Love's Own Reward

by Dana Ransom

  The sudden scrape of his chair drew Charley’s attention.

  “Let’s go.”

  He saw her puzzled recoil at his harsh tone. How to explain it? He didn’t try. He grabbed up the various shopping bags and began to stalk toward the glass elevators. He could hear Charley hustling after him, but he didn’t slow his pace until she called out his name, softly, in confusion. Then if he didn’t feel bad enough, she ground the guilt deeper.

  “I’m sorry, Jess. I guess I’m just not very good at this. But I really have had a good time, and I want to thank you—”

  He turned on her, expression hard and angry. “Why are you apologizing to me? I’m the one who’s being a jerk, and you’re telling me you’re sorry. Well, it’s not your fault, Charley. Goddammit, stop letting people wipe their feet on you!”

  She stared up at him, her eyes showing surprise and agitation. He couldn’t stand it. Cursing under his breath, he whirled away and then ran the last few feet to catch the empty elevator just as the doors were beginning to close. He held them open for her and stared straight up so he wouldn’t have to see her wounded face.

  “Jess, whatever I did—”

  His gaze dropped, leveling a fierce glare. “It wasn’t you. It was me. Okay? Why do you always assume it’s you? You’re not responsible for me being a son of a bitch, so why don’t you just come out and say, ‘Jess, you’re acting like a son of a bitch. Knock it off.’ ”

  The door shushed closed and the floor began to drop. Charley braced, then met his glower unswervingly.

  “Jess McMasters, you’re acting like a son of a—”

  He grasped the back of her neck, digging his fingers into her hair as he dragged her up against him. His kiss was hard and demanding, wild with the want bottled up inside since she’d told him the underwear in her secret bag was silk. His tongue slashed along the crease of her lips and then plunged between them when they yielded with an unguarded softness. She tasted of coffee and rich chocolate and his control fractured. His knee jammed between hers so that she rode his thigh. Her back was pressed to the glass as he moved against her, rocking, rubbing with the whole length of his body until she moaned his name in helpless abandon.

  “Jess . . .” The world was falling out from under her. Whether it was the drop of the elevator or the soaring intensity of his kiss, she wasn’t sure. But for a second Charley was flying. She was vaguely aware of the blur of storefronts as they sped downward from floor to floor and of everything shuddering to a stop as they reached the first level and Jess eased away. His mouth brushed by her temple, and she could hear the whispered words, “Thanks. I needed that.”

  Then the doors opened, and strangers crushed in all around them. Jess struggled with the bags, catching the door with his foot and angling Charley out. Neither of them looked at the other or spoke of what had just happened. He started walking and she followed. She would have followed him into the fires of hell.

  Jess stopped at the top of the escalator that led down through dense greenery to the street below. He looked everywhere but down at her. It was as if he didn’t trust himself to. “Well, do you want to go home or stick it out for a couple more?”

  “Let’s go the distance.”

  She saw him inhale slowly, then he smiled at her, that weak, wide flash of a smile she’d come to recognize as a mask for things that had nothing to do with smiling. “Attagirl. I think I have a few more cards in here just dying to be abused.”

  He touched her elbow and almost withdrew his hand before taking a firm hold. The nervous uncertainty of the gesture bewildered her. Charley wished she understood men better. She wished just as fervently that she understood what was going on inside herself. Then maybe she could interpret his mixed signals and her mixed emotions. But this was a day of fun and fantasy. It wasn’t made for deep thought. She had to remember that as they ran across the street, hunching against the cold drizzle, through the revolving door of I. Magnin. Jess directed her past the jewelry-counter maze to a bank of elevators. Charley stared behind them, amazed.

  “I think there’s a clerk and a security guard for every two customers.”

  “I think you’re right.” He steered her inside the elevator and pressed the button for their floor. He stood with toes against the door, breathing so loud and fast she’d have thought he was running up the steps. When she shifted her weight, he nearly jumped out of his water-spotted loafers.

  He’s scared.

  That notion came to her all at once. At first she wanted to dismiss it. Jess McMasters? Scared? Of what? Of her? How ridiculous. But then she watched him as the elevator crept upward. His chest labored. His hands twitched uneasily on the handles of her shopping bags. He looked edgy enough to claw his way out through the door. Why? Because he’d been moved to kiss her in a glass elevator in full view of hundreds of shoppers?

  The doors opened and Jess all but bolted out. Scared? Yes, he was, and Charley wanted to know the reason why.

  The overwhelming elegance of I. Magnin was hard to resist. It was sleek. It was sophisticated. The salesclerks looked as though they could be modeling in the international fashion magazines. Charley felt woefully underdressed in comparison to the other shoppers but followed Jess into what he probably would call “designer sportswear of the gods.” He flashed his worth-a-million-dollars smile at the stunning black saleswoman and drawled, “Spoil us with the best you have.”

