today. Maybe in an hour or so she'd be with him. She hurried into the
building giving her name to the balding doorman and stating her
business. She found a ladies' room to make repairs to her appearance.
She combed her hair, washed her hands, applied fresh make-up. Her
heart was beating nervously. With a deep breath for courage she
walked determinedly down the long, carpeted floor to the Cronin
Literary Agency.
A girl with short honey-blonde hair and green eyes sat behind the
reception desk, typing. She was beautiful, dressed in a skirt and well-
fitting silk blouse. She gave Linden a cool look.
'I'm Linden Mitchell,' she announced herself.
'I know. The doorman called me.' She did not shut off the typewriter.
'Mr Cronin is not in and Mr Parker has not yet returned from
Connecticut.' There was speculation in her eyes as she observed
Linden, taking in her jeans and shirt and sweater-jacket.
'When was the last time you called?'
'Two minutes ago, right before you came up. I'm sorry, but there is
nothing I can do for you.'
She didn't seem sorry in the least. She's probably in love with him,
Linden thought. The new and upcoming writer of spy novels—
handsome, virile and with a tropical tan in early April.
'All right, thank you, I'll be back in the morning.'
She rode down in the elevator, angry and disappointed. Justin Parker,
where are you when I want you?
She asked the doorman for the address of a hotel nearby, something
not too fancy or expensive. He told her where to go, giving
directions, chatting. Was she new in New York? He thought so. He
could always tell. Where was she from? He had a slight Irish lilt and
a friendly grin, not at all what you expected of New Yorkers, who
were supposed to be dour, unsmiling and too wrapped up in
themselves to give anyone the time of day.
The hotel was small and old, but clean. After she'd settled in, she
went out again, explored Manhattan on foot, and for dinner had a
generous plate of Linguini Alfredo in a small Italian restaurant
complete with Italian-speaking waiters.
At nine the next morning, after a restless night, she rode the elevator
back up to the Cronin Agency's offices. She didn't care what the girl
thought of her. All she cared about now was seeing Justin, even if she
had to sit in the office all day and wait.
When she opened the door it wasn't the girl she saw, but Justin's
back. He was leaning against the desk, talking to the girl, stopping in
mid-sentence when he turned and saw Linden enter.
Her heart pounded like a sledgehammer. A short, trimmed beard
covered the lower part of his face. He wore tailored slacks instead of
shorts or a sarong, a teal blue sweater, sleeves pushed up to the
elbows, a tweed jacket slung over his shoulder. His appearance was a
shock. She'd known he would look different, somehow, but not this
different, not like a bearded stranger.
'Excuse me,' he said to the girl in the sudden quiet that had fallen
over the reception room. He took Linden's arm and propelled her out
of the door into the deserted hallway.
They faced each other. There was a smile in his eyes.
'Well, this is a surprise.'
She swallowed, feeling awkward and uncertain. 'I hope you don't
mind I came a little earlier than planned. I tried to call, but I couldn't
get through.'
'I was in Connecticut. I only came back last night. I called my
telephone service and they told me you were in town but they didn't
know where. They said you'd be here in the morning, so here I am
too.' His smile deepened. 'You look nervous.'
'Me? Nervous?' she asked brightly. 'However did you get that idea?
You look strange.'
'So do you, with that jacket on. I tend to picture you wearing a
sarong.' He leaned against the wall, observing her with humour in his
eyes.
'I still wear a sarong around the house.'
'Good. I like that.'
'How's everything with your book? Did the movie- deal come
through?' she asked, rubbing her clammy hands on the side of her
jeans. She didn't know why she felt so funny all of a sudden. Why
this man who looked like Justin and sounded like Justin, seemed a
stranger.
He straightened away from the wall. 'They're still working on the
details. I'll tell you all about it over a cup of coffee at my place.' He
took her arm again and led her down the hall to the bank of elevators.
'How did you get here?' he asked as they left the building.
'I drove.' The sunshine made her blink. A cool breeze stroked her
face.
'Very brave. Where did you park the car?'
'In a garage three blocks down that way.' She pointed left.
'All right, let's get it. What about your luggage? Where did you stay
last night?'
She pointed in the opposite direction. 'Two blocks thataway, turn
right, middle of the block.'
They got the car. 'You drive,' she suggested, handing him the keys.
'You know where we're going.' He grinned and took the keys without
comment. They picked up her things at the hotel and drove on to
Justin's apartment.
'This place is intimidating,' she said. 'I drove around for an hour
yesterday getting lost all over the place. I felt really stupid.'
'It does take some getting used to.'
'You like New York?'
'In small doses, yes. There's a lot to see and do and it's a dynamic
place. But I did get addicted to my peace and quiet on Pelangi.'
