Never Too Late For Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  He had her there. But clothes didn’t tie her down the way other possessions would. "Oh, well, clothes come under the heading of necessities. I wouldn’t get very much done if I had to teach naked, now, would I?"

  He tried, without much success, not to dwell on that image. “Depended on what lesson you were working on," he murmured.

  Now why did a statement so casually shy cause her pulse to jump a notch? He did have a way about him, she thought. A very unstudied, sexy way. Delicately, she let the topic drop. "Actually, I was thinking of Melanie and Lance’s place."

  There was a glint in her eyes. He caught the concerned expression on Joy’s face. He took it as a warning. The other woman knew Margo far better than he did.

  "Am I going to have to sit down for this?" he wanted to know.

  "Well, eventually," she conceded. "Once you get tired."

  He had a feeling that he was going to reach that condition just listening to her. "Exactly what is it you have in mind?"

  As far as he knew, the apartment Lance and Melanie had rented was already furnished with a composite of her furniture, his furniture and what they whimsically referred to as "their" furniture. The latter consisted solely of an oblong sofa they had bought a week before the wedding.

  "It’s very simple, really." To Margo everything was simple. Some things just took a little longer to get to that state than others. "I want to arrange a surprise for them."

  He didn’t know her well enough to know if her surprises were considered good or not by the recipients. "What kind of a surprise?"

  Margo had no idea just how much Bruce knew about her daughters background. Playing it unusually safe, she gave him a thumbnail sketch.

  "Melanie was practically raised on the lots of different movie studios. That’s how the store evolved." She gestured carelessly at walls that were covered with framed, personally autographed photos and a showroom that was arranged to look like her aunt’s parlor, filled with memorabilia.

  "Aunt Elaine worked as a makeup artist and costume designer for two of the major studios for over fifty years. She never met a person she didn’t like and who didn’t like her."

  The wholesale declaration amused him. "Your aunt was Will Rogers?"

  "Better. Will Rogers didn’t know how to put on make-up."

  "Thank God for small favors," he murmured under his breath, only to have her sensual laugh surround him. It galvanized his attention to her lips and to what she was saying, among other things.

  "Anyway, I thought it might be fun for her--and Lance--if I--we," she amended with a penetrating look, decorated their bedroom like a harem." As she spoke, she made quick, abbreviated notes to herself, ideas coming to her with the speed of a Thoroughbred racing to the finish line of his first Kentucky Derby. "And their living room like the interior of a medieval castle--"

  He couldn’t help himself. "And their kitchen?"

  The look in her eyes was raw sensuality before it receded. He wondered if she knew how devastating she was. The next moment he wondered if there were any bigger fools around than him. Margo McCloud was aware of every move she made and of every reaction she caused.

  "l doubt if they’ll have need of a kitchen for a very long time."

  She spoke like someone who’d been there. He was more down-to-earth and practical. "Won’t they get hungry?"

  She never missed a beat. "Takeout works splendidly in cases like this."

  He felt a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of the proposed undertaking. As well as a little overwhelmed by the woman herself.

  Playing along, Bruce looked around the store. Nothing readily lent itself to this grandiose decorating scheme she was suggesting.

  He turned around, half expecting her to be laughing at him for falling for her joke. She wasn’t laughing. lf any thing, she looked serious. Maybe she really was. "And just where are you going to get all these things?"

  He was going to help her, she thought. There had been a moment she’d had her doubts. "Oh, don’t worry about that." She was already lifting the telephone receiver. "I have a lot of connections." Because of Elaine, she’d gotten to know a great many people who worked on the crews of various productions, as well as the head of the prop department over at Universal.

  He exchanged looks with Joyce. The younger woman had an amused grin on her face, as if she was relieved that someone else was on the receiving end of Margo’s enthusiasm. Obviously this kind of behavior wasn’t anything new.

  "Somehow, I thought you might."

  Maybe he would appreciate being asked formally. She knew she had a habit of getting carried away and taking things for granted at times.

  Margo paused, the receiver in her hand, her fingers hovering over the keypad. "Are you in? Or should I ask someone else to help?"

  Heaven only knew what prompted him. Maybe it was because he was at a place where he was beginning to feel that he was in danger of being left behind as life galloped by. Or maybe it was because her excitement was infectious. Just like her laugh. In any case, he heard himself volunteering for God-only-knew-what in the long run.

  "What, and let me miss all this fun? Count me in." He smiled wryly. "I’ve never been very unorthodox before."

  She paused only to glance in his direction, a beatific and rather innocent smile playing on her lips as she tapped out the number of the first person on her list. "Neither have I."

  The funny thing was, Bruce thought, she looked as if she actually meant it.

