White Satin

by Iris Johansen

  “I think you’re a little more tipsy than I thought.” A little smile tugged at his lips. Such a beautiful, sensual smile, Dany mused. “If you recall, you’ve been so wary of me, you were ready to kick me out of your life last night.” He was playing absently with her fingers. “Maybe I was a bit afraid of you, too, or I wouldn’t have brought Luisa here today. It could have been an unconscious defense mechanism.”

  “Afraid of me!”

  He nodded. “You mean too much to me,” he said simply, his eyes meeting hers with a vulnerability that brought an ache to her throat. “You’re the only person in the whole damn world who could hurt me. That frightens me, Dany.” He drew a deep breath. “I told myself that I brought Luisa here to shake you up a little, to make you see how much it would hurt to put anyone between us.” He lifted her hand and held it to his cheek. “And it did hurt, didn’t it, love? It hurt me when I thought about you with Kowalt, but I couldn’t stand seeing you suffer the same kind of torment I’d gone through.” He was rubbing her palm over the broad, hard contour of his cheekbone. “No more barriers between us, okay? No game playing, no wariness, just honesty.” He smiled with an effort. “That may be even more difficult for me than you.”

  It probably would be, she thought dreamily, for suddenly the fear that had been a predominant element in her love for Anthony for so long was completely gone. It had been banished by his confession of vulnerability, drowned in a protectiveness that was almost fiercely maternal. It was strange how buoyant and free she felt without that albatross dragging at her. How strong. As if for the first time in her life she could meet Anthony on his own ground.

  “You know, I’m glad I’m tipsy,” she said huskily. “It makes all the hard, cutting edges beautifully blurred and the complicated things so clear.” Her fingertips feathered lightly across the plane of his cheek to his lips. “I know you don’t approve of weakness, but just this time I’m glad I fell from grace.”

  He frowned. “You make me sound like a pompous ass. Everyone has weaknesses, me most of all. I sure as hell can’t judge other people’s faults when I have so many of my own. I just think everyone should fight them.” He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze before releasing it and standing up. “Come on, I’d better get you to bed. You’re in no shape for any meaningful discussions tonight.”

  He was wrong, she thought vaguely as he gathered her up in his arms and strode swiftly toward the door. If she hadn’t been in this strange golden state of limbo, she’d never have been able to banish the fear that had crippled her emotionally for so long. Now the way was clear for understanding and growth. She tried to tell him that, but the words were difficult to form when she was so deliciously warm and content in his arms, so she settled for protesting. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

  “You just think you don’t.” He was climbing the gracefully curving stairway with lithe strength. “You’ll be out like a light in a few minutes.”

  “Rhett Butler.”

  He looked down at her, his brow arched inquiringly. “What?”

  “Rhett Butler carried Scarlett O’Hara up a staircase like this,” she said, nestling closer. “Beau doesn’t like Rhett. He was a Yankee, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “He likes you though,” she assured him solemnly. He was very fit, she thought idly. His heart beneath her ear had barely increased its pace during the climb up the stairs. “He’s very grateful to you.”

  His arms tensed around her. “I gather he told you about his problem. He has nothing to be grateful to me for.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “I wish to hell he hadn’t said anything. I don’t want gratitude now or ever. Not from him and not from you. I do what I want to do and nobody owes me anything.”

  There would have been a time when that harshness might have intimidated her, but that time was past. “All right, nobody owes you anything,” she said agreeably. “I’ll have to remember that next time I’m tempted to tell you to go to hell when you’re playing Simon Legree.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Anthony’s surprised chuckle. “You do that.” His lips lightly brushed the top of her head. “Not that it will do you any good. You’ll still do things my way.”

  “We’ll see,” she said serenely. “You just might get a surprise.”

