Читать книгу Strapless - Leigh Riker, Leigh Riker - Страница 8

“Balmy ocean breezes,” Darcie told her grandmother. “Hot sun…”

“That’s a shame.” In the early evening after her trip home from Wunderthings, she watched Eden Baxter fluff another Oriental pillow on the oyster-white sofa. “I doubt you’ll have time for the beach. Corwin will expect you to work.”

True. She had her chance now to prove herself—much to Greta Hinckley’s dismay—and didn’t intend to blow it, but excitement still flowed through Darcie’s veins.

“The guidebooks tell me I can spend nine to five in the city, then be lying on the sand at Manly after a thirty-minute ferry ride.” Her specialty, Darcie supposed, owing to her daily commute across the Hudson. She might be new to this assignment, but she was a pro with ferries.

Eyeing Gran’s huge gray Persian cat, which had just entered the room, Darcie felt her pulse hitch. She stepped back into the dining area. She never relaxed until she pinned down Sweet Baby Jane’s location—and took up her own position as far away as possible.

“Maybe I’ll reverse commute into the city. Then I could run in the mornings at the beach, grab a few rays—”

“Ah, to be young-er.”

Eden flicked a feather duster over a spotless walnut end table. Another perk of living with Gran, Darcie acknowledged. She didn’t have to clean. Neither did Gran but that didn’t bear pointing out. Nor did the fact that in the glow of light from the end table lamp, her grandmother’s carefully groomed, rich auburn hair had an apricot cast. And white showed at her roots. She needed a touch-up.

“You’ll always be young, Gran.”

She couldn’t see a grin from her position by the dining table, well away from Sweet Baby Jane’s predatory feline prowl, but she heard her grandmother’s cheeky tone of voice. “My men keep me that way.”

“You have more boyfriends at eighty-two than an entire block of apartment-dwelling single females on the Upper East Side.”

“Isn’t that bad?” Meaning good. Darcie eased away from the table. In the living room Eden rubbed a slender finger over a gold picture frame, checking for dust. The eagle in the expensive print seemed to glare back in disapproval, as Darcie’s mother might.

“You’re famed for your liaisons—in this building anyway.”

Gran paused. “Has that naughty doorman been talking again?”

“Julio?” Darcie raised her eyebrows. “I hear he’s the soul of discretion.”

Eden snorted delicately. “As long as he gets his weekly tip for bringing up my groceries—gets that huge wad of bills I slip him every Christmas. I’m telling you, the list of maintenance people here who deserve ‘appreciation’ every holiday season is the nearest thing to extortion.”

“Julio just likes the feel of your soft little hand in his pocket.”

“Nothing soft about him.” Eden turned. “Myra Goldstein says he has a shaft the size of Long Island. And she should know.”

“Jealous, Gran?”

“Who, me? If I took half an interest in that man, he wouldn’t be able to walk for a month. Make that a year. Myra is no competition.”

Darcie grinned but let a few beats pass while her grandmother scooped up a stack of newspapers, some magazines. She was addicted to the New York Times crossword puzzle and at least twenty financial publications. Since being widowed fifteen years ago, Eden had become a success in the stock market. Her love life was equally legendary.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll have to tell Mom.”

Eden made the sign of the cross. “Spare me, you thankless child. That son of mine could have married well. Instead, look at him. Henpecked by that virago of a wife in Via Spiga pumps and—have you seen it?—that faux fur jacket. It looks like road kill.” She admired her own thinly strapped sandals with three-inch heels. Sweet Baby Jane wound around Eden’s slim ankles before moving on. “Still, if it weren’t for Janet Harrington Baxter, I wouldn’t have you.”

In spite of herself—Eden said such things a hundred times a day—Darcie felt her eyes mist. “I love you, too, Gran.”

She waved away the sentiment. “You, and every man in this building.”

“That’s hardly the same thing.”

“God be praised.” Eden’s blue-green eyes twinkled like peridots. “I’m going to miss you, you know. There’ll be no one to keep those wolves from my door.”

