down again, infuriated with him. “I dance. That’s what I do. That’s all I do. I’ve worked hard all my life at ballet, and now I’m beginning to reap the rewards for it. I like my life. So it was probably a good thing that I found out how you felt about me in time, wasn’t it? I had a lucky escape, Steve,” she added bitterly.
He moved close, just close enough to make her feel threatened, to make her aware of him so that she’d look up.
He smiled with faint cruelty. “Does your good fortune compensate?” he asked with soft sarcasm.
“For what?”
“For knowing how much other women enjoy lying in my arms in the darkness.”
She felt her composure shatter, and knew by the smile that he’d seen it in her eyes.
“Damn you!” she choked.
He turned away, laughing. “That’s what I thought.” He paused at the doorway. “Tell your brother I’ll call him tomorrow.” His eyes narrowed. “I hated you when your mother handed me the ring you’d left with her. You were the biggest mistake of my life. And, as you said, it was a lucky escape. For both of us.”
He turned and left, his steady footsteps echoing down the hall before the door opened and closed with firm control behind him. Meg stood where he’d left her, aching from head to toe with renewed misery. He said he’d hated her in the past, but it was still there, in his eyes, when he looked at her. He hadn’t stopped resenting her for what she’d done, despite the fact that he’d been unfaithful to her. He was in the wrong, so why was he blaming Meg?
“Where’s Steve?” her brother asked when he reappeared.
“He had to go. He had a hot date,” she said through her teeth.
“Good old Steve. He sure can draw ’em. I wish I had half his…Where are you going?”
“To bed,” Meg said from the staircase, and her voice didn’t encourage any more questions.
Meg only wished that she had someplace to go, but she was stuck in Wichita for the time being. Stuck with Steven always around, throwing his new conquests in her face. She limped because of the accident, and the tendons were mending, but not as quickly as she’d hoped. The doctor had been uncertain as to whether the damage would eventually right itself, and the physical therapist whom Meg saw three times a week was uncommunicative. Talk to the doctor, she told Meg. But Meg wouldn’t, because she knew she wasn’t making much progress and she was afraid to know why.
Besides her injury, there was no work in New York for her just now. Her ballet company couldn’t perform without funds, and unless they raised some soon, she wouldn’t have a job. It was a pity to waste so many years of her life on such a gamble. She loved ballet. If only she were wealthy enough to finance the company herself, but her small dividends from her stock in Ryker Air wouldn’t be nearly enough.
David didn’t have the money, either, but Steve did. She grimaced at just the thought. Steve would throw the money away or even burn it before he’d lend any to Meg. Not that she’d ever ask him, she promised herself. She had too much pride.
She’d tried not to panic at the thought of never dancing again. She consoled herself with a small dream of her own, of opening a ballet school here in Wichita. It would be nice to teach little girls how to dance. After all, Meg had studied ballet since her fourth birthday. She certainly had the knowledge, and she loved children. It was an option that she’d never seriously considered before, but now, with her injury, it became a security blanket. It was there to keep her going. If she failed in one area, she still had prospects in another. Yes, she had prospects.
The next morning, it was raining. Meg looked out the front window and smiled wistfully, because the rain pounding down on the sprouting grass and leafing trees suited her mood. It was late spring. There were flowers blooming and, thank God, no tornadoes looming with this shower. The rain was nice, if unexpected.
She did her exercises, glowering at the ankle that was still stiff and painful after weeks of patient work. David was at the office and no doubt so was Steve—if he wasn’t too worn out from the night before, she thought furiously. How dare he rub his latest conquest in her face and make sarcastic and painful remarks about it?
He wasn’t the person she’d known at eighteen. That Steve had been a quiet man without the cruelty of this new man who used women and tossed them aside. Or perhaps he’d always been like this, except that Meg had been looking at him through loving eyes and missed all his flaws.
She didn’t expect to see him again after his harshness the night before, but David telephoned just before he left the office with an invitation to dinner from Steve.
“We’ve just signed a new contract with a Middle-Eastern potentate. We’re taking his representative out for dinner and Steve wants you to come with us.”
“Why me?” she asked with faint bitterness. “Am I being offered as a treat to his client or is he thinking of selling me into slavery on the Barbary Coast? I understand blondes are still much in demand there.”
David didn’t catch the bitterness in her voice. He laughed uproariously, covered the mouthpiece and mumbled something. “Steve says that’s not a bad idea, and for you to wear a harem outfit.”
“Tell him fat chance,” she mumbled. “I don’t know if I want to go. Surely Steven has plenty of women who could help him entertain his business friends.”
“Don’t be difficult,” David chided. “A night out would do you good.”
“All right. I’ll be ready when you get home.”
“Good.”
She hung up, wondering why she’d given in. Steven had probably invited one of his women and was going to rub Meg’s face in his latest conquest. She herself would no doubt be tossed to the Arab for dessert. Well, he was due for a surprise if he thought she’d go along with his plotting!
By the time David opened the front door, Meg was dressed in an outfit she’d bought for a Halloween party in New York: a black dress that covered her from just under her ears to her ankles, set off by a wide silver belt and silver-sprayed flat shoes. It was impossible to wear high heels just yet, and even though her limp wasn’t pronounced, walking was difficult enough in flats. Her hair was in its neat bun and she wore no makeup. She didn’t realize that her fair beauty made makeup superfluous anyway. She had an exquisitely creamy complexion with a natural blush all its own.
“Wow!” David whistled.
She glowered at him. “You aren’t supposed to approve. I’m rebelling. This is a revolutionary outfit, not debutante dressing.”
“I know that, and so will Steve. But—” he grinned as he took her arm and herded her out the door “—believe me, he’ll approve.”
3
David’s remark made sense until he escorted Meg into the restaurant where Steve—surprisingly without a woman in tow—and a tall, very dark Arab in an expensive European suit were seated. The men stood up as Meg and David approached. The Arab’s gaze was approving. The puzzle pieces as to why Steve would be happy with her outfit fell into place.
“Remember that the Middle East isn’t
