Strange Bedfellow

by Janet Dailey

  “What is it, Deirdre?” she questioned, trying to maintain a measure of composure despite the surge of embarrassment.

  The older woman bit her lip as if uncertain how to reply. “It’s Mr. Blake.”

  The anxious look on the housekeeper’s face brought an instant reaction as Dina propped herself up on her elbows, concern chasing away the remnants of sleep. “Blake? What’s wrong? Has something happened to him?”

  “No, it’s… it’s just that he’s sleeping downstairs — on the floor in the library.” A dull red was creeping up her neck into her cheeks. “And he isn’t wearing any… any pajamas.”

  Dina swallowed back a smile, her relief lost in amusement. Poor Deirdre Schneider, she thought, never married in her life nor seriously close to it and probably shocked to her prim core when she found Blake sleeping in the library in the altogether.

  “I see,” she nodded, and tried to keep her face straight.

  “Mr. Stanton will be arriving in just more than an hour.” The woman was trying desperately to avoid looking at the bareness of Dina’s shoulders. “I thought you should be the one to… to wake up Mr. Blake.”

  “I will,” said Dina, and started to rise, then decided against adding to the housekeeper’s embarrassment. “Would you hand me my robe at the foot of the bed, Deirdre?”

  After handing the robe to her, the housekeeper turned discreetly away while Dina slipped into it. “Mrs. Chandler had a few things sent over yesterday for Mr. Blake,” she informed Dina. “There are pajamas and a robe. I put them in the empty closet.”

  “I’ll take them to him.” Dina finished tying the sash of her robe. “And, Deirdre, tomorrow I think you’d better make arrangements with Mrs. Chandler to purchase a bed with a very firm mattress, one that’s as hard as a rock.”

  “I will,” Deirdre promised as if taking an oath. “Sorry to have awakened you, Mrs. Blake.”

  “That’s quite all right, Deirdre,” Dina answered, smiling.

  With a brief self-conscious nod, the housekeeper left the room. Dina put on her slippers and walked to the small closet Deirdre had indicated. It was used mostly for storage. Amid the few boxes and garment bags hung three shirts and a brown suit. On the two inside door hooks were the pajamas and matching dressing robe in a muted shade of cranberry silk. Leaving the pajamas, Dina took the robe.

  Downstairs, her hand hesitated on the knob of the library door. Tension hammered in her temples and her stomach was twisted into knots. Steeling herself to ignore the attack of nervousness, she opened the door quietly and walked in. Her gaze was directed first to the floor and its open area around the fireplace.

  “Deirdre sent in the reserves, I see,” Blake’s male voice mocked from the side of the room.

  Dina turned in its direction and saw him standing near the solid wall of shelves filled with books. A dark green blanket was wrapped around his waist, his naked torso gleaming in that deep shade of tan. Fingers had combed his thick brown hair into a semblance of order, a suggestion of unruliness remaining. Dina’s pulse fluctuated in alarm, her head lifted as if scenting danger. He looked like a primitive native, proud, noble and savage.

  “Did you hear her come in?” She realized it was a foolish question after she had asked it. Those long months in the jungle had to have sharpened his senses, making them more acute.

  “Yes, but I decided it was wiser to pretend I was still asleep rather than shock her sensibilities,” he admitted with cynical derision. “I thought she would scamper up the stairs to inform you or my mother of my lewd behavior.”

  Behind his veiled look Dina felt the dark intensity of his gaze scanning her face — searching for something, but she didn’t know what. It made her uncomfortable and she wished she had dressed before coming down.

  “I brought you a robe.” She held it out to him aware of the faint trembling that wasn’t yet visible.

  “No doubt at Deirdre’s suggestion. She must have been more shocked than I thought.” But Blake made no move toward it, forcing Dina to walk to him.

  “Deirdre isn’t accustomed to finding naked men sleeping on the library floor,” she said, defending the housekeeper’s reaction and discovering a similar one in herself as Blake reached down to unwrap the blanket from around his waist. Self-consciously she averted her eyes, her color mounting as if it were a stranger undressing in front of her instead of her husband.

