by Diana Palmer
“Hey, thanks a lot,” she grumbled. “Do I look that old?”
“We’re the same age,” he pointed out.
She sighed. “And lately I feel about forty. My get up and go has got up and went, as the saying goes. Okay, I’ll try it out. I just happen to have this great silver disco dress that I never get a chance to wear. I’ll drop by the house and pick it up.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl!”
It should have occurred to her to wonder why Donald was taking her to a disco when his own musical taste ran to Verdi and Wagner. But it didn’t. It was only when they were seated at a table facing the multilighted dance floor with its pulsing colors and throbbing music that his motives became clear. Glancing over her steak and red wine, she noticed John Durango only four tables away, with Melody sitting practically in his lap.
“I will murder you,” she told Donald sweetly, her fork poised in midair. “I will sprinkle a beastly, non-detectable poison over your food one night and stand gaily by while you choke and gasp your last!”
“No, you won’t,” Donald said confidently, sipping his wine with sparkling eyes. “Well, you were mooning over him. I just called Josito and asked where he was—that is, I had Maisie do it. The rest was simple.”
“Just like me,” she muttered. “Simple. Well, you can take me home right now!” She threw down her napkin.
“Oh, no, I can’t possibly,” he said pleasantly, blinking. “You see, if you walk out that door, he’ll know that you’re jealous.”
“I’m not…” She lowered her voice. “I’m not jealous.”
He grinned. “Yes, you are.”
She felt eyes boring into her, and looked up straight into John’s silver gaze. He was openly glaring, and the impact of his look made her heart turn over. His mouth under the mustache was drawn into a thin line, and his face was rigid. She dropped her eyes quickly to the remains of her steak, wishing her renegade heart would slow down.
“My, my, what a wicked glare that was,” Donald chuckled. “Furious, isn’t he?”
“You know very well I’d walk a mile to avoid John right now,” she ground out.
“The reverse is also true, if my cousin’s expression is anything to go by,” he replied. “And Melody looks as if she might sprout horns any second. Pretty little thing, isn’t she? So young, too.”
That hurt. She gave Donald her best I’ll-get-you-yet stare and watched him wiggle under it. “She’s a knockout, all right,” she agreed with a sweet smile. “Lucky John.”
Donald pursed his lips and studied her. “Strange, that isn’t what you said at Elise’s party that night. In fact, you did your best to rescue him from her clutches.”
“We were friends, then,” she replied, and memories of those seemingly long-ago days made her sad. She finished her steak without tasting it, and tossed back her red gold hair after she demolished the rest of the wine. The silver disco dress glittered as she moved, highlighting the slenderness of her body, the fiery shade of her hair.
“You’re still my friend, I hope,” he said.
She sighed. “I suppose so,” she admitted, her eyes soulful. “With a vicious personality like yours, you need at least one friend. How lucky for you that I have the hide of a rhinoceros.”
He laughed softly. “And the memory of a six-month-old,” he added, teasing. He got to his feet. “Dance with me. We’ll show ‘em how.”
“I’m not even sure I can do that kind of dance,” she muttered, letting him lead her away from the table.
“It’s easy. You just pretend that you’re walking over a row of water moccasins barefooted.”
“Ugh!” she shuddered, trying to look normal as she was led past John’s table.
Naturally, Donald stopped just at that moment, and flashed his best grin at John. The older man, in an open-throated white silk shirt under an expensive burgundy velvet jacket, was something to catch any woman’s eye.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Cousin John,” Donald said in mock surprise. “And who’s this? Melody, isn’t it?” he added with an appreciative look at the little blonde. “Melody, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Madeline here is a great friend of John’s,” he added wickedly.
“Yes, I know her very well,” John replied, and everyone but Madeline missed the double entendre in his words.
“We had lunch together just last week,” she told Melody sweetly. “Spaghetti, wasn’t it?” she murmured, turning to the other girl’s escort.
John cocked an eyebrow at her. “That’s what it felt like,” he agreed casually.
“I didn’t know you cared for disco, cousin,” Donald remarked.
John glared at him. “Melody likes it,” he said shortly.
Madeline felt her blood start to simmer, but she forced a smile. “Ah, it’s so nice for young people, though, isn’t it, John?” she asked with a sigh. “Of course, at your age, old friend—” she emphasized the old “—this kind of dancing can be dangerous. It could throw your back out for weeks. Not to mention what it can do to arthritic joints.”
“I don’t have arthritic joints,” he pointed out curtly.
“That you know of,” she agreed. Her eyes lowered demurely. “But you have been complaining of aches a lot lately.”
She felt rather than saw him bristle, and wondered at her own impudence in baiting him. It wasn’t going to help the situation.
“I’ve found a nice remedy for those aches,” he replied after a minute, his arm going around Melody, who snuggled close with a smug look at Madeline.
“Let’s go, love,” Donald said, easing his arm around her waist and grinning at John, whose eyes flashed dangerously. “See you, cousin.”
