"Welcome, dear girl," she said extravagantly, leaning forward to kiss Desi's cheek.
Desi returned the affectionate greeting, squeezing Dorothea's hands fondly. "You look marvelous, Dorothea," she said.
"Thank you." The older woman preened a little, fingering her pearls, and then linked her arm through Desi's to draw her into the living room. "I wish I could say the same for you but I can't," she added bluntly. "You look tired."
"I am," Desi admitted.
"Well, never mind. Come and sit down. We were just about to have coffee. That will perk you right up—especially with a little of Richard's special brandy in it. Jake, hand Desi that cup, please," she ordered.
"Thank you, no, Dorothea. I don't want any coffee," Desi said, trying unsuccessfully to ignore Jake as she took the cup that he held out to her.
She put it down on the coffee table in front of her without looking directly at him. She had glanced at him when she first entered the room, in that brief second before anyone was aware that she was standing in the doorway. Once was enough to imprint the image on her mind forever. He wore black tie; plain, unadorned and devastating.
"Brandy neat, then?" Dorothea questioned as Desi put the cup aside.
"No, thank you, Dorothea," she said again. "What I'd really like is a couple of eggs or a sandwich and then bed. I haven't eaten since lunch and I'm beat. I didn't get away from my parents' house until nearly four this afternoon."
"You drove all the way up here from your parents' house without stopping?"
"It's not that long a drive, Dorothea. Only about three hours. And I didn't drive straight through. I had to drop Ste—" She stopped herself, glancing furtively at Jake from under her lashes, but he didn't seem to have noticed her slip. "I stopped at my apartment," she went on, "to pick up a few things and give Teddie some last-minute instructions about my plants."
"Teddie?" He had picked up on that fast enough. "Who's Teddie?" he asked casually, but there was a frown furrowing his forehead.
"My landlord," she said, still not looking at him. "He lives downstairs and watches things for me when I'm not home."
"An interior designer, isn't that right, Desi?" Dorothea chimed in. "I met him, and his roommate, of course, while I was convalescing." Her sharp, black eyes darted back and forth between Jake and Desi. "Simply charming boys." She stressed the last word, smiling up at Jake with a significant look in her eyes.
Jake grinned, the frown disappearing immediately. "I see," he said dryly.
Desi continued to stare down at her hands, missing the byplay between Jake and Dorothea. She was glad that no one had thought to mention the fact that she had arrived about eight hours earlier than expected. Her original plan had been to stay at her apartment tonight and drive up to Sonoma early in the morning. Well, be grateful for small favors, she thought, because she wouldn't have wanted to explain why she had been in such a hurry to get here.
She glanced surreptitiously in Jake's direction. There was her reason. She had thought about him all weekend. Taking long walks on the beach while her mother happily monopolized Stephanie, she wondered and worried about how he would act toward her now, after their lovemaking of Friday night—and about how she should react to him.
"Well, I'll just go see about that sandwich." Dorothea rose from her seat.
"I didn't mean for you to make it, Dorothea." Desi rose, too. "Just point me in the direction of the kitchen."
"Nonsense." She nudged Desi back to her seat. "I don't intend to make it myself. I'll just have Gerta, my housekeeper, fix you a little something on a tray and take it on up to your room. You can have a nice cozy supper in bed. Best thing for exhaustion. You just relax for a few minutes," she instructed Desi. "I'll be back shortly to show you to your room."
"Did you have a nice visit with your parents?" Jake asked, sitting down next to Desi in the seat vacated by Dorothea. "Are they well?"
"Yes, a lovely visit," she said in a small voice. She didn't look at him, but she could feel him there, hovering at her elbow. "They're fine."
"And your brothers?" he prodded.
"Brother," she corrected him, wishing now that she had taken that cup of coffee so she would have something to do with her hands. "Court is the only one left at home. He's fine." There was a little silence. "Ash is at some mining camp in Nevada," she went on then, needing to say something. "He's an engineer. And Zek was still on location in New Orleans last I heard, doing that spy film. I expect they're both fine, too."
"Zek Weston? He's your brother?" Audrey spoke from her seat by the fire.
