Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (13 page)

“It’s normal to be jealous, honey.”

Larkin shuddered. “But Rikki’s dead, Mom. How can I be jealous of someone who is no longer a threat?”

“You’re jealous of all she’s shared with him. She obviously helped shape the man he’s become, and that scares you.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a degree in psychology hiding somewhere?” Jayne’s insight into Larkin was often painfully on target.

“Just common sense. Does your Alex know about Vladimir Karpov?”

Larkin’s face reddened. “Obliquely. Of course he knows Vladimir will be speaking at the Center.”

“How does Alex feel about that?”

“How should he feel? It’s a business arrangement, Mother.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do, Larkin.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I do believe it.”

“I doubt if Alex Jakobs thinks of it as only a business arrangement.”

Larkin’s temper sizzled. “What does Alex have to do with this? He isn’t a silent partner in the Center.”

“When a woman’s first love comes back on the scene, I wouldn’t blame a man for not liking it.”

“I don’t care if Alex likes or dislikes it. Vladimir is going to be in town and I’m happy about it. Business should go through the roof.”

“There’s more than business to think about here, Larkin. How about Alex’s feelings?”

“I wish for once you would stop worrying about men and their damned egos and hang-ups!” The Walker household had always revolved around her father and her brothers. “Maybe if you’d been more concerned with your own rights, you’d still have your own career.”

“I didn’t want my career any longer. I wanted a family.”

“And now that your family is grown?”

Jayne didn’t miss a beat. “I have my grandchildren and your father. I’m a happy woman, whether or not you approve of my decisions.”

Of course, Larkin knew that. She couldn’t have lived eighteen years in her parents’ house and not have been aware of the real love that existed between Jayne and Bill Walker. But Jayne’s way and Larkin’s were not the same. With Vladimir, Larkin had turned over her life to him and existed only as an extension. Vladimir had neither Bill Walker’s devotion nor his integrity, and her pain had taught her a bitter lesson.

No matter how much she cared for Alex, she would never make that mistake again—not even to be like his beloved Rikki.

“Do you get the feeling we’ve covered this territory before?” Larkin asked finally.

“Once or twice,” Jayne said. “I didn’t mean to pry, honey. It’s just that I love you and I want you to be happy.”

Larkin’s eyes filled with quick, hot tears. “I know,” she managed. “I don’t mean to be so critical of your choices, Mom. Things just aren’t that clear-cut for me.”

“I wish they were.”

Larkin smiled. “So do I.”

“Just because times have changed, don’t think everything has, honey. People still want the same things they’ve always wanted. Love and family never go out of style.”

They said goodbye and Larkin hung up the phone. Her mother had brought some very painful issues out into the open, and Larkin wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to think about any of them. What was wrong with simply enjoying what she and Alex had at the moment and being satisfied with that?

Jayne believed in happy endings. Larkin had learned that life rarely provided them. Weren’t Rikki’s death and Vladimir’s infidelity proof of that? Even Jayne’s intrepid optimism couldn’t guarantee that Larkin and Alex’s romance would withstand the rigors of reality.

It was no wonder that brownies were so popular. There was nothing like chocolate to soothe a tortured soul. Larkin got up and headed toward the kitchen.

T
he bearded man
acted as if he owned her. He pulled her into his arms at the front door and the way the man looked at her, as if she were a possession, made him burn with rage.

At first he wanted to leap from the shadows and spring for his throat, but he’d managed to battle down that primitive instinct. No, there were better ways, more permanent ways to deal with this.

So he followed him north, keeping a safe distance along the dark and winding roads, just managing to keep the lights of the grey car in his vision.

Now he watched as the man let himself into the big house on the hill. Lights appeared in the window, and the man’s large silhouette was visible as he crossed the room to hang up his coat.

His name was on the mailbox at the end of the driveway in letters large enough for a half-blind man to read. The more he knew about this man, the easier it would be to protect her.

But first he needed to remind the man that things weren’t always as they seemed.

A
lex was
in the master bathroom shaving, when a loud crash echoed through the quiet house.

“Damn it to hell!” Blood trickled down his neck and he swiped at it with a towel.
Damn kids extending Halloween an extra few days:
He wrapped a towel around his middle and ran barefoot down the hallway to the front door and flung it open.

Two mourning doves lay on the top step. They had been strangled with a length of gold chain. Their bodies rested at right angles to each other in a grotesque parody of sleep.