  He paused just inside her bedroom door to gaze down at her with a curious mixture of speculation and pride. “I might at that.” He kicked the door shut, then made his way carefully across the dark bedroom to the canopy bed in the center of the room. He laid her on the delicate beige paisley counterpane. “As you said, we’ll just have to see.” He reached out to switch on the lamp on the bedside table. “Tonight, though, I think we’ll just concentrate on getting you out of that gown and into bed. Can you sit up?”

  “Of course.” She proceeded to show him and was immediately punished by a dizziness that forced her to shut her eyes tightly to prevent the floor from heaving like an unruly sea. Anthony was immediately sitting beside her on the bed and she clutched tightly at his shoulders. “With a little help from my friends,” she amended faintly.

  “Do you know that’s the first time you’ve ever called me your friend?” he asked with a thread of huskiness in his voice. “It’s very …” He cleared his throat and spoke with gruff briskness. “I think you’d better submerge that independence temporarily and let me do it all.”

  “If you like.” She opened her eyes cautiously and found to her relief the floor had settled into a solid again.

  “I like,” Anthony said firmly. His fingers were unzipping the fastening at the back of the tulle gown. “This is very pretty. I like you in that shade of antique gold. It always brings out all the color in your hair.”

  “I thought it was beautiful, too, until I saw Luisa’s.” She looked up at him with a scowl. “Did you buy her that gown?”

  “Probably. I don’t remember,” he said casually as he carefully supported her with one arm while he pulled the gown down to her waist and then eased it over her hips. “And I’ll give her a generous check so she can buy as many pretty dresses as her heart desires for the next year. By that time she’ll have found someone else to pay the bills.”

  “Won’t she be hurt?” Dany’s eyes were troubled. “I like Luisa.”

  “I know you do.” His expression softened as he glanced at her face. “Do you think I’d have let her come to your home if I didn’t know that?”

  “My home?” Her eyes widened. “Briarcliff is your home, Anthony. You can bring anyone you like here.”

  He looked away uneasily and quickly busied himself with pulling off her high-heeled sandals and slipping her beneath the covers. “No, it isn’t,” he said haltingly. “When I sent you away six years ago, I deeded Briarcliff over to you. Competitive skating isn’t the most secure career in the world. I wanted you to have something to fall back on.” He scowled fiercely. “It should have been yours anyway, so don’t give me any of that gratitude crap.”

  “No, I won’t give you that.” She swiftly closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see the brightness of unshed tears in their depths. What a wonderful thing to do. “Something to fall back on.” Perhaps. But it was her home and she loved it. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, that was the real reason he’d given it to her, and that knowledge filled her with a glowing exhilaration that was pure joy. One day soon she’d tell him how she felt, but not now. If she said anything now, he’d mistake it for that cloying gratitude he seemed to despise so much. She opened her eyes, her gaze running lovingly over the bold planes of his still-frowning face. “Well, in that case,” she said with mock sternness, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your mistresses away from my house.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anthony said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood up. “We’ll discuss any further restrictions you wish to put on your humble tenant in the morning. Good night, Dany.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “You’re leaving? I thought you were going to sleep with
me.”

  He stiffened and his grin faded. “I’m not taking Briarcliff out in trade either, Dany. Gratitude is bad enough, but—”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said wearily. “I wasn’t suggesting any such thing. I just thought it would be nice if you could hold me and make the world stop going around.” Her lips trembled slightly. “You did it before.”

  “Once was enough for a lifetime,” he said, his lips tightening grimly. “I’d never last another night like that one, and there’s no way I’m going to take advantage of you while you’re under the influence.” He hesitated. “You really want me to stay?”

  She nodded. “But not if it’s going to be difficult for you.”

  “It’s going to be difficult.” He sighed. “But not as difficult as lying in another room worrying about you all night.” He was dragging the Queen Anne chair from across the room to the bed. He dropped into the chair and reached for her hand, enclosing it with sure, warm strength in his own. “A compromise. Satisfied?”

  “Satisfied.” She smiled happily. Then she felt a guilty qualm. “You’re going to be terribly uncomfortable if you stay there all night. You can leave right after I’ve gone to sleep.”

