Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (3 page)

She glanced down, laughed, and then tugged her skirt more demurely around her knees. “I’ve been counting the hours until I could take my shoes off. Those heels were agony.”

He met her eyes again, the memory of that long curve of leg still vivid in his mind. “How did you manage toe shoes?”

“It was torture,” she said “People only see the fantasy when they go to the ballet. If they saw the sweat-stained costumes and the shoes caked with blood,
Swan Lake
would never look the same again.”

“How long were you in ballet?”

“If you start counting from my first lesson, eighteen years. Professionally, more like ten.”

He tried to imagine her as a serious child with enormous green eyes and a waist-length cloud of amber hair, but the vision was effectively countered by the very adult woman who sat opposite him.

“Why did you leave?” He had noticed that she favored her right leg.

She twirled her plastic straw around in the glass. “Many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I wasn’t very good.”

Her blunt statement surprised him. “Bad dancers don’t work for the Empire.”

“Oh, I held my own, I grant you that. I was every bit as good as any other dancer in the corps.” Her smile was bittersweet and slightly self-mocking. “And that was the trouble. I was given the soul of a prima ballerina and the talent of an ensemble dancer. One of life’s little ironies.”

“So you quit the company, just like that?”

Larkin snapped her slender fingers. “Just like that. One day I realized I’d never be anything special and I quit that afternoon.”

“Are you usually that impulsive?”

“It sounds more impulsive than it actually was. I’d always known I didn’t want to be one of those pathetic old dancers of thirty-five who cling to the company because they don’t know anything else. I decided to get out before that could happen to me.”

“Interesting.” More than interesting. He tucked the information away for future reference. “Then what did you do?”

She drained her glass “I feel like I’m being interviewed again.”

Alex withdrew his notebook and pen. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Would you mind?”

“Yes, I would. I’m too tired to censor myself, and I’d hate to see anything untoward in print.”

He put the notebook back in his breast pocket. “Everything’s off the record.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Alex.” It was the first time she’d said his name, and he liked the way it sounded. She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. “Old dancers find it tough to kick the habit cold turkey, so I joined the Rockettes for a while.”

She told him about her mother, who had performed with the famed precision dancers at one time.

“And why did you leave them?”

Silence for a long moment. “I hurt my knee. I had surgery and could have gone back, but I’d had my fill of pain and decided to hang up my tap shoes permanently.”

“Regrets?”

“Not a one.” She smiled at him. “Once I decided I didn’t have to live with pain, the rest came easy.”

Alex looked at her sharply. Psychologists worked as much on intuition as intellect, and his intuition told him that Larkin Walker was neither as uncomplicated nor quite as happy as she had seemed at first glance.

“It takes most people years to realize they don’t have to live with pain,” he said, smiling back at her. “My profession is predicated on that truth.”

“Most people aren’t dancers.” She pushed the heavy waves of amber hair from her narrow face. “We understand pain intimately.” Her eyes lingered on his a bit longer than he had expected; the look in them told Alex that she recognized that he saw more than she cared to reveal.

The waiter brought Larkin a fresh glass of club soda with a twist of lime and another vodka for Alex.

“And so, Dr. Jakobs,” she said, leaning back in her seat and fastening those wonderful eyes on him, “we turn the spotlight on you. It would seem you are a man of many talents: doctor, writer—” she grinned “—football player.”

“Scratch the last one. At my age, players are being retired, not drafted.”

Larkin narrowed her eyes as she appraised him. “You have a little silver at the temples and a few laugh lines here and there, but all in all, you don’t seem in any danger of running out of steam yet.” He frowned at her and she laughed. “What are you—thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six. And the least you could do is say I’m well-preserved.”

“You’re very well preserved, Doctor. I’d like your secret.”

He was about to invent a regimen of yogurt and vitamins when a small, round red-haired woman rushed up to the table. She glanced at Alex once, briefly, then turned back and appraised him in a manner that was so blatantly sexual that he had to laugh.

