Night Moves

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Now she could see her table. This morning it had been piled high with books. Stacks of erotic literature. Various cataloging manuals and piles of art history texts. And the latest J.D. Robb, which she kept as a reward for when she got enough schoolwork done.

Now the books were gone. The usually scratched tabletop was covered with a white linen tablecloth. Two place settings in a china Ella didn’t recognize took up most of the tabletop. Shane placed the rose in a slim vase in the center. A bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket next to the table. Champagne was Ella’s secret vice, and her eyes widened with surprise.

“What is all this?”

“I thought you could use a relaxing evening. And I wanted to buy you dinner before I went away.”

“Buy?”

He nodded toward the tiny kitchen, and she saw the stacks of white boxes and round foil containers. “Craft,” he said, referring to Ella’s favorite restaurant and one of the hottest dining establishments in the city.

“You got Craft to go?”

He laughed. “My boss knows one of the chefs. I called in a favor and he said to call it my ‘kick butt in Texas’ present.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “They know what a prize they got when you picked Uncle Sam over some big law firm. I bet everyone is sorry to see you go—and jealous they’re not on the task force, too.”

“There’s a little envy,” he admitted. “And there are definite downsides to leaving, even if it is the biggest opportunity of my life. But you know I couldn’t not take it.”

“I know.” And she did. They were too much alike for her not to understand. In a way, ambition defined them. And, in a way, ambition had raised them. Certainly their parents hadn’t bothered to do the job. Instead they’d both reached for something else, something to give them an identity other than an accident of birth. They were each determined to make themselves.

It didn’t take a pop-psychology class to get to the heart of it. Ella knew that both her academic drive and her need for a cohesive family stemmed from her pathetic childhood. She knew it, she understood it and she wouldn’t change it.

Just as she wouldn’t change Shane’s ambition. It was part of who he was. And although she was sad about him leaving, she knew too well what he’d be giving up if he stayed. Almost as much as she’d be giving up if she took Ronnie’s suggestion and walked away from the life she could have with Tony.

She glanced again around her apartment. The shock of seeing Shane had worn off, replaced by the realization that she’d eaten next to nothing today. “Dinner, huh?”

“I may be leaving on Monday, but in the meantime, I thought we could stuff ourselves silly and then kick back on the couch and watch…” He trailed off, turning slightly to rummage behind him as Ella looked on, amused.

Finally he turned back, this time with a DVD case from Blockbuster. He handed it to her. Their fingers brushed as she took the case, and any illusions that Ella might have had that she’d be able to keep this sudden lust thing under control dissolved under the force of the sparks shooting through her fingers. Damn it all and damn Ronnie. Those books were making Ella a basket case.

She looked down, sure her cheeks were flaming, and concentrated on opening the box. When she did, though, her discomfiture faded, replaced by a burst of genuine laughter when she saw what was inside: Monty Python and the Holy Grail. One of her favorite movies, and one that she and Shane had seen over and over and over.

“How ever did you know?”

“I’m just a perceptive kind of guy,” he said.

“I guess so,” she murmured. But she wasn’t really thinking about her words. She’d moved closer to him to take the DVD, but now the movie was the last thing on her mind. His scent filled her head. Kouros. A cologne he’d worn every day for at least a decade. She was as familiar with the musky scent as she was with Shane himself. So why did both seem so new right now? New and heady and unbelievably sensual?

And the way he looked…

When she’d left the apartment this morning, he’d been decked out in denim shorts and a thin gray muscle shirt. The outfit had accentuated his rugged good looks, decidedly unlawyerly. If she’d snapped a Polaroid of him before she’d walked out the door, she had no doubt he could make the cover of any calendar of sexy men.

It had been that image of masculine virility that had spawned her fantasies in the library, and any suggestion that Shane might look even more sexy fully clothed would have seemed preposterous.

Now, though, Ella knew it wasn’t preposterous at all.

He was freshly shaved, his thick hair combed back with just a bit of gel, but that one unruly strand still fell across his forehead, brushing the top of his dark eyebrows. His jawline formed a rugged angle that almost screamed for her to reach out and stroke it.

Even his tie was sexy, all the more so since she knew the broad chest it lay against, as well as the rugged, muscled abdomen she’d reveal if her fingers loosened that tie and went to work on those buttons.

And his butt! Good Lord, it really should be a crime the way his ass filled out the tight denim.

“Ella? Ella!”

Her name seemed to cut through some fog in her brain and she blinked. “What? I’m here. What?”

