Read Love Songs Online

Authors: Barbara Delinsky

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Fiction

Love Songs (4 page)

BOOK: Love Songs
2.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“But … I
did
kiss you.”

“Ah-ah. That was no kiss,” he teased, his tone seductive in itself. “That was a taste … a peck. Now I want the real thing. The bet wasn’t for a half-kiss; it was for a whole-kiss.”

Alanna was caught up in more than one game, for to their verbal sparring had been added the factor of raw physical need. Tingles deep within her attested to it. “There’s a difference?” she floundered, buying time, hiding her growing turmoil in mock innocence. If that had been a half-kiss, she mused with alarm, she’d never have a chance in the world of winning the bet. This man had a touch, no doubt about it. She’d never been so affected before. Even now, as her hesitant gaze met his, she felt the draw. In her knees. Her chest. The deepest nooks and crannies of her body. All seemed suddenly aroused.

Alex moved closer, a long forefinger stroking her cheek, “Oh, there’s a difference, owl-eyes,” he murmured, seemingly entranced by her lips. “Let me demonstrate.”

If only she had pulled away then,
before
his demonstration, she might have saved herself. But she was mesmerized, held immobile by his hands, drugged by the manly scent that encompassed him as surely as his aura of command, and lost in, yes, a web of sheer desire.

Alanna Evans was not an inexperienced woman. Yet Alex’s touch was new, his kiss exciting, his nearness an intoxicant she had never before known. Now, as his lips gently sampled hers, slanting tentatively across them, coaxing them apart with subtle promises, she had no wish to resist. Rather, her nascent response was an invitation to a depth of passion she could only imagine. A shudder ran through her at the touch of his tongue exploring the curve of her lips and the softness within. If her knees grew weak, it was of no import. For his arms circled her, drawing her from the wall and against the long, hard-muscled support of his body.

The moment was isolated in eternity in Alanna’s wheeling mind. She felt overwhelmingly alive and fresh, electrically charged, drawn from dormancy to heaven. Her arms stole beneath his to his back, her hands reveling in the corded strength there.

Then her pulse hammered loudly as he leaned back. His smoky gray eyes studied her indolently, savoring the flush on her cheeks. “Now it’s your turn,” he whispered, a deeply crooned challenge. Holding his face just so far from hers, he demanded that she take the initiative to steal another kiss.

Alanna was powerless against the drive stirring within her. Her usual manner was neither coy nor hesitant. She had always been honest with herself. When she wanted something, she went after it. And, at that moment, she wanted to kiss Alex Knight, to push that budding passion even further. Eagerly she leaned closer, her slender body as pliant against his manly lines as layers of raw silk draped across a bronze statue. Her lips parted in search of his, reaching, playing only until she felt his ragged gasp, then, forgetting play, moving in nearer, deeper, harder.

Neither Alex nor Alanna was aware of the door opening not far from them. A throat cleared. “Excuse me.…” A forced cough. “Ah … Mr. Knight … excuse me … Ms. Evans…”

Alanna wasn’t quite sure when she finally recognized the presence of a third person. Alex, however, recovered sooner. Though his arms held her still, he raised his head.

“Yes, Sylvia?” he asked thickly.

Sylvia Frazier cleared her throat once more before speaking in a stage whisper which carried a hint of chiding. “Dr. Henderson is waiting to see Ms. Evans. I saw you two get off the elevator. I really think—”

“Thank you for the reminder, Sylvia.” Alex didn’t turn. His gray eyes glittered into Alanna’s with a pointed message and, slowly, she grasped reality. She felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the pounding of blood through her veins, the eerie weakness in her legs. But there was, still, that last part of the bet.…

Straightening, she took a deep breath. “I’m coming now, Ms. Frazier. Please tell Dr. Henderson that I’ll be right along.” As Alanna gently extricated herself from Alex’s arms the nurse diplomatically disappeared, her job done. But Alex’s strong hand stayed Alanna before she, too, could return to the floor.