“This is Patti Franklin,” Larkin said, with a what-can-I-do look on her face. “She’s my assistant at the Learning Center. Patti, if you can quit staring, this is Dr. Alex Jakobs.”

“I know you,” Patti said, giving him her best smile. “You’re on cable, aren’t you?”

Alex shook her hand and nodded. “Guilty,” he said, looking over at Larkin. “Every Thursday night.”

“I never miss you,” Patti continued. “I really like the segments on sexuality.”

Larkin laughed into her drink and Alex’s face reddened. “What can I tell you?” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Sex sells, and we need the ratings.”

“Should Dr. Ruth be looking over her shoulder?” Larkin asked.

“You bet she should,” Patti answered. She was eyeing Alex so intently that he felt like a dancer at Chippendale’s. “I’ve taped all of your shows. In fact, that last one on how to help a man to—”

Larkin cleared her throat. “Patti, wasn’t there something you wanted to speak with me about?” Alex thanked her silently for the reprieve.

“Oh, yes, there was.” Patti cast one last look at Alex. “Mac Mulrooney wants all the speakers to sit in on an impromptu panel discussion.”

“Anything but that, Patti, please. I can’t take another panel.”

Patti’s flirtatious manner fell away from her like an extra sweater. “It’s great publicity. Besides, there’s a rumor that someone from
Time
is covering this workshop.”

“Can you promise me a cover story?” Larkin asked.

“Yes,” Patti, said, winking at Alex. “A cover story and a five-page spread inside.”

“Ah, Patti, you’re a terrible liar.”

Patti leaned against the edge of the booth and plucked the lime out of Larkin’s glass. Alex was beginning to see that, beneath the brashness, the young woman was businesslike and held her employer in great esteem. “Will you do it?”

Larkin looked at Alex and gave a gesture of defeat. “You win. When do they need me?”

“Five minutes ago.” Now that her mission was accomplished, Patti was her outrageous self again and gave Alex a sizzling look. “I had a hell of a time tracking down you and Dr. Wonderful.”

Larkin looked as though she wanted to slide right under the table, but Alex burst out laughing.

“If you ever need a job doing PR work, Patti, let me know. I could use someone like you on my side.”

Patti gave him a cocky grin and sidled over to his side of the booth.

“Now, wait a minute!” Larkin’s voice rippled with laughter. “Don’t you go stealing my ace employee out from under me, Dr. Jakobs. That’s no way to start off a friendship.”

Before he could think of something suitably witty to say, Patti jumped in. “Sorry, Doctor, but I’m with Larkin for as long as she wants me.” Her round face grew serious. “Do you know that when I was down and out, Larkin offered me this job and—”

“No hearts and flowers, Franklin,” Larkin interrupted. “I thought we were in a rush.”

“We are. It’s just that both Gordon and 1—”

Alex frowned. “Gordon?”

“My brother,” Patti said. ``Gordon’s had a tough time of it, too, and Larkin gave him a job. She’s the most—.”

Larkin clamped her hands over her ears. “I can’t take any more of this, Patti.” She looked at Alex and rolled her eyes. “She makes me sound like Mother Teresa.”

Alex could tell that Patti had only been warming up to her subject, but she acceded to Larkin’s wishes.

She tapped her bright magenta nails on the tabletop. “They’re setting up in the Suffolk Room. If you don’t want one of the end seats, you should get moving.”

Don’t go,
Alex thought.
We’re only getting started.
Larkin hesitated a moment. “You go ahead, Patti. Tell them I’ll be right there.”

Patti looked at Alex. A small smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I’ll tell them.”

Alex wondered if he were really that transparent.

“Five minutes, Larkin.” She hurried off through the bar, her hip-swinging walk attracting attention from a group of salesmen at a corner table.

“Patti takes a little getting used to,” Larkin said as she gathered up her pocketbook and smoothed her hair with the back of her hand. “Believe it or not, she’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“I believe it. She seems to think pretty highly of you, too.”

Larkin shrugged. “A lot of that has to do with giving her brother a job. I was just glad I could help.” She slid gracefully out of the booth and stood up, straightening the skirt of her red dress.

