The Ugly Duckling

by Iris Johansen

  “From the first moment I saw it. Sometimes it happens that way.”

  “It did for Peter. He said he belonged here.” Her gaze returned to the boy’s face. “I believe it. He looks … complete.”

  “Complete?”

  “Finished.” He was still looking at her inquiringly and she searched for words. “He’s not an ugly duckling anymore.”

  “He looks a little tanner, but I don’t see any startling improvement in his appearance.”

  “That’s not what I meant. When I was a little girl my grandmother used to tell me about the ugly ducklings of the world and how they all became swans.” She shrugged. “And then I found out that it wasn’t necessarily true.”

  “It was for you.”

  “But that was a miracle. Joel’s miracle. But lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps everyone has a shot at becoming a swan. Because it’s partly inside. If you search out who you are and come to peace with yourself, maybe that’s a kind of miracle too. Maybe as we grow out of all the awkwardness of immaturity and self-doubt, it all comes together. Maybe that’s what we—” She stopped and made a face. “I sound so profound. Why aren’t you laughing at me?”

  “Because I applaud any sign that you’re thinking of something besides Medas. So Peter is finished?”

  “You are laughing at me.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Maybe not finished, but he’s taken a big step.”

  “A goose step?” He held up his hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. All these fowl allegories are befuddling me. Actually, I think it makes sense. So Joel created a swan in more ways than one?”

  She shook her head. “Not me. I’m not finished. I’m … splintered. But I think you know who you are. So does Tania.” Her gaze shifted to his face, and she found he was no longer smiling but was looking at her with disturbing intentness. She quickly glanced away and said lightly, “Tania may be a swan, but I’m sure you’re a chicken hawk.”

  “Possibly.” His tone was absent and she still felt his stare on her face.

  She shivered as a breath of icy wind pierced the warm cocoon of the circle of the campfire.

  “Button your jacket,” he said.

  She didn’t move.

  “Button it,” he repeated. “It gets cold here in the hills.”

  She thought of disobeying him, but why cut off her nose to spite him? She buttoned her jacket. “I don’t need you to tell me how to care for myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  “Not very well,” he said with sudden harshness. “You let everyone within striking distance make a doormat of you. You gave up a career you loved, you let your parents stampede you into marriage to a man who didn’t give a damn about you, and then—”

  “You’re wrong.” She was caught off guard by his abrupt roughness. “Richard cared for me. I’m the one who cheated him.”

  “I can’t believe you. He’s still managing to manipulate your emotions even though—”

  “Richard’s dead. Stop talking about him.”

  “The hell I will.” He turned his head and met her eyes. “Why won’t you admit the bastard used you? He had a sweet little well-bred wife he could dominate to his heart’s content, a wife who would never say no because she was filled with gratitude that he had lowered himself—”

  “Shut up.” She drew a deep breath. “What difference does it make to you anyway?”

  “Because I want to go to bed with you, dammit.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “You heard me.” His words hammered at her. “Or should I use more earthy Anglo-Saxon terms? Do you want to hear it in Chinese? Greek?”

  “I don’t want to hear it at all,” she said shakily.

  “I know that. I didn’t say I was going to try to drag you into bed. I know you’re not ready for that.”

  “Then why mention it at all?”

  “Because I want it,” he said simply. “And I’m tired of fighting it. And because it won’t hurt to put the thought into your head. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  She moistened her lips. “I wish you hadn’t said anything. It will make things uncomfortable.”

  “Join the club. I’ve been uncomfortable for some time. I’m uncomfortable now.”

  Her gaze dropped to his lower body and quickly sidled away. “I’m sorry. I never meant … I wish you—”

  “Would let you put your head under a pillow and ignore it?” he asked. “Just as you’ve been doing for the past few weeks?”

  “I haven’t been ignoring it. I didn’t know.”

  “You knew. It’s hard to ignore.”

  “You hid it well.”

  He smiled lopsidedly. “Not that well. It’s a condition that’s not easy to disguise.”

  Had she known and buried her head in the sand? Perhaps. It was possible she had rejected Michaela’s words because she had not wanted to believe them. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

  “No, sex would get in the way, wouldn’t it? Though we could probably squeeze it in between murder and mayhem.”

  “You needn’t be sarcastic.”

  “Yes, I do. Sarcasm can be very satisfying. The only satisfaction I may get from you.”

  “Use someone else for your verbal punching bag.” She paused as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Does this mean you won’t teach me anymore?”

  He stared at her. “You’re incredible.”

  “Does it?”

  “No, I rule my body, it doesn’t rule me.” He muttered, “Most of the time.”

  “Good.” She put her forgotten cup of coffee on the ground and lay down in her blankets. “Then it won’t interfere.”

  “It wouldn’t interfere if you decide to go to bed with me either. I’m asking for sex, not a lifetime commitment.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m not like you.” She bit her lower lip. “I can’t just—I’ve had sex with only two men in my entire life.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Of course I liked it.”

