Heaven's Price Part 4

Blair wondered about the ident.i.ty of the "friend" with the impeccable taste as Sean led her through the rest of the lower floor. The dining room with its four-faceted bay window had been furnished with a round table worthy of the room. The living room boasted an antique European marble fireplace. Blair could see now why Sean would notice and appreciate her prints. The high ceilinged walls of the living room were splashed with prints of varying shapes, sizes and styles, yet all blended with the colors and textures found in the furniture, which was a congenial mixture of old and new.

A tiny powder room had been squeezed in under the polished oak staircase. One wall of the landing was stained gla.s.s, and Blair could only imagine how breathtaking it would be with sunlight behind it.

Area rugs served to accent the aged patina of the parquet floors.

"Upstairs there are three bedrooms and three baths. We'll see them later. Right now I'm starving," he said, taking her arm and propelling her back toward the kitchen.

She was still mulling over what he'd said about seeing the bedrooms later, when they entered the bright kitchen and he said, "I hope you like chicken and wild rice."

"Yes. Can I help?"

"It's all done, but you can get the salad and dress it while I pour the wine."

"Okay."

She found a huge bowl of salad in the refrigerator and, selecting a vinegar and oil dressing out of the shelves in the door, poured a liberal amount onto the greens. She carried the bowl into the dining room where the table had already been set with informal china, linen napkins, and candles.

"Did you do all this yourself ? " she asked Sean when he brought in the ca.s.serole and set it on a silver trivet.

He shrugged. "Yeah. I don't go to this much effort every night, you understand. I usually eat a bologna sandwich and drink a bottle of beer on the porch, but this is a special occasion.

She was standing beside her chair nervously. "Special? " "I think so." He held her chair and she sat down, thankful that she had an excuse to let her knees collapse beneath her. Rather than moving to his chair immediately, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned down to place his mouth directly over her ear. "I could get accustomed to sharing meals with you." His mouth slid from her ear to the side of her neck, taking small love bites as it went. At the juncture with her collarbone, he kissed her, bathing the tender spot with his tongue. When he straightened at last, he slipped his finger beneath the shoulder of her tank-top and caressed her skin briefly before sitting down.

Blair, trying to restore some order to a world suddenly gone haywire, fumbled with her napkin as she placed it on her lap. "I feel like I'm underdressed," she said, tucking her bare feet under her chair.

"You're not. I'm only trying to impress you."

"I'm impressed. Where did you learn to entertain so graciously? " He heaped her plate high with the seasoned rice and a boned chicken breast. "I guess I absorbed it by osmosis. My parents entertain quite a bit. Whatever I learned, I learned from my mother."

"Where do your parents live?"

"In New Jersey."

She pa.s.sed him a basket of hot b.u.t.tered bread after tearing off a generous hunk for herself. "What business is your father in?"

"He's retired." He changed the subject quickly by asking about her own family and they finished the meal over idle, chatty conversation.

When Pam had first told her about him, she had envisioned a near illiterate who made his living doing handiwork with a saw and hammer.

Meeting him had altered that opinion considerably. Seeing the quality of the restoration on his house had elevated her a.s.sessment of his career, and through their dinner conversation, she learned that his interests were varied and many. He was intelligent, well-read, witty.

All the while she was enjoying his entertaining company, she searched for a llaw, something in him that repulsed her, some secret sin for which he could be despised. There was none. In every aspect, he was the most attractive man she had ever met. His very appeal shook the foundations on which her life was built. His smile made her want to flee, but at the same time she longed to bask in its golden warmth.

She declined his offer of dessert. "I'm not working out six hours a day," she said. "I'll have to start watching my calories.

She did accept a cup of coffee laced with Kahlua and topped with thick whipped cream. He suggested they drink it on the porch and she quickly agreed. No lights were turned on as they settled themselves against the deep cus.h.i.+ons of the furniture. A breeze off the ocean only a few blocks away filtered through the screened wall. Crickets chirped in the oak trees, and the fans overhead provided a steady humming lullaby.

Blair curled up in the corner of a small settee and tucked her feet beneath her. She sipped the foamy hot drink.

"You like?" he asked.

She smiled, licking whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. "I like."

He watched her in silence for a moment, then asked softly, "When did you start dancing?"

"When I was four."

"Four! " She laughed. "That was when my mother enrolled me in my first ballet cla.s.s. For my first recital, I was a pink and white cupcake."

"Yum-yum.

How he could fill such an innocent expression with such s.e.xual implication amazed her. It disturbed her that in the darkness of the room and the flickering shadows caused by the circling fans, she couldn't tell the direction of his eyes. She quickly picked up her story.

"I've danced ever since. It's more than a career. It's a way of life that no one except another dancer can understand. We all eat, sleep, and breathe dance. We go without lodging and food to pay for cla.s.ses.

