Читать книгу Last Chance at Love - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 7

Chapter 2

Allison watched Jake fold his papers and prepare to leave the store after the first book signing. “You certainly know how to work a crowd,” she told him. “I never saw so much easy charm in my life. How could you smile nonstop for three hours?”

She supposed it was human to appreciate compliments, but his broad grin and warm flush suggested that her remark meant more to him than she’d anticipated.

“When people say nice things to me, I’m a sweetheart,” he offered in an apparent attempt to cover his embarrassment. Then he winked, not once but twice. “A real pussycat. Try me; you’ll like me.”

She had to laugh. This man had many sides to his personality, and every element of it fascinated her. “Try to stay humble, Jake,” she teased. “It won’t be easy, I know, with hundreds of women lining up for a glimpse of you and the chance to own your unreadable signature. But try. Otherwise, you might sail right up into the clouds, and I’ll be unable to reach you.”

This won’t be easy, she cautioned herself, as he continued to smile with hazel eyes that gleamed with pleasure. Worse still, she had to finesse his mesmerizing gaze while the scent of his tangy cologne teased her nostrils. Well, she was a big girl; she’d just make herself ignore it. Fat chance. Could that wink possibly be beyond his control, as he’d said? Built-in sex appeal, she thought, when he winked twice—a half smile playing around his full bottom lip, reinforcing his impact.

“You can reach me anytime you want to,” he assured her, responding to her comment. “And if you think you’re having problems finding me, just let me know and I’ll tell you exactly how to get to me. Come to think of it, you don’t need any advice about that.”

Her gaze took in his rough masculinity, set off with those mesmerizing eyes, rich tan skin, and thick black wavy hair. She feigned displeasure.

“Don’t you ever stick to the subject? No matter what I say, you manage to give it a double meaning.”

His left shoulder lifted quickly, as though by reflex. “I got where I am by taking advantage of every opportunity, and I haven’t found a reason to break the habit.” He stared directly into her face. “Oh, yes. And you’ll find that I’m a patient man. I’m willing to wait for what I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m not busy ensuring that I get it. If you’re ready, we can leave.”

He’d just given notice that he controlled his life and a good deal of what happened to him, and he’d apparently had more success at that than she’d had. She looked around, glad for the opportunity to release herself from his gaze.

“Let me get that bag of books I bought,” she said. “They’re behind the counter over there.”

The light pressure of his fingers on her arms sent heat spiraling through her body. God help her if she was going to react that way every time he touched her.

“I’ll get them,” he said, and left before she could reply.

“How many did you buy, a hundred?” he asked as he walked back to her with the bag. She reached for it, but he added her laptop computer to his burden and started off.

“Wait a minute. I can carry my stuff,” she called after him. He was not going to treat her as if she were helpless.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her, an expression of incredulity masking his face. “Allison, if you think I’m going to walk up Madison Avenue with a woman who’s struggling under thirty or forty pounds of whatever, while I carry my four-pound briefcase, you’re a few bricks short of a full load. Please be reasonable.”

“I’m not going to let you treat me as though I’m an incompetent little something or other. Hand me my things, please.”

He smiled in that special way of his that seemed to bless everything around him. “You have to realize that my father didn’t let my mother lift anything heavy, and he taught me to be protective of her and all other women. I can’t ignore my upbringing just because you’re out to prove you’re the equal of, or better than, any of The Journal’s other reporters. I’m carrying this stuff, and if you don’t like that, next time don’t bring it. What do you say?”

“Okay.” She said it grudgingly. “But I like bossy people about as well as you like contentious ones. And you don’t have to make such a big thing out of this, either. I wouldn’t want you to disobey your parents.”

“What?” His deep laughter rolled with merriment. She loved the sound of it, and if she knew how, she’d keep him laughing.

“I’m thirty-five years old,” he reminded her, “and at this age, I obey selectively. Does this mean you’re going to stop bickering with me and let us be friends?” The gleam in his eyes told her she’d be foolish to react, that he had her number and needled her out of devilment.

She laughed, though she was less assured than her manner suggested. “Bees will stop stinging long before we get chummy, pal.” If only she could be sure of it.

