Mirror Image

by Sandra Brown

  He might just as well wish for the moon, he thought. Even if Carole had that kind of love to give, which she didn’t, he wouldn’t take it. She had destroyed any possibility of that long ago.

  The physical attraction was still there, inexplicably stronger than ever, but the emotional attachments were dead. And he’d be damned if he would accept one while being cheated of the other.

  He figured the resolution just hadn’t reached his cock yet.

  He glanced at Carole from out of the corner of his eye. She looked fantastic. His mother had called it correctly. She had too much poise and sophistication and sexiness for a bride.

  She looked like a well-loved, well-sated wife—very unlike Carole.

  Nineteen

  Eddy Paschal stepped out of his shower. He quickly patted the towel over his arms and chest and down both legs. Flinging it over his shoulder, he caught the other end and rubbed it back and forth across his back as he moved from bathroom to bedroom. As soon as he cleared the door, he drew up short. “What the—”

  “Hi, there. Didn’t know you were into dirty pictures.”

  Fancy was stretched diagonally across his bed. She was propped up on one elbow, thumbing through the Penthouse she had found lying on his nightstand. After a dispassionate glance at one particularly provocative pose, she looked up at him and smiled slyly. “You naughty boy, you.”

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” He hastily secured the towel around his middle.

  Fancy stretched with feline laziness. “I was sunbathing out by the pool and came in here to get cool.”

  Eddy lived in an apartment over the ranch’s garage. Shortly after he was hired to be Tate’s campaign manager, he had asked if he could rent the efficiency. The Rutledges had vehemently protested.

  Zee had been the most vocal. “Servant’s quarters? I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Tate had added his own protests, stating that if Eddy was going to live at the ranch, he would live in the house with the family.

  Eddy had explained that he needed the convenience of living close to them while maintaining his privacy. The garage apartment satisfied both requirements. They had relented and he had moved in.

  His privacy had now been invaded. “Why cool off in here?” he asked querulously. “Is the air conditioner in the house on the blink?”

  “Don’t be tacky.” Fancy tossed the magazine aside and came to a sitting position. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “There’s certainly plenty to see,” he muttered, ruffling his wet hair. It was fine, straight, and pale. “I’ve seen Band-Aids bigger than that bikini. Does Nelson approve of you running around like that?” Abundant flesh was overflowing the skimpy swimsuit.

  “Grandpa doesn’t approve of anything erogenous,” she snorted. “I swear I don’t know how my daddy and Uncle Tate ever got conceived. I bet Grandpa sings ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ while he’s balling Grandma. Or maybe ‘Off We Go, into the Wild, Blue Yonder.’ ” She drew a thoughtful expression. “I just can’t imagine her coming, can you?”

  “You’re hopeless, Fancy.” In spite of himself, he chuckled at the images she had conjured. Then he propped his hands on his hips and looked at her reprovingly. “Will you please scram so I can dress? I told Tate I’d meet him and Carole at the Waller Creek, and I’m already running late.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” she wheedled.

  “No more tickets.”

  “You could manage it.” He shook his head no. “Why not? I could get ready in a jiff.”

  “It’ll be a stuffy, grown-up affair, Fancy. You’d be bored stiff.”

  “You’d be stiff if I went along. But I guarantee you wouldn’t be bored.” She gave him a licentious wink.

  “Are you going to leave, or what?”

  “What, I think,” she replied flippantly. She unclasped her bikini bra and let it fall. Leaning back, she propped herself up on her elbows. “How do you like my… tan?”

  Her breasts were full and soft, rising from a band of baby pinkness between her suntanned chest and stomach. The areolas were oversized, and her nipples were rosy and raised.

  Tilting his face ceilingward, Eddy pinched his eyes shut. “Why are you doing this now? Come on, get up. Put your top back on and get the hell out of here.”

