The front doorbell sounded. The eight tones of the Westminster chimes rang out in the silent house, and they listened as Hunt galloped down the stairs, making more noise than a skinny man had any right to. Through the half-closed door to the study, she and Joe were able to make out Hunt and another tall, skinny, almost identically outrageous man walk down the hall toward the kitchen.
“I guess they’re not going to the studio yet,” Meg observed. She was glad their game of Truth had been interrupted.
“Guess not.”
Joe’s hand was wrapped around a lock of her hair, tangled in the waves left by the French braid she’d worn all day.
“I’m glad we rented those movies.”
“Any excuse to see Casablanca again,” he said.
“I suppose I should be going upstairs.”
“I suppose so.”
She looked at him, willing her dark eyes to let him see how much he was beginning to mean to her. “It was good to talk about Kay,” she offered. “I didn’t think it would be, but it was.”
“You know I’d like to give you a sermon on reaching your potential.”
“But you won’t.” His hand rested against her cheek and she closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re a pushy man, Alessio.”
“So I’ve heard. I’d like to tell you not to be afraid to try again.”
“And you won’t tell me that either, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.” His eyes told her it was against his better judgment.
She thought of the backward progress of their intimacy, from almost sharing their bodies earlier in the evening to sharing their souls tonight. “Just having you listen was enough.”
With one smooth movement he drew closer, enveloping her in an embrace that managed to be both painfully erotic and extraordinarily tender.
And it was Meg’s undoing.
Her arms slid around his waist and slipped once again beneath his sweater. She needed to feel his warmth beneath her hands, feel the glide of his skin as she traced patterns on the strong muscles of his back. Desire loomed large and demanding but it had become just one of the reasons why he was becoming so important to her.
“I could stay here forever,” she murmured, surprising herself with her words.
“Let’s.” He stretched full-length on the enormous sofa and pulled her alongside him, her body half resting on his. His mouth covered hers for a long, luxurious kiss.
The total body contact with him was shattering. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t in touch with a part of him. Her breasts flattened against his chest as they embraced, her hips seemed to curve just enough to accommodate the desire she felt burning against her thigh; even their legs were entwined, feet resting on top of one another’s.
Laughter floated in from the kitchen and the muted sound of a radio made Meg move to extricate herself from the alarming tangle of limbs.
“I should go upstairs,” she said weakly. “I meant to do a little darkroom work before I went to sleep.”
“Don’t go.”
“You must have some work to do. I thought you liked to work after dinner.”
“We took a day off.” His lips brushed against the side of her neck. “Or don’t you remember?”
“It’s after midnight.”
“I can’t tell time.”
She said nothing, just let herself glory in the feel of his body against hers. The truth was she could barely remember her own name at that moment. Her body tingled with excitement that was just this side of torture. Beneath his sweater, she slid her hands across his abdomen, then ran her fingers over the thick mat of chest hair, enjoying the sensation of his flat taut nipples beneath her palms. “We said we weren’t going to make love until Hunt left Lakeland.”
His fingers slipped inside the waistband of her jeans and were pressed against the curve of her butt through the silky undergarment. “We’re not,” he said. His voice was raw with desire. “But if you keep doing that. . . “
She smoothed his sweater back down over his chest and stomach. “I don’t want Hunt to find us like this.”
Her jeans handed afforded him much room to explore. “I don’t think it would bother him.”
She listened to the laughter and music floating toward them from the kitchen. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But it would bother me.”
“Not in the best Lakeland tradition?” he teased.
“I just don’t want the work we’re doing here to be criticized because of our relationship. I want more for Anna.”
He sat up and helped her straighten her sweater. “We can wait.”
The fire had died out, and the only light came from the hurricane lamp across the room. Joe snuffed the candle, and as the light flared before it died out completely, he seemed unknowable, the sharply angled cheekbones and jaw jutting out against the soft darkness. He was beautiful to her eyes, and she longed to tell him.
“It won’t be easy,” she said instead, as he took her hand. “I want you very much, Joe.”
He placed her hand where she could best understand how much he wanted her. His heat and power surged through her body and fired her imagination.
“Can you feel how much I want you, Margarita?” He was watching her with those incredible eyes that made her insides melt with longing. “When we’re together, there will be no holding back. I promise you that.”
They climbed the stairs and retired to their separate rooms, hoping work cold help sublimate desire.
That night the lights at Lakeland House blazed till dawn.
Chapter Eight
“Where is our resident genius?" Joe asked the next morning over breakfast. "I didn’t hear him come back upstairs last night.”
Meg put a mug of coffee down next to her plate, then took her seat. “He came in about an hour ago.” Her mouth curved in a smile. “I think he and Ivan had a falling out. Hunt’s sketch pad was in tatters. I’d hate to see the studio.” She gestured upstairs. “He’s probably sound asleep right now.”
