Pink Satin

Chapter Ten

As Greer left her apartment the following morning, she heard the sound of coughing through Ryan’s closed door. She hesitated a moment and then hurried on to work. You have to stop making him your business, Greer. Besides, he was perfectly healthy last night.

She worried about him the entire day. When she arrived home just after five, she saw that his car was already parked in the lot, and frowned on her way up the walk. He never came home from work before six.

Inside, she changed into a yellow cotton sundress, fed the cat and fussed with a casserole. She was halfway through dinner when the phone rang. Biting her lip, she rose from the table and determinedly stalked toward the living room.

She picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”

Her eyes squeezed closed when she heard the familiar low, throaty pant. Her stomach curled, and the same old fear licked up her spine. Her hands went slippery as she started to replace the phone. It hadn’t quite connected when she heard something else, and lifted the receiver halfway to her ear again.

“…and get the hell off that phone!” The colorful litany was punctuated by a sneeze.

She stared blankly at the receiver for a moment. “Ryan? If you’re talking to me-” she started irritably.

“Of course I’m not talking to you, foolish one. And don’t pick up the phone again tonight.” He slammed down his end.

She dropped hers. When or if The Breather had dropped his, she had no idea.

She stood silent, for an instant almost smiling. Ryan had quite an extensive vocabulary. She was familiar with all the words but had never heard them strung together in quite that way. She didn’t think it was physically possible for The Breather to do with himself what Ryan had suggested.

Her smile abruptly died. Her neighbor was sick. It wasn’t just one little cough and a few sneezes that convinced her, but the grating hoarseness in his voice. Abruptly, she whirled for the kitchen, and the freezer.

A half hour later, with a picnic basket under her arm, she crossed the hall to Ryan’s apartment, tentatively set down the basket and raised her hand to knock. Then dropped her hand, hesitating.

No one could know what it had cost her to admit her sexual failings to Ryan the night before. It had hurt when he refused to take her seriously. There was no way she wanted to give him the least chance to start something up again. Over a long, sleepless night, she’d decided that the only way to handle the situation from now on was to keep her distance.

Still. He was ill. And she was hardly inviting anything by just checking on him. When her fingers still hesitated to knock, she grimly reminded herself that she refused to play games with him. She was who she was. A lady who brought cough lozenges, not one who raised blood pressure. A woman who could be counted on as an honest friend, not as a potential lover.

She knocked. Once, again, and then a third time.

“Who’s there?”

She almost smiled at the crabby voice. “Greer.”

“Go away.”

She did smile then. The door wasn’t locked; she let herself in. “I’m here,” she called out. “Just stay where you are.”

The living room was silent and looked like a general disaster area. The curtains were closed; the air was stale; two glasses had been left out from the night before; clothes were strewn every which way. The kitchen was deserted, but it looked worse than the living room.

Lugging the picnic basket, Greer ventured determinedly toward Ryan’s bedroom and paused in the doorway.

The room looked remarkably different than it had the night they’d painted it. The king-sized bed was covered with rumpled cocoa-colored sheets; floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of natural pecan held a stereo and a smattering of books. A thick comforter in stripes of cream and dark brown had been tossed on the floor, and he’d carpeted the room in incredibly plush cocoa that felt like sponge beneath her feet.

She noticed all of that, but it was the man who really drew her attention, and Ryan looked like hell. Bare-chested, he was propped up on pillows with a makeshift drawing board in his lap. His hair was all rumpled, his chin dark with whiskers and his eyes looked glassy and lifeless.

She knew at a glance that he had a fever and that it was high. Dark circles half-mooned beneath his eyes, and there was a white pallor under his tan; dots of moisture marked his brow.

She loved him more that minute than she had ever even conceived of loving anyone. For no reason. Truthfully, he looked tight-lipped and furious when he glanced up and saw her-and the effort of raising his head made him wince, as if he had an excruciating headache.

“Exactly what I expected, McCullough,” she said softly. She set down the picnic basket and bent over it, taking items out one by one. “Juice. Soup, nice and hot. Aspirin. Thermometer.”