  “Then maybe you should try a third. You say Nell Calder is dead. Why are you clinging to her sense of morality?” He smiled recklessly. “Let Eve Billings go to bed with me. She’s alive and functioning, and I’m not particular.”

  She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just wish you hadn’t seen fit to tell me, since it’s an exercise in futility.”

  “Not entirely. It made you aware of something about me besides my knack for martial arts.” He spread his blanket. “You’ll think about it and wonder about how we’d be together.” He lay down and closed his eyes. “We’d be very good, Nell. I wasn’t raised in a whorehouse without learning how to make damn sure of it.”

  She felt heat flood her and she instinctively sought to stem it. “You left there when you were eight years old,” she said tartly.

  He opened one eye. “I was precocious.”

  She shut her own eyes and drew the blanket over her. “Bull.”

  “You’ll never know unless you try me.” She heard the rustle of his blankets as he settled.

  Go to sleep, she told herself. Tanek had propositioned her and she had refused. It was done. There was no reason to feel uneasy. He was a civilized man who would take no for an answer.

  He was also a man who had fought for everything he wanted from childhood and won. He would not give up easily. He would not force her, but he was not above persuasion.

  But you could say no to persuasion, you could refuse anything you didn’t want. She didn’t want the disturbance and hot mindlessness connected with sex. She wanted to stay cool and focused, to stand outside, apart.

  She opened her eyes. Tanek was lying with eyes closed, his lax hand outstretched toward the fire. A strong hand, well shaped, capable, the nails cut short. She knew that hand well. She knew its power and lethal force. A dangerous hand. Yet now it didn’t look dangerous. Just strong … and masculine. She had always loved to paint hands. There was something magical about them. Hands built cities and created great works of art, they
could be brutal or gentle, bring pain or pleasure.

  Like Tanek.

  She felt as if she were melting just looking at the damn man’s hand. Why the devil did this have to happen? She wanted her sexuality to stay soundly asleep.

  Too late. But not too late for control. Maybe it would go away.

  She closed her eyes again. She could smell the evergreens and the burning oak and feel the coldness of the air. Awareness. She was suddenly acutely sensitive to sound and scent, the rough feel of the wool blanket against her bare arms. Nothing had changed. Jill was still dead. Her body had no right to come alive again.

  Damn Tanek.

  “Sharper,” Tanek said. “You’re sluggish. I could have put you down twice this morning.”

  She whirled and kicked him in the stomach.

  He staggered back but instantly recovered to grab her arm as she closed in to finish him. He flipped her down and straddled her. “Sluggish.”

  “Let me up,” she panted.

  “Maritz wouldn’t let you up.”

  “I was distracted. I wouldn’t be distracted with Maritz.”

  He got off her and pulled her to her feet. “Why are you distracted?”

  “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “You never sleep well. You wander around the house like a ghost.”

  She hadn’t realized he knew. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “You do disturb me.” He turned his back on her.

  “Go take a bath and a nap. Tomorrow I want you alert and razor-sharp.”

  Like him. Since they had come back from the mesa two days before, he had been razor-sharp and all edges. She did not know what she had expected, but it was not to have him treat her with brusque indifference.

  No, not indifference. She knew he was aware of her, that was part of the problem. He exuded awareness beneath that cool, incisive exterior.

  And she was aware of Tanek.

  Christ, she was aware of him.

  “Go to bed.” Tanek closed his book and stood up. “It’s late.”

  “In a minute. I want to finish this sketch.” She didn’t look up. “Good night.”

  “I thought you were done with the sketches for Michaela.”

  “Another few won’t hurt before I start painting.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look up.

  “Don’t be late. You were so groggy, you weren’t worth my time this morning.”

  She flinched. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

  “If you do, you’ll go a week without a session. I told you I believed in reward and punishment.”

  She said quietly, “Are you sure you’re not looking for an excuse?”

  “Maybe. Don’t give me one.”

  She drew a breath of relief as he left the room. When he was with her, she had to fight to keep herself from looking at him. She didn’t want to see his lean body lounging in the chair or his hand turning the pages of the book. She didn’t want to smell the scent of soap and aftershave that surrounded him.

  She traced in the last few strokes of the hairline. Her hand was shaking, she realized. She hated to feel this weak. She didn’t want to respond like an animal in heat as she watched the way he moved across the room. It hadn’t been like this with Richard, or even Bill. What the hell was wrong with her?

  She put down her pencil and studied the sketch of Tanek. She had thought if she used him as a subject it would act as a catharsis. She had caught his likeness very well. The quiet intelligence, the strength, the intensity that lay beneath the surface, the faint hint of sensuality in the curve of his lower lip …

  Sensuality. Had the sensuality been there or had she let her own obsession color the sketch? She didn’t know. She knew only that it was there, stark and raw before her.

