Protect Me, Love Part 4

Chapter Eight.

All the time. the bellman was fussing about to get Delia settled, she couldn't take her eyes off the door to the adjoining room. She let the bellman open her bag and hang up her clothes. She always did that kind of thing for herself, but the longer he stayed here, the longer it would be before she had to deal with that door and the man on the other side of it. In the confined s.p.a.ce of the elevator on the way up to this floor, she'd found Nick more attractive than ever against the rich glow of mahogany and polished bra.s.s. She'd reacted exactly this same way to him five years ago. She'd hoped she would have outgrown that by now, especially since she prided herself on being an in-control person these days. Yet, there she was in that elevator, in such an intense state of agitation she had to step backward out of his visual range in case her discomfort might show. She'd greeted the arrival of their floor with profound relief. Now, being in the same room with that adjoining door promised to make the elevator ride seem like child's play.

A tune danced through her head. "I've been lonely too long." Not exactly a holiday carol, but apropos to the moment to be sure.

Meanwhile, the bellman had finished hanging her clothes from the suit bag and was unzipping her duffel. "That's okay," she said. I'll1 take care of those." She couldn't have a stranger unpacking her underwear, no matter how much she needed thee company. She went to the bed where she'd left her shoulder bag and fumbled for her wallet and a tip big enough to guarantee good service during her stay here but not so big as to appear ostentatious. Where had she learned to make that distinction? Her hand froze on the smooth leather of her wallet. Her father taught her that. "Are you all right, miss?" The bellman's concerned tone brought Delia back to the present scene. She could all but see herself, freeze-framed still as a statue, staring into s.p.a.ce with her hand stuck in her bag. "Fine," she said, though that definitely was not true. She pulled a bill from her wallet and handed it to the bellman. "Thanks for your help." She tried her best to arrange her face into what would be considered an ap-pro priam expression. Unfortunately at the moment she couldn't quite recall what that appropriate expression might be. The bellman glanced surrept.i.tiously down at his palm and said, "Thankyou." His tone made Delia wonder about the size of the bill she'd given him. At least Nick Avery had managed to make one person happy today. As for herself, Nick appeared to be turning her into an airhead more decidedly by the minute. In direct contradiction to what she'd been thinking only moments ago, she was now relieVed when the bellman walked out the door and left her -by- herself. It occurred to her that she'd handled Nick s presence better when they were about to be run down by a car. When they were in peril, she was out on the edge of her nerve endings without time or inclination to think about what the rest of her psyche, not to mention her hormones, was doing. The mistake was to allow herself to feel relatively safe as she did now. That put her in a different kind of danger.

First of all, she was being a.s.saulted by the past, by pieces of the personal history she'd taught herself to keep under wraps so she wouldn't have to feel the pain. Her father was one of those painful memories she kept carefully compartmentalized. That way, she didn't have to think about how much she'd loved him and what a joy it would be to have him with her now as she felt her own strength wobble beneath her like legs after a sea voyage. He'd been the rock the sea smashed against but never budged. He would know what to do in this situation. That thought stopped Delia in her tracks yet again. What would he have told her to do here? what did she remember him telling her to do, time and time again from when she was barely tall enough to see over his knee till the day his helicopter made its final takeoff?

"Lead with the truth, and you'll walk a straight path," he would say.

The past five years had hardly been a straight path for her, dodging off at a tangent into the shadows whenever anyone came too close, giving crooked answers to what for other people were simple, forthright questions. Now she was hip-deep in a lie to Nick. She needed his help desperately. Yet she couldn't be truthful with him about why she needed his help. Even more frustrating, was the impossibility of letting him know how she really felt about him. Most women had to worry about wearing their hearts on their sleeves for fear the men in their lives might run for the hills. Delia's fear was that, if Nick knew the truth about who she was, he might run to the police. Nonetheless, all of a sudden she was struck by the impulse to charge over to that adjoining door, knock on it until he appeared, then tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth. To her credit, she still had just enough brain cells functioning to know what a bad move that kind of full disclosure would be. She headed for the exit into the hallway instead and almost made it there.

