Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (15 page)

What a delight it was to watch Alex with old friends, to see the lines of worry and fatigue smoothed over, to hear him trade jokes with people he’d known much of his life.

Rikki came up in the conversation once or twice, but it had been such a natural part of the exchange that Larkin didn’t feel the slightest pang—well, maybe the tiniest of pangs; but nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Don’t you go believing this three-piece-suit routine of Alex’s,” Phil was saying as Judy brought another pot of coffee into the den. “He was as tough as they come, back in high school.” He turned to Alex, who was sprawled in front of the fireplace, trying to assemble the electric train set for Cameron. “How many times did you get kicked out for cutting class?”

Alex looked up, met Larkin’s eyes and smiled in a way that set her pulses leaping. “I stopped counting after the eleventh suspension. I wasn’t what you would call motivated back in those days.”

Larkin winked at Phil and Judy. “And here I thought you were a boy genius, head bent forever over your schoolwork.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I had trouble written all over me.”

“But you seem so levelheaded.” She glanced at Phil, whose red hair appeared to have a life of its own. “Now, if you told me Phil was a problem kid that I could believe.”

Judy’s boisterous laugh rang out. “Phil was a Goody Two Shoes,” she said, ruffling her husband’s wild mop of hair. “Alex and I used to work overtime thinking of ways to loosen Phil and Rikki up.”

It was probably the three glasses of wine she had had with dinner, coupled with being premenstrual, but when Judy started reminiscing about the time she and Alex nailed Rikki’s sneakers to the floor of the gymnasium, Larkin excused herself to phone home for messages. It wasn’t jealousy she was feeling, but a sorrow so deep that it almost robbed her of speech.

“Use the phone in my room,” Judy said. “The one in the den has a tendency to disconnect you.”

Their voices faded as Larkin climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. A brass lamp burned softly on the nightstand by the phone, and she sat on the edge of the bed and dialed her number. She was waiting for the machine to pick up so she could dial in her code when she noticed it.

There, right next to the clock radio, was a photo in a wooden frame. A young Phil and Judy beamed out at the camera, holding a hand-lettered Just Married sign in front of them. However, it was the couple next to them that drew Larkin’s eye and held it. Alex, beardless and painfully thin, stood with his arm around a beautiful redhead who looked up at him as if he held the secrets to the universe in the palm of his hand.

No one had to tell Larkin that the red-haired woman was Erika Lewin Jakobs. They looked so right together, so totally and perfectly in sync with each other that Larkin quickly put the picture down as if it were radioactive.

No one had to tell her that if Rikki were still alive, Larkin wouldn’t stand a chance.

W
hen Larkin didn’t come
down in a half hour, Alex said good-night to Phil and Judy and went upstairs. He found her, fully clothed, on the double bed in the darkened guest bedroom.

“Are you all right?” He felt his way to the edge of the bed and sat down.

“Just tired.” She kissed his hand as he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “It hit me all of a sudden.”

He reached to turn on the lamp, but she stopped him. “Are you sure our walk down memory lane isn’t what put you to sleep?”

She was quiet for a moment; then she said, “I saw a picture of Rikki in Phil and Judy’s bedroom. She was beautiful.”

His throat tightened. “Yes, she was.”

“You must miss het terribly.’’

“I did for a long time,” he said. “Now I miss what could have been more than what once was.” Family occasions like Cameron’s birthday usually served to underscore the basic human experiences that had been denied him. This time, however, having Larkin by his side made all the difference. That hard shell of loneliness didn’t stand a chance against her warmth and generosity.

He pulled his shoes off and lay down next to her on the narrow bed. Other nights, on other visits, he’d lain in this bed and wondered how it would have been if Rikki had lived, if it were their children asleep down the hail, bathed in the glow of a Mickey Mouse nightlight.

Tonight, however, was different. He wanted to talk about the past and put it behind him. He wanted to build something with Larkin, something fine and strong—something that would last a lifetime, however long or short that lifetime was.

“Sometimes it feels like another lifetime,” he said into the darkness, “as if it all happened to someone else.” The memories were still strong, but the sharp edges of pain mercifully had dulled.

“Seeing her photo made it so real for me,” Larkin said, her voice soft against his cheek. “You seemed so happy, so in love.”

“We were.” Iconoclastic children of the sixties who eschewed materialism and embraced solid middle-class values of marital fidelity. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Very.” Her voice cracked, and he felt tears against his skin.

