by Janet Dailey
As destroying as the previous kisses had been, Lexie realized they had been a match flame compared to the blazing raging fire consuming her now. Rome seemed to know just how to keep the fire burning out of control.
When he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the sofas Lexie's arms curled around his neck with artless abandon. Her senses ruled supreme. She was aware of the feel of his rippling muscles like a heady aphrodisiac, and the intoxicating taste of his warm mouth with its lingering traces of brandy and wine.
Seated on his lap, Lexie felt the roaming caress of his hands adding more fuel to the fires of her passion. His searing mouth followed the jutting curve of her chin to the hollow of her throat while his fingers dispensed with the buttons of her blouse with an ease that should have alarmed her.
When the gauzy material was pushed aside his hands spanned the bareness of her waist, lifting and arching her up to give his lips free access to the swelling curve of her breasts and the tantalizing valley between them. Lexie gasped at the raw sexuality of his intimate touch and slid her fingers into the black mane of his hair.
Then Rome was forcing her backward onto the sofa cushion, his weight pinning her to them as he followed her down. She was molded to his length as his mouth returned to the ready surrender of her lips. Their body heat fused them together. Lexie knew only that she wanted to touch every inch of him, to find that promised mindless glory of total knowledge.
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Chapter Seven
SHE COULD FEEL THE HAMMERING of his heartbeat, the disturbed deepness of his breathing. There was satisfaction in knowing she had aroused him as fully as he had aroused her. It gave her a sense of power, however uncertain of her ability to wield it. The hot moistness of his breath touched her cheek as his mouth moved to the vulnerable point along the cord of her neck.
"One of us is crazy," Rome muttered near her ear.
The sound of his voice broke the paralyzing hold on her throat. Her flesh might have surrendered totally to his will, but her mind still controlled her voice. And her mind still knew how hopeless it was to love him.
"It's me," she cried softly. "I don't want to do this."
"Yes, you do," Rome insisted. "You've wanted it as much as I have from the minute you walked in the door."
"That's not true," she denied.
"It is." He kissed the corner of her mouth and she turned her head to one side, straining away from his kiss.
"No," she repeated her denial, adding, "I didn't even want to come here tonight."
"Yes, you did, or you wouldn't be here." Rome kissed the corner of her eye and the wing of her brow, not deterred by her soft denials or the sudden elusiveness of her lips.
"That isn't true," she protested. "I tried…
"Stop pretending." He cut her short. With elbows for support, Rome lifted his head and cradled her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "If you really didn't want to come tonight, all you had to do was write me a note and drop it in the mail or leave it in my office or slip it under my door, telling me you'd changed your mind. The only reason you wanted to reach me by phone was that you wanted me to talk you into coming."
"No!" breathed Lexie.
"Yes." The black fire of his gaze smoldered over her face. "You're here because it's where you want to be. You want to be talked into staying. You want me to make love to you as much as I want to make love to you. Admit it, Lexie."
"No." She had to swallow back the sob that rose in her throat. "I don't!"
Abruptly Rome pushed away from her, rising from the sofa and taking a step away, all in one liquid movement that left her suddenly very cold and alone. Startled, shattered by his statement, Lexie was slower to move, rising shakily, trying to shake off the stinging truth of his claim.
She stared at his handsome, aggressively male profile. A distant part of her mind registered the fact that the gray silk of his shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the bronze of his naked chest and the raw animal virility it conveyed. But her thoughts were focused on trying to explain somehow.
He was aloof and withdrawn, seemingly miles away. She rose, her hand reached out to touch his arm and draw him back. The instant her fingers came in contact with the hard muscles, her touch became a gliding caress.
"Rome, I…" She began.
Violently he flung her hand away from him.
"Stay away from me unless you've decided it's rape you want now!"
Lexie flinched from the lashing flick of his angry voice and stood motionless in the paralyzing grip of her agony. She knew she deserved that. Rome was fighting to control all the passion she had aroused in him.