If Delia had been less upset by the presence of the door into Nick's room, she probably wouldn't have jumped and screamed when it opened just as she was pa.s.sing. Unfortunately, for the status of her dignity at least, jump and scream was precisely what she did. Even more unfortunately, she jumped straight into Nick's arms. Then, as if she must be totally intent upon making herself look like an utter fool, she began struggling like mad to escape his grasp. He'd clasped her by the shoulders, maybe to keep her from knocking him down when she leapt upon him. She twisted her body furiously back and forth, as if trying to extricate herself from a tight place. The harder she twisted, the harder he gripped.

"Delia, it's me," he said.

If he meant that to be rea.s.suring he was having the opposite effect, "Let go of me," she said, and struggled on. "Delia, it's Nick."

The awareness was dawning that he thought she'd mistaken him for the alleged psycho boyfriend or his outraged wife and believed she was being accosted. She might have corrected that misapprehension, but he didn't give her the chance. He clamped his arms around her, pulled her close to his chest and began stroking her hair.

"Call down," he said. "You're safe here with me." He obviously intended to soothe her with those words and his ministrations to her hair. Even she understood how bewildered he had to be when she reacted as she did.

"Get your hands off me. I know who you are, and I want your hands off me."

Between that vehement cry and his releasing her, a few seconds lapsed during which he was most likely attempting to figure out what particular bee she might have in her bonnet now. Then he let her go and stepped back, almost into the door that was still ajar to the next room. He lifted his palms at arm's length between them, either as a placating gesture or to protect himself against what must have seemed to him the unaccountable fury that had her trembling visibly in front of him.

"See?" he said, spreading his extended arms wider. "My hands are off. Will you call down now and tell me what has you so rattled? Did something happen?"

The confusion in his eyes was probably what brought Delia back to terra firma. He hadn't a clue what was going on here. Not a breath of an intimation of a hint of what she was feeling about him had entered his mind, which made her want to laugh. If she hadn't bitten her lip at that very moment, so hard she could almost taste her own blood, she would in fact have broken into peals of hilarity on the spot. Thank heaven she had her wits sufficiently about her to understand that there would have been more hysteria in that laughter than she wanted Nick, or even herself, to hear. Also, at the same instant, she was being moved toward tears. If he hadn't guessed how attracted she was to him a good deal of the reason could be because he felt no such attraction to her, which made her want to cry.

"I'm not rattled," she said in a defiant tone, all the time knowing this to be one of the most absurd statements she'd ever made.

There he was' seeing everything again, when she knew for an absolutely incontrovertible truth that he saw nothing. Her fury threatened to reignite, If she permitted that to happen, she'd be in danger of coming off as a complete crazy woman.

"I need to get out of this room," she said. She was forcing herself to appear calm, which, for some unfathomable reason, made her voice come out in what most closely resembled a squeak.

"Where did you have in mind to go?"

He was still watching her carefully, but his expression had gravitated from bewilderment to wariness.

"Go?" she squeaked as if that might be the most ridiculous question she'd ever heard. She cleared her throat before speaking again and managed to bring her pitch down half an octave or so. "I had no specific destination in mind. I thought maybe I'd just wander around the hotel for a while."

"To get your bearings and scout the premises?" "Exactly."

She was grateful that he'd come up with such a rational explanation. Despite her father's sage advice, she'd have been hard-pressed to tell the truth fight now. How could she admit that, in point of fact, the mere sight of a door had sent her plummeting headlong in the opposite direction from rationality. Such a confession was definitely not the way to go in her quest to knit together the remaining threads of her dignity.

