by Betsy Warren
Shauna rose from behind her desk, smoothing the skirt of her tweed suit as she did so. 'I am just temporary, as you put it, Miss Decker,' she said with quiet poise. 'Dee is coming back Monday.'
'Oh.'
'I'm afraid Mi—Mr Sebastian isn't here right now.'
'Really? And where is Michael?' Carla placed delicate emphasis on Michael's given name as though underlining her right to use it.
Shauna recalled Dee's VIP list: Carla Decker—Immediate Access—any time, any place.
'He's meeting with the production people from one of the cable television companies—'
'About the in-concert series?' Carla cut in smoothly. 'Of course, I should have remembered.' She paused, glancing about the work area with an obviously simulated air of curiosity. 'So, have you enjoyed your little stint with Michael?'
'The work has been very interesting.'
'You don't mind the long hours, I take it.'
'Long hours?'
'Late dinners at the Russian Tea Room, that sort of thing.'
Shauna stiffened. 'Mr Sebastian had something to discuss with me,' she answered.
'I can imagine. It's odd he picked such a public place, don't you think?' It's not one of his usual spots, you know. And it was the kind of place you were just bound to be seen together.'
'Miss Decker, I really don't know what you're talking about,' Shauna said evenly and reseated herself. She was tempted to simply turn away from the woman and begin typing, but she didn't quite have the nerve.
'I simply thought you should know that Michael and I had a little spat over the phone last week and his taking you to dinner was—well, you know.' She smiled with patent insincerity. 'Darling, at least a half dozen of my so-called friends called me up to tell me about your dinner, which was exactly what Michael knew would happen. And, of course, we made up our tiff—he even sent me flowers. Now, I don't blame you for a second. Michael can be absolutely devastating when he wants to… and he is so expert at tugging the heartstrings with those funny-sad stories about his childhood.'
Shauna's stomach knotted. The phone conversation … the flowers… it all fitted so flawlessly. And so for the other, as for the naïve feeling that Michael had singled her out for his confidences—why had she been so wilfully blind? Any man as experienced as Michael Sebastian was bound to know how women responded to the image of the vulnerable boy he had once been. It was just another means of getting what he wanted. In her case, given her own cold childhood, it had been an all too obvious method of manipulation.
She swallowed. 'We discussed business.'
Carla gestured airily. 'Of course. I'm sure that's all it was. I just didn't think it was fair to let you think—But, perhaps you didn't. You seem very sensible. And it's not as though you haven't seen how Michael is… how the two of us are.'
The embrace in the lift and the morning-after kiss in his apartment. Oh, yes, Shauna had seen how Michael was. How he and Carla were.
'I appreciate your concern, Miss Decker, but it really isn't necessary,' she said steadily. She had the impression the singer was a trifle disconcerted by her poised reactions. 'Now, is there something I can do for you? Would you like to leave a message?'
Carla clicked her tongue and glanced at her watch as though debating with herself. 'Actually, I think I'll wait for Michael. We've got some things to discuss about this talk-show appearance I'm doing Friday night.'
'I'm not at all certain when he'll be back.'
The singer waved her beautifully manicured hands dismissively. 'I'll make myself at home in his office. There's no need to show me around. I know where Michael keeps everything. I'm sure I'll find something to occupy me.' She glided across the room, pausing long enough to look at Shauna over her shoulder. 'I'll shut the door so you won't have to worry about disturbing me while you type or whatever,' she said and vanished into Michael's office.
Shauna operated like a badly programmed automaton during the next hour and a half. A stack of filing which normally would have required only ten minutes seemed to take forever as she discovered that her grasp of the basics of alphabetising had suddenly grown very shaky. She finally gave up on that and sat down to type up some correspondence.
'Such language, Miss Whitney. I'm shocked.'
She froze, caught in the act of yanking a ruined piece of stationery out of her typewriter as she gave vent to a singularly unladylike exclamation. Hot colour flooded up into her cheeks as she turned to face Michael.
