The Glass Shoe (16 page)

"You know, I got along fine with ladders before you came along. I can't imagine how."

"Me neither. Get down."

She looked at the moosehead again and shuddered visibly in disgust. "The very idea of it," she muttered. "Hunting something that can't shoot
back,
and then hanging the poor thing on the wall...."

Ryder had his hands on her waist now as she backed down the ladder, and that sensation of déjà vu swept over him again. Triggered, his memory worked. He suddenly recognized the words she had spoken... and what his senses had been telling him. And this time he got it.

The perfume.
Dammit, her perfume. He'd been conscious of it only peripherally, as a part of Amanda, a soft, faintly spicy scent that was uniquely her.

Yet it was familiar, that was what had been bothering him. And it all made sense now. She had dropped into his arms from a ladder, and his desire for her had been so instantly aroused that he'd been baffled. He couldn't understand how he could feel so much, so swiftly, for a stranger.

Until Amanda fell into his arms, he'd been haunted by an enigma. She had danced with him, walked with him in a garden, melted in his arms. She had spoken of the things she was "for" and those she was against—hunting anything that can't shoot back. And she had talked about not believing in princes or happy endings.

And then...

Amanda taking fire in his arms.
Seeming so elusively familiar that he had doubted his senses.
Holding
herself
away from him emotionally with stubborn aloofness because she wouldn't allow herself to have expectations.
Because the prince had seduced her and won her heart with the cold-blooded ruthless-ness of ambition.

Amanda was Cinderella.

"Ryder?" She was looking up at him, puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to demand to know why she hadn't told him, but he swallowed the words. He had to think about this, had to understand why he was feeling a fierce sense of satisfaction, and an even greater anxiety.

"No," he said, "Nothing's wrong." He glanced at the moosehead, then back at her upturned face.
"Come to think of it, getting that thing down looks like a two-man job.
Trust you to try and do it on your own."

"Well, but—"

He kept one hand on the small of her back as he ushered her firmly from the room. "We'll let the workmen worry about getting it down. Let's have lunch."

"Who elected you chief?"

"I did. The vote was unanimous. We're going to have lunch and help Penny clean up, and then we'll both do whatever it is you feel has to be done before the workmen get here."

"Why both of us?
Ryder, this isn't your job."

"I want to be with you."

"How flattering."

She stole a glance up at his face. It was calm now, but in the office, for just an instant, he had looked strange. The expression had vanished too quickly for her to be able to identify it, but it bothered her.

She didn't have very much time to think about it during the remainder of the day. There really wasn't much to do in order to get ready for the returning workmen, but Ryder managed to keep her busy. He seemed to be in a peculiar mood, watchful and somehow withdrawn into himself more than was normal for him.

Amanda wondered if he was already tiring of her, but she was reassured on that score during the night. In fact, if anything, he was more passionate, more intense.
So much so that it was late in the morning when she woke up.

Alone.

She could dimly hear sounds of activity in the house, and realized that the workmen had returned. She got up and dressed, wondering where Ryder was. When she went out into the hall, she discovered that Sharon had returned. Sharon was in her late teens, a bright, energetic girl who was taking a year off from college to earn some extra money. She was almost a head taller than Amanda, and very fair.

"Hi, Amanda.
Did you like being snowed in?"

"It had its points," Amanda said with feeling. She sighed as crashes and thumps sounded in the house.
"Silence, for one.
When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago.
We went by the airport to see if there were any stranded travelers bound for here, and since Mr. Fortune had just arrived we gave him a lift."

Amanda blinked. "You did?"

"Sure. He's the most amazing-looking man, Amanda. Like Santa Claus—but not fat at all.
Just big.
And he has the kindest eyes. Mr. Foxx has been showing him around."

Which explained, Amanda thought, Ryder's absence.
"I see."

Cheerfully Sharon went on. "I'm going to strip the beds in the rooms we won't need. Do you want me to do anything to yours?"

