by Peggy Webb
She hurried to her dressing room, anxious to be away from the searchlight of those bluer than blue eyes. Her hand was on the zipper of her gown when she heard his voice.
“Hello, Rachel.”
She whirled around. He was leaning against the door frame, his face unreadable, his eyes as cold as glaciers.
Her hands faltered on the zipper. “Jacob.” She gave him a brief nod, and tried to maintain a professional distance. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I didn’t come back here to talk about the show.”
“Why did you come?”
Instead of answering, he left the doorway and moved into the room. His eyes raked her from head to toe, and then she saw the flame leap in their depths. That look of pure passion evoked memories so powerful, she had to catch the back of a chair to steady herself. She remembered Jacob in the sunlight beside the river, pressing his bronzed body into hers; Jacob with hay tangled in his red hair, his eyes crinkled with laughter; Jacob waking in her bed, reaching for her and telling her she was the wind beneath his wings.
Her tongue flicked over her dry lips, and she stood so still, she could measure the exact rhythm of Jacob’s footsteps as he came toward her.
When he was only inches away, he stopped, pinning her to the spot with his intense gaze. She pressed a hand over her heart as if to calm its fluttering. The silence stretched between them until she could almost hear the air crackling with tension.
At last he spoke.
“You always did need help with your zippers, Rachel.”
She held her breath as Jacob gently turned her around. Goose bumps popped out on her arms.
“Do I make you nervous?” Lifting her hair, he dragged his fingertips lightly across the back of her neck.
“No.” Her shiver mocked the lie. She wanted to scream; she wanted to run. But she could do nothing except stand and wait for the hot pleasure of Jacob’s touch.
“Black becomes you, Rachel.”
“Thank you.” She could barely speak above a whisper, for now his hands were on the back of her sequined gown. The metallic hiss of the zipper was loud in the charged quiet of the room.
“Are you still in mourning?”
“No,” she whispered.
His strong, blunt fingers were on her bare skin now, trailing fire in their path. Her reaction was so strong, so unexpected, that for a moment she thought she had been transported back in time. A lethargy stole over her, and she tipped her head back on her limp neck.
The room seemed to spin, and nothing existed for her except Jacob and the ecstasy of his touch.
“Awww, Rachel.” Jacob turned her easily, sliding her dress over her shoulders as he pulled her into his arms. He bent over her, his breath hot against her skin.
“No,” she whispered. But it was too late. Both of them knew it was too late.
His mouth descended on hers, and her eager response thrilled him. She molded her body to his, trying in one desperate moment to wipe away the six years that had separated them.
His mouth roused her almost to the point of frenzy. An aching longing filled her.
“Oh, Jacob,” she murmured against his lips.
In answer to her plea, his mouth left hers and roamed down the side of her neck. He planted fierce kisses at the base of her throat. Hauling her closer, he fitted her hips close to his.
She was drugged by him, drowning in him. Another moment of this insanity and she would be lost. There would be no turning back. She pressed her face into his shoulder. “Please, Jacob.”
He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes.
“Please what? Please do or please don’t?”
The remoteness in his voice chilled her. How could love have grown so cold? she wondered.
“Please let me go.”
He pulled her dress back onto her shoulders, walked away, and straddled a chair. The small room vibrated with his presence. Across the tiny space that separated them, she could still feel his body heat.
Turning her back to him, she sat at her dressing table and picked up the nearest thing she could find—her hairbrush. Anything would serve to calm her shaking hands. Glancing up, she saw his reflection in the mirror. There were laugh lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there six years before, and fine lines of stress bracketing his mouth. He looked more bronzed, more solid, and more dangerous, as if being in constant peril had toughened him.
“I let you go a long time ago, Rachel.”
She dragged the brush through her hair, taking her time before answering. She had to do it right; she had to send him away from Biloxi.
“I let you go,” he continued, “the day you betrayed me by marrying another man.”
