Time After Time (22 page)

"Are you through?" he asked, his voice carefully polite.

"Yes."

"Then leave the dishes. I'll do them later. We need to talk."

She followed him to the couch and sat down at the opposite end. He stared at the empty fireplace for a moment, then turned to her. "That outpouring of bitterness—that wasn't about your fall and my understandable anger. That was about another man. I don't like that."

She drew in a slow breath. "You don't like it. Is that supposed to make a big difference to me?"

"I'll rephrase my statement," he said, his lips twisting in a wry smile. "Another man presents a complication we don't need. We have enough problems without that. We agreed this is something we have to do. I think the question of whether or not you're involved with someone is relevant to our situation." He paused. "Is it Yarrow?"

She blinked in surprise. How did he know she was seeing David? Feeling his gaze on her, she shook her head. "You're wrong. I know I overreacted out there, but it wasn't about another man. It was about me."

He waited, expecting more. And Leah knew he wouldn't let up until he got it.

"It's a boring story," she said irritably. "You don't really want to hear it."

"Why don't you let me decide that for myself?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She shot him an exasperated look. "I had a bad affair in college; I was infatuated with a dictatorial phony. It taught me some things about myself that I needed to learn, but it left a few scars. Up there on that ledge, I was upset. I reacted to a memory, not to you. I'm not upset now, so it really doesn't affect 'our situation.'"

He studied her features. "What did it teach you about yourself?"

"That I'm not the kind of woman who can handle love or commitment... or even an emotional involvement, for that matter."

She could almost see the gears turning in his head. She was a puzzle that he would solve, even if he had to dissect her brain to do it.

"You haven't been involved with anyone since college?"

"Once was enough," she said, then smiled wryly. "You don't have to make it sound as if I'm a freak. I simply chose the kind of life I wanted."

"No involvement." The words were speculative. "And yet you're a healthy woman with all the right responses—I would even say more responsive than most. Which means sexual relationships without emotional entanglements. Somehow, I would have said you wouldn't enjoy that type of thing." He frowned. "I suppose I miscalculated."

She almost laughed. He sounded annoyed, as though a formula had gone awry.

After a moment he glanced at her sharply. "Or did I?"

She shifted her position, smoothing the fabric of her slacks with one hand. "I can't see that it's any of your business."

There was another heavy pause. "It must be... what, four or five years at least since your college affair?"

"Eight."

He whistled under his breath. "It must have been more than an infatuation to have that kind of effect on you."

She turned, meeting his eyes. "Is this necessary? I've already explained that none of this has anything to do with Grady. Did you really think I've been pining away for lost love? I told you, I don't pine. This is about
me.
When I was involved with Grady, hidden

pieces of my character began to surface, pieces I didn't like. Because I thought I loved him—no, that's wrong. Because I wanted him to love me, I let him walk all over me. I started changing to suit Grady's idea of what I should be."

She leaned her head back, her lips twisting in self-contempt. "Would you believe I even dyed my hair red? Padded bras, tight skirts—whatever Grady wanted. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst is, I stopped laughing. I acted like a dim-witted dullard. Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I should simply look for a man who likes me the way I am, but that's not the point. The point is, by not standing up for myself, I gave Grady permission to use me as a doormat. I can't even say that I realized what was happening and broke off with him because of it. I didn't even think of leaving him until I found out he was sleeping around."

She frowned, brushing the hair from her forehead. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he had been ashamed of himself, or sorry that he had hurt me. That really frightens me. Because I'm afraid if he had, I would have stayed with him."

She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them. "Now do you see why my policy of noninvolvement is only about me? When you find out you can't handle alcohol, if you're smart, you stay away from it. I decided to be smart."

"It makes sense," he murmured, then glanced up. "Not your conclusions. They're stupid. But your past shows in the person you are now. It all fits together."

She raised one slender brow in inquiry. "My conclusions are stupid?"

"Stupid," he confirmed flatly. "You were a different person then—not as strong. You didn't have the solid sense of your own identity that you have now."

"Can you guarantee that it wouldn't happen again?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "Of course you can't. Logic doesn't have anything to do with emotions. The thing I always come back to is this—my affair with Grady was an overblown teenage crush. And look what happened. I won't take a chance on something that goes deeper." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I have to have something on which to base a physical relationship. You were right about that. There should be something—friendship, respect... even a strong physical attraction would do. But there has to be more than just desire to mate with any available male."

"And in eight years you haven't found a single man who you were strongly attracted to?" he asked in disbelief.

Just one, she thought, glancing away from him. "Can I help it if I'm particular?" she hedged.

He was silent for a while. "As your boss," he said slowly, "I think I've earned your respect."

His voice was completely casual, but for some reason she had to swallow a nervous lump in her throat. "I can't think of anyone I respect more."

He moved closer. "And up there at the water hole, that felt like friendship."

"A lot," she whispered hoarsely. "It felt a lot like friendship."

His body was next to hers now, almost but not quite touching. When he reached out to tilt her head upward, her eyelids drooped as a strange weakness overtook her.

"That leaves only one thing," he whispered, his voice deep and husky. "Are you at all attracted to me?"

She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "As a matter of fact, I am."

His thumb stroked her cheek. "Then may I make love to you, Leah?"

