Reflections Page 10

  “Seth . . .”

  “Why did you become a dancer?” His question interrupted her protest. He kneaded her muscles with his fingers and watched her in the mirror. He caught the desire flickering in her eyes.

  “It was all there ever was for me.” Lindsay’s words were husky, clouded with restrained passion. She found it hard to concentrate on her own words. “My mother spoke of nothing else as far back as I can remember.”

  “So you became a dancer for her.” He lifted a hand to her hair and drew out a pin.

  “No, some things are meant to be. This was meant for me.” His hand trailed up the side of her neck to bury itself in her hair. He drew out another pin. “It would have been dancing for me regardless of my mother. She only made it more important sooner. What are you doing?” She placed a hand over his as he began to withdraw another pin.

  “I like your hair down, where I can feel it.”

  “Seth, don’t . . .”

  “You always wear it up when you’re teaching, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I . . .” The weight of her hair pushed against the remaining pins until they fell to the floor. Her hair tumbled free in pale blond clouds.

  “School’s out,” he murmured, then buried his face in its thickness.

  Their reflection showed her the sharp contrast of his hair against hers, of his tanned fingers against the ivory skin of her throat. There was a magic about watching him brush the hair from her neck and lower his mouth while feeling his lips and fingers on her skin. Fascinated, she watched the couple in the wall of the mirrors. When he turned her so that flesh and blood faced flesh and blood, she felt no lessening of the trance. Totally involved, she stared up at him.

  He lowered his mouth, and though her lips hungered, he feathered kisses along her jawline. His hands moved greedily through her hair while he teased her face with promising kisses. Lindsay began to burn for the intimacy that comes with the joining of mouth to mouth. But even as she turned her head to find his lips, he drew her away.

  Waves of heat rose from her toes, concentrating in her lungs until she was certain they would explode from the pleasure. With his eyes locked on hers, Seth slowly untied the knot in her shirt. Barely touching her, he ran his fingers up her shoulders, lingering only a heartbeat away from the swell of her breasts. Gently, he pushed the shirt from her until it drifted soundlessly to the floor.

  There was something stunningly sexual in the gesture. Lindsay felt naked before him. He had destroyed all her barricades. There was no longer room for illusions. Stepping forward, she rose on her toes to take his mouth with hers.

  The kiss started slowly, luxuriously, with the patience of two people who know the pleasure they can bring to each other. The mouth is for tasting, and they assuaged a hunger that had grown sharp and deep with fasting. They supped without hurry, as if wanting to prolong the moment of full contentment.

  Lindsay took her lips from his to explore. There was a hint of roughness at his jawline from the day’s growth of beard. His cheekbones were long and close to his skin. Below his ear his taste was mysteriously male. She lingered there, savoring it.

  His hands were on her hips, and his fingers trailed along the tops of her thighs. She shifted so that he might touch her more freely. On a long, gradual journey, he brought his hand to her breast. Her leotard was snug, hardly an intrusion between his palm and her flesh.

  Their lips joined in a hot, desperate demand as their bodies strained, one against the other. His arms swept her closer, nearly bringing her off the floor. There was no longer comfort, no longer leisure, but the pain was exquisite.

  As from down a long tunnel, Lindsay heard the ringing of the bell. She burrowed deeper into Seth. The ringing came again, and yet again, until its meaning sunk into her consciousness. She moved against him, but he caught her closer.

  “Let it ring, damn it.” His mouth took hers, swallowing the words.

  “Seth, I can’t.” Lindsay struggled through the mists in her brain. “I can’t . . . my mother.”

  He swore richly but loosened his hold. Pushing away, Lindsay rushed to answer the phone.

  “Yes?” Passing a hand through her hair, she tried to gather enough of her wits to remember where she was.

  “Miss Dunne?”

  “Yes. Yes, this is Lindsay Dunne.” She sat on the corner of her desk as her knees trembled.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Dunne. This is Worth. Might I find Mr. Bannion there?”

