“I covet it,” she corrected wryly, as she poured wine from a decanter into two crystal glasses. “I feel I could walk down a crowded street and recognize the man in the portrait. Rich or poor, crook or saint, it wouldn’t make any difference,” she said whimsically, with just a trace of seriousness. “We all get desperate, day by day. Music helps me survive. At least, jazz does. Lets me forget absolutely everything else for a few minutes. Makes me feel free and in another world.”
Matthew stripped off his tie as he took the wine from her and leaned back lazily against the mantel. “A few other things work just as well,” he suggested, his dark eyes glinting on hers. She smiled softly as she settled in a corner of the couch.
“A good book?” she suggested, and watched that slash of a smile take over his face. She knew he’d meant making love, just as she knew he was about to make his first move. Wait, Matthew, she felt like saying. I know I came here of my own free will, but I really don’t know; I haven’t known anything since I walked into this house.
She needed a daisy, to peel off the petals and play the game. He was a stranger; he wasn’t a stranger. She’d felt so easy with him all evening; she could almost believe they’d just met, that there were no unhappy memories of other people intruding on how they felt about each other. Every tiny physical contact was like a spark tempting love to flare up, threatening to explode…at least for her.
But this was not the man she’d known nine years ago. The silvery sideburns added an air of distinction to his looks that hadn’t been there then; his whole apartment had a bachelor look to it that implied a man who played a sophisticated game of seduction. The Matthew she’d once known had been into work, day and night. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt coming into his home as other women had undoubtedly come over the years. Treated to wine and a fire and soft lighting, she was on her guard.
“Were you in court today?” she asked idly.
He nodded, finally moving away from the fire and settling on the couch across from her. “In court part of the day, at the police station the rest.” He smiled wryly. “At times I wish I’d have gone into corporate law, like Richard. At least those guys dress in suits and take regular showers. I’m looking into an embezzlement case-for the amount of money involved, you’d think the client could have afforded deodorant.”
Lorna’s eyebrows shot up as she smiled. “You’re spoiling your image as a glamorous criminal attorney.” He made a face. “You don’t even sound as if you think your client’s innocent.”
Matthew took a sip of wine and set his glass down, stretching his long legs in front of him. “He’s not-but he’s not guilty of all the charges against him, either. He was just a little cog in a wheel too big for him. There are times when I think half of all crime comes down to the same thing. People in over their heads and unable to find their way out…” He shook his head. “When I first started out in this business of the law, I wanted everyone to line up in neat little categories-guilty or innocent.”
“They don’t,” she suggested quietly.
He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly brooding, the atmosphere abruptly no longer conducive to small talk. “They don’t,” he echoed. “I work in the real world, Misha. Every day the line is drawn finer. There’s right and wrong, yes. But innocent people can commit an incredible number of moral crimes that aren’t punishable by law. And the guilty are often tried only because they saw no alternative to breaking the law…”
He stopped abruptly and stared into the fire, then back at Lorna. “And I couldn’t have my mind less on the law. Honey, I know damn well you’re still hung up on what happened with my brother.”
The unexpected change from theoretical law to their personal past threw her. She set down her glass. “Matthew…”
“You never committed a crime, Misha,” he said quietly. “I raised Richard, from the time our mother died. I knew him, and I loved my brother. That’s not to say I ever thought him incapable of making a mistake. He was in over his head, wanting success all at once, and he dragged you into that complicated maelstrom. I did the best I could by him, Misha, and I’ll be damned if I’ll acknowledge guilt for the way I feel about you now.”
“Matthew…” Her throat was suddenly dry.
“Please listen to me, Misha,” he grated, leaning forward. His expression was steely and his eyes were haunted, intensely pinning hers. “I don’t want the shadow of the past between us, Misha. I want to hear from you that it isn’t there. When I walked into my office and found you waiting there, I could see that you were expecting me to lash out at you, and I don’t understand why. I never judged you. It was a long time ago, and, honey, you’re not the only woman-or man-to make that particular mistake.” His voice softened. “Besides, you’ve paid a hell of a price over the years for being nineteen once upon a time. For being a little too beautiful, a little too young, a little too lonely.”
But he believed she had been unfaithful. Her stomach was suddenly churning with turbulent emotions. “Matthew, you think you understand-”
“No. Not understand. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t give a damn. It’s the past, unless it’s still affecting you now. You sought me out, Misha. And if that had anything to do with leftover feelings for my brother-”
“God, no.” Lorna jumped up from the couch, folding her arms slowly across her chest, turning away so he couldn’t see her rapidly blinking away tears. “I don’t still love or hate your brother, Matthew. That’s what you’re asking me? Not for a long time. It has nothing to do with why I came to see you.”
It was Johnny, she thought achingly. She had wanted the security of the Whitaker family for her son. That was the reason she had gone to see Matthew, but instead of solving the problem, her action had created a new one. Problem? It had always mattered so much what Matthew thought of her, that he not judge her harshly. And he saw with such compassion what she had been unable to forgive in herself, that she had been a too-young, too-lonely nineteen. He understood that, but not what counted to her. She closed her eyes, and then turned to face him. “Maybe what I feel now is crazy,” she admitted quietly. “Because I don’t believe you, Matthew. I want to, but I don’t believe that you’ve forgotten, that you don’t care. You still think I’m the kind of woman who would be unfaithful-”
He sucked in his breath and stood up restlessly. She saw a flash of something stark and brilliant in his eyes before she turned away to stare into the fire. From behind her, she felt his hands suddenly massage the nape of her neck, a gentle, soothing caress, his fingers intuitively discovering every knotted muscle. Only gradually did his hands leave her neck and trail down to her waist, pulling her gently back against him, his soft kiss on her cheek simple, slow and easy. “I’m not a boy,” he said quietly. “And you’re not that kind of woman, Misha. There would be no chance of your being unfaithful to me. Do you want me to show you?”
The fire was sending golden sparks up the chimney. There was no reason for the vulnerable little shiver that rippled through her body. “No,” she whispered.
He was behind her, but she could feel his smile, his amusement that she was suddenly shying like a fawn. His arms tightened around her, securing her in the cocoon of his embrace, a cherishing, protective embrace that touched off a thousand nerve endings. And confused her, totally. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, Misha. Let me touch you. Let me show you…”