A MAN CALLED BLUE

by EC Sheedy

  They were too busy innovating.

  Chapter 10

  Mrs. Dreiser knocked on the door at ten-thirty. "Mr. Bludell, would you like your coffee now?" At the sound of Marie's voice, Blue turned toward Simone. She wasn't there. Disoriented, he sat up, rolled his head to clear it, and shoved his hair back.

  "You sleep like a tired pup," Simone said quietly from their adjoining doorway.

  She leaned against the door jamb, brushing her hair in slow easy strokes, and smiling. If he were a pup, she was the sexiest kitten he'd ever seen. His body stirred and he cursed silently. This was crazy.

  "Mr. Bludell?" Marie rapped again, louder this time.

  He gave Simone a questioning look. She shook her head and continued casually brushing her hair. Just standing there, that scrap of a kimono skimming her smooth thighs, she frustrated the hell out of him. Damn it. Innovation could only go so far.

  He forced his attention to the assault on his door. "No. No coffee, Marie. Thanks. Later maybe," he said.

  When he turned back to the doorway, Simone was gone. Before he could get both feet on the floor, she came back, heading toward his bed carrying a tray laden with coffee, fruit, and fresh croissants. He took it from her and put it on his bedside table.

  "Forget the coffee. Come here." He pulled her across his lap and kissed her, careful to hold back, but when she yielded to him, his blasted body started without him. He cursed.

  Simone touched his mouth with her finger. "Coffee?" she asked a bit too sweetly, reaching toward the tray.

  "Coffee," he mumbled. "I'm a man without options."

  She laughed and leaned forward to brush her lips fleetingly across his. The light kiss roared to his groin, a harsh, hot wind. He sucked in a breath and drank from the steaming brew. As a cool-down it failed—dismally.

  "You look grumpy," Simone said, giving him a curious look. "What are you thinking?"

  "I was wondering if they have case lot sales on condoms."

  She laughed, said something about him being insatiable, and picked up her coffee cup from the tray. Sipping from it, she sat on the edge of the bed, one knee drawn up, facing him, looking quietly content.

  It struck Blur that this woman bore no resemblance to the one who'd threatened to drop him into the Atlantic just a days ago. He wondered briefly if he was the one who'd put that look of contentment on her face. Chiding himself for being a macho jerk, he reached for a croissant.

  "So," she said, pulling her other knee up to sit lotus style facing him."What shall we do today? I canceled all my appointments until Monday." Her gaze dropped before coming back to meet his. Guilt, Blue decided. His lady was feeling irresponsible—but fighting it. He rested his hand on her knee.

  "We'll do whatever you want to do." Her knee was shiny and smooth... so smooth. "Got any ideas?"

  She gave him a bright, intense look. "I want to take the tube all over London. You know, I've never been on it. I want to wear slacks and—" she grimaced guiltily "—comfortable shoes. I want to walk until my arches fall, and then..."

  He cocked his head, waited.

  "I want to come back here, make love with you, and wake up in your arms tomorrow morning."

  Blue felt his smile fade and his throat catch, his breath lodged like a stone at its base. So this was it. This was the way it was, loving someone. He'd never have guessed it would feel so important, so momentous, and he'd never imagined the fates, or whoever the hell looked after matchmaking up there, would give him a woman like Simone to love, but they had and he did. He'd always sensed he was like his dad, a one-woman man. Now he was going to prove it, because sitting in front of him was that woman—his woman. His chest constricted. He knew with absolute certainty, he would love Simone the rest of his life.

  One problem. The lady was complicated—tender and loving one minute, anxious and driven the next. She was also stubbornly determined to keep what was between them to a weekend fling. He closed his eyes and smiled. Bludell, you've got some serious wooing to do.

  Simone interrupted his thoughts. "Are you game?" she asked, giving him an expectant look more natural to a ten-year-old girl than the president of a multinational corporation.

  "I'm game. One more cup of coffee, a shower, and I'm all yours."

  "Blue"—she rubbed her index finger distractedly across her chin "—about last night..."

  "Uh-huh." He waited, the damn stone still in his throat.

