Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet LoveSweet Deception

by Rochelle Alers

  “Double, but only if I’m feeling generous.”

  Donovan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a buoy in choppy water. “And if you’re not feeling generous, Rice?”

  “It quadruples.”

  Streaks of red crept up Donovan’s neck to his smooth-shaven cheeks. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  Griffin shook his head slowly. “No. I’m not very good when it comes to telling jokes.” He almost felt sorry for the man who was the epitome of sophistication. It was easy to see why Oakley Donovan was able to attract women half his age.

  The door to the conference opened and a woman with salt-and-pepper hair nodded to her boss. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Donovan, but I thought you’d want to know that there’s been a shooting at a high school in Philadelphia. So far, the newscasters haven’t identified the school.”

  Oakley’s teenage daughters from his second marriage lived and went to school in Philadelphia. The color drained from his face at the same time Griffin stood up and pushed back his chair.

  Griffin met Oakley’s wild-eyed stare. “Do you have a television?” His first thought was of Belinda, who taught at one of the most notorious high schools in the city.

  “Yes. In my office.”

  Minutes later, the two men stood in front of a wall-mounted screen, their gazes fixed on the images of uniformed police in riot gear taking up positions around the perimeter of the school. Fear, stark and vivid, seized Griffin as he read the crawl at the bottom of the screen. A police negotiator had made contact with a lone gunman who was holding his teacher and classmates hostage.

  Reaching for his BlackBerry, Griffin punched in a number on speed dial. “Answer the phone, Belinda,” he whispered, but the call went to voice mail. His next call was to Roberta Eaton. “Roberta, Griffin. Have you heard anything?”

  “Belinda called to let me know that she’s okay. She must have turned off her cell phone because it’s going straight to voice mail. I’ve been on my knees praying ever since she called. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost another child.”

  “You’re not going to lose her, Roberta.”

  “I pray you’re right. Where are you, Griffin?”

  “Chicago.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can book a return flight.”

  Oakley pulled his gaze away from the television. “Thank goodness it’s not my daughters’ school.”

  Griffin glared at the man who was responsible for taking a small apparel company from virtual obscurity to compete with Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger. “Lucky for you,” he drawled facetiously. “The woman I love teaches at that school.”

  Oakley looked contrite. “Maybe I can help you out. I’ll have my driver take you back to your hotel where you can pick up your luggage. From there he’ll take you to the airport. The company jet will fly you directly into Philly.” He turned to his assistant. “Call the pilot and have him fuel and ready the jet. He’ll have one passenger going to Philadelphia International. Also call Leonard and have him bring the car around.” He smiled at Griffin. “You better get going, Rice. Call me when things settle down.”

  Griffin shook the businessman’s hand before sprinting out the door. It wasn’t until he was seated on the leather seat in the small private jet that he realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.

  He’d fallen in love with Belinda Eaton.

  * * *

  The jet landed on a private runway at Philadelphia International and Griffin rang Belinda’s cell phone. Again it went to voice mail. He stopped in a terminal long enough to watch a reporter on CNN recap the events of the school shooting and standoff that lasted less than two hours. A police spokesperson reported they had taken one suspect into custody and details of the incident would be made public at a city hall press conference later that evening. Classes were canceled for the next two days and counselors would be available for students, faculty and staff.

  He called Roberta again, who told him that Belinda stopped by to prove she was okay.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Home. I tried to get her to stay, but she said she needed to be alone.”

  “That’s what she doesn’t need,” he argued.

  “I agree, Griffin. Perhaps she’ll listen to you.”

  He smiled for the first time in hours. “I’ll take care of her.”

  There was a noticeable pause. “I know you will.”

  Griffin flagged down a taxi and gave him Belinda’s address. He wasn’t convinced that she was all right until he saw her for himself. The driver pulled away from the curbside as if he were taking a road test.

  Griffin tapped the Plexiglas partition. “Hey, my man, can’t you drive any faster?”

  The cabbie glanced over his shoulder. “I take it you’re in a hurry?”

  Griffin flashed a supercilious grin. “Yes, I am.” The taxi driver maneuvered around a slow-moving van, accelerated and took the road leading out of the airport. Pressing his back against the worn seat, Griffin closed his eyes. “Thanks.”

  Why, he asked himself, did it have to take a life-and-death situation for him to open his eyes? His relationship with Belinda had been rocky at first until they realized fighting each other was not healthy for their nieces.

  He would never replace Grant as their father no matter how hard he tried. But, on the other hand, Belinda had slipped into her role as mother as if she were born to it. Perhaps it had something to do with her being a teacher. She understood children needed and wanted boundaries if they were to feel secure. Sabrina and Layla were given a list of chores they had to fulfill and it was on a rare occasion that a task went undone.

  Griffin mentally rehearsed all the things he wanted to say to Belinda but when the taxi maneuvered into the driveway leading to her house they were forgotten when he saw her Volvo parked behind his Lexus.

