Mind Over Matter

  “Aurora.” He didn’t reach out to stop her this time. He only had to speak. “What did you feel that first day with me in your office?”

  After letting out a long breath, she faced him again. “David, I talked about that part of my life more than I cared to last night.”

  He knew that was true. He’d spent some time wondering why without finding any answers. She had them. If he had to probe and prod until she gave them up, he would. “You talked about it in connection with other people, other things. This happens to involve me.”

  “I’m going to be late for work,” she murmured, and started up the landing.

  “You make a habit of running away, Aurora.”

  “I’m not running.” She whirled back, both hands clenched into fists in the pockets. “I simply don’t see any reason to drag this all up again. It’s personal. It’s mine.”

  “And it touches me,” he added calmly. “You walked into my bedroom last night and said you’d dreamed it. Had you?”

  “I don’t—” She wanted to deny it, but she had never been comfortable with direct lies. The fact that she couldn’t use one had anger bubbling through. “Yes. Dreams aren’t as easily controlled as conscious thought.”

  “Tell me what you dreamed.”

  She wouldn’t give him all. A.J.’s nails dug into her palms. She’d be damned if she’d give him all. “I dreamed about your room. I could have described it for you before I’d ever gone in. Would you like to put me under a microscope now or later?”

  “Self-pity isn’t attractive.” As her breath hissed out he stepped onto the landing with her. “You knew we were going to be lovers.”

  Her expression became cool, almost disinterested. “Yes.”

  “And you knew that day in your office when you were angry with me, frustrated with your mother, and our hands met, like this.” He reached out, uncurled her fist and pressed their hands palm to palm.

  Her back was against the wall, her hand caught in his. She was tired, spitting tired, of finding herself in corners. “What are you trying to prove, a theory for your documentary?”

  What would she say if he told her he’d come to understand she showed her fangs only where she was most vulnerable? “You knew,” he repeated, letting the venom spill off of him. “And it frightened you. Why was that?”

  “I’d just had a strong, physical premonition that I was going to be the lover of a man I’d already decided was detestable. Is that reason enough?”

  “For annoyance, even anger. Not for fear. You were afraid that night in the back of the limo, and again last night when you walked into the bedroom.”

  She tried to jerk her arm aside. “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Am I?” He stepped closer and touched a hand to her cheek. “You’re afraid now.”

  “That’s not true.” Deliberately she unclenched her other hand. “I’m annoyed because you’re pressing me. We’re adults who spent the night together. That doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal life or feelings.”

  No, it didn’t. That was his own primary rule and he was breaking it. Somehow he’d forgotten that he had no rights, could expect none. “All right, that’s true. But I saw the condition you were in yesterday afternoon after walking into that room.”

  “That’s done,” she said quickly, maybe too quickly. “There’s no need to get into it again.”

  Though he was far from convinced, he let it ride. “And I listened to you last night. I don’t want to be responsible for anything like that happening to you again.”

  “You’re not responsible—I am.” Her voice was calmer now. Emotions clouded things. She’d spent years discovering that. “You don’t cause anything, I do, or if you like, circumstances do. David, I’m twenty-eight, and I’ve managed to survive this—something extra all my life.”

  “I understand that. You should understand that I’m thirty-six. I haven’t been personally exposed to any of this up until a few weeks ago.”

  “I do understand.” Her voice chilled, just a little. “And I understand the natural reaction is to be wary, curious or skeptical. The same way one looks at a sideshow in the circus.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.” His anger came as a surprise to both of them. So much of a surprise, that when he grabbed A.J. by the shoulders, she offered no protest at all. “I can’t help what reaction other people have had to you. They weren’t me. Damn it, I’ve just spent the night making love to you and I don’t even know who you are. I’m afraid to touch you, thinking I might set something off. I can’t keep my hands off you. I came down here this morning because if I’d lain beside you another minute I’d have taken you again while you were half-asleep.”

  Before she’d had a chance to weigh her own reaction, she lifted her hands up to his. “I don’t know what you want.”

  “Neither do I.” He caught himself and relaxed his grip on her. “And that’s a first. Maybe I need some time to figure it out.”

  Time. Distance. She reminded herself that was for the best. With a nod, she dropped her hands again. “That’s reasonable.”

  “But what isn’t is that I don’t want to spend that time away from you.”

  Chills, anxiety or excitement, rushed up her spine. “David, I—”

  “I’ve never had a night like the one I had with you.”

