“One can never see Porgy and Bess enough times, Peyton dear,” Amelia rushed to interject. “And I do believe Gaston was about to ask if you would like to see it with him.”
Enough, Mitch thought, was enough.
“Peyton and I are dating, Amelia,” Mitch said. “Do you really think Gaston would ask out my girl when I'm sitting right here?”
Gaston sent him a look of thinly disguised irritation. Mitch wondered if he were crazy to provoke the criminal who could send his brother to jail. And, in the process, possibly see to it that Mitch never worked as a cop again.
“Gaston probably figures he's safe,” Mr. McDowell intoned dryly. “If you and my daughter had plans for that night, odds are you wouldn't show up anyway.”
“Daddy, please.” Peyton used the same pleading tone on her father as she had a few minutes ago.
Judging by Mitch’s glare and the tightness around his mouth, maybe he was the one Peyton should have been trying to soothe.
“This isn’t any of your—” Mitch began.
“I once dated a guy who never showed up.” Salvation came in the form of Hattie’s high, cheerful voice. “He’d call me up, ask me out and say he’d pick me up at such and such a time, only he wouldn't show. A couple of weeks would pass and he'd call to apologize and ask me out again. Then we'd go through the whole rigmarole all over again.”
“Why did you keep saying yes if he kept standing you up?” Peyton was eager to pursue any line of conversation that didn’t end in Mitch forever ruining whatever civil relationship he could have had with her father.
“Because he had a harelip,” Hattie said. “And one leg two inches shorter than the other. He wore this thick black shoe to even things out, kind of like the ones Herman Munster had on that old television show, but he was still lopsided.”
“Look, Mr. Mc—” Mitch tried again, obviously still bristling from the insult.
This time, Peyton didn’t let him finish. “I don’t understand what his disabilities had to do with you dating him.”
Hattie put a hand to her chest in drama-queen fashion. “Why, I couldn’t let him believe I was prejudiced against men with harelips and lopsided legs. Besides, I’m no dummy. After the first couple times, it's not like I expected him to show.”
“This is quite intriguing, dear.” Peyton’s mother unexpectedly joined the discussion. “So are we to understand you never refused a date with him?”
“Only once. Would you believe that's the only time he showed up? Then he was peeved at me for being in the middle of a dye job. But what did he expect me to do?” She pointed to her platinum-blonde hair. “I gotta keep that dye on a long time to cover up all the brown under here.”
“I do believe the actress who played the role of Bess in George Gershwin's original operatic production was a brunette,” Amelia said, a transparent attempt to draw the conversation back to the point where Gaston was about to ask Peyton out.
Peyton shot a glance at Mitch, hoping he had his temper in check. She tried to convey with her eyes how important it was that he get through this dinner with her parents. He didn’t know them well enough to realize they were only tough on the men she dated because they wanted the best for her.
“Tough luck for Bess.” Hattie speared a miniature tomato with her fork and waved it as she talked. “Peyton over there can tell you that blondes have more fun. That's why I became one. My mama and sisters and grandmama are brunettes. When they get together, woo wee, it is one dark time.”
“Where are your people from, dear?” Amelia asked sweetly.
“Here, there and everywhere in eastern Europe. We Feinsteins started out mostly in New York but we were freezing our buns off. Just about all of us took off for points south.”
“The McDowells have been in Charleston for more than three hundred years,” Amelia said, pride oozing from her voice. “And Gaston, is it not so that your branch of the Gibbs family descended from the city’s original settlers?”
“Quite true,” Gaston said. “My family and this city date back to 1670 and the original Charles Towne settlement.”
Amelia directed a pointed look at Mitch. “Where are your people from, dear?”
“My parents live in Richmond, Virginia,” Mitch said, no longer sounding peeved. Peyton slanted him a grateful smile and the one he gave her in return was so appealing that her heart went ba-boom.
“I meant where do your ancestors come from? There is quite a bit of history in Virginia. Do your people hail from the state’s founders?”
“No,” Mitch said slowly. He sounded suspicious and Peyton didn’t blame him. Her mother never asked an innocent question. “My father’s grandfather came over from Scotland in the early 1920s. My mother’s people are from Poland, the Czech Republic and Slovenia.”
“Here, there and everywhere then.” Amelia’s face blossomed into a smile, and Peyton guessed where she was headed even before she made her point. “Just like Hattie’s ancestors. It is so important in life to find people with whom we have a common ground. I believe you two also have the recreation industry in common. What is it you do again, Hattie dear?”
“I’m a sales specialist at Jungle’s Gym west of the Ashley.” Hattie continued when Amelia titled her head inquisitively. “I try to talk people into buying memberships. I’m usually successful, too, once I point out how out of shape they are.”
“Isn’t that lovely? Mitch here is a recreation specialist. I knew when I met you, Hattie, that you and Mitch would have as much in common as Peyton and Gaston.”
“You could say I work in the recreation field, too.” Peyton addressed Hattie, the only one in the room who didn’t know what she did for a living. “I work for Dixieland Carriage Tours.”