“With that sign dangling from the bell saying Abandon Trousers, All Ye Who Enter Here? I suppose not.” As she spoke, she tracked the cat’s slow saunter in her direction. Every time Sweet Baby Jane got near, she clawed the hell out of Darcie—on purpose, Darcie felt sure. She’d never known an animal so vicious at heart (dogs usually like me) but the small injuries seemed worth the free rent at Gran’s. Never mind the traffic.

“Darcie Elizabeth Baxter, there is no such sign.”

“There should be,” she had just said when, without warning, Sweet Baby Jane’s sharp teeth suddenly clamped down on her calf. Darcie yelped, but Eden chose not to notice. Her beloved pet could do no wrong.

“I am far from being a promiscuous woman. At my age?” She covered her heart with scarlet-tipped fingernails. With the exception of her one mild heart attack years ago, Eden remained in excellent health, allowing for occasional bouts of angina during stress. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you even think of spreading that vicious rumor, no one will believe you.”

Darcie shook off the cat, trying not to draw Eden’s attention, her leg stinging.

“They won’t listen,” she teased. “They know you.”

“Well.” Eden raised a perfectly penciled brow. “The last man who slept in my bed did leave with a big smile on his face.”

“Norman?”

“No, not Norman. Jerome Langley.”

Darcie rubbed her injured calf. “The little bald Jewish guy who never holds open the elevator door? He picks his nose, Gran. I’m disappointed in you. Again.”

“The last man—it may have been Norman at that—was six months ago.” Eden spun Darcie toward the stairs that led to the second level of the apartment. “How promiscuous is that?”

“Not very. But you’re lying.”

Her grandmother marched her across the pale-beige carpet, Sweet Baby Jane following Eden like a devoted dog. “You’ll never know. And although I’ll miss you, it’s time to pack instead of snooping in my romantic business.”

“You’re right. But did I tell you? They sun topless over there.”

Gran’s steps faltered. “That southern hemisphere sun is strong, I’m told, and the new hole in the ozone doesn’t help. Be careful then—but do show your wares, Darcie. You have nice breasts, which some Australian hunk is bound to appreciate. With a bit of ‘exposure’ there’s no telling what you’ll find.”

“You want me to look for a man?” And bare herself so he’d even notice?

“You’re not getting younger yourself, dear. It’s time you considered a home of your own, several children…not right away…but still, a nice hard organ to bump up against you every night.” She repeated, “Every night, Darcie.”

She groaned. “I’ll see Merrick twice this week.”

Darcie had a sudden image of him on Monday, Palm Pilot in hand. Thursday night’s free, too. Same time, same place.

“Then by all means,” Eden murmured, “let’s fling open the patio doors and shout. Loud enough that those idiots trying to kill each other in traffic on the bridge can hear—” she waved toward the George Washington “—that man has seen fit to bestow his presence and his sexual attributes—”

“Down, Gran.” She was blushing. When Sweet Baby Jane smirked at her, Darcie sidestepped the cat. While Eden wasn’t looking she booted SBJ gently in the rear. With a shriek of outrage, the animal streaked upstairs to lie in wait for her.

“Why, what happened, my little furball?” Eden called. As if she didn’t know.

Darcie cleared her throat for attention. “It’s not only Merrick’s fault we don’t see each other often. I have the trip across the river to consider.”

“Horse pucky.”

At the stairs to the upper floor Eden dumped her duster in a teak stand by the shorter flight of steps that led down to her small foyer. No cloud rose from the clump of feathers, which seemed to satisfy her.

“I know you don’t welcome my meddling. But if I were you,” she said, “I’d kick Merrick’s highly toned ass right down an elevator shaft at the Grand Hyatt. You can do better. Remember your father’s mistake.”

Gran had a point. Her words about Merrick only echoed Claire’s.

“Merrick does like Via Spigas, too,” Darcie admitted.

Eden grinned. “I am going to miss you. You always make me laugh.”

But before Darcie could put a foot on the first step to go upstairs, and shut her bedroom door before the cat could find her, Eden caught her arm. “Here’s more advice—which I urge you to heed, dear. It’s a very good sign for future happiness. Never—but never—marry a man who can’t make you roar with laughter.”

“Assuming I find this paragon of masculinity while I’m in Sydney working, would you like me to bring you one, too?”

