Morning Song Page 14

  She lifted an eyebrow in mock amazement, thoroughly delighted with the scene she had just witnessed. ‘Your fault? You mean you only have one?’

  ‘I have,’ he returned, filling a cup for her and freshening his own coffee, ‘hundreds. But only one of them makes itself manifest at this hour of the morning.’ He was wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt, his hair was slightly tousled and his feet were-bare. He looked rumpled, warm, and embraceable. His smile was sleepy as he handed her cup to her, and Lauren found herself returning the smile without restraint. ‘In other words,’ she told him, ‘you’re only crazy in the morning.’

  ‘In other words,’ he responded, ‘I’m a perfect doll in the mornings. Kind to children, animals, and pretty young things in blue satin robes.’ She acknowledged the compliment by unconsciously straightening the lace on her collar, and he watched her, smiling, as he sipped his coffee. ‘Mornings,’ he added, ‘are Nature’s way of telling us everything is going to be all right, don’t you agree?’ He gestured towards the window, already pink and gold with the rising sun. ‘How could anything go wrong on a day that begins like this?’

  ‘You’re right,’ she agreed softly, cradling the warm cup in her hands and watching with him for a moment the ecstatic miracle of dawn. Then she glanced at him. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Do they ever talk back?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The animals.’

  He assumed a very sober air. ‘Oh, yes. That little fellow on the sill and I were having a very interesting discussion, as a matter of fact. All about the things that keep us places we don’t want to be.’

  ‘Like,’ she suggested, ‘a talented young singer with a tight schedule?’

  ‘Among other things,’ he replied, and the expression in his eyes was filled with meaning she did not care to explore at that moment. But for some reason it made her heart beat faster.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said brightly, ‘only a few more days before he arrives, and you can keep your promise to Van and be off to sunny California. What’s so fascinating about that place, anyway?’

  ‘Oh,’ he replied with a lazy grin, ‘lots of things. Bikinis, hot tubs, girls in pretty summer dresses—’

  ‘The very necessities of life,’ Lauren agreed with assumed sobriety.

  He laughed. ‘Did I ever tell you you’re a lot of fun in the mornings, too? That’s something else we have in common.’

  She would have very much liked to pursue that line of conversation, and to discover what else he thought they had in common, but her new caution prevented her. She said only brightly, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your conversations with animals and your dreams of hot tubs and bikinis. See you at breakfast.’

  She thought a protest was forming as she turned, but she hurried away before he could say anything.

  Upstairs, she set her coffee on the night-table and changed quickly into her leotard and tights. Physical activity was the only way she knew for certain to keep Shane from haunting her private thoughts, and even then he sometimes intruded. She had never really realised how much of her life he had filled when he was only, to her, a nebulous musician and poet; how much of her attitudes and emotions had been shaped by him. Now that he was a real person, multi-faceted and three-dimensional, it was inevitable that her fascination for him should be increased.

  She was beginning a series of stretching exercises. In a standing position, her leg rested flat against the wall above her head while her hands gripped her ankle and her torso bent to meet it. A voice said softly behind her, ‘Good lord! What are you doing?’

  Pretending a casualness she did not feel, she turned on her heel and stretched her leg out behind her, responding, ‘Do you have some sort of religious objection to knocking before you enter a room?’

  ‘I knocked,’ Shane defended vaguely, watching her, ‘or at least I tried. The door was open.’

  Lauren was very aware of the revealing nature of the flesh-coloured leotard, which was strange, because she had spent half her life in such garments and had never before been self-conscious about it. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he was watching her as she deliberately finished the set, or perhaps it was simply his presence in her bedroom, looking so casual and rumpled, still holding the steaming mug of coffee and looking as though he belonged.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, one arm hooked casually about the bedpost, sipping his coffee. ‘I wish I could have seen you dance,’ he said.

