Sweet Silver Bells

by Rochelle Alers

  Crystal took the iPhone, programming her number. She offered him a tentative smile, handing him back the phone. “Thank you for being a wonderful dinner guest.”

  Raising her hands, Joseph kissed each of her fingers. “Good night, Crystal.”

  Her smile widened. “Good night, Joseph.”

  Crystal felt his loss within seconds of his releasing her hands. Proper etiquette stipulated she walk him to the door, yet her legs refused to follow the dictates of her brain. She didn’t know how long she stood there, waiting for the sound of the door opening and closing. When it didn’t she followed him. He stood at the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.

  “Joseph?” His name came out in a shivery whisper.

  Without warning he turned and approached her, but Crystal didn’t have time to catch her breath when she found herself in his arms, his mouth on hers in an explosive kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs. Her arms came up in slow motion, circling around his neck, holding him fast.

  Being in Joseph’s embrace, his mouth on hers, inhaling the sensually haunting scent of his body felt so good and so right. Her lips parted under his searching tongue, and she inhaled his warm, moist breath. She heard a moan and realized it had come from her. Crystal moaned again, this time in frustration. She wanted more, and the more was to sleep with him.

  The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun. Joseph released her, her arms falling away from his neck, and he retraced his steps. This time he opened and closed the door behind him without a backward glance.

  It happened so quickly Crystal thought she’d imagined it, but the lingering taste of Joseph’s tongue on hers, the heaviness in her breasts and the throbbing and moistness between her legs said otherwise. She knew if he hadn’t ended the kiss she would’ve begged him to make love to her.

  Walking on wobbly legs, she managed to find her way to the sofa without bumping into the coffee table, collapsing on the butter-soft leather cushion. Fists clenched, eyes closed and heart pounding a runaway rhythm, Crystal replayed the pleasure of Joseph’s slow, drugging, possessive kiss in her mind over and over.

  Opening her eyes, she came back to reality. The hotel owner’s return to Charleston could not have come at a better time. Work was the perfect alternative to fantasizing about sleeping with a man she’d met only five days ago.

  Chapter 8

  Crystal found herself totally engrossed in decorating the twelve suites in the Beaumont Inn and the eight bedrooms with en suite baths in the Beaumont Bed-and-Breakfast. A hallway on the first floor permitted access between the adjacent buildings. The Charleston earthquake of 1886 that left a hundred dead and destroyed a number of buildings in the city caused little or no structural damage to the proposed inn and B and B.

  She and the contractor, Roger Kincaid, were like kindred spirits because he knew exactly what she wanted whenever she explained the pieces that would go into each of the rooms. Roger and his crew had restored the interiors to their former beauty with hardwood floors, wainscoting and crown molding.

  All of the fireplaces were converted from wood-burning to electric to eliminate the risk of potential fires. The upgrading of the electric and plumbing had passed inspection and all that remained was painting, hanging wallpaper, installing light fixtures and filling the rooms with furniture and accessories.

  She and Roger sat at a makeshift worktable, going over paint swatches. “Miss Eaton, you’ll have to let us know what colors you want in each of the rooms.”

  Crystal gave the contractor—a diminutive man with a ruddy complexion, shock of white unruly hair and a voice that was perfect for radio—a sidelong glance. The timbre of his voice reminded her of Joseph’s—deep, velvety and beautifully modulated. Spending hours on the phone with vendors and endless trips to local antique shops had kept her so occupied she hardly gave him a passing thought until she returned to the hotel.

  Once there, Crystal looked for him in the parking lot, in the lounge area off the lobby, in the elevator or on the penthouse floor whenever she left or returned. The one time she spotted him, he’d been in the lounge with several couples, and he’d acknowledged her with a nod and wave before turning his attention back to those at the table.

  “That’s going to be easy. I want to mix paint with wallpaper,” she said, tapping a key on her laptop. A color design was displayed on the monitor. “I’m using a signature fabric with a color palette that will become the thread throughout the entire inn or B and B.”

  She tapped another key with splotches of paint samples with hues ranging from oyster white, French gray, pale powder blue and blue-gray cashmere. All of the rooms were numbered with a corresponding numbered color palette. Crystal suggested the owner identify each room or suite by name instead of a number. The rooms in the B and B would be named for Revolutionary War patriots and the inn for U.S. presidents. It was easier for guests to know they were staying in the Paul Revere or Thomas Paine room or George Washington or Thomas Jefferson suite than room 145 or 216.

  Roger scratched his stubbly chin. “Where do you want the wallpaper other than in the bathrooms?”

  “Only the inn’s living room suites will be papered. Based on the architect’s measurements, I’ve ordered enough wallpaper with some to spare. I’ll stop by the shop after I leave here and let them know to deliver the rolls tomorrow at a time that’s convenient for you.”

  The daily room rate at the inn, twice the daily rate of the B and B, included amenities of a buffet breakfast, a sit-down dinner and late-night cordials in the proposed drawing room.

  Reaching into a leather portfolio, Crystal handed the contractor a loose-leaf binder with printouts of what she’d saved on her computer.

