Читать книгу Man of the Hour: Night Of Love - Diana Palmer - Страница 9

Meg spent a long, sleepless night agonizing over Steven’s proposal. She couldn’t really believe that he’d said such a thing, or that he’d actually expected her to agree. How could his feverish ardor have turned to contempt in so short a time? It must be as she thought: he wanted nothing more than revenge because she’d run out on him. Even her explanation had fallen on deaf ears. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to believe it. And hadn’t he been just as much at fault, after all? He was the one who’d sent her away. He’d told her to get out of his life.

She wished now that she’d reminded him of that fact more forcibly. But his slowly drawled insult had made her forget everything. She’d torn out of his arms, putting her clothes to rights with trembling hands while he laughed harshly at her efforts.

“That was cruel, Steven,” she’d said hoarsely, glaring at him when she was finally presentable again.

“Really? In fact, I meant it,” he added. “And the offer still stands. Sleep with me and I’ll drag your precious company back from the brink. You won’t have to worry about pregnancy, either,” he added as he started the car. “I’ll protect you from it with my last breath. You see, Meg, the last thing in the world I want now is to be tied to you by a child.” His eyes had punctuated the insult, going slowly over her body as if he could see under her clothes. “All I want is for this madness to be over, once and for all.”

As if it ever would be, she thought suddenly, when he’d left her at her door without a word and driven off. The madness, as he called it, was going to be permanent, because she’d taken the easy way out four years ago. She hadn’t confessed her fears and misgivings about intimacy with him, or challenged him about Daphne. She’d been afraid to say what she thought, even more afraid to fight for his love. Instead, she’d listened to others—his father and her own mother, who’d wanted Meg to have a career in ballet and never risk pregnancy at all.

But Steven’s motives were even less clear. She’d often thought secretly that Steven was rather cold in any emotional way, that perhaps he’d been relieved when their engagement ended. His very courtship of her had been reluctant, forced, as if it was totally against his better judgment. Meg had thought at the time that love was something he would never understand completely. He had so little of it in his own life. His father had wanted a puppet that he could control. His mother had withdrawn from him when he was still a child, unable to understand his tempestuous nature much less cope with his hardheaded determination in all things.

Steven had grown up a loner. He still was. He might use a woman to ease his masculine hungers, but he avoided emotional closeness. Meg had sensed that, even at the age of eighteen. In a way, it was Steven’s very detachment that she’d run from. She had the wisdom to know that her love for him and his desire for her would never make a relationship. And at the back of her mind, always in those days, was her unrealistic fear of childbirth. She wondered now if her mother hadn’t deliberately cultivated that fear, to force Meg into line. Her mother had been a major manipulator. Just like Steven’s father.

Meg had gone quickly upstairs the night before, calling a cheerful good-night to her brother, who was watching a late movie in the living room. She held up very well until she got into her own room, and then the angry tears washed down from her eyes.

A night of love in return for financing. Did he really think she held herself so cheaply? Well, Steven could hold his breath until she asked him for financial help, she thought furiously! The ballet company would manage somehow. She wouldn’t meet his unreasonable terms, not even to save her career.

By the time Meg was up and moving around the next morning, David had already gone to the office. She had a headache and a very sore ankle from just the small amount of walking she’d done the night before. She couldn’t quite meet her own eyes in the mirror, though, remembering how easily she’d surrendered to Steven’s hot ardor. She had no resistance when she got within a foot of him.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth and ate breakfast. She went to the hospital for her physical therapy and then came back home and did stretches for several minutes. All the while, she thought of Steven and how explosive their passion had been. It didn’t help her mood.

David came home looking disturbed.

“Why so glum?” Meg teased gently.

He glanced at her. “What? Oh, there’s nothing,” he said quickly, and smiled. “If you haven’t cooked anything, suppose we go out for a nice steak supper?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Steak?”

“Steak. I feel like chewing something.”

“Ouch. Bad day?” she murmured.

“Vicious!” He shrugged. “By the way, Ahmed said that he’d like to join us, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly not!” she said, smiling. “I like him.”

“So do I. But don’t get too attached to him,” he cautioned. “There are some things going on that you don’t know about, that you’re safer not knowing about. But Ahmed isn’t quite what he seems.”

“Really?” She was intrigued. “Tell me more.”

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” he said. “I’m not risking any more scathing comments from the boss. He was out for blood today. One of the secretaries threw a desk lamp at him and walked out of the building without severance pay!”

