Sleeping Beauty Page 7
The silence was so profound that the sound of a car door shutting somewhere on the street outside seemed loud as gunfire. Looking at Anne, seeing the shock on her face, Lisa closed her eyes a moment and reminded herself that it wasn't Anne's fault Of aH of them, Anne was the only one who bore no blame.
*l'm sorry." She huffed out a sigh and reached
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over to put her hand on Anne's where it lay on the counter. *'Jack and I will be fine. It's not like we're breaking up. I'm just frustrated and worried but I didn't mean to snarl at you. I didn't mean to bring any of this up at all. Chalk it up to PMS and overwork weakening my already scattered brain cells."
**Lisa..."
**No." Lisa shook her head, her smile wavery around the edges. "Let's not and say we did. I really am tired, and I'm probably not entirely rational." She ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the pencil, which clattered to the floor and rolled under the edge of the work counter. *'This is the last time I take a commission firom someone who wants the work last week."
Looking at her friend, it struck Anne that she really did look tired, her usual sparkle dulled. Her mind still reeling with all that had been said, she struggled to conjure up a smile. "That's what you get for letting greed overrule artistic integrity."
"I guess." Lisa looked down at the piles of ribbon and buttons scattered across the work surface and sighed. "Maybe this will all make sense in the morning, but at the moment it looks like Jackson Pollack threw up here. Time to go home."
Anne waited while Lisa found her shoes and the keys and turned out lights. She was vaguely sur-
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prised to see that it was only twilight. It felt as if it should be much later. The air was still warm, but it carried the sweet promise of the rain that was supposed to come overnight. The street was almost empty, most of the businesses long since closed, but there was a smattering of cars angled into the curb in front of the bar down the street, a few more parked in front of Luanne^s on the opposite side.
Looking at the cafe reminded Anne of her lunch with Neill Devlin. It seemed a long time ago.
*'A11 set,'' Lisa said as she locked the door. She tumed and, though the light was poor, Anne could feel her searching look. **I didn't mean to upset you."
**That's okay." Anne glanced past her at the light spiUing through the window of the caf6. **Maybe I haven't been paying enough attention lately—to a lot of things." Because she could sense that Lisa was stiU worried, she gave her more. **You know, it just occurred to me that I didn't pay my share of the lunch bill today. I was in such a hurry to get back to work that I forgot all about it and left Neill stuck with the check."
Lisa's smile was slow. *'Good heavens, you'll have him thinking that Hoosiers don't pay their own way. Something like that could do irreparable damage to the reputation of the entire state."
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"Maybe I should go over to The Blue Dahlia and settle up with him." Anne felt a Uttle curl of excitement in the pit of her stomach.
Neill pushed his chair back from the table and looked at the words displayed on the laptop computer's screen with baffled surprise. Where the hell had this come from? He hadn't been thinking about starting another book, not this soon and maybe not ever. And, if he had given another book any thought, it certainly hadn't been this. What the hell was he doing writing a western? He didn't even write fiction, for chrissake.
But the words were there, neat black text on a white screen, unmistakably the opening scene of a novel— a man, alone and wounded, left for dead by the man who'd been his partner. Now he stood surrounded by sky and prairie, with nothing but wits and luck to keep him alive. And there was a woman, not pretty, but with strong features marked by the struggle to survive in a land of stark beauty and little mercy. Their paths were going to intersect, though Neill wasn't sure just how or when.
"I'll be danmed," he muttered, pushing the chair back and standing up. The Ught had faded while he worked, and he switched on a couple of lamps to banish the gloom before getting a beer
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out of the tiny refrigerator in the kitchenette. He twisted off the top and took a healthy swallow, his eyes settUng on the glowing screen across the room.
When he was packing for the trip, he'd thrown the computer in more out of habit than anything else. The laptop was the high-tech equivalent of the yellow notepad he'd relied on when he first started writing, but, other than the half-formed thought of turning the trip into some sort of travelogue, he hadn't planned on doing any writing. In fact, after finishing this last book, he hadn't been at all sure he had another book in him. He sure as hell hadn't given any thought to writing a novel.
