Makin' Whoopee (11 page)

Now everything was threatened. If she didn't resolve the problem soon, she would lose it all—Charlie, the business, her future.

Why was she fighting it so hard?
she asked herself, as she had so often in the past. Charlie wouldn't hurt her. It wasn't in him to hurt another human being. The physical attraction was, after all, just an extension of their friendship. Surely she could handle that.

But it didn't seem that simple. There was something in her that was frightened, even though she couldn't pinpoint what she was afraid of. She needed to get away. She needed to be able to look from a distance at what was happening. If she could ever find out what was causing her fear, perhaps the problem would take care of itself.

Shifting again, she acknowledged that time and distance weren't the answer. What was between her and Charlie didn't have anything to do with their friendship. It was deeper and more consuming. She knew exactly what it was, but for her own self-preservation, she refused to admit it even to an empty room.

So what now? she asked herself. Which way did she go now that she had skirted all around the fact that she was inextricably bound to Charlie? Did she allow herself to become one of the women who skipped through his life, or should she continue fighting?

But she was so tired of fighting. Belonging to Charlie even temporarily would give her more than she had found with any other man. She knew without question that she would finally be whole if she let the next step happen, the step that filled her every waking moment, the step she had been dreaming about for two long, empty years. Every time Charlie touched her, she got a glimpse of what it would be like to make love with him. There was no way she could go on fighting what was in her blood, her flesh . . . her heart.

And what about when it was over?
she thought suddenly. A shudder rippled through her. Did she really think she could survive seeing him move on to the next woman, and the next?

She shook her head furiously. She coudn't think of that. All her life she had been cautious about taking chances. But caution wouldn't give her memories; caution woudn't let her know what it was like to be truly fulfilled. Caution was a lonely companion to wake up to in the morning.

Just this once, she would forget about being cautious. This time the gain would be worth the pain.

So deeply was Sara absorbed by her thoughts, it took a moment for the incessant ringing of the doorbell to penetrate her consciousness. Raking her hair back, she glanced at the crystal-and-gold clock on the mantel. Nine o'clock. That surprised her. She felt as though she had been lost in the tangled web of her mind for days.

When she opened the front door and found Ted there, she stared blankly for a few seconds, trying to come to grips with his presence. She hadn't seen him since before the weekend with Charlie. And, to her shame, she hadn't given him a single thought.

Ted's dark good looks seemed foreign to her now, as though he had undergone a subtle change since the last time she had seen him.

"Hello, Sara," he said quietly, his gaze taking in her flowered silk dressing gown and makeup-free face. "You weren't in bed, were you?"

She shook her head, clearing it. "No, of course not. Come in, Ted."

When they were both seated in front of the fire— she in her chair, he on the edge of the matching one, leaning toward her—he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry I haven't gotten in touch with you sooner," he said, then paused.

Sara felt helpless. She knew he expected something from her, some kind of response, but for the life of her she couldn't think of anything to say.

When she didn't reply, his lips tightened in a frown, and he continued stiffly. "I thought we both needed a cooling-off period."

Yes,
she thought,
that was what it had been.
She had cooled off so much, she had forgotten him completely. Suddenly she wished with all her heart that her life could be what it was before the weekend with Charlie. Things had seemed so uncomplicated then. She and Ted were a couple; Charlie was her friend and partner. And her business had been more constantly in her thoughts than anything else. It had been a comfortable way to live.

She smiled slowly, hoping her face didn't look as stiff as it felt. "It's good to see you, Ted. Did—did the dinner go well for you?"

He shrugged. "Yes, I guess you could say that. They've offered me a partnership."

"Ted, that's wonderful," she said, and she meant it. He worked hard at his job, and deserved the success. "We should celebrate. I can't offer you champagne. Would a glass of wine do?"

He stood and walked to her chair, then leaned over her. "I didn't come here to celebrate ... or even talk about my job. Sara, it's time we straightened things out between us." He smiled. "I've missed you."

Poor Ted,
she thought, gazing up at him. Her sitting in the chair was awkward for him. He didn't quite know what to do with himself or with her. Charlie would have known how to handle a wing chair. He would have scooted her over or scooped her up in his arms. Charlie could even have gone down on his knees and made it seem natural. But Ted wasn't Charlie.

She realized he was again impatiently waiting for a reply. He looked as though he had a crick in his neck. "Sit down, Ted," she said kindly, motioning toward his chair. "You're right—we need to talk."

"I don't like the sound of that," he said ruefully, then smiled. "You look more beautiful than ever. How's real estate these days?"

Sara suddenly wanted to cry. The fact that they were reduced to small talk was difficult for her to accept. Even if she hadn't been in love with Ted, they had been good friends. Charlie had even changed that.

"Sara?"

She glanced up. "I'm sorry. You asked about the business. It's going great. Charlie and I decided to buy a lodge."

"Oh? Let me know when it's open and I'll tell all my friends." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That play you wanted to see starts next week. We could—"

"Ted, this is ridiculous," she said softly.

"You're right." Reaching out, he grasped her hands, and she reluctantly let him pull her to her feet. "I don't think I want to talk after all." Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers.

Sara wanted to feel something. She tried desperately to feel something, but it was no use. She felt nothing but the pressure of his lips on hers. There was not one ounce of desire in her for this man.

Bringing his hands up to clasp her head, Ted tried to deepen the kiss. For one short moment Sara actually considered letting him. To her shame she actually considered taking him to her bedroom in an effort to put Charlie out of her mind.

