Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (16 page)

“You’re not still in love with him, are you?”

“Of course not.” Larkin felt attracted to him, intrigued by him, betrayed by him, but she definitely was not in love with him. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“He can be a very charming man, honey. When he—”

Despite herself Larkin began to laugh. “Mom, I’m the one who lived with him for two years.”
Two years, three months and sixteen days.
“I know all about how charming he can be.”

“I worry about you, honey. You’ve managed to turn, your life around--I’d hate to see Vladimir do anything to upset things with your Alex Jakobs.”

“You worry way too much,” she said, ignoring the truth in her mother’s words. “And besides, he’s not
my
Alex Jakobs. Now let’s forget about men and concentrate on Thanksgiving.”

Easier said than done. Her mother’s words lingered with her for hours afterward. All Larkin wanted out of Vladimir’s affiliation with the Center was publicity and the chance to show him what she had accomplished with her life. Let Patti fall prey to his charm. Larkin believed that she was immune and intended to stay that way.

“
W
hat are you doing here
?” Larkin, in spangled red-white-and-blue leotard and tights, seemed shocked to see him. “You’re supposed to be home cooking dinner for me.”

“Change of plans,” Alex said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her. He explained about the fire the night before and reassured her that he was fine.

He sat down on the couch in her office and grinned as she began doing some warm-up exercises before her advanced tap-dancing class began.

“You should have called,” she said, stretching one leg back and up in an impossibly graceful gesture. “I would have met you at a restaurant”

The truth was that he’d hoped to bump into Gordon Franklin while he was there and put his suspicions to rest. “I have a better idea. Give me the keys to your house and I’ll have dinner waiting there when you get home.”

She was flat on the floor now in a yoga posture. “I have some soup in the freezer.”

“When I promise a woman dinner, I deliver. The groceries are in my car: Cornish hens, wild rice, and chocolate mousse cake—”

“Stop right there!” She sat up. “Chocolate mousse cake from Dietz’s Bakery?”

“A large one.”

She reached up for her house keys on top of her desk and handed them to him. “My kitchen is a mess, Alex. If you have any problems, call Roger. He’s home until seven-thirty.’’`

He kissed the top of her head, and the scent of her perfume blossomed around him. “I’m a whiz in the kitchen,” he said, relishing the lovely curves of her body as she assumed another exotic pose. “If you have a stove, a mixing bowl and a knife, I’ll be fine.”

“You know, my mother’s beginning to think you’re the perfect man.”

He grinned. Progress—she’d told her mother about him. “I promise not to do anything to change her mind when I meet her at Thanksgiving.” The thing to do now was convince Larkin that he was the perfect man.

He walked her downstairs to the enormous rehearsal hall, where the strangest assortment of neophyte tap dancers limbered up in the hallway: a woman in a chartreuse running suit, an elderly man with polished tap shoes, even a young girl in top hat and tails—and they were the conservative ones.

“I’ll be home by eight,” Larkin said, “tired, cranky and starving.” She kissed his cheek. “I just want to give you fair warning.”

“I’ll leave the chocolate mousse cake on the doorstep,” he said. “That should soothe your savage soul.”

He lingered a few moments, then headed back upstairs. Classes on how to balance a checkbook and safe travel for cowardly tourists filled the first floor hallway with laughter and conversation that probably did more for the human condition than anything he’d learned in graduate school. Somehow Larkin had managed to parlay the basic need for companionship and knowledge into a thriving business that gave as much as it got.

He was deep in thought about this woman he loved when Gordon popped out of the storeroom near the lobby.

His response was casual and light. “Hello, Gordon. We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.”

To his surprise the young man maintained eye contact and smiled back. “They better install that stoplight you talked about last time before we have another accident.”

“We’ll have to petition the county.”

Gordon nodded and retreated down the corridor, disappearing through the door leading to the garage outside.

Alex had expected anger; he saw a smile instead. He had expected anxiety; he saw a young man at ease with himself. None of the rage or jealousy so obvious on Gordon’s face before was visible today.

He was glad he hadn’t mentioned his suspicions either to the police detective or to Larkin. After speaking with Gordon, they would have wondered about Alex’s sanity. Venitelli was probably right: some
Helpline
viewer had found Alex’s TV psychotherapy to be lacking and was expressing his or her displeasure in a very melodramatic manner.

Alex forced all negative thoughts from his mind as he headed across the parking lot to his car. He was sick of thinking about it.