His gaze sauntered over her but, apparently not satisfied that his eyes had telegraphed his message, he told her, “Lie to the world if you must, but tell yourself the unvarnished truth. Self-deception can be dangerous.”

“I certainly hope you’re not speaking from experience,” she replied. But he’d come close to her vulnerable spot, and flippancy wasn’t what she felt, as the memory of Roland Farr’s cunning floated back to her.

In her room, she got a handful of gingersnaps and crawled into bed with Jake’s book, For the Sake of Diplomacy, hoping to find something of the man in his work. She didn’t relish the idea that her interest in him might exceed the professional preoccupation that she normally brought to her work and hoped she hadn’t set a trap for herself. Words danced before her in black-and-white confusion, challenging her to concentrate. When Jacob Covington’s face appeared among the tangled alphabets, she closed the book.

* * *

He’d been ungracious in not asking if she’d like company, Jake decided, and rang her room. “I forgot to ask whether you have friends here, Allison. I’d hate to think of your not taking advantage of this great town. So if you won’t be busy this evening, how about spending a couple of hours with me?”

“Sure. What will we do?”

He welcomed her honest, straightforward answer, because he disliked women who played games with him. She had nothing planned and didn’t pretend that she did have.

“After we eat, we can take in a show, go to one of the jazz clubs in the Village, watch the skaters in Rockefeller Plaza, whatever. Depends on how you want to dress.”

“I vote for food and skaters,” she said, causing him to wonder why she hadn’t suggested the music. He’d been certain she’d choose the jazz, and he’d have proof that he had indeed seen her at Blues Alley, but he didn’t exclude the possibility that her choice could be a ruse.

He hung up, made dinner reservations at a small West Side restaurant, and remembered to call his mother.

“I’ll be down there in a couple of weeks,” he told Annie Covington.

She’d be glad to see him, she said and then voiced what he knew was her real concern. “Son, have you found a nice girl? I hate to think of you always by yourself.”

“Not yet. You’ll be the first to know.” He wanted to get off the subject, because she wouldn’t hesitate to complain about the grandchildren he hadn’t given her.

“Married men live longer than loners,” she warned. “And don’t let your success keep you out of church, Jake; it’s prayers that got you where you are.”

“Plus hard work and my parents’ support,” he said, gave her his phone number, and added, “Don’t forget to keep my itinerary posted on your refrigerator, in the bathroom, and beside your bed.”

Her hearty laugh always filled him with joy, reminding him that she no longer struggled in abject poverty because he made certain that she had every modern home convenience, more money that she could use, and that she worked only if she wanted to.

“That falls pretty easily off your tongue,” she told him. “But don’t you forget that for the first forty-five years of my life—the refrigerator was a zinc tub filled with ice when we could get it, the bathroom was wherever you set yourself down, and the bed had to be moved when it rained. You send me more money every month than I used to make in a year. Your father would be proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Mom. Tune in to NBC tomorrow evening between seven and nine.”

* * *

If Jake needed grounding, he could trust his mother to keep him in touch with the good earth, and later that evening he had cause to appreciate this. While still a child, Jake had learned tolerance. He’d discovered early that his size invited challenges from the tough boys in his school and even some of his teachers. The experiences had shaped his personality and taught him the wisdom of soft-spoken, nonthreatening manners. Gentleness came naturally, but it threatened to abandon him when the maître d’ at Dino’s rushed forward to assist Allison as though she were unescorted. He liked to know that other men found the woman in his company interesting, but when one after the other stared beagle-eyed at Allison, his temper began a rare ascent. Quickly, he clamped down on it.

She was seated at the small table for two, and he observed her closely. Jet-black hair cascaded around her shoulders, setting off her smooth ebony complexion and large dreamy eyes that promised a man everything. Her simple red dress heightened the beauty before him; and though she seemed unaware of it, she’d captured the attention of nearly every man present. He smiled to himself; at least he wasn’t the guy on the outside. He was about to remark that he liked her hair down, when it hit him that it was indeed she who he had seen in Blues Alley.

Watch it, Jake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to give himself that lecture. “You’re different with your hair down, softer and—”

“Approachable?”