“You lose, you know,” he grinned mischievously. “If Sylvia hadn’t come along just then you wouldn’t have left.” He paused, his nearness continuing to affect her. As she looked up at him his gaze grew enigmatic. “Would you?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she lifted her golden head a bit higher. While she refused to admit defeat, she could not lie. “We’ll never know, will we?”

But the sureness of Alex’s answer made a mockery of her smugness. “Oh,
we’ll
know. And
you
can bet on
that!

With a hard swallow, Alanna turned and left.

 

 

2

Ellen Henderson was the antithesis of the ivory-tower psychologist. She was young, perhaps a year or two older than Alanna. She was attractive, tall and dark-haired, and dressed in a casual wool shirt-dress and high-heeled pumps. She was warm, compassionate and extremely goal-oriented. Alanna felt an instant rapport with her.

“I’m thrilled that you’ve agreed to be part of the study.” She welcomed Alanna with a sincere smile, as the latter took the chair offered by her desk.

Alanna spoke honestly. “
I’m
glad that you may be able to help me. It’s a frustrating problem.”

“Of course it is! Hopefully, through your participation in the study, we’ll
all
sleep better. It’s just a beginning … as is so much of work done in sleep labs such as this.”

“Can you tell me something, in general, about the study?” Alanna asked, recalling that Alex Knight knew that much more than she did.

Ellen grinned her understanding. “Sure. Let me explain, first off, that there are many different types of sleep problems. The three major ones affecting adults are narcolepsy, sleep apnea and insomnia. The narcoleptic may sleep well at night but falls into helpless sleep-stupors at odd points during the day, often in the midst of crucial activities. A victim of sleep apnea actually stops breathing up to four hundred times in the course of the night; only his body reflexes jolt him back to life. Needless to say, his sleep is constantly disturbed. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome is an early form of this. Then,” she paused for a breath, her expression softening, “there’s insomnia—the inability either to fall asleep at all or to fall back to sleep once awoken. Of the fifty million Americans afflicted with sleep troubles, thirty million have insomnia.”

“Of which I am one.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“What causes it?”

Ellen sighed. “There may be any number of causes. A few are physical—but the physical exam Dr. Ramirez, our neurologist, gave you when you came in two weeks ago ruled out any gross physical problem. You’re in excellent health.” Her eyes fell to the folder opened on her desk. “You don’t smoke?”

“No.”

“Drink?”

“Other than the occasional cocktail or glass of wine, no.”

“Take any medication to help you sleep?”

“No.” She spoke softly, almost apologetically. “I hate to take pills, period. I like to think that I have enough internal discipline to overcome any minor headaches.” Her smile held regret. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the discipline to control
this
problem.”

“You will,” Ellen assured her confidently. “That’s what we’ll be working on here.”

Now they were down to the immediate situation. “What
will
I be doing?”

“Well, we have two weeks to work with. Fourteen nights. You
are
free of other obligations for that stretch, aren’t you?”

Alanna answered easily. “I had several engagements, but after Dr. Ramirez called I was able to reschedule them.”

“Good.” The psychologist nodded. “Since we’ll be concentrating on behavior modification, it’s important to have the time. But,” she paused, “let me backtrack a bit before I explain the specifics. The IAT—Insomnia Analysis and Treatment—study is a far-reaching one. We’ve identified many different types of people with insomnia. Your group, with its own specific characteristics, is only one.”

Alanna couldn’t help but quote what she’d learned earlier. “Executives. Under pressure. Between the ages of thirty and forty-five.”

“Ah, you’ve been prompted?” Ellen grinned, not at all bothered.

“I met a fellow named Alex Knight in the cafeteria.”

Ellen’s grin broadened. “Yes, Alex. His family has been wonderful to us.”

“So I gather.” She also wondered whether Alex Knight had been wonderful to Ellen Henderson, then chided herself for her cattiness. She held her tongue as Ellen continued.

“He does know his facts. Those are the basic qualifications. The theory is that you people—we have four of you here at a time—suffer from insomnia as a result of the pressures you face relating to your careers. All of you are single, which rules out marital tension. All of you live alone, which rules out a bedmate who may disturb your sleep with snoring, restlessness, nightmares—that sort of thing.”

