Reflections Page 5

  Lindsay demonstrated a move, her body lifting effortlessly to pointe, her arms rising slowly. His doubts about her training seemed to Lindsay inconsistent with his patience in sitting through the morning session.

  It annoyed her that once again he had insinuated himself into her thoughts. Thrusting him out, Lindsay concentrated fully on the last of her classes. But even as her final student dashed through the front door, leaving her alone, her defenses slipped. She remembered the exploring way he had looked at her and the quiet, even texture of his voice.

  Trouble, she thought as she stacked CDs. Complications. I’m beginning to enjoy life without complications. She glanced around with a satisfied smile.

  My studio, she thought chauvinistically. I’m making something out of it. It might be small and filled with girls who won’t dance to anything but top-forty rock after they hit sixteen, but it’s mine. I’m making a living doing something I enjoy. What else could anyone want? Irresistibly, her eyes were drawn down to the CD she still held in her hand. Without hesitation, she inserted it into the player.

  She loved her students, and she loved teaching them, but she also loved the empty studio. She had found satisfaction in the past three years of instructing, but there was something private—something nourishing—in dancing for the sheer sake of it. It was something her mother had never understood. To Mae, dancing was a commitment, and obsession. To Lindsay, it was a joy, a lover.

  Ruth had brought back memories of Dulcinea. It had always been a favored role of Lindsay’s because of its enthusiasm and power. Now, as the music poured into the room, she remembered vividly the flow of movement and the strength.

  The music was fast and richly Spanish, and she responded to it with verve. Her body came to life with the need to dance. The challenge of the story came back to her to be expressed with sharp arm movements and soubresauts. There was energy and youth in the short, quick steps.

  As she danced, the mirror reflected the gently flowing chiffon, but in Lindsay’s mind, she wore the stiff tutu in black lace and red satin. There was a full-blossomed rose behind her ear and a Spanish comb in her hair. She was Dulcinea, all spirit, all challenge, with the energy to dance endlessly. As the music built toward the finish, Lindsay began her fouettés. Around and around with speed and style she twirled herself. It seemed she could go on forever, like the ballerina on a music box, effortlessly spinning to the tune. And as the toy stopped with the music, so did she. She threw a hand over her head and the other to her waist, styling for the sassy ending.

  “Bravo.”

  With both hands clasped to her speeding heart, she whirled. There, straddling one of her small, wooden chairs, was Seth Bannion. She was breathing heavily, both from the exertion of the dance and from the shock of discovering she had not been alone. Her eyes were huge, still dark with excitement, her skin wildly flushed.

  The dance had been for herself alone, but she felt no infringement on her privacy. There was no resentment that he had shared it with her. Even her initial surprise was fading to be replaced by an inner knowledge that he would understand what she had been doing and why. She didn’t question the feeling, but stood, waiting as he rose and moved to her.

  He kept his eyes on hers, and something more than breathlessness began to flutter inside her breast. The look was long and personal. Her blood, already warmed from the dance, heated further. She could feel it tingle under the surface of her skin. There was a feathery dryness in her throat. She lifted one of the hands she still held against her breast and pressed it to her lips.

  “Magnificent,” he murmured with his eyes still locked on hers. He took the hand she had pressed to her lips and brought it to his own. Her pulse was still racing at her wrist, and his thumb grazed it lightly. “You make it seem so effortless,” he commented. “I hardly expect you to be out of breath.”

  The smile he gave her was as potent as it was unexpected. “I feel I should thank you, even though the dance wasn’t for me.”

  “I didn’t . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Her voice was as jumpy as her nerves, and Lindsay sought to discipline them both. She began to remove her hand from his and was surprised when Seth resisted, holding her fingers an extra moment before releasing them.

  “No, I could see you weren’t.” He took yet another careful scan of her face. “I’d apologize for intruding, but I’m not in the least bit sorry to have been your audience.” He possessed considerably more charm than Lindsay had given him credit for. It made it difficult to separate her response to the dance from her response to him. She thought the slight wings at the tips of his brows were fascinating. Only when the left one tilted up did she realize she’d been staring and that he was amused by it. Annoyed with her own lack of sophistication, she turned to the CD player.

  “I don’t mind,” she told him carelessly. “I always worked better with an audience. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “My knowledge of ballet is limited. What was the dance from?”

  “Don Quixote.” Lindsay slipped the CD back into its case. “Ruth reminded me of it last night.” She faced Seth again with the CD held between them. “She intends to dance Dulcinea one day.”

  “And will she?” Seth took the CD from her hands, setting it aside as if impatient with the barrier.

  “I think so. She has exceptional talent.” Lindsay gave him a direct look. “Why did you come back here?”

  He smiled again, a slow, somehow dashing smile she knew women found difficult to resist. “To see you,” he said and continued to smile as surprise reflected clearly on her face. “And to talk about Ruth. It simply wasn’t possible this morning.”

  “I see.” Lindsay nodded, prepared to become the instructor again. “There is quite a bit we need to discuss. I’m afraid I thought you weren’t terribly interested this morning.”

  “I’m very interested.” His eyes were on hers again. “Have dinner with me.”

