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Sandra Brown – Thursday's Child

Allison Leamon had never thought she wanted this kind of romance. There wasn't room in her life for it. It was superficial and fleeting and only fools believed in its authenticity.

Didn't she know better than anyone that sex was mechanical? It was purely biological and physical and had little or nothing to do with the emotions. Any two creatures of the same species could mate. It required nothing of them but properly working reproductive organs.

But here she was, no longer a pragmatic scientist but a woman, being held in this man's embrace, with adrenaline rushing through her veins and her heart hammering against her ribs. Her body was aching to get closer, to have more. Her senses were clamoring to soak up every thrilling stimulus he telegraphed.

It gave her a heady feeling of power to know that she wasn't the only one aroused. His lips were hungry. His tongue was rapacious. His body was hard with desire for her.

For her?

He wasn't kissing her. He was kissing Ann.

Chapter one

"Have you lost your mind?"

"It's a great idea."

"It's a dumb idea. We haven't done that since we were children."

"And we always got away with it."

Allison Leamon eyed her sister in exasperation. Except for the expression – Ann's was expectant – Allison could have been looking at her own reflection.

Ann was sitting Indian-fashion in the center of her sister's bed. Allison turned her back on Ann and began taking the hairpins from the bun on the back of her head. She shook out a mane of deep auburn hair that fell to her shoulders in thick waves that matched her sister's.

"Bette Davis has played twins who swapped places in a couple of her movies. Something terrible always happened."

"That's the movies; this is real life."

"Doesn't art imitate life?"

Ann sighed in vexation. "Come on, Allison. Will or won't you?"

"I won't. I can't believe you're serious about having this operation in the first place," she said, pulling a hairbrush through her hair.

"I don't want to go through the rest of my life flat-chested."

"We're not flat-chested," Allison argued, assessing her own figure in the mirror.

"We're not overly endowed either."

"Who wants you to be? They'll just sag in a few years, then you'll wish you didn't have them." Laying the brush on the vanity, she turned to Ann. "Please reconsider, Annie. Don't do this."

Ann laughed. "You're always so damn cautious and practical. Don't you ever have one frivolous thought? Just look at yourself now that you've let your hair down. You're gorgeous. Don't you want to be?"

"I'm not gorgeous. And no, I don't particularly want to be. Looks aren't important."

Ann pressed a hand over her heart and addressed the ceiling. "I know," She said theatrically, "it's what a person is like on the inside that counts."

"Make fun of me all you want, but that's the way I feel. I'd much rather be considered intelligent than a knockout."

Ann frowned in aggravation. Her sister was hopeless.. All Allison cared about was her laboratory – her electron microscope, her Bunsen burner, any old organisms that could be cultivated in a Petri dish! "Are you going to do me this favor or not?"

"No. I don't want any part of it. Why can't Davis know beforehand?"

"Because I want it to be a surprise."

"he likes you the way you are. Why else would he be marrying you?"

"Do you know one man who wouldn't like his woman to have large breasts?" The moment the question left her lips, Ann began shaking her head. "Forget it. I withdraw the question. You don't know any men."

"I know quite a few men," Allison said loftily.

"And they're all brainy and weird!" Ann shot back.

"They're scientists."

"As I said, brainy and weird," Ann mumbled as she plucked at a loose thread on Allison's bedspread. The sulking lasted only a few moments before she lost her patience. "I want a breast enlargement. It's for my self-esteem. Davis will go absolutely bananas when he sees the improvement. I'm asking my twin sister to help me out a little and she's making a big deal out of it."

"No pun intended, I hope," Allison said dryly. At Ann's fulminating look she relented somewhat. "You're hardly asking me to help you out 'a little.' You're asking me to pretend to be you while you sneak off and have the surgery."

"Only for a few days. Only until the bandages come off."

Allison covered her own breasts, one with each hand, and shuddered. The whole idea repelled her, but it was Ann's business. She only wished Ann hadn't involved her in it. "What about your job?"

"I'm taking a week's vacation. No problem there. You'll go to work as usual. It's only in the evenings when you'll need to be with Davis."

"What will you be doing, hiding in the back bedroom?"

"I'm staying in the clinic. It's expensive, but I'd rather stay there than at home."

Allison pushed away from the dresser and began to pace. "Annie, this is crazy. You and Davis…well, doesn't he expect certain, uh, you know…"

"You mean bedroom privileges?" Allison blushed. Ann laughed. "I've covered you on that. I told him the gynecologist changed my birth-control-pill prescription and that we weren't supposed to sleep together for three weeks until we knew they were going to take."

"That's absurd!"

"As a biologist in genetics you know that, and as a woman I know that, but Davis doesn't know it. He griped like hell, but he accepted it. So you won't have to worry about him trying to get you into bed. And for crying out loud, it's only for three or four days!"

Allison nervously twisted her hands. Ann had always been able to do this to her, talk her into something common sense warned against. "Switching places was an amusing game to play on Mon and Dad, even teachers, but I have a premonition that something dreadful will happen."

"You're a fatalist. Nothing's going to happen."

"And you want me to move into your condo?"

"That would be the most convenient arrangement." Davis could always find me, or rather you, there."

What remained unsaid, but understood, was that Allison's absence from her own apartment would go unnoticed. She had no one calling for her in the evenings. "I'd have to wear your clothes," she said unenthusiastically.

"Which will be a vast improvement over your wardrobe." Ann eyed Allison's navy dirndl skirt and tailored white blouse with undisguised distaste.

"I'll have to wear my contacts all the time and they give me a headache."

"Better a headache than those owlish glasses you wear."

"And my hair –"

"Will you stop! Your hair looks terrific loose and natural instead of knotted into that old-maid's bund." She hopped off the bed and confronted Allison with both hands on her hips. "So will you or won't you? Please, Allison. This is important to me."

Everything was important to Ann. She lived from crisis to crisis. She didn't do anything by half-measures. She plunged right into every critical event, usually dragging her unwilling, less adventuresome sister right behind her.

Allison turned to the mirror and gazed at her image. Could she pass for Ann? Ann who never met a stranger, but a potential friend? Ann who felt at home in any situation? Ann with bubbling personality and more charm in her little finger than Allison possessed in her whole body?

