Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Grant’s laughter died. Robyn looked up into his eyes. The playful whimsy that had been there was re­placed by raw desire. She knew her own had to reflect the same burning rapture in their depths. Her skin was warm, but when his hands on her arms urged hers upward, fire burned into her.

  "Grant, don’t," she whimpered. "I’d be lost."

  "I’m already lost." His mouth took hers. His kiss was scorching. Her lips opened to him, like a dry river seeking water. Thoughts of being Brooke Johnson intruded for only a second before she pushed them aside and became Robyn Richards. Her fingers, tangled in the soft hair above his shirt collar. She pulled his mouth closer to hers, shifting her position as he pushed her gently back onto the blanket. Grant covered her with his body. She felt his arousal hard against her as his mouth left hers to travel down her neck and pause at the neckline of her leotard.

  His hand came up to pull the fabric aside. The cool air brushed against her nipple. The pebble hardness of her breast thrust against the warmth of his palm as it traveled in circles. Robyn gasped at the excitement coursing through her body. Whimpers of delight es­caped her mouth.

  She smelled good, like flowers. Grant wanted to taste her. His tongue slid over her nipple, and he was rewarded as she arched closer to the pleasure he evoked. Her fingers slipped into his hair, and heat surged through him. He wanted her, wanted her now in this grassy meadow, under the shade of this tree. He wanted to know that she was his, to hear those sounds she made when he touched her in the right spots.

  When his mouth found its way back to hers, passion gripped him in her strong clutches, and he ravished her mouth with as much force as she used to violate his. He pushed at her clothes, wanting to tear them from her body. He hadn’t wanted to do that to anyone since. . .

  Suddenly, Robyn was free. The weight on her lifted, and cold air touched her where Grant’s hands and body had been. She was disoriented and angry. Her breath came in short gasps. She pulled her clothes into place as she fought for control.

  "What’s wrong?" she finally asked. He stood sev­eral feet away staring into the distance, his back to her.

  "It’s time we left," he said.

  "Did I do anything wrong?" She walked behind him.

  He turned to look at her. Robyn saw torture in his eyes and wanted to relieve it. "It’s not you," he said. "It’s me." His hand gently touched her cheek. Robyn didn’t move, although she wanted to lean into the gesture. She was sure he would pull away if she made any advancement.

  Robyn and Grant were back in the air minutes later. He was a changed man, and she didn’t know why. She didn’t know if she’d done or said something wrong. One minute, he was crushing her to the ground—she warmed at the thought of his body stretched the length of hers—then, he was as closed and tight as a tin can.

  How could he explain? For the second time, he’d had her in his arms and thoughts of his wife had intruded. Grant wasn’t used to comparing women to Robyn. Af­ter her immediate death, when he tried to be a one-man love army, he compared everyone to Robyn. But he’d long since gotten past that, or so he thought. Then why? Why were thoughts of Robyn continually intruding whenever he saw Brooke or thought of her? Even in the dream, the two women kept merging into one and he couldn’t tell them apart. But making love to one woman and imagining her to be someone else was something he would not do.

  ***

  "Yesterdays, may I help you?" Robyn spoke auto­matically into the telephone while she watched Sue-Ellen continually miss her cue.

  "I certainly hope so." The dark voice glided through her veins, elevating her blood pressure. Robyn’s breath caught, and her heart started to pound. She wavered between depression and joy. Joy won. Clasping her palm over the mouthpiece, she allowed the tiny cry to escape as she turned away from the action on the stage to face the mirrored wall behind the bar.

  "Are you still there?"

  "Yes," she faltered. "I’m here." She hadn’t heard from Grant for nearly a week, since that day they’d flown into Canada and had the impromptu picnic. She knew he was busy. His business was totally consuming his time. He was different after he kissed her. She didn’t know what to think, and she refused to ask. Since she couldn’t explain her own actions when he probed into her past, she couldn’t ask him to explain.

  The dull ache in her chest became a hard pain and now hearing his voice made the ache even harder to contain.

