Husband Potential Page 7

  “Tomorrow night would be perfect. What time?”

  “Can I call you?”

  “Do you have my number?”

  “I have the latest church directory.”

  “It’s in there. I’ll look forward to seeing you.” She turned to go.

  “Surely you’re not leaving the open house yet. You haven’t tasted my mother’s chicken-and-broccoli casserole.” Nothing seemed to have escaped Howard’s notice. But she’d lost her appetite after her encounter with the monk.

  No, not a monk. He wasn’t a man of the cloth. She didn’t know who he was.

  Pausing midstride she said, “I’ve been out of town most of the day and I have a dozen things to do before work in the morning. Do you mind if I duck out?”

  His eyes narrowed on her features, almost as if he knew she was hiding a guilty secret from the world.

  “Of course not. I should consider myself lucky you came by the house at all. I’ll call you tomorrow either at your work or your apartment.”

  He had definitely grown up.

  The younger man would have pressed her to stay until he’d forced her to say something cutting so he would stop. This new mature version was willing to bide his time.

  “Thank you. Good night, Howard.”

  “Thank you, Fran. Good night.”

  It was dark out and growing colder. Because of the crowd at the Barker house, she’d had to park a block down the street. Anxious to get home and try to come to terms with what happened to her earlier in the evening, she hurried toward her car. Before she reached it, she saw something white which had been placed beneath her windshield wiper.

  At first she thought it must be an ad. But one look at all the other cars and she realized the envelope had been put there on purpose for her.

  With her heart in her throat she grabbed it, then got in her car. Once inside, she locked the doors before turning on the map light to read the contents.

  Her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t hold the note steady.

  In bold, beautiful cursive writing it read:

  Francesca,

  I didn’t follow you to frighten you. Since I don’t know where you live, and I have no desire to upset you by phoning your office or showing up there again without an invitation, I was left with no other alternative than this one.

  By the time you read my note, I’ll be back at the monastery waiting for you to come. The chapel doors will be left open until midnight. We need to talk. If you don’t come, then I’ll know the feelings I experienced while I was kissing you a while ago were all on my part, and I won’t bother you again.

  Andre.

  Fran’s mouth went dry as sawdust. She read the note a dozen times before crushing it in her palm.

  Andre Benet knew exactly what he was doing. No matter how many unanswered questions she had about him, he realized her greatest fear was of her own unbridled response to the passion he’d brought to life inside her.

  She didn’t have to be a prophetess to know that if she drove to the monastery tonight, they wouldn’t stay in the chapel to talk.

  With her body still on fire for him, his note tempted her to do something she could never have imagined doing before she met him. But if she obeyed that desire, something told her she would live to regret it forever.

  Tonight Howard had asked her to go out with him. Because he was a thoroughly nice person, and because she felt guilty over her treatment of him years ago, she had decided to accept his invitation for dinner.

  What kind of a woman would she be if she could make a date with a man whose family she’d known for years, only to run back to the arms of a footloose, enigmatic stranger whose past she knew nothing about in order to experience his lovemaking the second she was out of Howard’s sight?

  You’d be the female version of your father.

  Horrified by the answer, Fran started up the car and headed for her apartment as if demons were in pursuit.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANDRE KNEW FRANCESCA wanted to come. She couldn’t have responded to him the way she had unless she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. That explosion of need wasn’t something either of them would be able to forget.

  But even as he’d penned his note, he knew in his heart of hearts she wouldn’t come tonight. She wasn’t ready to admit the depth of her feelings for him yet.

  Still, he intended to wait until midnight, and sat down on the stone bench outside the monastery to catch up on his correspondence. Beneath the exterior wall lamp he read the latest letter from Gerda.

  Dear Andre

  Your package arrived like a gift from heaven. I could not stop crying. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  I would also like to thank the beautiful young journalist. Maybe one day soon I’ll be able to do that in person.

  As you know when we all met in Los Angeles to attend the concert together, Harbin had just finished up interviews for a teaching position in the States.

  Well, we have now heard back with wonderful news. He was offered professorships at UCLA, The University of Washington, and the University of Utah. The best news is, he has decided to accept the position of associate professor of German at the University of Utah.

  So we are moving to Salt Lake for good! Since I first heard the Tabernacle Choir sing, I have always wanted to live there.

  We are at this minute packing up our house in Zurich, and making preparations to come by the first of December. We won’t be able to look for a place to live until we arrive there, but I don’t mind. My prayers have been answered. God has been so good to me and my family, I could never complain about anything.

  Andre, mein schatz, you do realize that once we are settled, you will always have a standing invitation to stay with us whenever you pass through Salt Lake to visit your father’s grave. Our home is your home. You know that.

  I’ll talk to you again soon. Take care of yourself.

