Slow Burn

by Heather Graham

  “And sometimes their widows like to stir up trouble.”

  She sighed. “David…”

  “What are you doing in here?” he demanded suddenly, irritably. “I was enjoying a hot bath and a peaceful brandy. Would you please be so good as to get out? What would your mother say if she were to come home and find you with a naked Latino refugee?”

  Spencer felt her whole body go stiff with anger. But it didn’t seem to matter to David. His eyes were narrowed on her. The pulse at his throat was ticking.

  “Weren’t you the one defending my mother this morning?” she asked him coolly.

  “This is her house,” he pointed out. “Not that I think she ever believed that you slept with me way back then. She would have passed out cold to think that a Latino refugee had touched your lily-white flesh.”

  “Go to hell!” she told him, rising. On second thought, she snatched the snifter from him. “And if you’re going to talk that way about my mother, you can get your lips off her brandy.”

  “And her daughter?” he inquired politely.

  She spun around. He caught the hem of her robe, giving her a firm jerk. She lost her balance on the marble steps and let out a frightened yelp before falling into the Jacuzzi. Her robe was immediately soaked as she found herself seated on his lap, her legs dangling just outside the tub. She realized with a gasp that he was as hard as steel, and there was a metallic glint in his eyes as they bored into hers. “Let’s see how you turn this into my fault, Spencer. You come cruising into my bath. In a towel, no less.”

  “A robe.”

  “A towel with sleeves.”

  “David—”

  “Did you come because you wanted something, Spencer? One would think so. But then again, you can’t admit that you might actually want something as basic as sex, not when you’ve only been a widow for just over a year. I mean, it happened once. But then you just about rolled over and died yourself. Now you want it again.”

  “David, just let me up!” she began.

  But he didn’t. The brandy glass was plucked from her fingers. She didn’t have time to wonder where it went, because he kissed her. Her eyes closed as she felt his lips, hot, wet and slick, on her own. Felt the steam from the Jacuzzi whirling around them, felt the simmering movement of the water washing over her, around them.

  Her towel with sleeves bubbled up.

  His mouth seemed to devour hers. His hand had slipped beneath her, rounded the curve of her buttocks. She felt his touch, bold, determined, never giving quarter. Seeking. Finding. Giving.

  The steam seemed to enter her flesh. It spiraled between her legs, where he found and teased, stroked and tested, the tiny bud of her greatest sensuality. Her head fell back, she could scarcely breathe. The pleasure built in her unbearably. A whimper formed in her throat, but his lips were on hers again, catching the sounds that might have escaped. She squirmed against him, desperate to be free, desperate to have more. Her climax burst violently through her, convulsing the length of her. She felt him withdraw his touch, then felt herself moved, manipulated, brought down atop him, slowly impaled as he stared silently into her eyes.

  As he drove into her, she was still bathed in the sweet aftermath, her face flushed and sheened, her flesh hot, then chilled, until it began to grow hot very quickly once again. She didn’t want to feel his eyes, so she lowered her head, burying her face against his shoulder, feeling again the swift building of sensation, his hands on her, on her shoulders, her buttocks, moving her until she caught the rhythm and the hunger again. His hands pressed down on her shoulders, crushing her onto him. A harsh cry rang from his lips as his body went rigid before seeming to explode. She fell against him, amazed at the ripples that swept her as the force of his climax swept into her, bringing on her own.

  She fell against him, her heart pounding fiercely. She heard the rasping of his breath, the continual whir and bubble of the water.

  Then remorse struck her again. Pain. Confusion. What was she doing? Thank God they weren’t in Danny’s bed this time. This was her mother’s house, and she wasn’t afraid of her mother. She didn’t mind standing up to her, and she wasn’t in the least afraid of pointing out to her that she was a wee bit bigoted. It was just that something felt dishonest. She didn’t feel guilty about her parents, but she did feel guilty about Danny, and she felt guilty because…

  Because there had been times, even when Danny was alive, when she had remembered being with his best friend. And now Danny was dead, and she was with his best friend, needing him, hating him, wanting him, resenting him.

