My Only One (17 page)

Abby got up and squeezed the lemon into the gold-colored tea. “This is a surprise, I’ll admit that,” she told the woman. “But on issues that are far larger and more weighty, it’s a known fact we’re polar opposites, Dr. Turner.”

Monica took her cup and saucer and sat back in her overstuffed leather chair. She sipped the tea and remained silent for a moment. “You know, I’m envious of all the press that you’ve gotten this last month. But I also admire what you did.”

Abby sipped the tea, not tasting it. Monica wasn’t to be trusted under any circumstances, and Abby had the feeling the woman was trying to maneuver her. For what, Abby wasn’t sure—yet. “Admire what I did? I don’t understand.”

“Oh,” Monica whispered in her contralto voice, “I think you do. Come now, Dr. Fielding, we’re alone now. We’re not sitting on the front lines of
Donahue
any longer with a million viewers eavesdropping. You can admit the truth.”

“Truth about what?”

“That you deliberately staged the collision with that poor, hapless Japanese whaling ship. And in doing so, it set up a perfect reason for you to be flung overboard in front of the rolling cameras.”

Anger singed her tension. Abby smiled tightly, derision in her voice. “Oh, yes, and I just managed to snag the attention of a Soviet navy helicopter so it could photograph what had happened, as well as rescue me.” Abby gave her a steely look. “Just between you and me, Dr. Turner, none of it was rigged.”

“That’s not the opinion of some higher-ups in the administration.”

“I could care less what this administration thinks,” Abby flared. “As far as I’m concerned, they’ve shown their callous disregard to all life forms in general in the last seven years!”

“Come now,” Monica said smoothly, leaning back and enjoying her tea, “the Reagan years will go down in history as one of the best periods of the century.”

“To whom? The rich? The corporations? Oh, I’m sure with them he’s a real Hollywood hero. But ask the homeless and the elderly who have had so many programs cut out from under them. Sorry, but I’ll wait a decade and then see how the man you work for is treated by the historians.”

Chuckling, Monica said, “Dr. Fielding, one of the many fascinating things about you is your childlike fanaticism and your oversimplification of problems in general.” She looked at Abby with one eyebrow raised. “I really don’t know how you got a doctorate in marine biology when you’re so unscientific and illogical.”

Abby sat there controlling her volatile temper. She knew Monica Turner was deliberately trying to provoke her. Setting down the teacup, Abby gritted out, “Let’s cut to the chase. Why did you want to see me?”

Still smiling, Monica sipped her tea, quiet settling into the office once again. “As I said, I’ve admired how much press and attention you’ve squeezed out of your Bering Sea experience. And I’m even more surprised that the U.N. is allowing you to speak to them as a body.”

That was it, Abby decided. Dr. Turner was worried about her U.N. speech. “Fortunately, other people see the simplicity of what’s going on with the whales and dolphins like I do. The members of the U.N. invited me to speak. I didn’t go pounding on their door begging for an opportunity to give this speech.”

“I see….” With a small frown, Monica put her tea aside and placed her elbows on the desk. “The administration is very interested in what you’re going to say, Dr. Fielding. Might you share that with me?”

Satisfaction thrummed through Abby. She had been right. “The speech is going to be televised by CNN, Doctor. All you have to do is turn on the television and listen.” She saw Monica’s eyes grow hard.

“I would prefer to know ahead of time.”

“Why? To prepare some kind of homogenized administration statement denying everything I’ve got to say? Sorry, that isn’t going to happen.” Abby rose and picked up her briefcase.

“You know,” Monica told her in a brittle voice, “people like you can attract so much attention that the government starts to take an interest in you.”

Abby grinned. “What are you going to do? Ransack my office or the SOWF office like the men of the Watergate scandal did? Do your best, Dr. Turner, because nothing on this earth is going to stop me from delivering my speech tomorrow morning.” Turning on her heel, she left the impressive office, glanced at the sour-faced secretary outside the door and moved into the hall.

On the way home, Abby felt exhaustion sweep through her. The adrenaline charge that had made her feisty in Monica Turner’s office ebbed. She parked her car in the garage at the rear of the two-story apartment building and wearily climbed out. The rest of her day would be spent polishing her speech. It would go perfectly, she told herself. It had to.

