Mind Over Matter

  It was over now, she told herself as she turned the key to lock both car doors. The filming of the documentary was all but over. She had other clients, other projects, other contracts. It was time she put her mind on them. Shifting her briefcase to her free hand, she turned and collided with David.

  “I like running into you,” he murmured as he slid his hands up her hips.

  She’d had the wind knocked out of her. That’s what she told herself as she struggled for breath and leaned into him. After a man and a woman had been intimate, after they’d been lovers, they didn’t feel breathless and giddy when they saw each other. But she found herself wanting to wrap her arms around him and laugh.

  “You might have cracked a rib,” she told him, and contented herself with smiling up at him. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you around this evening.”

  “Problem?”

  “No.” She let herself brush a hand through his hair. “I think I can work you in. How did the shoot go?”

  He heard it, the barest trace of nerves. Not tonight, he told himself. There would be no nerves tonight. “It’s done. You know, I like the way you smell up close.” He lowered his mouth to brush it over her throat. “Up very close.”

  “David, we’re standing in the parking lot.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He shifted his mouth to her ear and sent the thrill tumbling to her toes.

  “David.” She turned her head to ward him off and found her mouth captured by his in a long, lingering kiss.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, then kissed her again, hard, until the breath was trembling from her mouth into his. “I can’t get you out of my mind. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve put a spell on me. Mind over matter.”

  “Don’t talk. Come inside with me.”

  “We don’t talk enough.” He put his hand under her chin and drew her away before he gave in and buried himself in her again. “Sooner or later we’re going to have to.”

  That’s what she was afraid of. When they talked, really talked, she was sure it would be about the end. “Later, then. Please.” She rested her cheek against his. “For now let’s just enjoy each other.”

  He felt the edge of frustration compete with the first flares of desire. “That’s all you want?”

  No, no, she wanted more, everything, anything. If she opened her mouth to speak of one wish, she would speak of dozens. “It’s enough,” she said almost desperately. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  “Because I wanted you. Because I damn well can’t keep away from you.”

  “And that’s all I need.” Was she trying to convince him or herself? Neither of them had the answer. “Come inside, I’ll show you.”

  Because he needed, because he wasn’t yet sure of the nature of his own needs, he took her hand in his and went with her.

  11

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” A.J. felt it was only fair to give David one last chance before he committed himself.

  “I’m sure.”

  “It’s going to take the better part of your evening.”

  “Want to get rid of me?”

  “No.” She smiled but still hesitated. “Ever done anything like this before?”

  He took the collar of her blouse between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed. The practical A.J. had a weakness for silk. “You’re my first.”

  “Then you’ll have to do what you’re told.”

  He skimmed his finger down her throat. “Don’t you trust me?”

  She cocked her head and gave him a long look. “I haven’t decided. But under the circumstances, I’ll take a chance. Pull up a chair.” She indicated the table behind her. There were stacks of paper, neatly arranged. A.J. picked up a pencil, freshly sharpened, and handed it to him. “The first thing you can do is mark off the names I give you. Those are the people who’ve sent an acceptance. I’ll give you the name and the number of people under that name. I need an amount for the caterer by the end of the week.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “Just shows you’ve never dealt with a caterer,” A.J. mumbled, and took her own chair.

  “What’s this?” As he reached for another pile of papers, she waved his hand away.

  “People who’ve already sent gifts, and don’t mess with the system. When we finish with this, we have to deal with the guests coming in from out of town. I’m hoping to book a block of rooms tomorrow.”

  He studied the tidy but extensive arrangement of papers spread between them. “I thought this was supposed to be a small, simple wedding.”

  She sent him a mild look. “There’s no such thing as a small, simple wedding. I’ve spent two full mornings haggling with florists and over a week off and on struggling with caterers.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Elopement is the wisest course. Now here—”

  “Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Elope.”

  With a laugh, A.J. picked up her first stack of papers. “If I ever lost a grip on myself and decided on marriage, I think I’d fly to Vegas, swing through one of those drive-in chapels and have it over with.”

