by Amii Lorin
Good night! Good night? Stunned, Jen sat staring at the empty doorway. No! Anger ignited by fear catapulted her to her feet. Dammit, no! Tired or not, he could not let her hang like this. She would not let him. There had been too many things left unsaid. There were explanations to be given—by both of them. And the time was now. Scared but determined she walked to the stairs.
Expecting to find Adam in bed, Jen was surprised to see him standing by the window, his hands thrust into his pants pockets. He had removed his jacket and tie, and had opened the buttons on his short-sleeved shirt. He didn't turn around when she entered the room, yet she knew he was aware of her presence.
"Adam?"
"What?"
He didn't turn around, and the flat, indifferent tone of his voice sent a shaft of unease through her.
"Why"—Jen wet her dry lips—"why didn't you tell me your father was ill?"
"Why?" Now he turned, and Jen almost wished he hadn't. His expression held both anger and disbelief. "Why?" He repeated mockingly. "Because you were so obviously uninterested, that's why."
"B-but I—I," Jen sputtered, unable to believe she'd heard him right. Had he really accused her of being uninterested?
"But hell," he spat savagely across her stuttering words. "You've made it very clear—from the beginning—what you wanted from this marriage, and interest in my father, or any other area of my life, wasn't part of it."
"What are you talking about?" Jen gasped.
"You know damned well what I'm talking about," he snarled. "Why did you leave my bed that morning?" he demanded.
"Be-because—I—I" Jen floundered at the suddenness of his question, her cheeks flushing pink.
"Because you were ashamed of what had happened there," Adam said flatly.
"No, Adam!" Jen protested. "I—"
"I needed you that morning," Adam's thickened voice cut through her protest. "My mother was damn near hysterical when she called me. She pleaded with me to come at once. You see, the doctors had told my brother they didn't know if he'd live until we could get there." His tone went rough. "I had to go, and I needed to see you, and you weren't there."
"But when you came back, Adam, you never said anything," Jen cried.
"I did try. You said it wasn't important." His lips twisted unpleasantly. "It didn't take long to figure what was important to you."
"What do you mean?" By the tone of his voice Jen was sure she would not like his answer. She was right.
"That bed." Adam jerked his head at their bed. "I should have kept my hands off you. I should have left you unawakened and safe in your tight, moralistic world. You couldn't face it, could you? So in your shame you went sneaking away. And when I got back and called you, needing you even more, you were prepared to cut me dead, weren't you?"
"Adam, no! You don't understand. I was—" Jen got no further.
"You were hungry." He flung the accusation at her. "You have a hungry body and a greedy mouth, both of which very obviously drive me crazy. And when I asked you to marry me you said yes simply to make that hunger legal and moral. That's what's important to you."
"That is not true, Adam," Jen denied fiercely.
"No?" Adam's brows arched exaggeratedly. "Then why have you never asked any questions, not even about the woman who came to your parents' home the day of the wedding?"
"Because I was afraid," Jen shouted at him, goaded beyond endurance.
"Afraid of what, for God's sake?" he shouted back.
"Of losing you. Of boring you. Of not being able to hold your interest," Jen sobbed, brushing at the tears that were suddenly running down her face. "After the way you grew up, and the life-style you were used to"—she waved her hand in self-dismissal—"what could I possibly offer you?"
"Jennifer!"
"No, let me finish," Jen insisted. "Can you try and imagine how—how dull my life suddenly seemed while I was listening to you tell me about yours? Can you try and imagine how bland and uninteresting I felt? When I read your note the first thing I thought was that having had your fun, you had decided to skip the good-byes—and possible recriminations."
"Dammit, Jennifer," Adam began angrily, but Jen went on doggedly.
"But—well—remembering how we'd been together, I—I just knew you were not like that."
"Thanks for that, anyway," Adam inserted wryly.