  He moved toward the bed and extended his hand down to assist her up. Fancy took his hand, but she didn’t use it as leverage. Instead, she carried it to her breast and pressed his palm against the distended center. Her eyes were alight with mischief and arousal. As she slowly rotated his palm over her nipple, she used her other hand to pull away his towel and affected a gasp of surprised pleasure.

  “Hmm, Eddy, you have a beautiful cock.”

  She gazed at it avidly as she inched to the edge of the bed. Her fingers encircled his penis, then she squeezed it through her fist, elongating and stretching it. “So big. Who are you saving it for? That ugly redhead down at headquarters? Or my Aunt Carole?”

  She flung her head back and looked up the length of his torso. The cold glint in his eyes alarmed her for an instant before she decided that she liked him best when he was being a bastard. He posed more of a challenge that way.

  “I can and will do more for you than either of them.” Having made that breathy pledge, she bent her head over him to prove it.

  At the first deft, damp stroke of her tongue, Eddy’s knees buckled. In seconds, Fancy was on her back in the middle of his bed and he was lying above her, his tongue inside her mouth, spearing toward the back of her throat.

  “Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Yes. Yes,” Fancy panted when his hands roughly caressed her.

  He threw her arms behind her head and attacked her breasts with his mouth, sucking ardently, biting hungrily, licking furiously while the girl writhed beneath him. She became so lost in his rowdy foreplay that it took several seconds for her to realize that he was no longer doing it.

  She opened her eyes. Once again he was standing at the foot of the bed, smiling with amusement.

  “Wha—”

  Only when she tried to sit up did she discover that her arms were tied above her head. She swung them forward. Her bikini bra was wrapped around her wrists, the ends knotted.

  “You son of a bitch,” she yelled. “Untie my fuckin’ hands.”

  Calmly, Eddy went to the bureau and took a pair of briefs from the top drawer. As he pulled them on, he made a tsking sound. “Such language.”

  “Untie me, you bastard.”

  “I’m sure that a resourceful young lady,” he stressed with one eyebrow skeptically raised, “will think of a way to free herself.”

  He took his rented tuxedo out of the plastic bag and began dressing. For as long as that took, Fancy lambasted him with every epithet her fertile mind and unlimited vocabulary could produce.

  “Save it,” Eddy said tersely when the crude tirade had ceased to be amusing. “I just want to know one thing.”

  “Screw you.”

  “What did you mean by that remark about Carole and me?”

  “What do you think?”

  He reached the bed in three strides, grabbed a handful of Fancy’s hair, and wound it around his fist until it pulled against her scalp. “I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking.”

  He frightened her. She lost some of her defiance. “You’re getting it from somewhere. Why not from Aunt Carole?”

  “First and foremost, because she doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Why bullshit?”

  “Because you watch her like a hawk, especially since she came home.”

  Eddy continued to stare at her coldly. “She’s my best friend’s wife. They’ve had their problems. I’m concerned how their marriage might affect the outcome of the campaign.”

  “Some marriage,” Fancy scoffed. “He can’t stand her because she’s screwed around on him. My true blue Uncle Tate won’t put up with that kind of
crap from his wife. He’s only staying married to her until the election is over.”

  Then Fancy smiled. She was almost purring. “But, you know what? If you do want in Carole’s pants, I think you’re out of luck. I think they’re patching things up. I think she’s giving to him—if he wants it—what she was giving to you before the airplane crash.”

  Gradually, his hand relaxed and he released her hair. “That’s quite a theory, Fancy.” His voice was cool and calm. He moved to the dresser, stuffed a handkerchief into his pants pocket, and slid on his wristwatch. “It just happens to be wrong. There never has been or will be anything between Carole and me.”

  “I might ask her and see what she says.”

  “If I were you,” he said softly, addressing her over his shoulder, “I’d keep my jealous speculations to myself.”

  Without the benefit of her hands to assist her, Fancy wiggled off the bed and came to her feet. “This is getting old, Eddy. Untie my hands.”

  He angled his head to one side, as though giving her demand careful consideration. “No, I don’t believe so. I think I’d rather put some distance between us before you get loose.”

