See You In My Dreams Page 3

  “Oh. Yes, I see. I'm sorry.” Again he reached across the table and touched her hand. This time, she didn't pull back from the contact. “You must have had a very rough time."

  “The drug dealers and pimps are the worst part,” Nikki admitted, trying to sound nonchalant. “The drug dealers are always trying to get me to work for ‘em—the pimps too.” She shrugged her shoulders. It was an everyday occurrence—no big deal.

  “And ... have you?"

  She didn't take offense. He needed to know, if he was really serious about her living with his mother. She might even be around his little girl. “No, I couldn't."

  “Why not?"

  Nikki grimaced, then gave a little laugh. “I guess the nuns at school had too great an influence on me. I was too afraid of going to hell.” Max chuckled, as well, and a moment later, he related one of his own early transgressions in school.

  As she listened to Max's story, she realized she'd never had a boyfriend, and she'd certainly never known anyone like the man sitting in front of her. Excitement and confusion struck her at the same time. She'd grown less wary, and that worried her too. Her survival the last few months had depended, in large measure, on her sense of caution. Now here she was, ready to follow him to the ends of the earth ... or at least to his mother's house.

  What would it feel like to kiss him? Man, was that a stupid idea. Why on earth would he ever want to kiss her? She was just a kid, and he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Men were supposed to be handsome, but somehow handsome seemed inadequate for Maxim.

  His eyes—she couldn't keep from gazing into them. She figured she was acting like a stunned deer in a car's headlights, but his eyes were so green and so full of emotion. In spite of his self-deprecating laughter, Nikki sensed the pain behind those green depths. Pain she understood—but there was something mysterious, something he held back.

  “Nikki?"

  “Yeah,” she whispered. She'd been so involved in staring into his eyes she'd forgotten to breathe. Her face grew warm. “I was gawking, wasn't I?"

  “A bit,” he admitted, shifting about on his side of the booth. “Are you finished? Do you want more to eat?"

  She looked at her plate. It was empty. Had she eaten it all? Where had the time gone? “No. I'm full, really. First time in a long time too,” she added, smiling.

  “I'm glad.” Max returned her smile with one of his own.

  That one smile undid her completely. The sight of his curving lips exposing his even, white teeth sent her heart rate soaring into outer space. She hoped he couldn't see it pounding through her sweater.

  Max motioned for the waitress to bring the check. All too soon, it was over. In another minute, the safety of Sally's Diner would be a memory. She'd be alone with him—for the first time.

  Excited. Scared silly. What if he really was like all the other men and what he really wanted was a quick grope? What if it was all a dream? She did not want to wake up.

  He stood. “Shall we go?"

  Nikki stood on legs that promptly refused to support her. Her stomach grew queasy, probably from the unaccustomed dinner. The room spun around, and Nikki grabbed the table for support. Max reached out and caught her before she could fall, easing her back into the booth. Being in his arms made her heart start to race all over again. Jeez. She really needed to get a hold of herself.

  “Are you all right?"

  From a distance, she could hear the concern in his voice. What was the matter with her anyway? She wasn't the fainting type. “I'm fine. Just got dizzy.” Panicked is more like it. “Really, I'm okay now. It's gone,” she reassured him.

  “I'll hail the taxi, then I'm taking you home.” Max hesitated for a moment, then asked her, “Will you be all right, if I leave you ... just for a second?"

  Nodding, she didn't trust herself to speak. He was going to dump her after all. He was going to hail a cab and take off. She'd ruined everything with her dizzy spell. She watched him leave the diner and hail a cab. She held her breath. The taxi pulled up to the curb and stopped. He spoke to the driver for a moment, then turned...

  Thank Heaven. Nikki heaved a loud sigh of relief. He was coming back for her.

  Various patrons in Sally's turned their heads and stared as Max led her from the diner. This time, she felt like a princess walking beside her handsome prince. Outside, he opened the door of the taxi and slid in beside her.

  Moment of truth time. What will he do now? she wondered. He stayed on his side of the taxi. How did she feel? Surprise. Relief. Disappointed? She continued watching him, but he stared out the window, apparently deep in thought. She wondered if he already regretted his generosity. Ha. She guessed it wasn't every day he picked up a girl out of the gutter and took her home to his mother.

