That Boston Man Read online

  "I had so many reasons for inviting you along that I doubt if I can remember them all." There were troubled, black storm clouds in his eyes and Lexie's breath caught at his answer. "When I saw you standing out like a beacon light in the crowd of reporters, I knew I had to be near you again. And I was willing to use whatever means I had at hand to accomplish it—even if it included trading on my parents' friendship with Edmond Martineau. Does that give you an idea of the way I feel about you?"

  "Don't." She didn't want to hear any more. She was much too susceptible.

  "I've barely thought of anything else but you since you walked out of my apartment," Rome told her. "I've picked up the telephone a hundred times to call you, but you looked so damned vulnerable when you begged me to leave you alone."

  "Why didn't you?" Lexie moaned.

  Rome ignored that. "So, at the airport, when I had the chance to single you out, I did. I wanted you to see you were someone special to me, but I didn't even get a thank-you for it. I paid more attention to Claudine than was necessary hoping you would be jealous. And when I found you alone and I had a chance to see if being near each other was tearing you apart the way it was me, what happened? The first thing out of your mouth was politics—reporting."

  "What did you expect me to say?" she cried.

  "Anything but that," he retorted. "So I gave you the information you were seeking, partly out of anger because you said it was the only reason you were there, partly out of selfishness because I wanted to show you again that you were special—and yes, partly because I wanted you to feel grateful to me. What did I receive in return? Your doubts. Your questions. You still didn't trust me."

  "Is it any wonder," Lexie protested, "considering the kind of man you are?"

  His mouth thinned in exasperation. "We're back to my so-called philandering ways again, are we?"

  "You just want another conquest."

  "Has it ever occurred to you that I might be looking for the right woman?"

  "You'll never find her."

  "Maybe I have," he challenged.

  "For men like you, there never is a right one, only right 'ones.' And I don't want to be part of a plurality in any man's life."

  "You haven't listened to anything I've said," Rome sighed, and let his hands settle on her shoulders to gently knead her taut muscles. "I want to see you again and go on seeing you. I don't know where you've got these ideas about me, but I want to show you they aren't true."

  He was persuading her. His voice, his touch, his nearness were all working on her fragile defenses. "It wouldn't work," Lexie continued to hold out. "We're two different people. I don't even travel in the same social circle as you do."

  "Snob," he mocked.

  "Look at you," she persisted. "You're vichyssoise and I'm split-pea soup."

  "Not split-pea soup," Rome smiled. "Spicy minestrone maybe, but not split pea. Besides, what is vichyssoise? Nothing but cold potato soup."

  "You don't understand," argued Lexie.

  "Why don't you explain it to me?" He glanced behind her to the tiny kitchen. "Do you have any coffee on?"

  "No." She shook her head.

  "Why don't you make some and we'll sit down and talk about the way we're different," he suggested, turning her around and giving her a little push toward the kitchen.

  "It isn't a difference I can explain." Mechanically Lexie went about doing what she was told, filling the coffeepot with water and reaching for the coffee canister. "How can you explain feelings?" The canister was empty and she opened the cupboard door to get the new can of coffee on the top shelf. "They're there. They simply exist." Stretched on tiptoe she could barely reach the can with her fingertips.

  "I'll get it."

  Rome was beside her, reaching over her head for the can, his few inches taller enabling him to reach it easily. As he lifted it down, his other hand slid in a more or less automatic caress down her spine to the small of her back, his touch infinitely familiar.

  "My God!" he breathed in sharp anger. "You don't have any clothes on under that robe. Did you do that deliberately just to test me because you knew I gave you my word we would only talk?"

  "Yes, I did it deliberately," Lexie flashed, stung by his censorious attack. "I find it much easier to take a bath without clothes. And of course, I expected you over here tonight!"

  Rome pulled away from her, turning to the coffee can he had set on the counter. "Sometimes you can drive a man to the limits, Lexie," he muttered. "Go and get some clothes on while I fix the coffee."

  "Remove temptation, is that what you mean? Why should I get dressed? Maybe I should use it as a test to see if you really can keep your promise."