Meg’s eyebrows arched. “Steven’s secretary?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He chuckled. “Everybody else ran for cover. Not Daphne. I suppose she’d known him for so long that she can handle him.”

Meg’s heart stopped beating. “Daphne—the Daphne he was sleeping with when he and I got engaged?”

David’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think they were that intimate, and certainly not after he asked you to marry him. But, yes, they’ve known each other for years.”

“I see.”

“She was the reason you argued with him. The reason you left, as I remember.”

She took a deep breath. “Part of it,” she replied, correcting him. She forced a smile. “Actually she did a good turn. I’d never have had the opportunity to continue my training in New York if I’d married Steven, would I?”

“You haven’t let a man near you since you left Wichita,” David said sagely. “And don’t tell me it’s due to lack of time for a social life.”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe Steve’s an impossible act to follow,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “Or maybe he taught me a bitter lesson about male loyalty.”

“Steven’s not what he seems,” he said suddenly. “He’s got a soft center, despite all that turmoil he creates. He was deeply hurt when you left. I don’t think he ever got over you, Meg.”

“His pride didn’t, he even admitted it,” she agreed. “But he never loved me. If he had, how could he have gone to Daphne?”

“Men do strange things when they feel threatened.”

“I never threatened him,” she muttered.

“No?” He stuck his hands into his pockets and studied her averted face. “Meg, in all the years we’ve known the Rykers, Steve never took a woman around for more than two weeks. He avoided any talk of involvement or marriage. Then he took you out one time and started talking about engagement rings.”

“I was a novelty.” She bit off the words.

“You were, indeed. You melted right through that wall of ice around him and made him laugh, made him young. Meg, if you’d ever really looked at him, you’d have seen how much he changed when he was with you. Steven Ryker would have thrown himself under a bus if you’d asked him to. He would have done anything for you. Anything,” he added quietly. “His father didn’t want Steven to marry you because he thought Steve was besotted enough to side with you in a proxy fight.” He smiled at her shocked expression. “Don’t you see that everyone was manipulating you for their own gain? You and Steven never had a chance, Meg. You fell right into line and did exactly what you were meant to do. And the one who really paid the price was poor old Steven, in love for the first time in his life.”

“He didn’t love me,” she choked.

“That’s true. He worshiped you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Everything he did for that one long month you were engaged was designed solely to please you, every thought he had was for your comfort, your happiness.” He shook his head. “You were too young to realize it, weren’t you?”

She felt as if her legs wouldn’t hold her. She sat down, heavily. “He never said a word.”

“What could he have said? He isn’t the type to beg. You left. He assumed you considered him expendable. He got drunk. Roaring drunk. He stayed that way for three days. Then he went back to work with a vengeance and started making money hand over fist. That’s when the women started showing up, one after another. They numbed the ache, but he was still hurting. There was nothing anyone could do for him, except watch him suffer and pretend not to notice that he flinched whenever your name was mentioned.”

She covered her face with her hands.

He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t torture yourself. He did, finally, get over you, Meg. It took him a year and when he got through it, he was a better man. But he’s not the same man. He’s lost and gained something in the process. It’s hardened him to emotion.”

“I was an idiot,” she said heavily, pushing back her loosened hair. “I loved him so much, but I was afraid of him. He seemed so distant sometimes, as if he couldn’t bear to talk to me about anything personal.”

“You were the same way,” he prompted.

She smiled wistfully. “Of course I was. I was hopelessly repressed and introverted, and I couldn’t believe that a man who was such a man wanted to marry me. I stood in awe of him then. I still do, a little. But now I understand him so much better…now that it’s too late.”

“Are you sure that it is?”

She thought about the night before, about his exquisite ardor and then the pain and grief of hearing him proposition her. She nodded slowly. “Yes, David,” she said, lifting pain-filled blue eyes to his. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’m sorry.”

She got to her feet. “Don’t they say that things always work out for the best?” She smoothed her skirt. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Castello’s. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that so is Steve.”

She hated the thought of facing him, but she was no coward. She only shrugged fatalistically. “I’ll get dressed, then.”

He told her what time they needed to leave and went off to make a last-minute phone call.

Meg went upstairs. “I think I’ll wear something red,” she murmured angrily to herself. “With a V-neck, cut to the ankles in front, and with slits up both sides…”

She didn’t have anything quite that revealing, but the red dress she pulled out of its neat wrapper had spaghetti straps and fringe. It was close-fitting, seductive. She left her blond hair down around her shoulders and used much more makeup than she normally did. She had some jewelry left over from the old days, with diamonds. She got it out of the safe and wore it, too. The song about going out in a blaze of glory revolved in her mind. She was going to give Steven Ryker hell.