“Don’t cry,” he said—stupid, inane words. Why shouldn’t she cry? All the promises made in the heat of the night didn’t matter a damn before the hand of fate.

He held Larkin close, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps she cried for more than Rikki, for more than the pain her death had caused him. Perhaps Larkin thought of Vladimir Karpov and felt his loss as keenly as Alex felt the loss of his wife.

They knew so much about each other, so many of the nuts-and-bolts facts of their lives. He had exposed more of his soul to Larkin than to anyone—even to Rikki. With Rikki he had needed to be strong, to protect her, to provide for her. Rikki had been a capable woman, but their marriage had been a traditional one. Larkin’s independence seemed as intrinsic to her as the beauty she carried so easily around her like a shield. She was strong enough to handle the fact that even well-known psychologists sometimes needed a shoulder to lean upon.

Not once had she given him any insight into what made her the woman she was. Conditioning and genetics both played a part; her independence, however, seemed too highly prized to be a circumstance of birth.

Alex’s relationship with Rikki had gone a long way toward shaping him into the man he was today.

He had the feeling Vladimir Karpov was somehow responsible for the woman Larkin Walker was. The well-known psychologist didn’t quite know what to make of that fact.

A
s usual
, Larkin kicked off her shoes the second she stepped inside.

“Pure bliss.” She flashed him a smile. “Just leave the suitcase in the hall, Alex. I’ll worry about it later.”

“I’ll put it in the bedroom, if you’ll start some coffee for us.”

“Why didn’t I think of that? The smell of Judy’s chocolate chip cookies has been driving me crazy since we left Virginia.”

How good it was to be back home. If there was anything Larkin had learned in the last month, it was that old relationships exerted a pull that went on much, much longer than she’d ever believed. She had only to think of her own reaction to Vladimir’s voice on the telephone Friday to know just how true that was.

She flipped the light switch in the kitchen and poured bottled water into the coffee maker. Friday night she and Alex had soothed each other with their bodies in an attempt to push back the memories that seemed to leap out at every turn. On Saturday they threw themselves into the frenzied activity surrounding Cameron’s birthday party by day and, once again, sought oblivion together by night.

Larkin loved being with Phil and Judy; however, she had been keenly aware of her status as an outsider. What existed between her and Alex seemed as tenuous as the wrappings on Cameron’s birthday presents.

In the intimate darkness of the plane ride back from Virginia, Alex had tried to bring the conversation around to weightier matters, but each time, Larkin deftly turned the subject back to her plans for Thanksgiving dinner and how much she hoped Phil and Judy could join them. How much easier it was to talk about dinner menus than what was really on her mind.

The temptation to give in and let love happen was powerful, but the need to protect herself, even more so. Endings hurt—both she and Alex had had firsthand experience of that. And now Vladimir was about to reenter her life and give her a refresher course on exactly how it felt to be second best.

T
he bedroom was dark
. Alex pushed the wall switch up with his elbow, then put the suitcase down on the stand near the armoire. His shoulders were tight from the accumulated tensions of both flying and driving, and he stretched his arms overhead, his knuckles grazing the smooth, pale surface of the ceiling.

The weekend with Phil and Judy had been a success, but once again Alex was aware that his relationship with Larkin was out of balance.

He’d seen her intelligence, felt her passion, and dried her tears. But there was still a part of her that stayed out of reach.

The past few days had brought certain facts home to him in a way he could no longer ignore. He wanted to be married; he wanted a home and family; he wanted to share who and what he was with the woman he loved. Larkin was willing to think as far ahead as Thanksgiving; he wanted to think about the rest of their lives.

I
nstead of releasing
the tension that had been growing between them all evening, the act of lovemaking increased it. The atmosphere in Larkin’s bedroom crackled with it despite hours of intense pleasure.

She leaned on one elbow and let her long hair float across his bare chest. “What was in those cookies Judy gave us? Is it something only Virginians know about, or can we Northerners get in on it?”

He said nothing, simply pulled her down until her breasts were flattened against his chest and her lips rested on his.

“This is all very flattering, Alex,” she murmured with a laugh, “but I wouldn’t be at all offended if we called a time-out.”

His hands spanned her waist, and he moved against her. “Still think I should call a time-out?” His breath was hot against the side of her throat.

