That Boston Man

by Janet Dailey

  His attraction grabbed her throat, robbing her of the words she had come to say. She could only stare, her heart beating faster. The lightning touch of his gaze licked over her shape, setting fire to her skin through the white of her slacks and the flame-orange blouse of gauzy fabric.

  "You're right on time." As he reached for her hand, it fluttered quite naturally into his and Lexie was drawn into the apartment not against her will because she had no will.

  Once inside Rome brought her effortlessly into the circle of his arm. There was a mesmeric quality to his gaze as a tanned hand cupped the side of her face, fingers tangling in the flame gold of her hair.

  "I thought you might not come," he murmured. A mixture of delight and triumph was in his soft laugh. "Does it give you any satisfaction to know how uncertain I am of you, Lexie?"

  "None." Was that her voice, so clear and calm? His gaze dwelt on her lips a warning instant before his mouth moved toward them. Miraculously she turned her head a fraction and he found only the corners of her mouth. "I shouldn't have come," she said.

  "Don't…" The word came out sharply, fingers tightened with painful pressure along her face. Just as suddenly, Rome relaxed, laughing and changing his demeanor from that of a demanding lover. "Don't you trust my cooking?" he mocked.

  "It isn't that." Lexie moved out of his arms and he didn't attempt to stop her. She pretended to brush the hair away from her cheek but she was really trying to erase the tingling of her skin where he had touched her. "I didn't plan on coming here tonight. I tried to get hold of you to tell you that, but you have an unlisted number and you weren't in your office when I phoned. When you called me yesterday you hung up before I could tell you that I'd changed my mind and wouldn't be here."

  "Why did you come then?" Rome eyed her steadily.

  "I don't like people who break appointments without warning," she defended herself. "I think it's inconsiderate and horribly rude, so I couldn't just not show up."

  "I see." Rome turned and walked across the room to the liquor cabinet. "You agreed to come the other night."

  "The other night was a mistake." His back was to her and she found it was easier to talk without his dark gaze levelled at her. "I don't want to become involved with you."

  There was the rattle of ice cubes and the splashing of liquid. When Rome turned, he held two glasses in his hand. He crossed the room and handed one to Lexie, who accepted it rather absently.

  "You feel it would mean sacrificing your principles," he said.

  "I know it would." Lexie stared at her drink. Gin and tonic—he had remembered.

  "I had the impression the other night that you wanted me to make love to you."

  "Looks—" She bit at her lower lip in agitation "—I'm not going to try to deny that I find you very attractive sexually, but I neither like you nor respect you as a person, and I believe those are two essential ingredients in forming an intimate relationship."

  There was a resigned yet arrogant arch to his brow. "That says it all." Rome lifted his glass and took a quick swallow. He gave her a piercing look. "Now that you've told me, I suppose you intend to leave without sampling my culinary efforts."

  "I can't stay now—you must see that," Lexie insisted.

  His mouth twisted wryly. "All I know is that I have two expensive steaks marinating in the kitchen—an entire meal prepared for two that you expect me to eat alone."

  "I can't help that."

  "Yes, you can. There's no need for all that food to go to waste. Since you are here," he reasoned, "you might as well stay for dinner."

  "I…" Lexie hesitated, uncertain, torn by what she wanted and what was wise.

  "I promise I won't force myself on you," Rome said with a grin, and lifted his glass in a toast. "We'll just be two friends sharing dinner."

  She was twenty-four; she was supposed to be an adult. What was she going to do? Run from his apartment like a frightened teenager?

  "Two friends," she agreed, and touched the rim of her glass to his.

  She had been truthful when she said she didn't trust him—any more than she trusted herself in his company. As she lifted the glass to her lips she studied him over the rim, looking for any sign that his suggestion masked an ulterior motive, but there seemed to be none.

  "Bring your drink out to the kitchen," said Rome. "You can watch me put the steaks on and fix the salad, unless you would prefer to sit around the living room and wait."

  "No, I'll come with you." She had had her share of waiting.

