Caprice

by Amanda Carpenter

  By Friday, she had decided recklessly to take his call and damn the consequences. She longed to see him. She couldn’t get last Sunday evening out of her mind. The memory of his mouth on her breast stirred her to sexual excitement; his passion brought her a wave of heat. She had never been so tugged by physical sensation and emotional desire. They were one and the same, intertwined so that she couldn’t distinguish between them. It boiled down to pure, unadulterated lust, and she winced away from the thought, disturbed. She wanted his mouth, his hands and his affection. She was beginning to want it past all thought of future happiness.

  But then he didn’t call, and by late evening he still hadn’t called, leaving her to stew in a welter of feverish emotions. Just as suddenly as she’d decided to take his call, she swung back to refusing it in a fit of pique. Nobody could be that busy. He could have called even for a minute or two any evening during the week. She didn’t know what he was thinking or planning, but she’d had enough. This prolonged, intensified anticipation was extremely wearying and certainly not pleasurable.

  Saturday morning, she was dressed in casual shorts and tank top, sipping listlessly at her coffee while trying to decide what to do with herself before the party, when Liz walked into the dining room. “You’ve got a phone call,” said the housekeeper.

  Her cup went to her saucer with a cacophonic clatter. “Who—” she began, but decided she didn’t want to know. Her jaw tightened. “I’m not home.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Liz, clearly puzzled. “He said you were expecting it.”

  She pushed her coffee away and jerkily stood. “I’m positive. I’m not talking to anyone today.” Ignoring the other woman’s speculative stare, she stalked out of the room. She stopped dead, turned back to take the call and, cursing, turned around again.

  “Before, I had my doubts, but this definitely clinches it,” said Ricky from the stairs. He descended the rest of the way. “You’re going crazy so fast, you can’t keep up with yourself. Like spinning in circles?”

  “Oh, shut up!” she said savagely.

  He pretended to be frightened and drew back from her with a shudder. “Well! I was going to ask you if you wanted to play tennis, but you might bite my head off instead of answering in a civilized manner.”

  “Always knew you were a coward,” she grumbled, with a partial return of good humor.

  “Like to play tennis?”

  “Not really. Oh, I guess so. There’s nothing else to do!”

  “A split personality, forming before my very eyes,” he marveled. Then, sagely, “They’re quite rare, you know. I’ll write a book about you and astonish the psychology world.”

  “Get the racquets, smart-ass,” she said, grinning reluctantly. “I’m going to plaster you all over the court.”

  “Bloodthirsty to boot!” he exclaimed delightedly.

  Ricky made her laugh with his clowning, and she was nearly lighthearted, tossing her tennis ball up in the air while sending an evil glare to her unaffected opponent. Then she glanced casually over toward the house, as she was facing in that direction, and froze into rigidity.

  Pierce was dressed in faded jeans, tennis shoes and a light blue, sleeveless T-shirt. She’d never seen him so carelessly dressed. His hair was windblown and in glossy disarray, and he was staring intently at her as he strolled her way.

  She abandoned her serving pose and stood with bent, averted head and grim expression as she bounced the ball hard upon the court, catching it with a swipe of her hand. “What’s up?” called Ricky, obviously not seeing Pierce yet.

  “We’ll play later,” she said shortly, and watched as his head turned toward Pierce and then back to herself.

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied, shifting from foot to foot in uncharacteristic uncertainty. He sent her one more questioning look and then silently headed back for the house.

  Pierce approached in an indolent manner, hands in pockets, and then looked about him appreciatively, eyes squinted against the glare of the sun. She avoided meeting his eyes. “You didn’t have to quit playing,” he said. “I’d have waited.” She didn’t say anything, feeling his quick, sharp regard. “Of course, you didn’t have to lie, either.”

  “Would you have accepted that I didn’t want to talk to you?” she retorted, striding over to the edge of the court to throw down her racquet and the tennis ball. When she glanced back over her shoulder, she was amazed to find that he didn’t appear angry.