  She was surprised, and flattered, and she hid it by sitting on the floor to begin another set of stretching exercises. She stretched one leg to the side, bent to touch her toes, straightened, and bent again. ‘I wasn’t all that good,’ she said in a moment. ‘I mean, I was good—but not destined for greatness, or anything. I suppose I always knew it,’ she admitted to herself at last what Van had put into words on his first visit to the hospital. ‘A dancer has a very limited on-stage life, and if success meant a starring role in a Broadway musical, then I wasn’t meant for success. Of course,’ she added thoughtfully, switching to the other leg, ‘that really wasn’t the most important thing to me. Just dancing was enough. But you wouldn’t know about the struggle for success,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘It came easily to you.’

  Shane laughed in brief astonishment. ‘Success came easily to me? I spent half my life trying to live up to my father’s expectations and the other half trying to escape from his shadow, and I never did learn how to do either. I still don’t know what success is.’

  She stopped, drawing her legs in and turning to him as she reached for the towel she had hung on the bedpost. He handed it to her. ‘I never thought about it that way,’ she admitted carefully, patting her slightly damp face and neck with the towel. ‘I suppose success means different things to different people.’

  ‘In that way,’ he agreed, ‘you are the one who was successful. You did what you wanted to do as well as you could, for no other reason than that it gave you satisfaction. While I,’ he admitted reflectively, ‘even though I was doing what I wanted to do—spent too much time playing that part of the prodigal son to give anything my best effort on a consistent level. I think one of the main reasons I got into music in the first place was a misplaced sense of rebellion, but I wasn’t a very good rebel after all—so, I never felt successful.’

  She looked at him curiously, absently rubbing a tired back. ‘Do you still feel that way about your father? Competitive and rebellious?’

  Shane smiled a little. ‘No, I grew out of it, along with a few other bad habits.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she suggested, ‘it would be easier to find success now.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he agreed without much interest, and set his empty cup on the dresser near her bed. She was still absently massaging the small of her back, and she felt his hands slip beneath hers to take over the service. For a moment she let herself relax beneath strong, sure ministrations of his fingers which circled her back, relaxed knotted muscles, kneaded and caressed ... but then his touch became more intimate, circling her waist, sliding up her ribs. She stood abruptly and crossed the room to pull on a wrap skirt.

  He resumed his seat on the bed, watching her. ‘Still mad at me, hmm?’

  Lauren turned in genuine astonishment, the folds of her skirt fluttering about her calves as she tied it at the waist. ‘Mad at you?’ she echoed. ‘Why should I be mad?’

  But he only replied, watching her thoughtfully, ‘I don’t really think so. We’ve had enough fights by now that you should be used to them, and you never did strike me as the type of person who would hold a grudge.’

  ‘Well,’ she admitted, lowering her eyes to concentrate on tying a perfect bow at her waist, ‘I may not hold a grudge, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to fighting with you.’

  ‘You always had me pictured as such a meek, gentle fellow,’ he supplied.

  She looked at him, startled, but agreed, ‘Yes.’

  A momentary irritation flickered across his eyes, but he dismissed it. ‘Well, fighting is good for a rela
tionship,’ he said. ‘It’s a great way to relieve frustration and tension, especially,’ he added meaningfully, ‘when there is no other outlet.’

  She turned away quickly, suddenly nervous, and went over to the mirror, beginning to unwind her hair from the tight bun into which she had pinned it for exercise. But she could not escape him that easily. She could see him in the mirror, his eyes steady and thoughtful as he watched her, his position casual yet determined. ‘Well,’ he demanded mildly, ‘what is it, then? We’ve about covered all the bases, you know. You’ve already told me you’re not carrying a torch for an old lover.’ Now there was a question in his eyes, and she confirmed quickly, remembering his innocent enquiry about Joel when she had first arrived, ‘No, of course not!’ And then heat fanned her cheeks at the approval in his eyes, and she knew perfectly well where the conversation was leading.