  The weakness came quickly, to be just as quickly fought back. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “I know I don’t.” With a half laugh he rubbed his hands over the shoulders he’d just clenched. “In fact, it isn’t very easy to admit it. It just happens to be true, for me. Sit down a minute.” He drew her down to sit on the step beside him. “I didn’t have a lot of time to think last night because I was too busy being…stunned,” he decided. She didn’t relax when he put his arm around her, but she didn’t draw away. “I’ve packed a lot of thinking into the past hour. There’s more to you, A.J., than there is to a lot of other women. Even without the something extra. I think what I want is to have a chance to get to know the woman I intend to spend a lot of time making love with.”

  She turned to look at him. His face was close, his arm more gentle than she’d come to expect. He didn’t look like a man who had any gentleness in him, only power and confidence. “You’re taking a lot for granted.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  “Maybe not. I want you—you want me. We can start with that.”

  That was simpler. “No promises.”

  The protest sprang to his mind so quickly it stunned him. “No promises,” he agreed, reminding himself that had always been rule number two.

  She knew she shouldn’t agree. The smart thing, the safe thing to do, was to cut things off now. One night, passion only. But she found herself relaxing against him. “Business and personal relationships completely separate.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And when one of us becomes uncomfortable with the way things are going, we back off with no scenes or bad feelings.”

  “Agreed. Want it in writing?”

  Her lips curved slightly as she studied him. “I should. Producers are notoriously untrustworthy.”

  “Agents are notoriously cynical.”

  “Cautious,” she corrected, but lifted a hand to rub it along the stubble on his cheek. “We’re paid to be the bad guys, after all. And speaking of which, we never finished discussing Clarissa.”

  “It isn’t business hours,” he reminded her, then turned her hand palm up and pressed his lips to it.

  “Don’t try to change the subject. We need to iron this out. Today.”

  “Between nine and five,” he agreed.

  “Fine, call my office and… Oh, my God.”

  “What?”

  “My messages.” Dragging both hands through her hair, she sprang up. “I never called in for my messages.”

  “Sounds like a national emergency,” he murmured as he stood beside her.

  “I was barely
in the office two hours. As it was I had to reschedule appointments. Where’s the phone?”

  “Make it worth my while.”

  “David, I’m not joking.”

  “Neither am I.” Smiling down at her, he slipped his hand into the opening of the robe and parted it. She felt her legs liquefy from the knees down.

  “David.” She turned her head to avoid his lips, then found herself in deeper trouble, as her throat was undefended. “It’ll only take me a minute.”

  “You’re wrong.” He unfastened the belt. “It’s going to take longer than that.”

  “For all I know I might have a breakfast meeting.”

  “For all you know you don’t have an appointment until noon.” Her hands were moving down his back, under his shirt. He wondered if she was aware. “What we both know is that we should make love. Right now.”

  “After,” she began, but sighed against his lips.

  “Before.”

  The robe fell to the floor at her feet. Negotiations ended.

  8

  A.J. should have been satisfied. She should have been relaxed. In the ten days following her first night with David, their relationship had run smoothly. When her schedule and his allowed, they spent the evening together. There were simple evenings walking the beach, elegant evenings dining out and quiet evenings dining in. The passion that had pulled them together didn’t fade. Rather, it built and intensified, driving them to quench it. He wanted her, as completely, as desperately, as a man could want a woman. Of the multitude of things she was uncertain of, she could be absolutely certain of that.

  She should have been relaxed. She was tied up in knots.

  Each day she had to rebuild a defense that had always been like a second skin. Each night David ripped it away again. She couldn’t afford to leave her emotions unprotected in what was, by her own description, a casual, physical affair. They would continue seeing each other as long as both of them enjoyed it. No promises, no commitments. When he decided to pull away, she needed to be ready.

  It was, she discovered, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. He would undoubtedly break things off sooner or later. Passions that flamed too hot were bound to burn themselves out, and they had little else. He read thick, socially significant novels and informative nonfiction. A.J. leaned toward slim, gory mysteries and glitzy bestsellers. He took her to a foreign film festival full of symbolism and subtitles. She’d have chosen the Gene Kelly—Judy Garland classic on late-night TV.

  The more they got to know each other, the more distance A.J. saw. Passion was the magnet that drew them together, but she was very aware its power would fade. For her own survival, she intended to be prepared when it did.

  On a business level she had to be just as prepared to deal with David Brady, producer. A.J. was grateful that in this particular relationship she knew every step and every angle. After listening to David’s ideas for expanding Clarissa’s role in the documentary, she’d agreed to the extra shoots. For a price. It hadn’t been money she’d wanted to wheedle out of him, but the promise of promotion for Clarissa’s next book, due out in midsummer.

