When Next We Love

by Heather Graham

  “Lull-by, Uncle Derek,” Lara demanded sleepily as she hugged her teddy bear. “Lull-by, please?”

  “Kiss Leigh good night, munchkin,” Derek said, “then I’ll do the number of your choice. Maybe we’ll do some harmony.”

  Leigh leaned over the crib to receive Lara’s obedient kiss. Soft hands curled around her neck and she hugged the little girl warmly in return.

  “Now, munchkin, your request?” Derek queried.

  “One Daddy does,” Lara mumbled.

  Derek frowned for a moment, thinking. He chuckled. “You mean the one Uncle Shane taught your daddy?”

  “Yeth!”

  Derek gave Leigh a crooked grin. “‘An Irish Lullaby’,” he explained. Although a native Londoner himself, Shane had Irish parentage like Leigh. “Join me. You must know it!”

  Leigh did, and she was now used to harmonizing with Derek. They sang the song together, softly, for the child. Their voices rose beautifully, magically, in the night, and Leigh was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of loss and sadness. This was all she had ever really wanted. A family. A child to love and care for, a man beside her to share that joy. But the child was not hers, nor the man. The man she longed so dearly to touch, the man who had proved himself sensitive and tender as well as proud and arrogant.

  “Better than Daddy,” Lara muttered to her teddy bear with closing eyes.

  “But let’s not tell him!” Derek chuckled. His voice dropped to a whisper. “G’night, princess.” He inched away from the crib quietly. “Are you coming back downstairs?” he asked Leigh softly.

  She shook her head. Her emotions were frazzled. She didn’t trust herself in Derek’s company tonight. “I think I’ll go to sleep myself,” she whispered back. “I want to be wide awake at the studio. I’ll be the only one with no idea of what I’m doing.”

  “Good night, then.” Derek turned for the door. He hesitated for a second, his back to her. Then he went out.

  Leigh shook misty tears from her eyes. Absurd, she thought, how easily tears formed in her eyes these days. It was the hectic pace she lived at, she told herself. She was always tired.

  Moving stealthily about the room, she prepared for bed herself, changing into one of Derek’s tailored shirts that she had claimed as her own. He had never asked for any of them back, and Leigh continued to wear them, drawing strange comfort when she donned them, like a teen-aged girl with a pathetic puppy-love crush.

  It was a long time before she slept, and when she did, it seemed as if she were awakened immediately. Sniffling cries broke into her awareness and she lay confused at first. Another cry came and she bounded from the bed, instantly alert as she remembered that Lara was with her in the crib.

  Leigh knew something was very wrong as soon as she gathered the little girl into her arms and carried her from the crib. Her skin was dry, and her body felt as warm as a furnace.

  Panic gripped Leigh in a dark vise. She loved children, but knew so little about them! How ill was the child who clung to her so trustingly in her moaning misery?

  Leigh couldn’t wait, she couldn’t take any chances. Tearing out of her room in bare feet, her warm human bundle still in her arms, she burst in on Derek, crawling onto his bed and shaking him as she called his name.

  Thankfully, he woke quickly. After one arched-brow look of confusion, he sized up the situation easily by the terror in Leigh’s eyes and the warmth of the flesh of her childish package.

  “One moment,” he told Leigh swiftly. “Let me get some pants on.” Not in the least a hypocrite, he made no suggestion to Leigh that she leave or turn her head as he sprang from his bed to clothe himself. “Calm down,” was all he told her, with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure Tina put some children’s aspirin in her bag.”

  In seconds Derek was dressed. He led the way back to Leigh’s room where he tore through the child’s bag. “Here we are!” he said cheerfully. “Let’s get a little of this into her.”

  Leigh looked on tensely as Derek prodded Lara fully awake and she downed a measure of the liquid medicine. “We’re going to get a nice, long drink of water now, okay?”

  Lara nodded drowsily but dutifully drank the glass of water Derek gave her. Derek grinned at Leigh from his haunched position by the child.

  “Just a little teething fever, I think. Molars.” He picked up the child and lay her gently back into her crib. Leigh perched nervously at the foot of her bed, feeling helpless and inadequate as Derek competently handled the child.