  “Thank you,” he said wryly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.” He reached out and turned off the lamp so that the only light was the moonlight streaming through the dimity curtains at the window across the room. He was only a dim shadow now but his hand holding hers was warm and strong and blessedly secure. She closed her eyes and felt drowsiness flow over her in a soothing tide.

  He felt her hand relax under his and knew she was asleep. He also knew there was no question of his leaving her as she’d suggested. Not now. Not when she’d asked him to stay beside her for the first time in her life. It was too precious a victory to yield for mere comfort’s sake.

  His thumb gently rubbed the palm of her hand. Such small, well-shaped hands, and so graceful, Anthony thought. He loved to watch every eager gesture and movement she made with them. He leaned back in the chair, a reminiscing smile curving his lips. Once, when she’d been about eleven or twelve, he’d been coaching her in a laid-back spin. He’d watched her perform the movement with all the exquisitely graceful, balletic overhead arm-and-hand movements the spin required. There had been such a look of dreamy exultation on her face that he’d impulsively asked what she’d been thinking of.

  “I was pretending I was reaching up to gather stars from the sky,” she’d said simply. Then the exultation had faded from her face, and she’d given him that half-apprehensive glance he was accustomed to seeing. “Pretty silly, huh?” she’d murmured. And skated away.

  Dany was always reaching for the stars, Anthony thought. Searching and working for the very best in herself and everyone around her. Perhaps he loved that facet of her personality most of all. She would be reaching for one of the brightest stars of all in a few weeks, and he wished to heaven he could wrest it from the firmament for her. God, he wished that!

  Well, he couldn’t do it. Dany had to fight her own battles, to gather her own stars … just as he had. If he tried to interfere, he’d be cheating her in the worst possible way. All he could do was stand aside and watch her struggle, hold her hand like this when she’d let him, and love her. Oh, yes, he could love her.

  His head settled against the high back of the chair as he prepared to wait the long hours until dawn. His thoughtful gaze was fastened on Dany’s shadowy profile, and his grasp tightened protectively on the hand of the woman who tried to gather stars.

  Chapter 5

  Anthony wasn’t there when she awoke, nor was there any note like the terse one that had met her that morning two days before. It didn’t disturb her. This morning she didn’t think anything could have disturbed the serenity and sheer joyous exuberance she was feeling. It was much later than she usually rose, almost nine o’clock, and she hurriedly showered, dressed in practice clothes, and ran lightly down the stairs within thirty minutes.

  She was met at the bottom of the stairs by Beau, who took one look at her glowing face and sparkling eyes and lifted a quizzical brow. “I thought you’d be dragging this morning,” he said. “Bags under the eyes and groaning with every cautious step. You’re not used to the sauce you were swilling last night.”

  “What a disgusting expression.” She made a face at him. “I did not swill. I sipped delicately and with great style.”

  “If a trifle copiously.”

  She nodded ruefully. “Definitely copiously. Oh, well, no harm done. I have a trace of a headache, but I’ll be rid of that once I’ve started to practice.” She checked the leather-banded watch on her wrist. “I’ll have some toast and coffee and be with you in ten minutes. Okay?”

  “Uh-uh.” Beau shook his bronze head. “No way, sugar. I received detailed instructions from Anthony before he left about the schedule you’re to follow today.” He grimaced. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Left?” she asked. “Anthony’s not here?”

  Beau nodded. “He left about forty-five minutes ago with the luscious Luisa. She took her bags. Evidently she’s not planning on coming back.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t say good-bye,” she murmured absently. Somehow she hadn’t thought Anthony would leave without speaking to her. For a moment it cast a shadow over her soaring spirits, but only for a moment. Then she gave herself an admonishing shake. What had she expected, for heaven’s sake? Last night had been only the beginning. They’d laid the groundwork for a new kind of relationship, but that was all. They had a long way to go. Anthony was still as enigmatic and complex as he’d ever been. It was only her attitude that had changed. But that was enough. She’d make it enough. “Did he leave any message for me?”

