“All right.” If she was so sure of herself, why was her voice so whispery? “I must go now,” she lied. “I’m expected for dinner.”
“Not so fast” His hand came up to catch her chin, lifting her face so he could see her eyes. “When can I see you?”
“I—I don’t know.” Her tongue stumbled over her words. “I have a lot to do and—”
“Friday,” he cut in. “For dinner. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”
“All right, Friday.” Micki tried to ignore her sudden leap of anticipation. “I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” His hand dropped to her arm and he moved back, away from the door, drawing her with him. Ignoring her insistence that he needn’t walk her to her car, he ushered her through the doorway and along the hall.
The heat hit her like a physical blow when they stepped out of the building. And like some blow to the head it seemed to knock her thinking back onto dead center.
Was she out of her mind agreeing to have dinner with him? It sounded innocent enough, but Micki had the sinking sensation that Wolf hadn’t had an innocent urge since puberty. She waited until he had opened the car door for her and she had slid onto the seat before glancing up with a hesitant, “Wolf, about Friday.”
“What about it?” They were the first words he’d uttered since leaving the apartment and Micki feared the hard sound of his tone.
“Where are we going?” she sighed in defeat. “How should I dress?”
The sardonic curve of his mouth left her in little doubt that he’d been perfectly aware that she’d been about to make a stab at getting out of the date.
“Nothing fancy.” Wolfs grin was pure animal. Wolf animal. “We’ll take a run down the coast to Wildwood. The restaurant’s quiet and the food’s good. I hope you like Greek food.”
“I do.”
Micki turned the key and the motor sprang to life. Wolf closed the door gently but firmly. Knowing there was no possible way out of it now, Micki backed the car around and drove off the lot.
* * * *
By the time Micki parked her car in the driveway of her father’s house she had a nervous stomach and a sick headache. Moving listlessly, she followed the flagstone path to the back door. Before entering, she straightened her spine and composed her features. The scene that met her eyes was so homey and domestic that for a brief moment she felt like an interloper. Regina stood at the kitchen counter grating cheese to top the salad Bruce was tossing in a large wooden bowl.
“Hi, princess, you’re just in time for dinner.” Her father’s warm tone sent the alien feeling packing. “How’s Cindy?”
“Blossoming.” Micki grinned. Stealing a slim wedge of tomato from the bowl, she added, “I love the house.”
“Did she have the fun of surprising you?” Regina turned from the cheese, an uncertain smile on her lips.
“Mmm,” Micki nodded, finishing the tomato. “I was properly stunned.”
“I’m glad.” Regina transferred the grated cheese to the table. “Run into anyone else you know?”
Micki felt her face go stiff. Had her seemingly accidental meeting with Wolf been planned? Could his desire to see her, talk to her, be part of Regina’s campaign to cement a friendship between herself and Micki?
Micki stared at Regina’s mildly inquiring expression as her mind went over those few fantastic minutes she spent in Wolf’s apartment. No, she decided firmly. If the meeting had been part of a let’s-be-friends play, Wolf would not have made his own play. Her father rescued her from the need to answer Regina’s question.
“What’s all this about a surprise from Cindy?”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant,” Micki answered quickly.
“And I inadvertently let the cat out of the bag before Micki left this morning,” Regina supplied contritely.
“But all went well.” Micki finished the tale dramatically. “Boy, was I surprised.”
During the dinner Bruce glanced at Micki and asked, “Are you going with us tonight, honey?”
“Oh, dear, I forgot,” Regina moaned, her face stricken. “I was so busy telling Micki something I wasn’t supposed to, I failed to tell her what I was supposed to.”
Totally confused, Micki begged, “Do you think you could untangle that for me, Dad? I’m afraid I must have missed something.”
“Nothing very earth-shattering,” Bruce chuckled. “We’ve been invited to watch the Night in Venice from the Gallagers’ deck. When Dolly and Mike heard you’d be home, they asked me to tell you to come along, as they’d love to see you.”
“The Night in Venice,” Micki replied faintly. “I—I don’t know—I—”
“You don’t have other plans, do you?” Her father’s face wore a confused question mark.