Ann walked over to stand beside her. Since Allison wasn't wearing her glasses, and with her hair curling over her shoulders like Ann's, they were identical.

And it was only for a few days. And Ann was her twin, her only sibling. And lifetime habits were hard to break.

Allison smiled wryly. "Do you realize that for the rest of our lives people are going to be looking at our boobs in order to tell us apart?

"Oh, Allison. You'll do it?" Ann spun Allison around and gave her an exuberant hug. "I knew I could count on you. Here's my engagement ring," she said, twisting it off her finger and putting it on Allison's. "Don't you dare lose it. Now let me tell you about tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Davis and 'I' are meeting his best friend for dinner. They grew up together, blood brothers and all that. I've never met him, and Davis wants to show me off."

"Oh, Annie," Allison wailed.

"Wait till you meet her, Spencer. She's terrific. Absolutely terrific. She's sweet and smart. Great figure. And her face! Heavens, her face. She's beautiful."

"She sounds it." Spencer Raft gave his friend a teasing wink.

Davis looked properly chagrined. "Am I talking about her too much?"

Spencer clapped Davis on the shoulder. "You're a man in love. You're supposed to talk about her. How long is this engagement going to last?"

Davis had met Spencer's plane at the Atlanta airport. They were negotiating the freeway traffic toward the appointed restaurant where they were to meet Ann for dinner. It was a sultry afternoon and traffic was moving with a sluggishness that matched the humidity.

"not much longer, thank God. Last weekend of June. I want you to be my best man. Are you going to be around then or are you going off again soon?"

"I'll stick around. I can't let my best friend get married without my support."

Davis glanced at the man beside him. "You know, if it weren't for Ann, I'd envy you. Sailing all over the world in that yacht of yours, a different woman in every port, adventure, no obligations to tie you down. Must be the life." He sighed.

Spencer somberly studied the cloud-banked sunset. "It's not as glamorous as you might think," he said reflectively.

"Hell, man, share a few torrid details with your ol' buddy. I don't even know what you do."

Spencer smiled enigmatically. "It's a secret."

"You make tubs of money, work independently, work when you want to, travel all over the world. You're a mercenary, right?"

"That's classified, Davis."

Davis whistled through his teeth. "You must be linked with the CIA or something, right? No, never mind. I understand if it's classified. Just assure me of one thing."

"What's that?"

"That whatever you do is legal. No drugs or gunrunning or anything like that."

Spencer laughed out loud. "I won't go to jail for what I do, no."

"That doesn't exactly put me at ease. You might be too cagey to get caught."

"I work within the law."

Davis sighed longingly. "Yep. Every once in a while I really envy you and your life."

"Don't," Spencer said quietly. "I envy your happiness with Ann."

"Well, you're about to turn green with envy because there she is. Didn't I tell you she was something else?"

He braked his car in front of the restaurant just as he spotted Ann turning the corner of the building. Jumping from the convertible, he called out her name.

She looked up, took another step, then pitched forward and fell flat on her face.

Damn!

She caught herself with her hands. The impact was jarring and caused her lower teeth to slam hard against the uppers. Her palms had been scraped and were stinging like fire. At least three layers of epidermis had been left on the sidewalk. She had tried to break her fall with one knee and the steel grate had impressed itself into her patella. She'd have a bruise for a month.

Her hair was hanging on either side of her face like red curtain. Her rear end was sticking up in the air and she was having a hard time focusing her eyes.

And if all her physical maladies weren't enough, she had made a spectacle of herself. She could all but hear passerby speculating on which controlled substance she was high on. Davis and his friend were rushing toward her as she ignominiously tried to stand up.

Damn the high heels! She never wore them, but Ann did. The strappy sandals were lethal. But what else was she supposed to wear with the filmy chiffon dress Ann had told her to wear? Her loafers?

"Ann, darling, are you hurt?"

She came up on the foot that still wore its shoe. The heel of the other sandal was trapped in the iron grid and her unshod foot dangled lifelessly a few inches above the sidewalk.

"No, no, I'm fine," she muttered, keeping her head down. Something was wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. The world didn't look right. She put her full weight down on her damaged knee. It couldn't support her yet and she felt herself falling forward again.

"Ann!" Davis cried and reached for her.

But it was another pair of arms that went around her, breaking her fall and cradling her against a chest as broad and solid as a wall. She leaned against the sturdy support for a moment, cursing her sister's influence over her and her own culpability. Why wasn't she at home with a good novel?

"Darling, you're hurt," Davis exclaimed.

"No. I'm all right. I'm just…"

She raised her head. This wasn't Davis. Davis had light brown hair. She got an impression of dark hair. Dark brows. A raw silk sport coat and a blue necktie. Everything was blurred. She blinked, trying to bring all the partial images together into one clear picture. She couldn't focus.

My God! I've lost a contact!

"Uh, my shoe." She wrested herself free of the strong arms and dropped to her knees once again, ostensibly groping for her shoe, but praying that by some miracle she'd locate the contact lens that must have popped out when she fell.

"Here's your purse, darling," Davis said, thrusting Ann's beaded handbag at her."

"I'll get her shoe." This voice was deep, much less rattled than Davis. Poor Davis, Allison thought. He must be mortified by "Ann's" uncharacteristic clumsiness. What a terrific first impression his fiancé had made on his best friend.

But she couldn't worry about that now. She had to worry about getting through the evening without being able to see.

She gasped as a warm hand closed around her ankle and worked her foot into the shoe that had stuck in the grate and caused her fall.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" He touched her calf solicitously.

"No. I'm just…" She stuttered around something to say. No, I'm just not used to a man helping me put on my shoe. Brilliant, Allison. You're off to a great start. Better not to say anything.

He eased up to his full height again. It seemed to take him a long time to get there. She shook back her hair, unaccustomed to its weight on her shoulders and around her face, and much less accustomed to a man's hand on her ankle and calf. She hoped the tight grimace she felt on her mouth looked something like a smile. "I feel like such a klutz."

"Well, you looked a little klutzy," Davis said, and affectionately placed his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple. "Sure you're all right?"

