Wesley smothered a yawn with his hand. “I don’t want to be rude, but can we discuss this in the morning?”
“Sure.”
He stood up, staring down at her. “Aren’t you going in?”
“Not yet. Good night.”
Wesley held her gaze for a full minute. “Good night.”
Marisol watched Wesley’s retreat until he disappeared into the adjoining bedroom, silently admiring a pair of broad shoulders, straight spine and narrow waist. Talking to Wesley had temporarily taken her mind off Bryce. She had to believe he was all right, otherwise someone would’ve contacted her. She’d called Bryce twice and refused to call him again. The ball was now in his court.
Marisol felt her eyelids droop and she got up and went back into the bedroom, closed the windows to keep out the warm air and climbed into bed. This time when she did close her eyes it was to fall asleep.
It was the sound of rain and not sunlight pouring into the bedroom that Marisol woke to. Pulling the sheet over her head, she burrowed deeper into the pile of pillows under her head and shoulders. She didn’t want to get up, but knew she had to because the sooner she completed the floor plans the sooner she could return to the States. Once Wesley approved the plan for positioning all of the furnishings he would have to approve the colors he wanted for each room. Her recommendations would include paint colors that were in keeping with the tropical climate: watermelon, pear, cantaloupe.
Sweeping off the sheet, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her gaze going to the luggage on the floor in a far corner. Now she’d experienced what it meant to live out of a suitcase. The absence of furniture meant that she couldn’t empty her bags and put away her clothes in a dresser or chest of drawers. Marisol had taken care not to leave her bags open because she didn’t want to bring a creeping or crawling creature back to the States.
The wood floor was cool under her bare feet as she walked over to her Pullman and removed a change of clothes. Thankfully she’d been able to store her toiletries on a countertop in the en suite bath. Forty minutes later, after she’d showered, dressed and made the bed, Marisol walked down the staircase and made her way into the kitchen.
The intoxicating aroma of brewing coffee and the vision of Wesley sprawled on a chair in the kitchen greeted her. He’d rested his bare feet on another chair while flipping through a magazine. His damp hair stood up in tiny spikes from a recent shower and Marisol thought he looked incredibly virile in a pair of faded ripped jeans and white T.
“Buenos días.”
Wesley jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, his chair clattering loudly as it hit the floor. “Good morning.” He picked up the chair, offering it to her. “Come and sit. The coffee should be ready in another minute.”
Marisol, wearing a pair of jeans with a long-sleeve cotton white top and sandals, folded her body down to the chair. “Thanks. You’re up early.” It was minutes after seven.
“I’d planned to go for a swim, but I hadn’t expected it to rain.”
“It’ll probably clear up later.” She stared directly at Wesley. “I don’t want you to call your staffer to ask him to check on Bryce.”
“Are you sure?”
She gave him a hint of a smile. “Very sure.”
Standing in the shower, it was as if she’d suddenly gotten an epiphany. Marisol had decided she wasn’t going to chase after her husband. If he wanted to call her he would. If not, then he wouldn’t. For Bryce, her need to remain independent meant they were living together but they were also living separate lives, and that was why he hadn’t wanted to bring a child into their current lifestyle.
Well, she had no intention of giving up her career and sense of self to become someone like his mother, who’d waited on his father hand and foot and was available at his beck and call.
Wesley nodded. “It’s your call, Mari. But if you change your mind I’m willing to do it.”
“I’m not going to change my mind. Today I’m going to do the cooking.”
“That’s all right,” Wesley said in protest. “I didn’t bring you here to cook.”
“But I want to. How would you like an authentic Puerto Rican meal with rice, beans, tostones and flan?”
Wesley stared, complete surprise on his face. “You cook like that?”
“Yes.”
“¡Maldito!”
“Damn is right. What if we compromise? I’ll cook today and you can cook tomorrow.” Wesley extended his hand and she took it. “Do you have a blender or food processor?”
“I’m certain there is a food processor in one of the storage cabinets. Why?”
“I want to make sofrito, but I’m going to need cilantro, cachucha or ajicitos, bell pepper and cubanelle peppers.”
“I’ll give you the number to the market and you can ask them to deliver whatever you need.”
“How far is it from here?”
Wesley smiled. “Too far to walk. I have an account with the store. I order what I want, then settle the bill before I leave the island.”
“Do you ever rent a car to get around?”
“No. Once I get here I usually don’t leave until I’m ready to fly back to the States. The developer is breaking ground on the north side of the property to build an nine-hole golf course, indoor tennis court, several inground pools, a building that can be used for private parties and a health spa.”
“All you’ll need is an on-site supermarket with the requisite pharmacy and a movie theater and you’ll never have to leave.”
“What about a shoe store?” Wesley teased.
Marisol waved a hand. “Those can be ordered online.”
“Coffee’s ready,” he said when the brewing light on the coffeemaker switched off. “One café con leche coming up.”
Wesley stood up and went over to make their coffees while Marisol searched the built-in refrigerator/freezer for ingredients she could use to make breakfast.