"Fine," he said, "but I have to go with you." "You do?" She wished she couldn't hear how silly that sounded. "I'm your bodyguard. Remember? A bodyguard covers the body." Delia managed only a nod in response to that as she headed the rest of the way to the hail way door, wishing he hadn't chosen quite those words.

NICK X NO idea what could be wrong with Delia. He only knew he shouldn't leave her alone. When she took off down the hall out of her room, he followed. She was walking so fast he had to hustle to keep up. Luckily for them, the corridor was empty or she would definitely have attracted more attention than was wie to do. They were here to hide, after all, not to be noticed. Their outfits might have gotten them more attention than he preferred even without Delia darting off down the hall as if she had the devil on her tail. They certainly didn't look like they belonged at the Waldorf. He would have changed clothes if he'd had the chance to stop back at his hotel. There'd been no time for that so he still had on his jeans and dark sweater. He'd left his jacket in his room. At least, Delia'd taken off those hobnailed boots she'd worn to Hester Street. The pair she was wearing now were made of soft, black leather that hugged her narrow foot and had a short, square heel. She'd gotten rid of the sweatshirt and patched jeans, too, which was probably a good idea, though he missed how endearing she'd looked in them. Before leaving her apartment, she'd put on a sweater, also soft and also black and very well made. He guessed it was cashmere. The red in her hair shone against the dark wool as she hurried toward the elevators.

He wanted to tell her to slow down and think through what she was doing and where she was going, but he could see she was still very agitated. She clutched her arms around herself and stared impatiently at the floor indicator as they waited for the elevator. She shifted from one foot to the other and bit her lip. She was obviously not in a frame of mind to be reasoned with right now. He didn't have to be an expert on human nature to figure that out. Nick kept his mouth shut and followed her into the elevator when it finally arrived.

They weren't alone. A thirty-something couple stood at the back of the car. Nick smiled to rea.s.sure them that they weren't suddenly in the company of Bonnie and Clyde. The couple had their coats on as if they planned to go outside. They looked like they were from out of town. The woman had on too much jewelry for the casual outfit she was wearing, and especially for the streets of Manhattan. Most men might not notice such things. Careful observation was part of Nick'S training and his job, as was making judgments and deductions about the people he and his clients encountered.

He was tempted to tell this woman to go back to her room, take off some of that jewelry and make the rest less conspicuous if she was going out onto the street. He resisted the, impulse. He was here to take care of Delia and n.o.body else, which was proving to be a very full-time a.s.signment. Besides, this woman probably wouldn't appreciate his advice anyway. She most likely wouldn't listen, either. She'd just finished looking Delia's simple, understated outfit up and down with obvious distaste. The woman shifted her gaze to Nick. He saw a flash of approval in her eyes as she checked him out from his boots on up. Still, he suspected she wouldn't consider either himself or Della a reliable fashion consultant.

They rode down to the lobby level in silence. Nick took note that Della had managed to calm the more blatant signals of her agitated state, probably for the benefit of the couple in the elevator. She stepped briskly out of the car after the doors slid open. Nick waited to see which way she'd goa"to the left and the foyer at the front of the hotel or to the right and the main reception area. There were c.o.c.ktail lounges in both directions and restaurants, too. Nick was definitely hungry. He hoped one of those restaurants was on Delia's itinerary. He was about to take a chance on reigniting her frenzy. by suggesting they get something to eat, when she began behaving in what he considered a bizarre manner once more.

She'd stepped to the side of the elevator do r and put her thumb on the call b.u.t.ton, apparently to keep the car from moving, as if she were a hotel employee in charge of making sure the door stayed open while guests Red. She stood like that, almost patiently, as the tourist couple walked out. The woman glanced back as they continued toward the front foyer. She leaned toward the man she was with to say something, and he glanced back, too. They turned away again, both shaking their heads. Nick could all but hear them pegging Delia and himself as New York weirdos who were way out of their element at the Waldorf.

