Martin smiled. “Well, that sounds very chivalrous, almost romantic.”
“She wanted no part of it, saying he was doing it only because he needed a place to live. He called me asking for sympathy. He couldn’t give me a sensible reason for sticking with her—certainly not love. He finally admitted he was thinking she’d be in prison, and he’d be free to live in her house. That house might need to be sold to pay legal bills, but in any case, Lester is out and they’re headed for divorce.”
Nigel wondered, “Would Leo have shot you in the parking lot, if he’d got that gun away from you?”
She shook her head. “Leo wanted me in his car. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“And as it turned out he never shot anyone,” Nigel said, “and died chasing a stack of dirty money.”
“Money isn’t dirty, people are,” she said.
Martin stood, walked over to the bookcase and ran a finger absent-mindedly along the leather spine of a thick law book. “We’ll work together on Lester’s defense, but I’m not certain that Stand Your Ground will do much other than confuse the jury.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps confusion will be enough. The prosecution will likely go for two charges. First-degree murder, since Lester did grab a gun and hunt Coleman down. And also second-degree because Mel knows we have that defense in our pocket and doesn’t want to lose completely. In the courtroom, I’ll make certain the jury knows they’re looking at an emotional, jealous husband on meds, trying to save his marriage from the evil crook of Miami Beach.”
Martin continued, “You can bet, Mel won’t ask for the death penalty. He wants to run for Florida Attorney General and needs the liberal support. Honestly now, what do you think will happen to Lester?”
“It’ll be an emotional trial,” she said. “If the Stand Your Ground works, then he’ll totally walk. If not, then at the last minute, I’ll take a plea bargain and go for second-degree with a light sentence. I don’t know if Lester could have brought himself to pull the trigger. But he sure did freak when Coleman pulled the gun out.”
“There is someone else whose destiny we haven’t discussed,” Nigel said. “What becomes of Holly Davies?”
“She’s down on herself for believing Fowler’s lies. He would have faked a marriage and just lived with her until she wised up. She’s satisfied that he is being punished,” Sandy answered. “Holly is smarter, with a more appealing personality than I first realized. She’ll be okay. She has some maturing to do and needs to have a suitable male role model, which might explain her need to ingratiate herself with Martin.”
“Well, I do hope things work out for her,” Nigel said.
“Remember I told you, it was inappropriate for you to socialize with someone who had an active issue with our office?” she said, “I was wrong about Charlene, and socializing is no longer an issue with Holly. If you’re interested, you could contact her now that the dust has settled. You may find she remains somewhat emotional and vulnerable, but she needs a true gentleman to lean on as she regains her trust in men—if you would be willing to help.”
“Is she still trying to be a Goth Girl and worshiping demons?” Nigel asked.
“Says she’s over all that.”
“Bloody shame, black toenail polish turns me on.” They smiled politely, so he said seriously, “Sorry Sandy, thank you for all the nice words, but I’m not the one to help Holly. For one thing, I’m not quite ready for another amorous intrigue just yet.” He couldn’t help thinking she was fixing him up for his own sake as well as Holly’s. “When I’m ready, I’ll look around and find someone. Do the young women in this town ever do any rollerblading along the beach?”
“When you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said.
“Don’t tell me we’ve come to the end of our problems,” Nigel said. “I won’t know how to act if the office isn’t in crisis mode.”
Martin said, “Well, to start with, you need to clear your stuff out of the reception area. Someone else will be moving in. Sandy and I have decided we should hire an office manager. Someone who not only can handle the front desk, but also keep all our scheduling and filing in order.”
Nigel noticeably swallowed hard. “Then I’m—.”
“In addition to assisting us, you’ll be doing the research, and the new office manager will report to you,” she said. “You’ll have much more responsibility—now that your pay has been doubled. Of course, you’ll need to have your own office. You’ll take our third small office. And if you decide to pursue a law degree, you’ll already be settled in there where you can study.”
“Doubled?” he said as calmly as possible. A law degree? He appeared puzzled at that statement. “This where I hug you both, I suppose.”
“No.” She laughed. “This is where you leave us alone for a minute, so we can talk about you.”
Martin said, “We need to discuss how best to make these office changes. If we do it correctly, we can handle many more clients.”
“Assuming they don’t all bring along a collection of murdering spouses,” she added.
After Nigel had floated away, Martin said, “Seems strange, relaxing here in your office with no overhanging emergency. We can now cruise through our remaining case load.”
With her mind more at ease, she thought back to how well, for better or for worse, they had kept the romance out of the office. She was thinking about their friendship, when she asked, “Martin, do you believe a man and a woman can be just friends without the sex thing being an issue?” In the past, she’d never have broached such a tantalizing question with him. But, she felt so close to him right then and thought their relationship was taking on a new dimension.
It didn’t take him long to respond, “I believe it depends on what the original attraction was that inspired them to be friendly. If that attraction was non-sexual, then the sex thing need not be an issue.”
“What if the original attraction was physical?”