  "Where are you?" she asked.

  "I’m still in D.C. but—" he paused. "I want to see you."

  "Grant," she cut him off. "I’ve had a lot of time to think this week."

  "Brooke, please don’t say no so fast. Give it a chance? Give me a chance?"

  "I can’t, Grant."

  "Why not? What’s so wrong with me?"

  "Grant there’s nothing wrong with you." Words came hard. She wanted to asked him to fly in. She wanted to rush to the airport and be there when he came through the cabin door. She wanted nothing more than to fall into line with his plans, but some­where out there was a loose end. Hiding within the protective walls of this program told her the Network was alive, and she knew someone was lying in wait for her. All she needed to do was to make a mistake. And around Grant, she’d be sure to slip up soon.

  "I’ll be there at six. We have reservations for eight."

  "Grant. . ." The phone clicked in her ear. He wasn’t listening to her. She replaced the receiver, looking at the black instrument as if it were the reason for her split decision.

  She’d been so happy to hear his voice. Yet, every word drove daggers into her heart. She couldn’t allow this relationship to develop. Somehow, she had to get that across.

  She kept that thought uppermost in her mind as she headed toward the kitchen.

  "Marianne, I’m leaving and I might not be back tonight."

  "Decision number nine?" Marianne asked. She looked up from the cake she was decorating. Marianne had a flair for pastries, especially cakes. This one looked like yellow lace with a bouquet of roses on top. it was truly a work of art.

  "He called,” Robyn said. I’m going to have to see him." Mixed emotions at the prospect of seeing Grant vied for dominance, but con­fusion outweighed them all.

  "But you intend to tell him this is the end." Mari­anne used the pastry bag in her hand to punctuate the point.

  "That’s my intention." Robyn’s voice was decisive.

  "Do you think it will work this time?"

  "Marianne, before I came here something awful happened to me." Robyn noticed Marianne set down the pastry bag. Her full attention was directed toward Robyn.

  "Come in here." Marianne led her into the office off the kitchen where they usually did the monthly accounts. The redhead closed the door and sat down next to Robyn in one of the two chairs stationed in front of the huge desk. "Now what happened?"

  "Something I don’t like to remember. Grant was indirectly involved. He doesn’t know anything about it. Yet, if I continue seeing him, something may happen to him, and I can’t be responsible for that."

  "You love him that much?"

  "I love him that much." She said it out loud and to another person. She loved him. She wanted him safe, away from her. The people look­ing for her had no statute of limitations on betrayal, and they could reach her through Grant. Worse, they could hurt him. She had to stop seeing him or neither one of them would be safe.

  ***

  Marianne was still thinking about Brooke and Grant when she let herself into her house after the restaurant closed. It was nearly three in the morning, and she was tired. She began her nightly ritual of showering and washing her hair before she went to bed. When she stepped out of the shower, the phone was ringing. It was unusual for anyone to call at this hour unless it was an emergency.

  Draping the short towel around herself, she padded into the carpeted room. She was reaching for the receiver when she noticed the sound came from her cell.

  "Hello," she said.

  "Hello."

  Her knees immediat
ely gave out and she sat down on the white comforter, ignoring the water dripping from her legs.

  "Jacob!" she said in a surprised whisper. "Is any­thing wrong?"

  "No, everything is all right."

  Then why was he calling? He only phoned when there was something he needed to know, and she’d been feeding him his reports at the appointed times.

  "How are your arms?"

  "They’re nearly healed. The scars are there, but they will fade."

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Mari­anne was beginning to think something was wrong.

  "Did you find anything more about the fire?"

  "I have a report for you to read. It’ll be here when you come again."

  That would be another week. She was looking for­ward to seeing him. Their time together was different since the fire. They spent most of it together, talking about everything. Jacob liked basketball and coached a team of young boys.

  "I’ll be there on Friday."

  "I’ll pick you up," he said.

  Marianne was glad. He’d been there the last two times she’d arrived.