  To get to the kitchen, they had to go through the dining room. It was a small informal room, which Lexie had seen in decorating magazines described as a breakfast room. Obviously Rome didn't do any entertaining in his home on a large scale.

  An intimate table for two was beautifully set with an ivory linen tablecloth, crystal and sterling silver. Two silver candle holders flanked a bowl of fresh fruit. The succulent duster of grapes reminded Lexie of something out of a Greek orgy scene. She could easily visualize Rome plucking a grape and carrying it to her lips; her stomach curled at the sensuous thought.

  The kitchen was efficiently small, with every modern convenience imaginable. Rome moved familiarly around it, setting the steaks in a pan and into the oven. Lexie stood uncertainly in front of the refrigerator and had to step away when Rome walked to it.

  "All you have to do is supervise," he told her. "I'll do all the work."

  "That will be a change," was the falsely bright response Lexie offered.

  He began placing a variety of ingredients on the counter. The bacon was in the refrigerator; he took two strips and put them in a skillet. While it was frying, he added sugar, water, oil, vinegar, ketchup and an assortment of spices to a container. As he turned the sizzling bacon in the skillet, he darted a glance sideways at Lexie. "How do you like the picture of a man slaving over a hot stove?"

  "I like it." She smiled faintly.

  "You would."

  "Is there anything I can do?" It wasn't easy standing around watching him. The freedom of looking at him was too unnerving.

  "No." Then Rome reconsidered. "You could take the candles off the table, since the evening no longer requires a romantic setting."

  "I'll do that." Lexie turned to the dining room, then stopped. "Where do you want me to put them?"

  "On the sideboard along the wall is all right."

  Lexie experienced a twinge of regret as she removed the candles from the table, which was silly. She didn't want to share a candlelight dinner with Rome Lockwood. The bowl of fruit remained as the sole centerpiece, the pale green grapes contrasting with the red ripeness of apples—the fruit of temptation—and the burgundy and yellow skin of the peach.

  When Lexie returned to the kitchen, Rome was adding chopped eggs and crumbled bacon to the dressing and expertly tossing it all together with fresh spinach leaves in a bowl. Never once did he seem uncertain about the next step.

  "You are a good cook, aren't you?" she commented.

  "Mm," he agreed without false modesty, tossing away the half compliment. "My parents taught me to be self-sufficient. Can you cook?"

  "Adequately," Lexie responded to the teasing question. "But you'll certainly never have to marry in order to have a woman around to do your cooking."

  "A wife has other uses."

  "Such as bearing your sons," she said dryly.

  Rome clicked his tongue in reproof. "Your chauvinism is showing. What about daughters?"

  "My comment was what a man would say," Lexie replied, defending her answer.

  "Of course," he agreed mockingly.

  "Do you do your own laundry, too?" She switched the subject.

  "Why? Are you going to offer to do it for me?" Rome eyed her wickedly.

  "No, I hate doing laundry. I was going to see if you'd do mine," retorted Lexie.

  "Bring it over anytime." He picked up the salad bowl, missing the flush that colored Lexie's cheeks. "You're in for a treat tonight, fresh spinach salad with dressing à la Ro
me, my speciality," he said.

  "It looks good," she admitted.

  "It is. A few minutes in the refrigerator to let it all chili together and you'll be begging for my recipe when you taste it," he mocked. With the salad in the refrigerator, Rome turned to the grill. "How do you like your steak?"

  "Rare to medium rare."

  When they finally sat down to the table, Lexie couldn't find fault with either the meal or the company. The food was delicious. She wasn't sure she could have done as well. The conversation didn't drag painfully as it had that first time, but Rome was directing it. Lexie responded naturally to his easy wit and general subject matter.

  Halfway through the meal, Rome offered, "More wine?"

  "Please." She raised her glass for him to fill. "Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was trying to choose from that wine list, knowing I was sitting across the table from a man with a reputation of being a connoisseur?"

  "I have a fair idea," he admitted, the grooves around his mouth deepening. "Your eyes can be very expressive at times. I remember they were a very electric blue, shooting sparks when you looked across the table at me."