  “Are you sure she’s okay?” Leigh asked anxiously in a whisper.

  Derek joined her at the foot of the bed. “Pretty sure,” he replied cheerfully. “We’ll keep a watch on her. But I’ll bet”—and his eyes twinkled kindly—“that her fever is down already. Go and see for yourself.”

  Leigh glanced at him with disbelief, then tiptoed toward the crib. She placed a hand upon Lara’s forehead. Amazed to find it cool to her touch, she lightly clutched the little girl’s hands. They too were cool and soft, no longer dry and burning. After readjusting the crib quilt, she returned to Derek, baffled.

  “I don’t understand!” she murmured in bewilderment. “Lara was so hot, just moments ago!” Sitting again, she met his eyes. “How did you know? I mean, how did you know it was nothing serious?”

  Derek chuckled softly and set a friendly arm around her shoulder. “No great talent, I assure you. It’s just that I’ve been around since Lara was born and I’ve been through a number of minor catastrophes with Bobby and Tina. When she was an infant, we all panicked over everything!” He smiled ruefully. “Then we all began to learn a little about parenting. A teaspoon of aspirin and water can save you from a lot of unnecessary, middle-of-the-night hospital trips.”

  “Should we call Tina and Bobby?”

  “No, I don’t think so, not yet anyway. Let’s let them have their night.”

  “Yes,” Leigh echoed hollowly. “Let’s let them have their night.”

  Something in the sad inflection of her voice reached Derek. “You’d better get back to sleep yourself, young lady, or else the Lady of the Lake will sound like a sick bullfrog tomorrow morning.”

  “I can’t—” Leigh began to object, but Derek quickly silenced her.

  “Lie down and close your eyes. I’ll watch Lara. Here …” He pulled a pillow from the top of the bed and laid it across his lap. “Put your head so”—he demonstrated by gently maneuvering her onto his lap—“and you can watch her yourself until you drift off.”

  “But you need sleep more than I do!” Leigh exclaimed.

  “I will go to sleep soon,” he murmured.

  Leigh wasn’t about to argue further; she was afraid to move or even breathe and disturb the strange bond of tranquility that had formed between them. Lara, she could see, was sleeping peacefully. She allowed her own eyes to flutter and close, aware that Derek was stroking her hair. Then she too fell asleep in a cocoon of borrowed happiness. Sleep led to dreaming, and in her dream she heard Derek’s voice and he was saying marvelous things. I love you, Leigh, God, how I love you!

  Lara, demanding exit from her crib, woke them both. “Up!” she shrilled imperiously. “Up! Uncle Derek.”

  “I’m up! I’m up!” he groaned. Uncoiling his length in a luxurious stretch, he ambled over and lifted Lara out. “How do you feel?”

  “Starvin’!” Lara replied with wide eyes. “Starvin’!”

  “Oh, you’re always starvin’,” Derek chuckled. “Let Leigh get you washed and dressed and then Emma will take you down to the kitchen.” He scratched his chin while he gave a groggy Leigh a rueful, “Good morning.” Sauntering for the door, he mumbled, “This shaving every day is for the birds. Better get moving, ladies. I’m off to shower and dress myself. We have to be out of here in ninety minutes.” He raised his brows at Leigh to make sure she was awake and comprehending.

  She had never felt more warmly drawn to him, more aware of the complex personality that made up the man, more attracted to his sensual virility. He s
tood in the doorway, reddish-gold hair tousled, eyes still lazy with sleep, deep bronze chest bared and hinting of the trim hips and powerful legs beneath the faded jeans below. A catch stuck in her throat, preventing her from speech, so she nodded. What was wrong with them? she wondered sadly. As enemies, they created hate but a marvelous passion. As friends, they could only come so close.

  “See you downstairs.” He closed the door behind him.

  Leigh despondently dressed Lara and called Emma to take the child downstairs so that she might shower and dress herself. She lingered in the shower as long as she dared, donned a light knit dress for the still-warm fall weather, and rushed down the stairway for the dining room, determined not to be late.

