The Ballerina's Stand (8 page)

Her face shone in the dancing lights. Her lips turned up into a smile, her eyes bright. She was in love with the moment. He hated to see it end.

But her unspoken invitation had to go unanswered. Too public, he rationalized.

He stepped back, then headed to their table.

“Time to go?” She pointed at her wrist, then the door, silently asking the question he didn't want to answer. He nodded and waved the harried waitress over to settle their tab.

Once outside, the air felt muggy and at least a dozen degrees cooler. He could still hear the band's blaring music, but he could no longer feel it. Did music stop suddenly like that for her? His sense of unfairness reared its ugly head but he tamped it down.

At the car, Lauren waited for him to unlock the door and let him open it for her—let him take care of her.

Once he'd climbed behind the wheel and started the car, he reached for the radio dial, but froze when her hand covered his. She pulled his hand back and shook her head.

“Can we talk?” she signed.

“
A
-
b
-
o
-
u
-
t
?” The glow of the streetlights washed over them from outside. He could see her, so he knew she could see enough to read his lips.

“Was this a...
d
-
a
-
t
-
e
?”

He stared at her, understanding her words but not sure how to answer. “I think so.” He paused, shook his head as he looked out the windshield, before turning back to her. “Do you want it to be?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Yes.” He couldn't lie. He'd never met anyone like her, and he wanted more. Words filled his mind, few that he knew sign for. Long seconds of silence filled the car as his frustration grew. She frowned, as if expecting him to say—or do—something more.

He could talk and she'd read his lips, but he couldn't even begin to understand her. He felt so inadequate.

Frustrated, he reached for the wheel and pulled away from the curb. He didn't look at her, didn't encourage her to sign. Didn't let her read his lips.

He hoped that by the time they reached her place he'd figure out what to say—and how to say it.

Jason knew the way to her townhouse well. He knew that in less than half an hour, they'd reach her home and she'd disappear inside. Again.

The car flew through the darkened night, even with the thick traffic. She leaned back against the leather seat, her eyes closed, a hint of a smile lingering.

This time as he drove, he took the opportunity to study her. The sense of awe inspired by tonight reminded him of how he'd felt that night with Pal.

His gaze flicked back and forth between her face and the streets. Her hair had come loose again and he liked it that way, falling in ruffled curls past her shoulder, pooling on her forearm that rested on the console. Her eyes were closed, the lids shining with a color he recalled was a smoky gray. The contrast to her pale skin was dramatic enough to catch his attention.

At the bottom of the exit ramp, the sound of a car horn startled him. He refocused on the road, disappointed to see the dull concrete and asphalt of the city in front of him.

Another couple of blocks, temptation beckoned and he let his eyes turn to the side again, hoping to find her still relaxed. Instead, he found her eyes wide, watching him with that smoky gaze. Heat rose on the back of his neck and he nearly jerked the wheel too far to the left as he yanked his gaze back to the road. He forced himself to not envision her staring at him, her eyes saying more than any words could...

Her hand, slim and pale, startled him as she touched his arm.

* * *

N
O
ONE
HAD
ever tried to understand her like Jason did. Lauren stared at him as the streetlights flashed in even intervals over his face as he drove through the city.

It was a handsome, strong face—the face of a man who didn't bother looking down at the hurdles. He just strode on over them, headed for the finish line.

She'd thought for an instant there on the dance floor that he was going to kiss her. She'd anticipated it. Why hadn't he? She'd seen her desire reflected in his eyes.

Jason was essentially a stranger to her—and yet she felt as if she knew him.

When he'd first come to the studio looking for her, Jason had given her a ride home because he'd caused her to miss the bus. The next week when he'd shown up, she'd only been slightly surprised.

He'd driven her home, not speaking or pretending to sign some inane conversation neither of them would understand. He'd given her control of the stereo with a wave of his big hand, just as he had tonight.

She'd turned the dial and found the station she knew so well. The volume had been at five, she'd turned it to eight. At eight she felt the thump and vibration of the music. It was as if her heart grew and encompassed everything and everyone around her.