“Only for the time being.” Amelia waved a hand in dismissal, the way she always did whenever Peyton mentioned her job. She turned to Gaston. “Now, Gaston. What was it you were about to ask Peyton about that production of Porgy and Bess?”
MITCH STROLLED WITH PEYTON on the wide sidewalk next to the seawall. The breeze that came off Charleston Harbor couldn’t quite blow away the tension remaining from dinner with her parents.
Even though late September in Charleston was still balmy, it was an angry night. The moon was full and the tide high, a combination that along with the wind sent water pounding against the sea wall and occasionally spraying onto the sidewalk.
The night wasn’t ideal for a walk along the bay, but it was all the time they’d get alone tonight. Mitch was due at Epidermis in a little more than thirty minutes.
“Your parents don’t like me much,” he said.
She squeezed his arm. “They will like you,” she countered.
“I don’t know about that. Your father’s main way to communicate with me is by sneering, and your mother pushed Hattie at me so hard I was starting to feel bruised.”
“She’s nice, isn’t she? Hattie, I mean. We made a lunch date for later in the week.”
“That won’t go over well with your parents. They wanted me to make a date with her so I’d get out of your life.”
“They need time to get to know you better, that’s all.”
“They want to know Gaston Gibbs better.”
She stopped walking and grinned up at him. The wind whipped her short blonde hair around her head until it resembled a golden halo. Her cream-colored cocktail dress, which had appeared so sedate and proper in her parents’ house, was plastered against her body, showing off her shapely curves.
“This is unbelievable,” she said.
“What’s unbelievable?”
Her brown eyes sparkled. “That you, Cary Mitchell, are jealous.”
He was jealous. He could feel it coursing through his veins like a thick, green stream. He tried to make his voice light. “Assuming for a moment that I am jealous, which I’m not admitting to, why is that so unbelievable?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you remember what you said last week when you saw me dancing with Arthur at City Slickers?”
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“Not exactly,” Mitch hedged.
She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. “You said any woman who couldn’t appreciate the good fortune of dating you wasn’t worth getting jealous over.”
Mitch barely kept himself from cringing at his brother’s line. “I said that?”
“Yes,” she said, tapping him on the nose, “you did.”
“So, um, do you and this Arthur have a thing going?”
She let out a short laugh and shook her head. “I swear, Mitch. Is your memory really so shot that you don’t remember Arthur is gay?”
He shrugged, trying not to let on how relieved he was. “It’s hard to keep track of things like that.”
“But he told you that you were hot. He asked you to dance and invited you to the Gay Charleston Ball.”
“Did I accept?”
She laughed and swatted his arm. “No! But you were so flattered it was embarrassing.”
“Gibbs isn’t gay,” he said, trying to get back to their original subject.
“No,” she agreed, “he isn’t.”
“How do you know that?” Mitch asked.
She burst into laughter. “You are jealous.”
“Do I have reason to be?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She grinned and adopted a southern accent both thicker and more refined than hers. “You can not discount the fact, my dear, that he is from a very fine South of Broad family. He not only beautifies the city by renovating historic properties but makes oodles of money. And he is easy on the eyes to boot.”
Of course, Gibbs also owned a strip club. But Mitch needed to tread lightly. He wasn’t ready to confess the only reason he knew Gibbs owned Epidermis was because he worked there.
“I didn’t know you were such a fan,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not. You heard me tell him no to Porgy and Bess. I was imitating my mother. She’s the one whose ambition is to get me married off to a Charlestonian who will keep me in the lap of luxury so I no longer have to diaper horses.”
Surprise seized him. “You diaper the horses?”
“Of course I don’t diaper the horses,” she said. “I drive the carriages.”
“I thought you liked driving them. I never figured you for someone who’d quit working when you got married.”
“That’s what my mother wants. I want to use my trust fund to buy the carriage company.” She stopped abruptly and put three fingers to her lips. “I can’t believe I told you that. That’s the first time I’ve said it aloud.”
“Why haven’t you said it aloud before?”
“Are you kidding me? How do you think my parents would react if they found out I wanted to buy the carriage company?”
“Badly, I take it?”
“Yes, badly.”
“Do you need their permission?”
She frowned. “Well, no. Legally the trust fund became available to me earlier this year when I turned twenty-five, but I can’t bring myself to use the money on something they don’t approve of.”
Before he could question her further about the feasibility of her dream, she walked closer to him, staring up at him with brown eyes that looked golden in the moonlight. She reached up and slowly traced his lower lip with her index finger so that he felt a little dizzy.
“I can think of better things for us to do than talk about horses and carriages,” she said in a low, husky voice.
It was a moment before he could speak. “What did you have in mind?”
She turned from sultry to playful in an eye blink as she grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on and I’ll show you.”
He didn’t figure out her intention until they reached a wet place on the sidewalk and she stopped. Before he could move, she looped her hands around his neck and grinned up at him.
“You can’t mean to do what I think you mean,” he said.
“Oh, yes I can,” she said. “Brace yourself!”
The wind whipped the salty water into the sea wall with such ferocity it shot upward into a wet arc that showered golden spray down on them.