The apartment was sumptuous. Thick carpeting, white upholstered
Swedish furniture, modern art on the wall, a bar.
'I'm impressed,' she said, looking around in awe.
He grinned. 'Unfortunately it's not mine. I'm subletting it for a couple
of months. I was lucky to get it. It belongs to one of Cronin's friends
who's spending the winter months in warmer climes.' He'd dropped
her things in the hallway and was reaching for her jacket. She
loosened the leather belt and slid it off her shoulders. He hung it in
the hall closet and she followed him to the kitchen. He filled the
electric coffee maker with water and ground coffee.
'So, how did you fare these last few months?' The question was asked
casually.
She lowered herself on a kitchen stool. 'I went back to Pennsylvania,
packed up my stuff, put most of it in storage and drove my poor little
Chevy to New Orleans, where my sister Stefanie awaited me with a
huge belly and open arms.'
'How did you get along this time?'
'Better. I think she was afraid I'd walk out and leave her, and she
needed me. The baby was born two weeks after I arrived, another
boy. The house was in chaos. Five kids under five, you can imagine.'
He shook his head. 'No, I can't. It's beyond me.' He gave a boyish
grin. 'You seem to have survived it.'
'Appearances are deceptive.'
He laughed. 'What did she think about you staying with her for such
a long time?'
'I told her I was finished with Waite and I needed a change of scene.'
There was a slight pause. 'Did you see him while you were packing
up your apartment?'
She looked at him. 'No. I don't know if he knew I was there or not. I
didn't go anywhere. I was in and out of town in a matter of days.'
She thought of the letter Waite had written her. For a fleeting
moment she considered showing it to Justin, then rejected the idea. It
had been a letter to her only. What had happened between them was
private. He had said goodbye to her and it was over now.
The coffee pot was making gurgling noises and a rich aroma filled
the kitchen.
'Have you had breakfast yet?' he asked.
'No.'
'I didn't think so.' He shook his head in disapproval. 'Breakfast is the
most important meal of the-day. Don't you read the papers?'
'Shut up, Justin. I don't want to hear about it.'
He laughed out loud. 'Now you sound like the Linden I know.'
She smiled back at him, light-headed. His eyes held hers for a long
moment, then he reached for her hands. Her pulse began to race.
'What are you going to say when I kiss you?' he asked. ' "No, Justin!"
"Stop it, Justin!" "I warn you, Justin!"'
'Why don't you try and find out?' she said lightly. 'I might come up
with something more creative.' Hold, me. Kiss me!
'Mmm . . . am I going to like it?'
'I don't know. You'll have to take your chances. I'm a creature of
whims and sudden urges. You never know what I'll come up with.'
He threw back his head and laughed. 'You've got yourself all wrong,
sweetheart.'
'You think you know me so well,' she taunted.
'I do that. But I must admit the process hasn't been easy.' His eyes
narrowed slightly. 'Why did you come two weeks early?'
'You know me so well, you tell me.'
'You couldn't stand those screaming kids anymore.'
'Actually they're very good'. Stefanie really knows how to handle
them. I might change my mind and have five myself.'
He groaned. 'You're changing the subject.'
'I am? What were we talking about?'
'Why you came two weeks early.'
'Oh, well, let's see. Actually, I was worried about you.'
'Worried?'
'I was wondering what the big city might do to you after three years
on Pelangi. All those sophisticated girls, like the green-eyed blonde
at the reception desk at the agency. I thought I'd better check to see if
you needed any protection.'
There was a gleam of laughter in his eyes. He looks wonderful, she
thought. I like that beard—it looks sexy. I've never kissed a man with
a beard.
He drew her slowly to him, looking into her eyes, and she put her
arms around his neck, her heart throbbing wildly. She stood very still
as he lowered his face. The beard touched her skin and it sent a thrill
of excitement through her. His lips moved over hers, softly,
tantalising. 'I missed you,' he whispered against her lips.
She felt the glow of euphoria, a singing. 'I missed you too.'
CHAPTER NINE
HE moulded her body against his and his smouldering, kiss sent heat
waves through her body. I'm going to melt at his feet. How
embarrassing. Breathlessly, she moved her face and put it against his
shoulder.
It took a few moments to catch her breath. 'I've never kissed a man
with a beard,' she said against his neck. 'It's doing terrifying things to
my heart.'
'I'll shave it off, if you want,' he whispered.
'Oh, no! I like it! It's a very sexy beard. Why did you grow it?'
'It was so damn cold when I came here. Why are you laughing?'
She raised her head to look at him. 'I once had an English friend who
told me men grow beards to cover up weak chins.'
His lips curled in amusement. 'I guess I'm in trouble then. Everybody
is going to think I have a weak chin. I'm a weak person. The dregs of
society.'
