Dance to the Piper: The O'Hurleys Read online

  “It’s lovely, Reed.” She crossed to the windows to look down. If there was a problem, she felt it was here. He kept himself so aloof, so distant from the city he lived in, away from the sounds, the smells, the humanity of it. “Do you ever stand here and wonder what’s going on?”

  “What’s going on where?”

  “Down there, of course.” She turned back to him with a silent invitation to join her. When he did, she looked down again. “Who’s arguing, who’s laughing, who’s making love. Where’s the police car going, and will he get there in time. How many street people will sleep in the park tonight. How many tricks turned, how many bottles opened, how many babies born. It’s an incredible place, isn’t it?”

  She wore the same scent, light, teasing only because it was so guileless. “Not everyone looks at it the way you do.”

  “I always wanted to live in New York.” She stepped back so that there were only lights, just the dazzle of them. “Ever since I can remember. It’s strange how the three of us—my sisters, I mean—seemed to have this gut instinct where we belonged. As close as we are, we all chose completely different places. Abby’s in rural Virginia, Chantel’s in fantasyland, and I’m here.”

  He had to stop himself from stroking her hair. There was always that trace of wistfulness when she spoke of her sisters. He didn’t understand family. He had only his father. “Would you like a drink?”

  It was in his tone, the distance, the formality. She tried not to let it hurt. “I wouldn’t mind some Perrier.”

  When he went to the compact ebony bar, she moved away from the window. She couldn’t stand there, thinking about people milling around together, when she felt so divorced from the man she had come to see.

  Then she saw the plant. He’d set it on a little stand where it would get indirect sunlight from the windows. The soil, when she tested it with her thumb, was moist but not soaking. She smiled as she touched a leaf. He could care, if only he allowed himself to.

  “It looks better,” Maddy said as she took the glass he offered.

  “It’s pitiful,” Reed corrected, swirling the brandy in his snifter.

  “No, really, it does. It doesn’t look so, well … pale, I guess. Thank you.”

  “You were drowning it.” He drank, and wished her eyes weren’t so wide, so candid. “Why don’t you sit down, Maddy? You can tell me why you came.”

  “I just wanted to see you.” For the first time, she wished she had some of Chantel’s flair with men. “Look, I’m lousy at this sort of thing.” Unable to keep still, she began to wander around the apartment. “I never had time to develop a lot of style, and I only say clever lines when they’re fed to me. I wanted to see you.” Defiantly she sat on the edge of the sofa. “So I came.”

  “No style.” It amazed him that he could be amused when this unwanted need for her was knotting his gut. “I see.” He sat, as well, keeping a cushion between them. “Did you come to proposition me?”

  Temper flared in her eyes and came out unexpectedly as hauteur. “I see dancers don’t have a patent on ego. I suppose the women you’re used to are ready to tumble into bed when you crook your finger.”

  The smile threatened again as he lifted his brandy. “The women I’m used to don’t sing duets in the lobby with the security guard.”

  She slammed down her glass, and the fizzing water plopped dangerously close to the rim. “Probably because they have tin ears.”

  “That’s a possibility. The point is, Maddy, I don’t know what to do about you.”

  “Do about me?” She rose, completely graceful, totally livid. “You don’t have to do anything about me. I don’t want you to do anything about me, I’m not an Eliza Doolittle.”

  “You even think in plays.”

  “What if I do? You think in columns.” Disgusted, she began to pace again. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. It was stupid. Damn it, I’ve been miserable for a week. I’m not used to being miserable.” She whirled back, accusing. “I missed my cue because I was thinking about you.”

  “Were you?” He rose, though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. He knew he should see to it that she was angry enough to leave before he did something he’d regret. But he was doing it now, moving closer to brush his thumb over her cheek.

  “Yes.” Desire rose and anger drained. She didn’t know how to make room for both. She took his wrist before he could drop his hand. “I wanted you to think of me.”

