He had been intent on presenting his case. This woman had attracted him like no other and he wanted to follow this relationship to the end. Foolhardy, he knew. It could very well be that her response to his poses last night might ultimately reveal her as the culprit that would exonerate David and secure his own reputation. Marc’s jaw tightened at the prospect.
Damn it. One thing’s got nothing to do with the other. So what if she was a brilliant artist who had gone astray?
She was still the funny, charming and sexually exciting woman that had totally captivated him. He traced the line of her lush lower lip as she stared mesmerized at him, her delicate jaw slack. He had a job to do and, as much as he resented David’s assessment, this luscious, auburn-haired rising-female-executive certainly had the ability to, at the very least, confuse the issues. He peered into the dark brown apprehensive depths.
“I’m sorry about the fake hair and the eyes, but the rest of me is very real.”
Amanda was still reacting to the line of electric sparks that his finger had produced on her skin. Clear, guileless blue eyes looked back at her. Like a mountain stream. Full of immediate, rushing life and sparkle, alive with directness and honesty. They seemed like honest eyes.
“What are you looking at?” The slashes under his high cheekbones deepened and fine triangles of lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. Without the dark, smoothing makeup, his skin took on the changeable texture of an older man, more mature, less perfect. More interesting.
“I’m trying to see who you really are in there.”
“When I can explain what this is all about, you’ll like what you see.” He paused. “I like what I see. I’m not giving it up easily.”
The dark Italian model faded further into the distance as the handsome grave man in front of her took his place.
He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry about fouling up your meeting with the money guy. I’ll be getting out of here, now. I’m meeting David at the Met.”
“The Metropolitan Museum?”
“Yeah. He’s involved in a big deal there. He’s been asked to help curate a new exhibit they’re installing. I told him I’d meet him and we’d go over our observations about last night’s class. How about dinner this evening?” The fine lines deepened. “I know a really out of the way place in the Village where a big brother can’t pull his Spanish duenna routine.”
Amanda’s heart skipped a bit. A small, startled laugh escaped from her throat. They seemed to have more and more in common.
“What are these ‘observations’ you and David are supposedly making?” she asked defensively. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being surreptitiously ‘observed’.
He looked around melodramatically and leaned closer. “Can’t give away my P.I. secrets, babe.” His Humphrey Bogart impression was very well done. “But I should try to pump ya about your classmates, now that I got ya in my confidence.”
Amanda laughed. Whatever it was couldn’t be all that serious if he kept making jokes. “Christine should be the one you’re ‘pumping’.” She blushed at his suggestively raised eyebrows. “She can tell you more than you’d ever want to know about our group.”
“Who’s ‘our group’?” His smile was seductively easy.
“Professor Angeli, Mr. Wilde, Nathan, me and the ever-observant Christine, of course. The professor and Mr. Wilde seem to have decided we three were the most…” she paused to choose the words, “easily influenced in the class and gathered us under their critical wings.”
“Does your group also comprise the best artists in the class?”
“The professor is a brilliant draftsman, and despite Christine being a bit of a dilettante, when she puts her mind to it she can really draw. Nathan drives us all crazy. He can be an inspired craftsman, but he’s incredibly erratic. I’m always amazed he’s so focused at work- after he tires of his macho posturing.”
“What about Wilde?”
Amanda’s eyes glowed. “Absolute genius. I’ve no idea why he isn’t internationally known. He’s very well off, you know. Maybe he simply doesn’t need the recognition and he certainly doesn’t need the money. But you must have heard all this from David.”
“David isn’t particularly observant outside of what he sees you all put down on paper. Tell me more about the wealthy Mr. Wilde.”
“Sorry to interrupt, honey. You got a call.” The waitress approaching the table looked concerned.
“Oh, good heavens, Mr. Untermeyer, my venture capitalist! Thanks, Phyllis, tell Mindy I’ll be right up.” Amanda began to slide out of the booth.
“It’s not her. I think it’s your roommate. She sounds really weird.”
A moment of dread enveloped Amanda. Surely Cissy hadn’t relapsed into one of her alcohol and drug stunts. She had been so diligent lately. Amanda picked up the receiver of the pay phone.
“Honey,” Cissy’s tremulous voice was barely above a whisper. “Somebody’s in the apartment. I’ve locked my bedroom door so I’m okay, but I thought if you’d come quick, maybe you could scare him away.”
“Cissy, call 911 right now!”
“No, no. No police! Maybe you could bring one of those nice, big men from work with you. I think I better hang up.”
Marc was at her side the instant he saw her look of shock.
“It’s my roommate. She thinks someone’s in the apartment and she wants me to come scare him away.” Amanda gestured distractedly. “She also could be… hearing things. She doesn’t want the police involved. I must go. Could you take care of the bill?” She started out the door.
Marc caught up with her as she waved a cab down and he hastily crawled in beside her. “Are you totally crazy? Scaring away a break-in? Are both you and your roommate loony? Call the cops!”
“It’s only a few blocks away,” Amanda explained more to herself as the cab sped away. “I usually walk to work.” Her mind was racing. “It also may be nothing, but she’s upset and I should try to calm her.” She looked at Marc as though she had just realized he was in the cab. “You’ll be late for your meeting with Mr. Parkerson. You should go.”
Marc held her hands solidly in his. “No. I’m here with you.” His voice was firm.
Amanda felt a rush of relief. She nodded thanks.
They dashed up the front stairs and she let them into the outer vestibule. Quietly and quickly she led Marc up the stairs to the second-floor apartment.
He held her back. “The door’s been forced. Very professional. Get back.” He pushed her back against the hallway wall and pulled a small hand gun from the pocket of his suit jacket. “He may still be inside.”
Amanda felt icy as the possibility of violence occurred to her for the first time. She started to protest, but Marc suddenly kicked the door open and leaped into the room in a crouched position, the gun pointed in front of him.
There was a scream from the bedroom. “He’s hurting Cissy!” Amanda dashed into the living room in the direction of the bedroom door. Suddenly her large drawing table in the dining alcove leaped at her, scattering drawing paper and art paraphernalia and sending her sprawling to the floor.
“Hold it,” Marc’s voice demanded harshly, as another scream from Cissy’s bedroom split the air but the table swerved in his direction and crashed into him as a large form separated from the battering wooden rectangle and dashed through the open door.
Marc threw the table aside and hurled himself through the doorway after the intruder. “Stop! I have a gun!” He paused, glancing back with concern at the fallen Amanda as Cissy’s voice cut through the racket.
“Oh, honey, is that you?! What’s going on? Was somebody here? Is he gone? Who’s got a gun?” The downstairs door slammed. Marc stood frozen in the hallway.