The Rana Look Page 7

  Another night, Trent got out the ancient, hand-crank ice-cream freezer, which he fondly remembered from his youth. He cleaned it, oiled its rusty crank, and asked Ruby to whip up some vanilla ice cream. A few hours later they were enjoying the homemade confection beneath the trees in the backyard.

  Rana compared that tranquil evening to many she’d spent club-hopping in New York. She wouldn’t have traded.

  Trent couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so relaxed and content in the company of a woman.

  On Thursday Rana noticed she was low on supplies, and went to the art store to stock up. When she returned, she was carrying a package so large and cumbersome she could barely see over it. As she set it down on her worktable, she was confronted with a startling sight.

  A man was reclining on her bathroom floor. She couldn’t see his head and shoulders, because they were inside the cabinet underneath the sink. But Rana recognized the shape of those muscular legs immediately.

  “If you’re a thief, I think it’s only fair to tell you that I don’t hide my precious jewels in the plumbing.”

  “Smart-”

  “What was that?” she asked mischievously, propping her shoulder against the bathroom door.

  “Never mind.”

  “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for why you’re stretched out on my bathroom floor with your head under the sink.”

  “Ruby said you’ve been complaining about a leak down here.”

  “I have, but I thought she’d get a professional plumber to fix it.”

  He slid out far enough to peer up at her with a perturbed expression. “You’re too picky-did anyone ever tell you that? I’m repairing your sink, all right?” He ducked his head back into the cabinet.

  “Well, I should hope so. The drip ruined a bag of cotton balls.”

  “Yeah, I found a few soggy refugees.”

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Remember the bottle of disinfectant you had stored down here?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I did, but it wasn’t my fault, because the lid wasn’t screwed on tight enough. And what are you complaining about? You’re not down here breathing the stuff.”

  Since he couldn’t see her, Rana treated herself to a visual feast of his body. He was wearing denim cutoffs again, which seemed to be his uniform for the summer. His shirt had once been a sport shirt, but the plaid had faded until the pattern blurred together in spots. The sleeves had been cut out long ago. Now loose threads clung to the sweat- damp, tanned skin of his biceps. He had left the shirt unbuttoned. The sides had fallen open, leaving his chest bare.

  Rana swallowed with difficulty. His arms were stretched above his head. Each time he moved, the muscles of his chest plumped up. His flat stomach was concave beneath his rib cage. His navel lay within a tantalizing nest of dense, dark hair.

  A good two inches beneath it was the snap of his cutoffs. They were faded and threadbare and conformed softly to the shape of his lower body. Rana couldn’t draw her eyes away from the spot where his thighs came together. His knees were raised. In the narrow strip of his lap, there lay a wrench.

  “Ana?”

  She jumped guiltily and yanked her eyes back to the opening beneath the sink.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  Could he detect her breathlessness? Why was she breathless in the first place? She had seen men, models, wearing next to nothing. Remember that swimsuit layout in Bazaar, the one that was photographed in Jamaica? her rational self asked her. Yes, she remembered those long-limbed, teak- colored, gorgeous male models with whom she had assumed such intimate-looking poses. But none of them, no male body, had ever stirred her senses the way Trent Gamblin did.

  “Hand me that wrench, will you, please?”

  “The wrench?”

  “Yeah, both my hands are occupied. See it there?”

  She saw it, all right, resting right against the fly of his cutoffs.

  “Ana?”

  “What?”

  “Did you succumb to the fumes of the disinfectant?”

  “No, I… uh…“ She dropped to her knees beside him and extended her hand. It was shaking. She clenched her fist. Just pick up the damn wrench, pass it to him, and stop being such a ninny, she admonished herself. She thrust her hand forward, but a second before she grasped the wrench, she closed her eyes.

  That proved to be a mistake. She miscalculated her reach, overshot her mark, touched the bare skin of his belly, and missed the wrench. A certain amount of desperate groping was required before she located it.