"Of course," she said brightly, trying desperately to bring his bleary image into focus. "is this your friend? Spencer?"

She turned toward the blurred bulk in front of her and stuck out her hand. It bumped against his sleeve. "Spencer Raft, meet Ann Leamon, my fiancé," Davis said.

"Your hand is bleeding."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she gasped. "Did I get blood on you?"

"It's all right. Here." Her hand was taken into possession by the same hard, warm fingers that had clasped her ankle. It was a strong hand. Strong, but sensitive. She felt something soft being applied with dabbing motions to her palms and when she looked down, discerned that it was a white lawn handkerchief. "I think we'd better take her home, Davis," Spencer said calmly.

"No, no," she protested. Ann would kill her if she ruined this night for Davis. "I'm fine, truly. If I could get to the ladies' room and repair the damage, I'll be fine."

And maybe Providence will provide a cane or a seeing-eye dog too, she thought.

"You're sure?" Davis asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Come on then, sweetheart." Davis, with a proprietary arm around her shoulders, led her toward the door of the restaurant. She heard Spencer following them.

As soon as they entered the elegant restaurant, she excused herself to go to the ladies' room. She hoped her limp was a good excuse for her faltering footsteps as she made her way down the dim hall. Gaining the door to the powder room, she took out her other contact and slipped on her eyeglasses. She had carried them in the evening bag.

Inspecting herself in the mirror, she saw that the damage wasn't too bad. A few whisks of the hairbrush restored her hair. She ran cool water over her palms and blotted them dry. The scrapes weren't nearly as bad as she had thought. There was a hole in her stocking the size of a quarter over the knee that had hit the grate. An inch-wide run scaled down her shin and climbed her thigh, but there was no help for that.

Thanks to the hairdo, makeup, and the clothes, it was Ann who gazed back at her from the mirror. She had been dismayed when she tried on the sea green chiffon dress. Immediately she had picked up the phone and dialed the clinic where Ann had already been admitted.

"They've drawn blood and I'm due to get a chest X ray in a few minutes. Then to beddie-bye. The surgery is scheduled for early tomorrow morning."

Concerned as she was about her sister, Allison asked, "Ann, where is the brassiere you wear with this dress? Every one I've tried on shows."

"You don't wear a brassiere with that dress, silly."

"But I'm…it's so bare."

"It's supposed to be."

"I'm going to wear something else. How about the –"

"No. That is Davis's favorite dress. He requested it for tonight."

Her accident on the sidewalk had diverted her mind from the dress. Now, as she gazed at herself, she was reminded of its brevity. The shoulders were nothing more than thin straps; the scooped neck dipped low over her breasts. Why Ann would want more generous curves than they already had, she couldn't guess. She felt like she was pouring out of the dress, but there was no help for that either.

Regretfully she took off her glasses and replaced them in the purse. Then taking a deep breath, she left the restroom. Thankfully the maitre d' led her to the table, otherwise she never would have spotted Davis and Spencer in the cavernous, candlelit room. They both stood as she joined them.

"Everything all right?" Davis asked worriedly as he seated her.

"Except for a run in my stocking."

"That doesn't matter. You look lovely." Davis leaned toward her and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She had to concentrate very hard not to draw back sharply.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for making such a fool of myself. I don't know what happened. I looked up when you called my name and the next thing I knew, I was picking myself up off the sidewalk."

She was sorry for Davis's sake. Davis Lundstrum had never bowled her over, but Ann adored him. He was good-looking in a clean-cut American way, generous, amiable, even tempered, and successful in his field, which had something to do with computers. She would hate to cause her future brother-in-law embarrassment.

"It was an accident," he said kindly, placing his hand on her knee beneath the table. When she flinched, he asked, "What's the matter?"

"That's my sore knee."

"Ooops, sorry, babe."

He withdrew his hand and Allison relaxed.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt," Spencer said. She turned toward him and was mildly disappointed that she couldn't clearly see his features. He had an attractive voice, stirring and deep. She knew he was tall. When he had caught her up against him, the top of her head hadn't reached his chin. He must be muscular. Hadn't she sprawled across his chest and hadn't there been room to spare?

"Davis has been looking forward to your visit."

"And I've been dying to meet you. Coming from the airport, Davis couldn't stop talking about you," he said, laughing. "But even his lavish descriptions didn't do you justice. You're lovely and I congratulate my friend on his choice of bride."

"Th – Thank you," she stammered. Rarely did she get a compliment from a man. Ann would have handled it adroitly, making some perfectly charming, flirtatious, witty comeback. Allison sat there with her knee and the palms of her hands still throbbing, with her tongue seemingly glued to the roof of her mouth merely because a man had a voice like a well-tuned cello, and with absolutely nothing to say, either charming or flirtatious or witty or otherwise.

How was she going to eat a meal without dropping half of it in her lap? When she got Ann alone…

And was Spencer Raft looking at her breasts? She was extremely conscious of the fact that they were naked beneath her dress and that far too much of them escaped its meager bodice. Strange, she didn't wonder if Davis was looking at her.

"Here are the drinks," Davis said. "I ordered your usual."

Allison's usual was Perrier and lime. She was afraid to learn what Ann's usual was. Her metabolism had a much greater tolerance for alcohol than Allison's did.

"Two of them?" she asked. Or, God forbid, was she seeing double?

"Happy hour," Davis explained. He raised his class. "To old friendships. It's good to see you, Spencer."

"And you, Davis," Spencer replied, raising his glass.

Tentatively Allison reached for hers. She managed to get hold of it and lift it to the others without making a mistake. "To good friends," she echoed. Vodka Collins, she thought, sipping the drink. Half of one and I'm under the table. Two of them and I'm unconscious. Dear heaven, how was she going to survive this? Why didn't she just blurt out the charade now before a real disaster happened? Because Ann would never speak to her again, that's why.

"Your appetizer, madam," the waiter said, waiting for her to move hear arm aside so he could put the plate in front of her.

"I ordered pâté de foie gras for you, darling," Davis said. "I know how you love it."

She swallowed her stomach as it came lurching to the back of her throat. Pâté. No matter what fancy name they labeled it, no matter what delicacies they copped up with it, no matter how sublimely it was seasoned, it was still liver and she'd never been able to choke down its furry texture.

