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  “We liked each other. Reggie could usually beat me on the court, but I never felt myself in competition with her. That was where the trouble began, I guess.”

  “Trouble?” Michael asked.

  “I just wasn’t that competitive, at least not enough to take me to the top.”

  “You had an injury,” he argued, revealing exactly how much he had known about her career before she had ever said a word.

  Danica eyed him sadly. “The papers don’t tell everything, and what they don’t know they can’t report. I’d been agonizing for months. I reached a point where I just didn’t enjoy what I was doing. I mean, I had been living and breathing tennis for so long, and suddenly I just didn’t see the point. It was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t. Winning didn’t mean enough to me. I didn’t have the drive it took to get to the top. And I couldn’t stand the pressure.”

  “From home?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Hurting my shoulder was the best thing that could have happened. It brought things to a head. If I’d wanted, I’m sure I could have played once the shoulder healed. I chose not to.”

  “Your father must have loved that,” Cilla speculated dryly.

  “Don’t you know it. He tried to blame things on Armand, then on the doctor who was treating my shoulder, then, inevitably, on me.”

  Michael felt her hurt. “But you held your ground.”

  “For what it was worth. I’d become convinced I didn’t have it in me to hit that top spot, and being second or third or fourth just wasn’t acceptable where I came from. I was relieved when I bowed out, but I was also more than a little disappointed in myself. When you fail to come up to standards that have been solidly ingrained in you, it’s hard.”

  “As if you don’t have enough going for you without having to be a superstar. You were fourth in the country! Wasn’t that good enough for him?”

  “I wasn’t number one,” Danica pointed out.

  Cilla, who had been momentarily taken aback by Michael’s vehemence, grew thoughtful. “There’s a fantastic story here.”

  Michael pinned his sister with a glare that went far beyond vehemence. “You wouldn’t,” he warned.

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” Cilla said without a flurry. “I just think that one day Danica might want to write it all down. Hell, there are books galore on the shelves by one career athlete or another. It’d be refreshing to have the other side told.”

  “It’s…too personal,” Danica argued. She suddenly feared she had said too much and wondered why she had done it. Cilla was media, real media. If she ever pursued the story she smelled, Danica would be appalled. And embarrassed. And hurt. For once, she wished she had listened to her mother’s advice, and Blake’s. They said to be careful. She had blown it again!

  seven

  dANICA’S FEARS LURKED STRONGLY IN HER mind. Later that night, as he walked her back to her house, Michael addressed them head-on.

  “She won’t say a thing, Dani. I know her as well as anyone does. She won’t betray your trust.”

  Danica held his arm more tightly. “I keep asking myself why I said all that. It’s a part of my life I don’t usually talk about.”

  “It’s good to talk about it. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That’s debatable but beside the point. I barely know Cilla. If I hadn’t told you about it before, why did it all come out tonight?”

  “Maybe because Cilla had the courage I lacked. I thought I was being thoughtful by not raising it. Maybe I was just frightened.”

  “Frightened? Of what?”

  “Of crossing that little line between what’s my business and what isn’t.”

  “Anything’s your business. You should know that by now.” She had been with Blake too long, she realized. She was using his words. But she had barely begun to admonish herself when Michael disagreed.

  “Not anything, Dani. There are some things I can’t ask.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what goes on between you and Blake.”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Practically nothing, if you want to know.”

  “I don’t. Oh, God, that makes it harder.” He closed his eyes for a minute, then went on, desperately needing to steer away from what she implied. “Why didn’t you tell me about your tennis before?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to see me as a quitter.”

  “A quitter? Come on. You reached a point in your life where a decision was called for. You made it.”

  “I could have kept playing. I could have worked harder. I could have pushed myself on and on.”

  “And you would have been a basket case before you were twenty.” They had reached her door. He put an arm around her waist. “You made the right decision, Danica. You did what was best for you.”

  “That was what I told myself at the time, but I’ve had my doubts since. I took the easy way out. That’s all there is to it.”

  “That’s what he thinks, isn’t it?” They both knew Michael referred to her father.

  “Sometimes there’s not much difference between what he thinks and what I think.”

  Michael turned to firmly grip her shoulders. “There you’re wrong. You think very differently from him. You are very different from him. You can’t lead your life in his footsteps. You’re your own person!”

  Danica smiled softly. “You always say the right things.”

  “I believe them, sweetheart. I believe in you. I just wish you did yourself.”

  Touched in the most beautiful of ways by his words, his look, his faith, she stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Michael,” she whispered, holding tighter when he enclosed her in a hug.

  With a soft moan, he began to caress her back, and she could only close her eyes and enjoy his warmth. It was a physical thing, but emotional, too. She needed it. Lord, how she needed it.

  She felt his lips on her hair, pressing small kisses against its silk, but she needed that, too. He prized her. She had nothing to offer him, still he prized her. With him she was herself and more of a person than ever before.

  His lips moved lower, whispering her name with each small kiss he planted on her forehead, her eyes, her nose. Entranced by a new and unfamiliar joy, she tipped her head to ease his access. When his lips touched hers, she caught her breath. His was sweet, warm, wafting over her as his mouth hovered, close, so close, so tempting, so ready.

