For Your Love

by Caine, Candy

  Martin’s eyes took on the glint of hard steel. Heather knew he was beginning to comprehend where she was heading with this and plunged the knife in further. “When was the last time you two had sex?”

  Martin thought a moment and then sighed. “I can’t remember.”

  “She’s going to look elsewhere if you’re not giving it to her. It’s a fact of life.”

  “You really think she’s cheating on me?”

  “Hey, you’re fooling around.” Snapping her fingers, Heather said, “What’s that saying? ‘What’s good for the goose, is good for the gander.’”

  “It’s different with men,” Martin grumbled.

  “That double-standard is crap and you know it.”

  “Maybe I should hire a PI to follow Carla.” Martin sat up.

  “I hear Haywood is free,” Heather joked as she playfully poked Martin in the ribs.

  Martin guffawed.

  Pulling Martin back down, Heather straddled him. “No more talk about Carla.”

  * * *

  By the following day, the notion that Carla might be engaged in some torrid love affair had moved into Martin’s mind and had taken over, preventing the germination of any other thoughts.

  It had all but consumed him to the point of wanting to strangle the truth out of his sleeping wife.

  The entire night, he’d lain awake thinking how easily it would have been for Carla to cheat. She was her own boss and worked at home which gave her flexible hours. Great at multitasking, she could have been writing the books in her head as she was being screwed. How dare she be unfaithful to him? He seriously had the mind to hire a private investigator and have her tailed to see what she was up to.

  * * *

  Jessie Thompson had thought of little else but how she was going to get the money to give to Jake’s bookie. The man had called, giving Jake a “friendly” warning, which was anything but friendly. She’d watched her husband’s face drain of all color and his hands shake as he listened. The poor man looked as if his blood had frozen in his veins and he was being given his last rites. The situation was critical enough to warrant her to go to Aunt Louise and beg for help one last time.

  That same afternoon, she drove to her aunt’s house, going over in her mind what she’d tell her. Jessie was prepared to grovel at her feet for the money, if she had to. She had little choice and nobody else to turn to. Afraid that her aunt would make herself scarce had she called first, Jessie took the chance of finding her home. If Aunt Louise wasn’t there, she would squat on her doorstep until she returned. She rang the bell.

  When Aunt Louise called out, “Who is it?” Jessie felt her knees threaten to buckle in relief and had to brace herself against the door.

  “It’s me, Jessie, Aunt Louise,” she said, her voice sounding as if it was being tossed about on the ocean.

  It seemed to Jessie that her aunt was taking an inordinately long time to open the door. Was she contemplating not opening the door? What would she do then? It felt like forever when Aunt Louise opened the door at last.

  “Let me put up the tea kettle. You look like crap, Jessie,” her aunt said leading her into the kitchen at the back of the spotless, excessively neat and clean bungalow. As usual, like her home, Aunt Louise was immaculately groomed and overdressed in a knee-length pleated skirt and a white silk blouse with long sleeves and formal cuffs. She wore small pearl earrings with a matching strand around her scrawny neck. Jessie couldn’t help wondering how much the pearls were worth. They could probably square Jake with his bookie.

  And a wonderful “hello” to you, as well, Aunt Louise, Jessie thought.

  The silence in the room was interrupted by the irritating whistle of the kettle. Jessie watched her aunt rise out of her chair noting a fleeting grimace on her face. Her gout must be acting up again. A stubborn woman, Louise refused to let the painful disease prevent her doing what needed to be done.

  After the tea bags were extracted and thrown away, Aunt Louise looked directly into Jessie’s eyes and initiated the conversation.

  “It ain’t my birthday, so why are you here, Jessie?”

  Jessie swallowed hard. Her mouth felt as if she’d filled it with a wad of cotton. A vision of the bookie’s henchmen beating Jake with a baseball bat flashed before her.

  “I know you told me you wouldn’t give me any more money, but I have no one else to turn to.”

  “What stupid thing has your fool of a husband done now?”

  A strand of hope dangled before Jessie. At least she was willing to listen. “He owes fifteen thousand to his bookie.”

  Aunt Louise gasped. “And he expects you to come up with that kind of money to pay for his stupidity?”

  “He’s been looking for a job. It’s not as if he’s not trying.”

  Gruffly, her aunt replied, “He’s trying, all right.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. They’ll kill him,” Jessie said, half-sobbing.

  “And tell me why that’s such a bad thing?”

  “He’s my husband!”

  “He’s the monkey on your back, that’s all—the one that’s gonna kill you.”

  “Aunt Louise, if you help me this last time, I swear I’ll never come to you again for money,” Jessie pleaded.

  Aunt Louise placed her hand on Jessie’s arm. “When your mother died, I promised to look after you for her and I did, for I love you like a daughter. However, you’ve already spent your inheritance. The till, my dear, has run dry.” Then, perhaps as an afterthought, she added, “Ain’t tough love a bitch?”

  Jessie grabbed her aunt’s hand fiercely. “No, please don’t say that, Aunt Jessie. Please!” she cried. “I’ve nowhere else to turn!”

