CHAPTER FOUR

LAUREL'S APARTMENT took up the second floor of a converted town house on the upper east side of Manhattan. The rooms were sun-filled and pleasant, and the building itself was handsome and well located.

But it was an old building, and sometimes the plumbing was a problem. The landlord kept promising repairs but the handful of tenants figured he was almost as ancient as the plumbing. None of them had the heart to keep after him, especially when it turned out that Grey Morgan, the hunky soap star in apartment 3G, had been a plumber's apprentice back in the days when he'd still been known as George Mogenovitch of Brooklyn. .

His pretty dancer wife, Susie, had turned into a close friend, but she was another in what Laurel thought of as a legion of inveterate matchmakers. At least she had learned to read the signs. When Susie made spaghetti and invited her to supper, she accepted happily. When the invitation was for Beef Stroganoff and a good bottle of wine, it was wise to plead an excuse.

Laurel smiled to herself. Susie and George were the most warm-hearted people imaginable, which explained why she was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in her bathroom with a bunch of tools in her lap while George stood in her bathtub and tried to figure out why no water at all was coming out of the shower.

" Sorry it's taking me so long, " he said, grunting as he worked a wrench around a fitting. " But I think I've almost got it. "

" Hey, " Laurel said, " don't apologize. I'm just grateful you're willing to bother. "

George flicked back his blond mane and shot her a grin. " Susie wouldn't have it any other way, " he said. " She figures it keeps me humble. "

Laurel smiled. " Clever Susie. "

Not that George needed to be kept humble. He was a nice guy. Success hadn't gone to his head the way it did with some men. Hand them some good looks, some money, fame and fortune, and what did you get?

A man like Damian Skouras, that's what. Laurel's mouth thinned. Or like Kirk Soames. What was it about her that attracted such superficial, self-cantered bastards?

Of course, she hadn't seen it that way, not at first. She was a woman accustomed to making her own way in the world; she'd learned early on that many men were threatened by her fame, her independence, even her beauty. So when Kirk-powerful, rich and handsome---came on to her with wry certainty and assurance, she'd found it intriguing. By the time he'd asked her to move in with him, she'd been head over heels in love.

Annie had told her, straight out, that she was making a mistake.

" Move in with him? " she'd said. " What ever happened to, 'Marry me? '"

" He's cautious, " Laurel had replied, in her lover's defence, " and why wouldn't he be? Marriage is a tough deal for a man like that. "

" It's a tough deal for anybody, " Annie had said wryly.

" Still, if he loves you and you love him... "

" Annie, I'm thirty-two. I'm old enough to live with a man without the world coming to an end. Besides, I don't want to rush into anything, any more than Kirk does. "

" Uh-huh, " Annie had said, in a way that made it clear she knew Laurel was lying. And she was. She'd have married Kirk in a second, if he'd asked. And he would ask, given time. She'd been certain of that.

" Laurel? "

Laurel blinked, George was looking at her, his brows raised. " Hand me that other wrench, will you? The one with the black handle. "

So she had moved in with Kirk, more or less, though she'd held on to her apartment. It had been his suggestion. He'd even offered to pay her rent, though she had refused. If she kept her apartment, he'd said, she'd have a place to stay when she had shoots or showings in the city because he lived thirty miles out, in a sprawling mansion on Long Island's North Shore.

" Bull, " Annie had snorted. " The guy's a zillionaire.

How come he doesn't have an apartment in the city? "

" Annie, " Laurel had said patiently, " you don't understand. He needs the peace and quiet of the Long Island house. "

In the end, it had turned out that he did have a Manhattan apartment. Laurel closed her eyes against the rush of painful memories. She'd learned about it by accident, fielding a phone call from a foolishly indiscreet building manager who'd wanted to check with Mr. Soames about a convenient time for some sort of repair to the terrace.

Puzzled, telling herself it was some sort of mistake or perhaps a surprise for her, Laurel had gone to the East side address and managed to slip inside when the doorman wasn't looking. She'd ridden the elevator to the twentieth floor, taken a deep breath and rung the bell of Apartment 2004.

Kirk had opened the door, dressed in a white terry-cloth robe. His face paled when he saw her but she had to give him credit; he recovered quickly.