Her control snapped. She whirled around on her stool and shook the hairbrush at him. “I betrayed you? If I remember correctly, you had a choice, and you chose to live in constant danger rather than with me. You left me, Jacob. I didn’t leave you.”
He was shocked at her intensity. “I didn’t leave you, Rachel. I went to Arabia on business. As I recall, I asked you to go and you refused.”
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to dredge up the past. Nothing would be accomplished by doing so.
“Yes, I did. I refused.” She faced the mirror again and began brushing her hair. “It’s over and done with. Let the past stay buried.”
She shivered as his bold gaze raked over her. The air seemed to pulse between them, heavy and electric with emotion.
“I’m not here to relive the past.”
“Then why are you here, Jacob?” She laid the hairbrush on the dressing table and turned to face him with quiet dignity. “After all these years, why are you here?”
“I have to know the truth.”
All the color drained from her face. Jacob half rose from his chair.
“Rachel? Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She lifted her hands and pressed them against her hot cheeks. “It’s the pressure, I suppose. Death leaves so many loose ends.”
Jacob felt the anguish rise within him. He needed no more reminders that for the last six years Rachel had belonged to another man, had kissed another man, had slept in another man’s bed. He willed himself to sit calmly in his chair.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. It must be hard for you.”
“Yes.” She smiled at him, grateful to be off the subject of the past.
“It doesn’t show. You look wonderful.”
“So do you. You must thrive on danger.”
“I always did, Rachel.”
They were treading on shaky ground again. She decided to steer them to a safer topic. “And how is your family?”
“Well and happy and growing.”
“I hear your twin sisters, Hallie and Hannah, are both pregnant again.” Jacob arched one quizzical eyebrow, and she added, “Dad would never discuss the Donovans, but my friend Evelyn Jo keeps me informed.”
So, she cared enough to keep up on news of his family. The thought pleased Jacob so that he threw back his head and laughed.
Rachel joined him. It felt good to laugh again— especially with Jacob. But then, everything had always felt good with Jacob.
“Hannah takes great pride in saying that she started it this time. Their daughters were born only two weeks apart.”
“I know. I envy them.” She made herself remain calm as he studied her.
“You and Bob never had more children.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a bomb dropped into the silence between them. Rachel folded her hands carefully in her lap and looked at a spot on the wall behind Jacob’s head.
“You kept up?”
“No. Someone told me about your son . . . Mom, I think. She’s a hopeless romantic. She thought I still cared.”
“You don’t, of course.”
“No.”
Rachel looked him straight in the eye, but she couldn’t read his careful expression. She could only hope he was telling the truth.
“No, we never had more childre
n.”
“You used to say you wanted a big family.”
“Bob was older.” She watched his face, praying he would believe her. “One seemed to be enough.”
Looking at her with her long honey-and-butterscotch streaked hair and generous mouth, Jacob held on to the absurdly jealous thought that Bob had been too damned old to perform more than one miracle. He even hoped that fathering one son had tuckered him out so much, he’d had to spend the next six years celibate, recovering.
“Did you love him?”
Rachel’s head went up in defiance. “I married him, Jacob. That’s all that matters.”
“No. It’s not all that matters.” He stood up abruptly and kicked aside his chair. “When I went to Saudi Arabia, I left behind a woman I loved, a woman I fully intended to marry. I want to know what in the hell happened.”
She rose to face him, regal in her rage. “What happened is that you and I fought over your bullheaded determination to do everything in the world you could to put yourself in danger. You seemed bound and determined to get yourself killed, one way or the other—in one of your fast planes or in some godforsaken part of the world fighting an oil field fire. I couldn’t go through that again.”
“I think we’ve had this conversation before. Are you going to let your mother’s untimely death rule your emotions for the rest of your life?”
“Untimely death!” She stabbed the air with her finger for emphasis. “Hers was a foolhardy death, one that never would have happened if she hadn’t been taking dumb risks in that air show, flying that old World War One plane with no more thought than she would have had flying a kite.”