  "And Marianne," he paused. "There’s a party this weekend. It’s an official function. I have a duty to attend. Would you go with me?"

  Marianne was speechless. She forgot she had no clothes on until the towel slipped away and the cold air touched her skin. He wanted to take her to a party. Her heart raced, and it was difficult to speak, but she managed to say, "I’d love to."

  "I’ll see you then. Good-bye." He hung up.

  She replaced the receiver, but didn’t move. Jacob had asked her for a date.

  ***

  Robyn looked around as the cold wind whipped her hair out of place and smacked it in the face. Grant was obviously going the wrong way, there was nothing this way but planes and the runway. She turned, taking his arm, intent on leading him back to­ward the terminal, but instead he danced her around, until she was again walking in the same direction. A wry smile split his face reflected in his dark eyes.

  "We’re going the right way," he shouted above the noise of airplane engines and helicopter blades.

  "Where are you taking me?" Robyn stopped, her gown a cloud of white enshrouding them.

  "Out to dinner," he smiled.

  "Out to dinner, where?"

  "You said I could pick the restaurant." He took her arm and pulled her into step with him.

  "There’s no restaurant this way." Robyn saw the small plane loom in front of her. The roar from the motors made her scream to be heard. The wind plas­tered her gown to her, pushing the fragile wisps of chiffon through her legs and making walking difficult. She had to take two steps to keep up with Grant’s stride.

  "We’re going to Pier 19."

  Robyn stopped, yanking her arm away. Pier 19 was in Washington, D.C. It sat on the Potomac River at the mouth of M Street in the fashionable southwest section of the city. She couldn’t go there. She had missed D.C. in the five years since she’d left it. She couldn’t go back. There were too many memories there pulling at her past.

  "What’s the matter?" he asked facing her.

  "I can’t go."

  "Why not? Kari’s with Will. Marianne’s got things under control at the restaurant. You’re free for the eve­ning."

  "But why D.C.? There are plenty of places to eat here. Why must we go four hundred miles for dinner?" Robyn pushed her hair back. The long curls, that had looked so perfect in her mirror, were tangled tendrils playing cat-and-mouse with the enhanced wind gen­erated by the thrust of huge engines preparing to leave the airfield. Ceasing movement had given her gown time to release her legs only to veil them both in a billowing fog of white material.

  "Come on, we can’t talk in this wind." He shouted in her ear before once again taking her arm and lead­ing her back into the terminal. The Cessna-110 sat outside, a looming enemy to Robyn’s eyes.

  "I thought I’d surprise you. Marianne and Will told me you hadn’t been out of Buffalo for as long as they’ve known you. I thought this would be a nice surprise. I guess I’m a little out of practice when it comes to what women like."

  Robyn felt small. She knew he was ignorant to the reasons she couldn’t go to the Capital.

  "We’ll go someplace else. Where would you like to eat?"

  It was against everything she knew she should do, but she heard herself saying, "I know a nice res­taurant on the Potomac River." She was rewarded with his smile.

  "I promise to have you home before morning." He took her arm before she had time to change her mind, but instead of ushering her into the plane, he swung her toward the helicopter sitting several yards away. She felt like she had five years ago when he’d rushed into her life like a hurricane, and before she knew it, she was Mrs. Grant Richards. That couldn’t happen this time. This time there was more at stake. There was Kari and the restaurant and the life she’d left be­hind.

  Grant took the controls. Robyn heard the rotor blades begin their high-pitched whine as they started to turn above her head. The helicopter lifted off the ground. He took the stick and glided them through the air traffic until they were over downtown Buffalo. The glass and steel structures looked smaller from this vantage point. Lights flickered on and off in the build­ings, and cars traveling along the roads inched by without confusion or congestion.

  She pointed out the General Motors Building and Liberty Bank. Robyn smiled, and Grant dipped closer to the two statues holding lighted torches on the top of the hundred-year-old building. Further along, Main Street ended in the Niagara River. Grant abruptly banked right and headed north. Robyn looked at the compass.

  "You’ve turned north," she said.