Let Venitelli worry about the fire and the doorstep offerings and the phone calls in the night.

Alex had more important things to do.

He had a beautiful woman to woo and win.

T
he heavy door
closed behind him with a loud thud. He leaned against it and fought for breath; his heart pumped so fast and hard that he thought he would pass out.

But his adrenaline also pumped fast and hard, and the elation streaking through him made him feel invincible.

How easy it had been to smile and nod and watch suspicion and doubt vanish from the man’s face. The man hadn’t even noticed the burn that ran red and angry down his right forearm, testimony to his actions the night before. How easy it was going to be when the time came to tell her how he felt.

She would have no choice but to be his.

“
H
oney
, he’s gorgeous.”

Larkin looked up from basting the turkey and smiled at her mother. “Twenty-seven pounds, three ounces.” She closed the oven door. “I don’t dare mention the price.”

“I didn’t mean the turkey.”

“Somehow I didn’t think so.”

“He and your father hit it off right away. They’re out there watching the Jets like old friends.”

“Dad would watch football with anyone, Mom. I’ve seen him pull people off the streets to watch a game with him.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Larkin.”

Larkin certainly did. From the moment Jayne and Bill Walker arrived at Larkin’s house late last night, Jayne had been singing Alex’s praises to anyone who would listen.

For the past two weeks Alex had been wooing Larkin with an intensity that made it hard for her to sleep at night for thinking of how wonderful a shared future might be. Obviously, Jayne found him beyond reproach. Larkin would have to bring her mother back down to earth in short order before Jayne announced her daughter’s engagement at the dinner table.

“Alex
is
a wonderful man, Mom, but he doesn’t walk on water.”

“Who doesn’t walk on water?”

Alex lounged in the entrance to the kitchen with two empty beer steins dangling from his hands.

“Mom was just giving me a Bible lesson,” Larkin said, relishing the flush on her mother’s cheeks. “She said you—”

Jayne kicked her only daughter in the ankle.

“You look thirsty,” Jayne said, taking the empty steins from Alex. “Go back to the game. I’ll bring you refills.”

The smile he gave her mother was so warm and open Larkin was almost jealous.

“You keep doing what you’re doing,” he said, opening the refrigerator and taking out two bottles of beer. “I know where everything is.”

Jayne refused to hand over the steins. “I won’t hear of it. Go back to your game. Men and football go together on Thanksgiving.”

“Just like women and housework,” Larkin muttered under her breath, to Alex’s amusement.

Jayne poured beer into the steins.

“You spoil men rotten,” Larkin said. “It’s no wonder Daddy never lets you out of his sight.”

“Is that how it seems to you?’’

“That’s how it is, isn’t it?”

Her mother just smiled. Alex, leaning against the doorjamb, seemed to be absorbing every nuance of conversation like a human sponge.

There was no time, however, to contemplate the intricacies of her parents’ marriage. There was a salad to make, sweet potatoes to prepare and a thousand other details to take care of before Patti and Gordon and Roger and Kurt and—maybe—the Lincolns arrived. All that, and she still had to make herself beautiful.

“No one stays in this kitchen without working,” she said to Alex. “Either go back to the den or pitch in.”

Jayne stared at her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mom. Guests will be arriving in less than an hour, and I still have to shower and change and make up my face and—”

Her mother pushed her toward the door. “Go do it then, honey. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“I can’t leave you two—”

Alex took his place at the worktable. “Go,” he said. “I’m an able-bodied man. I can handle kitchen detail.”

Larkin looked at her mother but Jayne’s face betrayed no hint of intrigue. It was risky, leaving her mother alone in the kitchen with a handsome, single doctor who walked on water, but it was a risk she had to take.

“Have fun,” she said, grabbing a stein of beer to give to her father. “I’m going to go get dressed.”

She tried to ignore the look on her mother’s face as she left the room.

I
t was
love at first sight for Alex. Not only was Jayne Walker as beautiful as her daughter, she was one of the kindest, most delightful human beings he had ever met. Even a 21-21 football game, with the Jets holding the ball at the five yard line, wasn’t enough to compete with the pleasure of her company.

“You really should go in and watch the game,” Jayne said as she peeled some potatoes. “I think I can hold down the fort while Larkin changes.”

“I still haven’t forgiven the Jets for moving to New Jersey. Besides, it looks as if you could use a little help on KP.” He grabbed a knife and started peeling potatoes.