He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk, watching her agitation with a mixture of amused sympathy and almost clinical interest. A lock of his thick, dark hair had curved down over his forehead. Shauna caught a hint of his distinctive masculine scent.
'I'm sorry,' she said abruptly, dropping her eyes. She crumpled the paper up into a ball and tossed it into the waste-basket.
He no longer looked amused. 'I didn't realise you were having such a rough day.'
Under other circumstances, the thoughtful—even tender—concern in his voice would have made her melt. Now it only infuriated her. 'There are a lot of things you don't realise about me!' she flared.
His eyes narrowed and his body tensed. 'Shauna, what is—'
'Michael, darling!' It was as though Carla had been waiting on the other side of the door, listening for a cue. 'You're back at last!'
Shauna experienced a sickening sense of déjà vu as she watched Carla kiss Michael. She clenched her hands as the petite entertainer flirtatiously raised one hand and combed Michael's hair back into order after the embrace.
'I didn't know we had an appointment, Carla,' Michael said evenly.
'We don't,' Carla laughed huskily. 'Although I did tell you I wanted to talk about the show, Friday. I want it to be right—for both of us.' She smiled winsomely. Shauna felt a stab of pure envy. Carla Decker had every female asset in the book, and she knew how to use them. Shauna was aware that even if she had the singer's obvious charms, she'd be unable—and unwilling—to take advantage of them.
Michael smiled briefly. 'I want it to be right, too, babe. And it's all been arranged, remember? You just have to show up and sing.'
Carla tossed her head, her dusky curls bouncing. 'I know, but I do worry.' She ran long, frost-pink nails lightly down his arm. 'Humour me, darling.'
'I generally do,' he responded drily.
'Then see me down to my limo. I left it out front when I arrived.'
'I suppose you expect SEE to pick up the inevitable parking ticket?'
'Umm-hmm,' she agreed, linking arms with him.
'I'll be back shortly, Shauna,' Michael said.
'Yes, sir,' she replied, swivelling her chair back to her typewriter and mechanically threading a clean piece of stationery through the roller. She meticulously readjusted the margin stops.
'Bye-bye,' Carla called and walked towards the elevator with Michael, laughing.
Her final two days as Michael's secretary passed in something of a blur. A series of client crises and other business emergencies combined to keep Shauna working at a frantic pace. While Michael responded to the demands of each situation with unfailing energy and creative expertise, his manner towards her veered sharply from curt and cool to almost hostile.
Maybe he just can't accept the fact that for once a woman isn't going to give him what he wants, she thought after he acidly pointed out an error in a letter she'd typed up. The Sebastian male ego can't cope with rejection.
Several times she was on the verge of responding in kind when he snapped at her, but instinct warned her it would be dangerous. She'd had a taste of his temper that night at the Tempest recording session, and she had no desire to risk exposure to it again.
By the time the end of the week arrived, Shauna was stretched to the limits of her endurance. As Friday drew to a close, she found herself watching the clock with something very near to desperation.
She didn't want it to end this way. But what could she do? She hadn't wanted to begin loving him, either.
'Are you glad it's over, Miss Whitney?'
Shauna was straightening the work area. She'd been aware of him standing in the door to his office, watching her in silence, but she'd said nothing. She could feel his eyes moving over her as she crossed to the desk to make a notation on Dee's appointment calendar.
'It's been very… enlightening,' she replied carefully. 'To tell the truth, I don't know how Dee does it.'
'Don't you?'
She glanced at him, puzzled by his tone. 'I—I beg your pardon?' She found herself bracing for some cutting remark.
A strange expression flickered across his face. 'I only meant that you've handled everything very well these past two weeks,' he told her with quiet sincerity.
Her eyes widened and she felt herself flush in reaction to the unexpected compliment. She was shocked by the intensity of the pleasure it gave her. 'Thank you,' she returned. 'I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it.'