“No, but,” Micki hedged, then offered lamely, “but I don’t want to intrude.”
“Intrude!” Now his face reflected sheer disbelief. “Dolly and Mike were at your christening. How could you possibly intrude?”
“All right.” For the second time in less than two hours, Micki sighed in defeat. “I’d like to come.”
It was a bare-faced lie. The last thing Micki wanted was to sit on that particular deck. It was on that deck she had been introduced to one Wolfgang Karl Renninger.
As
soon as the dishes were rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher, Micki escaped to her room with a murmured, “I’ll be ready,” when her father said they would be leaving around eight
After stripping off her clothes, she headed for the shower. She felt half sick to her stomach and there was a throbbing in her temples that grew stronger with each passing minute. Standing under the tepid spray, water cascading over her head and down her body, Micki decided her acceptance of Wolf’s taunting challenge had not been too bright. She knew what he wanted. What he’d always wanted from any woman hapless enough to wander into his orbit. And he thought she’d under persuasion be willing to answer his wants.
About who you ‘re sleeping with.
His words echoed in her mind so clearly she jerked her head around to see if he hadn’t somehow slipped into the shower with her. Knowing she was being silly, yet unable to control her reaction, she turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. Raking her memory, she tried to recall his exact tone as well as his words. Once again his words, complete with his shading, came sharp and clear.
Had he sounded derisive? Mocking? Angry? Micki shook her head, she couldn’t pinpoint it. The word jealousy leaped into her mind, but with a snort she rejected it. Wolf jealous? Never.
Another thought slithered into her mind and she felt herself go hot then cold. That he’d asked the question in the first place must mean he’d taken for granted that she was sleeping with someone. The vaguely sick feeling in her stomach deepened. She had not denied it. Quite the opposite. The reply she’d flung at him could easily be taken as confirmation.
Her thoughts tormented her as she dressed. Damn him. Whenever she considered herself, her life-style, at all, it was along the lines of independent, self-sufficient, and confident. In less than one hour Wolf had managed to undermine her self-image. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, confused, and much younger than her twenty-five years. Damn him. Her last thoughts before leaving her room were
He’s going to give me trouble, I know it, and I don’t know what to do about it.
They walked to the bay, enjoying the sweetness of the early evening ocean breeze. The Gallager house was full of people, as it always was the evening of Night in Venice. As it was still early, most of the people were milling about, laughing, talking, helping themselves to the large array of snacks Dolly had set out.
Micki had always enjoyed the Gallagers’ company. About her father’s age, they were a warm, friendly couple who liked having people around. When she was a little girl, Micki had loved visiting them.
After exchanging greetings and hugs and a few moments of small talk, Micki wandered out onto the nearly empty deck. She knew that before too long both the deck she was on and the one above her would be crowded with people, but for now, for just a few minutes, she could savor the near solitude.
As she crossed the deck toward the railing, Micki glanced around. As far as she could see on either side, on the docks at street endings, on the porches and wide decks of apartment houses and private homes, people were gathered for the once-a-year show.
Making her way to a chair placed in a corner of the deck, Micki gazed out over the bay, affected, as she’d always been, by the molten gold sheen cast on the water by the fiery ball of westering sun.
She sat down and looked around idly, then froze in the chair, her hands gripping the armrests. Closing her eyes, she stifled a groan against the memory that would no longer stay locked away.
She had been sitting very near this spot when she’d first seen him. He had had one broad shoulder propped against a support beam and was half sitting on the rail when she’d felt his eyes on her and glanced up. She’d frozen then too, held fast to the chair by the bold stare from his silvery eyes. Micki experienced again the breathlessness she’d felt that night, the sensation that although six feet of deck separated them he was actually touching her. The shortness of breath had lasted until Mike had strolled up to talk to him and drew his eyes away from her.
Micki had studied his profile covertly while the two men talked. In his late twenties or early thirties, she’d judged, and was, without question, the most sexy, exciting-looking male she’d ever seen.
She’d been positive her heart had stopped when at Mike’s quick, smiling nod, he’d lazily pushed himself away from the rail and followed Mike over the deck to her.
She had been amused at his name when Mike made the introductions and she’d made no attempt to hide it when she raised her eyes to his.