  “I can’t leave here until I get my hands free.”

  “That’s right.”

  She padded after him to the door. “Please, Eddy,” she wailed. Tears formed in her large blue eyes. “You’re being cruel. This isn’t a game to me. I know you think I’m a slut for throwing myself at you, but I felt like I had to make the first move or you never would. I love you. Please love me back. Please.”

  He laid his hand in the curve of her waist and squeezed it gently. “I’m sure you can find some other guy who’ll appreciate me warming you up for him.”

  Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. “You son of a bitch.” The wheedling humility vanished. Her low voice now vibrated with rage. “You’re goddamn right I’ll find a man. I’ll fuck his brains out. I’ll suck him dry. I’ll—”

  “Have a good evening, Fancy.” Unceremoniously, he pushed her out of his way and jogged down the exterior stairs to his parked car.

  Fancy put her foot to the door and slammed it hard behind him.

  * * *

  As Avery came out of the ladies’ room, she didn’t even notice the man at the pay telephone. She was anxious to get back to the party. The banquet had been interminable, the after-dinner speaker ponderous.

  However, once they were free to mingle, Tate had been the center of attention. It seemed that everyone in the room wanted to meet him and shake his hand, whether they shared a party affiliation or not. Even political rivals were friendly. None was hostile—certainly not enough to want him dead.

  He was respected even if his ideas weren’t unanimously popular. It was a heady feeling just to be standing next to him as his wife. Each time he made an introduction, he did so with a certain degree of pride that thrilled her. She hadn’t made any social blunders. She had covertly taken her cues from him when someone Carole would have known approached. Everything was going splendidly.

  Tate had touched her arm briefly as she excused herself to go to the powder room, as though he dreaded even that brief a separation.

  Now, as she passed the bank of telephones, a hand shot out and manacled her wrist. She emitted a cry of astonishment and spun around to confront the man who had accosted her. He was wearing a tuxedo, signifying that he belonged to the crowd in the banquet hall.

  “How’s it going, baby?” he drawled.

  “Let go of me.” Taking him for someone who’d had too much to drink, she made a painful attempt to wrench her arm free.

  “Not so fast, Mrs. Rutledge.” He slurred the name insultingly. “I want to get a close-up look at the new face I’ve heard so much about.” He pulled her closer. “Except for your hair, you look the same. But tell me what I really want to know. Are you still as hot?”

  “Let me go, I said.”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid your husband is going to catch you? He won’t. He’s too busy campaigning.”

  “I’ll scream bloody murder if you don’t release my arm this instant.”

  He laughed. “Are you pissed because I didn’t come see you in the hospital? Now, would it have been seemly for one of your lovers to elbow your husband away from your bedside?”

  She glared at him with cold fury. “Things have changed.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He put his face close to hers. “Doesn’t your pussy itch like it used to?”

  Incensed and afraid, she renewed her struggle to release her arm, which only seemed to incite him. He bent her arm up behind her and hauled her against the front of his body. His breath was humid and boozy against her face. She tried to turn her head away, but he trapped her jaw with his free hand.

  “What’s with you, Carole? Do you think you’re high and mighty now that Tate’s actually in the race? What a joke! Rory Dekker’s gonna kick his ass, you know.” He closed his fingers, hurting her jaw. She whimpered with pain and outrage.

  “Now that you think he might make it to Washington, you’re really sucking up to him, aren’t you? Tonight you looked straight through me. Just who the hell do you think you are, bitch, to ignore me like that?”

  He ground a hard kiss upon her lips, smearing her fresh lipstick and making her sick by poking his tongue between her lips. She doubled up her fists and pushed with all her might against his shoulders. She tried to drive a knee into his crotch, but her slim skirt prevented that. He was strong; she couldn’t budge him. He consumed all her air. She felt herself weakening, growing faint.

  Dimly at first, and then louder, she heard approaching voices. So did he. He shoved her away and gave her a smirking smile. “You’d do well to remember who your friends are,” he sneered. He rounded the corner seconds ahead of two women who were on their way to the powder room.