  "I thought of another restaurant. Do you have any objections to Toronto?"

  "None," she smiled.

  Fifteen minutes later they had covered the eighty miles and were en route to Captain John’s Harbor Boat Restaurant. Robyn had never been to Toronto, but she’d heard a lot about it from Will and Marianne. Both had suggested she go for a weekend and take Kari. Robyn never took the time to go.

  Grant wondered what it was about Washington that made her almost frantic. He’d lived in Washington for fifteen years and loved the city. It had a beat unlike any other city he’d visited. Aside from congress and presidential parades, he loved the crowds. Every spring, the tourists came to town, eager to see Lincoln’s bed, the Watergate Complex, and the cherry blossoms circling the tidal basin around the Jefferson Memorial.

  Unlike most residents, he didn’t mind the tourists getting lost in Rock Creek Park or holding up traffic during rush hour when certain streets suddenly re­versed direction or became one-way.

  Grant wanted to see Brooke there. He could almost picture her eyes wide and amazed at the national treasures bathed in white light. But for some reason going to D.C. terrified her.

  "Why did you change your mind?" Robyn asked after Grant had landed the helicopter and rented a car. They were traveling up the Queen’s Quay.

  "It frightened you," he paused. "Do you want to tell me why?"

  "I wasn’t exactly frightened." She stole a glance at him.

  "Why didn’t you want to go?" Grant reached the restaurant and pulled the car into a parking space. "You were nearly frantic." He cut the engine and ex­tinguished the lights. Around her, the world seemed to go dark. Grant made no move to leave the car’s confines, and Robyn kept her place.

  She held her breath for a moment, then got out. Grant came to stand in front of her. "It was a long time ago," she began. "Before Kari was born. Something happened while I was in D.C. It’s just bad memories. Nothing important." She lifted her head and flashed him a smile. "And certainly noth­ing worth spoiling dinner over."

  Grant took her arm and led her toward the restau­rant. Whatever had happened there was significant. She’d chosen her words well. He could tell. But she wasn’t ready to trust him with the information. He was convinced now, that whatever it was, it was the reason for the underlying sadness in her life.r />
  Dinner proved better than he thought it was going to be when he’d seen the dark look in her eyes at the airfield. She’d been waiting for him when he’d landed. The white dress she wore gleamed against the dark tan of her arms. She looked like a portrait waiting for him. He liked the feeling she evoked.

  She smiled when he kissed her lightly, but there was no fire in her eyes like there had been on the blanket in Canada. She didn’t know why he’d pulled back so abruptly. It was the sounds—Robyn’s sounds. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get Robyn out of his thoughts. Even when he held Brooke in his arms and began to make love to her, somehow his wife in­truded.

  Why? It hadn’t happened in years. Why did she re­mind him so much of Robyn? Even now, he could tell she had something on her mind. Something she wanted to tell him since he saw her. He knew it was another one of her I-don’t-want-to-see-you-again speeches. This time he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  "Grant, dance with me." His eyes focused on her. The fire was in them. They left the dining room and went into the bar. Several couples were already on the dance floor. The waiter led them to a table and brought her a drink. Grant had only tonic water with a lemon twist. He was flying, he explained.

  They took up position on the wooden floor. She went easily into his arms. Robyn closed her eyes and let the music carry her away. She danced on a cloud high up in the air with Grant. Around them, the music tantalized and spun a fantasy world. She wanted it to go on and on, but she suddenly realized it couldn’t. She pushed this thought aside. For the next few hours, she’d pretend she was back to being Robyn, and she’d enjoy the last night with her husband. They danced and danced. She was too wrapped up in being in Grant’s arms. She whirled and whirled until finally they were the only people left in the restaurant.

  Grant tipped the waiters generously as they left. He took her back to the airport, and they boarded the helicopter. The flight back was a blur. She could only stare at him. She was glad she didn’t have to worry about working controls and coordinating the powerful machine through the air. Even though the trip was short, it was more than she was able to contend with tonight.