A Fashionable Affair Page 8

  “Don’t worry, Red,” Michael said from beside her. “It’ll be okay.”

  He spoke soothingly, almost automatically, in the sort of voice one would use to comfort a frightened child. If she hadn’t been driving, Patsy thought with a twinge of exasperation, he probably would have patted her. “I certainly hope so,” she returned a little tartly. “I never realized accounting was such an exciting profession.”

  “It has its moments.”

  “So it seems.” Patsy turned off the highway onto the exit. “Do I make a right here?”

  “Yes.”

  Ted Lawson was waiting for them at the office, along with the police. All of the file cabinets had been gone through and the ones in Michael’s office had been emptied and strewn all over the place.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this, Mr. Melville?” the police officer asked.

  “Not offhand,” Michael said neutrally.

  Patsy’s eyes widened. “You’re not working on anything that would show up an embezzler or something like that?” queried the other officer.

  “From the looks of things here, I quite probably am,” Michael replied. “I won’t be able to tell you what case, though, until I see if anything is missing.”

  The policeman asked him another question, and Patsy stood and listened in growing astonishment. He wasn’t going to tell them anything—not that he had been attacked that morning; not that he had taken her files to his sister’s; not anything. She was absolutely thunderstruck.

  He talked professionally to the policemen. Then, after the squad car had gone, he talked soothingly to his partner. Finally Ted Lawson left as well, and Michael turned to Patsy, who had been unusually silent the whole time. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’ll cope with the mess in the morning.”

  She didn’t move. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

  He looked at her, his eyes hooded. “This isn’t a case for the local gendarmes, Patsy.”

  “And just who is it a case for, then?”

  “The federal authorities. Eventually.”

  “I see. Eventually.”

  “Yeah. First I want to check out those shopping centers Fred invested in so heavily.”

  “You want to check them out?”

  He put a competent arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Red. We’re both tired.”

  Patsy walked with him to the door. “You’re not the Lone Ranger,” she said.

  He patted her. “I know.”

  When they got to the car, he opened the passenger door for her. “I’ll drive this time.”

  He was treating her as if she were a mental incompetent, Patsy thought mutinously as she got into the car. And he was acting like the Lone Ranger.

  Michael’s house was quiet when they arrived, but when he put his key in the front door to unlock it, he found the door already open. He grunted in surprise and stepped back.

  Patsy’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “You locked that when we left,” she said.

  “I know I did. Go out to the car, Patsy. Lock the doors. If I don’t come out in two minutes, call the police.”

  Patsy’s mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure if she could speak. “Michael...” she managed.

  “Go ahead.” He spoke gently but firmly, and she found herself returning to the car. As soon as he saw her lean over to lock the car door, he went into the house.

  He was back out in less than a minute, gesturing for her to join him. She jumped out of the car and ran up the path. “They didn’t just search the office,” he said grimly. She shot him a quick look and went into the living room.

  The house was a shambles. Failing to find what they wanted, the intruders had done as much damage as they could. Patsy stared in horror at the wreckage around her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” His voice was expressionless but his eyes were terrifyingly cold. “Upstairs is just as bad.”

  “The bastards,” Patsy said passionately. “They didn’t have to do this. This was more than searching for some papers.”

  “This was bully tactics, sweetheart.”

  “I’m going to call the police,” she said decisively, but he reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “No police. Not yet.”

  “But, Michael ...”

  He was slowly shaking his head. “They’re trying to scare me, Patsy. Your files are important, true, but the IRS has a lot of the same material. It’s not the files they want so much as they want me to back off the case.”

  “Well, then,” she said reasonably, “why don’t we just turn everything over to the IRS and let them handle it?”

  His eyes traveled slowly around the room. “Do you know, Red, I’d rather wait a bit. Perhaps we can save something for you out of the mess.”

  “Michael,” she said earnestly. “I don’t care about the money. Please, let’s go to the IRS.”

  He said the same thing to that idea he had said to calling the police. “Not yet.”

  “But, why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say I have a little score to even up with the bully boys.”

  Quite suddenly all the stress of the day came to a head and Patsy lost her temper. “Men!” she said furiously. “You’re all the same—one step out of the cave. You positively enjoy bullying and bashing each other about. All you require of a woman is that she be a good-enough nurse to patch you up so you can start bashing all over again. And that she be available in bed in case you want a little sex, of course.” She was glaring at him now in outraged indignation.

  He had begun to smile when she launched into her speech, and as she finished, his face broke into a wide grin. “Sounds like a good program to me,” he said. “Especially that last part.”

  Patsy stared at him and tried to hold on to her anger, but it dissipated as quickly as it had come. “Stay with me for a while,” she said abruptly. “You can’t stay here in this mess.” She looked around with horror. “Half the furniture is broken.” And you’ll be a lot safer in my apartment, guarded by plenty of security personnel and three locks, than you will be in this very vulnerable house, she thought to herself in the brief silence that followed her words.

