Kisses From Heaven (10 page)

David escorted them to the third-story open balcony with a view of two bars, a piano down below and a quieter milieu than on the other floors. As promised, lobster and champagne were ordered, while Loren studied her sister’s beau. Though far from handsome, David’s angular, square face and husky frame conveyed a steadiness that had always appealed to Loren. His humor was shy, had to be coaxed out, but it was there. He’d been hooked on Angela from the first time he’d laid eyes on her, which had rather surprised Loren. The two were so different, David’s seriousness to Angela’s flightiness, his sense of responsibility to her devil-may-care insouciance. He gave in to Angela ninety-nine percent of the time; it was the one percent that Loren valued—David never gave an inch when it counted.

At home, she had deliberately not brought up the subject of marriage to Angela, certain the only response would be defiance and perceptive enough to understand that open opposition would only harden Angela’s resolve. She ought to be congratulating herself that Angie was, of her own accord, thinking now of settling down. But she was too young, and so was David. Yet there had been an openness in Angela the past few days that Loren didn’t want to spoil, a vulnerable pleading in her eyes when she looked at her older sister. Understand, for once, she seemed to be saying.

Thoughtfully, Loren waited through dinner, relaxing in spite of herself after the first glass of champagne. The food was excellent, and unconsciously she found her toe moving to the seductive jazz of the bass player in the corner. The tablecloths were blood-red and the paneling dark; a single candle flickered on the table. Her skin glowed in the soft light, the flame sensuous and soft in her eyes. Her feelings showed in her expression, the real love and concern she felt for her sister, the haunted loneliness she felt watching the two of them very unobtrusively stealing looks at each other, a faint sensation of restlessness that the frankly sensuous dress she wore and the champagne and setting invoked. She wasn’t lonely for company or even for an escort, but the image of a red-haired man kept intruding on her thoughts, a discordant note she couldn’t seem to erase.

“Loren,” David said gravely, once the waiter had served coffee, “I want to marry your sister.”

She looked at him silently, cupping her hands beneath her chin.

“She can’t cook,” David said flatly. “She can’t keep house, has never held a serious job, couldn’t manage a dollar to save her life. On top of that, I’ll be in school until December, and we want to be married in June. So if you think I don’t know all the very good reasons why you’re going to object—”

“David!” Angela interjected, protesting his picture of her unfitness to be his wife.

David flashed her an affectionate smile. “This is between your sister and me, angel.” He leaned forward, his pale blue eyes on Loren. “I’m not going to stop loving her. You don’t have to tell either of us that it’ll be rough. She’s eighteen and I’m twenty-one. We don’t need your approval, Loren; we’d just like you to be with us. You know I’m working while I’m going to school, and my uncle’s agreed to let us have the apartment above his garage. You know I’d never let her starve—”

“I didn’t think you would. And I am—with you,” Loren said gravely. “I only ask that you wait—”

“But we can’t, Loren,” David said with equal frankness.

“Why not?”
Loren leaned forward. “David, the two of you have been open and aboveboard about…your closeness. Just a little more time, a little more maturity…”

“Lor, people get divorced at fifty. They’re not
mature?
” Angela interjected. “Nobody gets guarantees. Nobody gets anything without reaching out and grabbing for it.”

“This is our chance,” David said quietly. “If we don’t take it, it may be gone. Your sister could do all that ‘maturing’ with someone else, I could find someone else. You think I don’t know that could happen? We take our chance, or it’s gone. I don’t want to risk losing Angela, Loren. So it’s going to be tough, but that’s what we want to go through together. Please try to understand.”

Loren set down her empty coffee cup and sat back, fingering the nape of her neck restlessly. She felt a curious desire to cry. These two young adults were more romantic than rational; she’d seen so much more of life that she had dozens of arguments at the ready, all very good ones… But she heard them, really heard them: “Take the chance; there may only be one time…” She not only heard, she felt it suddenly in her soul; she felt it in the blue notes of the bass player and the single flicker of the candle on the table. How could she tell them they were wrong? She wasn’t sure they were, not anymore, not when she’d turned down the only chance that meant anything to her, a choice that had ached inside her for weeks now…

And then she saw Buck, two floors below.

