Dangerous Journey (12 page)

“Encore!” they clamored, but Darius thanked them, shook his head and joined C.J.

She smiled at him. “That was beautiful. I love the way you play,” she whispered.

“I’m glad, Carina. Now, how about some dinner?”

She nodded as he led her from the lounge.

“Hey, fella,” the bartender called as they walked toward the exit, “anytime you want a job here, see me. We could use some class.”

“Thanks,” Darius said. “I’ll remember.”

Past the cocktail lounge was the restaurant. A waiter showed them to a table by the window.

“Tell me,” she said, in an offhanded way. “Do you own a piano?”

“Sure.” He opened the menu and began studying it.

She opened hers. “Where is it?”

“Pretty sneaky way to ask where I live, isn’t it?” he said without looking up.

She peered over the top of the menu. “Now, why would I want to know such a thing?”

He smiled. “The piano is at my parents’ home in Massachusetts, just outside Boston.”

“I see.” She dropped her gaze and began to study the menu, and she didn’t look at him as she spoke. “Do you go there often?”

“Nope.”

“Too busy?”

“Nope.”

“Just don’t want to?”

He shut his menu and took her hand, careful of the bandaids. “I rarely see them anymore, all right?” He paused, and then more words tumbled from his lips. “I also have a daughter, and an ex-wife, and I never see them either.” His voice was soft as he spoke.

C.J. felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She tried not to show her shock as she removed her hand from his, unfolded her napkin, and placed it on her lap. Then she picked up the menu again and opened it, her eyes downcast. “A daughter?” she said. “How old is she?”

“Five and a half.”

She paused. “And you don’t get to see her?”

“I don’t see her.” He sat back in his seat, his expression enigmatic and very far away. “Her name is Alicia. In pictures, she’s a pretty little girl, black hair like her mother, and big green eyes like her old man. But the situation…” He stopped speaking.

She caught his eye. “Like the situation that causes you to drift around Asia?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The pain in his words was palpable.

“We never talk about you, Darius. We blither on about me for hours. And Alan—we go on and on about him. I want to know about you.”

“I’ve heard the prime rib here is very good. But if you’re interested in shellfish, the lobster comes highly recommended.”

She sighed, shutting her menu and laying it aside. “Prime rib. Medium rare.”

He placed his menu on top of hers. “A woman after my own heart.”

A slight grin came to her lips. You got out of that one, Darius Kane, she thought, but someday I’ll get you to talk. Someday you’ll understand how much I want to know.

They ordered dinner and Cabernet Sauvignon. The combo began to play
Twelfth of Never
. “Let’s dance,” Darius suggested.

On the dance floor, as much as C.J. liked his nearness, his arm around her, her hand in his, the few sentences he’d said about his past had made her realize how little she knew him. He had an ex-wife and a child. The thought kept going round and round in her mind, blotting out everything else. There was so much she wanted to know, but didn’t dare ask. She had no right to ask. She was nothing to him; it was none of her business, but still…

Darius sighed and stopped dancing. She looked up at him in confusion.

“Come on, Clytemnestra,” he said, leading her back to the table, the sound of resignation heavy in his voice.

“But the dance…”

He led her back to the table without saying anything else.

“What’s the matter?” she asked as they sat.

“Don’t look so innocent. You know exactly what’s wrong.” His jaw was firmly set, and his eyes showed no emotion as he began to speak. “I’ve been divorced for five years. I have never regretted getting the divorce, and I still don’t. My only regret is not seeing Alicia. It’s easy on her; she was just a baby when I left. Her mother has since remarried twice, so Alicia’s had her share of surrogate fathers. Not that it’s right. Not at all. Sometimes it hurts like hell when I let myself think about her.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“It seems I do.”

She held her breath, anxious over what she might hear.

He paused for a moment. “My ex-wife lives in New York City, so if you think I’m still carrying a torch for her, or vice versa, give her a call. Her name is Nadia Balensky. You may have heard of her.”

C.J. felt a shock ripple through her. “Not the violinist?”

