When Next We Love by Heather Graham Page B

oddly speculative as he watched Leigh. “Pied Piper. For his flute.”
    “That’s it! I love it!” John Haley decided jubilantly.
    “And now …” Derek sipped at his warm glass and brushed at the mustache that no longer existed. “We need one for Leigh.”
    “But I’m not with the group!” she cried.
    “You will be,” he corrected. “For the next album.”
    “True! True!” Roger delightedly tapped on the aluminum table. “Maybe the Wizardess of Oz?”
    “No!” John protested quickly, and Leigh saw by the glance he exchanged with Roger that he was reminding him Leigh now belonged with Derek. “No, Leigh should have her own special name.”
    “Wonder Woman?” Roger tried.
    “Ugh!” from Leigh.
    “There’s always the Black Widow,” Derek proposed innocently. “But actually, I have a better one, The Lady of the Lake. Medieval and quite fitting too, considering Leigh is only truly happy in or around water.”
    Leigh shrugged and downed the tail end of her drink. The peculiar look Derek continued to give her was making her terribly uneasy. If she were an animal, she would be sniffing the air for danger.
    “Sounds good,” she said, suppressing a faked yawn. “I think I will go up now, if you all don’t mind.” Without meaning to, she glanced at Derek for his approval, wincing inwardly at the amusement and spark of triumph that sped briefly through his eyes.
    “I’ll walk you up,” he offered.
    “You don’t really need to,” Leigh demurred. If she could only move quickly enough … She planted a light kiss on top of his head and waved jauntily to Roger and John. “You all stay and talk!” She scampered into the house, confident that Derek would not follow now.
    But he did. He was knocking at her door even as she closed it.
    “What, Derek,” she moaned, throwing it back open to admit him.
    “I just wanted to tell you good night and”—he leaned against the door with sardonic amusement—“good show.”
    “Isn’t that what you want?” she jeered.
    “Umm …”
    “Well good night and thank you.” Her sarcasm ruffled him not at all. He continued to watch her, curiously, as if he had seen something new. Then he chuckled. “Good night … me lass!”
    He left, closing the door with a snap behind him.
    “What ails that man?” Leigh wondered aloud irritably as she bolted the door uneasily. She shook her head with disgust and changed into a shirt with little thought. She was so tired! She had been at Derek’s for less than forty-eight hours and he had totally exhausted her.
    Yet sleep, when she had tucked herself into the four-poster, was hard to come by. Her eyes kept flying open as her mind raced on.
    Derek was blatantly oat for revenge. And in a way she understood his feelings. She could well remember the way Richard could tell a story, the way he could make you almost believe it was night when it was day. And she, like a fool, had fostered Derek’s belief in her coldhearted infidelity by her impulsive angry words.
    At moments, she thought wistfully, Derek honestly wanted her. She instinctively knew when his touch was sincere. But, and she hardened her heart, Derek honestly wanted a number of attractive females. He was a womanizer, like Richard.
    Games. All they did was play games together. Hers had been one of unrequited love and desire; his was based entirely on bittersweet revenge. He was making all the plays; as yet, she had hardly had a turn.
    But the chance for her move would come. And when it did she asked herself wryly, which way would she turn?

CHAPTER FIVE
    “Y OU’RE A LUCKY GIRL, Leigh. Like those model types in the soap operas who manage to waken in perfect form.”
    Leigh rapidly blinked the sleep from her eyes to stare wrathfully at the figure casually seated, hands around knees, at the foot of her bed.
    “How did you get in here?”
    “Key, of course. I own the house, remember,” Derek replied.
    “Good,” she told him curtly. “Go find somewhere else in your