“You’re amazing. And here I thought that men reached their sexual peak at nineteen.”

“A vicious rumor,” he said, moving in a way that stole her breath, “spread by overanxious young boys.”

“Apparently there’s still life at thirty-six.”

He entered her and she gasped. “Apparently there is.”

Once again they made love, and once again the level of tension between them increased. Afterward they lay side by side in her bed, and she watched as a series of emotions flickered across his face. She saw in his eyes the same confusion she had been feeling all weekend.

“Alex? Is something wrong?” It was a dangerous question but one she had to ask.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Their faces were inches apart. His eyes met hers, and there was no place to hide.

She took a deep breath. “We’re a little off balance tonight, aren’t we?”

“We’ve been off balance all weekend.”

She couldn’t deny it. “I shouldn’t have let the picture of Rikki throw me like that. I’m sorry. It’s just being with your friends, seeing how large a part of your life Rikki was, well, I—”

“It’s more than that.”

“It is?” What on earth was he getting at?

“Anyone would feel the way you felt seeing Rikki’s photo. I want to know why I feel the same way about Vladimir Karpov.”

She wanted to get up and leave the bed, but his gaze held her captive. “I don’t know why you’re feeling that way, Alex. There’s no reason to.”

“Are you sure?”

She laughed. “Of course I’m sure. Vladimir and I were lovers a few years ago, but that’s long over.”

“But you’ve remained friends.”

“Is that so unusual?”

He paused a moment. “I have a feeling that in this case it is.”

“Perhaps you should leave your Ph.D. at the bedroom door next time.” She couldn’t disguise the edge in her voice. He was coming too close to a painful subject. “This is hardly the time for impromptu analysis.”

“I don’t want to analyze you,” he said. “I want to love you.”

A tremor began deep inside. “You’ve done that quite well already—several times, actually.”

“That was making love, Larkin.”

“I don’t understand the distinction.”

“I think you do.” His hand cupped her chin and raised her face so that she was forced to look at him. “What’s happening between us is a hell of a lot more than just physical attraction.”

“I don’t think this is the time for a philosophical discussion, Alex.” One hand slid low on his body. “I’m sure we could find a better time for that.”

He grasped her wrist. “When?”

“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated. “Tomorrow afternoon at three twenty-three. What kind of question is that?”

“A logical one,” he shot back. “In case you haven’t noticed, we seem to have a problem getting together during the week.”

“We managed the other day to get together.”

She could see that he remembered the incredible interlude in her office.

“Sex is important, Larkin, but I’m ready to take the next step.”

“We haven’t known each other that long, Alex. We have plenty of time ahead of us.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

She thought of Rikki. “No, I can’t.”

He traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of one finger. “Are you ready to hear what I want to say to you?”

I’m not,
she thought.
I’m not ready to let myself believe.
She was unable, however, to say the words aloud.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what made you the woman you are.”

“Isn’t it enough that we’re here together?” How difficult he was making this. “You want to talk about your past, but I simply don’t have the need to talk about mine.” She wasn’t proud of the woman she had been with Vladimir and was not about to share that humiliation with Alex, no matter how much she was growing to love him.

He pulled her to him in an embrace so intense that it drove logic and fear from her brain.

“I’ll give you more time,” he said fiercely. His heart pounded against her breast as he moved his hand against her in a movement so voluptuous that she cried out. “But I want more than this.” He slid inside her and she caught and held him fast. “I want everything you have, Larkin, and I’ll give you up before I settle for anything less.”

A
s Alex drove home
that night, still warm from her bed, he struggled with the realization that Karpov was the key to the reluctant lover he had held in his arms.

Two weeks from now, Karpov would be back in her life, and she would have the opportunity to compare both men. What Alex wanted more than anything was to spirit her away in his Cessna to some far-off island where he could drive every last memory of the dancer from her mind, where he could take possession of her heart the way he took possession of her body each time they were together.

Alex knew he would never give her up. There was no power in heaven or hell that could make him willingly turn away from the miracle he’d found with Larkin Walker.

He’d promised to give her time, time to sort out her feelings, time to take a step closer to him. Time, however, could also work against him, and his thoughts so occupied his mind that he didn’t notice the figure crouched at the foot of his driveway or the pungent smell of burning wood until he saw the flames—red and yellow—flickering over the roof of his house.

