"You’re dragging him to the opera?" Melanie could just near Lance’s response to that if she asked him to go with her.
"I’m taking him to an Italian opera," Margo corrected. Bruce was far too powerful a man to drag anywhere. "l want him to know what it feels like having the words surround him."
Her mother’s reasoning mystified her. Even she didn’t care that much for the opera, and she loved musicals. She was certain there was some unwritten law somewhere that said men and operas did not mix. Still, her mother seemed set on it.
"And this method works?"
Margo looked surprised that Melanie doubted her. "I’ve never had any complaints."
Melanie grinned. No one would ever complain to her mother about her ways. Everyone liked her too much. "You haven’t told me what you think of him." Melanie prodded, glancing at the door. Afraid that someone would walk in, ending the conversation before it started getting interesting.
"Sure I did." Margo stopped to straighten a row of photographs that had shifted ever so slightly. Must have been a tiny tremor during the night, she mused. She’d almost forgotten that earthquakes. especially small ones. were a way of life here. "l told you he was gorgeous." She glanced at Melanie over her shoulder, an understanding smile on her lips. "Of course, that was on your wedding day, and you could be forgiven for having had other things on your mind."
Melanie moved so that she could face her mother while the other woman fussed over the frames. "I’m not talking about his looks, Mama. What do you think of him? Of Bruce, the man."
That was an apt way to describe him. Margo thought. Bruce, the man. He certainly was that, all man. Maybe even a tad more than she bargained for, although, in the long run, she could always hold her own, she assured herself.
"He’s very nice, very nice." She leveled a look at her daughter. "Just what is going on in that mind of yours?"
"Nothing," Melanie assured her. Even to her own ear, that came out more quickly than she’d anticipated. "Mama, have you ever thought about settling down?"
This was new, Margo thought, surprised. Melanie had never once suggested that she change her way of life, not even when she was a lot younger. "You mean not traveling around from country to country?"
Melanie shrugged that part away. It wasn’t the heart of the matter. "Yes, that, and settling down with someone."
Margo bit the inside of her cheek to keep her smile from surfacing. "You want me to move in with you and Lance? I don’t think he’d like that."
Melanie pinned her with the same look that she’d used countless times before. "You know what I mean."
"Yes, I do, and no, I don’t." She moved past her, looking for something else to keep her occupied before Bruce arrived or another customer materialized. She didn’t kick back easily. "Think of settling down," she added. "Why should I?" Now that Melanie was grown and taken care of, she liked moving from place to place, never staying long. Never being hemmed in. "I get to travel, meet fascinating people, make friends all over the world and get paid for it." She turned around to look at Melanie. "I can’t think of anything better than that."
All this time, Melanie had never thought of her mother as being unhappy, never thought of her mother as running from something. Now she wasn’t that sure. "I can."
Margo knew exactly where she was coming from. Melanie was thinking of her own life, the new one she had. It was exactly what she’d wished for her daughter. It just didn’t work for her. She gave Melanie a quick hug. "That’s because you’re a newlywed and because you’re in love."
Melanie searched her mother’s face, not quite sure what she was looking for. Only that she would know it if she saw it.
"I want that for you, Mama. I want you to have this wonderful feeling, too."
Melanie had a good heart, Margo thought. She fervently prayed it would never be hurt. Or broken the way hers had been. It had made her stronger, but at a price. "You can’t just send out an order for love, the way you can for pizza." She shrugged, trying to sound blasé. She didn’t want Melanie wasting her time worrying about her. Not now, after all these years. Her life’s promise was just beginning to be fulfilled. "Some of us don’t find lasting love."
Fueled by concern and the power that newfound love provided, Melanie wasn’t prepared to give up the subject just yet. "You might if you open yourself up to the possibilities."
Possibilities, real possibilities, carried a downside to them. She’d been hurt by the first two men she’d ever placed her faith in. Her father and Melanie’s father. She wasn’t about to go down that route again. Her method was far better and far less hurtful.
"I’m happy just watching you be happy." The chimes at the front door sounded, announcing another customer. Relieved that the conversation was indefinitely tabled, Margo turned to greet whoever walked in.
And then she smiled. "Speak of the devil."
CHAPTER EIGHT
In Melanie’s opinion, the "devil" looked very tired. She glanced at her mother, wondering if perhaps there was more going on here than her mother was willing to share for once. Had she and Bruce spent at least part of the night together? Both were very vital, dynamic people in their own way, and she’d already mentioned to Lance that she thought there was a certain chemistry between the two.
But if they had spent the night together, her mother would have looked at least a little tired, wouldn’t she? Boundless energy notwithstanding, there was no reason for Bruce to look as if he’d been up half the night while her mother was the picture of freshness.