  Derek did not join her for breakfast. Emma told her that he had grabbed a cup of coffee and piece of toast earlier, then hurried out to see that their instruments were properly loaded in the company van to be moved to the studio. Lara, too, had already eaten and was with Derek.

  Leigh absently ate an egg, a few strips of bacon, and toast, forcing herself to do so. She didn’t want to become hungry later on company time.

  “More coffee, dear?” Emma asked as she bustled about the room, her voice ringing cheerfully.

  “No, thank you.” Leigh smiled in return. She frowned and looked at the dark liquid in her cup. For some reason Emma’s usually delicious fresh-perked coffee was tasting acid and bitter. “I wonder if I might bother you for a cup of tea instead?”

  “No bother at all, dear.” Emma whisked away her cup and returned quickly with a steaming pot of tea. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Leigh grimaced ruefully. “Opening-night jitters, I guess. This will be my first day in a studio as a worker instead of an observer. Butterflies seem to be playing havoc with my insides.”

  “Oh, you’ll get over it!” Emma assured her sweetly. “Just ignore Derek’s growl. It’s always worse than the bite, you know.”

  “I suppose …” Leigh said vaguely. She drank her tea beneath Emma’s benign eye, grateful that the mellow liquid, laced with milk and sugar, seemed to sit much better than the coffee. Then she thanked Emma and braced herself to meet Derek for their trip to the studio.

  Recording, Leigh learned quickly, was a perfectionist’s dream. Mistakes could be rectified, and if she had found Derek “nit-picky” before, she now found him to be impossible. They did the same things over and over, and over again until Derek was satisfied. At least, she thought, they were working with tracks, which allowed for each instrument to be recorded separately. Her mistakes did not cause endless difficulty for the others in the group. Tracks also allowed more complex instrumentation. John played the guitar for one track, flute for another. Derek played guitar and harpsicord. Shane, drawing upon a much loved but seldom used talent, contributed the haunting cry of his bagpipes in several, specially planned and defined places.

  “It’s really amazing,” Roger told her one day when they were both behind the glass booth, watching John record a flute segment. “When we have the completed project, we’ll sound more like a symphony than a group of six. Of course, if we take the album on a concert tour now, we’ll have to hire extra musicians.”

  Leigh smiled faintly. She didn’t think there would ever be a concert tour. They had been recording now for a month. The strange night she had shared with Lara and Derek might never have existed. He was distant again, barely aware of her being in his house. At the studio he was harsh, and even when he yelled at her these days he called her “Tremayne.” The album, she knew, would be wrapped up within the next week. And then she would go home, alone this time.

  “Tacos!” Bobby suddenly sauntered toward them with his happy announcement of lunch. He set the large white cardboard box on an empty chair. “Dig in. We all have thirty minutes.”

  Leigh reached a slender hand for a taco and then withdrew it.

  “What’s the matter?” Bobby asked, crestfallen. “I thought you loved tacos!”

  “I do!” Leigh promised him quickly. “I’m—I’m going to let them cool for a minute.” She grinned brightly, but felt terribly uneasy. She did love tacos, but the spicy aroma of them had churned her stomach. She dismissed the unformed idea that floated on the outskirts of her mind and helped herself to a soda. “I heard we’re breaking early today for a meeting,” she said. “A meeting about what?”

  “The album cover,” Bobby told her, grimacing as his taco shell broke. “And title. Right now this thing is just ‘Henry the Eighth.’ We have to decide if we want to stick with it or not. You get final judgment on that, Leigh. But as a group, we always toss ideas around.”

  “Believe me,” Leigh chuckled, “I’m not averse to ideas! Besides,” she added softly, “I hardly recognize my own work anymore. Derek has done so much with it!”

  “That is Derek,” Roger agreed. “He can change a weed to a rose, and should he get a rose, he can change it into an exquisite garden!”

  “Thanks!” Leigh knew he was telling her that her work had been the rose. It was matter-of-fact with them that Derek had unlimited talent.

  On Star Island that night they mused for over an hour before anyone came up with any concrete ideas suitable for the cover. Shane ghoulishly thought that a chopping block and ax against a pitch-black background would be perfect.