"Adam, please," Jen cried. "It was during the week you were away that I convinced myself that even if you did call or come to me, I couldn't possibly hold you. That's why I said it didn't matter. If you had let it go at that I would have gotten over you—eventually." She shook her head. "But once I saw you again, and you held me in your arms, and kissed me, I—I… What you said is true, Adam; I am hungry. But only for you." Her voice dropped to a whispered sob. "Only for you. And I've felt like I've been walking a tightrope all these weeks. I've been so afraid you'd come and tell me it was over, or that you wouldn't come at all. For you see, Adam, I thought that the physical thing was all we had going."
"Oh, God, angel!" Adam was across the room in a few long strides and pulling her into his arms. "I know I'm a little defensive about my parents, but I never dreamed I was giving you the impression I wanted to live like that. I don't." Lifting his hand, he wiped away the tears still trickling down her face. "I never did. And I'd grown tired of the traveling over a year ago. I even considered taking one of the desk jobs offered to me. The hang-up was, every time I came home this house seemed so damned empty, and I never met a woman that stirred enough interest in me to even consider the idea of installing her here." Suddenly his eyes darkened to that bone-melting look of warm velvet. "That is until I walked into that bar at the motel. You stirred all kinds of interest. The day I left the motel I told my mother I was going to marry you."
"She's been in Japan this whole time, hasn't she?" Jen asked softly.
"Yes," Adam sighed. "She's still there. She'll stay until all the legalities are straightened out. She can't wait to meet you. She told me no woman can be as perfect or beautiful as I've described you to be." Adam grinned.
"Oh, Adam." Jen stared up at him, her legs going weak at the expression of love on his face. "I love you so very much."
"And I love you." Sliding his fingers into her hair, he bent his head and brushed her mouth with his lips. "Why are we standing here talking?" He murmured huskily.
"Oh, Adam, I'm sorry," Jen cried contritely. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm tired, yes," he agreed softly. "But that isn't what I meant. I've been away ten days, and to a man in love who is as hungry for his wife as I am for you, ten days can seem as long as ten months."
It was later, as she lay replete and relaxed beside him, murmuring contentedly as Adam continued to stroke her skin as if he couldn't get enough of the feel of her, that Jen was struck by a sudden thought. Giving him a gentle push, she sat up and tried, unsuccessfully, to glare at him.
"Who was that woman, Adam?" she demanded softly.
Adam's soft laughter tickled her spine, and she couldn't even make a pretense of resistance when he drew her back down beside him.
"My father's 'friend'." Adam's warm breath disturbed a few tendrils at her temple; it disturbed her pulse rate as well. "I had told you at the motel that she was an exquisite woman. She took his illness very badly. I pulled a few strings and got her a job in Dallas. She was on her way there, between planes, when she came to your parents' house." While he was speaking, his breath teased in a dancing, erratic line to the corner of her mouth. Jen's pulses seemed about to jump out of her body when the tip of his tongue began an exploration of that corner. "Any more questions?"
"One," Jen gasped.
"Mmmmm?"
"Aren't you ever going to kiss me?"
Jen waked to an empty bed and a silent house. Sitting up, she strained her ears to catch the slightest noise. "Adam?" Strange, she mused when there was no answer to her call. Adam had long since ceased going to his office on Saturday mornings. Very strange. Is the honeymoon over? she aske
d herself humorously.
All traces of humor had fled by the time she'd finished glancing over the morning paper, had consumed a glass of juice, two pieces of thin wheat toast, and two cups of coffee. Where the devil was he?
After making the bed she dressed in jeans, an old sweatshirt, and—remembering the full waste can in the kitchen and the snow on the ground—low boots, then went back to the kitchen to wash up her breakfast dishes.
As she wiped the butcherblock table, Jen fought the images that flashed in and out of her mind. Images of icy roads and sliding tires and the carnage of wrecked cars and bodies.
She had been so ecstatically, unbelievably happy the last six months that sometimes it almost scared her. And although she wouldn't admit it even to herself, she was scared now. Pushing the growing feeling of unease to the very fringes of her mind, she hummed snatches of a popular song while shooting anxious glances at the clock. She was wringing her dishcloth over the sink when she heard the front door open and Adam call, "Jennifer?"
