by Janet Dailey
Both hands on the wheel, the engine running, Lexie turned to him. "Here you are, delivered safe and sound."
Rome didn't move, his arm draped negligently along the back of the seat. "Aren't you going to walk me to the door?"
With savagely controlled movements, she switched off the engine and pushed open her door, stalking around the car to meet him as he climbed out of the passenger side. Lexie didn't trust herself to say a word until they reached his apartment door.
"I've seen you to your door," she declared tightly. "Is that good enough?"
"Thank you." He nodded with mock politeness. "I would invite you in for coffee or a drink but it's only our first date and I wouldn't want you to get the impression that I'm easy." The corners of his mouth were twitching at the effort of keeping a straight face.
Lexie drew in a breath and held it, angered at the way he was constantly voicing all the trite things women had ever said, flinging them in her face with such curious delight. All that was lacking from this scene, was a giggle.
"Good night!" she snapped, and started to pivot away.
"Wait a minute." Rome caught at her arm. "You're forgetting something."
"What now?" Lexie demanded in exasperation.
An arrogant brow arched to mock her. "The good-night kiss."
"Oh, God!" It came out in the angry exhalation of a breath. "Do you honestly think for one minute that I'm going to kiss you—that I want to kiss you! This whole evening has been a fiasco—a farce! With you laughing all the way. Well this is one laugh you aren't going to have!"
"I quite understand." Rome let go of her arm with a mild shrug of his shoulders.
"Good. I'm glad!" Lexie flashed.
"It's a difficult thing to carry out with any aplomb," he continued. "The romantic climax of any date seems to be the kiss at the door. There's always so much emphasis on it; so much is expected to happen with it."
Mentally her mouth was dropping open. Rome was doing it to her again, reeling her in like a fish on a hook, the barbs sinking in so she couldn't wiggle off. All she could do was squirm.
"Kissing is taken for granted." He watched her knowing and enjoying her discomfort. "But timing is so essential—when to make the move. And there's the problem of not bumping noses or heads. Should the pressure be gentle and sweet, or passionate, sweeping the person off her feet? I quite understand why you wouldn't want to attempt such a difficult task." The faint emphasis on the pronoun was really referring to her sex. "Men don't have any choice, not if they want to take the girl out again. A good-night kiss is compulsory for a man."
Rigid with anger Lexie knew she was well and truly caught. She glared at his handsome, mocking face for an instant then succumbed to his blackmail. It wasn't easy to take the initiative, especially when he wasn't offering any assistance. First of all, she didn't know where to put her hands. Finally she rested them on his wide shoulders for balance as she rose on tiptoe.
Her breath caught when her lips touched his firmly molded mouth. Its warmth and pliancy was a revelation as she kissed him, aware of his hands moving to her waist. Lexie wasn't indifferent, and cautious wisdom drew her away.
"Not bad," Rome murmured. "Let me show you how it's done."
Before she could voice her refusal the hands at her waist were pulling her back, arching her against him while his descending mouth took possession of hers. Worldly and experienced, Rome demonstrated his mastery of the art. A warm wonderful confusion was totally enveloping Lexie, leaving her defenseless.
Her hands were spread over his shoulders, fingers half-raised in a paralysis of surprise and bewilderment at her reaction. Her mouth was mobile beneath his, allowing his pressure to part her lips. Rome deepened the kiss with sensual brilliance, exposing her senses to raw new emotions that hungered for something more.
She was shaky inside when he ended the kiss. The sweep of her lashes veiled the look in her eyes, but the breath she had been holding was released in a revealing sigh. Despite all that she moved firmly away from him, recognizing now that she was not quite as immune to his virile charm as she had believed.
"Good night," she said and thanked heaven that her voice was steady.
"This is the point where you're supposed to make arrangements for another date," Rome said.
"No way." Lexie shook her auburn head vigorously.
The combination of his mocking voice and the absence of his touch broke the spell of enchantment she had been under. She could look at him now with all her formal abhorrence for his type.