But only for a moment. Almost immediately she knew she couldn't do that. It would accomplish nothing. She didn't want Ted; she wanted Charlie. Lord, how she wanted Charlie. She began to pull away.

Ted, however, had other ideas. Gripping her head more tightly, he threaded his fingers through her hair and used his tongue to urge her lips open.

"Ted," she said anxiously as she turned her head away. "It won't work. We've got to talk."

Inhaling deeply, he moved away from her, turning his back. "It's over between us," he said quietly. It wasn't a question; it was a flat statement.

"I'm sorry." She knew the words sounded stiff, but she couldn't help it. "If you'll be honest you'll admit that it was ending even before the dinner party."

He shrugged. "Maybe," he said grudgingly. Then he swung around to face her, his gaze searching her immobile features. "But if we worked at it harder, if we gave it a little effort, we could get it going again."

"Should we have to work that hard?" she asked softly. "Shouldn't it be a natural thing?"

His face hardened. "I didn't know you were the type to hold a grudge."

She started to protest, then stopped herself. Maybe he needed an excuse to be angry with her. Maybe it made it easier for him. Suddenly she was very tired. She didn't feel like a long post-mortem, but she supposed she owed him that much.

She was bracing herself for the scene when once again the doorbell rang. Giving Ted an awkward, apologetic smile, she flexed her trembling hands and walked to the door. This time Charlie stood on her front porch, the overhead light illuminating his deep golden hair and smiling features. An unbelievably strong wave of relief washed over her.

"I just had the most brilliant idea," he said without greeting her.

"Come in, Charlie," she said, and smiled as he strode confidently into the room.

"You won't believe it when I tell you," he continued. "Hello, Alston. I thought I recognized your car." He turned back to Sara. "Are you ready?"

"Why not?" she murmured helplessly.

"An annual festival," he said triumphantly.

"A what?"

"An annual festival. We start an annual festival at the lodge. People from all over the country will come. It'll be one of the state's tourist attractions."

"What kind of festival?"

He shrugged. "Who cares? Scatman Crothers's birthday, Rabbit-Molting Week, National Turnip-Tasting Day. It doesn't matter what it is as long as we publicize it. Thousands of people show up every year to watch a bunch of dumb birds roosting on a mission in California. We can top that easily. All we have to do—"

"Can't you discuss this during working hours?" Ted asked impatiently. "Sara and I were in the middle of something important."

"I'm interrupting," Charlie said, his voice contrite but unconvincing. He sat in one of the wing chairs. "You two go ahead. I'll wait till you're through."

"I think we had said everything," Sara said, giving Ted a pleading glance.

For a moment Ted merely stared at her, then he turned and walked to the door.

Sara watched him leave with regret.
It was really over
, she thought, feeling an emotion close to nostalgia, as though she were watching a piece of her childhood walk away. Maybe Ted hadn't been a terribly important part of her life, but for six months they had been companions. She hadn't realized until just this moment how much she had counted on his presence. Ted had been her one and only escape from business.

No, that was wrong. Ted had never been an escape from her work. He had been important simply because he didn't interfere with her work. Thoughts of him had never intruded during the day. She had kept him in a convenient pocket marked "Entertainment," using him callously. Now that she realized the truth, she thought a little less of herself.

Suddenly she became aware of the heavy silence in the room. Charlie hadn't spoken since Ted had walked out. He hadn't made even one lawyer joke. That wasn't like him. Composing her features, she turned to face him . . . and stopped cold.

Unbelievably, there was anger in his blue eyes, a deep, burning anger that knocked her so off balance that she could only stare at him mutely. Never in all the time she had known him had she seen Charlie angry. His fists were clenched tightly on the arms of the chair.

"Charlie?" she whispered, perplexed.

He rose stiffly and walked toward her. With shaking hands, he smoothed her disheveled hair. Then, holding the nape of her neck tightly, he wiped her mouth with his forearm. Once, twice, three times, until her lips were raw. She felt helpless to do more than gaze at him in confusion.

"That was unworthy of you," he said. The words were harsh and low and intense. "You were cheating, Sara. It's not like you to cheat."

She shook her head dazedly. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

His fingers bit into her arm. "You were cheating three of us. You were cheating Alston, you were cheating yourself, and you were cheating me. I won't let you do that, Sara."

She looked away from him, avoiding those hard blue eyes. "I've been dating Ted for six months," she said defensively. "Why is it different now?"

Grasping her chin, he forced her to look at him. "Because now I know you want me. I gave you the itch, Sara. Me. And I will not—do you hear me—I will not let him scratch it."

She gasped at his crudeness and tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let go of her.

"No," he said harshly. "We're going to settle it now. Running time is over, Sara."

Before, when she had been alone, she had almost come to accept the inevitability of their making love. But that was when she had thought it was something she would drift into. Charlie was bringing it out in the open, forcing the issue, forcing her to make a conscious decision. And she resented it. She resented it very much.

"Let me go." Her voice was low and tight.

"Not on your life," he said grimly. "Let's talk about dreams, Sara. Your dreams, the ones that worry you so much. You wouldn't let me talk about them that night." He laughed harshly. "That night—God! You told me every detail. That wasn't for therapy, kid. That was to hit good old Charlie in the gut. You made me sweat that night. Titillation and punishment, that's what it was for."

"No," she gasped out. "You—you made me tell you."

"How? How did I make you? Did I torture you? Did I threaten? No, I didn't make you. You told me because you knew exactly what it would do to me." He gripped her chin, again forcing her to meet his eyes. "I'm not blaming you, but doesn't it tell you anything?"