Even if Luke's frown hadn't conveyed his disbelief, the tinge of sarcasm in his voice when he answered would have. "I forgot," he said. "Go sit down by the fire, Linda. I'll clean up."
In the end they did the washing up together, Randy feeling a little guilty for pretending that she was still sick. If she'd been able to think up any other way to stop him from cross-examining her she would have tried it, but she couldn't. Afterward they sat down together in the living room to read, Luke in a chair with his book and Randy on the couch with a magazine.
She found that her eyes kept wandering to his face, her thoughts on what would happen when they met again in New York. Surely he would apologize, but would he also ask her out? Or would he keep things strictly business?
He only had about fifty pages left to read and was too absorbed to notice Randy's frequent glances. The complexity of his personality had left her deeply ambivalent about him despite the strong physical attraction she felt. She knew he could be charming as well as caring, but he could also be arrogant and tough, even ruthless. Sitting here alone with him, all the old feelings of excitement and desire came flooding back, and yet she was very relieved that he'd never actually taken her. Considering how much she'd permitted perhaps it was academic, but the fact that they hadn't become lovers would make it easier to start off fresh in New York. After all, one unfortunate night didn't prove that she was promiscuous, only that she'd gotten carried away after a day that had left her emotions battered and her quota of common sense a little low.
When Luke snapped his book shut and tossed it on the table he caught her in the middle of a furtive glance. She quickly dropped her eyes to her magazine, blushing.
"Lin?" he murmured.
It wasn't hard to interpret that husky tone. Randy could feel his eyes on her face and reddened still more. "I'm going to shower and go to bed," she said, standing up. "Maybe I'll fill up the icebag. My head is bothering me again."
"Sure." Luke stood up also, grabbing his sweater from the coffee table. "I'm going for a walk. I'll see you in the morning."
He was out the door before Randy even reached the bathroom.
Luke shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly but with no particular goal in mind. He bent down and scooped up a few rocks, then threw them angrily across the field.
What was the woman's game, anyway, repeatedly glancing at him only to coolly reject him? Was she taunting him again? Inviting him to seduce her? Certainly she didn't feel sick—he didn't need a medical degree to see that her color was good and her appetite healthy. He thought he understood women, but he certainly didn't understand this one.
For a long time he walked around aimlessly, trying to figure out what he wanted—besides Linda Franck's body, that was. He was both attracted to her and repelled. He wasn't stupid enough to think he could change her and knew for a fact that he could never introduce her to his sister, so any real relationship was out of the question. Still, certain facets of her personality drew him to her. In the end he admitted that he'd been warned. A woman didn't attract millionaires like Brett Franck and successful producers like Roger Bennett without something more than a pretty face and body to offer.
By the time he turned back to the cabin he was very well aware that he was headed straight for her bedroom. He told himself that after all the lovers she'd had there was no reason why she shouldn't have one more. He believed that she wanted him and knew he wanted her. It might be only for one night, but he meant to enjoy it. Tomorrow could take care of itself.
Randy muttered an incoherent protest and rolled over onto her side, swatting her hand against her hair when she felt something touch her. She'd been sleeping so deeply—it couldn't be time to get up already.
At first when Luke pulled back the covers and lifted her out of bed she was too disoriented to realize what was happening. They were inside his room before she finally figured it out.
She started to squirm in his arms, only to be laid gently on the bed—his bed. Her nightgown was up around her thighs by now and she suddenly realized that Luke was wearing nothing at all. She tried to get up, moaning, "No…" but Luke slid on top of her, his body hard with desire, pinning her to the firm mattress.
When he moved against her the feel of his masculinity tore through her body like a bolt of lightning, leaving her short of breath. She reached up to push him away, but when her hands made contact with his muscled arms she somehow longed to explore, not reject. His body was so sexy, so male. Her hands moved higher, stroking his shoulders and then tangling into his crisp, thick hair.
His lips were against her neck now, nuzzling and nibbling, overcoming her few remaining objections. That little spot below her ear was one of her weaknesses. How could he have found it so quickly? He was setting her on fire, making her ache for him. She turned her head, needing much, much more than this gentle teasing.
His mouth had barely tasted her lips before they submissively parted to receive his tongue, which mounted an impatient invasion, his kiss deep and a little rough with desire. His urgency was contagious. She moaned, arching against him, her tongue mingling with his own before seeking the soft recesses of his mouth.
His fingers deftly dealt with the buttons down the front of her nightgown, pushing the flannel aside when he was through, exposing her breasts to his dominating hands. Randy was floating in a world of pure, intense sensation now, where Luke's body was the only reality. He caressed her hungrily, as though barely able to restrain himself, and she responded with a mindless passion that broke the bonds of his self-control.
She clung to him, her pleasure only too apparent from the little noises she made when Luke took her. They moved together slowly at first, then faster and faster until Randy could barely manage to breathe. When the explosion finally came she repeatedly cried out. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.
