Time After Time (12 page)

Charlotte leaned closer to whisper, "Do you suppose he's really so.. .so trivial? Maybe it's just an act."

"Act my foot," Leah said, giving an unladylike snort of derision. "Scratch Lester's surface, and you'll only find more surface."

Charlotte started to giggle; then suddenly she stiffened, her gaze trained on something just beyond Leah's shoulder. An instant later, like the Cheshire cat, the brunette simply faded into the surrounding crowd.

Swinging around, Leah found Paul standing behind her. "Is Walker giving you a bad time?" he asked calmly.

"Les Walker
is
a bad time," she replied dryly; then, bracing herself, she met his eyes. "Well, what did you think?"

"It went well."

She relaxed, giving him a radiant smile. "Knowing you—and since I've had two glasses of champagne— I'll interpret that to mean it was a dazzling success." She closed her eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath. "I feel like there should be fireworks lighting up the sky, crowds throwing streamers, people dancing in the streets."

He studied her face silently, his features as composed as always. "Tomorrow you'll come down with a thud. You'll most likely wake up with a hangover due more to an excess of exhilaration than an excess of champagne."

She raised her gaze to his face, staring in curiosity. "Doesn't the excitement affect you at all, Mr. Gre-

gory? You worked twice as hard as I did on this. Don't you feel just a little bit satisfied that it turned out so well?"

He shrugged. "It didn't turn out well by itself—we worked our butts off to make sure it turned out well. So there shouldn't be any cause for surprise that it did."

"Yes, of course," she murmured, glancing around the room for an avenue of escape. "Oh, dear, they've got poor Charlotte cornered. I'd better go rescue her."

Smiling politely, she moved away from him. She needed to be with real people right now. People who not only had emotions, but let them show. It was Leah's night and, come hell or high water, she was going to celebrate.

Two hours later Leah sat sprawled comfortably in a mahogany armchair, a half-empty glass in her hand as she stared at the stockinged but shoeless feet that were extended in front of her.

"Good night...urn.. .oh, yeah, good night, Leah."

Leah glanced up to see Charlotte standing unsteadily beside her. Her normally meticulous secretary's brown hair was sticking out in untidy peaks all over her head, and her glasses were askew on the end of her nose.

Leah smiled and waved her hand in a lazy goodbye as the woman left the room. It was as much of an effort as she cared to make at the moment. She was by no means intoxicated, but she was very definitely, very pleasantly mellow.

The only other person in the room was Paul. He sat in a chair at the head of the conference table. But instead of his usual rigid posture, he was slumped forward across the table with an empty champagne bottle beside him.

Slowly he raised his head, resting his chin on the table, and looked at Leah. A lock of brown hair had fallen down on his forehead, and his eyes were unfocused. He blinked twice, then frowned. Leah swallowed a giggle. He was fighting so hard to look dignified.

"Miss French." The words were slightly muffled from the pressure of the table against his chin.

"Yes, sir?"

"Either you are swaying in a singularly—" he broke the word into individual syllables as he pushed himself up with his elbows "—nauseating way or..." He paused, and with an abrupt movement, dropped his head to his open palms in an effort to hold himself upright. "Or I'm sloshed," he finished, grinning broadly.

Leah couldn't hide her amusement now. She leaned back in the chair and laughed with open enjoyment. Not only was his hair disheveled, but three buttons on his shirt were undone, and the knot in his tie hung halfway down his chest. While everyone else had par-tied, her iron-willed boss had gotten quietly skunked.

"And since I never overindulge," he added firmly, "it must be you. Kindly cease and desist."

"Yes, sir," she murmured agreeably, then took another sip of champagne. "I'll stop swaying."

Glancing down, she carefully moved one shoe with her feet until it was directly in front of her, then began to see if she could pick it up with her toes.

She could. Smiling in satisfaction, she watched it dangle.

It was Leah's night. She could do anything. Leap tall buildings...stop speeding locomotives...pick up a shoe with her toes.

Glancing toward the table, she saw Paul rise unsteadily to his feet. "A cab," he muttered as he moved to the telephone on the cabinet behind him.

He leaned down, holding his face close to the black console as he pressed each button with great care. After a moment he broke the connection and began again. When he had repeated this process three times, Leah stood and walked across the room. She took the receiver from him and punched in the correct numbers while he peered suspiciously over her shoulder to see what magic she used to make it work.

As she gave the address to the cab company, her cool, stiff superior played with the coiled telephone wire, stretching it out, then letting it spring back, then stretching it out again.

Leah bit her lip to keep from laughing. "A cab's on the way," she said, returning the receiver to the cradle.

"Thank you very much," he said earnestly.

For a reason known only to him, he decided to bow. Leah caught him by the shoulders as he swayed forward, then pushed him back, holding him in place.

"You are excellent, Miss French," he said, the words precise and clear. "Have I ever told you how very excellent you are?"

"No, sir," she said, chuckling softly. "I don't believe you have."

"Well, you are. Excellent." He nodded emphatically. "You charm greedy businessmen. You do in two days what it would take anyone else a week to finish." He smiled. "And you dial a mean telephone."

"That's kind of you, sir, but I simply do my job."

"No," he said, shaking his head so vigorously that she had to tighten her grip on his shoulders to hold him steady. "I've been remiss in not showing my appreciation. I'll send you a dozen roses." He frowned down at her. "Make a note to remind me, Miss French."

"Yes, sir," she said solemnly as her brown eyes sparkled.

Turning away, he moved toward the table. "No, not roses. Roses make you sneeze. I'll send—" He broke off and turned the bottle upside down, then peered inside it, one eye closed tightly. "Someone's been pilfering my champagne."