"How sweet of you. But, please, the two of you must share it with me." She smiled weakly and reached to pat Davis's hand. Davis kissed her mouth softly, and it occurred to her that she had been kissed more tonight than she had in her entire life.

The waiter came to take their order for dinner. "You want prime rib medium rare, right?" Davis asked her.

She had an aversion to red meat and ate well-done beef only on an occasional cheeseburger. "I thought I might try the lobster."

Davis laughed, thinking she was joking. "Sure you did." He leaned across the table and spoke to Spencer confidentially. "The last time she ate shellfish she broke out in hives. It was ghastly, but spreading on the calamine lotion turned out to be great fun."

"I'll bet it did," the deep voice hummed.

"By the time we finished, I had more on me than she did on her."

Both men laughed. Allison blushed to the roots of her hair as Davis kissed her ear and growled. "Darling, if you want to play that game again, just ask. I won't put you through another allergic reaction first."

She closed her menu and pretended to laugh. "That was horrible, wasn't it?" Why hadn't she remembered that Ann was allergic to shellfish and why was the idea of playing bedroom games with Davis totally beyond her comprehension?

When their order had been given, Davis excused himself to go to the men's room. The waiter offered to remove the appetizer plate, and Allison jumped at the chance to get rid of it. She'd managed to eat three crackers with the foul stuff spread on them and had washed each one down with a long swallow of her drink. The alcohol was making her head buzz and her ears ring.

Uncomfortably aware of the man sitting with her, she fumbled for her cocktail glass, found the stirrer and twirled it idly. Spencer Raft leaned closer. He wore an elusive cologne that made her want to go in search of its source.

"That was a hard fall you took. Are you certain you're all right?" he asked softly.

His breath drifted over the side of her neck and down her bare arm. "Of course. I'm fine." His face was definitely masculine, with hard planes and sharp angles, but she still couldn't make out the features distinctly. That frustrated her for reasons she couldn't define.

"You're drinking out of both glasses," he whispered, and though she couldn't see his smile, she could hear it in his voice.

"Am I?" she gasped, then tried to emulate Ann's delightful giggle. "How silly of me."

"And you didn't eat all your pâté when Davis expounded on how much you love it."

Ann had told her this old friend of Davis's was some sort of mercenary involved in intriguing business deals that took him all over the world. Whatever he was, he was no fool and much more perceptive than Davis.

"I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"Because of you."

"Me?"

"Davis wanted you to be impressed with me."

What a glib thing for her to say. Maybe she wasn't a lost cause for small talk after all. That would please him, flatter him, make him laugh lightly and settle back in his chair like any man who had just had his ego stroked.

To her alarm, rather than moving away, he leaned closer.

"Then relax. I'm impressed."

Again, she couldn't see his expression, but she could feel it. It was there, riding on his tone of voice – suggestive, insinuating, sexy. And she was the one being stroked. She could feel his eyes raking down her chest, over her breasts, homing in on their crests, which seemed to respond like slaves to his compelling voice.

She was grateful that Davis returned at that moment. Her heart was hammering and nervous moisture was now lubricating her abraded palms. Despite her sore knee, she crossed her legs and held them tightly together.

"Tell me about the wedding," Spencer said, as though they'd been chatting about the weather.

This was safe territory. She knew the plans for the wedding because Ann discussed each minute detail with her. "It's a church wedding, but it will be small and not too formal. I'm having only one attendant, my sister. And, of course, you'll be Davis's best man."

"You have a sister?" he inquired politely.

"Yes." Davis chuckled as he sipped his Scotch.

"What's funny?" Allison demanded.

"I was just thinking about Allison."

"What about her?"

"Oh, come on, honey. You know I'm not putting her down, but you've got to admit she is strange."

"Strange?" Spencer asked.

Before Allison could respond, Davis took it upon himself to expound. "They're twins. To look at them you can't tell them apart, but in every other way, they're as different as daylight and dark."

"We're different, yes, but what do you mean by calling Allison strange?" She had been trying her best to make this evening a success for Davis and now he was insulting her; unwittingly, yes, but it hurt just the same.

"Well, the way she acts, the way she dresses." He turned to Spencer. "If there's ever been a candidate for spinsterhood, she's it. The only sex she cares about is in her laboratory. She got all excited the other day because two rare bugs had mated."

"It was mice. Her work is extremely important," Allison flared.

"I'm not saying it's not, but –"

"What kind of work?" Spencer interrupted.

"Genetic research," Allison retorted sharply, defensively, almost daring the man beside her to make a derisive or lewd comment about it.

But Davis supplied that. "Who cares about the sex lives of cockroaches?" he asked. "She handles all these creepy, crawly little creatures. Yuk!" He made a face and shuddered.

"We should all care about the work that I…that Allison does. It's important to our quality of life for generations to come. And she's never done anything on the sex life of cockroaches!" she finished heatedly.

Diplomatically, Spencer said, "The research sounds fascinating."

Davis smiled at Allison apologetically. "I'm sorry, hon, maybe I was teasing too hard. Spencer might enjoy meeting Allison. He's a whiz kid too."

Allison took another sip of the vodka Collins and wondered if the drink or her self-defensive outburst was responsible for making her feel better. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's a real brain. Phi Beta Kappa. Rhodes scholar."

Allison looked at Spencer with new interest. She had expected him to be the kind of man she instantly despised, the kind who viewed women as sex objects and considered nothing more important than their physical satiation. Apparently he had some depth even though he was an irresponsible adventurer.

"I'd like to meet your sister – Allison? – sometime," he said. "Who does she do research for?"

"Mitchell-Burns."

"Ahh," he said, nodding. He was apparently familiar with the company that manufactured pharmaceuticals and chemicals, and sponsored research in every field from medicine to energy conservation.

The waiter served their dinner. Allison forced herself to eat the blood red meat and to sip the blood red wine, while she had no liking for either. Beverages served at room temperature were fine if you lived at the North pole. Otherwise, she preferred ice in everything that wasn't scalding hot.

The wine, combined with the vodka, wasn't doing her impaired vision any good either. She was groping for a tumbler of water when her hand collided with her wine glass and knocked it over. It landed on Spencer's sleeve and spread a ruby stain over the raw silk.