She had more red flags than anybody he knew. “I was going to say vulnerable, but you wouldn’t like that either, would you? Let’s be friends for tonight and leave aside the one-upmanship, shall we?” He glanced up from his menu for a look at the smoke he expected to see, but to his surprise, he caught her in an unguarded moment, her vulnerability unsheltered. He folded the menu and put it on the table. She might make him eat the words, but he had to say them.

“You’re so beautiful. Lovely. I’d give anything if we’d met under more favorable circumstances.”

“Thank you...I think. We’re going to keep our relationship a business one, Jake. No one knows better than I the folly of doing otherwise.”

He took a few seconds to ponder what she’d revealed. “Nothing’s going to happen that we don’t want to happen. So, there’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

They gave their orders and ate in silence, each aware that he’d admitted the possibility of their becoming involved emotionally and that she hadn’t denied it.

Her gaze followed his hand as he brushed aside the black strands that hung over his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve alluded to that,” she said as her soft musical lilt caressed him and he thought he heard a tone of resignation in her voice.

“Probably won’t be the last time, either. But, as I said, you’ve nothing to fear from me.” Her broad smile sent his heart into a tailspin, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether he shouldn’t cancel his agreement with The Journal. And with her. He aimed to find a caring woman who radiated peace, and that ruled out the contentious female before him.

They finished what he considered an average meal and he fished in his pocket for a credit card. “Do you have any pets?” he heard himself ask.

She knitted her eyebrows and shrugged her left shoulder, a habit that seemed like a protective reflex. “I have a one-eyed goose that follows me around, but she’s mean. When I don’t give her the attention she wants, she attacks me.”

He stared in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Definitely not. I wear a lot of goose-inflicted scars as proof of her devotion.”

He grinned at the picture floating through his mind. “A half-blind goose that gets temperamental and turns on you. I’ll be doggoned.” Standing, he held out his hand to her, and after seconds of hesitation, she took it. Sensations raced from his fingertips to his armpits, and he knew he’d erred.

“What about the bill? I’m on an expense account, too, Jake.”

“I was raised—”

She groaned. “Don’t bother; I know the rest. And since I was taught not to draw public attention to myself, I’ll let it slide. For now.”

They walked toward Rockefeller Center, and he couldn’t help marveling at the change in her. She exuded youthful joy, unconsciously seducing him, alerting him to the softer, gentler woman who he suspected lived somewhere inside her and whom he’d like to know better.

* * *

Here and there in the crisp, calm night, Christmas lights still twinkled from trees that had been decorated with them almost a year earlier; a horn blared its impatience and a hundred others replied; a tall man wearing a white sheet draped over his body strolled along with a python slung around his neck and a sign in his hand that proclaimed The End Has Come and Gone; This is Forever. Why had she never noticed that walking along a street could be such an exhilarating experience? Allison wanted to laugh aloud at the shocked expression on a woman’s face when, thinking her a beggar, she reached into her coat pocket for one of the dollar bills that she’d put there for the beggars she met and handed it to the woman. The bizarrely dressed woman had stood with one empty hand outstretched while the woman beside her proffered a flier. When she and Jake stopped for the corner light, Allison glanced at the flier, saw an advertisement for a triple-X-rated show, and let the laughter that bubbled up in her throat have its way.

She’d barely recovered from her mistake when a painted man on stilts grinned down at her and said, “Hello, lovely thing. Come fly with me.”

Caught up in the fun, she surprised herself by answering, “Sorry. I forgot to bring along my wings.” She couldn’t refrain from laughing as he strutted on his way.

Jake’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her arm, and she glanced up to see a smile aglow on his face. An intimate smile, not the studied brightness that he wore for his public. A pervasive contentment enveloped her, but when her mind warned of danger, she tried without success to push back the feeling. She’d traveled that road before, and she knew she’d better dispel the sense of rightness that being with this stranger, a business associate, gave her.

* * *

“What is it, Allison? Am I losing you already?” Jake asked her, resisting the temptation to sling his arm around her waist.

“Not...not really,” she said with seeming reluctance, and he knew he’d disconcerted her; she wouldn’t want him to understand her so well. Her unexpected feminine softness reached the man in him, and against his better judgment, he took her hand in his and clasped it tightly as they walked along Forty-ninth Street. At the Plaza in Rockefeller Center, they gazed at the flags of all nations, the chrysanthemums, lilies, and shrubs, and the crowds—people from all over the world—that milled around looking for something to happen.

