They made their way to an empty table against the back wall and sat down. The music was low and easy to listen to, and in between sets, Angela and Bryce talked.
Bryce had never been one who talked easily with people. He had always had the vaguely uneasy feeling that he was different, that others found him stiff and the things he talked about incomprehensible and boring. He rarely loosened up and talked freely except when he was with people like Angela’s parents, who were interested in numbers. Even then, he felt limited to talking only about his job.
With Angela, who talked freely about any and everything, from songs to politics, it was somehow easy to talk. Bryce found himself joining in, laughing at her comments and adding his own, discussing their tastes in music and art—and, amazingly, finding them not that dissimilar. By the time the evening wound down, he was regaling her with some of his more interesting cases, and Angela was listening with gratifyingly wide-eyed amazement.
They didn’t leave until the jazz bar closed, and their steps as they walked away from the small place were slow. Bryce took Angela’s hand, and she leaned against his arm as they strolled along. Bryce could feel the heat of her body through his shirt, and below the rolled-up sleeves, where his bare skin touched hers, tantalizing frissons of pleasure snaked up his arm and down through his torso. He was aware of the faint scent of her perfume, warmed by her body, and of the nearness of her breasts and hips. He remembered how they had felt pressed against him the night he had kissed her. He remembered how swiftly his blood had turned to fire, how much he had wanted to tumble back onto his bed with her and explore every inch of her body.
What was it about her that made her so damn desirable? Even now, just the memory was making him hard and aching. She teased his senses, even though he could not accuse her of trying to. She simply aroused him, and he knew that he had felt it all evening long in subtle ways. Now, however, in the darkness with her body close to his, all subtlety was giving way to a building, throbbing need.
He glanced down at her face, sleepy and vague in the wash of moonlight, and wondered what she would think if he stopped and kissed her right here on the sidewalk. Would she stiffen, the mood broken, and pull away from him…or would she melt into his arms like thick, warm honey? His breath caught in his throat at the thought of it.
Bryce told himself it was foolish to think this way. For all that Angela had joked and talked with him tonight, she would not be interested in him, not in that way. She had been trying to make up to him for all the times she had played tricks on him as a teenager. She was assuaging her guilt, not looking for a man. For all he knew, she was already involved with someone, and even if she were not, Bryce was sure that he was not the sort of man she would choose. He was too staid, too dull, too practical. His world was bound by logic and numbers, and hers seemed to have no boundaries at all. The other night when they had kissed and she had seemed as caught up in the fire as he—surely that had been a fluke, a mere chance.
And if, by chance, she should respond to him, where would it lead? Bryce knew that any thought of a future was pointless. They were too different. Hell, they even lived in different cities! They would be bored within hours once they had made love. Or, worse, they would grow restless and irritated with each other. There could be nothing between them but a mere dalliance, and Bryce would never think of engaging in a fling with the daughter of people whom he respected and liked as much as he did Angela’s parents. No. It was entirely out of the question.
Yet, looking at her, feeling her satiny flesh against his arm, tantalized by her scent, Bryce found it strangely difficult to hold onto his reasoned arguments. All the way back to the office, potently erotic images kept flickering in Bryce’s mind. He couldn’t stop imagining how Angela looked without her clothes on or how her skin would feel beneath the stroke of his hand. He thought of her breasts and thighs and had to bite down hard on his lip to pull his mind away from the arousing thoughts before his desire became all too evident.
Angela stopped her car in front of the office, right behind Bryce’s large dark Mercedes. She put the car into Park and turned toward him. Bryce gazed back at her for a long moment. He wanted to lean over and press his lips to hers. The car was small, and the space that separated them was narrow. It would be so easy to touch her. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume in the air. Her mouth was soft and moist, her lips slightly parted. Bryce swallowed as the flames in his abdomen licked higher.
“Well, uh…” His voice came out hoarse, and he cleared it nervously. “Thank you for the dinner and the evening.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’d better go now. It’s late.”
Angela nodded. Her eyes were immense and velvety in the darkness. He wondered what she was thinking. For a moment the two of them were perfectly still. Every nerve in Bryce’s body was taut. Abruptly he turned away and opened his door.
“Good night.” He swung out of the door and closed it.
“Wait!” Angela opened her door and jumped out.
Bryce stopped and turned to look at her. “What?”
Angela’s mind was blank for a moment. She didn’t know why she had jumped out—except that she had thought he was going to kiss her and then he didn’t and she wished that he had. But she could hardly tell him that.
“Uh—well, I was going to say, maybe you’d like to come to Tim’s costume party next Friday night. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me.”
Bryce was aware of a strong urge to accept her invitation. “Thank you, but I don’t think so. I’m not much for costume parties. Besides, it isn’t even Halloween. It’s April.”
“It doesn’t have to be Halloween for a costume party. Raleighites love costumes. And Tim’s are something special. You shouldn’t miss a chance to see it. You have to park down at the foot of the driveway and they take you up to the house and—well, you’ll see. It’s fun, getting to dress up and pretend to be something you’re not.”
“I was never very good at pretending,” Bryce told her with a wry smile.