  The driver maneuvered the taxi through the busy streets—for miles and miles it seemed to Nikki. The grungy streets gave way to ethnic neighborhoods, then to upscale, expensive townhouses in the East Sixties.

  Without warning, Max turned to her and asked, “Your dizzy spell? Could you be enciente?"

  “What?” she asked puzzled by the word.

  “Having a baby?"

  Mortified by what he'd implied, Nikki responded with a definite, resounding “No!"

  “Are you sure? I need to know the truth,” he insisted. “It would affect our plans."

  “Very sure.” She'd never been with a man that way. Her face burned with embarrassment and anger. Unable to bear for him to see her humiliation, she turned away from his piercing gaze.

  “I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to judge you. I needed to know,” he finished lamely.

  “So now you know.” Nikki kept her gaze averted and stared out the window.

  “Now I know."

  Hearing the forlorn note in his voice, she turned back and saw the abashed look on his handsome face. “'S'all right,” she confided, then shrugged and offered him a smile.

  “You're very forgiving.” Max took her hand and patted the back of it. “Thank you. I was rude to ask."

  “Uh, anytime,” she managed. She stared at the hand he'd patted—her hand. She relished the soft warmth of his strong hand against hers. And that warmth spread up her arm to her heart, which revved into overdrive for the umpteenth time that night. She looked from her hand to his face. One corner of his mouth had kicked up. Damn. He was staring at her again with those gorgeous green eyes of his. If she died on the spot, she doubted she'd ever have a happier moment. But she didn't want to die on the spot. She wanted to make him proud of her.

  “Nikki.” The sound of Max's soft voice brought her back to reality. “We're here."

  Looking up at the three-story, brick townhouse with tall windows, she felt her mouth drop open. The entrance was well lit and welcoming. Although the sky was dark, she saw there were other houses, just as fine, on each side. It had to be a dream, and if she didn't wake up real soon, she was going to live in the most magnificent place she'd ever seen with the most beautiful man in the world.

  She let out a sigh. “Oh, my."

  Two

  “Mon Dieu.” Renée Devereaux muttered as she paced the foyer of her townhouse. “Maxim must be out of his mind. What is taking him so long?"

  Patience had never been one of her virtues. And taking a street urchin and turning her into a model would be a formidable task, possibly requiring more patience than Renée had. And he expected her to do it—just like that. He must think her a magician. And nothing would do but for the girl to live right here, in her very own house, alongside his daughter. What kind of person was this girl anyway? It wasn't like her son to be this rash and impulsive. The runaway must have something special; otherwise, he would not expect such a great accommodation from his family.

  Ah well, her questions would soon be answered, but it didn't make the waiting any easier. Her son had been through so much in the last two years—first, Solange's death, then the police and the rumors.

  The Devereaux Agency had thrived in New York. The rumors had fol
lowed, naturally, but in New York, the rumors only added to Maxim's mystique. The Americans did love bad boys. Never, not for one moment, had she believed her son had arranged his wife's death. But as long as people thought he was guilty, it made little difference.

  She heard the squeal of tires and rushed to the door. She held her breath while she watched her son exit the cab. He turned and held his hand to... “Mon Dieu.” she gasped. The girl had taken Maxim's helping hand from the cab and now stood staring up at the house. The street lights permitted enough illumination for Renée to see the look of wonder on the runaway's lovely face. The girl—she was tall, blonde and very young. Yes, indeed, Maxim had been correct. This girl had something very special—a more than passing resemblance to poor, dead Solange.

  What was he thinking? Was he trying to re-create her in the form of this child? Her uneasiness mounted as she watched them ascend the steps, her son's face unreadable. Whatever Maxim felt, he had hidden it adeptly.

  She opened the door. “Welcome,” she said with forced enthusiasm to the pair standing in front of her.

  Maxim allowed Nikki to enter before him. “Merci, Maman,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on both cheeks . He began the introductions. “Maman, this is Nikki. Nikki, this is my mother, Madame Devereaux."

