Love Songs by Barbara Delinsky

declared his intent to marry her, Alex who claimed he loved her, Alex who wanted her very much. And there was Alanna—a passionate Alanna she barely recognized. The Alanna she thought she’d known had no need for a man; this one craved Alex desperately. The Alanna she thought she’d known was in full and absolute control of herself; this one had thrown caution to the winds and lost herself in desire. The Alanna she thought she’d known was a professional, with her life neatly mapped out; this one wondered what the future held.
    Without doubt she was still opposed to marriage. She had spent the past ten-plus years of her life building defenses against it. Hadn’t her mother told her, “Don’t succumb, Alanna. You have too much to give. Develop yourself to your full potential. Don’t end up this way.…”
    She grasped the shower control and twisted it until the water ran cold and sharp. The frigid battering was just punishment for thoughts of yielding to the autocracy of Alex Knight. If she married him she would be a Knight. Her mind conjured up the image of a docile society bride, sweetly accompanying her husband to dinner parties and openings and yachting meets and Labor Day barbecues. What would happen to Alanna Evans? Though poised and polished, she was not of that ilk. She had her own life … and liked it that way.
    With a muffled groan she turned off the shower. As she dabbed the moisture from her skin her thoughts turned to the phenomenal physical attraction she felt for Alex. It was mutual—and that made it all the more exciting, all the more dangerous. Where would it end?
    “Don’t be stupid, Alanna,” she chided herself aloud. “You know perfectly well where it will end if you don’t watch yourself.” Her eye moved to the bathroom door. For a moment of reckless imagining she wondered what it would have been like had Alex made love to her here. She pictured his limbs, long and tanned, his hips, narrow and strong. When a tingling erupted in her middle she fought the image, but it persisted. In all the years during which she’d built her career she’d never been attracted to a man this way—and there had been plenty, plenty , of men to choose from had she wished. Why Alex? Why now? Why here?
    Cautiously, she opened the door, saw that her room was empty and held a towel against herself as she retrieved her nightgown from her bag and slid it over her head. That done she brushed her hair with a fierceness born of frustration, then settled down to tackle the questionnaires and sleep log she had neglected the night before. By eleven-thirty she was asleep.
    By two-fifteen, however, she was awake. The room was dark and quiet. She lay on her side, one hand tucked under her pillow, the other comfortably before her on the bed. The pale sliver of light which crept beneath her door was the only source of illumination. It took several moments for her to awaken enough to move, then stretch, then gradually make out shapes in the darkness. She sat up with a gasp.
    “It’s all right, love.” Alex rose in one fluid motion and crossed to her bed from the chair in which he had been sitting. “It’s only me.”
    “How long have you been here?” she whispered, her perceptions still hazy.
    “I’d guess for about half an hour.”
    “If Sylvia knew…” All grogginess had vanished.
    “Forget Sylvia.” He lifted the covers and slid in beside her before she could anticipate him. “I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. Just let me lie here for a while.”
    It was the sound of true fatigue, the innocent need in his voice, that Alanna found most irresistible. With tentative obedience she let him pull her back against him, curving her body to the firm lines of his. His arm fell across her waist, anchoring her in place.
    “Don’t you think we’re playing with fire, Alex?” she whispered.
    “I know we are. But we have no choice. It’s either this—or freeze.”
    His analogy was not quite apt, but she let it go