  His eyes narrowed as he listened to her, as if he were trying to see beyond the words. “Not very romantic.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Aren’t you?” He put a hand over hers, surprising her. There was something proprietary in the gesture, and something completely natural.

  “No.” But her fingers linked with his. “There’s not a lot of room for romance in business.”

  “And otherwise?”

  “Otherwise romance tends to lead you to see things that aren’t really there. I like illusions on the stage and screen, not in my life.”

  “What do you want in your life, Aurora? You’ve never told me.”

  Why was she nervous? It was foolish, but he was looking at her so closely. He was asking questions he’d never asked. And the answers weren’t as simple as she’d once thought. “Success,” she told him. Hadn’t it always been true?

  He nodded, but his thumb moved gently up and down the side of her hand. “You run a successful agency already. What else?” He was waiting, for one word, one sign. Did she need him? For the first time in his life he wanted to be needed.

  “I…” She was fumbling for words. He seemed to be the only one who could make her fumble. What did he want? What answer would satisfy him? “I suppose I want to know I’ve earned my own way.”

  “Is that why you turned down Alice Van Camp as a client?”

  “She told you that?” They hadn’t discussed the Van Camp interview. A.J. had purposely talked around it for days.

  “She mentioned it.” She’d pulled her hand from his. David wondered why every time they talked, really talked, she seemed to draw further away from him.

  “It was kind of her to come to me when I was just getting started and things were…rough.” She shrugged her shoulders, then began to slide her pencil through her fingers. “But it was out of gratitude to my mother. I couldn’t sign my first big client out of gratitude.”

  “Then later you turned her down again.”

  “It was too personal.” She fought the urge to stand up, walk away from the table, and from him.

  “No mixing business with personal relationships.”

  “Exactly. Do you want some coffee before we get started?”

  “You mixed a business and personal relationship with me.”

  Her fingers tightened on the pencil. He watched them. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  Though it cost her, she kept her eyes on his. He could strip her bare, she knew. If she told him she had fallen in love with him, had started the tumble almost from the first, she would have no defense left. He would have complete and total control. And she would have reneged on the most important agreement in her life. If she couldn’t give him the truth, she could give him the answer he’d understand. The answer that mirrored his feelings for her. “Because I wanted yo
u,” she said, and kept her voice cool. “I was attracted to you, and wisely or not, I gave in to the attraction.”

  He felt the twinge, a need unfulfilled. “That’s enough for you?”

  Hadn’t she said he could hurt her? He was hurting her now with every word. “Why shouldn’t it be?” She gave him an easy smile and waited for the ache to pass.

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” he murmured, and tried to accept the answer for what it was. He pulled out a cigarette, then began carefully. “I think you should know we’re shooting a segment on the Ridehour case.” Though his eyes stayed on hers, he saw her tense. “Clarissa agreed to discuss it.”

  “She told me. That should wrap the taping?”

  “It should.” She was holding back. Though no more than a table separated them, it might have been a canyon. “You don’t like it.”

  “No, I don’t, but I’m trying to learn that Clarissa has to make her own decisions.”

  “A.J., she seems very easy about it.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then let me.”

  “Before I convinced her to move, to keep her residence strictly confidential, she had closets full of letters.” She took her glasses off to rub at a tiny ache in her temple. “People asking for her to help them. Some of them involved no more than asking her to locate a ring, and others were full of problems so heartbreaking they gave you nightmares.”

  “She couldn’t help everyone.”

  “That’s what I kept telling her. When she moved down to Newport Beach, things eased up. Until she got the call from San Francisco.”

  “The Ridehour murders.”

  “Yes.” The ache grew. “There was never a question of her listening to me on that one. I don’t believe she heard one argument I made. She just packed. When I saw there was no stopping her from going, I went with her.” She kept her breathing even with great effort. Her hands were steady only because she locked them so tightly together. “It was one of the most painful experiences of her life. She saw.” A.J. closed her eyes and spoke to him what she’d never spoken to anyone. “I saw.”

