See You In My Dreams

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  “Max and I—uh,” Nikki stopped, not sure she could say the words.

  “What?"

  “We made love last night,” she said with a whisper.

  Marti grinned. “Great. So what's the problem? Isn't that what you wanted all along?"

  “Yes—I mean—no. I woke up this morning, and I was all alone."

  “Maybe he went out for a paper, or juice?” Marti suggested.

  “No, he went out for a run to think. And when he came back he told me he'd decided it was all a mistake. A mistake.” Nikki sobbed, unable to stem the flow of tears. She felt Marti's arms around her, when all she wanted was Max.

  “Honey, you must've misunderstood. He wouldn't treat you like that."

  “Would I be here like this, if he hadn't?"

  “Guess not,” Marti sighed. “Are you sure you didn't misinterpret something he said?"

  “He made it very clear."

  The telephone rang.

  “Hm. Wonder who that is?” Marti asked. A wry smile on her lips, she reached for the cordless phone.

  Nikki shook her head furiously. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was talk to him.

  “Yes, she is, but I don't think ... All right.” Marti clapped her hand over the receiver. “He won't take no or an answer. You're going to have to talk to him sometime. Might as well be now."

  Nikki swallowed and held out her hand for the phone, her answer terse. “Yes?"

  “You have to come back."

  “Excuse me? ‘Have to come back?’ Did I hear you right? Just like that? You demand I come back.” Nikki's voice grew harsh. “How dare you?"

  “Something's come up. I have to leave for Paris Sunday morning. You will be here for Alexa—as we agreed."

  “So hire someone. Someone you can play games with when Alexa's sleeping over."

  “There's no time. I have to spend the morning at the office, then I'm taking Alexa and her friend to the concert. I expect you to be here when I leave on Sunday. There's no one else to whom I can entrust my daughter. I'm sorry, but it has to be this way."

  “No.” Nikki's head pounded as if it would burst. How could he be so impossible?

  “You have to come back. We had an agreement. You promised."

  “You broke the ground rules, so I don't have to abide by the agreement,” she answered flatly. Let him argue with that logic.

  “What happened between us wasn't planned. You know that as well as I do. You know something else?” he paused, allowing her time to answer.

  “What?"

  “You wanted it to happen as much as I did. I'm not blind. I know when a woman wants me, especially one I desire as well."

  “I just bet you do. Go to hell, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch. This conversation is over.” She punched the disconnect button and drew her arm back.

  Marti grabbed Nikki's arm before the telephone could become a deadly missile. “Now, now. Let's not take our anger out on the poor little telephone."

  “Not one word of explanation. I'm supposed to keep my end of the bargain and be there for Alexa," she mimicked Max's accent.

  “Give it some time. When do you have to give him an answer?"

  “He has his answer.” She sipped her coffee. “Ugh.” Cold and bitter. How appropriate. She felt just like the leftover dregs in her cup—used, then discarded once they no longer suited.

  Marti stood up and pried Nikki's fingers from the cup. “Fresh cup coming up.” She dumped the cold contents into the sink. “You'll feel better after some breakfast."

  “No, I won't.” Nikki drummed her fingers on the table top. “I'll never speak to him again as long as I live."

  “Give it some time. He might have a good reason,” Marti suggested.

  “I don't have time. He expects me to be there when he leaves for Paris tomorrow.” Nikki jumped up and started pacing about the kitchen.

  “Tomorrow? Then while he's away, hire someone to chaperone Alexa. When he comes back, it'll be a done deal."

  Nikki stopped pacing in mid-stride, turning to face her friend. “I suppose I could. I just hate to give him the satisfaction of knowing I caved in to his demands."

  “Yes, just think how he'll feel when he comes back from Paris and finds Alexa with a new chaperone. You'll have won, after all.” Marti sat back with a satisfied smile on her face. “It behooves us to keep our men on short leashes. They're much happier that way."

  Shocked, Nikki stammered, “I-I thought you liked Max."

