An Independent Wife (18 page)

"When you're ready you will. Don't forget, I've had seven years to get used to being without him." She gave him a tiny smile. "I'd even convinced myself that it was all over between us. It didn't take Rhy long to shatter that little fairy tale."

He looked at her as if he wasn't really seeing her, his dark eyes taking on the introspective blankness of someone walling himself up inside. He'd been hurt, just as she had. There was nothing so calculated to batter the self-esteem as to hear a loved one saying, "You have to change," the insidious little phrase that really meant, "I don't love you as you are. You're not good enough." There were deeper hurts, more violent hurts, yet somehow that particular hurt had such a nasty sting. She knew it well now, and she swore that she'd never ask anyone to change ever again. Had Rhy been hurt by her insistence that he change? She tried to picture a confused, hurt Rhy and failed utterly. He had a stainless-steel character that never faltered, never let itself be vulnerable. He'd brushed her clinging arms off like so many cobwebs and went on his way.

"I'll get over her," said Chris quietly, and on his face was the smooth blank look of acceptance. "I guess I'll have to, won't IT'

They walked back to the office in silence, and as they entered the empty elevator Chris punched the button to close the door and held his finger on it, staring fixedly at her.

"Keep in touch," he said softly. "I wish it could've been you, Sal." He curved his hand around her neck and bent to lightly touch his lips to hers and she felt tears sting her eyelids. Yes, why couldn't it have been Chris for her, instead of Rhy?

She couldn't promise that she'd be in touch, though she wanted to. Once she left she couldn't risk doing anything that might give Rhy a clue to where to find her, and anything Chris didn't know he couldn't divulge. She left the elevator with only a long look into his face that said goodbye; then she went back to her desk and tackled the report again with grim determination.

The sense of now or never gave her the concentration she needed and in less than an hour she sent the finished report on to Greg's office. She stood and stretched her tired, cramped muscles and casually got her purse and left the building without speaking to anyone, as if she was merely leaving for an appointment, when in reality she intended never to return. She regretted that she had to leave without telling Greg, but he'd made it painfully clear that his first loyalty was to Rhy, and she knew that he would immediately report her resignation.

Caution made her cash the cashier's check she'd been carrying in her purse and convert most of the money into traveler's checks. Who knew what means Rhy might use to hold her? She had to get out and do it now.

It was almost three-thirty by the time she reached her apartment and it was only instinct, but when she opened the door the hair on the back of her neck lifted. She stared around at the familiar furniture and she knew that something was different. Looking about she saw that several things were missing: her personal awards were gone, her books were gone, her antique clock was missing. Thieves!

Rushing into the bedroom she stared aghast at the emptiness. The closet doors stood open, revealing the lack of contents. Her cosmetic and toiletry items were gone from the bathroom, even her toothbrush. All of her personal items had disappeared! Then she went utterly pale and raced back into the bedroom to stare in horror at the uncluttered surface where her manuscript and typewriter had rested. Even her manuscript had been stolen!

A noise in the doorway made her whirl, ready for battle if the thieves had returned, but it was the landlady who stood there. "I thought I saw you," Mrs. Landis said cheerfully. "I'm so happy for you.

You're such a nice girl, and I always wondered when you were going to get married. I'll hate losing you, but I know you're anxious to settle in with that handsome husband of yours."

A cold feeling settled in Sallie's stomach. "Husband?" she echoed weakly.

"He's the first celebrity I've ever met," Mrs. Landis rattled on. "But he was so nice, and he said he'd made arrangements for your furniture to be put in storage by this weekend so I can rent the apartment out again. I thought it was so thoughtful of him to handle it all for you while you were working."

By now Sallie had gotten control of herself, and she managed a smile for Mrs. Landis. "It certainly was," she agreed, her hands clenching into fists by her sides. "Rhy thinks of everything!"

But he hadn't won yet!

