Free When Next We Love by Heather Graham Page A

even figured out who she was and it was my party!” His chuckle expanded to an explosive laugh. “You should have seen Derek that night! He left with the lady and he never discovered who she was! The poor boy was fit to be tied. He tore Atlanta apart for a month looking for her.”
    Leigh forced herself to join his laughter. She was feeling a little ill, having forgotten that John Haley had been her host on that night …
    “It must have been a good party,” she agreed jauntily. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
    “Missed what?”
    A chill crept down Leigh’s neck as Derek came back in, clad in a new pair of jeans. She again had the sensation that his golden eyes were seeing through her, that the light in them pierced straight to her heart.
    “I was telling her about that party I had in Atlanta,” John explained. “And the one who got away from Derek Mallory.”
    “Oh,” Derek said, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and sitting, one leg casually draped over the other. He smiled noncommittally. “I still think I’ll find the lady one of these days.”
    John laughed. “The man never gives up.”
    “No,” Derek agreed. “I never do.”
    Leigh picked up her coffee cup but the liquid was splashing dangerously. She set it back down. “Can I bother one of you for a cigarette? I seem to have left mine upstairs.”
    Both men solicitously offered her their packs. As Derek was closer, she accepted one from him. He grinned at the slight trembling apparent in her hand as he offered her a light.
    “Nervous this morning, aren’t you?”
    “Am I?” She inhaled and exhaled. “Maybe. I don’t like being confined.”
    “We’ll get some work done and take your mind off the confinement then,” Derek said. “Finish up your coffee and your cigarette and we’ll get into ‘Henry the Eighth.’”
    “I’m anxious to hear this,” John supplied eagerly.
    Leigh’s reply was for Derek alone. “I told you I didn’t want to do the damn thing!” she snapped.
    “And you also told our late-night visitor of the silver pen that you were here on business,” Derek reminded her. His sensuous lips were set in a smile, but his eyes were narrowed and gleamed devilishly. His words had been part challenge—part warning?
    Leigh stubbed out her cigarette and walked swiftly to the door. “I’ll play what I remember, Derek—then you take it from there. I’m going home as soon as the weather clears. And I’m not coming back for months of work. Miss Lavinia White is going to have to write up whatever she feels like, which she probably will anyway!”
    She briefly saw anger streak across Derek’s face, hardening his rugged jaw, narrowing his eyes still further. But she didn’t stay to receive an answer. Striding with determined and lengthy steps, she hurried through the salon and parlor, past the curving staircase and into Derek’s office, where Roger already waited. Barely acknowledging him, she slid onto the bench and began to play idly with the ivory keys of the piano.
    Derek was angry now, she knew, because she had been so rude to him in front of John Haley. But she was too inflamed to care. She knew that he had schemed the entire situation—plotting her arrival in foul weather, trapping her into agreement in the presence of Lavinia White, bringing part of the group to bear further pressure on her and to keep her from arguing with him. Well, on that score, he was wrong. She was past giving a damn who knew about their grievances.
    And it was all supposedly over the music. That she still didn’t believe. But if he wanted it, then he could have it. All she wanted to do was get away, get away from the man she hated so fiercely and loved so dearly.
    She had lied yesterday. There wasn’t a note in any of the songs that she had forgotten. She plunged straight in, mindless of the men who listened, heedless of the barrage of criticism that might follow. Her delicate fingers slid over the keys naturally, her voice rose high and low,