  “I don’t know. You didn’t give me the chance,” he pointed out, his gaze steady. At her raised, sardonic brow, he relented. “All right. Probably not.”

  An awkward silence fell over them both. She longed to walk away but didn’t know where she would go, for he would certainly follow. She longed to turn around and greet him with the pleasure she wouldn’t let herself feel. What she did was to say, “I didn’t know you’d be coming this weekend.”

  “If you’d taken my call, you would have,” he retorted, the snappiness revealing at last his frustration. He walked over to her side and stared down into her rebellious, miserable expression with a frown between his sleek brows. He sighed and bent his head to rub at the back of his neck. “Caprice, what am I going to do with you?”

  “You could always go back to New York,” she said tightly. “Start dating women there, if you’ve stopped. Less commuting that way.” It should have come out flippant, but instead it sounded choked.

  He stepped nearer, and everything in her body tugged her toward him, but she wouldn’t move. Then gentle fingers stroked her cheek and jawline, moving under her hair to tuck it back. “I don’t go for casual dating,” he said softly. “It bores me. It’s shallow, and needlessly expensive, and emotionally unrewarding.” She couldn’t help herself and rubbed her cheek against his hand, much like she had last Saturday, when things between them had changed to become confusing, upsetting. Sexual.

  His hand was opening to cup her cheek when she jerked her head away, flushing darkly. His hand dropped to his side. “Will you see me tonight?” he asked quite calmly.

  She gave a little, incredulous laugh at his persistence, unamused and dying instantly. “I’m going to a party,” she half whispered, and scuffed her shoe in the grass. “Everybody’s going.”

  “Who’s taking you?”

  She could have lied again. She could have dredged up a last-minute escort; she was popular enough for that. She could have prevaricated in a thousand ways, but her mind was frozen and her lips were already shaping, in a thread of whisper, “No one.”

  His hand came under her chin, fingers caressing her skin, and then he lifted her face to stare into her huge eyes. “When shall I pick you up?” he asked firmly.

  For a long moment she searched his eyes, seeing nothing but determination and steadiness. “Seven,” she said.

  “See you tonight,” he told her, and before she could move or ascertain what he was going to do, he bent and swiftly kissed her on the mouth. She watched him walk away, her mind a whirling blank.

  After some time, realizing she was alone, she bent to pick up the racquet and popped the ball back into its container, and then headed slowly back for the house. Inside, she met her mother, who detained her with a hand on her arm.

  “Dear, wasn’t that Pierce who just drove away?” Irene asked.

  “Yes.” She attempted a tentative tug to get herself free, but her mother was having none of it.

  “What an extraordinary amount of attention he’s been paying you! And how flattering, to have him fly down from New York on the weekends! Tell me, are you seeing him again?”

  “He’s taking me to the party tonight, but it doesn’t mean anything,” she told Irene, and finally managed to pull herself free. “Please, don’t make more out of it than there really is. I may never go out with him again!”

  “Nonsense, he’s such a handsome, polite young man!” her mother marveled. Caprice felt something surge up inside of her and pinched her lips against it. “And everybody knows how successful the Langston
family business is! Why, your Pierce is a very good catch—”

  “Is that all you can think of, Mother?” she burst out, shocking Irene to silence. “My God, he could be a child molester or a wife beater, for all you know of him! You’ve talked with him once, and you’ve met him twice, and all you can see are his money and his looks! Doesn’t anything else matter to you?”

  Her voice rang through the hall. For a moment, mother and daughter stared into each other’s eyes, widened, both stricken, and then Caprice whirled and ran up to her room, to lock herself into privacy.

  Again, she was dressed and downstairs on time, having no use for senseless dallying. Her parents were just preparing to leave, clad in formal evening attire and looking splendid. Ricky had left some time before, as he was escorting a young girl his own age. Caprice knew her and was secretly amused at his choice, for she was every bit his match in wits and was quick with sharp retorts. His usual style was the brainless, ornamental type. She rather thought she should seriously fear for his heart.