“If the attraction was physical, then a platonic friendship must be based on sexual repression to remain merely a friendship.” He looked slightly bewildered. “Of course, friends that are attracted to each other can have sex and stay friends. Once the sex thing is out of the way, they can move beyond it and be friends without becoming lovers.”
“That sounds rather tricky.”
“Admittedly idealistic.”
As soon as he’d begun to answer, Martin realized she was talking about herself just as he had been talking about himself. Ever since she’d turned down his proposal three years ago, he’d been quite careful not to even hint at his unrequited love for her, lest she be put off by the uncomfortable situation and avoid him. As guarded as he attempted to be, she’d have to be blind during the last three years not to notice his heart worn on his sleeve.
He wondered what this was all about. He knew that she was well aware of his feelings for her and would never intentionally tease him, yet here she was speaking of romantic urges. What was he to think? Whether it was intentional or unconscious, he took it as a signal from her that the situation had changed. Perhaps, this was the time to approach her again. He had come on too stiff and formal three years ago, and it had overwhelmed her. He had been overly decorous with his old-fashioned proposal. What she had wanted was something less mannerly and more exciting. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. If he got another chance, he would not overlook the passion.
Was it coincidence or fate that he’d already planned to ask her to dinner tonight at his place? After her romantic urges question, it would be a logical time to invite her and a difficult time for her to refuse. All the stars were aligned. He quietly said, “This is short notice, but I’d be very pleased if you’d come over to my place this evening. Just the two of us. I have something nice in mind for dinner.” He held his breath.
“I’d love it. Would you mind too terribly if we didn’t discuss any business?”
The sun came up in his face. “I’ll try to contain myself. Seven sound okay?”<
br />
She checked her desk clock. “Perfect,” she said. That would give her time to get polished up and do something with her hair.
After Martin went out the front door, Nigel walked over to her office. “You’ve things to do. I’ll lock up.”
“Fine.”
She closed the folder in front of her, pushed it aside and turned off her desk lamp. She raised her eyes. Nigel was leaning against the door jamb grinning at her.
“What are you smiling at?”
Chapter Thirty-eight
After dinner, Sandy walked with Martin out onto the rear patio of his house and into the soft tropical night. The flagstone patio was framed by a rich green tropical border with pathways into an expanse of lush lawn, which gently sloped uninterrupted down through a wide wooded area to the boat dock on the river. The moonlit pool glowed lazily in the background.
Over the three years since they met, they had shared many dinners, sometimes at his private club, and occasional social functions and cultural events. Since the premature death of her fiancé the previous year, they had been seeing more of each other outside the office. She’d been to his house twice in the last month. Once for a small party he’d given and another time for after-theater drinks.
They were sitting at the circular patio table sipping Grand Marnier when she asked, “Is there a story behind this beautiful table and chairs? The wood looks like the deck on an expensive yacht.”
“Same wood. Made in Sweden with teak from Manipur. Don’t ask me where Manipur is.”
“You’re being modest. You’ve been around the world twelve times, twice under water. I’m sure you not only know where Manipur is, you know the population and inevitably some obscure custom of how the women dress.” She was a little envious of all the women he undoubtedly met in his travels.
He grinned. “You exaggerate. Okay, it’s somewhere in India, never been there. You marveled at my dinner preparation and seemed to enjoy it. What’s your final judgment?”
“I usually don’t eat things I can’t pronounce, but it was delicious.”
“Kabashira, from a recipe I discovered in Canton, using fresh scallops. Normally, they’re served on a scallop shell, which in some Asian cultures, as you may know, is considered the symbol of the vulva.”
“I had to ask, didn’t I? And the wine? No doubt, there is a fascinating story about the white wine you served tonight. I’m certain it wasn’t flown in from France because you’d never waste money like that.”
“Actually, the vines were imported from France. However, that was a couple hundred years ago. No, the wine is Californian—Napa Valley. A very different Sauvignon I thought you’d like. One of my favorites, and I was surprised to find it on a back shelf in the supermarket at no special price.”
“I did like it. I notice you’re not madly into the wine game.”
“You mean like swirling it in the glass and holding it up to the light to check color and clarity. No, but I did go through that phase. Now, I know what I like, if I misjudge sometimes—no big deal. After all, we’re talking about fruit juice.”
“Well, the dinner tonight was superb.”
“The urge comes and goes. I enjoyed cooking for you tonight. As you know, Amelia was the live-in caregiver for dad and wanted to stay on as my housekeeper, which was fine with me. Although she cooked for him, I didn’t want her cooking regularly for me. Father left her a generous pension, so she doesn’t need to work at all. She comes in two or three times a week, does the grocery shopping for me, which is an unimaginable luxury in itself and uses the kitchen as she pleases. Now and then, I’ll come home and find a note that something she made is on the stove or in the oven. I prefer to take my meals in the study, however, if I cook and she’s around, we’ll eat together in the kitchen.”
Sandy had been to several of the oversized homes built on the narrow island, between the Atlantic Ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway. She always thought the Bronner home was the most beautiful—granted, he had a full-time gardener. It also happened to be the oldest home on the island.