  She jumped up and stuffed the sketchbook into her portfolio. She was hot, her cheeks flushed and feverish. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should never have sketched him. It hadn’t helped. Where was the control she had been going to exercise? She wasn’t a young girl with hormones raging, panting for her first encounter.

  But she felt as vulnerable and unsure as that girl. She had thought she’d passed through that valley of uncertainty. What was the use of being confident in other aspects of her life if she let herself be swayed by—

  Forget it. Go to bed. Go to sleep. Start again tomorrow.

  If she could sleep. She had lain there for hours last night, frustrated, wanting—

  She would sleep.

  She was dreaming again.

  Tanek stopped in the hall as he heard the soft, whimpering sounds coming from behind Nell’s door.

  Dreaming. Hurting.

  He should go to his room and forget it. It wasn’t as if it didn’t happen almost every night. He couldn’t help her. He didn’t want to help her.

  To breach those dreams would be to draw closer to her, and he was too close already.

  He wanted to screw that strong, lovely body, not soothe her tortured soul.

  Hell, he would go to bed and forget her.

  Down, down, down, touching the rose …

  Nell fought her way out of the heavy layers of sleep and away from the dream.

  She lay there shaking, trying to control the sobs.

  I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, Jill.

  She sat up and thrust her feet blindly into her slippers.

  Get away from the bed, the room, the dream …

  The living room. Space, fire, windows …

  She moved quickly down the dark hallway. She could see the glow of the firelit walls of the living room ahead. It was going to be all right. She would stay there until she was calm and then go back to bed and—

  She stopped abruptly in the doorway of the living room.

  “Come in.” Tanek was sitting on the leather couch before the fire, wrapped in a white terry robe. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She whispered, “No, I don’t …” She backed away. “I didn’t mean—I’ll go.”

  “And leave me to sit here, worrying about you? Why? Do you brood more efficiently alone?”

  “I wasn’t brooding.”

  “The hell you—” He broke off and said wearily, “Sorry. I know you weren’t. I’m the one who’s brooding. You’re just trying to survive. Come on in and we’ll try to do it together.”

  She hesitated. Her feelings for him were confused enough, she didn’t want to be exposed to him when she was this vulnerable.

  He looked up and smiled faintly. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

  No edge. No sharpness. She came slowly toward him.

  “Good.” He gazed back at the fire, ignoring her.

  She perched on the edge of the stool beside the fire.

  “You needn’t be so tense. I’m not going to jump on you. Neither physically nor verbally. I don’t fight dirty with the walking wounded.”

  “You don’t fight dirty at all.”

  “Sure I do. You just haven’t seen me in the right arena.” He reached into the pocket of his robe, drew out a handkerchief, and threw it to her. “Wipe your face.”

  She dabbed at her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  A silence fell, only the sound of the crackling wood and their breathing in the air. She began to relax. His silent presence was oddly comforting. This was better than being alone to face the demons. He couldn’t share the dreams, but he kept them at bay.

  “You can’t go on like this, you know,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t answer. There was no answer.

  “Tania told me about the dreams. Sometimes it helps to talk. Would you like to tell me what they’re about?”

  “No.” She met his gaze and then shrugged. “Medas.”

  “I know they’re about Medas. What else?”

  “Jill,” she said jerkily. “What else could there be?”

  “I can understand sorrow. I can’t understand torment.”

  “Jill is dead and Maritz is still out there.”

  “Anger, not to
rment.”

  She felt cornered. She wasn’t in any condition to accept probing. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I think you do. I think that’s why you didn’t run away when you saw me here. What happens in your dream, Nell?”

  Her hands opened and closed nervously. “What do you think happens?”

  “Are you struggling with Maritz?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is Jill?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Is she in the bedroom?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Are you on the balcony?”

  “No.”

  “Can you hear the shots from downstairs?”

  “No, not anymore. All I hear is the music box.”

  Down, down, down, we go, touching the rose so red.

  Why wouldn’t he stop? She was being drawn back into that dark, hazy world.

  “Where is Jill?”

  Damn him, why wouldn’t he stop?

  “Where is Jill, Nell?”

  “She’s in the doorway,” Nell burst out. “She’s standing in the doorway, crying, and watching us. Is that what you want to know?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

  Her nails dug into her palms as her hands clenched. “Because it’s none of your business.”

  “Why?”

  Here we go down, down, down.

  “Why, Nell?”

  “Because I screamed.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I didn’t think … they always tell you to scream to frighten off an attacker. I screamed and she came out of the bedroom. It was my fault. If I hadn’t screamed, she might have stayed in bed. He might not have known she was there. She might have been safe.”

  “My God.”

  She was rocking back and forth on the stool. “It was my fault. She came out and he saw her.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” she said fiercely. “Didn’t you hear me? I screamed.”

  “A terrible sin when a man is trying to stab you to death.”

  “It was a sin. She was my daughter. I should have thought. I should have protected her.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “You did what you thought was right. Maritz would have found her anyway. He doesn’t leave any ends untied.”

  “He might not have known she was there.”