" What are you doing here, Laurel? "

Before she could reply, a sultry voice called, " Kirk?

Where are you, lover? " and a porcelain-skinned blonde wearing a matching robe and the flushed look that came of a long afternoon in bed, appeared behind him.

Laurel hadn't said a word. She hadn't even returned to the Long Island house for her things. And when the story got out, as it was bound to do, the people who knew her sighed and said well, it was sad but they'd have sworn Kirk had changed, that once he'd asked her to move into that big house on the water they'd all figured it meant he'd finally decided to settle down...

" You got a bad diverter valve, " George muttered, " but I've almost got it under control. Takes time, that's all. "

Laurel gave him an absent smile. Everything took time.

It had taken her months to get over the pain of Kirk's betrayal but once she had, she'd begun thinking about their affair with the cold, clear logic of hindsight and she'd found herself wondering what she'd ever found attractive about a man like that to begin with.

She'd mistaken his arrogance for self-assurance, his egotism for determination. She, who'd always prided herself on her control, had been stupidly taken in by sexual chemistry, and the truth was that not even that had really lived up to its promise. She'd never felt swept away by passion in Kirk's arms.

But Damian's kiss had done that. It had filled her with fire, and with a longing so hot and sweet it had threatened to destroy her.

The tools Laurel was holding fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers and clattered on the tile floor.

" You okay? " George said, glancing over at her. " Sure, " she said quickly, and she bent down and scooped up the tools.

Damian Skouras was not for her. He was nothing but an updated copy of Kirk, right down to the sexy blonde pouting in the background at the wedding.

" Gimme the screwdriver, Laurel, " George said. " No, not the Phillips head. The other one. "

Had the man really thought she wouldn't notice the blonde? Or didn't he think it mattered?

" Egotistical bastard, " she muttered, slapping the screwdriver into George's outstretched hand.

" Hey, what'd I do? "

Laurel blinked. George was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

" Oh, " she said, and flushed bright pink. " George, I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. "

He gave her the boyish grin that kept American women glued to their TV sets from two to three every weekday afternoon.

" Glad to hear it. From the look on your face, I'd hate to be whoever it is you're thinking about. "

She'd never been able to bring herself to tell Annie the truth of her breakup with Kirk, not because Annie might have said, " I told you so, " but because the pain had been too sharp.

" You were right" was all she'd told her sister, " Kirk wasn't for me. "

Maybe I should have told her, Laurel thought grimly.

Maybe, if I had, Annie and Dawn and everybody else at that wedding would have known Damian Skouras for the belly-to-the-ground snake he was.

" Got it, " George said in triumph. He handed her the screwdriver and flipped the selector lever up and down. '~Just you watch. Soon as I get out of the tub and turn this baby on-"

" Just be careful, " Laurel said. " Watch out for that puddle of water in the... "

Too late. George yelped, lost his footing and made a grab for the first thing that was handy. It was the on-off knob. Water came pouring out of the shower head.

" Damn, " he shouted, and leaped back, but it was too late. He was soaked, and so was Laurel. Half the icy spray had shot in her direction. Sputtering, George pushed the knob back in, shut off the water and flung his dripping hair back from his eyes. He looked down at himself, then eyed Laurel. " Well, " he said wryly, " at least we know it works. "

Laurel burst out laughing.

" Susie's going to think I tried to drown you, " she said, tossing him a towel and dabbing at herself with another.

George yanked his soaked sweatshirt over his head and stepped out of the tub. His sneakers squished as he walked across the tile floor of the old-fashioned bathroom.

" I guess you'll have to phone old man Grissom, " he said with a sheepish smile. ''Tell him that valve's just about shot and he'd better send a plumber around to take a look. "

" First thing in the morning, " Laurel said, nodding. She mopped her face and hair, then hung the towel over the rack. " I'm just sorry you got drenched. "

" No problem. Glad to help out. " George draped his arm loosely around Laurel's shoulders. Together, they sauntered down the hall toward the front door. " As for the soaking I was planning on entering a wet jeans contest anyway. "

Laurel grinned, leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.

" Uh-huh. ',

" Hey, they have wet T-shirt contests for women, right? " he said impishly as he reached for the doorknob. " Well, why not wet jeans contests for guys? " Grinning, he opened the door. " Anyhow, you know what they used to say. Save water, shower with a friend. "

" Indeed, " a voice said coldly.