  ‘And you’re not angry with me over anything,’ he went on, rising and coming slowly over to her. ‘I think I’ve managed to convince you that I’m not really the beast I act sometimes ...’ Again a hint of a very real question, and she nodded mutely, her eyes fastened upon his in the mirror, fumbling with hairpins and trying to look nonchalant and industrious.

  Then he took her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. The hairpins slipped from her heavy fingers and her hair spilled like honey over her shoulders. At his touch and the deep sincerity in his eyes she went weak; a pulse began to close up her throat. ‘I know you’ve had a trauma,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve tried to give you time to deal with it, to work out your own problems in your own way—or to help, sometimes, if I could.’ Lauren swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in her throat and the softening emotions in her chest, because she knew it was true, and it was a gesture of tenderness—of caring. ‘But now,’ he went on, ‘I think it’s time we took a serious look at our relationship.’

  What was he saying? A low-key panic stirred in her. Relationship? They had none, it was impossible to have one ... And he was standing much too close, making her much too aware of him. It was against the emotions which assailed her when she was in his arms that she had to guard herself most carefully, because when she was being held by him, helpless victim to his sensuous spell, she could forget for a moment who he was, and who she was, and imagine that all sorts of things were possible.

  But his eyes, so deep they were almost green and lit with a gentle light of sincerity, held her mesmerised, and she could not step away. He said, ‘Lauren, you don’t think I’m the type of man who would use you and leave you, do you?’

  Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could barely hear her own whispered, ‘No.’ No, Shane would never do anything like that. His love would be deep, it would be caring, it would be honest. He would never deliberately hurt anyone. But why was he approaching her? What was he trying to say?

  A measure of relief crossed his face as he lifted one hand to lightly smooth her hair. ‘Then,’ he enquired gently, ‘will you please tell me what’s going on? You know I want to make love to you, and I think you want it too. But every time I get close to you—emotionally or physically—you draw away. Why?’

  This had gone too far. In a moment he would have her believing he truly cared for her, that it was possible for something to exist between them. Lauren had to force herself to remember that he was a magician with words and she was only too vulnerable to them, for more than anything she wanted to make the fantasy come true ... She turned away, releasing herself from his spell by separating herself from his touch, and said brightly, ‘Do you have to analyse everything?’

  There was a pause, and she could sense him making a reluctant adjustment to the change of mood. Then he responded dryly, ‘That’s something else we have in common.’ He perched casually on the edge of the dressing-table, and went on. ‘I’m not leaving until I get an answer, you know. What is it about me that makes you think twice every time I come near you? Are you afraid of me—of men in general?’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ No, she wasn’t afraid of him, or of making love ... not when that was what she wanted above all things in the world. But her hand fumbled with the thin gold chain at her neck in a nervous gesture, and she refused to turn to look at him.

  ‘All right.’ There was a note in his voice, beneath the assumed calmness, which suggested he was fighting impatience. ‘Then it must be that you’re afraid I’m just playing games with you ...’ There was a wry twist to his tone as he added, ‘That I see you as an easy conquest and I won’t respect you in the morning and all of that other lovely nonsense, right?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she retorted lightly, stepping towards the window to draw back the curtains, ‘I’m just afraid of disappointing you.’ And she did not realise how close that was to the truth until she had said it.

  Shane’s short, incredulous laugh behind her was sharp with sarcasm and amazement. ‘You’re afraid of disappointing me? God, that’s rich!’ She heard him stand and begin to cross the room towards her, and her cheeks burned. She had never meant to reveal so much of herself to him, and she had done it so clumsily and unwittingly. ‘How would you like,’ he demanded behind her, ‘to try to live up to the image someone has built of you as a combination Albert Einstein and Prince Charles?’

  She whirled, cheeks flaming and eyes snapping. ‘I never—’

  ‘My God, don’t you think I can tell it?’ he expostulated, and anger was becoming intermixed with incredulity. ‘It’s in your eyes every time you look at me—I hung the stars in place, it personally supervised the placement of every blade of grass and painted the rainbow, and as far as you’re concerned, Johann Sebastian Bach could have taken lessons from me! For the love of God, Lauren, do you have any idea how hard that is to deal with?’

