In a Heartbeat (23 page)

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Authors: Donna Richards

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player to eject the discs. At least the action gave him something to do 170

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In a Heartbeat

other than fantasize about what was happening on the other side of the door.

She quickly emerged, the cardboard box under her arm. “Do you think we’re ready?” she asked.

“For the dance?” He knew he was ready for something more than what she was asking. More than ready. “Yes, I think we are.”

“Then I’ll see you Saturday? Should I drive here?”

He wanted to do this right, to pick up her up at her house and not ask her to come to him. But he understood her concern, and after all they’d done to conceal their identities, it would be unfortunate to blow their cover now.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. Retrieving her coat from the closet, he held it out to assist her putting it on. “How about I charter a limo with nice dark windows?”

She smiled. “I should have thought of that. I know just the place.”

She slipped her arms into the coat and he caught an enticing glimpse of her neck. His lips lowered to kiss that sensitive patch of skin, but he caught himself just in time. Instead, he whispered in her ear.

“I thought you might.”

Then she was gone.

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Chapter Fifteen

The week preceding the ball passed much too quickly. Her days were spent in the office or at the site of Claymoor Construction, another client, performing interim work. Her evenings were devoted to all manner of preparations for the dance. She experimented with make-up and hairstyles, finally deciding on a tousled style full of random curly tendrils. The just-tumbled-out-of-the-woods effect required several hours of battle with a curling iron and a can of hair spray, but the end result was worth it. She wished her mother were home to share this with her.

Funny, she thought, all the effort she was putting into a promotion so she could move away from home, yet now that she was on her own, she missed her mother.

Finally the long-awaited day arrived. The news had predicted rain and the depressing gray clouds gave credence to the warnings. But none of that concerned Angela. Her excitement about the coming evening could burn away the gloomiest skies. The rain held off. Blustering winds offered the only evidence of the storm front moving in. Even the fact that Stephen sent Raymond to maneuver the sleek white limousine through downtown failed to darken her mood.

“What time do you want me to return to pick you up?” Raymond asked Hank after he had exited the limousine.

“I’m not sure. What do you think?” Hank asked Angie as he helped her from the back of the car.

She glanced over at Ray, standing by the door in his new Classic Limousine livery. Had she known he would be driving, she would have driven herself. The man definitely made her uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure why. “I’ve no idea. Maybe we should just take a taxi back.”

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“You can always call me when you’re ready,” Ray said. “I’m always at your beck and call.”

“No. Neither one of us brought a cell phone.” She put her hand on Raymond’s arm and forced herself not to recoil.
Remember Walter
, she reminded herself. “I appreciate you bringing us here, but I think we can manage to make it back on our own.”

“If you insist.” He tipped his cap and walked back to the driver’s side of the car. A shiver slipped down her spine, but Hank propelled her toward the building’s entrance before she could dwell on it further.

“May I take your wrap?” the hideous monstrosity, her date, asked.

She smiled, and dragged one of her first-time-ever manicured fingernails down the front of Hank’s rumpled, ragtag tunic.

“Your voice is much too sweet to go with that costume.”
Sweet? My
God, Listen to me. I’m flirting.
A sudden rash of heat burned her cheeks.

She never realized she was capable of flirting.

“May I take your wrap, you …you …fairy?” he said in a deeper gruff tone. She laughed, then quickly covered her mouth to avoid one of her famous snorts.

The wings on her costume were too delicate to crush under the heavy weight of a coat, so she had settled on a woven shawl that she could wrap loosely around her shoulders. Hank helped remove the shawl with oversized fake plastic hands. Angie watched him plow through the press of witches and ghouls, devils and angels, human-sized food items and walking, talking animals. No one would recognize him in that costume, she reassured herself. Which was wonderful, because already she knew, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

The ballroom was lavishly decorated to resemble a mad scientist’s laboratory. Neon tubes flashed bright colors through dry ice mists. A drummer in a skeleton outfit provided a backbeat to a group of goblins wielding instruments. Music and conversation filled the room with deafening harmony.