  He was looking at her, his face grave. “Are you serious?”

  “Perfectly serious. You can’t stay here. Michael, please.” She hoped the panic she was feeling did not show in her voice. If he stayed here and those thugs came back....

  “You could twist my arm,” he said.

  “Consider it twisted. Pack a suitcase and I’ll try to straighten out the kitchen while I wait.”

  * * * *

  They left the house two hours later and stopped for dinner before crossing the bridge into Manhattan. They took Patsy’s car and left Michael’s parked in his garage.

  “Mr. Melville will be staying with me for a while, Howard,” she told the doorman. “And nobody else at all is to be allowed up to my apartment. Under no circumstances. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Miss Clark.” The doorman hastily concealed his surprised expression. “Good evening, sir,” he said to Michael.

  “Good evening,” replied Michael, and he and Patsy went upstairs. She unlocked the three dead bolts, and he entered, carrying his suitcase.

  Patsy switched on the living-room lamps and closed the drapes against the darkness. Michael sat on the sofa and stretched his legs in front of him. “This is much nicer than my place,” he said.

  “I’d hardly call that a compliment,” Patsy murmured dryly. “Tea?”

  “Mmm. Tea sounds good.”

  He stayed in the living room while she went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She arranged the tea things on a tray and then walked quietly back down the hall to the living room.

  He was still sitting on the sofa where she had left him, idly leafing through a magazine from the coffee table. His black hair was rumpled and untidy and he needed a shave. She paused for a moment in the doorway, her eyes on his partially concealed face. He looked tired, she thought. Th
e room was very quiet, and suddenly it seemed to Patsy as if time had abruptly stopped. There was no movement in the room, just the sight of Michael sitting on her sofa reading a magazine. The very blood and breath in her seemed to still. Then he raised his eyes and saw her. Patsy’s heart gave one loud thump and then began to race uncontrollably. He was looking at her inquiringly, and for one endless moment she couldn’t speak.

  “Tea ready?”

  “Almost.” She was speaking, but her voice sounded strange to her own ears. “Do you take sugar?” she forced herself to say. “I forgot.”

  “No, no sugar. Just milk.”

  The kettle began to whistle and she fled thankfully back to the kitchen.

  It had happened. After all these years, it had finally happened—the one, the only, the forever love had finally come into her life. And she was too late. He loved someone else.

  She made the tea with unsteady hands. It was Michael himself who had told her she would recognize real love when it came her way. “When you meet the right guy, you’ll know it,” he had said. He was right. It was a completely different feeling from anything she had known before. Patsy stared at the tea tray. What am I going to do? she thought in forlorn bewilderment.

  “Do you need some help?” It was Michael, coming into the kitchen.

  Patsy jumped. “Oh,” she said, “Er, yes. You could carry this tray into the living room for me.”

  “Sure.” He lifted the tray and started down the hall.

  Patsy followed, breathing deeply and trying to get her nerves under control.

  Chapter Nine

  They had their tea in the living room, and Patsy managed to summon up most of her usual poise. She wouldn’t worry about the future, she thought as she drank her tea, watching Michael’s face and listening to the even tones of his voice. He was here with her now; that’s what mattered. She would take whatever the present had to offer and leave the future to take care of itself. Patsy had always had the happy facility of living for the moment.

  Michael put his teacup on the coffee table and stretched.

  “You can use the closet in the spare room,” Patsy said. “And there should be a few empty drawers in the dresser.” She stood up. “Bring your suitcase and I’ll see what’s available.”

  She had some coats stored in the spare-room closet, but there was still plenty of room. And two drawers in the dresser were indeed empty. Michael put his suitcase on one of the twin beds and turned to her.

  Patsy was standing between him and the door, and in the muted glow from the bedside lamp, her face looked incredibly beautiful. The soft light cast shadows in the hollows of her cheeks and accented the high cheekbones and huge, dark eyes. Her blouse was open at the neck and the line of her throat was exquisite. “You can sleep in here if you like,” she said softly, “but you might feel less lonely with me.”

  An odd silence fell between them. He looked taut as a drawn bow, she thought. All his usual easy repose was gone. She crossed the room and stood before him. “Michael?” she said cautiously and she tentatively reached out and put her hand on his arm.

  His reaction was instant, automatic, inevitable. With his other hand he pulled her to him and his mouth came down to cover hers. His kiss was hard and hungry, and Patsy melted into him, giving herself up to it completely. Finally he raised his head, and she looked through her lashes at the face that was so close to her own. What she saw there set the blood racing through her veins. “Darling,” she breathed, “come inside.”

  He didn’t answer but followed her into her bedroom. The lamp on the desk was lit, and the room looked warm, honey-colored, and very feminine in the soft light. Patsy kicked off her shoes and let her feet sink into the deep carpet. Lifting her big brown eyes to his, she raised her hands and began to unbutton her blouse. It slipped off her shoulders and onto the floor, followed by her lacy white bra. Her golden-red hair hung loose on the pearl-like skin of her bare shoulders. Her breasts were pink-tipped and perfect, her eyes very dark, her cheeks exquisitely flushed. She reached out and began to unbutton his shirt.

