To Love Again. Carole Mortimer

must have been boring for you.’

      She had no idea what the conversation had been about! But Dick didn’t seem about to go over it again, suggesting they order their meal instead.

      Christi felt terrible about her inattentiveness, putting Lucas—and what Marsha could possibly want to see him about—firmly from her mind, and concentrating on being charming to Dick.

      Nevertheless, it wasn’t the most successful evening she had ever had, and as Dick kissed her briefly at her door, obviously waiting for an invitation to come in, she knew it would be kinder not to encourage him any further. He was a nice enough man, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to supplant Lucas in her heart!

      ‘No?’ he realised gently.

      Christi gave a shaky smile. ‘I am sorry——’ She was silenced by his fingertips over her lips.

      ‘It was a nice evening,’ he smiled. ‘I enjoyed your company—I’m not so sure you were actually with me most of the evening,’ he teased without rancour, ‘but it was a pleasant time.’

      Pleasant. It wasn’t much of a eulogy. She had to face it: as a return to the dating scene, it had been a disaster!

      She was shaking her head as she walked aimlessly around her apartment, filled with a restlessness that wouldn’t be satisfied until she had spoken to Lucas again. But she couldn’t go knocking on his door at eleven-thirty at night!

      Damn it, why couldn’t she? They were friends, at least, and friends cared about each other, and he had looked awful when she saw him earlier with Marsha. He could even be ill. Or …

      Why bother to search for excuses? She had to talk to him, and that was all there was to it!

      Christi was encouraged by the fact that she could hear music playing softly inside the apartment next to hers, and hesitated only briefly outside the door as the possibility that he wasn’t alone passed through her mind. She would take that risk; he could only ask her to wait until tomorrow before talking to him.

      She knew she had been right to come when she saw how haggard he looked when he opened the door to her ring, his dark hair looking as if he had been running agitated fingers through it for most of the evening, his face pale, his pale grey shirt partly unbuttoned down his chest to reveal the start of the dark hair that grew there, a glass of whisky held in his hand. It was the latter that told her how disturbed he was; Lucas never drank alcohol, and only ever kept a supply in for guests.

      She shifted uncomfortably on his doorstep as he looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I—er—I thought I would come and tell you how my evening went.’ It was positively the last thing she had meant to say, but suddenly she had felt as if she were intruding on something he didn’t want to talk about just now. ‘You did say you would like a report on each of my dates,’ she added lamely as he continued to look at her.

      To her relief, he relaxed slightly, a faint glimmer of amusement darkening his eyes as he held the door wider for her to enter.

      The lounge was in shadows, with only a small table-lamp for illumination, the Kenny Rogers cassette she had bought him last Christmas playing softly in the background. Christi turned awkwardly to face Lucas, feeling as if she had walked in on something very private. What had Marsha wanted to talk to him about tonight?

      ‘No Michelle tonight?’ she enquired lightly as she sat down in one of the comfortable brown leather armchairs, the room completely masculine, the décor brown and cream, the furniture heavy and attractive.

      ‘No,’ he drawled, his voice gruff, as if the unaccustomed raw alcohol had burned his throat on its way down. ‘I didn’t think it fair to inflict my company on anyone tonight,’ he added ruefully, taking another drink of the whisky as he dropped down on to the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

      Maybe she should have had the same fore-thought, and not ruined Dick Crosby’s evening for him! Dizzy was sure to telephone for a full report tomorrow, and she wasn’t going to be too happy with what she was told.

      Strange, she and Dizzy were closer than sisters, and yet she had never told her friend of her love for Lucas, had never told anyone. God knew what Dizzy would do if she knew it was Lucas she loved! Christi thought disgustedly.

      But, right now, dealing with Lucas’s depressed mood, a mood she had never seen him in before in all the years she had known him, was what was important to her. Lucas’s happiness would always be important to her.

      ‘So,’ he spoke briskly, ‘was he the one?’ He looked at her interestedly, amusement darkening his eyes.

      Christi relaxed slightly at his teasing. ‘No,’ she answered without hesitation.

      ‘Oh!’ Lucas looked surprised. ‘He seemed a nice enough chap to me.’

      ‘He was,’ she nodded. ‘But he wasn’t for me.’ You’re the man for me, she cried inside, wishing—oh, God, wishing he could see her as more than a young sister, or, even worse, someone he treated as being on the same age level as his two children! Much as she liked Robin and Daisy, her feelings towards them weren’t sibling, but more maternal. She longed to be their stepmother, to perhaps give Lucas other children. ‘Crying for the moon,’ her mother would probably have told her gently, her face softened with love.

      Lucas sipped his whisky again. ‘How could you tell after just one date? Love doesn’t always hit you between the eyes like a fist, you know. Sometimes it takes time to develop and grow.’ He relaxed back against the sofa, watching her beneath heavy lids.

      But sometimes it did hit you like that fist, and when it did it was the hardest thing in the world to live without! ‘Love doesn’t,’ she acknowledged with a nod.

      He frowned. ‘Meaning something else does?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she smiled.

      ‘What—ah!’ He gave a knowing sigh, his mouth twisted into a smile. ‘That little monster lust rearing its head again,’ he derided.

      The bleakness was starting to fade from his eyes, and he had put down the half-finished glass of whisky on the coffee-table beside him. ‘I don’t think of it as lust,’ she chided reprovingly. ‘Merely a case of physical attraction,’ she corrected with mock indignation, rewarded with a gleam of laughter in dark grey eyes.

      ‘Lust,’ he repeated drily. ‘But there was none of this—physical attraction,’ he teased her mockingly, ‘between you and Dick Crosby?’

      Another few moments of this nonsense and she would have the old Lucas back again, and not the man whose barely leashed savagery distressed her so much.

      ‘Hm—maybe a little,’ she conceded with exaggerated thought.

      ‘On his part, at least,’ Lucas taunted knowingly. ‘Weren’t you attracted to him, too?’ he asked interestedly.

      ‘He was very handsome, fun to be with,’ she conceded with a shrug.

      ‘And?’

      ‘And nothing,’ she dismissed lightly.

      ‘You liked him, he was fun to be with, you found him handsome, and yet—nothing?’ Lucas said disbelievingly.

      ‘Hm,’ she nodded, mischief gleaming in her eyes. ‘I had my doubts throughout the evening, but it was the kiss that finally convinced me,’ she said sadly, laughter lighting up her eyes beneath demurely lowered lashes.

      Lucas sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, a frown between his eyes. ‘The man has got to the age of—thirty-one, thirty-two——’

      ‘Thirty-one,’ she confirmed.

      ‘To the age of thirty-one, and is still a lousy kisser?’ he said incredulously.

      ‘On the contrary,’ she drawled, ‘he was a very experienced and accomplished kisser.’

      ‘But——’