"No, thanks.
I've gotten used to taking care of it myself."

"Okay. See you later."

Amanda nodded rather absently,
then
went on toward the stairs. So Cyrus Fortune had been here for an
hour,
and Ryder with him. She wondered if the deal was wrapped up already. She was halfway down when she heard voices, and almost at the bottom when she caught the tail end of a conversation.

"... really a splendid example, and a fine piece of work.
I can recall outings with my father when I was just a boy.
A long time ago, of course."

As they appeared from the direction of the secondary hallway, Ryder looked up and saw her. "Good morning, Amanda. This is Cyrus Fortune. Cyrus, Amanda Wilderman."

Her first impression of the man was sheer size. He was extremely large, and moved with surprising lightness and grace. He was also dressed completely in white, possessed a luxurious white beard, and had vivid but benign eyes. He was carrying a gold-headed cane, though he didn't seem to need it in order to get around.

"Miss Wilderman.
A pleasure."

He also had a low, rich voice, elegant hands, and an utterly charming smile. And he was— No, she thought. Her memory had to be playing tricks on her. He couldn't have been the man at the ball, the one she'd run into as she was leaving. That was absurd.

"Make it Amanda, please, Mr. Fortune. Glad you finally made it."

"I've already explained the situation to Cyrus, Amanda." Ryder's voice was calm. "I've told him we're both going to make offers for the rights to the patent."

Shocked, she stared at him. "You told him..."

Fortune's bright eyes flicked from her pale face to Ryder's expressionless one. "I believe I'll go to my room and unpack," he said gently.
"Ryder, thank you for showing me around.
I'll see both of you later."

They watched him ascend the stairs with an ease that was surprising for a man of his bulk and age, and then Ryder looked at her. "Tactful, isn't he?"

"You told him—"

"All the privacy of a goldfish now," he murmured. "The
den,
or the bedroom?"

Amanda swung around on her heel and went into the den. She felt angry, a little bewildered, and more than a little uneasy. What had Ryder done? The room was empty, but there was no door to close to ensure privacy. She kept her voice low as she turned to face him.

"What was that all about?"

He looked mildly surprised. "I thought it was clear."

"You're here to talk to him about the rights. I'm not. I told you we weren't going to offer—"

"I know what you told me. I have a good memory. You sidestepped that, Amanda. Just the way you've been sidestepping any commitment to me."

She bit her lip, and concentrated stubbornly on the business problem. "Look, I told you we were going to sign Dunbar. We won't need the new system."

Ryder shook his head slowly. "Now, that," he said, "is bull. If you'd had the chance to bid on the rights without knowing me, without having been on the spot more or less by accident, you wouldn't have hesitated."

"Ryder—"

"The truth, Amanda."

She hesitated,
then
said, "All right, maybe I wouldn't have. But that doesn't mean—"

"I'll tell you what it means. It means you came down on the fence again, detached and safe. You took one look at a potential problem, and removed yourself with all speed to avoid it."

"I didn't want to take advantage of a fluke," she said tightly. "You came here to talk to Fortune, he offered you the first chance, and that was all.'

"Was it? Sure there wasn't a little bit of charity and self-preservation involved? I told you I had limited resources, that I knew the competition could outbid me easily. Was that when you decided to stay carefully out of it? To neatly remove yourself from the fight before it became a fight, because you were so sure I'd lose and you didn't want that on your conscience?"

"I'm not bidding," she said, the words evenly spaced and distinct.

He looked at her for a moment,
then
said flatly, "Amanda, I'll fight—or 111 walk away. But I will be damned if I'll win by default."

"Why?" Her voice was shaking now. "Why are you doing this?"

"Expectations," he said very softly. "It seems I'm the only one who has them in this relationship. And I do have them. I expect you to fight for what's best for you and your company. I expect you to have the strength and the courage to fight. I expect you never to take the easy way just because the other ways are tough. And I expect you to get the hell off that fence and take sides."

