Mad About The Man (27 page)

"
Dear Gaby,
"
Char read.
"
My turn to do something nice for you. Enjoy. Can we talk? Jacques.
"

"
Damn him!
"
Gaby leapt up.
"
His turn to do something
nice
for me? I
'
m sick of his gifts to bribe me.
"

"
I
'
m sure—
"

"
So am I sure. He
'
s the white knight in this town now. He doesn
'
t
want me meddling with that any
more. But he also doesn
'
t want to kiss off— Oh, Char. Why pretend. We were good together and no man wants to pass that up. He
'
s trying to give me a building as a sop and keep me on a string he can pull when he feels like it.
"

She took back the title and pushed it into its envelope with the note.
"
Well, there
'
s one thing Jacques Ledan can
'
t buy—or buy off.
Me!
"

18

"
Y
ou are the only female who ever understood me,
"
Jacques told Spike. He poured food into her bowl.
"
Eat. One of us has to keep some strength up.
"
The dog sighed hugely and remained in a heap near the kitchen door.

"
I know how you feel. Okay, don
'
t eat. We
'
ll fade away together.
"

He leaned on the counter and flipped through the cook
'
s calendar. Four days. Four lousy days he
'
d been up here waiting for Gaby to grasp the olive branches he
'
d held in her direction…
so he could reel her in.

So far, nothing.

"
She
'
ll crack,
"
he said aloud.
"
She cares, I know she does. All I
'
ve got to do is wait it out. Never met a woman who could ignore her own curiosity, and she
'
s got to be bursting with it about now.
"

He opened the refrigerator, stared disinterestedly at its contents and dragged out a six-pack.
"
Hate the stuff,
"
he muttered. Beer was something kept for guests, but he
'
d given the staff paid leave until farther notice, which meant no one was buying groceries and beer was the only cold drink left.

"
Stay,
"
he ordered Spike and scuffed, barefooted, on the trek to the study.

Standing in his window aerie overlooking the road leading down through the hills, Jacques took up vigil once more. A welcome spark of glee made him grin. She
would
come. His last little gift would make quite sure of that. Either Gaby would roar up the mountain and throw the present back at him
…
or she
'
d roar up the mountain and throw
herself
at him.

The latter was the most likely.

Either way, the lady would become persuaded that there was nowhere e
lse on earth she wanted to be…
other than with Jacques.

He looked around the room. Michael Copeland might be the artist with credentials, but he couldn
'
t have done better than Jacques Ledan in setting a scene guaranteed to win the desired responses from the desired lady.

Sympathy.

Guilt
…
guilt was great.

An irritating twinge reminded him of the cut over his right brow. He touched it lightly and grinned again. A small price to pay for knocking Copeland on his selfish ass.

White veins of light blossomed briefly in the early evening sky.

Jacques glanced upward and scowled. He
'
d convinced himself the only reason Gaby hadn
'
t come earlier today was because—according to his ally, Char Brown—-the work for the movie was in its final phase. But, with Char
'
s encouragement, he
'
d convinced himself Gaby
would
arrive before the day was out.

A far distant rumble of thunder sounded.

If all hell broke loose with the weather she was unlikely to venture up here—particularly since it was already getting dark.

He wouldn
'
t want her to.

Absentmindedly, he crank
ed a can from the six-
pack and popped the top. A fire would be nice, only that would ruin the pining-away effect he
'
d accomplished
…
if she should just happen to make it here after all.

The next streak of lightning raced across the sky and burst like something out of a Munster movie. Jacques dropped into his chair, pulled the beer tab all the way off and flipped it, very deliberately, onto the rug.

Thunder shook the house.

And there, on a low slope, shone the headlights of an approaching car.

"
Hot damn!
"
He swallowed some beer, shuddered and leaned forward for a better view.
"
There
is
a higher being!

"
Keep calm, Ledan. Don
'
t blow it.
"
The extra rumpling he gave his hair might not be necessary, but it made him feel good.
"
If that isn
'
t you, Gaby, I
'
m coming after you myself.
"

Whoever was
behind
those headlights was evidently in training for t
he Grand Prix. The beams dis
appeared for brief intervals, only to zip into sight again each time.

Jacques frowned.
"
Damn women drivers. Menace on the roads.
"
He fe
lt for the buttons on his old
denim shirt, only to remember they were already undone. His jeans, snug and faded from a zillion washings, rode low on his hips and showed skin at the knee.

Nature sent a blue-white roman candle through the heavens, followed it in seconds with a bass blast that
rattled windows, then hurled giant raindrops on the skylight and wall of windows.

He lowered his eyelids and waited. Any display of eagerness could ruin a masterful production.

