Night Moves (4 page)

No, she would never let anyone stop her from loving the kids, or giving them the same loyalty and devotion that their natural parents would have given them.

Not even a man like Joe.

She had always considered herself to be confident and self-assured, but Joe had swept her off her feet.

He had come to Tahoe for a vacation when the football season had ended, and from the first moment he had seen her, he had pursued her with a vengeance.

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Bryn had been amused at first, accepting the situation with the proverbial grain of salt. She didn't consider herself particularly beautiful, but she was aware that there was something about her trim, wiry form and slightly tilted "cat eyes" that made her appealing to the opposite sex. She wasn't sure if she liked the attraction that she held. It was often uncomfortable to know that the male of the species looked upon her and wondered not what she was like as a person, but what she would be like in bed. For a long time she laughed with good humor when Joe tried every compliment and trick in the book to get her to go out with him.

But somewhere along the line, something had become real. She had convinced herself that even football heroes needed to be loved and to give love in return. And it had seemed that he had loved her.

Things had started going badly with Sue's death. Joe had resented the time she spent with her brother, although he tolerated it. Football season rolled around again, and Joe went back to work. In December he called to tell her that he had one night in which he could fly in.

But she was due at Jeff's that night. He was a pilot, and Bryn had assured him that she would stay with the children.

Joe was livid. She asked him to come to Jeff's house, but he didn't want to play baby-sitter, he wanted to be alone. Bryn entreated him, trying to make him understand...

He hung up on her.

But the next week he was on the phone again, pretending that nothing had happened.

She traveled with him for a while. But then the telegram had come from Tahoe. Jeff had been killed while fooling around with a hang glider.

Joe had been comforting, but also aloof. He hadn't come back with her to bury her brother, nor had he seen the faces of the three little boys who had lost both parents and were now lost and alone and frightened....

Bryn couldn't pay the mortgage on Jeff's big house, so she moved the kids into the town house.

When Joe returned the first time, things went fairly smoothly. She hired a baby-sitter, stayed at Joe's hotel room until2:00 a.m.,then rushed home to be there if the kids woke up with nightmares.

There had been a fight when she wasn't ready to go back out on the road. But again he called her in a few days, behaving as if nothing had happened.

Except that something had happened. Bryn had watched his team on TVAnd in the shots of the victorious players in the aftermath of their glory, she had seen Joe--and he hadn't been alone. He had been in the company of a very young, very beautiful and very sleek redhead.

Joe had sensed Bryn's withdrawal during their phone conversation, and he had arrived in Tahoe the next Wednesday. Even with the children up andawaiting dinner, he had pursued her for answers. When she had accused him of infidelity, he had thundered in rage, "I'm a normal, vital, healthy male! You know how it is with football players. There are always women hanging around."

Bryn had looked anxiously about the kitchen, but the kids were all in the living room watching TV She dropped her voice to a low whisper. "Oh, so you didn't sleep with her?"

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"If I did, what difference would it make? She meant nothing to me. She was just there--and willing.

Which you weren't at the time. You were too busy playing little homemaker. And I warn you, Bryn, no man is going to play a waiting game while you want to be Mother Goose. Not when he has a Sleeping Beauty on his arm."

Somehow she had refrained from throwing a pan of boiling peas in his face. She had emptied them into a serving dish and headed past the counter for the dining-room table. "Dinner's ready, Joe." She could still remember her icy pronunciation of the words. "And call me Mother Goose if you like, but I don't intend to discuss any of this in front of the kids. Understand?"

He had nodded and taken his place at the table while she called the boys. But Brian must have heard part of the argument. He had been silently hostile when Joe had tried to talk to him. And then, when Joe had sworn silently beneath his breath, Brian had dipped his spoon into his peas and sent them flying across the table and into Joe's face.

It had been the last straw, Joe told her later. Sure, she had to be responsible for the kids. But she'd damn well better hire a housekeeper to stay with them. Then she could travel with him, and he wouldn't have to fall for the groupies who awaited the players.

He had proved himself unfaithful, and scarcely charitable. Knowing he had been with another woman had been painful, and then numbing. And it had hurt all over again when she answered him.

"Forget it, Joe. Just forget the whole thing."

"What?"

"I mean it. I don't want to marry you. It would be a disaster from start to finish."

"You're crazy! Do you know what you're giving up?" "Yes, a man who feels it's his right to cheat if 'his woman' isn't available to fall into bed on his terms, at his times." There had been more.A lot more. But in the end it had all been more of the same, and the engagement had definitely been over.

"Aunt Bryn? There's nothing but squiggly stuff on the TV" Bryn started back to the present. "So there is, Brian. And there won't be anything but squiggly stuff in your mind tomorrow if you don't get some sleep!

Bedtime, guys!"

They grumbled but obeyed. Bryn checked Adam's finger and saw that the swelling was down, and that only a small red area remained to show where the "boo-boo" was. And Adam was half asleep before he hit the pillow, so she knew he was well on his way to recovery.

With the boys tucked in, Bryn threw on an old leotard, tights and leg warmers, and hurried back downstairs. She could get in some limbering exercises and catch up on the news at the same time.

The trustworthy face of the weatherman came on the screen, announcing that the days would show a warming trend, but the nights would remain cool. Then the anchorman came on and began to talk about a young politician, Dirk Hammarfield, who was beginning his campaign for theU.S.senate inLake Tahoe.

Between leg stretches, Bryn watched with casual interest. The man had the energetic smile of a young Kennedy. He was of medium stature, with nice sandy hair and blue eyes.

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He'd probably get a lot of votes, she thought with a shrug. Maybe evenher own .

Bryn lay down on her stomach, but with her legs stretched, she suddenly froze.