  He felt like a mechanical windup toy when he paid the driver and gathered his bags and mounted the porch steps. Lengthening afternoon shadows shaded a portion of the porch where Belinda liked to sit out in the evening to watch the sun set. She claimed it was her favorite time of the day—the period between dusk and sunset when the world seemed to settle down for the night. It was only when he’d joined her one night that he felt what she felt—a calming peace where poverty, hunger and disease, for a brief nanosecond, did not exist.

  Reaching for a key, he inserted it into the lock and pushed open the door. A lamp on the table in the entryway emitted a soft glow as he left his bags in the corner next to a coatrack. Placing one foot in front of the other, Griffin walked through the living room and down the narrow hallway that led to Belinda’s bedroom. The clothes she’d worn that day were on a chair in the dressing room.

  Retracing his steps, he headed for the staircase, then stopped when he heard barking coming from the direction of the kitchen. When they were home alone, Nigel and Cecil were given the run of their cage with food and water in an area between the kitchen and pantry.

  Griffin checked on the puppies, who, when they saw him, started whining to get out. The bottle attached to the cage was filled with water, the food dishes filled and the bottom of the cage was lined with clean pads. He smiled and shook his head. Despite all that she’d encountered, Belinda had still found time to take care of the puppies. She took care of everyone, but there was no one to take care of her.

  Griffin had promised his brother that he would take care of his children and he’d also promised Roberta that he would take care of Belinda—and he would. He took the back staircase to the second floor. The door to the bathroom stood open and when he peered in Griffin was stunned by the scene unfolding before him.

  Belinda lay in the bathtub filled with bubbles, sipping from a wineglass. A half-empty bottle of wine rested on a low table next to the tub. Music flowed from a
radio on a corner shelf. Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at the moisture dotting her face. Wisps from her upswept hairdo clung to her forehead and cheek, but she didn’t seem to mind getting her hair wet.

  “Would you like company?”

  Belinda sat up, nearly upsetting the table with the wine when her elbow knocked into it. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

  Straightening, Griffin gave her a tender smile. “I came to see if you’re all right.”

  Placing the glass on the table, Belinda slipped lower into the water. “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  A slight frown creased his forehead. Had she forgotten what had happened at her school that afternoon, or had she deliberately blocked it out of her mind? “Are you sure you’re okay, Belinda?”

  “Of course I am! I wish everyone would stop asking me if I’m all right. I’m alive, Griffin. Isn’t that enough?”

  The tears Belinda had managed to keep at bay pricked the backs of her eyelids, but she was helpless to stop them once they fell. Fat, hot tears rolled down her face and into the froth of bubbles.

  Taking off his jacket and tie, Griffin dropped them on a chair and went to his knees. He reached down and lifted Belinda into his arms. “Cry and let it all out. I’m here,” he repeated over and over until her sobs lessened to soft hiccuping sounds. It was then that he wrapped her naked body in a bath sheet and carried her downstairs to her bedroom.

  Placing her on the bed, his body following hers down, they lay together, his chest against her back. “Feeling better, baby?”

  “I think I’m drunk, Griffin. I drank more than half the bottle of wine.”

  He kissed the nape of her neck. “Go to sleep.”

  “All the kids were screaming.”

  “Don’t, baby. Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  “Of course. I’ll stay with you tonight, tomorrow night and every night after that.”

  “Do you know what?” Belinda’s words were slurring.

  “What, darling?” A silence ensued, and Griffin thought she’d fallen asleep.

  “I like you, Griffin Rice.”

  There came another prolonged silence before he spoke again. “And I love you, Belinda Eaton.” The sound of snoring answered his confession. She’d fallen asleep.

  He dimmed the table lamp to the lowest setting, removed the bath sheet and pulled the sheet up over her body. He wanted to stay in bed with Belinda, but it was too much of a temptation. If and when he did make love to her he wanted her willing and not under the influence.

  Griffin lost track of time as he sat on the side of the bed, watching her sleep. When he did finally get up it was to let the water out of the bathtub, cork the wine bottle, and turn off the radio and light.

  He sat in the living room staring numbly at the television as the mayor, police department and school officials all took credit for quickly defusing a volatile situation without loss of life.

  Reporters had interviewed students who speculated as to what had had happened but they were unable to get the true story because the students in the American history and government classroom where the shooting and standoff had occurred refused to speak to the press.

  Griffin felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the student with the gun was Belinda’s.

  Chapter 8

  Bright sunlight coming in through the windows and the fragrant smell of coffee greeted Belinda when she sat up in bed. She peered down at her naked breasts and realization dawned. Griffin had come, and he’d put her in bed. Reaching for the silk wrap at her feet, she pushed her arms into the sleeves and belted it. The sour taste on her tongue was a reminder of the wine she’d drunk the night before. Right now she needed to brush her teeth and rinse her mouth, shower and get dressed. She walked out of the bedroom and made her way to the half bath off the kitchen.