Alanna ingested it all, yet her mind rushed on. “Why is the study being done
here?
Why the necessity of sleeping at the hospital?”

“It’s a good question, and one I’ve had to answer repeatedly. What with hospital costs, you’d think this to be extravagant. I admit that it may be unorthodox, but if the field is to make significant advances, this type of study is a must. You see,” she went on, “we’ll be trying to control your environment, to keep that much more accurate an eye on your surroundings and sleep habits than we might be able to do if you were at home.”

Alanna’s thoughts shifted to the conversation she’d had with the neurologist and she felt a twinge of unease. “Dr. Ramirez mentioned some very complicated-sounding monitoring devices. Am I in for something awful?”

“No!” Ellen’s appreciative laughter was instantly reassuring. “Tonight will be the only night you’ll be wired up—”

“Wired up?”

“Nothing to worry about.” Again the psychologist soothed her. “We’ll be monitoring your brain waves, your heart rate and your body temperature.”

Alanna’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand. If you’ve ruled out any physical problem—”

“We have. These measurements are all related to sleep patterns. We’d like to establish, at the start, that you do go through the normal four stages of the sleep cycle. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term. For the average adult the sleep cycle repeats itself many times throughout the night. Once we’ve plotted your sleep pattern I’ll be able to show you a graphic illustration.”

Alanna’s lips twitched in humor. “I’d like to see that. With the number of finance and production charts I read in a day I often wonder whether I can see things any other way.”

“Then you’ll appreciate the illustration.” Ellen smiled. “I don’t actually anticipate seeing anything unusual, but it’s necessary to find out if we’re going to the effort of controlling so many other factors
and
taking two weeks’ worth of your nights.”

“Of course. I understand.” Feeling slightly more comfortable about the monitoring, Alanna was curious again. “What then? What about the other thirteen nights?”

“OK.” Ellen sat forward. “Now we get to the nitty-gritty of the project. We ask you to come in every night at roughly the same time, preferably no later than nine. Early curfew,” she quipped, successfully coaxing Alanna into mirroring her smile. “We have a lounge in the unit and a small kitchen. Both are well appointed, very pleasant. You will have your own bedroom and a private bath—nothing fancy, but, again, pleasant. It will be dark and quiet. There will be no disturbances. Please sleep in whatever nightwear you’re accustomed to. Above all, I want you to be comfortable. You may spend your evening until you fall asleep either in the lounge or in your room. Follow your usual routine. If you usually shower before bed, do it. When—and only when—you’re sleepy, you’ll go to bed. You will be woken at the same time every morning, regardless of that bedtime, and you will be expected to follow a fixed routine immediately after waking up—preferably some form of exercise, then breakfast.” She paused, again consulting the papers on her desk. “I understand you swim?”

Alanna nodded. “I coach a swim team on Saturdays. Ten- to twelve-year-olds. Girls.” At the thought, she brightened. “They’re great kids!”

“Do you swim much on your own?”

“When I have the chance.”

“Well,” the psychologist drew out her words with feigned sternness, “I want you to
make
the chance. There’s a pool just down the street which we have access to. If you’d like, you can swim every morning before breakfast.”

Alanna knew only too clearly her prebreakfast moods. “I don’t know, Ellen,” she hesitated. “My early mornings are pretty bad.…”

“Then this will be one way of letting out all that pent-up aggression.”

Aggression.
That word again. Alanna couldn’t help but remember when she’d heard it last. Then it had been on taunting male lips, firm and enticing.… Ellen snapped her from the memory.

“Will you try it? You may notice a huge improvement—both in your temperament
and
in your sleep habits.”

BOOK: Love Songs
2.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Waffler by Gail Donovan
Covet by Alison Ryan
Lost Melody by Lori Copeland
Adapt by Edward Freeland
Dreaming of the Wolf by Terry Spear
A Mother's Homecoming by Tanya Michaels
The Crooked Letter by Sean Williams
Whisperer by Jeanne Harrell
Amor and Psycho: Stories by Carolyn Cooke
Table for Two by Alexis Lauren