The story on the tube had shifted again.

A pretty anchorwoman was talking; at the left-hand corner of the screen was a picture of a man.

Lee Condor.

Bryn didn't hear what was being said; she was mesmerized by the picture. And by the gold-flecked eyes that were so arresting, even in a still shot.

Perhaps, she tried to tell herself analytically, his eyes were so arresting because they were so very dark--except for the crystalline effect of the gold.Or perhaps because his face was so interesting.High, broad forehead.Dark, defined and arching brows.Straight--dead straight--nose.High cheekbones.Firm, ruggedly squarejawline . And his mouth...even in a still, it looked mobile. As if he could smile easily, yet compress his lips into a line of determined intent...or anger.

His hair was almost a pure jet black--a little long, but still, he looked more as if he could be a businessman than a rock star.Maybe not a businessman.A steelworker, more likely. There was something about him, even in apicture, that hinted at a lean and powerful physical prowess.

Something, as Barbara had mentioned, that made him appear almost overwhelmingly male, all the more so because it was something of which he didn't seem to be aware himself....

The story suddenly went off the air, and a commercial for sandwich bags came on.

Bryn abruptly relaxed her ridiculous pose and shook the tension out of her muscles. I've never even met him, she reminded herself.

But even when she had finished with her exercises, showered, and fallen into bed for the night, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

And wondering what he would be like.

And whether she would ever be able to control the disturbing fever that raced along her spine when she saw that gold fire in his dark eyes.

It won't matter, she assured herself. He'll probably barely notice me, what with all the others__

On that note, she slept.

But her hope was proved false on Tuesday, when she had been at theFultonplace for barely fifteen minutes.

She had been chatting idly and nervously with Barbara as the two did some warm-up exercises when the friendly dance director pulled Barbara away. Moments later Barbara and the directorcame bearing down on her and excitedly dragged her away.

"He says he thinks you're perfect--" Barbara began.

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"It will mean a hike in your pay scale, of course," the director cut in.

"And very little extra work."

"Lee can explain it to you himself."

She suddenly found herself standing before him, and she hadn't even seen him come in. Barbara was issuing an enthusiastic introduction, and he was vaguely smiling, barely attentive to her words.

His eyes--they were a strange hazel, she realized, mahogany at the rim, yellow-green by the pupil--were on her. They swept over her from head to toe, lingering slowly, coming to rest on her own.

"Bryn Keller? You're the photographer, then, too. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His hand was on hers. Rough--there were heavy calluses on his palms. Large--it enveloped her slender fingers.

And hot...

As if a burning energy poured through his system, making him as combustible as an active volcano, except that his power was deceptively calm, like thesnowcapped peak of a mountain beneath a blue sky....

The fire seemed to rip along her spine.

She pulled her hand--jerked it, rather--from his, and stepped back a foot. "Yes, I'm Bryn Keller. If you'll explain what you want, I'll let you know if I'll be capable or not."

Ice... There could have been no better description of her voice. She hadn't really meant to be cold, but...

She had been cold to the point of rudeness.

The gold-tinged eyes narrowed, but barely perceptibly. His voice was a lazy drawl. "Oh, I'm quite sure that you'll be capable, Miss Keller.Quite sure. Tony can explain the concept."

He turned and walked away.

Lee Condor's first glimpse of the girl was an intriguing one. When he arrived at theFultonplace, the door was open, and a flurry of activity was already in progress. No one noticed him as he walked in; the dancers--in all shapes and forms of workout clothing--were milling about, stretching and warming up. A gray-haired carpenter was finishing up at the top of the long, curving stairway, and Tony Asp, the dance director, and Gary Wright, the general director, were arguing midway up the stairs.

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Lee glanced quickly around the elegant entryway and oversized ballroom. Neither Perry nor Andrew--nor even Mick-- seemed to have arrived yet, but it was still onlyten to ten, and they had all spent the night at the casino, gotten a little nostalgic about being back in Tahoe,then toasted themselves until

thedawn.

Still, he thought with a knowing, inward smile, Perry and Andrew would arrive by ten. They had learned long ago that when they worked they were a team, and as a team, they were courteous to one another without fault. That meant not wasting the other guys' time by not showing up.

Lee ran his eyes casually over the dancers.Ten men, ten women.Most of them very young. Probably kids just out of high school, or maybe college, trying to get a break with a show in Tahoe. Well, if he was giving anyone a break, he was damned glad. Breaks were hard to come by.

It was while he was idly staring about that he noticed her-- or at least part of her. His first sight was of long, long legs.The backs of them, to be precise.

The girl was bent over at the waist, first stretching her spine parallel with the ground, then dangling over until the top of her head almost touched the floor. Her tights were pink, and her leg warmers were black, as was her leotard. He really didn't have much of an impression of her face, all he noticed at first sight were those legs, slim, yet sinewy. And he couldn't help but notice her nicely rounded derriere. Not when it topped those long legs and faced him so pointedly...

She straightened, stretched her arms as if reaching for the sky,then slid into a graceful split.

Something about the action mesmerized him, and when he realized that he was watching her with his tongue practically hanging out, he laughed inwardly at himself.

She probably wouldn't appreciate the fact that he would have loved to bark out an order, empty the room and jump her like a madman.

But to him, it was nice to have the feeling. There had been women sinceVictoria, but none that had made him feel this way at first sight.Victoria's death had changed him, and not for the better.

And, he reminded himself, if he had ever thought ofVictoriathat way and she had found out, she would definitely have considered him a madman.No, a savage. That had been her favorite term__

He gave himself a little shake. Whatever mistakes he had made, whatever mistakes she had made, they were in the past.Over. Agonizing over all that had happened had never done him any good. It was too late to go back.