Joe swallowed some cold toast then pointed at Meg’s own untouched plate. “Eat up. We have a lot of work to do today.”
She looked at the food and made a face. “Not on your life. I don’t have to worry about hurting my own feelings.” She patted his hand. “It’s all right, Joe. I know I’m a rotten cook.”
He sighed in relief and put his fork back down. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, trying to be kind.
“Then how come you’re turning a little green around the edges?”
He was trying to think of a diplomatic answer when the hall phone rang. “Saved by the bell!” He pushed his chair away from the table. “Pour me another cup of coffee while I get the phone.”
“If it’s Patrick, tell him dinner is still on for Friday night,” she called after him.
He picked it up on the fourth ring and a familiar voice greeted him. “I was about to give up, Joseph.”
He glanced at his watch. “A little early for a social call, isn’t it, Renee?”
“This isn’t a social call.”
Immediately he thought of the five-page outline he’d submitted before leaving for Lakeland. “Audrey hates the story and I have to come up with another outline.”
Renee laughed and some of his apprehension eased. “Ever the optimist, Joseph. As a matter of fact, I have good news for you. Audrey is thrilled with Fire’s Lady. She wants more.”
He leaned against the wall, breathing for the first time since Renee started talking. “She’ll get it. Things are starting to roll.” Meg—watching her, listening to her—had seemed to trigger his creativity in a way it hadn’t been triggered in months. “I should have six chapters to show you when I get back.”
Renee paused, then said, “Well, that’s terrific, Joseph, but I’m afraid Audrey needs something right now.”
“Right now, as in when I get back home?”
“Right now, as in tomorrow afternoon.”
He was quiet for a few moments, thinkin
g of the chapters he’d worked on and their varying stages of completion. None of them was at the stage where he’d feel comfortable releasing them into the wilds of New York publishing but his back was against the wall.
“How much does Audrey need?” he asked. “I have four, maybe five chapters I could send you.”
“Make it five.”
“I’ll pack them up and send it off Express Mail. You’ll have it by noon tomorrow.”
“Great idea, Joseph. Now if you’ll send Express Mail yourself along with it, we have it made.”
A few pungent curses nearly popped out. “What in hell do you need me there for? We both know Audrey’s only interested in my work.”
“Remember that clause we fought so hard for in your last contract, the one that gave you the right to approve the ad campaign?” Renee’s voice held the same tone a parent would use on a recalcitrant child. “Well, the ad campaign for next September is gearing up already. Audrey needs your okay on a storyboard.”
“That’s almost a year away. Can’t it wait until I’m finished up here?” I don’t want to leave her. Not now.
“Sorry, friend. I put them off as long as I could. The big guys are getting restless.” Renee quickly explained that it would be just a twenty-four hour swing through town; he could be back in New Hampshire by dinner the next night.
There was no point in arguing “Okay, okay,” he said finally. “I’ll make a few calls to the airlines and let you know when I’m coming in.”
“No need,” Renee said. “I’ve already done it. You’re flying out at five o’clock this evening.”
“Pretty sure of me, weren’t you?”
“You’re a pro. You know when to fight and when to acquiesce.”
“A pro,” he muttered when he hung up the phone. Sometimes he wished he were less professional and more concerned with the other parts of his life that were lying fallow, barren of any new growth. He would go down to New York as Renee asked, but he’d be damned well be back in New Hampshire before Meg had a chance to break free of the spell that had woven itself around them both last night.
That was something he owed to Joe Alessio, not Angelique Moreau.
#
An hour later, a horn beeped in the driveway and Meg’s heart dropped to her feet.
“Cab’s here!” she called up the stairs just as Joe appeared with his overnight bag, stuffed with manuscript pages and a change of clothing.
“I wish you’d let me drive you to the airport,” she said when he came downstairs. “We could have had more time together.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. “We’ll have all the time we need, Margarita. It’s pretty deserted around here. I didn’t want you on the roads late.”
She laughed.”Did you forget that being on the road late at night is my job?”
He started to say something, then obviously stopped himself, a fact for which she was grateful.
“Do you have everything?”
“I think so. Manuscript, toothbrush—“ He looked at her. “What about those pictures you took?”
“The ones of the three of us? They’re in my room.”
The taxi honked its horn again.
“Get them,” Joe said. “I’ll stall the taxi.”
“Why should I get them? They’ll still be here when you get back.”
He touched the side of her cheek with his hand. “It’s a long plane ride.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s no more than an hour and—“
“Humor me.” He opened the front door and hollered down to the taxi to hold on a second.”Hotel rooms are barren. Gimme something nice to look at.”
She hurried up the stairs to her room. She’d already separated the photos into three complete sets and she quickly slid one set into a brown envelope and rushed back down to Joe.
“Here,” she said, handing him the envelope. “Enjoy your trip.”
“I won’t. I’ll be miserable as hell.”