As David had said, he was, indeed, in the restaurant. But he wasn’t alone. And Meg’s poor heart took a dive when she saw who was with him: a slinky, sultry platinum blonde with a smooth tan, wearing a black dress that probably cost twice what Meg’s had. It was Daphne, of course, draped against Steve’s arm as if she were an expensive piece of lint. Meg forced a brilliant smile as Ahmed rose from the table, in a distinguished dark suit, and smiled with pure appreciation as she and David approached.

“Mademoiselle prompts me to indiscretion,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it before he kissed the knuckles in a very continental way. “I will bite my tongue and subdue the words that tease my mouth.”

Meg laughed with delight. “If you intend asking me to join your harem,” she returned impishly, “you’ll have to wait until I’m too old to dance, I’m afraid.”

“I am devastated,” he said heavily.

Steven was staring at her, his silver eyes dangerous. “What an interesting choice of color, Meg,” he murmured.

She curtsied, grimacing as she made her injured ankle throb with the action. “It’s my favorite. Don’t you think it suits me?” she asked with a challenge in her eyes.

He averted his gaze as if the words had shamed him. “No, I don’t,” he said stiffly. “Sit down, David.”

David helped Meg into the chair next to Ahmed and greeted Daphne.

“How did you manage this?” David asked the other woman.

“He likes having things thrown at him, don’t you, Steven, darling?” Daphne laughed. “I got rehired at a higher salary. You should try it yourself.”

“No, thanks.” David sighed. “I’d be frog-marched to the elevator shaft for my pains.”

“I don’t suppose Meg is the type to throw things, are you, dear?” Daphne asked.

“Shall we find out?” Meg replied, lifting her water glass with a meaningful glance in Daphne’s direction.

David put a hand on her wrist, shocked by her reaction.

“Forgive me if I’ve offended you,” Daphne said quickly. She looked more than a little surprised herself. “Heavens, I just open my mouth and words fall out, I suppose,” she added with a nervous, apologetic glance toward Steven.

Steven was frowning and his eyes never left Meg’s.

“No need to apologize,” Meg said stiffly. “I rarely take offense, even when people blatantly insult me.”

Steven looked uncomfortable and the atmosphere at the table grew tense.

Ahmed stood up, holding his hand out to Meg. “I would be honored to have you dance with me,” he offered.

“I would be honored to accept.” Meg avoided Steven’s eyes as she stood up and let Ahmed lead her onto the dance floor.

He held her very correctly. She liked the clean scent of him and the handsome face with liquid black eyes that smiled down at her. But there was no spark when he touched her, no throbbing ache to possess and be possessed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I think you saved the evening.”

“Daphne has no malice in her, despite what you may think,” he said gently. “It is quite obvious what Steven feels for you.”

Meg flushed, letting her eyes fall to his white shirt. “Is it?”

“This dancing…it hurts you?” he asked suddenly when she was less than graceful and fell heavily against him.

She swallowed. “My ankle is still painful,” she said honestly. “And not mending as I had hoped.” Her eyes lifted with panic in their depths. “It was a bad sprain…”

“And dancing is your life.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, wincing as she moved again with him to the bluesy music. “It has had to be,” she said oddly.

“May I cut in?”

The voice was deep and cutting and not the kind to ignore unless a brawl was desirable.

“But of course,” Ahmed said, smiling at Steven. “Merci, mademoiselle,” he added softly and moved back.

Steven drew Meg to him, much too closely, and riveted her in place with one long, powerful arm as he moved her to the music.

“My ankle hurts,” she said icily, “and I don’t want to dance with you.”

“I know.” He tilted her face up to his and studied the dark circles under her eyes, the wan complexion. “I know why you wore the red dress, too. It was to rub my nose in what I said to you last night, wasn’t it?”

“Bingo,” she said with a cold smile.

He drew in a long breath. His silver eyes slid over the length of her waving hair, down to her bare shoulders. They fell to her breasts where the soft V at the neckline revealed their exquisite swell, and his jaw clenched. The arm at her back went rigid.

“You have the softest skin I’ve ever touched,” he said gruffly. “Silky and warm and fragrant. I don’t need this dress to remind me that I can’t think sanely when you’re within reach.”

“Then stay out of reach,” she shot back. “Why don’t you take Daphne home with you and seduce her? If you didn’t on the way here,” she added with hauteur.

She missed a step and he caught her, easily, holding her upright.