  There was a rustle of silk, then, “It’s safe to look now,” Blake taunted, his mouth curving in ungentle mockery.

  She flashed him an angry look for drawing attention to her sudden burst of modesty and turned away. The vein in her neck pulsed with a nervousness that she wasn’t able to control. His hand touched her shoulder and she flinched from the searing contact.

  “For God’s sake, Dina, I’m not going to rape you!” he cursed beneath his breath. “Dammit, can’t I even touch my wife?”

  Her blue eyes were wide and wary as she looked over her shoulder at his fiercely burning gaze. “I don’t feel like your wife, Blake,” she said tightly. “I don’t feel as if I’m married to you.”

  Immediately the fires were banked in his eyes, that freezing control that was so unlike him coming into play. “You are married to me,” he stated, and walked by her to the door. Opening it, he called, “Deirdre! Bring some coffee into the library for my wife and myself.” With emphasis on “wife.”

  “Chet is coming and I still have to dress.” Dina reminded him, objecting to spending more minutes alone with him.

  “He isn’t due for an hour,” Blake said, dismissing her protest, and walked to the leather-covered sofa, pausing beside its end table to lift the lid of the ceramic cigarette box. “Cigarette?” He flicked a questioning glance in her direction.

  “No, I don’t smoke. Remember?” she said with a faintly taunting arch to her voice.

  “You might have acquired the habit during my absence,” he shrugged.

  “I didn’t.”

  Brisk footsteps in the foyer signaled the housekeeper’s approach. Seconds later she entered the library with a coffee service and two china cups on the tray she carried. A pink tint was still rouging her cheeks as Deirdre steadfastly avoided looking directly at Blake.

  “Where would you like the tray?” she asked Dina.

  “The table by the sofa will be fine.”

  Blake carried the ceramic table lighter to the cigarette in his mouth and snapped the flame to its tip. Smoke spiraled upward and he squinted his eyes against it. Despite his show of disinterest, Dina knew he was aware of the housekeeper’s every movement. After setting the tray on the table at the opposite end of the sofa from where Blake stood, Deirdre straightened up erectly.

  “Will there be anything else?” Again her query was directed to Dina.

  It was Blake who answered. “That will be all,” he said, exhaling a thin trail of smoke. “And close the door on your way out, Deirdre.”

  “Yes, sir.” Two red flags dotted her cheeks.

  As Deirdre made a hasty exit, firmly closing the door, Blake walked to the tray. Lifting the coffee pot, he filled the two cups and offered one to Dina.

  “Black, as I remember, with no sugar,” he said in a tone that baited.

  “Yes, thank you.” Dina refused to bite as she took the cup and saucer from his hand.

  Scalding steam rose from the brown liquid and Blake let his cup sit. He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette and the gossamer-thin white smoke rising upward. A wry smile crooked his mouth.

  “I’d forgotten how good a cigarette can taste first thing in the morning,” he mused.

  Dina felt as edgy as a cat with its tail caught in a vise. She couldn’t help retorting, “I thought you hadn’t forgotten anything.”

  “Not the important things, I haven’t,” Blake replied, levelly meeting her irritated glance.

  With a broken sigh, she wandered to the library window overlooking the expansive front lawn of the house and the cul-de-sac of its driveway. She was caught by the memory of t
he last time she had stared out the window in troubled silence. Oddly, it seemed an eternity ago instead of the short time that it was.

  “What are you thinking about?” Blake was close, only a scant few feet behind her.

  “I was merely remembering the last time I stood at this window.” She sipped at the hot coffee.

  “When was that?” He seemed only idly curious.

  Dina felt his gaze roaming her shapely length as surely as if he touched her, and stiffened to answer bluntly, “The night of my engagement party to Chet.”

  “Forget about him.” The command was crisp and impatient, as Dina guessed it would be.

  “It isn’t that easy to turn back the clock,” she muttered tightly.

  The cup nearly slipped from her fingers as she felt the rasping brush of his fingers against her hair. Her throat constricted, shutting off her voice and her breath.