  Renée reached to take the teenager's hand in greeting and gave it a squeeze. “I'm very happy to meet you, Nikki. I've heard so much about you from my son.” She raised an eyebrow in his direction. A faint wink was his only response. Cheeky youngster.

  “I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Madame Devereaux,” Nikki responded awkwardly, but correctly. The girl continued to look about in apparent awe of her new surroundings.

  Nikki's eyes were the clearest blue Renée had ever seen. Up close, she could see the subtle differences between Nikki and Solange, but the basic facial architecture was quite similar. Same square face, slightly short chin, but Nikki's nose was more refined. Renée's heart filled with conflicting emotions. Dear heaven, what was she to do with this child? If it weren't for the ragged clothes, Renée would never have taken Nikki for a homeless person. With her cloud of blonde hair, she looks like an angel. Appearances could be deceiving, yet as she gazed into the girl's sky blue eyes, Renée sensed innocence. She could not explain it, even to herself. Her maternal instincts warred with her usually logical disposition. Intuition, perhaps?

  “I must go,” Maxim said as he leaned over to kiss Renée on both cheeks. “I have an early meeting for which I must still prepare. The two of you will be all right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oui.” Renée nodded, then turned to Nikki. “We will be fine, no?"

  Renée watched Nikki's eyes widen, as the runaway cast an apprehensive glance at Maxim.

  Nikki chewed her bottom lip, then gave an uncertain smile before she agreed, “Yeah, we'll be fine."

  ~ * ~

  Nikki stood at the beveled glass door and stared at Max's retreating back, feeling as if she'd just been deserted. What if his mother didn't like her? Why should a woman who'd never lain eyes on her give her the time of day, when her own mother had kicked her out? She turned to the tall, slender woman. “When's he coming back?” she asked.

  Max's mother ran a graceful hand through her short, red hair, then smiled at Nikki and took her by the hand. “He will be here Saturday to spend the day with his daughter."

  “He doesn't live here?” Nikki asked, disappointed. Somehow, she'd just assumed...

  “No, my granddaughter lives with me,” she explained, “but Maxim is a man. He needs his privacy. Besides, he's very involved in running the business here in New York, so I am quite happy to have my granddaughter with me all the time. I am a widow, and I would be alone if not for Alexa."

  “May I see her?” Nikki asked, her curiosity aroused. “His little girl, I mean?"

  “Not tonight. She's in bed asleep.” The older woman patted Nikki's shoulder. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. You both need your rest. And you have a very big day ahead."

  Maxim's mother guided Nikki upstairs to a room that she could only describe as heaven. The walls were covered in a blue and white fabric. Reaching out, she touched the wall. To her amazement, the wall was soft. “Wow. It's padded."

  “Yes."

  “I'm used to wallpaper falling off at the seams. Never seen padded walls before, for Pete's sake.” The windows were hung with the same material, as was the tall, old-fashioned bed. Taking a deep breath, she tried to tell herself it wasn't a dream. She almost pinched her arm, just to make sure.

  She ran to one of the two tall windows and looked down into the small courtyard at the rear of the house. “Oh,” was all she could say. She'd never seen anything like it before in her entire life. The tiny garden, lit by old-fashioned streetlights, was a jewel of emerald green in a city best known for its traffic and skyscrapers.

  Between the two windows stood a tall, carved chest topped with dried flowers arranged in an old, woven basket. “This is my room?” Nikki asked, still unable to believe her good luck. Maybe fairy tales did come true. If they did, Max's mother was her fairy godmother, for sure.

  “But, of course. You have your own bath,” the elegant woman replied, gesturing to the door on the right wall. “And there in the armoire,” she added with another graceful gesture, “are nightgowns in the drawer on the left side. My room is at the end of the hall if you need anything."

  A bewildering combination of gratitude and shyness gripped Nikki as she stood in front of the lovely Frenchwoman. “I don't know what to say. Thank you. No one has ever done anything like this for me. But y-you don't have to worry. I won't steal anything, I promise. I ran away from home, but I never did anything bad. Honest.” Almost honest, if she were truthful. She had stolen once or twice, but only to survive, and she would never do anything like that again. Never.

  Suddenly it was important that this woman believe her. No, it was more than important. Nikki craved Renée Devereaux's approval. After all, her entire future rested in the hands of this one woman. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of being rejected again..

