He shrugged.
“Well, are you sorry you did it?”
He shrugged. She threw up her hands. “Well, have you at least learned your lesson? No more getting married unless you actually love, that’s L-O-V-E, the woman. Okay?”
“Okay. I take it from your outburst that you’ve never been married.”
“No, never.” The thought hurt her and she hoped it didn’t show on her face. When Victor had said he and his wife split up because he wanted children and she didn’t, her heart went out to him. There was nothing in this world she wanted more than a baby. A family. A husband and a child, a home that was hers, a house with a kitchen, not a cafeteria, and a bedroom, not a dormitory.
She knew such desires, such needs, made her vulnerable. Her background attested to this. Her background was the reason she so desperately wanted a family. All her life she had done without the things she most wanted, so that now she felt like a diabetic who couldn’t get insulin.
Warmth. Warmth on her hand. She looked and saw that Victor had reached across the table and took her hand. He was looking at her so kindly she thought she might weep. His eyes were very dark, almost sorrowful. “It can’t be that no man wanted you. So it must be that you haven’t found the right guy.”
She nodded, unable—or unwilling—to tell him the whole story. That not only was she wary of love, but she was terrified that whoever she loved would find out her secret, would revile her for a murderess. It wasn’t that she hadn’t found the right guy. It was that she hadn’t found a guy she dared trust with the truth. Which made this interview—date—with Victor doubly dangerous.
And yet, here she was. “I guess I haven’t,” she sighed. “Found the right guy, I mean.” She smiled crookedly. “I guess I’m too picky.”
“How very fortunate for me,” he said softly, and now his thumb was stroking her palm, so gently. “Will you give me a chance?”
“For—to do what?”
“To woo you.”
Something was wrong with her ears. She couldn’t possibly be hearing right. She should get to a doctor as soon as possible. “To woo me?”
“Woo, pursue, date, court, see, go steady with, tempt, charm, and maybe…hopefully…eventually…” He smiled. “Seduce?”
“But why?” she asked.
He saw her honest confusion that and was shocked, and then angered. Who had convinced her she had so little worth? A former lover?
“I mean, you’re a rich, classy guy," she continued. "Why would you want to be with me?”
“Classy, eh?” Victor leaned back and belched, long and loud. Patrons stared. The waiter, who had been approaching to again ask Ashley if she needed anything, nearly swooned. “There, see? I’m not classy. Cripes, that felt gross. Now will you go out with me?”
She was laughing too hard to immediately answer, and threw her napkin at him while she got herself under control. “I’m already out with you, you slob.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Oh, this had been a mistake, and now she was paying for her weakness. But he was so handsome…and so funny…and had been so kind… “I really can’t,” she said softly. “But it sure was nice to be asked. Thank you.”
He leaned forward, until their faces were inches apart. “It’s my breath, isn’t it?” he asked.
She laughed again, flushing with embarrassment. “No! Don’t be a goob. It’s not you—”
“—it’s me,” he finished. “Which is a fancy way of saying, ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings’. Come on, Ash. Another date. I won’t bite.”
She could feel herself weakening. Did she dare allow herself to get close to this man? Perhaps he would understand her past shame. Well, not understand, exactly…but maybe he wouldn’t condemn. After all, it had happened a long time ago. She’d been a child. A stupid child. Maybe…
“Pleeeeeeeease?” he was begging. “I’ll get down on my knees right here in this restaurant, I swear to God I will.”
“All right! But you’ve got to let go of my hand. And don’t you dare leave that seat.”
He released her hand after a brief squeeze. The waiter approached, hurriedly dumped their plates, and departed. Victor noted this and was not displeased.
“Why,” he asked during dessert, “would you think I wouldn’t want to be with you? That any man wouldn’t feel lucky to be with you?”
She choked on her mousse, and was racked with a coughing fit before answering. “It’s just—like I said. You’re somebody. You do important things—”
He snorted. “Like get cuckolded by my wife. Ex-wife.”
“Like donate gobs of money to hospitals,” she corrected him. “I’ve never done anything like that. The fact of the matter is, you’re rich and classy—well, moderately classy, when you’re not burping your way through the dessert course—and I’m a mongrel nobody. We might as well be from different planets. You shouldn’t be out with me. You should be at a society ball being drooled over by rich elitist babes.”
He couldn’t bear how she sounded. Not sorrowful. Matter-of-fact. He slammed his fork down so hard the glassware jumped. Startled, she dropped her own fork. “Never ever say such things about yourself again,” he said in a low voice, but his eyes were black and blazing. “And when I get my hands on whoever taught you to see yourself as a nobody, they’re going to wish their mother had never met their father.”
Astonished, she nearly fell out of her chair. “Victor! It’s not like that! I—”
“I mean it, Ashley. Never refer to yourself as a nobody. Rich and classy nothing! I’m lucky to be out with you and lucky I’m not so stupid I don’t know it. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. You’re so—I mean you’re—I don’t have time to go into the list,” he said impatiently, still so angry he could hardly get the words out. And the way she was looking at him, her beautiful eyes wide with amazement, was damned distracting. He was still angry, but now he wanted to pay the lunch bill, take her by the hand, check into the hotel across the street, and love her until she was limp with exhaustion, until she was slick with sweat.
