by Kathryn Shay
“This is the Connelly case we discussed at the meeting yesterday. I need you to research the statutes on an obscure tax law passed in 1957.” Then he paused and smiled sympathetically. “By tomorrow morning at eight.”
Nick didn’t even blink. He took the file and turned to his computer. Before he began, he called his mother to ask her to stay overnight. Though his family had all pitched in and covered for him at home in the past, he’d told them these next few months would be worse. They agreed to help even more so he could finish in good standing. That night, he rolled in at twelve thirty-five and was gone before the kids got up in the morning.
The next evening, there was a seven o’clock meeting with a client that he was asked to sit in on. Thursday, he was supposed to see Amanda. Just the thought of burying his hands in that thick honey-colored hair had him on a high all day. But he’d had to delay their time together, canceling their dinner plans to eat with his kids and promising her he’d pick her up after her ballet class, which she’d decided to attend when he couldn’t see her sooner.
In the doorway of the old, high-ceilinged room of the dance studio, Nick breathed in the musty odor of age and sweat. He was able to see why the latter permeated the air as he watched the group bend, stretch and leap through the air. Actually, he had eyes for only one dancer.
He hadn’t realized she was so good. Her slender body contorted in every conceivable way and she moved with the grace and fluidity of a doe. He was mesmerized by her and aroused by her transformation.
Thirty minutes later, when they settled into a booth at Ferrara’s for dessert and coffee, Nick questioned her about her talent. “I didn’t know you were so good. How long have you been taking classes?”
Amanda’s eyes clouded for a moment, but she banished the memory of whatever had caused it. “Not long enough. I’m not nearly as good as the rest of them.”
“Did you dance as a child?”
“Uh-huh.” She picked up a menu and read it with absorption. When he yanked it out of her hand, she looked up at him with fake surprise.
“How long did you train?”
“Until I was sixteen.” She sighed and slouched against the vinyl. The shadows were back in her eyes. “By then, I was studying with some of the best dancers in the city, each night. I went to New York every summer to train, too. I loved it.”
He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “But you quit?”
Tears welled in her beautiful cobalt eyes and he watched her force them back. Reaching over, he took her hands in his. “Amanda? What is it?”
Shaking off the pall, she held on tight and smiled sadly. “One day, Lisa was watching me dress for a recital from the doorway. I had this beautiful costume, a white shimmery bodysuit with glittery stars all over the bodice and a tutu so delicate it looked like it would dissolve if it was touched. Actually, the whole thing itched like hell.” She chuckled at the memory but sobered again quickly. “I loved it, anyway. All of dancing, even the bleeding toes and strained muscles.”
A waitress appeared and interrupted her story. But Nick wanted more information, so when the woman left, he continued his cross-examination. “Then why did you stop?”
“Lisa’s face. If you could have seen the pain there. The longing. It hurt her, Nick, to see me dance. I never realized that before. So I quit. I told my parents I was tired of the pace and the pressure.” Amanda stared over his shoulder and Nick could tell she was in another place and time. “My mother was disappointed, but she would have let it go without a fight. My father raged like a wounded bear. He yelled so loud, even Lisa was afraid—and she defied him constantly. But I wouldn’t budge this time. I simply refused to go back.”
He saw her forehead furrow. “What?” he asked.
Amanda laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “He’d win any way he could, Nick, even then. That’s why he intimidates me so much now—he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. He used Lisa to try to persuade me. I think he told her that he’d guessed my real reason. She was furious in her own right and yelled at me almost as loud as he had. I lied to her, too. It was one of the few times I was ever dishonest with her. But it was better than knowing each time I danced, she suffered.”
Nick massaged her now-cold fingers with his thumbs. “You’re something else, Ms. Carson.” Her eyes glowed at his praise. “When did you start again?”
Their dessert arrived and she began spooning vanilla ice cream covered with gooey hot fudge into her mouth. Her tongue darted out to catch a drip.
