what a pain that is to live up to?”
“I can imagine,” she said distractedly. She, of all people, knew what it was to live up to an image, but her mind wasn’t on that… because at that moment she realized that they were lying face to face on the lonely beach very much like lovers. Her body was feeling mellow and warm. And seconds before he had complained about having to live up to a macho image, she had been thinking just how beautiful his muscular body was.
She liked the tangy smell of his healthy sweat mingled with the salt air, liked the tumbled disarray of his wind- tossed hair, liked the way individual grains of sand clung to his damp skin. Her mouth went dry as her eyes traced the pattern of his chest hair. It swirled around neat, flat nipples and spread over his chest like a dark net.
“Well, it’s a real pain,” he continued, unaware of the delicious tingling his body was causing in her tightening nipples. “Because I’m a single, professional jock with a swinger’s reputation, every woman I’m around expects me to… well, perform. It’s nice to have somebody like you just to talk to.” He raked his hand down his face. “Jeez, talk about a jerk. Don’t I sound like one now? It’s just that I don’t remember a time I’ve lain in the sand with a woman and not made love to her.”
The forbidden, unthinkable idea took hold as they lay there looking at each other. Even if their bodies didn’t participate, their minds indulged, engaging in erotic fantasies.
She thought about touching him, about laying her hands on his chest and moving her fingers through his fleecy chest hair.
And he thought about slipping his hands beneath the top of her gray sweat suit and discovering the shape of her breasts.
She thought about the brevity of his shorts and what was beneath them.
And he thought about kissing her, of introducing his tongue into her mouth to see what she tasted and felt like.
She thought about him rolling her to her back and covering her with his hard, powerful body, entwining his legs with hers.
And he thought about rolling her to her back and covering her tall, slender frame, entwining his legs with hers.
Suddenly the mental images began to have profound physical effects that were too much for either of them to bear.
He reacted first, jumping to his feet and extending his hand to help her up. She looked at his hand for a hesitant moment before accepting it.
His long, hard fingers, accustomed to grasping a football, wrapped around her hand and held it as they strolled back to the car. He kept the conversation lively and jocular, because he felt guilty about thinking of her as a sex object.
Mentally Rana shook herself, forcibly shrugging off the sexual arousal that had held her captive. She and Trent were buddies, friends, pals. That was what she had wanted, what she had demanded. No entanglements with men for Rana. Uh-uh. And for Miss Ramsey, such romantic notions were out of the question.
Trent paid lip service to seeing past a woman’s looks now, but in a week or two, when that virile body got hungry, he wouldn’t select a Miss Ramsey to satisfy its sexual appetite.
“What are you going to do today?” he asked as they entered the cool, dim foyer of the house after the short drive home.
“Work, work, work.” She shook her index finger just beneath his nose. “And don’t you dare try to distract me today.”
“Some friend you are. I thought we might-”
“ Trent,” she said threateningly.
“Okay, okay, scram.” He hitched his chin toward the head of the stairs.
“Hello, dears,” Ruby said, coming through the dining room upon hearing them. She was wearing a daisy-patterned apron over her jeans. “Miss Ramsey, the telephone is for you. I told the gentleman to hold when I heard you coming in. Trent, I’ve got your juice ready in the kitchen.”
Rana raced up the stairs and answered the extension in her apartment. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.
“Rana, hi, it’s Morey.”
“Hi,” she said, glad to hear from him. “How are you? How’s your blood pressure?”
“You can lower it. You can come back to work.”
Four
“I can’t, Morey. Not now.”
“Then, when?”
“I don’t know. Maybe never.”
“Rana, Rana.” He spoke her name with a heavy sigh. “Haven’t you proved your point yet?”
“You make my leaving sound like a child’s pouting spell. I assure you my reasons for giving it all up went much deeper than that.”
“I didn’t mean to make light of it. Living with your mother would be like sharing a den with a barracuda.” Rana was fully aware that there had never been any love lost between her mother and Morey. Susan had always held the agent in contempt, but had viewed him as a necessary evil she must tolerate for the furtherance of Rana’s career. “What did she do that finally sent you over the edge? It must have been a dilly of a stunt.”
Morey couldn’t know what a painful, shameful memory he had evoked.
“All I’m asking is that you be nice to him, Rana. You’re such a strange girl,” Susan Ramsey had said in exasperation. “Any other girl would be beside herself if Mr. Alexander paid some attention to her.”
“Then let ‘any other girl’ marry him.”
“Who said anything about marriage?”
“I know you, Mother. You wouldn’t be foisting Mr. Alexander off on me if matrimony hadn’t entered your mind. And it doesn’t have anything to do with morality. You’re just too good a bargain hunter to settle for less.”
“Would marriage to the owner of one of the largest cosmetics empires in the world be so terrible?” she asked sarcastically. “Think of what such an alliance would mean to your future.”
“And to yours, Mother.”
“I’ll take none of your sass! Now, Mr. Alexander called, and his car is picking you up at eight. He sent this lovely diamond bracelet for you to wear tonight. Please go get dressed.”
The bracelet had been the last straw, the final insult. “I’m not a prostitute,” Rana had informed her mother calmly, but coldly. “Mr. Alexander can keep his diamond bracelet and I’ll keep my self-respect.”
Instead of getting dressed to go out with a man old enough to be her grandfather, she had packed a few meager belongings and left the Manhattan penthouse without another word.
During the lengthy bus trip south, she had tried to recall her mother’s thousand and one machinations, but that was a futile exercise. For as long as Rana could remember, Susan Ramsey had had a hand in the small of her daughter’s back, pushing Rana into things she didn’t want any part of. How she had hated those beauty pageants for children, the modeling classes, the photography sessions, the endless rounds of interviews that always left her feeling embarrassed for both of them.
Susan had been tireless in her efforts to turn Rana into the perfect little girl, then into the perfect ingenue, then into the perfect woman… the woman Susan had always wanted to be herself. Psychologists would have had a field day with their relationship. If ever there was a case of a parent living vicariously through a child, this was it.
Rana was a hapless victim of Susan’s ambition. Her father had been killed in an accident when she was an infant. There was no system of checks and balances within the family. Rana was forced to go along with Susan’s plans. Rebellious outbursts had been few and far between. Patrick, the courageous sweetheart she had coerced into marrying her, had been one. That act of defiance had ended in heartbreak of such proportions that Rana hadn’t risked another.