Donald Marcuse finally stopped talking about Nora and looked at Susan. “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? It’s not like you.”
Susan looked up from her notes. “She’s so dangerous, Donald. I don’t give a shit if she was abused. She’s pretty and charming, and she’s a murderer. And she isn’t going to stop.”
Chapter 66
THE PHONE IN the Westchester house rang the next morning at about eleven. Nora picked up, thinking Craig was confirming their lunch date for later that afternoon.
She was wrong.
“Nora, is that you?”
“It is. Who’s this?”
“Elizabeth,” she said. “Elizabeth Brown.”
Shit. Connor’s sister was calling from Santa Barbara and Nora immediately felt a little dumb that she didn’t recognize her voice. After all, technically speaking, she was her houseguest.
The concern, however, was short-lived. Elizabeth’s guilt-induced sweetness picked up where it had left off. She couldn’t have sounded nicer.
“I’ve been worried about you,” she said. “Are you doing okay?”
Nora smiled to herself. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m holding up. I really appreciate your checking in. You know, at first I was a little wary about staying here. Of course, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Oh, please, I hope you’re not thinking that’s why I called,” she said. “Nothing could be further from my mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Besides, I wouldn’t have the time to deal with selling the house even if I wanted to.”
“I take it you’re busy with work.”
“Yes. I’ve got two buildings that I designed in construction right now and a third about to break ground.”
“The glamorous life of an architect, huh?”
“I wish,” she said with a sigh. “No, I’m afraid I’m somewhat of a cliché when it comes to how many hours I’ve been putting in. Maybe it’s just the best way for me to keep my mind off Connor.”
“I know,” said Nora. “I’ve taken on three more clients recently—three more than my schedule can actually accommodate.”
The two continued to talk for a few minutes. There was nothing forced about the conversation. No hesitation. Every sentence seemed to flow naturally.
“You know, this is a shame,” said Elizabeth.
“What’s that?”
“The circumstances under which we’ve gotten to know each other. We have a lot in common on our own.”
“You’re right, we do.”
“Maybe if your travels bring you out this way, we can get together for lunch, or something. Or if I come back to New York?”
“I’d like that,” said Nora. “I’d like that a lot. It’s a date.”
In your dreams, Lizzie.
Chapter 67
A LITTLE BEFORE twelve-thirty, I pulled into Connor Brown’s driveway—that’s how I always thought of the place: Connor Brown’s house. Before I even came to a stop Nora was walking out the front door.
She was wearing a light summer dress, sleeveless with a red and green floral pattern. It showed off her tan nicely, not to mention her legs. She got in my car and announced that she was starving.
“That makes two of us,” I said.
We drove over to a restaurant called Le Jardin du Roi in the town of Chappaqua. It was upscale without being overly fancy, and I guess the mix of white linens and wooden beams qualified it as suburban chic. We took a table for two in the far corner.
It was a half-business, half-ladies-who-lunch crowd. With me in my suit and Nora in her blousy summer dress, we looked to have both halves covered. Nora was without a doubt the most attractive of the women in the restaurant, though—and the head turning done by all the other men in suits confirmed it.
A waiter came over. “Can I bring you both anything to drink?”
Nora leaned in across the table. “Will you get in trouble if we have wine?” she asked.
“Depends on how much,” I replied, cracking a smile. When she smiled back I assured her, “No, I won’t be breaking any company rules.”
“Good.” She picked up the wine menu and handed it to me.
“No, go ahead,” I said. “You decide.”
“If you insist.”
“Would you like a minute?” asked the waiter.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” said Nora. She pulled the wine list toward her and immediately ran her index finger down the page, stopping midway.
“The Châteauneuf-du-Pape,” she announced. It was a decision made in less than six seconds.
“A woman who knows what she wants,” I said as the waiter nodded and walked off.
Nora shrugged. “At least when it comes to wine.”
“I was thinking more generally.”
She shot me a curious look. “What do you mean?”
“Take your career, for instance. I get the distinct impression you knew from an early age that you wanted to be an interior decorator.”
“Not true.”
“You mean you weren’t always changing the furniture around in your Barbie Dream House?”
She laughed, and seemed to be having a good time so far. “Okay, true,” she said. “What about you, though? Did you always know what you wanted to do?”
“No, I only sold lemonade at my lemonade stand. No insurance policies.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m really asking,” she said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but with you I get the opposite impression: that you were maybe cut out for something else.”
“Like what? Give me an example. How do you see me, Nora? What should I be doing?”
“I don’t know. Something…”
“More exciting?”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Yes, you were—and it’s okay. I’m not insulted.”
“You shouldn’t be. In fact, you should take it as a compliment.”
I chuckled. “Now you’re pushing your luck.”
“No, I’m serious. You have a certain way about you, a kind of inner strength. And you’re funny.”
I was spared from having to respond by our waiter returning with the wine. As he opened the bottle, Nora and I exchanged a few glances over our menus. Was she flirting with me?
