“All right, but just one glass,” she muttered, running for the kitchen. “I’m going out.”
He murmured something, but she didn’t stay around long enough to hear it.
Her ears strained for the sound of a car as she poured him a glass of the chilled port from the refrigerator and raced back to the study to hand it to him.
“Umm,” he murmured, sipping it. “That’s delicious. Thanks, Nikki.”
She was literally wringing her hands. Why didn’t he go? The sound of a car caught her attention.
“It’s Cal!” she burst out. But as she moved, so did Ralley, and seconds later, the port was all down the front of her white knit suit.
“Oh, Nikki, I’m so sorry!” he burst out, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here...”
“That won’t do, you idiot, I’ve got to change!” She couldn’t let Cal see her like this! “Ralley, tell Cal I’ll be right down!” she told him, and dashed up the stairs.
The minute she was out of sight, Ralley began to take off his clothes. By the time the doorbell rang, he was down to his briefs. He walked calmly to the door, with the wineglass still in his hand, ruffling his hair in the process. He wiped the smile off his lips just as he jerked the door open.
Cal, dressed in dark evening clothes with a shirt that probably cost more than Ralley’s entire wardrobe, seemed to implode at the sight of the younger man.
“Where’s Nikki?” he asked in a deep, softly dangerous tone.
“Upstairs, waiting for me, of course,” Ralley drawled, lifting the empty glass. “She’ll be sorry she missed you...”
“Cal!”
They both turned as Nikki gaped helplessly at the tableau below, dressed in nothing but her slip, the dark stain of the wine just faintly visible where it had seeped through. Her face contorted in something like agony. What Cal obviously believed was in his taut expression and she saw immediately that it was going to be useless to plead her case. Ralley smiled insolently, and Nikki wanted to strangle him with her bare hands.
Cal’s huge fists clenched at his side. He didn’t say a word to Nikki, but his dark eyes spoke volumes. He turned to Ralley and with a move so quick that Nikki missed it, he threw a shattering punch at the younger man. Ralley didn’t have time to dodge it. It caught him square on the jaw and sent him sprawling sideways on the polished wood floor.
Cal’s blazing eyes went from the fallen, groaning man on the floor to Nikki, frozen on the staircase.
“Excuse me for breaking up the party,” he said in a voice that dripped ice water. “I thought we had a date, but obviously I was mistaken.”
He spared Ralley a final, contemptuous glance before he opened the door and stormed out.
Tears bled down Nikki’s pale cheeks. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d hurt as much.
Ralley dragged himself to his feet, gingerly touching his jaw. “He’s got a punch like a mule,” he groaned.
Nikki only stared at him, hurting like she’d never hurt before.
Belatedly he looked up and saw her face. He stood there, watching her with eyes in which comprehension began to shine. “You really love him, don’t you?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t even answer the question. “Please get dressed and go away,” she said in a ghost of her normal voice. “You can’t imagine how silly you look.”
She turned and went back into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
There was a faint knock at the door.
“Nikki...” Ralley called through it, his voice sad, faintly embarrassed. “Nikki, he wrote telling you he was coming. I...I intercepted the note at the office. I’m sorry.”
But she didn’t answer him. She was crying too hard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NIKKI WENT DOWNSTAIRS an hour later, when she’d had a bath she didn’t need and put on a beige pantsuit and blotted her eyes for the tenth time. She’d cried until her eyes were raw. But all the tears in the river wouldn’t bring Cal back, and she knew it.
Ralley had gone home, and it was beginning to get dark outside. Nikki poured herself a glass of wine and dumped it down her throat. She still felt miserable, so she refilled the glass and drank it down. Damn Ralley—when she got herself together enough, she was going to kill him. On second thought there must be something worse than that she could do to him. Perhaps she could write a false exposé on the