"Sorry, I…" He clamped his mouth shut on the rest of the sentence as if suddenly deciding he had no cause to apologize.
Lifting a hand, he raked it through the thickness of his hair, rumpling it more than Lexie's fingers had. He crossed the room to the liquor cabinet, putting distance between them, and splashed a healthy measure of brandy into his glass.
"I'll leave," Lexie said quietly.
There was no more point in staying. Rome had made her face the truth. She couldn't pretend any more that if she stayed, it was for any other reason than to be in his arms and to know his possession. The second truth was that she could never face herself again if she did.
"No!" Rome's strident denial brought her up short. "Not—yet," he added in a much more controlled tone, but was still a savage bite to it. He tossed down a swallow of brandy. "We need to talk yet."
There was a brooding quality about his handsome feature that gave him a darkly dangerous look. It surprised Lexie. She had expected Rome to use his considerable charm as he had in the past, or react with the thwarted anger of a spoiled child denied something he wanted. Certainly she hadn't anticipated this display of inner anger, this grimness. It confused her because it seemed so out of character.
"There isn't anything left to say, Rome," she replied. "It's all been said."
"No, it hasn't. And for God's sake, button your blouse!" he snapped harshly. "Or are you the type that likes to torment and tease?"
Crimsoning under the downward slide of his gaze that touched so derisively on the exposed swell of her breasts, Lexie hurriedly pulled the front of her blouse together and began fastening the buttons.
"Look, I'm not going to pretend that I didn't want…" What was the use in stating the obvious? She sliced the rest of the sentence away and went straight to the point. "I'm not cut out to be a one-night stand—to be just another passing fancy."
"Is that all you think you are?" he demanded.
"Isn't it true?" Tears sprang to her eyes and she had to blink them back. "Maybe you want me for your lover, your mistress, but once the newness wore off I'd be just another pretty face in a long line of pretty faces."
"How can someone as young and beautiful and intelligent as you have so little confidence in your ability to make a man love you?" The muscles along his jaw flexed, revealing the tautness of his control.
"There's always going to be someone who's younger, prettier and smarter," Lexie retorted. "And I'm going to grow old, wrinkled and dumb."
"So will I."
"No," she disagreed. "Men like you acquire character lines and experience and more women chasing after you."
The tears in her eyes were welling up to the point where she couldn't see. Any minute she was going to start crying, and that would be the final humiliation. She had already made a big enough fool of herself. With a quick turn she walked swiftly to the door.
"Lexie!" Rome impatiently called her back but she didn't listen.
Before she could turn the doorknob his hand was there holding the door shut. Summoning all her pride she turned her liquid blue eyes to him.
"Let me go, Rome," she requested. "If you take me in your arms, I'll probably beg you to make love to me. But if you have an ounce of compassion in your fickle heart, you'll let me walk out this door and out of your life. Because I can't handle an affair with you."
Although she was too blinded by tears to see his expression clearly, she felt the silent inspection of his gaze. Rome exhaled a long breath and withdrew his hand from the door.
"Very well," he agreed. "But I'll walk you to your car."
Lexie held the door ajar, her eyes tightly closed as a shaft of pure pain stabbed her. "Don't waste any gestures of gallantry on me, Rome," she demanded tightly.
"Dammit, Lexie, it's night," he hurled at her, "and it's a city street out there. If you want to get out of my life, at least let me see that you get out of it safely!"
She choked out, "Have it your way," and jerked the door open.
It seemed the longest walk Lexie had ever taken—with Rome walking at her side, not touching her—and her heart wanting to burst with each step. She missed seeing the curb and stumbled, but she recovered quickly and avoided Rome's attempt to steady her with his hand.
Without glancing at him she unlocked the car door and opened it. "Goodbye," she mumbled, and slid behind the wheel.
"I'll be seeing you."
It was just a parting phrase but if Lexie could help it, she was going to see that it never came true. Or, at least, not for a very long time.
