The Cutting Edge

“Of course I do. You know Monday night is laundry night.”

They laughed together, but Tessa’s mind was already on the coming night. They would have dinner, go out dancing…and then what? Would he try to make love to her again? She was afraid that he would, and even more afraid that he wouldn’t.

Billie regarded her friend thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you get cloudy-eyed over a man. Is this one special to you?”

“I’m afraid he will be.” Well aware of the admission in those few words, Tessa wound her suddenly shaking fingers together.

“You don’t want to fall in love? Sometimes I think I’d give anything I own to find the right guy, the real McCoy.” Why should Tessa, of all people, be nervous about a man? Of all the people Billie knew, Tessa was the most comfortable with men, a woman who honestly enjoyed a man’s company. It didn’t make sense for her to be so wary.

Tessa didn’t volunteer Brett’s name, and Billie didn’t ask, for which Tessa was grateful. She didn’t know how Brett felt about their connection being known, but she knew she wouldn’t like the gossip that would flow as surely as the tides followed the moon if it became known that she was seeing Brett Rutland. His position automatically made their relationship difficult. She was totally uninterested in climbing the corporate ladder, but that wouldn’t keep people from saying that she was trying to get ahead on the strength of her performance in the bedroom rather than in the office.

Because of her uneasiness at both the way she was beginning to feel about him and the difficult situation she could find herself in at work, she was quiet that night. She could feel his cool gaze dissecting her, trying to probe her thoughts. Over coffee, he asked, “Has something upset you?” His voice was so even that it took her a moment to hear the steel in it.

She blew across the steaming surface of the coffee, then sipped it. “Not really. I’m a little at a loss. Would you rather not have people from the office know we’ve been out together?”

“I don’t give a damn who knows.”

“I know I’m being premature in worrying about it. After all, we’ve only been out twice, and that doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, it does mean,” he interrupted, reaching for her hand. He put his hand on the table, palm up, and looked at her slender fingers as they lay across his palm. The contrast in their hands was striking, in ways besides the obvious one of size. His hands were powerful, lean and hard, with long fingers and short clean nails, his fingertips rough, his skin bronzed. Her hands were slim and delicate, the bones so fragile that her fingers were almost translucent, her oval nails polished. Her hands bore no rings.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked abruptly, looking at her bare fingers.

“No.”

“Engaged?”

She sipped her coffee for a moment before replying. “Twice.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“I found out that I didn’t love either of them enough.”

“You must have thought you did, at one time.”

She sighed and looked away from him. She didn’t particularly want to talk about her failed engagements, which to her were almost as bad as failed marriages, but she could sense his determination to get the details out of her.

“The first time, it was an infatuation that I took for love, that’s all. I was in college, and Will was a medical student. He wanted us to get married right away; he’d already planned for me to quit college and put him through school. I gave him his ring back.”

He was watching her very closely, reading every nuance of expression that crossed her face. “And the second time?” he asked, dismissing Will as unimportant because he sensed her reluctance to continue.

“Andrew,” she said slowly, somehow feeling compelled to answer him. “He did something that hurt me, and I didn’t love him enough to forgive him.”

After several moments of silence, Brett realized that she wasn’t going to enlarge on her explanation. His hand tightened on hers. “Tell me,” he insisted. The dim light above his head turned his tawny hair into dark gold and cast shadows on his face that made it seem harder, more dangerous.

Her hand moved restlessly in his. “I don’t believe in raking over old coals. I don’t think about it anymore. I picked up the pieces and moved on.”

“Tell me,” he whispered, his eyes as dark as midnight.

“He was unfaithful.” Simple words, old-fashioned words, but for her they were the epitaph for a romance. With her heart, Tessa gave fidelity, and she expected the same in return. Andrew had cheated her, promising her faith and giving her only deceit.

Brett’s eyes brushed over her throat and shoulders and breasts, his gaze as hot as a touch. “He was a fool. Why would any man want to sleep around when he could have you in his bed every night?”

Tessa looked up at him, and color rose in her cheeks at the way he was looking at her. Still holding her hand, he rose to his feet. “Dance with me,” he invited.

She went willingly into his arms, grateful for the hard strength that enfolded her, for the warmth of his body. The virile impact of his masculine appeal made her tremble, but being in his arms also made her feel safe, as if his strength held the rest of the world at bay. She put her arms around his shoulders, sighing a little in contentment.

“Did you enjoy your chess lesson?” he murmured, brushing her soft hair and temple with his lips.

She laughed against his throat. “We never got around to it. Sammy was so excited over his new computer that he couldn’t think about anything else.”

“What sort of new computer?”

“Nelda. He swears it’s going to revolutionize the personal computer industry, and maybe it will. For his sake, I hope so. He has to have a small fortune sunk into all of that equipment he has in his apartment. I don’t see how he can afford to eat.”

Above her head, Brett’s eyes narrowed as he filed that bit of information away in his memory. Automatically his arms tightened about her, pulling her closer so that her breasts flattened against his muscled chest. “Did you tell him there wouldn’t be any more chess lessons?”

“No, there was no need. He’s so involved with Nelda, he won’t even notice.”

“Why did you get involved with him in the first place? He isn’t your type.”

Tessa stiffened a little in his arms. “He’s a nice man; why isn’t that my type?” She seldom bothered herself enough to take offense at anything anyone said, but she couldn’t ignore Brett. She was vulnerable to him in ways she didn’t even want to think about. Just what did he think her “type” was?

“He’ll never be the life of the party,” Brett said coolly. “And for all his electronic genius, you could wind him around your little finger and he’d never realize it. If you had him as steady company, you’d be bored to tears within a week.”

She stared up at him, trying to read his thoughts in his hooded enigmatic eyes. She was more than a party-girl, and she wanted him to see that, to see the woman beneath the gay and frothy facade. Did he think she was just out for a good time, that she was only attracted to people who were as comfortable socially as she was? “I’m never bored with Sammy,” she said, her voice steady, concealing the faint hurt that was welling in her. “I like him very much, whether he’s my type or not.”

Slowly his arm tightened about her waist, pulling her so close to him that his hard body felt imprinted against her softer one. “He doesn’t matter, since you won’t be seeing him again. I want you; I’m going to have you. And I don’t share.”

Tessa caught a quick breath at the hard, determined note in his voice. She was accustomed to being pursued, but Brett was a man who not only chased, but caught his prey. Her frail butterfly wings would be useless against his power, yet she wouldn’t feel threatened at all if she knew she could entrust herself to him. Did he want her for herself, or did he only want to conquer her because of the challenge she represented, to catch the fragile and elusive butterfly simply so he could say she’d belonged to him for a while?

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