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“Stop worrying, Melissa. I recognize your status as my equal—well, almost.” A glance up at him told her that the twinkle carried humor. “We are walking my way. I live on Broadway just across from Lincoln Center.” When she showed surprise, he slowed his steps.
“Where do you live, Melissa?”
She laughed. “Four blocks from you, in Lincoln Towers.”
They took the bus across Central Park, stopped at a coffeehouse on Broadway, and idled away three-quarters of an hour.
“How long have you lived away from home?” he asked between sips of espresso.
“Since I left for college. A little over ten years.”
“Do you miss it?”
She thought for minute. “No. I guess not. Our home life was less than ideal.” Hot little needles shimmied through her veins when his hand reached across the tiny table and clasped hers, reassuring her. She knew right then that he’d protect her if she let him.
“I’m sorry.” His words were soft. Soothing. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of such gentleness. “That must have been difficult for you,” he added.
“Oh, it wasn’t all bad. From time to time, I got lovely surprises that brightened my life.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see. The occasional rose that I’d find on my dresser. The little crystal bowl of lavender potpourri that would appear in my bathroom. Books of poetry under my pillow. I remember I was so happy to find ‘The Song of Hiawatha’ there that I read it and cried with joy half the night.”
His strong fingers squeezed hers in a gentle caress. “Who was this silent angel?”
“My mother.”
His perplexed expression didn’t surprise her, but she was glad that he didn’t question her further. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though dismayed. “Ready to go?”
She nodded. As they left, he took her hand, intensifying her wariness of him and of what she sensed growing between them.
“Walk you home?” he asked her. She wanted to prolong the time with him but thought of the consequences and tried to extricate her fingers from his, but he held on and then squeezed affectionately. Warmth flowed through her, a warmth that strengthened her, invigorated her, and enhanced her sense of self. She noticed couples, young and old, among the late evening strollers, some of whom were obviously lovers, enraptured, in their own world. Some seemed to argue, to be ill at ease in their relationship. Others appeared to have been together so long that complacency best described them, but they all held hands. Like small children clutching their security blankets, she mused. When they reached the building in which she lived, Adam assumed a casual air and looked down at her, silently awaiting a signal for his next move. What a cautious man, she thought as she prepared to head off any gesture of intimacy on his part. Though wary of the guaranteed effect of his touch, she extended her hand.
“It’s been nice, Adam. Since we’ve just had coffee, I won’t invite you for more. Maybe we’ll meet again.”
His displeasure wasn’t concealed by the dancing light in his eyes, she noted. “Are you always so cut and dried?” When I’m nervous, yes, she thought. Without waiting for her answer, he went on. “Your tendency to dismiss people could be taken as rudeness. Why are you so concerned with protecting yourself? Trust me, Melissa. I can read a woman the way fortune-tellers read tea leaves. You’d like this evening to continue, but you’ve convinced yourself that it wouldn’t be in your best interest, and you have the fortitude necessary to terminate it right now. I like that.”
He grinned. She hadn’t seen him do that before, and she couldn’t decide what to make of it. Why didn’t he leave? She didn’t want to stand there with heat sizzling between them. Tension gripped the back of her neck, and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity when he took a step closer. She moved, signaling her withdrawal from him, and he pinned her with the look of a man who knows every move and what it symbolizes. His brazen gaze told her that her reprieve was temporary, that he knew she was susceptible to him, and that he could easily get her cooperation in knowing him more intimately. Her blood raced when his right hand dusted her cheek just before he nodded and walked away.
* * *
Melissa closed her apartment door, leaned against it, and sighed with relief. Adam Roundtree was quintessential male. An alluring magnet. But she wasn’t fool enough to ruin her life—at least she hoped not. But the uneasy feeling persisted that Adam Roundtree got whatever he wanted, and that her best chance of escaping him was if he didn’t want her. Just the thought of belonging to a man like him was drugging, a narcotic to her libido. With his height, fat-scarce muscular build and handsome dark face, and those long-lashed bedroom eyes with their brown hazel-rimmed irises, he was a charismatic knockout. Add to that his commanding presence and... A long breath escaped her. She recalled his squared, stubborn chin and the personality that it suggested and concluded that if he softened up and stayed that way, he would be a trial for any woman. She heard the telephone as she entered her apartment, and excitement boiled up in her at the thought that Adam could be calling her from the lobby.
Her hello brought both a surprise and a disappointment. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me again, Gilbert.”
“You suggested it,” he said, “but I didn’t agree.” At one time she couldn’t have imagined that this man’s voice would fail to thrill her or that her blood wouldn’t churn at the least evidence of his interest.
“You don’t say.” His weary sigh was audible. Women didn’t dangle Gilbert Lewis, and she found his impatience with her disinterest amusing.
“Well, if you didn’t agree, what’s your explanation for this long hiatus? Do you think I’ve been twiddling my thumbs waiting to hear from you?” She didn’t approve of toying with a person’s feelings, but where Gilbert was concerned, she didn’t have a sense of guilt—if he had feelings, he hadn’t made that fact known to her. She grinned at his reply.
“Honey, you don’t know how many times I’ve tried to reach you, but you’re never home. Let’s get together. I’m giving a black tie party next Saturday, and I want you to come. And bring Roundtree.” The latter was posed as an afterthought, but she knew it was the reason for his call. Ever the opportunist, Gilbert Lewis had called because he wanted to meet Adam Roundtree. He had no more interest in her that she had in him.
“And if Adam has other plans, may I come alone or bring someone else?” She had evidently surprised him, and his sputters delighted her, because she’d never known him to be speechless.
“Well,” he stammered. “I’ve always wanted to meet the guy. See if you can get him to come.” She imagined that her laughter angered him, but he was too proud to show it. When she could stop laughing, she answered him.
“Gilbert, you couldn’t have been this transparent four years ago. If you were, there must have been more Maryland hayseed in my hair than I thought. Be a good boy, and stick to your kind of woman. I’m not one of them.” She hung up feeling cleansed. What a difference! Her thoughts went to Adam. That man would never expose himself to ridicule or scorn.
Minutes after he left her, Adam sat at a small table in the Lincoln Center plaza drinking Pernod, absently watching the lighted waters spray upward in the famous fountain. Across the way, the brilliant Chagall murals begged for his attention, offering an alternative to his musings about Melissa Grant, but he could think only of her. His strong physical reaction to her mystified him. He sipped the last of his drink, paid for it, and walked across the street to his high-rise building.
“This has to stop,” he muttered to himself. He’d never mixed business with pleasure, but when they’d reached her apartment building, he had wanted more than the coffee she refused to offer or a simple kiss—he’d wanted her. She would never know how badly. Sound sleep eluded him that night. Another new experience. Like a flickering