When Next We Love

by Heather Graham

  Her stunned immobility came to an end when Derek was almost upon her. A flash of logical panic came to her and she decided to make a hasty retreat. She had only seen him really angry once, but she knew she didn’t want to see him so again—especially if she were to be the object of that anger. Spinning with the true speed of acute fear, she scurried for the doors and escape.

  Her effort came too late. Even as she turned, her hat went flying from her head, and her attempt to flee was painfully curtailed as Derek’s forceful fingers gripped into the neat knot of auburn hair, sending the pins cascading to the floor, wrenching her into an abrupt aboutface. She cried out; her liquid eyes and trembling lips begged silently for forgiveness. But Derek was not yet ready to show compassion. His fingers remained tightly clenched in the now tumbled, soft disarray of her hair, pulling her head back so that her neck arched cruelly and she had no choice but to meet his stern, unrelenting features, stare into his smoldering golden-brown eyes. His other hand, she noted vaguely, had fallen to her waist, pressing her dangerously close to his lean hips and powerfully muscled thighs. She could feel his breath on her cheeks, see a row of clenched, straight white teeth, sense the tickle of his soft beard on her flesh. For a brief moment she wondered if he were going to strike her or kiss her. …

  He did neither. A struggle for control played across his features, then he released her and walked tensely to his desk, leaned against it, and rang the buzzer. Scrutinizing her with quiet contempt, he advised, “You might want to brush your hair. James will be here in a second.”

  Shaking with humiliation, Leigh scurried across the room for her bag, extracted her brush, and tried to put some order into the long, thick tresses, which hung over her face and down her back in gold-hued, fluffy tangles. She had just completed her task when James entered the room, but if he noticed that their guest had lost her hat and sophisticated upsweep, he gave no sign. Derek explained that Mrs. Tremayne was having auto difficulty and would James please see to it. The butler nodded and started to leave but Derek halted him with, “Oh, and, James, will you ask Emma to prepare a guest room and tell her that Mrs. Tremayne will be staying for dinner? Thank you.” The oak doors were closed again.

  Leigh shot Derek a hostile glance and stated firmly, “Mrs. Tremayne will not be staying the night!”

  “Then Mrs. Tremayne is a bigger fool than I thought,” Derek said smoothly. “Don’t you ever read weather reports or listen to the radio?”

  Leigh’s hostility changed to confusion. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “The tropical storm over Cuba has increased to hurricane velocity,” Derek said, idly searching the cobalt shag of his office carpeting for her hairpins. “You would have been all right if you could have left now, but, say, five or six hours from now the outer winds will be hitting the Keys. Unless it takes a radical change of course.”

  “Oh.” Leigh stood awkwardly. She was a fool! She had heard something about a tropical storm brewing in the Caribbean. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the reports? She should have never left her home to begin with! As a native “Conch,” or Key Westerner, she had seen many a storm thunder its ferocity upon the island. Her home, she felt, was safe. Knowing her native habitat as she did, she had insisted that Richard have it built to exacting specifications. Usually when storm warnings threatened, she stocked the house well, filled every receptacle in it with water, and offered it as a harbor to others in less fortunate positions—those who were not able to evacuate or felt their own homes were dangerous during the deluge of water and wrecking winds.

  But in the last few days she had been terribly absentminded. All she had thought about was her approaching appointment with Derek. She had not picked up a newspaper, barely glanced at the TV, and, if she had heard a radio, she didn’t remember a thing said.

  And now here she was, virtually a prisoner of the feckless gods of fate, stuck with Derek due to the haphazard whimsy of the weather. “I’m sure there can’t be anything seriously wrong with my car,” she said in a small voice tinged with hope as she absently reknotted her hair.

  Derek, holding his cache of pins, advanced on her nonchalantly. “Don’t,” he said curtly, pushing her hands from her hair. “It looks much nicer down. I never did like the way Richard tried to dress you up like a porcelain doll.” He handed her the pins and strode with assurance toward the doors. “Excuse me, I need to shower and change for dinner.”

  “But, Derek …” Leigh’s protest trailed away.

  “Yes?”