  By her very words, Lexie realized she had already started to give in to his persuasion. As he had accused before, she wanted to be talked into seeing him. Her weakness was frightening.

  "Go," he ordered.

  In the face of her discovery, Lexie obeyed. The cream linen pantsuit she had worn that day was still lying on her bed, along with a wildy figured brown and blue blouse. Stubbornly she avoided it, going into her closet to take an old pair of Levis off the hook and a shapeless gray T-shirt, to point out, with her choice of clothes, another of their differences.

  "Where are the cups?" Rome asked when she returned.

  "In the cupboard to your left." She walked into the kitchen.

  His dark gaze glinted over her attire. "What are you trying to prove now, Lexie? That I'm too old for you?" he chuckled. "What is there? Eleven years between us?"

  "Yes," she admitted.

  "That hardly makes me old enough to be your father."

  "I never suggested that you were," Lexie responded stiffly.

  "I'm in love with you." His seriously gentle tone brought her head up. "I don't know if it was a case of love at first sight. Maybe it was the second, third or forth. But I love you, Lexie."

  "No!" Her heart constricted painfully.

  "What do I have to do to convince you that I'm sincere?" Rome questioned, his eyes intent and concerned. "Do you want me to get down on one knee and propose? I'm prepared to do that, too."

  From his jacket pocket he took out a ring box and snapped it open. A diamond solitaire winked at Lexie, bright and sparkling, a rainbow of colors flashing in the overhead light. She gasped at the sight of it, then couldn't breathe at all, only stare.

  "I assure you it's the real thing," he said with teasing gentleness. "I didn't buy it at the local dime store."

  "I can see that." Her voice trembled.

  "Give me your hand." Rome took the ring from the box, but Lexie's hand remained rigidly at her side. "What's wrong, Lexie?" he demanded.

  A thousand little needles were jabbing her heart. "I was just wondering how many others have tried it on," she choked.

  His mouth tightened. "You can check with anyone you like—gossip columns, social register, my old girl friends, my parents. You'll find that I've never asked any woman to marry me. You're the first, Lexie, I want you to be my wife."

  A sob tore from her throat at his moving words.

  She turned away, jamming a fist against her mouth. "I want to believe you, Rome," she cried softly. "How I want to believe you!"

  "I love you," Rome repeated, his hands returning to her shoulders. "Believe that," he ordered. "And I think you love me."

  Lexie moved her head to the side but she didn't really deny it. "I…" She didn't know what to say.

  "Take the ring," he urged. "Wear it so that I'll know that you'll be mine. I won't press you into setting a wedding date. I'll wait as long as you want."

  "I can't." She turned his arms tipping her head back to gaze at his face. "I can't take your ring, not until I'm sure."

  "But you'll see me. You'll give me a chance to prove that I mean everything that I've said." They were statements that bordered on questions.

  "Yes, I'll see you," Lexie agreed, guessing that her heart was probably lost forever to him anyway.

  His arms crushed her to his ches
t as he buried his face in the silk tangle of her hair. "Come with me tomorrow," he commanded. "We can drive to Cape Cod late in the afternoon. My parents have a cottage there. We can…"

  "No!" Lexie strained away from his embrace. For one brief moment she had trusted him and already he was trying to take advantage of it.

  He laughed softly and wouldn't let her go. "It isn't what you're thinking, Lexie. I'm not proposing a stolen weekend. My parents will be there to chaperone us. They're driving down tomorrow after Martineau and his daughter leave to relax after the hectic whirl of activities. It's all going to be perfectly respectable."

  "Oh." Her voice was small as he swept aside her reason for objecting. "Your mother," Lexie hesitated, remembering the reaction at the airport. "I don't think she likes me."

  "What makes you think that?" Rome lifted his head and frowned curiously.

  "She knows who I am—the things I said about you in Shari's column."

  "Yes," he agreed with a nod.

  "She was the reason you came to see me at the newspaper. She was upset by them."

  "She was worried for my sake," Rome admitted. "But believe me she doesn't dislike you."