Alex threw some money down on the table. Larkin’s heels made her taller than average, but even so, she came only up to his shoulder. He wondered how she would feel in his arms.

“I don’t think this will take too long. We could always finish our conversation after, if you’d like.”

“Name the--” His high spirits fizzled. “Damn it. It’s Thursday. I have a taping tonight.”

She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment, and he was touched by that. Somehow she seemed to have gotten through thirty years of living without acquiring that hard shell most people used to shield their emotions.

“You could come to the studio,” he said.

“The studio?”

“We could go out to dinner after the taping.”
Slow down, Jakobs. You sound like you’re sixteen years old.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have other plans.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think you do. My brother keeps setting up these ridiculous blind dates for me. If I could get in touch with this man, I would—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Alex’s voice sounded gruff even to his own ears. The softness of her touch was doing strange things to his emotions, making him feel things he’d thought himself well past. A vision of her in the arms of another man switched on inside his head, and despite his cool words, a hot coil of anger stirred inside him. “Maybe another time.”

“Tomorrow?” His face must have registered his surprise, because Larkin quickly backtracked. “I’m only teasing,” she said “We could exchange phone numbers and work something out next week.”

“I’m flying down to Virginia tomorrow to spend the weekend with some old friends, or that would have been terrific.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Alex,” she said, gently turning his own words back on him. “You’re allowed to have other plans.” Her smile, though, wasn’t quite as bright as it had been before. “I’II give you my number.”

He handed her his notebook and pen and she scribbled something in the upper margin of the first page.

“I have an answering machine,” she said as she handed the notebook back to him. “You’re not one of those fanatics who hates tape recorders?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, pulling out one of his business cards and handing it to her, “I promise I’ll leave a message.”

“I’ll be counting on that.” Larkin kissed his cheek. The lush, female scent of Bal a Versailles called up some vividly erotic images.

Before Alex could say anything more, Larkin thanked him for the drink, then turned to leave the bar. As she walked by the salesmen at the corner table, they looked at her the way a weight watcher looks at a strawberry milk shake on a sizzling summer afternoon, and Alex’s gut twisted.

Jealous, Jakobs?
Jealousy was a primitive feeling shunned by sentient adults in the twentieth century. Didn’t he tell his patients that?

However, at that moment Larkin stopped at the landing of the staircase. The recessed overhead lighting picked up the platinum streaks in her sandy hair, which wreathed her face in a way that made her seem almost ethereally beautiful. When she caught sight of Alex, still standing where she left him, she smiled.

Primitive feelings of possession overpowered him. He had to fight down the wild urge to sweep her into his arms right in front of everyone in the bar. But just enough of the rational, civilized Dr. Alex Jakobs remained, and he smiled back at her before she disappeared down the stairs, fully understanding that the course of his life was about to change and that there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it from happening.

H
er long hair
was tucked inside her trench coat, but silky strands still blew free, made curly by the incessant rain.

He knew the seminar ended at four and, when she didn’t come out by five, a knot of worry settled in his gut and he wandered into the hotel where he caught sight of her, laughing into the face of a bearded man with eyes the color of hot steel.

Anger grew in his belly, and he had to go outside and lift his face to the cold rain in order to remind himself that the man had done nothing wrong. Looking wasn’t a crime. He looked all the time, didn’t he?

He heard the engine catch and saw the headlights switch on in the late autumn darkness. He knew the way her car took the curves, knew the way she held her head at a precise angle as she drove, knew when she was listening to the car radio by the way her long, slender fingers tapped the rhythm on the steering wheel.

He knew so much.

He knew nothing at all.

The Datsun’s taillights disappeared down the empty road. He waited a moment longer, then switched on his low beams and followed her home.

It was his job, after all, to keep her safe.

N
ever again
,
Larkin thought as her date maneuvered his rented Cadillac into the narrow space next to Larkin’s car in the driveway. No more blind dates.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t better company;” she said, reaching inside her pocketbook for her house keys. “It’s been a long day.”