'You never know until you try.' He smiled suddenly. The unforced warmth of it made her catch her breath. She wanted to bask in it like a plant in sunlight.
She shook her head in a small, involuntary gesture of denial. Don't, she warned herself.
She was spared the necessity of making some response when the phone rang. 'Excuse me.' She picked it up. 'Michael Sebastian's office,' she said, her voice not quite steady.
'Having a rough day, huh?' a male voice asked without preamble.
'Hallo?'
'Is big brother watching you?'
'Pardon me?' She felt as though her mind had slipped a gear.
There was a familiar laugh from the other end of the line. 'Hey, it's me, Shauna.'
'Jamie?'
'You got it. You sound kind of down. Is somebody giving you a hard time? Do you want to cry on my shoulder about it?'
She had to smile. 'Thank you for the offer, but no. I'm so glad to hear from you!' Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael's face tighten. 'I understand the tour is going well.'
'Yeah, it's OK. I swear we've covered most of New England since I saw you, and we've only been on the road two weeks. This is supposed to be the easy part of the schedule.'
'Where are you now?'
'Long Island, New York. For a pair of concerts. I thought I'd get in touch. Didn't Michael tell you I called earlier in the week?'
'He did, but—'
'Maybe he's trying to keep us apart,' Jamie speculated in a mockingly melodramatic tone. 'He probably doesn't want his innocent kid brother to fall victim to your charms.'
Shauna laughed. 'Oh, I can see that happening.'
'Of course, it could be that he doesn't want you falling victim to my charms,' he continued outrageously. 'By the way, what gives with him? He sounded very strange when I talked to him… very stirred up about something. He just about bit my head off when I mentioned you.'
Shauna glanced over at Michael. He was staring at her, a grimly sardonic twist to his mouth. His long, powerful fingers were drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the taut muscles of his upper thighs. Except for that small movement, he was utterly still.
Their eyes met. The impact of his brilliant green gaze was as tangible as a touch.
My God, she thought with a jolt. He's furious because I'm talking with Jamie! But that's insane—
'Shauna? Are you still there?' Jamie's voice crackled through the wire.
'Yes. Yes, I'm still here,' she said. 'Look, Jamie, Michael's right here, too. Why don't you speak with him?'
'Oh—sure. Fine. Hey, I'm coming into the city tonight after the show. Maybe we could get together tomorrow and you could come out to the concert. Michael's supposed to go, so you could hitch a ride with him.'
'I'll have to see, Jamie,' Shauna said quickly. 'Thank you for the invitation.' She extended the receiver to Michael. He made no move to take it from her. There was a pained, distant look in his eyes as though he was focusing on some inner vision that gave him absolutely no pleasure. 'It's Jamie,' she told him unnecessarily.
He blinked. 'So I gathered,' he ground out. 'I'll take it at my desk. Good night, Shauna.' With that, he pivoted on his heel and walked back into his office, shutting the door behind him.
'Good night,' she repeated softly, more for herself than for him. She waited until she heard him pick up his receiver, then gently replaced the telephone in its cradle.
'What you really meant was goodbye,' she declared to herself that evening, making the statement aloud as she soaked in her bath.
Shauna sighed restlessly, reaching for the soap. She'd come a long way in recognising and admitting her feelings in the past few weeks. A part of her could rejoice in her new openness and ability to respond. Another part longed for the isolated safety of her old inhibitions.
She washed herself slowly, enjoying the gentle stroke of her palms over her body. There was a time when she would have felt guilty about that—and about lolling so indolently in so much hot water. Now she took deliberate pleasure in the luxury of it.
After rinsing off the lather, she stepped out of the bath. She towelled herself dry then applied delicately scented body lotion to her arms and legs. The fragrance of the cream matched the subtle floral scent of the oil she'd used in her bath.
The heat of the water had lent an attractive flush to her fair skin and there was a rosy invitation to the curve of her lips. Glancing into the mirror over the sink, she had the odd feeling she was looking at a stranger.