“That ankle is hurting you. You shouldn’t be dancing,” he said firmly.

“The therapist said to exercise it,” she said through her teeth. “And she said that it would hurt.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking. If the ankle was painful after five long weeks, how would she be able to dance on it? Would it hold her weight? It certainly didn’t seem as if it would.

She saw the expression on his face. “I’ll dance again,” she told him. “I will!”

He touched her face with lean, careful fingers, traced her cheek and her chin and around her full, bow mouth. “For yourself, Meg, or because it was what your mother always wanted?”

“It was the only thing I ever did in my life that pleased her,” she said without thinking.

“Yes. I think perhaps it was.” His finger traced her lower lip. Odd how tremulous that finger seemed, especially when it teased between her lips and felt them part, felt her breath catch. “Are you still afraid of making a baby?” he whispered unsteadily.

“Steven!” she exclaimed. She jerked her face back and it flushed red.

“You made me think about what happened that last night we were together before we fought,” he said, as if she hadn’t reacted to the question at all. “I remember when you started fighting me. I remember what I said to you.”

“This isn’t necessary…!” she broke in frantically.

“I said that if we went all the way, it wouldn’t really matter,” he whispered deeply, holding her eyes. “Because I’d love making you pregnant.”

She actually shivered and her body trembled as it sought the strength and comfort of his.

He cradled her in his arms, barely moving to the music, his mouth at her ear. “You didn’t think I was going to stop. And you were afraid of a baby.”

“Yes.”

His fingers threaded into her soft, silky hair and he drew her even closer. His legs trembled against her own as the incredible chemistry they shared made him weak. And all at once, instantly, he was fully capable and she could feel it.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he said roughly. “I know it repulses you, but, my God, it isn’t as if I can help it…!”

She stilled instantly. “Oh, no, it isn’t that,” she whispered, lifting her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you! You used to tell me not to move when it happened, remember?”

He stopped dancing and his eyes searched hers so hungrily that she could hardly bear the intensity of the look they were sharing.

His lips parted as he tried to breathe, enmeshed by his hunger for her, by the beauty of her uplifted face, the temptation of her perfect, innocent body against his. “I remember everything,” he said tautly. “You haunt me, Meg. Night after empty night.”

She saw the strain in his dark face and felt guilty that she should be the cause of it. Her hand pressed flat against his shirtfront, feeling the strength and heat and under it the feverish throb of his pulse.

“I’m sorry,” she said tenderly. “I’m so sorry…”

He fought for control, his eyes lifting finally to stare over her head.

Meg moved away a little, and began talking quite calmly about the state of the world, the weather, dancing lazily while he recovered.

“I have to stop now, Steven,” she said finally. “My ankle really hurts.”

He stopped dancing. His eyes searched over her face. “I’m sorry about what I said to you last night, when I asked you,” he said curtly. “I wanted you to the point of madness.” He laughed bitterly. “That, at least, has never changed.”

Her eyes adored him. She couldn’t help it. He was more perfect to her than anything in the world, and when he was close to her, she had everything. But what he wanted would destroy her.

“I can’t sleep with you and just…just go on with my life,” she said softly. “It would be another night, another body, to you. But it would be devastating to me. Not only my first time, but with someone whom I…” She averted her eyes. “Someone for whom I once cared very much.”

“Look at me.”

She forced her eyes up to his, curious about their sudden intent scrutiny.

“Meg,” he said, as the music began again, “it wouldn’t be just another night and another body.”

“It would be for revenge,” she argued. “And you know it, Steven. It isn’t about lovemaking, it’s about getting even. I walked out of your life and hurt you. Now you want to pay me back, and what better way than to sleep with me and walk away yourself?”

“Do you think I could?” he asked with a bitter laugh.

“Neither of us would really know until it happened.” She stared at his chest. “I know you’d try to protect me, but you aren’t quite in control when we make love. You certainly weren’t last night.” She raised her face. “Then what would we do if I really did get pregnant?”

His lips parted. He studied her slowly. “You could marry me,” he said softly. “We could raise our child together.”

The thought thrilled, uplifted, frightened. “And my career?”

The pleasure washed out of him. His face lost its softness and his eyes grew cold. “That, of course, would be history. And you couldn’t stand that. After all, you’ve worked all your life for it, haven’t you?” He let her go. “We’d better go back to the table. We don’t want to put that ankle at risk.”

They did go back to the table. He took Daphne’s hand and kept it in his for the rest of the evening. And every time he looked at Meg, his eyes were hostile and full of bitterness and contempt.