Damian Skouras was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt; his tie was a deep scarlet silk, and his face was twisted in a scowl.

Laurel's throat constricted. She'd been kidding herself.

The man wasn't a copy of anybody, not when it came to looks. Kirk had been handsome but the only word that described Damian was the one she'd come up with this morning.

He was gorgeous.

He was also uninvited. And unwelcome. Definitely unwelcome, she reminded herself, and she stepped away from the wall, drew herself up to her full height and matched his scowl with one of her own.

" What, " she asked coldly, " are you doing here! '

Damian ignored the question. He was too busy trying to figure out what in hell was going on.

What do you think is going on you idiot? He asked himself, and his frown deepened.

Laurel was wearing a soaked T-shirt that clung to her like a second skin. Beneath it, her rounded breasts and nipples stood out in exciting relief. She had on a pair of faded denim shorts, her feet were bare, her hair was wet and her face was shiny and free of makeup.

She was more beautiful than ever. " Laurel? You know this guy? "

Damian turned his head and looked at the man standing beside her. Actually he wasn't standing beside her anymore. He'd moved slightly in front of her, in a defensive posture that made it clear he was ready to protect Laurel at all costs. Damian's lip curled. What would a woman see in a man like this? He was good-looking; women would think so, anyway, though he had too pretty a face for all the muscles that rippled in his bare chest and shoulders. Damian's gaze swept down the man's body. His jeans were tight and wet, and cupped him with revealing intimacy.

What the hell had been going on here? Laurel and the Bozo looked as if they'd just come in out of the rain.

Unfortunately, it hadn't rained in days.

He thought of what the guy had said about showering with a friend. It was, he knew, a joke. Besides, people didn't shower with their clothing on. Logic told him that, the same as it told him that they didn't climb out of bed wet from head to toe, but what the hell did logic have to do with anything?

Coming here, unannounced, had seemed such a clever idea. Catch her by surprise, have the limousine waiting downstairs with a chilled bottle of champagne in the built-in bar, long-stemmed roses in a crystal vase and reservations at that restaurant that had just opened with the incredible view of the city.

It hadn't occurred to him that just because the telephone directory listed an L. Bennett at this address was no guarantee that she lived alone.

" Laurel? "

The Bozo was talking to Laurel again but he hadn't taken his eyes off him.

" What's the deal? Do you know this guy? "

" Of course she knows me, " Damian snapped. " Is that right, Laurel? "

She nodded with obvious reluctance. " I know him. But I didn't invite him here. "

The Bozo folded his arms over his chest. " She knows you, " he said to Damian, " but she didn't invite you here. "

" I don't know how to break this to you, mister...? "

" Morgan, " George said. " Grey Morgan. "

Damian smiled pleasantly. " I don't know how to break this to you, Mr. Morgan, but I understood every word she said. "

" Then you'll be sure to understand this, too, " Laurel said. " Go away. "

" Go away, " the Bozo repeated, and unfolded his arms. His height, and all those rippling muscles were impressive. Good, Damian thought. He could feel the same sense of anticipation spreading through his body again, the one he'd had this afternoon when he'd wanted nothing so much as to take that photographer apart.

Maybe he'd been sitting in too many boardrooms lately, exercising his mind instead of his muscles.

Laurel was thinking almost the same thing, though not in such flattering terms. What was with this man? She could almost smell the testosterone in the air. Damian's jaw was set, his eyes glittered.

George, his buffed torso and his tight jeans, was oozing muscle; Damian was the epitome of urbanity in his expensive dark suit... but she didn't for a second doubt which of them would win if it came down to basics.

Arrogant, self-cantered, accustomed to having the world dance to his tune, and now it looked as if he had all the primitive instincts of a cobra, she thought grimly. How in hell was she going to get rid of him?