She was so angry that she was shaking helplessly, unable to decide what to do. She got on a bus and rode aimlessly, wishing violently that she could get her hands around Rhy's throat. He'd literally stolen her clothing, all of her personal possessions. That was bad enough, but she could get along without all that if she had to. The one thing she couldn't leave behind was her manuscript, and she couldn't think of any way to get it back, either. She didn't even know where Rhy lived, and his telephone number wasn't listed.

But she had to find somewhere to spend the night, and at last she left the bus and walked the teeming sidewalks in the steamy hot afternoon sun until weariness prompted her to choose a hotel at random.

She checked in and sat for a long time in a daze, unable to think of any action she could take. Her mind darted about erratically, trying to devise a way of retrieving the manuscript without having to see Rhy again. But to find the book she had to find out where Rhy lived, and to do that she had to talk to him, something that she wanted to avoid.

The theft of her book seemed to have paralyzed her, robbed her of her ability to act. She thought bleakly of simply beginning again, but she knew that it wouldn't be the same; she couldn't remember all of the details of her exact phrasing. She cried for a while, out of anger and despair, and when she finally decided to call Rhy at the office she realized that she'd waited too long; everyone would have gone home.

So there was nothing to do but wait. She showered, lay on the bed and watched television, then drifted to sleep with the set still on, only to waken in the early hours of the morning to the crackle of static.

She was starving because not only hadn't she eaten the lunch she'd chosen, she hadn't had dinner the night before, either, and her empty stomach was the last straw; curling up like a child she wept brokenly. How dare he!

But Rhy would dare anything, as she knew to her cost. She drifted back to sleep and when she woke again she had a pounding headache and it was nearly ten a.m. She took another shower and dressed, then breathed deeply several times and sat down by the phone. There was no way out of it. She had to talk to him.

Before her courage deserted her she dialed the office number and asked for Mr. Baines. Of course Amanda answered and Sallie managed a calm good morning before she asked to speak to Rhy.

"Of course, he said to put you through immediately," Amanda replied cheerfully, and Sallie's nerves screamed with tenNion as she waited for Rhy to come on the fine,

"Sallie." His dark, roligh-velvet voice in her ear made her jump and bang the receiver against her already aching temple. "Where are you, darling?"

She swallowed and said hoarsely, "I want my book back, Rhy! "

"I said, where are you?"

"The book-" she began again.

"Forget the damned b0ok!" he rasped, and it was all her nerves could stand. She gulped, trying to swallow the sob that tore out of her throat, but it was swiftly followed by another and abruptly she was crying helplessly, clinging to the receiver as if it was a lifeline.

"You-you stole it!" she accused between sobs, her words almost unintelligible. "You knew it was the one thing I couldn't If-,ave without and you stole it! I hate you, do you hear? I hate you! I never want to see you again-"

"Don't cry," he said roughly. "Baby, please don't cry. Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can. You can have your book back again, I promise."

"Written on water!" she jeered, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

He drew an impatient breath. "Look, you'll have to see me if you want the book back. And since that seems to be the only hold I have on you, I'll use it. Meet me for lunch-"

"No," she broke in, looking down at her wrinkled slacks and top. "I-I'm not dressed."

"Then we'll have lunch at my apartment," he decided briskly. "I'll phone the housekeeper and have a meal prepared, so meet me there at twelve-thirty. We can talk privately there."

"I don't know where you live," she confessed, surrendering to the inevitable. She knew it was an error to see him again; she should just leave the manuscript and forget about it, try to start again, but she couldn't. Whatever the risk, she couldn't leave without it.

He gave her the address and instructions on how to get there, and just before he hung up he asked gently, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said bleakly, and dropped the receiver onto its cradle.

She got up to brush her hair and stared aghast at her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, hollow eyed, her clothing wrinkled. She couldn't let Rhy see her like this! And she didn't have so much as a tube of lipstick in her purse!

But she did have money, and there were shops on the ground floor of the hotel. Making up her mind, she took the elevator down and hurriedly purchased an attractive white summer dress with a tiny floral design on it and a pair of white high-heeled sandals.

