Warrior Angel
Page 5
She wouldn’t have said no to any of the places he took her, and she didn’t. But, like tonight, he never actually asked her if she wanted to go somewhere. He called, showed up, and they left. The one thing she was able to control in their relationship was the sex.
Good lord, girl, you’re being silly! she scolded herself.
Those weekends had been a dream come true for her. Why should he ask her if she wanted to go, when, of course, she did? A girl would have to be six sandwiches shy of a picnic to turn down a romantic weekend in Europe with the man of her dreams. Was he a male chauvinist pig for knowing that? And if he wanted to have sex with her, he was just being a normal, healthy, American male.
Zanus was a dream, and Rachel wanted to smack herself in the head for trying, once again, to mentally sabotage this relationship. Zanus was amazing, and she had the feeling that she did not need to dread The Talk, after all.
What if tonight I say yes? Rachel asked herself, feeling the flutter in her stomach generate electricity that surged through her body.
Any man would think they were past due for a romantic liaison, but thus far she’d limited love-making between the two of them to some hot and heavy kissing in the back of the limousine.
He is client, she told herself. So what? If we care for each other…
But did she? That was the question.
Rachel looked around the apartment. Her decorating scheme consisted of Diet Coke cans on the counter, Wall Street Journal s on the floor, and underclothes draped over the backs of chairs. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. She never bothered to shower on Saturday or put on makeup. She was wearing track pants that she’d picked up on sale at Wal-Mart and a tank top that didn’t match.
Rachel thought bitterly that Sarah Jessica Parker would never be caught dead wearing Wal-Mart track pants, not even on Saturday mornings. And if Sarah Jessica was going to Charlie Trotters with Big, she would look absolutely fabulous.
Rachel went to her closet, pulled out her one good evening dress, and groaned. There was that red wine stain over her right breast. She’d meant to send it to the cleaners after she’d last worn it in Rome. Besides, he’d seen her in this dress at least twice now.
Rachel panicked. What am I going to do?
She let herself go during the week because a manicure was too easily ruined in the pit, they would last two days at best. She wanted something new to wear; something that would knock his socks off. She needed a blowout, because her hair had not been properly trimmed and styled in ages, and her habit of plucking at her split ends when she was nervous didn’t help matters. Her cuticles were ragged, her fingernails blah. She looked down at her toenails and winced.
Rachel took a deep breath and hit the shower. While flinging soap suds around, she made plans. She was within walking distance of Michigan Avenue. She hadn’t really been listening, but she thought the man had promised that the weather was going to be fine today. Chicago in the springtime was fun. The tulips would be blooming on Michigan Avenue. Everyone was in a good mood, thrilled they’d survived another brutal Chicago winter, and glad to be out of the house.
She’d make a day of it.
Where to shop? When in doubt, a girl should wear Chanel. She’d start there. She began to put on what she usually shopped in—her gym pants—then realized that the salespeople wouldn’t be likely to take her seriously if she looked like she’d just come from the gym. She put on slacks and a yuppie-looking sweater that had been a Christmas present from her mother. On her way out the door, Rachel grabbed her jacket and keys, and it was while going down in the elevator that she thought again about the doorman.
Rachel gave an inward sigh. She didn’t want another unpleasant run-in with him.
What if he’s there in the lobby? She mulled this over. If he gives me that look again, I’ll just walk past him as if he were invisible. Better to pretend he doesn’t exist. A rude doorman is not going to spoil my day.
Still, she thought, as the elevator descended, it would be nice to see if his eyes were really as blue as she remembered them.
The elevator stopped on the lobby floor. Rachel stepped out hesitantly, looking around for the doorman with the blue eyes.
He wasn’t there. The night man was still on duty.
Telling herself she was relieved, Rachel made a beeline for the door and out onto the sidewalk. She was halfway to Michigan avenue before she realized that it was only 8:30 a.m.
The stores didn’t open until 10 o’clock.