“No problem.” Howard gave her another one of his wide smiles that Larkin was certain he practiced in front of his bathroom mirror each morning.

Time to say good-night.

Larkin opened the passenger door, then extended her hand to Howard. “Thank you for dinner,” she said, noticing the extra, pressure in his grip. “I hope you have a pleasant flight to Sioux Falls tomorrow.”

“You could send me home with some very pleasant memories.”

She extricated herself from his grip. “Afraid not.”

“If you invite me in for a drink I bet I could change your mind.”

Where was he getting these lines from? He should have been a speaker at the singles’ seminar earlier that day. “No drink, Howard. I’m sorry.”

“Just a quick bourbon and I’ll say good-night.”

Larkin moved to the edge of her seat and swung her legs out of the car. “We have strict laws on drunk driving in Suffolk County. I’m only thinking of your well-being.”

“I can’t convince you?”

“You can’t convince me.”

“Can I walk you to your door?”

“It’s only thirty feet up the driveway, Howard. I can manage.” She softened her words with a friendly pat on his hand. “Say hi to Billy when you see him.” Her brother Billy was her favorite and the one she saw the least.

Howard drove off down her block, and she waited in the drizzle as he made his left turn. He was a nice man despite his hard-sell initial approach. On another day she might have been able to get past the pretenses earlier and enjoy his company. But this was not another day. Poor Howard had the misfortune of coming into her life the same day as Alex Jakobs. Few men could stand up to that kind of competition.

She glanced over at Roger Lacey’s house. The drapes were drawn; it was impossible to tell if he was home from work yet. Roger, who played piano at a small bar on Fire Island, was the closest thing she had to a best friend; however, his irregular hours and busy social life made it difficult for them to get together as often as they would like.

How nice it would be to share a cup of coffee with him, to be able to spill her tangled emotions in Roger’s lap the way others spilled their emotions in hers.

She hurried up the walkway and let herself into the house. Her heels were off before the door closed behind her. She switched on the radio in the far corner of the room and whistled twice. From one of the deep, secret places known only to arrogant house cats, Amanda, her calico, glided across the peach-colored carpet. The cat purred and wound herself around Larkin’s ankles.

“You old fraud,” Larkin said fondly, stroking behind Amanda’s silky ears. “You’re crazy about me and you know it.”

Amanda meowed and led the way to the kitchen, where the goodies were stashed. Clearly Amanda’s stomach ruled her heart.

Larkin was obediently following her pet when she noticed the blinking red light on her answering machine.

“Hold on a minute longer, Mandy,” she said as the tape rewound. “I’ll be right there.”

Beep. “Hi, this is Patti. Just wanted to see if your date was as big a disaster as mine was and I have no excuse: I already knew him. See you tomorrow.”

Beep. No voice. Just the sound of breathing and the bleat of a horn in the distance.

She shivered. That was the third call like that this week.

Beep. “Aren’t you home yet, darling? This is Roger. No one, but no one, came out in the rain tonight. I’m home alone and bored to tears. Take pity on me and invite me over for tea when you get back—and don’t say it’s too late. I know you won’t invite him in. Ciao, darling!”

She reset the machine, trying to ignore the fact that a part of her had expected to hear Alex Jakobs’s beautiful baritone fill the air.

She was too keyed up to go to sleep, too filled with some unfamiliar emotion to be alone with her thoughts. Roger, with his acerbic wit and sharp mind, would be the perfect antidote for the bittersweet mood she found herself in.

She picked up the phone.

A
half-hour
later Larkin and Roger were seated opposite each other in her maple breakfast nook. He had no sooner come in the side door when Larkin told him about her successful, albeit impromptu, speech. Roger, her staunch supporter, had not been at all surprised.

Now they were arguing cheerfully about the virtues of Earl Grey versus Darjeeling tea. Amanda was curled up on the window seat sound asleep, her stomach full of Crave and English muffins. The rain had stopped, but a dense fog was rolling in from the bay. Occasionally, the sound of a foghorn, mournful and muted, broke the night’s stillness.

Roger lit a cigarette and looked out the kitchen window. “All we need out there is a witch on a broomstick.”

