Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (46 page)

“It’ll help her, having someone to talk to.” She wished she could see him. She wished she could touch him, because he’d be tired now, emotionally exhausted. She said, “I wish I’d been with you.”

“George, I— will you have dinner with me?”

“When?” She glanced down at herself, decided the skirt and blouse would do for anywhere short of a formal high-class dining room. “I could come to dinner now.”

“Yes, now. I’ll pick you up.”

She thought of sitting here, waiting for his taxi to drive up outside.

“I’ll come to you,” she decided. She didn’t want to have to wait.

“Let’s meet in the dining room here. We don’t have all that long before visiting hours at the hospital. I’ll order for us… and… George, I want more than dinner.”

She wanted to answer, but the words couldn’t seem to squeeze past the lump in her throat.

He did love her. He’d always loved her. She had to learn to have confidence in that.

She called the taxi. Did she have time to change before it came? No. The dispatcher had said five minutes. She ran a comb through her hair, put lipstick on her lips. At the last moment she thought to leave a note for Jenny.

‘
Having dinner with Lyle, then visiting Robyn in the hospital. George.
’

She looked at it, then picked up the pen again and added, ‘
Don’t be surprised if I’m late.
’

I might not come home at all tonight
,
she thought, hugging the words to herself like a promise.

The taxi drove up just as she closed the door of the house behind herself. The ride to the Holiday Inn seemed to take forever.

She came into the dining room with her eyes searching for him. Instinctively she looked for the table where she’d seen him the night she’d dined here with Jenny. Over a year ago, and he’d been sitting right there.

He
was
there. He’d already seen her. She walked towards him, very conscious of the way her hips were swaying, of the feel of the fabric sliding over her legs. She could see herself in his eyes. For the first time, she realized that she was an exciting woman.

Not restless and immature
, she told herself gaily. Exciting!

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked as he stood behind her, pulling out the chair for her to sit.

“Only when you look at me like that,” she whispered. The waiter was at Lyle’s shoulder, a twinkle in his eye as if he’d heard their whispered words.

Lyle had ordered a light wine for her. She held her hands around the glass, sipping, looking around. She could feel his eyes on her.

“You were sitting over there the last time we were here.” He was following her eyes.

“Yes.” She wasn’t quite ready to look at him, although her nervousness was mixed with an excitement that made it delicious. “Jenny was with me. She told me you were watching me.” She’d been very aware of him that evening, trying to pretend she couldn’t feel his eyes. Now she said abruptly, “Would you please tell me about Hazel?”

The waiter leaned over the table, setting steaming bowls of soup down. “New England clam chowder,” he announced as he set George’s bowl down. “I hope you enjoy it, madam.”

Lyle asked her, “What’s wrong?”

She picked up her spoon, then shook her head and set it down carefully. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t eat clams.”

He lifted his spoon, his lips pursing as he took some of the hot broth into his mouth. “It’s very good. Why don’t you try it?” His mouth curved in a lazy smile. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be squeamish about seafood.”

She pushed the bowl aside and he suddenly realized, “Your bout with Red Tide?” He caught her hand, his callused fingers curving around hers. “Remind me to thank Jake when I see him again. I liked him, but I’d forgotten I had him to thank for your being alive… Honey, do we really have to talk about Hazel? I’d much rather talk about you.”

His hand was large and strong, engulfing hers. Over his deep blue eyes, the brows were thick and tangled. Her eyes found a couple of long gray hairs mixed in with the rest.

“You were the one who brought her up – yesterday. And I’ve been scared ever since.” She pulled at her hand, but his grip tightened.

His hand squeezed hers momentarily. “Then I’d better talk about her. Honey, she’s no threat to you. I don’t know— thinking back, I can’t imagine how I ever came to be married to her.”

He grinned slowly, his thumb stoking the back of her hand. “No, that’s not quite true. I was flying for a helicopter charter company in the north. I was away from my family and friends, in a strange place. Working a lot of overtime. I didn’t have much time for developing a social life, and— well, I was missing the company of a woman. Then I met Hazel at a party and— it was probably more lust than anything else, but settling down seemed like a good idea.”