  “I—I can’t stay! I have nothing with me!”

  He hesitated slightly, one powerful hand curling around the edge of a door. A small, humorously tender smile showed beneath the trimmed hair of his beard. “I remember you used to wear Richard’s tailored shirts to bed.” His grin broadened across his face. “I have a zillion shirts. Take your pick. And Emma’s always prepared for anything. She keeps a horde of soap, toothpaste, shampoo, and the like that would make a drugstore look understocked. She’ll take care of you.”

  The door began to close but Leigh once more felt compelled to stop her host, deciding the temperance of his behavior after her own childish display warranted an apology. “Derek!” she called again stiffly, not quite able to sound truly humble. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? How nice.” The friendly grin had left his face and the eyes that bored into her were unfathomable. He seemed distracted for a moment, then added in a low tone with a rough edge that could only be deciphered as a warning, “But you should learn to guard that temper of yours. Richard might have tolerated it—he had to, you were his wife. But I rarely make allowances more than once.”

  “Well how good of you to leave me unscathed this once!” Leigh drawled sarcastically. Although she knew better, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from goading him. “If—” she stated with pronounced accusation, “if my car hadn’t gone mysteriously dead, it never would have happened!”

  “My dear Mrs. Tremayne,” he said, shaking his head slightly as if he had been delegated the task of explaining something to a very small child. A scornful smile twisted his handsome features. “Dear, dear woman! Do you really imagine I would ever have to stoop to trickery to keep a lady in the house if I so desired?”

  A scarlet blush rose unbidden to her cheeks. Tossing her hair behind her shoulders, she attempted a comeback to dispel the miserable feeling of utter ridiculousness he had instilled in her. “My dear Mr. Mallory! Believe it or not, there are women in the world who value the trait of modesty. You never know, one of them might be more than willing to turn you down!”

  “True, love, but the sea is full of fish.”

  “And one black cat is just like another in the dark?”

  “You got it.”

  Leigh gave him a saccharin-sweet smile. “That’s what you think now, Derek Mallory. But one day you’ll change your tune. You are a mere mortal—or were you aware of that? One day, Mr. Music, you will fall in love. And I hope you’re on your knees begging for the feeling to be reciprocated, begging for marriage—”

  “Oh doubtful, love! Doubtful!” Derek interrupted casually. “You see, I saw a friend fall in love, and I saw what it did to him. The beautiful, shy little creature that he married turned out to be a heartless bitch. No, I don’t foresee the same thing happening to me.”

  He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth before Leigh was on him, hand raised, nails curved like a feline’s in a hissing attack. Once again she hadn’t bothered to think about her actions. She had forgotten all about any of her gentler emotions toward Derek; all she knew was that at that moment she hated him with black and thorough rage.

  Her blow never found its mark. He must have anticipated that his provoking remark would draw such a response from her. Catching her hand with deft ease, he twisted it cruelly behind her back. “Oh, Leigh!” he said, his voice dripping disgust. “You never do learn, do you? I’m not your doting, besotted husband. Don’t ever slap me, I slap back.” His jaw tig
htened savagely. “And believe me, woman, if ever a man lived who thought you deserved a sound thrashing, that man is me. So don’t tempt me, huh? I’d love to give you a good taste of your just reward!”

  Leigh was in no position to argue. The pain in her steel-trapped arm was barely endurable. But she wouldn’t apologize. Not ever again! He was so—so wrong and unfair! Despite the agony she felt, she tilted her head in defiance and stared at him distastefully. “I loathe you, Mr. Mallory,” she said, the green overshadowing the amber in her eyes, gleaming emerald with open vehemence. “You are the most arrogant, egotistical, self-righteous, self-centered bas—” she stopped as a cry of agony escaped her lips as Derek twisted her arm even more viciously. She closed her eyes miserably and fell silent. With a slight push, he released her.

  “Sorry, I can’t stand here and listen to any more of your opinions,” he said as if they had been discussing a song or a book. “I don’t want to be late for dinner. I have a guest coming later this evening and I want you tucked in for the night before she arrives. I won’t need any of your opinions with her here, either.”

