by Helen Conrad
His eyes met hers. Sweet satisfaction coursed through him and he almost smiled. But he couldn’t. Not when she looked so delicious, standing in the midst of a morning ray of sunshine coming in through the skylight. She was in her black sweater and jeans again, but this time she was barefoot, her pink-tipped toes curling in the long shag of the carpet, and she’d left her hair swinging free in an ebony cloud that set off her shining eyes.
He didn’t know who she’d been talking to or what she’d been up to, and right now, he didn’t care. She was still here. That was all that mattered.
But he noticed she was blinking back tears. His only apprehension had been that she might ruin everything, but he did have a heart—sort of. And he didn’t like to think she might be unhappy.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, looking slightly shocked. He moved slowly, as though afraid moving too fast would scare her away. Holding her gaze with his own, he finished buckling his belt, then started down to her level.
Suddenly he felt like a fool. Had she read the anxiety in his face when he’d first come skidding down the stairs? What was the matter with him, anyway? How had he gotten himself so worked up over caring whether or not she was still here in the house? If she’d gone, it would have taken some heavy explaining to Mavis, but he would have thought of something. And yet ...
Averting his eyes, and without saying a word, he brushed past her and went into the kitchen.
“Morning, Gloria,” he said to the cook. “That coffee sure smells good.”
Gloria turned, beaming. “I’ll pour you a cup,” she offered. “How about an omelet for breakfast? Ham and cheese?”
He hesitated. The last thing he wanted right now was food, but he liked Gloria, and he didn’t want to destroy that hopeful look in her dark eyes. Mavis had so many dietary restrictions, Gloria didn’t often get to exercise her skills, even in this simple fashion.
“Sounds great,” he said at last. “Give me half an hour to wake up, though. I’m going to take this out on the deck.” He accepted the huge mug of steaming coffee she handed him and went out through a sliding screen door to the wide wooden deck that overlooked the long-range view of the ocean.
Mornings up here in the mountains were crisply cool and he didn’t have a shirt on, but he hardly noticed the chill. Setting his mug down on the railing, he leaned out over it, staring at the sapphire-blue water in the distance. If all these trees hadn’t been in the way, he would have been able to see the house he grew up in. Was he going to see it up close and personal any time soon? Or was he going to ignore it once again?
Ignore it. That was what his better judgment was telling him. The hell with all of them anyway. He pushed the entire issue aside and shoved it down into a dark hole and brought his mind back to the problems he had to deal with today. He was walking a tightrope and this newcomer—little Janet Cardona, might just be the one to wreck his plans—and his balance. What was he going to do about it?
He was getting sappy about her and he couldn’t figure out why. She was pretty enough, but so were a lot of women. He’d been involved with plenty of them in his life, plenty of empty, superficial relationships. Mostly he couldn’t even remember their names. Even though he barely knew her, he could tell that Janet was different. Something flared in his chest when he looked at her. Weird, but true. He hadn’t felt like this for quite a while. Not since . . . Cecile.
A sound from behind made him turn. Janet was coming out to join him on the deck, her own coffee mug held firmly in her hand. There was a new stiffness in the way she held herself, a new flash of anger in her gaze. He wondered what had set her off—being held here against her will? Being forced to take part in this sham—had she fully realized just how phony it was? Or was it something else that put the fire in her eyes?
It didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter as she came near, except the morning sun glinting on the reddish highlights in her thick dark hair, the fresh, clean scent of her, the warmth that seemed to radiate from her in seductive waves of excitement. The urge to touch her was burning in him. He frowned hard and looked away, looked out over the pines and the ocean view, so that she wouldn’t be able to see how strong his desire was. And at the same time, his body ached.
She settled alongside him at the rail, leaning on her elbows. For a long moment, nothing was said, but tension stood like a third party between them. She wanted very badly to go. He could feel it. And he wanted, beyond all reason, for her to stay.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low, controlled. “What really happened to your wife?” she asked calmly, though her fingers were twisting together, giving away her nervousness.
“Who?” His mind was blank for just a moment.
“Vanessa. Your real wife.”
“Oh. Her.” He shrugged his disinterest and managed to answer in a light tone. “Not the most reliable of women, unfortunately. She agreed to be here, but she never showed up.”
She glanced at him curiously. “Aren’t you worried about her?”
He shook his head, his gaze slipping down to caress her cheek line. “She’s the sort who invariably lands on her feet,” he murmured.
He could see that his answer didn’t satisfy her. She frowned, then looked out at the view again.
“Do I look like her?” she asked.
“Like Vanessa?” He wasn’t sure, actually. He’d seen Vanessa’s picture in the magazine article about Matt and his enormously successful oil operations in Brazil and Argentina. He knew Vanessa was attractive, with long black hair — so that fit fine. That article was what had given him the idea to try this elaborate hoax.
“You’re much prettier,” he admitted.
She flushed. Compliments were all very well, but a man shouldn’t talk that way about his wife. “Don’t you think that someday you might want to come back here with the real Vanessa?” she asked in a low voice. “Won’t that be a bit awkward now?”