" Laurel doesn't want you here, mister. "

" What are you? " Damian said softly. " Her translator? "

" Listen here, pal, Laurel and I are-"

" We're very close, " Laurel said. She moved forward, slipped her arm through the Bozo's, looked up and gave him a smile that sent Damian's self-control slipping another notch. " Aren't we, George-I mean, Grey? "

" Yeah, " the Bozo said, after half a beat, " we are. Very, very close. "

Damian's brows lifted. Maybe George or Grey or whoever he was, was right. Maybe he did need a translator. Something was going on here but he couldn't get a handle on it. He felt the way he sometimes did when he was doing business’s in Tokyo. Everyone spoke some English, Damian could manage some Japanese, but once in a while, a word or a phrase seemed to fall through the cracks.

" So if you don't mind, Mr. Skouras, " Laurel said, putting heavy emphasis on the mister, " we'd appreciate it if you would-"

" George? Honey, are you done up there? "

They all looked down the hall. A pretty brunette stood at the bottom of the steps, smiling up at them.

" Hi, Laurel. Are you done borrowing my husband? " Damian's brows arced again. He looked at Laurel, who flushed and dropped the Bozo's arm.

" Hi, Suze. Yeah, just about. "

" Great. " The brunette came trotting up the stairs. " Did he do a good job? "

Laurel's colour deepened. " Fine, " she said quickly.

" You see, George? " The brunette dimpled. " If the ratings ever go into the toilet, you can always go back to fixing them. "

Laurel swallowed hard. Damian could see the movement of the muscles in her throat.

" He fixed my shower, " she said, with dignity.

Damian nodded. " I see. "

" Suze, " George said, clearing his throat, " Laurel's got a bit of a problem here... "

" No, " Laurel said quickly, " no, I don't. "

" But you said...? "

" It's not a problem at all. " She looked at Damian. " Mr. Skouras was just leaving. Weren't you, Mr. Skouras? "

" Yes, I was. "

" You see? So there's no need to--"

" Just as soon as you change your clothing, " he said. He leaned back against the doorjamb, arms folded, and gave her a long, assessing look. " On the other hand, what you're wearing is... rather interesting. You might want to put on a pair of shoes, though. You never know what you're liable to step in, on a New York street. "

He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the expression that swept over Laurel's face.

" I know what you've stepped in, " she said, her chin lifting and her eyes blazing into his, " but I promise you, I've no intention of going anywhere with you. "

" But our reservation is for eight, " he said blandly.

A little furrow appeared between Laurel's eyebrows.

" What reservation? "

" For dinner. "

The furrow deepened. " Dinner? "

Damian looked at Susie. They shared a conspiratorial smile. " I'd be insulted that she forgot our appointment, but I know what a long day she put in doing that Redwood Computer layout. "

" Redwood? " Susie said.

" Redwood? " George said, with interest, " the outfit that makes those hot portables? "

Damian shrugged modestly. " Well, that's what Wall Street says. I'm just pleased Laurel's doing the ads for the company. " He smiled. " Almost as pleased as I am to have had the good fortune to have purchased Redwood. "

" Redwood Comp...? " Susie's eyes widened. " Of course. Skouras. Damian Skouras. I should have recognized you. I was just reading Manhattan Magazine. Your picture’s in it. " A smile lit her pretty face. " George? " she said, elbowing her husband in the ribs, " this is... "

" Damian Skouras. " George stuck out his hand, drew it back and wiped it on his damp jeans, then stuck it out again. " A pleasure, Mr. Skouras. "

" Please, call me Damian, " Damian said modestly.

George grinned as the men shook hands. " My wife and I just bought a hundred shares of your stock. "

Damian smiled. " I'm delighted to hear it. "

I don't believe this, Laurel thought incredulously. Was it a conspiracy? First Annie and Dawn, her very own flesh and blood; now Susie and George...

" Laurel, " Susie said, " you never said a word! "

" About what? "

" About... about this, " Susie said, with a little laugh.

" Suze, you've got this all wrong. "

" You're not posing for those ads? "

" Yes. Yes, I am, but-but this man-"

" Damian, " Damian said with a smile.

" This man, " Laurel countered, " has nothing to do with-"

" My advertising people selected Laurel. With my approval, naturally. "

" Naturally, " Susie echoed.

" Imagine my surprise when we bumped into each other at my ward's wedding yesterday. " His smile glittered. " In the flesh, as it were. We had a delightful few hours. Didn't we, Laurel? And we agreed to have dinner together tonight. To discuss business, of course. "

Susie's eyes widened. She looked at Laurel, who was watching Damian as if she wished a hole in the ground would open under his feet. .