  “Oh, I do, but I'm a veteran at this. You're still a beginner,” Marti said with a laugh.

  Puzzled, Nikki stared at her friend. “How did this turn into a joke? I've been used, and you sit there cracking jokes. Sometimes I wonder if I know you at all."

  Marti wrapped Nikki in a warm hug. “Sweetie, I know you're hurt, but it's not the end of the world. It only feels like it. Maybe Max is scared of commitment. I don't know what his problem is, but he wouldn't be on the phone demanding you come back, if he didn't want you."

  “For Alexa,” Nikki insisted.

  “He could hire anyone from the office to look after his daughter, and they'd jump at the chance. It's you he wants. And whether or not he has the nerve to admit it, I think he's in love with you."

  Nikki shook her head and spoke with deliberation. “You've never been so wrong, dead wrong."

  Marti shrugged and gave her a fey smile. “We'll see."

  ~ * ~

  Max replaced the telephone on the kitchen counter. Finally, the aroma of freshly-brewing coffee filled the kitchen. His conversation with Nikki hadn't gone well. At this point, he should consider a Plan B, but still he hesitated. Besides, he didn't have a Plan B.

  Nikki loved his daughter as much as any sister would. And as mad as Nikki was at him, he was positive she wouldn't let Alexa down. The Sunday deadline gave Nikki twenty-four hours to cool down and reconsider. Time would tell. His business wasn't all that urgent. One of his reasons for leaving was to give her a reason for coming back to the townhouse ... and it would give them both some breathing room.

  And time.

  The tension between them had simmered for days, then boiled over so quickly. Distance would give him some time to clear his head ... to make decisions which could affect both their lives.

  All this dream stuff was against his pragmatic nature. How could he go to Nikki and prattle nonsense about dreams and reincarnation, like some wimpy New Age guru. But was it nonsense? He didn't know, but perhaps in Paris, he would find the answer to the riddle of the mask.

  Thirty-two

  Saturday was a beautiful day, and the very beauty of it mocked Max. Rays of sunlight streaked across the office from one corner window to the other. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He'd thought, mistakenly, that he could occupy his mind with work.

  After his argument with Nikki and making plane reservations, he'd spent the next hour planning his trip to Paris. Desperate, he'd called Ted Landry, hoping for a game of racket ball that afternoon

  In less than an hour, he would meet his friend and attorney at their club for a game. Perhaps then, he'd be able to get Nikki off his mind.

  Yes, he needed to think about something other than her ivory skin and rose-tipped breasts and how they'd felt, firm and yielding, in his hands. He needed to think about something besides her long slender legs wrapped around his waist. And how sweet it had been to hold her in his arms and make love to her.

  “Dammit!” He slammed his fist against the desk. The paperwork could wait. He didn't give a damn. The way he saw it, he had two choices. Either he expended his excess energy soon, or he'd rush to the Aldens and drag Nikki home by the hair.

  His Neanderthal impulses shocked him. Not surprising ... on the brink of losing his mind, he'd already lost his heart. And no one to blame but himself. He'd let a damn dream tear him away from the woman he loved. He glanced over his shoulder. Could the little men in white coats be far behind?

  ~ * ~

  Perspiration dripped from Max's ha
irline, down his forehead and into his eyes. Heart pounding, he leaned against the white wall of the racket ball court and gasped for air. “You win,” he conceded. The score had been close, until his focus had slipped in the last set.

  “'Bout time I won a game off you.” Ted chuckled, then added, “And I whipped your ass too.” He walked over to the bench and opened his gym bag. He pulled out two fresh white towels and tossed one of them at Max. “Here, wuss, you need this more than I do."

  “Happy to be a source of amusement.” Max grimaced and caught the towel and wiped his face.

  “What's eating you?"

  “Nikki—it's not working out."

  “Enlighten me. Since when—?"

  “We're not.” He'd overreacted. Ted would never stop with the twenty questions. “She's uh-staying at the townhouse—"

  “Hold on. The townhouse, as in yours?” Ted's eyes widened; he shook his head in disbelief.

