The Apartment (7 page)

He wasn't alone in this. She hadn't done anything to help matters. She'd practically begged him to kiss her. His roommate knew next to nothing about the intimacy shared between a man and a woman. She assumed it was all perfume and romance, while he knew the truth. Making love was hot and physically demanding, a grinding of lips, a meshing of bodies. She didn't know what she was asking for, and heaven help him, he wasn't going to be the one to initiate her into the rites of love. He'd save that for the husband her mother would handpick for her someday.

He was packing his lunch when Hilary wandered into the kitchen, all pink and soft in her robe. He ignored her as best he could as he assembled a sandwich, but he felt her presence as profoundly as he'd sensed danger during war. In many ways, Hilary was dangerous to him.

“Good morning,” she greeted softly.

He made a gruff, nonsensical reply.

“I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk.”

By the sound of her voice, she was only a few feet away. Too close for comfort.

“I've got to be out of here in five minutes.” He refused to turn around and look at her, knowing whatever resolve he'd managed to collect would be threatened by the mere sight of her.

“It's about last night,” she said in that delicate way of hers, making the words sound like lace.

Sean slammed the pieces of bread together with such force that the imprint of his hand was left on the sandwich.

“I won't pretend it didn't happen,” she added.

“Forget it, then, because it won't be repeated.” He stuffed the mistreated sandwich into a plastic bag and tossed it into the small brown sack open on top of the counter.

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Because I won't let it happen.” He made sure his voice was filled with a determination steel wouldn't dent.

“Sean?”

“What happened to all the oranges?” he asked, standing in front of the open refrigerator. “I could have sworn there were some—”

“Sean?”

“—left. They were in here the other day.”

She walked up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “Will you kindly listen to me?”

His heart went wild when she touched him, her hands gliding across the hard muscles of his stomach. It would have been a simple matter to break free of her hold, but he found he couldn't do it, and hated himself for the weakness.

“Hilary, stop,” he said in his sternest voice, the same one he'd used to lead men. Others would have followed him into hell without question, but this sweet debutante refused to listen. He felt her sigh against him and press her cheek to his back.

“All right,” he said, breaking her hold on him. He whirled around to face her. “You want to talk about last night, then fine, I'll talk and you'll listen. Understand?”

She nodded and smiled up at him. “No one's ever kissed me the way you did.”

“Listen, Hil, if you're looking for a little experience, find it with someone else. Initiating virgins lost its appeal years ago. You're sweet and innocent, but frankly, you don't tempt me. I like my women with a little more seasoning.”

The color left her face as she stepped away from him. Her head jerked with every word he spoke, as if he were physically slapping her. She was blinking furiously in an effort to keep the tears at bay. Sean hated himself for being so cruel, but it was the only way he knew to put an end to this madness.

Someone had to bring Hilary back to earth, otherwise she'd walk around all day with her head in the clouds. One of them had to be responsible before living together became hell for them both.

“The…oranges are in the bottom bin of the refrigerator,” she said, her gaze avoiding his. “I put your food in the lower bin…mine's in the upper.”

Sean felt a muscle jerk in his jaw as he grabbed his lunch and headed out the door.

* * *

What was so painful, Hilary realized, as she readied for work, was that Sean was right. Not only had she made a fool of herself over him twice, but he'd pointed out one all-important fact: He didn't want her.

It mortified her every time she thought of the way she'd thrown herself at him, how she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Never in all her life had she been so bold with a man. No wonder Sean thought she was out to gain a little experience. She'd led him to believe she was using him.

He was older, wiser, more knowledgeable than she was. This was her first time away from home. It made perfect sense that she would spread her wings. If anything, she should be grateful he was gentleman enough not to take advantage of her.

They'd been together nearly three weeks now. How quickly that time had passed. Soon he'd be on his own, and it was highly unlikely their worlds would cross again.

It surprised her how much she yearned to talk to her mother. It would have been a simple matter to reach for the phone and spill out her tale of woe, but Hilary resisted the temptation. She'd made an issue of standing on her own two feet. She'd even gone so far as to ask her mother to stop mothering her. Contacting her now, at the first sign of trouble, was a sign of pure weakness. Hilary eyed the wall phone longingly as she walked out of the kitchen.

Sean had one big advantage, she mused as she dressed. He had several friends in Portland. Because she was shy, Hilary had trouble getting to know others. She promised herself she'd make more of an effort.

* * *

Her chance came sooner than she expected. Arnold Wilson, who played bass violin, asked her out for coffee following rehearsal that same evening. He was tall and thin with a long, domineering nose. His smile was warm. He was a gentle man, and Hilary thought highly of him, although they'd only spoken briefly.

“Coffee…sure,” Hilary answered, pleased at the invitation.

“After practice, a number of us stop in at Lenny's, the coffee shop on the comer. I was hoping you'd come.”

“I'll be happy to.” There were several in the symphony who were close in age to Hilary. Rita, who played fourth-chair clarinet, had asked her to join them once before, but Hilary had been exhausted and declined. Now, however, she was more accustomed to the grueling schedule of working days and then attending lengthy practice sessions.

That evening, when they'd finished at the music hall, Hilary, Arnold, Rita and Bill gathered around the table at the all-night diner. Hilary's new friends shared an easy camaraderie and soon they were all chattering at once, being careful to include her in the conversation. It felt wonderful to feel part of the group.

Hilary was surprised to learn that Rita, a housewife and the mother of a five-year-old, was only three years older than she was. Hilary couldn't imagine herself as a mother. As Rita talked, relating a recent anecdote about her daughter, Hilary's thoughts wandered back to the need she'd experienced that morning to talk to her own mother. She'd been hurt and had instinctively reached out for the one person in all the world who would comfort her.