  She retreated a few steps, shaking her head, miserable with embarrassment and anger. Shane reached for her arm, but she jerked away, and managed, ‘I think you’re overestimating yourself! I never—’

  ‘I only wish I were!’ This time he caught her arm, fastening his fingers about her wrist. Amazement, desperation, and disappointment were streaked across his face. ‘That’s really it, isn’t it?’ he demanded. ‘You are really afraid of disappointing me—you think you’re not good enough for me!’ And even though she shook her head mutely, there was no way to convincingly deny what he had so accurately pinpointed. And he saw it in her eyes, because there was sudden hurt there, and the pressure of his fingers increased about her wrist. ‘For God’s sake, Lauren, I’m human!’ He jerked her hand forward and placed it roughly against his face, his throat, his chest. ‘Touch me—feel me! I’m just a man who wants you, and—’

  He broke off as he looked at her, her eyes wide with the onslaught of his temper and her own embarrassment. Slowly he released a breath, his eyelids dropped, and his fingers entwined with hers against his chest. He reached his arm about her waist and drew her gently to him, simply holding her in mute apology.

  And that gesture was all it took. The embarrassment and the indignation faded away into his tenderness, understanding flowed from her as it did from him. Her free arm crept about his neck and she was drowning in the warm emotions his embrace communicated. This moment was what she had waited for all her life; why had she been so afraid to accept it?

  ‘You may not believe this,’ he said after a moment, ‘but I do have trouble putting certain emotions into words.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I believe,’ she murmured against his shoulder, her heart quickening in anticipation.

  His arm tightened about her briefly, then he stepped back, looking down at her soberly. ‘Lauren, I care about you,’ he said simply. ‘It hurts me to think that I’m the cause of your feeling bad about yourself—that I in any way cause you to feel like less of a woman, or less than a person. Can you understand that?’

  She nodded, lowering her eyes to their clasped hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she managed in a moment, and it was difficult. ‘It’s just that I’ve known you so much longer than you’ve known me, and I had so many preconce
ived ideas about you, and I—I did worship you, I guess.’ She ventured a shy glance at him. ‘And I couldn’t—can’t imagine that you would ... why you would ...’ And she floundered, unable to finish.

  Shane tipped her chin upwards with his finger. ‘You can’t understand why I would be interested in you,’ he said quietly. His eyes were very steady, deeply perceptive. ‘How can I explain that? You’re lovely and sensitive, and when I’m with you I sometimes feel a sort of harmony that I never have with anyone else. You make me want to share with you, you make me understand things about myself I never did before. I look at you,’ he added softly, ‘and I see in you things about yourself you don’t see, and that makes me feel special.’

  ‘You are special,’ she whispered, her eyes searching his, inviting his, drawing him closer.

  And then he dropped his eyes. A muscle near his cheek tightened, and he slowly unwound his fingers from hers. ‘But the harmony never lasts,’ he said briefly, ‘because of this barrier between us. I can’t really share myself with you because sooner or later I’m bound to hurt you, when you discover I don’t live up to your expectations ... You give me a glimpse of promises that can never be. And I don’t think I can live with that.’

  A cold stream slowly replaced the warm liquid which had been pulsing through her veins; the tingling thrill she had felt in his arms turned into a shiver as he stepped away. She lost her breath and her speech in the sinking disappointment that congealed in her stomach, and she could only watch Shane cross the room in dull confusion. The moment was gone, as it so often was between them, as abruptly as it had come, and she did not know how to recapture it ... and the worst of the aching despair was in suspecting it would never come again.

  Then he turned, the expression on his face relaxed, polite, and casual—as though none of what had gone before had ever taken place. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said pleasantly, ‘why I came up here in the first place.’

  With a great effort, Lauren assumed some of his negligent air. ‘Oh? Why?’