"I don't care to see you again," she said emphatically. "We've both carried out this experiment unwillingly and I certainly don't want a repeat performance. Neither, I'm sure, do you."
"Still," Rome paused, a half-smile crooking his mouth, "thank you for a most…enlightening evening."
"For that, you're entirely welcome," Lexie returned. "Good night."
"Good night, Lexie." He finally wished her the words that brought the evening to a close.
But it wasn't quite as easy to close her mind to the memory of any of it. During the drive to her own apartment Lexie considered herself every kind of a fool for finding physical gratification in his kiss. It was an empty promise that gave no hope of fulfillment—not for lack of potency, but for lack of endurance.
One thing it had shown her—under the right circumstances, men like Rome Lockwood could be irresistible. She, who knew better, had reacted like a colorful moth drawn to a flame, a black flame. Her wings had been singed, but she was still capable of flying away, thank goodness. Tonight was one night she was going to block out of her memory.
It would have been easy to do. She had the desire and the willpower to forget Rome Lockwood, but pressure was exerted by outside influences to recall him and their date. On Saturday morning Ginger plied her with questions demanding to know everything that happened.
"The evening was a total mockery." Lexie sat at the small breakfast table. Dressed in her rumpled robe, she wished the cup of coffee could erase the bad taste left in her mouth from the previous night's fiasco. "Rome Lockwood found it all very amusing. As for me—I just ended up poorer than before."
"It couldn't have been as terrible as you say," Ginger insisted. "Didn't he kiss you or anything?"
"Yes, he kissed me." The instant the admission was out, Lexie glanced sharply at the beaming face of her roommate. "Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "It was just a kiss, nothing special."
"Oh, come on now," Ginger murmured skeptically, determined to find a happy ending.
"You are as taken in by his Don Juan image as he is," Lexie retorted. "One kiss is not going to change my opinion of him. And I'm certainly not going to fall in love with him. I know what kind of merry hell he would lead me through. I've seen it before, and it's not going to happen to me."
"You've seen it before? When? With whom?" Ginger asked curiously.
"It doesn't matter." Lexie clammed up and took a sip of her coffee.
"Did he ask you out again?"
She set her coffee cup on the table with an abruptly impatient move. "What does it take to convince you that we were both trapped into going together last night," Lexie demanded. "Rome Lockwood was just as glad to see the back side of me as I was to walk away. If we never see each other again, it will be too soon."
"You don't have to bite my head off. I just asked a simple question," Ginger protested with a trace of indignation.
"All right." Lexie struggled to hold her temper. "To answer your simple question—no, Rome Lockwood did not ask me out again. Do you mind terribly if we change the subject?"
"No," Ginger agreed reluctantly, finally accepting the fact that Lexie had not been on a "dream" date the night before.
Lexie had barely convinced Ginger when the telephone rang. It was Shari Sullivan, and Lexie had to answer almost the same questions all over again, and parry them with the same noncommittal replies.
On Sunday morning Ginger was quick to waken Lexie and show her the newspaper, spec
ifically Shari's column. As Shari had said, Lexie and Rome were her headlines. Lexie wasn't surprised by that, but the photograph that accompanied the column did surprise her.
It took an instant for her to realize that it was a contrived photograph. From the newspaper files, someone in the photography department had taken a picture of Rome and one of Lexie, and fitted them together to make it appear that the newspaper photo was one of them together.
When she went to work on Monday, it was just as bad. Everyone wanted to know about her date with Rome Lockwood; every detail from what they wore to what they had eaten or drunk. Their obsession with his name became exasperating.
Stepping into the elevator, Lexie punched the numbered button for her floor and waited for the doors to close. She'd had her Wednesday lunch at a little delicatessen some distance from the newspaper office. She had chosen it because there she wouldn't have to endure the endless comments about Rome Lockwood from her co-workers.