Fingers clutching spasmodically at the dishcloth, Jen slumped against the sink, weak from the rush of relief that washed over her. In the few seconds it took him to reach the kitchen she had control of herself.
"Where in the world have you—"
"Put your jacket on and come with me," Adam ordered, interrupting her. "I want to show you something."
"Adam, what—" Jen's voice trailed off, for after walking out of the kitchen, Adam went to the hall closet.
"Adam!"
"Come on," he urged, holding her jacket for her. "You'd better wear your cap and gloves too. It's cold outside."
Momentarily giving up the battle, Jen put on her jacket and, cap and gloves in hand, followed him to the car, glancing around to admire the sun-sparkling whiteness of the four inches of snow that covered the front lawn. As soon as the car was in motion she tried again.
"Adam, where did you go this morning?"
"To look at a car," Adam flashed her a grin. "I woke up early and saw it advertised for sale as I skimmed the paper. I didn't have the heart to wake you, so I decided to run look at it myself and bring some Danish for breakfast on the way back."
"So, where's the Danish?"
"Oh—I forgot it," Adam answered vaguely.
"And now you're taking me to see the car?"
"No, I bought it." His grin flashed again. "For you. It's an early Valentine gift."
"A Valentine gift?" Jen exclaimed incredulously. "A car? Adam, are you crazy?"
"Sure," he answered complacently. "About you."
"Okay." Jen sighed. "I give up. Are you going to tell me where we're going?" He had made several turns, and now they were out of the more populated area on a back road where the homes were set much farther apart.
"I told you," Adam replied. "I want to show you something. I had to drive back this way to look at the car, and that's when I saw it." He paused, then smiled. "Ah, there it is."
They were approaching a bend in the road, and just before they reached it Adam drove the car off the macadam onto a flat, snow-covered verge about six feet wide. They parked at the base of a rather steep incline at the top of which was a high chain link fence. Looking around in confusion, Jen said, "I don't see anything."
"Not here," Adam laughed. "We have to get out of the car. Come on."
After pulling her cap onto her head and tugging her gloves over her hands, Jen scrambled out of the car and through the snow to where Adam waited for her, hand outstretched. Grasping her hand, he strode off around the bend in the road at the foot of the incline, which became lower and lower as they walked. Where Adam came to a stop the incline had dropped to a low bank and Jen could see the chain link fence surrounded a tot-lot, closed now for the winter.
"There," Adam nodded at the tot-lot. "That's what I wanted you to see."
"A tot-lot?" Jen exclaimed.
"No, the bank, Jennifer," Adam said softly. "A perfect place for angels in the snow."
"Angels in the—" Jen began in astonishment, and then she grew silent as the significance of his carefully spoken words hit her. They were the exact words she'd said to him exactly one year ago. "Oh, Adam." She choked around the emotion clogging her throat. Spinning around, she gazed up at him and felt her throat close altogether at the tender expression on his face.
"Come on," he challenged softly when he saw her blink against the moisture clouding her eyes. "I bet I can make a better angel than you can."
Turning around, he flung himself backward onto the bank, long arms and legs flapping vigorously. Laughing like a ten-year-old, Jen ran several paces below him and dropped into the snow on the bank. She had just begun to flap her arms and legs when Adam sprang to his feet and came to stand beside her.
"Now you ruined the skirt," Jen scolded, holding her hand out for him to hoist her to her feet.
Ignoring her hand, Adam dropped to his knees. His warm velvet eyes caressing her face, he pulled off his gloves—exposing a fine gold chain coiled around his narrow wrist—and let them fall to the ground. Cradling her face in his hands, he lowered his head and kissed her gently.
"Who needs snow angels," Adam murmured as he lifted his head, "when they can have the real thing? You've made me very happy, Jennifer."
"I'm glad," Jen whispered huskily. "I love you very much, Adam."
"I know," Adam whispered back. "And the knowing fills everything inside of me to the point of bursting."