" Of course, " Susie said, chuckling.

" At The Gotham Penthouse. "

" The Gotham Penthouse! I just read a review of it in-"

" Manhattan Magazine? " Laurel said, through her teeth.

Susie nodded. " Uh-huh. It's supposed to be scrumptious! "

Damian smiled. " So I hear. Perhaps you and-is it George? "

" Yeah, " George said. God, Laurel thought with disgust, it was a good thing there was no dirt on the floor or he'd have been scuffing his toes in it. " It is. Grey's my stage name. My agent figured it sounded better. "

" Sexier, " Susie said, and smiled up at her husband.

" Well, perhaps you and your wife would like to join us? "

" No, " Laurel said sharply. Everyone looked at her. " I mean-I mean, of course, that would be lovely, but it isn't as if-"

" You don't have to explain. " Susie looped her arm through her husband's. " It's a very romantic place, The Penthouse. Well, that's what the reviewer said, anyway. "

Her smile was warm. It encompassed both Damian and Laurel as if they were a package deal. Laurel wanted to grab Susie and shake her until her teeth rattled. Or slug Damian Skouras in the jaw. Or maybe do both.

" You guys don't need an old married couple like us around. "

" Susie, " Laurel said grimly, " you really do not understand. "

" Oh, I do. " Susie grinned. " It's business. Right, Damian? "

Could a snake really smile? This one could.

" Precisely right, " Damian said.

" It would be lovely to get together for dinner some other time, though. At our place, maybe. I do a mean Beef Stroganoff-which reminds me, George, if we don't get moving, everything will be burned to a crisp. "

George's face suddenly took on a look of uncertainty.

" Laurel? You're okay with this? "

A muscle worked in Laurel's jaw. At least somebody was still capable of thinking straight, but why drag innocent bystanders into the line of fire? This was a private war, between her and Damian.

" It's fine, " she said. " And thanks for fixing the shower. "

" Hey, anytime. " George held out his hand, and Damian took it. " Nice to have met you. "

" The same here, " Damian said politely.

Susie leaned toward Laurel behind her husband's broad back.

" You never said a word, " she announced in a stage whisper that could have been heard two floors below. " Laurel, honey, this guy is gorgeous! "

This guy's a rat, Laurel thought, but she bit her tongue and said nothing.

*******

Susie had been right. The restaurant was a winner.

It had low lighting, carefully spaced tables and a magnificent view. The service was wonderful, the wine list impressive and the food looked delicious.

Laurel had yet to take a bite.

When she'd ignored the menu, Damian had simply ordered for them both. Beluga caviar, green salads, roast duck glazed with Montmorency cherries and brandy and, for a grand finale, a chocolate soufflé garnished with whipped cream that looked as light as air. .

Neither the waiter nor Damian seemed to notice her hunger strike. The one served each course, then cleared it away; the other ate, commented favourably on the meal, and kept up a light, pleasant conversation in which she refused to join.

" Coffee? " Damian said, when the soufflé had been served. " Or do you prefer tea? "

Even prisoners on hunger strikes drank liquids. Laurel looked across the table at him.

" Which are you having? "

" Coffee. As strong as possible, and black. "

Coffee was what she always drank, and just that way. Laurel gave a mental sigh.

" In that case, " she said, unsmiling, " I'll have tea. "

Damian laughed as the waiter hurried off. " Is there anything I could do to make you less inclined to insult me? "

" Would you do it, if there were? "

" Why do I have the feeling your answer might prove lethal? "

" At least you got that right! "

He sighed and shook his head, though she could see amusement glinting in his eyes. " That's not a very ladylike answer. "

" Since you're obviously not a gentleman, why should it be? And I'm truly delighted to have provided you with a laugh a minute today. First Haskell, then George and Susie, and now here I am, playing jester for the king while he dines. "

" Is that what you think? " Damian waited until their coffee and tea were served. " That I brought you here to amuse me? "

" I think you get your kicks out of tossing your weight around. "

" Sorry? "

" You like to see people dance to your tune. "

He pushed aside his dessert plate, moved his cup and saucer in front of him and folded his hands around the cup.