  Trent became perfectly still, but a tremor shimmied through his body. Rana clutched the wrench and poked it into the cabinet.

  “Here.”

  Clumsily he took the wrench from her. She withdrew her hand so quickly, it might have just escaped the jaws of a man-eating lion.

  “Thanks.” His voice was husky.

  “You’re welcome.” Her voice was husky too.

  “I’ll be finished here in a sec.”

  “No hurry.” Blindly she scrambled to her feet. “I have some… uh… things to… I went… the art store.” Before she could make an even greater fool of herself, she fled the bathroom.

  She was all thumbs as she unloaded the sack of art supplies. He would think… he would think… heaven only knew what he would think.

  He’s so…full.

  Would he think she had touched him on purpose?

  Maybe you touched something else.

  It had been an accident.

  No, that couldn’t have been anything else. You touched… Oh, Lord.

  It could have happened to anybody.

  about her life. But she wasn’t convinced that Trent Gamblin didn’t have something to do with it.

  Even when she heard him enter the room, she kept her back turned.

  “All done,” he said.

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “Ana?”

  “What?”

  She felt him move up behind her. She closed her eyes, not wanting his smell to be so achingly familiar, not wanting to feel the warmth emanating from him. She felt his hand on her shoulder, tentative at first, then firmer.

  “Ana” he whispered softly, his breath moving her hair.

  It would be so easy. So easy to comply with the urging of his hand and lean back against him. So easy to lay her head on his hard chest. So easy to turn to him and run her hands down his arms, to lift her lips to meet his.

  So easy… and so foolhardy.

  She immediately squelched the desire rising within her and turned around. “I appreciate your help, Trent,” she said curtly, “but as you can see, I’m awfully busy.”

  He stared at her, stunned by her formal tone and frigid expression. How could she not… His whole body was on fire. And she was pretending it hadn’t happened. What the hell was this He had a good imagination, but it wasn’t that vivid, dammit.

  He’d felt that fragile hand of hers touching him and he’d almost exploded. He wanted her. Bad. But if she could act as if nothing had happened, then he damn sure could!

  “So sorry to have bothered you, Miss Ramsey. The next time I spend almost an entire afternoon repairing your sink, I’ll try to be done with it and out of your way by the time you get home.”

  He reached the door in three angry strides and slammed it shut behind him.

  Dinner that night was a tedious affair. Trent had dreaded it, and had almost informed his aunt that he would be going out. He was tired of this self-imposed exile. He longed for one of his raunchy and raucous Houston haunts. A good meal. A good deal to drink. A good and sexy female into whom to empty his frustration.

  He needed a woman in the most elemental way. One who didn’t make him think. One who cooed over him, laid her hands on him, and didn’t pretend later that she hadn’t. One who flattered him and whispered outrageously suggestive things in his ear. He didn’t want intellect or companionship or-
heaven forbid-friendship. He wanted sex. Period.

  But Ruby had told him that she was making his favorite meal, stuffed pork chops, and he would have been a real heel to run out on her after that. So here he was, sitting in the shuttered, candlelit dining room, staring across the table at Ana, who looked as coolly remote as he was hotly sullen.

  Ruby sensed the hostile undercurrents, though she couldn’t imagine what had happened between the two young people. By the time dinner was over, she was distressed, and badly wanted a cup of her “herbal” tea. To keep Miss Ramsey from retreating upstairs, she asked her to brew the tea for her. And to keep Trent from doing the same, she complained about the thermostat on the air-conditioner and asked him to check it.

  The three of them met in the parlor and settled down to watch a movie on television. Trent saw little of it. His eyes kept straying toward the woman curled up in the easy chair, watching the television screen through blue-tinted glasses that aggravated the hell out of him. Why couldn’t she wear clear eyeglasses, like any normal woman? Or, better yet, contact lenses?