“Don’t stop there. A pair would be nice. In those sexy Akubra hats.”

“Roll over, babe. You know you love it from behind.”

Darcie couldn’t imagine what she’d done to deserve such sweet nothings in her ear—just as she couldn’t comprehend Merrick’s indifference to her news last night that she was going to Australia. He’d barely said a word. In the dark hotel room on Friday near dawn she came awake to the murmured male voice beside her. A hard arm lightly covered with honeyed hair wrapped around her waist to drag her closer across the warm sheets, then turned her. A hard appendage jutted against her spine, insistently moving in a provocative rhythm Darcie recognized too well—but at the moment didn’t welcome.

His delivery left something to be desired, too. His attitude.

“Would you stop? Merrick, quit.” She shoved hair out of her eyes and struggled up in bed. She stared at him, bleary-eyed, then squinted at the clock on the night table. How had she slept so long? “It’s almost 5:00 a.m. I need to get home to change for work. You know Gran worries when I don’t come back all night.”

“That’s what you get for living with an eighty-two-year-old woman.” His laugh turned into a groan when she jabbed his ribs. “Ouch. I bet she hasn’t made love in four decades.”

“You’re wrong.” So wrong he couldn’t imagine. “And rude.”

“Come on, I’m joking. I could tell, the one night we had dinner at her place, that she had eyes for me.” He reached for Darcie again, his long-fingered hand grazing a breast before she scooted away. “You wouldn’t run off and leave a man in need, would you?”

Darcie didn’t plan them. The words popped out.

“Claire thinks you’re married.”

Merrick sat up. “Claire should mind her own business.”

“Are you?” Darcie persisted.

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell her.”

“Or me?” she couldn’t help saying.

His gaze flickered. “What is this, Darce? We went to dinner. Fell into bed. Had a good time. Just like usual. Didn’t we?”

“Did we?” She wasn’t sure at the moment.

“Christ’s sake.” He rolled out of bed, raising the scent of stale sheets. “If you’re going to get funky on me with the relationship thing, I’m gone.”

“The relationship thing?”

“You know. ‘It’s time for us to talk about commitment.’ Wedding rings. Honeymoons on Maui or St. Kitt’s.” He grimaced. “Babies.”

“What’s wrong with children? You always tell me you love kids.”

“Sure, somebody else’s.” He leaned over to plant a kiss on her mouth while an image of his sweet-faced nephew, then Claire’s newborn daughter flashed through Darcie’s mind. “Why would you want to get fat and gassy carrying some guy’s brat?”

“I don’t. Yet. But someday…” With someone, she thought.

He brushed another kiss along her collarbone. “You sure can’t see me walking the floor with a squalling infant, can you?”

Hmm. With that image, another flash of memory caught her. Merrick in a dimly lit bar the night they met. Merrick, with his smooth blond hair, his dark-blue eyes, his upper-class smile, talking her into bed that first time. Then a newer fantasy came to mind: Merrick, pushing a baby carriage. Obviously, a far-off vision he didn’t share.

“No, I suppose not.” She didn’t know why but disappointment surged inside her. “I suppose your nephew’s birthday party is enough for a man of your stature….”

“What, are you being sarcastic?”

Darcie slid from bed to face him, toes digging in the carpet. “No. Are you?”

“What nephew?” he said.

She frowned. “The little boy you told me about. Remember? The one who learned to ride a tricycle before he was two. The favorite nephew who could throw a baseball at five and knew how to swim when he turned six. You bragged about him.”

“Oh. That nephew.”

Darcie blinked. “Merrick, how could you forget?”

“I didn’t. Jesus, I’m only half-awake.” He turned toward the bathroom. “Since we’re both up—” he gestured at her wild hair, at his jutting boxer shorts “—and there’s nothing happening here, between us that is, I guess I’ll get moving. The earlier I get to work, the more money I’ll make today—if the market’s up, too.”

Darcie stared after him. Claire’s words, then Gran’s, kept running through her brain. You can do better. Never marry (or sleep with?) a man who can’t make you roar with laughter.

She should have stayed in Ohio. She should never have met Merrick.