Melanie came around the counter to greet him. She brushed a kiss against his cheek. then stood back. "Are you all right, Dad?"
Bruce had no desire to explain to Melanie that the reason he looked like hell warmed over was because her mother’s voice had haunted him all night. That didn’t sound right, no matter how he said it.
Smiling genially, Bruce waved away Melanie’s concern. "l’m fine, just burned a little too much midnight oil last night, that’s all."
Maybe they had spent the night together, Melanie thought. That might account for her mother’s exuberance this morning, although with Margo, it was usually difficult to differentiate between her natural energy and if there was something special going on.
Was something special going on? She felt curious enough to burst, but there was no tactful way to ask when they were both here.
Anxious to be alone with her so he could question her, Bruce looked at Margo. "Ready to go?"
Purse in hand, she was already slipping her arm through his. "I've been counting the minutes."
The funny thing about it, though the remark was playful, Bruce half believed her. There was something in her eyes that made him feel she’d been waiting just for him. But that, he knew, was part of Margo’s charm. To make everyone feel as if they were special.
Trouble was, a man could let himself get accustomed to that feeling. More than that, he could learn to like it. Bruce knew he was going to have to watch that.
"I’ll see you on Monday, Melanie," Margo promised.
Sooner than that if she could help it. Melanie thought, as she watched them walk out of the shop.
"You do look a little tired." Margo agreed as Bruce opened the passenger door for her. She slid in. waiting for him to join her.
Rounding the hood, Bruce got in on his side and started the engine, but left it idling. He realized he had no destination as of yet, but there was something more pressing to clear up first. The reason behind his near insomnia.
"Why didn’t you tell me that your voice was on the tapes?" He tried not to sound accusing, but it wasn’t easy,
"I’m sorry, I just assumed you knew. Just take Main heading north, I’ll tell you where to turn," she said in an aside, since he made no attempt to leave. "My handwriting was on the labels," she pointed out.
He pulled away from the curb. There was little traffic. The U-turn within the center island was simple enough to execute. "I thought they were just copies of language tapes."
With a flourish befitting an actress from the silent era, Margo dramatically placed both hands over her heart as she widened her eyes.
"Are you accusing me of performing an illegal activity? The FBI takes a very dim view of that sort of thing, you know. It’s right up there ahead of stealing a pen from the post office." Dropping her hands, she peered at his face. His jaw looked tense. She didn’t understand why the fact that she made her own language tapes should bother him. "Why? Did you have a problem with the tapes?"
He thought of shrugging the conversation away, but he’d come this far, he might as well admit to the rest. "I didn’t have a problem with the tapes, I had a problem with sleeping." He paused, wondering if he should be telling her this. “Yours isn’t the kind of voice that lulls a man to sleep."
A smile played along her lips. A smile that had insisted on infiltrating all of her. Slowly.
"Is that your roundabout way of saying I’m not boring?" Margo knew she was fishing for a compliment, but just this once, she indulged herself.
"No." Bruce had no idea why he felt so angry about the whole incident, but he did. Containing the anger took an effort. "That’s my roundabout way of saying you have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard, and l was up half the night, listening to it."
He bit off the words, making it a backhanded compliment. Margo didn’t stop to analyze why it gave her such a thrill, she just enjoyed the feeling.
"Next time, try a warm shower."
Wrong, he thought. Looking down, he realized his hands were tightening on the wheel. With effort, he forced himself to relax. There was a tug-of-war going on inside him again,
and he had no idea which side he was rooting for. Which side he should be rooting for.
"A warm shower," he grumbled, "was the last thing I needed."
She pressed her lips together. This wasn’t the time to laugh. Struggling to keep a straight face, she asked, "Did anything on the tape manage to sink in?"
Bruce blew out a breath and thought before answering. "Around the third time. I began chanting the words like a mantra."
She nodded. That was all she wanted to know. Actually, it wasn’t. She wanted to know where those sexy thoughts of his had taken him, but that would be asking for trouble and she had a lesson to teach. "Whatever works. Ready for a little culture?"
He spared her a quick look, raising one brow. "Italian?" .
Her expression was pure innocence. "What else? Turn left at the next light." She pointed.
"That’s Sunflower.” His brow narrowed. "Are we going to the Performing Art Center?"
She nodded, hoping he didn’t know what was playing. Or, if he did, that he wouldn’t balk. "Best place to pick up some culture."
All around him, the audience sat in what seemed like mesmerized rapture as they listened to the swelling of loud music and louder voices coming from the stage.