“And so you wrote me a Dear John letter because of your mother.” His face was unreadable as he strode across the small space. “I don’t believe it, Rachel. We’d fought over my profession before. It was a difference we could have worked out.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “What happened while I was gone? What sent you running to Bob Devlin’s bed?”
Jacob was a worthy opponent, but Rachel was more than a match for him. She’d be darned if she’d be rattled by Jacob Donovan. And she certainly had no intention of ever telling him the truth.
Her eyes flashed fire as she squared off with him. “Love. Is that what you want me to say, Jacob? That I loved him?”
“Did you?”
“Yes . . . I loved him.” She felt no triumph at the pain she saw in Jacob’s eyes. But she’d endured pain too. Six years of it. And guilt, besides. But it was a small price to pay for sanity. She looked straight into Jacob’s eyes and sent home the last barb. “He was always there for me—and he was damned good in bed.”
Jacob loosened his grip. He began slowly caressing her bare shoulders. She felt his power, his turmoil, and his tremendous magnetism.
She toughened her mind even as her body began to go slack in his hands.
“You’d have me believe you couldn’t wait to climb into another man’s bed.” His hands continued their massage. Every nerve in her body was screaming. “After all we’d been to each other, all the promises we’d made, you want me to think you changed your mind and fell in love with somebody else—in two months time.”
Suddenly, the caressing stopped. Jacob released her and stepped back. “I don’t believe you, Rachel.”
She crossed her arms in front of her and gripped her own shoulders. They were still warm and tingling from his touch.
“Let it go, Jacob,” she whispered. “Please, just let it go.”
“I’ll never let it go until I learn the truth.” He turned and quickly left the room.
The sudden silence thundered around her. It would have been so easy, she thought, just to give in to him. But she had her son’s future to consider.
“Never,” she whispered fiercely. “You’ll never learn the truth.”
Only three people knew, and one of them was dead.
o0o
Chapter Excerpt, Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble
Peggy Webb
(Fourth Southern Cousins Mystery)
Elvis’ Opinion # 1 on the Valentines, Manicures, and Mooreville’s Royalty
Ever since I used my famous nose to crack the Memphis Mambo Murder Case, things have gone to the dogs around here. And I don’t mean to a musical genius in a basset hound suit, either. (That would be yours truly.)
To hear my human mom tell it (that would be Callie Valentine Jones, owner of the best little beauty shop this side of the Mason Dixon Line), life just couldn’t get any better. She thinks she’s happy since she said “The Last Farewell” to Jack (my human daddy) up in Memphis, but I know better. When she’s not giving New York hairdos to Mooreville’s finest and doling out the dough for her mama’s little gambling escapades – and every other kind of escapade Ruby Nell Valentine can think of – she’s sitting on the front porch swing with a faraway look in her eyes that says, “Stuck on You.”
Listen, I know she believes Jack is finally going to give her a divorce so she can have her heart’s desire with somebody who won’t spend more time in the world’s underbelly avoiding bullets than he does in the gazebo with Callie and her “Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hounddog” best friend. (I’m not even going to talk about Hoyt, that ridiculous cocker spaniel pretender to my throne, and the seven silly cats who took up residence with us when Callie rescued them and dragged them home.)
Believe me, Jack’s face said it all when Callie and the rest of our gang headed home from Memphis - “There Goes My Everything.” A man that smitten is not going to let his woman go, no matter how noble he thinks the gesture might be.
I’m trying to teach Jack and Callie to be thankful for what they’ve got – each other plus a suave, famous Rock ‘n’ Roll King who is content to live a dog’s life in order to make his humans happy. Instead, they’re intent on turning everything upside down to get what they think Callie wants. A child. Otherwise known as a short, not-too-bright little person who makes car noises all day long, smears peanut butter on my pink satin guitar-shaped pillow, pulls my mismatched ears, runs Tonka trucks up the legs of Callie’s customers, and generally has turned everything upside down here at Hair.Net.
This particular little person is David. He was part of the package when his mom, Darlene, (Callie’s new manicurist) moved in lock, stock, and uppity Lhasa Apso.