Desi looked across the room at her. She sat curled up in a corner of Dorothea's ancient wing-backed love seat, looking as sleek and self-satisfied as a cat. Her dress was another of those silky-looking wraparounds that she was so fond of. And rightly so, Desi admitted to herself. The color was flame red to flatter her hair and skin, and the wrap-front style showcased her spectacular figure in a ladylike way.
"Yes," Desi said finally, "Zek is my oldest brother."
"You don't look much like him," Audrey said. "Except for the hair."
"Yes, I know. Zek takes after my father's side of the family physically. They're all brawny men. But—" Desi smiled "—mom managed to give her red hair to all of us."
She glanced toward the door, wishing that Dorothea would hurry up and come back for her. She felt grubby in her faded jeans and snug black T-shirt under a quilted purple down jacket, especially when compared to Audrey's feline sleekness. And she was tired and definitely in no condition to handle any of this tonight.
Not Jake, in this odd, friendly mood he seemed to be in. Not Audrey, who looked so cool and beautiful in her silky red dress. Not even Michael, who still sat harmlessly at the piano, absently picking out a popular tune.
"Where's Eldin?" she said, realizing for the first time that he was missing from the group gathered in Dorothea's living room.
"Sick," Jake answered her. His voice was soft and pleasant and very close to her ear. She almost jumped out of her skin when she realized how close.
What was the matter with him, Desi wondered, looking up at Jake out of the corner of her eye. He caught her eye and smiled—a tender smile, almost—and Desi looked hastily away again. Was he planning on taking up where they had left off Friday night, she silently speculated.
"He seems to have caught the cold that Dorothea has been passing around," Jake went on.
"What have I been passing around?" Dorothea said, coming back into the room.
"Germs—" Jake grinned up at her "—to poor old Eldin." He managed to imply, somehow, that she had given Eldin the germs in a highly questionable way.
"Poor old Eldin, indeed," she countered with a chuckle, pleased by his teasing. "Lucky old Eldin, I say, if he got them in that way."
"Point to Dorothea, I think," said Michael, looking up from the keyboard.
"Come along, dear girl," said Dorothea then, and Desi got up gratefully to follow her. "Gerta is whipping up a nice Spanish omelet for you. By the time you get yourself into bed, she'll have it ready." She glanced toward the front door as they entered the foyer. "Where are your suitcases?"
"In the car. I'll get them in the morning." She indicated the satchel slung over her shoulder. "I have everything I need in here. Really."
Dorothea eyed her satchel suspiciously. "You did bring some of your pretty things, didn't you?"
"Yes," Desi said with a smile as they started up the wide staircase.
A narrow strip of wine-red carpet ran up the center of the staircase, and the polished hardwood treads exposed on either side gleamed with the patina of age and scrupulous care. The handrails were smooth and broad enough for a small child to use as a slide, and the newel posts, both top and bottom, were intricately carved pieces of art. Large clusters of grapes, Desi realized, leaning over for a closer look.
"This is a beautiful house, Dorothea," she said. "Simply beautiful. I can't wait to see it in the daylight."
"I'll give you the ten-cent
tour tomorrow," Dorothea said casually, but there was a ring of pride in her voice. She opened a door leading off the long upstairs hall. "Here we are. My second-best guest room."
"Don't tell me. Let me guess," Desi teased. "Jake got the very best, right?"
"Naturally," she conceded, not the least bit embarrassed at being found out.
"Well, this is lovely, Dorothea."
And it was. Butter-cream-yellow walls, defined with white woodwork, gave the impression of lightness even at night. The floor was highly polished hardwood, left beautifully bare except where it was covered by a large oval rug spread under, and extending all around, the four-poster bed. The rug was ivory with a pattern of soft-green leaves and pale-yellow roses. The candlewick bedspread was yellow, too, with a wide border of crocheted lace to match the curtains. There was a Queen Anne armchair upholstered in pale-green brocade in front of the window, delicate pressed-flower prints on the walls and two of the newest best-sellers on the nightstand by the bed.
"If this is your second best I can't even imagine what the best must be like."