  "She gave me a very odd look at the airport," Lexie insisted.

  "I think her woman's intuition has already warned her about the way I feel toward you. She was probably taking a good look at the woman who's going to be her future daughter-in-law." He smiled.

  "Maybe." She qualified his statement.

  "As far as I'm concerned there are no maybes about it," he stated.

  "You say that now." In Lexie's mind, it was only a question of time before he became tired of her—a week, a month, a year, then years, but her joy was imprisoned by the knowledge that it would happen some day.

  "You haven't given me your answer about tomorrow," Rome reminded her.

  Lexie hesitated, then asked, "What time shall I be ready?"

  Her heart did a somersault when he smiled at her. "Three o'clock." A smoldering light suddenly burned in his eyes and the smile faded from his bronzed features, as his gaze roamed possessively over her face. "Are you going to hold me to my promise, Lexie?"

  She glanced at his well-shaped mouth, knowing the wondrous rapture that she would find in his kiss. She ached to feel it. But an inner demon of doubt drove her to deny both of them what they wanted.

  "Yes, I am," she whispered.

  Held so closely to him, Lexie felt the tensing of his muscles in protest. Yet Rome didn't argue as he slowly withdrew his arms from around her. The smile he gave her showed the strain of control.

  "I'll be here at three tomorrow," he promised, and she nodded her head in agreement. Rome gave her another long look. "Good night, Lexie."

  With clenched jaw he walked past her into the living room to the door. His hand was on the doorknob. In another second he would be gone.

  "No!" Lexie cried.

  Rome turned and she ran into his arms. Hungrily they kissed, the fire of their passionate love leaping into full flame. It would have raged into an inferno, but Rome pulled her arms from around his neck and reluctantly dragged his mouth from hers.

  "I want you, Lexie," he told her. She felt the tremors going through his muscular length and they were as violent as her own. "But I want you without doubts. I won't settle for less." It was a warning, accompanied by a hard sure kiss. "Tomorrow at three," he said, pushing her away from him and opening the door.

  "I'll be waiting."

  THE WEEKEND WITH ROME was more perfect than Lexie had dreamed it could be. After an initial bout of self-consciousness toward his parents, Lexie succumbed to their natural charm. They treated her as one of the family without ever making any allusion to her relationship with Rome.

  They did practically everything as a group—boating, cooking, walking along the beach, although she and Rome did steal a few enchanted moments alone. Lexie found herself often covertly studying his parents, trying to ascertain if they were truly happy. There seemed to be affection between them, but she couldn't be sure.

  Cape Cod, as always, was beautiful. On Lexie's previous visits she had been part of the thick stream of summer visitors, which had meant crowded hotels, chains of restaurants and endless traffic. With Rome she saw a different view.

  The large but cozy Lockwood cottage was on a winding road in a quiet residential area where rambling roses grew along the lanes. There were miles of silver-gilt beaches and breezes carried the salt tang of the ocean. Time seemed to stand still on that leisurely weekend, blessed by the magic of the sun and the sea—and Rome's company.

  The following week she saw him often, lunching with him one day, having dinner with him the next. She realized he was courting her in an endearing old-fashioned way. The moments were becoming more frequent when she wondered if she hadn't erred in her initial judgment of him.

  On Saturday they were to have spent the entire day together until Mike called early in the morning with an assignment for Lexie. It had promised not to take long, so she had phoned Rome and postponed their outing until late that morning.

  With the assignment completed Lexie's steps were eager as she left her parked car for her apartment. She was to call Rome as soon as she was free. There would be time to change her clothes and freshen her makeup before he came.

  Sweeping into the apartment on the airy cloud she had been traveling on lately, she glimpsed her roommate's pale blond hair as she turned to close the door. "Hi, Ginger! Why are you still here? Hasn't Bob called yet?"

  Miracle of miracles, she had even begun to look kindly on Bob. Perhaps love did mellow a person, Lexie thought as the door clicked shut.

  "Not yet," Ginger answered.

  "Hello, Sunshine," a third voice greeted Lexie.