Two minutes passed before Spike barked.

Jacques took his time getting out of the chair.

The front door bell rang—and kept right on ringing. A momentary pang of misgiving lived, but promptly died. She was leaning on the bell because she wanted in out of the rain. Out of the rain and into his arms.

Keeping his pace leisurely took control. He reminded himself that in the afterglow of the reunion there would be some serious ground to be covered. But first things first.

That bell needed to be changed, or disconnected. It drove a man nuts.

Through the glass in the front door he could make out Gaby
'
s shape. He closed his eyes for an instant and gave in to the luxury of considering Gaby
'
s shape in detail.

The bell ceased, to be replaced by hammering.

An impatient woman could be a delight to behold—or hold. Jacques unlocked the door and opened it slowly, keeping one hand, the one holding the beer can, pressed to his naked belly.
"
Who the hell is it?
"
he said, slurring his words.
"
Can
'
t a man get any peace in his own home?
"

The door, slamming into his shoulder, knocked him backward. His heel landed on Spike
'
s tail and the dog yowled before flying away in a whirl of feet and flapping ears.

"
Get out of my way,
"
Gaby said, marching past him.

"
I
'
m not in your way,
"
he pointed out, but she showed no sign of having heard him. He bowed as she set off into the house.
"
Welcome to my humble abode, Your Majesty. Honored, I
'
m sure.
"

He closed the door and told the air,
"
And that, my friends, is the way it
'
s going to be. The lady wants war, and she shall have it. And then
I
shall have what I want.
"

Gaby awaited him in the study. When he entered he was confronted by her back as she bent over the desk to poke among piles of used glasses, paper plates and boxes from microwavable entrees.

"
How are you, sweetheart?
"
he asked and sighed loudly.
"
How
'
s work going for the movie?
"

"
What is all this?
"
With a finger and thumb, she held up a chicken enchilada box—with the chicken enchilada, congealed, still inside.
"
And this?
"
Sole au gratin with peapods dangled from her other hand.

"
Haven
'
t you used those? They
'
re great. Four minutes on high, turn the tray and give them another three minutes and voil
a
! Delicious.
"

"
How would you know? You haven
'
t eaten them.
"

He shook his head.
"
I know. I just haven
'
t been hungry lately.
"

Gaby dropped the boxes and surveyed the room. Then she looked at Jacques, really looked at him for the first time since she arrived.
"
This place is a mess. Uneaten food everywhere. Garbage on the floor. What
'
s happened to your staff?
"

"
Didn
'
t feel like seeing anyone if it wasn
'
t you.
"
He avoided her eyes.

"
I asked you about the staff,
"
she said, only slightly less abruptly.

"
They
'
re on leave until I call them back.
"

"
How stupid. Sulking away up here because you aren
'
t getting your own way in ever
ything like you usually do.
"

"
Gaby—
"

"
Are you ill?
"
she asked sharply.

"
I guess not.
"
He gave a gallic shrug.
"
Not really. Not in the conventional sense. I—
"

"
Either you are or you aren
'
t. You look like hell. Have you seen a doctor?
"

"
No,
"
he said. She didn
'
t exactly sound deeply sympathetic.

"
When was the last time you shaved?
"

"
I don
'
t remember. Yesterday. Maybe the day before. Or the day before that.
"

With every second the storm gathered force. Rain burst on the windows like smashed crystals fired from a giant slingshot.

Gaby stood before the dramatic backdrop, a small defiant creature in black silk with wet droplets glittering in her unbound hair.

"
Can I get you something?
"
he asked.
"
Coffee? Cognac?
"

"
When did you eat?
"

He indicated the discarded cartons on his desk.
"
I have tried. Sometimes you
'
re not in the mood.
"

She pulled her hair forward over one shoulder and braided it rapidly.
"
You and I are going to talk. First I
'
ll shovel some of this garbage out before they send in the health department. Then you
'
re going to eat something. Then—when I
'
m sure you
'
re concentrating on every word I say—we
'
ll get things one hun
dred percent straight between us, Jacques.
"

"
What
'
s not straight?
"
He knew a moment
'
s uncertainty.

"
From my point of view, nothing. From yours, just about everything, I
'
d say. Give me that grocery sack, the one on its side with the bottles and cans failing out.
"

Feeling vaguely annoyed, he did as she asked. The bag was double. She pulled one from the other and proceeded, very efficiently, to sweep away the debris he
'
d so artfully assembled.

Jacques watched and felt every muscle in his body grow taut—in time with his resolve. As she worked, the night grew wilder. Soon any thought she might have of delivering a verbal salvo and leaving would be out of the question.