“Wolfgang?” she’d repeated in a laughing tone.
“Pitiful, isn’t it?” he’d drawled. “It’s a traditional name in my family. I, unfortunately, got tagged with it, being the firstborn male child.” His eyes seemed to absorb her as he added, “Call me Wolf.”
“And
are
you?
”
Micki had been amazed at the insolent sound of her voice. “A wolf, I mean.”
“Of course,” he’d returned smoothly, a wicked grin flashing on his tan face. “Isn’t everyone who is single and unattached on the prowl?” He’d cocked his head to one side and those bold, silver eyes roamed over her, from head to foot to head again. “If you weren’t so young, I may have decided to stalk you.” His eyes laughed at the sudden pinkness in her face. His voice dropped to a low caress. “I still might.”
Struck speechless, Micki had stared at him, praying for some bright, crushing words to pop into her head. None did, and then it didn’t matter, for someone—that throaty voice could only have belonged to Regina—inside called to him and he turned away from her. He took one step, then glanced back at her, the wicked grin flashing again.
“A pleasure meeting you”—he paused—”young Micki.”
Micki had gone all hot and flushed, first with embarrassment, then with anger.
He spoke to me as if I was a little girl,
she’d thought furiously,
and I’m not. I’m nineteen, for heaven’s sake and I hope I never see that bigheaded, overbearing Wolf again.
Even so, her anger and hope notwithstanding, his image filled her mind the rest of the night and she saw very little of the evening’s entertainment.
“Well, honey, I see you’ve found a good seat for the show.”
Micki blinked away the past and glanced up at her father, a shaky smile on her lips.
“Yes,” she answered vaguely, noticing, for the first time, that it was nearly dark. “Shouldn’t it be getting under way soon?”
“How far away were you?” Bruce laughed. “If you’ll merely look to your right, you’ll see it’s nearly on top of us.”
Micki’s eyes followed the direction of his casually waved hand. Then she whispered a surprised, “Oh!” Sure enough, the procession of gaily decorated, brightly lighted boats of all sizes was indeed nearly on top of them.
For several minutes Micki watched the parade of boats, enjoying the reflection of the lights on the water, laughing at the clowning antics of the men in the smaller boats, and waving at the people of all ages aboard the cleverly festooned crafts.
But her eyes soon drifted to that one spot at the rail, clouding over with the rush of memories.
She had not seen him again for almost a week. Then, when she was finally beginning to get his image out of her mind, she felt the touch of his silvery eyes again. At the time she’d thought it was very strange. She’d been walking near the far end of the boardwalk with Cindy and two other girls, all of them laughing as they munched on slices of pizza, when she felt an eerie shiver skip down her spine.
What had made her lift her head, glance around, she didn’t know, but she’d just felt compelled to look. This time he was propped against the boardwalk’s pipe railing, his eyes fastened on her. He didn’t call to her or even wave, but the grin flashed white and wicked and his eyes seemed to speak of things beyond her wildest imaginings. She had caught herself just in time from choking on her pizza and had hurried on, but after a dozen steps she’d glanced back to find his eyes still on her.
Early in August she’d seen him again. That time she’d been leaving the theater after the early evening showing of a controversial R-rated movie. She had been with her gang and the comments, both pro and con on the film, were flying hot and heavy. Wolf, with a beautiful, high-fashion-type redhead clinging to his arm, was going in to the late evening showing. Micki nearly bumped into him. There was no grin this time, but as he passed her one eyelid came down in a slow, devilishly suggestive wink.
And then, in late August, there was a cookout at a friend’s beachfront house and all the unbelievable events that followed it.
There must have been twenty of them, not counting her friend’s parents and the people they’d invited. After they’d eaten, they’d split up into two-man teams for a sand-sculpting contest, which, the adults vowed, they’d judge impartially. Micki had been teamed with Tony Menella, and even with all the horseplay and general craziness, their sculpture of a reclining nude had won hands down.
As twilight settled gently on the beach, Cindy had suggested they go hunting in the sand. They’d started out as a group, but their ranks thinned as some quit to go back to the house and others roamed farther along the beach.