  “Have I told you I like your hair this length?” His low voice was a husky caress running down her spine.

  He lifted aside the molten gold of her hair, pushing it away from her neck. The warmth of his breath against her skin warned her an instant before she glimpsed the waving darkness of his hair in her side vision.

  His unerring mouth sought and found the ultra-sensitive and vulnerable spot at the base of her neck. Her heart felt as though it had been knocked sideways, and Blake took full advantage of her Achilles’ heel. She felt boneless as her head tipped down and to the side to give him freer access.

  The cup rattled in its saucer, but she managed to hold on to it. His arms wound around her waist to mold her back to his muscular length. For a magic second she was transported back to another time. Then a roughened hand slid under the overlapping fold of her robe to encircle the swell of her breast, a callused finger teasing its nipple, and the arms felt suddenly strange.

  “Blake, no!” Weakly she tugged at his wrist, no match for his strength.

  She gasped as his sensual mouth moved upward to her ear, and desire licked through her veins at the darting probe of his tongue. An all-pervading weakness went through her limbs. It was a dizzying sensation, wild drums pounding in her ears.

  “Do you remember the way we used to make love in the mornings?” Blake murmured against her temple.

  “Yes,” she moaned, the memory all too vivid.

  The cup disappeared from her hand, carried away by a fluid movement of Blake’s hand. It took only the slightest pressure to turn her around. She was drawn to his side, a muscular, silk-covered thigh insinuating itself between her legs as she was arched against him. She lifted her head, subconsciously braced for the punishment of his rough kisses. Her fingers curled into his shoulders for support.

  There was the tantalizing touch of his lips against hers. “After last night, I thought I had you out of my system,” he said against them, “but I want you more than before.”

  A half sob came from her throat at the absence of any mention of love. In the next second she didn’t care, as his mouth closed over hers with sweet pressure. There was no plundering demand, only a persuasive exhorting to respond.

  Her lips parted willingly, succumbing to the rapturous mastery of his exploration. The dream world of sensation seemed almost enough. She slid her fingers through the springing thickness of his hair, the scent of him earthy and clean.

  As if tired of bending his head to reach her lips, Blake tightened his arm around her waist to lift her straight up, bringing her to eye level. It was another indication of his increased strength, that he should carry her weight so effortlessly. At the moment, Dina was oblivious to this example of his change.

  His mouth blazed a moist trail downward to explore the pulsing vein in her neck. “Did Chet ever make you feel like this?” An attempt to exorcise the memory of Chet’s kisses from her mind? Had it been motivated by nothing more than that? She pushed out of his hold, staring at him with wounded pride.

  “Did he?” Blake repeated, a faintly ragged edge to his breathing.

  “You’ll never know,” she answered in a choked voice. “Maybe he made me feel better.”

  He took a threatening step toward her, his features dark with rage. There was nowhere for Dina to retreat. She had to grand her ground, despite its indefensibility. Just then there was a knock at the door. Blake halted, casting an angry glance at the door.

  Who is it?” he demanded.

  The door opened and Chet walked in. “I’m a bit early, but Deirdre said you were in here having coffee. She’s going to bring me a cup.” He stopped, as if sensing the heaviness in the atmosphere. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I joined you.” But it was something of a question.

  “Of course not.” Dina was quick to use him as a buffer.

  “Come in, Chet,” Blake continued the invitation. “Speak of the devil, Dina and I were just talking about you.”

  “Something good, I hope,” Chet joked stiffly.

  “Yes.” Blake’s dark gaze swung to Dina, a considering grimness in their depths. “Yes, it was.” But he didn’t explain what it had been.

  She started breathing again, her hand sliding up to her throat. She became conscious of her partially clothed state and used it as an excuse to leave.

  “If you two don’t mind, I’ll leave you to have coffee alone,” she said.

  “I hope you aren’t going on my account,” Chet said, frowning.

  “No,” Dina assured him quickly, avoiding Blake’s mocking look. “I was going upstairs anyway to dress before Deirdre serves brunch. I’ll be down shortly.”