  With much love,

  Gerda.

  He shook his head incredulously. Gerda and her family were going to make a home in Salt Lake of all places. Who would ever have dreamed it?

  Of course the news was as delightful to him as it was unexpected.

  He pocketed her letter and pulled out the newspaper. After following Francesca to her party, he’d purchased one at another convenience store. With an eagerness abetted by a surge of pure adrenaline, he turned to the real estate section.

  At one minute past twelve, he folded the paper beneath his arm and went inside to turn out lights and lock up. Before long he would find himself a place to live.

  Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to invite Gerda and her family to stay with him. After they’d opened their home to him while he’d been a student in Zurich, he could finally return the favor.

  But that only gave him a month to buy the right house in the right neighborhood and get it furnished in time for guests. It meant he would have to work fast if all his plans for the future were going to materialize.

  Howard insisted on walking Fran to the front door of her apartment in the lighted twelve-unit complex. She could tell from the way he was looking at her that he didn’t want the evening to end. Fran, on the other hand, was still in too much turmoil over Andre Benet to know how she felt about anything.

  “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Howard. I really enjoyed it.”

  “So did I. How would you like to attend the opera with me next Friday night? They’re putting on ‘The Marriage of Figaro.’”

  “If I weren’t going to be out of town, I’d love it.”

  His brows came together. “A magazine assignment?”

  “Yes. I’m doing an article on the West Desert which includes covering the car races at the Bonneville Salt Flats.”

  “That means you’ll be spending the night in Wendover.”

  She could tell where his thoughts were headed. Not wanting to give him the chance to ask if he could join her she said, “Actually I’m camping out at Blue Lake with friends. You
remember Sylvia Wherett?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Sylvia remembers you. I happen to know she had a huge crush on you in high school. All the girls did.”

  There was no answering smile. “I didn’t notice.”

  Once again Fran had said the wrong thing. Every time she tried to keep things light, his response tended to put a damper on the conversation.

  “Well, that was a long time ago. She’s married now. Fred, her husband, is a diving master who teaches scuba diving for the University of Utah. She’s in his class. The students are driving out there this weekend to certify. I’m going to take some pictures and do a few interviews as part of my article. I don’t think I’ll be home until late Sunday night.”

  He eyed her through veiled eyes. “Was this a token date, Fran? My parents forced you to come to the open house, and you felt you had no choice but to take pity on me?”

  “No,” she protested. “I swear that’s not the case.”

  “Then there’s someone else, and the two of you are in the middle of an argument.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Howard. I haven’t dated in months.” The unexpected encounters with Andre were something else….

  “That doesn’t mean a thing if your emotions are involved elsewhere,” he persisted. “I’ve been around the block a few times. Believe me, I know when my date is with me or not. Tonight I had dinner with a lovely facsimile of Fran Mallory, but the real woman was nowhere to be found.”

  She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re the last person in the world I would want to offend.”

  “I believe you. So tell me what’s really going on with you. Are you in love with this man?”

  “I told you,” she insisted, her voice throbbing, “it’s not like that.”

  “Then what is it like?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  He let out a defeated sigh. “Time hasn’t changed you. You’re still fighting your own nature.”

  Her head lifted “What do you mean?”

  “Your father did a lot of damage. Have you considered counseling?”

  She might have resented the question if it had been asked by anyone but Howard.

  An image of Dr. Wilcox flashed through her mind. “Actually I have.”

  “Then it would be a step in the right direction. The fact is, I’d like to get to know you a good deal better, but that’s never going to happen until you’ve worked through your distrust of men and learn to risk loving again. Good night, Fran.”

  He was down the steps before she could think to call out to him. “Howard? Please don’t leave here upset. May I phone you next week?”

  After a brief silence, “Only if you mean it.”

  He had just put her on notice that he was not a man to be trifled with. She would have to know her own mind before she tried to contact him again.

  Long after she’d let herself inside the apartment and had gone to bed, Fran lay there wide awake pondering his remarks. Other people—her mother, Barney, Paul—had told her the same thing. But hearing it from Howard brought it down to a much more personal level.

  He wasn’t only a medical doctor giving expert advice—he was a very attractive, intelligent, decent, eligible man who had everything to offer a woman. There was no doubt in Fran’s mind he would make a wonderful husband. She should be flattered that he wanted to get to know her better. She was flattered.

  More than that, she admired him for not being willing to put up with a twenty-eight-year-old woman who should have done something about her emotional hang-ups long before now.

  If she could get past them, then she could explore what might be between her and Howard. But before she dared approach him, she needed to get Andre Benet out of her system.

  Fran turned over on her stomach and hugged the pillow like a lifeline. What a coward she’d been to run away from him on Sunday. It proved how dysfunctional she really was.