“Would you like to dance?” Hank practically yelled in her ear. She looked at the packed dance floor.

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Donna Richards

“Where?” she shouted in reply.

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll make room.”

They stepped onto the dance floor and the other couples seemed to compact, affording them a little room to dance, albeit closely.

The music took over. Even with the clunky plastic cast wrapped around one leg, her feet quickly found the rhythm and she moved as the notes carried her. She couldn’t see Hank’s face to see if it registered approval or not. She was dancing, in a crowd of normal healthy adults.

Life was wonderful.

After several fast-paced songs, the band elected to slow things down a bit. Hank extended his grotesque hand and took her glitter-spangled one. Someone bumped her from behind, pushing her closer to Hank. Her hand slid up to the top of his shoulder.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask but audible to her ear.

“Wonderful.” The simple word couldn’t contain all the joy she felt.

“How about you?”

“I’m about to melt away in here, but I’m enjoying myself.” They swayed through a few more verses. “Do you mind if after this dance we go get something cold to drink?”

She began to pull away. “We can go now if you like. There’s no reason…”

He pulled her back against his chest, continuing the dance step. “The next dance is soon enough. Besides, we haven’t done our spin yet.”

She smiled against his shoulder, content that he must be enjoying the dance as much as she.

“Have I told you tonight what a fabulous dancer you are?” he teased.

“That’s because I had a fabulous teacher.”

“Oh?” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes. He had the biggest, hairiest feet I’ve ever seen,” she teased, looking pointedly at the plastic overshoes that completed the Troll costume. “But he sure could dance.”

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“Hold tight.” His knee pressed against the inside of hers. They spun neatly around in a tight circle. Chilling air from dry ice clouds tingled on the back of her neck, as her hair, curled just for this occasion, lifted in the artificial current. The music sounded the final notes just as her world stopped spinning. Before she could catch her breath, he lowered her in a dramatic dip over one arm. Her heart pounded, each beat reinforcing the joy of life that filled her. She felt vulnerable, defenseless before the man in the mask, but at the same time secure and desired. The song ended, the couples clapped, and in their own little corner of the dance floor, Hank slowly raised Angie back to her feet.

“We never practiced that before,” she said, chest heaving while she caught her breath.

“What can I say? You’re an inspiration.” They stood chest to chest for a moment. She wished he wasn’t wearing that silly mask. She couldn’t see his face, his eyes. She couldn’t read his thoughts. He tugged at her hand. “Let’s get that drink.”

Hank guided her to an empty table. “What would you like?”

How could she answer that question? She’d like to explore the trembling emotions that erupted inside her every time he took her in his arms. She’d like to sample his lips again like she did last weekend, only this time longer and maybe…deeper. A small vibration originating below her belly tingled upward, sparking nerve endings in its path.
He’s a
friend
, she reminded herself in an effort to find her voice;
he’s a client
. “A soft drink would be fine.” She needed something to moisten her suddenly parched throat.

“The bar is over by that bubbling cauldron.” He pointed to a group of costumed celebrants huddled in a far corner. “Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Angie sat on the edge of the chair, afraid sitting back might damage her wings. She waited patiently, marveling at the imaginative costumes.

She tapped her finger on the rack of test tubes used as a table decoration. One test tube sported a long stemmed rose, another a glittery substance, others held weights that secured balloons bobbing overhead.

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Inexplicably, she felt she was the object of someone’s surveillance.

Goosebumps rose on her arms. Twisting in her seat, she studied the people sitting at the surrounding gaily-decorated tables.

Most of the occupants acted oblivious to her scrutiny, but at one far table, a man faced her directly. A brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead shielded his face from the already dimmed lighting. She squinted to separate him from the shadows. He was dressed in black, except for a white tie. Still facing her, he rose from behind the table and…

“Angela, is that you?”