“One and the same.”

She was speechless. His ex-wife was talented, wealthy and beautiful. Darius was clearly the kind of man who could attract and marry such a woman. If he could have a Nadia Balensky, why would he give a second glance to a C.J. Perkins? The answer was obvious; he wouldn’t. But then, the whole idea of the two of them together was preposterous anyway. She fought the urge to leave, to go back to her hotel room alone. “I see.”

“No, you don’t see. My relationship with Nadia is over. Finished. It’s something I wouldn’t even talk about except when an interesting young woman decides to write me out of her life because I made the mistake of once having been divorced.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I’m not…I mean…” She looked up at him. “Maybe I was.” He seemed to be hanging on her every word. But surely, she was misreading him. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Here I was thinking of you as someone who sprang full-grown from the jungle like a modern day Tarzan, and instead I learn you’re more like Henry the Eighth.”

He grinned. “One ex-wife, not six and she’s still got her head. At this stage, I might add, I no longer regret it!”

“Good,” she said.

He stroked his chin. “Tarzan, is it? Then you must be my Jane.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Jane! Aha! That’s it, isn’t it? There’s no other reason for you to look so startled, like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. Jane. I’m right, aren’t I?” He took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving hers. “I guess we’re telling all our secrets tonight.”

“Okay, you guessed that one.” She grinned.

“And the C?” He raised one eyebrow.

“A girl’s got to keep some mystery, you know,” she replied.

As Darius had promised, the dinner was excellent. After dinner, they returned to the cocktail lounge for martinis. The combo played lots of ballads, a few cha-chas, all up beat and light. Darius pulled her onto the dance floor. He was an excellent dancer, as she had expected. He was the kind of dancer any woman loved to be with, one so good, he made her feel light and graceful.

She could have stayed in his arms forever.

“Someday,” he said as they danced, “I’d like to really take you out on the town. San Francisco’s a lot of fun at night. I wish I could show it to you.”

“I wish you could, too. Maybe, when this is over.”

“I know, Carmelita. I know.” With that, he held her closer and laid his cheek against her hair. She shut her eyes, shut away everything except the bliss of holding him..

A short while later she was surprised to hear the alto sax player announce the last dance,
My Funny Valentine.

“Already?” She looked at her watch. “I’m so turned around by the time, I don’t know if it’s night or day anymore.”

He smiled and wrapped her in his arms again. It felt too good to be with him, and there was danger in that. Danger to her well-protected heart.

He’ll go away soon, she told herself as they danced. Back to that strange existence he was living in Hong Kong. She felt it as surely as she knew her own name: one day he would leave her. But that’s what you want him to do, she reminded herself. Exactly what you want.

“Time to go,” he said as the music ended.

She let her arms fall to her sides. “Yes. Alan hasn’t called yet, either. I guess I’ll be awake all night waiting for the telephone to ring.”

He grinned. “Want company?”

Chapter 10

 Her stomach tightened, and her heartbeat quickened. She could say that she would prefer to be alone, but she didn’t. She wanted to be with him.

“Sure.” She answered with a measured casualness she didn’t feel. “A nightcap sounds fine.”

Darius went in search of some refreshments after seeing C.J. to her room, but came back a short while later with only two cans of soda. He handed her one. “Everything’s closed. I was lucky to find a soda machine with something still in it.”

“This is fine,” she said, settling into a chair.

He took off his jacket and tie, tossed them onto the arm of a chair, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to just below the elbow. Every gesture exuded male sexuality, and she couldn’t stop watching him.

“So tell me more about yourself, C. Jane Perkins,” he said as he sat on the bed and sipped his soda. “You’re from Ohio, right?”

“Columbus. I went to Ohio State, studied art, then I moved to L.A. What about you?”

“Juilliard. Piano.”

“I see.” She paused. “Then what?”

