Love Songs (38 page)

“How are you, Serena?”

Her head snapped around in instant recognition of the voice. Stunned, she could only stare for several seconds. When she finally spoke she was shakier than she had been all evening. “Tom! What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are, no doubt.” He grinned, spreading a quick fire through her.

“I’m simply obliging André,” she went out of her way to explain. “He begged me to come. It seemed to mean so much to him. Now I find that not only are there at least a hundred people here—when he promised me something quiet—but he’s disappeared to talk politics with the men.” She frowned, still unable to assimilate Tom’s presence. “What’s
your
excuse? I didn’t know that you and André knew each other.”

“We don’t.” Tom looked uneasily around the room. “I was brought by a mutual friend of ours—in fact, I believe he’s closeted with her right now.”

Serena shook her head. “Uh-uh. He’s discussing some earthshaking matter with the aldermen. There are several here tonight.”

His dark head lowered as he stifled a smile. “He didn’t tell you then, the sly fox. Your friend André is with the aldermen, all right. One of them, though, is a
she.
”

“Ahh.”

“You’re not angry?”

“At losing André? Not in the least. He’s a friend, nothing more.” Her lips thinned in mock chagrin. “But I
am
slightly annoyed at having to put up with this”—she gestured widely toward the crowd milling about the room—“all night.”

“Come on.” His hand was gentle at the back of her waist. “Let’s find a quieter spot.”

Had it not been for her irritation at being misled by André, Serena might have thought twice about going anywhere with Tom. After all, the last time she had seen him had been at the racquetball club over a month ago, when they had exchanged nothing more than potent stares. And since then they had exchanged absolutely nothing. Going back a step further, she clearly recalled the morning she had all but thrown herself at him in her apartment. What must he think of her? Then, of course, there was the past.…

After ushering her into a small den Tom pulled two easy chairs around to face each other. Serena sank willingly into one, slipping out of her shoes impulsively and curling her legs up under her.

“Comfortable?” he mocked with a smile.

She blushed, aware that her pose wasn’t at all in keeping with her sophisticated appearance. “Uh-huh. Finally. My shoes were killing me.”

“Famous last words.” His eyes caught hers and held them with an intensity that rendered talk superfluous. It seemed forever that they looked at one another, lost in memories, neither wishing to break the spell. To Serena’s surprise her thoughts were all positive. Once again she had banished Tom’s treachery from mind, aware only of the strength she found so appealing.

“You aren’t terribly surprised to find me here,” she observed when curiosity finally propelled her on.

Tom smiled in understanding. “I had this funny feeling when Ann mentioned André’s name that he was your friend. I don’t suppose there are too many investment counselors named André in this area.”

“No,” she answered softly, admiring the dashing appearance Tom made in his dark European-cut suit. André might have worn the same cut, but it was Tom who carried it off with style, holding himself with just the right air to express self-confidence, rather than arrogance.

“Are you his date?”

Serena grimaced. “He picked me up and brought me here. But I’m certainly not his ‘date,’ at least not in my mind. Anyway, look where his attentiveness has left me—uh, excuse me, that sounded all wrong.” Her cheeks burned. “I meant he deserted me quickly enough, and he’s really more interested—”

“I know what you mean, Serena. Believe me, I’m not at all offended. Actually, this couldn’t have worked out better,” he declared smugly.

Not knowing what to say, Serena looked down awkwardly. The rebuff Tom had dealt her that last morning in her apartment was fresh enough to add to her confusion. Even the recollection of the flowers he had sent was small solace for that embarrassment.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he began. The gentleness of his voice added to her consternation. “Green becomes you. It picks up the color of your eyes.”

“They’re hazel.” She shrugged. “Nothing spectacular.”

“Oh, they’re spectacular enough when they get going. Those sparks were the first thing I noticed about you.”

The feeling was mutual, but she chose not to enlighten him on that score. Instead she frowned, concentrating on the soft folds of her tunic across her thighs. “You have a knack for inspiring that type of thing.”

“Do I still upset you as much?”

“No,” she answered half-honestly. “It was the initial shock of seeing you and the memories it dredged up that were so bad. At least I’ve gotten over the shock.” She was certainly not about to mention the new wave of feelings he’d created, many of which were as disturbing in their way as the old, painful memories.

Tom leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He studied her self-consciousness, looked down at his own hands, then spoke his thoughts aloud. “You’re a puzzle to me, Serena.” That, too, was a mutual sentiment. “On the one hand, you are what you do. You couldn’t have chosen a better name.
Sweet Serenity.
It’s you.” Unsure, she looked up, to be met by a beckoning warmth. “You
are
sweet—I saw you in action in your shop. You genuinely want to please, and you do. Those customers obviously love you as much as your candy. I honestly don’t think you’d hurt a soul, unless you were pushed to an absolute extreme.”

“I enjoy pleasing people. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy
Sweet Serenity
the way I do. But what is it that puzzles you?” she asked.

He amended his choice of word. “Perhaps ‘puzzle’ is the wrong word. ‘Intrigue’ may be better.” At her baffled look he explained. “It’s the part about serenity that’s only half true. At the shop, in public places—like that restaurant, this party—you
are
serene. Perhaps it’s that you’re always serene on the surface—smooth, calm, even—”

“How can you say that, Tom?” she interrupted. “
You’ve
seen me in a fury.
You’ve
seen me at my worst. That night, the next morning…” Moaning, she looked away. “I’m not particularly proud of the way I acted.”

“Don’t hold
that
against yourself. We all have our bad moments. And yours wasn’t even all that bad, compared to some.”

If he was trying to tell her something she was too enveloped in remorse to hear. “To
me
it was terrible! I’ve never thrown myself at a man before.”