“Don’t forget the goblins.” Larkin poured more tea from the bright red ceramic pot. “It’s really starting to look like Halloween.”

“Speaking of which, my annual All Hallows’ Eve pagan festival is definitely on. When the powers that be conspire to make the thirty-first a Friday night, who am I to deny them a party?”

“So that’s the excuse you’re using this time, is it?” Roger had been known to give parties for Income Tax Day, Groundhog Day and International Pickle Week, among others, while Larkin claimed exclusive rights to Thanksgiving.

“Be serious, darling. This is your official invitation, and I refuse to take no for an answer.”

“I would never say no to one of your parties, Roger. Costumes, again?”

“Naturally. But there is one caveat, darling—no more tutus.”

“I have
never
worn a tutu to any of your parties, Roger.”

“What do you call that
Swan Lake
reject you pulled out of your attic last year?”

“That was from
Vienna Waltzes,
I’ll have you know.”
Vienna Waltzes
had been the most elaborately staged of the ballets she’d danced in; the silk gown with ostrich feathers and the bejeweled wig were reminiscent of the Court of Louis XIV, not a lake filled with swans. “Your Secaucus, New Jersey, origins are showing.”

“And your Las Vegas origins aren’t? Why, darling, I’ve seen you salivate at the sight of neon signs.” Larkin had been born within view of the glittering gaudy Las Vegas Strip, and Roger never missed a chance to needle her about it.

“You should only see what I do when I hear a slot machine,” she said, ruffling his short-cropped blond hair.

“Spare me the sordid details.”

“It’s a wicked world out there, Roger Lacey. I’d hate to offend your sensibilities.”

“The only way you can offend my sensibilities is by showing up in your tutu on Halloween.”

“I don’t understand this hang-up you have over a few yards of pink tulle.” She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a new jar of orange marmalade. “Unless, of course, you’d like to borrow it.”

“You’re a heartless woman. You don’t deserve gifts.”

She removed the English muffin from the toaster oven and slathered butter on it. “That works out just fine, doesn’t it, because you certainly aren’t about to give me any.” She put half the muffin on Roger’s plate.

“Well, someone did.” Roger opened the marmalade and covered the muffin with it. “Could Howard-from-Sioux-Falls have been so inclined?”

“What are you talking about, Roger?”

He got up and went into the hall. Larkin heard him rummaging around in the pocket of his leather jacket.

Roger strolled back into the kitchen and tossed a package in her lap. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Larkin stared at the silvery blue wrapping paper and the sparkling ribbon that decorated the tiny box. “Where did this come from?”

“Federal Express,” Roger said, sitting down at the table. “Around four o’clock—just before I left for the club.”

“No card?”

“Not unless there’s one tucked inside.”

She sat there, holding the box, her mind filled with confusion.

“Well, come on, girl. Open the damned thing! I’ve been going crazy for eight hours now.”

Obediently, Larkin slid off the ribbon, pulled off the paper and lifted the lid on the box. A tiny pair of gold ballet shoes attached to a curling gold ribbon lay nestled on a bed of cotton wad ding. A fine gold chain was threaded through an opening between the shoes and the ribbon.

Roger whistled softly. “Who have you been entertaining, darling? It seems you’ve been keeping the juicier details to yourself.”

Larkin lifted the necklace up by the chain and let it dangle. The fine gold glittered in the lamplight.

“I think I’ve been keeping the juicy details from myself as well.” She lifted the cotton; no card was hidden underneath. “I have no idea who could possibly have sent this.”

“Come, come, .Larkin. No casual conquest begging to return to your arms for another night of passion?”

She gave him a look that would have stopped a wiser man. “I don’t know what on earth you’re reading these days,

Roger, but there haven’t been any casual conquests.” Indeed, there had
never
been any casual conquests for Larkin—just that one ill-fated romance with Vladimir Karpov that had left her bruised and battered and slow to risk her heart again. “I’m as much in the dark about this as you are.”

“I love mysteries.” Roger settled back in the maple captain’s chair. “Shall we make a list of suspects?”

