by Sandra Brown
“Washing dishes?”
“He didn’t want me to know that two place settings had been used. When I questioned him about it, he got defensive and said that they were his dishes and that if he wanted to use a dozen place settings at breakfast, he could. It was all nonsense, Maris. He apologized for it later. The important thing is that someone definitely came to the house while I was out, and he didn’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Did he seem upset?”
“No. In fact, he seemed very upbeat and eager to be off when Mr. Reed arrived to pick him up.”
“Then I’m sure we’re worrying over nothing.”
Maris hoped her assurances sounded sincere to the anxious housekeeper. To her own ears they rang hollow, even as she repeated them to Parker now. “I’m relieved to know where he is, and I’m sure he’s all right. But I’ll feel better once I talk to him.”
“Did you try contacting him at the country house?”
“The line has been busy for hours. And even though I didn’t want to speak to Noah, I also tried his cell phone. It was busy, too, so I left a voice-mail message and the phone number here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“So long as you didn’t give my name.”
“Of course not. But the point is moot. Nobody’s called. I need to check my cell, see if there’s a message on it.”
“Sorta weird.”
“What?”
“That your dad would agree to spending a weekend with your estranged husband.”
“Dad doesn’t know we’re separated.” He registered the expected surprise. “I guess I should have told him right away, but the time never seemed right. I wanted to choose a time when it would have the least impact.”
“Do you think Noah plans to spring the unhappy news on him this weekend?”
“That was my first thought,” she said tightly. “Or possibly to ask Dad to intervene on his behalf. He’s got his position at Matherly Press to protect. If that’s the reason he married me, that’ll be his reason for wanting to prevent a divorce.”
“Would your father intervene on Noah’s behalf?”
“Absolutely not. He knows I’ve been unhappy. He just doesn’t know the extent of my unhappiness.” Lowering her voice, she said, “Until I came to St. Anne Island and met you, I didn’t know how unhappy I’d been.”
He groaned. “Don’t look at me like that, Maris.”
“Like what?”
“Misty-eyed. In fact, you’d better git before I decide not to be so gracious and understanding about this. We wasted another perfectly good hard-on. I’m oh for two.”
“You’re vulgar. Just as Mike said.” Laughing, she smoothed her hand over his ravaged hair. “It was a lovely evening.”
“It was getting lovelier,” he groused.
“I’m sorry.” She bent down and laid a soft kiss on his lips. “Sleep well.”
“Oh, yeah, like a baby. A horny little baby.”
“If it’s any consolation, Parker…”
“What?”
“I can. I have. I did. Last night. And I do remember.”
Chapter 28
There were no messages on Maris’s phone.
She tried Noah’s cell, but a recording informed her that the number she had called was unavailable. Terribly worried now, she dialed the house telephone.
Daniel answered on the second ring.
She slumped with relief, but her greeting sounded like a reprimand. “Dad, where have you been?”
“Most recently I’ve been to the bathroom. Did I forget to ask permission?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It’s just that I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I didn’t know you’d gone to the country until I talked to Maxine. Since then, I’ve called repeatedly.”
“This is the first time the telephone has rung. I noticed just before coming upstairs to bed that the receiver on the telephone in the kitchen was askew. Apparently Noah didn’t hang it up properly when he called in a food delivery.”
More likely he had left it off the hook deliberately, knowing she would want to talk to her father. He knew she would be crazy with worry when she couldn’t reach him. Was this Noah’s mean form of punishment for her leaving him? It was amazing how clearly she could see his true nature now. What had kept her blind to it for so many years? A book, she thought, scornful of her own naïveté.
Well, she was no longer naive. She wanted him gone, expunged from their lives. She couldn’t stand his being a member of their family for another day. Why wait to tell her father about the dissolution of her marriage?
Fortunately, she came to her senses before she could act on the impulse.
First of all, that would necessitate a lengthy discussion, and it was as late in Massachusetts as it was on St. Anne Island. Second, that was a conversation that should be conducted face-to-face, especially since it involved their business interests as well as their personal lives.
Setting her enmity for Noah aside for the time being, she asked Daniel if he was all right.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Since I hadn’t talked to you, I had imagined all sorts of things.”
“None of them good, I’ll bet. The way I used to worry if you were ten minutes late coming home.”
“Have our roles reversed, Dad?”
“Not at all. I still worry about you if you’re ten minutes late. But rest assured that I’ve had a very pleasant day.”
Starting with a mystery guest for breakfast. She wanted to ask him about that but couldn’t without giving away that Maxine had tattled on him. She hoped he would volunteer the information. “What did you do that made your day so pleasant?”
“Nothing much, and that was the beauty of it.”
“Was the house in order when you arrived?”
“Spic and span.”
“Where did you go for dinner? Harry’s or another of your favorite spots?”
“We ate in. I thought Noah would have told you.”
“When?”
“When you called this afternoon. I came downstairs just as he was hanging up.”