There was no sign of anyone around. Whoever was responsible for this disgusting prank had disappeared. He untangled the chain from around the poor creatures’ necks and held it in his hand. Casual violence disgusted him and made him despair for the human condition. He knew it had been Halloween weekend; he knew people would say, “Kids will be kids.” But he also knew a hell of a lot about human nature, and his instincts told him that no kid out for a perverted lark would leave behind a chain as expensive as this one.

He went back into the house and put the chain in the top drawer of his desk. Call it paranoia, but he wanted to hang on to it. Something about this whole thing didn’t sit right with him. The craftsmanship of the chain, the precise angle at which the birds had been placed—it all seemed too deliberate, too symbolic, to be easily shrugged off as a simple prank.

The birds were a message, but the meaning of the message eluded him, leaving just an underlying sense of foreboding that he couldn’t shake.

He dressed and went outside to bury the birds in a shallow grave in his backyard.

T
uesday morning’s class
, “Good Dog—Bad Dog, or Thirty Days to a Perfect Puppy,” did not turn out to be one of Larkin’s better ideas.

“Remind me to strike this from next semester’s catalog,” she said to Patti as she lugged her bucket of cleanser and hot water into the classroom. “Perfect parakeets, maybe, but I’m convinced there’s no such thing as a perfect puppy.”

Patti was busy vacuuming dog hairs from the furniture and drapes. “Not even that cute little schnauzer with the overbite?”

“Especially the schnauzer.” She pointed to the southwest corner of the room. “That’s his calling card over there.”

Patti unplugged the vacuum cleaner: “The owners seemed to have a terrific time.”

Larkin pulled the sponge from the hot soapy water and began scrubbing the floor. “The owners don’t have to clean up. Of course they had a terrific time.”

“Five of them asked Art if he’d do a follow-up course.”

“On what? How to destroy a classroom?”

“The puppies would be older,” Patti reasoned. “They’ll probably be housebroken by then.”

Larkin sat back on her heels and rinsed the sponge in a bucket of clear water. “They’ll also be bigger. I don’t think I could face this again. With my luck, we’d have a class of Great Danes.”

Patti laughed, and Larkin threatened to throw the wet sponge at her—a dire threat, but effective. Patti grabbed an extra one, and they were scrubbing and gossiping when Gordon popped up at the door.

“Grab a sponge,” Larkin said, brushing her hair out of her face with the side of her arm. “The more the merrier.” Gordon immediately began rolling up his sleeves.

“I’m only kidding,” Larkin said, shaking her head. “We’re almost done.”

Patti glared at her younger brother. “Where were you when we really needed you?”

“Working on the paneling upstairs.” He reddened as he turned to Larkin. “You should have paged me, Larkin. I would’ve come right down.”

Gordon’s hands were actually shaking and Larkin’s heart went out to him. “We’ll leave the buckets for you to empty,” she said, shooting Patti a fierce look. “Your sister’s in a rotten mood because a Pomeranian relieved himself on her suede boots. Pay no attention to her.”

Gordon met Larkin’s eyes for a second, and she was surprised once again at how beautiful a shade of blue his were. Then he mumbled something about going to the hardware store for some finishing nails and disappeared down the hall.

“Gordon’s not made of porcelain,” Patti said as soon as her brother was out of earshot. “He can stand a little sisterly teasing, Larkin.”

Larkin scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on the tile floor. “When he blushes like that, my maternal instincts are aroused,” she said. “He’s been doing so well lately. I’d hate to see him crawl back into his shell.”

“Losing our parents was hard on him,” Patti said. “I’ve always been the tough one. It’s hard for me to understand you more sensitive souls.”

“Why don’t we have dinner tonight?” she asked Patti impulsively. “We could go down to Captain Bill’s. I haven’t had fisherman’s chowder in ages.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to go to Captain Bill’s with you, but this is ladies’ night at Private Eyes.”

“You’re incorrigible. Can’t Private Eyes do without you one night?”

“I have my reputation to consider, but I suppose I still have to eat.”

“Reservations for six o’clock?”

“Sounds great: Do you suppose l could convince you to join me at the club later?”

Larkin wrinkled her nose. “Somehow I doubt I’d fit in, Patti.” She gestured toward her flowing hair and soft peach cashmere dress. Private Eyes was a new wave club where women looked like Madonna or Cyndi Lauper, not like an ex-ballerina.

“Don’t worry,” Patti said. “We could punk your hair and add a camouflage jacket.”

