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  that she was betraying Reed's privacy. In truth, she wasn't. Whatever she said to

  Abby or to Chantel was like telling her thoughts to herself.

  Abby listened in her calm, serene way while Maddy told her everything; the love, the compromises, the trauma that had marred Reed's childhood and affected his life. Because they were so in tune with each other, Abby hurt when her sister did.

  "So you see, no matter how much I love him, I can't change what happened to him or how he feels."

  "I'm sorry." They shifted together, with Abby's arm around Maddy's shoulder. "I know how painful it is. I can only tell you that I know absolutely that if you love hard enough you can work miracles. Dylan didn't want to love me. The truth is, I didn't want to love him, either." It was easy to look back and remember. "We'd both made a decision never to risk that kind of involvement again. It was a very logical decision made by two intelligent people." She smiled a little, leaning her head against Maddy's. "Love has a way of wiping out everything but what really matters."

  "I've tried to tell myself that. But Abby, he wasn't dishonest with me. Right from the start he made it clear that he didn't want to get involved. It was to be a very casual relationship, which of course isn't a relationship at all. I'm the one who stepped over the line, so I'm the one who had to make the adjustments."

  "That's also very logical. What happened to your optimism, Maddy?"

  "I left it in a drawer at home."

  "Then it's time you pulled it out again. This isn't like you, mooning around, looking at the dark side. You were the one who always planted her feet and refused to budge until things worked out your way."

  "This is different."

  "No, it's not. Don't you know how much I've always wanted to be as confident of myself as you are? I always envied that quality in you Maddy, when day after day I went on, afraid of failing."

  "Oh, Abby."

  "It's true, and you can't let me down now. If you love him, really love him, then you've got to plant your feet until he can admit he loves you, too."

  "He has to feel it first, Abby."

  "I think he does." She gave her sister a quick shake. "Go back over everything you've just told me, but this time listen. The man's crazy about you, Maddy, he just hasn't been able to admit it to you or to himself."

  Hope, never far beneath the surface, began to stir again. "I've tried to believe that."

  "Don't try, do. I've had the worst a relationship can offer, Maddy. Now I'm having a taste of the best." Instinctively she rested a hand on her stomach, where a new life slept. "Don't give up. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and watch you wait for him to toss you a few crumbs. Get dressed," Abby ordered. "We're going to celebrate."

  "Bossy." Maddy grinned as she walked to her closet. "You always were bossy."

  Reed let the phone ring a dozen times before he hung up. It was nearly midnight. Where the hell was she? Why wasn't she in bed, resting up for the next day? The one thing he knew about her, was absolutely certain of, was that Maddy trained for a part as rigorously as an athlete. Training meant diet, exercise, attitude and rest. So where the hell was she?

  In Philadelphia, he thought, disgusted as he walked to the windows and back again. She was miles away in

  Philadelphia, in her own world, with her own people. She could be doing anything, with anyone. And he had no right to question her.

  The hell with rights, he told himself as he picked up the phone again. She was the one who spoke of love, of commitments, of trust. And she was the one not answering her phone.

  He could still remember how disappointed she'd looked when he'd told her he couldn't be sure he'd be there for opening night. He'd had the damn RIAA meeting hanging over his head, and he still couldn't judge the backlash from it. There was bound to be a scandal now that the investigation had been approved. A scandal would affect everyone, every label, every record company executive, even the ones who'd kept their noses clean.

  In the morning he was likely to have dozens of calls, from reporters, radio stations, consulting firms, his own employees. He couldn't very well drop everything and go off to watch the opening of a play.

  Not just any play, he thought as the phone rang on and on. Maddy's play. No, his play, Reed reminded himself as he slammed the phone down again. Valentine Records was backing it and therefore had a duty to protect its interests. His father would be there, that would be enough. But he was president of Valentine, Reed reminded himself.

  Was he excusing himself from going or from remaining behind?

  It really didn't matter. None if it really mattered at all. What mattered was why Maddy wasn't answering the phone at midnight.

  She had a right to her own life.

  The hell she did.

  Reed ran a hand through his hair. He was acting like a fool. Trying to calm himself, he walked over to pour himself a drink, and the plant caught his eye. There were new green shoots spreading out, young and healthy. The old, yellowed leaves had fallen off and been swept away. Compelled, he reached out to stroke one of the smooth, heart-shaped leaves.

  A minor miracle? Perhaps, but it was only a plant, after all. A very stubborn plant, he conceded. One that had refused to die when it should have, one that had responded wholeheartedly to the proper care and attention.