  “Several,” Beau drawled. “First, you’re to have a long, leisurely breakfast. I’m to see that you eat properly, upon threat of mutilation. Second, you’re to be permitted three uplifting hours on the ice doing compulsory figures.” She scowled. “I thought that would hurt.”

  “I worked on those yesterday,” she objected.

  “Anthony says you’re to do them today too. Then you may rest, have a light lunch, and, if you feel like it, you can work on ballet at the barre for a while before dinner.”

  “Three hours on the ice and just on the figures.” She shook her head. “I can’t do that. What can Anthony be thinking?”

  He shrugged. “He asked that you meet him at ten o’clock tonight at the rink, so he may plan on going over the long program with you himself.”

  She felt her heart leap. “Anthony’s coming back today?”

  Beau nodded, his gaze narrowed on her face that was suddenly alight. “He was expecting to be at Dynathe until early evening, but he said to tell you he’d be back by ten at the latest. He’s having to squeeze your training in between board meetings.”

  “I suppose I should be honored,” she said lightly. “I’d better be sure to get plenty of rest today so I’ll be fresh when he gets around to me.”

  “You’re not as upset as I thought you’d be,” Beau said, his face thoughtful. “No arguments?”

  “Not at the moment,” she said with a serene smile as she tucked her arm into his. “But as your Scarlett pointed out, tomorrow is another day. Now suppose you escort me into the breakfast room and start this force-feeding process Anthony’s so set upon.”

  There were no lights streaming from the tall arched windows of the gray stone building that housed the rink as she walked swiftly up the path, and for a moment she felt a stab of disappointment. He hadn’t been able to make it back to Briarcliff after all, then. She shouldn’t have expected it, she supposed. Anthony was a terribly busy man, and it was perfectly natural that he should become so involved, he would forget even to call and tell her he couldn’t return as planned. Her mind made all the appropriate excuses, but it didn’t help lift the crushing weight of depression that was suddenly bearing down upon her.

  It wasn’t until she opened th
e door that she heard it: the triumphant strains of Ravel’s “Bolero” soaring through the empty rink with the fiery glory of an army with pennants flying. No, not quite empty, she realized with a swift surge of excitement.

  Anthony was in the center of the ice, dressed in a black crew-neck sweater and black jeans. She had a fleeting memory of the first time she’d seen him so long ago. A dark flame, she’d thought him then, and he hadn’t really changed much in the years since. He was attacking the ice with the same incredible grace that was pure breathtaking beauty to watch. A triple executed with absolute precision, a spin that was a blur of high-speed motion, a camel that was sheer poetry.

  As she’d noticed, he hadn’t turned on any of the lights, but she could still see him with daylight clarity. The moon’s rays were streaming through the skylight that covered most of the ceiling and cast a silver glow over the glittering ice and the man who was making it his own.

  She softly closed the door and slowly made her way across the arena to the bench beside the sound unit in the shadows at the rim of the rink, not taking her eyes off Anthony’s lithe figure. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she wanted to take advantage of this rare opportunity to watch unobserved as Anthony released all the passionate intensity he usually kept leashed. She sat down on the bench, automatically unzipped her skate case, drew out her skates, and slipped them on. Lord, the height of that split was fantastic. There was no question that Anthony was getting into the ice, she thought ruefully as she swiftly laced up her skates. Even in that split when he’d left the ice to soar, the observer had confidence it would receive him like an eager lover when he returned to it.

  As she would receive him if he came to her. That sudden realization came as no real surprise. The tingle of breathless anticipation she’d attempted to smother all day, the way she’d dressed tonight with instinctive ritual, the sense of dreamlike inevitability she was experiencing now. She hadn’t come to practice. She wanted to belong to Anthony, and she’d come to him to offer herself with the primitive simplicity of woman.