Tempest in Eden (10 page)

Ian didn't speak again, only withdrew his hand from around her neck, regret written on his handsome face. He shut the door softly behind him.

She listened to his footsteps receding down the hallway and wondered mournfully how she was going to survive until Friday.

Chapter Six

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S
omehow she did survive, though during the following days she was absentminded at work, going through the motions but lacking any interest in her customers. Every time the bell on the door jingled, her eyes flew toward it in the hope that he had come to see her. If he were finding it as difficult to keep his mind on his work as she was, his arrival wouldn't be too farfetched a possibility.

Vandiveer noticed her lackadaisical attitude. "That woman would have bought that vase if you'd cared enough to talk her into it," he chastised when an indecisive customer left the shop. "Snap out of it, Shay, or go home and sleep it off. You're useless to me here walking around like a zombie."

"I'm sorry." She sighed. "I … I haven't been feeling well the last few days."

Vandiveer coughed behind his hand. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in love." Her head snapped to attention. "Well, well, well." He laughed.

"Have I struck a nerve? New beau, Shay?" His tone was silky and taunting. He'd asked her this question many times over the years she'd worked for him, with the salacious curiosity of an old maid. Her answer had always been an unqualified no.

"Possibly," she said blithely, taking up a newly framed lithograph and trying it in several display positions on the wall. "He's a minister." The days since Ian's departure from her door had been dreary enough. She might as well have some fun at old Vandiveer's expense.

She got the astonished reaction from him she had anticipated. "A minister!"

"Yes, a minister. Like in church. Have you ever been to a church, Mr. Vandiveer?"

"Once.When my mother had me christened. And then I didn't have anything to say about it." Shay chuckled. "I must admit my image of clergymen run along the lines of Bing Crosby in
Going My Way.
Where in the world did you ever meet a minister? In church?" he asked cattily.

"No," Shay replied vaguely. "No … uh … somewhere else." This was only for fun, after all. She wasn't going to divulge the ins and outs of her private life to Vandiveer. Tiring of the game and more than a little piqued by her employer's lewdly cunning expression, she added, "I know that last customer's house. I helped her with a wall arrangement. If I choose some silk flowers to match her living room and call her, she may come buy the vase."

Vandiveer seemed mollified, but at the moment Shay couldn't have cared less. Her thoughts had already gravitated back to where they had been all week—on Ian.

If her days seemed long, her nights seemed endless. As she had feared, once Ian had been in her tiny apartment, it had undergone a metamorphosis. It now seemed mammoth and hollow. She roamed the rooms, searching out projects, anything to occupy her mind with something else besides Ian.

She was obsessed with him. She saw him standing in the window, his face serious and grave. She saw him sitting on her sofa, his expression earnest and intense. She saw him lounging in the chair at her kitchen table, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was everywhere, but he wasn't
there.
And more than she wanted to admit, she wanted him to be with her.

Before their troubles began, she and Anson had enjoyed a healthy and active sexual relationship. Their lovemaking had been frequent and lusty. But it had been the lovemaking of two children suddenly granted the privilege. It had been rowdy and playful, frequently hurried, and a trifle selfish for both of them.

Ian's passionate kisses bothered her in shocking, wonderful ways. She sensed that beneath his austere bearing there beat the heart of a fierce and tender lover. It was an exciting prospect, but one she mustn't dwell on. She might be crushingly disappointed if they ever overcame their differences and actually became lovers.

But she was wasting her time speculating on what kind of lover Ian would be. Much as she wanted to deny it, she knew the situation was impossible. She was convinced of his dedication to his calling. Had he not been so dedicated, he couldn't have left the other night with their desires unsatisfied.

Dead end. She'd never had an affair. Ian Douglas was the one man who could interest her in one. That they shared a sexual attraction was undeniable. But he wouldn't compromise his convictions. He would stand firm on all matters relating to morality. He wouldn't sleep with a woman unless he were married to her.

That was an absurd notion!

So, why is your heart pounding and why are your palms perspiring? she asked herself as she negotiated the choking Friday afternoon traffic into Manhattan. Why did you ever agree to meet him in the first place? She remembered their last kiss at the door of her apartment and knew that hell or high water couldn't have kept her from seeing him tonight.

She was thankful that most everyone else was leaving the city, heading in the opposite direction. Still, by the time she found a parking garage and walked down Seventh Avenue toward Penn Station, she felt as if she'd run a long race. The train station was like a macabre carnival, with harried commuters pushing and shoving to make their trains.

She saw Ian before he saw her. He was standing in front of the newsstand where they had agreed to meet, his eyes scanning the crowd. Shay was pleased and proud that he didn't go unnoticed by the women rushing by. More than a few turned their heads for another look after they had passed him.

They would be fools not to. He was dressed in a sportscoat and tie. His shirt was baby blue and enhanced the brilliance of his eyes. His black trousers were impeccably tailored to his muscled thighs. As always, his hair was carelessly, irresistibly disarrayed.

Moistening her dry lips, Shay walked into his field of vision. His searching eyes darted past her, skidded to a stop, and sprang back as though on an elastic band. He drank in the sight of her. When he smiled, his face lit up with warmth and happiness. Three long strides brought him to her. Closing his fingers around her elbow, he moved her against the wall out of the flow of traffic.

"Hi," he said. "You made it."

"Am I late?"

"I was early," he confessed.

For a long minute they didn't say any more, only indulged their selfish eyes by gazing at each other.

"You look beautiful," he said at last.

Her challis dress was a soft gold, a perfect color and weight for the transition into the fall season. She'd chosen it to accent the wheat color of her hair and her warm skin tones. The fabric made velvety mysteries out of her eyes as she looked up at the man staring so greedily down at her.