  They were shown to a chic grouping of chairs, and while Charley looked puzzled, Jess reached for the flip-book of drawings set out on the coffee table. He thumbed through several pages and pointed to an exquisitely-tailored pantsuit. “Let’s see this.” He turned a few more. “And this one . . . and this. Baby, what do you think? Like this long or short?” His gaze slid along her legs. “Short,” he decided for them.

  By the time he went to the second book, she’d caught on and leaned into his shoulder to make some selections of her own. Purposely she kept her eyesight limited to the item and description, not the price. That would ruin the mood of delicious excess. Her bargain-basement morality had a hard time dealing with a fourteen hundred dollar jacket and two-hundred-seventy-five-dollar tank top. So she just didn’t look. Not this time when everything else was so perfect. Perfect. Her senses filled with Jess: the damp leather scent of his coat—sexier than any cologne—the rough unshaven shadow darkening his cheek and jaw, the feel of hard, strong man beneath the denim where her fingertips rested casually on the curve of his thigh, the jagged sound of his gasp when he turned his head to find her kissably close. Their gazes mingled and she got a jolt of something sizzly, as if she’d scuffed the rug and been zapped by the first thing she touched. The delicate hairs on her arms tingled. Her skin tightened. The sensation was sharp, electric. She knew he felt it, too, because the pupils of his eyes swelled in size until black nearly engulfed the cool gray. Then he jerked his head away, his concentration reaching, scrambling desperately, for another distraction. He gave the approaching saleslady a big, grateful smile as she toted an armful of garments and motioned for Charley to follow her into the dressing area.

  Under Jess’s smoldering scrutiny, she paraded out to make a runway turn in front of him, waiting for his hand signal of thumbs-up or neutral wave, then was helped into the next outfit like a turn-of-the-century socialite. She couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so pampered and important. With three outfits—one long, one short, one pants, boxed and bagged—Jess led her back to the elevator and pushed two. The tension was back, thickly sensual and disturbing.

  “Last stop for clothes, I promise,” he told her with a fleeting grin. “You need something with flash and dazzle.”

  “Flash and dazzle,” she repeated. “If you say so.”

  The doors opened onto the eveningwear and fur salon. Charley’s first instinct was to shrink back inside the elevator and press for the next floor, but Jess nudged her out with an insistent e
lbow.

  “Tough it out, Charley. This is the best of the best.”

  “Where am I going to wear the best of the best?” she challenged sensibly.

  His smug reply was, “You never know.”

  The fact that the gowns hung four to a rack and were all individual designs clued her not to look at the ticket price. Instead, she allowed herself the fantasy of pretending she would have use for clothes like these. Intricate beading made some as heavy as suits of armor. Sequins winked against others like a front-window display at Christmas.

  “There’s no back on this dress,” she exclaimed in conservative amazement. Then she blushed. “And no front on this one!”

  “Try them both,” was Jess’s suggestion. She passed. If she was going to pay more than two thousand dollars, she wanted more than a half yard of fabric for her money.

  She moved practically from the full-length to cocktail dresses, while Jess fingered a sheath that would defy gravity, looking thoughtfully at her. She tried to ignore him. She wasn’t the beaded, sequined, backless, frontless type and couldn’t pretend otherwise. As Jess speculated over a slip of tissue-thin gauzy stuff with strategically placed bands of feathers, she grabbed the first sensible black dress she found in her size and announced she was trying it on. Once she’d stripped out of her clothes in the dressing room, she was dismayed to find that her little black dress was held together by what seemed a zillion tiny buttons from neck to waist down the back. The bad news was, she loved it. The fit was perfect, snug and supple. Its understated elegance was a compliment to her petite form. She had to know what it looked like done up.

  Peeking out of the dressing room, she gestured to Jess. “Where’s the salesclerk?”

  “With someone else. Why? What do you need?”

  She tried to wave him off, but he was approaching with a “let me help you” smile. “Buttons in the back,” she mumbled. “I can’t get them.”

  “Turn around.” It sounded simple enough. Until she felt his hands at her waist, his fingers working up the row of fastenings. She was intensely aware of him standing close. She could hear the soft, quick pull of his breathing. And she held hers. Finally his palms soothed along her shoulders and he rasped, “All done.”

  It was hard to look at the dress in the mirror when his reflection was there behind hers.

  “What do you think, Jess?”

  He’d already started back down the tease of buttons, watching with fascination as fabric gave way to an increasing amount of fair skin. “I love this dress. Get this dress.” His voice was low and raw, and she nodded in numb accord.

  On the first floor she found them. Diamonds. Gorgeous half-carat studs in the precious-gems collection where iron security bars and armed guards clashed with velvet and mirrored elegance.

  “May I see these?” she asked the woman almost reverently.

  Jess watched her hold them up to the light to admire the flash and fire of the stones. He gave a half smile. “You didn’t strike me as the expensive-jewelry type,” he commented mildly.

  “Oh, I’m not.” She laughed with a touch of embarrassment. “Just these. I’ve always wanted some just like these.”

  “Then get them.”