When we're not working in a show, we wait tables, do anything, to support ourselves. But we never sacrifice our cla.s.ses. If someone's broke, he moves in with someone else until better times come along.

It's a campy way of life. I guess that's why we're called gypsies. We carry our livelihoods around in canvas bagswsmelly leotards, mended tights, worn-out shoes, leg warmers, ointments."

"But you've been successful. Pam's touted the many shows to your credit."

"I've been lucky, yes."

"Lucky, h.e.l.l. You're good."

She smiled at him. "I'm good, but always striving to be better."

"Didn't you ever want to pull out of the chorus and be the star?" he asked.

"If you could hear my singing voice you'd know that would be a pipe dream. I couldn't even fake it. After years of voice and acting lessons, I recognized the hopelessness of playing a lead. And strangely enough I wasn't really interested. Love of applause wasn't my driving force, but rather love of dance. I was content to be the first dancer behind Liza Minnelli saying, Gee, that's super," and other profound lines of dialogue like that."

"That should have won you a Tony," he laughed. But his eyes were serious, staring into the bottom of his cup at the dregs of the coffee he whirled round and round in a miniature whirlpool. Almost too casually he asked, "In all this moving in and out with people, was there ever anyone you lived with for an extended period of time?"

A year, would he consider that an extended period of time? A heartbreaking year, but one with rare moments of joy and sharing that made it worthwhile. She knew what he was asking. Had she ever lived with a man? Had there been a man in her life? "Yes." She answered him truthfully. "I lived with a man named Cole Slater for awhile.

That was several years ago."

"And?" he asked when she didn't expand on that.

"And since then I've lived alone."

"I see."

He didn't, but she wasn't going to enlighten him. "I'll help you with the dishes," she said briskly. She unfolded from her relaxed position and picked up the cup and saucer she'd set on a gla.s.s-topped wicker table.

"I'll let you," he said jovially, following her into the kitchen.

They decided it would be expedient if she rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher and let him put things away as only he would know where to put them. She was neatly folding a dish towel when he came up behind her and closed his arms around her waist, hugging her to him. The back of her neck knew the sweet nuzzling of his mustache and mouth.

"If our reputations are shot to h.e.l.l already, we've nothing to lose by really giving them something to talk about." He nibbled at her earlobe gently, his tongue batting against it playfully.

Softly, she gasped his name, "Sean . .."

"Heh?" His hands scooted up her ribs to coast over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He took her indistinguishable murmur as consent and held her b.r.e.a.s.t.s gently in his palms. "Oh, G.o.d, Blair, you feel better than I imagined.

So soft and full, so . .." His mouth opened over her neck for a kiss that involved all of his mouth. His inquisitive fingers stroked and the cotton knit of her top couldn't contain the firm contraction of her nipples. "Yes, yes," he whispered harshly.

Only then did she realize that she was grinding her hips against his middle and that he needed no further encouragement. His arousal was firmly apparent against the cus.h.i.+on of her hips. Shocked at her own abandon, she tried to pry herself away from him, but was stayed by a hand stroking downward to insinuate itself under her top. The snap on her jeans was no deterrent and was deftly opened. Then that boldest of hands was flattened over her navel, exploring its perimeter with audacious fingers, fingers that were brazen enough to move ever lower, to toy with the elastic top of her bikini panties. When one slipped beneath that demarcating line, alarm bells pealed loud and clear through the fog of pa.s.sion that swamped her and Blair broke free, whirling away from him. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled uncontrollably as she faced him like a frightened doe.

"No, Sean." Her hair rippled around her as she shook her head emphatically.

"Why?" His chest heaved in an effort to still his rapid breathing.

The pupils of his eyes were dilated, almost obscuring the blue irises.

"Why?" she repeated on a shuddering expulsion of air. "Because we only met today for one reason."

"What does that have to do with anything? I knew from the moment I saw you I wanted you. And admit it or not, you want me just as much."

"I don't," she shouted, hurriedly resnapping her jeans and pulling her tank-top down over the waistband. She was tempted to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with her hands to hide their pointed agitation from his avid eyes.

She willed them to relax. They refused. Her whole body, which had been trained to obey each command of her brain, had rebelled. It betrayed her with throbbing reminders of his touch, with aching pleas that it craved what he could provide.

Summoning what strength she could she said heatedly, "I made it clear from the first that I'm here temporarily. I don't have the time or the inclination to become involved."

"Oh . .." His expletive was strained through his teeth. For long moments he stood with hands on his hips, glaring at her from across the narrow s.p.a.ce that separated them. For all his gentleness, Blair knew then that Sean Garrett had a temper that could flare to life when properly provoked. The fire in his eyes now wasn't so much l.u.s.t as it was anger.

