"Are you all right?" Megan asked when Aurora pulled the door open.
"Sure, why?"
"This gorgeous man knocked on my door and told me you'd had an accident. He said I should come over and make sure you don't drown."
Aurora laughed. Megan came in. "I'm fine, Megan. I was mistaken for Marsha Chambers by an enthusiastic fan."
"He wasn't the fan, was he?"
"He's the show's producer." A mental picture of Duncan West flittered through her mind. She'd liked him instantly. After her initial shock at the kidnapping had worn off, she’d thought Duncan wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever seen, but there was something about him that made her take notice—something compelling enough to make any woman remember him. She could only describe it as sex appeal. No, she corrected, pure sex. And he seemed unaware of it.
He had wide, brown eyes and a nose that was a little patrician, but sensual lips that demanded tasting. Hadn't she wanted to turn her face to his and sample that perfect mouth? Clean shaven, with neatly cut hair, he had wide shoulders, a trim waist, and powerful legs.
Megan brought her back from the sensual dream. "What was that comment about drowning?"
"I'm going to take a bath and he thought I might need help getting in and out of the tub."
"Of course. I'll help you."
"There's no need, Megan. I can do it myself. You know how some men still think we're wilting flowers." Aurora turned toward the stairs. "I do think he's right about the bath."
Megan, the mothering type, insisted on helping Aurora despite her protest. The moment she got the bathtub full of water, Aurora insisted she leave her to take care of everything else. Megan agreed to make tea while Aurora bathed, telling her she would check every few minutes. Aurora smiled, liking the attention. It was like having her mother back for a little while.
As Aurora sank into the heaping bubbles Duncan West came back to her consciousness. What an enigma he proved to be. In her thirty years no one had ever thought of taking care of her except for her parents. With her mother's present condition, Aurora was the caregiver. Now Duncan, a man she hadn't known before today, had come to her rescue and made her feel like a pampered princess.
Chapter 2
Duncan found himself smiling as he drove through the crowded streets of Princeton Borough. He stopped at the light at Witherspoon and Nassau Streets. The main gates of Princeton University faced him. September brought the return of students to the centuries old institution. Normally, their migration about and around the narrow streets filled him with dread. Before today Duncan had considered the students in his way, but at the moment he didn't mind the congestion.
He smiled with open admiration at a pretty coed who crossed in front of his car. The windows were down. The air was fresh and he had a new attitude. Could it have anything to do with meeting Aurora Alexander?
She intrigued him. He couldn't say why. He wanted to know her better, and he hadn't felt like that in years. In her living room, he hadn't wanted to leave. He'd wanted to ask her questions about the pictures on the mantel, about how she'd come to the show, how she felt about playing Marsha, new trends in music, the arts; he wanted to ask her about everything in the world.
He frowned suddenly, remembering Marsha and how much one woman looked like the other. Strange, he thought, while he talked to Aurora he hadn't thought of Marsha, yet their faces were mirror images. The light turned green and he sailed through it on his way back to the studio.
Marsha was livid when he arrived. He could hear her voice long before he got to his office. Normally she would have been gone, but tonight she was still there. Duncan dropped his jacket in his office and entered the studio.
She attacked him the moment she turned and saw him. "And where have you been? I suppose the little maiden needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."
Duncan looked about the room. Joyce was there, and the cameramen. The entire crew was in residence. They all stood in front of Marsha like servants being reprimanded for stealing silver. Marsha knew better than to throw one of her tantrums in front of the full complement of people who supported her.
"Would you all excuse us?" Duncan spoke to the room. His voice was calm, as if a normal staff meeting had ended on an upbeat note. "Your work today was appreciated. We'll see you tomorrow."
"What are you doing?" Marsha screamed.
Duncan raised his hand and quieted her. The room cleared, and when the door closed he turned on her.
"Don't you ever do anything like that again." Gone was the calm. His voice was still quiet but menacingly low. "Those people make it possible for you to go on the air, which you are under contract to do, so don't you take it into your head that you have the right to detain them and prevent them from doing their jobs. Some of them have been with this show since it began, and I will not have you acting like a spoiled child and keeping them here for no reason except selfishness. They have families and lives to get to."
"Is that what they were doing today?" she ranted. "A kidnapper came practically onto the stage, and nobody seemed to take it seriously."
"We all took it seriously, Marsha." He kept his voice controlled, refusing to let her draw him into one of her shouting matches. The attempt had taken place in the parking lot, nowhere near the stage, but Marsha had re-scripted the action in her mind. "Ms. Alexander is fine. The doctor examined her and she'll be back to normal in a few days."
"Why did you personally have to see her home or wherever you took her? You should have been here."
"That you're right about, Marsha," he flung at her. "Had I been here you never would have kept the crew in this room like naughty pupils."
"I needed to find out who was responsible for this. I wanted the whole story." She'd lowered her voice.
"You thought you could get it from them?" He pointed toward the closed door. "Most of them weren't even there."