A rough sound came from her throat, and she closed the two-inch gap between them, finding his lips by blind instinct. Instantly he slid his arm under her knees and stood up to carry her to his bedroom.

All the rules for a first sexual encounter were thrown out the window the minute they fell on the bed together. Their clothes were tossed aside as quickly as they could manage to shed them.

Some other time they could have gentle, romantic passion. But not tonight. They had waited too long for each other to wait one more minute.

There was no hesitation or awkwardness between them. Leah touched the warm flesh of his body and felt that it belonged to her, had always belonged to her. She opened beneath him freely and naturally, as though this fiery loving had always been a familiar and beloved part of her life.

The instant Paul was inside her, she felt—beyond the intense pleasure—a curious lightness, as though a weight had been removed. Their loving was as basic as

the country seen through the glass wall beyond the bed. There were no sophisticated, practiced moves between them. It was hunger meeting hunger. Need responding to need.

Then, suddenly, the sunset was there in the room with them, cannons and all.

For a long time afterward Leah felt she had lost the use of her muscles. Paul's spectacular brand of loving had turned her into a jellyfish. A lazy, contented jellyfish. As she waited for the delicious lethargy to disappear, she listened to the sound of Paul's rough, shallow breathing.

"Leah?"

"Mmm?"

"I take it that was a yes."

She laughed, a breathless, satisfied sound. "Should I have said the words? Yes, Paul, you have my permission to make love to me. In fact, you may do it as often as you like."

His teeth nipped gently at her smooth shoulder. "I think I'd like that in writing." He slid his hand down her hip, then sat up.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Something I've been aching to do for months." His self-mocking laugh had a strange intensity to it. He turned her slightly, then leaned down and kissed the rose-colored, Persian-lamp-shaped birthmark.

It was crazy, she thought. A simple touch and she was on fire again. When he buried his face in her stomach, she groaned, reaching for him as the miracle began again.

Much later, while he slept beside her, Leah lay awake staring into the darkness, knowing without a doubt that she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

She hadn't expected this. She felt different, totally different. How could it have changed her to this extent? The depth of the feeling frightened her. She couldn't let this happen to her. After this week they would go back to what they had been before. Or they would have an affair. Could she accept either alternative?

She turned her head to look at him, and her muscles tightened in reaction. God, she loved him. She would crawl over hot coals to get to him. She would willingly, eagerly, do all the things she had sworn she would never do again.

And none of it would do her any good. Because none of it would buy his love.

Reaching out, she touched his face with an unsteady hand. At least she would have this week. For this week she wouldn't worry about the future. For this week she would let her love for him have its own way.

Chapter Ten

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth:

A Midsummer Night's Dream
—Act I, Scene 1

T
he stars are so crowded up there," Leah said softly, her head against his shoulder as she gazed upward. "There's almost no room for sky."

Paul shifted on the lounger, pulling her closer. "That's why they put the McDonald Observatory in this area. There's no glare from city lights, and the air is so clear you can see a hundred miles in any direction."

Leah tilted her head slightly upward. This was the only direction she wanted to look. It was Saturday

night—the last night. Tomorrow they would go back to Dallas.

Quickly, she pushed the thought away. Instead she thought back over the past week. Their time together hadn't been magic, or a fairy tale brought to life. It had been exciting, down-to-earth reality. Each moment had been packed full of life, especially the moments in each other's arms.

And each moment—day or night, laughing or loving—Paul had watched her with the same expectant intensity as he had when she had climbed the rock face.

"It must be a shock to come to the city and see our measly handful of stars."

He bent down and tucked the blanket around her feet. "I remember when all that was up there was the moon and the stars," he said thoughtfully. "Now there are black holes and quasars and pulsars and supernovas—"

"That's enough," she said, laughing. "No wonder it's so crowded up there. If it keeps going like this, Earth will have to move to the suburbs." She snuggled against him under the blanket. "I love your mountain, Paul. And your house, and even your rocks and dirt. I'm glad you brought me here.. .not only because the dreams will stop now, but because it's a wonderful place. A place I didn't even know existed."

He didn't say anything, but his arm tightened around her waist, and she knew he was pleased.

"What do you really think about those dreams?" she asked thoughtfully. "How could something like that have happened?"

Paul ran his hand over her arm, studying her features. Tonight she was a silver enchantment, sent to entice him. When he didn't answer, she turned to look at him, and he smiled simply because she was beautiful.

"I don't know. But I know there's nothing in them to be afraid of. The human brain is largely unexplored territory. All we have now is a lot of garbled information that has led to half-formed, usually worthless theories. Someday we may be able to fully understand what the mind is capable of, but not now. From what I've read, people who experience these simultaneous dreams have some kind of strong emotional connection." His lips twisted in a rueful smile. "Although you aren't tied to me emotionally, we run on the same wavelength; we think and feel alike. We have all along, without ever knowing it. Something in our makeup matches."

So, she thought dully, with a few words the passion that overwhelmed and the love that overflowed were reduced to a genetic foible.

Don't think about it, she told herself. Not tonight. Not while there was still a minute of their time left.

She lifted her head, her nostrils twitching suddenly. "What is that? Every time a breeze comes through I catch a whiff of the most gorgeous smell."