All Through the Night

by Mixed authors

  * * *

  Chapter Three

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  The nerve of him! The goddamned outsized, overblown, ego-driven balls of him! Just take her off the shelf, try her on for size and put her back until the next time he wanted to play. Damn him, damn him, damn him…

  It took every bit of wit and control she possessed to just coolly and calmly walk away from him.

  “What did he say?” Tony demanded, coming to meet her.

  She was furious enough to tell him, without thinking how it would sound. “He wants to sleep with me.”

  “Jesus effing—”

  “Yeah.” Oh, yeah—oh, hell, imagine how that sounded to Tony. Poor long-suffering Tony.

  Maybe it was the Mascolos.

  Oh, the hell with all men.

  “I’m going home.”

  Tony put out a restraining hand. “Can’t. It’s your party, remember?”

  “Did Mary hire a guy to jump out of the cake?”

  Tony snapped his fingers. “You know, I knew I forgot something.”

  She forced herself to smile, and to look at Tony as if he were the only man in the room. Are you watching, you bastard? “Okay. I’m calm now. Calmer. That son of a bitch. After all these years.”

  “Oh, yeah? And are you thinking about it?”

  Tony knew her too well. “Are you nuts?”

  “You’re thinking about it.”

  “Tony…” He didn’t deserve that, not even as a joke. He’d been so devoted, so patient. And he knew it was hopeless and he never gave up.

  An admirable trait, that.

  “You sparked like firecrackers,” Tony said.

  I’m not interested—she started to say, and it came out, “He’ll have to find me first.”

  “You’re planning to leave town?”

  “I’m planning to go on with my life.” But she didn’t know what she meant by that.

  Yes, she did.

  What did she mean?

  She was so furious, she didn’t know what she meant. No, she meant that that man deserved no mercy. None. And that she wasn’t flattered, and she didn’t care—she’d stopped caring well before the divorce, when he hadn’t even tried to get her back or make things better, and then after that, when he’d skipped town, leaving her to clean up the mess altogether.

  Big deal, he knew how to fuck now. Big fucking deal. It was years too late.

  “Okay,” Tony said carefully. “What life is that, as opposed to the one you have now?”

  “A life full of good times and no responsibility,” Regan muttered.

  “Oh. I thought you’d been living that life,” Tony said.

  “Guess I am. Guess I’m still angry.”

  “Guess you do want to sleep with him.”

  “Tony.” She put her hand on his arm, knowing—since she was always so careful not to touch him—what the gesture meant. “Honestly, I’m just not thinking clearly right now. This is the last person anyone expected to show up tonight.”

  Not anyone, Tony thought, but a man must keep his se-

  crets. Especially from Regan. “Sell him some office space,” he suggested, keeping his tone light and the edge out of his voice. “Make him pay.”

  “You bet I will. Right through the nose I’ll make him pay.”

  “I’ll tell you how, too,” Tony said, taking her arm as he saw Mary Lee appear and gesture to him that dinner was served. “Ignore him, Regan. It’s the worst thing you can do to a man who wants to fuck you. Just goddamn ignore him, and then watch him squirm.”

  Bobby watched through hooded eyes as Regan conversed with Tony. He knew that body language, he knew that look. He’d seen it a hundred times before, and it boded trouble. But, then, Regan had always been trouble, had always been a handful. Always had been more than one youthful badass, knowitall babe-in-the-woods could handle.

  But there wasn’t anything Regan could throw at him that he couldn’t handle now. Including Tony Mackey. Including a roomful of older, experienced men who were all half in love with her.

  Hell, they probably all had hard-ons just looking at her.

  Speak for yourself.

  Right. He could be fifteen again, the way his body reacted to just the sight of Regan.

  Jesus. All those nights. All that regret.

  No more. Penance had been paid. Seven long hard years working, establishing himself, finding his footing, finding the man he really was.

  Finding out that no woman could replace or compare with his deep down unseverable connection with Regan. With his memories of Regan. And that had nothing to do with the reality, and everything to do with his gut, and his heart.

  It was a stunning realization. A turning point, even. When he’d stormed out of the Heights seven years before, he’d gone on a sex bender of epic proportions. And none of the women, none of the sex, none of the wild, wicked kinky nights of unbridled, unfettered lust could quench his desire for Regan.

  It was Regan he needed, yearned for, desired.

  And he’d thought it was an annoying itch and that any-damned-body could scratch it. A year had been long enough to comprehend that wouldn’t happen. Three years to establish a base in the midwest after his father died. Two more to expand the company to profitability. And another year to find the thing that would legitimately bring him back to stay.

  And so now, watching Regan sashay down the buffet line with Tony, he felt that telltale tension in his body, in his manhood, in his soul. His whole body tightened, lengthened, went electric with a need that was so powerful, he felt like he would crack in two.

  And it didn’t profit him to keep watching her with Tony. Tony was part of the cause and effect of what had been wrong with their marriage, and Tony was still living on hope and adrenaline, and taking himself in his hand every night.

  He’d spilled enough seed himself to know what that was like.