" That is not why I asked you to join me this evening. "

" Asked? Coerced, you mean. "

" I had every intention of asking you politely, Laurel, but when you opened the door and I saw you with that man, Grey... "

" His name is George. "

" George, Grey, what does it matter? " Damian's eyes darkened. " I saw him, half-dressed. And I saw you smiling at him. And I thought, very well, I have a choice to make. I can do as I intended, ask her to put aside the words that passed between us this morning and come out to dinner with me... "

" The answer would have been no. "

" Or, " he said, his voice roughening, " I can punch this son of a bitch in the jaw, sling her over my shoulder and carry her off. "

The air seemed to rush out of the space between them. Laurel felt as if she were fighting for breath.

" That-that's not the least bit amusing. "

" It wasn't meant to be. " Damian reached across the table and took her hand. " Something happened between us yesterday. '

" I don't know what you're talk-"

" Don't! " His fingers almost crushed hers as she sought to tug free of his grasp. " Don't lie. Not to me. Not to yourself. " A fierce, predatory light blazed in his eyes. " You know exactly what I'm talking about. I kissed you, and you kissed me back. "

Their eyes met. He wasn't a fool; lying would get her nowhere. Well, her years before the camera had taught her some things, at least.

" So what? " she said coolly. She forced a faintly mocking smile to her lips. " You caught me off guard but then, you know that. What more do you want, Damian? My admission that you kiss well? I'm sure you know that, too or doesn't your blond friend offer enough plaudits to satisfy that ego of yours? "

" Is that what this is all about? Gabriella? " Damian made an impatient gesture. " That's over with. "

" She didn't like watching her lover flirt with another woman, you mean? ' Laurel wrenched her hand free of his. " At least she's not a total idiot. "

" I broke things off last evening. "

" Last...? Not because of... "

" It was over between us weeks ago. I just hadn't gotten around to admitting it. " A smile curled across his mouth. " It hadn't occurred to me that you'd be jealous. "

" Jealous? Of you and that woman? Your ego isn't big, it's enormous! I don't even know you. "

" Get to know me, then. "

" There's no point. I'm not interested in getting involved. "

" I'm not asking you to marry me, " he said bluntly. " We're consenting adults, you and I. And something happened between us the minute we saw each other. "

" Uh-huh. And next, you're going to tell me that nothing like this has ever happened to you before. "

Laurel put her napkin on the table and slid to the end of the banquette. She'd listened to all she was going to listen to, and it wasn't even interesting. His line was no different than a thousand others.

" Laurel. "

He caught her wrist as she started to rise. His eyes had gone black; the bones in his handsome, arrogant face stood out.

" Come to bed with me. Let me make love to you until neither of us can think straight. "

Color flooded her face. " Let go, " she said fiercely, but his hand only tightened on hers.

" I dreamed of you last night, " he whispered. " I imagined kissing your soft mouth until it was swollen, caressing your breasts with my tongue until you sobbed with pleasure. I dreamed of being deep inside you, of hearing you cry out my name as you came against my mouth. "

She wanted to flee his soft words but she couldn't, even if he had let her. Her legs were weak; she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

" That is what I've wanted, what we've both wanted, from the minute we saw each other. Why do you try to deny it? "

The bluntness of his words, the heat in his eyes, the memory of what she'd felt in his arms, stole her breath away and, with it, all her hard-won denial.

Everything Damian had said was true. She couldn't pretend anymore. She didn't like him. He was everything she despised and more, but she wanted him as she'd never wanted any man, and with such desperate longing that it terrified her.

Her vision blurred. She saw herself in his arms, lying beneath him and returning kiss for kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist as she tilted her hips up to meet his possessive thrusts.

" Yes, " he said fiercely, and she looked into his eyes and knew that the time for pretence was over.

Laurel gave a soft cry. She tore her hand from Damian's, shot to her feet and flew from the restaurant, but he caught up to her just outside the door, his fingers curling around her arm like a band of steel.

" Tell me I'm wrong, " he said in a hoarse whisper, " and so help me God, I'll have my driver take you home and you'll never be bothered by me again. "

Time seemed to stand still. They stood in the warmth and darkness of the spring night, looking at each other, both of them breathing hard, and then Laurel whispered Damian's name and moved into his arms with a hunger she could no longer deny.

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