The Rana Look Page 5

  Leaning close to her and touching her ear with his lips, he whispered, “Feel free to dig in any time.”

  She sniffed her disdain and kept her eyes resolutely on the movie screen. It was bad enough having his knee rubbing her leg and his elbow crowding hers on the armrest. There was no way she would grope between his thighs for popcorn!

  She made no attempt to hide her aggravation, but he was impervious to it. In fact, each time she tried to move her knee away, his followed. He had her arm virtually pinned between his and the back of the armrest. To have wrested it free would have caused a commotion, so she left it there. She didn’t want him to know she was even aware of the steely strength of his arm, or of its warmth, which spread through hers, into her breasts.

  “Don’t those tinted lenses make Clint look sickly?” he asked in a raspy whisper that sent chills down her arms.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you take them off?”

  “I can’t see without them.”

  “Sure of that? They don’t look that thick.”

  “I’m sure.” Actually, they were just tinted glass, but even without makeup her eyes were striking enough to attract attention.

  “You’re not eating any popcorn.”

  “I don’t care for any, thank you.”

  He inclined toward her. “I even brought napkins… on the outside chance that you don’t want me to lick your fingers.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Shhh!” “Shhh!” “Shhh!” The hissing came from several directions at once. Ruby leaned forward in her seat and gave them both a stern look. She mouthed, “Behave,” before sitting back in her seat and returning her concentration to the movie.

  “Now see what you did. You got us in trouble,” Trent murmured after several moments had elapsed and everyone around them had settled back down.

  “Me? You’re the one who insisted I come to this damn movie,” she whispered back fiercely. “Which reminds me, I’m mad as hell at you for manipulating me in front of Ruby. But you did and I’m here. You got what you wanted. Now the very least you can do is be quiet and let me watch the show.”

  “You want to watch the show?”

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it?”

  “Movie theaters aren’t only for that, you know.”

  “What else are they for?”

  “Illicit meetings. For doing naughty things in the dark. We could go to the back row of the balcony and neck.”

  That suggestion brought her head around. She stared up at him speechlessly. One side of his face was dark and inscrutable; the other reflected the light off the movie screen. His eyes were steady and compelling. He was smiling a half smile, an insinuating and sensual half smile. One of his dark brows was raised, indicating that his statement might have been an invitation that ended with, “Whaddaya say?”

  He was handsome. Dangerously handsome. And he knew it.

  Rana knew then that she didn’t like him very much. In fact, she disliked him intensely.

  She yanked her arm from beneath his on the armrest and turned her head back toward the screen. Readjusting herself in her seat, she made it impossible for his knee to reach hers.

  Apparently he received her message loud and clear. He fell to watching the movie and munching popcorn in sullen silence. When the show was over, he politely escorted the ladies through the throng emptying from the theater, across the parking lot, and into the car. Ruby recapped the movie’s plot, rehashed each action-packed fight, recounted every steamy detail of the love scene, and commented innumerable times on the star’s appeal.

  Rana remained silent in the backseat, counting the minutes until the evening would come to an end. As soon as they got through the front door of the house she said, “Thank you for the movie, Mr. Gamblin. Good night, Ruby.”

  “But I thought we all might enjoy a cup of tea together,” Ruby said with a pout of disappointment. She wasn’t finished dissecting the movie yet.

  “Not tonight. I’m very tired. See you tomorrow.” Coming on the heels of an already upsetting day, the excursion to the movie theater had left Rana physically tired and emotionally drained. And mad, she added as she closed the door of her apartment behind her. How dare he think he could get away with-

  The knock on her door halted her bitter ruminations.

  Just as she’d suspected, it was Trent. And as usual, he was insolently propped against the doorjamb.

  “Was it something I said?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, it’s what you are, Mr. Gamblin.”

  “Pray tell, what is that?”

  “A conceited, spoiled, egomaniacal lecher. A self-centered, sexist, chauvinistic boor.”

  He whistled.

  “I know your type, and I despise it. You think every female was designed solely to be your plaything, to be used and disposed of at your whim.” She had his attention. He straightened up; the smug smile was no longer tilting up one corner of his mouth.

  “Now, wait just a minute.”

  “No, you wait a minute. I’m not finished. You’re the type who looks at a woman and automatically rates her appearance on a scale of one to ten. Don’t deny it. I know it’s true. You don’t see a woman. You only see how she’s packaged. And that’s all that counts with you. You take none of her personality or intelligence into account, much less her feelings.”

  “Look at me and look at you,” she said, sawing her hand back and forth between them. “Knowing the kind of man you are, do you for one moment think that I think that you’re interested in a romantic interlude with me? Well, I don’t. I’m not that stupid. Nor am I naive enough to think that if you saw me on the street you’d be bowled over. You’re coming on to me because I’m the only woman available.

