“I never thought of that. Thank you,” she said softly. “I’ll never forget it. The next time I walk onto a stage, I’ll remind myself that a part of her is right there with me.”
A minute ago, she’d made him ache for her; now she smiled at him and made him feel like a king. Loving Leigh Kendall had always been an emotional roller-coaster ride for him. Long ago, he’d had to stay away from her, and that had been agonizingly hard. Now, he was with her, and he was growing so attuned to her that he could almost feel what she felt. “You grew up in Ohio, then?”
She nodded. “In a tiny little town you’ve never heard of.”
“Were you lonely?”
“No, I really wasn’t. Everyone in town knew my grandmother and they’d known my mother when she was a girl. I was ‘a motherless waif,’ so half the town just sort of—adopted me.”
“A beautiful motherless waif,” he clarified.
“I’ve never been close to beautiful, and especially not in those days. I had freckles and fire-engine red hair. There’s a picture of me when I was about three, sitting on a sofa, holding my Raggedy Ann doll up to my face.” Laughingly, she confided, “We looked like twins!”
Her smile was so contagious that he grinned at her. “How did you end up in New York?”
“My high school teacher decided I had a talent for drama and she made it her mission in life to get a scholarship for me to NYU. When I left for New York, half the town went to the bus station to see me off. They never doubted I’d succeed, and for a long time, I felt driven to do it more for their sake than mine. My grandmother died two years ago, and I stopped going back there.”
Michael handed her a glass of brandy and picked up his. “Come with me,” he said, “and I’ll show you what architects refer to as ‘the owner’s retreat.’?” He waited for her to stand up and take a sip of brandy; then he put his hand on the small of her back. He had waited long enough to taste those soft lips of hers.
She shivered and said, “The first sip of brandy always tastes like gasoline.”
Leigh saw his mouth quirk in a half-smile. “Did I say something funny?”
The half-smile became a lazy grin. “No.”
“Then—why are you smiling?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Chapter 49
* * *
Anxious to see what he wanted to show her, Leigh walked with him to the far side of the foyer. Concealed from view of the living room by the curve of the staircase were a pair of doors that opened onto a beautiful, sunken sitting area with groupings of comfortable-looking sofas arranged in front of a fireplace.
Earlier, the absence of furniture had reassured her, but after the congenial time they’d spent talking in the family room, she realized her worries had been groundless. Michael hadn’t made a single overture, and she wondered why she’d imagined he might be planning to. In the aftermath of Logan’s death, her emotions weren’t stable and neither, clearly, was her judgment at times.
As she walked down the steps into the sitting room, she looked around and said, “You own a piece of heaven, with the views to go with it.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.” On the right, through a wide arched opening, was what she assumed was the bedroom, but she had a clear view straight through the room to the wide windows beyond, overlooking Central Park, so she wasn’t certain. However, on the left, a matching opening showed a glimpse of wood-and-glass-fronted cabinets with recessed lighting, so she assumed that room must be his study. “I thought you said you hadn’t moved in?” she asked idly.
“I didn’t mean to imply I wasn’t living here yet. I had this suite furnished two weeks ago so that I could. The rest of my things will arrive next week, but there isn’t much to bring here. I sold nearly everything with my other place,” he explained as he walked into the study. Leigh put her brandy glass on an end table, and followed him. “The only significant things I kept are my desk, because I designed it, my books, and some art and sculptures I particularly value.”
He touched a light switch and muted cove lighting glowed on the ceiling overheard. Everything in the study was paneled in rich wood the color of light mahogany, even the carved box molding on the ceiling overhead.
His desk was a beautiful piece, large without being massive, with rounded corners. It was positioned on the far left of the room, facing the glassed cases and art niches. Leigh walked over to admire it. “You have many talents,” she said as she ran her finger over its smooth inlaid wood.
When he didn’t answer, she looked over her shoulder and saw him still standing just inside the room, his left hand in his pocket, a glass of brandy in his hand . . . watching her, his expression solemn, yet amused. Puzzled, she turned away and looked at the books in the bookcases that lined the wall on the right, walking slowly along, scanning titles. “Is there anything you aren’t interested in?” she asked with a quick smile.
“A few things.”
An odd, brief answer, she noticed. Perhaps he was tired. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of energy that enabled him to work all day and stay late at her apartment whenever they had dinner together. “Are you tired?”
“Not in the least.”
She moved along the bookshelves until she came to where he was standing; then she turned and walked over to the wall of glass cases and niches facing his desk. “Now, let’s see what art and sculptures you particularly value.” His tastes were eclectic and refined, she thought—a fabulous Etruscan vase, a splendid marble bust, a magnificent carved lapis bowl inlaid with gold. She came to a small framed oil painting on a stand behind the backlit glass. “Please tell me you haven’t had that Renoir here with workmen around the place.”
“It’s been in a vault until today, and the security system in this room is much more elaborate than it appears.”
She looked in the next niche—a very small one—and stared in blank astonishment at what it held. In that niche was a small, inexpensive pewter figure of a knight in armor. Leigh turned halfway around, staring at him.
In response, he lifted his brows, waiting for her to discuss it with him. Inwardly, Leigh was reeling, but this time, she decided firmly, it was up to him to do the explaining voluntarily.
Michael knew she was genuinely shaken, but in a pulse beat, she turned into the actress she was and strolled nonchalantly to the next niche, clasping her hands loosely behind her back. “Is this glass sculpture a Bill Meek piece?”
“Yes,” he said, trying not to laugh. She could not have made her attitude more eloquent unless she’d started humming, and she could not have looked sexier than she did in that long-sleeved black sheath that accented the same provocative curves it concealed from his view—temporarily. Very temporarily.
“I love Bill Meek’s work. It’s so uplifting it’s almost spiritual.”
He decided to call her bluff. “What did you think of the pewter knight before that?”
Politely she leaned back to reexamine it and said, as if truly looking for something about it to compliment, “It has excellent lighting.”
Tenderness shook through him. “I’ve always admired the subtlety of its message.”
“What do you think a piece like that is worth?” she inquired, feigning interest.
“That particular piece is priceless.”
“I see.” She moved away to another niche, and he watched the way her hair gleamed in the light when she leaned close to study its sculpture. “You know,” she mused as if just recalling the incident, “a long time ago, I gave a man a little pewter knight like that one.”
“Really? How did he react?”
“He didn’t want it. In fact, he didn’t want anything to do with me. He never spoke to me unless he had to, and when he did, he was either impolite or caustic.”
“What a jerk.”