  "You weren't any help," Lexie retaliated. "You wouldn't give me a hint."

  "I know." Rome filled her glass, then his own. "The restaurant's wine list was impeccable. It was impossible for you to make a bad choice."

  "That's what I was hoping," she said, smiling.

  By the time the meal was finished, the bottle of wine was empty. Lexie was sipping the last of it, enveloped in a rosy afterglow of good food, good wine and good company.

  "That was delicious," she sighed and lifted her glass in a salute to Rome. "My compliments to the chef."

  "They are most welcomely received." He returned her salute with mocking formality, inclining his dark head in acceptance. With their glasses drained, he said, "We'll have coffee in the living room."

  Lexie was almost too comfortable to move. Reluctantly she pushed her chair away from the table and agreed, "Okay, but first I'll help you with the dishes." She started gathering them to carry to the kitchen.

  "No," Rome refused. "We'll take them to the kitchen and stack them on the counter. I may cook, but I draw the line at standing in front of a sinkful of dirty dishes. The maid can wash them when she comes."

  Together they carried the plates, glasses and silverware into the kitchen while Lexie teased, "Then that's why you'd marry—to have a woman to wash your dishes?"

  "That's a good reason, isn't it?" Rome pretended to be serious, but there was the twinkling light of laughter in his eyes. "Here." He handed her a tray with a coffee service on it. "You can take this into the living room."

  Entering the living room, Lexie set the coffee service on the low table in front of a long sofa. She sat near one end and poured coffee from the pot into two china cups. When Rome appeared seconds later, Lexie continued her task without glancing up.

  "Cream or sugar?" she asked.

  "Neither." He walked to the sofa where she sat. "My kitchen talents don't stretch to rich desserts, so I decided we would end the meal on a continental note with cheese and fruit. Is that all right?"

  Lexie stared at the bowl of fruit he set on the table, a touch of panic momentarily blinding her to the plate of cheeses and crackers. Her thoughts returned to her previous erotic fantasies with uncomfortable swiftness. Rome joined her on the sofa, but with a friendly space between them.

  She swallowed and answered in what she hoped would be her previously carefree tone, "That's fine." But she reached for the cheese. "After that meal, I don't need the calories of a rich dessert."

  His gaze raked her length, his look indicating he found nothing wrong with her fully curved slimness, but he made no reference to it when he spoke. "If you're counting calories, maybe you should have some fruit. Would you like a peach?"

  He took one from the bowl as relief swept through Lexie that he hadn't said "grape." "Sounds good," she admitted.

  Instead of handing it to her, Rome took a knife and completely circled the peach in a lengthwise cut. He split it open and lifted out the pit with the knife point, then handed the two halves to Lexie.

  "Thank you." She set one half down and took a bite of the other.

  Juice squirted from the ripe, pulpy flesh. Lexie swallowed and laughed self-consciously as it trickled down her chin. She quickly wiped it away with her fingertips and started to lick the excessive moisture from her lips, aware of Rome's narrowing gaze on her.

  "No," he said.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs as he leaned forward and kissed the juice from her lips with sensual drugging sweetness. The breath left her lungs. Her senses were swimming when he raised his head.

  "You shouldn't have done that," she protested weakly, looking down and away from his face so he couldn't see how deeply affected she was by his kiss.

  "Sorry—" he didn't sound it "—but your lips looked so delectable I couldn't resist them." He moved back to his previous distance. "Cigarette?" he offered in an offhand way that suggested they had just been discussing the weather instead of kissing.

  "No," she refused, unable to make the transition as effortlessly as he did.

  "Do you mind if I smoke?"

  "Not at all." The rest of the peach remained on the table. Lexie couldn't risk a repeat of what had just happened.

  Smoke swirled in a puffy cloud. "I never have asked where you're from," Rome commented.

  "Originally from Massachusetts—Salem, but like most families, we moved around a lot when I was growing up," she answered.

  "From Salem? I knew you were a witch." He laughed, then asked, "What brought you back?" He sounded interested, mildly curious. "Did you attend college here?"

