Shadows of the Past

by Frances Housden

  The meaning of her question finally sank into his thick skull. And he cursed beneath his breath. Damn Rosa Costello for not setting her straight. He knew Maria had no memory of the trauma, but her mother, her sister, someone in her family should be the one to clear up her suspicions, to reassure her.

  “Maria, I’m sure your mother would have told you if you’d been…”e cleared his throat to help him spit out the word.

  “Raped.” He ground it out, hating the image that sprang to life by saying her name and that damn word in the same sentence.

  “Don’t torture yourself over it. I was so caught up in making sure I didn’t spoil your first experience, I don’t remember anything except the pleasure of being inside you. And I have to tell you, hon, the satisfaction gets better every time.”

  He tilted her head up from his shoulder and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Promise you’ll put the idea out of your mind and not let it spoil the rest of our time together, or, the rest of your life.” After he was gone. “It’s not important to me.”

  Coward!

  His fingers contracted against her scalp, an automatic reflex from sinews desperate to form a fist to shake in anger.

  Maria winced.

  He pasted an apologetic smile on his lips, hoping she couldn’t read the thoughts behind his eyes. Hoping she couldn’t see his imagination squeeze its hands round the throat of the bastard who had done this to her.

  Maria turned in his arms, pressed her breasts against his chest, and the image disappeared as fast as the notion had jumped into his mind. The sway she had over his libido erased everything from his mind but her and the way she made him feel.

  She traced the shape of his ear with a fingertip, blowing into the whorls and hollows with a husky purring sound.

  He was being softened up for something. It might not be something he’d care for, but while the fingers of her other hand explored his chest, he didn’t let her effort and attention to detail go unanswered and did some hands-on research of his own.

  “It occurred…to me.” She drew the words out with breathless hesitations. “That since you think being inside me…just gets better each time…maybe we should try breaking the record and find out just…how…good it can get.”

  The last came out in a warm damp rush against his ear, making his gut contract on a spasm of lust. He’d been hard since the moment he hit the sheets again and pulled her, soft and warm and smelling of sex, against his side. Now he was a dead ringer for the title Man of Steel.

  “You’re on, hon” was forced past his strangled larynx.

  Relief came to his rescue as Maria actually giggled, a delightful sound that he’d felt in danger of never hearing again.

  With her hands on his shoulders, she forced him back against the pillows. “Darn straight, I’m on, big guy. This time, I get to be on top.”

  Maria couldn’t understand why she wasn’t tired. After the night she and Franc had put in, she ought to be glad to be at work. Glad to have a whole day to daydream of Franc.

  Yet all she could think of as—per his orders—she locked the glass entrance doors to Tech-Re-Search with her inside, was how soon could she do it all over again.

  Athe assignment she was working on was for Stanhope Electronics and through them, indirectly for Franc. His brilliant idea of weaving two-way transmitters into the fabric of a jacket was ahead of its time, and soon he’d informed her, she’d have to begin research on visuals that would be as good, if not better, than the latest cell phones. She couldn’t wait to start on another project that would stretch her mind.

  She was up to her elbows in research printouts off the World Wide Web, when the doorbell rang. Someone had followed the instructions she’d taped to the inside of the glass door.

  She looked around her untidy desk, searching for her glasses. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably hiding under the masses of paper her research had generated. That was the trouble with being short-sighted, she had to keep taking them off. No matter, she wouldn’t need them simply to answer the door.

  Yet, her spine tensed as she pulled open one of the doors on the office side of the lobby, wishing her boss had installed some kind of security camera she could check, without revealing her presence to the person on the other end of the bell push.

  Her internal alarm stopped ringing when she recognized the chaplain six feet away, waving a piece of paper at her through the plate glass.

  She hadn’t realized he knew where she worked, but then he’d probably seen her leaving yesterday evening, the way she’d caught glimpses of him around the area without taking any particular notice until she bumped into him.

  The stiffness in her spine eased as he smiled. “I’ve brought you a receipt for the donation you gave me. If you’d rather, I can slip it through this gap between the doors.”

  She had the key in the lock as she spoke, “That’s okay. I would have left the doors open, but Franc—you met him yesterday—insisted I lock myself inside.”

  The chaplain nodded in understanding as she swung one side of the doors ajar. “I gather you’re working alone at the moment.” He kept nodding, taking her confirmation for granted. “Well, I don’t blame him, a young girl like you, so…so pretty, you can’t be too careful.”

  He raised his hat, holding it above his fair, receding hair in a courtly gesture. Old-fashioned manners, no doubt learned as part of his seminary training.

  Someone ought to tell him he looked younger with his hat on. Maria smiled up at him; his eyes were an unusual light gray that looked out at her as if they’d seen sights that had aged them. Maybe working with the poor had done that. And it was an effect that made the dark rings circling his irises appear black against the whites. The deep lines in the corners of his eyes made her wonder if he’d worked as a missionary, maybe in a hot climate where the glare of the sun made it impossible not to squint through your eyelashes.

  Her smile deepened as she realized she was imbuing him with one of the fantasies from her childhood. “Thanks for the compliment. I must tell Franc he has your support. He worries about me. Now, what’s this about a receipt?”