“You really do know your way around the kitchen, don’t you?”

“It was either learn to cook or depend on frozen pizza the rest of.my life.” He quartered a potato, tossed it in a bowl and grabbed another one. “And since I enjoy eating as much as I do, there was really no choice.” He grinned at her. “You seem surprised.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m enchanted. I told Larkin that if you did dishes, you were the perfect man.”

“Semi-perfect. At home I rely on paper plates.”

“I’m glad. Perfect people are so boring.” She left the potatoes to him and started trimming broccoli.

“I’m looking forward to your tap-dance extravaganza later. Patti told me you’re choreographing one of the old Rockette routines.”

Jayne grimaced. “I had to tone down those kicks a little. They can be rough going.”

Alex looked at Larkin’s mother. Fifty-eight years old she might be, but he had no doubt she could handle any routine imaginable. “I don’t think you’d have any trouble at all.”

Her laugh delighted him. “Not me, honey. I was worried about Patti and Larkin. All that desk work has made those two girls soft.”

Alex reached for another potato. He wasn’t sure that Larkin needed fourteen pounds of potatoes to go with dinner, but he had no desire to relinquish Jayne’s company. “You know, there’s something about your daughter I’ve been wondering about.”

“Perhaps you should ask her. Larkin is fanatic about maintaining her privacy.”

“It’s something only you can answer.”

Jayne put down her paring knife and looked at him, her eyes as green and as lovely as her daughter’s. “I’ll try.”

“Where did she get the name Larkin?” He’d expected Jayne to laugh at the question. She didn’t. “Have I crossed some boundary I shouldn’t have?”

“No, nothing like that.” Jayne brushed some of her pale blond hair off her face. “Larkin was my last name before I married Bill.”

“I see. You wanted to carry it on. Family tradition.”

“No. I wanted to
start
a family tradition. Larkin was the last name they gave me at the orphanage where I grew up. The truck driver who found me abandoned on his front seat drove for the Larkin Clothing Company.” Jayne’s voice was so quiet that he had to lean closer to hear her words. “With the boys it didn’t seem to matter so much, but when I had my little girl, I suddenly wanted to be able to hand something down to her. The name was all I had.” She looked up at Alex and smiled. “Sounds ridiculous now, doesn’t it?”

Alex took a deep breath and told her about his middle name and how he “borrowed” it from Richard Chamberlain during his Dr. Kildare days. Jayne was the first person he’d ever told. “The need for a family history is stronger than people think.”

“Is that a professional opinion?”

“Strictly personal.”

“I knew we were kindred spirits.” She squeezed his hand and Alex wondered how life would have been if he’d had a mother like Jayne Walker.

“Your daughter is very lucky, Jayne.”

“I don’t think she would have agreed with you when she was growing up, Alex.” Obviously, Jayne sensed his mood and tried to lighten the atmosphere in the kitchen. She described the lengths to which Larkin would go to avoid housework chores. “One time she took her bicycle and we found her halfway to Hoover Dam. Looking back, I think I should have gone easier on her, but I didn’t know how to do anything for myself when I married, and I didn’t want my daughter to have to learn to cook from her husband.”

“Bill taught you to cook?” To hear Larkin talk, her mother had been born with a spoon in one hand and a saucepan in the other.

“Bill taught me to cook, clean and run a household. I was twenty-two, and all I could do was make scrambled eggs and do a high kick you wouldn’t believe.”

“The way Larkin described Bill, I thought he was a man of the old school.”

“Larkin and her father have been at odds since the day she was born. She’s just as independent and stubborn as he is and, deep down, they’re crazy about each other. Bill is prouder of her success than the success of any of the boys.” Bill Walker had actually guided Larkin through the financial maze of business loans when she started the Learning Center.

Some of the puzzle pieces began to fit together for Alex.

“Unfortunately, my daughter has the opinion I’m under my husband’s thumb,” Jayne continued. “The truth is that I make my own decisions—I always have. It’s simply that I know how priceless a family is, and I’ve chosen to spend my life nurturing a beautiful one.”

“A fine choice,” Alex said. “One I would like to make myself.”

“Give her time,” Jayne said with another pat on his hand. “I’m afraid Larkin led a charmed life—she never knew what it was like to want something and be unable to have it until Vladimir—” Jayne stopped abruptly. “You don’t want me to be indiscreet, do you?”