“Oh, Jake,” she said, her voice warm with enthusiasm, “this is the first time I’ve seen Rockefeller Plaza at night with the lights and flags. It’s...like a fairyland. Gee, I wish I had my camera. Listen! That’s Gershwin’s ‘Love Walked In.’ Where’s it coming from? This is wonderful.”

She didn’t resist when he pulled her closer. But she’ll probably go into a rage if I try this tomorrow morning, he cautioned himself. The gaiety and childlike stars in her eyes played like tiny fingers on his heartstrings. Squeezing. Tugging. He gazed down at her, thinking of the change she’d undergone since they left the restaurant. How could a person have two such distinct personalities? “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do in New York and haven’t done?” he asked her.

“Ride through Central Park in a hansom,” she blurted out. “I always dreamed of doing that, but...” To his amazement, she appeared shy. Was this the same woman with whom he had ridden up from Washington that morning? He could hardly believed what he saw.

“But what?” he prompted.

“I don’t...” She tugged at his arm. “Say, wasn’t that guy sitting diagonally across from our table back there in the restaurant?”

Jake controlled the impulse to whirl around and look at the man. “What guy?” he asked with all the nonchalance he could muster. “Where?” From the corner of his eye, he followed the direction of her gaze, but didn’t see anyone he recognized.

“The one who’s leaning against the railing just beside the stairs going down to the rink.”

He didn’t turn his head; best to let the man think he hadn’t been noticed. “What makes you so sure he’s the same fellow?” he asked her, knowing she’d give him the man’s description.

“Same gray suit, green-and-red tie and handkerchief, and the same dark, bushy eyebrows. Also, he finds us very interesting.”

He kept his voice even. “You can’t blame a man for looking at a lovely woman. What else does an out-of-town guy do on a night like this after he’s had a good meal? Go back to his hotel?” However, his concern far exceeded the casual interest that his voice and words suggested. She’d pegged the man correctly, and her description perfectly described a man he’d seen in the restaurant, but he didn’t share his thoughts about it with her. He would have dismissed the likelihood that he was being tailed if the man hadn’t fit the description of an agent. But who was he and what did he want? In the restaurant, the stranger wore glasses, though he removed them in order to read the menu, but he apparently wasn’t wearing them now, out of doors, which meant they were a disguise. Their ride through Central Park would have to wait; he had to call the chief.

“Let’s take a rain check on that horse-drawn carriage, Allison. I just remembered I ought to call a friend before too late, and his number’s in my briefcase.” A strange tightness squeezed his chest when a look of disappointment clouded her face, her expression suggesting that he was deserting her. He had the urge to put his arm around her but, as much as the effort cost him, he didn’t give in to it. He put his hands in his pockets where they were less likely to get him into trouble.

To her credit, he thought, she didn’t pout, nor did she insist. “Next time, maybe. But isn’t it a bit late to phone anyone?”

“No. He’s a night person. Shall we go?”

He walked with her to the door of her hotel room and made himself smile and appear casual, but the possibility that a man might be tailing him had dissolved the amorous feelings he’d had earlier in the evening. He held her hand for a second.

“You’re a woman of many sides, and I could get used to the one I’ve been with tonight. Thanks for a more than pleasant evening. See you in the morning.”

Her lips parted and then closed before she whispered, “Good night, Jake.”

What had she left unsaid? He walked off with the feeling that unfinished business remained behind, that they hadn’t dealt with something important, and from the look of disappointment that had clouded her face, he’d bet she felt the same.

He didn’t use his cell phone to call the chief at his home, so he made certain that he wasn’t being followed, took a taxi to the Hilton Hotel, and went straight to the bank of public telephones. He had to use a third set of codes before he could reach the chief.

“What’s up?”

Jake described the man he’d thought was following him. “I can’t figure out why a hit man would wear such a loud tie. And he must have had a few chances to take a shot, so why didn’t he?”

“Maybe he wasn’t a hit man. You haven’t been hanging out with anybody’s wife, have you?”