Though the house lights were down and the stage bathed in a dimness that was to simulate night. Bruce felt a headache forming behind his eyes. Its formation had begun the moment he’d taken his seat. He’d entered reluctantly, in deference to Margo’s wishes, but was convinced he was going to suffer for it. He'd never been to an opera before but he figured the same principle applied to it as to attending a hanging. He didn’t have to go to know he wouldn’t like it.
During a merciful lull between the uproar of operatic exchanges, he leaned over and whispered into Margo’s ear. "This isn’t what I had in mind."
She tried not to react as his warm breath slid all along her skin, heating it. Heating her. Employing a tremendous amount of control, she turned to look at him. "What did you think I meant when I said culture?"
Bruce shrugged. To be truthful, he’d been too preoccupied with the effect her tape had on him to give the latter much thought when she first mentioned it. "I had a vague notion that maybe you were going to take me to an Italian restaurant."
Amused and feeling for him, Margo patted his hand. "That’s cuisine, not culture. We’ll get around to that," she promised. "I know this wonderful restaurant where the menu’s in Italian."
"We’re not going there soon, I hope." With his luck, he was bound to make a mistake. Bruce could just picture himself ordering the chef or something equally embarrassing.
Behind them a woman cleared her throat very distinctly. When they turned in unison to look at her, she glared at them, her message clear: cease talking or leave.
Bruce saw laughter in Margo’s eyes as she struggled to keep it from her lips. The kaleidoscope of women he’d been witnessing amazed him. One moment she was a sophisticated woman, bent on exposing him to Italian opera, the next, she was a giggling schoolgirl, caught passing notes in class. And then the next, she was a passionate woman, all steamy sex and promise, wrapped in humor.
Which was the real Margo?
As he settled back to endure the remainder of the act, Bruce had a feeling that the answer was all three. It made a man feel overwhelmed.
By the time intermission arrived, he felt like a death row inmate who had just gotten a temporary reprieve from the governor. He all but led the outpouring patrons in the retreat to the refreshment counter. He ordered wine for both of them, wishing he could get his hands on something just slightly harder to help him through the remainder of the performance...and through sitting so close beside her in the dark.
Ever since he’d lain awake last night. listening to her say the most innocuous phrases and making them sound as if she were making love to him with just her voice, his thoughts had taken a definite detour away from learning the language. They were now veering into territory that was far rockier than learning how to pronounce strange-looking words.
"So, do you like it so far?" Margo asked as soon as he found her sitting at a little table in the second-floor lobby.
She watched his eyes as she swallowed her first sip of wine, knowing that if he lied, she could probably detect it.
He wasn’t sure if she wanted the truth or not. "Do I get points off if I say no?"
Margo laughed and took another sip. She’d no idea she was this thirsty. "I’m not grading you, Bruce. I’m just here to help you learn any way I can."
Old habits were hard to break. He’d always thought of teachers as "them" and education. until college, had always been a matter of "them" against "him." But in this case, they were a unit, not adversaries meeting over pronouns and adverbs.
And maybe their being a unit was what was bothering him, he thought.
"Then the answer is a qualified maybe. I liked it better than I thought I would, probably not as much as you think I should."
Was that what he thought? That because she was a female, she liked the opera? In that case, the joke was on him. "I don’t think you should like opera. I don’t like opera."
He scowled. She’d managed to lose him without taking a single step. "Then why did we go? Why are we still here?" He was ready to make a break for it if she was.
She drank a little more of the wine. "Because opera’s part of Italian heritage, and I wanted you to get a feel for it." She set her empty glass down beside his on a side table. The line was far too long for another. More wine wouldn’t help, anyway. It wouldn’t blot out this edginess she was experiencing.
"l can teach you the basics of the language, but in order to really get the hang of it, you have to let it seep into your system, let it become part of you. When l’m finished with you, you’ll even be able to think in Italian," she promised. "And thinking in a language is a true sign that you’ve learned it."
His eyes swept over her. She was wearing a simple black dress, nothing impressive on its own. Yet on her, it was a designer original. She brought style to everything she did, as well as grace and more than a passing dose of sex. It made for a hell of a mixture.
"I bet you don’t know what I’m thinking now." He would have put money on it. A great deal of money.
"That you wish you’d never started this?" Margo guessed.
"That’s part of it, yes."
He’d given it some thought and while the honor of heading the Florence office was considerable, it made no real difference to him if he were sent to Italy or not. He no longer had anything to prove, nor any need to bury himself in his work. He’d finally come out to see the sun, and he liked the way it looked. He wanted to keep on looking at it.
Margo searched his face in the moderately lit lobby. She was oblivious to the throngs of people around them. To everything else but the conversation she was having with Bruce.
"And the rest?"
He slipped his arm around her waist, and was amazed at how easily that came to him. And how right it felt. "That you are one hell of an incredible woman, Margo."
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