She opened her mouth but closed it without saying anything. Noah had lied to him. Apparently Daniel had caught the tail end of a telephone conversation, and Noah had pretended it was she. Damn him!
“Maybe he did mention it and I forgot.”
“Not surprising,” he said, seeming to have missed the anger in her voice. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. How’s the book coming?”
“Great, actually. The story is really percolating now. It’s amazing to watch how the writer’s mind works. I’ve never been this involved with the creative process, and it’s fascinating.”
“I can tell that you’re enjoying it.”
“Immensely.”
“And the author? Still the curmudgeon?”
“Either he’s mellowing or I’m becoming accustomed to him. I don’t know which.”
“Probably a little of both.”
“Probably.”
Maris sensed him hesitating. Then he said, “I’m glad you heeded your instincts and went back to work with him.”
“So am I, Dad. It was the right decision. I’m positive of that.”
“You’re happy there? With the work? With everything?”
“Yes. Very,” she said quietly.
“Good. You deserve to be, Maris.”
To anyone listening, the conversation sounded innocent enough. But given the one they’d had directly before her departure from New York, she knew that her father was conveying more than he was saying.
He knew she’d been unhappy with Noah and their marriage. It wouldn’t surprise her if he knew about Noah’s infidelity. Daniel Matherly was known for his ability to ferret out secrets. During her last visit with him, she had hardly kept secret her feelings for Parker. Without naming him, she had talked about him nonstop with the uncontainable excitement of someone falling in love.
This roundabout conversation was her
dad’s way of letting her know that he sanctioned it.
She swallowed a knot of emotion. “I needed to hear your voice, Dad.”
“It’s good to hear yours, too.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you so late.”
“You could never disturb me, but in any case, I wasn’t asleep.”
“I’ll call you again tomorrow. No, wait.”
Considering the lies Noah had told today, the thought of him being with her father like the faithful son-in-law for the remainder of the weekend turned her stomach. He probably had in mind to get chummy, to get on Daniel’s good side. Maybe he planned to make a tearful confession and plead his case with Daniel before Maris told him about their separation.
Not if she could help it.
“Dad, I’d like to send Maxine up there tomorrow. She’s been dying to go to the country and see the summer flowers in bloom. Would you mind?”
“Flowers…” He harrumphed skeptically, letting her know the excuse was transparent. “I’ve had only one day’s peace away from her. But,” he sighed, “if it would make you feel better…”
“It would make me feel better. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.” It relieved her to know that Maxine would drop everything and go at a moment’s notice. She could be there well before noon. “Call me when she arrives, so I’ll know she made the drive safely.”
“All right, sweetheart. I’ll call you tomorrow. And Maris?”
“Yes.”
“Make the most of your time there. Don’t deny yourself the happiness being there gives you. Don’t worry about anything. Are you listening to your old dad? Everything is going to work out well. Will you trust me on that, sweetheart?”
“I always have.” She leaned her cheek into the small telephone, wishing it were his spotted, wrinkled hand. “Good night, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
* * *
Parker’s bed was a monstrosity. It was narrow by king-sized standards, but what it lacked in width, it made up for in height. The headboard was tall and carved, the wood aged to a saddle-brown patina that reflected the glow from his reading lamp on the nightstand.
The bed was standing on an area rug that looked like an authentic Aubusson. The overhead fan was like those Maris had seen before only in movies. A brass pole was suspended horizontally six feet below the tall ceiling. At each end of the pole was an axle that idly turned a set of papyrus blades.
There were no draperies on the three tall windows, only louvered shutters, which were painted white to tastefully contrast with the caramel-colored walls and dark hardwood floor. One wall accommodated a massive chifforobe that was crowned with carvings that matched those on the apex of the headboard. Apparently it held all his clothing because there was no closet built into the room.
The TV and VCR, housed in a cabinet on the wall opposite the bed, were the room’s only nods toward modernity—other than the wheelchair parked in front of the nightstand. There was no other apparatus one would assume to find in the bedroom of a disabled person, but she wasn’t too surprised. She’d seen him lift himself into and out of the Gator.
Parker was bare-chested, propped against the headboard reading, when Maris slipped through the door. He slowly lowered the book to his lap. “Hello. Are you lost?”
She laughed nervously, a bit breathlessly. “Nice try, but I think I was expected.”
“I hoped. I even said my prayers.”
“Then it’s all right if I come in?”
“Are you joking?”
“I thought maybe… will Mike—”
“Not if you lock the door.”
Since coming into the room, she’d kept her hands behind her. Feeling for the doorknob at the small of her back, she depressed the lock button to guarantee their privacy. Keeping her hands behind her back, she approached the bed.
The polished floor planks felt cool against the bare soles of her feet. Her short nightgown was no weightier than air against her skin, and judging from the intensity with which Parker was watching her as she moved toward him, he had noticed that it wasn’t very substantial.
