Page 12 of You'll Find Out
“Are you all right? Mara?” Shane asked the question, suddenly aware that Mara’s face had blanched. His voice seemed distant. “Is something wrong?” Concern flooded his features, and he let his hand drop from the picture frame as he half-ran across the room to Mara’s side. His arm captured her waist just as she felt her knees give way and the glass in her fingers slid to the carpet.
“There’s so much to explain,” she whispered against his jacket.
“I know, I know, baby,” he murmured, and kissed the top of her head as he persuaded her to sit on the stiff Victorian sofa. “Don’t try to explain anything now. Are you all right, or do you need a doctor? Where are the servants tonight?” His dark eyes darted to the hallway. He started to get up, but Mara placed a staying hand on his sleeve.
“I don’t have any servants,” she said softly. The faint feeling had passed and color returned to her cheeks.
“No servants? In a house this size?”
“No live-ins. I . . . do have a woman who comes in once a week to help me with the cleaning. The same for the gardener. But that’s it. I cook my own meals, and June watches over Angie.”
“June? A governess? Where is she?”
Mara’s throat tightened again. “No, June’s not a governess. Actually, she’s Angie’s gr- . . . Peter’s mother. Angie’s with her this evening.”
“I see,” he retorted, and took a long swallow of his drink. He pulled uncomfortably at his tie and gave Mara a reassessing look. “She must have been the woman who threw me out of here on the day of the funeral!”
“So you were the stranger! Dena guessed as much!” Mara gasped. “Why were you here that day?” Her large, liquid eyes looked directly at him, and he remembered a younger, more innocent time. He found it impossible to fight the urge any longer. An unsteady finger reached out and traced the delicate outline of Mara’s refined jaw. Tenderly he persuaded a wisp of tawny hair back into place behind her ear. She felt herself shudder at his touch. He sighed deeply and shook his head.
“I was there that day simply because I couldn’t stay away from you any longer. Peter’s death was an easy excuse; I wanted to see you. But for some reason your mother-in-law balked, wouldn’t let me near you. It was as if she suspected me of something . . . sinister. I could read it in her eyes. I explained that I was an old friend, gave her my card, but she absolutely refused . . .” His voice trailed off, and Mara could sense the restraint that he forced upon himself. The finger stopped its seductive motion. With a scowl he pulled his hand away from her face.
“Then it wasn’t business,” she whispered.
“Not at all.” He walked away from her and buried his fists into his pockets. Satisfied that the distance between them was sufficient, he leaned against the fireplace and surveyed her. Involuntarily, his jaw tightened.
“And now, Shane?” she demanded, hoping that her voice wouldn’t give her ragged emotions away. “What about now? Is it business that brings you back here?”
“Yes and no.” The expression on his face was as enigmatic as his words. There was a kindness in his features, and yet a different, steely hardness stormed in his eyes. For a moment he hesitated, and Mara was aware of a breakdown in his reserve, but it was quickly reconstructed.
“Did you say that you gave June your card?” Mara inquired, puzzled.
“Yes—but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Did she give it to you?” he asked, and read the negative answer in her eyes. “I didn’t think so. I know it sounds absurd, but that woman holds something against me.”
“That’s impossible. She doesn’t even know you.”
Shane shrugged his broad shoulders. “That’s the impression that she left with me. But it really doesn’t matter.”
“She was just upset—it was the day of Peter’s funeral, you know.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I think we should get going,” he suggested, curtly. “We’re already late for our reservation.”
“I thought you wanted to talk . . .”
“I do and we will. But you look like you could use a good meal, and so could I. We have lots of catching up to do.”
Mara regarded him with interest. “What about the proposition about Imagination?”
“That, too.”
The evening was dark and still, and the silence was a thick, heavy cloud that separated Mara from Shane as they rode together in the sports car. Neither spoke, afraid to shatter the tranquility of the evening. Each was surrounded by the cloak of his own private thoughts. As Mara cast a surreptitious glance at Shane, she noted the thick black hair blowing softly in the wind, the slightly arrogant straight nose, and the deepset darkness of his eyes. In the car, with only inches separating their bodies, she was acutely aware of him and his brooding masculinity, just as she had been on the first night that they had met. It had been nearly five years ago, but she could remember that night as clearly as if it were yesterday.
* * *
Mara hadn’t wanted to attend the surprise birthday party that one of the girls in the office was throwing for the boss. But the hostess had been insistent, and Mara succumbed to the pressure. She didn’t want to be the only employee who couldn’t make it to Mr. Black’s fiftieth birthday party. Against her better judgment she agreed to attend.
That night Mara toyed with the drink in her hand, already forming a plausible excuse to leave the festivities early. The music was loud, the guests even louder, and she seemed distinctly out of place. She looked around the room to find Sandy, the hostess, in order to excuse herself and make a hasty exit.
The dark-eyed stranger must have arrived late because Mara hadn’t noticed him earlier. But when she finally did see him, she found him staring intently at her from across the room. His black eyes were friendly, beguiling, and although there must have been over twenty people in the room, in the one suspended instant, when her eyes touched his, Mara felt that she was alone with him. Her breath caught in her throat as he advanced toward her, but she was unable to tear her eyes away from his face.
