Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One

by Marie Ferrarella

  Besides, she had a six-o’clock meeting on the other side of town. What excuse could she give Reese so that she could just get up and leave? A half-truth perhaps?

  “Reese,” she said, “I really can’t stay for dinner. It’s my uncle Max. I’m having dinner with him tonight. Sorry. Gotta fly!”

  Reese watched, stunned, as she jumped to her feet and bolted from the restaurant.

  What the hell was going on? he wondered. She was reacting to him as if he had the bubonic plague. He was certain he hadn’t misinterpreted her response to him. He knew her well enough to realize that when he touched her, even casually, she wanted him to hold her, kiss her, make love to her again. So why had she run . . . now, and a year ago?

  He shook his head at the waitress, who was ready to take his order, then stood and strode from the restaurant. He wasn’t going to let Charley off that easily this time. And the first thing he was going to find out was who the hell Uncle Max was.

  Chapter Three

  Outside the restaurant, Charley filled her lungs with a deep breath, taking in some exhaust fumes. Traffic was heavy. Traffic, she thought dryly, was always heavy in Manhattan. She glanced from side to side, waiting for the light to turn green. Hurry up, she thought impatiently, looking over her shoulder. No Reese. Thank heavens.

  Still, as she fairly galloped across the wide avenue, Charley felt a pang of disappointment. She would have been lying to herself if she pretended that she hadn’t wanted to spend the night in Reese’s arms, to have him make love to her over and over again. But that was a luxury she couldn’t afford at the moment. Max would be waiting for her in a deli on Third Avenue. Seeing Reese had almost made her forget about Max.

  That wasn’t surprising, though. Over the past year memories of Reese, of the love they had shared, had often threatened to muddle her thinking. Even the pain of their parting had not lessened with time. At first she had tried to tell herself it was just the rigors of the FBI training program getting to her.

  But the heartache had lingered long after she had left the National Academy headquarters at Quantico, Virginia. She’d tried to vanquish the emptiness by telling herself it was for the best. For his good as well as hers. The life she had claimed as her own was not your normal, run-of-the-mill life—unless you happened to be Mata Hari. If anything had ever happened to Reese because of what she was doing, she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself. She could, however, live with bittersweet pain.

  She glanced at her watch as she crossed Fifth Avenue, and saw that she was going to be late. Max would be worried. Max was like that. Except for the fact that he had a grizzled salt-and-pepper beard and weighed in at well over two hundred pounds, he had a lot in common with her mother.

  The muscles in the backs of Charley’s legs ached as she hurried through the sea of people on the crowded sidewalk. Finally the deli’s green neon lights came into view. Grabbing the long brass handle, she pulled open the door. The deli was dimly lit, and sawdust was liberally spread on the wooden floors. The atmosphere made her think of an old-fashioned bar, but the delicious aromas of various meats mingling with that of beer and pickles proclaimed the place a genuine New York deli.

  As she edged past the people waiting to get a table, Charley felt the wood shavings on the floor work their way into her open-toe shoes. The shavings itched. Why did Max pick these kinds of places? Why not rendezvous in the park, feeding pigeons, the way they did in spy thrillers? Actually, she knew why. Max liked eating better than anything. Why should he feed a pigeon, when he could feed himself instead?

  There he was. Charley made her way across the restaurant and sat down across from him. On the table were platters of meats and vegetables, along with a pitcher of beer and two mugs.

  “You’re late,” Max said, hardly looking up from his meal. One bearlike paw was wrapped around an oversized ham sandwich. “I took the liberty of ordering for you, but it was getting cold ...”

  “So you decided to go ahead without me,” she finished for him. She sighed. “Max, why didn’t you tell me?”

  He raised a shaggy brow. “Tell you what?” he asked.

  “That Reese McDaniel was the stage manager.”

  “So?”

  From his tone, Charley gathered that the name didn’t mean anything to him. She was surprised he hadn’t been informed. She was of the opinion that everyone in the department, save her, knew everything about everyone. Maybe she had been reading too many paperback novels, she thought.

  She realized that Max had stopped eating and was waiting, quite intently, for her answer. He might love food, but he never let that love get in the way of doing a good job. Max left no detail uninvestigated if it meant something to a case he was working on.

  Charley suddenly felt awkward. She looked down at the tarnished metal clasp on her shoulder bag as if she had never seen it before. “We . . . .um, used to go together, sort of . . .”

  “You were lovers,” Max said flatly.

  She jerked her head up, then smiled, the tension gone. “That’s what I like about you, Max. You’re so tactful and delicate. Yes,” she said with a sigh that had more than resignation in it, “we were lovers. I thought you knew. I thought it was in my file somewhere.”

  Max shook his head. “Is it going to get in the way?” he asked. With one hand he speared a good-sized forkful of potato salad.

  “Honestly?” she asked.

  “Honestly,” he said, the potato salad disappearing without a trace into his mouth.

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “Don’t let it,” he said simply.

  She laughed. “Easy for you to say. Well, maybe not. Not with that mouthful of food. Max, don’t you ever get tired of eating?”