Meanwhile, Delia was doing something that made even Nick think that the tourist couple might be right in their judgment, at least of her. Instead of walking in one direction or another along the lobby, she'd stepped back into the elevator. The door began to close, probably because she now had her finger on the b.u.t.ton to make it do that. Nick slipped through the narrowing opening just in time to keep from being either crushed between the doors or left in the lobby. She pushed a floor b.u.t.ton. He looked at the panel. Number four was lighted. He wondered if she had a specific destination in mind. He didn't ask. He'd decided that the best approach was to let her calm down all the way. Movement, wherever it might lead them, could have that calming effect. Being interrogated would not.

She'd already cooled down some. The pinkish heat of excitement that had colored her throat and reddened her cheeks was subsiding. Nick found himself unable to turn his gaze away from the place where her black sweater met the white skin of her neck. He thought at first that the beauty of the contrast had him mesmerized, but there was something more. He couldn't quite put his finger on what this particular sight stirred in him. He pressed his memory for the connection, but the elevator stopped at the fourth floor before he had an answer.

Delia was out the door almost instantly at a furious pace, maybe in pursuit of whatever peace of mind she hoped these opulent corridors might have to offer. Nick understood that impulse. She wanted her life back. When some crazy was after you, that's what it" felt likea"as if your life had been, not just invaded, but stolen from you. Nick had heard other clients talk about having such feelings, and the rage and frustration that went with them. He suspected Delia might be feeling the same thing right now. If that sent her charging through hotel hallways like she'd been shot from a cannon, he was willing to trail along. Still, he was relieved when she slowed a few yards beyond the elevator door and allowed him to catch up.

"You may be wondering why I've gathered us together here this evening," she said when he joined her.

Her voice was surprisingly unemotional considering her behavior since they'd left her room. She wasn't smiling so Nick didn't recognize right away that she was making a joke. He stared at her for a moment, wondering what she could be talking about. Then he got the picture.

"Yes," he said. "I was wondering that very thing." "I'll bet you were."

She still wasn't smiling, but she had definitely calmed down, even rediscovered her sense of humor. Nick allowed himself to relax just a little. Then she did something even more unexpected than her previous dashing around. She linked her arm through his and began walking down the hall at a normal pace.

"We're a nice couple from somewhere sane, like Tennessee or Texas or Idaho," she was saying. "We've come to New York City for the holidays, and right now we're exploring this fancy hotel we've checked into."

Nick understood that she was defining their covera"what they should try to look like to other people. He could also hear the nostalgia in her tone, as if she might be wishing their circ.u.mstances really were so innocent and uncomplicated. They pa.s.sed a wide mirror on the corridor wall and he stole a glance into it. They certainly did look like they could be that nice couple she described. He was only a little surprised to hear his own thoughts whisper a wish as nostalgic as she sounded. Nick allowed himself only an instant of that. He had to keep alert to the present, and that also didn't mean thinking about how he could feel the soft warmth of her breast brush against his upper arm as they walked along.

He turned himself determinedly away from that sensation, and that was when he sensed something very different. He suddenly had the feeling they were being followed. He turned around and looked behind them. He didn't let go of her arm. Luckily, she was on his left side, which kept his weapon hand free. The gun in his back waistband was within easy reach. He was ready to go for it if he had to, but his backward glance revealed no need for such drastic action. The corridor was empty, just as it had been when they pa.s.sed through it. Doorways led off to one side. He'd already figured out that this must be the conference room level of the hotel. Those double doorways had all been closed when he and Delia walked by, and there was no sound coming from beyond any of them. The only noise he could hear was in the other direction, the way they were headed but far off and not threatening.

"Is something wrong?" Delia asked.

His survey of the corridor behind them had disturbed their strolling pace. He felt her body begin to tense again beneath his arm. He didn't want that. Maybe the bodyguard manual would say it was good for a client to be scared onto her toes when she was a mark, but Delia'd been on her toes for so long now she was about ready to topple over.