Sean was right—her relationship with her mother was far more complex than she realized. Never in a million years would she have thought she'd miss her so much.

Her mother wasn't the only person who occupied her thoughts. Sean was there as well, bold as could be, gruff and impatient, barely looking her way. He was letting her know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he regretted kissing her. The problem was, Hilary couldn't dredge up any genuine remorse. She'd been thinking about it for days, wondering what it would be like if he touched her. The incident in the bathroom hadn't helped matters any.

Arnold said something and the others laughed. Hilary's gaze drifted to him. He was warm and witty and fun. He made her laugh and helped her to forget the hurt she'd carried with her most of the day, but she wasn't attracted to him. Her blood didn't grow hot when she looked at the violin player. How she wished it did. How she wished she could stop thinking about Sean. He didn't want her, he'd said so himself. He was a man who didn't mince words. What he said he meant. She was a complication he chose to avoid.

When he moved away, even if she never saw him again, she'd always be grateful. He'd taught her about herself, awakened for her an area that had lain dormant far too long—her own femininity.

For the first time in her life, she was more than Louise Wadsworth's daughter. More than a talented musician. She was a woman, one with a heart ripe for love. Sean had gently proven there was nothing wrong with her; he'd shown her how wonderful the physical aspect of loving between a man and a woman could be. How could she be anything but grateful?

By the time Hilary arrived back at the apartment, it was nearly one. The porch light was shining, illuminating the empty parking space in front of the duplex.

Sean was gone.

Hilary's heart constricted with uneasiness. She feared he'd been so disgusted with her that he'd decided to move out, to leave her. Biting into her bottom lip, she unlocked the front door and let herself inside the apartment. Several lights were on. The kitchen. The hallway. Sean's bedroom.

“Sean?” she called out hesitantly. He might have loaned out his car. She walked down the hallway and noticed his bedroom door was wide open. His bed was untouched.

She had just returned to the living room when the front door opened. Sean roared into the center of the living room like a firefighter at a three-alarm blaze. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.

“Sean?”

His features didn't soften. “Just where the hell have you been?”

“W
here have I been?” Hilary repeated, shocked that he didn't know. “I was at rehearsal, the same way I am every Thursday night.”

“Until one o'clock in the morning?” The question was shouted with enough force to rattle the windows.

She motioned with her hands, not understanding his anger. “I went out for coffee with some friends afterward.”

“For three hours?”

“Yes.” Still she was at a loss to fathom his strange mood.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have been worried? You could have been in a car accident or been mugged. For all I knew you might have been kidnapped.”

“Oh, come on, Sean,” she said, making light of his concern. “I'm a big girl, I carry Mace. You don't need to worry about me.”

Sean rammed both hands through his hair as though he wished it were her neck he was throttling. He closed his eyes in a blatant effort to compose himself.

“I hate to say this, but you're beginning to sound like my mother,” she told him.

“Maybe that's because your mother cares about you. Did that ever cross your mind?” he demanded. “Can you imagine what I was thinking while I drove the streets looking for you? Have you any clue of what I was feeling?”

Chagrined, Hilary shook her head. Although he was practically shouting at her, his anger tangible, she couldn't help being warmed by his words. “Does this mean you care, too?” she asked in a soft, low voice, almost afraid of his answer.

“Yes, dammit, I care,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “Just don't ever pull a stunt like this again. You want to go out with your friends after the symphony rehearses, then fine, but have the common decency to call first and let me know.”

“All right,” she agreed, then headed for her room. She hesitated just before she rounded the comer leading to the hallway. “Sean?”

“Yes?” he barked.

“I'm sorry.”

His lips tightened, but he said nothing more.

* * *

By the time Hilary was up and around the next morning, Sean had already left for work. She didn't know how much sleep he'd managed to catch, and felt guilty about that, although she never suspected he'd be so worried about her. It never occurred to her to let him know, although in hindsight she probably should have.

When she arrived home from the music store early that evening, Sean was sitting in the living room reading the newspaper. His hair was wet as though he was fresh from the shower. He didn't acknowledge her when she came in the door, but she was certain he was aware of her standing there.

“Hello,” she said tentatively, keeping her voice light and breezy. “How was your day?”

“Good.” He didn't lower the newspaper, nor did he seem to be in the mood for conversation. Hilary could appreciate that—she'd had one of those days herself. At least, that was what she told herself. After she'd changed clothes, she moved into the kitchen, taking a cold bottle of spring water from the refrigerator shelf.

When he heard her, Sean set aside the paper and came into the kitchen. He glared at her before speaking. “The time's come for us to clear the air here once and for all.”

“All right,” she agreed calmly, although her heart was racing.

“I don't want you to misinterpret what happened.”

“When you kissed me?” Her eyes didn't leave his while she sipped the cool, refreshing water.

“No,” he said, and smiled fiercely. “I'm talking about last night.”

“Ah…and how would I misinterpret that?” She wasn't being facetious, only curious. “You were upset. Understandably so…and I really should have let you know I was going to be late.”

“I realize you don't owe me any explanations,” he said. The intense quality hadn't left his eyes.

“I know, but if
you
were planning to be out until all hours of the morning, I'd want you to tell me out of common courtesy.” She took another sip of her bottled water, savoring the coolness in her throat.

Sean was frowning again as if he was surprised by her response. It was almost as if he thought she intended to argue with him.

“I'm playing poker with the guys tonight.”

“Here?” She remembered what a disaster the last time had been.

“No, we're headed for Dave's. His father-in-law'll be playing with us.” Sean stuffed his hands into his pockets and eyed Hilary. Something about his abruptness gave her the impression he needed to do something with his hands in order to avoid reaching for her. It was a heady thought, and one she dared not cultivate. Then, too, it might have been wishful thinking, because she so desperately wanted him to hold her.