When Next We Love

by Heather Graham

  But they had been close. For a time, very close. When things began going wrong, Leigh reached for him. And that was when she began to despise him. He turned on her coldly, accusing her of being heartless and mercenary, a frigid, uncaring wife.

  Sustained by her memories, she stiffened rigidly in the chair and stared up at Derek imperially. He was now standing before the desk, leaning haphazardly against it, scrutinizing her as she had been him, except openly.

  “Why did you ask me here?” she snapped bluntly.

  “I wanted to see you,” he returned immediately, undaunted by her antagonistic tone.

  “Obviously!” she drawled with tart sarcasm. “Why?”

  He grinned easily. “My, my!” he mocked. “The ever-sweet, conniving little wife did turn into a waspish widow. Defensive and suspicious. Why not take this at face value? Why not believe that I was simply concerned for your welfare?”

  She grinned back with equal malice. “Because I know better. And defensive, Derek, I’m not. Suspicious—yes. Very. Why don’t you get to the point? What do you want?”

  “First,” he replied firmly, “I want you to have a drink. It might have a dulling effect on that razor-edged tongue you’re brandishing.” He didn’t wait for her assent, but clanged a bell on his desk, his eyes never leaving hers. “What would you like?”

  She stood angrily and protested, “I do not want a drink! I want to finish this meeting and get out of here!”

  She gasped with shock when all appearance of polite cordiality dropped from his features and he took one menacing step toward her, planting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her roughly back into the chair. “Sit, Mrs. Tremayne, and have a drink!” he ordered in a low growl. He did not release her, but continued to challenge her, his fingers biting into her flesh in subtle warning. “I insist.”

  The features above her were rigid and grim; the muscles that held her in their command were tense and strained. For a moment she stared into his angry brown eyes with indecision. She was no match for him on a physical level, but she could scream! Yet, what good would that do? She had the uneasy feeling that James would merely walk in stiffly with his usual calm, set a tray of drinks on the desk, ask Derek if there would be anything else, and totally ignore her whether she was screaming bloody murder or not!

  “I’ll take a glass of wine,” she said glacially, refusing to blink as she met his commanding stare with marked resentment.

  Derek moved away instantly. “Good, love. I’m glad to see that you’re beginning to see things my way.”

  Leigh forgot her aloof reserve. “I’ll never see things your way!” she cried, shocked by her own vehemence. Why was she allowing herself to become emotional?

  Derek raised an arched brow in mock surprise. “What? Is that a crack I’m seeing in Madam Frost? How amazing! I thought that blood had long ago ceased to run in your veins!”

  Leigh contained a retort as James chose that moment to enter the room. Derek requested a carafe of wine and as poker-faced as ever James exited to comply. As soon as the double doors were tightly closed, Leigh was once more on her feet, this time ready to do battle. A springing leap put the barrier of the chair between her and Derek

  “I’m getting out of here, Derek,” she hissed with ringing bravado. “I was crazy to come. I knew all you wanted to do was insult me and—”

  “Stop, please,” Derek said quietly. He scratched his forehead tiredly and sighed. “I really didn’t mean it to be like this. I’m sorry. It’s just that you sailed in here like Her Majesty the Queen and I reacted badly. I knew this would be difficult for both of us. But maybe it’s better that we started out this way. Maybe we’ve cleared the air a bit. Please, sit. We won’t talk about the past or anything personal except in the context of the present. Agreed?”

  Leigh watched Derek guardedly, feeling like a fox being conned by a hound. If only he had continued to be rude and harsh! Then she could have logically called a halt to their meeting and blamed the disaster on him!

  She had to admit that she wanted to stay. When she had heard from Derek, after fourteen months of silence, she had been quite surprised. She told herself it was only curiosity that caused her to accept his invitation to Star Island for a “mutually beneficial” meeting. But although she would never admit it on a conscious level, it had not been curiosity that had brought her. Honestly not understanding why they had become bitter enemies, she still simply wanted to see him.