The look he shot her was filled with amusement. “I went into the kitchen to check on the stuff warming in the oven and you went comatose on me. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing!” Then she added, “Nothing. Really. Just school stuff. I guess I’m still winding down.”

“Well, hurry up with that. We don’t have that much more time before I’m out of here. I don’t want to share you with Ronnie or any of your other professors tonight.”

“Right. Sure.”

“And thank God Tony’s out of town this week, or I swear I’d have to arm wrestle him for the chance to hang out with you before I left.”

She smiled and shrugged. Tony and Shane got along okay on the surface, but neither one of them would have been thrilled by the idea of all three of them hanging out together. Under the surface, there was some definite tension.

“Do you want to change? Dinner’s just about ready.”

She nodded, mute, then turned to the armoire that doubled as a television stand and closet. She grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a cotton tank top. As she headed into the tiny bathroom, she wasn’t really thinking about changing clothes, though. And even though she knew she should be, she wasn’t thinking about Tony either. Instead her thoughts had drifted back to her conversation with Ronnie.

Sleep with Shane?

The thought, which she’d earlier examined fairly objectively from a psychological perspective, now held real, solid appeal. A terrifying amount of appeal, actually, and she wondered if maybe she should just—

Stop it, Ella. Just stop it.

And besides, there wasn’t any risk that her little blip of desire was reciprocated. Ella had been sincere in what she’d told Ronnie—Shane had never once made a pass or even looked as if he might make a pass. The closest, in fact, was tonight. That heat she’d seen in his eyes…

As she changed clothes, she told herself that she must have been imagining things.

No lust, no attraction, she told herself. Just dinner with your best friend. Same as you’ve done a hundred zillion times.

Ella had taken a single drama class back in high school, and the teacher had been a big fan of improvisation. For the most part, Ella had sleepwalked through the course. She had no interest in being an actress and even less in pretending to be a monkey at the zoo or a woman trapped in a subway or a little kid not picked for the kick-ball team (who thinks up those stupid scenarios anyway?). Now, though, she was wishing she’d paid a bit more attention to technique. At the very least, she was wishing she had a bit more raw dramatic ability.

The voice in her head shifted from her own to Miss McNally’s nasal lilt. Remember, Ella, you must hide everything. Close off all emotion except what you want your audience to see. Okay, go!

Ella jumped at the command in her imagined instructor’s voice, her hand turning the knob and pushing open the bathroom door before she had any more time to think. In the apartment, Shane looked up, a match in his hand.

“So what do you think?”

Candlelight? He expected them to dine by candlelight? Candlelight fueled lust. He wasn’t playing fair. He wasn’t—

She frowned. He wasn’t playing at all. Shane had no idea about the thoughts running through her head. If he wanted to set a fancy table, then great. Wonderful. What a thrill.

“Looks spectacular,” she said, taking some pride in the fact that her voice didn’t shake.

“Like I said, I wanted to go all out. Especially with your birthday in a few weeks. This will be the first time I’ve missed it in, well, forever.”

“Oh. Right.” Well, damn. She realized with a start that a tiny bit of her had actually hoped he was making some sort of romantic gesture. The mention of her birthday dinner, however, squashed that hope like a bug.

Ever since they moved to New York together, they’d taken turns treating each other to amazing birthday dinners. If one of them had an actual date on their birthday, the dinner was moved to a nearby evening, but they never failed to get together. It was fun, it was tradition and it was a chance to splurge on fabulous food guilt-free. After all, you couldn’t feel guilty about buying your best friend a birthday dinner, even if you were near your limit on your Visa card and had yet to buy textbooks. Friends came first, right?

“So, if this is my birthday dinner,” she joked, “does that mean I’ve got a present, too?”

He chuckled, then pulled out her chair for her. “Sorry, kid. I’m not that organized.” He moved to the other side of the table and took his seat, the corner of his mouth quirking in a familiar grin. “But you can tell me if there’s something in particular you want.”

Was it her imagination, or was his voice deliberately pitched low? She swallowed as the butterflies in her stomach took flight and her mind ran over all the possible “presents” he could offer. Oh my.

Her breath hitched, and it was all she could do to fight the urge to scream, “Yes, yes, I want you. I want a wild, stupid fling.” Except, of course, she didn’t want that. Couldn’t want that.

Damn. She really was a mess. And tonight—when her unexpected fantasy was so fresh on her mind—was the worst possible night to be spending with him.