"That's a shame," she said sympathetically as she removed the bottle from his hands and set it on the table. "But really, sir, you don't have time for another drink. Your cab will be here in a few minutes."

"My cab... your cab. You're right... let's go." He picked up his jacket and let her help him into it, but didn't bother to button his shirt or straighten his tie.

"I didn't celebrate quite as much as you," she said, pushing his limp arm into the correct sleeve. "I can drive my own car.''

"Nonsense," he said curtly. "You'll share the cab. It's stupid to take chances."

He was definitely the vice president now, she thought ruefully. And Leah knew better than to argue with him. As they left together, she kept her eyes on him carefully, ready to catch him at any minute. But he rode the elevator down, walked across the lobby, waited for Mr. Timms to open the front door and climbed into the back seat of the cab—all with a dignity that amazed her.

Then, the minute the cab pulled away from the curb, he slid bonelessly down in the seat and closed his eyes. When Leah leaned toward him in concern, he opened his eyes and grinned at her, his expression surprisingly boyish. "I did it," he said smugly.

She laughed. "I never doubted you for a minute."

"Oh, yes, you did... but I forgive you." His green eyes were imperious as he gazed down his nose at her. "Lesser men would have stumbled, you know."

Oh, Mr. Gregory, she thought, chuckling in delight. You're human after all.

It was a good thing she didn't have to see him like this every day. He was funny and charming and—she broke off the thought and studied his face. With his hair mussed and his features relaxed, he appeared uncharacteristically vulnerable... and more than a little appealing.

At that moment the cab turned a corner, catching Paul off guard, and he slid toward Leah. Reacting instinctively, she put her arms around him to hold him up.

Slowly he raised his eyes to hers. Leah drew in a sharp breath. Flashes of gold appeared in the green, reaching out to her, holding her gaze so that it was impossible for her to look away.

But she didn't want to look away. In that second the cab disappeared and they were once more lying on a blanket in front of a flickering fire. As she stared into his eyes, she felt sweet, liquid heat spread through her body, leaving in its wake a throbbing ache.

When he lowered his lips to hers, the fireworks she had wished for earlier exploded... inside her own body. There was no hesitancy in the kiss. It was eager and hungry. It was absolutely right. She parted her lips, meeting his tongue urgently, then sighed in deep pleasure, as though she had come to the end of a long search and found something she hadn't even known she was searching for.

Gripping her waist, he pulled Leah closer, fitting her body to his with strong, sure hands. Hands that seemed to claim the curves of her body as their own.

It was only when the driver cleared his throat that reality hit Leah like a glass of cold water in the face. She gasped and pulled frantically out of Paul's arms, covering her eyes with one trembling hand.

How on earth had that happened? she wondered, her thoughts whirling in confusion. My God, how had it happened?

"We're at the apartment complex, ma'am," the driver said. "You want to show me which one?"

Embarrassed heat flooded her face. "Turn right at the first side street. It's 1106," she said hoarsely, her hands shaking as she tried to straighten her jacket.

Stiffening her shoulders, she forced herself to look at Paul. He was leaning against the side of the cab, his eyes closed. As she watched, he opened them and glanced around slowly, letting his gaze settle on her.

"Miss French," he said, his voice husky. "Did I just kiss you?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No, sir." She tried desperately to keep her voice normal. "You must have imagined it."

He sighed, closing his eyes again. "Yes, that's what I thought," he murmured.

The second the cab stopped in front of her apartment, Leah opened the door and stepped out. When she heard Paul slide across the seat toward the door, she panicked.

"No—you don't need to get out with me, Mr. Gregory," she said urgently. "I'm only two steps away from my apartment. I'll see you tomorrow, sir."

She closed the door quickly, then turned and walked away. After a moment she heard the cab drive away, and she exhaled in shaky relief.

Hours later, as she sat huddled in the chair in her bedroom, Leah stared into the darkness with wide eyes. She was more shaken than she could ever remember being. Now she had seen the fire, the sensuality. She had not only seen it, she had tasted it and

felt it beneath her fingers. Her body still ached in the aftermath of desire.

Paul was lucky, she told herself. He probably wouldn't remember the kiss. But Leah didn't know if she would ever be able to forget it.

She still couldn't believe it had happened. The intensity, the strength of feeling, had rocked her very foundations. She had never imagined anything like that. Even the dreams couldn't match the power of what had just occurred between them.

She clenched her fists tightly. She couldn't let this shake her. She couldn't let a simple kiss affect her so deeply.

She knew now that her panic at the thought of becoming involved with Paul wasn't simply because she was afraid an affair would distract her from her career goals. There was much, much more to it than that. What she was beginning to feel for Paul was too compelling, too overpowering, for her to deal with. She had never asked for that kind of depth, and she didn't want it. In a way she didn't fully understand, it was a threat. A threat that shook her to her very soul.

She didn't go to bed at all that night. Several times, as she sat huddled in the chair, she drifted into a light, restless sleep. But almost immediately she would awake with a strange expectancy that bewildered and, in some indefinable way, frightened her.

When she arrived at work the next day she felt oddly disassociated from her surroundings, as though she were watching everything from a distance, as though the world had fuzzy, gray edges.

"I will never drink champagne again," she muttered as she walked into Charlotte's office. Coming to an abrupt halt, she stared at her secretary.

"What on earth happened to you?" Leah asked, still staring. Charlotte's hair looked worse than it had the night before. It looked as though she had combed it with a garden rake. And her pale eyes behind the glasses were pink and puffy.

"Leah," she whispered. Her voice was filled with horror as she glanced around to make sure no doors were open. "I think I'm engaged to
Lester."