He had to grin at that, leaning back against the railing and watching Janet. “If she ever comes here, it won’t be with me,” he promised. “Don’t worry about it.”
She took a sip of hot coffee, then set the mug down again and leaned out over the railing, feeling the cool breeze on her face. “I don’t know how you can lie to someone who cares about you,” she said tensely.
Matt’s head jerked back. That stung. He hated lying and liars, especially those who lied to loved ones, but in his mind, they always had female faces.
“We all lie all the time,” he said cynically. “It’s just a matter of degree.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s a matter of convenience—or hurting someone.” She took a deep breath. “Which is it for you, Matt?”
It was a matter of necessity in this situation, but he could hardly explain that to her. And not being able to explain frustrated him. Suddenly he realized he didn’t want this lovely creature, this wisp of innocence, to think badly of him. He didn’t want her to call him a liar.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice low, almost harsh.
That was too much for her. He wanted to use her, but he certainly didn’t want to open up and let her know what was going on. If she couldn’t be told the truth, what could she do but assume the worst?
She turned on him, eyes flaming with green fire. “I like Mavis. I don’t want to be any party to defrauding her in any way.”
His dark eyes didn’t waver. “Neither do I,” he said softly.
Searching his face, she could find no clues to go on, no way to read his mind. “Then what is this all about?” she demanded.
He reached out. For a second, she thought he was going to touch her, and she flinched. But he was only reaching out to the ends of the redwood branch next to her. Tiny droplets of dew still clung to the tips, reflecting the sun in shining silver stars. He touched the drops, taking the moisture onto his finger and holding it there.
“I’m just visiting,” he said at last, staring at the stars in his hand. “Can�
��t you accept that?”
“No.” Uneasiness was making her sound fierce. There was a strange depth to him this morning that she hadn’t noticed the night before—as though he were seeing other things, hearing other voices. It was all too mystical and she didn’t like it. She preferred things in black and white, good and bad, so that she would know for sure which side she was on and where she stood.
Right now she’d decided Matt was in the wrong.
“You’re worming your way into her favor for some reason, some ulterior motive. And I don’t want any part of it.”
“Then leave,” he said slowly, gazing at her with hooded eyes. “If you can’t play the game, leave.”
She stared at him, shocked. It couldn’t be that easy. She waited to hear what the catch was.
His cool gaze examined her calmly. “If you can’t be Vanessa, if you can’t be Matt Jessup’s loving and supportive wife, you might as well leave.”
She swallowed. “Won’t Mavis think that a bit odd?”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll just tell her that Vanessa is in one of her moods again. One of her crazy, flighty moods. There’s no reasoning with her when she gets like that.”
She could go. Just like that. But what about Alexander? That was the problem. Matt didn’t seem to realize Alexander was the only reason she’d stayed in the first place.
“Do you want me to go?” she asked, and suddenly the air was still all around them as she waited for his answer.
Matt’s conscience fought with his more carnal instincts. The conscience lost. “No,” he said at last, “I want you to stay. It would certainly look better to Mavis. But I want you to be Vanessa if you stay.”
She laced her fingers together nervously and glanced about the deck to avoid meeting his gaze. “And just how do you suggest I go about doing that?”
He shrugged, shifting his weight, and inadvertently moving closer to her as he did. “Vanessa is a free spirit. I think we’ve already established that. Do something free.”
Janet groaned. “Free spirits” gave her a pain. “I’m not the type to do nude yoga on the lawn or sit in the branches of a tree to recite poetry at the top of my lungs,” she snapped. “You’ll have to make do with things more within the realm of my possibilities, like smiling a lot.”
His own smile was growing. “You are the type to commit burglary for the sake of a cat,” he reminded her. “I don’t think ‘free spirit’ is going to come as hard as you think.”
She met his gaze and might have smiled back if she hadn’t forced a frown instead. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she murmured.
He let that pass. “The thing to remember about Vanessa is that she hasn’t seen her husband for some time,” he noted. “After all, she’s just escaped from a revolution . . .”
“That,” she said, trying to change the subject, “was pretty weak, you know. Revolution! I’m surprised she fell for it.”
He nodded. “Yes. She’s a strange one. She seems pretty whimsical. Not too firmly rooted in reality.” He frowned. “I don’t know . . .” he added, more to himself than to her.
“What don’t you know?” she asked curiously.
He looked up. “Nothing. Wasn’t I giving you lessons in how to be Vanessa?”
She steeled herself. If she was going to stay, she would have to play the game his way. “Yes. What do you want me to do?”
He moved closer, eyes smiling down at her, and put his hands on her shoulders. “Look up at me and smile dazzlingly,” he said softly.
“Now?”
“Yes. People are moving around in the house. Think of this as a performance before an audience.”
She tried to smile. The corners of her mouth moved, but that was about all.
“You promised me smiles, and here we find you have no special talent for them,” he complained, laughing. “What are you good at?”
His hands seemed to burn through the fabric of her sweater, right through to the skin, confusing her. “I ... I don’t know.”
