Handful of Dreams (22 page)

Susan and John were standing on the sidewalk far below his East Side office. The weather had turned suddenly cold during the day, and Susan was glad she had brought Carl’s present, the sable, along.

“You don’t mind about Erica, do you?” John asked, shivering and stamping his feet while they waited.

“Of course not. I hope she doesn’t mind about me. I mean, really, John, this isn’t necessary—”

“Of course, it is,” he replied teasingly. “In case you get rich and famous, I want you to remember me as charming—and keep my ten percent coming my way!”

“I’ll never forget you’re charming, John,” Susan promised, smiling. And he was. Medium in height and stature, he was young and energetic, with dark eyes and sandy, flyaway hair. Their relationship had been professional since Susan and Carl had found him in the phone book. He had been new then, and so had she. It had been nice. They were friends who were close but not too close. When Carl had died, John had shielded her from the world, work, and New York, until she had been ready to cope with it all again. When she had turned in the long manuscript, John had asked her curiously if she knew Peter Lane; she had said yes, and he had dropped it at that.

“So what’s she like, John?” Susan quizzed, teasing him in return. “You haven’t told me once about her body, which means that either she hasn’t got a giant chest or that you’re really in love.”

He wrinkled his nose at her, then laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ve been kind of in love a lot! And maybe this is a little different, because she’s got a beautiful body! And Susan, my dear, you should try falling in and out of love a few times. It’s fun!”

“Is it?”

“Ah … but still waters run deep, don’t they? Maybe you’re running ‘Susan’s Pleasuredome’ up in northern Maine. Gathering research for all that spicy sex!” He was looking over her shoulder at the traffic. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “The boss man is coming too!”

Startled, Susan turned around. The chauffeur-driven limo was pulling up to the curb. The door opened, and David Lane stepped out, meeting her eyes briefly before turning to help a woman from the car.

It was the receptionist who had been so horribly nervous on that long-ago day when Susan had decided to warn David about his father.

She wanted to melt into the pavement.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” John said more loudly, grinning as he stepped up to shake David’s hand enthusiastically. “What made you decide to join this humble party, David? Never mind—we won’t look gift horses in the mouth.” He set an arm around the receptionist and turned to Susan. “Susan, this is Erica Harris, the love of my life. Erica, Susan Anderson.

Susan extended her hand, trying very hard to appear gracious and pleased. “Erica and I have met,” she said cheerfully. Lord, it suddenly seemed frigid outside.

“And this—but I get the impression that you two know each other, don’t you?”

“Yes,” David replied pleasantly, staring straight at Susan and smiling slowly. “Quite well, actually.”

Susan wanted to stamp on his foot.

He turned back to John quickly. “Where are we going? The car is waiting.”

John gave him the name of a Japanese restaurant downtown. David tapped on the window and spoke briefly to Julian. A second later his grip was firmly on her elbow, propelling her into the car, and she was seated almost on top of his lap despite the size of the car.

He asked her politely about her meeting with publicity; Erica, still nervous, told her loyally that she was working with wonderful people, and John cheerfully commented that he was certain the entire association was going to be wonderful.

“Of course, we’ve got to get Susan started working on some kind of similar material,” John said. “We’re anxious to get a good follow-up going.”

Susan didn’t at all like David’s expression when he turned to her musingly. They had reached the restaurant then; John and Erica got out of the car, and David’s hand was extended to her. His lip was curved in a cynical grin.

“A follow-up?” he murmured as he steadied her on the pavement. “What rich, aging legend will get the pleasure of your companionship next?”

She knew that neither John nor Erica had heard, so she smiled sweetly and said, “I think I’ll do a young legend next, Mr. Lane. Of course, he’ll have to be very rich and very famous.”

“Ah, not like a charity case, I take it?”

“What are you doing here this evening, Mr. Lane?”

“Protecting the innocent.”

“Oh?”

“My secretary. She’s quite taken with your agent. You interrupted a planned night.”

“I did? Damn that John! I told him—”

“Hey!” The little devil spoke himself. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go in!”