  * * *

  "And this was exactly where Lola Montenegro sat as Grant Freelancer began to ravage her." Reciting the key romantic scene from Renegade, Margo carefully reattached the filmy pink curtain to the corner of what had passed as a bed in the movie. "That is, he started to ravage her, but then he realized that she wasn’t going to fight him off the way he anticipated. That took the pleasure away for him."

  She glanced up to see Bruce, his arms crossed before his chest, watching her as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. She had no idea which side to root for, only that the way he looked at her made her feel purely female and yet strangely chaste for all that.

  She continued more slowly, having just the slightest problem remembering her train of thought. "Until it occurred to him that he didn’t want her the way he’d wanted all his other conquests. She was special to him. Her plan to make him back away backfired. All it did was make him want her more.

  "That kiss burned up the screen around the world." Margo sighed for a moment. remembering the effect that had on her the first time she’d seen the old movie. She’d stayed up late and watched it on the old black-and-white TV, the sound down low.

  And then she smiled glibly at Bruce. "Hard to imagine that they had to do it with a full complement of cast and crew looking on. It seemed so very, very private." Her eyes met his. The intensity she saw within them made her moisten lips that suddenly felt dry "But then. that’s what good acting is all about. Being able to sustain an illusion and make it seem like reality."

  There was something in her voice that made him wonder if she had firsthand experience with trying to sustain illusions.

  He was reading too much into it. he told himself.

  "How do you remember all this?" he wanted to know. "Better yet, how do you even know all this?"

  She stood back and surveyed the results of their hard work. Perfect.

  Her years of helping Elaine on the various sets was so much a part of her, sometimes she forgot that not everyone knew that.

  "I watched a great many movies when I was growing up. Add what I hadn’t seen, Aunt Elaine had. She loved talking about them, about her work. It was like being part of a magical world." Her expression sobered just a little as she took one last look around to make sure everything vas ready. There was champagne and small finger sandwiches cooling in the refrigerator that the newlyweds could feed each other. "After being part of that other world," she said more to herself than to her patient audience, "Hollywood’s make-believe was a welcome relief."


  "Other world?" he asked.

  Sometime, she had to remember when to disengage her mouth from her thoughts. "The one I came from." Which was as far as she intended to take that line of conversation. "Well, looks like we did it." She raised her eyes to his, an impish smile on her lips. "Do you think they’ll be surprised?"

  Surprised was hardly the word he’d use. "Lance is probably going to think he walked into the wrong apartment."

  Margo sincerely doubted that. "Not if he married my daughter." She saw the skeptical look on his face. "I guarantee Melanie’s had an effect on him. She’s bound to have aroused his dormant gene," she added when he remained unconvinced

  .

  He was having trouble following her again. "Excuse me?"

  He was so adorable when he was being polite. Adorable and sexy. It made for a very potent combination. Margo took an breath.

  "Imagination," she explained. "It’s usually dormant within most men. Most adults, probably. It’s that part of you that can believe in anything, given enough faith."

  ·

  He glanced back at the bedroom. Straight out of A Thousand And One Arabian Nights. "Your 'dormant gene' is alive and thriving, I see."

  "Always," she assured him. There was nothing left to do except lock up and wait for tomorrow. "You were a dear to let me store some of their things in your garage. There’s really no space at Elaine’s house."

  The way she referred to the living quarters above the shop struck him as odd. "Shouldn’t you refer to that as yours by now?"

  "No." she answered blithely. She shook her purse, listening for the telltale sound of keys. "If anything, it belongs to Melanie."

  Was it his imagination, or did she take pride in not having a permanent place of her own? "Do you like being a nomad?"

  Margo took out the ring of keys. selecting the one for the new apartment that Melanie had left with her. Beckoning for Bruce to follow, she stepped outside the door. But as she began to place the key into the lock, Bruce took the ring from her. He locked the door himself and then returned the key ring to her.

  "l think of it as an adventure." She slipped the keys back into her purse. "Speaking of which, are you up for another?"

  "That depends." He studied her for a moment. "Will I have to lift it?"

  He was a delight. "Only a fork. I’m treating you to dinner."

  All right, he admitted it. He was old-fashioned when it came to some things, like paying when he went out with a woman. "lf you wanted to go out to dinner, Margo, all you

  had to do was--"

  "I’m asking and I’m paying." She followed him to the carport. "I insist."

  There was a tinge of embarrassment he had to bank down. Bruce turned, nearly colliding with her. "Does anyone get a chance to say no to you?"

  Her smile was very confident. "Not in the last twenty-three years."

  He blew out a breath. "I guess I’m too tired to set a precedent."

  She never doubted it for a moment. "Good, I was counting on that."

  His T-shirt adhered to his body in several areas, glued in place by sweat. He wasn’t keen on the wind shifting while he was standing out here, so close to her. "I think I’d like to grab a shower first."