“Take that sweet little fanny of yours out of here, Greer.”

She heard the low, rumbled warning, but paid no attention. “If you expect to pull a fit of temper on me, McCullough, you can forget it. When my father gets a sniffle, he can outswear a sailor in a storm. What always kills me about men is that they’re at their meanest when they’re at their weakest. Machismo comes out of the woodwork, so to speak. Now…” She’d brought glasses as well. Being male, there was every chance he didn’t have clean ones. “Lemonade or orange juice?”

“Neither.”

“Lemonade it is.” She poured a glass and set it next to the bed, efficiently stealing the drawing board from his lap and whisking it to the floor on her downhill swing. “Now, can you handle soup, or is your stomach involved?”

“Your hide is about to be involved. I need to finish that work, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give me back the drawing board. If you value life and limb.”

He was propped up against the pillows, his threat virtually groundless. Greer scanned the bed and frowned, her eyes deliberately averted from his Jockey shorts. “Do you own a pair of pajamas?”

“Go home, Greer.”

“How long have you had a fever? Did you call the doctor?”

“Go home, Greer.”

She set the bottle of aspirin next to the lemonade, giving him a wry look. “You’re a little testy when you’re sick, are you? So am I, McCullough. You’re not alone. Take two aspirin and drink the juice. I’ll clean up in the other room and bring back some fresh sheets in a few minutes. No arguing.”

She heard no protest, and strolled from the room with almost a smile. It felt utterly natural, taking care of him. She didn’t really care if he was crabby. And this role, the role of caretaker, came naturally; it was Greer; it was her way of showing love and caring, one way she’d always easily shown love and caring.

In the living room, she picked up the dirty dishes and took them to the kitchen. Filling the sink with soapy water, she grabbed a dishcloth and started to work. She wasn’t really worried about Ryan. Anyone who had enough energy to be mean couldn’t be seriously ill. Actually, she almost felt the silly urge to hum, until the dishcloth was abruptly stolen from her hands by a towering behemoth behind her.

“Ryan, just get back in bed. You shouldn’t be up at all. For heaven’s sake, I-”

He was pale to his toes, his forehead sweating and his hands unsteady-but not so unsteady he couldn’t grasp her by the shoulders and firmly propel her toward the door.

When he flung open the door, he started coughing, but he still managed to push her inelegantly into the hall. “I love you like hell, sweetheart, but I think we’d better get this absolutely straight. For openers, there’s no way I’m going to expose you to a virus, even if it’s only a twenty-four-hour bug. More important, if I need a mother, I’ve got one in Maine. There’s a hell of a lot I want from you as a woman, lady, but being babysat isn’t and never will be one of them.”

He slammed the door. She heard the latch.

For a moment, she stood stunned. Then she was so furious she couldn’t think. The mule-headed dolt. The ungrateful, evil-tempered windbag. For ten cents, she’d send a dozen roses to that mother of his in Maine with a note of congratulations for having survived his upbringing.

In the meantime, she felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Tears stung her eyes as she slammed her own door moments later and immediately crossed the room to take the phone off the hook…not because she was afraid his rest might be disturbed by one of her telephone calls. Just because.

The two top floors of Charlotte’s brand-new Madison Hotel had been transformed for the lingerie trade show. The entire place was covered with froth. Companies from California to Paris had mounted exhibits of panties, nightgowns, bras, teddies, robes and lounging outfits. A rainbow of pastels predominated, though there were splashes of scarlet and black as well.

The suppliers outnumbered the designers. Sales reps for manufacturers of cotton, satin, silk and lace roamed the floors. Industrial sewing machines of many kinds were on exhibit. Thread companies, such as Metrosene from Switzerland, were demonstrating the superior quality and strength of their product. Advertising people were everywhere. The flow of dialogue was 90 percent American slang, with an occasional smattering of French and a few Irish brogues. Though the French didn’t like to believe it, Belgian and Irish lace was nothing to sneeze at.

