by Deborah Camp
But he was almost always looking because he could hardly keep his eyes off her. A man could melt in those cinnamon eyes and sell his soul for a taste of those full, soft lips.
Shadow pulled himself up short, noticing that the Bee Gees album had ended and that Deborah Harry was now filling the apartment with a scratchy, pulsating voice that begged him to call her anytime or anywhere and she’d be ready. It was the kind of song that made Shadow’s pulses pound along with the beat, and it wasn’t the kind of song a man should listen to when he was alone with his thoughts of a special woman.
He opened the oven and pulled out the sheet of browned biscuits, switched off the gas, and went into the living room to change the record. He put the Bee Gees on again, thinking they were safe sounds and wouldn’t make him want to ravish Whitney before she had time to cross his threshold.
When the doorbell rang, Shadow stiffened. He ran his hands along the sides of his hair in a nervous movement before answering the summons.
He opened the door, his gaze sweeping her from head to foot. Whitney was wearing a pale pink dress that had rosebuds on the collar and cuffs. Shadow’s heart slammed against his chest and he felt as if he were sixteen again and in love for the first time.
“What are you wearing?” Whitney asked, eyeing his bib apron. “You look very domestic.”
“Oh, this.” Shadow plucked at the apron and stepped back. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Something smells good,” she said, tilting up her nose and sniffing the pungent aroma of freshly baked biscuits and spicy lasagna. “It smells Italian.”
“It’s a mixture of Italian and Oklahoman. Have a seat and I’ll get you a glass of wine.” He motioned to the couch, but she stood where she was and made a slow perusal of the room. Shadow followed her gaze with his own, wondering what she found so fascinating. When she smiled, he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “What’s so funny?”
“Your apartment is so like you,” she said, moving toward the mantel where a couple of photographs sat side by side. “Are these photos of your family?”
“Yes. Why is my apartment like me?”
She pointed toward a side table near the couch. “A candle in a Chianti bottle sitting next to a bust of an Indian scout, and these photographs. It’s such a fascinating mixture of cultures—just like you. I take it that this is the Italian side of your family.” She touched the framed photo of men with handlebar mustaches and plump women with bright smiles.
“Yes. That’s my mother’s family, the Giovinnis.” He indicated the other photo of dark-skinned, black-haired men and women, all dressed in full Indian regalia. “And this is my father’s family. They don’t usually dress that way. It was taken at a powwow in Oklahoma City.”
“You favor both sides,” she said softly, as if she were speaking to herself. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No brothers, but I have six sisters.”
“Six?” She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “I bet you were spoiled rotten!”
“Probably no more than an only child is spoiled rotten,” he said, touching the tip of his index finger to her nose. His stomach muscles tightened with longing and heat built in his loins. Shadow stepped back, alarmed that the merest touch could trigger such a strong reaction from him. “I’ll get you that glass of wine.”
He went to the portable bar in the corner of the dining room and poured red Burgundy into two glasses. When he returned to the living room, Whitney was sitting on the couch, looking perplexed.
“The Bee Gees?” she asked, taking the glass of wine from him. “Somehow I never thought that you’d be into rock music.”
He smiled and tasted the fruity wine. “I like to dance and sing while I cook. Speaking of cooking, I’ve got to put some finishing touches on my dinner. I’ll just be a minute.”
Back in the kitchen, he poured milk into a skillet and stirred in a generous amount of butter. In a bowl, he mixed flour, sugar, cocoa and powdered vanilla, humming along with Barry Gibb as he concentrated on the preparation of his pièce de résistance.
“What are you making?”
Shadow jumped a little, unaware that Whitney had entered the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Something you’ve probably never tasted.”
“What is it?”
He poured the dry mixture into the bubbling milk and butter. “Chocolate gravy.”
“You’re kidding!” She stood at his side and stared at the simmering mixture in the skillet. “Chocolate gravy?”
“My mother used to fix this for us every Saturday morning.” He paused, letting the memory of those good times in Oklahoma roll through him like a cleansing breeze. “I used to love Saturday mornings.”
“It looks like watery chocolate pudding,” Whitney said, leaning closer to the bubbling liquid and sniffing appreciatively.
“It tastes like heaven.” He turned off the burner under the gravy. “My dad says this stuff will make your tailbone twitch.”
“W—what?” Whitney asked with a laugh. “Is that an Oklahoma expression?”
“I don’t know,” Shadow said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard it all my life.” He waved toward the dining room. “Go on into the dining room and take a seat. I’ll be right in.”
“Okay. What else is on the menu?” she asked as she left the kitchen for the adjoining dining room.
Shadow poured the gravy from the skillet into a shallow bowl and followed Whitney, carrying the lasagna with him. “We’ve got scratch biscuits, turnip greens and lasagna. I’ll fetch the rest of it. Be right with you.”
“Turnip greens, chocolate gravy, and lasagna?” Her voice, followed by a throaty laugh, floated into the kitchen.
Shadow smiled, loving the sound of her zesty laugh, and put the greens, gravy and biscuits onto a tray. He removed his apron before returning to the dining room to find that Whitney was helping herself to a square of lasagna.