Chapter Thirty-One
Deanna was certain everyone could see and hear her knees shaking when she walked into the lobby to the Brandon-Phillips. It had taken four days, but Richard Douglas had contacted her again, and following John’s instructions Deanna had suggested they meet at the same hotel. She’d also told her blackmailer that she would meet him in the lobby, share a drink, then go upstairs, where she’d fulfill her promise to sleep with him again.
She’d changed her outfit from all-black to a suit with a pencil skirt in a flattering lime-green. It was spring, a time for renewal, the temperatures were in the high seventies, and once she left the hotel she planned to turn the proverbial corner to take her life back. She hadn’t met John, couldn’t imagine what he looked like, but Deanna knew she had to trust him when he said he would take care of Richard Douglas. Her gaze met and fused to the man rising slowly to his feet with her approach. He was as fastidiously dressed as before, every strand of hair in place.
Richard indicated the chair across from where he’d sat waiting for Deanna. “Please sit down, Mrs. Tyson.”
She complied, crossing one leg over the other and bringing his gaze to linger there when the hem of the skirt rose up her thigh. “Don’t you think we should dispense with the Mr. Douglas and Mrs. Tyson?”
Bringing his fingertips together, Richard narrowed his eyes. “You hate me, don’t you?”
Deanna shook her head. “No, I don’t. What I hate is being forced to do something I don’t want to do.”
Richard lowered his hands. “Then why are you here?”
She leaned forward. “I want you out of my life—for good.”
A sardonic smile parted his lips. “What if I want more than just tonight?”
“That’s not going to happen. Either you agree to end it tonight, or I’m going home and tell my husband everything.”
“You’re willing to risk your marriage?”
“So much so that I’m also willing to risk my life.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Deanna.”
“Don’t be s
o pompous, Richard.”
He laughed under his breath. “Given another set of circumstances we would’ve made a magnificent couple.”
Deanna shook her head. “I doubt that. I don’t make it my business to consort with criminals. Not only are you a rapist, but you’re also a blackmailer.”
Richard’s expression did not change with her accusation. “I didn’t rape you. You went willingly to my room.”
“I didn’t give you consent, and that means you raped me.”
“I’ll admit you were under the influence. In fact, both of us were, but let me assure you that you were willing to open your legs for me. Let me remind you that this isn’t about your husband finding out that his wife had slept with a man she’d met at a hotel bar, but about your reputation as the consummate event planner. I told you before that I have enough clout that you’ll never work in this town again.”
“That no longer matters,” Deanna said truthfully. After lunching with Bethany she’d come home giving the idea of owning and operating a B and B a lot of consideration. Once her problem with Richard Douglas was resolved, she planned to broach the subject with Spencer.
Richard waved a hand as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Perhaps a cocktail would put you more at ease.” Deanna nodded. He raised his hand to get a waiter’s attention. “I’ll have my usual and please bring the lady a Long Island iced tea.”
Deanna stared out the window rather than at the man whose overblown ego told him he could have anything he wanted. When she’d spoken to John, the mysterious voice on the other end of the phone reassured her that when she walked out of the Brandon-Phillips it would be without her having slept with Richard Douglas.
The waiter returned, bringing her back to her situation. Picking up her glass, she held it aloft. “Here’s to wonderful goodbyes.”
Richard held up his glass filled with bourbon. “Parting is going to be such sweet sorrow. At least for me.” Putting it to his mouth, he took a long swallow, peering at Deanna over the rim as she took furtive sips of her drink. His hand shook slightly when he attempted to replace the glass on the table without spilling his drink.
Deanna stared, shocked when she watched him clawing at the tie around his throat as his eyes rolled back in his head, leaving only the whites. “Are you all right?”
“Get up and walk out,” a woman whispered in her ear.
Needing no further prompting, she got up and made her way to the revolving doors. Once out on the street a man wearing the hotel’s livery moved close to her side. “Don’t look at me! Give me your phone.”
Reaching into her handbag, she took out her cell phone and handed it to the man without looking at him. She managed to see a pair of white gloved hands, but nothing else. Four seconds later she had her phone; then she walked over to the valet, asking him to bring her car around.
It was over. She had her life back. Deanna didn’t know what had happened to Richard Douglas and she didn’t want to know. She suspected he was having a heart attack and didn’t want to surmise what had precipitated the attack.
Then she did what she hadn’t done in a long time. She offered a prayer of thanks. She was thankful that she’d told Marisol, who knew someone able to intervene on her behalf, about her dilemma. She was thankful she hadn’t had to tell her husband that she’d committed adultery.
Deanna hadn’t thought of herself as a bad wife, but the liaison with Richard Douglas hadn’t made her a good wife, either. But she’d been given a second chance to make it right. She would go home, make love to Spencer, tell him about her wish to operate a B and B and continue trying to increase their family.
Jenah Morris quickened her pace. She hadn’t noticed the man when she got off the bus to walk the three blocks to her apartment building, but she felt as if he was following her. She chided herself for not taking a taxi from the club where she’d hung out with her friends because she had wanted to save money, because as a single woman with a child on the way she couldn’t afford to splurge.