"Oh, my," she said, splaying a hand over her chest. "I'm sorry."

She never cried. Ann had always been the one prone to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Now Allison had an overwhelming need to weep. She must be terribly drunk, or terribly embarrassed, or terribly hurt.

And why shouldn't she feel hurt? Tonight she'd learned what a humorous topic of conversation she had provided for her sister and Davis. How many other people thought of her as an eccentric old spinster, vicariously living out her sex life through her laboratory animals? The thought disgusted her and her stomach threaten to rebel against the food it was being forced to digest.

"Oh, it's spreading." Ineffectually she blotted at the stain with her own napkin.

"Forget it."

"Darling, are you sure you're all right?" Davis asked. "You haven't been yourself all evening."

Then, just as much as she had wanted to cry, she wanted to laugh. "I'm fine," she struggled to say around the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "I guess I'm still shaky after my fall." Feeling another wave of remorse, she looked toward Spencer. "I'm truly sorry about your jacket."

"Make it up to me."

"How?"

"Dance with me."

She sobered instantly. "Dance?" she squeaked.

Chapter two

Go on, Ann,” Davis said. “That’ll make you feel better. You love to dance.”

True. Ann did love to dance and she did it with grace and natural rhythm. Allison had never mastered the art. Their mother had insisted on both of them taking ballet and ballroom dancing. Even Allison’s best efforts had been disappointing.

“Please,” Spencer Raft said, standing and extending his hand. “Unless your knee still hurts.”

“Oh no my knee is fine.” It’s my two left feet I’m worried about.

What choice did she have? She had collapsed into the man’s arms before they’d said their first hello. She had bled on his handkerchief. She had ruined his sport coat that cost three hundred dollars at least. If he was willing to dance wearing a wine-stained sleeve, she should be willing to with a run in her stocking. If she refused, Davis would no doubt get angry with “Ann” for being ungracious to his friend. Allison couldn’t let that happen.

She laid her napkin aside and stood. His hand folded around her elbow and turned her away. “We’ll be right back, darling,” she said to Davis over her shoulder.

With a flash of panic, she felt that they were deserting him forever. The man who steered her toward the small dance floor seemed to have an uncanny ability to get people to do his bidding. She imagined that he had no trouble leading a woman anywhere, even from beneath the nose of her hovering fiancé.

If it were really Ann being pulled into his arms and pressed against a body that defined masculinity in its rawest form, she would have been concerned for her sister’s future with Davis.

But it wasn’t Ann.

It was Allison who obeyed the subtle commands of his hands and arms and moved without hesitation into his embrace. She had consumed much more than her quota of alcohol. The evening had been just as disastrous as she had predicted it would be. She was weary of pretending to be somebody she wasn’t.

So for all those reasons, she let herself be molded against his protective warmth. As a little girl wanting to hide, she would pull a blanket over her head, thinking that no one could see her if she couldn’t see them. She felt that way now. The world looked unfocused and diffuse and she was hiding behind that cloudy vision. Later she couldn’t be held accountable for the outcome.

But wasn’t it odd that she could effortlessly follow Spencer Raft’s dance steps when she’d never been able to follow another man’s lead? Even in the high heels, she moved in time to the music, swaying against his body with perfect rhythm.

“Despite what you say, you don’t feel well, do you?” His lips moved in her hair. His breath was fragrant and warm against her cheek.

“l’m dizzy,” she admitted. More than that, each internal organ had gone weightless and was looking for a new place to settle.

He cupped the back of her head and pressed it onto his chest. Then his fingers sank into her hair and began to massage her scalp. Her eyes drifted shut, but immediately sprang wide. What was she doing? “Please, Spencer,” she said, resisting his hand on the back of her head and trying to lift it. “I . . . Davis –"

“Shhh, it’s all right. You've had a rough night.”

He had maneuvered them to the far side of the dance floor. Other couples were between them and the table where Ann’s trusting fiancé sat waiting. The lighting was dim. He probably couldn’t see Spencer’s hand strumming up and down her back anyway.

“You shouldn’t hold me this way,” she protested feebly, letting her head obey the dictates of his hand. She laid it back on his chest. The hard curve of his breast seemed sculpted to fit into the hollow of her cheek.

“No I shouldn’t. I’m not proud of myself for doing it either” he murmured. “Davis is my best friend.” His arms tightened a fraction. “But you feel so good against me. I knew you would.”

It did feel good, this perfect meshing of two opposites. She didn’t remember a time when she had been more consciously aware of her body. Always before, her mind had ruled her. Now her body was demanding that she take notice of it.

Her skin felt feverish, but the heat emanated from the inside out. Had her breasts ever felt full and heavy as they did now? Why were her nipples drawn and straining against the flimsy bodice of Ann’s dress? And why did she want to rub them against his chest? Her limbs felt too leaden to move, but her heart was pounding energetically. She felt each pulse beat in the center of her womanhood, which was warm and restless and swollen with an unnamed ailment.

Nor had she ever been so aware of another human body. All her senses were attuned to him. She was considered tall, but he dwarfed her. He was rock solid from the shoulder on which her hand rested to his thighs that moved against hers. Even without her hands confirming it, she knew his arms and legs were bunched with sinewy muscles.

But he wasn’t all brawn. His physical strength didn’t override his sensitivity. He was capable of tenderness. Even now his thumb was pressing slow circles into her palm and the fingers of his right hand were sifting over her bare shoulder. “I’ve never seen a redhead with skin like yours. Don’t most redheads have fair complexions?”

“We, my sister and I, inherited our complexions from our maternal grandmother. She was Spanish and had olive skin. We got our green eyes from her too.”

“And the red hair?” He combed through it, dragging his fingers through the heavy tresses with a sensuous lack of haste.

“Our Irish grandfather.”

“A very colorful family.”

She laughed against his shirtfront. “In more ways than one.”

“Your twin for instance?”

She lifted her head then to look up at him. “Davis led you to believe she’s a freak. She’s not.”

He touched her cheek. “Is she as pretty as you?”

