Tiffany Girl (57 page)

SHE SAW HIM COMING
and he looked so magnificent, she almost rose to her feet the way men did when a lady entered a room. Instead, she forced herself to stay seated, gripped her gloved hands in her lap, and simply absorbed all the changes.

He wore his hair a bit longer. His shoulders had broadened. And his skin tone had darkened. With an index finger, he held a pair of skates over his shoulder. The fringe on his blue plaid scarf swirled in the breeze. His legs nudged the hem of his frock coat open with each step.

Then he was there, his eyes still green, yet changed. They were clearer, less opaque. Happier? Could eyes be happy?

“You look beautiful,” she breathed, then slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

Smile lines gathered on either side of his mouth. He tugged the brim of his hat.

Her face heated, despite the cold.
Please, earth, just swallow me up right now
.

“May I sit down?” he asked.

“Oh!” She scooted over. “Of course. Yes. I’m sorry. Sit. I mean . . .” She took a deep breath. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Dropping the skates beside him, he sat and almost took up the whole bench with his long legs, the added breadth of his shoulders, and his very being. Whiffs of peppermint shaving soap came and went as he angled himself to better see her.

Perfectly relaxed, he crossed his legs and perused her without trying to camouflage his examination in the least. He started at the top of her peacock-feathered hat, then moved to her hair, which hadn’t cooperated at all this morning. She’d been ready to chop it all off by the time she was done with it. It took every bit of control she had not to reach up and see if the Gibson girl coif had sagged like a goose down pillow that needed fluffing.

He continued his survey, studying her oversized sailor collar and the leg-o’-mutton sleeves it rested on. His gaze lingered on the big buttons running down the front of her shirtwaist, the revers that flipped out at her waist, then the braided trim running up the edge of a reverse pleat in her sky-blue skirt.

“What does the
R
stand for?” he asked.

His voice ran straight through her, producing a warmth as potent as a forbidden gulp of her father’s whiskey. With a shiver, she looked down at her skirt, pressing her hands against her chest and waist to see what he was referring to. “What
R
?”

“The
R
in FRJ.”

She lifted her gaze. “You mean Rebecca?”

He tilted his chin up slightly and gave a self-deprecating shake of his head as if he’d lost a bet with himself. “Rebecca. Flossie Rebecca Jayne.”

“Florence Rebecca Jayne.”

He smiled. Her insides turned to mush. She didn’t remember this happening before. Had he always had this effect on her? If he
had, she certainly couldn’t recall it. Maybe it was that book. That book with all its metaphors about trees and fruit and flower buds, about songbirds turning winters into spring.

“Florence,” he said. “Of course, I’d forgotten.”

She stared at him. “Forgotten? When did I ever tell you my name was Florence?”

“You didn’t, I heard it through the wall.”

Her lips parted, then she narrowed her eyes. “What else did you hear through the wall?”

“Everything.”

Her stomach bounced. She looked at the skaters gliding by, but didn’t really see them. Instead, she tried to remember all that she and Annie Belle had said to each other. Had she ever talked about him? She was sure she had. What she wasn’t sure of was what she’d said.

She crossed her arms. “It was in very bad form of you to eavesdrop.”

“It was. I apologize.”

She turned back to him. He still leaned lazily against the bench at a cockeyed angle.

“You don’t look sorry.”

His smile broadened. “That’s probably because I’m sorry that I acted in bad form, but I’m not really sorry I heard all your conversations. That’s when I first started to fall in love with you, listening to all that jabber. Completely fascinated me.”

Her jaw slackened. How in all the world was she supposed to respond to that?

She began to tap her foot. “You know, I spent many hours as a young girl fantasizing about how the man of my dreams was going to tell me he loved me. Never, ever in all of my imaginings did I think he’d say it was my ‘jabbering’ that did the deed.”

He propped an elbow on the back of the bench and rested a cheek on his fist. “Am I the man of your dreams, Flossie?”

She flattened her lips. “Nightmares, more like it.”

He reached over and snagged a tendril that had come lose from her unruly coif and gave it a gentle yank. “Want to go skating?”

“No.”

“Want to kiss me?”

She jumped to her feet. “No.”

He stretched his arm against the back of the bench. “I’m afraid it’s going to have to be one or the other because if I don’t get my hands on you soon, I’m going to go stark raving mad.”

Spinning around to face him, she planted her hands on her waist. “What in the world has gotten into you? You never used to act like this.”

“I might not have acted it, but I thought it. I definitely thought it. Do you not like it? Because now that I’ve been unleashed, I’m afraid there’s no going back.”

Oh, she liked it. She definitely liked it, but they’d only been sitting there for fifteen minutes, yet they’d been apart for fifteen months.

“You are not kissing me anytime soon. I haven’t seen you in forever and a day. So if you want that kiss, then you have some courting to do. And a lot of it.”