The huge turnout of exhibitors indicated just how big the lingerie industry had become. If the look was frothy, the mood was cutthroat. And by late afternoon on Thursday, Greer had had enough. The razzle-dazzle had had some appeal in the beginning, if for no other reason than that she couldn’t possibly think about anything else over the noise, particularly about a nasty-tempered man with fathomless blue eyes.

For once, Ryan was less on her mind than a growing headache. Comparing prices, finding potential new suppliers of fabrics, taking note of quality variations in the industry, comparing the various sewing techniques, trying to gauge trends-she and Ray had work to do here, and both Grant and Marie would expect an extensive report on their return. Only Greer had discovered quickly that fibs and fast lines abounded; talk was cheap and true information difficult to come by.

It wasn’t her scene. The constant noise had gotten to her long before dinnertime, when Ray grabbed her arm and suggested a quick and quiet meal in their rooms.

“We shouldn’t,” Greer said wearily. “This only happens once a year. I promised Marie I would talk to Barteau, and I haven’t even seen him…”

“You’re entitled to put your feet up, darling. You can track him down tomorrow.”

She didn’t need much more persuading. A huge yawn escaped her lips as the elevator closed on the two of them. Ray’s midnight-dark eyes regarded her with amusement.

“Now I know why I never wanted to go to these things before,” Greer admitted. “It would be different if I felt as if I’d accomplished something besides running my feet off.”

“You’re not supposed to accomplish anything at a trade show. You’re supposed to toot your horn and sharpen your nails on the competitor closest to you. You did well,” Ray assured her as he led her out on their floor. “Seems foolish for each of us to order room service separately, doesn’t it? Your room or mine?”

She paused indecisively, wishing her blasted headache would go away. His room was a long way down the opposite side of the hall. “I suppose mine…” she started uncertainly.

“Fine.” He followed her, waited patiently while she fumbled with her room key and closed the door behind them while Greer collapsed with a sigh of relief in the closest chair.

From her fourth-floor window, she had a view of downtown Charlotte, and her room was lovely. The decor was rose and cream; she had her own couch and chair as well as a large bed and a spacious dressing room, and the maid had put away her carelessly strewn clothes while she’d been working. It was heavenly to be waited on.

Her eyes at half-mast, she tilted her head back and curled her feet under her, watching while Ray picked up the phone to dial room service. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie and looked, as usual, sophisticated and ready to seduce, but he’d been very close to an angel this day. He had spared her his usual sexual innuendos and undercurrents. He’d also saved her from a boring lunch with an overbearing advertising executive and had popped up at her side several times during the day with coffee and snacks.

Wearily, she considered getting up to apply fresh makeup, and decided the energy just wasn’t there.

Ray put down the phone. “Steaks and wine. Twenty minutes-they claim,” he said wryly. “Go ahead. Take off your shoes. Don’t tell me you’re standing on ceremony because I’m here?”

Wandering toward the window, he was already shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. He still had energy, Greer marveled, though as always with Ray, it was a restless, uneasy energy. A sudden minuscule tremor touched her spine, the awareness of being alone with him rather catching her by surprise. Foolish. Slipping off her powder-blue pumps, she bent over to rub her aching feet. “We did well, didn’t we?” she said lightly. “I thought our booth was as tasteful as any. And from listening to the scuttlebutt, I got the feeling our sales are better than most. What do you think of that new acetate Bingham’s is pushing?”

Ray shrugged casually. “I’ll take a sample back to Marie.”

He didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t blame him. They’d talked all day. When dinner came, she unbuttoned the jacket of her pale blue suit, tucked her legs under her and dug in. Room service had delivered the meal on a tea cart, and Ray pushed up to her chair and then sat on the couch across from her.

Twice he leaned over to refill her wineglass. Twice all she could think of was that Ryan did it differently. Ray moved with…finesse. Expertise. As if every move had been predetermined by a set of rules. Ryan’s body moved with such natural ease…but she’d sworn off thinking of Ryan. The man didn’t want her around. Not on any basis she was prepared to offer him.