  But then, he doubted that Ana Ramsey did anything conventional. She seemed determined to pick the garments that would flatter her tall frame the least. Baggy slacks, loose shirts, shapeless skirts. Her attitude annoyed him because she could be a presentable package if she’d only try fixing herself up a little. Why didn’t she do something with her hair? He wanted to brush it away from her face so he’d have an unrestricted view of her face for once.

  “My tea needs sweetening,” Ruby muttered, and left her seat on the sofa to make a trip into the kitchen.

  Trent didn’t move, but stared broodingly at Rana as he slouched in the chair opposite hers. His eyes were hooded by glowering brows, but he could tell she knew he was staring at her. Occasionally, she would glance at him. He was glad she was uncomfortable. Served her right. Hadn’t he been uncomfortable all afternoon because of her?

  Ruby returned, bringing the unmistakable bouquet of Tennessee sour mash with her. The pendulum clock on the mantel ticked rhythmically. The canned laughter of a banal comedy intruded on the thick silence blanketing the three viewers.

  Trent barely noticed any of it. He was trying to understand how he could have been so turned on by Ana. The women he knew fell into one of two groups-those he wanted to go to bed with and those he’d been to bed with, because all those in the former group eventually graduated to the latter.

  His attentions weren’t often spurned. If anyone called it quits, it was he. Tall or short, blond or brunette, rich or poor, no woman was spared rejection when he tired of her. Often she was left mystified as to the reason for the sudden breakup.

  Ana Ramsey was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. And for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why he was stewing over her. Her caress that afternoon had been accidental. He was certain of that. But it had happened. So, okay, she was embarrassed by it. Why be so defensive? Why not just go with the flow?

  If any woman ever needed a good, rowdy tumbling, it was Ana Ramsey. And from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, his body was telling him he’d been far too long without a female beneath him. To his way of thinking, they were prime candidates for hours of uninterrupted bedroom frolic.

  At least now he knew something about himself that he’d always suspected. He couldn’t be friends with a woman. To hell with being a chum. That stank. He’d tried it, and it hadn’t worked. Because all he could think about tonight while he sat staring at the aloof Miss Ramsey was what she would look like naked.

  “Do you think she’s all right?”

  “What?” At the unexpected sound of Ana’s voice, he roused himself. Had his sulkiness been rewarded? Finally she had deigned to look directly at him and speak, something she had avoided doing all evening.

  “Do you think Ruby’s all right?” she repeated, indicating the older woman with a nod of her head.

  Trent looked at his aunt. How long had her head been bent over her chest like that? And why hadn’t he noticed her loud snoring before now? Because his mind had been too preoccupied with Ana, that’s why.

  He smiled. “I think she had one too many cups of tea.” Rana smiled back. It was a pretty smile, despite her overlapping front teeth. He barely even noticed that flaw now.

  “Should we waken her?” she asked him.

  “That might embarrass her.”

  “You’re right.” She stood up and switched off the television. The absence of the blue-white light made the room much darker. Through the heavy shadows, Rana moved toward the sofa where Ruby sat sleeping. Trent got to his feet.

  “Do you think you could carry her to her room?” She tilted her head back to look up at him.

  “I think I can manage that.”

  For a moment neither moved. They just stood there, staring at each other through the darkness. Ruby’s soft snores kept time with the clacking pendulum of the clock. The room closed in around them. It was difficult to breathe.

  They were hot all over.

  Rana was the first to move and break the spell. “Can you lift her up?”

  “Sure.”

  Trent was glad for a chance to expend energy. If he didn’t find an outlet for it soon, he’d explode. He bent down and slid one arm beneath his aunt’s knees, the other behind her back. Seemingly without any effort, he lifted her up. He grimaced.

  Rana laid her hand on his upper arm. “Does that hurt your shoulder?”

  “It’s all right.” He glanced down at her hand.

  She removed it. “I didn’t think about your shoulder, or I never would have suggested that you carry her.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and turn down her bed?”