Larkin grinned. “I’ll take it under advisement.” She brushed some dust off her skirt and stood up. “Come on. I want to run through the mailing list on the ballet series.”

“We got the photos from Karpov’s publicist this morning.” Patti feigned a swoon. “My dear, I am counting the days until the twenty-ninth.”

“And here I thought you would schedule your vacation that week.”

“Listen, I’d pay
you
that week if I had to.”

Larkin led the way down the hall to her office. “Don’t give me any ideas, Patti. I just might take you up on that offer. We need Vladimir’s lecture series to help balance our budget.”

The Learning Center was a word-of-mouth success, but that success had not yet translated into financial security. Larkin was banking on Vladimir Karpov’s lecture series to get them some major league publicity that would put the school on the map.

Larkin sat down at her desk and looked at the publicity photos of Vladimir. Patti lit a cigarette and leaned over her shoulder, whistling appreciatively at each new eight-by-ten glossy.

“No one really looks like that,” Patti said. “Tell me he’s the product of airbrushing and backlighting.”

Larkin looked at one still of Vladimir leaping across the stage, all of his power and beauty trapped in flight, and shook her head. “I wish I could,” she said. “Unfortunately, what you see is what there is.”

“Is there any regulation about employees mingling socially with speakers?” Patti sat down on the couch by Larkin’s desk.

Some unexpected memories rose to the surface, and Larkin turned the photos face-down on her desk. “Should I come up with one?”

“I just want to know the rules,” Patti said. “I value your friendship, and if you’d rather I not make a play for the Russian Wonder, I’ll—”

“You’re a big girl, Patti. I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do.” A twinge of unfocused jealousy pinched, and she dismissed it. “I just hope you remember what I’ve told you about Vladimir. He plays by his own rules, and those rules usually work against the woman in his arms.”

“I think it’s worth the risk,” Patti said, picking up one of the shirtless torso shots and smiling broadly. “Think of the memories I’ll have to warm me in my old age.”

Larkin said nothing. Memories, she had found, were scant warmth on a cold winter’s night. Unfortunately, that was something Patti would have to find out for herself.

A
lex whipped
the car into the empty spot next to Larkin’s and grinned when he noticed the aviator’s glasses he’d given her dangling from her sun visor. He was en route from his class at Dowling College on the South Shore to his taping at the studio on the North Shore, and he’d decided to stop to see if Larkin was free for lunch.

A call from Judy that morning had reminded him that Cameron’s birthday was this Friday. Judy asked him if he’d like to invite Larkin.

“Very romantic idea, Judy,” he’d said through his laughter. “I’m sure she’d get a real kick out of mingling with the
Sesame Street
set.”

“I’m not going to chain you to the house, Alex,” Judy said, highly affronted. “Maybe it would be good for the two of you to get away for a day or two. You have said your schedules are crazy.”

The idea began to have its charm. “And maybe you and Phil want to meet Larkin?”

Judy’s laugh had clinched the deal.

Phil and Judy were the closest thing to a family that he had on earth. Introducing them to Larkin, sharing this part of his past with her, was a logical next step in their relationship.

He grinned, thinking of the way he felt when he was near her. Logic rarely played a part in his emotions with Larkin. He headed across the parking lot at a run. For the first time in years, he felt eager, filled with a cautious optimism that gave each day a luster that had been missing from his life for quite a while.

He was whistling when he burst in the front door of the Center and ran headlong into Gordon Franklin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing the young man’s arms to keep him from tumbling to the carpeted floor of the reception room. “I wasn’t watching. Are you hurt?”

Gordon shook his head. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, dipping below his brows. He kept his eyes averted.

“They should put a stoplight here,” Alex said, trying to draw the young man into conversation. “They must average six crack-ups a week.” He watched as Gordon flexed one arm. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Gordon looked up and Alex instinctively stepped back. Hate—pure and unmistakable—burned in Gordon’s blue eyes. Then, before Alex could say anything, Gordon smiled slightly, and the look disappeared. “I’m on my way to the hardware store. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Alex watched as the young man loped across the blacktop parking lot and climbed behind the wheel of his ancient car.

Had he simply imagined that look of pure venom in Gordon’s eyes? It had passed over the young man’s face so swiftly that now, just moments later, Alex couldn’t remember exactly what it was he had seen in Gordon’s eyes.

Alex had no doubt that Gordon was crazy about Larkin—and he could certainly understand all the reasons why. However, infatuation and obsession were two entirely different things, and just because Alex was feeling a bit threatened these days as Karpov’s workshops approached, there was no reason to paint darker motives on a young man’s fantasy.