No, Einstein, we’re flirting with each other.
With a swirl and a sip, Nora okayed the Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The waiter poured. When he left, she proposed a toast. “To Craig Reynolds. For being so incredibly nice to me throughout this entire ordeal.”
I thanked her and we clinked glasses, our eyes locked on each other.
And little did I know that the real ordeal was just beginning.
Chapter 68
THE BUSINESS SUITS had left. So had the ladies who lunch. There were only two holdouts from the afternoon crowd at Le Jardin. Nora and moi. The house pâté and the hearts of palm salad, the roasted salmon and the coquilles St. Jacques—most of it was devoured, though at a leisurely pace. All that remained on our table in the corner were the last sips of wine.
From our third bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.
Mind you, it wasn’t part of my original plan to drink half a vineyard at lunch. Once we got going, though, the plan was revised and then revised again. Alcohol, after all, makes a great truth serum. What better way to find out something about Nora that I wasn’t supposed to? The more we talked, the better my chances. At least, that was the story I kept telling myself.
Eventually I glanced over my shoulder at the waitstaff, who were setting the tables for dinner. A busboy was lazily sweeping a broom near the bar. I turned back to Nora. “You know, there’s a fine line between lingering and loitering, and I think we’ve officially crossed it.”
She looked around to see what I was talking about. “You’re right,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “We’d better get out of here before he sweeps us out with the breadcrumbs.”
I signaled for the check from our much-relieved waiter.
The 30 percent tip I left meant a relatively guilt-free departure for the two of us—if not exactly a sober one. I expected as much from Nora. After all, she was thin as a rail. But despite having about eighty pounds on her, I was feeling the effects, too.
“Why don’t we walk for a bit,” I said as we stepped outside.
I was reassured when she agreed. Drinking on the job is one thing. Drinking and driving is another. A little fresh air and I knew I’d be all right.
“Maybe we’ll see the Clintons,” Nora chirped. “They live right up the street.”
I decided to lay off that one. Too easy. We strolled the sidewalk along the various storefronts. I stopped at a window of an embroidery place called the Silver Needle.
“This reminds me of my mother,” I said. “She loves to knit.”
“What kind of things does she make?” asked Nora, who was a surprisingly good listener, not as into herself as I would have expected.
“The usual. Afghans, scarves, sweaters. Actually, I remember this one Christmas back in my high school days when she knitted me two sweaters: one red, the other blue.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know my mother,” I said with a finger raised. “For Christmas dinner I show up at the table wearing the red sweater—and what does she say to me? ‘What’s wrong, you don’t like the blue one?’”
Nora gave me a push on the shoulder. “You’re making that up!”
Yes, I was.
“No, it’s true,” I said. We started walking again. “What about your mother? Is she a knitter?”
Nora suddenly looked uncomfortable. “My mother… she passed away some years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. She was a great mom while I had her.”
We continued to walk, only now in silence.
I shook my head. “See what I’ve done?”
“What?”
“I’ve taken a perfectly good time and spoiled it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Nora said with a wave of her hand. “This is still a perfectly good time. In fact, it’s one of the best times I’ve had in a while. I needed this.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m saying it because it’s you who makes me feel better. As you might imagine, these last couple of weeks have been awful. Then, out of nowhere, you come along.”
“Yeah, except I was making things even tougher for you.”
“At first, yes,” she said. “However, it turns out you were a blessing in disguise.”
I tried not to flinch at the irony of that last word as we stopped at an intersection and waited to cross. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the trees. Nora folded her arms against her chest with a slight shudder. She seemed vulnerable, actually.
“Here,” I said. I had removed my suit jacket and I draped it over her shoulders. As she pulled the lapels together our hands touched briefly. In front of us the WALK sign flashed, but we didn’t move a step. Instead, we stood there, perfectly still, looking at each other.
“I don’t want this to end,” she said. Then Nora leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s go somewhere, okay?”
Chapter 69
I DIDN’T HAVE to be Johnny Casanova to figure out what she meant. Let’s go somewhere. Even Johnny Knucklehead could’ve gotten the not-so-subtle hint. Nora wasn’t talking about getting a cup of coffee to clear our heads.
No, the only thing not obvious to me at that moment was the following: How was Johnny O’Hara going to respond?
All through lunch I didn’t mind that Nora and I were getting cozy with each other, flirting, whatever it was we were doing. In fact, that was kind of the idea. Now suddenly things had gotten a little too cozy.
Could she be interested in me? Of course, it wasn’t really me. It was Craig Reynolds, the insurance man.
Maybe it was the wine she’d had. Or maybe it was something else, something I wasn’t seeing. An angle she was playing. One thing was for sure. It wasn’t my money she was after.