“Thank you.” Disconcerting as it was to be held close, she found it more disturbing to peer up into his face, hear that hypnotizing voice, and still not be able to discern exactly what he looked like. She let her forehead fall forward into the hollow below his shoulder. “we’re identical. But very different.”

“How so?”

“She wouldn’t let you hold her this way.” That’s it. Blame this irresponsibility on Ann. No, on Allison. That’s who they were talking about, wasn’t it? Oh Lord, it was becoming too confusing to muddle through. She couldn’t think. What mental powers were left her were slipping in proportion to how close Spencer held her.

“I’d better go back,” she said, squirming free.

“No. They’ve started another song.” His arms didn’t release her. Short of causing a scene that would humiliate her, anger Davis, and threaten a lifetime friendship, she let him pull her against him once again. “How long have you and Davis, been engaged?”

“Almost a year.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed.

“Do you?" Spencer persisted.

She lowered her eyes. Compared to her lying, her dancing was like Ginger Rogers’s. Since she was old enough to talk, she’d never been able to lie her way out of anything. “I love him very much,” she said stiffly.

“Do you live together?"

“No.” Davis had asked Ann to move in with him several times, but in deference to their parents, she had refused.

“But you sleep together.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and anger as she glared up at him. “That’s none of your business.”

“I want to know,” he said stubbornly.

Just as stubbornly, she said, “Certainly we sleep together.”

“Is your sex life satisfactory?”

“Wonderful.”

“Liar.”

Flabbergasted by his audacity, her feet stopped dancing. “How dare you say such a thing to me.”

“How dare I? I’ll tell you how I dare. If your sex life with Davis were as ‘wonderful’ as you say, your body wouldn’t be so hungry.” He hauled her close again, pulling them together so tightly that the breath left her lungs on a soft whoosh. “And it is hungry Ann.” He made a thrusting movement against her hips and, before she could stop it, a telling moan departed her lips.

Angry with him and ashamed of herself, she pushed away from him. She bumped into only two couples as she made her way across the dance floor and back toward the table. Davis stood and took her hand. “Feel better now?”

“Much.” Her knees buckled just as she found her chair. She was trembling all over and hated herself for it. She was behaving like a schoolgirl in the arms of a man to whom seduction was an idle past time. He could probably speak fluent eroticism in sixteen languages. Ann, madly in love with Davis, wouldn’t have allowed herself to be held like that, spoken to in that bold a manner. She would have laughed it off, or slapped his face, or kneed him in the groin, or anything but curl up against him like a homeless kitten who had just been taken in on a stormy night.

If she succumbed to Spencer Raft’s charm at all, Davis would be furious, not with Allison but with Ann. Ann would never speak to her again if she jeopardized her relationship with Davis. And she -

Well, she was certainly not going to be swept into a tidal wave of passion by any man. She knew better. That kind of romanticism wasn’t for a practical thinker like her.

She had had a lapse of common sense for the length of one dance. Sol No harm was done. Any animal. When stroked and petted, purred with contentment. It wouldn't happen again. She would avoid the man like the plague.

For the rest of the evening she devoted all her attention to Davis and responded to Spencer’s conversation only to satisfy etiquette. She had seen Ann with Davis and imitated her sister’s demonstrations of loving affection. Davis was convinced. He basked in her evident fondness for him. Allison didn’t risk looking at Spencer to gauge his reaction.

Once outside, Davis had the doorman hail a taxi for Spencer. “Here’s the address of my apartment and a spare key.” He handed his guest a slip of paper and a key. “I want to follow Ann home and see that she gets there safely.”

“I don’t blame you,” Spencer said. He stepped forward, lightly laid his hands on her shoulders and dropped a friendly kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Ann. You’re everything Davis said . . . and more.”

His hands fell away as he stepped back, but the imprint of them burned on her skin. This man with the captivating voice and large, hard body posed a threat she couldn’t begin to understand. She looped her arm through Davis’s as though clinging to him for protection. “Thank you, Spencer. Good night. It was nice to meet you at last.”

Only when the cab pulled away with Spencer Raft inside did she begin to breathe normally.

It was tricky, but she managed to sneak her eyeglasses on and drive home without Davis detecting that she was wearing them. She whipped them off as she swung Ann’s car into the driveway and turned off the ignition. The glasses were safely in her purse by the time Davis joined her at the front door.

She unlocked it and he followed her inside with a familiarity that alarmed Allison and presented her with another sticky situation to get out of.

“Good night, darling,” she said.

“‘Good night, darling? I feel like saying hello. I haven’t kissed you properly all evening.”

Before she could avoid it, he pulled her into his arms and planted his mouth over hers. Her initial reaction was to clamp her lips shut, but she knew that would never do. So she allowed him to kiss her thoroughly. Her hands rested tentatively on his waist.

“Oh, God, Annie,” he whispered against her ear when he finally released her lips. “I’ve missed having some privacy tonight. What did you think of Spencer?”

She couldn’t think of anything while her sister’s fiancé's hand was sliding down from her shoulder and over her breast. “Uh . . . he was ch-charming, just as you said.”

“That’s what he said about you. I had told him how gorgeous and sexy you were. He agreed whole heartedly.”

“Oh!” The exclamation burst out involuntarily when he slid the strap of her dress down and pushed it aside.

He jumped back in surprise. “What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing. I just, uh, I made such a fool of myself in front of your friend. I was afraid you’d be mad.”

He took her in his arms again and hugged her tight.

“I’ll admit I was dismayed to see you do a pratfall on the sidewalk.” He laughed. “That would have been more like Allison.” Then from arms’ length he ran his eyes up and down. “You’re not still hurting anywhere, are you?”

“No.” Allison the klutz, Allison the spinster, Allison the diverting topic of conversation flashed him a quick, insincere smile with rubbery lips. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he growled. His lips moved down her neck as his hand fondled her breast, lifting it out of her bodice.

She panicked and pushed away. “Davis!”

“What?” He put his hands on his hips and faced her with that belligerence unique to a sexually thwarted male. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

Allison wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms that nothing was the matter with her, that it was her prerogative to say no if she damn well felt like it. But Ann wouldn’t do that. What would Ann do if she didn’t feel like sex but wanted to turn him down easily?

