Читать книгу The Christmas Present - Tracy Wolff, Tracy Wolff - Страница 9

THE QUESTIONS WENT ON forever, until Diego’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion and even Rafael felt as if he’d been put through the emotional wringer. The only one who looked no worse for wear was Vivian, whose voice was as calm and compassionate now as it had been when she’d started questioning Diego two hours before.

As Diego went over details of his relationship with Esme for the second time, Rafael let his mind wander for a minute. Then was brought back to the present with a jolt as Vivian started gathering up the copious notes she’d taken.

“I think that’s all for tonight,” she said as she slipped the papers into her briefcase. “But I’d like to meet again in a couple of days, after I’ve had a chance to research some things.”

“Sure.” Diego stood, wiping his palms on his jeans before extending a hand to her. “Thanks, Ms. Wentworth.”

“You’re welcome, Diego. But we’re just getting started—there’s a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah, but you’re the first person, besides Rafa, to really listen to what I had to say about everything. I really appreciate that.”

Vivian smiled, and Rafael was struck again by her sincerity. Though he hated to admit it, he might have been wrong about her. Maybe this was more than just a toss-off pro bono case to her. Maybe—

He cut his thoughts off with a grimace. It was early days yet and there was a lot to do before Diego even had a chance of getting out of trouble. Yet Rafael couldn’t help looking at Vivian differently as he escorted her downstairs.

“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, his voice rusty from hours of disuse as he’d sat back and let Vivian do her thing.

“I took BART.”

“Are you telling me you walked all the way from the BART station in this neighborhood? I thought you’d just parked on the next block or something. Are you crazy?”

As soon as the words slipped out he wanted to take them back. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because her back turned as stiff and unyielding as a fireplace poker. But damn it, was she insane? She was lucky Nacho and his gang were the only trouble she’d run into.

“No, Mr. Cardoza, I am not crazy. I was however, running late and didn’t have time to go home for my car. As I take BART to work every day, I was stuck with that option to get here. Believe me, I wouldn’t have been wandering the streets at dusk if I could have avoided it.”

Her explanation soothed him, despite it being delivered in the prissiest tone he’d ever heard. Or maybe because of it. Something about her cultured tones and incredible composure got to him—not to mention that fantastically crooked mouth with its too-full upper lip. Made him wonder what she’d sound like if he mussed her up a little bit…or a lot.

“Do you mind if I wait here for a cab?” she asked in a voice that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d asked him the question.

He shook his head to clear it, then watched her root around in her briefcase for her cell phone. “You’ll be waiting all night. You won’t catch a cabbie within three miles of this place once the sun goes down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” He paused, then did what he’d known he was going to do all along. “I’ll drive you home.”

Her eyes darted to his. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do, and we both know it. So can the obligatory protests and let’s go.” He headed toward the back of the shelter, and the alley where he kept his bike, without waiting to see if she followed. It wasn’t as if she had any other option.

A quick stop by his office yielded an extra helmet, and then he was pushing the back door open. The cold December air rushed by him, making him shiver despite his leather jacket.

He glanced behind him. If he was cold, Vivian must be freezing in her thin suit. “Here,” he said, as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”

She eyed the jacket uncertainly for a moment, then reached for it and slipped it around her shoulders. “Thanks. I appreciate it…. Where’s your car?”

He laughed, then nodded to the motorcycle parked a few feet away. “We’re not taking a car.”

“No car? But…” He watched her closely, taking perverse pleasure in the shock—and discomfort—that flitted across her face as she noticed the motorcycle for the first time. “We’re not riding that, are we?”

“Sure we are. Now take the helmet.” To her credit, she did as he told her. He chose to ignore the fact that it was probably due to her surprise rather than any desire to actually get along with him.

“Are you sure—” Her voice broke and she had to start again. “Are you sure this is the only way to get me home? I mean—”

He laughed, then swung his leg over his prize Harley. “Relax. It’s a million times easier than riding a bicycle.” When she still didn’t move, he glanced at her impatiently. “Get on.”

She just stared at him—and the bike—warily. But then the wind picked up, blowing hard between the buildings and making her shiver all over again.

“Just swing your leg over the seat like I did,” he said.

“Um, sure. But…”

“But what?” He fought to keep the impatience out of his voice, but he was cold, tired and more than a little hungry, since he’d skipped both lunch and dinner to deal with center business. He knew his annoyance had leaked through when she stiffened.

