belonged to Lorraine. He’d swear it did.
But it couldn’t be her. What would she be doing in a crowded university gym on a Saturday morning? He was out of his mind to even think it was her. He hadn’t seen her for years, and lots of other women must be gifted with attractive contralto voices that had that edge of throatiness he recalled so well.
He turned and strode down the hallway toward the voice, went around the corner and collided head-on with its owner.
It was Lorraine.
Cade’s heart gave a great thud, as though he’d dropped a 20-kilogram weight on the carpet. Automatically his arms went around her, steadying her. In one startled and all-comprehensive moment he saw that she was both totally different and absolutely the same.
Her hair, which used to be a sleek, polished fall curving around her cheeks, was now pulled back into a ponytail with wisps Curling over her eyes. But it was the same warm blond, streaked from the sun. Her eyes—blank now with shock—were the smudged blue he remembered, a blue the color of kingfisher feathers. She looked tired; the shadows under her eyes were tinged a translucent shade somewhere between blue and mauve.
Her fingers, lying against the chest of his sweat-damp singlet, were slim and strong. But Lorraine at nineteen had had nails painted all shades from scarlet to garish pink; her nails were now bare of polish. Her hands were bare of rings, too, he saw with a ripple along his nerves.
The gentle curve of her belly was pressed against him, and as he looked down at her he was rewarded by an enticing and altogether disturbing view of her cleavage. Her breasts were fuller than they used to be, he thought, his mouth dry.
“Cade!” she gasped. “Cade MacInnis...what are you doing here?”
More details thrust their way into Cade’s addled brain. She was wearing an aerobics outfit, a shiny neon-pink latex top whose brevity made his head swim, and equally close-fitting black shorts. Her hips were deliciously rounded. To his horror he felt his groin begin to stiffen.
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flooded with color. Roughly Cade pushed her away, infuriated by his body’s betrayal, even more angry that she should be aware of it. He said harshly, “Lifting weights. What about you?”
“I—I have an aerobics class. But what are you doing in the city? I thought you were in Australia. Or Chile, or somewhere.”
“Australia was seven years ago, Chile eight” Realizing he was still clasping her by the shoulders, bare except for the straps of her top, he let his hands fall and bent to pick up the towel he’d dropped when she’d bumped into him. “I live here now,” he said.
“Live here? Since when?”
“A couple of months ago. You don’t look very pleased.”
That was putting it mildly. She looked appalled, distraught, even—his eyes narrowed—frightened. Now why should the reappearance of a man she’d spurned many years ago—had treated like dirt—make a woman as self-possessed as Lorraine Cartwright afraid?
She pushed a strand of hair back from her face; her fingers were trembling very slightly. Making an obvious effort to gather her wits, she said, “It’s nothing to me where you live, of course. It just startled me, that’s all, seeing you after all these years.”
“Ten,” Cade said. “Remember? The last time we talked was at the gas station in August.”
Two days after the beating. He watched her pale, then flush an unbecoming shade of red. “I suppose so. Look, I’ve got to—”
“So have you become a student in your old age, Lorraine?” he asked with an unpleasant smile.
Her chin tilted. “Lori,” she said. “I go by Lori now.”
It wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “Lori...why the change of name?”
Her chin went a little higher. “Why not?”
In other words, mind your own business, Cade MacInnis. Oddly, he thought the abbreviated name suited her. Lorraine went with the disdainful air of that much younger woman, the one with smooth hair and polished fingernails. The one way she hadn’t looked so far today was disdainful. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
He could see her searching her memory. “Oh...oh, no, I’m not a student.”
A blond guy over six feet tall and built like a football player punched her lightly on the arm with a familiarity that raised Cade’s hackles. “Hey, Lori—you ready to go?”
“I’ll be right there, Tory. Cade, I have to go, I’ve got a class. It’s been...nice to see you again.”
“Nice? Tell the truth, Lori, you’d rather I was in Patagonia. How’s Ray?”
She flashed him a look he could only describe as hunted, mumbled, “’Bye,” and, joined by a crowd of students, headed for the large room where aerobics classes were held.
Cade stayed where he was, his eyes glued to the blond ponytail of the woman he had once loved with all the desperation of youth, and then had hated equally fiercely and with youth’s complete lack of compromise. Nice to see you... Who are you kidding, Lorraine Cartwright? Patagonia’s too close for your liking. Central Antarctica would suit you better.
She was no more indifferent to him than he to her. That much he’d learned from a conversation as baffling as it had been brief. That, and the fact that for some reason his sudden appearance had frightened her.
He strolled over to the ceiling-high windows that bordered one side of the aerobics room. The music had already started, poundingly loud, with an accelerated rock beat that was one of the reasons he’d never ventured near an aerobics class. Then his fist tightened on his towel. Lori was perched on a raised dais at the front of the room, doing toe taps and arm raises as the beginning of a warm-up. She wasn’t a member of the class. She was teaching it.
Lorraine Cartwright teaching an aerobics class to a bunch of students? What the hell was going on? The Lorraine he knew might have been riding her thoroughbred horse, or shopping in Montreal, or going to plays and concerts in New York. But she wouldn’t have been teaching aerobics.
The class was mixed, male and female, with a preponderance of students in bright garb, but also with some older people in the back rows, even a gray head or two. The student called Tory was in the front row, enthusi-astically jabbing his fists over his head. Cade stepped closer, watching Lori as she started marching on the spot. Her breasts bounced as she moved. The smooth play of muscles in her arms and legs bewitched him. Oh great, he thought caustically. A cold shower, that’s what you need, and saw her glance in his direction. Her step faltered, losing the beat.
Too bad I’m not in Patagonia, isn’t it, Lori? Too bad I’m right here in Halifax. Because you and I have some unfinished business, and I’m going to make damn sure we deal with it.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, she hurriedly looked away, picking up the rhythm again. Cade had had enough of watching her. He shouldered his towel and headed for the showers.
When he emerged, wearing jeans and a summer shirt, his hair in wet curls on his scalp, the class was still in progress. Everyone was jogging on the spot, doing arm raises at a fast clip; Lori looked as cool and energetic as she had twenty