“
Y
ou’re a lucky man
, Doctor Jakobs.” The detective popped the cap back on his pen and looked at Alex. “A busted roof and some smoke damage in the den. You could’ve lost everything.”

Alex, covered with soot and ash, looked at the man as if he were crazy. “Lucky men don’t have cranks setting fire to their homes, Detective Venitelli.”

Venitelli stuffed his notebook and pen into the pocket of his overcoat. “There’s no sign of arson, no forced entry.”

“What about the dead birds last week?”

“Birds die, Doc. Nothing so unusual about that.”

“Birds don’t die on your front door with chains around their necks.”

Venitelli grinned and looked as if he were about to crack a joke, but Alex’s expression obviously stopped him cold. “I made a note about that. We’ll check into it, but don’t expect nothing from it.”

“I expect an investigation.”

Venitelli arched a brow. “You got any ideas who’s behind this? In your line of work you probably meet a lot of wackos who aren’t too happy paying your fancy prices.”

The man was a fool. “I told you about the episode during last week’s program.”

Venitelli nodded. “Yeah, yeah. The guy with your license number. Not too much to go on.”

“Sorry,” Alex snapped, “my sleuthing skills are a little rusty.” He toyed with idea of mentioning Gordon Franklin; but Venitelli had the sensitivity of an armadillo. Unless Alex caught Gordon planting a pipe bomb under his car, Alex’s vague suspicions wouldn’t count a damn with the detective.

He thought of Larkin in her house by the water, and he had to fight down the urge to call her to reassure himself of her safety:

Absurd. His house was the one set on fire. He was the one receiving strange phone calls and even stranger messages on his doorstep. A practicing therapist with a TV show had every reason to expect the occasional crackpot to cross his path. There was no logical reason for him to tie Larkin in with this in any way, shape or form. And yet the look on Gordon Franklin’s face in the reception room of the Learning Center a few weeks ago still lingered with Alex.

L
arkin covered
the mouthpiece of the telephone and, whispered thanks as Patti deposited a sheaf of advertising material on her desk. “Yes, I’m still here, Mom. Patti just

brought in some papers.”

“Say hi to Jayne for me,” Patti called out, loud enough for Jayne to hear her without benefit of AT&T.

Larkin handed the phone to Patti. “Say hi yourself.” Her mother was crazy about the flamboyant Patti Franklin. Last Thanksgiving Jayne and Patti had entertained everyone with a version of “One” from
A Chorus Line
that Roger still talked about.

Patti laughed her usual boisterous laugh and handed the phone back to Larkin a few minutes later. “We’re going to do a scene from
Grease
this year!’

“I hope that’s not a comment on my cooking.”

Still laughing, Patti left the room.

“Do I have to dust off my poodle skirt?” Larkin asked her mother.

“You just worry about the turkey,” Jayne said. “Patricia and I will provide the entertainment.” Jayne paused for effect. “Do you think your Alex is ready for us?”

“Is that your way of asking if he’s invited?”

“I’m trying to be subtle, honey. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“He claims to be a whiz in the kitchen, and he said he’d provide the chestnut dressing and the pies.”

“If he’s anything like your father and brothers, he’ll ask for a little help from Pepperidge Farm and Sara Lee.”

“He’s nothing like any of them. He does dishes. In fact, he’s cooking dinner for me tonight at his house.”

“Hold onto him. Men like that are hard to find.”

Larkin couldn’t resist. “Maybe you should mention this to Dad. I don’t think he’s too old to learn the mysteries of lemon-scented Joy.”

“We’re getting off track,” Jayne said, letting Larkin’s remark pass. “You never did tell me if you had a good time with Alex’s friends or not.”

“They’re wonderful, people,” Larkin said. “Judy has relatives in Brooklyn, and I told her to drop by on Thanksgiving if they have a chance.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m your mother,” Jayne said. “I notice everything.”

“I saw a picture of Rikki on the nightstand in Judy’s room. It didn’t do much for my mood.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

Because you’re my mother,
Larkin thought.
Because you always know when something troubles me.
“I think your ESP is working overtime,” she said easily. “Cam’s birthday party was a smashing success.”

“You’ve heard from Vladimir Karpov, haven’t you?”

“I think you should leave your brain to science, Mom. This is getting too spooky for me.”

“I wish you didn’t have to see him again. Patricia is perfectly capable of handling the workshop series on her own.”

“The Center is my responsibility, Mom, not Patti’s.”