"What about security, Duncan? Why didn't the guards keep that man off the grounds? How could he possibly get close enough to actually take someone in the lot? And what if it had been me?"
She really didn't want the answer to that question, Duncan thought. He took a deep breath, restraining himself from saying exactly what he felt. It had been a long day and he really needed to get home to relax and unwind. He wasn't in the mood for a fight.
"Marsha, we really don't know the man was here to kidnap you. I know it happened before, but that was harmless. The fans only wanted to meet you and they did nothing to harm you."
He checked her closely, looking for the fear Aurora had mentioned, but Marsha averted her gaze.
"I'll have security increased in the morning," he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "No one without cause to be here will be able to get on the premises. Will that satisfy you?"
"What about my house?"
His head came up and he stared at her. "You want a guard at your house?"
She hesitated a second. "Yes!" she said. Duncan knew she couldn't, wouldn't, back down.
"If you want a guard, I'll see that you have one tonight.” He was too tired to argue anymore. Marsha could have a guard. If it would make her feel better and keep the show running smoothly, he would make sure she had one.
"Thank you," she said with all the vehemence of an unsatisfied child.
Duncan sank into one of the audience chairs. It was red, with plush cushions and a comfortable back. He stared at Marsha, thinking of the other woman. How much they looked alike, yet how different they seemed. He thought of what Aurora had said. Had something more happened to Marsha when she was kidnapped? Was she hiding something?
Duncan knew that if he asked Marsha she wouldn't answer him. They had worked together since this show first aired, and he'd come to know that she only gave as much information about herself as she wanted people to know.
"Marsha—"
"Duncan—"
They both spoke at the same time. Duncan nodded for her to continue.
"I don't really think that man was trying to kidnap me, but it's not a
bad idea to have some more security."
Duncan had already agreed to that. He sat forward, loosening his tie and opening the top button of his shirt, wondering where this was going.
"Maybe it would be good to have that girl back."
"What girl?" he asked.
"The one who looked...resembled me."
"Her name is Aurora," Duncan supplied, feeling a strange need to defend Aurora Alexander. Marsha waved her hand as if she couldn't care less if the woman had a name. "What would she return for? Are you thinking of another show idea?"
"Not a show." She faced him, taking the seat to his left. "Give her a job. Something not too close to me. Have her on the set and always make sure she's in the audience during the taping."
Duncan frowned, shifting in his chair. "Why?"
"To foil the kidnappers," Marsha said, as if he should know what she meant. The truth was, Duncan didn't have a clue. Luckily, Marsha went on to explain. "I know the last time it was only fans and they didn't hurt me, but I don't have time for that now. And if...Aurora," she said, emphasizing the middle syllable, "if she were on site it would confuse anyone who tried to get to me."
"Marsha, there are no real kidnappers, are there?" Something Aurora had said made him ask. He studied her for any sign of insincerity. There was none, but Marsha Chambers was a good actress. If she was hiding something, he was unable to see it.
"Of course not," she answered with the right amount of surprise in her eyes. "It's just that right now I've got this show." She glanced at the raised platform where she sat each day to begin the filming of the syndicated talk show. "I'm also studying for that movie part in a few months. My nerves are on edge, and I don't want to offend any fans if they do manage a kidnapping." She stopped to take a breath. Duncan had the feeling this speech had been rehearsed.
"If we have Aurora on site she can possibly help if anything happens. I'm not expecting anything, mind you, but we should be prepared."
Marsha knew just the right buttons to push and when to push them. Duncan agreed; they needed to be prepared. He felt responsible for the lax security. Every day he arrived at the studio and nothing was out of order. Setting the place up as a secure compound hadn't seemed necessary. In the three years they'd been here nothing had happened. Had they been in Hollywood, they would have had to have security. He knew how too much fan enthusiasm could harm a person. Fans didn't seem to think of a celebrity as only one person, and they were a mob. Yet here there had been no mobs, even when superstars were guests on the show. The crowds formed, and the guards controlled them. They were orderly, happy people, hoping to get into the studio to be part of the show. No incident had ever required more than a dozen guards to control it.
"I'll ask her, Marsha," Duncan said. “I'm not sure she'll return after the way you treated her today.”
The expression on Marsha's face was priceless. She couldn't conceive of anyone not wanting to be on her show. It was the highest rated daytime talk show, and she had the Emmys to prove it.
"Barring the kidnap attempt, you weren't especially courteous with your questions."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about the crack you made to her about having surgery to look like you."
Marsha had the nerve to look as if she'd never made the comment. Duncan almost laughed. That movie part she was studying for might garner her an Oscar, but nothing could rival the performance she was giving for him.
"I can tell a snip job when I see it, and I'd swear that's not the nose she was born with."
Duncan stood up. The smile on his face must have shown all his teeth. "It's a good thing you're only booked into Atlantic City once a year," Duncan said. "Because dropping bets like that would lose you more than that silk blouse you're wearing."
"You seem to have learned an awful lot about Ms. Alexander in the amount of time it took for you to drive her home."