"Going up? Wait!" A familiar voice called. The elevator doors closed on a hand that was thrust between them. Soundlessly they slid open to permit Gary Dunbar inside. "Hi," he said, smiling self-consciously at the sight of Lexie.
"Hi, yourself," she returned.
"Just coming back from lunch?" At her affirmative nod, he said, "Me, too. Where did you eat? I didn't see you at the restaurant next door."
"I grabbed a sandwich at a deli," Lexie explained. Minus any further obstruction, the elevator doors closed.
"Are you doing anything Saturday night?" Before Lexie could answer, Gary rushed on. "I'm doing an article on a neighborhood drama club. They're…uh…giving a performance Saturday night, and I've got a couple of free tickets. I wondered if you'd tike to come along."
"Sounds like fun," she agreed, since it was infinitely preferable to spending the evening alone.
"I don't know how much fun it will be," he said with a disparaging shrug. "It's just one of those amateur things. I can't offer you the lavishly produced entertainment that Rome Lockwood probably could."
"I'm not interested in his brand of entertainment. And if I hear his name once more, I swear I'll scream." Lexie issued the threat tautly, certain she would never be able to escape the mention of his name.
"I didn't mean to upset you—" Gary began an immediate apology.
"Let's make a deal. I'll go out with you Saturday night on the condition that his name never enters the conversation," she said.
"Agreed," Gary smiled and looked somewhat relieved.
It wasn't as easy to persuade the others to drop the subject.
The Saturday-night date with Gary was like a breath of fresh air. She was able to relax and enjoy herself knowing that she wouldn't have to defend herself against a lot of curious questions the following morning.
As in all things the interest gradually died out. After two weeks her life had begun to return to normal. Even Shari had stopped being so resentful at Lexie's lack of newsworthy details about the date.
Lexie paused at the doorway of the columnists' office alcove. "You wouldn't by any chance have a cup of coffee to spare for me?" she asked, glancing at the steaming cups both Shari and Ginger were holding.
"Of course." Shari turned her swivel chair around to fill a Styrofoam cup with coffee from the glass pot on the hot plate behind her.
Lexie accepted it gratefully and flopped wearily into a straight-backed chair. "What a morning!" she groaned, and nearly scalded her tongue when she tried to sip the hot coffee.
"Hectic, huh?" Shari offered sympathetically.
"You can say that again," sighed Lexie.
"I was just asking Shari what she thought I could buy Madge for her wedding shower. What did you get her?" Ginger asked.
"An electric blanket. I found one on sale last week." Lexie blew into the cup trying to cool the hot coffee. "This seems to be the year for weddings. Are there any single girls left in this building?"
"Three of them in this room," Shari replied.
"I suppose I could always buy her some sheets or towels." Ginger was mulling over the shower gift. "I simply have to buy something on my lunch hour today. It's going to be too late when I get off work and the shower is at seven."
"Tonight?" Lexie sat up in her chair.
"Yes, tonight," Ginger nodded.
"I can't make it," Lexie declared with a resigned sigh. "You'll have to take my gift, Ginger, and apologize to Madge."
"Why can't you go?"
"Mike's just informed me that Mac and I have to cover that fund-raising dinner tonight. The Senator is flying in from Washington to attend and a couple of other politically important VIPs will be there," she explained.
"You mean you have to work tonight?" Ginger questioned in protest.
"Surely you've learned by now, Ginger," Shari inserted, "a reporter doesn't have an eight-to-five job, but works any and all hours."
"With a salary commensurate with that of the slave she is," Lexie added, "because a reporter is compensated by the glamor of his job." Lexie joked about her profession, but she had entered it knowing it wasn't one of the high-paid careers unless the reporter gained a national name.
"I'm learning fast," Ginger grimaced, going along with them. "But it's a shame you're going to miss the shower tonight. It'll be fun."
"You've been putting in a lot of extra hours lately," Shari observed. "Your vacation is coming up, though, isn't it?"
"Next month," Lexie replied without enthusiasm.
"And you're off to London," the other girl said, smiling.