  “Worth?” Lindsay slowly let air in and out of her lungs. “Oh, yes. Yes, he’s here. Just a moment.”

  Her movements were slow and deliberate as she set the receiver beside the phone and rose. For a moment she stood in the doorway of her office. He was turned toward her, and his eyes met hers instantly as if he’d been waiting for her return. Lindsay stepped into the studio, resisting the need to clasp her hands together.

  “It’s for you,” she told him. “Mr. Worth.”

  Seth nodded, but there was nothing casual in the way he took her shoulders as he passed. Briefly, they stood side by side. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Lindsay remained still until she heard the murmur of his voice on the phone. Whenever she finished a difficult dance, she always took a few moments to breathe. It was concentrated breathing, in-out, deep and slow, not the unconscious movement of air in the lungs. She took time to do so now. Gradually, she felt the flow of blood decrease, the hammer of her pulse quiet. The tingle just under her skin faded. Satisfied that her body was responding, Lindsay waited for her mind to follow suit.

  Even for a woman who enjoyed taking risks, Lindsay knew the idiocy of her behavior. With Seth Bannion, the odds were too highly stacked against her. She was beginning to realize that she contributed to those odds. She was too attracted to him, too vulnerable to him. It didn’t seem to matter that she had known him for only a matter of weeks.

  Slowly, she walked to the shirt that lay on the floor. She stooped just as a movement in the mirror caught her eye. Again, her eyes locked with Seth’s in the glass. Chilled pinpricks spread over her skin. Lindsay rose and turned. Now, she knew, was not the time for fantasies and illusions.

  “A problem on a site,” he said briefly. “I need to check some figures at home.” He crossed to her, “Come with me.”

  There was no mistaking what he meant. To Lindsay, the simplicity and directness were overpoweringly seductive. With careful movements, she slipped back into her shirt.

  “No, I can’t. I’ve work to do, and then . . .”

  “Lindsay.” He halted her with a word and a hand to her cheek. “I want to sleep with you. I want to wake up with you.”

  She let out a long breath. “I’m not accustomed to dealing with this sort of thing,” she murmured. She ran a hand through her loosened hair, then her eyes lifted to his again and held. “I’m very attracted to you. It’s a bit beyond what I’ve felt before and I don’t know quite what to do about it.”

  Seth’s hand moved from her cheek to circle her throat. “Do you think you can tell me that and expect me to go home alone?”

  Lindsay shook her head and put a decisive hand to his chest. “I tell you that, I suppose, because I’m not sophisticated enough to keep it to myself. I don’t believe in lies and pretense.” A faint line appeared between her brows as she continued. “And I don’t believe in doing something I’m not totally sure is what I want. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “But you are.” He put his hand over hers, capturing the other at the same time. “If not tonight, tomorrow; if not tomorrow, the day after.”

  “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.” Lindsay shook off his hands. “I’m never very obliging when told what I’m going to do. I make my own decisions.”

  “And you made this one,” Seth said easily, but temper flared in his eyes. “The first time I kissed you. Hypocrisy doesn’t suit you.” r />
  “Hypocrisy?” Lindsay held the words back a moment, knowing she would stutter. “The precious male ego! Refuse a proposition and you’re a hypocrite.”

  “I don’t believe proposition is a fully accurate term.”

  “Go sit on your semantics,” she invited. “And do it elsewhere. I’ve got work to do.”

  He was quick. He grabbed her arm, jerking her against him before the command to step away could shoot from her brain to her feet. “Don’t push me, Lindsay.”

  She pulled at her arm. It remained in his grip. “Aren’t you the one who’s pushing?”

  “It appears we have a problem.”

  “Your problem,” she tossed back. “I’m not going to be another set of blueprints in your file. If I decide I want to go to bed with you, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, our main topic of conversation is Ruth.”

  Seth made an intense study of her face. Her cheeks had flushed with temper, her breath came quickly. A hint of a smile played on his mouth. “Right now you look a bit as you did when I watched you dance Dulcinea, full of passion and spirit. We’ll talk again.” Before Lindsay could comment, he gave her a long, lingering kiss. “Soon.”