  “Yes."

  “Living together. Well, well. Will wonders never cease?” Ted's face wreathed in a smile. At the same time, he gave Max a broad wink and patted him on the shoulder.

  “It's not like that,” he protested, jerking away from his friend's lighthearted attempt at bonhomie. “Nikki is there to stay with Alexa, until school starts."

  Ted shook his head again and gave Max a cynical look. “For Alexa—right. I was about to congratulate you and tell you I didn't know what had taken you so long. If your agitated manner and attempts at obfuscation are any indication, I would venture a guess that my congratulations would be premature."

  “You're not in court. Cut the crap.” Ted's pontificating touched a raw nerve.

  “Your command of the language is admirable.” Ted's grin widened.

  “Mèrde.” He should've known better than to say anything. Ted, being a happily married for over ten years, was unable to comprehend the pitfalls of being single.

  “Of course, your French is better,” Ted admitted, leaning against the wall, nearly doubled in laughter.

  “Ça suffit.” Anger always caused him to slip into his native tongue.

  “I get your drift."

  Max took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and managed to say in his calmest manner, “I'm leaving for Paris tomorrow."

  “Business or...?"

  “Business, but I may stay for a couple of weeks."

  “Running away?"

  “I'm hitting the shower,” he said, ignoring his friend's heavy-handed probing. “I have a date with two teenagers tonight."

  “Teenagers? Have you lost your mind?"

  “My daughter and her friend will simply die, if they don't see ‘NSYNC.” He faked a grin.

  “Bon chance,” Ted replied, with a laugh and mangling the pronunciation, he zipped his equipment bag. “You are one brave man, my friend. Or crazy."

  Max shrugged. “I wish Nikki were as easy to please as my daughter.

  ~ * ~

  At five AM—for Pete's sake—Nikki paced back and forth in the Aldens’ guest room. Max had left another message for her. His flight to Paris left at eight, and he wanted her at the townhouse by six-thirty, for final instructions.

  Final instructions? Who the hell did he think he was?

  Logically, he had every right to leave instructions regarding Alexa, but his arrogant attitude infuriated her. One night of passion, followed by morning regrets, and now he had the unmitigated gall to order her around—like a servant.

  She still hadn't made up her mind if she would go or not. Actually she had made up her mind, or she wouldn't have been up so early. She'd already showered, dressed and packed a single bag, but she'd make him wait. Let him wonder if she would show up. She didn't give a tinker's damn about his trip to Paris or the reasons behind it. She knew the real reason. He was running away from her.

  Fine. He could just go to Paris ... and to hell.

  ~ * ~

  Glancing repeatedly at his watch, Max paced back and forth in the foyer. His taxi was due in five minutes, and still no sign of Nikki. Dammit, if she weren't going to show up, she could've at least called. Canceling his trip was not an option. He could've made other arrangements for Alexa. For that matter, he could've taken her with him. It was his own selfish desire to keep Nikki in his life, but at arm's length. She would never forgive him. In her eyes he'd acted like a selfish bastard.

  First making love to her. Then telling her, it was a mistake ... and not explaining why—not that she'd been in any mood to listen.

  The sound of a taxi screeching to the curb interrupted his train of thought.

  Not his taxi—Nikki's. The morning sun glinted off her blonde hair as she exited the cab. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes. Had she shed tears over him? The pain he'd caused her hit him like a blow to the mid-section. What could he say? How could he make it better?

  He couldn't.

  He picked up his luggage, opened the door and stood on the stoop, waiting for her. She ignored him as she climbed the steps, her face set in an unreadable mask. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “The number of my hotel is on the back.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, uncertain what to say next. “Alexa and Bitsy are still upstairs asleep. E-mail or call me, if you need anything."

  “Fine.” Nikki took the card and without looking at it, stuffed it into her jeans pocket.

  Max grabbed her wrist. “I-I'm sorry.” He wanted to memorize her face, anything to delay his departure ... except tell her what she needed to hear.