  “Maybe I was.” He wanted to gather her close, to feel her hard against him and to pretend for just a little while. “Maybe I caught myself looking out the window of my office and wondering about you.”

  She rose on her toes to meet his lips. There was a storm brewing in him, she could feel it. She had storms of her own, but she knew his would be for different reasons and have different results. Was it necessary to understand him, when being with him felt so right? It was enough for her. But even as she thought it, she knew it would never be enough for him.

  “Reed—”

  “No.” His hands were hard and tense on her back, in her hair, as he pulled her closer. “Don’t talk now.”

  He needed what she could give him, with her mouth, with her arms, with the movement of her body against his. His home had never seemed empty until she had come into his life. Now that she was here, with him, he didn’t want to think about being alone again.

  Her mouth was like velvet, warm and smooth, as comforting as it was arousing. When she touched him, it felt as though she wanted to give, rather than take. For a moment he could almost believe it.

  How easily he could lure her under. A kiss had always been a simple thing to her. Something to show affection to a loved one with, something to be given casually to a friend, even something to be played up onstage for a theater full of people. But with Reed, the simplicity ended. This was complex, overwhelming, a contact that shot sparks through every nerve ending. Passion wasn’t new to her. She experienced it every day in her work. She’d known that it was different when it involved a man and woman, but she hadn’t realized it could turn her muscles to water and cloud her brain.

  He ran his hands through her hair. She wished he would move them over her, over every inch of the body that throbbed and ached for him. He wanted her. She could taste the frenzied desire every time his mouth met hers. Yet he did nothing more than hold her close against him.

  Make love with me, her mind requested, but her lips were captured by his and couldn’t form the words. She could picture candlelight, soft music and a big, wide bed with the two of them tangled together. The image made her skin heat and her mouth more aggressive.

  “Reed, do you want me?”

  Even as her mouth skimmed over his face, she felt him stiffen. Just slightly, but she felt it. “Yes.”

  It was the way he said it that cooled her blood. Reluctance, even annoyance, glazed over the answer. Maddy drew away slowly. “You have a problem with that?”

  Why couldn’t it be as simple with her as it was with other women? Mutual enjoyment, rules up front, and nobody’s hurt. He’d known from the first time he’d touched her that it wouldn’t be simple with her. “Yes.” He went back for his brandy, hoping it would steady him. “I have a problem with that.”

  She was going too fast, Maddy decided. It was a bad habit of hers to move at top speed without looking for the bumps in the road. “Would you like to share it with me?”

  “I want you.” The statement wiped away what she’d hoped was a casual smile. “I’ve wanted to take you to bed since I watched you gathering up loose change and sweaty clothes off the sidewalk.”

  She took a step closer. Did he know that was what she’d wanted to hear, even though it frightened her a little? Did he know how much she wanted him to feel some portion of what she felt? “Why did you send me away the other night?”

  “I’m no good for you, Maddy.”

  She stared at him. “Wait a minute. I want to be sure I understand this. You sent me away for my own good.”
>
  He splashed more brandy into the glass. It wasn’t helping. “That’s right.”

  “Reed, you make a child wear scratchy clothes in the winter for her own good. Once she gets past a certain age, she’s on her own.”

  He wondered how in the hell he was supposed to argue with an analogy like that. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman interested in one-night stands.”

  Her smile chilled. “No, I’m not.”

  “Then I did you a favor.” He drank again because he was beginning to despise himself.

  “I guess I should say thank you.” She picked up her dance bag, then dropped it again. It just wasn’t an O’Hurley trait to give up easily. “I want to know why you’re so sure it would have been a one-night stand.”

  “I’m not interested in the long term.”

  She nodded, telling herself that was reasonable. “There’s a big difference between one night and the long term. I get the feeling that you think I’m trying to put a cage around you.”

  She didn’t know that the cage was half formed already, and that he’d built it himself. “Maddy, why don’t we just leave it that you and I have nothing in common.”