“We’ll have to try everything then, won’t we?” His hands slipped into her hair. “How about kissing? What do you think?”
His eyes were shimmering with amusement. She tried to talk and couldn’t. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought she was going to pass out. And then his face was so close, and his lips grazed hers, leaving behind a tingling sensation of sweet seduction that took her breath away.
“Oh,” she said without thinking, eyes wide.
“I agree,” he said huskily, his voice a soft, tactile enchantment all its own. His mouth covered hers and she couldn’t resist the strong appeal of his masculinity.
She’d expected something nice and friendly, but she got something a lot hotter than that. She’d never been kissed like this before—as though she was being devoured by hunger and the need to get even closer. A sort of magic took over. He seemed to know what he was doing.
There was a rushing sound in her ears and the scent of pine needles in her nostrils. Her arms crept around his neck without her being aware of what she was doing. His body pressed to hers, hard and long and hot, and she trembled in response to his unconscious aggression.
But this was insane, and she knew it. A part of her was still awake and aware enough to fight against the overwhelming compulsion to kiss him forever. Little by little, sanity returned, and finally she was able to break away.
“No!” she gasped as she struggled against his embrace. “You can’t do that.”
He let her go, but one hand still held her elbow. “Why not?” he asked softly. He’d been as surprised by the power of their shared kiss as she had been. Who knew she would taste so good?
She panted and tried not to show it. “You’re married.”
His smile returned. “Yes, but I’m married to you.”
A horrible confusion clouded her mind and she couldn’t think of a good response.
“Get away from me,” she demanded fiercely, turning her face away. “Don’t touch me!”
He did draw away, and she thought at first he was reacting to her words, but when she opened her eyes again, she found Mavis at the doorway.
“Come on in, you two,” she called. “Breakfast is waiting.”
“We’ll be right there, Mavis,” Matt called back, sounding perfectly normal and relaxed.
Janet looked at him in surprise. He was smiling guilelessly at his aunt. Had she imagined the intensity of the scene they’d just been through?
No. As he led her back into the house, she met his eyes again, and she saw the flame burning deep inside. It was then that she realized she’d only postponed the inevitable.
CHAPTER FOUR:
Another View Heard From
The table was set with canary-yellow china and spring-green napkins. Miniature crystal vases held tiny bunches of violets at each place. Mavis sat at the head of the table in her wheelchair, smiling expectantly.
“A welcome breakfast,” she explained with a sweeping gesture toward the charming look of the table. “And Gloria cooks a delicious meal as well.”
Mingled scents of bacon, coffee, and eggs came from the vicinity of the kitchen. Gloria came out with the orange juice in a big glass pitcher.
“This is wonderful,” Janet said weakly, sinking into a chair across from Mavis. She glanced at Matt. He’d run up to the bedroom and put on a shirt and was looking practically presentable. His long muscular body made the descent into his seat the same way it did everything—with consummate, effortless grace. For just a moment, she resented how well he moved, how good he looked.
What if he’d been ugly and awkward and unsure of himself? Would she have been so ready to fall in with his scheme? Not a chance. And that only made her doubt her own motives again.
She looked from one to the other as Mavis and Matt chatted—the aunt and the nephew. What was Matt up to?
Suddenly, an electric shock seemed to pass through the atmosphere.
“Wait!” Mavis held her hand up for
silence. They all sat as still as statues, but all Janet heard was the high-pitched song of a bird flitting about in the pines.
“The Sierra Kinglet!” Mavis cried. “Oh, I haven’t heard one for years.”
Janet looked about, puzzled, then realized she meant the bird. Taking in Mavis’s rapt face, she smiled.
“You seem to know a lot about birds.”
“Oh, yes, I’m writing a book about hummingbirds right now.”
“Are you?” Janet picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, recoiling from the burn it gave her and glancing up to find Matt’s amused eyes on her. She lifted her chin, pretending it didn’t hurt at all.
“How interesting,” she murmured to Mavis.
The older woman was toying with the plainly cooked cereal she’d been given to eat and chattering on as though Janet were family she’d known all her life.
“Yes, I have the balcony of my bedroom lined with hummingbird feeders and I sit like some giant black widow spider and wait to capture them on film —I must show you my pictures some day—and I record them as well.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Now where did I leave my recorder? I’d love to give you a sample ...” She bit her lip, then looked at Matt. “Didn’t I hand it to you just after dinner last night?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes, Janet thought, particularly bright. “Yes,” he said softly, watching with interest. “And I put it on the top shelf in the den.” His face wore a quizzical expression. “And now I notice you have it in the pocket of your chair,” he said, gesturing casually to where the little electronic gadget poked out from among magazines stuck in around Mavis’s seat. “How did it get there? Surely you didn’t get it down yourself?”
Mavis looked at Matt for just a fraction of a second before she laughed. “Why, there it is, you’re quite right.” She drew it out and laid it upon the table. “And no, my dear Matt, I didn’t get it down myself. Gloria got it for me. Didn’t you, Gloria?”
Gloria was serving bacon and eggs and she nodded, not saying a word.