  “Forget it.” She jerked away her wrist and motioned with a nod. “Your taxi's here.” She brushed past him and walked into the house without giving him a single glance.

  “Thank you,” he called after her.

  Nikki turned, hesitated a beat, then told him tersely, “I keep my word."

  Her words stabbed, the pain physical, but no worse than he deserved. He hefted the luggage down the steps to the curb where the cabby waited.

  “JFK,” Max told the driver, then jumped inside and slammed the door.

  He hoped he'd find some answers in Paris, but he hated leaving matters with Nikki this way. More than anything, he wanted to stop the taxi, rush back into the house, fall at her feet, and beg her forgiveness.

  Passion battled with control, and this time, control was the uneasy victor.

  Self-control mattered. It was an essential part of who he was.

  He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—risk Nikki's life and happiness. Or had he just copped out in the lowest possible way?

  ~ * ~

  Nikki walked through the kitchen into the sunroom and tossed her purse in the direction of the nearest chair. Her hands shook from seeing Max face-to-face, her emotions still too raw. She shouldn't have had to face him ... not this soon.

  Arrogant bastard. But was he really? He'd been responsible for everything good in her life. How could he treat her like this? Now? After they'd made love?

  In her mind, the answer was clear. Max didn't think she was good enough for him. He still thought of her as the girl he'd scooped out of the gutter. She should've known better than trust his words of love. They were little comfort in the cold light of day. All men were alike. That was her biggest disappointment.

  Max was different.

  She'd put him on a pedestal.

  His fall from the pedestal had broken her heart, but not her spirit. She'd get over him. She would. She had her own life. She had her book. Dammit. She had goals.

  Shit. The book, she remembered with a guilty start. She'd promised Geoff she'd have the first chapter on his desk in a few days. And there was the matter of the advance—it was time she earned it.

  Her laptop sat there, waiting patiently. Nikki sat down, opened it, touched the on switch, then leaned back and waited for it to boot. Once the system was up, she signed online and checked her e-mail, quickly scanning the list and deleting anything that looked like spam or porn—or worse.

  Dammit. Someone had already discovered her new e-mail addy,
and since the last time she'd checked, that someone had left her numerous messages, telling her how much he loved her and what he'd like to do her, if she'd only give him the chance.

  Fat chance. Apparently, he'd signed in under various screen names. By the time she'd scanned several of them, she'd become familiar with his florid style of purple prose. Not that she'd read more than the initial line or two, after the first few.

  Delete. Delete. Delete. “So much for the cyber stalker."

  She opened one from her editor. Just what she expected—a reminder about the first chapter. After e-mailing him a quick assurance that the chapter would be ready, she had no choice. She had to live up to her commitment.

  No time like the present. She signed off then opened her word processing program. Reluctantly, she forced her thoughts back—ten years. She stepped into an alley ... The emotions and impressions of that fateful night overwhelmed her as they rushed back.

  Cold. Fear. Desperation. Her fingers poised over the keys, she shivered. Could she really bring her story to life? She struck the first key.

  Three hours later, she had a rough draft of her first chapter. It still needed some spit-and-polish, but it was a good start. She saved it, backed it up and then printed it out. Writing was difficult enough without losing what she'd already done.

  She'd just removed the last page from the printer when she heard a thump overhead. The girls were awake. Nikki sighed and braced herself for the certain onslaught of two teenagers in full throes of ‘NSYNC ecstasy

  Thirty-three

  Nikki and Alexa stood in front of St. Anne's Shelter for Women. It might've been a-beautiful-day-in-the-neighborhood kind of day, but St. Anne's faded sign had seen better ones. As if mocking the dim reality of life on the streets, the sun was bright, and the sky, clear. Farther down the block, an optimistic bird sang his piercing song. But by afternoon, the heat would rise in stifling waves from the asphalt.

  The teenager's hesitation was clear. “This place looks kind of—uh, sleazy, Nik. Are you sure we're at the right place?” the she asked, a slight frown wrinkling her young brow.