“I know my manners are deplorable, but I couldn’t wait another second for you. I’m starved!”
“That’s okay,” Shadow said as he sat at the head of the table. “I hope you like everything.”
“It’s quite a combination,” she said with a smile. “Do you pour this gravy over the lasagna or what?”
“No, no!” Shadow plucked a biscuit from the basket and tore off a piece which he plopped into the gravy in Whitney’s plate. “You dunk the biscuits in the gravy. Now,” using her fork, he fished out the soaked piece of biscuit and held it out to her, “open wide and get ready for a taste sensation.”
She opened her mouth and Shadow placed the biscuit on her tongue. He waited impatiently while she chewed and swallowed the morsel. Her eyes widened and her mouth tipped up at the corners.
“Well?” Shadow prodded, eager for her compliments.
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes as if seized by a delicious rapture. “Encore! Encore!”
“Isn’t that the best tasting stuff since peppermint-stick candy?” Shadow asked with a grin.
“It’s fabulous. You should open a restaurant.”
“You’d better try the rest of these dishes before I hang out my shingle.”
He hardly tasted anything himself, but he watched every bite she took and was abnormally thrilled when she “oohed” and “aahed” over each course. He refilled their wine glasses until the bottle was empty.
“How about some coffee?” Shadow suggested when Whitney had declared that she couldn’t eat another bite.
“That sounds lovely.” She glanced around the table. “Can I help you clean up?”
“No. I’ll just leave these for now and put them in the dishwasher later. Let’s take our coffee in the living room where we can be more comfortable.”
“Okay.”
He helped her from her chair and caught a tantalizing whiff of Opium perfume, his favorite. After setting two cups and saucers, cream, sugar, and a silver pot of coffee on a tray, he joined her in the living room. She was sitting on the co
uch again, and Shadow mocked himself when a shiver of pleasure raced through him at seeing her so relaxed in his home. It was then that he realized how much this evening had meant to him. Ever since she had agreed to have dinner at his apartment, Shadow had been hard pressed to think of anything else.
He put another album on the stereo, deciding that the occasion called for something special—Doris Day in the Big Band era, when her voice was a tingling mixture of seduction and innocence, reminding him of the allure of Whitney Campbell.
“Who’s that?” Whitney asked, shifting on the couch so that she could face him as he sat next to her.
“Doris Day.”
“Really?” She tilted her head and listened intently to the sex-kitten voice. “It doesn’t sound like her.”
“It was recorded back in the Big Band era. Everyone sounded different then.” Shadow leaned his head back against the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “Now that’s mood music.”
“I’ll pour the coffee while you get in the mood.”
He chuckled, catching the light teasing in her voice, but he kept his eyes closed and let Doris cast her spell on him. By the time Whitney pushed a cup and a saucer in his hand, Shadow was feeling mellow; the earlier nervous tension he’d felt had dissipated, leaving only the promise of romance to haunt him.
“You take it black, right?”
“Right.” Shadow accepted the coffee and sat up from his lounging position. “How do you like my apartment?”
“I like it.” Her expressive eyes moved to take in the living room. “Are the Indian blankets on those chairs authentic?”
“My aunts made them. I guess that makes them real Indian blankets.” He looked at them with new eyes, noting the splashy rusts and muted browns woven into the design. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”
“Lovely.” She sipped her coffee and seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, her eyes shifted to meet his. “Would you go to a party with me tomorrow night?”
“Who’s party?”
“Ashley Summer’s.” She placed a hand on his forearm as if sensing his hesitation. “I wouldn’t go normally, but this is a party to help people forget about this Malibu Intruder business. I don’t want to go alone.” Her eyes appealed to him and Shadow felt himself bending to her will.
“You could ask someone else to take you.”
“I could,” she agreed, then smiled. “But I don’t want to. It will be fun, Shadow.”
“Okay, but I doubt if the party will make people forget the Intruder. It’s the talk of the Colony.”
“Have you made any headway?”
He wished he could tell her that everything was under control and she could relax, but it would be cruel to lie. “I’ve got some leads, but nothing I can talk about now. You’ll be the first to know when I have something solid.”
“Oh, I wish this whole thing were over so I could get my mind back on my work.” She sighed wearily and set her cup back on the tray. “I have a deadline to meet and I can’t work when I know that someone is watching my every move.”
“What do you mean?” He hooked an elbow over the back of the couch, his gaze searching her face for any sign of the fear he’d heard in her voice.
“I feel as if someone’s watching me,” she explained with a shaky laugh. “It’s paranoia, pure and simple. I keep asking myself why this person is trying to make me miserable and scared. I just don’t understand it.”
“Honey, you can’t find reason in a madman.” His heart went out to her. That sadness had settled upon her like a shroud again, and Shadow wanted to rip it from her and make her smile. He set his cup next to hers on the tray and pulled her into his arms. “Come here, Whitney,” he murmured against her hair. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve told you I won’t let anything happen to you, and I meant it. I know how difficult this must be for you, having been sheltered all your life.”