  She managed to gather her wits as he crossed to the piano to retrieve his jacket. “About Ruth . . .”

  He shrugged into his coat, all the time watching her. “Soon,” he repeated and strode to the door.

  Chapter Eight

  On Sundays Lindsay had no set schedule. Six days a week her time was regimented, given over to classes and paperwork and her mother. On Sunday she broke free.

  It was late morning when she wandered downstairs. The aroma of coffee was strong, drawing her into the kitchen. She could hear her mother’s slow, uneven movements before she pushed open the door.

  “Morning.” Lindsay crossed the linoleum floor to kiss Mae’s cheek, then studied her neat, three-piece suit. “You’re all dressed up.” Pleasure warmed her voice. “You look wonderful.”

  Mae smiled as she touched her hair with a fussy hand. “Carol wanted to have lunch at the country club. Do you think my hair’s all right?”

  “It’s lovely.” Lindsay’s heart lightened as she watched her mother preen again. “But you know it’s your legs everybody looks at. You’ve got great legs.”

  Mae laughed, a sound Lindsay had waited a long time to hear. “Your father always thought so.” The tone was sad again. Lindsay slipped her arms around Mae’s neck.

  “No, don’t, please.” She held her close a moment, willing away the gloom. “It’s so good to see you smile. Dad would want you to smile.” When she felt Mae sigh, she held her closer. If it were possible, she would have transfused some of her own strength into her. Mae patted Lindsay’s back, then drew away.

  “Let’s have coffee.” She moved to sit at the table. “My legs might look good, but they’re still attached to this hip, and they get tired easily.”

  Lindsay watched as her mother carefully settled herself, then turned to the cupboard. It was important to keep Mae’s mood on the upswing. “I worked late yesterday with the girl I’ve been telling you about, Ruth Bannion.” Lindsay poured two cups of coffee before walking to the refrigerator for milk. She added a generous dose to her mother’s and left her own black. “She’s exceptional, truly exceptional,” she continued as she walked over to join Mae. “I’ve cast her as Carla in The Nutcracker. She’s a shy, introverted girl who seems really confident only when she’s dancing.” Thoughtfully, Lindsay watched the steam curl up from the surface of her coffee. “I want to send her to New York, to Nick. Her uncle won’t even discuss it.” Not for four and a half more months, she thought grimly. Stubborn, immovable . . . “Are all men mules?” Lindsay demanded, then swore as she scalded her tongue with a sip of steaming coffee.

  “For the most part,” Mae told her. Her own coffee sat cooling in front of her. “And for the most part, women seem to be attracted to mules. You’re attracted to him.”

  Lindsay glanced up, then stared back down at the coffee. “Well . . . yes. He’s a bit different from the men I’ve known. His life doesn’t center around dancing. He’s traveled almost everywhere. He’s very sure of himself and arrogant in a very controlled sort of way. The only other man I’ve known who has that sort of confidence is Nick.” She smiled, remembering, and her hands floated with the words. “But Nicky has that passionate Russian temper. He throws things, he moans, he shrieks. Even his moods are elaborately orchestrated. Seth is different. Seth would just quietly snap you in two.”

  “And you respect him for that.”

  Lindsay looked up again, then laughed. It was the first time she remembered she and her mother having an in-depth discussion on anything that didn’t directly involve dancing. “Yes,” she agreed. “As ridiculous as it sounds, I do. He’s the sort of man who commands respect without demanding it, if you know what I mean.” Lindsay sipped her coffee with more caution. “Ruth adores him. It shows in her face whenever she looks at him. The lonely look is fading from her eyes and I’m sure it’s his doing.” Her voice softened. “He’s very sensitive, I think, and very much in control of his emotions. I think if he loved someone, he’d be very demanding because he wouldn’t invest his emotions easily. Still, if he weren’t so stubborn, I’d send Ruth to Nick. A year’s training in New York, and I’m sure she’d be chosen for the corps. I mentioned her to him, but . . .”