  However, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Her aunt had a stubborn streak that could not be broken. When she’d made up her mind, the subject was closed. Jessie’s tears half blinded her as she realized there was nothing further to gain there and left. She drove a block before pulling over to the side of the road and crying. In her mind’s eye Jessie saw herself hanging from a fraying rope over a creek filled with jaw-snapping alligators. Their house had no equity left. Whatever savings they had, was all but gone. It seemed so hopeless.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The gym’s decorative Christmas bell hanging on the door tingled as Richard and Carla exited together. Richard turned to Carla with a frown.

  “Richard, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s really wrong. It’s just…”

  “What? If there’s something I can do for you, just ask.”

  He took the plunge. “I have a humongous favor to ask of you.”

  “Do you need money—”

  “No, nothing like that. I have to go to the annual office Christmas party and I need—“ he hesitated, “to take someone.”

  “That’s it? Of course I’ll go with you. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Carla said, gently touching his cheek.

  “Sorry to be so melodramatic, but it is a big thing to ask—I mean with your being married and all that.”

  “When and where is it?”

  Richard let out a breath of relief and told her. “Next Friday. Is it too soon?”

  “Of course not,” she lied, wondering what she’d wear. “Where is it being held?”

  “At the Hyatt Regency. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “Really?” Carla asked, tongue-in cheek.

  Richard smiled, dispelling his frown. Thank God I won’t be there all alone, he thought. “I’d stand here telling you how much, but I have an appointment with a client in an hour.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Go on and don’t worry about it. I’m happy to go.”

  Carla watched him go and then hurried to her car. She had to go shopping for a dress.

  * * *

  Heather was walking out of the exclusive health club on N. Saguaro Rd. in Fountain Hills when her cell phone chirped. She fumbled in her tote for a few moments before fishing it out. She glanced at the caller ID. It said private, but
was a strange area code. Who could be calling? She wondered.

  The “who” was quickly answered when she heard the deep, accented voice say, “Ciao, il mio amore.”

  Heather’s heart instantly caught in mid-beat and resumed beating twice as fast. In that split second, an image of the man who belonged to that sexy voice flashed before her with his classical features and ocean-blue eyes, smooth olive-toned skin and incredibly hard body. Her emotions ran the gamut from surprise to anger and then desire.

  With a great deal of control, she tamped her anger back. Despite the fact he was the only man she’d ever loved and used to pray he’d eventually come crawling back to her, she didn’t want him to know he could still upset her. The bastard had ignored her for years.

  And there was no way she would allow him to think he can just waltz back into her life, despite the fact she’d dreamed of this moment.

  “Heather, are you still there?”

  Her heart sighed at the way he spoke her name. Keeping a tight control on her emotions, she replied casually, as she got into her car. “Yes, Salvatore. Tell me, what rock have you crawled out from under?”

  “Now, now, my sweet, let’s not be so testy—”

  “Testy? And how should I feel hearing from you after five years?”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “I have no time to play games with you, Salvatore.”

  “So you’re rushing to meet your rich husband for lunch?” His voice almost purred.

  “What do you want? Or should I ask how much time do you have to talk before your charming wife yanks your leash?”

  “Let’s call a—how do you Americans say?—time-out. I did not call to merely trade insults.”

  With a softened voice, she asked, “Then why are you calling?”

  “Because Lucia has left me for good. She’s taken the kids and started divorce proceedings.”

  “And?”

  “I miss you and want you to come to Rome.”

  “Really.” Heather couldn’t help the thrill running through her.

  “Really. I’m lonely and I need you,” he replied.

  Hearing his voice again took Heather back to the small apartment in Rome where she and Salvatore once lived together. They’d met at a small outdoor café off the main street near the Pantheon. She had been touring Rome with two friends, when they stopped for a drink. Salvatore picked her up at the cafe that day.

  She had no idea that he was married with three small kids. To her, he was the most handsome man she’d ever met and since he treated her like a princess, she assumed he was wealthy, as well. Little did she know that at first he’d thought she was a rich American and therefore his ticket from the humdrum existence he’d known.

  Heather fell in love with Salvatore and remained in Rome with him after her friends had gone home. She thought he loved her just as much as she loved him, but when his wife, Lucia, found him, Lucia had no trouble persuading him to return to her and their children, ending their six-month affair. Heather was heartbroken. Ironically, even though by then she knew he wasn’t the handsome, wealthy prince who would keep her in a lavish lifestyle forever, she’d still loved him.

  She had cherished their velvet nights together and despite the numerous ones she spent crying herself to sleep following Salvatore’s departure, she knew she would never forget them.

  And now, he was trying to get back into her life expecting her to drop everything and come running. Well, not so fast. This girl was no longer as naïve as she’d once been.

  She would go to him, but on her terms. And yet, even though the thought of his slow hands slipping down her body could still churn her juices, she wasn’t ready to throw away everything she worked so hard to obtain. She needed to have more money for safe keeping stashed away before she dashed off to Italy. Therefore, she quickly reined in those evocative memories before she slid down that slippery slope to self destruction.

  “So, il mia americana bella, when can you start divorce proceedings and get here? Half of Mr. Hemmings’ money will get us a nice place.”

