Authors: Amanda Stevens
Reid turned and walked back toward his desk. “You didn’t buy into that, I hope. Christine, she’s an old, old woman who has nothing more to do than spin her fantasies. She’s using you.”
“How? How is she using me? Why would she tell me such an outrageous story? For revenge? I’ve done nothing to her.”
“But Christopher has,” Reid said softly, his blue gaze earnest. He sat down on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “I hope you’re not planning to see her again.”
“Would you object?”
“Would it do any good if I did?” he countered in an exasperated tone.
We glared at each other, tension sizzling between us. “You weren’t willing to take the time to help me find my father, so I’ve
had
to take matters into my own hands.”
“By talking to a deranged old woman who probably hasn’t seen Christopher in years, then getting yourself lost in the seediest area of town? By having lunch with Lawrence Crawford, a man who’d sell his mother’s soul for a few quick bucks? I’ll ask you again, Christine. Leave this to me. I know what I’m doing.”
“But that’s the whole point,” I cried in frustration. “Just exactly what
are
you doing? Have you talked to the police again? Have you been back to my father’s cabin? You haven’t done anything. As far as you’re concerned, it’s business as usual around here.”
“What the hell do you want from me?” he exploded. “I can’t pull him out of thin air.”
“Can’t…or
won’t?
”
“What the devil’s that supposed to mean?”
“You figure it out,” I said, heading for the door. “I’ve already taken up too much of your precious time. You’ve
pressing
business, and I have to find my father.”
“Christine.” The tone of his voice stopped me. I dared to look back at him.
A mistake.
The blue eyes compelled me to listen to him, to believe him. His deep voice beguiled me.
“Can’t you trust me?”
How could I, when I didn’t even trust myself anymore?
I stalked out of the office, letting the door slam behind me with a bang. The childish action was a response to my frustration as much as my anger, but when I looked up, both instantly dissolved.
Rachel was seated at her desk, and Lawrence Crawford was bending over it, toward her. Their faces were very close, their expressions intense. It didn’t take a genius to figure out I’d interrupted something fairly personal.
Lawrence straightened immediately and cleared his throat.
Rachel’s olive complexion turned dark red. She lowered her eyes in embarrassment, but not before I’d seen the sparkle in those brown depths. Her face was more animated than I’d ever seen it.
Lawrence cleared his throat again, then I cleared mine as we all three shifted restlessly. Finally he said in a jovial voice, “Christine, you’re just the woman I was looking for.”
I somehow doubted that very much, but I smiled and played along. “Really? Do you have information concerning my father?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, no…er, not exactly. But I was hoping we could talk, maybe have lunch again.”
Rachel looked at me then, very briefly, but I saw a flash of apprehension in her eyes. Whatever the reason, it was obvious she didn’t relish the idea of my spending time with Lawrence Crawford. Frankly, I was surprised to find him here, knowing how much Reid disliked him.
Echoing that sentiment, Reid’s office door opened and he stepped out, then stopped dead when he saw Lawrence. If possible, Rachel’s face turned even redder, and I even felt my own cheeks tinge slightly, though I certainly had no reason to feel guilty.
Reid’s gaze summed up the situation posthaste. “What are you doing here, Crawford?” he asked, his tone barely civil.
Lawrence smiled. “I came to see Christine. I hope you have no objections. She and I have important matters to discuss.”
“What matters?”
Again Lawrence smiled. “I think that’s up to the young lady whether or not she wants to fill you in.” To me, he said, “Ready for lunch?”
Reid’s dark brows were almost drawn completely together as he scowled at me. I read
his
mind this time:
I thought I told you to stay away from Lawrence Crawford.
Well, so what? Reid St. Pierre didn’t own me. Besides, a perverse little side of me hoped that his disapproval was not altogether due to business concerns. Dared I hope he might be a little jealous?
He strode across the room as though he was oblivious to us all, but at the outer door he turned and said to Rachel, “I’ll be in the ballroom for several hours, seeing to last-minute preparations.” Then to me, “Have a good lunch.” His gaze raked over me in a manner so perfunctory as to be almost insulting. Then he turned and left.