  A psychiatrist could have a field day with her, she thought.

  She wasn’t cheating. She was a widow, she told herself. Danny shouldn’t be dead, but he was. It was like a cry of anguish in her heart. Maybe if it wasn’t David…

  If it wasn’t David she wouldn’t be wanting this way, aching this way, needing this way. Remembering. The hostility wouldn’t be there to create the fire; her hunger would never be the same. She had loved David once. Then he had hated her, and she had hated him. Now they and the world had changed, but not really.

  He groaned suddenly, lifting her cleanly from him, staring into her eyes. He got to his knees, setting her atop the edge of the tub, touching her face. She hadn’t even known she’d been crying until he wiped a tear from beneath her eye, his expression suddenly very cold, very grim. Then he swore softly. He spoke in Spanish, but she’d lived in Dade County long enough to learn some of the language. It wasn’t complimentary.

  He stood, drawing her up with him. Her soaked robe fell into the swirling waters, but he went for it quickly, pressing it to her chest as he stepped out of the Jacuzzi, picked her up bodily by the shoulders and carried her to the open doors, through which a cool breeze wafted. It didn’t seem to have a cooling effect on his temper, though. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was harsh and guttural.

  “Spencer, if and when you’re ready to make love without crying about it afterward, you let me know. But until then, keep your clothes on and stay out of my bathroom, will you? You came in here because you wanted to, but you always have to pretend you’re not a part of what happens between us. What you do, Spencer, you do because you want to. Now you damned well better learn to live with it!”

  To her amazement, he set her down on the balcony, where she clutched her soaked robe to her chest and stared as he turned on a dime and left her here, disappearing into the bathroom. Leaving her there, a cool breeze blowing over her nakedness.

  11

  Spencer realized after a moment that her butt was facing the pool. Her bare butt.

  She spun around, praying there were no gardeners on duty and that Henri wasn’t checking out the patio. The lush trees surrounding the property bowed and dipped in the breeze. The crystal clear water of the pool rippled in the lazily fading sunlight. There was no one in sight.

  Spencer fled into her room, closing the doors to the balcony behind her. She dropped the soaking robe into the tub and grabbed a dry towel. Then she dropped that, as well, and leaped into the shower, not moving as she let a cascade of water plummet over her. Cool water. Water to soothe her wounded soul.

  When she finished showering, she shrugged into jeans and a big fluffy sweater. Restless, she combed through her wet hair, played with her makeup, then stepped out on the balcony again.

  She could hear him—still swearing in Spanish. He couldn’t still be going on about her, could he?

  She took a step toward his room. Well, she wasn’t in a towel and he wasn’t in the bathroom. He was standing in front of the antique dresser mirror, staring at his back.

  “Is there a problem?” she inquired lightly.

  The swearing stopped. He spun around. He was dressed in jeans, as well, his feet and chest still bare.

  He stared at her. “Yeah, there’s a problem. Come in here.”

  “Come in here?” she said, repeating his tone.

  “Come in here, please,” he said.

 
She walked in, and he turned around. For the first time she noticed a thin ribbon of blood running down his back. “You’re hurt!” she said.

  “I know that. There’s a sliver of metal caught there. I didn’t even notice it until my back started rubbing against the tub. You can be a hazard.”

  She froze. “You mean that—” she began, than broke off. Of course that was what he meant.

  “You’re a big boy!” she reminded him softly. “I didn’t exactly force you at gunpoint.”

  “No, Spencer, you just like to seduce a man—then slam him on the head for being seduced.”

  “I repeat, you’re a big boy. And one who had better be careful,” she warned. “If you want my help.”

  “Just get in here and see what you can do.”

  “Come in and sit on the commode. The light is better there.”

  A moment later he was seated and she was dabbing at his back with a peroxide-soaked piece of gauze while she tried to get a good grasp on the sliver that had pierced his flesh.