Whitney’s hands smoothed over the front of Shadow’s cotton shirt and a frown drew her brows together. She didn’t like the implication of that last statement, she thought. Did Shadow think she was quivering with fear and looking for a strong pillar of strength? She stiffened her arms, pushing herself from him.
“Shadow, I think we should get something straight. I’m not a pampered, fragile doll. Sure, I’m jumpy and a little tense these days, but I’m not falling apart at the seams.”
He smiled as his hands curved around her shoulders. “You can drop that brave front with me, Whitney. I know you’re petrified and I’m doing everything in my power to—”
“It’s not a front and I’m not petrified.” Irritated by his coddling attitude, Whitney poured herself another cup of coffee while she collected herself. She’d always prided herself on being calm and in control, and it bothered her that Shadow was treating her as if she might become hysterical at any moment. “I just feel helpless, and I don’t like that feeling.” She glanced at him, and saw that he was confused by her reaction. “When I lived with my parents, I lived in a fishbowl. I swore that when I got out on my own, my life would be private, but this Malibu Intruder business has thrown me into the public arena again. I’ve had six telephone calls from the press today.”
“What do they want?” Shadow asked.
“A story, of course. They want to splash my life all over their newspapers and magazines.” She sipped the coffee and took a deep breath. “Do you have any leads, Shadow?”
“Nothing I can talk about yet.” He fell back against the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. “You really aren’t into publicity, are you?”
She stared at him in dismay. “How many times do I have to prove myself to you? I’ve told you over and over again that I’m not a publicity seeker, but you keep lumping me in with that lot!” She started to stand, but Shadow’s hand clamped on her shoulder to hold her in place. “Let go of me.”
“In a minute,” he said sternly. “I’m guilty of being overprotective of you, Whitney, because I care for you. As for proving yourself, there’s no need. I have absolute faith in you and I’m sorry if I sounded doubtful. I’m not.”
Her mouth twitched at the corners as a smile rose to her lips. “You fight dirty,” she told him, giving in to the smile.
“I do?”
“Yes. You’re taking unfair advantage of me.”
“From where I sit, you have all the advantages.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head, placing her cup back on the tray now that she needed no diversion. “I’m on your turf, you plied me with a scrumptious dinner, and now you’re playing love songs on the stereo. It seems that the cards are stacked in your favor.”
“If we’re talking about ‘stacked,’ lady, you definitely have the advantage.” His gaze roamed her figure and an appreciative smile touched his mouth. “You look as if you stepped out of a dream.” His hand slipped from her shoulder to caress her arm. “Do you want me to let you go now, Whitney?”
She looked down at his long-fingered hand on her sleeve and shook her head. “No, not yet.” Lifting her gaze, she confronted the banked fire in his eyes and she leaned closer to him, seeking the warmth. “Let’s kiss and make up.”
His lips brushed hers in a tantalizing promise of things to come. “Stay with me tonight, Whitney. I don’t have to work tomorrow, and we can spend it together and go to Ashley’s party tomorrow evening.”
It was a tempting invitation and one she had no intention of refusing. “Sounds wonderful,” she whispered against his lips. “Promise you won’t dash off tomorrow morning with no more than a quick kiss and a muttered, ‘Good morning’?”
“I promise.” His arms came around her and his mouth grazed hers again. “I’m ready for dessert.”
She laughed softly and grasped either side of his vest. “You’re not doing this just to keep me from spending the night alone with the Malibu Intruder still at large, are you?”
“I’m doing this for me,” Shadow murmured, his mouth blazing a trail down her cheek to the pulse under her right ear. “I don’t
want to spend the night alone.”
She only halfway believed him, but Whitney surrendered the argument. His mouth sought the tender areas on her throat, and once again Whitney was struck by his sensitivity. His motives for her being here might be selfish, but the way he made love wasn’t, Whitney thought with a contented sigh. He spoiled her, and she loved it, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was wise to relinquish herself to him and become used to this passionate pampering.
As if sensing her mental tug-of-war, Shadow framed her face in his hands and forced her to meet his level gaze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his thumbs massaging the backs of her ears. “Do you really think I want you to spend the night just so I can keep an eye on you?”
“No.” Unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, Whitney averted hers. “Shadow, where is this leading us? I hate to put a damper on the evening by bringing up the future, but…” Her courage left her and the rest of the sentence went unspoken. She glanced at him, saw his frown, and eased herself up from the couch.
What was she doing? she asked herself as she stared blindly at the photos on the mantel. She had been looking forward to this evening and the prospect of another night spent in Shadow’s loving embrace, but now she was putting more space between them. Was she letting her past discolor her present?
“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to expect promises and guarantees?” Shadow asked.
Gathering a deep breath, Whitney turned to face him. “Perhaps, but I think it’s time we talked about expectations.” She laced her fingers together tightly and pressed on. “The last time I … I was in this situation, I didn’t ask any questions even though I desperately needed the answers. I decided to play it by ear and let the chips fall where they may.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was no more than a shaky chuckle.
“And you were hurt,” Shadow finished for her, a tender smile on his lips.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want to be hurt again?”