“Oh, come on. There’s got to be a streak of the romantic in you. Why else did you choose the occupation you did? It may be numbers, but it’s not plain accounting. Doing security and investigations for corporations has got a certain touch of derring-do about it, don’t you think? Sort of accountant-cum-secret agent?”
Bryce chuckled at that description of his job. Trust Angela Hewitt to imbue his work with mystery and daring. She couldn’t accept anything as dull as the plain truth.
“You’re incorrigible,” he told her. “I think you’re applying your imagination to my job. What I do are things that most people would find deadly dull.”
Angela shrugged. “Say what you like. But, personally, I think you’re suppressing your sense of fun. Just try coming to the party, and you’ll enjoy it. Didn’t you have fun tonight?”
“Well, yes, I did, but that’s not the same as making a fool of myself in some costume.”
“You won’t make a fool of yourself,” Angela said in exasperation. “Everyone there will be in costume. Say, you could come as a white knight. You know, slaying the dragon of the IRS.”
“I’m hardly a white knight, I’m afraid.” But Bryce couldn’t help but smile back at her.
“Well, perhaps the cavalry, then. They were always coming in the nick of time in the old Westerns, weren’t they?”
He shook his head, though the traces of a grin still clung to his chiseled lips. “Give it up, Angela. I’m a lost cause. Not the costume party type.”
“Sure you are. Everybody is. It’s like being a kid again. Don’t you remember how much fun it was when you were little? On Halloween, when you’d dress up in a costume and trek around the neighborhood, pretending to be spooky, but in reality being too scared to even go up to that one dark house on the block that everybody always avoided?”
“I never had a costume. I didn’t do Halloween.”
Angela stared at him in amazement. “You’re not serious.”
&n
bsp; “Have you ever known me to be anything else?”
“Well, no, actually, but—no costumes! No Halloween! Not even when you were real little?”
“Not even then,” he replied shortly. “Look. My mother wasn’t the kind who sewed costumes. And I never saw the sense in wasting the money. Besides, where we lived there was more than one house where you wouldn’t want to ring the doorbell. Now, I really must go.”
Angela could think of nothing to say. She was stunned by Bryce’s words. But as she turned away, her mind was already busily scheming about some way to get Bryce Richards to his first costume party.
Six
Angela was disappointed. She had been sure that Bryce was going to kiss her when she pulled up in front of the office, but then he had pulled back at the last moment and gotten out of her car. It wasn’t that she had planned for the kiss to happen or that she had spent the evening trying to entice him into it. She had simply acted on the spur-of-the-moment in inviting Bryce to dinner and then again when she badgered him into going out on the town with her. But as the evening progressed, she had become more and more aware of the way he looked at her, and she had thought that he wanted to kiss her.
She had also been growing more and more aware of him during the evening: the movement of his hands as he talked; the way he shrugged out of his suit jacket, the muscles of his chest flexing beneath the plain white shirt; the odd silver-gray color of his eyes beneath the straight black brows; the firmness of his mouth. Especially his mouth. Her eyes had been drawn back to his lips time and again as they talked. There was something very intriguing to her about the curve of his lower lip, fuller and more sensuous than the upper one. She kept remembering the way his lips had felt against hers, hot and demanding, and she had anticipated his kiss.
Then it hadn’t happened.
That was all right, of course. It wasn’t as if she wanted anything to happen between them—because she didn’t. Nor was she really attracted to him—or, at least, only a little bit. But she would have liked to discover if the other night in his room had been a momentary aberration or if Bryce Richards’s kisses actually did have an incredible power. Angela freely admitted that she was incorrigibly curious, and Bryce had definitely sparked her curiosity. He seemed so staid, so dull, and yet…the passion she had felt in his arms the other night had been anything but staid and dull. And she had found him interesting to talk to when they went out, even fun. They had laughed and talked like friends, not like two people with nothing in common. The more fun they had had, the more she had thought about those kisses in his hotel room, and the more she had wondered.
Angela was restless all weekend, and she thought up a hundred excuses to go to the office, but she restrained herself. She had no real reason to go; she could work on her game ideas just as well at home, and that was the only thing she needed to do. She refused to allow herself to hang around the office waiting for a chance to see Bryce or to talk to him, like a junior high schoolgirl loitering in the halls in the hopes of a glimpse of some football hero.
She tried to get involved in a half-dozen projects, including her new game, but nothing held her interest for long. She played a few games; she went next door to visit Jim and Harbaugh, but neither was at home. She paced through her apartment, trying to think of a way to lure Bryce to Tim’s charity ball, then telling herself that she was silly to even worry about it.
She half expected the phone to ring all weekend, though she told herself that she did not change her mind about going to the lake house in the hopes that Bryce would call her. However, her phone did not ring—or, rather, the three times that it did, it was not Bryce on the other end of the line. Once it was her mother calling from Charlotte.
“Oh, hi, Mother.” Angela sat down with a sigh, feeling deflated and not wanting to admit it. “How are you?”
“Fine, dear,” her mother’s well-modulated voice came across the wires. “And you?”
“Getting by. I guess you know about Bryce coming down.”