Rachel looked at her reflection in the window of Nordstrom’s: Her nails were polished—French manicure. Her hair was cut and now swept over her shoulders in the latest style that happened to look extremely good on her. She carried myriad bags in which were three pairs of new shoes, one classic yet steamy Chanel suit—black. She had even splurged to have her makeup done by a professional at the salon.
She needed a day like today—date with Andreas Zanus notwithstanding, Rachel had let herself go, not caring about her appearance. She’d been so worried about making money, she’d forgotten how to spend it. She made a vow to treat herself to a day like today at least twice a year. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be a woman!
Bags in hand, she started walking back toward her condominium and it was then thunder rumbled and a drop of rain hit her square on the nose. Dismayed, Rachel looked up. The sky was turning an ugly gray color. Was it supposed to rain today? She hadn’t paid any attention to the weather report. The wind picked up. And just as Rachel was remembering that her umbrella was on the floor of the hall closet, the heavens opened and the rain came down in sheets.
She looked around wildly for a taxi, but, of course, everyone else in downtown Chicago had the same idea. Those taxis that were out on Saturday morning were immediately snatched up.
She ducked under an awning to take cover, but it was too late. She was already soaked, her hair and makeup ruined. Well, those were things that could be fixed. She was determined that nothing was going to ruin this day. Rachel pulled her trench coat up close around her, and set out in the rain for home. Actually, once she’d consigned herself to being wet, walking in the rain was kind of fun. She sloshed gaily through puddles, shook back her wet hair from her face, and grinned at people huddled under their umbrellas, who stared at her as though she were a lunatic.
“I’m a lunatic with three pairs of new shoes!” she told a complete stranger. “So what? They make me happy! And,” she added to herself with a little sigh, “it’s been a long time since I was happy.”
Did Zanus make her happy? Yes, of course, he did. What girl wouldn’t be happy flying off to a heavenly weekend in France? Never mind that he never asked her where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. Never mind that they talked about work. Never mind, never mind, never mind. Today was her day. A happy day. And tonight would be a happy night.
Rachel walked up to the door of her building, her keys in one hand and all of her parcels in the other. She’d forgotten all about the doorman, until he opened the door for her.
Yes, his eyes were as blue as she’d remembered. Bluer, in fact.
“Oh,” she gasped, startled, then she added lamely, “Thank you, uh, Derek.” She looked at his name tag.
He took hold of some of her bags and carried them inside. “I can take these parcels to your apartment for you,” Derek offered, and his voice was deep, yet had a gruff quality about it, as though he was also embarrassed.
Parcels. Who said “parcels” these days? But he was still regarding her with that same intense look, only this time he wasn’t angry. He seemed to be concerned, deeply concerned.
Why? Because she gotten wet in a rainstorm? What was up with this guy?
“No, no. I can manage my…parcels,” Rachel said hastily.
Too hastily. Like she didn’t trust him to ride up in the elevator alone with her. Which she didn’t. He made her feel uncomfortable, the way he looked at her. But she didn’t want him to know that. Now she was the one who was being rude.
Well, she didn’t exactly sweep. She squelched.
Rachel was suddenly conscious that her hair was a straggly mess. Her eye liner was running down her face, undoubtedly making her look like a raccoon, and her wet shoes were making loud squishing sounds as she walked across the marble floor, leaving puddles in her wake. Hard to be haughty when you squish when you walk.
“I’m sorry about the mess I’m making,” she said, flustered.
“Please do not worry about it,” Derek said, following after her with her bags.
She was making her soggy way toward the elevator, when he circled around to stand in front of her.
“Could we talk, milady?” Derek asked. He spoke very formally, almost sternly.
Rachel stared. “What did you call me?”
“Could we talk?” he repeated, flushing.
She was about to say no, she had nothing to talk about with doormen, but then he said, “I’d like to apologize for the rude manner in which I behaved yesterday.”