“What do I do with my briefcase?” She held up the brown leather bag she was carrying.

“I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed it and started to shove it into the saddlebag of his bike, shocked at just how soft and supple the leather was. The thing had probably cost thousands of dollars—just one more thing to underscore the differences between them.

Not that he should care about those differences. Not that he did care about them, he told himself. He finished buckling the saddlebag and said, “Now climb on.”

Muttering beneath her breath—too low for him to hear what she was saying, which was probably a good thing—Vivian did as she was told. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, but eventually she managed to get herself situated behind him. He was proud of himself for not laughing.

“Now hang on,” he said, as he started the bike.

“To what?” she yelled over the sudden roar of the engine.

He did laugh then as he glanced behind him in disbelief. “To me!”

It was the last thing he said before he slipped the bike onto Ellis and sent it roaring into the night.

VIVIAN TIGHTENED HER ARMS around Rafael’s waist and tried not to scream as they sped through the nearly empty streets. It wasn’t easy, when every shift and shimmy of the bike had panic racing through her.

When Rafael laughed as he careened around a corner, barely slowing the motorcycle down, she knew with absolute certainty that she had indeed gone crazy. Why else would she have her arms wrapped around a man who despised her as they barreled through the night toward certain death?

Except it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected it to be. The smooth purr of the engine was kind of exciting, especially if she didn’t think about being completely unprotected in case of a crash. If she just focused on the wind whipping past her and the soft sway of their bodies as they rode through the night, it was almost relaxing. Even before she added in the strong, resilient warmth of Rafael’s back, which she was currently pressed against intimately.

It was amazing that a man with such a nasty disposition could have such a comforting way about him. She’d noticed it first when he’d saved her from Nacho and his friends, and then when he was calming down Diego. Now here it was again as they were pressed breast to back, inner thigh to hip.

He was like a furnace, the heat his body emanated absolutely amazing, especially since he didn’t have a jacket on. Yet somehow he managed to keep her warm throughout the wild ride, so warm that when they finally arrived at her apartment complex and she climbed off the bike, she somehow felt bereft without the contact.

It was stupid, ridiculous, yet something about being wrapped around Rafael had made her feel safer than she’d felt in a long time. Shocked and more than a little frightened of the feeling, she found her voice came out more abruptly than she would have liked.

“Thanks for the ride. And the rescue earlier. I appreciate it.” She took off the helmet and held it out to him.

He didn’t reach for it right away, instead choosing to pull his own helmet off and study her. His eyes gleamed black in the rosy glow of the streetlight, and for one long moment she was trapped. Caught. Unable to move or think or do anything but feel as his eyes swept leisurely over her from head to toe.

Her heart started to pound and her knees trembled—actually trembled—under the weight of his gaze. It was that small shake that jump-started her brain and had her backing away from him as panic skated down her spine.

She didn’t need this, didn’t want this—with any man. Certainly not with a man who despised her very existence.

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was low and gruff. “But bring your car when you come on Thursday. You can park around back where I keep my bike. It should be safe there.”

“Sure.” She looked over his shoulder, then down at the ground, anywhere but into those black-magic eyes that were somehow holding her in thrall. “Um, same time? Seven o’clock? That way, even if court runs late, I won’t be.”

“Sure. And, Vivian?” He paused and silence stretched between them, so long and tense that finally she had to look up. As their gazes collided, she realized it was what he’d been waiting for. “Thanks for helping Diego.”

Shock almost had her jaw dropping before she caught it. “I thought—”

His smile, when it came, was rueful. “I was wrong. I thought you were there to go through the motions, that you really didn’t care—”

“Of course I care!” The words burst from her. “Do you think I want to see that poor child go to jail for the rest of his life? For a crime he didn’t commit?”

“I know, I know.” Rafael held out a hand as if to soothe her, but stopped just short of touching her. Yet she could still feel him, though she didn’t know how. Or why. “That’s why I wanted to apologize. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for him. We both do.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.” She took off his jacket, surprised at how much she wanted to keep it, then pressed it into his hands.

He took it reluctantly, shoved it into his saddlebag after he’d returned her briefcase to her. Then he pinned her with a look so fierce her heart jumped in her chest.

“I don’t think so.” He pulled his helmet back over his head. “I think it’s you.”

He started the bike and roared away before she could come up with a suitable reply.

Head swimming, feet aching, Vivian stumbled into the lobby of her apartment building. Michael, the doorman, greeted her with a smile she returned. He rushed to call the elevator for her, as he always did when she came in late.