"Not this year." Lexie flashed a quelling look to Ginger not to reveal the reason.
"Why not?" Shari frowned. "That's all you've been talking about for the last six months."
"I've decided I can't really afford it," she shrugged. "The last thing I want to do is fly over there on a shoestring. I'm going to see London in style when I go."
"What will you do on your vacation?" asked Shari.
"Sleep." Lexie laughed away her answer.
"Seriously," Shari protested. "You aren't going to stay around here, are you?"
"I imagine so." Lexie took a drink of her coffee, cooled now. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Yes, you do," Ginger inserted. "In that postcard you got from your father last week, he asked you to come out and visit him." Then her light complexion colored furiously. "I wasn't really reading your mail, Lexie," she apologized. "It's just that, well, a postcard is so open."
"It's okay." Lexie wasn't offended.
"Your father lives in California doesn't he?" Shari frowned as she tried to recall.
"Palm Springs," Lexie admitted.
"There's your solution. Spend your vacation in sunny California," Shari offered. "You can stay with your father and it won't be all that expensive."
"No, thanks." Lexie finished her coffee and rose. "Dad and I don't get along unless there's the width of a continent between us. The less we see of each other, the more we like each other. You know the old saying—familiarity breeds contempt. That's us."
"It seems a shame for you to spend your vacation sitting around your apartment," Shari persisted.
"That's the way it goes sometimes." Lexie turned to her roommate. "I probably won't have a chance to see you again before tonight, so don't forget to take my gift with you tonight to Madge's shower. It's wrapped and everything, inside my closet.
"I won't forget," Ginger promised. "Have fun."
"Ha!" was Lexie's scornful response.
In Lexie's experience these fund-raising dinners always seemed like a three-ring circus with something going on somewhere all the time. She often wished for another pair of eyes and ears, or possibly three or four sets.
The dinner that evening in the huge banqueting hall proved no exception. For Lexie there was more involved than just listening to the speeches and making notes. There was always behind-the-scene maneuvering going on and it was prudent to pay attention to who was sitting with whom.
Mac, the photographer who had drawn the
assignment with her, was proving to be a distraction. When he wasn't darting around getting a picture of this person or that one, light meters and lenses dangling around his neck, he was sitting beside her at the press table munching on a cold hamburger and French fries. His on-the-run meal was becoming singularly unappetizing to Lexie with each passing minute he left it beside her.
"Can't you wait until this is over to eat?" she whispered in protest.
"I'm starved," Mac hissed. "I haven't eaten since yesterday noon, and that was a cold hot dog."
Lexie shrugged expressively and tried to concentrate on the current speech. The paper bag rattled as Mac dived into it for more fries.
"What happened to last night's meal?" she questioned keeping her voice down, trying to not distract the others. "And this morning's breakfast?"
"I was up all night covering that fire. I slept through breakfast and caught hell from Mike for coming in late. Then I missed lunch." He listed his woes. "It's for sure I'm not going to sit here while all these fat cats stuff themselves on steak and I'm fainting with hunger."
After receiving that justifying explanation Lexie forced herself to ignore his munching. As she listened to the speaker, her gaze swept over the tables. It hadn't occurred to her that all the moneyed people in the area would have received invitations to the political fund-raising dinner, including Rome Lockwood.
She realized it when she saw him sitting at one of the tables. She hadn't noticed him there before and wondered if he had just arrived. To her knowledge he had never actively campaigned for anyone, although his support had often been courted, as it was now. One of the campaign chairmen for this year's election was leaning over talking to Rome in hushed tones.
Had he noticed she was there? Was he aware she might have been assigned to cover the dinner, Lexie wondered, and immediately banished such questions from her mind. What did she care? Rome Lockwood was nothing to her and vice versa.
Her gaze strayed often to his table after that. Strictly in the course of reporting, Lexie rationalized. If Rome did decide to back a particular candidate, that would be news, her purpose for being there. If Rome ever glanced her way, it wasn't when she was looking at him.