Rachel sighed. Why did he have to be so good-looking? And those eyes. To use an old cliché, he had the eyes of an angel. “Well…okay.” What the heck? She did want to know why he had acted so strangely when she mistook him for the other doorman yesterday morning.
He brought up a chair. “Please, sit down. You look exhausted. Miss Duncan, right?” He spoke her name awkwardly. He did everything awkwardly, as though he wasn’t used to being around women. Not shy, exactly, a man’s kind of man.
Yet, with those looks, he must have to beat off the women with a stick. Maybe that was the problem. Too many women hounding him. Or maybe a bad relationship…
Stop it! Rachel scolded herself. He’s my doorman!
Rachel was glad for the offer of a chair. Her feet were killing her, and, once she sat down, maybe she could discreetly dump the water out of her shoes.
“Thanks, Derek.” She gave up on haughty, went for bright and perky. “Shopping is really wearing on a girl. I have a date tonight, you see. He’s taking me to Charlie Trotters.”
Rachel knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help herself. And why had she said that about a date? Was she in high school? How obvious could she get? Was she really trying to make this guy jealous?
Shut up, Rachel! she told herself, blushing hotly. Just shut up!
Derek cleared his throat. He looked embarrassed, and she breathed a little sigh. Maybe he hadn’t noticed she was acting like she had the starring role in Legally Blonde.
He stood in front of her, tall and straight and stiff, as though he was a Marine standing in line for inspection. When he spoke, it sounded as though he had his speech memorized.
“My name is Derek de Molay, and you may have guessed that I am not from around here.” He cleared his throat again. “I am new to city life and I have not quite learned how to handle myself in certain situations. Plus, I have never been a doorman. I am still not sure what I’m supposed to be doing or not doing.”
“Derek,” said Rachel, “this really isn’t necessary—”
His voice and his look grew stern again. “And it seems to me that this city is a dangerous place for a woman alone. I am surprised that such a beautiful woman as yourself would choose to live here…by yourself….”
He paused, then added ruefully, “I am probably making this worse. Now you’ll think I am a chauvinistic swine.”
He certainly had an unusual way of phrasing things. Rachel would have ordinarily thought he was a chauvinistic pig and lashed out at him, but she was tired and she had to get ready for her swanky dinner date. And he had called her beautiful. Even though she looked like a drowned cat, he’d called her beautiful. No matter that she really shouldn’t care what this Derek thought of her, it was nice to be complimented.
She looked into the blue eyes and knew that he wasn’t a rude, boorish chauvinist pig. She didn’t know quite what he was, but he wasn’t that. He was what he said he was—a guy who was used to wide open spaces, who was maybe a bit naive. Maybe he was from someplace like Montana, where men wore cowboy boots and held open the door and tipped their hats to a lady, or so she’d heard. Or maybe he was just taking his job too seriously. Okay, she could understand that. She’d give him another chance.
Rachel stood up. “Apology accepted, Derek. But I assure you I can take care of myself. I’ve taken two courses on women’s self-defense and passed with flying colors. Not to mention the fact that every day I engage in some sort of physical contest with the other traders in the pit. And I’ve lived in this neighborhood for six years without incident. I feel quite safe.”
Rachel thought that this was at an end, when she realized that he was following her toward the elevator. He still had her bags. She couldn’t very well tell him not to go up with her now, not after his apology.
They came to the elevator. He punched the button for her and they stood there waiting. She looked at him. He looked at her. An awkward silence fell between them, and Rachel was immediately irritated. Why should she feel awkward around the doorman? Why should she feel anything?
“Well, I better get upstairs before I catch pneumonia.” Rachel glanced at the bags. “If you could bring those up—”
“I will be glad to.” Derek followed her into the elevator.
Odd, but she could hear the unspoken “milady” at the end of his sentence.
Two floors of uncomfortable silence, then Derek said suddenly, “So who is this man you are seeing tonight?”