  “The man was a monster,” he said, in defense of his scoffed-at idea.

  “True,” Bobby agreed. “But we always appear on our covers. Why not a medieval scene. Period costumes and the like.”

  “Leigh?”

  She was surprised to find that Derek had spoken her name, drawing her into the discussion.

  “Well, I—” she stammered, afraid to voice her suggestion lest it sound ridiculous. “I think we could combine the two ideas. As Shane says, the ax and block center. And then as Bobby says, we can be the background. The king and his retainers and a random wife.”

  They were all staring at her and a slow flush spread through her cheeks. “It was just an idea …” she said weakly.

  “And all in favor yell ‘aye’!” Bobby called. A hearty chorus echoed him and Leigh looked around at their smiling faces, amazed. Derek, she noticed, was smiling too.

  “I’d like to stick with ‘Henry the Eighth’ for the title,” Derek said, “and underneath, ‘Loved to Death.’ It will fit perfectly with the cover, and also advertise what will probably be the most popular song. Any other suggestions?”

  There were none. Everything had been congenially resolved. As the guests trooped out, Leigh moved awkwardly toward the stairway. Being alone with Derek now left her tongue-tied.

  “Have a drink with me, will you, Leigh?” he called as she reached the banister. “It’s a beautiful night. I’d like to walk down to the dock and watch the stars for a while.”

  His invitation caught her mid-step and she almost tripped with the shock of it. Turning slowly, she composed her features to nonchalance. “If you like. It does seem to be a pleasant night.”

  Leigh was stiff and Derek relaxed as he casually put an arm around her waist and led her first to the game room, where he gallantly poured two glasses of wine, and then outside, past the pool and patio and out to the dock. They sat on the planks and sipped their wine while they watched the brilliant stars in the night sky play upon the water. Derek began to rub gentle fingers beneath the hair on Leigh’s neck.

  “I have to talk to you,” he said softly.

  She looked at him with tremulous eyes. His face was gentle, the line of his mouth curved. She felt herself lost in the golden-brown hue of his eyes, lost and frightened should she be misreading the tender concern she found in their depths.

  He pulled her more closely to him. “What I have to say to you isn’t going to be simple. There’s a lot that you don’t know, a lot that I have to rectify with myself. And it will take time. I don’t want any interruptions, I don’t want to be worried about schedules or broken strings on guitars. But in a few days we’ll be all wrapped up. Will you bide with my temper till then? An
d then, will you listen to me with an open mind? Part of what I have to tell you is going to be painful, and you may have to adapt to it as I did.”

  Leigh stared at him and nodded, the commitment of her agreement evident in the shimmering tears that specked her lashes. He hadn’t said that he loved her; he’d promised no future for them. She had simply to trust in her love, but that was enough. He had asked her to wait, and she would gladly wait forever.

  They didn’t speak anymore, but sat by the water contentedly together, feeling the soft ocean breeze, listening to the gentle lap of the tide. Surely, Leigh thought, had she died and gone to heaven she could not have been more blissful and secure.

  The chill in the breeze slowly increased as the moon rose full above them. Leigh shuddered involuntarily and Derek immediately suggested they go back to the house. He kissed her lightly as they reached her door, but she couldn’t let him go. Her arms curled tightly around his neck and she clung to him.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered desperately. She couldn’t bear him to take away his wonderful warmth; leave when she had just found him.

  “Leigh …” he began in a groan, holding her hands still. “I told you, there’s so much you have to know. I have no right—”

  “I don’t care,” she murmured in a choked cry to his chest. “I don’t care. And I do know that it’s right when we’re together.”

  Whatever demons he fought, he was only human. In the blink of an eye the door crashed open and she was in his arms. He whispered her name over and over with a soft and yearning desire that echoed lovingly of emotion deeper than the spoken word.

  Both meant to play love’s old game, to tease and to torment. Yet neither could: Sprawled upon the bed, they fumbled with one another’s clothing, ripping rather than removing. The month apart had been long, too long. When their clothes were shed, their arms immediately entwined, their lips met with insatiable, feverish hunger.