  “Ouch!” he persisted. “Quit digging.”

  “I have to dig.”

  “Do it more carefully.”

  “If you’d quit bleeding, it wouldn’t be so slippery.”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “If you’d sit still…”

  She got the piece of metal. Got a good grip. Just as it came free, there was a thunderous pounding on the hallway door, and then it burst open. “David, Spencer, oh, dear Lord, where are you?”

  Joe Montgomery, perfect silver hair mussed and blue eyes wild, appeared in the bathroom doorway. He looked as if he was about to encompass Spencer in a protective hug, but then he saw the blood on David’s back.

  “Oh, my God, you are injured!” he gasped.

  “It’s just a scratch, sir,” David said.

  Her dad was bad enough, Spencer thought. But, inevitably, her mother, crying her name hysterically, came running up behind her father and stared at them both. She saw the blood, moaned and wavered on her feet.

  “Mother, David’s tough—” Spencer began.

  “She’s going to pass out,” Joe said matter-of-factly. And he turned smoothly, catching Mary Louise as she slipped into a dead faint. He carried her over to the bed and set her gently on it.

  “I’ll get some smelling salts,” Spencer volunteered, running to her mother’s room, returning quickly to snap open the vial beneath Mary Louise’s nose.

  Her mother came around slowly, gave her a wan smile, then reached for her, crying softly. “Oh, Spencer, we were stopped by the road by a nice officer and he said there’d been an accident, that the car was destroyed, and you—you—”

  “Mother, I’m fine,” Spencer said firmly, patting her hand. Guilt assailed her, a new form of it. Mary Louise, for all her strange ways, loved her. Completely. “Mom, honest, I don’t have a scratch on me. And David…well, it’s just a scratch, but I need to put a bandage over it before he drips blood all over your Oriental carpet.”

  “Spencer, how you can joke…!” Mary Louise began reproachfully, struggling to sit up. She looked at her husband. “Joe, they’re really all right?”

  “They look pretty good to me,” Joe Montgomery said, eyeing his daughter. Spencer saw a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  For a moment she wondered what would have happened if her parents had returned thirty minutes earlier. Instead of finding a medical interlude in the guest bath, they would have discovered something quite different.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Montgomery?” David asked.

  Mary Louise looked at him and nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine. I apologize for being such a—a sissy.”

  David shrugged. “We had three-hundred-pound guys on the force who passed out when they were supposed to give blood. Some people just can’t deal with the sight of it, so you don’t need to worry about being a sissy. Spencer,” he said, looking from Mary Louise to her. “Think we can finish up?”

  Spencer had gone still, amazed that David could speak so kindly to her mother.

  “Spencer?”

  She nodded and followed him into the bathroom to finish patching him up. Her parents were still sitting on the bed when they came out of the bathroom.

  Spencer’s father cleared his throat. “Think you two would like dinner soon? If you’re up to it, of course. Mary Louise and I would like to take you to one of our favorite spots.” David started to say something, but Joe raised a hand. “A casual place. So casual, in fact, that you bring your own wine. It’s lobster served on wooden tables, all you can eat, and the best in New England.”

  David glanced over at Spencer, an eyebrow raised. She shrugged imperceptibly.

  “Yeah. Sounds nice. Thanks,” David said.

  “Now I’m going to call my lawyer,” Joe said.

  “About what?” Spencer asked.

  “That rental car company.”

  “The police will be questioning the people there. And also your chauffeur, and anyone else who works around the grounds,” David said.

  “Anyone who works for me?” Joe demanded, startled.

  “I don’t think it’s necessary—” Spencer began flatly.

  “Maybe someone saw something, knows something,” David suggested.

  “Do you mean to suggest that what happened today might not have been an accident?” Joe demanded.

  Spencer’s mother gasped. Her hand flew to her chest. She looked as if she was about to pass out again.