It was a lovely restaurant. The women were given roses and soft pillows for their feet. Their meal was to be cooked on the table skillet before them, but it was a private section of the restaurant; no other couples would join them. David and John were on opposite ends of the curved table; Susan and Erica sat next to each other.

David was to Susan’s left, and yet neither of the men were really out of the conversation because of the curve. John must have thought the evening a wonderful boon indeed, Susan realized as their drinks were served, because he was politely pitching a Western author to David Lane. David listened pleasantly and promised to have one of the editors look at the manuscript right away.

“When are you going back?” David asked Susan suddenly.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t forget to check with Jerry on the security.”

“I won’t.” Susan picked up the little paper umbrella floating in her drink and gave her attention to it. “And when, Mr. Lane, are you planning your next trip to Maine?”

He took a sip of his drink, staring straight ahead. “I’m not,” he said, then he turned and spoke to her softly. “I told you, I’ve no arguments with you anymore, Miss Anderson. I—”

He broke off as their waitress returned, smiling pleasantly, to take their orders. While John and Erica ordered David bend his head toward Susan.

“How would you feel about the shrimp appetizer and the lobster-and-steak combination? It has to be ordered for two, you see.” He tapped her menu. She wondered why she didn’t say that she’d rather eat dry wood than share anything with him.

“Fine,” Susan murmured, and David ordered for them.

Erica spoke to her then, telling Susan how she loved her book. She seemed much more relaxed at last, and pleasantly enthusiastic.

Their chef reached the table, greeting them, bowing, and proceeded to prepare the meal with such élan that they were all clapping and applauding his prowess with the knife and spatula. Shrimp flew with perfect aim onto their plates, then the lobster, steak, and vegetables. The chef bowed one last time, grinning with his own pleasure, then disappeared.

Susan picked up her chopsticks, which the others were all using. She could use them competently, but on her first effort she lost her shrimp. It fell on the table between her and David.

He stared at the shrimp, then into her eyes, and he smiled slowly, retrieving the shrimp himself with his chopsticks. He lifted it to her mouth, his eyes riveted to her lips, and then to her eyes once again.

“Could you, Miss Anderson,” he whispered huskily, “consider this an olive branch of peace?”

Susan was barely aware of his words. It was his eyes that captured her. They were intense, seemed to probe her soul and sizzle with blue flame. The sound faded in the room, and she felt a moment’s panic. It had been like this that night at the beach house when they had sat before the fire. He had had the same look in his eyes, then he touched her and she had gone into his arms as if she had belonged there, wrapped in the magic of fire and rain, spinning with the ache of desire and longing….

Thank God they were in a public place, she thought as the people and laughter around them intruded on her mental wanderings.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue; they had suddenly gone so dry. She smiled weakly and leaned forward to take the offering of shrimp, her teeth tugging lightly on the sticks. It seemed that his breath drew in sharply, and above those sounds of laughter and conversation it was as if she could hear the mutual echo of their hearts.

“Hello!” A soft, sultry, and friendly female voice shattered the moment.

David frowned, turning. Susan did the same. Both David and John rose quickly.

“Hello, Miss Jameson!” Erica said first.

“Vickie.” David moved past the back of Susan’s chair, taking the woman’s hands and kissing her cheek. John said something with his usual charm, but Susan didn’t really hear him, because she was watching the new arrival with a dreadful fascination.

Miss Jameson to Erica, Vickie to David, was without a doubt one of the most striking women Susan had ever seen. Susan loved clothing, jewelry, and accessories, so she was particularly able to appreciate the other woman. From her small tilted hat to her heeled boots, Vickie Jameson was chic. She was tall and slender—but curved. Her hair was a lovely, natural blond, her eyes hauntingly dark. Her dress was silken simplicity, belted casually at the hips; her earrings and scarf were a bright blue that offset the red silk dress. She smelled subtly of a wonderful perfume, and though her smile seemed slightly reproachful and curious, it was warm and genuine.