  “I’ve thought about that.” Now that she had something solid to dig her teeth into, she relaxed again. “It’s true to a point, you know, but when you really think about it, we have plenty in common. We both live in New York.”

  Lifting a brow, he leaned back against the bar. “Of course. That wipes everything else out.”

  “It’s a start.” She caught it, that faint glimpse of amusement. It was enough for her. “We both, at the moment, have a vested interest in a certain musical.” She smiled at him, instinctively and irresistibly charming. “I put my socks on before my shoes. How about you?”

  “Maddy—”

  “Do you stand up in the shower?”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Come on, no evasions. Just the truth. Do you?”

  It was useless. He had to smile. “Yes.”

  “Amazing. So do I. Ever read Gone with the Wind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah. Common ground in literature. I could probably go on for hours.”

  “I’m sure you could.” He set his brandy down and went to her again. “What’s the point, Maddy?”

  “The point is, I like you, Reed.” She put her hands on his forearms, wishing she could ease the tension and keep that smile in his eyes just a bit longer. “I think if you’d loosen up, just a little, we could be friends. I’m attracted to you. I think if we take our time, we could be lovers, too.”

  It was a mistake, of course. He knew it, but she looked so appealing just then, so honest and carefree. “You are,” he murmured as he toyed with a strand of her hair, “unique.”

  “I hope so.” With a smile, she rose up on her toes and kissed him, without heat, without passion. “Is it a deal?”

  “You might regret it.”

  “Then that’s my problem, isn’t it? Friends?” She offered her hand solemnly, but her eyes laughed at him, challenging.

  “Friends,” he agreed, and hoped he wouldn’t be the one to regret it.

  “Great. Listen, I’m starving. Have you got a can of soup or something?”

  Chapter 6

  On the surface, it appeared to be every bit as simple as Maddy had said it could be. For a great many people it would have been simple beneath the surface as well. But not everyone wanted as deeply as Reed or pretended as well as Maddy.

  They went to the movies. Whenever their schedules meshed and the weather cooperated, they had lunch in the park. They spent one quiet Sunday afternoon wandering through a museum, more interested in each other than in the exhibits. If Reed hadn’t known himself better, he would have said he was on the brink of having a romance. But he didn’t believe in romance.

  Love had brought his father betrayal, a betrayal Reed himself lived with every day. If Edwin had put it behind him, Reed had not, could not. Fidelity, to the majority of the people he worked with, was nothing if not flexible. People had affairs, not romances, and they had them before, during and after marriage, so that marriage itself was a moot point. Nothing lasted forever, particularly not relationships.

  But he thought of Maddy when he wasn’t with her, and he thought of little else when they were together.

  Friends. Somehow they’d managed to become friends, despite their differing outlooks and opposite backgrounds. If the friendship was cautious on his part and careless on hers, they’d still found enough between them to form a base. Where did they go from here?

  Lovers. It seemed inevitable that they would become lovers. The passion that simmered under the surface every moment they were together wouldn’t be held back for long. They both knew it and, in their different ways, accepted it. What worried Reed was that once he’d taken her to bed, as he wanted to, he would lose the easy companionship he was coming to depend on.

  Sex would change things. It was bound to. Intimacy on a physical level would jar the emotional intimacy they had just begun to develop. As much as he needed Maddy in his bed, he wondered if he could afford to risk losing the Maddy he knew out of bed. It was a tug-of-war he knew he could never really win.

  Yet he didn’t believe in losing. Given enough logical thought, enough planning, he should be able to find a way to have both. Did it matter if he was being calculating, even cold-blooded, when the end result would please both of them?

  The answer wouldn’t come. Instead, an image ran through his head of Maddy as she’d been a few afternoons before, laughing, tossing bread crumbs to pigeons in the park.

  When the buzzer sounded on his desk, he discovered he’d lost another ten minutes daydreaming. “Yes, Hannah.”