  “And even if you were interested, for whatever kinky reasons of your own, I’m not, and I take offense at your presumption that I would be. I’m sick of your juvenile innuendos and asinine suggestions. I find them in the poorest of taste. I wasn’t put here on earth for your amusement, and I resent your thinking I was. If you think I can be washed overboard by your charm, by your good looks, or by your trite come-on lines, think again.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Where do you get off, making a toy out of a human being? You think of me only as a game to keep you occupied while you’re here. Well, forget it. If it weren’t for the fact that I like Ruby and don’t want to hurt her feelings, I wouldn’t even speak to you for the remainder of your stay. In summation, Mr. Gamblin, I think you’re a class-A jerk.”

  She slammed the door in his face before he had time to utter a single word. She felt better than she had in months. Lord, it felt good to tell him off! At last she had vented a frustration with male attitudes that had been building for years. Rana had found that men fell into three categories. There were those who were so intimidated by her beauty and success that they considered her unapproachable. Even if she sent signals that she might be interested, they didn’t respond, because they simply couldn’t or wouldn’t compete with her.

  Then there were those who dared to ask her out, but treated her like a fragile piece of porcelain, an objet d’art that might break if they didn’t handle her with kid gloves. How could she ever develop a relationship with a man who considered her too perfect to touch?

  Men who fell into the third category were the most prevalent and the most irritating. These were the ones who used her to decorate themselves. Since Rana was often photographed by paparazzi avid for candid shots of heron the streets of New York, leaving a restaurant, entering a party, in the park eating an ice-cream cone-her escort also got the rewards of the free publicity she generated.

  She had been courted by numerous politicians, rock stars, and businessmen, all of whom wanted to benefit from a well-publicized romance with Rana.

  This type of man was the most manipulative and the most hurtful. He was the kind who saw nothing but her face and body and had little or no regard for the feelings of the woman inside
the dazzling exterior. He used and used and used with malicious selfishness.

  In a different but equally selfish way, Trent Gamblin was using “Ana” Ramsey. She was plain. She was pitiful. She was alone. No doubt he had decided to give the lonely spinster some kicks while he was in residence, give her something to liven up her colorless existence, give her something to write about in her diary, give her something to cherish and remember for all the lonesome years to come.

  At the same time he would amuse himself. It would be a novelty to romance a woman so drastically different from the kind he usually had affairs with. It would be something to tell the boys in the locker room about when he returned. “Hey, guys, you can’t believe how desperate she was for some lovin’.”

  How unconscionably selfish could one man be?

  But Rana knew from experience that there was no limit to the extremes people would go to when using other people.

  So tonight Rana had defended her alter ego, Miss Ramsey, with a vengeance. It was a triumph over any man who had ever used any woman, beautiful or plain, simply because it suited him and she was convenient.

  When she fell asleep, she felt cleansed. Why hadn’t she developed that kind of backbone years ago? Why, after years of heartache and disillusionment, was she just now learning that the world wouldn’t come to an end if she stood up for herself?

  The next morning she was coming out of her bathroom, yawning and stretching, when the note was slipped under her door. Her arms, extended high above her head, froze there for a moment. She lowered them slowly and swallowed the next yawn as she stared at the single sheet of folded paper. She actually considered ignoring it. But her curiosity got the better of her. She crept forward and picked it up.

  You‘re absolutely right. I behaved like a class-A jerk.

  I’m sorry. We can either sign a mutually agreeable

  truce, smoke a peace pipe, or go jogging together. I opt

  for the latter. I’d take it as a sign of forgiveness if

  you’d join me. Please.

  It wasn’t signed, but then, how many people had she called a jerk lately? And that dark, heavy, masculine scrawl could only belong to one person.

  In spite of her anger with him last night, she smiled. She refolded the note and went to the open window. She stared out, not really seeing the dew-sparkled grass or the landscape that simmered with the promise of another hot, muggy day.

  He had had the good grace to offer an apology. Could she do less than accept it?

  It was very early. The sun was just coming up, and the outdoors smelled new and fresh. A run on the beach would feel good. The exercise would limber up her body and her mind, so that when she settled down to work today, the creative juices would be flowing.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she flew to her closet and took out jogging clothes. She dressed, hastily tied her shoes on, put on her glasses, and rushed to open the door of her apartment before he gave up and left without her.

  He was waiting quietly in the hallway, contemplating the toe of his worn running shoe. His dark gaze strayed from his shoe to her.

  “Hi.” His voice was wary.

  “Good morning.”

  He took her attire as a good sign. She was wearing a gray sweat suit-as ill-fitting and baggy as everything else she owned-running shoes, and an Astros baseball cap. Trent tried to imagine a scenario in which he would whip off her glasses and she would shake her head and become a stunning sexpot, as the plain librarians in B movies always turned out to be. He sincerely doubted such a metamorphosis was possible in this instance.

  “Ready to run?” he asked.

  “It looks like a great morning for it. Not too humid.”

  “Compared to what?” he asked, wiping his brow, which was already damp with perspiration.

  “Compared to a Brazilian rain forest.”

  He grinned, and nodded toward the stairs. “After you. And I give you fair warning, that’s the last head start you’ll get today.”

