Heaven's Price Part 8

"Did I really agree to start teaching ballet cla.s.ses to kids and housewives?" she asked dismally.

"You sure did," Pam said cheerfully.

"As long as you understand that it's only temporary. Only for as long as I'm here."

Pam's smile drooped. "I'm not going to think about that. I've already become accustomed to your being in town." All were quiet for a moment, then Sean said, "She'll be here for six months at least. I don't let tenants out of their leases easily."

They laughed then, grateful to him for relieving the momentary tension.

"If I can squeeze my fat body into an old leotard, I'll be the first one there when you start the exercise cla.s.ses," Pam said.

"Don't work off too much flesh. I've grown so fond of it," Joe said from behind her, as he hugged his wife and nuzzled her neck.

"I think that's our cue," Sean said dryly.

"Good night and thank you for the party," Blair said as Sean steered her away from the door.

"Good night," Pam and Joe called in unison.

"Joe, I need to talk to you about what kind of roofing you want, but as tomorrow's Sat.u.r.day, I won't call in the morning until after The Lfwne Ra/lyer," Sean teased.

They heard Pam's soft, surprised gasp and Joe's hearty laugh before he closed the door.

Sean and Blair were still laughing when he pulled the Mercedes to a smooth stop in his driveway.

* "Coffee? Nightcap?" he asked as he cut the motor. "No. What you said is true. I've got a million things on my mind. Routines to work out, music to choose." She sighed dramatically. "What have Solte?"

He chuckled as he opened his door and came around to open hers. No sooner had she stepped onto the ground than she was lifted into his arms. "We've got to take care of these knees now more than ever," he said. "You may be the last great hope for the women of Tidelands or, the brink of obesity."

He had taken off his jacket early in the evening and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His arm was like a bar of iron that had been infused with life and warmth as it supported her back. To ward off the desire she felt unfurling inside her she asked, "Do you think anybody will really be interested in coming to the cla.s.ses?"

"I'm sure they will. They all aspire to look like you. Impossible, of course, but you give them hope." At the top step, he ducked his head briefly to drop a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Good night, friend.

Thank you for going to the party with me. I had a wonderful time .

" He swung her down, but his kiss, brief and impersonal as it was, had weakened her to the point that she wasn't prepared to support herself.

She landed on her knee the wrong way and she felt the abused tendons give way.

"Oh," she cried out when the pain stabbed under her kneecap like a knife.

"What? Oh, my G.o.d, what happened, Blair?" Sean fell to his own knees to better inspect hers as she leaned over and ma.s.saged the injured joint.

"It's . . . it's nothing," she said unsteadily, trying to block out the wave of dizziness that accompanied the pain. "I landed wrong, that's all. Hurts like h.e.l.l."

"G.o.d, I'm sorry," he said in an anguished voice before raising her skirt to place his hands around her knee.

"It's not your fault, Sean. It happens all the time. At least this time I was in front of my own door. Last time it gave out, I was shopping in Bloomingdale's on a Sat.u.r.day no less.

She tried to laugh away his anxiety and her pain, but his face was grim as he stood, propping her against him, and opened the door. He lifted her again and carried her into the darkened apartment, depositing her in a chair. "Sean-" "Stay right there," he instructed as he left her to switch on the lamp on the end table. "Do you have medication to take for that?"

She shook her head. "I didn't have the prescription for pain pills filled. I didn't want to get started on anything like that."

"Aspirin? " "Yes, I'd take a couple of aspirins."

"Where are they?" He had pulled down the sofa and converted it into her bed. There was something disturbingly personal about his handling the linens she had slept on the night before.

"In the bathroom. The cabinet over the sink. But really... She was speaking to his shadow as he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard him fumbling in the tiny cabinet, a soft curse, the water running.

Then he was back with a gla.s.s of water and two aspirins looking like dots in his ma.s.sive palm.

"Should you rub something on it? An ointment or something? " She swallowed the aspirins. "No. I'll just elevate it while I'm sleeping.

Don't worry about it. By morning it'll be fine."

"What happened?" He knelt in front of her and, before she could stop him, was working at the thin laces wrapped around her ankles and taking off the gold sandals.

"One of those tendons or ligaments or whatever twisted when I came down on it. They're weak and can't take some forms of stress."