In an instant they were drenched. Peyton swiped the wet hair off her forehead, threw back her head and laughed. She didn’t seem to care that she’d very likely ruined her expensive dress
She looked so alive and beautiful in that instant that something sweet broke loose in Mitch’s chest.
She rose on tiptoe, plastering herself even closer to him. She didn’t speak until her mouth was inches from his. “For the record, you don’t have any reason to be jealous of Gaston. You’re the one I want.”
She meant she wanted his brother, but Cary wasn’t holding her in his arms. His brother was God only knew where, and Mitch was here. How could he be expected to resist the mad pounding of his heart and the beautiful woman in his arms?
Still he had to try. For his brother’s sake.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth lifted for his kiss, her body straining to get closer to his. Mitch was soaking wet but every part of him felt hot, from the heart that was beating so heavily to the erection straining against his pants.
Their first kiss had been so potent it had convinced him he couldn’t risk kissing her again. Especially when his defenses were so low he knew instinctively that this next kiss would forever change their relationship. Making love to her would be a foregone conclusion.
His will warred with his mind and body, but it was no use. He wanted this woman as he had wanted no other.
At that moment it didn’t matter that she thought he was Cary or that anyone could drive by and see them. Nothing mattered but the moment and the woman.
Listening to his heart, he gave up the fight and started to lower his head toward the sweet temptation of her lips. “Ah, Peyton,” he murmured. “I want—”
He never finished the sentence. A second wave of water far bigger than the first rained down on them like a torrent, splashing cool water into his face and down his overheated body.
The shock of it immobilized him, enabling him to return to his senses. What was he doing with Peyton in his arms? How could a man who valued loyalty and honor justify taking what was his brother’s?
Mitch groaned, putting Peyton away from him and walking away from the wet spot on the sidewalk. She stood there for a moment, looking as dazed as he felt. Then she advanced a few tentative steps toward him.
“Come to my place tonight after work, Mitch,” she said, and it sounded like a plea. Her voice was strained, as though it had been hard for her to speak the words.
He was tempted to tell her he’d blow off work and come to her place now, but he could think more clearly now that their bodies weren’t in close contact. He gathered his composure around himself like a cloak and summoned his vaunted self-control.
“That’s not a good idea, honey,” he said.
He watched disappointment settled over her, and his gut twisted.
“Why not?” she whispered.
“Because. . .” He searched his mind, trying to come up with a credible reason that wouldn’t reveal he was masquerading as his twin. There wasn’t one. “It’s just not a good idea.”
She nodded once but her lower lip trembled. She thinks I don’t want to make love to her, Mitch thought incredulously. He was tempted to drag her back in his arms, capture that lower lip between his and kiss her until her doubts vanished.
But he didn’t do anything except stand there, his hands tied as surely as if they’d been bound by rope.
A FEW HOURS LATER Mitch poured ginger ale into a champagne flute for Honey B. Goode, one of the voluptuous women working the bar crowd.
Honey, who wore a solid triple-D cup, took the stage on a strict three-times-a-week schedule although Millie Bellini was constantly after her to become a full-time stripper. Honey wouldn’t hear of it. Get naked too often, she said, and nobody’s gonna look.
“Is something bothering you, sugar?” Honey took the pseudo champagne from him. Normally she’d be too busy flirting to say even that much, but the
poor sap next to her had his head resting on the bar. The tune he was singing was the drunken man’s snore.
“I need a woman’s opinion,” Mitch said impulsively, resting his elbows on the bar. The hurt he’d seen in Peyton’s eyes down by the bay was eating at him. “Can a woman tell for sure when a man wants her?”
Honey’s eyes grew so big it was nearly impossible to see the blue eye shadow caked on her lids. “Oh, sugar, you’re cute and all, but I’m married. And I got two head a youngun and a daddy who’s a minister.”
Mitch waved a hand. “I’m asking about the woman I’m dating.”
“You better not be dating one of the strippers.” She shook a finger at him. “Debbie Darling won’t take kindly to that seeing as to how you didn’t date her when you were sleeping with her.”
The information struck so hard that Mitch felt bruised. Could his brother actually have been stupid enough to two-time Peyton? “How long ago was this?”
“You don’t remember?” Honey shook her head. “Gawd, Cary, it couldn’t have been more than three or four weeks ago.”
Mitch was too preoccupied wondering when his brother had started dating Peyton to correct Honey’s use of his twin’s name. Even if the interlude with the stripper had happened before Peyton, Mitch still wanted to pulverize his brother for his bad judgment.
“Well, is she?” Honey wanted to know.
“Is who what?”
She tipped her head. “Is the woman you want a stripper?”
He shook his head. “She’s not anyone you know.”
“Why exactly do you want to know if she can tell whether you want her?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated. Bottom line is I don’t want her thinking I don’t want her.”
She reached across the bar to pat his cheek. “This isn’t advanced algebra, sugar. Make love to her. That’ll give her a pretty good clue.”
He frowned at her advice, because of course he couldn’t make love to Peyton. He needed to make her feel wanted without betraying Cary, who might have cheated on Peyton with a stripper.
Oh, brother.
Bait & Switch Page 11
