Friends and Lovers (12 page)

She gasped. “Following you?”

“How else can you explain your presence in my favorite restaurant?” he growled, and his eyes were contemptuous.

“I am having lunch with a friend,” she said coldly. “Not chasing after you. I do not chase after conceited men who think they are God’s gift to women.”

“You’re not very selective, are you?” he asked, glaring at Mulligan. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

“Don’t let the gray hair fool you, son, I just graduated from high school,” Mulligan said dryly.

John wasn’t amused. At that moment he looked as if he hadn’t smiled in his life. He glared at Madeline.

“Since you were desperate enough to come looking for me, we might as well talk.” He pulled up a chair and sat down, tossing his Stetson on the empty seat next to Madeline. “Get rid of your friend, and we’ll discuss it.”

“I will not, and there’s nothing to discuss,” she shot at him, hurting deep inside at his coldness. Once, John wouldn’t have dreamed of speaking to her like that, or suspecting her of being promiscuous. Now he was looking at her as if she’d opened up shop as a hooker.

“No?” John sized up Mulligan. “Are you another one of those underworld characters she pumps for information?”

“He is not!” Madeline gasped, glaring at him. “I don’t know any underworld characters!”

“Oh, no? What about that retired smuggler you used to write to?”

“Will you shut up?” she squeaked, glancing apprehensively at Mulligan, who was trying to smother a grin.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a hit man somewhere in your retinue of acquaintances—” John glared at her. “You know the worst kind of rabble!”

“Well, your friends aren’t the cream of society either,” she threw back. “What about that evil-smelling drunk who came to my dinner party with you at Christmas?”

“He was my father’s first rigger, and what you smelled was some cologne of mine he borrowed!” He drew in an angry breath. “And he was not drunk!”

“What would you call it?” she asked hotly, glowering. “He tried to feed liver pâté to my Norfolk Island pine!”

“He was trying to dispose of the damned stuff so he wouldn’t have to eat it,” he informed her.

“You ate yours!”

“Like hell I did, I stuffed it in my pocket,” he grumbled.

She gasped. “I spent hours making it!”

“Josito spend hours trying to get it out of my coat pocket,” he informed her.

She glared across at him, her eyes sparking. She hated his arrogance, hated his impeccable neatness. Not a hair out of place, as usual, and two women at a nearby table were openly leering at him.

“This is getting us nowhere,” he said after a minute, his tone curt. “Have lunch with me and let’s talk about last night.”

“I don’t want to have lunch with you,” she informed him.

“But you’re going to,” he said in his usual commanding way.

She smiled tightly. “If you insist. Here, I’ll let you share mine.”

And, still smiling, she picked up her plateful of spaghetti and poured it slowly into his lap, watching the red tomato sauce ooze down over the pale fabric of his expensive suit pants.

Jack Mulligan was still laughing when they got to the parking lot underneath the restaurant, tears of mirth in his eyes.

“I’ll never forget the look on Durango’s face,” he managed. “Remind me never to upset you, lady.”

She laughed, too, now that it was over. “I don’t know which was worse, the spaghetti sauce or finding out what you did for a living after those nasty remarks he made. And I don’t know any hit men,” she added with a quick, sideways glance.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he chuckled. “Sorry about your lunch. Would you like to go somewhere else and try again?”

She shook her head. “Thanks anyway, but my appetite’s gone. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, Jack. If I can ever do anything for you…”

“You already did,” he grinned. “I haven’t laughed so much in months.”

Later, transcribing her notes in the garage apartment, she wondered if it had been such a good idea to ignore John’s overtures. Perhaps he’d meant to apologize for his accusations. Perhaps he’d wanted to make up.

Or maybe he’d just wanted to get her back to bed. That was what hurt the most, the thought that she might be nothing more than another woman to him: one he was temporarily, but not permanently, interested in. He’d asked her to live with him, of course, but not as his wife. And she’d slowly arrived at the conclusion that what she wanted most in the world was to share her life with John; to bear his children, to love him as long as she was alive. But she didn’t want to be relegated to a hidden corner, like some shameful habit that he didn’t want openly acknowledged. She couldn’t survive being his mistress, not feeling this way about him.