  Their conversation died when they saw Avery. She quickly turned her back and fumbled with the telephone receiver as though she were about to place a call. They went past and entered the ladies’ room. As soon as the door swished closed behind them, she collapsed against the shelf beneath the public phone.

  She broke a nail in her haste to undo the clasp on Carole’s beaded evening bag in search of a Kleenex. Finding one, she wiped her mouth, rubbing it hard, ridding it of the smeared lipstick and any taste of the hateful kiss she had endured from Carole’s ex-lover. She unwrapped a peppermint and put it in her mouth, then dabbed her tearful eyes with the tissue. During the tussle an earring had come off; she clipped it back on.

  The two women came out, speaking in hushed tones as they walked past. Avery murmured needlessly into the receiver, feeling like a fool for enacting such a ridiculous charade.

  But then, she had become very good at playing charades, hadn’t she? She’d fooled one of Carole’s lovers.

  When she finally felt composed enough to face the crowd again, she hung up the telephone receiver and turned to go. As she did, a man quickly rounded the corner and ran right into her. Seeing only the front of his tux, she cried out in fear.

  “Carole? For God’s sake, what’s wrong?”

  “Tate!”

  Avery slumped against him, tightly wrapping her arms around his waist. Resting her cheek on his lapel, she closed her eyes to block out the vision of the other man.

  Hesitantly, Tate placed his arms around her. His hands stirred the silk against her body as he stroked her back. “What’s the matter? What happened? A lady drew me aside and said you looked upset. Are you sick?”

  He had immediately deserted the limelight and rushed to her assistance, even though she was an unfaithful wife. Whatever scruples she had had against sleeping with another woman’s husband vanished in that single moment. Carole hadn’t deserved him.

  “Oh, Tate, I’m sorry.” She lifted her face to his. “So sorry.”

  “For what?” He took her firmly by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “Will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Because she couldn’t tell him the truth, she foundered for a log
ical explanation. When she arrived at one, she realized that it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I guess I’m not ready to be surrounded by so many people. The crowd was overwhelming me. I felt smothered.”

  “You seemed to be doing fine.”

  “I was. I was enjoying it. But all of a sudden everybody seemed to close in. It was like being wrapped up in those bandages again. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—”

  “Okay. I get the picture. You should have said something. Come on.” He took her by the arm.

  She dug her heels in. “We don’t have to leave.”

  “The party’s breaking up anyway. We’ll beat everybody to the valet parking.”

  “You’re sure?” She wanted to leave. To return to the banquet hall and possibly confront that gloating face again would be untenable. However, this was her audition. She didn’t want to blow it and be left at the ranch when he went campaigning.

  “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

  They didn’t say much on the way home. Avery tucked her feet beneath her hips and turned in the seat to face him. She wanted to touch him, to comfort and be comforted, but she satisfied herself with simply facing him.

  Everyone was in bed when they arrived home. Silently they went together to Mandy’s room, and, as they had promised, kissed her good night. She mumbled sleepily in response but didn’t wake up.

  As they moved down the hallway toward their respective bedrooms, Tate said offhandedly, “We’ll be attending several formal functions. You probably should take that dress on the trip.”

  Avery spun around to face him. “You mean you want me to go?”

  He looked at a spot beyond her head. “Everybody thinks it would be a good idea.”

  Unwilling to let him off that lightly, she gave his lapel a tug. His eyes connected with hers. “I’m only interested in what you think, Tate.”

  He deliberated for several tense moments before giving her his answer. “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. Eddy’ll give you an itinerary in a day or two so you’ll know what else to pack. Good night.”

  Bitterly disappointed in his lukewarm enthusiasm, Avery watched him walk down the hall and enter his room. Dejectedly, she went into hers alone and prepared for bed. She examined her dress, looking for damage done by Carole’s ex-lover, whoever he’d been, but thankfully found none.