* * *

A
SHARP KNOCK AT HER DOOR
two hours later stirred Abby from her position on the carpeted floor. She’d spread her U.N. papers across it to make last-minute adjustments to the speech. The windows to her apartment were open, the curtains moving gently from the warm late-May breeze. Dressed in an oversized long-tailed shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of jeans, she slowly got to her feet. It was probably Susan wanting to borrow something or drop by for a quick chat.

“Alec!” Abby opened the door and stood there in shock, looking up at his exhausted features. There, dressed in a dark blue business suit, a briefcase in one hand, was Alec. His mouth, once compressed, moved into a softened line.

“I heard that you were losing weight and not getting any sleep,” he whispered huskily. Looking at her rumpled but endearing appearance, he nodded. “You have lost weight.”

“Oh, Alec!” Abby blindly rushed into his offered embrace, throwing her arms around his neck. “Alec,” she murmured, “I never thought I’d see you again….”

He dropped the briefcase in the hall and swept Abby hard against him, kissing her neck, her cheek, and finding her lips. As if reading his mind, she turned her head and he molded his mouth hotly against hers. The scent of her spicy perfume mingled with the velvet of her skin, sending a sharp ache through him. He tangled his hands through her loose, thick hair, unable to get enough of her. He kissed each corner of her smiling mouth, her eyes, nose, and finally found his way back to her wet, parted lips. Gently, ever so gently, he framed her oval face and allowed his fingers to follow the delicate curve of her jaw and throat. She was trembling, and so was he.

“Alec…”

“Shh,
moya edinstvenaya,
feel, don’t talk,” he whispered, a catch in his voice.

Blindly, Abby met his heated mouth and drowned in the splendor of his returning fire as a man, as someone her heart had never forgotten. Her mind whirled with questions and no answers. How could Alec be here? How? And why?

Gradually, reluctantly, Alec drew away from Abby. Her eyes brimmed with tears that were ready to spill onto her cheeks. Placing several gentle kisses on her lashes, he tasted the salt of her unshed tears on his lips. With his fingers curving along her cheeks, he held her captive, studied her in the muted light of the hall.

“Tim sent me a message two days ago,” he told her huskily. “He was worried about you, Abby.”

He felt as though he couldn’t get enough of her. Just easing her away enough to look down at her made his heart lurch. Her faded blue jeans were loose and her bare feet stuck out from beneath them. Still, he realized how beautiful, how simple Abby really was. Picking up his briefcase and gathering her beneath his arm, he walked her into the apartment and kicked the door closed with his heel of his shoe.

Shakily, Abby pushed her hair away from her face as she watched Alec go over to the couch and set his briefcase down. He shrugged out of the coat and loosened the dark blue tie at his throat. Pressing her hand against her pounding heart, she watched in stunned silence as he came back to where she stood. When he placed his arms around her, something gave way within her and she melted against his tall, lean frame.

“That’s it,” Alec whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple, “just rest, Abby. I’ll hold you.”

She closed her eyes, willing the trembling to stop. She felt so protected, so much at home in Alec’s arms, she never wanted to leave. After a while, her hand resting against his chest, she told him, “I never thought I’d see you again…. Oh, God, Alec…”

“I know, I know.” His hands caressed her, imbuing her with his strength, his feeling. “You have lost weight. Perhaps four kilos?”

“Ten pounds, I think,” Abby muttered. “Susan made me weigh myself a couple of days ago.” Then it all began to make sense to Abby. Susan had obviously told Tim about the weight loss and he’d sent a message to Alec. When Abby looked up into his eyes, she thought she could drown in their warm sable depths. “Talk about a conspiracy. Susan and Tim did this.”

A slow smile worked its way across his mouth. “Conspiracy? Isn’t that an unkind word? They both love you, and they were concerned.”

Chastened, Abby nodded. “I’ve just been burning the candle at both ends, Alec, that’s all.”

“So I’ve been told. Tim briefed me on the way over here about all you’ve accomplished since I left.” He led her to the couch and fitted Abby against him. Her head resting on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, she felt like sunlight spilling across him. With a shuddering sigh, he whispered, “I want or need nothing more than you in my arms, Abby.”