A sort of uneasy calm fell over the room. Rachel opened a file and pretended to work. Lawrence Crawford tightened his tie and smiled at me.
I said, rather hurriedly, “Actually, I’m afraid I can’t make lunch after all. I’ve something
pressing
I have to attend to.”
Then I left the office in Reid’s wake.
* * *
Several boutiques were located on the lobby floor of the St. Pierre, but one in particular drew me like a magnet. I stood outside and gazed worshipfully at the dress displayed in the window.
It was a dream.
The strapless bodice glittered with pink sequins and tiny seed pearls, and the skirt swirled and floated with yards and yards of pink chiffon.
I wanted it as I’d never wanted a dress in my life. That pink fantasy represented to me all the party dresses I’d never owned, all the proms and dances I’d been left out of. It represented everything that had been denied me and everything that I was now becoming.
I had to have it. I couldn’t live without it.
But the price tag staggered me. I’d never even come close to spending that much on a dress before. It was more than a month’s rent and utilities. There was no way I could justify such extravagance.
But I had to have
something
to wear tonight, just in case I decided to go to the ball. The way Reid had looked at me earlier still stung. I wanted something that would dazzle him.
The salesclerk, Marta, was very helpful. She brought out dozens of glittering dresses in every conceivable color and shape. She even had a few pink ones, but none the exact delicate shade of the one in the window, and none that even came close to the style.
I took another peek at the price tag. Still out of my reach.
And darn, it was just my size, too.
“Would you like to try it on?” Marta invited, her
pretty smile lighting her dark face. “I can get it down for you.”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid I can’t afford it.”
“Perhaps this one,” she suggested, pulling out a long, blood red satin gown. “It’s very dramatic.”
“It is that,” I agreed, knowing I could never pull it off. My expression must have said everything, for Marta began taking the pink number out of the window. “Just try it on,” she insisted. “At least give yourself that pleasure.”
Oh, and it was such a pleasure. I slipped into the dress, then came out of the dressing room to stand before the full-length mirror. Marta clapped her hands to her chest.
“Magnificent!
Mademoiselle,
that dress was made for you. The color, so flattering! And the fit! Your figure! If I looked as you do in that dress, I could not live without it!”
She was good. Very convincing. Her flattery was a balm to my flagging ego. And the dress
was
wonderful. The short, swirling hemline highlighted perhaps my one saving grace, my legs, and the color did extraordinary things for my complexion and my eyes.
“The shoes,
mademoiselle!
The shoes! Wait right here!” Marta instructed as she hurried off toward the front of the shop. When she came back, she was carrying the most gorgeous pair of sparkling high heels I’d ever seen.
So the transformation was to be complete, I thought. All I needed was my carriage. And Prince Charming.
I looked up and saw Reid’s reflection in the mirror. He was standing in the entrance of the shop, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, as he stood watching me preen.
I spun, facing him as my face flamed. “How long have you been there?”
He smiled and said in a low, intimate voice, “Not nearly long enough.” He straightened and came toward
me. Somehow Marta had discreetly disappeared, and it was just the two of us, alone, staring at one another.
I smoothed down the flowing skirt of the dress and headed for the dressing room, but his arm caught mine.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to get…changed.” I’d almost said “out of here,” but something in his eyes had stopped me. He was looking down at me, his gaze roaming over every inch of me until my skin felt warm and tingly from his attention.
“You’re going to take it, I hope.”
“What?”
“The dress.”
Oh, that. My hand touched the filmy layers of skirt. “It’s a little out of my league, I’m afraid,” I said, with double meaning.
Reid smiled, as though he understood perfectly. “That’s what makes it so much fun. I want you to have the dress, Christine. We’ll put it on my account.”
“Oh, I couldn’t! It’s much too extravagant.”
“I want you to have it,” he said again, then turned me so that we were both facing the mirror, staring at one another’s reflections in the glass. He was so much taller than me, so much bigger. His hands on my arms looked strong and capable, and my breath caught in my throat.
He bent and whispered in my ear. “I want you to wear it tonight. For me.”