“Sure I do.” He wanted to know everything he possibly could about the woman he loved and the man who preceded him.

Jayne laughed. “I can’t.”

“I realize that.”

“It will work out, Alex. You’ll see.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Only to a kindred spirit.”

Jayne met his eyes, and he saw warmth and understanding and a love so all-encompassing that he felt it would be a privilege to be part of the family she had created.

For two weeks he’d been doing his damnedest not to pressure Larkin into making a commitment. For two weeks he’d also been doing his damnedest to keep from whisking her away to Las Vegas in his Cessna and marrying her before she had a chance to think straight.

Maybe it was time to stop thinking and time to start acting.

T
he scene
at Larkin’s dinner table was as perfect a picture of familial happiness as Larkin had ever encountered. Norman Rockwell might have looked askance at the assortment of individuals who gave thanks for the year’s bounty, but to Larkin it was magazine cover perfect.

Bill had abandoned the TV set and had settled his rangy body in a chair close enough to the den that he could still hear the game play by play. Jayne, beaming with pleasure, sat next to him. Gordon had come with Patti, fully prepared to repair the loose bricks in Larkin’s fireplace. She had laughed and told him that he was there as a guest, but apparently he became uncomfortable, because he left soon after. Patti stayed on, flamboyant as usual in a bright purple jump suit with yellow earrings the size of squash blossoms.

Roger amused everyone with stories about growing up playing piano in a family of transit workers and bricklayers, and his friend Kurt’s pungent asides even made straitlaced Bill laugh out loud.

And then there was Alex.

He sat at the opposite end of her pine trestle table and it seemed to Larkin as if he had always been at the center of her life. The fact that her parents liked him, too, made her reluctance to make a commitment seem incomprehensible even to her. Alex was as different from Vladimir Karpov as today’s Larkin was from the Larkin who had fallen gracelessly in love with the dancer.

Just one more week, she whispered silently, watching Alex’s face as he talked to her father. One more week and the ballet workshop would be over and Vladimir would be out of her life—and her mind—for good.

Just one more week and she’d be able to tell Alex all that was in her heart.

“Larkin!”

Patti’s voice brought her back to the dinner table.

“If we’re going to put on our tap-dance extravaganza, we’d better get dessert started. Your mom and dad have to leave soon for the airport.”

Larkin leaped up. “I’ll start the coffee.”

Alex, at the far end of the table, stood up as well. “I’ll help.”

The dinner dishes had already been cleared, and it was obvious that plugging in a coffee maker did not require the services of two healthy adults. Larkin saw a few sly glances cast in their direction, but she pretended not to notice.

She was in Alex’s arms before the kitchen door closed behind him.

“The old start-the-coffee trick,” Alex said as he dipped her over his arm in a very theatrical embrace. “I like your style.”

“I don’t think anyone out there believed it for a minute,” she said, breathless from his kiss.

He leaned against the worktable and pulled her close against him. “They probably know we’re in here making out like teenagers.”

Indeed, she felt like a teenager, giddy with excitement and pleasure. He lightly stroked her breast through the covering of the same red silk dress she’d been wearing the day they met. “We should be ashamed of ourselves—my parents are right in the other room.”

He moved against her in a frankly sexual manner and she wasn’t ashamed of herself at all—she wanted to flaunt her love in front of everyone, to shout from the rooftops that what she felt for Alex was the real thing.

Of course, her kitchen on Thanksgiving Day with family and friends in the next room was hardly the place to get seriously intimate. Alex nipped at her neck, and she giggled and moved away.

“Maybe we should start the coffee,” she said.

“Maybe we should sneak away for awhile.”

“They want dessert.’

“So do I.”

“Behave yourself.” She switched on the coffee maker on the counter. “I’d hate to be caught in flagrante delicto.”

“It would make a Thanksgiving they’d never forget.”

“I’d rather they remember my pumpkin pie, not my—” The front doorbell chimed. She looked at Alex. “Do you think Phil and Judy made it after all?”

Alex glanced at his watch. “I doubt it. With traffic, they never could have made it out from Brooklyn this early. Besides, didn’t they say they’d call?”

“I suppose we should go out and see who it is.”

“I suppose so.” He pulled her back into his arms.

”I could stay here forever.”

“Why don’t you?”

She raised her head toward his and just as his mouth was about to meet hers, Patti’s unmistakable voice blasted both of them out of their romantic mood.