She rode up to the penthouse condominium her parents had bought her when she’d graduated from Harvard Law, summa cum laude. It had been a bribe to get her to come back to San Francisco, and one she hadn’t been able to resist, despite the numerous job offers she’d received from a variety of New York and Washington firms.

But San Francisco, with its turbulent ocean and temperamental weather, was home.

The second her apartment door closed behind her, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief. She had an addiction to expensive, high-heeled shoes, and normally her feet handled her little problem just fine. But after eighteen hours in the four-inch heels, even her steel arches were weeping.

Shrugging out of her suit jacket, she dropped it on the kitchen table on her way to the refrigerator. A little spurt of guilt raised its ugly head, but she shoved it down. The house didn’t need to be spotless all the time, no matter what her mother said; Vivian could hang the jacket up tomorrow.

Right now it was—she glanced at the clock in the breakfast nook—almost eleven-thirty and the turkey sandwich she’d gulped down for lunch between court sessions had long since worn off. She wanted a quick snack and about eight hours stretched out on her very comfortable bed. But tomorrow was Tuesday, and one of the two mornings a week she spent volunteering at a battered women’s shelter. She could cancel and try to get some extra sleep, but everything inside her rebelled at the thought.

They needed her. When she’d finally become an adult, she’d sworn she’d never turn her back on someone who needed her. Like Diego. That boy—

The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought, as she was haphazardly slapping a couple pieces of cheese between two slices of bread. She started to reach for it, but just didn’t have the energy to deal with anything else tonight, no matter how irresponsible that made her.

When the answering machine finally kicked on and her mother’s voice flooded the room, she was glad exhaustion had won out over conscience.

“Vivian, this is your mother. Are you really not there? It’s eleven o’clock. If you’re out, I hope it’s on a date and not with one of those women for the shelter. You know, the Winchester boy has been asking about you and I told him you were available. I think he might be calling, so be nice when he does. The Black-and-White Ball is coming up fast and I mentioned that you didn’t have an escort yet. Remember, I helped organize it again this year so I expect you to be there. No excuses.

“Also, I was calling to see if you had time to go Christmas shopping next Tuesday. I thought we’d make a day of it—brunch, shopping, maybe an afternoon at the spa. Your nails were looking so ragged the last time I saw you, and your hair could certainly use a little pick-me-up. And don’t give me any nonsense about work—I don’t think you’ve taken a day off in two years. Call me and let me know what time you would like to meet on Tuesday. I’ll be home tomorrow until eleven.”

The answering machine clicked off abruptly.

Vivian carried her sandwich into the family room, but instead of sinking onto the nearest available space, she went to stand near the long picture window that overlooked the nearly infinite Pacific.

Nothing like her mother to put things in perspective. Forget the women’s shelter—you should be on a date. Forget helping others—we should go shopping.

Shopping was her mom’s answer to everything, and it always had been. Bad day at school—let’s go to the mall. Break up with a boy—a new dress is just what you need. Your sister died—Nordstrom’s is having a sale. Let’s go.

Vivian fought the old bitterness that crept up, hating the way her mother could so easily cut her off at the knees. She reminded herself that her mother felt things in her own way, and that criticizing her daughter was how the woman showed her love. Dwelling on how Vivian wished things were different wasn’t going to do anything, Lillian Wentworth would always be exactly what she was.

Dispassionate, formal, unwilling to show emotion, which was exactly what she’d raised her daughters to be. Thank God the lessons hadn’t rubbed off, at least not on Vivian.

Still, her skin felt too small for her body, as it often did after she’d heard from her mother. Her stomach—which had just started to relax—was in even tighter knots than it had been on the back of Rafael’s motorcycle. But then, Lillian was good at getting Vivian all worked up, good at making her feel vulnerable and inferior and disappointing.

Sometimes she wondered if her mother had been taught her passive-aggressiveness at Vassar along with all the core subjects. So many of her friends had the same ability….

As she crossed to the sofa, Vivian took a bite of her sandwich, but it tasted like sawdust now. Shoving it away, she draped her legs with the violet afghan one of her pro bono clients had made her. Then reminded herself of how much luckier she was than Diego or Marco, or any of the other kids she’d seen at Helping Hands earlier that night. She had a home, a career she loved, a family who had provided for her materially, if not emotionally.

The fact that she had spent her life wanting more just proved how selfish she was. And how lonely.