  "No, I graduated from U.S.C., Southern California, but I always wanted to come back east and work. So when I graduated, that's just what I did."

  "How do you like your job as a reporter?"

  "I'm not doing it for the money, that's certain, so it must be because I like it."

  "Where's your family now?" Rome asked.

  Yes, Lexie thought, let's talk about my family. It was just the subject she needed to get a grip on herself. Or maybe it was all that wine. Maybe she needed to sober up. She picked up the saucer and cup, balancing them on her lap.

  "My mother died when I was eight. I don't have any brothers and sisters," Lexie answered his question. "There's only my father and me. He lives in California."

  "You must have been close," Rome commented. "I can't imagine that your father likes you living so far away."

  "Dad realizes that every little girl has to grow up and leave the nest," Lexie shrugged, not bothering to deny his first remark, but there was a wry twist to her lips.

  "Daughters do that, don't they?" He smiled and sipped his coffee. "I didn't ask if you'd like some brandy in your coffee. Would you?"

  "No." She was almost convinced the wine had been too much.

  His cigarette smoked in the ashtray as he rose from the sofa. "I think I will." He crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and added a dash of brandy to his cup. Before returning he paused beside a built-in stereo system. "Do you like music?"

  Lexie was about to say she did when there was a click and the music of a string orchestra drifted through the room. Suddenly it was all too much—the wine, the music, the intimate atmosphere. She set her cup down and rose.

  "It's time I was leaving," she announced decisively.

  Rome stopped, looking at her with a raised brow. "So soon?"

  "Yes," Lexie insisted. He set his cup down and walked over to stop her. "Thank you for dinner. I enjoyed it very much." How trite she sounded!

  "Are you busy tomorrow?" he asked.

  "Yes," she lied. She would have the whole day to herself. Bob was back on speaking terms with Ginger again and her roommate had been starry-eyed all day with her glorious plans for the weekend with Bob.

  "Doing what?" Rome pursued.

  "Things." Like doing the laundry, cleaning the apart
ment, trying not to be bored.

  "Why are you running out, Lexie?" The piercing question sliced away her pretense of normality.

  "I'm not running. I'm walking," she insisted, unwilling to admit she felt the need to escape from him.

  "Why? Do you think the time has come for the seduction scene?" he asked in an arid tone.

  "Hasn't it?" Lexie retorted. "You've wined and dined me. Now there's dreamy background music. When are you going to turn the lights down low?"

  "And what if I don't try to seduce you?" His gaze had sharpened to dark intensity, difficult to hold and impossible to break away from. "What will you do? Will you think I'm waiting to lull you into a false sense of security before I make my move? It would never occur to you that I might want you to stay because I want your company?"

  "Oh, please, don't start that friendship argument again," she cried, her exasperation tinged with sarcasm. "It isn't friendship you want from me."

  There was something ruthless in the set of his jaw. "It seems to be a case of damned if I do and damned if I don't. What have I got to lose?"

  Her backward step was never completed as he caught at her arms and pulled her to him until she was brought up to the muscular columns of his legs and the solid wall of his chest.

  "Rome, don't!" Lexie tried not to give way to virginal panic, making her protest firm and faintly threatening.

  "You're like fire and ice to me—" his hand slid into her hair roughly, yet a caress; a steel band circled her to make her a prisoner of his embrace, "—with your flame-red hair and ice-blue eyes. One minute you're burning me with your beautiful fire and the next, you're freezing me out. I've been cold all night. It's time you warmed me."

  Lexie turned her head and eluded his mouth but Rome wasn't deterred. He kissed her eyes, nose and cheek, found that particularly sensitive spot below her ear and nibbled at her lobe. Her legs grew weak under his sensual assault, tremors quivered through her at the raining storm of his kisses.

  Blood pounded in her ears like the roar of thunder, primitive and awesome. In the end it was she who sought the fulfillment of his kiss, turning her head and stopping the ravishing exploration of his mouth with her lips, but Rome parted her lips with practiced ease.