All Through the Night (19 page)

“I was afraid of that,” Angie said, worry lacing her voice. “Bobby’s coming back sent you off the deep end.”

“I’ve been there before.” Oh, yes, that end-of-the-mar-riage, crawl-into-a-hole-and-wallow-in-a-pity-party deep end. Damned right, deep end. Bobby’s appearance set off every nerve ending, every memory. Every feeling of loss, regret, despair and abandonment.

The kind of feelings people drowned—in drink or in sex.

Or in talking about drink and sex and forbidden things they never in a lifetime would do.

“Where, off the deep end?” Angie said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Yes, she’d shared some of it with Angie. Not all. Not nearly. Not ever.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Angie added suddenly. “Stay home. I’ll come over.”

Regan flinched. She didn’t want that. For some reason, she really didn’t want that, nor did she want to examine why.

“I’m okay. I won’t do anything stupid. Besides, I’ve been protecting your innocence all this time, Ang. And I think that tradition should continue.”

“Regan—”

“I’m just going to get a beer or something at Gus’s. That’s about as much hell as I plan to raise tonight. So you’re still on the side of the angels, Miss Angel-a.”

“You think?” Angie asked uncertainly.

She hated to turn Angie off like that; Angie was such a good friend.

“Oh, I know,” Regan murmured, comforted, as she hung up the phone.

Even more comforting was the atmosphere at Gus’s, the local hangout: warm, cheerful, noisy, welcoming. The restaurant and menu hadn’t changed since the nineteen forties, and you could always order a burger and beer, soup and a sandwich, wine and cheese. And the real Gus still owned and ran the place.

Gus knew everyone. Gus knew her. “Hey, Regan,” he called to her from behind the turn-of-the-century walnut bar. “How’s it going?”

“It already went,” she said trenchantly, seating herself and ordering a glass of wine.

Gus grunted. “That bad, huh?”

Regan sipped. “Ummm.”
That bad
.

Really
? Well, she wanted it to be that bad. She knew where to come for sympathy.

But in the glow of the dimly lit bar, with jazz playing on the old jukebox, the sibilant murmur of conversation underscoring the music, delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, and the heightened sense of intimacy, things suddenly didn’t look that bad at all.

Really, what was so bad? she thought idly, tipping her glass of wine so the soft light warmed the golden liquid. In fact, everything was golden—if you counted your blessings piece by piece: she had a good job, had just been promoted, made good money. Had a great boss. Good friends. Nice town. Good place to live, to work. Super apartment.

She had, for a once-destitute girl, achieved everything she’d ever dreamed about.

Almost everything.

She didn’t have a husband, or a family.

She’d failed dismally at marriage. Had fallen flat on her face and into the morass of married too young, divorced too soon.

That was her most incriminating secret, that
she
had failed, too. It had been so easy to put it all on Bobby, but she bore some of the burden as well. Maybe more than
some
. Something she’d never ever admitted to anyone, even herself, in those tumultuous days when there was barely anything left to save of their relationship.

It wasn’t all Bobby.

It wasn’t
all
Bobby
.

Oh, God, all that pain, all those years of regrets… everything she’d pushed into that deep well of longing and covered over so it wouldn’t bubble over ever again…

And now he was back.

And that just shook her up from top to toe.

And he
said
he’d come back for her.

Easy for him to say. That had jolted her more than anything.

Tony said to ignore him.

But Bobby was a man who couldn’t be ignored.

Maybe you shouldn’t ignore him.

Oh, God—where did that thought come from?

She checked the time. Midnight. The clubs were just revving up. The bar was crowded, the restaurant full. This was the hour people made connections, corrections, raised hell, or just went home.

Well, she was the original homing pigeon
—

Someone sat down beside her. “Buy you a drink?”

Tony.

She sank back onto the bar stool. “You and Angie do not have to play baby sitter.”

“Oh, sure, you’re the tough, together Regan Torrance,” Tony said, motioning for a beer on tap. “And you’re so tender and raw on the inside, it’s a wonder your heart isn’t bleeding all over the sidewalk. Thanks, Gus,” as Gus flipped his beer expertly down the long counter.

“Um-hmm.” Regan sipped her wine. Better that than give Tony an opening to play father confessor yet again.

Tony slanted her a look, noted the stubborn set of her chin, took a long, deep swallow and banged the stein down on the counter.

She jumped, and she looked at him, as he intended, because he was not a man of extreme gestures. But it was damned hard to hold it in. For years, he had dreaded this moment, and today it had hit him with the full force of a hurricane.

And it wasn’t Bobby’s return. That was the least of it. It was watching Regan last night and the whole of today, and finally, fully comprehending what was what, and why Regan held everything and everyone at arm’s length.

“You are still goddamned in love with him,” he said savagely.

“No.” No hesitation. Absolute certainty. But she looked as if he’d slapped her, she looked stunned, and then she prickled up. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Are you?” he retorted, and took another long swig. “You should’ve seen yourself today.”