“Six months ago. Let’s change the subject. Tell me about the clerking this semester,” she said in between scoops.
He shifted in his seat, knowing she wasn’t going to like this and he dreaded the confrontation. But he knew she expected an answer and he could only give her an honest one.
“It’s getting more demanding now. I’ve worked my butt off to get to this point. It’s exactly what I want, Amanda.” Cautiously, he told her about his last encounter with Joris.
Her smile was forced and it twisted in his gut. “What have the hours been like lately? I won’t see Heather until tomorrow so I don’t know.”
“Worse than last semester, which is typical.” Nick knew he was scowling. “They want to see my grit. But I’m trying to sneak away whenever I can. Like tonight. I had dinner with the kids and put Jason to bed before I left. Beth is at the house so I could see you.”
Amanda stirred the remainder of her dessert into muddy puddles, having obviously lost her appetite for the ice cream. Would she lose her appetite for him, too, if he let her down on this? No, damn it, he wouldn’t let that happen.
He reached over and grabbed her hand again. Deliberately, he traced each line in the soft skin. The callus on his thumb rubbed it roughly, sensuously, and she started in reaction. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m doing the best I can. I won’t let this get out of control. If I can’t arrange everything, I’ll make it up to them.”
Amanda took a deep breath and removed her hand from his seductive caress. She pierced him with knowing eyes. “You won’t be able to control it, Nick. No one realizes better than I how much this job will demand.”
He bristled and sat back, breathing deeply to alleviate some of the constriction around his heart. “Speaking from experience?”
“Yes, of course I am. My father was never home when I was young, and when he was there, he was so preoccupied and grumpy we wished he’d go back to work. And Porter went through the same thing. The clerking and the initial years trying to make partner were the worst.”
“I can handle it,” Nick stated implacably.
She shook her head and leaned toward him, arms braced on the tabletop. “No, you can’t. On paper the firm may put down that you only work the twenty hours a week allowed by the law school commission, but they expect more if you want a future with them. In addition to the rest of your course work, where in that schedule is there room for Heather and Jason?”
Exasperated, Nick raked his hand through his hair, in what was becoming a familiar gesture of frustration. “Okay, then, I’ll have to work hard to get through these few months. I’ll have more say once I’m on board. Heather and Jason will adjust temporarily.”
“Heather needs you now, Nick. I told you that.”
“I need this,” he said, raising his voice and attracting the attention of the other customers. He lowered his tone. “I’ve worked myself to the bone for it! I can’t jeopardize everything now.”
“Why?” Amanda asked simply.
“I told you before, I want to be able to give my children all the things I can’t give them now. I want them to have every single opportunity you had, Amanda.” When she didn’t respond, he finished, “And I want to be successful for me. I admit, part of this is selfish, though not the whole thing. If my ambition makes you think less of me, then so be it.”
She stared at him without flinching. “Nick, Suzanne’s abandonment must have left you with all sorts of feelings of inadequacy. Are you sur
e this isn’t just some vendetta against her that’s turned into an obsession?”
“Absolutely not!” he snapped. “I want a good life for my kids. What’s wrong with that?”
Chagrined at his loss of control, and the fact that he’d allowed himself to get to the place where he wanted Amanda’s acceptance so badly, he tried to distance himself from her, physically and emotionally. He leaned back against the booth and crossed his arms over his chest in body language that would alert even a novice, let alone a trained therapist. “Funny, Amanda, you were there for Porter. You saw him through all this. But you won’t do it for me. Apparently, I’ve misread what’s between us.”
Amanda’s eyes flamed with angry sparks and she slapped the table with her hand. “That’s unfair and you know it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is it? Maybe the truth hurts. Look, I’m ready to go. Suddenly, I’m very tired.”
Tossing a few bills on the table, he rose, grabbed his wool overcoat and stalked out of the restaurant, refusing to glance behind him to see if she was following. She was. He waited at the door, not wanting her to walk to the car alone.