She raised a fluttering hand to her throat. “Nothing’s wrong. I just-” Desperately she groped for a logical explanation. Ann had said he wouldn’t expect her to go to bed with him because . . . Why? Oh yes, the pills. She forced her face into one of Ann’s softly feminine smiles. “I just don’t want to get something started that we can’t finish.” For good measure, she ran her hand up the placket of his shirt and brushed her fingers back and forth over his chin.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “How much longer?”

“Not much.” Her eyes were misty with promise. “I can’t do without much longer.” She’d heard that line in a recent movie, but did lovers really talk this way?

“Neither can I, baby.” He drew her to him and kissed her chastely. Well, almost chastely. “I’d better leave now.”

“All right.” She looped her arm around his waist and walked with him to the door. “Good night.” She came up on her toes and kissed his lips.

“Good night.” He ran a caressing hand over her fanny. She smiled at him woodenly and waved good-bye until he was in his car and on his way.

As soon as she shut the door she braced her back against it, closing her eyes and inhaling long, deep breaths. She had survived it. Except for falling down on a public sidewalk and letting Davis’s playboy friend dance too close, nothing too calamitous had happened. How many more nights to go? Two? Three? Maybe she could pretend to have one of those messy stomach viruses tomorrow night.

With that encouraging possibility in mind, she went into Ann’s bedroom. She had packed a few of her own things to bring with her, among them an old shirt of her father’s that she usually slept in. It had been pilfered from his closet years ago. She slept with the long sleeves rolled back. The tails struck her at mid-thigh.

She cleaned her face and brushed her teeth. Remembering that she had a spare contact in her overnight bag, she put it in to try it. What a wonderful world it was when one could see! She sighed her relief that at least she wouldn’t have to call the ophthalmologist and get another lens.

Just as she was about to take out the contacts and get into bed, the doorbell rang. Davis? Had he forgotten something? She slipped through the shadowed rooms on bare feet, the hem of the shirt whispering against her thighs. Opening the door, she peered around it, keeping her body hidden.

“Hello Ann.”

She made an odd sound that was half gasp, half sucking breath. He was beautiful. All the blurred edges and unfocused features came together in stark clarity and she was awestruck at the handsome combination of ruggedness and polished charm.

Dark hair, attractively out of control. A broad, intelligent forehead underlined by eyebrows that were roguishly shaggy, yet expressive. Eyes that pierced through her like blue lasers, so deep was their color, surrounded by spiky black lashes.

His nose was the envy of any ever stamped on a coin. His mouth . . . Her stomach sank to the floor of her body at her first clear sight of the sensuously fashioned lips, the lower just a tad sulkier than the upper.

Every feminine cell in her body responded to the sheer maleness it now confronted. Her breasts began to ache; the nipples tingled. Soft tongues of arousal were licking the insides of her thighs. She felt butter-soft and malleable from the tip of her head to the tips of her toes that were now curling into the deep pile of her sister’s carpet. She, who had never placed much importance on one’s physical appearance, was reacting solely to Spencer Raft’s good looks.

She only hoped all the chaos going on inside her wasn’t obvious. She inched farther behind the door. “Davis is already gone.”

“I know. I saw him leave.”

” What are you doing here then?”

“I came to see you.”

Not her. Not Allison. He had come to see Ann. “Well, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know that too. But I’m here.”

“How did you get here?”

“I rented a car and looked up your address in the phone book. Then I left a message for Davis, telling him not to expect me until later. Are you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have to come in on my own.” With hardly any effort, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She was left standing with nothing to shield her except the oversized shirt that was sheer and soft after years of frequent washings. Unless he was as blind as she without her glasses, he would know that she wore nothing under it but a skimpy pair of bikini panties and a becoming rosy blush.

The blue eyes took their time touring her, stopping frequently at places that deepened the warm color spreading over her. His eyes seemed to burn right through the cotton and touch her skin, kiss it, brand it.

He studied every feature of her face for a long time. “You’ve got incredible hair.” He reached for a wavy strand that was lying beguilingly across her shoulder.

“And you’ve got incredible nerve.” She swatted his hand away and took a step back. She was angry and had to admit that in part her anger was due to the fact that he thought she was Ann. Had she come to the restaurant tonight not with cascading red hair and slinky chiffon, but as dowdy ol‘ Allison, he would have been polite, but he wouldn’t be here now stripping her of her dad’s shirt with hot, knowledgeable eyes.

“Because of Davis, you mean?”

“Of course because of Davis,” she cried. “I doubt he knows his best friend is paying a late-night visit go his fiancé.”

“You’re right, he doesn’t.”

“He thinks the world of you. All I’ve heard since I met him is Spencer this and Spencer that. Now-”

“All right,” he snapped, effectively interrupting her. For several tense moments he studied the floor between his Bally loafers. When he lifted his head again, there was anguish in the blue eyes and an expression of regret on his mouth

“Do you think I planned on being attracted to you? Do you think I planned on this happening?”

“Nothing is happening.”

She felt a frantic need to protest, not only for Ann’s sake but for her own. Because something was happening. And it was the first time it had happened to her. Before meeting Spencer Raft she had thought the idea of immediate, combustible sexual attraction was the bait used by advertisers to sell perfume and toothpaste. Not so. It was real. “Nothing’s happening,” she repeated to convince herself.

One of his brows arched in query. “No?”

She switched her weight from one bare foot to the other and wet her lips nervously. “No.”

“You’re lying again, Ann. If you weren’t experiencing something you feel guilty about, you would have welcomed me with a friendly smile and invited me in, probably suggesting that we locate Davis and have a midnight snack together.”

He was right. That’s what Ann would have done. But she wasn’t Ann! Why not just tell him? Why not just laugh and say, “Look, you’re not going to believe this,” and then tell him about Ann’s scheme?

Because then she’d have to cope with him. And if she couldn’t handle him while pretending to be Ann, how could she hope to handle him as herself?

He sensed her consternation and his expression softened appreciably. “You’re thinking the worst of me. May I tell you about myself so you won’t think this is something I do often?”

“You don’t meet and seduce women often?” she asked frostily daring him to deny it.