  So he had luck with plants. Deliberately, he turned away and stared at his empty apartment. It wouldn't be wise to make too much of its having been Maddy's. Just as it wasn't wise to make too much out of the fact that she wasn't in her room. He had other things to think about, other things to do. But he left the drink untouched.

  The room was pitch-dark when knocking disturbed her sleep. Maddy rolled over, snuggled into the pillow and prepared to ignore it. When it continued, she shook herself awake, half believing it was a cue.

  It was the middle of the night, she reminded herself with a huge yawn. She had hours yet before she had to step out onstage. But the knocking was definitely at her door and getting louder every minute.

  "All right!" she called out irritably, and rubbed her eyes open. If one of the dancers had the jitters, she was going to send her back to her own room to sleep it off. She couldn't afford to be a pillar of strength at three a.m.

  "Just hang on, will you?" Muttering, she found the light switch, then hunted up a robe. She unlocked her door, then pulled it open until the chain snapped into place. "Now look… Reed!" Instantly awake, Maddy slammed the door in his face and fumbled with the chain. When she pulled it open again, she jumped into his arms. "You're here! I didn't think you'd be here. I'd nearly gotten used to the idea that you weren't coming. No, I hadn't," she corrected immediately, and found his lips with hers. She felt it—the need, the tension. "Reed, what are you doing here at three in the morning?"

  "Do you mind if I come in?"

  "Of course not." She stepped back and waited while he tossed a small overnight bag on a chair. "Is something wrong?" she began, then tugged at his shirt. "Oh, God, is something wrong with your father? Reed—"

  "No, my father's fine. He should be here tomorrow."

  Her fingers relaxed but stayed where they were. "You're upset."

  "I'm fine." He moved back from her and walked around the room. She'd already made it her own, he noticed, with tights, socks, shoes strewn here and there. The dresser was a rubble of bottles and pots and scraps of paper. She'd spilled a bit of powder and hadn't bothered to dust it off. He ran a finger through it, and her scent dung to his skin. "I couldn't reach you tonight."

  "Oh? I was out having dinner with—"

  "You don't owe me an explanation." Furious, though only with himself, he whirled around.

  She pushed the hair away from her face and wished she understood him. It was three in the morning, she reminded herself. He was obviously edgy. She was tired. It would be best to take it slow.

  "All right. Reed, you're not going to tell me you drove all the way to Philadelphia because I didn't answer the phone." Even as he stared at her, he saw puz
zlement turn to humor and humor to pleasure. "You did?" Going to him, she slipped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his chest. "That's about the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. I don't know what to say. I—" But when she looked up, she saw it in his eyes. All the pleasure drained from hers as she backed away.

  "You thought I was with someone else." Her voice was very quiet, the words very distinct. "You thought I was sleeping with someone else, so you came to see for yourself." A bitter taste rose in her throat. It was a taste she'd rarely sampled. She gestured toward the empty bed. "Sorry to disappoint you."

  "Don't." He grabbed her wrist before she could turn away, because he'd already seen the tears welling in her eyes. "That wasn't it. Or—damn it, maybe it was part of it, part of what went through my mind. You'd have a perfect right."

  "Thank you." She pulled her wrist away and sat on the edge of the bed, but she couldn't stop the tears. "Now that you've satisfied yourself, why don't you go? I need my sleep."

  "I know." He ran both hands though his hair before he sat beside her. "I know that, and when it was late and I couldn't reach you, I wondered." When her eyes lifted to his, he cursed himself. "All right, I did wonder if you were with someone else. I don't have any hold on you, Maddy."

  "You're an idiot."

  "I know that, too. Just give me a minute." Anticipating her, Reed took both her hands before she could refuse. "Please. I did wonder, and I hated the idea. Then I worried. The whole time I was driving here I worried that something had happened to you."

  "Don't be ridiculous. What could happen?"

  "Nothing. Anything." His hands tightened on hers in frustration. "I just had to be here. To see you."

  The anger was draining, but she didn't know what would rise up to replace it. "Well, you've seen me. Now what?"

  "That's up to you."

  "No." She pulled away again and rose. "I want you to tell me. I want you to look at me right now and tell me what it is you want."

  "I want you.'' He rose slowly. "I want you to let me stay. Not to make love with you, Maddy. Just to be here."

  She could easily allow the hurt to overwhelm her. She could just as easily toss her hurt feelings aside and reach out to him. With a smile, she stepped closer. "You don't want to make love with me?"

  "I want to make love with you until we both collapse." Shaken because it was true, he reached out to touch her cheek. "But you need your sleep."