She let Donald lead her onto the dance floor blindly, hurting in ways she’d never imagined she could. She let her body translate its painful rage into movement as she mechanically went through the paces of the disco dances, losing herself in the light and music. Only a little over two weeks ago, she and John had been as close as two people could get, and now they might as well live in different countries. It broke her heart.
She was aware of eyes watching her, and turned to see John and Melody dancing nearby. For a man of his size and age, John was devastating on the dance floor. He put most of the younger men, including Donald, to shame, and hardly had a hair out of place when the music stopped for a few seconds.
One of the younger girls moved close to John and Melody, her big blue eyes fascinated as she stared up at him. “Excuse me,” Madeline heard her say, “but aren’t you the star of that TV series?”
“Sorry, I’m not,” came the amused reply, and he smiled exactly like the adventure series hero he so closely resembled.
“Has anyone ever told you…” the girl persisted.
“…that I sound like him?” John teased. “A few people.”
“Well, you sure do!” she sighed. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“Not at all,” John replied with another rugged grin.
Madeline lifted her chin and stared at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes. He looked at her and caught that twinkle, and for just an instant the antagonism fell away. How many times had they shared coffee and cake at his apartment or her small house while they watched that rugged TV star in action and marveled at the resemblance?
But then John’s eyes went to Donald and back to Melody, and the wall was firmly in place once more.
The music began again, and Madeline let herself go, swaying to the rhythm, losing her body to it with a sensuality that made Donald gape at her. It wasn’t long before she realized that Donald wasn’t the only one gaping at her soft curves in their deliciously provocative cover. She danced and laughed and gave the performance of her life, while inside her something fragile and budding withered like an iced-over blossom.
A few minutes later, Melody left John to go to the ladies’ room, and Donald chose that moment to go to the bar for drinks, leaving John and Madeline together as they started back through the cr
owd toward their respective seats.
“It won’t work,” he said.
“What won’t?” she asked in all innocence.
“Following me around trying to explain,” he said with the old, familiar arrogance. Tall, broad, sensuous, he made her want to throw herself into his arms….
“I’m not following you,” she said tightly.
“Then who called Josito and asked where I’d be tonight?” he growled, his silver eyes pinning hers. “Josito thought it was you.”
“It was Maisie!” she countered without thinking.
“Same difference,” he shot back. “Well, go ahead. Tell me he was in your bedroom as a joke.”
“He was!” she bit off, her eyes unconsciously pleading with him. “It was all just to needle you!”
“It did bother me, for a minute or two,” he admitted, stopping in the middle of the floor to glare down at her. “But when I came to my senses, I realized I didn’t really give a damn why he was there. I don’t want a woman who’ll go straight from my bed to another man’s.”
“Then what are you doing hanging out with Melody, darling?” she asked with sweet sarcasm, unprepared for the effect the casual endearment had on him.
He caught his breath, his big body tautening as he looked at her, and for just an instant it all fell away, and they were back at the beginning, so hungry for each other that nothing else mattered. She looked into his darkening eyes, took a step toward him and stumbled clumsily.
She didn’t realize that she was going down until he caught her against him and held her up.
“What is it?” he asked curtly. “Are you drunk?”
She drew in a deep, steadying breath, glorying in the feel of his hands on her, his body so close that she could feel it and smell the clean, enticing fragrance of it.
“My shoe slid,” she said defiantly.
“Well, pull yourself together,” he growled, his hands tightening on her bare arms, hurting. “This isn’t Elise’s party, and I’m not carrying you out of here in a mock faint. I told you it was over between us, and I meant it. I don’t want you anymore, Madeline.”
Nothing, ever, had hurt as much as those last few words. She looked up at him in an absolute fog. Her eyes, betraying the hurt, were wide and green and misty with sudden tears. Her lower lip trembled, catching his attention, and something wild shadowed over his face for an instant.
She pulled away from him, avoiding his eyes. “Excuse me, won’t you?” she asked in a thin, ultrapolite tone.
“Madeline…” There was an uncharacteristic indecision in that deep, slow voice, but she wasn’t going to wait to find out what he wanted.
She pivoted away from the table and headed into the ladies’ room, darting past a stunned Melody to take refuge in one of the stalls.
When she had taken a few deep, steadying breaths, composed her features and assured herself she was not going to cry, she joined Melody in front of the mirror. Her face was pale, and her eyes unnaturally bright.
“Something wrong?” Melody asked with a careless glance as she finished layering on red lipstick. “You don’t look too great.”
“Just a little too much wine,” Madeline lied, closing her eyes.
Melody put away the lipstick and snapped her purse together. “Well, I’d better get back to Johnny before he misses me. Oooh, isn’t he just too much?” she sighed. “So macho…we’re going to spend next weekend in Nassau—he has a house there, you know. I can hardly wait! Well, see you, honey, I hope you feel better. Ciao!”
The bottled up tears ran down Madeline’s cheeks like raindrops. She hated John and Melody and all she wanted to do was go home and forget this terrible night.
She drew out some makeup and tried to make herself look alive. She touched up her cheeks and her mouth and went back out to the table where Donald was waiting.
He looked up as she eased into her seat, his brows drawing together.