She laughed. “We’re not solving a murder. It’s probably one of my brothers or Patti or—”

“Didn’t you say you met someone today? A shrink?”

“I don’t think the good doctor raced from the Sheraton to the jewelry store, Roger. It
was
just a professional conversation we had.” There was no need for her friend to know how unprofessionally she had responded.

“So why are you blushing?”

“A physiological quirk.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Roger, let up. I’m as much in the dark about this gift as you are.”

“You wouldn’t mind, though, if the shrink sent it, would you?”

She debated the wisdom of a cool, social lie, then decided that their friendship deserved better. “No,” she said softly, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“I’m glad to see Eros is finally coming back into your life. He’s long overdue, darling.”

“Put a leash on your imagination, Roger. I’m sure the truth isn’t half as exciting. Besides, I don’t think Alex is the kind of man who goes in for this sort of thing.”

“This is getting interesting,” Roger said. “What sort of man is he?”

“Intense, confident, logical—”

“You sound like you’re describing Mr. Spock. I thought we were talking about a possible romance.”

“Your words, Roger, not mine. I told you before, it was a business conversation.”

She remembered the way Alex had watched her during her speech—the feeling of power and energy that radiated from him had been almost palpable up on the stage. She could still see the way he leaned forward in his chair as if he could reach out and pluck her ideas out of the air. She had responded to his challenge, her mind sparking with new ideas before her lips had formed the old ones.

And when they had shared drinks in the Tree House, she had found herself mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, by the play of light and shadow on his handsome face, and secretly pleased that he seemed to take delight in her, as well.

Not Dr. Jakobs,
she thought.
When he declared himself to a woman, he wouldn’t use a Federal Express messenger as his Miles Standish.

Suddenly a wave of exhaustion, the product of a very long day, overcame her and she yawned.

“Is that your way of telling me I should go home?”

She laughed. “No. It’s my polite way of asking you if you would go home. We’ll save playing Sherlock Holmes for tomorrow, okay?”

Right now the only thing Larkin wanted to do was curl up by the fire in the den and ponder all the ways a man like Alex Jakobs could find to tell a woman he wanted her.

“
G
ood show
, Doc.”

Alex removed his lapel mike, then smiled wearily at his stage manager.

“Thanks, Sal. For a while there I thought you and the staff were going to have to make a few of the phone calls yourselves.”

During the call-in portion of the show, there had been a nerve-racking eight minutes when the phone console didn’t light up once.

“It was hairy for a few minutes,” Sal said, “but don’t sweat it. The system’s to blame, not your ratings.”

“I got a little worried when I saw the crew splitting around the halfway mark!’

“They all headed over to Larry’s house for one of his all-night poker parties. Feel like coming?”

Any other night Alex would have jumped at the chance. His cool logic usually fell apart before the lure of a stack of chips and a night of draw poker.

“I’m going to pass on it this time, Sal. I have an article deadline to meet.”

“Larry’s calling out for pastrami sandwiches. Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

“Sorry. Duty calls.”

Sal doused the stage lights. “We’re gonna miss you, Doc.”

Alex grinned. “I’m sure you will,” he said dryly. “You were probably all figuring on making some money off me tonight.” He got up from behind the prop desk and stretched his long arms overhead. “Count me in next time, okay?”

Sal hurried off to finish his duties so he could get to the game, and Alex headed for the office he shared with two other “stars.” The building was totally quiet except for the sounds of the cleaning crew down the hall. For a second, Alex was tempted to catch up with Sal and say he’d changed his mind about the poker game—anything to avoid the sudden sweep of loneliness that bore down on him.

He wanted to believe that it was the greyness of the day that brought this melancholy mood on; who wouldn’t be affected by the somber skies and windswept rains of the past few days?

“Who am I kidding?” he said out loud as he grabbed his trench coat off the hook just inside the door to his office. Larkin Walker of the Renaissance face and enormous green eyes was responsible for this mood. Any other explanation was a dodge, a flimsy excuse for the way he’d responded to her that afternoon.