"Just checking out the neighborhood. All's clear," he said, and hoped that was true.

Chapter Nine.

Delia had been walking hallways and turning corners blindly ever since they left the elevator. She hoped Nick had some idea where they were now because she dlcin't. She'd have asked him about that, but she was afraid her voice would break. She didn't intend to let Nick know how shaken just being in the same corridor with him made her feel. Squeaking like a boy at p.u.b.erty was sum to reveal exactly that, so she kept her mouth shut and silently hoped his compa.s.s was working better than hers at the moment.

Delia's agitation really began back at her apartment when he asked about the people in the photos on her window table. He naturally a.s.sumed they were her family. She'd wished she could blurt out the whole pathetic story of how she'd found those pictures in a box of old, framed photographs at a secondhand store and bought them for a dollar or two apiece. She hadn't known why she was doing that at the time, at least not consciously. When she got them home, she'd washed the gla.s.s and polished the bra.s.s frames till they gleamed. She'd set them up on that table with the window light behind them. She knew they weren't her actual family, of course, but it was easier to look at their faces than to remember the read ones and how much pain went along with those memories. She recognized now, more than she'd let herself before, how pitiful such a story would sound, especially to a man like Nick. Maybe that's why, when she heard music cOming from down the hotel corridor ahead of them she took off, all but running toward the distraction.

A short flight of st aim brought them closer to the sound. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the stairs then looked quickly away. Her cheeks were too flushed, and her eyes were too bright. She had the appearance of being just a little crazed, but that wasn't what made her turn her glance away. Nick was only a couple of steps behind her. She saw concern in his eyes, and that made her feel more unhinged than ever.

At the bottom of the stairs and to the left was a ballroom with the double doom opened wide. A holiday party was in full swing inside. The ma.s.sive crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the frescoed ceding had been targeted by rotating red and green gel lights in the corners of the room. The chandelier facets twinkled as if they'd been set dancing in the colors of the season. A garland of live greenery bordered the doorway with clutches of red velvet and gold gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s at each angle and in the center. Delia looked up to find herself directly beneath a spray of mistletoe.

"That's a dangerous place to stand, young lady," a male voice said.

By the time Delia realized it wasn't Nick speaking, she had already leapt into the ballroom, out of range of those sprigs of green leaves and white berries and what they represented. She was much too unsettled by Nick to take a chance on mistletoe.

"Come on in," the man said.

That brought Delia back to her senses enough to tell her she had just crashed a private party. "Sorry," she stammered. "I just heard the music, anda"" "There's nothing to be sorry about," the man interrupted, smiling broadly. "The more, the merrier. Please, join us." "Oh, we couldn't do that. This is a private party, and wea"" " "You can do anything I say," he interrupted again. "This is a company party, and I own the company." He was a portly gentleman in his late fifties or sixties. From the cut of the expensive suit he was wearing, he certainly could be who he said he was. He took Delia's arm and turned back toward Nick who was standing in the doorway looking as if he might be wondering what to do next. "Please, come along, too, young man," their self-appointed host called out to Nick. "You and your lovely companion are most welcome." Nick hesitated. His glance moved from the man's jovial smile to Delia's face. She wasn't quite smiling, but she hoped her eyes told him how much she wanted to accept the invitation and pretend to be a normal person doing normal things, if only for a little while. "I suppose there's no harm in it," Nick said as he took a step over the threshold. "No harm in it?" their host exclaimed. "It's the best thing possible. There's nothing like a party to put you in the spirit of the season." He took Delia's hand and held it out to Nick. "You two have a good time. That's an order. I must be off now to take care of a few things. You help yourselves to the buffet while I'm gone."