He looked up at her from his kneeling position. "Do you have to go to the bathroom before I tuck you in for the night?"

She was struck dumb by the question, then realized how ridiculous that sentiment was. "Uh, I'd probably better," she answered, not quite meeting his eyes.

He scooped her in his arms again and carried her to the door. When he set her down, he made sure she was supporting herself with her better leg. "Hop the rest of the way."

"You're over-reacting."

"Someone has to treat these injuries sensibly, for it's sure as h.e.l.l you don't."

She glared at him and then shut the door in his face. "Hop!" he called through it.

When she was finished, he was waiting for her on the other side of the door, not having budged from his post. "What do you sleep in?"

"Sean," she said gratingly.

"Okay, if you'd rather sleep in the buff, that's.." "There are some T-shirts in the top drawer of the bureau," she said with resignation.

He was bent on carrying out the Clara Barton routine and she really had no choice but to play along.

He came back carrying a T-shirt with 42n J Street printed on it.

"Were you in this show?" "Yes. Did you see it?" Yes.

"Then surely you remember me. I was the one in the tap shoes."

"Very funny," he said.

This bantering conversation was designed to distract them from the moment of truth that had just come upon them. She had to get out of her dress.

"Does this go up or down?" he asked in a husky voice.

I can manage.

"Up or down?" The determination that made his eyes go as hard and incisive as diamonds was unconquerable. She couldn't conjure up enough will to try.

"Down," she whispered, dropping her eyes to stare at the floor.

The bowed position of her head aided him in unfastening the b.u.t.tons behind her neck holding up her halter. When they were released, he gradually lowered the bodice. She saw his hands moving restlessly, indecisively, as they adjusted the material around her waist.

"There's a b.u.t.ton here," Blair mumbled. In what she thought would be an impatient gesture, she fumbled past his hands to find the b.u.t.ton at her waist. But by groping through the fabric in her search, the backs of her hands b.u.mped against his in what evolved into a caress. His hands were lifted by the movements of hers, lifted until the tips of his fingers were scarce inches from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Both regretted when the b.u.t.ton was found and undone.

The dress fell to the floor around her feet and she stood before him wearing only the scantiest of panties.

"I'll get it later," Sean said about the dress. His breath was warm against her face, her neck, her chest. So warm. He gathered the T-shirt in his hands and pulled it over her head, helping her poke her arms through the sleeves. He pulled it down to barely cover the band of her panties. "There." He sounded relieved.

He picked her up again and carried her to the bed, lowering her onto it with the care of a mother for her new infant. He turned away quickly as she scrambled to cover herself with the sheet.

"Does this go in the closet?" he asked, keeping his back to her as he picked up the dress.

"Yes. Thank you," she said softly, momentarily closing her eyes against the desire to see him lying down beside her.

He carefully arranged the dress on a hanger and hung it in the closet.

"Would you like anything else? Some tea? Wine?"

She shook her head. The hair she had just released from its restricting pins swayed over her shoulders. "No. I'm fine."

He sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked at her for long silent moments. Had he taken her in his arms then, she admitted later that she wouldn't have resisted. She wanted nothing more than to feel the touch of his lips against hers, hard and persistent, banishing her caution. She wanted his soothing hands on her body, coaxing her into responses she knew lay just below the surface of her skin, responses too long denied and dying for the chance to live. She wanted to hear him pouring words into her ear, bold, stimulating love words she'd never allowed any other man to say. Whether he meant them or not, she longed to hear them coming from his beautiful mouth, filtering through that sensuous mustache.

But he didn't take her in his arms. Rather he asked softly, "Don't you need a pillow under that knee?"

"Yes, probably."

He retrieved the second pillow, the one that wasn't blessed with her curtain of dark hair fanning over it, and lifted the sheet. His teeth clamped together to prevent him from groaning at the sight of her naked legs between the smooth sheets. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s lay flat against her chest, with only the pouting of her nipples to inflame him. Her stomach was concave beneath her rib cage and the inch of skin between the hem of her T-shirt and the lacy top of her panties beckoned to him seductively.

Striving for objectivity, he adjusted the pillow under her knee and gently bent it over the cushiony support. He couldn't resist sliding his hand down her shin and then around it to cup the firm muscle of her calf. Her eyes refused to remain open and she sighed as her lashes settled on her cheek.