  "It was wonderful. You were wonderful. It's not exactly the kind of thing the words thank you were created for, but I can't think of anything else to say. I know we shouldn't have left Hallam's, but I'm so glad we did. I haven't been so alive, enjoyed myself so much in..." She closed her eyes. "The fact is, I've never enjoyed myself so much." The last came out in a delicious rush of words accompanied by a rosy blush.

  He pulled her close, and she buried her head in his shoulder. He stroked her hair. His voice was gruff when he spoke, his words too mundane to express his feelings. "That goes both ways, Tiger."

  * * *

  As Mr. Dreiser took her and Blue's jackets, folding them over his arm as if they were made of the finest cashmere, Simone kicked off her shoes and glanced at her watch. After eight. Blue must be starving. They'd been tubing around London since noon. Had they even stopped for lunch? She couldn't remember. The day was a blur, a wonderful, fuzzy blur, Blue as perfect a companion as he was a lover.

  "Shall I have Mrs. Dreiser prepare dinner for you, madam?" Dreiser asked solemnly.

  "That would be—" she stopped suddenly, a thought occurring to her. "Dreiser, what's your first name?"

  "Harold, madam."

  "Would you mind if I used it?"

  A slight smile bent his lips before his mouth contracted to correctness. "I would be most pleased, Madam."

  Blue slipped an arm around her waist and briefly hugged her. She went on. "Thank you, Harold. If it wouldn't be too much bother for Marie, a light supper would be nice—but no salads." She looked up at Blue.

  "I'll instruct her, madam." Harold intoned.

  "Harold, hold off a minute, will you?" Blue said before leaning to whisper in Simone's ear. "Why bother Marie? It's late. We'll fend for ourselves."

  "I'm, uh, not very good in the kitchen." She wasn't even sure where the kitchen was.

  "Well, you're in luck then, because I am—and I happen to have firsthand knowledge of Marie's generous fridge. Game?"

  Harold stood, column straight, awaiting instructions. Not by an eyelash flicker did he indicate he thought anything strange about his mistress rubbing her lower lip thoughtfully while one of her employees kissed her ear.

  "Okay." Simone nodded. "Don't bother Marie, Harold. We, uh, Mr. Bludell and I will manage for ourselves."

  "Very good, madam."

  Simone watched him glide away, then hesitated, looking intently at the six doors leading off the main floor of her house, as she tried to remember which one led where.

  Blue laughed at her obvious confusion. "This way," he said, taking her hand.

  Seconds later they were in her spacious, fully equipped kitchen. While Blue walked to the large fridge, Simone looked around, feeling out of place in her own house. Her only input to this room had been her signature on the checks needed for its renovation. She wondered vaguely why she'd bought what looked like a hundred or more copper pots, dangling like firelit jewels over the butcher block table dominating the room's center.

  "Sit," Blue instructed, gesturing with his chin toward one of the stools abutting the table. She sat and watched him put cheese, tomatoes, garlic, pasta, and olive oil on the table. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands.

  "Need any help?" she asked nervously, hoping he didn't. She had no desire to make a fool of herself by being inept and clumsy in a room where most women claimed true and lasting glory.

  Blue shook his head as he poured them both wine. "No, thanks. One galley is much the same as any other. I'll manage, but if you see me put anything on the table you don't like, holler."r />
  She didn't holler. She watched, sipping her wine, as he worked with sure brisk movements, his wonderful hands as deft at working with food as they were at everything else he did. She frowned. "You certainly know your way around in here. How is that?"

  He dumped the penne in the water he'd set to boil earlier and turned the timer. "For the past week, Marie and I have been keeping steady company." He worked while he talked, putting the brie to soften over warm water, then dicing the tomatoes.

  "You've been eating here?" Simone was oddly hurt. He could have been with her.

  He glanced up before turning his attention back to chopping. "Wanting you wasn't in my contract I figured you wouldn't be too pleased if I started chasing you around your desk so I made some space." He scooped the tomatoes into a saucepan. That done, he turned his full attention back to her, while he wiped his hands and moved around to her side of the table. "But, now I know you're as hot for me as I am for you, I think Marie is going to lack for company in here."