He gestured toward the tables on either side of the doorway, laden with chafing dishes and platters br.i.m.m.i.n.g with food. In that instant Delia was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she'd eaten. She would have thought she was too upset to be hungry. Her stomach growled in denial of that a.s.sumption. She was ravenous. Nick must be, too, maybe even more so. A man his size needed to fortify himself regularly, but she'd kept him running so fast there'd been no opportunity to stop for a meal. She grabbed his hand even before he could take hers and began leading him toward the nearest buffet table.

"Thank you," she said, remembering her manners. Delia turned toward their generous host, but he was scurrying off out of the double doors into the chandelier-lit foyer. He stopped and whispered something to a younger man outside the doorway who glanced back toward Delia and Nick then nodded and started toward them. Maybe this was some kind of joke or mistake and they were about to be tossed out into the gleaming parquet foyer on their ears. Delia halted her beeline for the food and wondered what should be her next move as the young man bore down on them from the doorway. Nick must have been apprehensive, as well, because he stepped between Delia and the approaching stranger but didn't let go of her hand.

"Hi, there," the young man said with such obvious good cheer that Delia couldn't help but relax. "The boss says you're his special guests and that you're under strict orders to eat, drink and be merry."

He held out his hand for Nick to shake. Delia saw Nick hesitate and sensed what must be going on in his head. Then he took the young man's hand and shook it firmly.

"My name's Rudy," the young man said. "Let me know if you need anything. There's no arguing with the boss, so you'd better have fun."

"Thanks a lot," Nick said. "We will."

Delia couldn't tell if he meant that or was just being polite. Rudy seemed to interpret it as a cue that his job was done here. He smiled and nodded before taking off into the foyer after his boss. Delia looked up at Nick. He was still holding her hand. His grip was light and warm with no insistence in it. Still, she knew she couldn't have let go no matter how hard she tried.

"I say we should take Rudy at his word," Nick said. "I could clear both of those buffet tables all by myself and have room left over for dessert."

"Me, too," Delia said.

This time, he was in the lead toward the food. She followed, wondering how she might fill her plate and still keep on holding his hand.

NICK COULDN'T remember when he'd ever been so hungry, but that wasn't why he'd decided to let them stay. Everything he knew about being a bodyguard told him they should get out of here. This was a roomful of strangers with more strangers wandering in and out at will. He'd tried to keep track of the entrance, but he didn't really know who he was watching for. Delia had described this Clyde Benno character. According to her, he was tall and blondish and pretty big. Aside from that, Nick's only clue to Benno's ident.i.ty would be any suspicious behavior, such as somebody checking the room out too closely or a guy who didn't seem to belong. Of course, n.o.body filled that description better than Nick himself. His jeans and sweater stood out like a neon sign in this suited-up crowd. He fit here about as comfortably as a right hand in a left glove, though it was just the opposite with Delia. She'd put these dressed-to-kill women to shame any day no matter what she had on.

Delia was the reason Nick had made the risky decision to let them stick around here for a while. She'd been under so much strain these past couple of days that he was amazed she hadn't collapsed into exhaustion hours ago. Instead she forged on, maybe too much so. The way she'd gone darting off a while back, up and down. hotel corridors, had him worried. She reminded him of a spring wound too tight and well on the road to snapping. She needed the release of being here at this party for a while. He'd have to watch her back every minute, but seeing her almost relaxed for a change was worth it. He didn't have much real choice in the matter anyway. She'd looked" up at him with her eyes shining so bright they cast the crystal chandelier overhead into shadow. At that moment Nick would have done anything, gone anywhere, for her, All she had to do was ask.

Besides, he was starved. The thought of going back upstairs and waiting even half an hour for room service would be his idea of agony right now. He'd often marveled at how some women can go what seems like forever without eating and not show a sign of hunger. Delia'd been doing that all night, unless she had a snack stashed away in her pocket, and those jeans of hers fit a little too tight to hide much of anything. Even the jolly old guy who'd pulled them in here had noticed that. He'd checked her out up and down once at least, though without making it obvious. In fact, just about every man in this room had given her the once over. Most beautiful women lived for that kind of attention and just about glowed when they got it. Delia had a different kind of light inside her. That was how Nick would describe it, anyway, and she was all the more lovely because she didn't seem to know it was there.