  “Never,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.

  “So what do you have to tell me?” she asked, glancing at her watch. It was a quarter past seven. She was going to have to hurry back to her apartment. Allison would be arriving there any time now, and Charley didn’t want the woman waiting for her.

  “I have a little update on your baby-sitting assignment,” Max said.

  “Oh?” Charley leaned closer.

  “She’s not an agent. She’s a pawn, just like the congressman. Seems she was approached over a year ago by our friends with the fur hats and told that wonderful things would happen to her rather lifeless career if she played ball with them. She played.” He watched as Charley unconsciously glanced at her watch again. “Am I keeping you from something?”

  “Got a new roommate,” she said, smiling.

  “Reese?” Max asked with feigned casualness.

  “No. Our ballplayer.”

  “Very good. Best way to baby-sit is to keep ‘baby’ in sight. How’d you manage it?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure. She may have arranged it herself.” Charley pulled her chair in closer, although the noise in the deli would probably cover her words anyway. “Think she knows that I know who she is?”

  “Not bright enough,” he said. “Sounds like you’re developing a roaring case of paranoia.” Before she could protest, he went on. “That’s good. I was beginning to worry that you were getting too confident.” He poured some beer into a mug. “Play it close, as if she knew. Probably doesn’t, though you never know.” He paused, then, seeing her gaze still on his mug, said, “It’s light beer. Half the calories.”

  “Max, why do you even bother?” she asked, tapping the pitcher. “You like regular beer better.”

  “Every little bit helps,” he said. “Gotta watch my waistline.”

  “Well, it’s right out in front, where you can do that,” she said dryly.

  “If I gave in to my every whim, this’d be twice as big as it is now,” he said, patting his stomach for emphasis.

  “Heaven forbid!” Charley said fondly. She rose to her feet. “Well, I’ve got to go.” She arranged to meet Max again two days later.

  Before turning away she pushed a platter closer to him. “Take care of that for me
, will you, Max?”

  “I intend to, Charley. I fully intend to.” She left the deli and made her way toward Second Avenue and her apartment. It was totally dark by the time she got there. As she had feared, Allison, with all her worldly possessions in tow, was waiting for her.

  Charley was surprised at how well she and Allison seemed to get along. Allison was willing to agree to any suggestion Charley made. She appeared to have very few opinions of her own and was almost endearingly eager to please.

  She insisted on taking the couch, so Charley wouldn’t have to share her small bedroom. Still, as she lay in bed late that night, her open script her only companion, Charley knew she would have gladly shared her bedroom with one particular person. Stop it! she cried silently. Moping and indulging in self-pity was not her style. She had to get hold of herself.

  Maybe seeing Reese on an everyday basis would diffuse some of his allure. She had never really spent enough time with him to discover his weak points. At least that was what she tried to tell herself as she dropped off into a troubled sleep.

  But even in her drowsy state Charley didn’t believe a word of it.

  Charley dressed casually for the first rehearsal. It was to begin at nine that morning, but she always liked to be early. She was already up and dressed when Allison first opened her eyes. Allison was wearing white baby-doll pajamas with little pink flowers across the front. Her flowing blond hair tumbled around her shoulders. No wonder Graystone had fallen like a ton of bricks, Charley thought as she walked to the kitchenette to pour herself a glass of orange juice. When she woke up in the morning, she just looked like an unmade bed.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” Allison said quickly. There was a touch of breathlessness in her voice, and Charley wondered if she was consciously trying to sound like Marilyn Monroe. “Did I oversleep?” she asked, scrambling off the couch.

  “Nope, I just like getting up early,” Charley said. “Mornings are my favorite time of day.” Except during those few weeks she had spent with Reese. Then it had been the nights— after the final curtain, when they were both free. They had spent hours making love. Where had the time gone?

  “Me too,” Allison said enthusiastically. “I love mornings.”

  “Well, I’ve got to run,” Charley said. “Just slam the door on your way out. It locks itself. I’ll see you at rehearsal later.”

  “Planning on seeing him?” Allison asked as she walked to the kitchenette.

  Was there a note of undue interest in Allison’s voice? Charley mused. “Him?” she asked innocently.

  Allison smiled as she reached for the pot of coffee Charley had made. “That really good-looking guy I saw you with yesterday. Is he in the play too?”

  “He’s the stage manager,” Charley said. Was it obvious to everyone how she felt about Reese? How she had felt about Reese, she amended. She wasn’t about to let those feelings out again, even if they did exist.

  But if that was the case, she asked herself, why was she rushing off to rehearsal so early? Was it in the hope of seeing Reese alone?

  “Are you going to see him?” Allison pressed, voicing Charley’s silent question.

  “Only if he comes my way,” Charley said evasively, picking up her sweater. She tied the sleeves together around her neck, letting the arms dangle down the front of her cream-colored pullover. With script in hand, she made her exit.

  No, she wasn’t going in early to see the stage manager, she told herself as she left her building. She was going to do her job. Both her jobs—as an actress and as an FBI agent. That was more than enough for any one person to handle. She wasn’t going to allow any further complications. That decided, she instructed herself to enjoy the crisp, brilliant September morning as she headed west along Sixty-fifth Street.