  He lifted her hair, which he'd insisted she wear down today, and kissed the nape of her neck, making her flesh heat and tingle. He gripped her shoulders, turning her toward him. When she faced him, he pulled her to her feet, flush against him, and tilted her chin until she looked into his eyes. Not that it was a hardship, she decided happily. She wrapped her arms around his waist and instantly wondered why they'd spent the day looking at Crown jewels in the Tower of London, when they could have been doing something much more interesting.

  He kissed her then, a deep provocative kiss, bringing her every nerve quivering to alert. Blue pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

  "Have you ever made love on a butcher block before?" he asked, his clean, wine-kissed breath soft against her face.

  She shook her head.

  "Want to?" he pulled his head back and grinned.

  "Can we do it and still have the pasta al dente?"

  He shook his head reluctantly. "Not if I make love to you the way I want to."

  She traced his jaw with her finger, her own voice breathy and uneven. "And exactly how is that?"

  "Long, excruciatingly slow... and deep. Very, very deep." He kissed her then, claiming her mouth until a jarring buzz interrupted. The timer. He pulled back. "Damn!"

  Simone managed a quivery smile. "Al dente?" she asked, gesturing toward the boiling pot.

  "Me and the pasta," he said, matching her smile with one of his own and releasing a breath. "I think we'd better eat—for strength—and get the hell out of Marie's kitchen." With that, he sat her down on the stool. He stepped away, then turned back, his expression uncertain.

  "What's happening between us, Simone," he said. "It might be more than you think it is or want it to be. Can you handle that?" He tilted his head, waited.

  She didn't know how to answer him.

  A trickle of fear dampened her full heart and she dropped her gaze. She didn't want to talk about what was happening between them, didn't want to make it one more problem, one more obstacle to be faced. She wanted Blue's strong body pressed to hers, making mind-emptying, sense-bending, body-draining love.

  But could she trust him enough to risk the life she'd built, Josephine's certain censure—and her already damaged heart? She'd worked so hard these past years, planned so carefully. She swallowed, hoping to mask the turmoil his question evoked.

  "Let's not get into... anything," she finally stammered. "Let's just enjoy our weekend—the here and now. Isn't that enough?"

  For a moment he stared at her, his expression unreadable, then he shook his head slowly. "No. It's not, but if you want it that way—" he picked up the tea towel "—that's how we'll play it. But right now—" his smile came back as he removed the roiling pasta from the stove "—let's eat."

  He stirred the tomatoes and Brie into the hot pasta and served them both. He joined her after cutting a fresh baguette.

  "This is wonderful," she said after her first taste. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" She took another forkful, savoring the smoky taste of the Brie.

  "No mom, remember? Dad and I were left with a choice. Either conquer the kitchen or spend our lives eating boxed macaroni and franks." He shrugged lightly. "And most of the time I'm alone on Three Wishes, so galley duty is a must."

  Simone stopped her fork an inch from her mouth. "Most of the time?"

  Blue glanced at her, one eyebrow raised marginally. "Is it time to exchange sexual histories?"

  She colored. "No, of course not." She took a forkful of pasta into her mouth to keep it busy. She had to stop asking questions. It wouldn't do her any good to know more about him. No good at all. She tried to think of a safe topic when the room filled with a strange buzzing. While she looked around for its source, Blue got up and went to the intercom on the wall and answered it. He immediately reached for a pen.

  "Okay, Harold, thanks. I'll give it to her."

  He came back to the table, a puzzled look on his face, and handed her the slip of paper he'd written on. It held a phone number. "Marie took a message for you shortly before we got back from a Gabriel Doucet. He wants you to call him immediately."

  Simone took the paper from his hand, muttered her thanks, and stared at the number. Gabe had called. She quelled her disappointment at missing his call, willed her heart to harden. He'd walked out on her. Now all he wanted was money. She folded the note and placed it beside her plate.