When next she felt his touch, his finger was gliding over that velvety ribbon of skin on her abdomen that had so intrigued him. "Blair, please look at me."

Slowly she lifted the veil of dark lashes. The lamplight highlighted one side of his face, while the other was cast in deep shadow. The cleft in his chin looked deeper, more masculine and rugged than ever.

His hair shone in the golden light.

"I want you," he said with deep intensity. "You know that. I haven't made a secret of it." The backs of his fingers celebrated the softness of her cheek. "When you realize what good friends we are," he smiled slightly, "I'm going to kiss you here." His index finger outlined her lips with a feathery touch that eventually floated down her neck to her chest. "And here." He caressed her nipple through the soft cotton of her shirt and was rewarded with a firm response. "Here," he said, ma.s.saging there and touched her again. "Here," he said gruffly.

"Everywhere."

Her back and neck arched reflexively and a small cry of helplessness escaped her lips. Her face was captured between his hands, and stroking thumbs adored the bone structure of her cheeks.

"Sean," she sighed.

"Good night." He leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips, his mustache no more than a whisper against her mouth.

Hurriedly he snapped out the light, crossed the room and let himself out the door. Blair followed his footsteps until they faded into silence. She heard his back door close behind him.

She was left alone in the dark. Alone with the imprints of his fingers burning her skin wherever they had touched. Alone with her imagination branding erotic fantasies on her mind. Alone with that ever-widening chasm deep inside her that ached to be filled.

She was sipping her second cup of tea at the kitchen table and tentatively rotating her knee when she heard him coming up the stairs.

He knocked softly.

"Come in," she called. She had put on a pair of shorts and an elasticized strapless tube-top as soon as she had gotten out of bed and tested the strength of her knee. Thankfully she could walk without any discomfort.

He opened the door she had unlocked earlier and came in, his face scowling. "What are you doing out of bed? " "Drinking tea," she retorted, stating the obvious.

"Smart aleck. Doesn't your knee hurt?"

"I could be cute and say something like, Only when I laugh," or Only when I breathe," but I'd never stoop to such ba.n.a.lity."

"Then it does hurt."

She laughed at the deep line of concern that furrowed between his brows. "Will you relax? No, it doesn't hurt. I don't think it's up to a performance of A Ch.o.r.ee Lene or running the Boston marathon, but I can walk. Would you like some tea?"

"I despise tea."

"Really? I thought all Irishmen loved their tea. How about one chorus of Danny Boy'?" she taunted.

"You must be feeling better. You've regained your glib tongue. If you weren't already battered, I'd be tempted to punish your insolence."

"How? By giving me a well-deserved spanking?"

His eyes ran up and down the length of her body, taking in the tightly stretched knit over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "There are other, more pleasant means of discipline." He didn't need to resort to physical demonstration.

Just the suggestion of it and the underlying tension in his voice had caused the tongue he had termed glib to stick to the roof of her mouth.

"I came by this morning to see if you wanted to go look at your new studio."

Blair hoped that her act had been played well. Her flippant remarks had been a defense against the fluttering of her heart and the profusion of perspiration that had bathed her palms when she'd heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. Her dreams had revolved around him. All night she had been haunted by memories of past kisses and tormented by fantasies of kisses yet to come.

Repeatedly she had a.s.sured herself that her sleeplessness was due to her aching knee and the uncomfortable position of lying on her back, but by dawn she still wasn't convinced. She only hoped that the faint purple circles under her eyes had been successfully covered by make-up.

It frightened her, this preoccupation with a man she barely knew.

Things were happening too quickly and she couldn't seem to get a grip on the reins of her own life. When they had slipped through her fingers, she didn't recall, but she thought it was about the time she had opened the door to a ma.s.seur and saw Sean Garrett.

She realized, too, that there was no half-way point on which they could meet. They could never be just friends, and saying that they could was only game playing. They both knew that. He had confessed without any apology his desire to become her lover. Toward that culmination, she seemed to fly, knowing all the while it was impossible for her to become involved with any man, especially one she had absolutely nothing in common with.

The only thing to do was to refrain from seeing too much of him.