That would be William, who claims he’s the Dalai Lama reincarnate. He’s prancing around here, even as I speak, acting like he outranks the King. I thought he’d get the message when I howled “The Great Pretender,” but he just did his silly Lhasa flop that made Callie say, “Isn’t he the cutest little dog?”
Cute, my slightly crooked hind leg. “Don’t Step on my Blue Suede Shoes” is what she ought to be saying. That silly fuzz ball’s motto is “Rip It Up.”
Mine is “Suspicious Minds.” Listen, you can’t trust a dog with a bushy tail. What’s the use of a tail that can’t point rabbits? Or thump the floor like a drum? Or whack your human mom’s legs to let her know you love her?
Wait till Callie finds out William sneaked into the beauty shop closet and chewed the toe out of her favorite Steve Madden moccasins. She loves her designer shoes.
But even with that dumb dog chewing up everything in sight and trying to steal my spotlight and David trying to pull my tail, I’ll have to admit business has picked up around Hair.Net. Ever since Fayrene’s daughter moved back home with her entourage (which includes a cat named Mal that I’m not even going to dignify with a comment) and started dispensing Atlanta nail art, we’ve been booked to the hilt. Everybody who is anybody comes here to have Darlene paint witches and pumpkins on their toes. And while they’re at it, they end up getting a new hairdo for Halloween.
Business is popping over at Gas, Grits and Guts, too. People have been coming from Mantachie and Saltillo and even as far off as Red Bay, Alabama, to admire Fayrene and Jarvetis’ disco ball dance trophy. They hung it over the pickled pigs’ lips then proceeded to spotlight it so it would send rainbows over the Vlasic pickles
and Lay’s potato chips. My best friend, Trey (Jarvetis’ redbone hounddog), tells me that Fayrene and Jarvetis (Mooreville’s answer to royalty), are acting like lovebirds these days in spite of the fact that work is progressing on the séance room he said she’d build onto the back of their convenience store over his dead body.
And speaking of dead bodies…ever since Charlie Valentine thought Ruby Nell was going to join the body count during the Memphis Mambo Murders, he’s back to being her best friend as well as the backbone of the entire Valentine family. As a matter of fact, he’s planning to take her to the undertaker’s convention in the Yucatan.
That leaves only one Valentine unaccounted for – Lovie, Callie’s 190-pound, over-the-top, flamboyant cousin. Currently she’s in the Yucatan at Rocky’s archeological dig promoting an agenda that features the love of her life discovering her “national treasure.” She had that tattooed on her bombshell hips when we left off trying to catch a killer long enough to have a little fun up on Beale Street in Memphis. Personally, I think the “national treasure” ought to be added to the list of world wonders.
Here comes that five-year-old, pretending he’s a Peterbilt rig. I’d escape through the doggie door and mosey on down to see what’s cooking with my cute Frenchie (that would be Ann Margret) and my five handsome progeny, but somebody has to keep things straight around here. Ruby Nell will be here any minute. She called to say she wanted to get spiffied up for her trip, but you can bet she’s up to something. And I’m just the dog to find out. These mismatched radar ears miss nothing.
Well, bless’a my soul. The little person is carrying a cone of vanilla ice cream. That goofy Lhasa just waves his useless, ostentatious tail, but I know opportunity when it knocks.
I heft myself off my cushion, hum of a few bars of “Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear,” then mosey on over to see if the short person will let me lick ice cream off his elbows.
o0o
About Peggy Webb
In a career that spans 26 years, the Mississippi author has written almost 70 books. Writing as Peggy Webb, she pens romance and the popular, comedic Southern Cousins Mystery Series starring Elvis, the basset hound who thinks he’s the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll reincarnated. Writing as Anna Michaels, she pens literary fiction. She has been on the romance bestseller list numerous times and has won many awards, including a Romantic Times Pioneer Award for creating the sub-genre of romantic comedy. Several of her romances have been optioned for film.