“It wasn’t one-sided, Serena,” he chided. Again, she barely heard.

“It was horrible! I don’t
do
that!”

His whispered “I know” was strangely soothing. She let the silent magic work away some of her tension, aware of the hum of talk from the other room, the strong presence of Tom leaning close to her. When he took her hand in his she didn’t pull away. His grip was filled with a reassurance she needed.

“You’ve made my point beautifully, Serena. You’re a very controlled woman, very calm and, yes, serene. But you keep everything bottled up inside. My appearance shocked you enough to punch a tiny hole in that veneer, but I also stirred up enough anger in you to give you a whopper of a headache.” He paused, his thumb passing across the back of her hand. “Have you had another since?”

“I haven’t seen you since,” she quipped in retaliation.

His answering look held a determination she hadn’t expected. “Well, you
will
be seeing me and I won’t have you getting constant migraines. I guess I’ll have to teach you to scream and yell rather than lock that tension inside when we’re together.”

“You must be my self-appointed analyst.” Still awkward, she put a hand up out of habit to smooth back her hair.

“You look fine.” He caught her at it. “By the way, you looked pretty good on the court.”

“So did you. Is that how you let off steam? You were playing pretty hard.”

“When I wasn’t distracted.”

“Sorry about that.” She smiled shyly. “We didn’t mean to stand there staring but, well, I didn’t expect to see you there and then Willie explained that you’re a pro, and we amateurs can always use a few pointers.”

The light in his eyes was suddenly hotter. “For you, Serena, any time.”

Serena stifled the gasp his innate sensuality evoked. Her eyes were bright, held tightly by his. As always, he had that power; now he used it to its fullest. She wanted to protest, but no sound came out. Her mind cried out against the time, the place, the man, but her body stirred toward him as he reached to touch her face.

“I missed you,” he whispered, tracing a path of heat from one to the other of her features. “I wanted to call.”

“Why didn’t you?” she startled herself by asking.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I still don’t.”

Her own voice was no more than a raw murmur. “Then, why are you here, doing this to me?”

“I’m only touching your face. That’s all. It’s so smooth and soft and open.…”

“Oh, Tom,” she cried in soft desperation, “you do so much more to me. Can’t you see that?”

He gazed at her with something akin to pain in the depths of his eyes. “Let me kiss you.”

“No, don’t.…”

His head moved closer—or was hers moving to meet it in denial of her protest? “Just once, Serena.” His husky murmur warmed her lips, teasing them open with a tenderness that spread excitement through her body. She wanted to resist, but her need for him was greater. Her sensual sigh told him all he wanted to know.

His lips touched hers lightly, caressing them gently, responding to her with controlled fervor. As though fearful of frightening her off, he held the reins of emotion tightly, savoring the sweet opening she offered. He kissed her, then pulled back. Then kissed her again, and pulled back again. Far from using each withdrawal to muster her protests, Serena found herself craving more.

“You taste so good, Serena,” he moaned, shifting lithely to perch on the arm of her chair.

She tipped her head back as his lips descended again, welcoming his kiss with the warmth of her mouth and the reciprocal play of her tongue against his. She felt pleasure at the depths she offered him and took pleasure in the feel of his thorough exploration. His fingers splayed across her neck, inching their way toward her throat. Driven by the rippling excitement surging wildly through her, she arched closer. Tom sensed her rising desire and trembled under the strain of restraint. His thumb propped her chin up; his fingertips inched down beneath the silk of her collar, pointing heatedly toward her breast yet unable to move further.

“Let’s get out of here,” he rasped hoarsely, tearing his lips away to breathe heavily against her temple.

“I can’t leave,” she gasped, unaware that she clutched his wrist tightly. “André will be looking for me—”

“To hell with André!”

“Tom, he brought me here.”

“And I brought Ann. But the two of them are busy enough discussing something.…” His words trailed into unexpected silence, arousing Serena’s curiosity.

She leaned back in the chair and let her hand fall to her lap. “Who is Ann, anyway?”

“No one important.” Gradually his breathing grew steadier.

“She’s an alderwoman. She
has
to be someone.”

“Not to me.”

“You brought her,” she pointed out softly.

Tom was momentarily distracted, straightening, standing, walking slowly to the window. His reflection showed a scowl, but when he turned he was under control. “She’s an acquaintance. She needed an escort.”

Moving quickly, Tom leaned over Serena, his arms on either arm of her chair. “Come on, honey. Let’s go somewhere.”

“No, I can’t.”

“To talk?”

“Tom, I can’t hurt André like that.”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “Sweet Serena! What did I tell you? Always thinking of others. Well, what about
me?
”

The two stared at each other silently, then, with a sigh, Tom lifted a hand to massage his neck, thrust the other in his pants pocket for safekeeping, glared darkly, then stalked from the den to become lost in the crowd.

Serena sat without moving, recalling his final words. “What about
me?
” he had asked, as if he were a child who feared he’d been cheated of some treasure. Was this merely the privileged aristocrat pouting at being thwarted, or was it possible that she’d struck a very private and raw note in Tom? There had been nothing put on about his plea; it had seemed to come from the heart. What should she make of it?

“There you are, Serena. I’ve been looking all over for you.” André advanced with a sure step, his conference evidently finished and matters settled to his satisfaction. “Come on out. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

She felt no surprise when he led her to a group dominated by a petite, dark-haired firebrand of a woman. Mercifully, Tom was nowhere in sight. “André”—the woman turned at their approach—“this has to be Serena.” A cool hand was perfunctorily extended. Serena met it with a matching sense of duty, no more, as André completed the introduction.