Love Songs by Barbara Delinsky Page A

the guts to say it?” She could feel herself beginning to boil. “Is this too public a place to air the dirty laundry? It’s all right to kiss here, but not to clear the air?”
    “Keep your voice down,” he warned. His gray-eyed gaze didn’t stray from hers.
    Alanna stood up. Though she wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Alex’s unspoken implication had hurt her more deeply than this particular rumor had ever hurt her before. If this man planned to push her to her limits the challenge was now one of maintaining a self-control that was on the verge of shattering.
    “I’ll raise my voice when and where I please. When I’m at work there is a certain standard of behavior that is expected from me and I stick to it faithfully. Here is another matter. This whole thing—insomnia, you, your persistent talk of marriage—is entirely emotional. If I want to yell, I will.”
    Breathing hard, she stood several feet from Alex. When he smirked, she recoiled. “At least you’re not quite the automaton you’d like people to believe,” he observed. “Temper is a very good thing.”
    “Temper?” she cried, then did lower her voice as she realized the extent to which she was letting him upset her. “You haven’t heard anything yet! For starters, I want you to leave me alone.” She was trembling now. “I don’t want little kisses here and there. I don’t want clandestine visits in the middle of the night. And I don’t want your nonsense about me marrying you! What man wants a wife who has no scruples?” As his glance sharpened she repeated herself. “That’s right. Isn’t that what you didn’t have the courage to say just now? No scruples. A woman who sleeps her way to the top has no scruples. There. That thought should keep you away from me!”
    With a last scathing glance she made her escape, fleeing to her room, shutting the door, crossing to the night-dark window and tossing her glasses onto the nearby table to stare into nothingness. She felt as though she had been attacked, assaulted by some unknown force. Why had he said that? Why had he implied what he had? And why had she reacted—overreacted—that way? Yes, it was an emotional issue. In the office she could ignore it. Why couldn’t she do so now? If she had wanted a buffer against the lure of Alex Knight this misconception was as good as any. Why, then, did she feel battered? Defeated? Anguished?
    “I’m sorry, Alanna.” Alex had entered without her knowledge and stood close behind her. When he reached for her she flinched, and he dropped his hand.
    “Please leave me alone,” she demanded coolly.
    “I can’t do that. I’ve hurt you. I won’t sleep well until I make up for that hurt.”
    “Sleep well! Hah! I guess that’s the bottom line!”
    “Sarcasm doesn’t befit you, Alanna.”
    “Then leave and you won’t have to listen to any more.”
    “Not until we straighten this out.”
    Alanna wheeled around and started for the call button. “Then I’ll just get Sylvia in here—”
    “You’ll do no such thing,” he growled, catching her arms and swinging her around to face him. “This is between you and me. We don’t need a referee.”
    “Are you sure about that?” She scowled at him. “You’ve just had a taste of my ‘temper.’ When it really gets going it’s an awesome thing!”
    He was still for long moments, weighing his alternatives. When his grip loosened she quickly tore her arm away and retreated to the window to stand with her back to him, her arms about herself.
    “You know, Alanna, I somehow didn’t picture you as having a violent temper. When was the last time you lost it?”
    He couldn’t have asked a more poignant question. She remembered the moment perfectly. “Roughly ten years ago.”
    “That’s some self-control.”
    “Not really. I just try to … minimize situations where I will be pushed that far.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    This time it was a request, and so gently offered that she was helpless to