On the drive to her house, she tried to make conversation. “I like the suit. Is it new?”
The topic was not a wise choice, but Amanda couldn’t know that. He looked down at his charcoal gray suit and pin-striped shirt. It had bothered him to let Beth pay for the additional clothes he needed now that he was working more at the firm. She’d gone with him to help him pick everything out and he’d kept an exact tab so he could pay her back, but the circumstances still grated.
He gripped the steering wheel. “Yeah, it’s new.” The terse comment cut off all further discussion and Amanda remained silent the rest of the way.
The tension was still like a stone wall between them as he walked her to her door. Trying to stifle his need for her, he stood rigidly before her, fists clenched in his pockets. He wanted to hold her. He wanted her to hold him and tell him everything was going to be all right, instead of crossing him on each and every issue.
She peered up at him with wary blue eyes. “Would you like to come in?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea now.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she angled her head. “All right, then. Thanks for the dessert.” But she didn’t turn to go in. She just stood there facing him, chin tilted, body straight, saying without words, I won’t apologize because I did nothing wrong.
God, how had her father and her husband bullied her all these years?
The thought of another man having her catapulted him into action. He drew her to him and melded her body to his. She dropped her gym bag and held on tight to his arms. Sliding her hands from his biceps, she encircled his waist. Then she laid her head on his chest and snuggled into him. “It won’t work, Nick, distancing yourself from me. I won’t let it.”
She pulled away slightly and slid her hands inside his coat, up his shirt, to his neck. His body reacted with a start. She stood on her toes to bring her mouth close to his.
“Kiss me, Nick,” she whispered against his lips.
He did. He devoured her. He bit her lip, soothed it, forced entry into the recesses of her mouth and dueled with her tongue. He released her lips and made his way to her neck. He knew his rough beard abraded her tender skin, but he couldn’t stop. The smell of her perfume inflamed him and he realized, too late, that he’d sucked too hard and had left his mark on her. “You make me lose control, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he murmured into her throat.
Amanda shivered with his words and the fire of his embrace. She leaned into him with the lower part of her body as if she was trying to fuse it with his. “I’m not sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not sorry at all.”
o0o
Heather DiMarco shyly raised her hand and was rewarded with a bright smile from Ms. Carson. She looked cheerful and perky in a denim skirt and fuzzy pink V-neck sweater.
“Heather’s got a joke?” Matt teased, rocking his chair back on its back legs. When he saw her tremulous smile, he added quickly, “Hey, doll, I think it’s cool. We been carrying you in the humor department for weeks.”
Giving him a haughty look that, once perfected, would bring guys like Matt Barone to their knees, she said, “Why do they bury lawyers twenty feet underground?”
When no one could answer, Heather brushed back her blond bangs and giggled. “Because way down deep they’re really nice guys.”
Amanda wondered briefly if she’d told Nick the lawyer joke. And if he’d laughed. Had there been happiness in his life this week?
Ron Marshall played a drumbeat on his boom box, which rested on his lap. He seemed to prefer this over an iPod or cell phone music. A genius in electronics, he excelled at restoring appliances. He’d practically rebuilt the box from scratch and he was as proud of it as a new father. “Oh, bad, girl, really bad. And mine is even worse.”
There were groans from all around, but Amanda kept her gaze on the boy. She sensed that something wasn’t right today, more than usual. Ron was effervescent. He’d greeted her congenially when he arrived and had chattered until the others came. Dressed in a black sweatshirt and pants, black sneakers and a black-and-white checked bandanna, he seemed like a typical, happy teenager, meeting with friends.
But Amanda knew Ron was a very troubled young man. These past weeks had been especially hard on him. He was the only one not making college or work plans. Even Matt had sent in a few applications. No, Ron’s behavior was clearly suspect. She listened in time to hear his joke.