  She wished her parents a stilted farewell, for Irene was steadfastly not looking at her, and Richard was clearly aware of it and quite puzzled. As they left, she shut the door behind them and checked the time on the clock in the hall. She had forsaken her wristwatch for the evening, as she was dressed in sleek midnight blue, which was gathered off one slender shoulder and fell in straight, severe lines to midcalf. The only ornamentation she wore was a winking silver anklet atop her thin-strapped, blue sandals, which raised her a good three inches higher.

  She checked her makeup carefully one last time, and the doorbell rang. Furious at her leaping heart, she took two calming breaths and then went serenely to answer the summons.

  But she was in for another leap in heart, for Pierce’s appearance seemed to destroy her composure. Black, straight-cut legs, hands tucked carelessly into his pockets with the suit jacket pulled back, revealing a tight waistcoat and bow tie stark against the white of his shirt, hair immaculate, face unsmiling, seeming remote: all this she took in at a glance.

  His eyes swept over her, black sparkling bright, and widened. “I see you’re ready.”

  She swallowed past something in her throat. “Let me get my wrap and bag,” she said, and hurried back to the den to retrieve them. He stepped into the hall while he waited, and then stood back from the door as she joined him. The familiar gesture of his hand to her back escorted her to the car, and they started to the Cauleighs’.

  “You look absolutely lovely,” he said quietly, after she had given him directions.

  She was thankful for the darkness in the car, for she blushed like a gauche sixteen-year-old. “So do you,” she said, surprising herself and him.

  He laughed, the first she’d heard since that rather grim morning encounter, and her spirits lightened unaccountably. They were soon pulling up to the Cauleighs’ house, which was ablaze with outside lights and new arrivals. When he smoothly parked beside the road, though there were several parking places still available alongside the long driveway, she questioned him about it, to which he drily replied, “My dear, I have no intention of being blocked in till the wee hours of the morning.” He switched off the engine and turned in his seat to look at her from under level brows. “I want to talk to you later this evening. I’d like to leave the party early.” When she didn’t answer right away, he lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” She turned to open her car door and was stopped by his hand on her wrist. “We’ll just have to see.”

  “That’s no answer.” He was implacable, not about to let her slide on this one.

  She raised cool brows to him and replied lightly, “But then I never said I would give you an answer. What I said was, we shall see.”

  His mouth tightened ominously, but when she tugged her arm, he let her go, and so they went to the party.

  She knew almost everyone invited, but Pierce, having lost touch with people in Virginia now for several years, had to be introduced to quite a few. When Caprice caught sight of Roxanne, she excused herself from Pierce’s side and made her way over to the brunette, who was looking particularly vibrant in a cocktail dress of deep cherry red.

  Roxanne flashed her a bright smile, pulled away from Kurt, and said in a low undertone, “Thought you weren’t going to be seeing him anymore.”

  Caprice felt the flush that washed over her features as a burning hot sensation. “It’s—hard to explain,” she murmured. “He’s— It just happened this morning.”

  “I see.” The brunette’s eyes rested on her, bright, piercing, not unkindly. “Don’t hurt yourself, babe.”

  Caprice’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to avoid that at all costs,” was her grim, muttered reply. She said a quick good-bye, with the promise of getting together later to talk, and then she began to make her way back to Pierce, who was leaning against the back of a chair while talking with an older gentleman, whose young wife clung to his arm and gazed with wide-eyed fascination at the younger man. According to the rumors, she had married the older man for his money, and from the way her eyes ate Pierce up, every lean inch of him, the rumors were true.

  Halfway across the large, crowded room, Caprice bumped into a man who backed up unexpectedly. Quick hands shot out to steady her toppling balance, and she laughed as she said, “A good thing I didn’t have a drink in one hand! Emory! How are you?”

  Emory’s blond brows shot up, and delight lightened his whole countenance. “Caprice! We were looking for you.” He gave her an affectionate hug. “I have some good news.”