“Good.” She smiled and kissed him briefly on the lips. “That’s as it should be.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Good again.” The taxi’s horn blared, one impossibly long blast. “You’d better go before he drives up here and mows us down.”
“I”ll see you tomorrow night,” he said, heading down the pathway. “I’ll be here by six.”
Meg shivered in the cold late October breeze. “I’m counting the hours.”
She stood in the doorway and watched as the taxi headed down the driveway toward the gates at the bottom of the hill. For the last two years, she’d picked up and moved when and where she liked, been serenely independent. It was always Meg who left, Meg who had a plane to catch, Meg waving goodbye as someone else stood in the driveway.
And now here she was waving goodbye to a man she’d known for less than a month and feeling as if her heart were following him, leaving nothing but an aching void in her chest where it once had been.
#
New York seemed dirty, dismal, and depressing to Joe as his cab snaked its way from the outskirts of the borough of Queens to midtown Manhattan.
Usually he welcomed the sight of Manhattan after an absence, just as he welcomed the sight of the ground below his window on a plane flight. However, this time the sadness he felt as the glorious countryside of northern New Hampshire tilted and dropped beneath his plane as it took off had stayed with him, and not even the sight of the UN building or the twin towers of the World Trade Center could cheer him up.
He’d told Meg he didn’t want her to take him to the airport because he worried about her on deserted roads but that had been a half-truth. Actually he’d feared that if she had been there at the airport with him, he would have ripped up his boarding pass, grabbed her hand, and raced back to Lakeland House.
“Damn stupid SOBs.” The cabdriver, a skinny man with a red Afro that grazed the roof of the car, leaned on the horn. He met Joe’s eyes through his rearview mirror. “Where in hell are the cops when you need them? Can you answer me that, pal?”
Joe had no answer and from the look of the traffic, neither did anyone else. Gridlock had them trapped near the entrance of the Midtown Tunnel.
He was already an hour late for his dinner meeting with Renee and probably going to be a lot later. The cabbie spread a copy of the New York Post across his steering wheel and was engrossed in the sports section.
Joe opened his briefcase and took out the series of thirty photos Meg had given him before he left. He’d been too hyper on the plane to look beneath the obvious talent of the photographer. Now, however, it looked like he had all the time in the world.
He heard a commotion and glanced out the taxi window to see two uniformed cops clambering over the hoods of a line of taxis, fighting their way to the center of the confusion. He slipped on his glasses and flipped to the photo where Margarita was looking full into the camera, her dark eyes reflecting the sun and shadows of that late October day. His memory leaped at the thought of how she’d felt in his arms not twenty-four hours ago.
All the time in the world wouldn’t be enough for all he wanted for them both.
#
Old movies were no fun to watch alone, so Meg retired to her room around eleven. She was about to drift off to sleep when her bedside phone rang.
“Did I wake you, Margarita?”
She smiled into the darkness. “I’d just turned out the light.”
“A little early, isn’t it?”
“Depends on your point of view. A little late to call, isn’t it?”
His low chuckle sent shivers radiating outward from the center of her body. “I thought you and Hunt would stay up late tonight and watch Gone with the Wind.”
“I tried, but it was just no fun alone.”
“Where’s our young friend?”
She turned over on her right side and twisted open the blinds so she could gaze out at the moonswept yard below her window. “Would you believe Ivan came back to pose for him tonight?”
“I thought he only worked on the night of the full moon.”
“He made an exception.” She laughed softly. “I guess the night after the night of the full moon is acceptable, too.”
“Artists!” Joe said with mock exasperation. “Crazy, eccentric—“
“Moody, arrogant—“
“Beautiful, sensual—“
Her sigh filled the room as she closed her eyes, conjuring him up in the darkness of her room. Hurry back. I want to feel your arms around me. “So how did your meeting with your agent go tonight?”
“What meeting?” He sounded exasperated for real. “My plane was late. I got stuck in gridlock on both sides of the tunnel and the hotel couldn’t find my reservation. By the time I made it to the restaurant, Renee had left.” He groaned. “Cars should be banned from the island of Manhattan.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “I spend half my work-week driving through Manhattan. It takes a will of iron to get out of there without committing homicide.”
“A will of iron or a tank.”
She was aware they were talking all around the real purpose of the phone call. His need to connect with her was as real, as intense, as hers.
“The house is very empty without you,” she said, keeping her voice light and breezy. “I missed your lunchtime conversation so much that I inflicted myself on Patrick this afternoon.”
She told him about their pleasant hour together and the plans Patrick had made for Hunt’s farewell dinner.,
“I’m looking forward to Friday night,” Joe said quietly.
“So am I.”
“I looked at the photos.”
She wished she could see his face because his tone of voice told her nothing at all. “And?”
“I don’t know f-stops from bus stops, but I know art when I see it.”
The Edge of Forever Page 10