  “Angie.” He pulled her out of the corner where she was tucked away with a small plate of food—hiding, it looked like, and she’d damned well better, given her lying little heart.

  “Yeah, Bobby, what’s up?” she asked warily, not liking the look in his eye, or the way he was looking at Regan for that matter.

  Things couldn’t be worse, she thought miserably, and her feeble attempt to protect them both had backfired big time.

  “You snuck out on me.” He plucked a piece of chicken off her plate and bit into it. “Didn’t tell Regan, huh?”

  “You know I don’t talk about you.”

  “I thought it was big news I was back in town.”

  “Yeah, headline news. I told you, I never talk about you to Regan.” There was an admission fraught with misplaced intentions.

  “Tell me about that.”

  His tone was dangerous, silky as a cat stalking its prey.

  “She didn’t want to know. I respected that.”

  “Even to the point of not telling her I’m back home? You really thought she wouldn’t want to know that?”

  Of course, he didn’t believe it, and even Angie didn’t expect him to. “There wasn’t much time to bring the subject up,” she hedged. “Your appearance kind of undercut the need to say anything. How did you find out about the party anway?”

  He shrugged and took another chicken piece. “Just as I said: I called Mary.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “The worst of all possible things, my darling sister. I’m going to do my damnedest to get her back—and you’re going to tell me everything I need to know.”

  And the next day, it was as if nothing had happened. No one stormed the Mackey Agency doors. No one rode up on a white charger to kidnap her. No one happened to bump into her on the street.

  Nothing untoward happened at all.

  It was business as usual, which left her feeling a little off balance. Regan went to meetings, looked at property that owners wanted to sell, had lunch with Tony, showed a handful of houses to a couple of prospective buyers, talked to several financi
al officers on the phone and pitched the idea of relocation.

  And before she knew it, the day was done, and the sky didn’t fall, and nowhere did she see Bobby Torrance; and he could’ve been in Antarctica for all anyone knew.

  Angie called her at seven o’clock, just as she walked in the door and kicked off her shoes.

  “Yeah, hey, so are you two still civil—and communicative?”

  “Civil, anyway,” Regan said. “It’s easy when the party in question is nowhere around. Just how I like it, actually.” She hadn’t told Angie much of what the conversation had been about the night before. It was bad enough she’d said anything to Tony, and she was having major regrets today.

  Bobby, to his credit, left her alone after that fraught interchange, although she was intensely aware of his presence for all the time he remained at the party. But to his credit, he had the tact to leave early, well before the excellent congratulatory cake, which in fact did not have a male stripper poised inside.

  That was a good thing. Regan wasn’t sure she could’ve taken it in the spirit it was meant after the shock of seeing Bobby.

  “So what else is happening?”

  “Same old thing,” Regan said. “How about you?”

  Angie sloughed off the implications of that question. “You wouldn’t think anything had changed at our house. It’s like he never left.” Which was more than she meant to say, and she changed the subject quickly. “What’s up for tonight?”

  “You feel like going out?”

  Angie felt a twinge of unease. “I knew it. You’re upset.”

  “Don’t be silly. Why should I be upset? I’m just feeling a little frisky,” Regan said lightly. Like another-lonely-night kind of frisky for a woman who didn’t dare live out her own fantasies.

  But she liked pulling Angie’s chain. Angie thought she led the life of a wild woman. But that went with the territory: she looked the part, her name made everyone think she acted the part—oh, that Regan Torrance, they would say, her name sounds just like her—lush, torrid, erotic…

  When you came from the waterfront side of town, everything you did was suspect, and everything counted against you, even your name…

  “I was afraid of that,” Angie said, worry lacing her voice. “Bobby’s coming back sent you off the deep end.”

  “I’ve been there before.” Oh, yes, that end-of-the-mar-riage, crawl-into-a-hole-and-wallow-in-a-pity-party deep end. Damned right, deep end. Bobby’s appearance set off every nerve ending, every memory. Every feeling of loss, regret, despair and abandonment.

  The kind of feelings people drowned—in drink or in sex.

  Or in talking about drink and sex and forbidden things they never in a lifetime would do.

  “Where, off the deep end?” Angie said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Yes, she’d shared some of it with Angie. Not all. Not nearly. Not ever.

  “You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Angie added suddenly. “Stay home. I’ll come over.”

  Regan flinched. She didn’t want that. For some reason, she really didn’t want that, nor did she want to examine why.

  “I’m okay. I won’t do anything stupid. Besides, I’ve been protecting your innocence all this time, Ang. And I think that tradition should continue.”

  “Regan—”

  “I’m just going to get a beer or something at Gus’s. That’s about as much hell as I plan to raise tonight. So you’re still on the side of the angels, Miss Angel-a.”

  “You think?” Angie asked uncertainly.

  She hated to turn Angie off like that; Angie was such a good friend.

  “Oh, I know,” Regan murmured, comforted, as she hung up the phone.

  Even more comforting was the atmosphere at Gus’s, the local hangout: warm, cheerful, noisy, welcoming. The restaurant and menu hadn’t changed since the nineteen forties, and you could always order a burger and beer, soup and a sandwich, wine and cheese. And the real Gus still owned and ran the place.