The money Spencer had given her to have an abortion she’d deposited into her savings account. Maybe if she took on a part-time job she could save enough money to tide her over while she was on maternity leave. Then there was the matter of child care. There weren’t many agencies that took in newborns, so that meant she had to look for someone responsible to take care of her baby before she returned to work.
The night Spencer had walked out on her Jenah had briefly thought about getting rid of the baby, but that lasted all of ten minutes when she contemplated how she would repay Spencer Tyson for his duplicity. It hadn’t taken Jenah long to conclude that Spencer Tyson had no intention of leaving his wife despite the passionate declarations of love.
“It’s not nice to harbor evil thoughts, Jenny.” Her grandmother’s warning came back to nag at her whenever she contemplated how she could repay Spencer for stringing her along. However, revenge would have to wait—wait until after their child was born. Then she would sue him for paternity and after DNA tests she wouldn’t have to worry about providing for their son or daughter.
A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the man was no longer following her. She wouldn’t have been out so late if she hadn’t agreed to join her coworkers at a restaurant to celebrate their D.C. chief of staff’s birthday. Slowing and breathing heavily through her open mouth, Jenah turned the corner. She hadn’t gone more than half a dozen steps when a large dark figure sprang from the bushes and caught her around her throat. Then she felt a sharp pain in her side.
Going completely still, she stared numbly at the dark figure sprinting away from her. It wasn’t until she heard the frantic barking that she realized the dog must have frightened the mugger.
“Are you all right, miss?”
Jenah stared at the elderly man with his dog straining on his leash. “I think so.”
“He didn’t get your bag, did he?”
Her heart was beating so hard that Jenah thought it was coming out of her chest. She tightened her grip on her crossover bag. “No.”
“Maybe you should call the police so they can be on the lookout for someone going around trying to mug women.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. My building is right over there. Once inside I’ll be safe. Thank goodness you were here with your dog.”
“I walk Lady every night about this time.”
Jenah wanted to tell the man that she’d made it a practice not to take public transportation late at night, but tonight had been the exception. It would not happen again. “Thank you again, and good night.”
“We’ll walk you to your building to make certain if that creep decides to come back.”
She was given an escort to her building. Jenah unlocked the outer door, waving to her rescuer once she was safely inside the building. Not bothering to stop to see if she had mail, she walked to her first-floor apartment, unlocked the door and walked in and locked it behind her.
Her heart was still beating a little too fast and suddenly she felt faint. She managed to make it to the bathroom and sit on the commode when she felt a stabbing pain in her belly. Taking deep gulps of air, Jenah willed the pain to go away, but it intensified. She didn’t need to look down to know she was bleeding. She was losing her baby. Somehow she managed to reach for a towel to soak up the blood, and holding it between her legs she made it to the telephone and dialed 911. Blood-soaked towels lay in the tub behind the shower curtain when paramedics wheeled her out of the apartment on a gurney.
Jenah surfaced from a dark hole to stare up at an unfamiliar face hovering over her. When she was able to focus she saw the IV taped to the back of her hand and heard the beeping sounds from the machine monitoring her vitals.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Where am I?”
The nurse gave her a comforting smile. “You’re in a hospital, Ms. Morris. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”
Jenah placed a hand on her belly. “What about my baby?”
“The doctor will talk to you.”<
br />
“I want you to tell me if my baby is okay!” she shouted. She hadn’t realized she was still screaming until a doctor approached her bed, along with another nurse who injected something into the tube taped to her hand.
“Ms. Morris, my name is Dr. Warner. I’m sorry to tell you that you had a miscarriage. We have to perform a D & C. We also had to give you a unit of blood. We’ll run some tests in the morning, and if everything looks good then you’ll be able to go home. Meanwhile, is there anyone you want to call to let them know you’re here.”
She nodded. “Yes-s-s.” Whatever they’d given her was making her very sleepy.
“Nurse Sharkey, please give Ms. Morris the phone so she can make a call.”
The nurse adjusted the pillows behind Jenah’s shoulders and back, permitting her to sit up while she tapped the buttons on the telephone. Everything appeared to be moving in slow motion when she listened to the prerecorded message. “Spencer, this is Jenah. Please call me on my cell tomorrow night. I have something very important to tell you. Don’t…don’t…forget. Call me…me back.”
It was the last thing she remembered before she fell headlong into a comforting darkness that swallowed her whole.
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right staying here alone?”
Jenah nodded as she flopped down on her bed. Spencer hadn’t called her back. He hadn’t called the hospital, her cell or her home phone. She wanted to tell him he was free to go on with his life, and the only thing she wanted was for him to pick her up at the hospital and drive her home. In the end she had to call one of her coworkers and impose on her. Luckily, she hadn’t told anyone she’d gotten pregnant, so that saved her from answering a lot of questions. She’d told Shaniece that she didn’t know she had a fibroid until it ruptured.
Capital Wives Page 24