No, it was only that she didn’t expect things to work out with men just because they never had. But some day they would… Until then, logically it didn’t make sense to give up regular sex with Merrick, even if he could be a pain otherwise.

Right now, she didn’t like him, not in a dim bar, in a hotel bed, or anywhere else—especially a little kid’s birthday party he claimed not to remember.

Australia looked better and better.

The next day Darcie popped an analgesic tablet in her mouth and washed it down, praying it would at least kill her cramps. Still in a mood after Merrick yesterday—not all owing to PMS—across the small table in a crowded coffee shop just off Broadway, she watched her mother ease a manicured finger around the inner lining of her black pump. Thank heaven Darcie had been busy packing until now. She sure wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I must have stood in line at that ticket kiosk in Times Square for over an hour,” Janet Baxter said, one reason they were meeting here. “This is still a filthy neighborhood. I hope I don’t regret even the half price. Most of these shows have no substance.”

“The audience, either. That’s what you get on Wednesday and Saturday matinees.”

Only tourists and suburbanites from Connecticut and New Jersey filled the seats then. In town from Cincinnati, Janet Baxter belonged to the former group, and had come with friends from Ohio, but of course she must have another purpose, too—something even beyond this visit with her older daughter, Darcie had decided. Her mother’s clear brow furrowed before she seemed to remember that a frown could cause lines. Permanent ones at fifty-five. Her expression smoothed out like a banana peel.

“I’m deeply concerned about your grandmother,” she said, apparently the real reason for their chat over tea (for Janet) and black coffee (for Darcie). Cheap tobacco, sweat and bad perfume roiled in the heavy air around them. So did conversation from the other tables, and Darcie had to raise her voice.

“About Gran? Why?”

Naturally, Darcie thought she knew. But in her current frame of mind she’d enjoy hearing her mother talk about a subject Janet found distasteful and uncomfortable.

“Your father and I sent you to live with Eden for two reasons.”

“Cheap rent. Free utilities.”

“And…” She obviously wanted Darcie to recite this part of the old litany, and one of Darcie’s hot buttons. It was all about security, a safe place for their firstborn daughter to live. Darcie felt she could take care of herself.

“There’s a third? You go ahead, Mom.”

Janet squirmed in her chair. She pursed her lips, then just as quickly stretched her mouth to erase the tension. Toying with her cup of Darjeeling, she avoided Darcie’s all-knowing gaze. Darcie let the moment—and her own chance to escape her bad mood—build. Until her mother surprised her.

“We wanted you—” Janet cleared her throat “—to keep an eye on her.”

“There’s a new slant. I’m supposed to baby-sit my eighty-two-year-old grandmother?” Darcie paused for effect. “Mom, she’s had more dates in a month than you and I combined, in our entire lives. You should see the guys she comes up with.”

Janet turned pale. “You’re joking. Aren’t you?”

Sure, but why let her off that easy? “I tell you, those men are already wearing a path in the brand-new carpet she had installed in December—a trail from her front door to her bedroom.” Let her tell you what’s in Julio’s pocket.

Janet plucked lint from her navy Talbot’s suit, straight from the Kenwood Mall store in Cincinnati. “You’re trying to upset me.”

“Go see for yourself.”

Janet looked around the narrow shop, at the various array of Saturday-in-Times Square characters, as if only just aware of them, and wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t cross the river to stay with her. I’m not welcome. Eden has always hated me.”

“Hate’s a strong word.” Darcie couldn’t even use it on Merrick yesterday.

“I’m sorry we ever suggested you share her apartment for a few months.”

With the seemingly casual statement, Darcie’s instincts went on full alert. Uh-oh. Checking up on her wasn’t the issue, but neither was Eden’s sex life. Darcie had lived in Fort Lee for her four years in the East. Both she and Gran liked the arrangement. Although Darcie planned to get an apartment of her own, in the meantime, except for Sweet Baby Jane, they didn’t get in each other’s way and Gran was as tolerant of Darcie’s lifestyle as Darcie had become of hers. She liked to think Eden’s social life was mainly invention (good grief, she’s my grandmother) even when she knew better. But obviously, she’d missed something. Janet had still other ideas.