  As Dina left, she met Deirdre bringing the extra cup for Chet. The housekeeper’s composure was under admirable control now and she was her usual calm-faced self.

  Once she was dressed, Dina slipped Chet’s ring into the pocket of her dirndl skin. At some point during the day she hoped to have the chance to return it to him while they were alone. But it was late afternoon before the opportunity presented itself.

  THE PRESS HAD LEARNED of Blake’s return and the house was in a state of siege for the greater part of the day. Either the doorbell or the telephone seemed to be ringing constantly. Blake had to grant interviews to obtain any peace, but his answers were concise, without elaboration, downplaying his ordeal. As his wife, Dina was forced to be at his side, while Chet adopted the role of press secretary and spokesman for the Chandler company.

  Finally, at four o’clock, the siege seemed to be over and a blessed quietness began to settle over the house. Norma Chandler, who had insisted that coffee and sweets be served to all those who had come, was busy helping Deirdre clear away the mess.

  The ringing of the telephone signaled a last interview for Blake, one conducted over the phone. Dina had started helping the other two women clean up. When she noticed Chet slip away to the library, she excused herself, knowing she might not have another chance to speak to him alone.

  As she stepped inside the library, she saw him pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter over ice cubes in a squat glass. The engagement ring seemed to be burning a circle in her pocket.

  “Would you pour me a sherry, Chet?” She quietly closed the door, shutting out Blake’s voice coming from the living room.

  Chet’s sandy blond head lifted, his surprised look vanishing into a smile when he say her. “Of course.” He reached for another glass and a different decanter. Pouring, he remarked, “It’s been quite a hectic day.”

  “Yes, it has.” Dina walked over to take the sherry glass from his hand.

  Ice clinked as Chet lifted his glass to take a quick swallow of whiskey. “A reporter that I know from one of the local papers called and got me out of bed this morning. He’d gotten wind that there was a shake-up in the Chandler hotel chain and he wanted to know what it was. I pleaded ignorance. But that’s why I rushed over here so early, to warn Blake that the onslaught was coming. I knew it was only a matter of time before they found out.”

  “Yes.” She nodded in agreement, glad there had been no announcement of their engagement in the newspaper or th
e reporters would have turned Blake’s return into a circus.

  “Blake really knows how to handle himself with the press,” Chet stated with undisguised admiration.

  “Yes, he does.” Dina sipped at her drink.

  “And it will make good publicity for the hotels,” he added.

  “Yes.” She was beginning to feel like a puppet whose string was being pulled to nod agreement to everything Chet said — when it really wasn’t what she wanted to talk about at all.

  “I imagine somebody in the company let it slip about Blake.” He stared thoughtfully at the amber liquid in his glass. “I called around to all the major officers yesterday to let them know he was back. That’s probably how the word got out.”

  “Probably,” Dina agreed, and promptly took the initiative to lead into her own subject. “Chet, I’ve been wanting to see you today, alone —” she reached in her pocket to take out the circlet of diamonds “— to return this to you.”

  He took it from her outstretched hand, looking boyishly uncomfortable. His thumb rubbed it between his fingers as he stared at it, not meeting the sapphire brightness of her gaze.

  “I don’t want you to get the idea that I was deserting you yesterday.” His voice was uncertain, almost apologetic. “But I know how you felt about Blake and I didn’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.”

  With the explanation given for the way he had so readily abandoned their engagement, Chet lifted his head to gaze at-her-earnestly, a troubled shade of. clouded blue in his eyes. Affection rushed through Dina at his unselfishness, sacrificing his wants for hers.

  “I understand, Chet.”

  Relief glimmered in his smile. “You must really be glad to have him back.”

  “I… “She started to repeat the positive assertion she had been making all day, ready to recite the words automatically, but she stopped herself. Among other things, Chet was her best friend, as well as Blake’s. With him she could speak her mind. “He’s changed, Chet.”

  He hesitated for a second before answering, as if her response had caught him off guard and he wanted to word his reply carefully.