  "Worried about your investment?" She ran her fingers down his shirt, unfastening buttons as she went.

  "Yes." He took her face in his hands. "Yes, I am."

  "You don't have to be." Watching him, she slid his shirt off his shoulders. "Trust me. At least for tonight, trust me."

  Chapter Eleven

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  He wanted to. Somewhere during the long, frustrating night, he'd realized that if he trusted her, what she was, what she said, what she felt, his life would turn around. He just couldn't be certain the answers would be waiting for him if it did.

  But her touch was so easy, and her eyes were so warm. For tonight, for just one more night, nothing else really mattered.

  He brought her hands, both of them, to his lips, as if he could show her what he didn't feel safe in saying, or feel safe in even thinking She smiled at him, as always touched by the tenderness he was capable of.

  Bright and steady, the light by the bed continued to burn as they lowered themselves onto already rumpled sheets.

  Her eyes stayed open, darkening slowly, as he brushed kisses over her face. He stroked his fingers gently across her shoulder where her robe hung loose, up the long line of her throat and to her lips, where they traced the shape. With the tip of her tongue she moistened his skin, inviting, tempting, promising. Then she nipped, catching his fingertip between her teeth and holding it snug while her eyes dared him.

  Watching her, he slid his hand up her leg, loitering on the tight, muscular calf, then lingering on the smooth, cool skin of her thigh. He felt her breath catch, then continued moving up, making her shudder once, twice, before he parted her robe and freed her body to his.

  "I thought about touching you like this," Reed murmured as he caressed one small, firm breast, "since the last time I touched you this way."

  "I wanted you to be here." She let her hands make their own explorations. Slowly, wanting to see the fire leap into his eyes, she drew his slacks over his hips. "Every night when I closed my eyes, I pretended that you'd be here in the morning. Now you will be."

  She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, but her hands were never still. Nor were his.

  They moved slowly, though not quite lazily, because the passion was too close to the surface. They savored, in silent agreement that they had all the time they needed. No rush, no hurry, no frantic, desperate merging that left the body and mind dazed. Tonight was a night for the soul first.

  Desire me… but quietly. Long for me… but gently. Ache for me… but patiently.

  The sheets were tangled beneath her, disturbed by the restless night she had barely begun, warmed now by the passionate night she hoped wouldn't end. Their fingers linked, palm against palm, strength against strength, as their lips met for one more long, luxurious kiss.

  Of all the food she had recklessly sampled that evening, there had been nothing to compare with the flavor of his kisses. The wine had lacked sparkle, the spices had been bland when compared with the taste of his lips on hers. He could indeed feed her soul. Somehow, in some way, she wanted to feed his. Her arms came around him as she sought to give back a portion of what she was given.

  There seemed to be no limit to her generosity. He could feel it flow over him every time he held her. Now, even with the languorous, passionate movements of her body, he felt it pour out of her, quenching his soul's thirst like something cool in the midday heat.

  Her body responded with every move, with every request he made. She was there with him, as desirable and urgent a partner as a man could want. But she was also, he knew, there for him, something soft and giving a man could sink into and be soothed by. He didn't know how to repay, to give back what she so selflessly offered. He knew only to love her with infinite care.

  If it had been possible, she would have told him that was enough, at least for now. There could be no more words when her mind and body were floating so freely. When he touched her skin, she felt ablaze. He murmured her name and her heart rejoiced. When they came together with all the fire and intensity of lovers reunited, love for him consumed her.

  By midmorning, Maddy was up and restless, filled with nervous energy. In a matter of hours, it would be make-or-break time, win-or-lose, all-or-nothing. It simply wasn't possible to stay away from the theater.

  "I thought you didn't have to be there until late this afternoon," Reed commented as Maddy directed him down the shortcut she'd discovered from hotel to theater.

  "There's no rehearsal, but everything's happening today."

  "I was under the impression that everything happens tonight."

  "Nothing happens tonight without today. The lights, the sets, the drops. Turn right, then right again."

  Through a thick stream of traffic, he eased over and followed her directions. "I didn't think performers worried much about the technical points of a show."

  "A musical would lose a lot of its punch if it wasn't trimmed properly. Try to picture The King and I without the throne room or La Cage without the nightclub. There's a space." Leaning out the window, she pointed it out to him. "Will this thing squeeze into that?"

  Reed gave her a mild look, then, with a few turns of the wheel, maneuvered his BMW between two other cars parked at the curb. " Will that do?"