The following Monday around midmorning, Lexie found herself gravitating to Shari's semiprivate office to have coffee with the columnist and Ginger. It was an unconscious attempt to avoid being alone with her thoughts, which invariably swung to Rome. As long as she was surrounded by work or people, the ache inside didn't seem as intense. She did little of the talking, but with Ginger around, it didn't matter.
"Don't you just love this outfit?" The question was directed at Shari as Ginger did a pirouette. Lace trimmed the snug-fitting denim jeans she wore, as well as the denim vest.
"It's definitely you, my dear," Shari agreed with a trace of dryness. A tiny smile touched Lexie's mouth. With her old-fashioned, Midwestern charm, the outfit did seem to match Ginger's personality.
"We were walking by this store, and I saw it in the window," Ginger explained excitedly. "I showed it to Bob and said 'isn't it pretty.' He asked me if I wanted it. I said sure, and he walked right in and bought it for me, just like that." She snapped her fingers.
"And I suppose you were properly grateful," Shari murmured suggestively.
Ginger blushed. "Who wouldn't be? It's beautiful. I love it."
"I'm sure he counted on that," Lexie inserted in a sudden surge of bitterness at the selfish motives of men.
Her roommate darted her an angry, resentful glance. "You're just upset because—" she stopped and made a quick change of the sentence ending "—you don't have anybody to buy you presents."
But Lexie knew something about Rome had been on the tip of Ginger's tongue. She felt her muscles tense and wondered if the astute columnist was reading between the lines. She stole a sideways glance at Shari. She had been watching Lexie, although now her gaze was swinging lazily to Ginger.
"Lexie and I are in the same boat there, but your love life seems to be sailing right along," she commented. "Speaking about love life, Rome Lockwood seems to have dropped out of circulation. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Lexie?"
"Me?" She pretended surprise but didn't know how successful she was. "Why should I?"
"I don't know," Shari said with a little shrug. "It was just an idea I had."
"You're flogging a dead horse," Lexie murmured and sipped at the coffee in her Styrofoam cup.
"Hey, Lexie!" Gary Dunbar paused in the opening to the office. "You're being paged for a phone call. What are you doing Friday night?"
"Nothing," she answered. Her eagerness was more for Shari's benefit than a desire to spend the evening with Gary.
"We'll go to a movie or something," he suggested.
"Fine," Lexie agreed.
"Around seven then." He started to retreat, then reminded her, "Don't forget that phone call."
"Do you want me to have it transferred here?" the columnist asked as Lexie started to rise from her chair.
"Why don't you," she agreed. "I'll probably need some paper and a pencil. Can you spare some?"
"Right there." Shari tossed her a notebook and picked up the telephone, calling the switchboard to have the phone call transferred to her extension. "Who's calling please?" she asked. Her eyes glinted at the answer and she handed the phone to Lexie. "Rome Lockwood for you, Lexie. And you have nothing to do with him being out of circulation," she mocked.
Lexie's stomach tied itself into knots as she reached for the telephone receiver. She silently cursed the listless attitude that had prompted her to take the call here instead of her own desk. Alone, she could have hung up on him or refused to take the call. But with Shari Sullivan looking on and listening, she didn't dare.
"Lexie Templeton here." Miraculously her voice had no nervous tremor.
"Lexie, it's Rome," he identified himself needlessly. The familiar pitch of his voice reached across the distance to disturb the beat of her heart.
"What a surprise," she murmured and heard the faint thread of sarcasm sewn into the words.
"Is it?" Rome mocked dryly. "I've had time to think over what you said Saturday night. I'd like you to have dinner with me on Friday. My family is giving a party for some friends that night, and I'd like you to—"
"A party," Lexie interrupted with false brightness. "I'm flattered that you thought of me, but it really isn't my line. You really should speak to the society editor. Would you like me to connect you?"
"That isn't what I want at all, and you damn well know it!" Rome's voice was low and angry at her deliberate obtuseness. He didn't know that it had been mostly for Shari's benefit.