My heart was pounding so loudly I thought he could surely hear it. I thought I could hear his, beating in perfect syncopation with mine. The offbeats were mesmerizing, as compelling as the sound of the
Petro
drums, but far more sensuous, far more dangerous. It lulled me into wanting something I knew I could never have.
“You look so beautiful, Christine,” he whispered, his breath warm and feathery against my cheek. “So desirable.”
The last word was whispered so low, I couldn’t be sure my own thoughts hadn’t conjured it.
I closed my eyes briefly, shivering against the feel of his hands on my arms. What would it be like to have him touch every part of me? To have him look at me as he was looking at me now, just before we…
“I’m not beautiful,” I denied. “I’ve never been beautiful.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one had to tell me. I can see for myself.”
His hands tightened on my arms. “Then you’re not looking at the same woman I am. Look in the mirror, Christine. See yourself as I see you.”
I knew then that Reid
had
put a spell on me, for as I gazed at my reflection, any semblance of my former self melted. My hair flowed like some golden gossamer veil over my shoulders and down my back. My eyes were sparkling like the sunlit waters of the Caribbean, and my complexion glowed with a subtle apricot color. The barest hint of cleavage showed over the strapless bodice of the dress, and my waist looked tiny, easily spanned by Reid’s large hands.
And suddenly, all the hateful, cutting words my grandmother had said to me drifted away. I was a new woman, and in Reid’s arms, I
did
look beautiful. And desirable.
“How did you do that?” I whispered in amazement.
He laughed, a low, erotic, thoroughly masculine sound. “I can do lots of things, Christine. Shall I show you?”
Yes! Oh, yes!
I wanted to cry.
Show me everything you know! Make me experience life as I never have before!
Then, a more sober thought.
Make me forget my doubts, my suspicions. Make me trust you.
With his remarkable ability to sense my thoughts, my
needs, he turned me in his arms, slowly, so that I could pull away if I wanted to.
But I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to do anything but remain in his arms forever. How often had I dreamed of having him look at me just as he was doing now? How often had I fantasized about him wanting me?
If dreams and reality were indeed merging for me, if I could no longer distinguish between sleep and wakefulness, then I would at least enjoy the good parts. And this most definitely was a good part.
His head lowered to mine, again slowly, almost daring me to break the spell. We were standing so close I could smell the subtle fragrance of his cologne, could see the deepening blue of his eyes, the intimate curve of his lips. Then, almost drowning from the sensations, I let my eyes drift closed as I waited for his kiss.
His hands moved up my arms, caressed my neck, then fingered through my hair. His lips touched my brows, my nose, my chin, and I wanted to scream from the exquisite frustration of his teasing. My lips parted, imploring him to kiss me, really kiss me.
And for the first time, I was glad he could read my thoughts. His mouth crushed mine in a kiss so breathtakingly intense, I swear I almost swooned. His tongue plunged inside, bold, aggressive, daring me to respond.
What choice did I have? This was a dream, after all. In a dream, I could do nothing but submit.
At last we broke apart, but Reid didn’t release me. He held me to him, touching my face again with kiss after kiss after kiss. I was so euphoric that it took me a moment to realize he’d stopped. I opened heavy lids and gazed up at him. He was looking toward the front of the shop, his eyes guarded.
I followed his stare, then stiffened slightly. Rachel and
Mrs. DuPrae stood just inside the doorway, their usually placid expressions frozen into identical masks of shock.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt Reid’s hands slip away from me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Fifth Night
I
t was hours later, and the ball was well underway. I wavered outside the ballroom doors, nervous, uneasy and dreading making an entrance. I had on the pink dress, of course. After Reid’s reaction this afternoon, how could I not have bought it? Then I’d gone to the hair salon and had my hair and makeup done. The metamorphosis was now complete. I had emerged from my dowdy cocoon. I was a new woman.
Except tonight I still had the old Christine’s nerves. I still had her insecurities and doubts. And after I’d seen the reaction on Mrs. DuPrae’s and Rachel’s faces this afternoon, I still had a bit of the old Christine’s paranoia. I could almost hear everyone whispering about me.