She'd pinned her hair up into a haphazard knot at the top of her head to keep it dry. Now, studying her reflection, she released it, shaking her head as the chestnut tresses tumbled over her shoulders in gentle waves. The silken weight of it was like a caress on her sensitised skin. For a few seconds, she surrendered to the feel of it, letting herself imagine it was a caress…
She blinked, stunned by the erotic power of her fantasising. The tautened thrust of her pink-tipped breasts and the quivering ache in her vitals testified to her body's arousal.
Turning away from the woman in the mirror, she took her green quilted bathrobe from its hook on the back of the bathroom door. She donned it hurriedly, knotting the belt around her waist with a decisive jerk. Controlling her trembling fingers, she dragged a brush ruthlessly through her hair, then secured it back in a thick ponytail.
The fresh floral scent of the bath oil and body lotion still clinging to her skin, Shauna then padded into the main room of the apartment. She flicked on her small television and curled up on the sofa, paying scant attention to the local news broadcast that came to life on the screen.
The brassy theme of a popular late night talk-show jerked her back to reality. She reached over to change the channel when the announcer's voice arrested her movement with the enthusiastic declaration—
'Also joining us tonight: singing sensation Carla Decker!'
Shauna's hand fell away from the dial. With an awful sense of foreboding, she settled back into her seat.
Normally an early riser, Shauna didn't usually stay up late enough to see this particular programme. Still, she was vaguely familiar with the way it ran. True to form, it began with the host delivering a humorous commentary on the day's events. Next he introduced his first guest, the macho star of a new television show. After chatting with him about the perils of being a male sex symbol, the MC brought on Carla Decker.
She was a scintillating guest in every sense of the word. Flirtatious and flamboyant, she traded quips with the host in a dazzlingly assured manner. She also played up her considerable sex appeal with an elegantly tousled hairstyle, dramatic make-up, and a glittery tube of a dress that clung to her curves in a sluice of mauve and silver beading.
'So, are you ready to do a song for us?' the host asked finally, drawing applause from the audience.
'Well—' Carla feigned coy reluctance. 'If you really insist…'
Buoyed by still more applause, she got up and strolled centre stage, accepting a hand microphone from a sound man.
'Thank you very much,' she said huskily,
looking directly into the camera. 'Because you're all so nice, I'd like to do something different for you tonight.' She played out the cord on the microphone in a skilled movement, twisting it through her fingers. 'This was written by a very special friend of mine.' She smiled coquettishly. 'It's the kind of song that gets under your skin… but then, so does he.' She paused as a knowing ripple of laughter swept through the audience. 'I wanted to sing this the moment I heard it,' she went on. 'And… I always get what I want.'
Shauna went ice cold. She knew what was coming. Even before the band started playing, she knew.
Four measures of introduction. She could see the notes of the melody inked on the white sheets of paper Michael had given her. Those notes were burned into her memory like the words penned beneath them. She wanted to scream with pain at hearing them played out like this.
Then Carla started to sing.
CHAPTER NINE
Some think for each, there is a lover—
to hold them through the night.
Shauna felt as though a giant hand was gripping her heart, cruelly squeezing the life out of it. Memories, fragments of conversations, came flooding back to her. How could she have been so blind? So stupid?
To keep them safe, and give them comfort,
'til the dark gives way to light.
Carla had wanted the song from the moment she'd heard it and Michael—the man who ran her career and was her lover—had made certain she got what she wanted. What was it she'd said to him that day in the office? Something about wanting this particular appearance to be right for both of them…
Until you find the one you're meant for…
you go through life apart.
Had Michael even bothered to tell Carla that the words to the song weren't his? Had he simply taken credit for it as he took so many other things in life? Carla had said it was written 'by a special friend'. Or perhaps he'd shared the secret with her and they'd laughed about it the way they'd laughed that day in the lobby.