  "Hm-m, this is good," she said, determined to put the matter aside. She wanted nothing to do with Gabe or his crass request for funds. She would ignore him as he'd ignored her. Decision made and final. She speared some pasta and her fork made a metallic sound as it scratched her plate.

  Blue hadn't moved since handing her the note. Now, ignoring his half-eaten meal, he reached for his wine and leaned against the table. The position allowed him to face her. He sipped without speaking. Simone ignored the questions in his eyes and focused her attention on her plate. Blue said nothing. When after a few moments, he still hadn't spoken, she put down her fork and looked up at him.

  "If you must know, Gabriel Doucet is my brother," she volunteered grudgingly.

  He drank some wine, his gaze staying with her. With an irritated breath, she pushed her plate back. "We're estranged. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

  He didn't move, not a quiver not a tic.

  "I haven't seen him in years."

  Blue dipped his chin, acknowledging her statement. "Where does he live, this brother of yours?"

  She picked up the piece of paper. "Bruges. That's in—"

  "Belgium. I know." He put his wineglass on the table, folded his arms, and tilted his head. "Want to talk about it?"

  "Not particularly. It's family business. It doesn't concern—" she stopped, suddenly aware of how curt her words were.

  "The hired help?" he volunteered calmly.

  "No. That's not it at all. I'm just not sure there's any point to talking about it." She fingered the note containing Gabe's number. "It's complicated."

  Blue didn't speak for a moment, simply reached over and touched her hair, curling a few strands idly around his index finger. "I'm beginning to think everything about the Doucet family is. So tell me about this brother of yours."

  Simone glanced up, caught immediately by Blue's steady, thoughtful gaze. Without warning, her eyes misted and she quickly looked away. "I loved him once," she said."We were friends, the best of friends. At least I thought we were." She lifted her head. "He left home a few days after my fifteenth birthday. I never heard from him again."

  "Why?"

  "Good question." Simone stood and wrapped her arms around herself. "And one I can't answer. He had a fight with Josephine, but that wasn't anything new. She was determined he go into law, but Gabe had other ideas. They were always at loggerheads about it, but this time..." Her voice trailed off. "This time was different. He came into my room in the middle of the night and told me he was leaving. Said he didn't have time to explain, but he'd write and tell me everything." She
dropped her arms to her sides, straightened before reclaiming her seat. "He didn't, of course."

  "Did you ask Josephine what happened?"

  "The next morning."

  "What did she say?"

  "That he was cut from the same cloth as his father and we were well rid of him."

  Blue whistled softly but made no comment.

  "I never heard from him again. No telephone call, no note. Nothing." She felt her lips curl. "Until a couple of weeks ago when he wrote asking for money." She closed her eyes briefly, not wanting Blue to know how much that hurt.

  "Money or no, you could go and see him. Wasn't Bruges originally on your agenda?"

  "A brief stab of curiosity, nothing more. The fact is, I wouldn't cross the street to see him, let alone the English Channel." Her words came out vengeful, harsh to her ear and no doubt to Blue's as well. She didn't let herself care.

  Blue was quiet, his expression contemplative. She had no idea what his thoughts were and didn't ask.

  She picked up her fork and poked at her pasta. "And now can we drop the subject? It's spoiling a wonderful dinner." She didn't want to examine her motives or her refusal to see Gabe. Maybe because on some deep level she knew it was simply a need for retribution, and that she was more her mother's daughter than Blue imagined. A truth that should make her happy. It was what she wanted, after all. Why then did it chill her to the bone?

  Blue's gaze held hers a moment longer, then kissed her cheek. "Consider it dropped." He ran his knuckles over the skin he just kissed, then gestured with his head at her abandoned dinner. "Done?"

  She nodded and pushed her plate back. Blue's touch lingered on her cheek, now the only warm part of her restless body.

  He took her hand and pulled her to a standing position, then led her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room. When the door closed behind them, Blue easily banished the chill. The restlessness persisted.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Blue made arrangements to borrow Harold and Marie's car. Simone wanted to tour Bath, and no way would he drive that ocean liner of hers. The Dreisers' Rover was perfect, and so was the gentle English countryside they meandered through to reach their destination.