“Perhaps we should find you a place now. With your pay increase—”

“It’s not that much.”

Which seemed to play right into her mother’s hands. “You could get a roommate to share the rent. A real roommate.”

“Mmm.” Darcie remembered her college days sleeping with the lights in her face because her art student roomie needed to finish a project. All night. Tripping over someone else’s clothes, someone else’s boyfriend. Finding used tampons on the dresser and spent condoms on the rug. “I’ll pass. At Gran’s I have my own room and no one bothers me.”

Janet was undaunted. “When you get back from Australia, we’ll see.”

“See what?” Darcie shook her head. “Mom, I don’t need help.” Not from her Midwestern parents anyway. “What’s this really about?”

“Your sister,” her mother finally murmured, sending Darcie’s sharpened senses into another spin. Janet studied her lap. “She graduated from Smith last June. Seven months ago.”

“Now there’s a tragedy.” UC—the local university—for Darcie, the Ivy League for her kid sister. “I was at the ceremony. What’s she done?” Darcie smiled to soften the words. So Annie was the bottom line here. Annie, who didn’t give a damn what other people thought. Darcie wouldn’t mind if she had gotten herself into some sort of trouble for the first time in her life. Not serious trouble, of course. “Speeding ticket?” she said. “Didn’t register to vote Republican?”

Janet waved a hand. “She’s headstrong, you know how she is. She wants to come to New York.” Her mother said this as if Annie’s career goal was to become a prostitute—though Janet would likely say “lady of the night.” She pushed her cup aside, a drift of pungent Darjeeling rising into the stuffy air. “I honestly can’t imagine her living with your grandmother.”

“Corruption, Incorporated.”

“Yes. Well. You may smirk but it’s true. Eden is a bad influence.” She dragged the cup back for another swallow, and another little frisson of discomfort trickled down Darcie’s spine. “Your father and I are adamantly opposed to Annie’s wishes—unless, as her big sister, you could look out for her. If you shared an apartment—”

“Mom, Annie’s a slob.”

Clearly defeated for the moment, Janet surged to her feet, then ruined her exit by stumbling in her Via Spigas. “I’ll be late for the theater. Please think about what I’ve said.” Recovering her balance, she gave Darcie a tight smile. “It was good to see you. I’ll phone tomorrow. Perhaps we can do something together before you leave.”

“I leave tomorrow night.”

“Sunday brunch, then. We’ll talk more about Annie.”

Darcie rose, too, determined not to make any logical decision until after her trip to Sydney. But the devil rode her heels. “And I can tell you all about Julio.”

Darcie was still smiling to herself when she whipped through the revolving doors at FAO Schwarz into the Saturday afternoon chaos that always reigned there. She didn’t often venture into such stores—after all, she didn’t have kids, as Janet might point out—but before she left the States she wanted to buy a gift for Claire’s new baby. Her goddaughter.

A little thrill went through her. She’d only seen the baby once, but already she loved the tiny girl. And the promise she represented. Maybe this one fragrant little human being would get everything right. No errors, no strikeouts. Just a solid crack of the bat, and a home run down the center line of life into the bleachers.

Darcie wasn’t a sporting person. “I’m the last one chosen for the softball team,” she murmured and swept past a display of basketballs and soccer pads. “You should have seen me when I took horseback riding lessons. Ever watched someone end up backward in a saddle? And don’t forget swim camp. I sank like a rock.”

“May I help you, miss?”

A clerk stepped into the aisle, his gaze curious.

“No, thank you.” She gave him a bland, unfocused smile.

“I heard you talking….”

“Was I? Oh, I must have forgotten to take one of my medications.” She zipped onto the escalator to the second floor, and waved at a mountain of Bob the Builder toys on display. “Gotta watch it, Darce. Even in New York.” She grinned. “But gee, he noticed.”

She wandered through the video games department, then stopped to watch two boys tap out a tune on the giant keyboard that had become famous years ago when Tom Hanks played it in Big, still one of Gran’s favorite movies. Eden espoused its same whimsical, youthful view of life. By the time Darcie located the baby area, she had nearly forgotten tea with Janet. An apartment with Annie? The possibility raised the hairs on her neck.

