However, when Lee’s schedule arrived in her office and Mr. Salamone called her and asked her to deliver it personally to Lee that day, her newly restored calm disappeared.

Chapter 4

The ride to Lee’s house was a stressful one for Jennifer. She did not like the idea of going to his home. It was somehow too intimate for the distance she was trying to maintain between them. But he had to have the material that day. There was no help for it. The guard at the security station recognized her and waved her on.

She pulled into the lot behind his condominium and got out of the car, scanning the numbers as she walked. Each had a fenced yard, and she found Lee outside his house, in the middle of a workout.

He was so absorbed that he did not see her. She stopped, fascinated. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of him, naked to the waist, clad only in brief cut-off denims and sneakers, going through his exercises. The sun gleamed on his bronze skin, giving it a soft luster, and his jet hair, mussed from exertion, clung to his head with dampness.

He paused for a moment, hands on hips, to catch his breath, still unaware of her presence. Jennifer stood behind the fence, knowing that she should speak and let him see that she was there, but spellbound by this glimpse of his dedication to his craft. He always acted as if his lightning speed and miraculous coordination were gifts of nature, which to a great extent they were, but this punishing daily routine was part of the package, too. He had to work hard to stay in the peak of physical condition, and she felt foolish for not realizing it before this. Perhaps it was because of her experience with Bob, who should have had Lee’s dedication but never did and, consequently, was plagued by injuries and illness.

Lee bent to wipe his face with a towel draped over the handlebars of an exercise bike standing nearby. Perspiration ran in rivulets on his arms and streamed down his chest and heavily muscled abdomen. The waistband of his shorts was soaked.

Jennifer took the opportunity to knock. She rapped on the gate, calling, “Lee. It’s Jennifer. I have the itinerary for the parade.”

He looked up, pushing back his hair, and took a gray T-shirt from the seat of the bike, pulling it over his head as he came toward her. She felt a little better with him covered up, but not much. His physical presence was still overwhelming.

“Hi,” he said, unlatching the gate and stepping aside to let her pass. “Come on inside. It’s broiling out here.”

Jennifer followed him gratefully through the sliding glass doors by the patio into air-conditioned coolness. The interior was furnished as a bachelor pad, with lots of deep, leather furniture and rustic wood. A sleek ultramodern galley kitchen of copper and stainless steel opened into a large dining area fronting the patio. Beyond, there was a sunken living room with a huge fieldstone fireplace, twin loveseats in taupe suede flanking it, and a floor to ceiling, well-stocked bar. Above she could see an overhanging balcony and loft, which obviously led to the bedrooms. The floor in the kitchen and hall was of brick-red quarry tiles. The rest of the rooms were carpeted in eggshell wool, thick, luxurious. The total effect was chic, tasteful, and expensive.

“This is very nice,” she said coolly, trying not to show how impressed she was.

He looked around. “Thanks,” he said vaguely. “I bought it for when I’m in town, but I won’t be using it much. I’m on the road with the team most of the season.”

Quite an elaborate arrangement for a place he would hardly use. Well, he had the money to throw around if he wanted to buy a home in every major city.

“I was working out when you arrived,” he said, “and I’m afraid I’m not fit company for a lady right now. Would you mind if I took a quick shower?”

That conjured up mental images Jennifer did not wish to consider. “Of course not. Go ahead.”

“May I get you anything before I go? A drink? Iced tea?”

Such exaggerated politeness, coming from him, almost struck her funny. He was going out of his way to be deferential, and she found herself wondering why. Then she dismissed it. There was no reason to be suspicious.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” he said and vanished up the stairs.

Jennifer occupied herself in his absence by examining the knickknacks and photos in the room. There were several framed shots of Youngson receiving awards and a group portrait of what was obviously his family. Lee resembled his father, a handsome, middle-aged man who wore the same speculative expression she had often seen on Lee’s face.

Two studies on the polished oak mantel of the fireplace particularly caught her eye. One was an 8 x 10 glossy of a younger, more innocent Lee, grinning openly into the camera, holding a trophy and standing next to a man in a business suit who was shaking his hand.

The other was of Lee and a beautiful young girl with long black hair and a proud, unflinching gaze. He had his arm around her possessively. They were both in fancy dress, Lee in a tuxedo, the girl in a gown of a style popular ten or twelve years ago.

Jennifer was examining the second picture when she heard Lee behind her on the stairs. She moved away guiltily.

Lee had changed into white duck pants with a narrow belt and a short-sleeved sport shirt of crisp, light cotton. The outfit was oddly 1920s, like something out of The Great Gatsby. His primitive good looks meshed effectively with the WASPish clothes.

He had hurried to return: his hair was still wet, and damp patches on his skin made the thin material of his shirt cling to his body. There was a faint splotch of white powder on the side of his throat.

Jennifer looked away.

Lee came and sat beside her, and the clean scent of soap wafted from him as he did so. She moved back, very slightly. He noticed it and glanced at her. She could not tell what he was thinking.

Jennifer carefully went over the schedule of events in which he was to participate. He listened attentively, asked pertinent questions, and their business was accomplished in less than an hour.

Jennifer gathered her notes and rose. He stood, too, seemingly reluctant to end the interview.

“Thanks for coming out here,” he said. “It was kind of you to let me know the rundown as soon as you got it.”

Jennifer moved to leave and was startled when he detained her with his hand on her arm.

She looked up at him. He remained with his fingers clasping her wrist.

“Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?” he said suddenly.

Jennifer stared at him, stunned. She had not expected this, after their last encounter.

He waited, his face impassive.

Jennifer didn’t know what to say. Did she want to go? Was the sky blue? But this man unsettled her; he was so out of the common way, so new to her experience, that he was at once fascinating and unnerving. She had no idea what to expect from a social evening with him. Except that it wouldn’t be dull.

“I...I think I’d like that,” she heard herself say. Lee’s expression softened.

“Great. I’ll call you, then?”

“Fine,” Jennifer said, escaping.

She drove back to the office in a daze, unable to believe that she had a date with the National Football League’s Most Valuable Player three years in a row, the Cawassa Comet, the Blackfoot Bullet, Bradley Beaufort Youngson.

* * * *

Jennifer changed three times for her dinner with Lee Youngson. He had telephoned on Thursday, asking if Chez Odette would be all right and saying that he would pick her up at eight.

Chez Odette was a fancy French restaurant on the outskirts of New Hope, very atmospheric, with a picturesque setting on the barge canal of the Delaware River. She didn’t have much that was suitable to wear to such a place, and she tortured herself with various combinations of clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, until in desperation she went back to her first idea and settled on that.