She turned quickly toward a familiar voice. A devil, complete with a black cape, a red pointed tail and a pair of bifocal glasses stood to her right.

“Mr. Falstaff?” she asked, peering at the red painted face and black goatee. She couldn’t get any other words past the lump of dread that formed in her throat.

He laughed, his horns shaking in rhythm with his ponderous belly. “I thought that was you on the dance floor.” He nodded to her leg. “That plastic cast gave you away.” He pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

“That’s a…a…great costume.” She cleared her throat and quickly scanned over Falstaff’s shoulder, hoping to spot Hank before he could approach the table. No luck, not a single troll in sight.

“This?” He leaned his plastic trident against the tabletop. “It’s my wife’s idea of a joke, I think. She came dressed as an angel. But she doesn’t look half as angelic as you, my dear. What a lovely outfit.”

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze. “I admit it’s a change from a business suit.”

“Yes, quite a change indeed.” They sat at the table a few moments in awkward silence. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize you were a patron of the arts.”

Angie planned to reply when she saw Hank twisting through the crowd trying to protect the contents of the two plastic cups in his hands.

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Go away
, she tried to telepath. Even hidden beneath his costume, someone who knew him might recognize his voice. She knew she would, no matter what kind of mask obscured his face.

She looked back at Falstaff. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the music. What did you say?”

“I was asking who you were dancing with a moment ago. You made such a handsome couple.” Speculation glinted in his shrewd eyes.

“My brother,” she answered quickly, noting Hank’s imminent arrival.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met my brother.” Hank arrived at the table, two drinks in hand. She raised her voice to a near shout. “Stephen, I’d like you to meet my boss, Mr. Falstaff.” In an aside to Falstaff, she added, “he can’t hear well under that mask.”

Hank nodded once, then placed the drinks on the table before extending his hand to Falstaff.

“Actually we’ve met once before, at the company picnic last July. Do you remember?” Falstaff shouted, vigorously pumping Hank’s hand.

Hank bobbed his head as if agreeing with the devil. “If you can’t hear well under that mask,” Falstaff shouted, “maybe you should take it off.”

“No!” Angela shouted. Both men looked at her. “He can’t.” She bit her lower lip, then leaned toward Falstaff’s ear. “He doesn’t like to be seen in public. He’s self-conscious about his scar.” She traced a path down her cheek in explanation.

“A scar? I don’t remember a scar.”

“It’s recent. Happened in a car accident,” she lied while silently vowing never to invite her brother to another company function.

Falstaff turned back to Hank. “If all you got was a scar, sounds like you were pretty lucky.” Hank continued bobbing his head. Falstaff lowered his voice to a normal level. “Looks like the band is taking a break so it’s safe to track down my wife. I’m not a big dancer, you know, and she always insists.” He stood. “It was nice to see you again, Stephen.”

Hank nodded again and extended his hand for a parting handshake.

“I’ll see you in the office on Monday, Angela.”

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She smiled, relieved to see him leaving so soon. “I’ll be there.”

“Yes, well,” he collected his trident, “enjoy the ball.” After a quick nod, he melted into the crowd.

Angie nonchalantly sipped her drink, watching Falstaff until she was certain he was no longer a threat.

“Do you want to leave?” Hank asked, his own drink untouched.

She nodded. “It’s not that this hasn’t been wonderful. It’s just…”

“It’s okay.” Hank patted her hand. “I understand.” They both stood to leave. “To tell you the truth, I’m anxious to get this darn mask off.” Angie looked past him to see if the mysterious man in black still watched her from the corner. The table was vacant.

Hank collected their garments from the coat check booth and they stepped briefly into the chill night air before sliding into the backseat of a taxi.

“Thanks for not driving tonight,” she said as the cab pulled away from the curb. “I was afraid someone might recognize your car otherwise.”

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