Neill took another swig of beer and grinned. It was good, he thought, looking at the first couple of paragraphs. Maybe he wasn't quite ready to send Larry McMurtry running for cover, but he'd made a good start on...whatever it turned out to be. It had been a long time since he'd written something for the pure pleasure of it. Too long.
He was debating whether to write some more or fix himself a sandwich from the groceries he'd bought earlier when someone knocked on the door. Dorothy, he thought, come to remind him of some not-to-be-missed old movie showing on cable at two in the morning. He'd been known to get hostile
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with people who interrupted him when he was working, but he was feeling so good about his unexpected venture into nineteenth-century Wyoming that he was smiling as he set down the beer bottle and went to answer the door.
The smile shifted, warmed, became subtly more intimate, when he saw Anne standing on the little concrete step outside his door. He'd thought about her, debated the best way to go about seeing her again. He'd pretty much settled on catching her at work, coaxing her into having lunch with him again. And now, here she was.
*'Hi.''
**H-hi." Anne had to clear her throat to get the word out **I... Dorothy told me what room you were in.*' She had to resist the urge to fidget with the collar of her shirt. On the short drive over here, she'd nearly managed to convince herself that she knew what she was doing. That conviction faltered badly when she found herself standing outside his room, and it was only stubbom pride that had made her knock on the door. And now he was standing there, looking large and very male, and she had to admit that, when it came to this man, she didn't have the sUghtest idea of what she was doing.
*'Come in." Neill stepped back, gesturing an invitation.
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Anne hesitated, nerves fluttering in the pit of her stomach. But she could hardly stand on the doorstep and thrast a handful of money at him, even if that was the only reason she'd come—^which, of course, it wasn't. Besides, Dorothy knew where she was, and he knew that she knew and, oh God, she was losing her mind.
With a sigh for her rapidly receding sanity, Anne walked past him into the room.
**I hope this isn't a bad time," she said, acutely aware of the click as the door closed behind her.
**Well, I did have an appointment with destiny, but I think I can reschedule."
**Do you think that's wise?" she asked as he walked past her into the room. *'Isn't there some rule about destiny only knocking once?"
''That's opportunity. I don't think destiny knocks. I think it just hits you right between the eyes."
"Sounds painful." Standing just inside the door, Anne tried to figure out what to do with her hands. Shoving them in her pockets seemed contrived, and crossing her arms over her chest would be even worse. They hadn't always seemed so...in the way, had they? She settled for Unking her fingers together in front of her.
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**Can I get you something to drink? IVe got beer and water—^not exactly an abundance of choices/'
*Tm fine, thanks/' Her eyes skittered around the room, looking everywhere but at him. They lit on the glowing screen of the laptop
and widened in dismay. '*Were you working?'*
**Not really." Neill shragged. He wasn't ready to label what he was doing as work. *'Just something I was dabbling with." Reaching down, he saved the file and then closed the lid. The soft whir of the computer's fan, barely noticeable a moment ago, seemed to leave a large silence behind when it stopped.
**If you're sure. I wouldn't want to interrupt."
In her tidy white shirt tucked into trim jeans, with her honey-gold hair still caught up in that neat little bun and her fingers linked together in front of her, she looked as prim and proper as a kindergarten teadier. Or maybe a student expecting a scolding from the principal, Neill thought with a tangled mix of amusement and lust.
*1 don't bite," he said softly. **Not unless you ask me to."
Startled, Anne's eyes shot to his face. He looked as if he would like to nibble on her, she thought, and, despite the butterflies doing a jig in her stomach, she wasn't sure she would object if he did just
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that. Flushing, she looked away and rushed into speech.