  She turned her head and looked into Petra’s friendly eyes. Her grin turned naughty as her eyes shot swiftly down to the other woman’s left hand. A large engagement ring winked brightly, and as Petra saw the direction of her gaze, she brought up her hand and displayed the diamond for Caprice’s approval. “Well, it’s about time!” she exclaimed, laughing again. “You know, he almost gave up on you!”

  “Yes,” replied the other girl with mortification. “He told me all about it. It was a stupid misunderstanding from the very start. And I want to apologize to you. I was thinking some very nasty things about you that weekend. It was all jealousy, and very unfair. I’m so sorry.”

  “Nonsense,” said Caprice lightly, reaching up to Emory’s tie to twitch at it mischievously. “You thought precisely what I wanted you to think, my dear. I deserved every wicked thing you thought.”

  As she walked away, she was treated to the sight of Petra actually whooping, while Emory’s face bore a most ludicrous expression of surprise.

  Somehow, after being from Pierce’s side for more than a half hour, it became easier and easier to find some excuse to stay away. She flitted from person to person, flirting with every man in the room, regardless of age, and was actually beginning to enjoy herself. A small cluster formed around her in one corner, where she stayed for some time, chattering away. Occasionally she would scan the room to see where Pierce was, and he always seemed to be deep in conversation with someone, and quite often that someone was feminine, which, she told herself, was a very good thing. That way she didn’t have to feel guilty for deserting him, as she would if he’d been left stranded and at a loss.

  But he was handling himself quite well, almost too well. She hadn’t expected anything else, necessarily, for he was too mature and poised to do otherwise. But did he have to look so content without her company? Didn’t he feel the slightest bit jealous?

  Her party smile slipped for a moment, and badly. She wasn’t enjoying herself at all, and she wanted to go home. Then the young man who was talking to her said something with a questioning note at the end of it, and she dragged herself back and racked her memory for what it was that he had said.

  The Cauleighs’ house was bursting with people. The Langstons were present, including Jeffrey, who avoided her gaze and kept discreetly away from wherever she happened to be. She noted it with some wryness, as he’d always been annoyingly attentive before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this n
ew behavior was because he knew she was seeing Pierce, or because of shame for how he had acted two weeks ago. Her luck with the Langston brothers did not seem to be running well at the moment.

  Then she turned her head, by pure chance, and caught her mother’s troubled gaze resting on her. They stared at each other from across the room, wordlessly. “Excuse me,” said Caprice to her attendant, cutting through what he’d been saying in midsentence. Even as he blinked and shut his mouth in somewhat belated response, she was making her way over to Irene and Richard.

  Irene turned to her husband and said something in his ear, to which he nodded, and he left her side without seeing Caprice. Mother and daughter then stood side by side for a few moments without speaking.

  “Nice party,” said Caprice falsely, and her mother murmured a too bright reply, party smile fastened firmly in place. Caprice looked past the mask and saw the faint glitter in Irene’s eyes. “Mom,” she said then, laying her hand gently on the older woman’s sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake?” said Irene, with an odd little laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “For being right?”

  “No,” she said very quietly, feeling something like grief well up inside her for the other, foolish woman’s pain. “For telling you like I did. I was cruel, I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

  Beyond both women’s sight, Richard slowed and stopped, waiting for the two to finish in some semblance of privacy while he held two drinks. After a moment, Irene met her daughter’s remorseful gaze with a real smile. “I still think Pierce is a fine man,” she said simply.

  Caprice laughed. “So do I, Mom. So do I.” She bent forward, pressed a quick kiss to her mother’s cheek and then whisked away again, in search of different, amusing company.

  She didn’t know what she thought. She supposed, later, that she knew it couldn’t last for too long, that she was silently goading Pierce, that she was being rude. She did know that, as the evening progressed, she felt worse. She did know that every time she saw Pierce appearing to be interested in any woman of decent figure and age, she felt something dart like needles into her. But she couldn’t think why it hurt, or why she was acting the way she was, or why he put up with it. It was as unfathomable as a murky lake at full night, nothing to be seen or understood past the shallow ripples.