  He saluted her quickly and headed for the curving staircase that ranged to the right of his office and the hallway. As soon as he moved, Leigh forced her quivering and abused limbs quickly to retrieve her bag for a final time and to rush back down the hallway in a desperate dash for the door. Hurricane or no, she wasn’t staying here! She’d happily walk the distance back to the mainland and stand on the causeway until someone picked her up and got her to a phone; she’d do anything to get away from Derek.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” his voice suddenly warned as she set her hands on the outer door. “The dogs are out. Nice nasty Dobermans. They chew strangers into little bits!”

  Leigh clenched her teeth as she let her hand fall from the door. “Then call me a cab, please.”

  “Sorry, love.” Derek’s mock apology echoed frostily against the tile. “Phones are dead. We’ve been having that problem frequently this past month. Cable trouble.”

  The echo died slowly as he continued up the stairway. “Damn you!” Leigh cried, shaking with misery and despair. “Damn you, Derek! Why did you make me come here?”

  But he was gone. He didn’t hear her, nor did he see the abject tears that shimmered on her eyelashes and fell to her cheeks, or the frightened unhappiness that trembled on her lips.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE VIEW FROM THE arched balcony off the guest bedroom Leigh had been allotted was stunning. Before her lay the shimmering rectangular pool and beyond it the deep blue water of the channel separating Star Island from the causeway. If she cast her eyes to the left, she could see the high rises of Miami Beach, twinkling now in the dusk like a million merry stars. To the right, in a distant glimmer of reflection, was Biscayne Bay, choppy with the fringe of winds caused by the tropical storm southward. Each foam-flecked wave danced and gleamed like a diamond, caught in the nighttime brilliance of the Miami Herald building and the magnificent OMNI complex beyond it.

  Graceful steps led from the balcony to the palm-fringed pool, and Leigh was sorely tempted to follow them down and touch the silver enchantment of the water. With a regretful shake of her head she decided against such action. She had already been standing on the balcony, hypnotized by the display of the various surrounding waters, for a good half hour. Derek’s housekeeper had supplied her with an assortment of toiletries, and she wanted to shower before dinner even if she did have to redon the same clothing.

  The huge, inviting deco tub in the bathroom, along with the enticing bottle of bath oil that had been supplied her, was too much of a temptation to allow her to settle for a simple shower. She filled the claw-footed tub with deliciously hot water, added the oil; then, after carefully hanging her clothes, she sank her tense limbs into the luxurious, misting heat.

  It was a pity, Leigh thought, closing her eyes in total surrender to the comfort, that she, considered to be such a cool bastion of reserve, didn’t seem to be able to maintain an ounce of casual dignity where Derek was concerned. Why on earth had she allowed herself to behave so badly? Wanting Derek’s respect so very much, it seemed she was only capable of drawing his contempt.

  Well, the hell with it! she decided, suddenly angry. He had judged her without a trial, formed an opinion without half the facts. He was a devastatingly attractive man, but she had met many an attractive man. And Leigh was a strong realist. Life always went on. She would get away as soon as possible.

  A knock on the door interrupted her mental wanderings as she was rising from the tub and rubbing her skin to a rough gleam with a large navy towel. She didn’t have time to call out; Derek’s cheery housekeeper had tucked her head into the bedroom and was calling out, “Just me, Mrs. Tremayne. May I come in?”

  Leigh wrapped the towel tightly around herself and peeked out from the bathroom. “Sure, Emma. But you’ll have to pardon my dress!”

  Emma Larson was a plump little lady, and although she preferred to stay in the background, she ruled Derek’s house with a firm hand, from the domestic employees to Derek himself. Even dignified James bowed before her. The toughest elements of the music industry who paid calls upon Derek behaved like lambs in Emma’s presence. With her shrewd, crisp blue eyes, she brought them all down to size, seeing clearly through all their facades. Leigh wondered briefly and with a touch of fear whether or not Emma might also see all too clearly through her. Then she smiled as she exited the bath in her towel. If Emma did come uncomfortably close to reading her mind, she would contain her thoughts. Though they had met only once before, two years ago when Leigh and Richard had come for a week to work out a concert schedule, Leigh and Emma had become friends by some unspoken agreement. Though Emma had always been polite and proper toward Richard, Leigh had the uncanny feeling that Emma was unimpressed by his charm or his person and had secretly pitied Leigh even then.