*'I forgot to pay you today." Out the comer of her eye, she saw his brows go up, and she felt her color deepen. "For lunch, I mean. My share of the bill." He started toward her, and her thoughts scattered like baby chicks spilled from a farm wife's apron. "I...I didn't want you to think that I was...that I expected you to... That I...oh."
Anne hadn't reaUzed she was moving until the door came up against her back. Neill stopped in front of her. The light was behind him, casting him in silhouette, and she felt her breath catch a little as she stared up at him. She'd never been so conscious of her own lack of inches, never felt so vulnerable because of it. It flashed through her mind that she'd been crazy to come here. So what if Dorothy knew where she was? She was too far away to hear a scream.
"Maybe we should get this over with," Neill murmured.
"Get what over with?" Anne asked, staring up at him with huge eyes.
"This," he whispered, and, bracing one hand on the door beside her head, he lowered his mouth to hers.
His mouth was warm and firm, holding the faint
no
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yeasty tang of the beer he'd been drinking. She'd been kissed before. She was nearly sure of it. Frank kissed her after every date. Standing on the front porch of her little cottage, he would put his anns around her, holding her as gently as if she were made of bone china, and then he would kiss her— gently, carefiilly, never asking more than she wanted to give. Never asking anything at all, in fact.
Neill didn't ask, either. He simply took. And as the ground fell out from under her feet, Anne could only give.
He'd wondered how she would taste, had allowed himself to imagine, but the reality was so much more. Her mouth was soft, welcoming, eager. She tasted of lip balm and jelly beans—an innocent combination that suddenly struck Neill as wildly erotic. He hadn't planned on this—on kissing her, on wanting so much more. But she'd stood tfiere looking at him with those big gray eyes, like Red Riding Hood in her grandmother's bedroom, and he'd suddenly felt just like the Big Bad Wolf, wanting to devour her in one gulp. He contented himself with nibbling on her lower lip, taking advantage of her shallow gasp of surprise, his tongue sliding inside, finding hers.
A soft, startled whimper caught in the back of
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her throat as her head tilted in an unconscious plea for him to deepen the kiss. She'd never imagined it could be like this. That there could be colors and lights and this smokey sense that she was floating somewhere outside herself. Her hands came up between them, her fingers curling into the thin cotton of his T-shirt, holding on to him as the only solid thing in her universe.
Her surrender flashed through Neill, making his blood sizzle with the need to have more—^more of her sweet taste, more of her soft sighs. She swayed toward him, and his hand flattened on the small of her back, drawing her away from the door as his other hand burrowed into her hair, scattering pins until it tumbled over his fingers in a honey-colored wave of silk and curls.
More, he thought, dragging her closer, feeling the soft swell of her breasts against the width of his chest. He could have it all. She was as pliant as a willow wand, trembling in his arms. His, all his.
The very strength of his need to possess her set warning bells jangling. It was too much, too soon. He'd never wanted like this, hungered like this. Not for a woman he'd met barely twenty-four hours ago. Not for any woman. Ever. A man didn't get to thirty-five without some experience of desire,
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but he'd never been fond of one-night stands and faceless sex. He liked to know a woman before they became lovers. Yet here he was, teetering on the brink of taking this woman where they stood, her back against the door, her legs around his waist The image had him rock hard even as he forced himself to ease back, ignoring the blood thundering in his ears, the primitive voice urging him to take what could be his.
Anne felt her heels settled back on the ground, then the solid panel of the door against her back. He kept his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, as if she might tip over without that touch. And she just might, she decided, feeling her mind spin in lazy circles. So that's what it was all about, she thought Her tongue came out, brushing across her lower lip as if the taste of him still lingered there. Neill groaned, his hands tightening almost painfully for an instant before releasing her completely. She felt him step back and forced her eyes open, staring at him.
*T didn't mean for that to happen," he said. The words were edgy with surprise and sexual frustration.
**You didn't mean to kiss me?" She should be upset OT embarrassed or outraged or...something. She didn't know what, but she was sure that she
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should feel something besides this pleasant floating sensation.
