On Friday she was in for a tremendous disappointment; Lee didn't come to rehearsal. Andrew told her that he'd flown toLos Angelesto sign some papers and wouldn't be back until Monday.
Her weekend was sheer hell. She forced herself to restore the darkroom, and she took the boys swimming both days, packing a picnic lunch and staying out of the house as long as she could. Each time the phone rang she almost jumped through the roof. But the whisperer didn't call and nothing happened.
Except that massive shadows formed beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. And her nerves were stretched as tightly as a drum.
She had never been more grateful to see a Monday roll around. Was she still being watched? If so, the watcher would know that she couldn't have gotten to Lee until today....
Lee still seemed tense, distracted, and now, very distant. That made it all the harder for her to approach him, but she had to. It was also difficult to admit that he looked wonderful to her. Hard to accept that no matter how remotely he touched her, it felt good to be touched by him again. The seconds she spent in his arms made her feel inexplicably secure. His scent was pleasant and masculine; the power of his hold warmed her....
But there was a definite chill to his cool and courteous manner.
She had prayed that an opportunity might pop up, that he would single her out for a conversation as he so often had, but he didn't come near her unless he had to. Finally, during the last break of the day, she gathered up her nerve and two cups of coffee and walked over to the piano where he was idly picking out a tune.
"I thought you might like some coffee," she began when his eyes fell upon her. He raised a brow and she blushed. They both knew she had no great tendency to worry about what he might or might not like.
"Thanks," he said briefly. He accepted the cup but set it down on the piano. His fingers continued to run over the keys. They seemed so large, long and bronze as they skimmed over the ivory.
"I didn't realize you played the piano, too," Bryn murmured, leaning against it and hoping her pose was sultry and not ridiculous.
Heglanced her way sharply. "Well, I do."
Not, "Yeah, well, I learned at school," or "It's an important instrument for any musician to play"--not anything that was conversational. Just "Well, I do."
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He wasn't making it easy for her. But what had she expected after all this pure antagonism?
Plunge in and lie like hell, and do it well, she told herself. She stretched out a hand and touched his arm.
He stopped playing, staring at her hand for several curious moments before raising his eyes to hers.
The irony of it was that she understood her antagonism, even if he didn't. Now, at this moment, she could see her folly so clearly. She had judged him by another man, and she had based her hostility on the simple fact that he was a man with whom a woman could easily--too easily--fall in love. And rather than take that chance, she had built a wall of ice. She still needed that wall, but she needed his trust more than anything else.
"Lee, I'm sorry," she murmured quickly before she could lose her nerve. "I mean about everything. I've been horrible to you since we met. I...I'd like an opportunity to change that."
At last he sat back, giving her his full, dubious attention. "Oh?" he queried dryly.
God, how she wanted to slap him! He was just staring at her with those golden eyes, his expression as hard as granite. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she had more at stake than even she could fathom.
"I..." Her voice started to fail her, but it was a blessing in disguise, for it gave her an idea for a new tactic.
"Oh, never mind!" she cried, allowing a trace of pathos to edge into her tone. Then she spun away.
It worked. She hadn't gone a step before she felt his hand clamp down on her shoulder. She was spun back around, and she allowed herself to fall against the warm breadth of his chest.
"All right, Bryn. What are you saying?" he asked. "That I'd like to know you better," she said without flinching.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."How long would she have to rot in Purgatory for a lie like that? She was breathless, which was no lie. But the effect he had on her was what made the description all the more unbearable. Yes!
She had judged him wrong. He was a decent man, strong but often decent, often kind--as well as having that powerful... sexual draw that was almost overwhelming. Oh, God, she thought, it was getting worse and worse; if she was honest, she would admit that she cared for him. She couldn't allow herself to be honest--it would be a disastrous mistake. She had to maintain her walls. Adam!she reminded herself. It wouldn't be so hard to be deceitful, cold, hot--or anything. All she had to do was remember his sweet little face and she could do anything!