“What the hell’s the matter?” he burst out.
Her eyebrows went arching up. “What do you mean?”
“You look like a painted corpse,” he replied bluntly. He grabbed the check and stood up. “We’re going, right now.”
“But…”
“No buts. I never should have brought you here. I’m sorry, Madeline. Come on.” He put his arm around her waist and drew her along with him toward the exit. She felt John’s eyes on her back, but she didn’t dare look. He didn’t want her anymore. She was just going to have to get used to that.
Donald saw her into the garage apartment, wavering uncertainly as he held the doorknob in his hand.
“What did he do to upset you so?” he asked, concerned.
She smiled, shaking her head. “Nothing. It was just awkward seeing him again.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets, grimacing. “And my fault,” he ground out. He managed to look ashamed of himself. “You’re John’s one weakness,” he said after a minute. “Or, at least, you used to be. The only one I remember, to date. And you know what they say about love and war and fair play.”
She looked up at him from her comfortable seat on the sofa bed. “Why do you hate him so?” she asked. “Surely not because your father left him those shares….”
He laughed unpleasantly, and his face hardened. For a minute, he resembled John in a bad mood. “John and I grew up together, did you know? He lived with us while his father was in the Marines. My whole life seemed to revolve around John and what he wanted. My father loved him. John could do no wrong and I could do no right. John stayed with us until I was sixteen—just long enough to cut me completely out of my father’s affection. I never measured up. Never!”
These were things she’d never known. John was usually tight-lipped about Donald and up until now Donald hadn’t been forthcoming, either.
“And I could have swallowed that, all of it, without choking, even the shares being willed to John,” Donald said surprisingly. “But when he married Ellen…”
She stared at him, finally understanding, watching his face change, soften, sadden. “You loved her,” she breathed.
“I worshipped her,” he corrected. “She was my girl, until John cut me out.”
“He cared about her….” she reminded him, recalling those rare times when John would talk about Ellen, and his life with her.
“He possessed her, totally. She couldn’t breathe until she checked with John to make sure it was okay. She had no life at all unless she was in his pocket,” he said bitterly. “And his life was the damned corporation. The nights she spent alone, the holidays he was out of town…!”
She got up to lay a gentle hand on his sleeve. “Donald, she always had the option of leaving him,” she reminded him quietly. “People, for the most part, live in prisons of their own making. You can’t put the responsibility for your happiness on someone else’s shoulders. You have to make your own.”
He sighed deeply. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” he asked with a short laugh. “She’s dead. And the living have to go on living, somehow. Needling John keeps me alive, you know. It gives me a reason to get up in the morning.”
“What a silly reason!” she burst out.
He actually flushed. “I beg your pardon?”
“The world wasn’t meant to be a morgue,” she said curtly. “Ellen is dead, but you’re still young and you have things to offer another woman. Why don’t you stop trying to climb into her grave, and live a little? Before it’s too late and you find yourself so caught up in your cruel game that you forget how to love?”
He stared down at her as if she’d hit him suddenly, his eyes blinking, glazed.
“Are you in love with John?” he asked gently.
She turned away. “He was my friend once,” she hedged. “I’m very tired, Donald. Good night.”
***
By the time the Annual Charity Ball rolled around two weeks later, Madeline’s life had once again settled into a routine of hard work. She would be grateful for a little diversion, sh
e thought as she slipped into her clinging black gown with the huge red rose on its single shoulder strap.
She’d committed herself to the ball weeks ago—before she and John had had their falling-out—and since she was on the refreshment committee, she had to be there. Donald was tied up and couldn’t go, and she was tempted to make up an excuse herself. But with a sigh she gathered her purse and went out the door. Maybe John would be out of town or unable to attend the annual affair.
When she walked through the door of the huge civic center, however, the first person she saw was John Durango.
Her knees went rubbery and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out his name in anguish. He was wearing evening clothes, and looked so devastatingly handsome that her eyes clung to him.
He turned at that moment and looked toward her, his eyes taking in every soft curve of her body with a glitter in them that was obvious even at a distance.
She turned away, heading toward some other members of the sponsoring committee, and managed to enmesh herself in conversation before he could make a move in her direction. Not that he would have, she told herself. He’d said that it was over between them.
She managed to avoid him for most of the evening. She knew many of the people in attendance, and had partners aplenty for the graceful ballroom dances. It was a far cry from the disco, and she adored the sound of waltzes played by the live orchestra, the look of the exquisite dresses billowing as their wearers were twirled around.
It was almost midnight when Jack Rafter, a mutual friend of hers and John’s, caught her hand, saying, “There you are.” He dragged her over to where John was standing alone on the edge of the dance floor. “John, here’s Madeline. Since you’re free for this dance, and it’s the last one, I can’t think of a better partner for you. Go on, go on, I haven’t seen you two dance together even once all night!”
Madeline wanted to hit the little man over the head with her purse, but she couldn’t make a scene here, of all places. Besides, she knew he meant well.
“May I?” John asked with bitter politeness, taking her elbow to guide her onto the crowded dance floor.