**I meant to kiss you. I just didn't mean to take it so far so fast.'* And not half as far as Vd like to take it, he thought, looking at that soft mouth and those big gray eyes. *'You're too trasting," he muttered.
Anne hit the ground with a thud. Too trasting? He had no way of knowing just how wrong he was. How could he, when she'd walked into his motel room as casually as if she did this sort of thing every day? She thought of her mother's constant harping on the potential evils that lurked, ready to devour unsuspecting females without warning. She thought of all the dates she hadn't gone on, all the kisses she'd never had, all the nights she'd spent alone because she wasn't trusting enough, and she didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
Neill watched the emotions flicker over her face—surprise, annoyance and something that could have been bitter humor. He didn't know what he'd said, but he regretted that it had erased that look of dazed awareness from her eyes. On the other hand, maybe it was just as well, he thought. If she'd continued to look at him like that, he might not have been able to resist the urge to take things quite a few steps beyond where they'd stopped.
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"Anne, I—damn." The jangle of the phone cut him off. "That's probably my brother," he said. "I left a message for him earlier today, and he always did have lousy timing. Hang on and I'll get rid of him."
"That's okay." Anne groped behind her for the doorknob and gave him a quick, impersonal smile. "I should be going anyway."
"I want to—" The phone rang again and Neill glared at the plain beige instrument.
"No, really. I have to go." Without giving him a chance to say anything else, Anne slipped out the door, pulUng it quietly shut behind her.
It was only as she slid behind Lucy's wheel that she realized she'd forgotten all about paying him for her half of lunch.
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Chapter Five
Anne's fingers moved steadily over the keyboard, her eyes on the notepad propped up beside the computer monitor as she transcribed her employer's handwritten notes. She'd worked as a secretary to the bank's vice-
president, Richard Lawrence, for almost four years, and today was the first time she'd had cause to regret that he was both neat and a creature of habit. Today she would have welcomed the distraction provided by having to decipher an illegible scrawl or being kept on her toes by unreasonable demands. But her day was following its usual placid pattern, and the closest she'd come to a challenge was rescheduUng an appointment.
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It allowed her too much time to think, and what she kept thinking about was the scene in Neill's motel room the night before. She'd already spent a good part of the night thinking about it, finally falling asleep long after midnight. When the alarm went off, she woke heavy eyed, unrested and irritated with herself. It was just a kiss, she reminded herself as she showered. Never mind that she'd never been kissed like that, had never really believed that kisses like that existed outside the pages of a novel; it was still just a kiss. And she was old enough, if not experienced enough, not to turn a brief encounter into a major experience. She'd thought about it enough, she decided as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. Now she was just going to put it right out of her head.
Easier said than done, she admitted three hours later, as she hit the backspace key to correct her thousandth typing error of the morning. It wasn't just the kiss. It was the knowledge that she'd gone to his motel room, tracking him down like a teenager stalking a rock star, and then used a pathetic excuse like forgetting to pay her half of the lunch tab. The memory of it was enough to make her want to bang her head on the keyboard. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, she hadn't even given
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him the damned money. He probably thought she'd just been angling to be kissed. And, God help her, maybe she had been. Worse, she was aware of an undeniable regret that it wasn't likely to happen again.
Anne stared unseeingly at the monitor, her fingers lax on the keyboard. It didn't seem fair, she thought wistfully. Last night, when Neill kissed her, she'd understood for the first time what all the fuss was about. She'd found Frank's kisses mildly pleasant—or at least not objectionable—but they'd been forgotten as soon as they were over, just as Frank was pretty much forgotten as soon as he was out of sight. Months ago, she'd come to the conclusion that her tepid reaction was probably an indication that there was something wrong with her. Who was she kidding? She knew there was something wrong with her. How else to explain the fact that she was twenty-five years old and had never had so much as a close encounter with lust?