“All right. Victor. It’s all right.”
He started when she touched him, and had an odd look on his face. “What’s all right?”
“I don’t know. I was just trying to get you to calm down. You looked like you were going to charge out of here and go pound somebody.”
He jumped again, then seemed to shake himself. “I’m fine now, thanks. Eat your mousse.”
“I’m done.” She grinned. “I was thinking about finishing off yours.”
He smiled back and slid his plate over to her.
CHAPTER THREE
Meeting for lunch became a ritual, and if they didn’t eat together at least twice a week—and three times was even better—they both felt as if something was subtly wrong. During these lunches he talked about his childhood and his family and his business, and she never talked about her childhood or her family, but could chat about her job for hours. He had the definite impression she was hiding something—several somethings—but it was too early in their relationship to pry. He didn’t mind. He could wait. Some day she would be comfortable enough to tell him all her secrets.
Victor Lawrence, who had honestly felt that life had nothing more to teach him about women, was finding Ashley Lorentz a fascinating and marvelous surprise. She never ceased to amaze him with her quick wit, and she was as sharp as a shuriken. And how she could make him laugh! He often left their lunches with a big grin on his face and a stomach that actually hurt from laughing so hard.
These things aside, he was also powerfully attracted to her. And he knew the feeling was mutual. That was good—great actually—but he was determined to take it slowly. He didn’t want to spook her, and he sure didn’t want her to have any regrets after their first time. Or their fifth time. Or their hundredth.
That evening, they were returning from another dinner date, and Ashley was cracking him up with her tale of wrestling with the electric s
tapler at work.
“—it’s not like they had a sign, ‘do not put more than fifty pages into stapler’. I mean, how was I supposed to know? So I jam this thick document into the stapler, and it’s not stapling, and I push it further…and it goes mad! It staples, it won’t stop, and I can’t get the damned document out! I’m wrestling with the papers, pulling back with all my strength—stop laughing—and the whole time the stapler’s going chunk! chunk! chunk!, stapling like crazy…oh, it was a mess.”
“What happened?” he wheezed, stopping to catch his breath; he’d been laughing so hard he lost all his oxygen.
“I finally prevailed. But the report looked like it had been through a war. Which it sort of had.”
“Maybe next time you should let the secretary use the electric stapler.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not all of us are hotshot execs with secretaries, hon.”
He shrugged, and they started walking again. “Fair enough.”
“By the way, what do you do? We never got around to that interview…”
“I manage my family’s estates and trusts, but I’m also a lawyer. It’s really pretty dull, I don’t get to wrestle with staplers or…” He noticed she wasn’t walking with him anymore and turned. She’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at him with wide eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re a lawyer?” She practically choked on the word.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes! I mean…no. I—” She jammed her hands in her pockets and hurried past him. “I can’t talk about this. I didn’t know you were a lawyer.”
He stared after her, nonplused. “Ashley…” She quickened her pace. He trotted after her and caught up to her. “Ashley, why should it matter what I do for a living? I haven’t seen the inside of a courtroom for ten years. I sit in an office and read boring paperwork all day. Why should you care?”
“I can’t see you anymore,” she said in a voice so low he barely heard her.
“What?” He was utterly bewildered, and she looked terrible: white, frightened. Things had changed with dizzying speed and he was trying like hell to keep up. “I don’t understand. Honey, why should my being a lawyer bother you so much? You don’t even know what kind of lawyer I am. You—” Then it hit him. Her utter refusal to talk about her past. He reached for her hand, caught it, and gently turned her toward him. She wouldn’t look at him. “What did you do?”
She tried to jerk her hand out of his grasp; he held it firmly.
“Ashley.”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, I’m sure it—”
“I don’t want to talk about it and you can’t make me!” Shocked, he realized she was on the verge of hysterics, and was frantically trying to pull away from him, like an animal caught in a trap. “You can’t make me, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”
Her breath started to hitch; her face was drained of all color except for two red spots high up on each cheekbone; her eyes had gone so pale, they were more silver than blue. She opened her mouth again and he pulled her against him, holding her to him firmly.
“Shush,” he murmured. “It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me a damn thing. Calm down, now, it’s all right.”
She was completely stiff when he first pulled her to him, but gradually relaxed in his embrace. When she spoke, her voice was muffled again his coat. “I don’t think we can see each other again.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said harshly, frightened at the thought of having to watch her walk out of his life. “Listen, whatever it is—you don’t have to talk about it. You never have to tell me about it. Unless—you’re not wanted by the police, are you?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, then. It’s water under the bridge, right? It has no bearing on you right now, or me right now, right?”
“I…guess not.”
“Then I don’t need to know about it. And you never have to tell me, Ash, not ever. Okay?”
She studied his face for a long moment, then smiled so tentatively he thought his heart would crack. “Really? Aren’t you dying with curiosity?”
