavily. “Time,” he said, sketching her face with restless eyes.
“Time?” she prompted.
“You need to be spending yours with a younger man,” he said.
“I thought I was,” she replied, darting a mischievous glance up at him.
He shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time before someone mistakes me for your father.”
“Only if I wear roller skates and braid my hair,” she assured him.
He reached out a big hand and touched her cheek lightly. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Her face went solemn. “Am I too young for you?” she asked gently. “I know so little…”
“That makes you a novelty in my life,” he replied. He pulled at a lock of her long, dark hair. “I know very little of innocence. My wife was far from being a novice when I married her. And I wouldn’t have married her if Candy hadn’t been on the way.”
“What a lovely name,” she murmured.
“She was a lovely little girl,” he replied quietly. His dark eyes clouded.
Her fingers went up to touch his chiseled mouth. “You’ve never talked about it, have you? Not once. Not to anyone.”
“You read me very well, little one,” he told her, catching her soft fingers to press them against the hard lines of his cheek. “No, I haven’t talked about it. But I think I could, with you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“It’s not flattery.” He drew her palm to his mouth, and she felt the warm excitement of his lips against its softness, running through her like electricity.
She could smell the clean, tangy scent of his skin as the action brought his dark head closer. She felt her heart storming against the walls of her chest. He affected her as no man ever had. Everything about him attracted her; the bigness of him, the dark masculinity, even the scent of his cologne. She wanted with all her might to reach up and bring that hard mouth down against her lips.
He looked up and saw the expression in her face, and something seemed to explode in his dark eyes.
“Don’t tempt me, honey,” he said in a soft, deep tone. “If I start kissing you right now, there won’t be any stopping me.”
She flushed. “I wasn’t…” she protested weakly.
His dark eyes sparkled wickedly. “Weren’t you?” he teased.
She lowered her eyes to the heavy rise and fall of his massive chest, hating her inherent shyness.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently, and she felt his fingers lightly touching her hair. “Delicious things happen when I touch you. You’ll never know what it cost me to walk away from you that day at the farm.”
She smiled at the carpet. “I felt terrible,” she murmured. “I didn’t sleep for two nights, and I was sure you hated me.”
“You do inspire violent emotions, little one,” he said wryly, “but hatred isn’t one of them. Not for me.” He sighed, leaning his forearms over her slender shoulders. “I knew you weren’t sophisticated, but that innocence—I thought it was more a pose than anything else, and I indulged you. But the way you responded to me…”
She lowered her eyes to the steady rise and fall of his massive chest. “I’ve got a mental block about sleeping with men,” she admitted quietly. “I believe in forever afters.”
“And probably, unicorns,” he teased lightly. “I’ll be honest, Carla, I’ve tried marriage and I find little to recommend it. I enjoy my freedom.”
“And the women that go with it,” she said with a wry glance.
He looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Do you want to know something irritating, little girl? I haven’t had a woman since the night of that cocktail party.”
She flushed at the frank statement. “Lack of opportunity?” she asked breathlessly.
“Lack of interest,” he replied. His heavy brows drew together in a scowl. “I want you. No one else.”
“Bryan, I’m sorry…”
He laughed mirthlessly. “God deliver me from innocence,” he said in a gruff undertone. “It may be gold floss to fiction writers, but it’s hell on a man’s appetite.”
She felt her temper catching fire and abruptly she jerked away from him, opening her door. She stood just inside it, her pale green eyes flaring up as they met his puzzled glance.
> “Let’s just say good-night, and goodbye, and it’s been fun,” she said tightly. “I’m dreadfully sorry I leave a bad taste in your mouth, but I want more out of life than one night in a man’s bed! Good night!”
She slammed the door and locked it, leaning her hot forehead against it tearfully, feeling its coolness drain some of the heat away. There was no sound outside in the hall for several seconds. Then there was a harsh, muffled curse and the sound of heavy footsteps dying away. Tears welled up and overflowed in her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks and into the corner of her mouth.
I hate him, she thought raggedly. Her eyes closed tightly. I hate him so much…
An ache made her chest feel hollow as the sobs wracked her slender body. A picture of his dark, handsome face floated around in her mind as she went to change clothes. It haunted her like an attractive, persistent ghost.
She did hate him—she did! Her even white teeth chewed on her lower lip as she stripped off the dress and exchanged it for a flowing gold and green patterned caftan. He didn’t care a jot for her pale dreams of a home and children and a man to share with. He simply wanted her body—probably because it was the first that had been refused him.
The tears started again. She wiped them away with a vicious hand and went back into the living room. She didn’t normally drink, but there was about two inches of wine in an old bottle in the cupboard, and she sloshed it into a juice glass and threw it down her throat. It stung pleasantly, giving her heartburn.
“Story of my life,” she muttered, “cure’s worse than the ailment.”
She poured a glass of milk and washed the wine down with that, idly contemplating ways she could get even with Bryan Moreland. All of them seemed to end with her in his arms.
Her face went hot at the memory of the last time she’d been there, of a pleasure so intense it hurt. The touch of his hands, his mouth, the sight of his dark, quiet face above her with a strange glow in the orange firelight.