Jake snorted. “Your sense of humor’s getting rusty. Are you suggesting this is a coincidence?”

“Just checking. I’ve yet to figure out what blows your whistle. That business about the glasses intrigues me. Was he wearing them at Rockefeller Center?”

Jake thought for a minute. “No. And if he couldn’t read with them on and wasn’t wearing them out of doors, they were a disguise.”

“Right. I’ll put a couple of men on him. But watch your back.”

“Sure thing,” Jake said and hung up. He left by the side door, walked up to Central Park South, hailed a taxi, and went back to the Drake Hotel. Sometime later, he stood at the window of his room and stared down Park Avenue toward St. Bartholomew’s Church, almost ethereal in its solemn majesty as it stood shrouded in moonlight. The vision mocked him, dredged up his near-surface discontent over the loneliness of his existence. Did the emptiness that always haunted him account for his mistake in letting Allison accompany him on his tour? For he now saw it as a serious error, and he could only attribute it to the feelings she kindled in him. One way or another, that decision would one day haunt him. He closed the blinds and got ready for bed.

* * *

Allison stood where he’d left her, unconcerned about the ringing phone. Transfixed. Her gaze lingered on her room door long after she’d closed it. Jake had behaved correctly, precisely as she should have wanted. And she did want a strictly platonic relationship with him, didn’t she? Then why did she feel as though he’d let her down, had promised her what he’d later withheld? Why did she have that big hole inside her? She had to get Jacob Covington off her mind, and for want of a better method, she telephoned Connie.

“You’ve got that handsome hunk all to yourself, and you’re calling me?” Connie asked.

“How do you know he’s a hunk? Have you met him? Listen, Connie, the Kennedy Center Honors program is scheduled for next month, think you could get us some tickets?” The thought had just occurred, but she had called her friend in order to get her mind off of Jake, not to talk about him.

“The firm might be able to get us some. Say, guess who surfaced recently, all cloaked in respectability?”

For reasons Allison couldn’t fathom, apprehension gripped her. “You’ll tell me.”

“Roland Farr. I thought he’d be in jail by now, but he was at Chasan’s with Penelope Wade, Senator Wade’s daughter. I wonder where he’s been.”

“I don’t. I had hoped I’d heard the last of that man. What else is new?”

Connie’s chuckles would lighten anybody’s burden. “Plenty, I suspect, but nobody’s given me the lowdown. Hurry back.”

Allison hung up, pressed the red button on her phone, and got her message. Jenkins wanted her to call him. She looked at her watch. Ten-forty at night. Not on his life. She moved around the room, her thoughts on Connie’s news of Roland Farr. She shrugged. No point in wasting time wondering where the man got money to hobnob with Penelope Wade. She turned on the television, tuned to a local station, gazed at crowds milling around the streets of New York, and flicked it off. Restless. Such a magical evening as she and Jake had enjoyed should have had a different ending. And she’d thought...

Wait a minute. Jake had said that they would ride through the park, then he’d suddenly remembered he ought to call someone. Tension began to build in her, and she dropped to the edge of the bed and sat there. This wasn’t the first time she’d sensed something mysterious, even false about him. She telephoned his room. No answer. Air seeped from her lungs. Maybe the friend of whom he’d spoken was a woman, and maybe he’d spend the night with her. Not that she cared. She had no interest in him as a man, she told herself, reached for a notebook, and began recording the events of their day. But the image of a tall man with hazel eyes, the skin color of unshelled peanuts, and a wicked, out-of-control wink danced across the pages, daring her to fall in step with him and grab hold of life. She closed the notebook, opened the bathroom door and turned on the light, and went to bed. Her fear of a darkened room was absolute. It didn’t matter whether she was alone or with someone, a dark room terrified her, and she would neither enter nor remain in one.

* * *

Dozing off to sleep that night, Jake remembered their early morning program, sat up, and dialed Allison.

“Don’t tell me you were already asleep. I’m sorry if I awakened you, but I wanted to remind you that I have to be at the TV station no later than six-thirty in the morning. You remember that the taping is at seven-thirty.” Her soft groan—or was it a purr?—sent hot darts of sexual tension leapfrogging through his body, and he turned over on his belly. “Allison, wake up.”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t forget we’re meeting downstairs at six-fifteen. I’ll have a taxi waiting.”