  Hurriedly Rana did as he asked. Ruby’s apartment was located down the central hail, past the staircase, at the back of the house. It was cluttered with a lifetime of memorabilia. The bedroom had a small bath adjoining it. Her living quarters were actually smaller than those of her tenants. Rana peeled back the crocheted bedspread and the sheets. Trent laid his aunt gently on her bed. She hadn’t awakened.

  “Thank you. I’ll undress her,” Rana offered.

  He was surprised. He couldn’t imagine any of the women he knew doing such a thankless task. He felt immediately ashamed of himself. All afternoon and evening he’d been harboring a grudge against this woman, mentally accusing her of being everything from a dried-up old prude to a heartlessly fickle tease.

  If he had reacted so violently to her accidental touch this afternoon, what must she have felt? Mortification, to say the least. Now, here she was, offering to undress a tipsy old lady out of sheer kindness.

  A strong new emotion welled inside him. It was so powerful he couldn’t allow himself to speak. He merely nodded and left the room.

  When Rana followed him several minutes later, she was surprised to find him waiting in the hall. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. She didn’t miss a snore.”

  They walked through the house. He switched off lights as they went. His footsteps fell close behind hers on the stairs. When they reached the doors of their respective rooms, they faced each other awkwardly. A faint light was cast by one small bulb at the end of the hall.

  He wanted to touch her. God, he wanted to. He wanted to lay his palm against her cheek just to see if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to thread his fingers through the thick mane of hair hanging down her back, to sweep it away from her face so he wouldn’t feel as though he was looking at her through a screen. He wanted to take off her eyeglasses and look into her eyes, to see their color, to solve the mystery of them. He wanted to explore beneath her bulky clothing with his hands, to find the breasts that haunted his imagination. He wanted to run his tongue along those beguiling front teeth.

  And his body was informing him that he wanted to be much more intimate with her than he was allowing himself to contemplate.

  “Good night, Ana,” he said thickly.

  “Good night, Trent.”

  In her room, Rana walke
d immediately to her bed and lay down. Her whole body was trembling. She had wanted so badly for him to touch her. Touch me, she had all but cried out.

  But Ana Ramsey wasn’t beautiful, and Trent Gamblin was accustomed to making love to beautiful women.

  Making love? She scolded herself. She was the one who had wanted friendship. Now that she had that, did she want something more?

  Honestly she had to admit that she didn’t know. When he was around Trent she felt either miserable or wonderful. Why? Her knees went weak at the sight of him. The sound of his voice elicited almost uncontainable excitement within her.

  The worst of it was, she spent far too many hours each day thinking about him. That was dangerous and just plain stupid. One day soon he’d be leaving for his summer training camp. Then what? Then he’d get caught up again in his celebrity lifestyle. He would forget about her.

  And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough problems of her own to occupy her. Tomorrow Morey would call, expecting her response to the contract they had been offered. Did she want to return to her life in New York? Did she want to become the Rana again? Wouldn’t that be safer than falling in love with Trent? Was it wise to trade one set of problems for another? How many ways could a heart be broken?

  No matter what her final decision, one thing remained certain: She must stay away from Trent. Starting tomorrow.

  Five

  When Trent came by the following morning for their run, she pretended not to hear his knock. Eventually he went out alone, and Rana breathed a sigh of relief. And disappointment. She had come to look forward to their morning jogging.

  Carefully she pressed the wrap skirt she’d been working on, arranged it on a hanger, and covered it with a plastic bag. In all modesty she thought it was her best work, and hoped that it would meet with Mrs. Rutherford’s approval.

  Getting dressed didn’t require near the time it once had. She washed her hair, but left it to dry on its own. She smoothed some moisturizing lotion on her tanned face- her mother had never let her swim or play on the beach when she was a child, because she didn’t want Rana’s skin to suffer the damaging effects of the sun-but left it free of makeup. She put on the blue-tinted eyeglasses and dressed in a shapeless, mud-colored sack dress, which she didn’t even belt. Barry would be horrified. She went downstairs to eat a quick breakfast before leaving.