“Loren?”

Her attention flickered back to the young couple at the table. “I feel very strongly,” she said quietly, “that it would be better for the two of you to wait, but as you said, David, you’re both of age. I’ll support whatever you both decide and help you any way I can…”

Angela let out a deep, heartfelt sigh and leaned over to kiss her sister. “Do you mind if we dance just one dance, Loren? There’s a terrific band just out that back door on the first floor. We’d be right back.”

Loren smiled at the two hopeful faces. “Of course not.”

They left, arms around each other. Loren didn’t see. Buck was below with two men, one of them an Afro-haired brunette with a mustache, the other light-complexioned, with hair the color of sand. The three men, drinks in front of them, were laughing at a round, crowded bar. Buck was wearing a sport coat, some soft fabric. Cashmere. Gray.

A waitress stopped before them; she was wearing a scanty yet lush uniform of scarlet satin designed to show off the upstairs she certainly had. The two men with Buck were attractive, thought Loren, indeed, more conventionally handsome than Buck was. Yet the waitress lingered by
him,
whispering something in his ear. He laughed. Loren could see his hand reach around to pat the satin-clad bottom. The woman was of a marvelously
normal
height, her seductive manner one Loren could never hope to emulate, and the invitation was clear when she bent toward him again, covering his hand to encourage familiarity.

You had
your
chance, you lost it,
she told herself. But she found herself standing up, smoothing her hair with her fingers. Below, the waitress was walking away, Buck’s eyes following the swing of her hips. The other two men were also watching her, and so, momentarily, did Loren. They were an expressive pair of hips. Clearly, an offer was being made. There wasn’t a reason in hell why he shouldn’t take it.

Loren’s feet went into motion, following the red carpet down the circular flight of stairs to the second floor.
There’s no way you’re going to do this,
she told herself. But her feet kept moving, her heart pounding like a bass drum, a flush on her cheeks that darkened when a husky blond cruiser on the second level whistled a come-on to her.

On the first floor, the noise level was higher. From beyond closed doors, muted classic rockcontrasted with an active piano bar; there was a steady hum of conversation over that, people entering and laughing as they shed their coats. Loren stopped in the middle of it, assailed by the whiff of alcohol and a cool draught of midnight air from the constantly opening and closing door; all of the confusion made her shiver. She saw a man leering at her from behind a pair of wire-framed glasses, trying to catch her eye.

Buck was still talking to the two other men, standing around a semicircular bar along with other business types. He hadn’t noticed her yet. All she had to do was go back upstairs; he’d never know. She would be the only one who knew there had been a second chance—and that she’d thrown it away.

Resolutely, she angled through the throng of people and tables until she reached him. Her palm tentatively touched the curve of his shoulder. Cat-aware, he whirled, his green eyes expressing fleeting surprise before they chilled over. His friends, interrupted in their conversation when Buck turned from them, were staring at her. The one with the Afro gave her an unobtrusive once-over, with a relaxed smile of appreciation and curiosity. The other man frowned momentarily at the interruption, and then continued to talk as if the others were still listening; he was obviously more than two sheets to the wind.

Buck’s eyebrows lifted in question, but his eyes were clearly cold and unforgiving. She’d been written off; she could feel it in the pounding panic in her chest. “I saw you…and I thought I would say hello,” Loren said awkwardly, her voice so low he had to bend to hear.

“Hello,” he echoed back crisply.

The next few seconds seemed like several centuries. He noticed her dress and her figure, and there was an instant flare of something intimate in his eyes, but he was totally silent. They were
not
friends. He was not going to go through any social charades. Rage suddenly welled up inside Loren.
He
was the one who’d started all of it, who’d barged into her life in the first place, turned her head until she couldn’t think straight.

