The Rana Look Page 6

  “Why didn’t you just discipline yourself?”

  “I’ve got a weak character.”

  She laughed softly at his confession. “When Ruby told me you’d be staying temporarily, I thought you were probably hiding from a greedy ex-wife and her divorce lawyer.”

  He noticed that her breasts moved slightly when she laughed. Once a sexist, always a sexist, he thought ruefully. But, hell, he was a man, wasn’t he? “I’ve never been married.”

  “No?” she asked, looking at him again.

  “No. How about you?”

  “I was married. Years ago. When I was very young.”

  That surprised him. And more than mildly. He was even more certain than ever that there was more to this woman than she let on. “Hm.”

  She rolled to her side to face him. “‘Hm.’ How eloquent. But you can forget what you’re thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That I’m nursing a broken heart and trodden spirit because a rotten husband did me wrong.”

  “Isn’t that the way the song goes?”

  “Not in this case. When my marriage was dissolved, it was by mutual agreement, a decision based on what was best for both of us.”

  “Then you still haven’t answered my question, although I congratulate you on trying your damnedest to sidetrack me. What are you doing in hiding?”

  “I’m not in hiding!” The vehemence of her protest betrayed just how accurately he had hit the target.

  “Come on, Ana. An intelligent, attractive, talented woman like you doesn’t take up residence in a boardinghouse with an elderly lady unless she’s forced to do so.”

  “I wasn’t forced. It’s by choice that I’m here. And you didn’t think I was attractive until this morning, when you decided to be my friend rather than an oversexed nuisance.”

  “I’ve always thought you were attractive.” As he spoke the words aloud, he realized they were true. In the strictest sense of the word, he had been attracted to Ana Ramsey

  from the moment he’d first seen her. “All right, granted, your clothes leave a lot to be desired,” he said in response to her dubious expression “and you’re not… not…”

  “Pretty,” she supplied bluntly, enjoying his discomfiture.

  “Not in the classical sense, no. But I like being around you. And don’t start in on that sexist, chauvinist junk again. I’m complimenting you in a purely platonic way. I like be in with you. I’m relaxed with you in a way I can’t be with any other woman of my acquaintance, because I’m under no pressure to maintain my macho image. Do you know

  what a pain that is to live up to?”

  “I can imagine,” she said distractedly. She, of all people, knew what it was to live up to an image, but her mind wasn’t on that… because at that moment she realized that they were lying face to face on the lonely beach very much like lovers. Her body was feeling mellow and warm. And seconds before he had complained about having to live up to a macho image, she had been thinking just how beautiful his muscular body was.

  She liked the tangy smell of his healthy sweat mingled with the salt air, liked the tumbled disarray of his wind- tossed hair, liked the way individual grains of sand clung to his damp skin. Her mouth went dry as her eyes traced the pattern of his chest hair. It swirled around neat, flat nipples and spread over his chest like a dark net.

  “Well, it’s a real pain,” he continued, unaware of the delicious tingling his body was causing in her tightening nipples. “Because I’m a single, professional jock with a swinger’s reputation, every woman I’m around expects me to… well, perform. It’s nice to have somebody like you just to talk to.” He raked his hand down his face. “Jeez, talk about a jerk. Don’t I sound like one now? It’s just that I don’t remember a time I’ve lain in the sand with a woman and not made love to her.”

  The forbidden, unthinkable idea took hold as they lay there looking at each other. Even if their bodies didn’t participate, their minds indulged, engaging in erotic fantasies.

  She thought about touching him, about laying her hands on his chest and moving her fingers through his fleecy chest hair.

  And he thought about slipping his hands beneath the top of her gray sweat suit and discovering the shape of her breasts.

  She thought about the brevity of his shorts and what was beneath them.

  And he thought about kissing her, of introducing his tongue into her mouth to see what she tasted and felt like.

  She thought about him rolling her to her back and covering her with his hard, powerful body, entwining his legs with hers.

  And he thought about rolling her to her back and covering her tall, slender frame, entwining his legs with hers.

  Suddenly the mental images began to have profound physical effects that were too much for either of them to bear.

  He reacted first, jumping to his feet and extending his hand to help her up. She looked at his hand for a hesitant moment before accepting it.

  His long, hard fingers, accustomed to grasping a football, wrapped around her hand and held it as they strolled back to the car. He kept the conversation lively and jocular, because he felt guilty about thinking of her as a sex object.

  Mentally Rana shook herself, forcibly shrugging off the sexual arousal that had held her captive. She and Trent were buddies, friends, pals. That was what she had wanted, what she had demanded. No entanglements with men for Rana. Uh-uh. And for Miss Ramsey, such romantic notions were out of the question.

  Trent paid lip service to seeing past a woman’s looks now, but in a week or two, when that virile body got hungry, he wouldn’t select a Miss Ramsey to satisfy its sexual appetite.

  “What are you going to do today?” he asked as they entered the cool, dim foyer of the house after the short drive home.

  “Work, work, work.” She shook her index finger just beneath his nose. “And don’t you dare try to distract me today.”

  “Some friend you are. I thought we might-”

  “ Trent,” she said threateningly.

