Нора Робертс – Second Nature: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down (страница 5)

If it hadn’t been so important that she prove she could do all this for herself, she might have taken the chance of sending those first hundred pages to a publishing house. But then… Shaking her head, Lee watched the people mill through the registration area, all types, all sizes, all ages. Clothes varied from trim professional suits to jeans to flamboyant caftans and smocks. Apparently style was a matter of taste and taste a matter of individuality. She wondered if she’d see quite the same variety anywhere else. Absently, she glanced at the partial manuscript she’d tucked into her briefcase. Just for cover, she reminded herself. That was all.

No, she didn’t believe she had it in her to be a great writer, but she knew she had the skill for great reporting. She’d never, never settle for being second-rate at anything.

Still, while she was here, it wouldn’t hurt to sit in on one or two of the seminars. She might pick up some pointers. More important, she told herself as she rose, she might be able to stretch this trip into another story on the ins and outs of a writers’ conference. Who attended, why, what they did, what they hoped for. Yes, it could make quite an interesting little piece. The job, after all, came first.

An hour later, a bit more enthusiastic than she wanted to be after her first workshop, she wandered into the coffee shop. She’d take a short break, assimilate the notes she’d written, then go back and make certain she had the best seat in the house for Hunter Brown’s lecture.

Hunter glanced up from his paper and watched her enter the coffee shop. Lee Radcliffe, he mused, finding her of more interest than the local news he’d been scanning. He’d enjoyed his conversation with her the day before, and as often as not, he found conversations tedious. She had a quality about her—an innate frankness glossed with sophistication—that he found intriguing enough to hold his interest. An obsessive writer who believed that the characters themselves were the plot of any book, Hunter always looked for the unique and the individual. Instinct told him Lee Radcliffe was quite an individual.

Unobserved, he watched her. From the way she looked absently around the room it was obvious she was preoccupied. The suit she wore was very simple but showed both style and taste in the color and cut. She was a woman who could wear the simple, he decided, because she was a woman who’d been born with style. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, she’d been born into wealth as well. There was always a subtle difference between those who were accustomed to money and those who’d spent years earning it.

So where did the nerves come from? he wondered. Curious, he decided it would be worth an hour of his time to try to find out.

Setting his paper aside, Hunter lit a cigarette and continued to stare at her, knowing there was no quicker way to catch someone’s eye.

Lee, thinking more about the story she was going to write than the coffee she’d come for, felt an odd tingle run up her spine. It was real enough to give her an urge to turn around and walk out again when she glanced over and found herself staring back at the man she’d met at the airport.

It was his eyes, she decided, at first not thinking of him as a man or the hotel driver from the previous day. It was his eyes. Dark, almost the color of jet, they’d draw you in and draw you in until you were caught, and every secret you’d ever had would be secret no longer. It was frightening. It was…irresistible.

Amazed that such a fanciful thought had crept into her own practical, organized mind, Lee approached him. He was just a man, she told herself, a man who worked for his living like any other man. There was certainly nothing to be frightened of.

“Ms. Radcliffe.” With the same unsmiling stare, he gestured to the chair across from him. “Buy you a cup of coffee?”

Normally she would’ve refused, politely enough. But now, for some intangible reason, Lee felt as though she had a point to prove. For the same intangible reason, she felt she had to prove it to him as much as to herself. “Thank you.” The moment she sat down, a waitress was there, pouring coffee.

“Enjoying the conference?”

“Yes.” Lee poured cream into the cup, stirring it around and around until a tiny whirlpool formed in the center. “As disorganized as everything seems to be, there was an amazing amount of information generated at the workshop I went to this morning.”

A smile touched his lips, so lightly that it was barely there at all. “You prefer organization?”

“It’s more productive.” Though he was dressed more formally than he’d been the day before, the pleated slacks and open-necked shirt were still casual. She wondered why he wasn’t required to wear a uniform. But then, she thought, you could put him in one of those nifty white jackets and neat ties and his eyes would simply defy them.

“A lot of fascinating things can come out of chaos, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.” She frowned down at the whirlpool in her cup. Why did she feel as though she was being sucked in, in just that way? And why, she thought with a sudden flash of impatience, was she sitting here having a philosophical discussion with a stranger when she should be outlining the two stories she planned to write?

“Did you find Hunter Brown?” he asked her as he studied her over the rim of his cup. Annoyed with herself, he guessed accurately, and anxious to be off doing.

“What?” Distracted, Lee looked back up to find those strange eyes still on her.

“I asked if you’d run into Hunter Brown.” The whisper of a smile was on his lips again, and this time it touched his eyes as well. It didn’t make them any less intense.

“No.” Defensive without knowing why, Lee sipped at her cooling coffee. “Why?”

“After the things you said yesterday, I was curious what you’d think of him once you met him.” He took a drag from his cigarette and blew smoke out in a haze. “People usually have a preconceived image of someone but it rarely holds up in the flesh.”

“It’s difficult to have any kind of an image of someone who hides away from the world.”

His brow went up, but his voice remained mild. “Hides?”

“It’s the word that comes to my mind,” Lee returned, again finding that she was speaking her thoughts aloud to him. “There’s no picture of him on the back of any of his books, no bio. He never grants interviews, never denies or substantiates anything written about him. Any awards he’s received have been accepted by his agent or his editor.” She ran her fingers up and down the handle of her spoon. “I’ve heard he occasionally attends affairs like this, but only if it’s a very small conference and there’s no publicity about his appearance.”

All during her speech, Hunter kept his eyes on her, watching every nuance of expression. There were traces of frustration, he was certain, and of eagerness. The lovely cameo face was calm while her fingers moved restlessly. She’d be in his next book, he decided on the spot. He’d never met anyone with more potential for being a central character.

Because his direct, unblinking stare made her want to stammer, Lee gave him back the hard, uncompromising look. “Why do you stare at me like that?”

He continued to do so without any show of discomfort. “Because you’re an interesting woman.”

Another man might have said beautiful, still another might have said fascinating. Lee could have tossed off either one with light scorn. She picked up her spoon again, then set it down. “Why?”

“You have a tidy mind, innate style, and you’re a bundle of nerves.” He liked the way the faint line appeared between her brows when she frowned. It meant stubbornness to him, and tenacity. He respected both. “I’ve always been intrigued by pockets,” Hunter went on. “The deeper the better. I find myself wondering just what’s in your pockets, Ms. Radcliffe.”

She felt the tremor again, up her spine, then down. It wasn’t comfortable to sit near a man who could do that. She had a moment’s sympathy for every person she’d ever interviewed. “You have an odd way of putting things,” she muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”

She instructed herself to get up and leave. It didn’t make sense to sit there being disturbed by a man she could dismiss with a five-dollar tip. “What are you doing in Flagstaff?” she demanded. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d be content to drive back and forth to an airport day after day, shuttling passengers and hauling luggage.”

“Impressions make fascinating little paintings, don’t they?” He smiled at her fully, as he had the day before when she’d tipped him. Lee wasn’t sure why she’d felt he’d been laughing at her then, any more than why she felt he was laughing at her now. Despite herself, her lips curved in response. He found the smile a pleasant and very alluring surprise.

“You’re a very odd man.”

“I’ve been told that, too.” His smile faded and his eyes became intense again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

The question didn’t surprise her as much as the fact that she wanted to accept, and nearly had. “No,” she said, cautiously retreating. “I don’t think so.”