All Through the Night (18 page)

She turned away, and he grasped her hand and pulled her back gently. And she allowed him to do it rather than call anymore attention to them, even though his hand was dry and hot and melting her skin at his very touch. “I’ll call you because I came back for you, Regan.”

No! No. Really? No, no, no! You’re not going to get to me that easily, Bobby Torrance. Oh, no. No. Damn…

You’re not going to have everything your own way all the time even now, damn it.

“Did you?” she murmured, reaching for a cool response and composure she didn’t feel. And her hand. She disengaged her hand from his with one subtle movement. And rubbed it against her dress.

“Yeah. I did.”

He meant it. That was the scariest thing of all. Seven years, no contact, no concern, no care, and he just barged in and expected she would fall into his arms because he still wanted her.

And was certain she would still want him? Oh, no, oh, no. Even if she did, she’d die before she’d admit it, and even then… and it was too public a place to take the discussion any farther.

“God, you’re arrogant.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“So what you’re saying is, you still want to fuck me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I do.”

“You must think I fall into bed with just about anybody.”

“No. I think you will fall into bed with me.”

“Right. What—do I have a sign on my back that says,
I’m easy
? I don’t think so, Bobby, but it’s an intriguing thing to think about. The sign, I mean.”

Hell. Trust the defiant Regan, the street fighter Regan, to take things to that level just to aggravate the situation. He felt like he was twenty-four again. He felt possessive, jealous, like the hunter circling his prey.

“Oh, I think you’ll think about it, Regan. Going to bed with me, I mean. I think you’ll think about it a lot because I’m older, wiser and a lot more experienced. And, as I have good cause to remember, you just love experienced older men.”

Going lower still, warrior that he was. Why had he stooped to that?

Her body stiffened, taking the hit. “You bet. Nothing beats an older, experienced man,” she said coldly. “So I’ll tell you what—I’ll think long and hard about sleeping with you”—and she turned away from him in a slow, deliberate move—“and you try just as hard to catch me—if you can.”

Chapter Three

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The nerve of him! The goddamned outsized, overblown, ego-driven balls of him! Just take her off the shelf, try her on for size and put her back until the next time he wanted to play. Damn him, damn him, damn him…

It took every bit of wit and control she possessed to just coolly and calmly walk away from him.

“What did he say?” Tony demanded, coming to meet her.

She was furious enough to tell him, without thinking how it would sound. “He wants to sleep with me.”

“Jesus effing—”

“Yeah.”
Oh, yeah
—
oh, hell, imagine how that sounded to Tony. Poor long-suffering Tony
.

Maybe it was the Mascolos.

Oh, the hell with all men.

“I’m going home.”

Tony put out a restraining hand. “Can’t. It’s your party, remember?”

“Did Mary hire a guy to jump out of the cake?”

Tony snapped his fingers. “You know, I knew I forgot something.”

She forced herself to smile, and to look at Tony as if he were the only man in the room.
Are you watching, you bastard
? “Okay. I’m calm now. Calmer. That son of a bitch. After all these years.”

“Oh, yeah? And are you thinking about it?”

Tony knew her too well. “Are you
nuts
?”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Tony…” He didn’t deserve that, not even as a joke. He’d been so devoted, so patient. And he knew it was hopeless and he never gave up.

An admirable trait, that.

“You sparked like firecrackers,” Tony said.

I’m not interested
—she started to say, and it came out, “He’ll have to find me first.”

“You’re planning to leave town?”

“I’m planning to go on with my life.” But she didn’t know what she meant by that.

Yes, she did.

What
did
she mean?

She was so furious, she didn’t know what she meant. No, she meant that
that man
deserved no mercy. None. And that she wasn’t flattered, and she didn’t care—she’d stopped caring well before the divorce, when he hadn’t even tried to get her back or make things better, and then after that, when he’d skipped town, leaving her to clean up the mess altogether.

Big deal, he knew how to fuck now. Big fucking deal. It was years too late.

“Okay,” Tony said carefully. “What life is that, as opposed to the one you have now?”

“A life full of good times and no responsibility,” Regan muttered.

“Oh. I thought you’d been living
that
life,” Tony said.

“Guess I am. Guess I’m still angry.”

“Guess you do want to sleep with him.”

“Tony.” She put her hand on his arm, knowing—since she was always so careful not to touch him—what the gesture meant. “Honestly, I’m just not thinking clearly right now. This is the last person anyone expected to show up tonight.”

Not anyone
, Tony thought,
but a man must keep his se
-

crets
. Especially from Regan. “Sell him some office space,” he suggested, keeping his tone light and the edge out of his voice. “Make him pay.”

“You bet I will. Right through the nose I’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll tell you how, too,” Tony said, taking her arm as he saw Mary Lee appear and gesture to him that dinner was served. “Ignore him, Regan. It’s the worst thing you can do to a man who wants to fuck you. Just goddamn ignore him, and then watch him squirm.”

Bobby watched through hooded eyes as Regan conversed with Tony. He knew that body language, he knew that look. He’d seen it a hundred times before, and it boded trouble. But, then, Regan had always been trouble, had always been a handful. Always had been more than one youthful badass, knowitall babe-in-the-woods could handle.