He came to his feet. “Let’s get our skates on, then, and I’ll show you what I’ve learned.”

She eyed him with suspicion, a breezed flipping back her collar. “What have you learned?”

He smoothed down her collar. “To dance, little magpie. I’ve learned to dance.”

CHAPTER

83

T
aking her right hand, he placed his other hand on her back, dug in with one skate, and pushed off. Surprised, she responded automatically and followed his lead.

“You’ve learned to skate,” she said.

“To dance.” The green eyes that had been so bright and clear before now darkened a shade.

“Watch where you’re going,” she said. “I don’t want to bump into anybody.”

He lifted a corner of his mouth. “No running over any fingers today. Now, close your eyes and give yourself over to me.”

Close her eyes? Give herself over to him? Not likely.

He began to hum
The Blue Danube
. At first, she didn’t trust him to navigate the ice, but then realized that though he wasn’t the best skater on the pond, he was certainly competent. Average, even. And there was nothing wrong with being average.

Once she relaxed, it all came rushing back. The Fourth of July, their first dance. Her storming into his room, music box in hand, forcing him to connect with her. She allowed her eyes to close a moment and listen to him hum, memories flooding her.

The feel of his hand on her back, the rhythmic pattern of their steps, the scent of peppermint from his soap, and the rush of
desire roaring through her veins. How many times had she tried to recapture those feelings in that very same room where she now slept? How many times had she opened her music box, closed her eyes, and done the one-two-three steps in an effort to evoke the feelings now coursing through her?

Many times. Too many times. All of them falling far short of this.

Reeve swerved around a wobbly skater. Breath catching, she jerked her eyes open and missed a step. He pulled her close, then spun them in a circle while she regained her balance. She looked into his eyes, eyes she’d tried to remember. Eyes she’d tried to forget.

He winked, then pushed off again, his humming starting anew.

The wind rushed at her back and she reveled in the feeling of being free, even while she was within the confines of his arms. But his arms weren’t confining. They were . . . how had he put it?

No matter what time of year we sat beneath our tree, be it dormant or thriving, we always had friendship and love within the shelter of each other’s arms.

His hand spanned the small of her back. He flexed his fingers, spreading them, lightly caressing her through her jacket. Her head fell back, her eyes slid shut. His humming began to slow, as did their skating. Slower and slower until they turned in a tiny circle. Finally, he stopped. She opened her eyes, her limbs heavy.

He brought the hand he held to his shoulder, then slid his hand down the whole of her arm and the entire length of her side until he rested both hands against her waist.

Sweet heaven above, but she wanted to kiss him. But they were in the middle of Central Park and she’d just told him no kisses until he’d courted her properly. Until she’d learned about this more mature, more confident, more open and alluring Reeve. Still, she was reluctant to step away from him just yet. He moved his hands to her back, his fingers brushing the curve at its
base, his thumbs skimming her sides. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

“
Shhhhh
.” He smoothed a tiny piece of hair from her face, then brushed her eyebrow with his thumb.

She leaned her face into his hand, her eyes closing, her heart hammering.

“Watch out!” An out of control skater headed toward them.

Reeve shoved her behind him, then grabbed the youth’s arm and steadied him, before sending him on his way. She smiled to herself. Imagine that. Reeve protecting her on the ice.

He turned around and she drank her fill. The wide cut of the frock coat across his shoulders tapering down to his trim waist. The windblown curls peeking out beneath his hat. The green of his eyes, so brilliant in the sun. The curve of his lips, more alluring than she remembered.

“You’ve become quite good on your skates,” she said with a breathy sigh.

“Thank you.”

She brushed a bit of snow from his shoulder, relishing the task. “You’ve gotten broader.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She grabbed a curl at his nape, then let it spring from her grasp. “You’ve grown your hair out.”

“It needs a cut.”

“You’ve . . .” She stopped herself.

“I’ve what?”

Become more handsome
, she thought, but it wasn’t just his looks. He’d always been attractive. It was something else, something deeper, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She realized with a start that if her feelings for him had changed at all, they’d become stronger, not weaker.

“I’ve what?” he asked again.

She shook her head, refusing to put her thoughts into words.
The voices of the other skaters faded. The scraping of blades against the ice diminished. Her chest rose and fell, her breath fluttering her sailor collar.

“Will you watch the sunset on Klausmeyer’s roof with me?” he asked.

Her heart squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion filled his eyes. His lips turned down. “Why not?”

“Because if I go on that roof with you, I’ll succumb to what my heart wants instead of what my head wants. And it’s too soon, Reeve. It’s too soon.”

He didn’t deny it, for they both were cognizant of the connection they’d once again felt in each other’s arms. Something they’d gone without all these many months.

“Then dance with me one more time. After that, we’ll go find the Hollidays and I’ll pay my respects.”

This time when he took her in his arms, she closed her eyes and gave herself completely over to him.