She’d worried about him for three days, which was undoubtedly why she was so wretchedly exhausted after one simple ten-hour period of being on her feet. The relationship…was dead. He didn’t want a woman who worried about him. He wanted a woman to share his bed. And she knew that just wouldn’t work.

An aching loss had trembled through her for three days, but she couldn’t have possibly crossed that hall again to make sure he’d recovered from the flu. She’d given up the right to care. Her heart just refused to understand that.

“Why so serious all of a sudden?” Ray teased.

She looked up, embarrassed at not having even offered him companionship over the meal. “Sorry. Woolgathering, I’m afraid.”

He pushed the table aside, lifted her full wineglass and handed it to her. “You were bothered by that man this morning?” he asked casually.

“Jacore?” Greer shook her head. She’d nearly forgotten him. The retailer had expressed interest in Love Lace’s products. He’d also cupped a hand on her fanny. When Ray had stepped in, the gentleman had been in danger of losing his hand from the wrist. “No,” she said wryly. “Just a little disbelieving anyone could be so crude in front of fifty people.”

“You found him particularly…offensive, I could tell.”

Slightly startled at the odd note in Ray’s voice, Greer glanced up. “He wasn’t worth fussing over,” she said frankly. “Not that I didn’t appreciate your running interference, but honestly, I could have handled him.”

“I could cheerfully have strangled him.”

A little startled, Greer shrugged and took another sip of wine. “He was hardly worth that,” she said dryly. “And I expected some of that kind of thing when I came here.”

“You have a lot of men pursuing you. I always knew that!”

A second wave of uneasiness traveled down her spine. She wasn’t sure why. Ray was perfectly at ease. He’d finished his wine, had poured her another glass-good heavens, her third?-and had stood up to stretch. He leaned back against the wall, his hands loosely in his pockets, his eyes on her. Enigmatic dark eyes.

Her own gaze darted distractedly around the room. “I think I lost the schedule. Tomorrow, the activities start at eight thirty or ni-”

“Were you afraid, when Jacore made that pass?” Ray interrupted silkily.

A small knot settled in her stomach. “Not really.” She set down her glass. “Listen. If you remember tomorrow’s schedule-”

“You had no need to be afraid. I was watching you the whole time. If any man had dared to give you trouble, Greer, I would have been there.”

“I-thank you.” She’d definitely had enough of the subject.

“You and I…” He hesitated. “We haven’t always gotten along. I’ve never been sure why. I have been wanting to tell you for a long time that I find you-”

“Ray,” Greer said abruptly, and stood up. Her room suddenly had dark corners. Charlotte’s night lights winked on and off outside the windows, but those lights were a long distance away. “You can go back downstairs tonight if you want, but I’m going to call it a night so I’ll be fresh for tomorrow.”

He didn’t move from his lounging position against the wall. “I think,” he said softly, “that you’re afraid of something. You’ve been afraid for some time now. You can tell me, Greer. I’ll take care of it for you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Greer gave a small laugh and heard the sound of her own nervousness. Silly, silly, silly, but she glanced at the door. And silently, like a cat, Ray moved from his position against the wall to a spot between Greer and the only exit.

“I’ve thought for a very long time,” he said quietly, “that you were the kind of woman who needed a strong man. A protective man. A man who would keep you safe from others who want to use you. A lot of men have coveted that beautiful body, haven’t they, Greer?”

She was having a nightmare. That was all. It had been a thoroughly exhausting day. Perhaps she had finished dinner and Ray had left and she’d fallen asleep and suddenly she was dreaming. Because she was suddenly afraid of the man standing in front of her to the depths of her bones. A man she had known for five years, who had bothered and annoyed and even distressed her, but who had never threatened any harm to her. She had to be imagining it.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

“Tell you what?” Greer folded her arms across her chest, moving a little away from him on stocking feet. She smiled. Happily. “Dinner was terrific. I’m sorry I was such bad company. Perhaps in the morning…”

“Tell me what you’ve been afraid of. I can make it go away, Greer. In fact, I’m the only man who can make it go away. And all you have to do is ask me.”