She brought her hands from behind her back. “I brought you presents. Two, to be exact.”
The first was a standard drinking glass that belonged to the wet bar in the guest house. She extended it to him. He took the glass from her and held it up, looked at it for a few seconds, then laughed when he saw the winking phosphorescent lights inside. “Lightning bugs.”
“I caught them myself,” she said proudly. “I saw them through the guest house window while I was dressing for dinner and chased out after them.”
She’d sealed them inside the glass by stretching a piece of plastic wrap over the top, then puncturing it to ensure the fireflies a longer life.
When he looked up at her, his eyes shone with feeling. “It’s a great present. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Shall I?” She took them back and set them on the nightstand.
“What’s the other?” He indicated the book she was now hugging to her chest. “Are you going to read me a bedtime story?”
“Sort of.”
“I wondered why you were wearing your glasses.”
“I took my contacts out.” Nodding toward the empty side of his bed, she asked, “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
She rounded the end of the bed and crawled onto it, then folded her legs beneath her and sat back on her heels, facing him. “You’re already reading a bedtime story.”
He closed the book lying in his lap and set it on the nightstand. “I’d rather hear yours.” She turned the book toward him so he could see the title stamped in gold into the green cloth cover. “Grass Widow,” he read, smiling.
“A novel by my favorite author.”
“What, him?”
“There’s no call for false modesty.”
“But you’ve got high standards, Ms. Matherly. You’re a hard sell. What do you like about this novel?”
His use of her maiden name didn’t escape her, but she didn’t interrupt their game by acknowledging it. She opened the book. “Well, in particular, I like the scene where Deck Cayton, the handsome, sexy, roguish, but engaging hero, uses a card game to obtain information from the bimbo.”
“Frenchy.”
“Whatever. It’s a provocative and involving scene.”
“The fans certainly thought so. Critics, too.”
She pursed her lips and frowned. “However—”
“Uh-oh. Here it comes.”
“The scene has raised a few points.”
“Typical editor,” he said under his breath. “For every compliment there’s a criticism.”
“Look, Mr. Evans, if you don’t value my points—”
“No, no. I do value them, those raised points of yours.” His eyes dropped to her breasts. “I’ll take them like a man.” He placed one hand behind his head and gave her a smug grin. “That was a metaphor.”
“I got it,” she said dryly. “Shall I proceed?”
“Please. Give me a for-instance.”
“Uh…” She dragged her eyes away from the furry hollow of his armpit. “For instance, the language is very descriptive.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be?”
“Yes, but in this passage it’s—”
“Explicit?”
“To the extreme.”
“Why’s that bad?”
“I didn’t say it was bad. My problem is with its accuracy.”
“Accuracy.”
“Right. I’m not sure that the, uh, mating positions you’ve described are anatomically possible. For human beings, I mean.”
He snuffled a laugh, then stroked his chin somberly. “I see. Could you be more specific?”
“There are several examples. So what I thought,” she said, pausing to clear her throat, as she opened to the marked page, “is that we could act it out and see if these… configurations… are doable.”
“That’s what you thought?” h
e drawled sexily.
“Yes, that’s what I thought.”
He remained very still for several moments, gazing at her. Then slowly he removed his hand from behind his head. “As I recall, our handsome, sexy, roguish, but engaging hero begins by placing his hand on Frenchy’s thigh. It’s a comforting gesture. Nothing more. He wants to reassure her that he poses no threat.”
He placed his hand on her thigh just above her bent knee and squeezed it lightly. Through the baby-blue silk of her nightgown, she felt the heat and strength of all five fingers individually.
“Debatable,” she murmured. “The part about him posing no threat, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“In exchange for that gesture of kindness, and despite the fact that Deck had drawn the low card, Frenchy tells him that at the time of the murder, she had heard a noise coming from the alley.”
“Which caused her to look out her bedroom window. That’s when she saw…” Needlessly Maris referred to the printed page. “The man in the red baseball cap running from the neighboring building.”
“A valuable piece of information,” Parker said. “Especially since Frenchy can describe the cap right down to the logo embroidered on it. Our hero thanks her with a kiss.”
Parker removed her eyeglasses and framed her face between his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones while his eyes touched on every feature. He followed their path with his lips. When he reached her mouth, he kissed it softly, sensually.
Maris struggled to keep her response down to a low moan of arousal.
When he pulled back, he whispered, “She tastes incredible.”
“It doesn’t say that.”
“It doesn’t? It should. He’s compelled to go back for more.”
“Frenchy doesn’t resist.”
He kept the kisses gentle. They teased and tantalized and left her wanting. It was several minutes before they separated, and by then Maris felt drugged. A delicious lassitude had afflicted her limbs. Even so, she had enough presence of mind to continue the game.
Needlessly, she reached for her glasses and fumbled trying to get them on correctly. “Never mind.” She dropped them alongside the book. “I know what comes next. Frenchy, that lucky girl, draws the high card again.”