  “Wonderful, sweetie!” Emma proclaimed as she bustled into the room and deposited a couple of boxes on the room’s elegant four-poster bed. “I’m glad I caught you before you had time to dress. Derek sent one of the boys over to town to pick up a few things for you.”

  Leigh stared at the boxes dumbly for a few seconds. “You mean …” she said hesitantly, half stunned, half angry, “you mean Derek sent someone out to buy clothing for me?”

  “Oh, no, darling!” Emma said with horror. “Derek called the shop himself. All the boy did was pick them up!” She gave Leigh a friendly wink. “Derek claims he knows your taste and your size. He ordered from the same place where he’s often purchased your birthday and Christmas gifts!” Emma smiled brightly and turned her little figure for the door. “I’ll leave you now, unless I can do something else. Dinner will be about thirty minutes.”

  “I’m fine, Emma, thank you,” Leigh said. It would be fruitless to tell the housekeeper she didn’t want anything from Derek Mallory—especially clothing!

  She dressed quickly in her own suit, ignoring the boxes. She would inform Derek that she couldn’t accept such gifts from him. After brushing and rearranging her hair and freshening her makeup, she walked determinedly to the door. But her determination did not quite make it. Curiosity called her back into the room.

  The first box contained a pair of designer jeans and a handsome western shirt. An outfit for the following day she assumed. Pursing her lips, she closed the box. Opening the second, she let out a shocked gasp. A beautiful, simple beige cocktail dress of angel-fine silk met her eyes. Being female, she couldn’t help but draw it from the box and against her form to whirl before the mirror.

  The dress, of sleek lines, was made to form sensuously around the body. It was, as Derek had boasted, perfect to her taste and size. She itched to step into it, but though her fingers lovingly caressed the material, she forced herself to fold it carefully and to return it to the box. Repacking the gown, she realized that there was more in the box. A blush rose to her cheeks as she discovered stockings, a slip, bikini underwear, and a lacy, low-cut
bra—all also perfectly sized.

  Good Lord! she thought, quivering. How could he know her measurements so exactly? Her presents from him over the years had often been clothing, but never such intimate apparel! But then, she thought, with a wry and rueful twist of anger, Derek was a connoisseur of women. He could probably take any female figure and size it up easily. With that in mind she quickly closed the box and marched stiffly from the room.

  “Mr. Mallory is on the patio, Mrs. Tremayne,” James informed her as she reached the landing. “May I bring you a cocktail?”

  Leigh was about to refuse, then she decided a drink might be in order. The right amount of liquor might sharpen her tongue rather than dull it, and she would need a bit of a bite to get through the evening. “Thank you, James,” she said. “A vodka and tonic would be nice.”

  The butler nodded and Leigh braced herself mentally and physically as she made her way through the parlor with its simple yet elegant period furnishings and strode with no visible trace of hesitancy to the poolside.

  Derek was standing at the far end, facing the channel. He cradled a glass absently in both hands as his tawny eyes fastened on the blue night before him. He was dressed now in a brown velvet three-piece suit, and Leigh was struck afresh by his aura of power and charisma. The suit, which should have covered his tapered physique, enhanced it. He turned to her then, and as a frown furrowed into his features, she was hit with another, startling realization. He had shaved off his beard!

  Surprise was about to make her comment on the disturbing fact but Derek spoke before she could. “Why are you wearing that?” he demanded flatly.

  “Because,” Leigh replied equally blandly, “though I do appreciate the thought, Derek, I do not care to accept such gifts from you. You needn’t have gone to the bother. But I haven’t touched the things. You can return them tomorrow.” Color was spreading through her face despite the unconcerned tone of her voice. She was remembering the intimate “gifts” and the precision of their order. The wind whipped at the escaping tendrils of her hair and she turned toward the channel with carefully planned nonchalance. “Your turn!” she challenged jauntily. “What happened to your beard?”