“Look,” she said firmly. He took a step forward; she couldn’t help herself from taking a step back. He smiled.

This was Ray, she tried to tell herself. A man she knew well. A man she saw and worked with every day.

“There was a man in the office the other day.” Ray’s voice was soothing, low, hypnotic. “He’s not for you, Greer. All this time, I’ve pictured you with men. But not him. You think he could stop what you’re afraid of? You think he could protect you from anything? All this time, have you once looked at me?”

“I want you to go,” Greer whispered. “Please, Ray.” He took another step forward. “Actually, I’ve regained all my energy,” she said brightly. Her voice cracked, and she tried again. “I think I’ll just go downstairs and-”

He was close to her now. His hands reached out to grab her shoulders, and Greer froze, her arms still tightly wrapped around her chest.

“Look,” she said. “I’m in love with someone else-”

He paid no attention. In slow motion, his face seemed to come toward hers, dark eyes gleaming, dry lips parted. His mouth suddenly groped for hers, and the texture of it felt strange, startling, alien. It was a simple pass. Greer had coped a thousand times with simple passes, but for some unknown reason, this time she was terrified, her body locked in shock.

“Please,” she whispered.

“You’re not afraid with my arms around you, are you, Greer? I would never, never hurt you…”

His mouth lowered again. She turned her head. His body was trying to press against hers. There wasn’t that much he could do with the barrier of her arms, but she still felt the contact of her breasts against his white shirt. And that contact brought a low gush of breath from Ray, and nausea for Greer.

“Ray. Look,” she said shakily, “maybe you’ve had too much wine. We’ll forget this, okay? I understand. Only please, just-”

“Just relax,” he whispered. “Just relax, Greer. Let it happen. So naturally, it will happen. All this time…”

She turned her head, and his lips landed on her throat. Greer jerked convulsively, her arms whipping out like flaying fan blades. “Don’t. Just get out of here. No.”

His arms tightened around her like cold bars. A rush of impressions exploded in her head. His hand on her breast, his black eyes with a devil’s light, the terrible silence of the room, their isolation, rage, fear, vulnerability, the single burning lamp on the table near the bed.

She twisted free, hearing her own frantic breath.

“The door is locked,” he said gently. “Relax,” he murmured. “You think I would hurt you? Never, Greer. I can take away what you’re afraid of. I’m the only man who can make it completely go away.”

He kept talking about that. What she was afraid of. If that was supposed to make sense, it didn’t. The only thing she was terrified of was him. “Ray. You know me. We’ve worked together for a long time.” Greer swallowed again, as he took another step toward her. “You’re an attractive man, but I don’t want this kind of-please. I’m sure you’ll find someone else…”

A low, shivery laugh. Greer darted for the door. His hand slammed against the wood even as she was fighting with the lock. She managed to release the chain, but couldn’t reach the knob.

There was a sick scream in the back of her throat, trying to get out, but she remained silent. How could she scream? This couldn’t be happening to her. It really couldn’t. Maybe if she’d invited it…but she knew she hadn’t invited it. She knew she’d in no way encouraged Ray. As an adolescent, she’d blamed herself for inviting the gropes and grabs that had scared her witless, believing she must have unconsciously asked for trouble. Then during her entire adult life, she’d protected herself by denying every damn possible sexual feeling-and she hadn’t invited Ray.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, grabbing at her blouse, groping for her skirt. Greer felt a rage suddenly explode inside her. A rage almost as old as she was. It wasn’t her. It was him. Dammit. Had he felt this way about her all along?

His voice rasped in a low, heavy bass. “You like it a little rough, do you, darling?”

Her knee failed. Her fist didn’t.

He jerked back, bent suddenly double; a hoarse cry of pain escaped from his mouth.

Greer opened the door, and backed away. “Get out. Now.”