He had looked over at her then and smiled, and she'd nearly stopped breathing. He'd nodded as if the song was to his liking. She'd smiled back, not so much in response to him, but to the warmth spreading through her. The same warmth she felt now.

His approval meant too much to her, but she didn't know how to change that.

Music was her escape, her sanctuary. She'd never actually heard a single note. Yet she felt each melody. And tonight?

She'd felt more than the music. The undercurrents were thick, especially when she and Jason had waltzed. Had she imagined it? Was the music influencing her? She shook her head, tearing her gaze away from Jason, staring out at the city flying by as the euphoria from the dance faded.

Except he was reflected in the window. Her gaze focused on him, and she couldn't pull her eyes away from him. An ache grew inside her. Once again, she was on the outside, looking at a world that wasn't hers. Wishing for something she couldn't have...

All too soon, they were winding through the darkened streets of her neighborhood. She wanted to drive on forever, watching him; wanted to go back to the dance floor where they'd laughed and had fun together. She didn't want it—whatever “it” was—to end.

When Jason parked by the curb, he turned off the engine. He stared straight ahead for a long moment. Lauren felt the night settle over them, as the pounding became the one in her heart.

* * *

T
HE
STREETLIGHT
ACROSS
from Lauren's door spilled a circle of white that almost reached the curb he parked against.

Jason had barely turned off the engine when Lauren hastily shoved the passenger door open and stepped out. He got out to follow her. She didn't look back, didn't even pause, until he gently grabbed her arm.

She froze. He had to step in front of her to catch her gaze. “What's the matter?” he asked, hoping she could see through the shadows.

She rubbed her chest in the sign for sorry.

“What for?” He felt like a heel. She'd misinterpreted his silence. He was a fool.

“For
d
-
i
-
s
-
a
-
p
-
p
-
o
-
i
-
n
-
t
-
i
-
n
-
g
you.” Her fingers shook as she pointed to him.

Oh God, no! “I.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, pacing in front of her door. How did he explain? He had to hope she'd understand him. “You never do that.” He didn't want to spell. He wanted to use words. Full words. “You.” He pointed at her, letting his finger linger in the air. He had to spell. “
A
-
m
-
a
-
z
-
e
me.” He slowly touched the center of his chest. He swallowed hard, then reached out to run that same finger down the edge of her chin. “So—” He made the swish around his face that said, beautiful. “Beautiful,” he whispered, wishing she could hear how much he meant it.

He paused, nearly hauling her into his arms. He made sure he faced the streetlight, so she could see his face. “We need to talk. About your father's will.” He needed to put something, some distance between them. He wasn't ready for where this was headed. “About so much before—Lauren,” he sighed her name, loving the sound of it.

* * *

L
AUREN
TILTED
HER
head to the side, focusing on Jason's lips, reading his words, but not understanding. Her brain was beyond words.

She read her name on his lips. Saw him lean closer. Felt her breath and heart rush forward to meet him.

Her eyes drifted closed, as his lips, warm and firm, finally found hers. The spicy warm scent of him wrapped around her, pulling her to him. His chest, solid and safe beneath her palms, eased the trembling in her limbs. He made her feel so safe. His arms were a gentle welcome.

Then suddenly, he was gone. He'd pulled back, a frown erasing the smile she'd so enjoyed. “What?” she signed. “Something wrong?”

He didn't look at her until the Lexus stood between them, the moonlight glinting off its polished frame. Time stretched out. Their eyes caught, and she gasped at the heat staring back at her. Slowly, she shook her head. “Don't go.” Her fingers made the request as she deepened her frown, needing to deepen the intensity of her words.

Loose curls tumbled over her eyes, and she impatiently shoved them back. “I—” She jabbed a finger hard into her own chest. “Want.” Her hands weren't enough. She pointed at him then the space before her. “You here.”

He swallowed hard enough for her to see his throat work even in the shadows. He closed his eyes. Instead of reaching for the door handle and climbing into the car, he slowly walked back around the car.