  “To Nick?” Mae interrupted Lindsay’s verbal thoughts. “When?”

  She brought herself back with a mental curse. It hadn’t been an oversight that she had neglected to mention Nick’s call. She had wanted to avoid a topic that brought pain to both of them. Now she shrugged and spoke casually between sips. “Oh, a couple of days ago. He called the studio.”

  “Why?”

  Mae’s question was quiet and unavoidable. “To see how I was, to ask after you.” The flowers Carol had brought the week before were wilting in the bowl on the table. She rose, taking them with her. “He was always very fond of you.”

  Mae watched her daughter as she tossed the faded flowers into the trash. “He asked you to come back.”

  Lindsay placed the bowl in the sink and began to rinse it. “He’s excited about a new ballet he’s written.”

  “And he wants you for it.” Lindsay continued to rinse the bowl. “What did you tell him?”

  She shook her head, wanting only to avoid another strained argument. “Mother, please.”

  There was silence for a moment with only the sound of water splashing in the sink. It warmed Lindsay’s hands.

  “I’ve been thinking I might go to California with Carol.”

  Surprised by both the statement and the calm tone of her mother’s voice, Lindsay turned without switching off the faucet. “That would be wonderful for you. You’d miss the worst of the winter.”

  “Not for the winter,” Mae countered. “Permanently,”

  “Permanently?” Lindsay’s face clouded with confusion. Behind her the water danced against the glass bowl. Reaching back, she twisted the handle of the faucet. “I don’t understand.”

  “She has people there, you know.” Mae rose to get more coffee, motioning a protest as Lindsay moved to do it for her. “One of them, a cousin, found a florist who was selling out. Good location. Carol bought it.”

  “She bought it?” Astonished, Lindsay sat down again. “But when? She hasn’t said a word. Andy hasn’t said anything either; I just saw him . . .”

  “She wanted everything settled first.” Mae interrupted Lindsay’s disbelief. “She wants me to be her partner.”

  “Her partner?” Lindsay shook her head, then pressed fingers to both temples. “In California?”

  “We can’t go on this way, Lindsay.” Mae limped back to the table with her coffee. “Physically, I’m as good as I’m going to be. There’s no need for me to be pampered or for you to worry about me anymore. Yes, you do,”
she continued, even as Lindsay opened her mouth to object. “I’m a long way from where I was when I came out of the hospital.”

  “I know. I know that, but California. . . .” She sent Mae a helpless look. “It’s so far away.”

  “It’s what we both need. Carol told me I was pressuring you, and she’s right.”

  “Mother . . .”

  “No, I do, and I’ll keep right on doing it as long as we’re living in each other’s pockets this way.” After a long breath, Mae pursed her lips. “It’s time . . . for both of us. I’ve only wanted one thing for you. I haven’t stopped wanting it.” She took Lindsay’s hands, studying the long, graceful fingers. “Dreams are stubborn things. I’ve had the same one all my life . . . first for me, then for you. Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe you’re using me as an excuse not to go back.” Even as Lindsay shook her head, she continued. “You took care of me when I needed you, and I’m grateful. I haven’t shown it always because the dream got in the way. I’m going to ask you something one last time.” Lindsay remained silent, waiting. “Think about what you have, who you are. Think about going back.”

  There was nothing Lindsay could do but nod. She had thought about it, long and painfully two years before, but she wouldn’t shut the door between herself and her mother; it had just worked its way open. “When would you go?”

  “In three weeks.”

  Letting out a quick breath at the reply, Lindsay rose. “You and Carol will make great partners.” She suddenly felt lost, alone and deserted. “I’m going for a walk,” she said swiftly before the emotions could show on her face. “I need to think.”

  ***

  Lindsay loved the beach when the air hinted at winter. She wore an ancient peacoat against the bite of the cold, and with her hands in her pockets, she walked the low, slow arch of rock and sand. Above the sky was calm and unrelentingly blue. The surf was wild. There was more than the scent of the sea, there was the taste of it. Here the wind blew free, and she felt it would clear her mind.