  When he covered her hand with his, he found it cold. He didn’t have to see her eyes to know the baffled fear would be there. Comfort, understanding. How did he show them? “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  She opened her eyes. The control was there, but teetering. “It isn’t something I like to remember. I’ve never before or since had anything come so clear, so hideously clear.”

  “We’ll cut it.”

  She gave him a blank, puzzled look. “What?”

  “We’ll cut the segment.”

  “Why?”

  Slowly he drew her hands apart and into his. He wanted to explain, to tell her so that she’d understand. He wished he had the words. “Because it upsets you. That’s enough.”

  She looked down at their hands. His looked so strong, so dependable, over hers. No one except her mother had ever offered to do anything for her without an angle. Yet it seemed he was. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “No.” She gave herself a moment. For reasons she couldn’t understand, she was relaxed again. Tension was there, hovering, but the knots in her stomach had eased. “Clarissa agreed to this segment, so she must feel as though it should be done.”

  “We’re not talking about Clarissa now, but you. Aurora, I said once I never wanted to be responsible for your going through something like this. I mean it.”

  “I think you do.” It made all the difference. “The fact that you’d cut the segment because of me makes me feel very special.”

  “Maybe I should have told you that you are before now.”

  Longings rose up. She let herself feel them for only a moment. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I realize that if you cut this part because of me I’d hate myself. It was a long time ago, David. Maybe it’s time I learned to deal with reality a little better.”

  “Maybe you deal with it too well.”

  “Maybe.” She smiled again. “In any case I think you should do the segment. Just do a good job of it.”

  “I intend to. Do you want to sit in on it?”

  “No.” She glanced down at the stacks of papers. “Alex will be there for her.”

  He heard it in her voice, not doubt but resignation. “He’s crazy about her.”

  “I know.” In a lightning change of mood, she picked up her pencil again. “I’m going to give them one hell of a wedding.”

  He grinned at her. Resiliency was only one of the things that attracted him to her. “We’d better get started.”

  They worked side by side for nearly two hours. It took half that time for the tension to begin to fade. They read off lists and compiled new ones. They analyzed and calculated how many cases of champagne would be adequate and argued over whether to serve salmon mousse or iced shrimp.

  She hadn’t expected him to become personally involved with planning her mother’s wedding. Before they’d finished, she’d come to accept it to the point where she delegated him to help seat guests at the ceremony.

  “Working with you’s an experience, A.J.”

  “Hmm?” She counted the out-of-town guests one last time.

  “If I needed an agent, you’d head the list.”

  She glanced up, but was too cautious to smile. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Now she smiled. When she took off her glasses, her face was abruptly vulnerable. “I didn’t think so. Well, once I give these figures to the caterer, that should be it. Everyone who attends will have me to thank that they aren’t eating Clarissa’s Swedish meatballs. And you.” She set the lists aside. “I appreciate all the help.”

  “I’m fond of Clarissa.”

  “I know. I appreciate that, too. Now I think you deserve a reward.” She leaned closer and caught her tongue in her teeth. “Anything in mind?”

  He had plenty in mind every time he looked at her. “We can start with that coffee.”

  “Coming right up.” She rose, and out of habit glanced at her watch. “Oh, God.”

  He reached for a cigarette. “Problem?”

  “Empire’s on.”

  “A definite problem.”

  “No, I have to watch it.”

  As she dashed over to the television, he shook his head. “All this time, and I had no idea you were an addict. A.J., there are places you can go that can help you deal with these things.”

  “Ssh.” She settled on the sofa, relieved she’d missed no more than the opening credits. “I have a client—”

  “It figures.”

  “She has a lot of potential,” A.J. continued. “But this is the first real break we’ve gotten. She’s only signed for four episodes, but if she does well, they could bring her back through next season.”

  Resigned, he joined her on the sofa. “Aren’t these repeats, anyway?”

  “Not this one. It’s a teaser for a spin-off that’s going to run through the summer.”

  “A spin-off?” He propped his feet on an issue of Variety on the coffee table. “Isn’t there enough sex and misery in one hour a week?”

  “Melodrama. It’s important to the average person to see that the filthy rich have their problems. See him?” Reaching over, she