As if something had given way, some resolve or excuse, he was pulling her almost roughly to him, burying his fingers in the curls beside her face. Holding her to kiss her.

He tasted of the night, sweet and cool with an edge. An edge that felt entirely too much like restraint.

Lauren lifted her arms, slipping her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Gently, she urged him closer. His sigh rumbled through her. She trembled, drinking in everything he gave her.

Wanting nothing but more.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

E
VERYTHING
VANISHED
. T
HE
NIGHT
. His worry. Her hesitancy. Everything except the taste of her lips and the feel of her against him. Jason pulled her tighter.

Lauren's arms slid around his neck, and he realized she stood on her tiptoes. She weighed next to nothing, and he could lift her into his arms, but that would move them into a whole new level of intimacy. He ached for it, but not yet.

He stepped back, leaning against the still-warm car, and let her lean into him, resting his chin on the top of her head. He enjoyed the feel of her snuggled against his chest.

There was no way to communicate right now, and he wasn't sure there were even words made for this. It felt damned near perfect.

Lauren pulled away first, tilting her head to look up at him. The night and shadows caressed her face just as his fingers itched to do. Her gaze never left his as she stepped back, smiling when she took another step, and then another. Still facing him, she backed to her front door.

She waved before she closed it and disappeared inside. Jason stood there, watching the lights come on, imagining what she was doing. Getting ready to go to bed...

“Hell.” He had to get out of there before he did something really stupid.

Like follow her.

* * *

F
IRST
KISSES
ALWAYS
scared Lauren. But this one was different. Not forced, like her true first. Not stolen like a few in high school. Definitely not awkward. But right.

Lauren climbed the stairs to her room, intent on going to sleep. She had an early meeting with the ballet company at the theater in regard to the next production. She should be exhausted after a long day and dancing half the night with Jason. But while her body was exhausted, her brain wouldn't shut off.

What was
he
thinking? Anything? Had he gone home, falling asleep without a further thought about her? Or was he lying awake, too?

After half an hour of tossing and turning, she threw back the blankets. She had to derail this train of thought.

She powered up her laptop and settled against the pillows. She'd check her email, then if she still couldn't sleep, maybe play a game or download a new book.

She couldn't let Jason take over her mind. It had been a date, that's all, she reminded herself as she clicked the icon for her inbox.

Her email box quickly filled with unread messages. Communications about tomorrow's meeting. Notes from students—and want-to-be students.

Maxine's name popped up. Lauren smiled. Her note would be less like a message and more like an old-fashioned letter. Lauren opened it, anticipating a nice read.

Oh darling, please text me when you get this. I am so upset. I need to talk.

Lauren hadn't checked her phone all evening. She reached for it on the nightstand. She'd missed two messages. They said essentially the same thing as the email.

Her heart pounding, Lauren checked the time. Surely Maxine was asleep. Still, if she was upset... Lauren texted
Sorry. Missed your calls. Are you awake?

Time stretched out painfully. Had something happened to Maxine? Was she ill? Was Dylan? Or Hudson?

Finally, her phone flashed.
Oh, dear. Yes. I may never sleep again
.

What happened?

Another friend has passed away. I keep losing people.

Oh, no. Maxine had reached an age where her long-time friends were dying. Illness was more common than not. Already this year, Maxine had lost three friends. “Who?”

“Wakefield.”

Her attorney? Yes, he'd been around a long time, and they did socialize, but this seemed like too strong a reaction, even for Maxine. The last time Lauren had seen him, he hadn't looked well. This couldn't be a surprise.
What happened?

He's been sick. Went peacefully in his sleep. I'm devastated.

The drama came to the surface whenever Maxine needed a little extra attention. That wasn't new, either. Lauren sighed.
Want me to come over tomorrow?

Oh, I'd love that. Thank you!

Lunch? Early meeting at the theater, sorry.

Yes. Lunch. Love you.

Love you, too.

The texts ended and Lauren plugged her phone back in. She shut down everything, finally yawning, and slid beneath the covers. Maxine had gotten what she wanted, and now all would be right with the world again. Until the next catastrophe.