"Bigger," said Dorothea, "and it doesn't share a bath. You share a bath with Audrey, by the way," she said, and grinned impishly when Desi grimaced. "Right through that door." Dorothea pointed it out for her. "Why don't you go get into your nightclothes before your dinner gets here." She nudged Desi toward the bathroom.
Desi washed her hands and face, brushed her teeth and slipped into a white nightshirt that had originally been a man's silk dress shirt. Not much to look at on a hanger, but the effect on Desi was one of innocent sensuality.
"You are such a pretty little thing," Dorothea said in exasperation when Desi came out of the bathroom, hairbrush in hand. "I can't for the life of me see why you dress yourself like a boy."
"I have three brothers, remember?" Desi said, getting into the bed Dorothea had turned down for her. "I used to wear all their hand-me-downs when I was a kid. Besides, I like jeans and Tshirts. They're comfortable. I must admit that mom wasn't too thrilled about my clothes either," she said with a fond smile, "but it was a losing battle." Desi shrugged. "She finally had to give up and let me wear what I wanted. Besides, it's easier to dress this way for my job."
"How is your dear mother?"
"Just fine. She sends her love," Desi said, snuggling back against the fat pillows behind her.
"And Stephanie?"
"She has a bit of a cold—"
"She caught my cold, too. Oh, dear."
"It's nothing," Desi hastened to reassure her. "Just a sniffle. I wouldn't have left her with Teddie if I thought it was anything serious. Don't worry, she'll be fine."
There was a knock at the door.
"Gerta with your supper," Dorothea said, moving to open it.
But it was Jake instead. He stopped there in the hallway in his faultlessly correct evening clothes with a tray in his hands. "I told Gerta I'd bring this up for her," he said, walking into the room, "since I was coming up myself, anyway." He placed the tray over Desi's knees.
For a minute his eyes were on a level with hers and he smiled. It was a warm knowing smile, caressing her face and her upper body in the flimsy nightshirt. Desi flushed slightly and had to stifle the cowardly impulse to yank the bedclothes up to her chin. She put her hands on the tray instead, steadying it.
"Thank you," she said, looking at a point somewhere around the level of his black satin bow tie.
"Looks delicious," he commented in that deep seductive voice of his, and they both knew that he wasn't talking about her Spanish omelet.
"Yes, it does." Desi looked up into his face for an instant. She wasn't talking about the omelet either.
"Come along, dear boy," Dorothea spoke up then. "Let's you and I go away so Desi can eat her supper while it's still hot."
Jake straightened and dropped a long arm affectionately around Dorothea's shoulders. "Whatever you say," he teased her.
"Whatever I say, indeed. Whatever I say only when it pleases you to do it, is more like it." They started toward the door, bantering with each other as they went.
"Dorothea?" Desi halted them with her voice. There was something she had to know—now. "Stay a minute, will you?" she said when they both turned to look at her. "I, ah, have something I want to talk to you about." She paused, glancing at Jake from under her lashes. "Privately."
Jake accepted the dismissal with a smile. "Sweet dreams, Desiree," he said as he pulled the door closed behind him.
Dorothea came back over to the bed. "What is it?" she asked, a conspiratorial gleam in her black eyes as she hitched up her caftan to sit down.
"Well..." Desi plucked at the yellow candlewick spread, her eyes downcast. If she asked the question, then Dorothea would want to know why she had asked it. But she had to know. She raised her eyes to Dorothea's. "Did you invite Jake over to my apartment last Friday night?"
"No, I didn't. Why? Did he pay you a visit?"
"Yes, he did." Desi's eyes blazed with sudden joy. He had come just to see her, then. Dorothea and the script had just been an excuse.
"And?" Dorothea urged.
"And, ah...nothing." Desi shrugged, feigning indifference.
"Nothing, my eye,' Dorothea huffed with mock indignation. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know, dear girl. Far from it." She leaned forward, her soft blue-veined hand cupping Desi's chin. "He made love to you again, didn't he?"
Desi's face flamed scarlet. "Yes."
"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Quite the reverse, in fact." She gave Desi's chin an affectionate squeeze and stood up. "No wonder he's been strutting around here like a peacock," she said, half to herself. "As proud of himself as if he'd just won another Oscar. I knew something had happened. I just knew it. And if you don't mind my saying so, dear girl, it's about time, too."
