Free Snowflakes on the Sea by Linda Lael Miller Page B

hooked Cinnamon’s leash to her collar and flipped the seat forward so that the dog could leap out onto the paved driveway and wriggle in the joy of sudden freedom. “If you would?” she said to George, indicating the car.
    George Roberts nodded, smiling. “I’ll have it parked for you, Ms. O’Connor. Is there any luggage?”
    Mallory was already leading a delighted Cinnamon toward the well-lighted, posh lobby of the building. “There is,” she called over one shoulder. “But please don’t worry about it now. I’ll get it in the morning.”
    No one inside the building looked askance at Mallory and her canine companion, and no comments were made during the elevator ride either, though there were a surprising number of people crowded inside. Mallory liked to think that they were being kind—pets other than birds or tropical fish were strictly forbidden by general agreement—but she knew the real reason was simply deference to Nathan. After all, he owned the building.
    On the top floor, Mallory fumbled with the keys for several seconds, her hands numbed by the cold outside, and then managed to open the double doors leading into the penthouse. She paused in the lighted, marble-floored entryway, her eyes rising to the polished antique grandfather clock opposite the door. It was still very early—what was she going to do with the rest of the evening?
    Mallory sighed as Cinnamon whimpered beside her; in her turmoil she’d forgotten how very inconvenient the high-rise apartment building would be for the poor creature, who was used to roaming the island at will. With glum resignation, Mallory locked the penthouse again and pushed the button that would summon one of the two elevators serving the building.
    The doorman raised a curious eyebrow when Mallory and Cinnamon stepped out into the snowy night so soon after going in. But he said nothing.
    Mallory walked Cinnamon until she could bear the stinging cold no longer, and then went home again. After feeding the dog two cans of liver pâfaté in the enormous kitchen, Mrs. Nathan McKendrick marched down the hallway to the plush master bedroom and began shedding her clothes.
    Looking up at the huge skylight over the bed, at the shifting lace of glistening snow, Mallory felt tears smarting in her eyes. How many times had she and Nathan made love in this bed, with the sky stretched out above them like a beautiful mural? She swallowed hard, tossed back the covers of the oversize round bed and crawled between icy satin sheets. Cinnamon settled companionably at her feet with a canine sigh, her nose resting on her red, shaggy paws, her great weight causing the mattress to slope slightly.
    In spite of everything, Mallory laughed. “You lead a tough life, dog,” she said, reaching out to switch off the lamp beside the bed. “Sorry we were out of caviar, but such is life.”
    Cinnamon made a contented sound and went to sleep.
    Mallory, however, spent several hellish hours just staring up at the moving patterns of eiderdown snow on the skylight. She’d been wrong to leave the island without a word to anyone; she knew that now and guessed that she’d known it all along.
    The thing was, she just hadn’t been able to face another night of waiting for Nathan.
    So what do you call this? she asked herself ruthlessly. Aren’t you waiting, even now, for him to call or show up? Preferably with some convincing reason for leaving the island with Diane and not even bothering to let you know first?
    Mallory turned restlessly onto her side. Why should she have left word for him? Hadn’t he been equally thoughtless?
    Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. It was possible that Nathan wouldn’t even know she was gone for hours yet, and that was the hardest thing of all to bear.
    She buried her face in the smoothness of her pillow and cried until her throat was raw. Then, fitfully, she slept.
    Nathan glanced at the clock on the Porsche’s dashboard and grimaced. Damn, it was late.
    Diane