  “I’m usually here at seven, so anytime after that is okay. Roger flipped through the pages, his snow-white eyebrows lifting. “You’re very thorough.”

  She nodded, smiling. Everything she’d put in the binder was detailed and self-explanatory. She’d labeled every wallpaper pattern, indicating in which rooms they would be hung.

  “It saves a lot of time and my client’s money. When do you think your crew will be able to finish painting and hanging the paper?”

  Roger angled his head. “If I hire one or two more painters, I believe we can get everything done in a week. The guys who hang the paper are fast, so I know they’ll finish quickly.”

  Tapping another key and opening the page for the calendar, Crystal typed in the date for painting and paper under the column labeled Projected Completion. Meeting the projected construction completion date meant the inn and B and B could open for business as scheduled, and more important, offset cost overruns.

  “If you can achieve that, then I hope to complete decorating everything sooner than planned,” she said.

  “Do you have another project after this one?” Roger asked.

  She nodded, smiling. “Yes, I do.”

  “If it is here in Charleston, then you’re going to make quite a name for yourself once these hotels are up and running. Mr. Beaumont showed me the pictures of the proposed rooms, and they look like they did two hundred years ago.”

  “I’m just giving him what he wants,” she confirmed. “The buildings are historic landmarks, which mean the interiors should embody and complement the exteriors.”

  Roger scratched his cheek, the raspy sound reminding Crystal of fingernails on a chalkboard. “They’re going to become quite the showpiece once you decorate them.”

  That’s what I’m hoping, Crystal mused. Decorating the inn and B and B would be her first commercial commission, and she looked forward to turning the New York City Greenwich Village town house basement into a jazz club with an excitement she found difficult to contain. It’d been four years since she was in the city that pulsed with a flutter of restless activity night or day, summer or winter.

  She powered down the laptop. �
��Call if you need me for anything,” she told Roger.

  Roger stood, pulling back her chair as she rose to her feet. “No problem.”

  Crystal had just gotten behind the wheel of her vehicle when her cell phone rang. Reaching into her tote, she stared at the display. Tapping the talk feature, she said, “Happy New Year, Emerson.” She and the highly skilled architect at Bramwell and Duncan spoke several times a year, and always exchanged birthday and Christmas cards.

  “Same to you, my friend.”

  “Are you calling to tell me you’ve finally decided to strike out on your own?” Emerson Russo confided to her on more than one occasion he was seriously thinking of resigning to set up his own firm but wanted to wait until he found a competent partner.

  “I wish it was about that,” he said cryptically.

  There was something in Emerson’s voice that sent a shiver up her spine. “What’s the matter?” Crystal listened, stunned, her heart pumping painfully in her chest when he revealed another woman at the firm hadn’t just been harassed but sexually assaulted by the same partner who’d attempted to come on to her. “Did she report it to the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Gillian doesn’t have proof.”

  Unconsciously her brow furrowed. Gillian Stuart had joined the firm as an intern a month before Crystal resigned. And Emerson was talking in riddles. “You’re telling me she was assaulted, yet she can’t prove it? Why?”

  There came a beat. “What I should’ve said is that she can’t remember the assault because she believes she was drugged.”

  “Please tell me that she went to the hospital for them to test for DNA and have blood drawn and tested.”

  “No and no.”

  Crystal’s heart rate kicked into a higher gear as something she didn’t want to believe stabbed her brain while Emerson offered other details of the assault. “She’s pregnant.” The question was a statement.

  “How did you know?” Emerson asked.

  “Other than vaginal bruising or trauma, it’s the only logical conclusion. She plans to have the baby?”

  “That’s what she told me. She doesn’t believe in abortion. I’ve worked at B&D long enough to hear all types of stories about Hugh going after women, but this is a new low.”

  “What’s Gillian going to do?”

  “She plans to charge him for rape and sue him for paternity. I know your uncle is a judge, so hopefully because of this you’d know a lawyer who Hugh Duncan doesn’t have in his pocket.”

  Crystal knew Emerson was right. Hugh Duncan came from an extremely wealthy and prominent political family. His father and grandfather were both U.S. representatives, and their sphere of influence was legendary throughout the state of Florida. He’d also retain a battery of attorneys to protect him personally and professionally.

  However the Duncans weren’t the only Florida family with wealth and prominence. To her knowledge the Coles might not have been as politically connected, but their name carried enough clout to make people stand up and take notice.

  “Let me talk to someone, and I’ll try and get back to you in a few days.”

  “Thanks, Crystal.”

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Every time I hear about Hugh going after a woman, I relive the horror of my sister being stalked and raped.”

  Crystal understood Emerson’s driving need to have his boss charged with rape because his younger sister took her own life the day after a jury acquitted her ex-boyfriend of unlawful kidnapping and rape because he claimed they’d had consensual sex. “Hugh has hidden behind the facade of being a family man and a pillar of the community for far too long. If Gillian can get someone to take on her case, then tell her she can count on me as a material witness.”

  Crystal ended the call and then sat staring through the windshield. Joseph had chided her for leaving Bramwell and Duncan rather than sue the pervert, which left him to harass other women. It was as if his words had come to fruition, because not only had he drugged a woman but he had also gotten her pregnant.