The second time Luke woke her up he was gentler, more tender. Now there was no nightgown to remove, no barrier at all to his lips. She felt them on her breasts first, sucking the nipples till they hardened, tracing the circumference of each dusky circle with his tongue, nipping gently with his teeth as she stirred and murmured his name. When his mouth moved lower she stiffened slightly, but he was insistent about what he intended to do and she couldn't stop him. After a moment or two of his expert probing she no longer wanted to.
Sean had never aroused her this way—no one had. She couldn't control her response or the wild hunger of her movements. She thought she would die of frustration when he stopped for a moment, and was plunged into a mind-shattering ecstasy when he continued again. When the waves of pleasure finally tore through her body she knew she was utterly spent.
Twice more during the night she would learn that she wasn't. After the third time, exhausted, she fell asleep yet again, only to have Luke awaken her and seduce her all over again. The whole experience was surreal, like a dream—a dream with a passion she'd never known existed. The final time she was as wild as a tigress, exploring Luke's body as he'd explored hers, showing a boldness that would have shocked her had the night not been so full of magic. Afterward even Luke was sated.
Randy had never truly understood the phrase "the morning after the night before" until the morning sun woke her up and she realized she was in Luke's bed. She also realized what had happened there—repeatedly happened there—during the night. It still seemed like a dream, but Randy knew perfectly well that it hadn't been.
There was barely enough time to start feeling mortified before Luke stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at her, frowned and muttered, "That was one hell of a night."
It wasn't the reaction Randy had expected and it stabbed her like a dull knife. He almost sounded regretful. Where were last night's passion and tenderness? Hadn't it meant anything at all to him?
"Yes," she agreed. "It was."
He stretched and pulled himself up, then asked her if something was wrong. "You seem upset," he added, as though there was no possible reason why this might be so.
"Maybe. I'll call you." He trailed a finger down her cheek. "It's a long flight home and we need to get moving. Why don't you make some breakfast while I shut things down?"
Randy returned to her room and pulled on her clothes, then went into the kitchen to fix Luke some eggs. She wasn't at all hungry herself, because she knew exactly what "I'll call you" meant. It wasn't "How soon can I see you again?" but "See you around, honey". She was forced to confront the fact that what had happened last night meant absolutely nothing to Luke and neither did she. The thought made her sick with self-reproach. When would she ever learn?
Luke was just as preoccupied as she was over breakfast. Randy endured half a cup of coffee in his silent presence and then went into her room to pack. She'd never felt like this before—utterly wrung-out, too beaten even to cry.
The plane ride home was just as bad as breakfast had been. Luke went from preoccupied to irritable while Randy spent most of the flight staring out the window but seeing almost nothing. The thoughts that chased around her mind all seemed to begin, If only. If only she'd gone to New Hampshire. If only she hadn't been so attracted to Luke. If only she'd said no. If only…
Would he want her when he found out who she really was? And equally important, did she want a man who could treat a woman as callously as Luke had treated her today? She didn't have the answers.
In the middle of the afternoon they landed at a small suburban airport outside Boston. Luke walked Randy off the plane, carrying her suitcase for her. "I'll call us a taxi," he said.
She shook her head, holding out her hand. "I'll get home on my own. Just give me some money." She was afraid her precarious composure would buckle.
Luke handed her a couple of twenty-dollar bills, but when she took her suitcase and started to walk away, he reached out a hand to restrain her. Randy gave him a pointed stare and he removed it, running it through his hair instead. He looked annoyed with her.
"Look, Linda," he said, "last night was one of those things that just happens. We both wanted it and it wasn't the first time for either of us, but both of us know it's over. I enjoyed it and so did you, so what are you so upset about?"
What could she say? Because I'm disappointed in myself? Because you don't give a damn about me? "I could ask you the same thing," she murmured.
He shrugged. "It's complicated. Maybe it comes down to the fact that I'm not the kind of guy who's interested in a purely physical affair."
Randy was beginning to get the message. "Are you saying that that's all it could ever be? Because I'm not the type of woman you want to associate with?"
"Linda…"
"Are you?" she demanded.
"Yes," he said bluntly, and walked away from her.
On the ride back to Cambridge Randy was alternately furious and close to tears. Praying that Linda was home by now, she had the cab driver drop her off in front of the house. As usual the bottom door was open so she went inside, but the top was locked and there was no answer to her hard knock.
After everything that had happened since Friday this minor setback was enough to trigger frustrated tears. Randy quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand and told herself to stop acting like a child. Her next move was to try Mrs. Siskin, the downstairs neighbor, but there was no one home there, either. The only other alternative was to leave Linda a note and walk the fifteen or so blocks to Harvard Square, where she could check into a motel. After all, she had Linda's credit cards with her.
Taking a pen from her purse, she rummaged around for something to write on, but couldn't even find a tissue or a piece of scrap paper. It was the final blow.
She was crying as she walked out of the building, barely aware of the silver Porsche coming up the street. Linda spotted her almost at once and bolted out of the car, running into the driveway to intercept her. After one look at her sister's rumpled clothing, defeated stance and scratched, tear-stained face, she asked anxiously, "What on earth happened to you, Randy?"