“You’re crazy.” She didn’t sound convincing.

Oh, God
—
more secrets
…

“You’re lying to yourself.”

She felt upended all over again. Tony, of all people, to unleash this on her tonight. But, then, Tony had so much more than she to lose. “I’m not. And don’t you play the martyr with me.”

“Hell, I’m the one who’s been holding you together all these years, Regan. And it’s clear as glass after last night and today, that all you ever wanted was that smug bastard. And don’t think he doesn’t know it.”

Regan got up abruptly.
No. NO. Oh, God, No
…

“I think we’re done for tonight, my knight erroneous. You’re wrong. And I’m not up for a scene right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“I think I can manage that much by myself. Obviously, I haven’t been able to manage anything else. According to you.”

“Regan…”

“Don’t bother.”

“Fine.” Tony eyed her over the rim of his beer. “It was time for some plain speaking anyway.”

“Good night, Tony,” she said stiffly.

“Sure.” He watched her leave, every line of her body inflexible with fury.

Plain speaking. Plain crazy. He shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have voiced the thing they both most feared. It changed everything, bringing it out in the open, and that he feared most of all.

Ignore him.

Who?

She didn’t want to even think about it. She was too tired, and he was a man who could not be ignored.

She stepped into the elevator of her apartment building.

Maybe you shouldn’t ignore him.

She shucked her coat, as she entered her foyer, and flopped down on the couch.

Who?

Who was she trying to fool? she thought, draping an arm over her aching head. The last seven years had been a marathon of trying to ignore the thing she most wanted to forget, and it had all been for nothing: she was transparent as glass and she was the only one who saw her life through a frosted lens.

It sure blurred the outlines. Prettied things up. Made everything softer, fuzzier. Bearable.

And now—?

Maybe you should fight fire with fire…

What
? She bolted upright.

What
was that thought?

Don’t let them bulldoze you, either of them. Why not just… ?

Just
—
what
?

Lord, she
was
tired. Or else she was having a nightmare.

…
just let Bobby catch you…
?

Yep
—
sound asleep, not in her right mind
.

Or maybe you’re not as upset as you’re pretending to be?

Maybe Tony was right and that’s why you’re so upset?

No, it was the headache talking—she was delirious. Not thinking straight. Thinking… what?

Thinking she would just hand herself over to Bobby on a silver platter?

Wearing a little paper frill around her neck
.…

And nothing else…

Cute thought. She eased back down on the sofa.
I need

some aspirin. My head feels like a basketball. Needy but beautiful girls who are too full of themselves should never fall in love with young, rich, bad boys who are too full of themselves.

It had been a recipe for disaster…

And yet—and yet…
he came back
—
for her
…

How? Why?

Why her? Why now?

They were different people now. They didn’t know each other. Whatever Bobby thought he came back for didn’t exist. She wasn’t malleable anymore; she was too strong, too headstrong, less emotional, absolutely in control except when people turned up where they shouldn’t be.

So… why not just
—
go with it
?

Oh, something hadn’t changed. That insidious little thread of hope knotted around her heart…

Just go with it
—
and turn it all around
…

Chapter Four

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So—he’d set his plan in motion, and Regan was already running as fast as she could. Or had Tony made sure she was nowhere around when he arrived for his appointment this morning?

Catch me if you can…

Regan Torrance, broker on the go, who, being a modern kind of woman, had never relinquished her divorced husband’s name.

It was enough to give a man hope.

Business. First.

The storefront where the paper was housed was small, too small for the plans he had for it. The title closed this afternoon. His walk-through was scheduled for this morning. And it was definitely part of his plan to have Regan find him the right commercial space.

So where was Regan at ten in the morning?

“Out with a client,” Tony said blandly, pushing agency papers in front of him with all the disclosures and percentages spelled out.

Bobby signed the papers. “When can we start?”

“After your closing, if you like.”

Bobby took his copies and folded them away. A couple of hours now, he thought, he’d own the building, the assets, everything.

Everything except Regan.

And that was on the docket, the next item to be attended to.

Tony escorted him to the door.

“Well, talk about timing,” Bobby said, keeping his tone neutral. “Here comes Regan.”

And there she was, her dark hair whipping in the morning wind, long and lean in a severe pantsuit, a classic polo coat and big round sunglasses out of a nineteen sixties issue of
Vogue
.

And Angie.

A client. Now what did that mean, Tony’s deliberate lie?

“Ang.” He nodded at her curtly as they came close enough to speak. “Tony. I’ll call this afternoon. I’ll assume Regan will have time to show me something then.”

“Sure,” Tony said, sending a warning look to Regan, who was about to protest. “We’ll set up a couple interesting things that are available. Whenever you’re ready.”

Angie looked at Tony. “I have to go.”

“Bye, Ang.” Tony held open the door for Regan as Angie and Bobby went off together. “Back to work, hotshot. We’ve got megabucks on the line here.”