He stopped talking. She waited, watching the memories playing over his face. She wasn’t frightened anymore. Later, he would tell her that he loved her.

He’d stopped talking, so she said, “And so you got married?”

He nodded. “The fights started before the wedding. That should have warned me, but I was too stupid to realize. I don’t mean arguments.” He grinned. “With you and me, the sparks are part of it all. With Hazel the arguments were a total communications failure. I can’t think of anything we had in common. After the first while, the physical part wasn’t really all that great either.” His fingers were very soft on her hand. “I think it takes love to make a really good sex life, and we weren’t in love. It was mostly war.”

She curled her fingers around his, feeling the stiff hairs at the back of his hand. “What did you fight about?”

“Everything. She wanted to leave the north. I didn’t. She wanted me to apply for a job in California. I don’t know why I refused. I don’t know if I could have found a flying job there, but I didn’t even try.” He shrugged and she could feel his bewildered frustration. “George, somehow she seemed to bring out the worst in me. If she wanted something, I didn’t want it. If she didn’t, I did. Music— she hated the time I spent writing songs. She was furious when I bought the synthesizer. She wanted a trip to Europe. In the middle of one screaming fight, she took a hammer to my speakers. I don’t know how the hell I managed not to hit her that time.

“I never did hit her, but by the time it was over I could understand how a man could come to striking a woman. Usually I walked out when we fought. In the end I came back from one of those three day flying charters and found her gone. She’d left Robyn with the baby sitter and told them both she wasn’t going to come back. She told Robyn she was sick of being mother to a kid with a gimpy leg, and wife to a husband that didn’t give a damn about her.”

His hands were tight on hers, hurting. She wanted to hold him in her arms, but she couldn’t with all these people around.

“I’m not proud of my part of it,” he went on slowly. “It hurt Robyn terribly. She must have heard a lot of the fighting. I surely did my part in that. I was no better a husband to Hazel than she was a wife to me. If I loved her in the beginning – and I doubt that I did – I surely didn’t love her in the end. The only good thing that came out of it was Robyn. But it’s Robyn that makes me frightened of seeing Hazel again. I can’t believe she has any love for her daughter, and I don’t want Robyn hurt again.”

Lyle stopped talking, either because the waiter appeared to take the soup away, or because there was no more to say.

Their dinners would appear in a moment. She wasn’t hungry. Lyle hadn’t touched his soup. George had a horrible premonition that they would sit over dinner, close, yet separated by their mutual uncertainties. Then they’d go to visit Robyn, still with the barriers between them.

She should tell him she loved him, but she couldn’t get the words out. She could feel the tension rising in her, was frightened she might say the wrong thing. She saw his eyes, saw him putting up barriers between them in the aftermath of his confidences about his disastrous marriage.

“Can we go?” she asked tightly.

He raised one thick eyebrow. “Dinner’s just coming?” He made it a question.

The waiter was coming. Whatever he was carrying, she couldn’t eat it. “Can we please go— I— oh, damn!” She swallowed. “I love you, Lyle. Will you please get us out of here?”

His voice was harsh. “What did you say?”

“Your dinner, sir… madam.” The waiter deposited the plates in front of them with a flourish.

Lyle stared at the turkey in front of him. “I’m sorry. I—” He looked up into the waiter’s curious face. “We have an urgent— ah— we have to go. Right away. If you could bring the bill?” Lyle’s face flushed darkly.

The waiter was frowning at the heaped plates. “Sir, if you—”

“Oh, hell!” Lyle said explosively. He met George’s eyes and they both started to laugh. The elderly woman at the table behind him craned around to stare. George got up quickly. Lyle caught her hand.

“See what you started,” he growled.

“I’m sorry.” She met the eyes of the woman at the other table. The woman was listening eagerly. George said, “I’m not sorry, really, but I
am
sorry about the dinner.” She smiled nervously at the waiter. “We’ll come back another time, I promise. But right now we do have to leave. Could you just charge the bill to his room?”

“Lady,” Lyle murmured in her ear as he pulled her into the elevator, “you are going to be trouble.” They were alone finally. He pulled her hard against his chest and glowered down at her.