"I'm sorry. The…there isn't any way I can help you." Why did she have to stammer like a silly schoolgirl, Lexie railed inwardly.
She heard him swearing under his breath. "Is it so much to ask that I want to see you again?" he demanded.
"I'm afraid it is," she insisted. "Goodbye, Mr. Lockwood."
Lexie hung up the phone before he could say something that might change her mind. She felt ashen and drained, but there was still Shari to be faced.
"What was he calling about?" the columnist asked. "Was there some party he wanted you to attend?"
"Yes." Lexie took a drink of her coffee, trying to wash down the lump in her throat. "His parents are having a dinner party. He seemed to think the paper might find it newsworthy." She made a show of glancing at her watch. "I'd better run." She started for the door. "Maybe you'll be covering the party, Shari. Nothing the Lockwoods do would ever be of interest to me."
Within a week, Lexie had cause to contradict those thoughts as she sat at her desk listening to Mike explain her day's assignment—that of covering the arrival and activities of a visiting foreign dignitary.
"Officially he's here on an unofficial visit to see his old friends, the Lockwoods. He'll be staying at their home in Marblehead. But unofficially—" Mike paused to give his seeming double-talk importance, "—rumor is it's a cover-up for a secret State meeting. I want you to stick to his party like glue. Follow him into the men's john if you have to."
"I don't think I can do it," Lexie protested.
"The men's john was an exaggeration," Mike frowned impatiently. "His plane arrives…"
"No, I mean, I don't think I can cover the story," There was only one Lockwood family in Boston and that was Rome's.
"Why?" he demanded gruffly.
"Because…" But Lexie couldn't think of a reason that she wanted to tell him.
Mike took one look at her flushed cheeks and grimly guessed, "Lockwood. What exactly happened on your date that you were so mum about? I suppose you slapped his face or pulled some equally stupid female trick."
"I'd rather you find somebody else to take this assignment." How in the world could she explain?
"You would, would you?"
"If you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it," Lexie offered hopefully.
"It so happens that I do mind. This assignment is yours a
nd as a professional, you're going to accept it." His stern demeanor weakened slightly at the strained white look on her face. "Besides, I don't have anyone else qualified to cover it." It was the best Mike could do for an apology and his mouth thinned in sympathy before he moved away from her desk.
Mac the photographer had drawn the assignment along with Lexie. Together they went to Logan International Airport to be on hand for the arrival. As Lexie had guessed, Rome was there with an older couple whom she presumed to be his parents. Since it was an unofficial visit and not designed to be a media event, the press was kept away from the welcoming party.
But Lexie was near enough—too near, her pulse felt—to notice Rome's similarities to his parents. His mother was a dark, vivacious woman and Lexie realized it was from her that Rome had inherited his coloring. It was from his father that he received his striking good looks—tall and masculine. Her statement the other night that Rome would age with character and experience was borne out in his father. The man was still handsome enough to warrant the pursuit of women.
When the European dignitary—Lexie had to check her notes to recall his name, Edmond Martineau—departed from his private jet, he was accompanied by a small entourage, and Lexie suspected that Mike had cause to believe there was more to the visit than had been released.
"Wow!" Mac whistled under his breath. "Would you get a load of her!"
Jealousy twisted through Lexie at the sight of the woman coming into their view. Stunning, chic as only the French can be, sophisticated to the bone, the petite brunette in her designer suit glided forward to be at Edmond Martineau's side as he greeted the Lockwoods.
"The next question is," Mac murmured in an aside, "is she his daughter, his wife, or his mistress?"
When the woman kissed and clung to Rome's arm, looking up at him with a coyly flirtatious smile, Lexie wanted to die. Rome seemed to be not only enjoying the attention but also encouraging it, that male charm and breathtaking smile directed at the woman at his side. Lexie had known seeing him again was going to be difficult but she hadn't realized it would be so painful.