David, Susan realized, was smoothly performing introductions. Vickie Jameson was stretching a lovely and delicate hand to her, measuring her with her eyes—just as Susan had done to her, she realized ruefully.

“How do you do?” she somehow murmured at the right moment.

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Anderson,” Vickie Jameson replied.

“Sit for a moment, Vickie,” David said, moving for her to take his chair. She did so, still studying Susan. David leaned over her shoulder, smiling at Susan.

“Vickie, Susan is the author of the book I was telling you about. The one based on my father’s life.”

“Oh, how lovely! I really can’t wait to read it!”

The enthusiasm was real; the woman was pleasantly real. Susan felt a little ill.

“Thank you,” she said, returning the smile. “I just hope it lives up to—to everyone’s expectations.”

Vickie glanced up at David, chuckling slightly. “This is delightful business, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it is business!” Erica proclaimed, then hushed quickly as she received a sharp glance from David—one that was quick, but clearly denoted his displeasure. David, she realized, would never have anyone else making excuses or giving explanations for him.

Susan grasped a little desperately for her drink as she realized that Vickie Jameson and David Lane were probably intimately involved. Everything about them, the glances they exchanged, the casual way he stood behind her, the fact that a date had obviously been broken this evening, suddenly seemed to pound into her head, complicating what had already been a miserable tempest in her soul.

Oh, God! It was all so much worse than she had allowed herself to believe. Speak of casual affairs! But then, David had thought she was his father’s mistress—for hire. Curiosity and whim had made him reach out in a firelit room, and she had capitulated without thought or protest. And all the while he really had had this spectacular woman back in New York, waiting, obviously with real warmth and affection, while Susan had meant absolutely nothing….

She found herself talking, complimenting Vickie’s clothing, listening as Vickie told her that she was a high-fashion model.

And then Susan could stand it no longer. She was on her feet, mumbling something about a trip to the ladies’ room, then flying blindly to reach that sanctuary.

Susan leaned against a stall in absolute physical misery. Her hands were shaking, her palms were clammy, and she felt as if she were burning from head to toe. She hurt inside with a horrid, scratching pain that left her totally bewildered until she realized an awful truth. Against all logic, she had been falling for him; not just for the feel of his arms, of being held and loved and cherished, but for him… Fantasizing that she could fall in love with, him; his crystal-blue eyes, his scent, the feel of his muscles, the sound of his laugh. Falling for his quicksilver changes of temper and his capability for tenderness. Even his scowl and the silver flash of his eyes when his temper began to rise…

She had to get out of there. She couldn’t change what had happened between them; she had helped him to complete his image of her. There would be no chance for truth and understanding between them now, and even if there was, that lovely woman was sitting at the table and had obviously known him a long time and known him well.

Susan bent over the sink, tossing cool water on her face. She had to get away now, but she had to do so smoothly. She stood, stared into the mirror at her too wide green eyes, and decided that she could run out into the hall, call a cab, then excuse herself by pleading a terrible headache. And it would be the truth, surely. Her head was pounding like a kettledrum.

Susan hurried out to the quiet, carpeted hallway, dug in her bag for a coin, and slipped it into the slot. She dialed the cab number listed on the phone.

But just as a dispatcher answered, a male hand appeared on the silver receiver hook, cutting her off. Susan quickly spun around to find David lounging against the wall behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“I was making a phone call,” she replied tartly.

He arched one of his dark brows. “In the middle of dinner?” He took the receiver from her hand and returned it to the phone. “Why were you calling a cab?”

“I’ve this wretched headache—”

“You’re a wretched liar.”

“It’s really none of your damn business!”

He inclined his head toward her slightly. “Miss Anderson, I got you here, and I will see you back to your room.”

“You didn’t get me here. I’m out with John—”

“Who is out with my secretary.”

Susan backed slightly away from him, tightening her long fingers around her hips. “Look, David. I’m interrupting something. I know it and you know it. I’m horribly uncomfortable, so if you want to play the gentleman, please, let me get out of here!”