Rachel was mildly annoyed, but perhaps this was his idea of small talk. “He’s…uh…someone I’ve been seeing awhile…”
“What is his name? How well do you know him?” Derek pressed.
Rachel was now extremely annoyed. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He frowned at her, the blue eyes were intense, his expression stern. “You do not understand. You are…alone!”
“Yes, I am alone,” Rachel retorted, her annoyance heating to anger. The nerve of this guy! “And I intend to keep it that way.”
Derek said nothing more. He shifted his gaze away from her, stared moodily at the numbers flashing past in the elevator’s screen. Finally they reached her floor. The doors couldn’t open fast enough for Rachel.
“I’ll take the bags,” she said in frozen tones. “Thank you.”
Derek handed her the bags in silence. He hit the button and the doors closed on him.
“Note to self,” said Rachel, putting her key in the lock. “Avoid nosey, creepy doorman!”
Four
Rachel frantically rushed around her condo, throwing out newspapers, stuffing dirty clothes in drawers, and cleaning and dusting every surface. Then she set about undoing all the damage to her hair and face from the storm that afternoon. She was nervous about tonight, about what might happen after dinner.
She was standing in front of the mirror, re-applying the eye shadow—trying to remember just how the stylist had put on the three different colors—when the reality of what this date might mean hit her. No man was a saint. Eventually Zanus would be expecting her to sleep with him. In fact, she didn’t know any other man who would have dated her for three days, let alone three months, without wanting to hop into the sack. He wasn’t gay. His passionate kisses in the back of the limo revealed that he wanted her.
Rachel didn’t know for sure why tonight was to be the special night, except the way he’d asked her out and the fact that he was taking her to a restaurant where the bill for the two of them would probably top her mortgage payment seemed to indicate that he was ready for something to happen between them.
Rachel thought all this over as she laid out her new dress on the bed, placed the new strappy black-and-gold heels from Neiman Marcus on the floor underneath it, and added her hottest pair of Saturday-night p
an ties and matching bra—all black lace. Black being the ultimate power color.
Always be prepared, she told herself.
She spritzed on new perfume—Passion by Annick Goutal—and added new earrings and a matching necklace from Tiffany & Co. Not diamonds, but a very modern-looking, brushed gold piece that stood out in gleaming contrast to her black dress.
“Perfect,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror.
When Rachel’s phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her new heels.
Stop it, she told herself. This is just another date, like any other date you’ve had with him. You don’t know what’s going to happen tonight.
“Rachel? It’s Zanus. I’m downstairs.”
“Oh, is it that time already?” she said, as if she hadn’t been looking at the clock every fifteen seconds. “I’ll be right down. Just give me one moment.”
She drew in a deep breath, picked up her purse, her keys, and left.
Forgetting her coat.
Derek watched as the limousine pulled up in front of the building. The car’s windows were tinted and he could not see inside. The driver left the engine running, and Derek stepped outside to see if the limousine’s occupant wanted him to open the door, but no one came out.
Derek stood outside the entrance and waited to see if he could catch a glimpse of the car’s occupant, while still keeping an eye on the lobby. Moments later, the elevator doors opened.
Rachel stepped out and glided through the lobby toward him. Her hair stirred with the motion of her movement. The heels of her shoes made a tapping sound on the marble floor. Her beauty and the danger she was in pierced his heart, and he was suddenly swept back in time to another scene, to another marble hall—this one in a castle.
Lady Isouda. He had been fourteen. She was twenty-two and married to his liege lord. Derek saw her in his mind’s eyes, dressed in black, like Rachel, except that Isouda’s gown had been adorned with pearls. Wise in the ways of the world, Isouda had known that Derek had been infatuated her, though no words were exchanged between them except those that were proper for a noble lady and a young courtier. Once she had permitted him to dance with her and he had been in ecstasy. And, once, she had given him a ribbon from her hair.