The word weak would not enter anybody's head looking at this man.
She didn't want him to shave the beard, ever. She raised her arm and
ran her fingers over the short dark hair. 'I wouldn't worry about it if I
were you. A lot of women think beards are sexy.'
He let out a deep sigh. 'That's a big relief.'
Why are we standing here talking? The tension was mounting. She
could feel the heat of his body against her. She was taken over by an
overwhelming physical feeling and breathing was difficult.
'What about the coffee?' she asked.
He gave her a long look. 'You want coffee?'
She nodded. 'Yes.'
'No, you don't.' His hands slid down her thighs and drew her close
against him.
'Justin . . .'
He led her into the bedroom. She felt weak as water, her head light.
The room was bright with spring sunshine and he moved to the
windows and drew the curtains across. In the muted, filtered light she
saw him come towards her and she moved into his arms. He began to
kiss her, his hands moving slowly but surely, taking off her clothes.
They were on the big bed, naked in the pale light. His hands gently
circled her breasts and her body sang to his touch. She looked at him
as he leaned over her, touching his chest, his stomach. The feel of the
clean lines of his body excited her.
'Oh, God, Linden,' he whispered and the urgency in his voice made
her senses quiver. His mouth closed over her breast, kissing her
softly, then slowly moved down. He did the most wonderful things to
her body, setting it ablaze with exquisite sensation. The ecstasy was
almost unbearable and finally the excitement was too much and he
groaned and drew her fiercely to him. Everything faded into oblivion
and there was only her awareness of him and the love that carried
them to ecstasy.
For a while afterwards they did not speak, but lay silently in each
other's arms, relishing the sweet contentment of the moment.
They were hungry then, and he brought a tray of food to the
bedroom. They ate, hungry as mountain climbers, sitting up in bed—
Swedish crisp bread and French goat cheese, an apple, coffee and
chocolate cake.
'This is the weirdest breakfast I've ever had,' she said. 'Delicious,
though.'
'It's eleven-thirty. It's brunch.'
She smiled sunnily. 'Whatever you say.'
'Let's go to Connecticut.'
'Connecticut? Why?'
'I bought a house. I want you to see it.'
She couldn't wait.
They drove down the New York Turnpike, slowing down near
Greenwich to go through the toll gates, on to the Connecticut
turnpike. The sun shone on the still-bare trees, but green was visible
here and there, and the bright colour of crocus and daffodils in well-
tended beds. They took the Westport exit and drove along long
winding roads. Large, beautiful old houses lay back from the roads,
surrounded by maples and oaks and evergreens.
'It's beautiful here,' said Linden. 'Those houses . . . it looks like an
affluent community. Quite a difference from my little town in
Pennsylvania.'
'Don't you like rich people?' There was a smile in his voice.
'I'm not used t
o rich people.'
'Well, not everybody is rich here. There are many ordinary middle-
class American citizens in Westport.'
'Tell me about it, about the town. What kind of place is it?'
'Well, let's see. There's quite an artist colony here— writers, painters,
sculptors, actors, the lot. And not all of them are famous either, so
don't let that intimidate you. There are art galleries and art supply
stores and craft shops and places like that. It's a New England town—
white clapboard houses, small churches, smalltown shops—antique
stores and health food stores and spice shops along with the hardware
store and the dry cleaners. But it has a character all its own. It's not as
sleepy as some of the towns further north. There are a number of
restaurants and coffee bars with jazz bands and live piano music and
there is an amateur theatre group. In many ways it's very small-
townish, but the people are quite sophisticated. New York, of course,
is right down the road, and many people commute to work, and go
there for plays and concerts.'
'It sounds interesting.'
'I hope you'll like it here.'
I hope you'll like it here. 'You want me to move to Westport with
you?' she asked.
He gave her a quick sideways glance. 'I was hoping you would.'
She wondered what he had in mind. Did he expect her to move in
with him? Did he want to marry her? They'd have to talk about it.
She'd better figure out what it was she wanted herself. Decisions to
change the course of her life. She had no job now and didn't know if
she could find work in a place like this. Anxiety curled in her
stomach and her throat was dry.
'There's a big party a couple of weeks from now,' Justin was saying. 'I
got an invitation just yesterday. I'm sure it won't be difficult to meet
people we like.'
'No, I suppose not.' Maybe all he wants is an affair. Why haven't I
thought about this before? Why do I always think in terms of forever?
That's one of the reasons I was so devastated about leaving Waite.
Fear crept over her. Oh, for heaven's sake, she said to herself, calm
down. You don't have to decide anything today. Or even next week.
Just enjoy being with him. Right now that's all that matters. It will all
work itself out. She shifted in her seat, trying to relax, gazing at the
scenery outside.
They said nothing more until he took a left and slowed down.
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