  "That's great." She leaned over to kiss him. "You're great. I'm glad you're here, Reed. Have I mentioned that?"

  "A few times." He cupped a hand around the back of her neck to keep her close. Keeping her close was becoming a priority. "I should have worked harder to talk you into staying in bed. To rest," he added w
hen she lifted her brow. "You're ready to jump out of your skin."

  "This is normal opening-night behavior. If I were relaxed, you could worry. Besides, I think you should see what you're paying for. You're not the kind of man who's only interested in the end product. Come on." She was out of the car and waiting on the sidewalk. "You should get a look at backstage."

  They went through the stage door together. Maddy waved to the guard, then followed the noise. The electric sound of a saw came briefly, then was gone. For the most part there were voices, some loud, some lowered, some complaining. Men and women, dressed for work, milled around. Some gave orders, others followed them, in what looked to Reed like quiet confusion.

  If he had to take bets that they would be ready for curtain in a matter of hours, he'd have called it a long shot. There was no greasepaint here, no glitter. There was dust, a little grime and a lot of sweat.

  A man in a headphone stood downstage with his arms spread over his head. He spoke into the mike as he brought his hands a little closer together. A square of light on the backdrop adjusted with the movement.

  "You met the lighting director, didn't you?"

  "Briefly," Reed said, and watched him move a few feet to stage right.

  "All the lights have to be focused, one at a time. He's doing the downstage lights, his assistant will take care of upstage."

  "How many lights are there?"

  "Dozens."

  "The show starts at eight. Shouldn't this have been done already?"

  "We made some changes in rehearsal yesterday. Don't worry." She linked an arm through his. "Whether it's done or not, the show will go on at eight."

  Reed cast another look around. There were big wooden crates on wheels, some opened, some closed. Coils of cable littered the floor, ladders were set up here and there. On a Genie lift, a man fiddled with lights while another stood back, motioning down with his hands. A dark backdrop lowered slowly, then stopped on his signal.

  "They've got to set the highs and lows on the drops," she told him. "They're all weighted, and the crew has to know how far to take them down, how far to bring them up. Come on, I'll show you the fly floor. That's where they make a lot of magic happen."

  Maddy weaved her way backstage, around crates and boxes, carefully skirting ladders rather than walking under them. There was more rope dangling, more cable coiled. Reed saw a rubber chicken hanging by a noose next to where two men taped what looked like an electrical box to a wood panel.

  "Miss O'Hurley." One of them turned to grin at her. "Looking good."

  "Just make sure you make me look good tonight."

  There were tall chests lined up along the back wall, most of them plastered with stickers from other shows. Maddy squeezed between the last drop and the chests.

  "We have to cross underneath the stage in this theater," she explained. "Not enough room back here. It's better than having to run outside and around to make your next cue."

  "Would it be more organized if—"

  "This is theater." Maddy took his hand and led him through a narrow doorway. "This is as organized as it gets. Up here." She climbed up a skinny, steep stairway and through another opening.

  It looked to Reed like the deck of a ship—one that had weathered a heavy storm. Ropes were everywhere, some as thick as Maddy's wrist, some thin and wiry. They hung from above and spilled out on the floor, without, it seemed to him, any rhyme or reason. A great many were grouped together, slanting up, then down over a long metal pole.

  There was a small table wedged into a corner with papers tacked up around it and spread over it, with an overflowing ashtray on top of everything. A few men were tying ropes with the careless skill of veteran sailors. The place smelled of rope, cigarettes and sweat; the familiar scents that lingered in a theater.

  "This is a hemp house," she began. "There aren't too many of them left in the States. It's too bad, really. You have more flexibility with rope and sandbags than you do with counterweights. All the moving pieces are handled from up here. The beaded curtain." She put a hand over a group of ropes that was bound together and labeled with a tag. "It weighs over five hundred pounds. When it's time to let it down in the third act, the stage manager cues the flyman verbally through the intercom. The lighting director backs it up with a light cue."

  "Sounds simple enough."

  "Sure. Unless you've got two or three cues on top of each other or a drop that's so heavy it takes three men on the ropes. This is a big show. The guys up here won't be taking many coffee breaks."

  "I don't understand why you know so much."

  "I've been in theater all my life." A man came through the doorway, muscled his way around them and began talking to two men who were tying off rope. "Come out on the paint bridge. It's quite a view."

  She made her way around the various ropes, hunched under a steel bar and stepped out on a narrow iron platform. Below, stagehands were spread out. Though it looked no more organized from this angle, Reed began to sense a spirit of teamwork.