Her poise had evidently been left on the third floor because she couldn’t seem to think of a thing to say. He waited, still silent, for another few seconds, unsmiling, his soft gray cashmere jacket incongruous in contrast to the stronger textures of his brush-thick hair and leathery complexion. She had an urge to slap him. His silence taunted her, conveyed he knew well they’d said it all; that unless something had changed in
her
attitude, she might as well turn around and disappear again.

“You
did
tell me,” she finally managed, in a deliberately loud voice, “not to waste it on a stranger. That if I were lonely—”

His palm spun her around so fast she nearly tripped, seared by an iron brand on the shimmery chiffon material at her shoulders. He barked something rapidly to his friends even as he was pushing her away from their curious looks.

“Be very happy that no one in that crowd could conceivably have understood what you were talking about,” he hissed harshly, stopping only when his friends and the other people in the bar room were out of sight. The dim entrance hall was lit by lanterns in sconces, and the air was cold from people opening and closing the doors.

“I didn’t think you were going to give me any chance to talk privately,” she responded calmly. “At least that got your attention.” She felt almost sick inside, just from the touch of his hand on the nearly bare skin of her back; yet she also felt vibrant again for the first time in weeks.

“And do you have something you want to say—privately?” he said sarcastically.

“A public room is fine by me,” she said cheerfully. “For that matter, if you’d rather I found someone else—”

The look he shot her sent acid to her stomach. It was the same feeling she’d had as a child when she’d changed her mind about the roller coaster ride after the first downward rush.

“Where’s your coat?” he said tightly, his voice raspy.

She motioned to the third floor. He trailed her up the stairs like a bodyguard, trailed her back down again, into the room dominated by the noisy beat of old rock and roll, and finally back out again. The man on the first floor didn’t leer this time, she noticed; nor did the bulky blond on the second floor. Buck radiated an aura of just-give-me-an-excuse-to-deck-someone. She couldn’t understand why she was so thrilled to be with him again, but she was. Perhaps she was intoxicated with his aftershave, though the scent was neither woodsy nor musky, but just plain male. And she’d forgotten just how much she loved the odd green and the shape of his eyes, the way the wind tossed up his hair once they were outside.

“No wonder you’re shivering in a dress like that,” he snapped when they’d walked the half-block to his car.

“You don’t like it?” she questioned.

He stalked around and closed the door on his side before answering, rising up in the driver’s seat to fish for the car key in his pants pocket. “If I’d known what the back of your dress looked like, you’d have been backing away from the men in that bar.”

She stared at him, half smiling, as he drove onto the expressway. “You still haven’t said if you like it,” she murmured demurely.

“No. I
hate
it.”

Carefully averting her face to the window, Loren smiled more broadly, glad her sister had forced her to wear the dress. She slipped out of her sandals and curled her toes toward the blast of heat beneath the console. She was as sure of Buck as she was of a caged tiger, but anger was not the same as rejection. If he didn’t want her with him, she wouldn’t be here.

“Your friend with the curly hair, was that the one you went to school with? The one you went to the Slippery Lady to meet?” she asked idly.

“I’m in no mood for chitchat, Loren.”

So she was silent until he parked near a luxurious condominium high-rise sheltered by huge old trees. The look of the place gave her pause, and she stared at the dark building as Buck came around to her side of the car.

“You expected the cottage?” he said shortly.

“No.” She hadn’t expected anything; she hadn’t thought that far ahead. But she had been hoping for a softer look in his eyes and a gentler touch than the possessive hold with which he claimed her arm.

She stepped inside the foyer as he extricated his key from the lock and flicked on a switch that turned on two soft lamplights. There was no easy-comfort cottage here. A stark-white carpet, very thick, led down two platform steps to a sunken conversational square; huge navy blue couches in velvet took up that space. Most of the lighting was recessed, and the accents were chrome; a white marble fireplace was flanked by bookshelves and a stereo unit. The bar was a Chinese lacquered affair with a navy shine, and there was a grouping of oils—none of them Van Gogh—but she could have drained her savings account and not been able to afford even one. The room was strictly masculine, elegant, austere and very, very expensive. The look of the place was so very different from the comfortable assurance she always found in Buck that she felt suddenly, ridiculously frightened. There was a vulnerable flicker of silver in her eyes when she turned to him.