With a heavy sigh, she got up from her makeshift desk and stared out the window at Donald’s house next door. At this rate, John would finish her off before she finished the book. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when things had looked so dark, so empty. All she could foresee for herself now was loneliness.

That depression lasted for days, and it took all her willpower not to call Josito and find out if John was in town. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; he wasn’t going to call her. He’d made that perfectly obvious. Probably, she thought miserably, he was escorting Melody around town and hadn’t even minded that Madeline was out of his life for good. After all, there were plenty of women trying to get into his bed. Now she’d joined those ranks herself, and he had only contempt for the easy way she’d given in to him. Probably he’d lost every bit of respect he ever had for her.

Friday night, Donald, clearly seeing the desperation in her troubled eyes, invited her to go to a disco with him.

“You’ll love it,” he promised. “They serve a great steak supper, and the music’s loud enough to make you forget your name. It’s brand new and a favorite hangout for the young crowd.”

She eyed him. “How young?”

He looked briefly uncomfortable. “If we wear the right clothes, no one will even notice.”

“Hey, thanks a lot,” she grumbled. “Do I look
that
old?”

“We’re the same age,” he pointed out.

She sighed. “And lately I feel about forty. My get up and go has got up and went, as the saying goes. Okay, I’ll try it out. I just happen to have this great silver disco dress that I never get a chance to wear. I’ll drop by the house and pick it up.”

He grinned. “That’s my girl!”

It should have occurred to her to wonder why Donald was taking her to a disco when his own musical taste ran to Verdi and Wagner. But it didn’t. It was only when they were seated at a table facing the multilighted dance floor with its pulsing colors and throbbing music that his motives became clear. Glancing over her steak and red wine, she noticed John Durango only four tables away, with Melody sitting practically in his lap.

“I will murder you,” she told Donald sweetly, her fork poised in midair. “I will sprinkle a beastly, non-detectable poison over your food one night and stand gaily by while you choke and gasp your last!”

“No, you won’t,” Donald said confidently, sipping his wine with sparkling eyes. “Well, you were mooning over him. I just called Josito and asked where he was—that is, I had Maisie do it. The rest was simple.”

“Just like me,” she muttered. “Simple. Well, you can take me home right now!” She threw down her napkin.

“Oh, no, I can’t possibly,” he said pleasantly, blinking. “You see, if you walk out that door, he’ll know that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not…” She lowered her voice. “I’m not jealous.”

He grinned. “Yes, you are.”

She felt eyes boring into her, and looked up straight into John’s silver gaze. He was openly glaring, and the impact of his look made her heart turn over. His mouth under the mustache was drawn into a thin line, and his face was rigid. She dropped her eyes quickly to the remains of her steak, wishing her renegade heart would slow down.

“My, my, what a wicked glare that was,” Donald chuckled. “Furious, isn’t he?”

“You know very well I’d walk a mile to avoid John right now,” she ground out.

“The reverse is also true, if my cousin’s expression is anything to go by,” he replied. “And Melody looks as if she might sprout horns any second. Pretty little thing, isn’t she? So young, too.”

That hurt. She gave Donald her best I’ll-get-you-yet stare and watched him wiggle under it. “She’s a knockout, all right,” she agreed with a sweet smile. “Lucky John.”

Donald pursed his lips and studied her. “Strange, that isn’t what you said at Elise’s party that night. In fact, you did your best to rescue him from her clutches.”

“We were friends, then,” she replied, and memories of those seemingly long-ago days made her sad. She finished her steak without tasting it, and tossed back her red gold hair after she demolished the rest of the wine. The silver disco dress glittered as she moved, highlighting the slenderness of her body, the fiery shade of her hair.

“You’re still
my
friend, I hope,” he said.

She sighed. “I suppose so,” she admitted, her eyes soulful. “With a vicious personality like yours, you need at least one friend. How lucky for you that I have the hide of a rhinoceros.”

He laughed softly. “And the memory of a six-month-old,” he added, teasing. He got to his feet. “Dance with me. We’ll show ‘em how.”