  Gus knew everyone. Gus knew her. “Hey, Regan,” he called to her from behind the turn-of-the-century walnut bar. “How’s it going?”

  “It already went,” she said trenchantly, seating herself and ordering a glass of wine.

  Gus grunted. “That bad, huh?”

  Regan sipped. “Ummm.” That bad.

  Really? Well, she wanted it to be that bad. She knew where to come for sympathy.

  But in the glow of the dimly lit bar, with jazz playing on the old jukebox, the sibilant murmur of conversation underscoring the music, delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, and the heightened sense of intimacy, things suddenly didn’t look that bad at all.

  Really, what was so bad? she thought idly, tipping her glass of wine so the soft light warmed the golden liquid. In fact, everything was golden—if you counted your blessings piece by piece: she had a good job, had just been promoted, made good money. Had a great boss. Good friends. Nice town. Good place to live, to work. Super apartment.

  She had, for a once-destitute girl, achieved everything she’d ever dreamed about.

  Almost everything.

  She didn’t have a husband, or a family.

  She’d failed dismally at marriage. Had fallen flat on her face and into the morass of married too young, divorced too soon.

  That was her most incriminating secret, that she had failed, too. It had been so easy to put it all on Bobby, but she bore some of the burden as well. Maybe more than some. Something she’d never ever admitted to anyone, even herself, in those tumultuous days when there was barely anything left to save of their relationship.

  It wasn’t all Bobby.

  It wasn’t all Bobby.

  Oh, God, all that pain, all those years of regrets… everything she’d pushed into that deep well of longing and covered over so it wouldn’t bubble over ever again…

  And now he was back.

  And that just shook her up from top to toe.

  And he said he’d come back for her.

  Easy for him to say. That had jolted her more than anything.

  Tony said to ignore him.

  But Bobby was a man who couldn’t be ignored.

  Maybe you shouldn’t ignore him.

  Oh, God—where did that thought come from?

  She checked the time. Midnight. The clubs were just revving up. The bar was crowded, the restaurant full. This was the hour people made connections, corrections, raised hell, or just went home.

  Well, she was the original homing pigeon—

  Someone sat down beside her. “Buy you a drink?”

  Tony.

  She sank back onto the bar stool. “You and Angie do not have to play baby sitter.”

  “Oh, sure, you’re the tough, together Regan Torrance,” Tony said, motioning for a beer on tap. “And you’re so tender and raw on the inside, it’s a wonder your heart isn’t bleeding all over the sidewalk. Thanks, Gus,” as Gus flipped his beer expertly down the long counter.

  “Um-hmm.” Regan sipped her wine. Better that than give Tony an opening to play father confessor yet again.

  Tony slanted her a look, noted the stubborn set of her chin, took a long, deep swallow and banged the stein down on the counter.

  She jumped, and she looked at him, as he intended, because he was not a man of extreme gestures. But it was damned hard to hold it in. For years, he had dreaded this moment, and today it had hit him with the full force of a hurricane.

  And it wasn’t Bobby’s return. That was the least of it. It was watching Regan last night and the whole of today, and finally, fully comprehending what was what, and why Regan held everything and everyone at arm’s length.

  “You are still goddamned in love with him,” he said savagely.

  “No.” No hesitation. Absolute certainty. But she looked as if he’d slapped her, she looked stunned, and then she prickled up. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Are you?” he retorted, and took another long swig. “You should’ve seen yourself today.”


  “You’re crazy.” She didn’t sound convincing.

  Oh, God—more secrets…

  “You’re lying to yourself.”

  She felt upended all over again. Tony, of all people, to unleash this on her tonight. But, then, Tony had so much more than she to lose. “I’m not. And don’t you play the martyr with me.”

  “Hell, I’m the one who’s been holding you together all these years, Regan. And it’s clear as glass after last night and today, that all you ever wanted was that smug bastard. And don’t think he doesn’t know it.”

  Regan got up abruptly. No. NO. Oh, God, No…

  “I think we’re done for tonight, my knight erroneous. You’re wrong. And I’m not up for a scene right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “I think I can manage that much by myself. Obviously, I haven’t been able to manage anything else. According to you.”

  “Regan…”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “Fine.” Tony eyed her over the rim of his beer. “It was time for some plain speaking anyway.”

  “Good night, Tony,” she said stiffly.

  “Sure.” He watched her leave, every line of her body inflexible with fury.

  Plain speaking. Plain crazy. He shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have voiced the thing they both most feared. It changed everything, bringing it out in the open, and that he feared most of all.

  Ignore him.

  Who?

  She didn’t want to even think about it. She was too tired, and he was a man who could not be ignored.

  She stepped into the elevator of her apartment building.

  Maybe you shouldn’t ignore him.

  She shucked her coat, as she entered her foyer, and flopped down on the couch.

  Who?

  Who was she trying to fool? she thought, draping an arm over her aching head. The last seven years had been a marathon of trying to ignore the thing she most wanted to forget, and it had all been for nothing: she was transparent as glass and she was the only one who saw her life through a frosted lens.