The easygoing grin had vanished as his gaze lifted to hers, and he hesitated, as if deciding whether to joke, or give a real answer. “I traveled, went to Europe, gave concerts. The usual thing for an aspiring pianist. There were competitions and classes. Lots of classes. And endless hours of practice. I could have jogged around the world three times in all the time I wasted practicing.”

“It wasn’t wasted, Darius. Not the way you play.” Her heart went out to him.

He said nothing.

She leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”

His green eyes darkened with pain before he dropped them, saying nothing.
Stop hurting so, Darius,
she wanted to cry, but instead, she hurried on, almost babbling. “Do you realize it’s hardly been a week since we met? We’ve been together so much, been through so much, I feel I should know you as well as I know myself, but really, I hardly know you at all.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face.

“I want to know you better,” she continued, almost whispering as she added, “I want to know everything about you.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she realized how much her statement had revealed. She rubbed her forehead. “Forget that. I never should have said that.”

“Why not?” His face remained serious. “It was honest. And, I have to admit, flattering.”

She abruptly stood and hurried over to the windows so she could look out, so she could look anywhere but at him. The fog must have been hovering somewhere out over the Pacific Ocean, because the night was clear, and C.J. could see the city in all its splendor, shimmering far below them.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She stiffened at his words, despite their truth. She could easily make a fool of herself over this man. She wouldn’t let that happen. More than anything, she wanted to say something clever, witty, sophisticated, but all she could do was clutch her arms tightly and try to control her surging emotions. She forced her voice to sound lilting and casual as she faced him. “Nothing.”

He waited a long moment before he said softly, “Why don’t I believe you?” His voice grew gentle. “What are you trying to avoid, Chloe?”

“Stop calling me those silly names!”

“What are you running from?”

“Nothing!”

He stood in front of her. “Me?”

“Of course not!”

“Your independence? Or is it just your dependence?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She clamped her lips together in defiance.

“Don’t you? Tell me, why were you the one, alone, searching the backwaters of Asia trying to find your brother? Is your father too old? Too sick? What?” he demanded, taking hold of her hands.

She froze, then pulled herself from his grasp, putting some space between them before she faced him again. “My father is fine. And it was quite natural that I’d be the one to look for Alan. I’m always the one who does things in my family!”

“Everyone depends on C.J., and C.J. depends on no one. I see. So that’s why you get feisty instead of grateful when someone tries to help you.”

“I’m never—”

“Sometimes downright ornery.”

“Where did you learn that Southwest drivel if you’re really from Massachusetts?”

“Suspicious, too,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he moved ever closer to her. “And totally untrusting.”

“I am not,” she said breathlessly, grasping his shoulders both to steady herself and to hold him back.

“Contradictory.” He put his hands on her waist.

“I’m never contradictory.” Tingles cascading down her back met with ripples running up it.

“Contrary.” His eyes met hers.

“Darius!”

“And far too talkative.”

As their gazes locked, any protest she might have uttered died unspoken.

His expression turned suddenly serious, and her pulse raced in response. She felt a hardening of his muscles beneath her hands as his gaze captured hers. He slowly pulled her closer.

“No!” She pushed him away even as her senses warred against her, and then turned and took a few steps to regain her sanity. Dangerous Kane, she thought, you make my mind and body seem like strangers to me, with an unbending will all their own. “This is crazy!”

“Crazy? I think it’s the sanest thing I’ve done since I first met you,” he replied. “Do you have any idea what it was like that first morning in Hong Kong after sleeping in your bed, smelling your perfume all night, and then waking up with you curled there beside me?”

“No—. ”

“Or worse,” he interrupted, once more closing the gap between them, “leaving you lying in my bed at the Mark just last night?”

Her words caught in her throat.

“You,” he whispered, his hands cupped her face, “are a beautiful, desirable woman.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted it desperately. But she couldn’t. She spent a life knowing she wasn’t pretty, desirable, or anything else he was implying. She was klutzy, inexperienced C.J. She never had a lover. She could have, especially in her college years. But the guys who were interested, she didn’t care for, and those she cared about weren’t interested. So she’d waited. Waited for a love that never came.