He told himself he shouldn't be thinking about her this way, but he couldn't stop such thoughts of her from popping into his head every time he looked at her. He reminded himself that her direction wasn't where he should be watching. He scanned the room again. Nothing had changed. On the raised center of the floor, couples were dancing to the music spun by a DJ set up in a corner of the room. More couples and singles talked and laughed at the tables surrounding the dance floor. Nick and Delia were among the few still eating. The rest of the gathering had moved past the supper stage and were getting down to just plain enjoying themselves. Now that Nick had finished a plate of food, he could also feel the party vibes in the air. He gave himself one more reminder that he was here to do a job, not to have a good time. Sitting beside Delia made him far too susceptible to forgetting that.

"Let's dance," she said suddenly.

Nick stared at her, as if she might have been speaking an unfamiliar language.

"You know," she said. "Dancing. That's where two people get out on the floor and move around in time to the music."

The teasing tone of her voice tickled the edge of his memory, like something he'd heard before but made himself forget.

"Dance with me," she said, tugging his arm.

The teasing tone was gone, replaced by her usual insistent one. Whatever a.s.sociation had jogged his mere ory for a moment was gone now as she did her best to drag him out of his chair and he did his best to resist. "I'm really not much of a dancer," he protested.

"Come on now. You have to be an old hand at parties like this. They're part of your job description."

"That's true." He was forever shadowing some rich client to one social event or another. "But I'm there as a watchdog, not a partic.i.p.ant."

"Tonight's different," she said, and kept on tug It sure is, Nick thought to himself. He couldn't take his eyes off the pink of her cheeks, against the ivory delicacy of the rest of her face. She was radiant. He had no will to do anything but follow that radiance up out of his chair and onto the dance floor. He was glad they were playing a fast song. He didn't trust himself to touch her fight now. Chubby Checker shouted from the speakers for them to do the twist. Nick managed an approximation of that while he surveyed the other dancers on the floor and the people still at the tables. He didn't see anything unusual. He was registering that with some relief and thinking that they shouldn't stay at this party much longer, when he glanced at Delia. What he saw had him all but mesmerized in an instant.

She was dancing, but not to an amateur's stab at the beat like he was. Her hips swiveled exactly as they were supposed to for this dance, but her way of swiveling was more exotic than any version of the twist he'd ever seen. In his mind, he could hardly put together Delia Made Barry, marching along in an uptight business' suit with the woman in front of him who moved as if the music was coming out of her bones instead of the speakers. Nick felt himself suddenly almost not breathing as her body swayed dangerously close to his. His hands itched to grab her twisting hips and pull them against him. He'd know how to twist to the music then, when he could feel her body grinding into his the way he could already feel her moving in his blood.

He was almost at the point of reaching out and doing exactly what he fantasised when the music subsided just enough to let him hear the small voice niggling at the edge of his brain. That voice said he was way out of line here, and Nick knew it was true. He tore his gaze from her body, though he needed all of his willpower to do it. The image of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, round and firm beneath her sweater, remained in his vision even after he stopped looking at them. The picture faded only because of what he was finally able to register in her face.

Her expression was as absorbed by the music as her body. She looked what he could only describe as transported. Her eyes had drifted half shut as if she were gazing somewhere deep inside herself and wasn't really in this place at this moment. Her lips were parted in a way that struck Nick like a lightning bolt, straight to the stomach then downward. Her face was even more tan-talL zing than her body, but he wasn't thinking about looking away this time. He was remembering. He'd known only one woman who danced this way, only one other woman sensual enough to feel music in the very center of herself and be transported by it, and she had been little more than a girl at the time.