  “All right, Derek,” she said slowly, sidling back into the chair. “I’m willing to listen to what you’ve got to say.”

  This time he didn’t hedge for a second. “I want to finish the rock opera on Henry the Eighth,” he said bluntly.

  She stared at him fop several seconds without a muscle in her face moving. Then she whispered, “Why?”

  “Because it is good.”

  Leigh looked down at her hands, dismayed to find that they were trembling. The rock opera was hers. Although Richard had often taken her work and ideas and claimed them as his, he had scoffed at the one composition she had put her most loving effort into. He told her it would never sell; he wanted nothing to do with it. To the best of her knowledge, Derek had only seen the rough draft once. He had displayed interest in the project, but that interest was quickly squelched by Richard, who had dismissed it with a wave of his hand, telling Derek with apparent loving humor that it was just an “exercise” for his wife. Leigh hadn’t bothered to dispute him.

  Now she glanced back to Derek, trying to find a motive for his renewed interest in his penetrating eyes. His expression told her nothing. Careful to keep her voice nonchalant, she reminded him, “You know that Richard didn’t write any of the songs. He helped me with the music, but he didn’t even like the work he did himself.”

  “I know.”

  Leigh crossed her legs and reached into her bag for a cigarette. Moving with surprising grace for a man his size, Derek took a marble lighter from his desk and was on his haunches in front of her to light a flame before she could. She wished she had never dived for the cigarette. It was hard enough to hide her pleasure over his apparent belief in her work with him several feet away; having him so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks had made it an impossible task.

  “I haven’t looked at it since Richard died,” she-said noncommittally.

  “I doubted that you had,” Derek said without moving. His presence at her side, literally at her feet, was totally unnerving. She could smell a pleasant hint of musky cologne, feel the vigorous, coiled tension that made him so very alive and exciting.

  Exhaling a long plume of smoke, avoiding his eyes, she asked quietly, “What did you have in mind?”

  He raised teasing brows and she blushed. “I mean, do you want me to give you what I have? Are you going to take it from there? Are we going to bill it as Richard’s final work? I’m not sure he’d like that.”

  Derek finally stood and ambled back to his desk, running his fingers through his curly hair. “No, no, no, and you’re probably right. I want you to plan on staying here for the next month. You and I will finish it together. We won’t bill it as Richard’s work, although he will be listed in the credits.”

  A knock on the double doors prevented Leigh from making a stunned reply. James entered with the wine on a silver tray as she had expected. He deftly poured and delivered two glasses, nodded in response to their mumbled thank yous, and decorously left them, closing the doors with a definitive snap. Leigh took a long sip of wine and finally spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had formed between them. “You are either crazy, a sadist, a masochist, or all three!” she breathed uneasily.

  Derek broke into spontaneous laughter and hefted himself to a sitting position on his desk. “I can never say you aren’t honest about your feelings!” He chuckled. He twirled his wineglass and absently watched the gold liquid as it rolled about. His voice tightened harshly as he added, “But don’t worry. I know what they are. Still, we got along very well at one
time. I think we could work together on a strictly professional basis.”

  “But, Derek!” Leigh protested. “I couldn’t possibly stay here!”

  “And why not?”

  “Because … because …”

  “Are you worried about your reputation?” he demanded scornfully.

  “No …”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Oh, Derek!” she exclaimed with disgust. “You know perfectly well what the problem is! I have no intention of staying with or working with a man who considers me responsible for—” She choked, unable to go on.

  “Don’t!” he scoffed coldly. “Don’t play the bereaved widow with me! I know all about the divorce papers! I know Richard asked you for a reconciliation! I know you turned him down flat. So let’s keep everything on an honest level. I think the work you were doing was good. I’m sure you’d like to see it become a reality. I can help you. We both make money, we possibly come out with a memorable piece of music. That’s all.”