His jaw seemed to clench even more tightly. “Take off your coat. Do you want a drink first?”

The
first
grated. “I don’t
need
a drink, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said evenly.

“Fine. The bedroom’s through there.” He motioned and then turned away from her to hang up his coat. Since she’d neglected to take off hers, he did it for her.

“Was that supposed to be a calculated insult—or just an accidental one?” she inquired softly.

“Insult? But you’ve won, Loren. You can have it all just your way. No relationship or commitment. A body needs sexual release; that’s nature. You haven’t the time for commitments; you don’t want to compromise; you’ve got your own principles that you won’t give up for anyone. So an occasional quick roll in the hay is the perfect answer—”

She froze and turned away from him, closing her eyes for several seconds. A slap in the face would have been kinder. “You know I didn’t mean what I said in the bar,” she wrenched out. “I was angry. I was trying to make you angry…”

“But I think you
did
mean it. Maybe you wanted to see me, but on
your
terms, right?
Your
way, Loren, a stolen moment here and there. With no future. I could tell just by the way you looked at the condo that I’d done something unprintable by having money. Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t right either. He was just totally confusing her. No, in all honesty she hadn’t approached him to talk about their future, but she certainly hadn’t approached him just to go to bed with him. “Buck…”

“Am I wrong?” he repeated harshly. “Have you changed your mind about finding a place in your life for commitments, Loren?”

“I…” She swallowed without being able to speak. What she wanted and what she felt she could have were still two different things. “Listen…” But she had nothing to say.

Neither did he, yet his razor-sharp words were a shocking contrast to the evocative gentleness of his hands. His palm brushed back her hair, and she felt his lips, smooth and cool on the nape of her neck. His arms weaved around her waist, pressing her back against his chest as he kissed the side of her face and the hollow of her shoulder. She drew in her breath, confused all over again to feel what she did, a sweet rush of abandonment as if he’d never said a hurtful word.

His hands crossed, one cupping her breast through the black material, the other stroking her ribs, then down to her abdomen, then lower. She covered his hands tightly with her own, arching her neck back against him, a murmur at the back of her throat barely kept silent.

He found the zipper and the clasp at her neck. In a moment, there was a puddle of silk and chiffon on the floor. She was still wearing stockings and the silver sandals and her wispy undergarments, and she still hadn’t faced him. She had a horrible feeling it was too late to face him.

This
wasn’t
what she wanted, no commitments, no promises, no future. She could feel passion in her bloodstream, desire like a fever at his touch—his strength to her softness, the feel of his rougher skin against hers. But it was not the same. She wanted just what she’d had, the man who’d respected her enough to want to cherish and protect her for a lifetime. She wanted just what she’d thrown away.

“Too fast?” he murmured. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Loren? Just free and clear and who cares?” He spun her around; she was as trembly as she was tense, her eyelashes spiking her cheeks in the soft lamplight.

“That isn’t what you really think, Buck—”

“What I think, lady, is that it would only take one time to teach you the difference between having sex and making love.” His mouth seared on hers as he scooped her up and carried her into the darkness…but something happened on the trip down that dark hall. His heart pounding against hers gradually slowed; anger seemed to drain from him as he held her close. Suddenly, his arms cradled; his lips turned soothing and tender, erasing the aching pressure of his earlier kiss. “But it isn’t going to work,” he murmured. “I could no more touch you that way than fly. Dammit, Loren, you’re not trembling because you’re afraid of me?”

A year from now, she might smile; he sounded so shocked at the idea. At the moment, she shook her head, meaning it. Buck had a capacity to hurt her that frightened her all the way to her soul, but it had nothing to do with fear that he would physically harm her.

“People have a right to get angry,” he whispered. “It’s part of caring, Loren. I could shout from the North Pole if I thought it would make you see sense. But I wouldn’t harm you for my life. You must know that?”