Over the years, the charming, island homes had become too expensive to update or remodel, and modern homes had been built on the priceless waterfront lots. One by one, much of the island had lost its charm. Martin Bronner and his predecessors were the exception. Cost was no object and extensive updating of the house had been done with no evidence of modernity. Hidden behind the venerable walls and ceilings of every room were state-of-the-art plumbing, electrical and air conditioning systems. No creaks or groans when you stepped on the aged wood flooring in that house.
“There seems to be a story behind every item in your marvelous house, Martin.” Indeed, it was a house full of fine furniture, paintings, antiques and personal treasures—the trappings of old wealth. She got the feeling that butlers in white jackets and gloves should be circulating with silver trays.
“Let’s walk through the garden.” She stood and took his hand. “The moon is so bright tonight, so beautiful. Did you have it flown in?”
“You’re not usually out at night away from the distracting lights of civilization,” he said. “Tonight the moon is so bright it’s actually casting moon shadows.”
She watched him moving about the garden, pointing out flowers with names she’d never heard and couldn’t pronounce, and holding his hand out to lightly touch one in passing. “It’s always peaceful back here,” she said. “All lush, green and fragrant. One step from Eden.” She watched the pink hibiscus swaying in the nighttime breeze off the ocean. “You just step out of your door into a garden of beauty and endless delight, far away from the sorrows of the world.”
“Too bad delights can’t be endless.” He met her gaze and went on, “I suppose without the sorrowful times you couldn’t have the delightful times.”
“The trick,” she offered, “is to make the good times last longer than the sorrowful times.”
“Confucius says the good times make up in height what they lack in length.”
“That’s good, he really say that?”
“Probably not. Whenever I can’t think of the correct attribution, I bluff and say I’m quoting either Confucius or Oscar Wilde. Usually works.”
“Is this one of the good times?” she asked.
“How could it be better?”
She knew how—being closer to him. Walking there in the moonlight, Mel would have made a move on her an hour ago, but that wouldn’t happen with Martin. With that thought, she realized it wasn’t Mel she wanted to be with.
She understood enough of Martin’s history to know he certainly wasn’t shy around women. But, he treated their friendship like a fragile piece of art and her like a goddess, and one doesn’t try to make out with a goddess. The stilted situation between them over the past three years was of her own making with her avoidance of closeness and her subtle rejections to keep him at arm’s length. Although it had seemed proper at the time, now she was sorry. Sorry she had created such an adoring friend who would never steal a kiss. Incredible that in three years they hadn’t even held hands. Now all that had to be undone. Like starting the same relationship all over with different rules. Time for her to kill all that goddess crap.
There had always been something warm between them that was impossible for her to deny. Something that heightened when they were together, something both of them understood. Perhaps, more heat between them than she’d recognized.
Three years was a long time for Martin to carry a torch without her fanning the flame. Looking back, it was three years of him loving and caring about her, and three years of her trying to ignore him. Three years of ignoring how he had seemed to become sexier each year. And just recently, as she was trying to decide about a relationship with either Martin or Mel, she realized how fortunate that his devotion had not drifted away. After years, he still smiled whenever he saw her. The flame never went out, even while he knew her heart wasn’t open to him and might never be. She suspected her slightest encouragement would set him ablaze. She
certainly hoped so. She intended to turn up the heat and find out.
Her choice was now clear. The awareness started two hours ago with Martin’s sweet kiss when she arrived. His usual greeting, outside the office when appropriate, was an air kiss on each cheek. That’s what she expected tonight. Instead, he greeted her with a polite, almost chaste, kiss on the lips and carried on as though it was entirely normal, although they both realized it was bold. Strangely, she wasn’t surprised. The kiss wasn’t stolen, wasn’t forced; it was soft and tender and seemed quite natural for the moment. An unexpected kiss at the perfect moment can light a fire of desire, and that kiss had hit her in the middle of her decision making. Nice going, Martin. Perfect timing—absolutely perfect, she thought. She wanted more and from now on she’d be ready.
More romantic thoughts about him came forth over the evening. She didn’t intend to let the evening just pass while trusting to luck. She would make certain that what she wanted would happen. Nothing would be left to chance until the sensuality was underway; nothing left to chance until that intimate moment when there was no turning back for him.
She walked ahead of him to the edge of the pool and looked down at the water, a delightful blue from the colored pool walls and shimmering from the underwater lights. “The water is tempting. I didn’t come prepared.” She slipped off a sandal and dipped a toe into the cool blueness.
“I don’t have a stock of swim suits around, but I do have large silk scarves from Myanmar for guests to use as a parea. It’s been done.”
“I swam here at one of your pool parties, remember?”
“Do I remember? I’m not certain. Were you the one wearing the pearl-white bikini with the halter top triangles, side-tied bikini bottom, festooned with little fuchsia flowers clustered around tiny viridian leaves?”
She smiled and stared down as though mesmerized by the glistening water. “Any woman who doesn’t want to swim naked in a swimming pool doesn’t have a soul.”
Into The Heat (Sandy Reid Mystery Series Book 6) Page 27