  Leigh wanted to scream. She wanted to shout the truth into Derek’s callous face. Sure, Richard had never wanted the divorce. But he wanted their marriage to stay on his terms. And those terms meant that Richard did what and saw whom he wanted. Leigh stayed home, always there when he decided he needed her, quiet, loving, and unquestioning, even when Richard came in at four A.M. with lipstick stains on his shirts and musky odors of unfamiliar perfumes.

  She didn’t scream or shout. Rising slowly, she crushed out her cigarette and set her half-consumed glass of wine on the desk, ignoring Derek. She walked back to the chair and picked up her bag before turning to him. “Derek, I can’t work with you. We don’t seem to be able to carry on a simple conversation. You have your opinions … I can’t seem to change them and I don’t know if I care what you think anyway. Thanks for calling me, though, it was a nice thought.”

  She should have completed her explanation, spun on her heels, and walked right out the doors with her dignity intact. But she didn’t. She hesitated, just a second, but a second too long. Derek was at her side, cajoling her with a pointed challenge.

  “Really, Leigh!” he admonished as he gently took her bag from her and tossed it back on the chair. “I never thought of you as the whiny, oversensitive kind. I do apologize—I did promise not to bring up the past. But madam! To run so quickly! If my memory isn’t faulty, love, you do know how to put one in one’s place. You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

  “No!” Leigh exclaimed. She hoped her voice held conviction.

  “Marvelous.” Derek grinned wickedly and Leigh inwardly acknowledged and saluted his charisma and power of persuasion. It was easy to understand why nations of women, from teenyboppers to graying matrons, fell madly, if distantly, in love with him. He was the strength, the vision, the talent that had kept the group at the top of music charts for almost twenty years.

  “Now,” he continued, and she realized that he had subtly guided her to the highly polished grand piano. “Refresh my mind. Let me hear the opening song.”

  “I—I can’t!” she faltered.

  “Why not? I don’t see any broken fingers on your hands!” He pretended to test them for mobility as he manipulated her body onto the bench. “And don’t tell me you haven’t played since Richard’s death!” he chastised her sternly. “I won’t believe you!”

  Leigh glanced nervously over her shoulder to find that he had taken a stance behind her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes riveted on the piano keys. “But I told you!” she hedged, “I haven’t looked at ‘Henry the Eighth’ since … then.” Moistening her lips, she tried to bring the blurring black and white keys into focus. She couldn’t play! Not with Derek standing over her shoulder! The scene was too familiar. She trembled as it brought the sharp pain of memory. Leigh, sitting at the piano, aglow with excitement and the desire to please, Richard changing that excitement to misery with harsh and amused showers of ridicule …

  “Leigh…” It was amazing how soft and gentle Derek’s voice could be at times: “The piece is good. So okay, you’ll be rusty. You haven’t played it in a while. This isn’t a royal performance. I just want to get the taste in my mouth.”

  Three of Leigh’s delicate, manicured fingers touched lightly on ivory, but the freezing chill of fear that assaulted her was too strong. If she stayed at the keyboard any longer, her hands would fly to her face and she would dissolve into a mass of sobbing shudders. And dear Lord! That was something she could never do in front of Derek! He wouldn’t understand, and he’d rip her apart.

  Holding her head high, she slid with feigned indifference from the stool. “Sorry, Derek,” she said coolly. “It’s no good. I just don’t remember any of it.” She stooped nonchalantly for her bag and glided regally for the door. “But like I said, thanks for the thought!”

  She was surprised when Derek made no attempt to stop her departure. Pausing at the door to wave a crisp good-bye, she found that he had taken her position at the piano and was softly playing the chords of one of the group’s top hits—a mellow love ballad he had written fifteen years ago but which could still be heard frequently on a multitude of radio stations.

  “Bye, Leigh,” he said without glancing up. “Sorry I had you take the long drive for nothing. Keep in touch.”