  “Your father’s on line one, Mr. Valentine.”

  “Thank you.” Reed pushed a button and made the connection. “Dad?”

  “Reed, heard a rumor that Selby’s taken on a fresh batch of indies. Know anything about it?”

  Reed already had a preliminary report on the influx of independent record promoters taken on by Galloway. “Keeping your ear to the ground on the ‘nineteenth’ hole?”

  “Something like that.”

  “There’s talk of some pressure on some of the Top 40 stations to add a few records to their playlist. Nothing new. A few whispers of payola, but nothing that gels.”

  “Selby’s a slippery son of a bitch. You hear anything concrete, I wouldn’t mind being informed.”

  “You’ll be the first.”

  “Never liked the idea of paying to have a record air,” Edwin muttered. “Well, it’s an old gambit, and I’m thinking more of new ones. I wanted to see a rehearsal of our play. Would you like to join me?”

  Reed glanced at his desk calendar. “When?”

  “In an hour. I know it’s the form to let them know; they’d like to be on their toes when the bank roll’s expected, but I like surprises.”

  Reed noted two appointments that morning and started to refuse. Giving in to impulse, he decided to reschedule. “I’ll meet you at the theater at eleven.”

  “Stretch it into lunch? Your old man’s buying.”

  He was lonely, Reed realized. Edwin Valentine had his club, his friends and enough money to cruise around the world, but he was lonely. “I’ll bring an appetite,” Reed told him, then hung up to juggle his schedule.

  * * *

  Edwin entered the theater stealthily, like a boy without a ticket. “We’ll just slip into a seat on the aisle and see what we’re paying for.”

  Reed walked behind his father, but his gaze was on the stage, where Maddy was wrapped in the arms of another man. He felt the lunge of jealousy, so surprisingly fierce that he stopped in the center of the aisle and stared.

  She was looking up at another man, her arms linked behind his neck, her face glowing. “I really had a wonderful time, Jonathan. I could have danced forever.”

  “You’re talking like it’s over. We have hours yet.” Reed watched as the man pressed a kiss
to her forehead. “Come home with me.”

  “Come home with you?” Even with the distance, Reed could sense the alarm in the set of Maddy’s body. “Oh, Jonathan, I’d like to, really.” She drew away, just a little, but he caught her hands. “I just can’t. I have to … I have to be at work early. Yes, that’s it. And there’s my mother.” She turned away again, rolling her eyes so that the audience could see the lie while the man beside her couldn’t. “She’s not really well, you know, and I should be there in case she needs anything.”

  “You’re such a good person, Mary.”

  “Oh, no.” Guilt and distress were hinted at in her voice. “No, Jonathan, I’m not.”

  “Don’t say that.” He drew her into his arms again. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  She was caught up in another kiss. Even knowing it was only a play, Reed felt something twist in his stomach.

  “I have to go,” she said quickly. “I really have to.” Pulling away, she darted across stage right.

  “When will I see you again?”

  She stopped and seemed at war within herself. “Tomorrow. Come to the library at six. I’ll meet you.”

  “Mary—” He started toward her, but she held up both hands.

  “Tomorrow,” she said again, and ran offstage.

  “All right,” the director’s voice boomed out. “We’ll have fifteen seconds here for the drops and set change. Wanda, Rose, take your marks. Lights go on. Cue Maddy.”

  She came rushing onstage again to where Wanda was lounging in a chair and the woman named Rose was primping in a mirror.

  “You’re late,” Wanda said lazily.

  “What are you, a time clock?” Maddy’s voice had an edge of toughness now; her movements were sharper.

  “Jackie was looking for you.”

  Maddy stopped in the act of pulling on a wild red wig. “What’d you tell him?”

  “That he wasn’t looking in the right places. Don’t stretch your G-string, Mary. I covered for you.”

  “Yeah, she covered for you,” Rose agreed, snapping a wad of gum and fussing with her outrageous pink and orange costume.