Calling on intense self-control, she managed a simple shrug as she picked up her salad fork. “I’ve got one or two things in mind,” she said. And although she tried desperately to keep her tone flat and in control, she was appalled to hear the hint of heat that crept into her voice. Which probably went a long way to explaining why she’d gotten that C in drama and blown her straight-A average.

“Are you going to tell me?”

She shook her head, probably a little too vigorously. “I don’t think so.”

He perked up at that. “No? Hmm. So I have to guess. That’s okay. I’m a good guesser.” He grinned. “Besides, right now I know exactly what you want.”

She felt her eyes widen, and despite her best effort, her voice came out squeaky. “You do?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And you can have it.”

“I—I can?” A bead of sweat trickled down between her breasts, and Ella swallowed, trying to will her body back to a place of calmness and serenity.

Not hardly.

He picked up the open bottle of champagne. “Birthday bash, remember? I figure we can go a little wild.”

Ella clenched her fists at her side, stifling an overwhelming sigh of relief. “Right. Champagne. Great.”

His eyebrows drew together, and he looked at her the way he might look at a hostile witness. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” She waved a hand, even more seriously regretting that C. “I’m just stressed about that paper. And, you know, sad that you’re moving.”

“Just sad?”

She nodded. “I’m over being pissed off. I mean, it’s your career. That’s the one thing I truly understand.” And it was true, too. She did understand why he was going. But it still hurt all the same.

She shook her head to clear it. “So, you’ve really done it up, huh?” She took in the table, really seeing it for the first time, and not just the trappings. He’d returned the champagne to the table without pouring it, and now she saw the label. “This salad is amazing. And is that Cristal? Wow. You splurged.”

“For you? Anything.”

“Especially since you get to split the bottle.”

“There are three bottles, actually. I bought you a couple of extras.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “We can finish them off tonight, or you can keep them around to remember me by.”

“Just the thought depresses me.”

“In that case,” he said, “I really need to pour you this drink.”

“Can’t argue with that.” She started to lift her glass, then remembered her purchases. “Wait a second.” She ran to her bag and unwrapped the flutes, then held them up with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

As expected, Shane laughed. “You can never be too rich—”

“Or too thin or have too many champagne flutes,” she continued, finishing the line she’d said so many times to him—every time she’d splurged on another flute for her collection.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “Serendipity, huh? I mean, you buy yet another pair of flutes, and I bought champagne. We’re like champagne and caviar. We go together.”

She managed a watery smile as she held up her glass. “Fill it to the brim,” she insisted. “I can use it.”

He leaned over to do just that, and as he reached toward her, she noticed him wince. Pain flashed in his eyes as he held the bottle steady, and she could see that he was fighting a grimace. When he pulled back and set the bottle on the table, his face cleared, and she could almost hear his sigh of relief.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he said. He rolled his right shoulder, wincing again as he did so.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, frowning. Back when she and Shane were in junior high, Shane had caught a ride home one stormy afternoon with his older brother, Marc. Marc had been driving too fast, lost control on a curve and flipped the car. Marc had been killed instantly. Shane had been banged up pretty good, the only enduring injury being a shoulder that tended to get pulled out of whack way too often.

There’d been emotional injuries, of course, and she and Shane had leaned on each other even more. Since neither had a solid family to rely on, they’d become each other’s family.

A wash of memory swept over Ella, bringing in vivid color to her mind the first time she’d really let Shane in on the horror of her life. They’d lived in an affluent enough section of town, and though her parents were divorced, both were Important People, doing the social and political thing. But they hadn’t done the parenting thing. Her father had just flat-out ignored her—she’d seen him a grand total of twice since the divorce. And her mother had used the excuse of having to work, then dumped Ella with the maid. All that even though Cecilia Davenport had enough money in oil royalties never to work a day in her life.

Considering her mom’s attitude, Ella hadn’t much minded spending the day playing with the maid’s daughter. Not an ideal life, but she could have dealt with it had the worst not happened.

She’d gone to a fund-raiser for some society thing her mom had been working on. It had been held in the summer at the estate of one of the society members. Tommy McQueen, Central High School’s star quarterback, had been there. The few kids present had hung out by the pool. Tommy had flirted with her, although she’d been too shy to flirt back, especially since she’d been a lowly freshman. But when she’d tried to escape to the safety of the inside, he’d pulled her aside, then dragged her into the pool house. As she’d fought, he’d fondled and almost raped her, coming so close, she’d had to endure the humiliation of a rape kit.