“I’m a little curious, sure. But I’d rather be curious and be with you, then have my question answered and not be with you. Okay?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
He was still holding her; she hadn’t stepped away, and he nearly sighed at how perfectly her body nestled against his. He tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes, which were no longer gray, but the light blue of the Montana sky—clear and beautiful. “You’re a fascinating woman, Ashley. Scared of lawyers and the bane of electronic staplers everywhere.”
She shivered as he spoke; his mouth was so close to hers, she felt the words against her lips more than she heard them. His hands were at her back, pressing her against him. His marvelous dark eyes filled her world. And when he brushed his mouth against hers, so, so lightly, she shuddered all over.
“You’re perfect,” he breathed, and lightly kissed her lower lip. “Have I not mentioned that yet? Perfect in all ways. And FYI, keeping my hands to myself hasn’t been easy.”
“Why?” she gasped. It was very hard to get a breath, all of a sudden. And her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. Lord knew the noise was thundering in her ears. “Why have you?”
“Haven’t you ever savored a dessert before taking the first bite? Didn’t it taste better if you wanted it badly but had to wait for it? Oooooh, Ashley, you’re shivering,” he husked. “Chilly?”
“Are you going to shut up soon?” she whispered. “Or am I going to have to kiss you myself?”
He laughed, and then he was laughing against her mouth, and then his tongue was lightly tracing her lower lip, and then delving inside to taste her. She gave herself up to the kiss, held nothing back, kissed him back with every ounce of pent-up longing she could muster. Before she knew it her back was pressed against the railing and his long, hard body was fitted intimately against hers. She could feel the heat of his arousal against her, could feel how very much he wanted her, and she sighed with the pleasure of it. But part of her sigh was relief. Relief that her secret was safe, that he would never try to drag it out of her. That she would never have to tell him, and drive him away.
CHAPTER FOUR
“A rare and wonderful thing has happened this week at The Carlson-Musch Institute for Mental Health,” Jean intoned while Ashley shuffled the cards. The other players watched the brunette intently while Jean lectured on. “Nearly half of the hospital’s psychiatrists are away at the national meeting o’ the shrinkers, which means Ashley can teach us many new games without interference.”
“Like Crazy Eights?” Kirsten asked. She was a large, frowzy blonde with one blue eye and one brown, and fists the size of large coffee mugs. She was a large and intimidating woman, with agoraphobia so severe she couldn’t go into the cafeteria, much less for a walk outside. The room they were in now, the size of a comfortable living room, was just large enough to make her twitchy, but not send her screaming into the hallway. “Like Old Maid?”
“Better,” Ashley promised. She began dealing cards, wondering if she needed to deal Freebs, who had multiple personalities, two extra hands. “This is called five card draw, aces high. It’s really easy and fun, too.”
Todd picked up his cards. “Will you go out with me?” he asked them plaintively.
“Todd, stop trying to date the cards and listen to Ashley.”
Ah! Very good; Freebs was in the driver’s seat today. The core personality was an elementary school teacher. Very stern, very fatherly, completely ordinary. It would have been trickier if Joe, the pyromaniac, or Tanya, the paranoid, had been dominant.
“Okay, the first hand is going to be open, so we can all see our cards. Todd, you have three sixes. That’s very good!”
“Will they go out with me?”
Kirsten shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Did
somebody leave the—my God! The window is open!”
Jean jumped up. “It’s okay, Kir, I’m closing it. See? We’re snug and safe now.”
“Freebs, you’ve got a pair of queens. That’s also very, very good.”
“It’s not Freebs, Ash.” Jean had noticed the big man slump a little while Ashley was warily looking at Kir, saw his eyes roll back for a second, and knew he had switched personalities.
“I don’t like the queens,” Freebs snapped. “I want to get rid of them.”
“But they’re good cards!”
“They’re looking at me. You’re all looking at me, and don’t think I don’t know it. I know people! I know very important people!”
“Hi, Tanya,” Ashley sighed. Well, it could have been worse. At least Tanya wouldn’t set the cards on fire. “Fine, hand them over. I’ll give you two more.”
Tanya was staring at ‘her’ cards, as if hypnotized. “Their eyes follow me,” she whispered.
“I’ll take your queens,” Todd offered politely. “They’ll go out with me.” He held out his hand. Tanya slapped it away. Since she was in the body of a six foot four, 230-lb man whose weight was more muscle than fat, this hurt. A lot. “Owww!”
“Tanya!” Jeannie reproved, shocked. “That’s sooo unbecoming a lady.”
“He’s after me, all right,” Tanya snarled. She rubbed the stubble on her chin and looked more distressed than usual. “He’s been sending messages to me in my sleep. I know him! I know all of you!”
Jean sighed. “Todd isn’t sending messages—”
“Yes, I am. But only to ask if she would go out with me.”
Kir threw down her cards. “The hell you have! I’m the one sending her messages.”
“Nobody’s sending anybody messages!” Ashley shouted.
“Not anymore,” Jean said slyly. “The transmitter broke.”
“Jeannie! You’re not helping.”
“Ha!” Tanya said triumphantly. “That’s why I’ve got my head to myself again. The transmitter broke.”
“It wouldn’t go out with me,” Todd added, “so I smashed it.”