  “My poor child, you have had a difficult time, no?” Renée pulled Nikki to her breast and hugged her.

  The hot tears stung her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. No one had hugged her in years. Overwhelmed, she inhaled the clean, flowery scent of the older woman's perfume.

  Nikki pulled away from the older woman hurriedly wiping the tell-tale tears from her face. “Sorry. I'm messing up your blouse.” Here she was, blubbering like a baby. On the streets, tears were a luxury and dangerous ... and a sign of weakness.

  “Now, now, no harm done. Dry your tears. Your bathroom is there.” Renée motioned to a door on the right side of the room. “I think you will find everything you need."

  “Thank you.” Again Nikki felt awkward. She didn't know what to call Max's mother—Renée? Mrs. Devereaux? Madame Devereaux? Summoning her courage, she finally asked, “What should I call you?"

  The Frenchwoman pursed her lips, appeared to think for a moment, then smiled. “I think Madame Devereaux is much too formal. If you wish, you may call me Renée or Maman. Yes, I would like it if you would call me Maman. I never had a daughter, only a son.” Renée's next words came in a rush. “Of course, I do not mean to take the place of your real mother."

  “My real mother kicked me out.” Nikki raised her chin defiantly. “She doesn't have a place."

  “You may wish to reconsider someday, but for now, I will be whatever you need.” She gave Nikki another brief hug. “Now, off you go. Get ready for bed. You have had a very big day, no?"

  Nikki nodded. “A very big day, yes."

  ~ * ~

  After treating herself to a bubble bath in the white-tiled bathroom, Nikki washed her hair again. She inhaled the berry-scented shampoo—no more of that awful, disinfectant-smelling stuff for her. After drying herself with the thickest towel she'd ever seen, she changed into a soft, pale blue nightgown, then left her new bedro
om and floated down the hall to Renée's door. She gave a tentative tap.

  Maman opened the door, wearing a long, black negligee. “Ah, there you are. I was waiting for you. I see you found everything."

  Nikki nodded. “I ... I wanted to say good-night ... uh, and thank you for being so good to me. I won't let you down."

  “First of all, I am glad I have a place for you. Second, I trust my son's judgment. He has offered you a tremendous opportunity—something he has never done before. I am sure you will not disappoint either one of us.” Renée wrapped an arm around Nikki's shoulder. “Now, off to bed with you. I shall see you in the morning."

  Once back in her bedroom, Nikki hugged herself in wonder. In a matter of hours, her life had turned into a fairy tale, and this time she was the fairy princess. She swirled around the room and glimpsed her reflection in the long mirror. In the billowy, soft nightgown, she even looked like a princess. Content for the first time in her life, she climbed into the bed, pulled the comforter to her chin, sighed. It looked like Mama was wrong about things being too good to be true. That night she dreamt of a handsome green-eyed soldier.

  ~ * ~

  Nicole swished down the long, mirrored hall of the royal palace at Versailles. She looked over her shoulder, fearing someone might stop her. She hurried past the green marble pilasters, carved in the Corinthian style, which lined the magnificent room. The walls were pierced by tall, arched windows, alternating with arched mirrors, but she had more important matters on her mind than architecture.

  A certain royal guard was the reason for her haste. And he was a magnificent specimen of manhood. Poor, dead Papa would be calling out the Lieutenant for a duel if he weren't already gone from the Earth. Indeed Papa would not rest easy if he but knew she was to meet a gentleman without a proper chaperone. A scandal, but in the court of Louis XVI, such things occurred all around her. Luckily Mama had no idea of the things her daughter saw every day.

  She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the large mirrors as she sped past them. She stopped in her tracks before one of them to preen, thankful it was no longer necessary to wear the stiff corsets and wide panniers or the elaborate wigs and makeup. Such formal trappings were now worn only on Royal Sundays. Her blonde hair curled attractively around her face and hung in soft natural waves to her shoulders. The bodice of her white lawn dress had been cut to show her neck and bosom to their best advantage. The skirt swept nearly to the floor, skimming the tops of her kid-leather shoes. More than pleased with the image she presented, she smiled at her reflection, then set off again. She was irresistible.