  When she turned she saw the man rising to meet her. Tall and agelessly handsome, he smiled, an expression his tanned features knew well. His red hair was a darker shade of auburn than her own golden-hued strands, but the vivid blue of his eyes was the same color.

  Her lips were dry, threatening to crack when she smiled. "Hello, dad," Lexie returned the greeting and forced herself to cross the room to receive the customary kiss and bear hug.

  "It's good to see you again," Clark Templeton declared. "I've missed you."

  Lexie smiled and avoided the expected similar response by asking, "Have you met my roommate?"

  "Ginger?" Her father beamed at the blonde, who blushed under his look and Lexie knew her father had made another conquest. "I certainly have. How come you never mentioned in your letters that you were sharing your apartment with such a beautiful young lady? Those starlets in California would be envious if they saw her!"

  Careful, Ginger, Lexie wanted to warn. Don't listen to his lines. But of course she couldn't. In the first place, Ginger wouldn't admit that she was attracted to Lexie's father, so what was the use?

  Lexie disentangled herself from his arms but he kept hold of her hand. She knew they made a striking father-daughter combination. She had been told that often enough when she was growing up.

  "This is really a surprise," she declared. "Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"

  "It wouldn't have been a surprise, would it?" he reasoned with a chuckle.

  "When did you arrive?"

  "We caught a very early flight this morning."

  "We?" Lexie repeated. "Did Mary-Anne come with you?"

  There was only the slightest flicker of discomfort in his expression, but Clark Templeton covered it well. "It must have been longer than I thought since I'd written you. Mary-Anne and I broke up months ago."

  "I received a postcard from you a few weeks ago. You didn't mention Mary-Anne so I assumed things were still the same between you," she admitted, but she wasn't surprised by the news. "Who is the new 'we'?"

  Her father didn't seem to notice the false brightness of her question. "Teresa Hall. She's part of the reason I flew here to see you. I want you to meet her, Sunshine. I've asked her to marry me and she's accepted."

  "Well, c
ongratulations," Lexie offered with brittle gaiety. "When's the lucky day?"

  "We haven't set a date yet. I wanted you to meet her. After all, she is going to be your stepmother. You'll like her. I know you will."

  "Of course," she agreed.

  "I thought we could all have dinner tonight—you, me and Teresa. It will give the two of you a chance to get acquainted."

  "I'd love to, dad, but I already have plans for tonight," Lexie explained with pretended regret.

  "Are you going to a party or what?" He glanced from Lexie to Ginger, as if asking her roommate for the answer.

  And what normal female could deny Clark Templeton what he wanted? Not Ginger. "Lexie has a date," she supplied the information.

  "In that case, there's no problem," her father declared. "Bring your date along, too. We'll make it a foursome."

  "I don't know," she stalled. "I'll have to ask him."

  "You do that," he agreed. "I'd like to meet him and see the kind of young man you're dating."

  "You'd like him, dad," Lexie said with a trace of irony in her voice. "He's a lot like you."

  "Is he now?" He looked delighted, smiling broadly as if he had received the highest compliment. "I definitely want to meet him, then."

  "I'll have to ask," she said again.

  "I'm counting on you to come tonight and so is Teresa. I know you'll do your best to make it. In the meantime—" he reached in his pocket "I—want you to go and buy yourself a new dress—something blue to match your beautiful eyes." He pressed some bills into her palm.

  "No, dad," Lexie tried to refuse.

  "You take it," her father insisted. "A working girl can't always afford a new dress. Consider it your birthday present from me. Tonight is going to be a celebration and I want you to look your best!"

  Her fingers curled around the money in her palm as she died a little inside. "Very well," she agreed.

  "It's time I was going back to the hotel before Teresa thinks I've forgotten her," he joked.

  After making arrangements with Lexie for her to call once she had talked to Rome, her father left with his usual charming disregard for the way he had disrupted her life.

  "Honestly, Lexie, I don't see why you said you couldn't get along with your father!" Ginger declared. "He's an absolute doll! I wish my father was like him."