"Thank you."

He seemed to pull himself physically out of the beckoning depths of those eyes and brought forth a magazine he'd been holding. It was a copy of
Glamour.
"I saw a model in this and wondered if it was you."

He opened the magazine to an earmarked page. On it was an ad for a soap and sponge combination imported from France that promised to smooth away unsightly cellulite when used daily. It featured a woman in a shower. It was a three-quarter shot of the woman's back. One raised arm revealed the sloping curve of a breast. It was a black and white photograph, but the woman's hair was pulled into a loose topknot as Shay often wore hers.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She looked up at him, then across to the newsstand where he'd obviously purchased the magazine. "Have you been looking for pictures of me?" she asked, her eyes swinging back to him.

"No, no," he hastened to assure her. "I was just thumbing through this while I was waiting for you, and I thought I recognized… I mean it resembled your … uh … back. Are you hungry?"

He spliced the two sentences together, obviously hoping Shay would forget the first and hear only the second. She was merciful, though she had a strong desire to ask him what about the picture had looked familiar. "Yes. I haven't eaten all day."

"Celia wouldn't like that."

"Promise you won't tell her."

"Only if you'll agree to eat in one of my favorite Italian restaurants. It's only two blocks from here."

"Do they have crusty bread and fettuccine Alfredo?" She tilted her head at a charming angle.

"Gobs of both."

She linked her arm in his. "Lead the way."

They were greeted at the door of a small family-owned restaurant by a short, rotund, balding man who smothered Ian in a hearty embrace. "My friend!" he boomed, thumping Ian on the back. "You honor my restaurant after too long a time."

"Hello, Lou," Ian said, disengaging himself from the bear hug. "I'd like you to meet Shay Morrison. Shay, Luigi Pettrocelli."

Lou inspected her with dancing black eyes. "A temptation for the pastor, hey?" His elbow dug into Ian's stomach as he laughed boisterously.

"Protestants learn to cope with temptation just as our Catholic counterparts do," Ian intoned solemnly, though his lips twitched with amusement.

"Pah!" Lou turned to Shay and whispered conspiratorially, "He's been trying to convert me for years."

"And you're a hopeless case," Ian said, finally giving vent to his laughter. "Do you have anything worth eating in the kitchen tonight?"

With a flourish Lou led them to a table and rattled off a string of orders in Italian to some unseen subordinate in the kitchen. A straw-covered bottle of Chianti and a basket of breadsticks were immediately hustled out by an aproned waiter, who seemed anxious to do his boss's bidding.

"I must leave, my friend," Lou said regretfully after he'd seen to their order. "My Tony is playing soccer tonight." He reached for Shay's hand and brought it to his lips. "You are a beautiful lady and just what this stuffy Protestant needs to stir his sluggish blood."

"Tell all the kids hello and kiss Angela for me," Ian said.

"Pah! She would swoon, and I don't want her lamenting over you when she crawls into my bed!" He thumped Ian's back with a blow that might have injured a weaker man. "It is good to see you, my friend. You are always in our prayers."

"As you are in mine," Ian said, standing to embrace the other man.

Lou bowed to Shay before he waddled off toward the back of the restaurant, issuing instructions in Italian that she interpreted to be for attentive service for his friend and his lady.

"He's wonderful," she said. "I gather you've been friends for a long time. Where did you meet him?"

"On the subway." At her astounded look, he chuckled. "I was about to be mugged by three toughs late one night. Lou came bounding up behind them like a linebacker, roaring like a lion. He banged the heads of two of them together and knocked them senseless. The third one ran away."

She was laughing. "Is that the truth?"

"Every word." He crisscrossed his heart with his index finger.

"You have a very ecumenical attitude toward each other," she said, teasing.

He was smiling but serious when he answered. "We understand each other. We worship the same Lord. Men all over the world call God by different names and worship Him differently than I do. He loves us all."

Tears glistened in her eyes as she regarded him across the candlelit table, admiring the man he was and all he stood for.

Later, as she popped the last bite of liberally buttered bread into her mouth, Ian said with amusement, "You only eat one meal a day, but it more than makes up for the other two." He inclined his head toward the platter she'd emptied.

She propped her elbows on the small, intimate table and glared at him. "Are you poking fun at my healthy appreciation of food?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not ladylike to clean your plate? Especially in front of a suitor."

"My mother warned me about
all
the nasty things that can befall an incautious young lady."

He took a sip of Chianti and nodded to the waiter, who took away their plates. "Like what? What pitfalls did she warn you about?" Ian asked.

Shay ticked them off on her fingers, thoroughly enjoying herself. "Talking to strangers, accepting rides from men I don't know, letting a stranger into the house. Things like that."

Replete with good food and two glasses of wine—her limit since the night she'd climbed imprudently into Ian's bed—she sat back in her chair and gazed at him across the table. The friendly clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the murmur of conversation from other diners, the soft music from the overhead speakers all faded away. At that moment her world consisted only of the two of them. "The one thing she didn't warn me about," she continued, "was ministers with sexy blue eyes."

He set his wineglass aside and leaned across the table, as close to her as he could get. His eyes roved hungrily over her face. "Do you think they're sexy?" he asked, obviously pleased.

"Uh-huh."

"Why should your mother have warned you about such a thing?"

She was jolted out of her pleasant daze and back into the world of reality. "Because … because any feelings I might develop for such a man would confuse me."

"Why?"

She ignored his question and asked the one that had plagued her for days. "Ian, why did you become a minister?"