"It really doesn't change anything, Dorothea. Or prove anything either," she warned.
"Nonsense. It proves he still wants you, doesn't it?" She grinned. "And wants you enough to tell little white lies in order to get to you, too. That's what he did, isn't it? Told you that I had invited him over so you'd let him in?"
"Uh-huh, but I let him in before he told me that," Desi confessed, laughing in spite of herself.
"Well, of course you did. You're a sensible girl." She slanted a teasing glance at Desi. "Most of the time," she said, and then her tone became serious. "I take it that you haven't told him about Stephanie yet?"
Desi shook her head.
"Well, my dear, I wouldn't put that off for too much longer," she advised solemnly. "It's the kind of news that gets harder to tell the longer you wait to tell it."
"I still haven't decided whether I'm going to tell him." There was a stubborn light in her blue eyes. "Just because we made love doesn't change anything. Oh, he said that he was wrong about Eldin but—"
"Well, there, you see. He is changing his opinion."
"But he still thinks of me as just a casual bedmate." Her fingers curled around the edge of the tray. "Just someone he shares an 'intense sexual energy' with."
"Well, I think you're wrong, my dear. Dead wrong. But what I think isn't important. It's what you think that counts. And the only person who can change your mind is Jake—if you give him a chance to change it." She leaned over, patting Desi's hand where it gripped the tray. "Eat your dinner, dear girl, before it gets cold. I've got other guests to see to." She straightened and crossed the room, pausing to look over her should as she pulled the door open. "You really should give him a chance," she said, closing the bedroom door behind her.
Desi released her death grip on the tray and slowly picked up her fork. She took a bite of her omelet, washing it down with a sip of hot black coffee. Thank you, Gerta, she thought, distracted for a minute by the delicious combination of fresh eggs made spicy with onion, tomato and bell pepper.
What had brought about this startling change in Jake, she wondered again when she had finished the last bite of her omelet and the last piece of toasted sourdough bread
. Could Dorothea be right? Could it be just because he had made love to her again? She remembered, all too well, how angry he had been when he'd left her apartment Friday night. Or so she had thought. But he had kissed her goodbye like...like what?
She shook her head in bewilderment. Was he just trying to get back into her bed, she wondered. Maybe he had decided that this new, friendlier, more tender self would be the right track to that end.
Oh, no, please don't let it be that!
She heard water running in the bathroom and realized that Audrey must be getting ready to turn in. Leaning over the side of the bed, she put the tray on the floor bed and switched out the lamp on the nightstand. Snuggling down into the crisp sheets, she pulled the covers up over her shoulders and tried to go to sleep.
She woke the next morning very late, coaxed gently awake by the unaccustomed sound of the birds bickering outside the bedroom window and the sun shining on her face. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and sat up with a gasp. Nine-thirty! Jake would have her hide!
She rose quickly, stepping over the tray on the floor, and knocked quietly on the bathroom door. No answer. Either Audrey was not up yet or, more likely, she was already up and gone. Desi pushed the door open and went in.
Pinning up her hair, she took a quick, refreshing shower and then slipped back into her nightshirt. Her robe and clean clothes were still in the suitcases in her car.
She wondered if she should wait for someone to bring them up or get back into the grubby clothes of last night to go down and get them herself. The thought of yesterday's jeans and T-shirt was distasteful, but she didn't have time to wait around for someone to remember she was there, waiting for her luggage.
She went back into the bedroom and was already slipping out of her nightshirt before she saw him sitting there in the Queen Anne chair by the window. Her eyes opened wide for a shocked second, taking in his tall form as he lounged, completely at ease, in the delicate chair.
The sun glinted off of his dark hair, making it shine, and he was dressed more casually than Desi had ever seen him. He wore snug-fitting jeans that neatly encased his lean hips and legs and a ratty blue sweat shirt with a stretched-out neckline and faded gold lettering that proclaimed him to be the property of the UCLA track team. Battered sneakers worn without socks completed his outfit. He looked more rested and at ease than she had seen him in weeks.
One Night With You (The Heart of the City Series, Book 1) Page 14