  “I thought you might like one for the twenty dollars. Some people claim their charitable donations against their taxes.”

  “It hardly seems that charitable. In fact, now that I think of it, maybe I should have given you more. I can’t leave the office unattended, but if you’d like to come in for a coffee, my wallet is inside.”

  She stepped aside as he said, “That would be…” Only to be interrupted by someone calling her name.

  Now she wished she’d taken the time to wear her glasses.

  “Maria.” Her name came again, closer this time. Close enough to recognize Arthur Collins.

  He lumbered up to the door, his muscles packed tightly inside the checked shirt and jeans he was wearing, work gear for the Collinses, both father and son, who grew produce for the Auckland market. “Sheesh.” He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Sorry, that’s what I get for rushing in this heat. Thought I might miss you.”

  He gave the chaplain the once-over and visibly relaxed. “D’you pray around here, Father?”

  “This is Chaplain…” Embarrassed, Maria suddenly remembered she’d forgotten to get his name.

  She turned in the reverend’s direction. His hat shaded his expression as she played tag with the attention of both men.

  The chaplain spoke first. “That’s all right. I can see you’re going to be busy. Maybe another day?”

  “You know where to find me.”

  Once more, the chaplain raised his hat to her. “That’s right, my dear, I do.” He dismissed Arthur with a nod, including him in his “Goodbye.”

  Watching the chaplain turn the corner in the direction of Saint Andrew’s Church, she inquired, “What brings you this distance, Arthur? It’s a good few blocks from the market.”

  “Your brother told me you worked here, so I thought I’d drop by while I was in the neighborhood. Then
I saw you talking to the priest.”

  “He’s not Catholic. Presbyterian, I think. He’s chaplain at Auckland Hospital.” She wondered which brother she had to thank for setting Arthur on to her. As soon as she found out, she’d pay him back in spades.

  “Makes no difference to me, never go to church.” Arthur swiped his forehead again. He might have muscles but he didn’t look fit after walking up the hill Wellesley Street was built on.

  “Bet you’ve got air-conditioning in there.”

  “Sorry, Arthur. I can’t invite you in. Company policy.” She could imagine Franc condoning a quiet chat and a cup of coffee with the chaplain, but she well remembered his take on Arthur. No way was she going to rock the boat for the few days between now and when Franc returned to work.

  Her thoughts floated her off on a scenario where Franc personally brought her assignments into Tech-Re-Search because he couldn’t stand not having her in his life anymore. Had she been mad to agree to his deadline?

  Her dream balloon popped when Arthur leaned closer, one hand opening and closing on the doorjamb so that his muscles flexed. “How about one of those cappuccinos then? On me.”

  she hadn’t been alone, she might have found it laughable the way Arthur was coming on to her. Why now, for heaven’s sake, after all these years he’d lived with his parents across the road and never said as much as boo in her direction?

  Even as she began to decline his invitation, “I would have—” a lightbulb moment hit her in the middle of her refusal. Of course, Arthur had heard about her parents retiring and splitting up Falcon’s Rise “—but I’m alone in the office and somebody has to answer the phones. Maybe another time when you’re in town, now that you know where I work.” She gave him her best smile and shot his aspirations down gently. “In fact, call me next time. I’m sure Franc would love to join us. He didn’t get much chance to know you last time you met. And I’m sure he’ll be accompanying me home in future. He just loved his visit to Falcon’s Rise.”

  Locked inside once more, knowing Arthur didn’t have her number, Maria grinned. Speaking into the empty office in a gruff voice not unlike Arthur’s, she said, “It’s a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.”

  Wait till she told Franc that Arthur was after her for her share of the vineyard. Maybe the thought of her being an heiress would make him keep her on when their time was up.

  Wishful thinking, Franc didn’t need her money. It was his own success that drove him, not the thought of living off someone else’s efforts.

  She shook her head as she frowned at the receipt that recorded, received from Maria Costello, the sum of twenty dollars. She couldn’t quite make out the name of the charity.

  Never mind she knew she wouldn’t claim it off her tax anyway. The reminder that by April the first, when her tax forms would have to be filled out, she wouldn’t be caring if she saved a few cents or not. She would be on her own again, with nothing left but the memories she and Franc were making together.

  Her thoughts shifted to Randy Searle.

  Would he be out of her life by then, or would Franc’s departure signal open season on Maria?

  Chapter 12

  By lunchtime Saturday, Maria felt she’d earned her keep by doing a share of Franc’s housework. Being typically male, he would have left it u

  ntil his cleaner returned after the holidays, but Maria had insisted that was a cop-out, and refused to let him get away with the excuse.

  She joined him in the kitchen when she finished, and was in the process of teasing him about the cleaning equipment, or lack thereof, she’d found in the apartment. “I can’t believe that someone used to your level of technology has such a ratty vacuum cleaner. Doesn’t your cleaner complain?”

  “She brings her own. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with that one. It was my grandmother’s. Grandma Glamuzina used it every day for years and I inherited the machine.” His voice echoed back at her from the pantry.