He grinned and her haughtiness thawed. Nothing female could withstand the sexy heat of that smile. “I don’t meet and seduce my best friend’s girl, no. Even for someone as jaded and worldly as I, this is a first.”

His teasing piqued her. “Davis has told me how you sail around the world in that boat of yours. He says that you’re an adventurer, a mercenary of some sort. I’m sure you’re playing this game to amuse yourself, but I don’t think it’s funny. Now please leave before I-”

He took a step nearer. “Before you what?”

She swallowed and backed up even as he advanced. “Before I have to call Davis and tell him what you’re up to” she said breathlessly.

“And what’s that?”

“seducing me.” Her back met with the wall and there was no more room to retreat. He kept coming toward her until his long legs straddled hers and his hands were braced against the wall on either side of her head.

“Is that what I’m doing?” His breath fanned her face. He exuded a blatant sexuality that lapped against her like incessant waves.

“Aren’t you?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s for you to say isn’t it? I can only confess that I’m trying my damnedest to seduce you. You’re the only one who can say if it’s working.”

Oh, it was working. She was melting against the wall and her head was getting foggy. Her pulse was finding new places to throb-shameful, forbidden, marvelous places.

“When we were dancing, you felt it, didn’t you?” He ducked his head and nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose.

Her eyes slid closed. Yes, she had felt it. She hadn’t studied biology for ten years without knowing about all the operative male parts. And his parts operated beautifully. She had felt him, rigid and thick, when he thrust his hips against her softness. How could she help but feel such ready desire, such evidence of arousal, such abashed manliness?

But she had some pride left. “Felt what?’ she asked huskily as she pried her eyes open.

“That tickling sensation that starts somewhere around here.” He pressed the tip of his index finger into her tummy. “And feathers its way up and around here.” That same finger zigzagged its way up the valley between her ribs to her breasts and indolently circled one. “Until you feel it in the back of your throat.” He gently probed that shallow triangle at her throat’s base. “Before it floats, floats, floats, to land with a soft explosion somewhere about”-his finger slid down her middle, past her navel, to stop at her bikini line; he opened his hand and pressed his palm over her-”here.” He finished on the merest of whispers.

She groaned and her head fell forward onto his chest. “Don’t, please.” The repercussions of that soft explosion undulated through her like the widening ripples in a pond that had been undisturbed for years.

He cradled her face between his hands and raised it. “I hate the thought of betraying my best friend. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt Davis. So you must know what an impact you made on me if I’d risk destroying a lifetime friendship to come to you like this.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“If I had listened to my conscience I wouldn’t have.”

“But you didn’t listen.”

“I couldn’t hear it over the pounding of my heart.”

“This is impossible.”

“Is it? Let’s find out.”

Her lips first felt the pads of his thumbs. Alternately they glided over her lower lip. Then his breath, moist and warm, misted over them. When he first touched her lips with his, an arrow of pleasure shot through her from the point of contact to the heart of her femininity, where it punctured open pockets of feeling she didn’t know were there.

The sensation was so new, so soul-shattering that, in alarm, she cried his name. “Spencer.”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered before wrapping his arms around her and eliminating the space between them. One arm went to the small of her back, the other across her shoulders. He pulled her against him possessively. His head tilted to one side and his lips slanted over hers. He pressed harder, investigating the seam of her lips with his tongue.

At its damp, velvety touch, her lips parted. That was all the invitation he needed. His tongue sampled the sweetness of her mouth. It prowled hungrily, restlessly, aimlessly, until he was certain she acknowledged his right to be there. Then he thrust it in and out with an evocative rhythm as his body moved against hers.

Poor Ann, Allison thought. She would go through life settling for Davis’s bland kisses without experiencing this. It was like comparing a soft rain to a tempest. Davis’s kiss had been pleasant and refreshing, but it had no thunder, no wildness, no delicious savagery, no exciting ferocity. Davis’s kiss had been mildly stimulating. Spencer’s was unapologetically wanton. Davis’s kiss involved only his mouth. Spencer’s employed his whole body.

He lifted her shirt, slid his hand past her waist to her derriere and, with a sustained pressure she was powerless to resist, brought her high and hard against him. He tucked himself cozily into the V of her thighs and a growl of pleasure rumbled through his chest and into hers.

His other hand found her breast beneath the cotton shirt and kneaded it lovingly. His thumb gently massaged the tip. When it peaked hard he murmured her name. His lips sipped at hers. “Ann, Ann. I knew it would be like this with us.”

Her sister’s name was like a slap in the face that jerked her out of a trance. She freed her lips from his and twisted away from his caress. Surprised, he released her and she stepped from between him and the wall. Standing in the middle of Ann’s living room, eyes squeezed shut against her uncharacteristic behavior, she clasped her hands tightly at her waist, trying to regain her equilibrium.

When she finally turned to face him, he was watching her closely. She knew he was keeping his distance, nor because he wanted to but in order to give her time to sort through her thoughts.

“You must leave, Spencer. Now. And forget that . . . that kiss ever happened.”

“If you ask me to, I’ll leave, but I won’t forget that kiss.”

“You must!” she cried anxiously.

He thought she was Ann. Tonight she had been Ann, but tomorrow she would go back to being frumpy, brainy Allison again and he wouldn’t give her a second look. But besides all that, this thing that was going on between them could ruin Ann’s relationship with Davis.

“I can’t forget it,” he said firmly. “I didn’t intend to walk into that restaurant and immediately start wanting my friend’s fiancé, but I did. When I left, I thought maybe I had been fanciful. Maybe it had been a trick of the candlelight that made you the most desirable woman I’d ever met. Or maybe I had just been jealous of how Davis felt about you.”

He took a step nearer, but when he reached out to touch her, she shrank away. His face took on a stern and determined expression. “But now I’ve kissed you. And it took the top of my head off. Do you really think I’m going to turn away, go on my merry way, and forget it happened? No way. I’m not made like that.”

“You go after what you want, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“And damn the consequences.”

His mouth tightened in an effort to curb his temper. “Despite what it looks like, I’m a man of honor. I want you, Ann. And by every indication I think you want me. But there’s Davis to consider. I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I?”

Anh Đức Blog

Thứ Ba, 15 tháng 10, 2013

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