"Against you?"

If he hesitated, it was almost imperceptible. "In this case, yes. The ghosts are still there, Amanda.

You're afraid to risk anything. You won't risk your emotions with me; you won't risk my emotions in fighting me. You sit on your safe little fence and insulate yourself."

"I can't be your competitor and your lover!"

He took a half step closer but didn't touch her. He seemed a little pale to her, and his eyes were glittering in a way she'd never seen before. When he spoke, his voice was very soft. And cut like a knife.

"You aren't my lover, Amanda. Lovers risk. They make themselves vulnerable to each other. Remember what you said? What you so carefully explained? You didn't make yourself vulnerable to me. All I wanted was sex, you said, and that was fine with you. You could accept that... and expect nothing from me. We aren't lovers. We just sleep together."

Amanda wanted to lash out at him, to protest that he hadn't risked. But he had. Not his heart, but something. He'd asked her to live with him, had offered a commitment of a kind. And she hadn't been able to accept it.

She wondered, for the first time, and with a jolt, what her love was worth if it had to be hoarded, had to be wrapped in careful layers to protect it from harm. What would happen to it there, locked away in that dark, airless place? What would her love be if she was ever able to offer it to him?

Would it be worth having then? Or would it be something withered and dead?

It hurt to think that. It hurt dreadfully. The pain of shattered illusions and girlhood dreams had not been nearly
so
bad as this. Ryder's fence analogy had been apt, she realized bitterly. She'd avoided taking sides her entire adult life, sitting safely on a fence, wrapped in her detachment.

And when she had landed in love despite that, she had instantly sealed the feelings deep inside her, where he couldn't see them and she wouldn't have to deal with them. She had offered her desire because his was so intense, and she would therefore risk nothing.

She looked at him, and blinked because he seemed hazy. The mist cleared slowly. She felt curiously numb, thinking idly that his gray eyes were so intense they were almost silver, oddly fierce.

Tonelessly she said, "I can have the paperwork here by tomorrow afternoon."

"All right."
He sounded a little hoarse, and cleared his throat quickly. "I'll tell Cyrus that we'll both submit sealed bids to him as soon as your paperwork's here."

She nodded.

Ryder seemed to hesitate for an instant, then turned and left the room.

Amanda walked slowly to the counter in the foyer and stood for a long minute staring at the phone. She was still fence-sitting, she realized. Risking nothing of
herself
. In fighting Ryder this way, she wasn't likely to lose. Not the business deal, at least.

She reached for the phone.

With the workmen back on the job, it was easy to stay busy for the remainder of the day. Amanda saw Ryder and Cyrus Fortune at meals, but otherwise occupied herself in other parts of the house.

But no matter how busy she made herself, she couldn't stop trying to sort through the tangle of emotions. She loved Ryder, yet she hadn't dared risk telling him, showing him. The desire between them was overwhelmingly intense, yet she hadn't dared assume that he felt something deeper than passion.

Once she had looked at a man with unshadowed trust, with blind certainty, and said, "I love you." It had felt so natural then, so simple. A fact, stated with assurance.
An emotion confident of a matching response.

Because she had believed in princes then.
And happy endings.

It would never be that easy again.

I expect you to never take the easy way just because the other ways are tough.

Dear Lord, was she such a coward? So wary of pain she wasn't willing to risk anything for love?

The questions went around and around in her head until she felt sick with the struggle to come to terms with them. She ate almost nothing at supper, conscious of Ryder's gaze on her but unwilling to meet it. As soon as she could decently slip away, she did, retreating to the solitude of her room.

She took a long shower and washed and dried her hair. She put on her prettiest nightgown, realizing suddenly that Ryder had never seen her in sleep-wear. In the nights they'd spent together, she'd slept naked in his arms.

She prowled restlessly around her room, picking up a book and then putting it down, filing her nails. Nemo asked to be let in, but clearly sensed her tension and didn't remain long before asking to be let out again.