She admitted, “I’ve spent my life getting into scrapes. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Getting you out of trouble?” The elevator door opened and he took her hand and led her across the hallway.

He opened the door for her, his hand still holding hers. “George, where’s your ring?”

She stared down at the white band where her wedding ring had been.
Till death do us part
, she thought.

The memory seemed like a story she had once read. A pleasant story, warm, but not real anymore.

“I put the ring away.” She pulled her hand away self consciously, adding abruptly, “It’s a wedding ring, and I’m not married anymore.”

She swept away from him, through the door and towards the window. “And you don’t need to help me out of scrapes. I usually seem to land on my feet – more or less. I just thought I should warn you that I’m—”

“Volatile?” he suggested, smiling. He leaned against the door, watching her move restlessly towards the window, then swing back to look at him.

“Do you mind?” she asked, frowning at him.

“Honey, you’re gorgeous! Come here.”

She stared out the window. It was starting to rain outside. She was thirty years old. How could she be so incredibly shy?

She said uncertainly, “You wrote a song for me?”

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. She said, “I’m sorry about you and Hazel. I hate thinking of—”

Exasperated, he said, “George, shut up and come here!”

She swung around. He wasn’t smiling any longer. “Come here and let me kiss you.”

She was frozen, eyes wide. He looked so confident. Did he know how good he looked, leaning back, the smooth fabric of his slacks pulled tight over his thighs? He shifted, took a step towards her. His hands were at his sides, fingers spread, just touching his thighs.

Nervously, she stepped back. She felt the cool night air from the window on her neck.

“George,” he said warningly. “Why did we come up here? Because you’re sorry about Hazel? Or because you want to go to bed with me?”

She gasped and swung away.

“Oh, hell! George—” Then he was across the room, his hands on her shoulders.

She jerked to pull away from him. She said wildly, “Let go of me! I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!”

His lips found hers, smothering the wild protests. “I think you do,” he said softly. “I hope you do, darling.”

She shuddered. His hands were on her shoulders. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Lady, stop talking!” His lips covered hers, smothering the sound, then withdrawing. His arms slipped down and cradled her against him. Still holding her close, he walked them back to a large overstuffed sofa and sank down on it with her held against his chest.

“Is that better?” he asked, feeling her head against his chest. He smoothed back the curls, his fingers feeling the contours of her head through the soft crown of golden hair.

She wiggled, pushing closer into his arms. “You’re not much bigger than Robyn,” he said softly, his hand settling on the curve of her hip.

She pushed closer. “It’s not a father I’m looking for.”

He let his fingers explore the softness over her waist. “I’m not feeling very fatherly at the moment,” he confided, shifting to bring her closer. “Oh, darling! A man can only take so much of this torture! I want to take you in my arms and seduce you, make love to you.”

Her fingers spread out on his chest, trying to feel him through the thickness of his jacket. She smiled as she felt his reaction to her touch. “Do you?”

“You witch!” He caught her chin between his fingers, tipping her face upwards for his kiss. “You’re the magic princess,” he told her, brushing her lips gently with his, touching his tongue to the inner edge of her upper lip. “I’m afraid if I touch you, you’ll disappear like Cinderella.”

“I’m scared too,” she admitted, her lips parting for his searching tongue. “When I met you at the airport, I thought— I thought you’d just look at me and you’d know.”

Lyle grasped her wrists, lifted them up along his chest until her hands curled at the back of his neck.

His hands moved from her wrists to cup her face for his kiss. He kissed her lightly, softly, then drew back a little to watch as his fingers slid back down to explore the contours of her neck, the gentle swelling that started just below her shoulders in the front.

“Shh,” he ordered her. Her eyes widened and lost focus as his fingers found the peaks of her breasts through the stiff fabric. “Do you like that?” he asked, his eyes taking the answer from hers. “Kiss me, honey.”

Her lips lifted, parted, touched his. Her fingers curled in his hair as the kiss began. He was going to wait, to let her kiss deepen, let her set the pace. Then her fingers felt along the tensed muscles of his neck, the fingertips of one small feminine hand coming to rest on the soft sensitive skin of his throat.