  She couldn’t think, could only feel and enjoy and live a dream. Her lips were open when his finally closed over them, and she gave him everything that the pent-up woman in her demanded. She had never kissed a man this way, with this hunger, this force. But sweet. It was so, so sweet. Their lips caressed and explored. Their tongues met and mated.

  Then there was a quivering, from his legs to hers, her stomach to his, his chest to her breasts. And suddenly, as each realized that their bodies were taking command in a way that was forbidden, they parted.

  Forehead to forehead, they breathed shallowly.

  “Ahh, Dani. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

  She had wanted it, too, but she couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t admit anything, because her throat was a tight knot preventing sound.

  “Don’t be angry,” he pleaded in a whisper. “I couldn’t help myself. I love you, Dani, and I don’t know what in the hell to do about it.”

  She swallowed hard, then whispered his name and buried her face against the warm column of his throat. I love you, too, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to either of them. And it wasn’t fair to Blake.

  “Maybe,” she breathed unsteadily, “maybe we shouldn’t see each other.”

  “Don’t say that! Please don’t say that. I need you too much. And you need me. We’ll just…just have to keep things under control.”

  “Seems to me we said the same thing once before.”

  “We’ll just have to say it again and louder.” His tone echoed that determination, but when he held her back and to
ok her face in his hands, his expression was exquisitely gentle. “There are times when I hate Blake, when I wish you could…you would leave him.…Do you love him, Dani?”

  “I’m married to him,” she whispered even as her body was yearning for closer contact with this man to whom she wasn’t married.

  “But do you love him?”

  “There are…different kinds of love.”

  “Do you love him?

  She closed her eyes and took a pained breath. Not as I love you, Michael Buchanan.

  “I want you to love him, Dani. I want you to say that what we have together is just an aberration. Maybe if I know that, I’ll be able to keep my distance. Say it. Say it!”

  “I can’t!” she cried, opening her eyes and returning the same look of helplessness Michael wore. She couldn’t lie. Either to him or herself. She didn’t know if she loved Blake. Certainly what she felt for him was far different from what she felt for Michael. Maybe what she felt for Michael was an aberration, but it had been building for far too long and there was no end in sight. “I can’t. And there’s really no point.” Her voice held defeat. “I’m married to Blake; I bear his name, wear his wedding band, and…and…”

  “You have his child in your belly.” Michael let out the breath he was holding. His hands dropped to her elbows, then her hands. He released one to lightly touch her stomach. “I wish it was mine,” he whispered, his voice cracking at the end. Then he turned and started down the path, knowing that he would only make things worse the longer he stayed. By the time he reached his house, though, he was regretting having left her so abruptly. She had been upset, too. And she was alone.

  Bypassing Cilla’s watchful presence in the living room, he went into his den and called her. “Dani?”

  “Yes?”

  He kept his voice low, very low. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

  “You didn’t say anything I…haven’t said to myself.” Her words were broken.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  He shut his eyes tight. “You’ve been crying.”

  “I’m okay now.”

  “Oh, Dani,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Damn it, Michael, stop saying that!” Frustrated and angered by the entire situation, she found a sudden strength. “If you’re sorry you kissed me, remember that I kissed you back. So it’s just as much my fault as yours. More so, even. I’m the one who should be thinking about Blake. I’m the one who should be thinking about Blake. I’m the one who’s betrayed him. And I’m not sorry!”

  There was a lengthy pause on both ends of the line.

  “You’re not?” Michael asked at last.

  “No,” she answered very softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I enjoyed your kiss. I’d been wondering what it would be like. Now I know. But we can’t let it happen again. It’s too tempting.”

  Relieved that she hadn’t tried to deny what she had so clearly felt, Michael smiled. “Damn right about that. Listen, Dani, don’t be too hard on yourself. If I know you, you’ll sit there feeling guilty. It happened. Now we both know how careful we have to be. Okay?”

  “Okay.…Michael?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I like Cilla.”

  “I’m glad. So do I.”

  “Will I see her again before I leave?”

  “I’ll send her over to visit. How’s that?”

  “Great, as long as she promises to forget everything she’s heard.”

  “I’ll make sure of it. ’Night, Dani.”

  “Good night, Michael.”

  He replaced the receiver with a smile on his face and a fullness in the region of his heart. His momentary serenity was shattered, though, when a quiet voice came from the door.

  “What are you doing, Michael?”

  He whirled around, stared at his sister, then scowled. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Arms comfortably crossed over her chest, Cilla was lounging against the doorjamb. “Long enough. Not that I really needed to hear anything. The vibes passing between you two were obvious.”

  “Funny, I thought we were pretty subtle.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  “Come on, Mike. This is Cilla. Your sister. Your twin. Your better half?”

  “Good thing you made that last a question. It’s always been up for grabs.”

  “You’re avoiding my first question. What in the devil are you doing with her?”

  “Don’t you like her?”

  “You know I do. She’s lovely. She’s poised and intelligent and pretty—”

  “Beautiful. She’s beautiful. Inside and out.”

  “She’s also married.”