  Carefully Charley positioned the earrings back on their tray. “Not this time. I don’t want to buy up all my dreams. I won’t have anything to look forward to.” She thanked the clerk and smiled at Jess’s mystified expression. “What’s next?”

  He shook off the paralyzing tenderness. “Neiman’s. Then home.”

  And she was almost reluctant to nod. This was a day she didn’t want to see come to an end. A day when dreams came true. But not all of them. Not yet.

  Neiman-Marcus was like a cathedral of prismatic brilliance. The moment the doors opened, the scent of sophistication took hold and drew her in. She could have easily gotten lost in the miles of lighted glass counters backed by mirrors into an optical illusion of infinity. She was staring dazedly up the central bank of escalators when Jess steered her to a cosmetic counter.

  “Improve on this,” he told the artfully painted clerk. Then his thumb brushed Charley’s cheek and he added, “If you can.”

  Before she could protest, Charley was seated on a high stool and bibbed. Enough colors and brushes were spread out around her to touch up the Sistine Chapel ceiling. She swallowed uncomfortably, then looked to Jess who was leaning indolently against the counter on an elbow, watching the proceedings like some intriguing foreign ritual.

  “You don’t have to hang around,” she said hopefully. “This will probably bore you to death.”

  She wanted to groan in aggravation when he smiled and said, “I’m not bored.” Then he tapped restlessly on the glass top with his knuckles. “But I do have something to take care of. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Take your time,” she suggested, trying not to sound too relieved.

  By the time he returned, smelling of rain and cold and city exhaust, the consultant was applying the finishing touches to Charley’s new face.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Just trying to decide what color of curtains to hang,” she replied dryly. Bravely she tipped her head back to let him review the final product. Which he did with considerable attention. She was dazzling. Color and shading accentuated all the best of Charley Carter. Her eyes seemed to have doubled in size and dewy softness. The delicate angles of her face were sculpted perfection. What he saw was the final step in a transformation he’d been watching all day. Oh, not the physical one enhanced by clothes and cuts and cosmetics but the inner one. A metamorphosis of shy moth to confident butterfly. It was as if each outward layer had reinforced the inner. Hadn’t anyone ever told her how strikingly lovely she was? How animation deepened her eyes into pools a man could drown in? How happiness could bring a sensual bend to her mouth that wrung a man’s heart dry? Before speaking, he plucked a tissue from the counter and rubbed it gently over her lips.

  “Too dark,” he pronounced huskily. “Something lighter. Softer.”

  It was back to the brushes until Jess nodded his approval.

  “Great. Wrap it all up.”

  Then it was back out into the rain with the noise of the city to consume the silence between them as they went back the way they’d come.

  Charley fell into the front seat of Jess’s car with a sigh and closed her eyes, listening to him wrestling the packages into the trunk. Part of her was glad to put an end to this adventure, and the other was already mourning the fact that it was over.

  “Have fun?” he asked as he settled in behind the wheel.

  She smiled and answered without opening her eyes. “Yes. But Cinderella is going to turn into a pumpkin if she doesn’t get back home soon.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The engine grow led to life.

  She was too tired to even take note of Jess’s driving. Leave it to him, she thought limply as she watched the soaring skyline ebb to the squalor of the suburbs. The energy of the city became the depressive grime of low-income housing, with scrawls of graffiti replacing storefront signs and the roar of trains traveling next to the highway sucking up the noise of traffic. They were swallowed in a tunnel where the yellow overhead light flickered eerily, then the cinder block apartments and crowded row-like houses gave way to the monotony of the interstate. And she could feel Jess relax at the wheel.

  “A little R + B?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she murmured, her eyes slipping shut once more. And to the sultry, soulful sound of Smokey Robinson and rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers, she must have fallen right to sleep. The next thing she knew, Jess was slowing on the exit ramp. She stretched, and as she gave her shoulders a limbering roll, Charley felt his arm slip from behind her, and he assumed a neutral position with hands on the wheel.

  “Hi. Almost there.”

&nb
sp; “Good.”

  He was silent for a moment, then darted a quick glance in her direction. “Want to stop someplace for dinner? It’s going on nine. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “No. I’ve seen enough people for one day.”

  “Okay. I’ll just take you home.”

  He said that rather stiffly, and she hoped he didn’t think she included him in that statement. On the contrary. The day didn’t have enough hours to sate her need to be with Jess. But all too soon he was pulling into her complex and parking the car. He didn’t say anything as he came around to open her door, then gathered her treasure trove from the trunk. She led the way to the stairs and soon was flipping on the lights in her apartment.

  “Where do you want this stuff?”

  “The bedroom’s fine.” That thought lingered lustily as she devoured the sight of leather and denim when he crossed to the short hall. Then he was back, skirting her awkwardly on his way to the door. That’s when the knowledge that he was leaving sank deep.

  “Take it easy, Charley. I’ll—I’ll catch you later.”

  “Jess . . .”

  He drew up and waited, tense, expectant. There was a wariness in his eyes that almost held her at bay.