"Merry Christmasl Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" The big, jolly voice boomed from the doorway and shot like a cannonball through Nick's tormented thoughts. Santa Claus had just burst into the ballroom with a green-clad, oversize elf in his wake. Nick commanded one hundred percent of his attention back to the present, and gradually his senses obeyed. Nothing activated his natural suspiciousness like people in costumes. He stepped in front of Delia as the crowd parted to make way for Santa and his helper to get to the center of the room. Santa was carrying a very large sack. He could have anything in there, up to and including an AK-47. Nick reached behind him and grabbed Delia's arm so he could pull her closer and know exactly where she was. The music had changed from rock and roll to "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town," but Nick wasn't really listening. He was too busy trying to watch Santa and the rest of the people in the room while sidling himself and Delia away from the center of the crowd around the fat man in the red suit.

"It's him," Delia exclaimed as she pulled against Nick and back toward the center of the dance floor. "Where?"

Nick's free hand went automatically to the back of his waistband. His first thought was that she'd spotted Clyde Benno. Nick never drew his gun in a crowded place if he could help it, but he was ready all the same.

"Right there," she said. She didn't sound scared, only excited. "Santa Claus is the man who said he owned this company, and Rudy's playing his elf." She laughed in a peal that sounded like holiday bells. "Look, Nick." She tugged his arm. "Rudy's painted his nose red. Get it? Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Except he's Rudy the Red-Nosed Elf."

Nick stared at Santa, then at his elf, then at Delia who had pulled out from behind him. She had a smile on her face as wide and full of joy as a kid on Christmas morning. Nick did get it then. He heaved a sigh of relief and let himself relax a little, though he still kept a sharp watch as Rudy held the bag open and Santa pulled out packages. Gifts wrapped in red went to the men, and the ones wrapped in gold were for the women. Nick tried to hold Delia back, then gave up and went along as she followed the throng toward Santa who was ho-hoing up a storm and obviously enjoying his role.

"Merry Christmas, young lady," he chortled merrily as he handed Delia her gold package.

"Thank you, Santa," she piped as she planted a kiss on his ruddy cheek.

Santa colored even ruddier. "Thank you, my dear," he said, and pressed a red-wrapped parcel into Nick's hand without really looking at him.

She even captivates Saint Nick, he thought, suddenly aware that he had the same name as this chubby old figure. Delia was opening her gift in the meantime, as if she could hardly wait to see what Santa had left under the tree. Nick felt her childlike eagerness with a pang that caught in his throat. Suddenly he understood something about her that hadn't come clear till this moment. She was lonely. At the same instant he admitted something about himself, as well, more pointedly than he'd ever done. He was lonely, too. Out of that awareness his heart reached for hers.

He would have taken her in his arms right then, but she had stepped away from him. The gold ribbon and wrapping were off her package now, floating forgotten to the dance floor as she stared at what she was holding in her handa"a gold pasteboard box with the top removed. All Nick could make out was the fringe of white tissue paper she had pulled aside to reveal the box's contents. He was pushing past people to get to her side when he heard the sound she made, somewhere between a cry and a moan. Then she was running toward the double doors. As Nick headed after her, someone took his arm.

"Is something wrong?" Rudy asked, looking concerned.

"I don't know."

Nick moved to pull away, but Rudy didn't let go. "Is she sick? Should I call the house doctor?" Rudy was obviously in charge of putting things right in Santa's kingdom, and he was persistent at doing his job. Nick shook his arm off all the same.

"She had to go to the ladies" room," he said for want of a better excuse. He had to be after Delia before she could get very far away. Still, he didn't want Rudy to follow them. Delia was a client first and foremost. That meant Nick's job was to shield her from prying eyes, no matter how well intentioned they might be. "We have to be leaving now. Thanks for everything."

Nick forced himself to stay calm and avoid attracting further attention as he moved purposefully toward the door. He barely heard the "Ho, ho, ho," still booming from the center of the ballroom.