  “Okay, okay, scram.” He hitched his chin toward the head of the stairs.

  “Hello, dears,” Ruby said, coming through the dining room upon hearing them. She was wearing a daisy-patterned apron over her jeans. “Miss Ramsey, the telephone is for you. I told the gentleman to hold when I heard you coming in. Trent, I’ve got your juice ready in the kitchen.”

  Rana raced up the stairs and answered the extension in her apartment. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

  “Rana, hi, it’s Morey.”

  “Hi,” she said, glad to hear from him. “How are you? How’s your blood pressure?”

  “You can lower it. You can come back to work.”

  Four

  “I can’t, Morey. Not now.”

  “Then, when?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe never.”

  “Rana, Rana.” He spoke her name with a heavy sigh. “Haven’t you proved your point yet?”

  “You make my leaving sound like a child’s pouting spell. I assure you my reasons for giving it all up went much deeper than that.”

  “I didn’t mean to make light of it. Living with your mother would be like sharing a den with a barracuda.” Rana was fully aware that there had never been any love lost between her mother and Morey. Susan had always held the agent in contempt, but had viewed him as a necessary evil she must tolerate for the furtherance of Rana’s career. “What did she do that finally sent you over the edge? It must have been a dilly of a stunt.”

  Morey couldn’t know what a painful, shameful memory he had evoked.

  “All I’m asking is that you be nice to him, Rana. You’re such a strange girl,” Susan Ramsey had said in exasperation. “Any other girl would be beside herself if Mr. Alexander paid some attention to her.”

  “Then let ‘any other girl’ marry him.”

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “I know you, Mother. You wouldn’t be foisting Mr. Alexander off on me if matrimony had
n’t entered your mind. And it doesn’t have anything to do with morality. You’re just too good a bargain hunter to settle for less.”

  “Would marriage to the owner of one of the largest cosmetics empires in the world be so terrible?” she asked sarcastically. “Think of what such an alliance would mean to your future.”

  “And to yours, Mother.”

  “I’ll take none of your sass! Now, Mr. Alexander called, and his car is picking you up at eight. He sent this lovely diamond bracelet for you to wear tonight. Please go get dressed.”

  The bracelet had been the last straw, the final insult. “I’m not a prostitute,” Rana had informed her mother calmly, but coldly. “Mr. Alexander can keep his diamond bracelet and I’ll keep my self-respect.”

  Instead of getting dressed to go out with a man old enough to be her grandfather, she had packed a few meager belongings and left the Manhattan penthouse without another word.

  During the lengthy bus trip south, she had tried to recall her mother’s thousand and one machinations, but that was a futile exercise. For as long as Rana could remember, Susan Ramsey had had a hand in the small of her daughter’s back, pushing Rana into things she didn’t want any part of. How she had hated those beauty pageants for children, the modeling classes, the photography sessions, the endless rounds of interviews that always left her feeling embarrassed for both of them.

  Susan had been tireless in her efforts to turn Rana into the perfect little girl, then into the perfect ingenue, then into the perfect woman… the woman Susan had always wanted to be herself. Psychologists would have had a field day with their relationship. If ever there was a case of a parent living vicariously through a child, this was it.

  Rana was a hapless victim of Susan’s ambition. Her father had been killed in an accident when she was an infant. There was no system of checks and balances within the family. Rana was forced to go along with Susan’s plans. Rebellious outbursts had been few and far between. Patrick, the courageous sweetheart she had coerced into marrying her, had been one. That act of defiance had ended in heartbreak of such proportions that Rana hadn’t risked another.

  Susan had proved to her daughter just how ruthless she could be, and resignedly Rana had followed wherever Susan led. Until Mr. Alexander. Would her mother actually consider selling her into a marriage of convenience? The idea had jarred Rana into taking stock of her life. She had reached the conclusion that Susan wasn’t ever going to change. If Rana wanted to alter her life, the change had to come from within herself. Leaving her mother and her career in New York had been the healthiest decision she’d ever made.

  “It wasn’t only Mother. It was me,” she explained to her agent now. “I’m sorry that you had to be involved, too, Morey. Please understand. I had to get away from all that. And I’m having a wonderful time. I went jogging on the beach this morning. You should have seen me. Baseball cap, sweat suit. I look wretched, but I feel wonderful about myself. I’m peaceful. I’m free. For the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want to do.”

  “But does it have to be so drastic, sweetheart? Couldn’t you just tell Susan to butt out once and for all?”

  “Do you honestly think she would?”

  He evaded that question and asked another. “Have you seen the undies ad?”

  “By accident. I nearly died of shock.”

  “So have the hotshots of the company who peddle the stuff. They can’t believe their ad people shelved the campaign for all these months. They’re head over heels, Rana. Their sales have skyrocketed just in the week the ad has been out. You’re decorating billboards all over the country. They want to do a series of television commercials.”

  “Using me?”

  “Sure, using you. So the commercials will tie in with the print ads. They think, and I agree, that you can do for simple cotton underwear what Brooke Shields did for blue jeans.”

  “I’m glad the ad is a success, Morey, but I don’t want to go back to work.”