  A large knot seemed to restrict her throat. Derek had started to sing the words in his husky tenor, a voice that had undoubtedly helped in many a seduction throughout the world. It sent a sharp stab of yearning through her even as she realized that what she listened to was just a well-written song performed by a gifted singer. Hell! she thought miserably. The haunting power of music was unfair.

  “Good-bye, Derek,” she called, marching out the doors and closing them tightly behind her. She started down the tiled hallway, still hearing the dimmed, but nevertheless compelling, sound of his voice. She clicked her heels loudly, yet even that didn’t help. By the time she reached the outer doorway, she had come face to face with a terrible truth.

  She, just like a million other heartsick “groupies,” was in love with Derek Mallory. She had been, for quite some time. Only self-defense had allowed her the illusion that she had used him.

  Oh, Lord! she prayed silently as she continued down the steps to her car. Please, just let me get out of here before I do something stupid in front of this electronic eye!

  Although she was walking normally, her mind was racing with tormented confusion. How could she be such a fool as to be in love with Derek? Even if he cared two cents for her, he was just like Richard. Another musician, another star. One in a lifetime was burden enough for any one human to bear. Besides, she rationalized as she reached the haven of her car, she couldn’t really be in love with Derek. She hadn’t seen him until today in half a year. And sane people didn’t fall in love with people who considered them to be cold, cruel, conniving, and mercenary!

  She tilted the brim of her hat and slid her key into the ignition. It would be all right; in just a matter of minutes she would be across the Island bridge and she would probably never see him again. She would get over her absurd fancy and continue with her life as usual, calm now, uncomplicated and complacent.

  At first she thought the car’s refusal to start was a figment of her wildly rushing imagination. Perhaps she hadn’t really turned the key yet. But as she twisted it a second time to no avail, she was forced to accept the fact that for some reason the Audi had gone stone-cold dead. She sat dazed for a moment, incredulous that such a thing could be happening. She had had her mechanic check beneath the hood and fill the car with gas only that morning, just an hour before she had left her Key West home to travel the few hours north to Miami. Furiously, she turned the key a third, fourth, and fifth time, but the Audi refused to choke out a single sound.

  Derek! The man would stoop to anything to get his own way. Her recent self-admittance of her emotions regarding him added fuel to the fire of her wrath. Steaming to a point of explosion, she scrambled from the car, viciously slammed the door, and sto
rmed back into the house, brushing past James imperiously and striding down the hall toward Derek’s office with long, angry steps. She burst in on him like a tornado, seething so hotly that she not only forgot her aloofness entirely, but found it difficult not to rush straight for his neck and attempt to throttle him.

  “What did you do to my car?” she raged.

  Derek glanced at her disdainfully from the piano bench, twisting his wiry frame to observe better her irate, quivering form. “I didn’t do a damn thing to your car,” he said coldly.

  “Then why won’t it start?” Leigh challenged.

  “How the hell would I know!” he exclaimed impatiently. “I’m not omniscient!” His eyes roamed with indifferent amusement from the brim of her hat to her crisp beige heels, then he turned back to the keyboard with a shrug. “Buzz James. He’ll get someone to look at it for you.”

  Leigh’s pent-up emotions erupted. With a shrill curse she sent her bag flying across the room, hurtling it with such venomous force and an uncannily correct aim that it struck Derek smartly in the back of his leonine head. Leigh gasped with shock, horrified by her own behavior, and was immediately filled with remorse. Her anger drained from her as she watched Derek slowly turn again, rising to his full, imposing height, and move swiftly toward her, his eyes narrowed and glittering with glacial fury. She opened her mouth to apologize, but no sound came. The possible repercussions of her hostile act were dawning on her with rapid clarity. Derek, when pushed to anger, showed little mercy. She knew he often restrained his emotions because, once let loose, his temper could be a terrible thing, savage and wild.

  It had only been seconds since Leigh had struck him with her flying missile, but time seemed frozen as he approached her. Thoughts whirled through her mind with the speed of light. It was too bad he didn’t seem to have a sense of humor at the moment. It was almost funny. She usually couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a tennis ball!