  He was standing very still, but when she touched him, she felt him tremble. He wanted her; that much was certainly clear. So why did she sense this mysterious resistance in him? It was another woman, she thought, the woman he loved, trying to come between them. I won’t let her, Patsy thought fiercely. I’ll make him forget her. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid her arms under it, around his waist, so that her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

  “Love me, Michael,” she whispered, a seductive, impossibly beautiful enchantress, and under her hands he shuddered. “Love me,” she repeated, and his hands caressed her bare back, drawing her closer. She felt the hard muscles of his body under her fingers, felt the aching, drowning passion of his kiss. Then she was lying on the bed and he was kissing her throat and her breasts. His beard stubble scratched her sensitive skin. He put his mouth on one pink nipple and the breath caught raggedly in Patsy’s throat. He unbuttoned her slacks and she raised her hips so he could draw them off unimpeded. She was on fire, and when he paused momentarily to rid himself of the last of his clothes, she lay, helpless and quivering, aching for him to return to her. And when he did, he continued his erotic exploration of her body until they both knew, at the very same second, that it was now.

  For a moment, as Michael was poised above her, Patsy was aware of the smooth sheet under her back, of the little hiss of the radiator as heat came up to take the chill off the spring evening. Then he was in her, and her body opened to him, moved to him, as the shocks of pleasure ripped through her again and again.

  When finally he lifted his weight off her, she slowly and reluctantly opened her eyes. She was afraid. She heard the ticking of her old-fashioned clock in the silence of the room. There was never again going to be anything like this in her life and she knew it. But did he? What could she expect from him, who loved someone else?

  Next to her Michael very softly said her name, and she turned and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms encircled her, holding her, cradling her with infinite gentleness, infinite tenderness. And Patsy felt safe and comforted, and her fear was gone.

  * * * *

  When she awoke early the following morning, he wasn’t there. She sat up abruptly, then heard the sound of the shower. Slowly she slid back down and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. The shower was turned off and she heard movement in the spare room. Drawers were being opened and closed. He was getting dressed. She looked at the clock on her night table; it was six.

  When finally he came into her room, he was dressed in a blue pin-striped suit. “You’re certainly an early bird,” she said, she hoped with composure. His thin, serious face lit with its wonderful smile. “I have a gigantic mess to deal with at work, remember?” He was crossing the room toward her bed. “And a stack of clients whom I’ve been neglecting in the cause of one Patricia Clark.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say I’m sorry,” she whispered. She could drown just looking into his eyes, she thought.

  He bent over and kissed her, gently, lingeringly. “Would you like to get up and make me breakfast?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Darling,” she breathed, “I’d love to.”

  He straightened up and watched her get out of bed and walk to the closet. She pulled out a green silk robe and slipped it over her nakedness. She tied it firmly at the waist, then turned, her hair tumbling about her face and shoulders. The green silk hung softly about her tall slenderness and the smile she gave him was both sleepy and sensuous.

  “Do you know,” he said softly, “that you are enough to drive a man mad?”

  Patsy looked at him, feeling the power of him, the force, all the way across the room. She smiled again, this time with mischief. “Would you like to show me?”

  “I’d love to.” A faint, answering glimmer danced in his hazel eyes. “But I can’t. Not now, at any rate. I have to get to work.”

  Patsy sighed. “All right. Come out to the k
itchen and I’ll feed you.”

  The early-morning sun was pouring into the kitchen, and as Patsy made bacon, eggs, and coffee, she felt perfectly happy. He was sitting at her table, eating her cooking, and tonight he would be coming home to her. She put some toast in front of him, kissed the still-damp top of his head, and sat across the table from him.

  “What are you planning to do today?” he asked.

  “They’re doing some new layouts on the sportswear I endorse, so I have a modeling session at eight-thirty.”

  He put his coffee cup down. “Where are these clothes advertised?”

  “They do circulars, Michael.”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “The manufacturing company.”

  “Mmmm. Do you have any of these circulars?”

  “I’m sure there are some around here somewhere,” she replied vaguely.

  He looked mildly exasperated. “Red, you are the worst businesswoman I have ever met.”

  She looked gloomy. “I know, I know. Brains are not my forte.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said business was not your forte.” She looked at him a little doubtfully. “You used to write some damn good poetry, if I remember correctly,” he continued.

  She flushed. “That was high-school stuff.”

  “I remember it as being very good.” He finished his eggs. “I always thought you had a very good brain,” he said, and astonished, Patsy stared at him. He grinned. “It just doesn’t work logically.”

  “Wretch,” she replied good-humoredly.

  He stood up. “Find me those circulars, sweetheart. And I need your car.”

  “I know. You have the keys anyway.” She followed him to the door. “When will you be home?” she asked, and thought, What a nice ring that has. Home.