Midnight Rhythms

“It was very restorative, actually.”

Restorative? He didn’t look like anyone in need of restoration.

“More wine?” he asked, reaching for her empty glass, and before she even thought about it she had agreed, and he left to go to the kitchen to get it. She was an idiot. She’d never get rid of him this way.

And, of course, the inevitable happened.

The wine loosened her tongue, as it always did. Just two small glasses was all it took. Fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, telling him about her horrible day and her cranky grandfather who lived in the Stone Age when it came to running a business, and that she was worried about him and the future of the store, and that she’d been friends with Susan since high school, and how she’d cried for days when her dog had died when she was twelve, and that she needed to find an apartment by the end of August because Kevin had to start school again, and all kinds of other boring things he couldn’t possibly be interested in.

She stopped talking, embarrassed suddenly. What had possessed her to tell all this to this man? It was that sexy voice of his, a voice that beckoned, tempted: Come here, let me hold you, I’ll make you safe. As if she lived in the Dark Ages and needed protection. Like the Prince coming to rescue Cinderella from her dreary lot.

The wine…it was the wine making her say things, think things, making her all maudlin. Good thing she hadn’t started telling him about Jason leaving her and her parents drowning, or she’d be sitting here now bawling her eyes out.

“Kevin?” he asked.

She swallowed. “My son. He’s at summer camp right now, in Florida.”

“You have a kid,” he said, as if trying out the sound of it. “Imagine that. How old is he?”

“Ten.”

His eyes widened, his brows arched. “Ten? Good Lord…” A quizzical expression darkened his face.

She could imagine what he was thinking. She looked young for her age and could easily pass for twenty-four or-five instead of twenty-nine. She really couldn’t blame people for wondering about her having a ten-year-old son, yet it irritated her. She looked straight at him. “And just for your information, no, I wasn’t an unwed mother, and I didn’t ‘have to’ get married.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said dryly. “I’m not sure I could have lived under the same roof as you—you being a loose woman with all those sinful secrets in your past and all.”

She glowered at him and he laughed.

She came to her feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, and moved to the door.

“And I’m going to have a swim.” He rotated his shoulders as if they felt tight. “It’s a great night. Sure you don’t want to join me?”

“Yes—no, thank you.”

She lay in bed thinking about him swimming in the pool. Would he be wearing swimming trunks?

She turned her face in the pillow and groaned. “You are so pathetic,” she told herself out loud. “You’re acting like a teenager obsessed with nudity and sex. Get a grip on yourself, will you?”

Well, it had been an awfully long time since she’d been in the arms of a man. And under the right circumstances, and with the right man, that was really a very nice place to be. Last night her tired brain had played tricks with her and she’d been momentarily deluded. She should just forget about it.

“Oh, go to sleep,” she muttered into the pillow.

So she did.

And she dreamed.

She was swimming in the pool with David and they had no clothes on. It felt wonderful and quite all right because they’d known each other for a long time and he was so familiar to her. And then they were in bed together and he was holding her, just holding her.

Heart pounding, David watched her lying on the ground, her clothes muddy, a dry leaf caught in her pale hair. She made no sound, no movement. He could not help her, he could do nothing but watch her, powerless, while birds chirped cheerfully in the trees and a sweet summer breeze whispered through the lush greenery. He stood there, paralyzed, until pure panic hit him and he was awake, drenched in sweat, his heart racing in terror.

He sat up in bed, turned on the bedside lamp and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, please, not again,” he muttered. “Not again.”

After some time he got to his feet, pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went into the kitchen and poured himself a measure of Scotch. He carried it out onto the deck and drank it slowly, standing at the railing. He stared up at the stars, concentrated on his breathing and tried to empty his mind, to think of nothing—a meditation technique someone had taught him when he’d found himself in the derelict little hospital on that godforsaken island in the China Sea. Giggling little nurses, cats in the hallway. And then that funny little Buddhist monk.

And then, to his own surprise and relief, he found himself smiling.

The night air was pleasantly cool. Crickets and other insects cheeped and buzzed, vibrating the air. For a long time, he simply stood there.

CHAPTER THREE

“ARE you crazy?” Gina yelled at Sam over the telephone the next afternoon. “You’re letting that guy stay with you in the house? And you don’t even know if he’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Sam said, leaning back from her desk at the office. “I can hardly throw him out, can I? He’s six foot two or three and he’s got muscles on him you wouldn’t believe. Not body-builder muscles, mind you, but the real, natural variety.”

There was a silence, then a smothered laugh. “Oh, yeah, Michelangelo’s David. So, what’s his name?”

Sam grinned into the receiver. “David, of course.”

“Oh, no! You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not kidding. David McMillan. Andrew’s cousin, or so he says. Well, actually, I believe him; I saw his driver’s license.”

“Oh, wow,” Gina said. “Think of the possibilities here! The two of you in the same house!”

“I don’t want him in the same house!”

“It could be such pleasant distraction, Sam, think about it.”

“I can’t afford to think about it! I’ve got to study. I’ve got to get my degree!”

Next year she’d be thirty. No longer young, but at least educated.

She felt a sudden, treacherous longing. She wanted to be young and have some fun, go places, do things, not worry so much, be free. Being the mother of a small child, she hadn’t had much of that in her twenties—and she wasn’t going to have much of it for the rest of her life if she didn’t take charge of her future—get educated, get a career. First.

Gina’s long-suffering sigh floated down the phone line. “Your aspirations are all very commendable, Sam, but surely you can fit in a little fun with a handsome guy once in a while, before all your hormones dry up?”

Now, that sounded lovely. “No, I have no time,” she said stubbornly. “It will have to wait.”

“Is he rich?”

“Is he rich?” Sam groaned and rolled her eyes. Gina, in one of her pretend shallow moods. “I have no idea.” Being one of the McMillan clan, he probably was, but she hadn’t given it a thought.

“Well, does he look rich?”

“Like how?”

Gina sighed. “You’re hopeless. His clothes, his car, his watch, his briefcase—you know, that sort of thing.”