  They decided to drive the several blocks to the beach. He frowned at the choking, sputtering, clanking noise her used compact car made when she started it, but he went along with her suggestion to take it. The salty mist at the beach couldn’t do much damage to its paint job.

  They began their workout by doing some stretches. He was amazed to find her so agile and graceful as she methodically went about the warm-up procedure. She could bend at the waist and touch the ground flat-handed without groaning and grimacing. He wished she weren’t so covered up. The gray sweat suit was really ghastly, but he could tell that no matter how it was shaped, her body was supple.

  “So are we friends?” he asked as he executed some deep knee bends.

  Rana diverted her eyes from his muscular thighs. “Do you want to be friends?”

  He spread his feet wide and bent at the waist, walking his hands backward along the ground between his legs. “I want to be friends.” When he came up, his face was flushed; she didn’t know if it was from exertion or embarrassment.

  “Then I guess we’re friends,” she said, smiling.

  He nodded, but he was gently gnawing the inside of his jaw in what appeared to be perplexity. His brows were furrowed. “Maybe you should know something first.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never been friends with a woman before.”

  They stared at each other for a long, telling while. The beach was deserted at this time of morning. It wasn’t yet time for young mothers to bring out their children for a few hours’ diversion from the household routine, or for teenagers to cluster in groups and share tubes of tanning lotion and blasting radios, or for families on vacation to open up picnic baskets and argue over the day’s agenda of activities.

  Trent and Rana were alone. They were surrounded by silence, except for the occasional squawking of seagulls that swooped down into the gulf for breakfast, and the waves that broke on the shore in lacy, foamy, incessant patterns.

  “Never?” Rana asked in a faint voice.

  He squinted against the new sun as he pondered her question and searched his memory. “Nope. Never. When I played with Rhonda Sue Nickerson, the little girl who lived next door to us, I always wanted to play ‘house,’ so that, as the ‘daddy,’ I could kiss her good-bye when I left for ‘work.’”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six or seven, I guess. When we got to be eight, I suggested playing doctor.”

  “Even at that age you were manipulating women.”

  He looked chagrined, and nodded. “S’pose so. I’ve never thought of a woman in any terms other than sexual.”

  “Well, our friendship will be a new experience for you.”

  “Right!” He raised his arms, holding his elbows parallel to the ground, and twisted at the waist. After a moment he stopped and looked at her, again with a puzzled expression. “How do you… uh… do it?”

  “How do you do what?”

  “Be friends with a woman.”

  She laughed. “The same way you’re friends with anybody.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Race you to the pier!” He took off at a dead run. Surprised, she stood still for only a few seconds, and then she struck out after him.

  “I won!” he exclaimed as he reached the first piling. He was barely winded.

  “You cheated!”

  “That’s the way I’ve always done it with my buddies.”

  “Leave it to you to take full advantage of our new friendship.” She tossed her head back and laughed. He noticed that her top four front teeth were slightly crooked. He found the flaw endearing.

  “Know what, Ana?”

  “What?” She slipped off one shoe and shook sand out of it.

  “I like you.”

  Her head snapped up and her bare foot dangled a few inches above the sand. “You sound surprised.”

  He laughed. “I guess I am.”

  “That’s because I’m a woman, yet you’re seeing past what I
look like on the outside.”

  “It’s a shame that people let appearance count for so much, isn’t it?”

  She bent down to replace her shoe. “Yes, it is,” she murmured quietly. She guessed that he was thinking Ana Ramsey had been denied happiness because she was plain. Little did he or anyone else realize that beauty could bring its own kind of unhappiness.

  “Did you let me win?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Sure.”

  “That’s sexist, too, you know.”

  “Our friendship is so new, I didn’t want anything to upset the balance.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. If it had been any woman other than Ana Ramsey, Trent would have thought she was flirting.

  “Ready to do some distance?”

  “You betcha.”

  He set out at a run, and she fell into step with him. Before they had gone far, she realized just how outclassed she was. She waved him on, panting, “Go ahead, take your time, I’ll wait here,” before collapsing onto the hard-packed sand.

  It was almost a half hour before he returned. He cooled down, jogging in ever-smaller circles around her, before finally dropping down beside her.

  “If I had a lily to stick in your hands, you’d be the picture of a cartoon corpse,” he teased. She was lying flat on her back, ankles crossed, hands folded over her tummy.

  “Be quiet. I’m napping.”

  “Good idea.” He lay down and stretched out beside her. “The sand’s still cool.”

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He studied her profile. Rolling to his side, he propped his hand in his palm. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  Stunned by his words, she turned her head. “What?”

  “I think there’s some deep, dark mystery lurking in your past.”

  “Don’t talk crazy.” She turned her face skyward again.

  “Some sadness.”

  “No more than most people experience.”

  “What are you doing sequestered in my aunt’s house, Ana?”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “You know what I’m doing there-letting my shoulder heal. I was living too hard in Houston, not getting enough rest.”