  Crystal called Joseph’s cell. Despite the gravity of the call, she smiled when hearing his mellifluent voice. “How are you?” she asked.

  “That’s what I should be asking you, neighbor. It’s been a while.”

  “That is has. I’ve been busy.”

  “Good for you. What’s up?”

  Crystal sobered quickly. “Can you come to my place? I need some legal advice.”

  “I’ll see you in about... Let’s say twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks, Joseph.” She hung up, hoping and praying he would be able to help her stop a sexual predator.

  * * *

  Joseph stepped into the shower stall and turned on the faucet to the programmed temperature setting. He’d spent the past hour in the hotel pool, swimming laps. Hearing Crystal’s voice reminded him of how much he’d missed their easygoing camaraderie. He thought he would see her during his comings and goings, yet she’d proven elusive except for the one time he spied her walking across the lobby.

  He had also been busy making frequent trips to the tea garden while also conferring with the assistant manager. An above average rainfall for the month caused drainage problems wherein an unseeded section of land flooded, but the problem was remedied by redirecting the flow of water when the man flipped a switch in the factory’s engineering room.

  After showering, he dressed quickly in a pair of jeans, a navy blue long-sleeved tee and running shoes, wondering why Crystal would need his legal advice when she could’ve called her uncle or her cousin Myles. Slipping his card key and cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans, he left the apartment.

  Crystal had left her door ajar, and Joseph walked in, closing it behind him. He went completely still, staring at her descending the staircase in body-hugging black jeans and an emerald-green mock turtleneck. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth as she smiled at him.

  Extending his arms, Joseph wasn’t disappointed as she came into his embrace. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her damp hair. She smelled delicious. Holding her reminded him of the last time he kissed her. He knew he shocked her with the impulsive action, yet he couldn’t resist tasting her incredibly sexy mouth one more time. The crush of her breasts against his chest stirred the flesh between his thighs and he eased his hold on her body before she detected the growing bulge in his groin. He wondered how Crystal would react if she knew how easily she turned him on with a glance or a touch.

  Reaching for her hand, he led her to the sofa, sitting and pulling her down to sit beside him. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

  Leaning against his shoulder, Crystal told Joseph what her ex-coworker had revealed to her earlier that afternoon.

  Anger and rage merged, twisting his features when he clenched his teeth. “Had anyone told her about him before she agreed to let him into her home?”

  Crystal shook her head. “Apparently not.”

  “Is she certain he drugged her?”

  “She had to be, Joseph. She said Hugh called her early Black Friday to ask if she’d finished a project he needed for a Monday morning meeting. When she said no, he offered to come over and help her. Gillian told Emerson that Hugh didn’t do or say anything that would make her feel uncomfortable, so she was completely relaxed when he called his favorite restaurant for dinner to be delivered to her house. Halfway through dinner she began to feel sick, believing it was something she’d eaten or drunk. Hugh told her to lie down on the sofa. Once there she must have passed out, not waking up until Saturday morning.”

  Back in control and shifting slightly, Joseph repositioned Crystal until she lay between his outstretched legs, his chest molded to her back. “Was there any physical evidence he’d had se
x with her?”

  Crystal shook her head. “No.”

  “What about DNA? He had to have left it on something.”

  “She woke up on a leather sofa, so he must have raped her there rather than in her bed, where he could’ve possibly left DNA. She knew he’d given her a bath because she found wet towels in the hamper. So the cretin cleaned her up and put back on the same panties in an attempt to make her believe he hadn’t touched her.”

  “Without DNA she has no case,” Joseph stated.

  “Yes, she does,” Crystal countered. She paused. “She’s six weeks pregnant. And before you ask, no, she wasn’t sleeping with another man. She broke up with her boyfriend just after Labor Day.”

  Joseph came out of his relaxed position as if pulled up by a taut wire. “Is she certain it isn’t her boyfriend’s baby?”

  “Quite certain, because he always used a condom.”

  He quickly did the math in his head. Given eleven or twelve weeks, Gillian would’ve known whether she was pregnant or not. “Did she tell the bastard that she’s carrying his baby?”

  “Yes, and he terminated her with the excuse she was delusional, paranoid and completely burned out. However, he did give her a generous severance package, aka hush money.”

  “She intends to have the baby?”

  Crystal nodded. “She doesn’t believe in abortion,” she said, repeating what Emerson told her.

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he again settled Crystal against his chest. “She’s got him, sweetheart. But only after she delivers the baby can she sue for paternity. Either he’ll give up his DNA if he’s innocent, or he’ll refuse because he knows he’s the father of her child.”

  “If he was devious enough to drug a woman and clean up after himself, why didn’t he use a condom? Didn’t he think about contracting a STD?”

  Joseph exhaled an audible breath. “I don’t know much about sexual predators except they have little or no impulse control. Duncan probably didn’t think about using protection before or during the act, but once it was over he was clearheaded enough to methodically cover up his crime. And maybe he didn’t get the other women pregnant, or if he did they accepted his hush money, opting for an abortion instead of having the baby.”