Selling life insurance isn’t usually recognized as a rich guy’s game. Even the best at it are no match for the likes of a Connor Brown, hedge-fund manager and financial guru. Besides, Nora had seen where I was living as Craig. She already knew the BMW and the fancy suits were a front. Yet, despite all that, she said what she said.
Let’s go somewhere.
I stood there, staring deep into her green eyes on the corner of that intersection in downtown Chappaqua. The chance to go in any direction.
“Follow me,” I said.
We walked back to my car parked outside the restaurant. I opened the passenger-side door for her.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
I walked around and got behind the wheel. We strapped on our seat belts and I started the engine, giving it a few extra revs while still in park. Then I kicked it into drive.
Chapter 70
NORA CAUGHT ON a mile or so before we got there.
“You’re taking me home, aren’t you?”
I turned to her with a slow nod. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“That makes two of us. You’re right, though. Must have been the wine. I’m so embarrassed.”
My tone, my body language—I made it look as though this was an easy decision, that the thought of being with her never really entered my mind. If only that were true.
Nora was an absolutely beautiful woman who’d presented me with an amazing offer. It took every ounce of willpower to remind myself why I was with her in the first place.
Still, there was no denying some chemistry, a connection between us. Something I was convinced she couldn’t fake. And even if she could, why bother?
We drove the last stretch of road to “Connor’s house” in silence. The one time I glanced over at her, I couldn’t help notice that her dress was riding up her leg. Tanned thighs, slender, firm, giving me a reminder of just what I was passing up.
I pulled into the circular driveway and came to a pebble-crushing stop. That’s when she let me off the hook.
“I understand,” she said. “It probably wouldn’t have been the best thing for us to do. Not under the circumstances.”
“Probably not.”
“Thanks for lunch. I had a wonderful time.” She leaned over and gave me a soft peck on the cheek. I could feel her hair brush against my face. I could smell her perfume, very nice, a hint of citrus.
“I’ll… um…” I cleared my throat. “I’ll let you know when the paperwork on the insurance money has been taken care of, okay?”
“Sure, Craig. You’ve been great.”
Nora stepped out of the car and walked slowly up the front steps. And out of my life? I waited for her as she took the house keys out of her purse. I looked away for a few seconds to fiddle with the radio dial. When I looked back she was still trying to get the door open.
I put down the window. “Everything all right?”
She turned back to me, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh. “The damn key’s stuck. This is getting more embarrassing by the second.”
“Hold on.”
I got out of the car to take a look. Sure enough, there was the key sticking halfway out of the lock.
Stuck, however, it wasn’t.
As soon as I gripped it, the rest of the key slid smoothly into the cylinder. I turned around and there was Nora, inches away.
“My hero,” she said, pressing her body up against mine. Her legs were very firm. Her breasts, very soft. She wrapped her arms around me and began kissing my lower lip gently. “I fibbed. I don’t really think this is a bad idea.”
That’s when instinct took over and my willpower completely failed.
I kissed Nora back.
Chapter 71
LIKE A CRASHING WAVE, the two of us spilled into the foyer of the house. I kicked the front door closed behind us. What are you doing, O’Hara?
&
nbsp; There was still time to stop it. A chance to pull away. All I had to do was quit kissing Nora.
But I couldn’t stop. She felt so soft, so damn good in my arms. She smelled delicious: her body, her hair. Her green eyes were amazing up close.
Nora took my hand and guided it up her dress along the inside of her thighs. Her breath caught. When I reached the smooth silk of her panties she held me tighter, her hips starting to move with my touch. She began to moan, and it had to be real, had to be. Why fake it with me?
Off went my shirt. Down went my pants. We stopped the kissing for just a moment—only long enough to lift Nora’s dress over her head. “Fuck me,” she said, slightly out of breath. Just like that. Except she made it sound sexy and irresistible.
Nora pulled us both to the floor and straddled me. She pushed aside her panties, took me in her hand, and guided me inside her. Even in the heat of the moment a funny line ran through my head: You’re fucked, O’Hara.
I was dizzy. The whole room was spinning. The room? We were in the marble foyer of Connor Brown’s house, the man she’d been engaged to. The man she may have killed. It couldn’t get any more screwed-up than that, I thought.
Think again. The next thing I knew, I heard a ringing down by my feet. It took me a moment to figure out what it was.
My cell phone.
Christ. I knew who it was. Susan! She was checking in. Talk about incredible timing.
“Don’t even think about getting that,” said Nora.
Don’t worry, I won’t.
The ringing stopped as we kept going, never breaking stride. We were in rhythm, incredibly in sync. She swept her beautiful brown hair down across my face. She was on top; then she was on the bottom; she was on her hands and knees, the delicate curve of her back belying the deep moans that asked for more until the foyer echoed with the two of us climaxing.
For a good couple of minutes, if not more, the two of us just stared up at the ceiling, saying nothing, getting our breathing under control.
Finally, I blinked. “The key was stuck?”
“Hey, you’re the one who fell for it.”
Honeymoon Page 13