“I’m not even sure I can do that kind of dance,” she muttered, letting him lead her away from the table.

“It’s easy. You just pretend that you’re walking over a row of water moccasins barefooted.”

“Ugh!” she shuddered, trying to look normal as she was led past John’s table.

Naturally, Donald stopped just at that moment, and flashed his best grin at John. The older man, in an open-throated white silk shirt under an expensive burgundy velvet jacket, was something to catch any woman’s eye.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cousin John,” Donald said in mock surprise. “And who’s this? Melody, isn’t it?” he added with an appreciative look at the little blonde. “Melody, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Madeline here is a great friend of John’s,” he added wickedly.

“Yes, I know her very well,” John replied, and everyone but Madeline missed the double entendre in his words.

“We had lunch together just last week,” she told Melody sweetly. “Spaghetti, wasn’t it?” she murmured, turning to the other girl’s escort.

John cocked an eyebrow at her. “That’s what it felt like,” he agreed casually.

“I didn’t know you cared for disco, cousin,” Donald remarked.

John glared at him. “Melody likes it,” he said shortly.

Madeline felt her blood start to simmer, but she forced a smile. “Ah, it’s so nice for young people, though, isn’t it, John?” she asked with a sigh. “Of course, at your age, old friend—” she emphasized the
old
“—this kind of dancing can be dangerous. It could throw your back out for weeks. Not to mention what it can do to arthritic joints.”

“I don’t have arthritic joints,” he pointed out curtly.

“That you know of,” she agreed. Her eyes lowered demurely. “But you have been complaining of aches a lot lately.”

She felt rather than saw him bristle, and wondered at her own impudence in baiting him. It wasn’t going to help the situation.

“I’ve found a nice remedy for those aches,” he replied after a minute, his arm going around Melody, who snuggled close with a smug look at Madeline.

“Let’s go, love,” Donald said, easing his arm around her waist and grinning at John, whose eyes flashed dangerously. “See you, cousin.”

She let Donald lead her onto the dance floor blindly, hurting in ways she’d never imagined she could. She let her body translate its painful rage into movement as she mechanically went through the paces of the disco dances, losing herself in the light and music. Only a little over two weeks ago, she and John had been as close as two people could get, and now they might as well live in different countries. It broke her heart.

She was aware of eyes watching her, and turned to see John and Melody dancing nearby. For a man of his size and age, John was devastating on the dance floor. He put most of the younger men, including Donald, to shame, and hardly had a hair out of place when the music stopped for a few seconds.

One of the younger girls moved close to John and Melody, her big blue eyes fascinated as she stared up at him. “Excuse me,” Madeline heard her say, “but aren’t you the star of that TV series?”

“Sorry, I’m not,” came the amused reply, and he smiled exactly like the adventure series hero he so closely resembled.

“Has anyone ever told you…” the girl persisted.

“…that I sound like him?” John teased. “A few people.”

“Well, you sure do!” she sighed. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

“Not at all,” John replied with another rugged grin.

Madeline lifted her chin and stared at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes. He looked at her and caught that twinkle, and for just an instant the antagonism fell away. How many times had they shared coffee and cake at his apartment or her small house while they watched that rugged TV star in action and marveled at the resemblance?

But then John’s eyes went to Donald and back to Melody, and the wall was firmly in place once more.

The music began again, and Madeline let herself go, swaying to the rhythm, losing her body to it with a sensuality that made Donald gape at her. It wasn’t long before she realized that Donald wasn’t the only one gaping at her soft curves in their deliciously provocative cover. She danced and laughed and gave the performance of her life, while inside her something fragile and budding withered like an iced-over blossom.

A few minutes later, Melody left John to go to the ladies’ room, and Donald chose that moment to go to the bar for drinks, leaving John and Madeline together as they started back through the crowd toward their respective seats.

“It won’t work,” he said.

“What won’t?” she asked in all innocence.

“Following me around trying to explain,” he said with the old, familiar arrogance. Tall, broad, sensuous, he made her want to throw herself into his arms….

“I’m not following you,” she said tightly.