While Lauren empathized with Maxine, she had long ago stopped letting herself get too attached to people. Losing her mother so young, losing foster family after foster family, and friend after friend growing up, she'd stopped letting herself care enough to experience that level of loss.

As she drifted off to sleep, faces floated through her mind. Maxine. Dylan. Jason. An hour before her alarm was set to go off, she awoke, cringing at the cool damp of the pillow against her cheek.

She rose to start her day, ignoring the proof from her dreams that she wasn't so immune after all.

* * *

H
UDSON
ANSWERED
THE
door in his usual, distant manner, but Lauren knew he was disturbed. That one tiny line denting his brow was, in Hudson's existence, a big deal.

He led the way to the front room, not Maxine's usual place. It was a room primarily for show. He paused at the doorway, gently touching Lauren's arm and waving her a few steps into the hall.

He shocked her by signing, quite proficiently. “She and Wakefield were lovers a long time ago.” He paused, a bright blush on his cheeks. “Bad of me to tell you.”

Lauren wasn't sure which shocked her more. Hudson's signing or Maxine's history with her attorney. “You sign?”

The older man looked chagrined. “How do you think I kept up with you two all these years?”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“My secret weapon.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself. They stared at each other for a minute, the world shifting around them. “She's very hurt.” He pointed to the open doorway. “Help her.”

“I'll try,” she signed and turned to join her foster mother, still feeling a bit off-kilter.

Maxine looked up as soon as Lauren's heels hit the wooden floor. “Oh, there you are, dear,” she said so Lauren could read her lips. The older woman's eyes were red and her normally perfect makeup was badly disturbed. A large hat box sat on the sofa beside her, the lid open, showing a stack of papers. Moving closer, Lauren saw cards, letters, photographs and other memorabilia. One of the photos was of Maxine and Wakefield, both of them much younger.

It looked like an innocent photo, and Lauren remembered seeing it somewhere before. But now, after what Hudson had said, she saw it differently. It wasn't just a candid cocktail party shot. There was a glint in their eyes, a secret wafting between them.

Lauren settled on the other end of the couch and waited. Maxine's tears began anew, and she grabbed for another tissue. A pile of the white fluffy things already lay scattered across the tabletop.

“I'll miss him,” was all Maxine said, as tears flowed down her cheeks.

Lauren moved the hat box and scooted next to Maxine, slipping her arms around the woman's thin shoulders. Maxine laid her head on Lauren and let herself cry.

How many times had Maxine been the one to comfort Lauren, when kids made fun of her, when her heart was broken, when she lost a part in a ballet production? She couldn't remember Maxine ever crying or being this upset. Angry, yes, but never this.

“Thank you,” Maxine signed. She sat there a moment, then pulled away, but not ready to let go of the comfort yet, she curled her fingers around Lauren's.

Maxine picked up another photo and showed it to Lauren. This one she'd never seen before. Someone had managed to take a photo of Maxine and Wakefield in a very hot and heavy embrace. Shocked, she tried to look away, but couldn't help staring. That was here. In this room. Was that why Maxine was in this room now?

“My graduation party.”

Lauren recognized the decorations in the background. Maxine blushed. “He was good to you.”

Maxine nodded and wiped at her tears again. When she looked at Lauren, hurt filled her eyes. “I miss him. I don't want to do this.”

“I know.” Putting her fingertips to her forehead, slowly tapping the sign, Lauren was reminded of Hudson's furrowed brow. Once again, she felt the world shift. She wasn't the kid, hurt and crying—she was the comforter now.

Just then, Hudson came in and announced that lunch was ready, speaking and in sign. Then he did something else totally out of character. He came over to the couch and offered his hand to Maxine, assisting her up and escorting her to the dining room.

Lauren sat there and stared. Everything around her was changing. And she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

* * *

“U
H
,
BOSS
?” S
USAN
poked her head around the door frame.

When Jason looked up, she started to speak. “There's a—”

An elderly woman swept into his office just then, cutting off Susan's words and filling the room with her personality.