"No, Marsha." He headed toward the back of the studio. "You're making it sound as if I'm interested in Aurora. That's not the case. She's a good person, that I did learn while driving her home. I also learned she doesn't even know a plastic surgeon." He paused and looked her directly in the eyes. "Now, can we say that about you?"
***
The smell of baking bread wafted through the air. Aurora stood in her kitchen up to her elbows in flour and spices. The counter was full of breads: banana bread, braided challah, cornbread muffins, crescent rolls, cinnamon rolls. She hummed the refrain of "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." The morning sun shone through her windows and made the room warm and comfortable. She remembered her mother baking breads there while she sat at the table in the breakfast nook eating them warm, butter dripping from the edges.
She'd see her mother this morning, take the bread to the nursing home where she lived. Cassandra Alexander, who'd been called Cass since the third grade, loved warm bread, and Aurora always brought enough for the nurses and a few of her mother's friends. Unfortunately, her mother did not recognize the people in the nursing home from one day to the next. She also didn't recognize her own daughter, but Aurora continued to go and continued to talk to her.
She couldn't say it didn't hurt, and that she didn't hope one day her mother would know her when she walked in, but so far she'd been disappointed every time. Yet she continued to follow the ritual of coming the first of every month. Her sisters and brother couldn't do it. They didn't live close by, and even when they visited they didn't like seeing their mother in that state. Cass didn't know them and having her there with no memory was like a deep, cutting wound. Aurora understood, but she made the short trip monthly and hoped each time it would be different.
She opened the oven door. Welcome heat hit her in the face. This batch of rolls had sugar and cinnamon in them and Aurora would smear icing on them, allowing it to drip over the sides. The cinnamon smell made her mouth water. Pulling her oven mittens on she lifted the pan out and set it on a shell trivet on the counter. Checking her watch, she had just enough time to clean up and pack the car.
Racing around the kitchen as much as her sore leg and shoulder would allow, she got everything into the dishwasher and pressed the START button. Then she cleaned the flour off her arms and pulled her sleeves down. She placed the warm bread and rolls in boxes lined with tinfoil.
As she set the last box in the car and went to turn the alarm system on, the doorbell rang.
"Who is that?" she asked. It was probably Megan checking on her. She didn't have time for anyone if she was going to get to the nursing home while the bread was still warm. The double doors, which her mother had insisted on buying at a time they couldn't afford them, had oval shaped, beveled glass in them. The specially made curtains which her mother had sewn still hung in front of them. Aurora peered through one of them and saw Duncan West.
He was the last person she expected to see, but that didn't keep her heart from fluttering as if it had only then learned how to beat.
Taking a deep breath she opened the door. "Good morning."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I'd like to talk to you, if it’s convenient.” His voice was low and dark, even in the daylight.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm on my way out and I can't wait.”
"I should have called. I'll come back later."
He started to turn away. Aurora saw his car behind him. The same car he'd driven her home in yesterday.
"You could come with me," she heard herself saying. She didn't even recognize her own voice. It was lower than usual, deeper, at least an octave below her normal range, and sexier.
He turned back. A smile curved his lips but didn't show any teeth.
"How's your leg?" he asked, stepping into the foyer and following her back to the kitchen.
"It's stiff but I can manage." She tried not to limp, but the pain gave her away.
From the kitchen they went to her car in the garage. Duncan had had it delivered yesterday. She got in and tested her ability to move her leg from the accelerator
to the brake. Surprisingly enough, it was less painful to move when she sat down.
"Where are we going?" Duncan asked several minutes later when she'd backed down the driveway.
"To see my mother."
"Where does she live?" He glanced at the boxes covering the back seat. “In a bakery?"
Aurora smiled. "She's in a nursing home and she likes bread. Each time I go I bring fresh bread for her."
"It smells delicious."
"Why don't you open that top box and have some?"
He reached over her shoulder and grabbed the box. A breath of his cologne reached her over the aroma of the bread. It made her stomach flip. Opening the box she smelled the heat and sugar of the rolls, but seeing his expression as he bit into one of the soft buns had her nipples growing hard. The man was sexy even when he wasn't trying.
"God, these are heavenly."
"Thank you." She bowed her head as much as she could while still keeping her eyes on the road.
"You made these? No wonder your mother loves them. Maybe you should open a bakery."
"It's an idea."
Aurora slowed the car as a white rural fence came into view. At an opening in the railing she saw the green and white letters announcing The Skillman Nursing Home. Pulling the car into a space near the door she cut the engine and got out. Duncan opened his door and stood. They stared at each other over the roof of the car. For the first time Aurora thought of what she had done. She'd brought a man to meet her mother. Was he reading anything into this? She hadn't thought of it, but she didn't know Duncan well—barely twenty-fours hours had passed since they met. Yet she felt a chemistry with him. She knew chemistry wasn't enough. She'd let it lead her before. If there wasn't something else to the relationship, it simply would not work.
Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4) Page 3