  It had taken two days of heated negotiations, tossing the ball back and forth, refusals, agreements and compromises. Clarissa would have her promotion directly on the program, and a review on Book Talk, the intellectual PBS weekly. David would have his extra studio shoots and his interview with Clarissa and Alice Van Camp. Both had walked away from the negotiating table smug that they had outdone the other.

  Clarissa couldn’t have cared less. She was busy with her plants, her recipes and, to A.J.’s mounting dismay, her wedding plans. She took the news of the promotions A.J. had sweated for with an absent “That’s nice, dear,” and wondered out loud if she should bake the wedding cake herself.

  “Momma, a review on BookTalk isn’t just nice.” A.J. swung into the studio parking lot frustrated from the forty-minute drive during which she and Clarissa had talked at cross purposes.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s going to be lovely. The publisher said they were sending advance copies. Aurora, do you think a garden wedding would be suitable? I’m afraid my azaleas might fade.”

  Brows lowered, she swung into a parking spot. “How many advance copies?”

  “Oh, I’m really not sure. I probably wrote it down somewhere. And then it might rain. The weather’s so unpredictable in June.”

  “Make sure they send at least three. One for the— June?” Her foot slipped off the clutch, so that the car bucked to a halt. “But that’s next month.”

  “Yes, and I have dozens of things to do. Just dozens.” A.J.’s hands were very still on the wheel as she turned. “But didn’t you say something about a fall wedding?”

  “I suppose I did. You know my mums are at their best in October, but Alex is…” She flushed and cleared her throat. “A bit impatient. Aurora, I know I don’t drive, but I think you’ve left your key on.”

  Muttering, she pulled it out. “Momma, you’re talking about marrying a man you’ll have known for less than two months.”

  “Do you really think time’s so important?” she asked with a sweet smile. “It’s more a matter of feelings.”

  “Feelings can change.” She thought of David, of herself.

  “There aren’t any guarantees in life, darling.” Clarissa reached over to cover her daughter’s hand with her own. “Not even for people like you and me.”

  “That’s what worries me.” She was going to talk to Alex Marshall, A.J. promised herself as she pushed her door open. Her mother was acting like a teenager going steady with the football hero. Someone had to be sensible.

  “You really don’t have to worry,” Clarissa told her as she stepped onto the curb. “I know what I’m doing—really, I do. But talk to Alex by all means.”

  “Momma.” With a long sigh, A.J. linked arms. “I do have to worry. And mind reading’s not allowed.”

  “I hardly have to when it’s written all over your face. Is my hair all right?”

  A.J. turned to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Clarissa gave a nervous laugh as they approached the studio doors. “I’m afraid I’ve become very vain lately. But Alex is such a handsome man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” A.J. agreed cautiously. He was handsome, polished smooth and personable. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she found the flaws.

  “Clarissa.” They’d hardly stepped inside, when Alex came striding down the hall. He looked like a man approaching a lost and valued treasure. “You look beautiful.”

  He had both of Clarissa’s hands and looked to A.J. as though he would scoop her mother up and carry her off. “Mr. Marshall.” She kept her voice cool and deliberately extended her own hand.

  “Ms. Fields.” With obvious reluctance, he released one of Clarissa hands to take A.J.’s. “I have to say you’re more dedicated than my own agent. I was hoping to bring Clarissa down myself today.”

  “Oh, she likes to fuss,” Clarissa put in, hoping to mollify them both. “And I’m afraid I’m so scatterbrained she has to remind me of all the little things about television interviews.”

  “Just relax,” A.J. told her. “I’ll go see if everything’s set.” Checking her watch as she went, she reached out to push open the thick studio doors, when David walked through.

  “Good morning, Ms. Fields.” The formal greeting was accompanied by the trail of his fingers over her wrist. “Sitting in again today?”

  “Looking after my client, Brady. She’s…” When she glanced casually over her shoulder, the words slipped back down her throat. There in the middle of the hallway was her mother caught up in a close and very passionate embrace. Stunned, she stared while dozens of feelings she couldn’t identify ran through her.

  “Your client appears to be well looked after,” David murmured. When she didn’t reply, he pulled her into a room off the hall. “Want to sit down?”

  “No. No, I should—”

  “Mind your own busin
ess.”

  Anger replaced shock very quickly. “She happens to be my mother.”

  “That’s right.” He walked to a coffee machine and poured two plastic cups. “Not your ward.”

  “I’m not going to stand by while she, while she—”

  “Enjoys herself?” he suggested, and handed her the coffee.

  “She isn’t thinking.” A.J. downed half the coffee in one swallow. “She’s just riding on emotion, infatuation. And she’s—”

  “In love.” A.J. drank the rest of the coffee, then heaved the