  If she had just accepted his invitation to spend the rest of the evening with him, she wouldn’t be in such torment now. Her unwillingness to meet him halfway had provoked him into kissing her.

  She had no doubt that part of her overwhelming physical response to his lovemaking stemmed from the fact that he represented the proverbial forbidden fruit. Take away the mystery and she could view him like she did any other man of her acquaintance.

  Who was it who said there was no greater fear than fear itself?

  Andre hadn’t done anything so horrible. Following her to the Barker’s house to put a note on her car hadn’t constituted a crime. He wasn’t a monk, and never had been!

  That was her problem. Her mind persisted in thinking of him in that light. It was his fault for perpetuating the lie for so long. But he’d also explained his reasons for keeping the truth from her, reasons which threw her into another kind of turmoil she didn’t want to think about.

  Nevertheless, she now knew Andre was an eligible male. Naturally he’d responded like one. It was Fran who’d behaved abnormally. The first time she’d gone out to the monastery had been a favor to Paul. But after that she could have asked someone else on staff to finish up the assignment.

  Instead, she’d bought a new dress and had entered the gift shop like a lovesick schoolgirl frantic to talk to the object of her desire. She had no right to blame him for pursuing her. If anything she’d been the one to initiate her present predicament.

  No one needed to tell her that if she stayed on this track, she might end up a bitter old woman Until now she hadn’t really cared. But seeing Howard again after all these years reminded her how long she’d been angry with her father.

  Without knowing the details, Howard had zeroed in on her problem and had given her a real wake-up call. Maybe he was right, and she’d allowed the hurt to canker her soul to the point that she was incapable of trusting any man. It was an ugly indictment, one she thought about the rest of the night.

  When morning came, she phoned the office to inform them she’d be in late. Then she got ready and headed for the monastery.

  No doubt Andre would be surprised to see her. But since her private phone and address were unlisted, and since he’d made it clear he wouldn’t bother her at the office without an invitation first, she realized it was up to her if they were ever to see each other again.

  For her peace of mind she needed to talk to him one more time. He was no longer a mystery to her. She could view him the same way she viewed any man she met in the everyday course of her work.

  He would say A, and she would say B. By the end of their conversation, she would have no more curiosity about him than she would someone like Paul. At that point she’d be able to walk away and move on to Howard without any ghosts between them. Fran recognized that Howard Barker was the kind of man you married.

  If she hadn’t allowed her father’s sins to cripple her, who knows what might have happened between her and the pastor’s son years earlier. She owed it to herself to find out because Howard had made it clear he wouldn’t wait around forever.

  It was a typical winter morning, overcast and freezing cold. Snow from the last storm covered the grounds and roof of the monastery. As she made her away along the private drive, she noticed an elegant, state-of-the-art, midnight-blue Mercedes sedan coming toward her from the direction of the monastery.

  She slowed down and pulled to the far right, to allow the other car to pass. To her surprise, the Mercedes came to a full stop when it reached her. Curiosity prompted her to gaze at the unsmiling, black-haired male at the wheel.

  Andre.

  The world stood still.

  He looked…wonderful. In a black turtleneck sweater, there was no other word to describe his dark, virile appeal.

  His eyes played over her hair and face, but no words passed his lips. He wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She deserved that.

  But during the night, when she’d thought about her plan to confront him, it had been in theory only. Seeing him in the flesh wasn’t supposed to ma
ke her heart leap like this.

  “G-Good morning,” she stammered, feeling as awkward as a schoolgirl.

  As his eyes narrowed on her mouth, she was reminded of Sunday evening when he’d kissed them both into oblivion. She could hardly breathe.

  In a gush of words she said, “I came to see you, but it appears you have other plans so—”

  “Drive your car to the parking area and I’ll follow,” he cut in before she could finish.

  Her body, particularly her legs, shook so hard she didn’t know if she could function well enough to put her economy car in gear and travel the short distance to the monastery. But by some miracle she made it to her destination.

  Before she’d turned off the ignition, he’d pulled up next to her and was out of his car. With each step that brought him closer, her pulse accelerated.

  Determined not to be a captive audience again, she hurriedly got out to face him on an equal footing. But that was a mistake because he stood too close to her. With his hands on his hips, he looked incredibly masculine. She couldn’t help but notice the way his jeans molded his powerful thighs, emanating a soul-destroying sensuality. Fran felt it in every atom of her body.

  “Have you taken the day off from work?”

  “No. I phoned in and told them I’d be there later.”

  His gaze made an intimate sweep of her face and jacket-clad figure. “How much later?”

  She bit her lip. “For as long as it took to talk to you. That is, presuming I could find you.”

  “Evidently you prefer seven-thirty in the morning to the last stroke of midnight,” he murmured dryly, causing her to blush. “Have you had breakfast?”