His mouth touched hers again, and with a groan Adam lowered his body and stretched his length on top of her. His lips grew hard with demand and, clasping his hands more tightly to her head, he kissed her with merciless passion until he heard her soft moan of surrender. Sliding his lips from hers, he teased, "Lift your head—I want to bite your neck."
The sound of a car driving by on the road brought Jen to her senses.
"Adam, stop," she gasped as his tongue went sliding down the side of her neck. "Anyone driving by can see us. What will people think?"
"That we are obviously in love and having a romp in the snow." Adam laughed, jumping to his feet. "And they'll envy us and wish they were so lucky."
Reaching down, he grasped Jen's hands and pulled her up in front of him.
"Come on, snow angel, let's go home," Adam grinned wickedly. "Those poor devils don't know the half of it."
Gambler's Love
CHAPTER ONE
The drive seemed endless, and by the time she was finally east of the Mississippi, Vichy was beginning to feel like a prisoner of her own car.
A wry smile tugged at her lipstick-free mouth as she consciously loosened her death grip on the abused steering wheel. Being confined inside a Pinto, she decided, was certainly not the ideal way to spend the better part of any week. But it would not be too much longer, and then she would be on the East Coast and damned if she'd ever leave it again.
The highway unfurled before her like a cement ribbon, and Vichy kept her gaze on the sparse mid-week traffic while her mind's eye looked back over the preceding weeks.
She had had it. On what day had she reached that decision? Had it been Tuesday? Wednesday? She couldn't remember, but, then, it really didn't matter. Having reached the decision, Vichy had hung on to it as firmly as she now hung on to the wheel of her car. She had had just about all the traveling she could take, all the smoke-filled rooms, all the night work. Had it really seemed exciting at one time? Yes, she conceded, it really had. A million years ago, when her eyes were still bright with ambition and her dreams were fresh off the assembly line—new. Back before the miles and the years had begun to pile up on her, weighing her down.
The highway blurred and Vichy blinked rapidly to expel the sudden hot moisture that filled her eyes. What good were tears, for heaven's sake? she chided herself scathingly. She was twenty-nine, going on one hundred and two, and if she had learned nothing else, she had learned that tears neither mean nor help anything. Uncurling the fingers of her left hand, she brought them up to her face to brush impatiently at her wet chee
ks. Coffee time, Vichy told the swimming blue eyes that were momentarily rein the rearview mirror by a quick upward glance.
Her eyes scanning the terrain in the distance, Vichy sighed with relief when she spied the familiar red-tiled roof of a Howard Johnson restaurant. After parking in the nearly empty macadam lot, she automatically checked her appearance in the mirror, grimacing at her pale reflection before stepping out of the car and locking it. Huddling inside the warmth of her fur-lined suede jacket, she faced the sharp early-November wind and hurried across the lot to the welcoming light streaming through the restaurant's wide plate glass windows.
The restaurant was quiet, as only one table and two counter stools were occupied by customers. Sliding onto a stool near the end of the counter, Vichy ordered coffee from a bored-looking waitress, then lit a cigarette, drawing deeply on the cause of just one of her reasons for her discontent with herself. She had quit smoking over six months ago, only to start up again two weeks previously, when all her unhappiness and restlessness had come to a head. Sighing softly, she smiled wanly at the waitress as the cup of coffee was placed in front of her, then stared moodily into the dark brew.
It was time she went home, she thought tiredly. Long past time. Time to wake up, face reality, no matter how unpalatable. There would be no fame or fortune for her in the entertainment world. Facing that truth had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do.
With another soft sigh Vichy lifted her cup. Sipping the hot coffee, she tried to visualize her parents' reaction to her unannounced arrival. Maybe she should have called and told them she was coming home, but, sure of her welcome, she'd plunged into the business of clearing up all the details of her life on the West Coast. She had been determined to leave no loose ends, as she was never going back.
Never going back. The thought stabbed at her mind, the poisoned tip inflicting a searing sense of failure. The known fact that she was only one of thousands who never made the big time brought no relief at all. Dreams die very, very hard.