  Belinda’s stomach did a flip-flop when she ran into Griffin. “Good morning,” she mumbled, not breaking stride.

  Griffin smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.” He’d gotten up early to take care of the puppies, and instead of going back to the sleeper-sofa he decided to surprise Belinda with breakfast in bed.

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she said, closing the bathroom door behind her.

  He waited for Belinda to emerge from the small bathroom, handing her a mug of steaming coffee. She smelled like mint. “Take this and go back to bed. Breakfast should be ready in about ten minutes.”

  Belinda pressed her lips to his stubbly jaw. “I have a confession to make.”

  Griffin resisted the urge to kiss the full, lush lips inches from his own. If he knew it would’ve been a mistake to sleep with her the night before, he was more than aware this morning that if he kissed Belinda Eaton he wouldn’t finish breakfast, and he would carry her into the bedroom, put her on her back and be inside her before he’d be able to stop himself.

  He closed his eyes, shutting out the image of her mussed hair falling provocatively around her scrubbed face. Griffin knew what lay under the silky fabric, and if she didn’t leave—now—he doubted whether he’d be able to control the lower portion of his body.

  “What is it?” His question sounded angry.

  Tears filled Belinda’s eyes. “I lied to my mother yesterday when I told her I was all right. I wasn’t, Griffin. When that kid fired that gun all I thought about were mothers having to bury their children. And if he’d killed me, then it would be the second time in less than six months for my mother.”

  Griffin eased the mug from her fingers and put it on the cooking island. He cradled her face in his hands. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. But we don’t have to do it now. You’re going to eat, and then pack a bag. I’m bringing you home with me.”

  Belinda shook her head. “I don’t—”

  “I don’t want you to fight with me, Lindy,” he interrupted. “Now, take your coffee and get into bed.”

  She took the mug. “Why are you trying to sound like a daddy?”

  “That’s because I am a daddy.”

  Belinda hadn’t walked out of the kitchen when the doorbell rang. The sound set off a chorus of barking from the Yorkies. She glanced over at the clock on the microwave. It wasn’t eight o’clock.

  Griffin held up a hand. “I’ll see who it is.”

  He didn’t want her answering the door wearing next to nothing. After showering, he’d slipped into a pair of jeans and T-shirt. After his first sleep-over he left several changes of clothes, underwear and grooming products at Belinda’s house.

  He opened the door to find two conservatively dressed young black men standing on the porch. “Whatever you’re selling we’re not buying.”

  The taller of the two held up a hand. “Wait, mister. We’re reporters and we’d like to talk to Belinda Eaton about the shooting incident in her classroom yesterday.”

  “Miss Eaton is not home,” Griffin lied smoothly. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

  “But isn’t that her car?” the other man asked, pointing to the Volvo with her high school faculty parking sticker affixed to the rear bumper.

  A muscle in Griffin’s jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth. “Get off this property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

  “Look, my brother, we’re just trying to get a story for our college newspaper.”

  Griffin bit back a smile. “Oh, now I’m your brother. What college?”

  “Temple,” they said in unison.

  “Do you have a press badge?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I forgot mine.”

  “What kind of idiot do you take me for, my brothers?” Griffin shouted. “Any self-respecting, aspiring journalist wo
uld have a press badge. I graduated Temple even before you two were zygotes, and I remember that anyone who worked on the college paper carried identification. I’m Miss Eaton’s attorney and as such I’ve instructed her not to speak to the press. I’m going to give you some advice for which I usually charge my clients seven hundred-fifty an hour.” He glared at the two young men. “Never play the race card, because it’s immature and cheesy. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Stepping back, Griffin closed the door, leaving them staring at the door, then each other. Someone wanted an eyewitness account of what had occurred in her classroom and they were willing to pay to get it. If Belinda wanted to talk to the media she would’ve done it yesterday, unless she was instructed not to say anything by school officials.

  The school board had closed the high school, giving students two extra days of spring break. Griffin would use the time to help Belinda heal, and hopefully forget that she could’ve possibly become another school shooting statistic.

  * * *

  “Why are you treating me as if I were an invalid?”

  Griffin tightened his hold under Belinda’s legs as he carried her to the patio. “Haven’t you ever had a man spoil you?”

  “No—I mean, yes.”

  “Which is it, Lindy?”

  Belinda closed her eyes, shutting out his intense stare. She hadn’t been given a choice when Griffin told her to pack a bag with enough clothes to last a week, adding that she should include a few for dining out. He put Nigel and Cecil into the crate he stored in the back of his SUV and called Roberta to let her know that he was taking her daughter to his house to get away from the hysteria. They made one stop—to the post office to fill out the form to stop the delivery of her mail. Smiling and looking quite smug, Griffin headed out in a westerly direction towards Paoli.