  “Are you for real? I haven’t heard from you in five years and you snap your fingers and expect me to just come running?”

  “My love for you is not affected by time,” Salvatore said in his silky voice.

  “Even if I wanted to, I can’t come, Salvatore.”

  “And why is that?”

  “There’s no money if I divorce Orson.”

  There was a pregnant pause. “And why not—don’t tell me you signed a stupid prenuptial?” his voice was sharply critical.

  Defensively, Heather replied, “It wasn’t stupidity at the time, but a necessity. Had I not signed it, there’d have been no wedding.”

  This was another moment of silence, then Salvatore said, almost casually, “There are other ways to get his money, some more inventive than others.”

  With her calculating kind of mind she knew immediately what he was hinting at. Her blood ran cold. What he was asking was not something she could take lightly. He interrupted her thoughts.

  “Patience, amore, is a virtue and one that I don’t possess much of. Do come soon.”

  “Do try to find some patience, Salvatore,” she replied, coolly, and broke the connection.

  Her cockiness was all bravado. Frustration and disappointment whipped through her in a millisecond. Heather banged the steering wheel with her palm, cursing, before collapsing on top of it, sobbing. Why now? Couldn’t he have called before she married Orson? And why hadn’t she truly gotten over Salvatore? Why did he have the power to make her want to run straight back into his arms?

  A good ten minutes passed before Heather had cried herself out. Once she had regained her composure, she started the car engine and backed out of the parking spot. Maybe it was time to look at options on how to have Orson’s money without Orson. That Haywood incident had started her thinking that maybe Orson was just trying to find a way to get rid of her. How was she going to deal with that? Her mind began to sift through possibilities.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carla had found a simple black cocktail dress at Macy’s. Trying it on, she was able to see the difference her weight loss had made so far. It fit her newly found curves like a glove. Hopefully Richard would like it. The last thing she ever wanted to do was embarrass him. She realized that the real reason was to please him, but didn’t want to travel down that road. It should be Martin’s opinion that mattered, so she let the thought drop.

  Now dressed in her black dress and strappy, high black heels, and wearing makeup—something she hadn’t done in a long time—she felt damn good about herself. She drove to the Hyatt Regency in downtown Phoenix. It was a convention hotel that towered over most of the other buildings at 317 feet. On the 24th floor was a revolving restaurant, The Compass, which was where the Christmas party was taking place. The restaurant rotated slowly offering its patrons breathtaking views of Phoenix. And if that wasn’t enough, there were two glass-enclosed elevators and three exterior elevators, which glided upward from the lobby, through the atrium, and finally, on the building’s exterior, offering more thrilling views of the area.

  Richard was in the lobby waiting for her. She saw him a moment before he noticed her. He looked so handsome in his navy-blue, pinstriped suit. She had to fight the urge to rush into his arms and kiss him. His eyes widened and he broke into a wide smile when he noticed her approach.

  “You look beautiful!” Richard took her hand.

  Color rose quickly in her face. It had been a long time since some guy had gone ga-ga over her. It would have been nicer had Martin paid her some compliments lately, but for now Richard had made her feel wonderful.

  “Thank you. You look like you just stepped off from a page in GQ. Do you dress like this every day?” She asked because she knew he’d come directly from the office.

  He nodded, as he swept his hands down over his suit. “My usual uniform. Can’t appear in court without it. I’m in the middle of a trial”

&
nbsp; Carla laughed. He always knew how to make her laugh. She really enjoyed his company. That was one of the reasons why she agreed to be his date. It wasn’t just to go to a party at all. She wasn’t a party girl. It was because she liked being with him.

  “Come on, let’s go up and get the intros over with,” Richard said, as he led her to the elevator.

  The room was festively decorated and everyone was standing in small cliques talking or dancing to the three-piece band that was playing by the small dance floor. There was a bar and even a Christmas tree in a corner, which seemed incongruous to the cactus and palm trees outside. However, 70-degree winters were a great deal easier to live with than all the snow and cold in Flagstaff, Arizona.

  Richard took Carla around and introduced her to the partners and his closest friends. She hoped he didn’t quiz her on the names later on. Then he got a Manhattan for himself and a glass of wine for her. She was surprised to learn that it was a sit-down meal and not a buffet.

  “My firm goes all out for this party. That’s why I had to go.”

  “It’s very nice, Richard. I’m glad I came.”

  “What did you tell your husband?”

  Carla smiled. “I’m at Lynne’s—if he asks.”

  “You didn’t tell him you were attending a party?” Richard asked, seemingly amazed.

  “It never came up in conversation.”

  The band began to play Unchained Melody, one of her favorite songs. “Would you care to dance, Carla? I promise not to trample your feet.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” she teased.

  “Not necessary. I graduated from Ms. Carol’s ballroom dancing class when I was thirteen,” Richard replied with a big grin.

  “Then, I’d like that, very much,” she said, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

  Nestled in the web of his arms, Carla closed her eyes and let the strains of the music fill her. She breathed in the scent of Richard’s aftershave. Along with the nearness of being with him it sent a delightful shiver of yearning through her as her cheek rubbed gently against his. It had to be the wine, she thought. She hadn’t had much to eat that day.