His ire only increased hers. Wasn't she permitted to say no? Did he think she was only so much putty in his hands, waiting to be molded however he saw fit? A spineless female panting for his attention?

After hearing a happily married woman like Pam expound on his s.e.x appeal, she shouldn't be surprised by his arrogance. He couldn't be completely oblivious to his virile attraction. Well for once it would be rejected.

Raising her chin stubbornly, she said, "It all boils down to this.

I don't want to go to bed with you, Mr. Garrett." With that inspired exit line, she turned on her heel and stalked through the kitchen. He caught her at the back door.

Before she had time to react, he scooped her up in his arms. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked haughtily as he pushed through the screened door and started across the gra.s.sy lawn.

"As long as I'm here there's no reason for you to climb those stairs.

You may not think you need anybody, and I know you'd never ask for help, but I can at least save your knees that much effort."

He carried her up the stairs without any exertion and deposited her on the top step. With as much dignity as she could muster she said, "Thank you for dinner."

Before the last word had completely left her mouth, it was being kissed by hot, fervent lips. Bands of steel in the form of arms wrapped around her and pressed her into a body that radiated carnal energy.

Her mouth wasn't prepared for the onslaught of his and could find no strength to resist when his tongue plunged inside.

Then just as suddenly as the storm broke, it subsided. The arms relaxed, holding her no less firmly, but more tenderly. His tongue made slow dipping forays into her mouth that left her breathless.

Sensing her acquiescence, his hand moved from her back to lightly cup her breast. His thumb skated along the undercurve and she heard her own moan of rising pa.s.sion. As he coaxed her tongue into his mouth and sucked it gently, his thumb brought her nipple to a hard pebble of need.

This torment went on and on until Blair was inundated with blind desire, moving against his hard body mindlessly, seeking fulfillment for the emptiness deep inside her.

She swayed drunkenly as he pulled away. Were it not for his hands on her upper arms, she would have toppled down the stairs. There was no smile on his face now, only set lines of stubborn resolution. "Like h.e.l.l you don't want to go to bed with me, Simpson."

Two mornings after she'd heard those words, she was still seething over them. She had avoided leaving the apartment the day after having dinner with Sean because Of the fear of meeting him in the yard. Pam had loaned her the family's extra car indefinitely, but she really had nowhere to go. After she finished arranging the apartment to her satisfaction, she had spent the day as the doctor had advised her to spend most of her days reclining with her legs elevated. She'd read, watched two old movies on the portable television set she'd brought with her from the city, ate when she was hungry, and napped.

She knew when Sean's battered truck lumbered into the driveway between her apartment and his house, but she refused to even look out the window to catch a glimpse of him. Yet when he left in his Mercedes in the early evening, she couldn't help but wonder where he was going and with whom.

That he hadn't yet returned by the time she fell asleep made her unaccountably angry, both at him and at herself for caring.

The second morning, she had awakened cross with herself for letting a man like Sean Garrett bother her. She'd be here six months. Despite her threats to move out and find another place, she knew she wouldn't do it.

Apartments like this were too hard to come by. And why should she let problems with her landlord force her to live somewhere she'd loathe?

Nor was she going to live like a phantom, sneaking in and out at times when she was unlikely to run into him. She'd live like a sane, mature adult, which she'd seemed to have forgotten she was since meeting Sean Garrett.

That was subject to change starting today.

She restored her bed into a sofa, then walked into the kitchen and bent down to take the teakettle out of the lower cabinet. With no more movement than required to do these two small ch.o.r.es, she knew that her muscles had become soft and her Joints stiff with Just one day's inactivity.

After Donning a pair of pink tights, ballet shoes, a black leotard, and a pair of blue leg warmers, she went to the area in the large room near the windows. She'd purposefully left this s.p.a.ce empty. Slowly and methodically she began to do her stretching exercises. She was into the second set of plies when she heard someone on the stairs. A moment later he knocked on the door.

When she opened it, she was braced to face Sean, but breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was the man from the telephone company.

"Miss Simpson?"

Yes, come in.

She moved aside and he entered the room carrying a roll of cable and a rectangular box. "One desk slimline, ivory, push-b.u.t.ton," he said, consulting an order he held in his hand. He was a young man in his ling eyes.

x Ies.

"Where do you want it?"

She indicated a low table at the end of the sofa. "I thought here."

He surveyed the area clinically. "That should do it. I can attach it to that baseboard under the window and run the cord under the rug.

That way you won't be tripping on it. How's that?"

"That's fine."

He went about his work, making several trips back and forth to his truck. "Why don't you leave the door open?" Blair called to him.

"That way you can come in and out even with your hands full."

"Thanks."