  About forty minutes later Charley arrived at the Minskoff Theatre. She entered the rehearsal room and blinked a few times to accustom her eyes to the dim lighting. She began walking toward the stage, when a sound behind her startled her.

  “Hi,” a voice said. “How’s Uncle Max?”

  She spun around and came face-to-face with Reese. Her nerves of steel weren’t quite up to par this morning. She stifled a shriek and dropped both her script and purse as she clapped a hand over her pounding heart.

  “Reese!” she exclaimed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking up on people,” he corrected her. “I was sneaking up on you—before you could bolt away again like some deer in a commercial about forest fires.” He bent to pick up her script.

  Charley looked down at his black head and longed to run her hand through his soft hair. But there was no opportunity to indulge that longing. The entire contents of her purse had spilled out, and various items were now rolling down the aisle, stopping wherever gravity chose to declare journey’s end.

  “Oh, no.” Charley groaned. “Now look what you’ve done.” In a half-crouching position she made her way down the aisle, picking up a comb here, a compact there, a tube of lip gloss, and three sticks of wayward eye shadow. Instead of helping her, Reese leaned against an aisle seat and watched, seeming highly amused.

  “You could at least have the decency to look contrite,” Charley said, finally rising to her feet after dumping everything back into her purse.

  Reese handed her the script. “Why? Did you look contrite when you left me?”

  “I told you,” she said, tossing her head, “I had to meet my uncle Max.”

  “I wasn’t talking about last night,” he said quietly, putting a hand on each of her shoulders. “I’m talking about a year ago. Times Square. High noon. Except that there wasn’t very much to be high about.”

  She looked at the floor, deliberately avoiding his eyes. “I gave you my reasons then.”

  He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head until her eyes looked directly into his. “And now?”

  “Now? Now I might be a completely different person, Reese. People change in a weekend. There’s been a whole year of weekends between us. Maybe you wouldn’t even like the ‘me’ that exists now.” She felt miserable saying that, almost as miserable as when she’d cut him out of her life the first time.

  “I like the ‘me’ that exists now,” he said, brushing her chestnut hair away from her face. The movement was soft, caressing. It evoked all sorts of sensations within her.

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “I kissed you, remember?”

  She felt his breath whisper against her face, and forced herself to break free. She knew that if she didn’t she’d really need him to hold her up, because her knees were turning to water. “Oh, yes, the great kissing swami. How could I forget that? One kiss does not a prophesy make,” she said flippantly.

  “Okay, I’ll go along with that,” he said, catching hold of one shoulder and spinning her back around. “Let’s try for three or four and see where they lead us.”

  “They’ll lead us into trouble,” she retorted. “The stage manager isn’t supposed to fraternize that closely with the cast members. It’s in the union code somewhere. Look it up,” she suggested.

  “I’d rather look you up,” he said.

  “You’d be surprised,” she replied, almost somberly.

  “Would I, now?” He took her into his arms.

  “I’ve just acquired a roommate.” She watched his expression change.

  “Oh?”

  It sounded like the world’s coldest word, and she knew she should let him go on thinking what he was thinking. It would end the entanglement between them right then and there. It was the best thing for both of them. But his eyes held the same pain they had had the last time she’d hurt him, and something within her, that little part of her that longed to be loved and held, begged her not to go through with it. Still, Charley kept silent.

  Reese let go of her. She tried not to look the way she felt. This was for the best, she told herself. This was the only option she had. This was�
�terribly painful.

  She turned to walk away on legs that seemed to be made of solid lead. Just as she did so, Allison burst into the rehearsal hall like a ray of sunshine. She sounded breathless, as usual. “Hi!” she sang out. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “Nothing that hasn’t already been interrupted,” Charley said in a flat voice.

  “Oh, good. Listen, I have a little money socked away for emergencies. Let me buy dinner tonight, okay? It’s the least I can do until I can pay my share of the rent.”

  Charley winced and closed her eyes tight.

  Then she opened one and looked in Reese’s direction. He had heard. He was smiling.

  “So this is your new roommate,” he said expansively, hooking an arm around each of the women.

  “Yes,” Allison said. “Charley took me in just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like folks back in Iowa would. Isn’t she something else?”

  “She certainly is,” Reese said in a low, deep voice.

  Charley pressed her lips together. The best-laid plans of mice and men . . .

  Behind them, more of the cast had begun to file in. Leading the haphazard procession was Rhonda, who looked as if she already believed herself to be a star. It was time to get to work, Charley thought. But it was hard to concentrate on anything when Reese was slipping his hand about her waist and leaning his head down.

  “Dinner tonight?” he asked.

  His breath fanned her cheek. Control, Charley, she ordered herself. “I’ll be busy,” she said, refusing to look up at him. “Learning my lines.”

  “I’ll help you with all the lines you want,” he promised in a sexy voice.

  “You probably know more than are in the script.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t need lines with you, Charley.”