“Yes, and I was so happy to hear that you were going to let him help you. You know, everyone can use a little help now and then.”
“I know. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to accept help. It was just…”
“I know, you didn’t want to accept help from him. I still fail to understand why you find him so objectionable. Bryce is a very admirable young man. He’s made quite a success of himself, and he’s very intelligent. Well-spoken. Good-looking.”
“Yes, Mom, I know. He’s a paragon among men.” Angela remembered suddenly why she had so thoroughly disliked Bryce Richards.
“That’s exactly what I mean—that tone when you talk about him. The air of sarcasm. It isn’t at all logical, you know, given the excellent qualities he has.”
“I know, I know,” Angela interjected irritably. “But the fact is, logic doesn’t have much to do with how you feel about another person. I mean, did you logically fall in love with Dad? Did you sit down and draw up a sensible list, itemizing his good points and his bad points, then decide that you loved him?”
“Of course not. Although, certainly, I was aware of his excellent qualities, and they were a large part of why I fell in love with him. Anyway, who’s talking about love? I’m just asking you to be nice to Bryce, not marry him.” She paused, and tension sizzled in the silence. Finally Marina Hewitt went on cautiously, “What is it exactly you’re talking about?”
“Just friendship,” Angela said hastily. “That’s all. Actually, Bryce has turned out not to be so bad. I must have matured.”
“I’m stunned. No whoopee cushions on his chair seat?”
“No. Nor any plastic bugs in his salad. And, unfortunately, I couldn’t get into his room at the Radis-son to wind string all over it.”
“Oh, Lord, I’d forgotten that. That time we took him with us to the beach. I was mortified.”
“It was quite a project. Almost a work of art.”
“I considered strangling you.”
Angela chuckled. “You know, Bryce really was remarkably patient.”
“He was a saint. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been for his background.”
“His background?” Angela’s smile fell from her face. “What do you mean?”
“You know, his mother and all that. He wanted very much to be accepted.”
“What are you talking about? What about his mother?”
“I forgot you didn’t know about it. Well, it’s not really my story to discuss.”
“Mother! You can’t leave me hanging like this!”
“It’s his private matter. I won’t gossip. Don’t you go asking him, either. It’ll just call up old wounds that are better forgotten. Suffice it to say that he had a difficult childhood—poverty, neglect. He was on scholarship at the university, and such a complex, silent, intelligent young man. You could see the brilliance shining in him, but he had trouble relating to people. That’s why I more or less took him under my wing.”
Angela plopped down on the stool by the phone, stunned. “I—I didn’t know.”
“Of course not, dear. You were only twelve at the time, after all, and it wouldn’t have been appropriate to tell you about it. Besides, as I said, it’s not really my story to tell.”
Angela twisted the telephone cord around her finger, guilt gnawing at her. “I wouldn’t have been so mean to him. I mean, I never guessed that he had any problems.”
“Teenagers tend to be that way.”
“Now I feel even worse.” Angela thought of the thin, dark, impassive boy whom she had disliked so thoroughly. All that time, when she had thought him icy and unfeeling, a robot trying to steal her place in her family, had he really been a lonely, deprived boy? Had he been struggling to find his place in the world, hurt by a painful childhood? Her eyes felt suddenly hot, as if she were about to cry.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past now,” her mother told her practically. “Anyway, I’m not sure your jokes weren’t for the best. Bryce had suc
h a chip on his shoulder back then. He hated for anyone to lend him a helping hand. He was suspicious that people were nice to him because they pitied him. I think perhaps he didn’t feel that in our house, partly because you were so relentlessly adolescent and hostile. It reassured him in an odd way.”
Angela groaned. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
She could almost see her mother’s shrug on the other end of the line. Comfort was not one of Marina’s main concerns. She preferred the facts.
“I’m surprised he agreed to come help us,” Angela went on. “I must be his least favorite person.”
“I applied a little emotional pressure,” Marina replied candidly. “I could hardly let you get into trouble with the IRS, could I?”
“Are you sure Bryce can help me?”
“Of course. I don’t worry about you now. Bryce is the best I know at things like this. He’s not only mathematical, but he’s also quite inventive and…oh, I don’t know, almost intuitive about spotting problems.”
There was a pause, then Angela said softly, “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“Heavens, no, whatever gave you that idea?”
“For getting into this mess with the government.”
“Lots of people get into trouble with the IRS, even those who are quite astute in money matters. And since I don’t even know what the circumstances are, I can hardly judge whether you were foolish. I’m sure you aren’t as careful as you should be about such things. You’ve always been a trifle…”
“Rash?” Angela supplied the word. “Careless?”
“I think impulsive was more the word I was looking for. And, yes, you can be careless’ about some things in a way that amazes me. But, dear, I hardly expect you to be like me. You are yourself, and everyone loves you just that way.”
Angela felt slightly stunned. Apparently this was a day for surprises from her mother. “Really?”
“Goodness, yes. Angela, are you feeling all right? You seem a bit vague this afternoon.”
“No. I’m fine. I’m simply amazed, I guess, at my own ignorance sometimes.”
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