  He glared. “I know that.”

  “You seem to forget it from time to time. Michael, what are you doing?”

  He gave her another long, hard stare, then turned and propped himself against the edge of his desk. “I’m trying to survive.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been surviving very well all these years.”

  “That’s the whole point. All these years passing and where am I? Sure, I have a career and financial security. Sure, I have friends. But I want something else.”

  “I hadn’t realized you felt something was missing.” She came to perch by his side against the desk. “You’ve been with lots of women. How long have you wanted this ‘something else’?”

  “Since I met Danica. I hadn’t realized it was there. No one’s ever inspired the feelings she does.”

  “You’re not talking survival. You’re talking suicide. Mike, she’s out of reach. You can’t have her.”

  “Maybe not all of her. But I can have some of it.” He turned to his sister in earnest. “Look, things aren’t right with her marriage. That was one of the reasons she bought the house up here. She thought she and Blake would be able to patch things up if they got away from the city. But he doesn’t come. Not often, at least. And I have a feeling that things aren’t great when he’s there. After he left last Sunday, she was in a blue funk. She tried to hide it, but I saw.”

  “Maybe you wanted to see.”

  “I saw.”

  “So what are you saying? That you’re going to sit around and hope that her marriage falls through?”

  “Damn it, Cilla, you make me sound like a monster.” He raked a hand through his hair, ruffling it more than the night breeze already had. “I’d give anything to see Danica happy, even if that means the recovery of her marriage. But regardless of what happens, we’re friends. We were from the first, when we saw each other on the beach last March. It’s something I can’t change, something that’s as much a part of me as a hand or a leg—”

  “Or a heart?”

  “Or a heart.” He sighed. “Which is why I tell you that I’m only trying to survive. I can’t live with her. I can’t live without her. So I guess I’ll have to take whatever I can get.”

  “Oh, Mike,” Cilla said sadly, “it hurts me to hear you say that. You deserve so much more. Maybe you should be out there looking. Maybe now that you’ve realized what you want…” She let the thought lapse when Michael’s expression grew hard. “Okay, I know. She’s what you want. But there may never be a future for the two of you. Have you thought of that?”

  “I try not to.”

  “Then you’re a fool.” She threw a hand in the air. “Hell, we’re all fools. Love is a bitch. Do you know that?”

  For the first time since he had found Cilla in his den, Michael smiled. “What’s doing with you? Still seeing that guy…what was his name…Waldo?”

  “Wally, please. And no, I’m not seeing him.”

  “What happened?”

  “He started getting serious, so I called it off.”

  “I thought you liked him.”

  “I did. Just not enough to consider marriage.”

  “Would you ever consider
it again?”

  “If the right guy came along.”

  “But you’re still bumping into Jeff?”

  “It’s inevitable, isn’t it? Washington’s not that big. He asked for you, by the way. He was wondering when you’d be getting down. He misses the talks you two used to have.”

  “I miss them, too,” Michael mused. “We go way back, Jeff and I. Talking shop with him is fun.”

  “Whose shop…yours or his?”

  “Either. Both. We pick each other’s brains. He’s one hell of a bright guy.”

  “I think the Defense Department’s finally realized that. They’ve given him a promotion. From what he inferred, he’s working on some pretty sensitive investigations.”

  “Really? Who’s he investigating?”

  Cilla gave a rueful frown. “If he’d been able to tell me that—if he’d been able to tell me anything—maybe we’d still be married. I doubt he trusts me any more now than he did then. I’m the press. Never forget that.”

  “Cilla, speaking of that, you won’t blab about anything Dani said, will you?”

  “Blab? Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to her or to you.”

  “Good. Because I don’t want her hurt. I’d never forgive you if—”

  “Trust me, Michael. Please? Trust me.” She wouldn’t write about Danica; she wouldn’t gossip. What she would do, she vowed, was to keep her eyes and ears open. There was a better than even chance that at one point or another she would run into Blake Lindsay. And she had every intention of finding out why a guy as good-looking and as successful as he was would all but abandon his lovely, lonely, pregnant wife.

  During the next few weeks, Michael and Danica were very careful. While neither could not not see the other, they kept just enough distance between them to preclude a repeat of what had happened on her doorstep that night. They biked together, ate out from time to time, sat on the beach at sunset talking about a book, a TV documentary or some aspect of Michael’s work that troubled him. For his part, he enjoyed running things past Danica. Often she was able to summarize a thought or a theory more succinctly than he could, given his closeness to the subject matter. For her part, she was intrigued by his work, by the intense research he had done, by the different slant he was trying to convey. Now that he knew about her tennis involvement, she felt comfortable discussing sports, thought when he popped over one day suggesting that they play a game or two on the local court, she refused. He tried to talk her into it, and to her surprise, she nearly yielded. But she needed more time; thoughts of tennis still evoked vivid memories of drudgery, and exhaustion, and failure. In the end, they agreed to put it off for another time. Michael was determined to get her playing one day, though. He felt that it would be good for her, that she had to face the past in order to finally accept it. Moreover, he knew she had loved tennis once, and he desperately wanted her to share that love with him.