Randy didn't intend to start keening like a distraught mourner. She thought she could control herself better than that. But when Linda took her into her arms she clung like a small child and began to sob inconsolably. Linda half carried, half led her upstairs and into the apartment while Roger went back for their luggage.
Seated on the couch a little later, settled with a glass of water Linda had fetched, Randy sniffled and said, "I'm okay, really." Roger was standing by the front door, trying to stay out of the way, so she added with an embarrassed flush, "I don't usually carry on this way."
"I'll leave you two to talk," he said. "Lin, can I pick up something for dinner?"
"No, wait." Randy took a quick drink of water. "Sometimes, a man can understands—can explain things a woman can't. Lin's just going to tell you everything anyway, so…" She shrugged instead of finishing the sentence.
She could see that her sister was pleased by her high opinion of Roger Bennett, but before she could really trust him she needed to clear something up. "Do you live with someone?" she asked as he sat down in the living room.
"Only with my kids, in the winter," he answered. "What gave you that idea?"
"Luke said—"
"Luke?" Linda interrupted. "Luke who?"
"Luke Griffin. He said…"
"You were with Luke Griffin this weekend? He did this to you?"
"Yes, but he didn't…"
"Does Daddy know… ?"
"For God's sake, Linda, give the girl a chance," Roger interrupted. Looking sheepish, Linda did as she was told. "To answer your question, Randy, Luke was probably talking about Katrina Sorensen. We were together for about four months, but she never actually lived with me. I met Luke when I produced a charity fashion show that C & D did the clothing for. Katrina was one of the models and I introduced her to him. For a time she dated him instead of me, but he lost interest before I did. We broke up a few months ago."
"Who," Linda asked, "is Katrina Sorensen?"
Randy knew exactly who she was. "That blond-haired, green-eyed model who looks like a Scandinavian Amazon," she said. "She does the Dominique perfume ads and also the Kaylar Hotel commercial."
Linda wasn't too pleased by this piece of information. "You never mentioned her," she said to Roger.
He grinned at her. "It slipped my mind." Seeing that his answer was something short of satisfactory, he added, "Katie Sorensen is a beautiful woman and a hard-working professional, but she's also very insecure and incredibly self-centered. After a while I just couldn't deal with it. Does that answer your question?"
Linda said it did, then turned her attention back to Randy. "Now what's all this about Luke Griffin? Didn't you go to New Hampshire?"
Randy poured out the whole story. At first she was afraid she might start crying again, but Linda and Roger kept interjecting the kinds of funny little asides that lightened the mood and kept her going. The most difficult part of the account concerned their final night together, but the gist of what had happened came through very clearly despite her censoring of the details.
"I obviously missed a lot when he got you instead of me," Linda drawled, making Randy smile. She darted a sly look at Roger.
"I'll make it up to you," he promised with a laugh. He looked at Randy. "I think I can fill in the rest. This morning Griffin gave you the brush-off. Told you it had been fun, but it was time to get back to the real world."
Randy nodded and filled in the details of their conversation. She wasn't surprised that Roger had guessed, given the state he and Linda had found her in.
When she was finished Linda muttered a very unflattering epithet to describe Luke Griffin and gave her a hug. "A lot of this is my fault," she said, "but who would have thought that someone who works for Dad would turn out to be a lunatic?"
"You're missing the whole point of what happened," Roger said impatiently. "Gr
iffin admitted that he'd enjoyed it, and take it from me, a man doesn't keep a woman up half the night unless he's half-crazy for her. Forget what he told you—did you bother to ask yourself why any normal man wouldn't jump at the chance to repeat an experience like that?"
On the contrary, Randy had taken his explanation at face value. "His opinion of Lin…" she began, then stopped. She didn't want to hurt Lin or shock Roger, so she couldn't very well spell things out.
But Linda had no problem interpreting her reticence. "Roger knows all about my wicked past," she said, "although it seems to me that Luke's impression is a little exaggerated. There just haven't been that many men, Randy."
"Not according to him," she muttered.
"All that's beside the point," Roger said. "Luke Griffin is no saint. I know enough about him to know that he's dated women who make Linda look like a convent graduate, among them Katie Sorensen. What he told you is a bunch of garbage. He obviously couldn't get enough of you, Randy, so why wouldn't he want to see you again?"
"My father…"
"Stays out of Linda's life," Roger finished for her. His tone said he couldn't understand why women were so dense. "He was close-mouthed and irritable. His problem isn't sleeping with you, it's getting involved with you. If nothing else, he probably wonders what he could possibly tell his sister. It was easier for him to break it off now, before things went too far. So what's your problem? You can straighten it out in New York, and…"
"Men!" Now it was Linda's turn to hold forth on the stupidity of the male sex. "Couldn't you hear how ambivalent my sister is? One moment she was complaining that Luke was conceited and the next telling us how caring he could be. Judgmental and arrogant, thoughtful and gentle, ambitious and manipulative, sweet and protective. She doesn't know what she feels. She's been hurt badly once and she's running scared."
An Act of Love Page 10