  It took Lindsay a moment to react, as her mind had jumped forward to plans for Ruth. “Dinner?” She gave him an ingenuous stare as she tried to decide how she felt about the idea of being with him. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”

  His brows lifted at her bluntness, but he nodded. “Then you apparently haven’t any great objection. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Before she could comment, Seth walked back to the door. “I already know the address.”

  ***

  When she had bought it, Lindsay had thought the pelican gray dress would be clean and sophisticated. It was made of thin, soft wool and was closely tailored with a mandarin collar. Critically studying herself in it, she was pleased. This was a far different image than the dripping, babbling mess who had sat in a roadside puddle, and more different, still, from the dreamy, absorbed dancer. The woman who stared back at Lindsay from the glass was a confident, mature woman. She felt as comfortable with this image as she felt with all her other roles. She decided that this aspect of Lindsay Dunne would deal most successfully with Seth Bannion. Lindsay brushed her long mane of hair over one shoulder and braided it loosely as she thought of him.

  He intrigued her, perhaps because she hadn’t been able to pigeonhole him, as she often did with the people she met. She sensed he was complex, and complexities always had interested her. Or perhaps, she thought, fastening thick, silver hoops to her ears, it was just because he had bought the Cliff House.

  Moving to the closet, Lindsay took out his jacket and folded it. It occurred to her suddenly that it had been some time since her last real date. There had been movies and quick dinners with Andy, but thinking back on them, she decided those times hardly counted as dates. Andy’s like my brother, she mused, unconsciously toying with the collar of Seth’s jacket. His scent still clung to it, faint but unmistakably male.

  How long has it been since I went out with a man? she wondered. Three months? Four? Six, she decided with a sigh. And in the past three years
, no more than a handful of times. Before that? Lindsay laughed and shook her head. Before that, a date had been the next performance scheduled.

  Did she regret it? For a moment she studied herself seriously in the glass. There was a young woman there whose fragile looks were deceptive, whose mouth was generous. No, she’d never regretted it. How could she? She had what she wanted, and whatever she had lost was balanced on the other end of the scale. Glancing up, she saw the reflection of her toe shoes in the mirror as they hung over her bed. Thoughtfully, she stroked the collar of Seth’s jacket again before gathering it up with her purse.

  Her heels clicked lightly on the stair treads as she came down to the main floor. A quick glance at her watch assured her that she had a few minutes to spare. Setting down the jacket and her purse, Lindsay walked back toward her mother’s rooms.

  Since Mae’s return from the hospital, she had been confined to the first floor of the house. Initially, the stairs had been too much for her to manage, and afterward, the habit of avoiding them had set in. The arrangement afforded both women privacy. Two rooms off the kitchen had been converted to serve as Mae’s bedroom and sitting room. For the first year, Lindsay had slept on the sofa in the living room to be within calling distance. Even now she slept lightly, ever alert for any disturbance in the night.

  She paused at her mother’s rooms, hearing the low drone of the television. After knocking softly, she opened the door.

  “Mother, I . . .”

  She stopped when she saw Mae sitting in the recliner. Her legs were propped up as she faced the television, but her attention was focused on the book in her lap. Lindsay knew the book well. It was long and wide and leather-bound to endure wear. Nearly half of its oversized pages were crammed with clippings and photos. There were professional critiques, gossip column tidbits and interviews, all expounding on Lindsay Dunne’s dancing career. There was the earliest story from the Cliffside Daily to her final review in the New York Times. Her professional life—and a good portion of her personal one as well—were bound in that book.

  As always, when she saw her mother poring over the scrapbook, Lindsay was struck by waves of guilt and helplessness. She felt her frustration rise as she stepped into the room.

  “Mother.”

  This time Mae glanced up. Her eyes were lit with excitement, her cheeks flushed with it. “‘A lyrical dancer,’” she quoted without looking back at the clipping, “‘with the beauty and grace of a fairy tale. Breathtaking.’ Clifford James,” Mae continued, watching Lindsay as she crossed the room. “One of the toughest dance critics in the business. You were only nineteen.”

  “I was overwhelmed by that review,” Lindsay remembered, smiling as she laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t think my feet touched ground for a week.”

  “He’d say the same thing if you went back today.”

  Lindsay shifted her attention from the clipping and met her mother’s eyes. A thin thread of tension made its way up her neck. “Today I’m twenty-five,” she reminded her gently.

  “He would,” Mae insisted. “We both know it. You . . .”

  “Mother.” Sharply, Lindsay cut her off, then, appalled by her own tone, crouched down beside the chair. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about this now. Please.” She lifted their joined hands to her cheek, and sighing, wished there could be more between them than the dance. “I’ve only another minute or two.”

  Mae studied her daughter’s dark, expressive eyes and saw the plea. She shifted restlessly in her chair. “Carol didn’t say anything about your going out tonight.”

  Reminded that Andy’s mother had spent part of the day with her mother, Lindsay rose and began a cautious explanation. “I’m not going out with Andy.” She straightened the line of her dress.

  “No?” Mae frowned. “Who, then?”