Darcie lingered over a table full of stuffed animals. She tried to envision herself holding an infant like Claire’s daughter, standing at an altar for the christening beside her own husband—handsome, well-dressed, with a look of absolute devotion on his face as he gazed at his new family. The image was her mother’s, not Darcie’s right now…but was she seeing Merrick?

The fantasy ended when she remembered Merrick’s vagueness about his nephew. And her need to figure out her own life first. Darcie surveyed the pile of animals, discarding the usual bears and bunnies. She had just paid for a cross-eyed zebra sporting a huge red bow when, across the aisle in the doll department, she spied a familiar form.

What would he be doing here? In a toy store?

It didn’t fit his image, but Darcie sidestepped a woman pushing a stroller so she could get a better look. Dark-blond hair, not a strand out of place, that recognizable GQ look even on Saturday in khakis and an Irish fisherman’s sweater. Her heartbeat tripled in alarm. Since leaving Janet, she hadn’t combed her hair, couldn’t have any lipstick left. And her dark-green eyeliner, which tended to run when she got warm, probably streaked her face. It was too hot in the store. She must look a mess.

What difference does it make? You’re you, with or without makeup.

He moved and so did she. Darcie saw a flash of profile—straight nose, not a bump or deviation—that tilt of his head, a little imperious, a lot commanding, even arrogant. The set of his shoulders. And wouldn’t she recognize those hands anywhere? Especially on her bare body. It must be…

“Merrick,” she called softly just as he lifted a hand to someone—not Darcie. Mad at her? He’d left in a mood yesterday morning. So did she. Once he saw her, and they talked… She didn’t want to leave for Australia in a snit. Claire was wrong about him, she tried to tell herself. So was Gran.

When a little blond girl rushed toward him, Darcie didn’t react. Someone’s child had run headlong into a stranger—not unusual here, except that he seemed to know her. Merrick caught her slight shoulders with a laugh, said something, then watched her skip away. An odd look on his face…like adoration.

Her pulse thudding (the zebra’s head sticking out of its bag with apparent suspicion, too) Darcie crossed the aisle into the doll department. It was pink. Hundreds—thousands—of Barbie dolls dominated the display space. Dentist Barbie. Wedding Barbie. Olympic Barbie. A host of international Barbies, the Dolls of the World collection. A little too crowded for Darcie’s taste. She wouldn’t make that mistake in Sydney. “Her” store would be clean, uncluttered, sophisticated.

“Merrick.” He stood in front of a rack of miniature clothing, his back to her, and Darcie saw him stiffen. When he turned, his smile looked wooden.

“I thought I heard your voice.”

She shrugged. “Just talking to myself again. Or Buster.” She held up the zebra bag then closed the distance between them, wondering why she didn’t feel better about this chance meeting in a city they both shared. “Shopping for your nephew?”

Again, he looked blank. Carefully blank this time.

“Guess not,” she said, gazing at the pink all around them. Like onlookers at a circus, scores of Barbies smiled at her, at Merrick from their plastic-windowed boxes. “I mean, what would an eight-year-old boy want in this department?”

“What are you doing here, Darcie?” His voice sharp, his eyes harder.

“Talking to you. Now.” She brightened her tone. “I wondered…before I leave town…if we might…” Fall into bed again in apology?

“Daddy!” The same little girl pelted full-tilt into his knees.

Merrick set her away, smoothing her dress—Saks Fifth Avenue, Laura Ashley…?—running a hand down the length of her sleek blond hair. Hair almost like his. She wore a blue plaid ribbon to hold it back, and had Merrick’s eyes, too.

Darcie’s unwanted coffee sloshed in her stomach. No, this wasn’t a circus for the Barbies to watch. It was the Roman Colosseum. Lions, gladiators, victims…

Daddy. Darcie bent down until she reached eye level with the child.

“Hi.”

Merrick stepped between them. “Uh, why don’t you run over there, kiddo.” He pointed at a pyramid of dolls on a nearby table “Pick out one you like.”

Assuming he was talking to the child, not to her, Darcie straightened and the little girl said, “Can I? Can I?”

“Yes,” he said. “You may.”

