The Cutting Edge

“Hillary, I’m not a threat to you. Please believe me. Sammy’s just a friend to me, nothing else.”

“But what about the way he feels about you?”

“He’s definitely not in love with me; I promise!” Before she could say anything else to reassure the girl, Sammy came back into the room with a tray of drinks. He carefully set it down away from his equipment.

“I’ll be right back with the sandwiches.”

“I’ll help!” Scrambling to her feet, Hillary hurried after him.

Feeling definitely de trop, Tessa called after them, “Just one sandwich for me; I have to be leaving soon.”

When they came back into the room, Sammy frowned at her. “But we haven’t played chess yet.”

“It’s later than I thought, and tomorrow is a working day,” she reminded him.

He looked guilty. “I guess I got carried away over Nelda.”

“I enjoyed hearing about Nelda,” she reassured him.

“I know you’ve probably been bored, but really, I think we’re going to be able to market Nelda. Hillary and I have put a lot of time and money into her; she’s really something.”

Was he talking about the computer or Hillary? Probably the computer. Deciding to give him a nudge in the right direction, Tessa said blandly, “It must be marvelous to have someone like Hillary, someone who understands your work and wants the same things you do.”

Hillary flushed, but Sammy wasn’t paying any attention. “Yeah, she’s really great.”

As quickly as she could without appearing rude, Tessa downed her sandwich and drank her cold drink, then gathered up her purse and light coat. “I really have to be going now.”

Sammy walked her to the door. “I owe you a chess lesson,” he said, smiling. “How about tomorrow night?”

For some reason, Tessa thought she’d probably had her last chess lesson. It was better not to cause trouble. “I already have plans for tomorrow night, and I know you better than that, anyway! You’re still going to be playing with Nelda to see if she can do everything you think she can.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders to work out the kinks. “You’re probably right. We still have a lot of work to do on her. Maybe next week?”

“Maybe,” she said, giving him a smile. He’d be so involved with his work that he’d never notice; she had been the one who had pursued their friendship, easing him out of part of his shyness.

Later that evening, when she was ready for bed, she sat with pillows behind her back and a pad of writing paper on her knees. Her weekly letter to Aunt Silver was its usual mixture of news and comment, and at the end of it she mentioned Brett Rutland. As she sealed the envelope she smiled to herself. She’d deliberately been casual in her mention of him, knowing that Aunt Silver’s antennae would begin quivering as soon as she read the name.

* * *

BILLIE HAD BROUGHT coffee and doughnuts for their midmorning break, and they had just begun their second doughnut when Tessa’s phone rang. She answered it absently.

“I just want to confirm tonight. Six-thirty.”

She hadn’t heard his voice on the phone before, but there was no mistaking his identity. She closed her eyes briefly at the pleasure that rippled through her at just the sound of his voice. “Yes. Six-thirty.”

“Do you like to dance?”

“Did granny wear garters?”

His low, rough laugh filled her ear. “Wear your dancing shoes.”

When she hung up the phone, Tessa was aware that her heart wasn’t beating in its regular rhythm, and she felt a little breathless. Even over the phone, his impact almost knocked her down. She thought of his thick, tawny brown hair and navy eyes, and it became even more difficult to breathe.

“Don’t you ever stay at home?” Billie said automatically. It was practically standard procedure for Tessa to have at least one offer to go out every day.

“Of course I do. You know Monday night is laundry night.”

They laughed together, but Tessa’s mind was already on the coming night. They would have dinner, go out dancing…and then what? Would he try to make love to her again? She was afraid that he would, and even more afraid that he wouldn’t.

Billie regarded her friend thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you get cloudy-eyed over a man. Is this one special to you?”

“I’m afraid he will be.” Well aware of the admission in those few words, Tessa wound her suddenly shaking fingers together.

“You don’t want to fall in love? Sometimes I think I’d give anything I own to find the right guy, the real McCoy.” Why should Tessa, of all people, be nervous about a man? Of all the people Billie knew, Tessa was the most comfortable with men, a woman who honestly enjoyed a man’s company. It didn’t make sense for her to be so wary.

Tessa didn’t volunteer Brett’s name, and Billie didn’t ask, for which Tessa was grateful. She didn’t know how Brett felt about their connection being known, but she knew she wouldn’t like the gossip that would flow as surely as the tides followed the moon if it became known that she was seeing Brett Rutland. His position automatically made their relationship difficult. She was totally uninterested in climbing the corporate ladder, but that wouldn’t keep people from saying that she was trying to get ahead on the strength of her performance in the bedroom rather than in the office.

Because of her uneasiness at both the way she was beginning to feel about him and the difficult situation she could find herself in at work, she was quiet that night. She could feel his cool gaze dissecting her, trying to probe her thoughts. Over coffee, he asked, “Has something upset you?” His voice was so even that it took her a moment to hear the steel in it.

She blew across the steaming surface of the coffee, then sipped it. “Not really. I’m a little at a loss. Would you rather not have people from the office know we’ve been out together?”

“I don’t give a damn who knows.”

“I know I’m being premature in worrying about it. After all, we’ve only been out twice, and that doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, it does mean,” he interrupted, reaching for her hand. He put his hand on the table, palm up, and looked at her slender fingers as they lay across his palm. The contrast in their hands was striking, in ways besides the obvious one of size. His hands were powerful, lean and hard, with long fingers and short clean nails, his fingertips rough, his skin bronzed. Her hands were slim and delicate, the bones so fragile that her fingers were almost translucent, her oval nails polished. Her hands bore no rings.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked abruptly, looking at her bare fingers.

“No.”

“Engaged?”

She sipped her coffee for a moment before replying. “Twice.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“I found out that I didn’t love either of them enough.”

“You must have thought you did, at one time.”

She sighed and looked away from him. She didn’t particularly want to talk about her failed engagements, which to her were almost as bad as failed marriages, but she could sense his determination to get the details out of her.

“The first time, it was an infatuation that I took for love, that’s all. I was in college, and Will was a medical student. He wanted us to get married right away; he’d already planned for me to quit college and put him through school. I gave him his ring back.”

He was watching her very closely, reading every nuance of expression that crossed her face. “And the second time?” he asked, dismissing Will as unimportant because he sensed her reluctance to continue.

“Andrew,” she said slowly, somehow feeling compelled to answer him. “He did something that hurt me, and I didn’t love him enough to forgive him.”