  “It shows.”

  He looked around the white p door and slanted an eyebrow in her direction as if waiting for the punch line.

  “That she used it every day.”

  As in most of the other rooms in the apartment, the decor was in shades of black, white and gray, the white kitchen with black granite counters looked clean and bright. Yet Maria wished she could lay her hands on a fern or two or maybe a red geranium to cheer the kitchen up and turn it into a place with a bit of life instead of second cousin to a mortuary.

  A little voice in her head cautioned her, “That would be one way to lose him quick, to start taking over his living space with feminine froufrou.”

  Maria wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the movie.

  Though he’d showered her with fancy aromatic candles, Franc didn’t have a history that urged him to get his fingers dirty with rich brown soil, to make things grow, as her father and brothers did. No, it was the technical aspect of electronics and software that rang Franc’s bell. He’d fixed the little problem with her laptop last night in no time flat. A guy like Franc was handy to have around even without the great sex.

  He’d been staring at her while her mind went on a journey of its own. It took her a second to realign her thoughts and say, “I only meant that it must have sentimental value. No one would give it houseroom otherwise.”

  Franc closed the pantry. “I think I must have created a monster when I took you in off the streets.” He advanced toward her with a look in his eyes that made her shiver with anticipation and sent an excited giggle up the back of her throat to spill over just before he reached her.

  “What with you criticizing my equipment.” He tried a theatrical leer, and when that didn’t work, pretended to twirl a mustache. “And the sexual demands you make in the bedroom, your mother wouldn’t recognize you as the meek-and-mild daughter I took home on Christmas Eve.”

  Joining in the game, she grabbed the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. “Kiss me,” she demanded, lifting her mouth to his, and when he obliged, hooked a leg round the back of his knee until he fitted against the tingling between her legs and helped ease its intensity.

  Her head was spinning, dazzled by the glorious combination of his taste and hers as their tongues stroked in a coup de grâce that nobody suffered or lost. They both won. “Take me to bed,” she moaned, impatient to finish what she’d started.

  Franc lifted his head, a dazed, clouded look in his eyes. She didn’t need to feel the hard, thick ridge rubbing against her belly to know how aroused he felt. “I’ve created a monster, an insatiable one. But why go to bed? What’s wrong with the counter?”

  “I just cleaned them.”

  A chuckle tumbled out of his mouth. She felt its journey as it bubbled up in his chest then poured over her.

  She could love this man.

  He kept on laughing as he told her, “God, I just heard Mamma Costello speaking. When you get older, you’re going to be just like her.” As he finished speaking, both pairs of eyes widened as his stomach rumbled.

  “Youneed to be fed.”

  “Guess what? We need to shop. There’s nothing in there that would go even halfway to making a decent lunch, unless you can work some magic with stuffed olives and pickled gherkins.”

  She shook her head. “Not even Mamma could work magic with that combination.”

  “Then we need to eat out, and then we need to grocery-shop.”

  “I can do the groceries,” she offered, knowing her father’s aversion to trailing round the supermarket after her mother.

  “Oh, no, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Look what happened yesterday while I wasn’t there. Not one, but two men, came calling on you at work. I can just see some lothario cornering you in the produce section.” He bent toward her as he spoke, his hands tickling and his mouth inches from the side of her neck.

  She lifted her chin to give him better access.

  “He’ll cover you with grapes and cherries and eat you all up.” He showed her how, in the curve where her sh
oulder met her neck. The wide, low neck of the turquoise T-shirt she’d chosen for its coolness gave him the freedom to choose the most tender spot.

  Franc was heading lower, his chin grazing the curve of her breast. “And if you escape, he’ll come after you. He won’t stop till he has you, even if it means chasing you round the checkout counter…” His voice faded away as she shuddered. No sex involved. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, hon. I’d forgotten about Randy.”

  She placed a finger over his lips to still his apology. “So had I, big guy. That’s one good thing about you and me together, you make me forget.”

  Franc opened his mouth to reply, but the doorbell got in first. They both turned together, but only Franc voiced his thoughts. “Who the hell can that be?”

  If thoughts of Randy had made Franc’s arousal subside, the sight of what looked like the whole Costello tribe on the other side of the peephole in his front door was a dash of ice-cold water.

  “Wow—” he finger-combed his hair then smoothed it back with the flat of his palm as he opened the door and was swamped with a mixture of men, women and children “—this is a surprise.”

  How did they find us?

  “Maria,” he called over the buzz of greetings, kissed cheeks and the feel of small sticky hands wiping past his knees, Ricky most likely. He counted heads.

  “Your family has arrived.”

  Come and rescue me.

  A suspicion lurked at the back of his mind that Maria’s mother was a witch. How else had she known he was hungry? Or that the formidable smell of coriander, basil and oregano, combined with tomato and a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese, would make him forgive her anything? Including invading his apartment without warning.

  Since meeting Maria, Franc had discovered two new weaknesses: Italian cooking the way Rosa Costello did it, and Italian women, namely, Maria her mother had a hand in both those weaknesses no longer came as a surprise.