  "Pity, l like sweaty men." He looked incredibly rugged in his worn, stonewashed jeans and faded T-shirt. "Is an hour long enough?" Margo slipped into the passenger side of his truck.

  He could only shake his head. The woman was a frustrated general. "An hour will be fine."

  She watched as he got in and buckled up. "Okay, you can drop me off at Elaine’s. I’ll be by to pick you up at--"

  "I will pick you up," Bruce informed her, enunciating each word. A man had to take charge sometime.

  She inclined her head, conceding. "I love a forceful man."

  Yeah, right, he thought, starting the engine. But he was smiling by the time he merged into traffic.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bruce chose the restaurant. Because it was Friday night, he had his doubts about readily getting a table. But they arrived at The Moonraker at one of the few lulls the restaurant would enjoy that night. There were still a few empty tables left.

  The maitre d’ led them to a table in the heart of the dining area. The fact that more than a few pairs of male eyes marked their passage was not lost on Bruce. Simply dressed, Margo McCloud was still a very stunning woman. Bruce had a feeling she would have made heads turn wearing sackcloth and ashes.

  "We’d rather have that one." Bruce indicated an empty table with a view of the lake. lt was more private, and he was suddenly feeling the need for privacy.

  "Certainly."

  The maitre d’ quickly plucked the menus he’d placed down from the table and led the way to the table Bruce requested. Helping Margo with her chair, the man appeared to linger just a moment over her. Bruce noted the appreciative glint in the man’s eyes. And the envious one when he looked up at Bruce.

  "I hope you will find everything satisfactory," he murmured. Moving gracefully, the maitre d’ changed places with a waiter who looked barely old enough to shave. The latter took their order for cocktails. A mai tai and scotch and soda.

  Margo laced her fingers together before her as she looked out on the water. It was a man-made lake, but that didn’t make the view any less soothing. "Do you come here often?"

  There was a candle within a round, yellow-tinted bowl in the center of the table. The light flickered along her profile, slipping lovingly along the slender column of her throat like an old friend. Bruce opened the menu and forced himself to look at it, though he already knew what he was ordering.

  "For business lunches and with clients when late meetings run over."

  Was he deliberately being coy? No, unless she was completely mistaken, she didn’t think he understood how to be coy.

  "How about for pleasure'? With a lady," she added since he didn’t answer immediately. She saw him raise his eyebrow. That rugged, handsome face was just like a book with large print. She could read every thought. "Yes, I’m prying," she admitted without a single qualm. "I have a habit of invading other people’s space, but at times, it’s the only way I can nnd anything out. The person is usually so stunned when I ask, he tells me what I want to know without realizing that he’s surrendered some of his privacy."

  Because she was so outgoing, she found that people forgave transgressions they would have resented in someone else. Margo took it for granted that Bruce would be no different.

  There’d been a term during World War II for the way she came flying in for a sudden attack, Bruce thought. Blitzkrieg. He maintained his silence. wondering if she would give up, having a hunch she wouldn’t.

  "But, since I don’t spread anything I’m told around or print it on the Internet, people usually learn to relax and just talk to me." She leaned her head on her upturned palm, her eyes washing over him, giving him the impression of moving closer without actually moving a muscle. "So, talk to me. Do you? Come here for pleasure I mean."

  Pleasure. It wasn’t something he thought about, one way or the other. He gave it some thought now, "I did tonight."

  It was like pulling teeth. Margo thought. Strong, straight white teeth that dazzled when he offered a smile. "And other than tonight?"

  Bruce shrugged, setting the menu to one side, wishing the waiter would get back with his drink. "I can’t remember."

  She had a very strong feeling that she had just been lied to. Or at least evaded. Her amusement rose another notch. Margo moved a little further into his territory "You don’t strike me as the forgetful type."

  Damn if she wasn’t getting to him. Bruce had to admit she’d aroused his curiosity. "Just what type do you see me as?"

  That was an easy one. She’d had him pegged from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. "The strong, silent type."

  He supposed that was as apt a description of him as any. "And does that annoy you?" Why else would she be so persistent in trying to get him to bare his soul?

&nb
sp; "On the contrary, the strong is wonderful," her eyes flicked along his shoulders. "and silence has its place."

  Tongue in cheek, she proceeded to enumerate. "When you’re sleeping or in the library or in a classroom during a test. But not in a conversation, because then the conversation becomes a monologue, and despite what you might think," she began, her eyes teasing him, "I really don’t like hearing myself talk."

  "l do," he said mildly. "Like hearing you talk," he added in case she didn’t follow him. "You have a very melodious voice." He would have called it soothing if it wasn’t so unnervingly sensual.

  Margo cocked her head. "Even if you hear it prying into areas where it doesn’t belong?"