Petite, with perfectly coiffed hair, and nails the color of blood, the woman strolled right up to the edge of his desk as if she owned the world. She extended one of those claw-tipped hands. “I'm Maxine Nightingale.”

Jason shot to his feet, his mama's manners drilled in too deep to deny. “Hello, ma'am.” He had no idea who she was, but the look she gave him said he should.

Susan shuffled across the office, coming up beside him. She cupped her hand along her face and whispered loudly, “The ballerina. You know. She's famous.” The last word came out so loud, even he winced.

“Ah,” he took the woman's hand and gently shook it. “Another ballerina.” The other one had haunted his waking and sleeping hours ever since that sweet kiss. He was tired today, having tossed and turned every night since.

He nodded toward the door, indicating to Susan that she could leave. His normally obtuse assistant stepped toward the door, but didn't leave, just stared at the older woman with wide, awe-filled eyes.

“Susan, you can get back to work now.”

“Uh, yeah, I...” Susan turned to go then hastily went back to the woman. “Can I, uh, get an autograph?”

“Susan.” Jason was fairly certain he would have to shove her bodily out of the room.

“No problem, dear. I'll stop at your desk on the way out.” Maxine's smile could only be described as benevolent.

“Thank you.” To him Susan said, “I'm leaving.” She even remembered to close the door behind her. Miracle, that.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Nightingale?”

“Call me Maxine.” She settled in one of the chairs facing his desk, gracefully crossing her legs and meeting his stare.

He didn't have time for a meeting right now. “I only have ten minutes, then I must leave for court.”

“Oh, this won't take long.” She looked up at him. “You see, my attorney has—” She faltered and had to clear her throat. “Recently passed away, and I find myself in need of your services.”

“I'd be glad to set up another meeting—”

“Oh, we'll do that, my dear, in due time. I needed to meet you before we get to business. And—” She looked around. “I never discuss such things in offices. Too sterile.” She actually shuddered.

Jason took a long look at the woman seated before him. He was definitely missing something here. He just wasn't sure what.

“Why did you choose me?” Maybe her answer would tell him something.

“Lauren has mentioned your name. A couple of times actually.” The silence was thick. He got the impression she wasn't telling him everything.

“Lauren Ramsey? Do you work with her?” Though Susan had identified Maxine as a ballerina, that didn't mean it was the only way she knew Lauren.

“Oh, no.” Maxine laughed and fidgeted with her purse handle, not because she was nervous, but as an obvious ploy to make him wait. “Not for years anyway. She hasn't needed me for some time.”

Her voice suddenly sounded wistful. Jason settled in the desk chair, not relaxed, but on the edge of the seat. He waited. She had more to say.

“Lauren is my daughter.” She fidgeted more. “Excuse me, foster daughter. I'm here to make sure she's not making any mistakes, if nothing else.”

He leaned back in the chair, watching Maxine with a less than trusting eye.

“She said you handled her father's estate, and helped with Dylan.” Maxine smiled. “Surely, she has told you about me?” Her hope was obvious.

Lauren hadn't mentioned a thing, but that didn't mean much. They'd merely had one “official” date and he'd only been taking ASL classes for a few weeks. “We haven't had that many in-depth conversations,” was all he told Maxine.

Her eyes dimmed a bit. “I see. Do you know sign language?”

“I'm learning. Slowly.” He wouldn't lie.

She nodded, her expression brightening. “Do you have any idea of who I am?”

He wasn't sure what this was about, and he didn't have time to find out. He stood and gathered the files he'd been working on when Maxine had barged in. “I'm afraid the ballet world is as new to me as sign language. But I'm learning. And I really do need to leave.”

“I understand.” She stood as well, waiting until he led the way to the door. “I'll be at the Scarlett Tea House tomorrow afternoon at four.” She walked out into the lobby. “I'd like to invite you to join me. They have the best high tea. We can discuss details then.”

Despite her lack of stature, the woman intimidated him. “I— Details? Of what?”

“Why, your representing me, of course. Now that Wakefield has made the unfortunate journey to the great beyond I need someone to handle my estate.”