But there wasn’t anything Regan could throw at him that he couldn’t handle now. Including Tony Mackey. Including a roomful of older,
experienced
men who were all half in love with her.

Hell, they probably all had hard-ons just looking at her.

Speak for yourself.

Right. He could be fifteen again, the way his body reacted to just the sight of Regan.

Jesus. All those nights. All that regret.

No more. Penance had been paid. Seven long hard years working, establishing himself, finding his footing, finding the man he really was.

Finding out that no woman could replace or compare with his deep down unseverable connection with Regan. With his
memories
of Regan. And that had nothing to do with the reality, and everything to do with his gut, and his heart.

It was a stunning realization. A turning point, even. When he’d stormed out of the Heights seven years before, he’d gone on a sex bender of epic proportions. And none of the women, none of the sex, none of the wild, wicked kinky nights of unbridled, unfettered lust could quench his desire for Regan.

It was Regan he needed, yearned for, desired.

And he’d thought it was an annoying itch and that any-damned-body could scratch it. A year had been long enough to comprehend that wouldn’t happen. Three years to establish a base in the midwest after his father died. Two more to expand the company to profitability. And another year to find the thing that would legitimately bring him back to stay.

And so now, watching Regan sashay down the buffet line with Tony, he felt that telltale tension in his body, in his manhood, in his soul. His whole body tightened, lengthened, went electric with a need that was so powerful, he felt like he would crack in two.

And it didn’t profit him to keep watching her with Tony. Tony was part of the cause and effect of what had been wrong with their marriage, and Tony was still living on hope and adrenaline, and taking himself in his hand every night.

He’d spilled enough seed himself to know what that was like.

“Angie.” He pulled her out of the corner where she was tucked away with a small plate of food—hiding, it looked like, and she’d damned well better, given her lying little heart.

“Yeah, Bobby, what’s up?” she asked warily, not liking the look in his eye, or the way he was looking at Regan for that matter.

Things couldn’t be worse, she thought miserably, and her feeble attempt to protect them both had backfired big time.

“You snuck out on me.” He plucked a piece of chicken off her plate and bit into it. “Didn’t tell Regan, huh?”

“You know I don’t talk about you.”

“I thought it was big news I was back in town.”

“Yeah, headline news. I told you, I never talk about you to Regan.” There was an admission fraught with misplaced intentions.

“Tell me about that.”

His tone was dangerous, silky as a cat stalking its prey.

“She didn’t want to know. I respected that.”

“Even to the point of not telling her I’m back home? You really thought she wouldn’t want to know that?”

Of course, he didn’t believe it, and even Angie didn’t expect him to. “There wasn’t much time to bring the subject up,” she hedged. “Your appearance kind of undercut the need to say anything. How did you find out about the party anway?”

He shrugged and took another chicken piece. “Just as I said: I called Mary.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“The worst of all possible things, my darling sister. I’m going to do my damnedest to get her back—and you’re going to tell me everything I need to know.”

And the next day, it was as if nothing had happened. No one stormed the Mackey Agency doors. No one rode up on a white charger to kidnap her. No one
happened
to bump into her on the street.

Nothing untoward happened at all.

It was business as usual, which left her feeling a little off balance. Regan went to meetings, looked at property that owners wanted to sell, had lunch with Tony, showed a handful of houses to a couple of prospective buyers, talked to several financial officers on the phone and pitched the idea of relocation.

And before she knew it, the day was done, and the sky didn’t fall, and nowhere did she see Bobby Torrance; and he could’ve been in Antarctica for all anyone knew.

Angie called her at seven o’clock, just as she walked in the door and kicked off her shoes.

“Yeah, hey, so are you two still civil—and communicative?”

“Civil, anyway,” Regan said. “It’s easy when the party in question is nowhere around. Just how I like it, actually.” She hadn’t told Angie much of what the conversation had been about the night before. It was bad enough she’d said anything to Tony, and she was having major regrets today.

Bobby, to his credit, left her alone after that fraught interchange, although she was intensely aware of his presence for all the time he remained at the party. But to his credit, he had the tact to leave early, well before the excellent congratulatory cake, which in fact did not have a male stripper poised inside.

That was a good thing. Regan wasn’t sure she could’ve taken it in the spirit it was meant after the shock of seeing Bobby.

“So what else is happening?”

“Same old thing,” Regan said. “How about you?”

Angie sloughed off the implications of that question. “You wouldn’t think anything had changed at our house. It’s like he never left.” Which was more than she meant to say, and she changed the subject quickly. “What’s up for tonight?”

“You feel like going out?”

Angie felt a twinge of unease. “I knew it. You’re upset.”

“Don’t be silly. Why should I be upset? I’m just feeling a little frisky,” Regan said lightly.
Like another-lonely-night kind of frisky for a woman who didn’t dare live out her own fantasies
.

But she liked pulling Angie’s chain. Angie thought she led the life of a wild woman. But that went with the territory: she looked the part, her name made everyone think she acted the part—
oh, that Regan Torrance, they would say, her name sounds just like her
—
lush, torrid, erotic
…

When you came from the waterfront side of town, everything you did was suspect, and everything counted against you, even your name…