Her mission approved, she scampered off. A heavy silence hung in the air.

Claire had been right. He’s lying, Darcie.

She squished her package in rigid fingers, choking the zebra. Buster goggled at Merrick and so did Darcie—without her eyes crossed. Shoppers pushed by. A baby, like Claire’s, fussed. Over the PA system a male voice announced a sale in Electronic Games.

She felt sick.

“Well. Now I know.”

“Darcie, don’t make a big deal of this.”

She reeled back at his weary tone.

“No big deal? Just call me naive…” To her horror, she choked up. She hadn’t thought this would really matter, if it proved true.

“It isn’t what you think.”

“Oh, that’s too tacky. What a classic line.” She swallowed hard. She could smell his aftershave, expensive, woodsy. Smell popcorn on the air. Smell the more acrid scent of…betrayal. “Are you saying you’re not married?”

He turned away. Darcie snagged his arm.

“Merrick, you owe me an explanation.” When he remained silent, she said, “No wonder you didn’t remember your ‘nephew.’ Or are you more used to calling him your son?” She flicked a glance toward the table nearby. “Your daughter looks like you. So does he. How old is she?”

“Six. Yes,” he said. “I’m married.” The words came out loud, and he deliberately lowered his voice, color slashing across his cheeks as if Darcie had slapped him. Not a bad idea. “I’ve been married for ten years. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No, I want to hear why you’re screwing me instead of your wife!”

His tight schedule. His one-night-a-week free. Two this week, lucky her. You wouldn’t leave a man in need, would you?

“It doesn’t work between us,” he said.

“What doesn’t work? Sex? You and me? What?” She’d never felt so mortified, so hurt, in her life. Which was saying a lot.

He tried to lead her to a quieter corner but Darcie dug in her heels. She thrust the zebra bag between them like a shield.

“Just say it here.” And if there was anyplace more absurd, more public, than the doll department of FAO Schwarz, she couldn’t think where. That didn’t matter now. Then he shocked her again.

“I love you, Darcie.”

“Oh. You bastard.” A first, she thought. It was a wonder he didn’t strangle.

“No, I mean it. It’s over between Jacqueline and me. She won’t even care.”

“Her name’s Jacqueline?” He nodded, looking at the floor, and Darcie’s mouth tightened like a prune. His wife had probably gone to Smith, like Annie.

He glanced up through a screen of thick lashes. “Do you hate me?”

“Right now, I’d say that’s a definite yes.”

For several moments neither of them spoke. Darcie clutched the zebra and listened to her own breathing. It seemed capable of overriding the noise around them. Roared like an oncoming subway train. She might drop dead right here on the floor. Attention, please. Emergency. Would Medic Barbie go to Aisle Four…

“When do you leave?” he said.

“I told you, tomorrow.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

“I don’t want to see you.”

He looked miserable. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Days, weeks.” She’d already told him that, too. Didn’t he listen? “Whatever it takes to negotiate the space we want for the new store.” Whatever it took, not just in Sydney, to heal her broken heart. Forever.

Darcie tried not to focus on Merrick. When his beautiful child bolted from the nearby table straight into his arms, Darcie flinched at her sweet voice.

“Would you buy me this one, Daddy?”

She thrust a pink, plastic-windowed package in his face. International Barbie. Dolls of the World. It seemed just right to Darcie.

Holding Darcie’s gaze, Merrick grasped the box hard.

“Sure, kiddo.”

The little girl gave him a coy smile. “Do you want one, too?”

Merrick managed a small laugh. “Nice try. We’ll just buy this today.”

Darcie stared over his daughter’s head into Merrick’s dark-blue eyes. Then she tightened her grip on Buster the zebra—and marched toward the escalator.

“Darcie. Wait!”

She kept going. She didn’t look back. It was the upside escalator, of course, but Darcie only needed to escape. Suddenly the setting, the noise, the displays seemed absolutely fitting. For once, she had the last word.

“Daddy already bought himself a doll—or so he thought.”

Merrick didn’t know it, but he needed the Returns Department. As for herself…

Australian Barbie.

Merrick Lowell would never see her—a.k.a. Darcie Elizabeth Baxter—again.