  “The uncle of a new student of mine.” Lindsay brought her head up to meet Mae’s eyes. “She has potential, a truly natural talent. I’d like you to see her.”

  “What about him?” Mae brushed off the thought of Lindsay’s student and stared down at the open scrapbook.

  “I don’t know him very well, of course. He’s bought the Cliff House.”

  “Oh?” Mae’s attention returned. She was aware of Lindsay’s fascination with the house.

  “Yes, they’ve just recently moved in. It seems Ruth was orphaned a few months ago.” She paused, remembering the sadness lurking in the girl’s eyes. “She interests me very much. I want to speak to her uncle about her.”

  “So you’re having dinner.”

  “That’s right.” Annoyed at having to justify a simple date, Lindsay moved to the door. “I don’t suppose I’ll be very late. Would you like anything before I go?”

  “I’m not a cripple.”

  Lindsay’s eyes flew to her mother’s. Mae’s mouth was set, her fingers gripped tight on the edges of the book. “I know.”

  Then there was a silence between them that Lindsay felt unable to break. Why is it, she wondered, that the longer I live with her, the wider the gap? The doorbell sounded, overloud in the quiet. Studying her daughter, Mae recognized the indecision. She broke the contact by looking back at the pages in her lap.

  “Good night, Lindsay.”

  She tasted failure as she turned to the door. “Good night.”

  Briskly, Lindsay walked down the hall, struggling out of the mood. There was nothing I could have done differently, she told herself. Nothing I could have altered. Suddenly she wanted escape, she wanted to open the front door, to step outside and to keep going until she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Someplace where she could take her time discovering what it was she really wanted of herself. Lindsay pulled open the door with a hint of desperation.

  “Hi.” She greeted Seth with a smile as she stepped back to let him in. The dark suit was perfect for his lean, elegant build. Still, there was something slightly sinful about his face. It was dark and narrow and knowing. Lindsay found she liked the contrast. “I suppose I need a coat; it’s turned cold.” She walked to the hall closet to take out a coat of dark leather. Seth took it from her.

  Wordlessly, she allowed him to slip the coat over her while she wondered about basic chemistry. It was odd, she thought, that one person should have such a strong physical reaction to another. Wasn’t it strange that nearness or a touch or just a look could increase the heartbeat or raise the blood pressure? Nothing else was required—no personal knowledge, no amiability—just that chance mixture of chemicals. Lindsay didn’t resist when Seth turned her to face him. They stood very close, eyes holding, as he brought his hand from her shoulder to adjust the collar of her coat.

  “Do you think it’s strange,” she asked thoughtfully, “that I should be so strongly attracted to you when I thought you were quite horrible the first time I met you, and I’m still not completely sure you’re not?”

  His grin was different from his smile, she noted. The smile was slow, while the grin was a quick flash. All of his features responded at once. “Are your sentences always so frank and so convoluted?”

  “Probably.” Lindsay turned away, pleased to have seen the grin. “I’m not very good at dissimulating, and I suppose I talk as I think. Here’s your jacket.” She handed it to him, dry and neatly folded. Her smile came easily. “I certainly didn’t expect to return it to you under these circumstances.”

  Seth took it, glancing at it briefly before bringing his eyes back to hers. “Did you have other circumstances in mind?”

  “Several,” Lindsay answered immediately as she picked up her purse. “And you were extremely uncomfortable in all of them. In one, you were serving a ten-year stretch for insulting dancers on rainy afternoons. Are we ready?” she asked, holding out her hand to him in a habitual gesture. His hesitation was almost too brief to measure before he accepted it. Their fingers interlocked.

  “You’re not
what I expected,” Seth told her as they stepped out into the chill of the night.

  “No?” Lindsay took a deep breath, lifting her face to try to take in all the stars at once. “What did you expect?”

  They walked to the car in silence, and Lindsay could smell the spicy aroma of mums and rotting leaves. When they were in the car, Seth turned to her to give her another of the long, probing looks she had come to expect of him.

  “The image you were portraying this morning was more in line with what I expected,” he said at length. “Very professional, very cool and detached.”

  “I had fully intended to continue along those lines this evening,” Lindsay informed him. “Then I forgot.”

  “Will you tell me why you looked ready to run for your life when you answered the door?”

  She lifted a brow. “You’re very perceptive.”

  With a sigh, Lindsay sat back against the seat. “It has to do with my mother and a constant feeling of inadequacy.” She twisted her head until her eyes met his. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you about it,” she murmured, not pausing to ponder why she felt she could. “But not tonight. I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight.”

  “All right.” Seth started the car. “Then perhaps you’ll let a new resident in on who’s who in Cliffside.”

  Lindsay relaxed, grateful. “How far away is the restaurant?”

  “About twenty minutes,” he told her.

  “That should about do it,” she decided, and she began to fill him in.

  Chapter Five

  Lindsay felt comfortable with Seth. She told him amusing stories because she liked the sound of his laughter. Her own mood of panic and desperation was gone. As they drove, she decided she wanted to know him better. She was intrigued and attracted, and if something volcanic erupted, she’d risk it. Natural disasters were rarely dull.