His words were balm for her raw and torn heart. Alec’s heart beat strong and steady beneath her head. “I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice quavering. “I’ve never missed anyone more than you.”

Threading his fingers through her hair, Alec marveled at how the sun’s rays made it look as if it were truly on fire. “I go to sleep thinking about you. In my dreams you are with me, did you know that?”

“We must be sharing the same dreams, then,” Abby said wryly, the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

Alec heard the amusement in her voice, thankful that she was now over the shock of seeing him at her doorstep. “I was on board the
Udaloy
a week ago when I received a message ordering me to Moscow. My friend, Mikhail Surin had something to do with it, I’m sure. When I got there, Colonel Pavel Surin, his son, an attach;aae with the Supreme Soviet Ecology Committee, gave me some new and interesting orders.”

Abby looked up. “What orders?”

Alec’s smile deepened. “He said that the General Secretary himself wanted more direct activity with the International Whaling Commission. Gorbachev sees this as an opportunity to expand
glasnost
by working more closely with those who seek to help the endangered whales.” He saw her eyes grow luminous, sparkling with sudden happiness, which he shared. “I’m here on orders to deliver a speech to the U.N., Abby. Right after you’ve given yours.” He glanced at his briefcase. “And I’ve been working on it furiously. In it I will state my country’s wish to continue close cooperation with the international community.”

Abby sat up. She could barely believe Alec was here, let alone comprehend what he was saying. To have him in her arms again, to work beside him in the aid of her whales—it was almost more than she dared dream. “This is incredible,” she murmured. She captured his hand, his long fingers wrapping around hers. “How long can you stay?”

His smile dissolved. “I only have five days. Colonel Surin could have made it a much shorter stay for me, but he hoped that you and I could go on American television once again.”

“This is a dream come true, Alec, in every way.”

“For the whales and for us,” he agreed softly, lost in the sapphire color of her eyes. “First things first. Let me get into my western clothes and get comfortable.” He frowned. “I dislike suits as much as I do my uniform.”

“You were born to wear jeans,” she said, envisioning how the tight denim would hug his legs. Abby laughed, suddenly giddy with the realization that Alec would be here five whole days.

“And the friends I mailed the jeans to when I returned to the
Udaloy
hoard their pairs, believe me.”

Alec looked relaxed and confident as he leaned against the couch. A few dark strands of hair dipped across his forehead, and Abby no longer tried to stop herself from the natural intimacy that had sprung so strongly between them since they’d first met. Gently, she tamed those strands back into place, wildly aware of the smoldering look in his eyes as she touched him.

“The Soviet embassy wants me to stay with them each night I’m here,” he told her, reaching out and capturing her hand, then pressing a kiss to the underside of her wrist.

A wonderful frisson of fire leapt up her arm where his lips lightly brushed. Her breath suspended momentarily, she felt herself again go shaky inside with need of Alec. “No…please, can’t you talk them into staying with me? I know we have to fly up to New York tomorrow morning, but we’ll be back by evening. Please?”

He studied her somberly. “I can probably arrange it with the embassy, but Abby, I’m not sure.”

“Sure?” She sizzled beneath his scrutiny, aware as never before that she was a woman.

He held her hand, tracing the outline of each of her fingers as he spoke. “Ever since I met you, I’ve wanted you in all ways.” His eyebrows dipped. “It was torture not to touch you the last time we were together, Abby. Now, seeing you once again, kissing you—” he sighed. “—I don’t know if I can control myself if I share the same apartment with you for those nights.”

The ache in her heart multiplied with the heat in her lower body. Abby bit down on her lower lip. A decision hung before her. Alec was giving her a choice. Did she continue to wage a silent battle within herself not to love him with her entire being while he was here or did she abstain?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Alec whispered, sitting up, placing his hand against her shoulder and caressing the length of her slender neck. “It’s the last thing I want for you.”

With a nod, Abby understood. “I don’t know which kind of pain is worse, Alec, being with you or having you gone.”

His smile was sad. “I feel the same way.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and felt her inhale softly.

“But at least if we were together, we’d have the memories when we’re apart,” Abby said.