  “No!” Spencer said emphatically, staring hard at David. “You know the cops. Well, of course, you don’t know cops like I know cops,” she said, trying to keep things light. “They feel compelled to question everyone. Besides, the officer who gave us a ride home was crazy about the house. He probably just wants a chance to see more of it.”

  “Spencer! You didn’t ask him in?”

  “Of course I asked him in, Mother. But he was still on duty and couldn’t take the time.”

  Mary Louise stood up, followed more slowly by Joe. “Dinner, then,” she said firmly. “I never did like that chauffeur,” she said reproachfully to her husband. She looked at Spencer and David. “He has a drinking problem.”

  “Had a drinking problem. He’s a fully recovering alcoholic,” Joe said.

  “Can there be such a thing?” Mary Louise demanded.

  “Yes!” Joe said firmly. “We will get to the bottom of this!” he assured Spencer and David.

  “Yes, we will,” David agreed.

  Joe and Mary Louise left the room. David turned to see that Spencer had gone out the back way, just as she had come in.

  He headed to the phone and dialed the police station. They’d already started checking the brake system of the totaled automobile. “It’s going to be hard to prove anything,” the sergeant in charge told David. “There was a tiny hole in the hydraulic line. Could have just happened. Could have been purposely punctured. To tell you the truth, if you weren’t involved, we would just assume it was mechanical failure and nothing more. But the rental agency is emphatic about the care they give their cars. Still, a leak like that would be almost invisible.”

  “How did so much fluid leak out so fast without being seen?”

  “It could have been leaking from Boston to Newport. We’ve had a brief conversation with the Montgomery chauffeur, and he swears he didn’t touch the car other than to pull it into the garage. And he says the Montgomery property is well protected. We’ll be talking to other people, of course. Let me know if you need anything more.”

  David thanked him, hung up, then dialed Sly. He told him about both the accident and the police report.

  “What do you think?” Sly demanded.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “You thought I was a paranoid old fool, just like Spencer did.”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a fool, Sly,” David told him wryly.

  “Hmm. You returning Sunday?”

  “That’s what the tickets say.”

>   “Keep me informed.”

  “Yep.”

  As David started to hang up he heard a click on the phone and hesitated.

  Someone in the house had been listening in.

  Jared and Cecily Monteith had brought the children to his father’s house to spend Saturday afternoon.

  It wasn’t the kind of quiet day Cecily particularly enjoyed. She couldn’t help it, she was a people person. She liked parties on boats, luncheons and cocktails and the clubs on South Beach. She liked fund-raisers and benefits, the ballet, a good show brought down from New York.

  But her father-in-law’s place wasn’t bad. It was right on the water, with a long dock that stretched into the bay. She could walk out on it with the children, and they could watch the pleasure craft in the bay. And they didn’t come that often. She liked her father-in-law well enough; she would have liked him better if he’d had a little more gumption, but then, she would have liked Jared a little better that way, too.

  Jon Monteith had worked for Sly before he’d had heart attacks two years in a row, forcing him to semiretire. But that had been a few years ago now, and Jon was healing nicely. He talked about coming back into the office soon. He golfed with Sly at least once every two weeks and spent a lot of time puttering around his small garden. And, like Cecily, he enjoyed the dock; he kept a small boat just so he could motor around a little bit now and then. His passion in life was his grandchildren. Cecily had to admit that he was good to the kids, seven-year-old William and five-year-old Ashley. She had beautiful children, if she did say so herself. And she was glad. They both had tawny blond hair and her wide amber eyes. And Jared, whatever his faults, was a good father, and she had a very good housekeeper, so she wasn’t overly burdened with their occasional tantrums.

  That evening, Jon barbecued platefuls of ribs, chicken, burgers and dogs.

  He boiled a few hot dogs as well, since Ashley didn’t like the barbecue “black stuff” on hers. Cecily had brought the kids in from the dock, and they were all lounging around by the pool, waiting for Jon to finish up.