In another shop she bought makeup and perfume; then she dashed back up to her room. Carefully she made up her face and repaired the ravages of tears and worry, then dressed in the dainty cotton dress and brushed her hair out; she didn't have the time to do anything with it so she left it streaming down her back in a rich sable mane.

She took a taxi to Rhy's apartment, too nervous to face the crush of a bus at lunchtime. When she got out at his apartment building she glanced at her watch and saw that she was a few minutes late. She paid the taxi driver and hurried to the elevator and punched the button.

As soon as she rang the doorbell the door swung open and Rhy loomed before her, his dark face expressionless.

"I'm sorry I'm late-" she began, rushing into speech in an effort to disguise her nervousness.

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted, standing aside to let her enter. He'd discarded his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt halfway, revealing the curls of hair on his chest. Her eyes riveted on his virile, masculine flesh and unconsciously she wet her lips with her tongue. Just the sight of him weakened her!

His eyes darkened to charcoal. "You teasing little witch," he muttered, and his long fingers moved to his shirt. He unbuttoned the remaining buttons and pulled the shirt free of his pants and peeled out of it, dropping it to the floor. The sunlight streaming through the wide windows gleamed on his chest and shoulders where a light dew of perspiration moistened his skin and revealed all his rippling muscles.

Sallie stepped back, wanting to escape from the need she felt to touch his warm skin and feel the steelness of muscle underneath, but she made the mistake of raising her eyes to his. The hungry, blatant desire she saw there froze her in her tracks.

"I want you," he whispered, advancing on her. "Now."

"I didn't come here for this," she protested weakly, and made a futile attempt to evade him. His long arms encircled her and pulled her against his half-naked body, and she began to tremble at the erotic power he had over her. The scent of his skin, the warmth, the living vibrancy of him, went to her head and intoxicated her so that she forgot about pushing him away.

He attacked with his mouth, overpowering her with kisses that demanded and devoured, sucking all of her strength away so she couldn't resist when his shaking hands moved over her curves and renewed his intimate knowledge of her. She raised her arms and locked them around his neck and kissed him back, her response burning out of control and fanning his own fires.

She rested plaintively against him when he raised his head to gulp in deep, shaking breaths and the half smile that formed on his mouth before being quickly banished revealed that he was aware of his triumph, of her capitulation. With slow, easy moves, as if he didn't want to startle her, he unzipped her dress and slid it down to puddle around her feet. Sallie simply watched him in silence, her big eyes nearly black with desire. She couldn't resist; she couldn't make any plans. All she could do was feel, feel and respond. She loved him and she was helpless against his love.

But at least her desire was returned. She was dimly aware that he was shaking, trembling in every muscle of his big frame as he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. He placed her on the bed and lay down beside her, his hands pulling at the bits of clothes that remained to separate skin from skin. He couldn't disguise his need for her, just as she had no defenses against him.

Hoarsely he whispered to her, disjointed words and phrases that made her quiver in response and cling to him as she drowned in the tidal wave of sensation he evoked.

When the world had righted itself again she was lying in his arms while he slowly stroked her hair, her back, her arms. "I didn't intend for that to happen," he murmured against her temple. "I'd planned to talk first, eat our lunch together and try to act like two civilized people, but the moment I saw you nothing was important any longer except making love to YOU."

"That's all you ever wanted from me anyway," she said with simple, weary bitterness.

He gave her a brooding glance. "You think so? That's part of what I wanted to talk about, but first, let's see about lunch."

"Won't it be cold?" she asked, pushing her hair back from her face and sitting up and away from his arms.

"Steaks and salad. The salad is in the fridge, the

steaks are ready to grill. And I gave Mrs. Hermann the rest of the day off so we won't be disturbed."

"You have everything planned, don't you?" she commented without any real interest as she began dressing, and he swung his long legs over the side of the bed to stand and watch her lethargic movements.