“Okay. I’ll...okay. Night.”

“Damn!” He turned off the light and fought for sleep that wouldn’t come, thanks to visions of her thrashing beneath the covers, beckoning him to her with arms outstretched. The streaks of light that at last filtered through the venetian blinds had never been more welcome.

* * *

Allison crashed into Jake as she raced into the breakfast room for her life-giving cup of coffee. “’Scuse me, sir. Uh... Oh, Jake. You’ve already had breakfast?”

Jake regained his balance, picked up his briefcase, and shook his head. “The Washington Redskins might be interested in a good linebacker like you. Lady, you’re dangerous.”

“I didn’t expect to run into anybody this time of morning. Sorry about the pun. What’s the fastest way to get some coffee?”

He looked at his watch. “We’ve got eight minutes. I’ll get two cups while you find a table.”

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Find a table? They could have any one in the dining room. Jake brought her a glass of orange juice with her coffee, and she told herself that it would be safer to hate him for causing her to get up before daybreak than to soften up and like him when he revealed this kind, thoughtful side of himself.

“Thanks, but I don’t have time to drink all this, do I?”

“We’ll take the time. It may be afternoon before we get anything else.” He sat facing her, waiting patiently while she sipped the juice and drank the coffee. A deep, dangerous feeling welled up in her. In all her life, only her brother, Sydney, ever placed her needs before his own.

After the taping of his interview that morning, Jake conferred with his publisher, leaving Alison with free time. She went back to the Drake and returned her boss’s call of the night before.

“Took your sweet time getting back to me. I wanted you to dash over to the United Nations and get an interview with the president of Ireland, who’s speaking this afternoon, and find out what that dame’s got going for herself. Well, it’s too late now. Next time return my call, even if it’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll do that.” And he could bet she’d enjoy it.

Later that afternoon, Allison sat at a corner table in the hotel’s breakfast room with a cup of hot chocolate and Jake’s book and concentrated on his words. After finishing the first three chapters—remarkable for the masterful use of words and knowledge of the subject matter—she went back to her room and made her weekly call to her mother, a woman whose world was a small town named Victoria, Vermont, where Allison was born, and who prided herself on being arbiter of social life among its eleven hundred African-American inhabitants.

“You mean to tell me you plan to travel all over the United States with this writer?” Edna Wakefield asked her daughter, and in her mind’s eye, Allison could see her mother’s pursed lips and knitted brow.

“Mother, this writer has written a book that commands the attention of both the literati and our government’s leaders,” she said, hating that she sounded as stuffy as her mother. She could imagine the gleam that entered her mother’s eyes when she heard that.

“Why, that’s remarkable, dear. Has he won the Nobel Prize?”

Here we go, she thought, hating her disloyalty. She’d always been fiercely loyal to her family, had grown up proud of her parents and respectful of their views, but their outlook on most things had seemed to narrow with the years.

“Really, Mother.”

Edna Wakefield cleared her throat. “Well, as long as he’s not a Democrat. What does he do now?”

Allison laughed. “He’s a published author, Mother, and I haven’t asked him about his political views, but he sounds pretty liberal to me.”

“We’d like to see you sometime soon, so come home when you can, dear.” It was always the same; they had nothing in common. She loved her parents, but by the time she’d reached school age, they had missed the opportunities for genuine closeness. She and her brother, Sydney, had clung to each other as children, and the bonds remained. She called her office at The Journal, retrieved her messages, and returned to Jake’s book, but the ringing phone interrupted her joy in it.

“You’re there?”

She controlled what she realized was excitement and anticipation and infused her voice with nonchalance. “Of course I’m here. You said you’d call me, didn’t you?”

If he detected coolness in her manner, he ignored it. “Allison. You may prefer watching the interview this evening on TV to accompanying me to my town hall lecture. If I were you, I’d catch the telecast, since your boss will probably see it. You saw us tape it, but it will appear very different on television.” It was good advice, and she might not have thought of that angle.

“Thanks, but I’ve been looking forward to being at your lecture, and I hate to miss the immediacy, that live quality of your talks. Where are you now?”