“Mommy, Mommy, why is Daddy so stiff?” He paused, then said, “Shut up and keep digging.”
Ron’s laugh was too hearty. Matt snorted and Heather smiled weakly.
The “Mommy, Mommy” death jokes had been popular years ago. They were all sick, but tickled the funny bone of kids his age. Amanda thought they were stupid, but knew their appeal and had never minded them before. But she thought Ron’s preoccupation with them was unhealthy. “Let’s get on to how we all are, shall we?”
When no one volunteered, she turned to Sandi. The girl was dressed sloppily today, not her usual style. She had on army green pants that were worn at the knees and a drab T-shirt, torn at the shoulder. She sat in her chair, staring into space, saying nothing during the jokes. She, too, was not doing well.
“Sandi, you’re awfully quiet. Is something going on in your life that you’d like to share?”
Shaking her head, Sandi averted her gaze and tugged at the hem of her shirt.
“Why not?” Amanda prodded.
Surprisingly, tears welled up in the teenager’s eyes and she swiped at them. Amanda had never seen Sandi cry before.
Matt stared at her. “The dude’s back?”
Sandi’s eyes widened and the tears abated. “How’d ya know that?”
“You’re a pretty tough babe, Sand. Takes a lot to get to you. Had to be something heavy.” Matt slanted his chair even farther back.
“Your stepfather’s returned?” Amanda clarified.
Sandi wouldn’t look at her, but nodded.
“When?”
“Three nights ago. And she welcomed the bastard back with open arms. And legs.”
No one responded to her crudity. Sandi peered over at Amanda, then Heather, then threw up her hands in dismay. “Sorry. I’m so pumped about this, I get nasty.”
Amanda watched Heather reach over and squeeze Sandi’s hand. “It’s okay, Sandi, I feel bad for you.”
“Yeah, well, kid, I do, too. They snort and smoke all the time. And he—” Sandi stopped midsentence. Her body went stiff and she gripped her hands together so tightly, her knuckles turned white.
Matt’s chair came down with a thud. “He what?”
But Sandi refused to continue. She just stopped talking and shook her head again.
After a long and very uncomfortable silence, Amanda intervened. “All right, Sandi, if you want to pass for now. How about you, Ron?”
“Hey, man, I’
m cool. Everything’s cool. Life is bee-u-ti-ful today.”
Narrowing her eyes on him, Amanda waited a moment before she responded. “Why is that?” she asked finally.
Ron squirmed a bit in his chair and then favored her with one of his rare grins. “The absence of pain, I guess.”
Matt elbowed him in the ribs. “Really, buddy? Then maybe you’ll finally sell me that watch I been wantin’ to buy off you.”
Ron batted Matt’s arm away and fooled with the buttons on his boom box. “Just feelin’ good, man, that’s all.” When everyone stared at him for his uncharacteristic behavior, he asked, “Is it a crime?”
“Of course not, Leronne.”
“All right, Matt, that’s enough. Sure there’s not more to this, Ron?” Amanda tried to hide her concern.
The boy looked to the floor for a few seconds, then raised his eyes to hers. The bleakness in their chocolate brown depths made her catch her breath. The despair there was so pronounced, she was rocked by it. “Nah Ms. C., I’m cool. Pass me a chocolate chip, will ya?”
Since he’d effectively ended his sharing, Amanda turned to Heather. The girl smiled uneasily at her. They had all sensed Ron’s unusual mood.
“I’m doing okay,” Heather said, breaking the tension. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. “Things at home were real good for a while. My dad quit his waiter’s job so he could be with us more. He was there a lot. I liked it.”
Ron snorted. His own father, Amanda knew, drank heavily. She suspected some alcohol abuse from the boy, too. “Man, I dig it when my old man isn’t home. He gets mean when he drinks, which is all the time. He’s better off without me.”
“You mean you’re better off without him,” Heather innocently corrected him.
Ron’s look was blank. “Yeah, what did I say?”