  “Not even to the tune of four hundred thou for a two-year contract?”

  “You’re kidding.” Her legs folded beneath her, and she collapsed onto the rug.

  “I see I’ve finally got your attention. I didn’t say we’d accept four hundred. I’ll counter with six hundred and I think we’ll get an even half a million. How does that sound?”

  “Ridiculous.”

  He chuckled. “Not so ridiculous. I could use the bread.”

  Her lips puckered with worry. “Have you been gambling again? Did you overextend?”

  “Never mind my vices. You sound like my ex-wife. When are you getting your tush on a plane back to New York?”

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass in the corner. The woman sitting Indian fashion on the floor of the tidy, but modest, apartment didn’t even resemble the model in the magazine ad. She was chubby by comparison. Her dark red hair hadn’t been conditioned or trimmed in months. Her hands were a nightmare, with their square, short nails and paint-stained fingers. Her four crooked front teeth made for a less than perfect smile.

  “I’m not coming back, Morey,” she said softly, hoping he could sustain the blow. “I’m in no shape to. They wouldn’t want me. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when you last saw me. I couldn’t model underwear if I wanted to.”

  “So we’ll send you to a fat farm for a couple of weeks. What’il it be, the Greenhouse or the Golden Door? You’re closer to the Greenhouse. Want me to make you a reservation?”

  “Morey, you’re not listening. I’m not coming back. I don’t want to.”

  The following silence was long and rife with tension. “Will you at least think about it?” Morey said finally. “It’s a heck of a contract to turn down. We’ll start slow, if you like. We’ll accept no other work but this. Half a million is a helluva lot of money, Rana.”

  “I realize that,” she said miserably. She didn’t want Morey to suffer any financial setbacks because of her decision. “Don’t think I’m not flattered or grateful. I am. But I have another life here. And I’m liking it.”

  She glanced at the door, thinking suddenly of the man across the hail. It unnerved her that thoughts of him should come to her mind at just that moment. He certainly had no bearing on her decision to stay in Galveston.

  “Well, they’re in a hurry, but I’ve stalled them. I told them you were taking an extended vacation, just as I have all our other clients. I’ll give you a few days to sleep on it and call you back Friday.”

  “All right.” She shook her head dismally. Her answer would be the same in a few days, or even in a few weeks, but she supposed it would be kinder to let him down gently than to refuse outright. His references to money made her uneasy. Morey had an almost compulsive penchant for betting on the outcome of any sporting event. “How’s everything else in your life?”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t worry about me. ”

  “Business is good?”

  “Are you kiddin’? I’ve got Rana for a client and now everybody wants me as an agent.”

  She was relieved. Morey’s agency had been handling showroom and catalog models when Rana and Susan walked through his door. When Rana’s career had taken off, he had moved uptown in more ways than one. Soon he had more clients than he could handle, and had hired several assistants. Rana would always be glad that her success had contributed to his.

  “Well, good-bye, then. Take care of yourself. Watch that blood pressure. Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Good-bye. Think about the contract, Rana. Give it serious thought.”

  “I will. Promise.”

  She replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Something wasn’t right. She could sense it. Was Morey taking care of his health? She was afraid he wasn’t, now that she wasn’t there to nag him about smoking too much and eating properly. She hoped he wasn’t too affected by her decision to leave the business.

  Her musings disturbed her, and she welcomed the interruption of a knock on her door. She leaped up to answer i
t, swearing to herself that her heart hadn’t accelerated with the hope that it might be Trent. She had almost reached the door when she realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and hurriedly put them on before opening it.

  “Can you come out and play?”

  He couldn’t have looked more adorable. His hair was still damp and tousled from his shower. He had on athletic shorts and a ratty T-shirt with holes in it. He was barefooted, and the Band-Aid was still wrapped around his little toe.

  With the same kind of affection Ruby had for him, Rana wanted to pinch him on the cheeks or on the bottom. He was just so damn cute. And far too much of a temptation. He was like an ice-cream cone to a dieter. One taste, and resolve flew out the window.

  “No, I can’t,” she said firmly.

  “Aw, please.”

  She giggled at his wheedling tone. “I can’t. I’ve got to work. Don’t you have anything constructive to do?”

  “I could go to a gym and do a light workout with weights. Or I could do Ruby the favor she asked and sweep out her greenhouse. She wants to plant some flowers in there.” He winked at her. “But my arm could be twisted to goof off.”

  “Well, mine couldn’t be, so good-bye.”

  “Some friend you are turning out to be,” he muttered as he wheeled to go.

  Rana was smiling when she closed her door. She told herself her well-being was due to an overall good feeling.

  Each day of that week passed in a similar manner. It became their routine to meet and run together every morning. Ruby usually had breakfast waiting for them, which Rana ate before rushing up to her room to work while the morning light was still good.

  Generally Trent made a nuisance of himself, but Rana was good-natured about it. It was almost impossible to get angry with him. During the day he did odd jobs around the house for Ruby. Their evenings were usually spent in the parlor watching television or playing board games. One evening the three of them strolled around the block. Ruby filled them in on the gossip concerning almost every family. No one had skeletons that Ruby didn’t know about.