“Downstairs at the desk. Care to join me for coffee or something of that order? Nothing stronger, since I have to prepare for tonight.”

“I’ll be right down.”

She took in his lazy, disjointed stance as he leaned against the wall in front of the elevator door, waiting for her and smiling. What a man!

“Hi.”

“Hi. How’d it go?”

He ordered coffee, and she settled for tea with milk. “Great. Did I detect a little testiness in your voice when I called a minute ago? What was that about?”

Warm blood heated her face. “I appreciate your suggestion that I watch that interview on TV, but how do I know you didn’t make it because you don’t want me to go to your lecture tonight?” Shivers raced through her and her nerve endings rippled, but she brazenly returned his stare.

“You heard the same lecture that night at the Library of Congress. If you think you’ll miss something by not seeing me deliver it again, then please be my guest. The more information you get, the better your chances of turning in a thorough and accurate story.”

She lowered her gaze, remorseful for having thought unkindly of him without reason. “I suppose you mean that; after all, it’s to your advantage that I deliver a factual report.”

His expression hardened. “Have it your way. I have to make some notes.” He stood, and she wished she’d been more charitable. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said and walked away.

* * *

Allison watched Jake’s taped interview, and she knew he’d been right. His suggestion brought unexpected bounty, for the camera caught what she hadn’t seen: his momentary hesitations, occasional looks of disdain and flashes of annoyance at the interviewer that had been imperceptible to the naked eye. He was not a casual man. At the end of the program, she put away her notes, remembered that she’d promised to telephone her brother, and dialed his number.

“I just watched that guy,” Sydney informed her when she told him why she was in New York. “I read his book, too. He’s a powerhouse.”

“What else is new?” She hadn’t intended to sound forlorn, but Sydney could almost read her mind, so there was no point in covering up.

“Is there something between the two of you?”

“We’ve just met, Sydney.”

“Yeah, but it only takes a moment. What do you think our mother has done to me? She’s signed me up for one of her fund-raisers, and I have to stand on a platform in front of a bunch of women to be sold to the highest bidder for one evening.”

She made no pretense at controlling the mirth. “Strut your stuff, Sydney. It’s just a local fun thing; only people who live in Victoria participate. Otherwise, it would be unsavory.”

“Sure, but I don’t live here. As far as she’s concerned, neither of us has left home. Her first and last question no matter how often we talk is when am I coming home?”

“I know. Are you going to participate in that rookery?”

“I don’t have a choice, but I think I’ll pay someone to bid high for me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m smart, and you bet I won’t be the only man to do that. You might try being clever and pay attention to that guy you’re following around. That’s a good man.”

“I’m not blind, Sydney.”

“I’m glad to know that; I’d begun to wonder. You need a man who’s more clever than you are and who knows it. I have a feeling this one fills that bill.”

“What? How can you... Sydney, this is my call, and I’m terminating it.”

His laughter rang out. “You’ll never change. Get too close to your truth, and you close the door. When you come this way, bring him to see me. Bye.”

She hung up. Pensive. Not much chance of that.

* * *

“What kind of audience did you have?” she asked Jake when he called an hour later. She’d told herself that she waited up to interview him about his lecture, but when she heard his voice she had to admit that her true reason had nothing to do with work.

“Wonderful. Jacked up my ego. Can you come down to the bar?”

She dressed hurriedly in a green silk jumpsuit and met him a few minutes later. As thanks for her trouble, his slow gaze made a seductive trip from her head to her feet before resting on her face. To her disgust, she looked downward, flustered and embarrassed.

“Beautiful.” As though the word was for his ears alone, he barely murmured it. He gave her an account of his lecture, a list of the round-table members who discussed his talk and his work, and his views on the audience’s reaction. Stunned at his thoughtfulness and kindness, she relaxed, unaware that her tough reporter’s cloak had slipped a fraction.

In the bar, they talked and sipped ginger ale, and Jake didn’t question his enjoyment of those companionable moments. He couldn’t say why he told her about the woman he’d seen walking across Park Avenue backward, stopping traffic for at least once in her life. On the other hand, he didn’t mention the stranger who he was certain had tailed him; she didn’t need to know that.