Serious thoughts, these. Yet they all went flying out of Alex’s head as soon as he walked into Larkin’s office. She was bent over a stack of photographs. Her long amber hair waved across one shoulder and she nibbled thoughtfully on the eraser end of a pencil. He would have been happy to spend the rest of his life simply watching her breathe.

“You realize the entire population of Liechtenstein could have walked into this school unnoticed, don’t you?”

She looked up, her eyes widening first in surprise, then in pleasure. “Our security force is very discreet,” she said, rising to greet him. “They instantly recognized you as the illustrious Alex Jakobs, Ph.D., and granted you safe passage.”

He kissed her. “Difficult morning?”

“You must be psychic.”

“Not psychic.” They sat down together on her sofa. “I tasted chocolate.”

“The puppy obedience class sent me running for the almond bars.” She crossed her legs, and he had a tantalizing glimpse of slender thigh. “What brings you here on a Tuesday morning?”

He glanced at his watch. It was just noon. “Tuesday afternoon,” he corrected. “Can you be convinced to slip out for lunch with me?”

She glanced toward the stack of photos on her desk. “I’d love to, but—”

“No apologies,” he said easily. “This was short notice. I wanted an excuse to see you in the middle of the day.”

“Don’t you have to get to the studio for your taping?”

“I have until three o’clock.”

“Any other Tuesday afternoon would be fine,” she said, obviously dismayed, “but I’m expecting a phone call at one, and I have a stack of promo material to go through for the ballet series. We go to press tonight on the brochures.”

A tiny flame of jealousy flickered to life. “Karpov?” It took all of his self-control not to lean over to look at the photos on her desk.

Larkin nodded. The high color in her cheeks gave away her discomfort. “We’re only three weeks away from the first lecture.”

They were quiet for a few moments. Then Larkin said, “Why don’t we call out for something? Just because I can’t leave doesn’t mean we can’t have lunch.”

He plunged his hand into her hair and let it slip, silky and fragrant, through his fingers. “I’m really not that hungry.”

“Neither am I.”

“Is anybody around?”

“Patti’s in the computer room, and Sharon should be back at the reception desk.”

“Would a closed door elicit any talk?”

“Probably.” Larkin stood up. “But talk has never bothered me before.” She closed the door to her office and locked it.

She came into his arms. Her dress was soft as angel’s hair beneath his hands and the scent of Bal a Versailles evoked memories of their lovemaking. Thoughts of inviting her to Virginia drifted out of his mind. Over her shoulder he saw a photo of Karpov separate from the rest. He was leaning against a wall, bronzed and blond and magnificent, arms folded across his chest, an enigmatic smile on his narrow face. The fact that the woman in his arms now had once loved that blond giant aroused feelings in Alex that could best be described as barbaric.

But then she raised her face to him, her green eyes smoky and dark, her lips slightly parted.

“Now, what was it you came here to convince me to do?” she asked lazily. “Lunch, was it?’’

He swept her into his arms. “To hell with lunch,” he said and carried her over to the sofa. He needed to drive Karpov’s image from Larkin’s mind—and from his own, as well.

N
o longer was
he the gentle lover of the past few nights. This man in her office made love to her fiercely, quickly, as if he wanted to own her soul as well as her body, and Larkin found herself all too willing to be swept away by the heat of his passion.

Thinking of Vladimir and the upcoming workshop had brought back all the old doubts, the old feelings of inadequacy his many infidelities had fostered. Alex, aroused and almost demonic in his desire for her, quickly brought her to a pitch of excitement that burned all thoughts of Vladimir Karpov from her mind.

Only sensation remained—pure, hot, urgent sensation as his hands first slid her panty hose off, then her silky briefs, to find her ready—more than ready—for him. He sat back on the sofa and she straddled him, arching her back, letting her hair flow over his legs. Her cashmere dress was pushed up around her waist, and he held her by her hips as she moved her body in slow, maddening circles.

She was almost oblivious of her own pleasure. What she wanted was to bring Alex to a level of sensuality he’d never known with any other woman.

Her movements grew quicker as she drew him more deeply inside her body. The muscles of his flat belly were contracting; she could feel the movement deep within.

“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” he said. “Everything you have to give.”

And so she gave him body and soul, and held on to her heart just a little longer. When she finally gave her heart to Alex, she wanted to be sure his heart was his own to give.