by Jo Leigh
Mitch put his arm around Bentley. “It’s my fault, Mother. I know Bentley’s been on edge, and I haven’t been very nice to her.”
“That’s kind of you, Carter, but if there’s one thing my girls know how to do, it’s behave. At least they used to.”
“I’m sorry,” Bentley said, removing his arm from her shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It might be hormonal, dear,” Babs said. “I’ll give you the number of my psychiatrist”.
When Mitch looked at her, she shrugged. “He prescribes.”
Bentley just sighed. “Carter,” she said, her words chock-full of emotion. “Could you please go to the gift shop and get me some aspirin? I’ve got a vicious headache.”
“Maybe the waiter can find us some.”
“Carter.” The emotion was still there, only now it was out-and-out anger. “Be a dear and get me some aspirin. You wouldn’t want me to get all upset again, would you?”
“No. No. Be happy to oblige, honey-bunch.” He stood up, took a swig from his champagne, then bent close to her so he could whisper. “But I’ll be back.”
Bentley went for her scotch. Mitch left. Quickly.
When he was finally out of the restaurant, Bentley relaxed. She reached for her compact and did a quick emergency repair on her face, then turned to face her parents. The smile she pasted on was an old standby. She called it her Mona Lisa, not too broad, not too tight. Just right. What she really wanted to do was drink her scotch and chase it with a tequila shooter, but instead, she just tucked her napkin on her lap like a good girl. At least he hadn’t won this round, she thought. As if he thought he could win. Not on this voyage, sailor.
“Bentley, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. Really.”
Her mother’s look told her she’d have to do better.
“It’s personal, Mother. Between Carter and me.”
“You have to know he loves you, dear.”
That stopped her. She took a sip of scotch. “Excuse me?”
Babs leaned forward so she could talk sotto voce. “I can see you two are having some trouble. I’m not blind. But it’s very clear—” they were back to spoken words again “—that he loves you very much.”
“How can you tell?”
“The way he looks at you, darling. Any fool can see he loves you beyond reason. I’d hoped he’d be a good man, Bentley. But even I never dreamed he’d be so perfect”.
“You’ve known him for twenty minutes.”
Babs shook her head. Bentley glanced at her father, but he was transfixed by the nearby dessert cart.
“I’ve known Carter since you were sixteen. When you used to tell me about your dream man. He was in your diaries. Remember? All of them.”
“You read my diaries?”
“Carter is the one you’ve wanted your whole life, and you know it. I could have picked him out of a hundred men, a thousand.”
“I don’t have a response to that,” she said. And it was true. She felt speechless and helpless because her mother’s words were true. It hadn’t been a fluke, that dèjà vu feeling she’d had when Mitch had come out of the bathroom. It had been a memory, a piece of her past, a remnant of her childhood come to life. But Mitch?
“Bentley? Your color doesn’t look good.”
“I don’t feel well, Mom. As a matter of fact, I feel awful.” She grabbed her purse and scooted out of the booth. “Please tell Carter I’ve gone upstairs. Have him bring the aspirin, won’t you?”
“Darling?”
She went near her mother and took her outstretched hand. “Hmm?”
“Try hard. Very hard. I think he’s worth it.”
She nodded, feeling the pressure of real tears behind her eyes. Blinking them away, she smiled, squeezed her mother’s hand and left the dining room.
“HEY, YOU OKAY?”
Bentley came out of her snooze with a start. The room was dark, the wind still pushed at the windows, and she was in bed. Carter…Mitch was sitting next to her and his cool palm was resting gently on her forehead.
“What time is it?”
“Twelve-thirty.”
She moved, and his hand disappeared, and for a crazy moment she wanted to reach out, grab it and pull it back. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“You forgot your pj’s,” he said.
She lifted the comforter to peek underneath and saw she was still in the white suit, still in her panty hose. She had kicked her shoes off, at least.
“I brought you your aspirin. If that’s what you really want.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I do. Thanks.”
He got up, and she didn’t see him until he switched on the bathroom light. The room looked big with its shadows and sounded eerie with the howling wind just outside. Looking at Mitch’s silhouette only made things worse. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what her mother said. Even in sleep, she’d mixed up Mitch and Carter and her girlhood infatuations until she didn’t know which end was up. She heard the water flow from the tap as she sat up, pulling a pillow behind her. When Mitch came back, he switched on the main light.
“Oh, no. Turn it off.”
“Sure thing, vampire.”
Despite his attempt at humor, he obeyed, and once more in the dark, with only the thin light from the bathroom to lead his way, he came to her bed.
He waited until he sat before handing her the water and aspirin. The awareness of his body next to hers, the dip in the mattress where he sat, the palm he lifted toward her was enough to stir all her nerve endings into a state of wariness. When she touched him, just to get the aspirin, she fully expected another bolt of lightning to split the sky, and when it didn’t she felt unexpectedly saddened.
Maybe her mother had been right about her hormones. She hadn’t had a checkup in more than a year. Was it possible to go through the change in one’s twenties?
It was difficult to swallow with her throat all tight, but she got the pills down. She wondered if the analgesic would have any effect on her, especially this awful feeling that Mitch meant more to her than his traditional role as pain in the butt.
“That was pretty good back there,” he said. “You can take care of yourself, I’ll say that much for you.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I thought it was okay. Sure got the job done.”
It was his turn to smile, and she wished she hadn’t said anything amusing. She seemed to be in the most trouble when he looked like that—like he was a nice, handsome, funny, affectionate guy. Not a world champion jerk. It was very confusing.
“You know, I wasn’t going to snitch.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Promise me you won’t? Ever?”
He frowned. “Sorry, cupcake. That’s my ace in the hole.”
“Damn you.”
“But I will tell you something I probably shouldn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“I found Colker. The real Colker.”
She narrowed her eyes, her mistrust blocking everything else from her mind and body. “Oh?”
“Don’t say it like that. I’m not the one who faked it this evening, remember?”
“So how do you know? Did you see him?”
“Not exactly.”
“How, exactly?”
“I talked to one of the clerks.”
“Uh-huh. And what was her name?”
“Shelli. She said that there’s a mysterious—” He jerked back a bit and gave her a suspicious look. “How’d you know it was a her?”
She didn’t grace him with an answer. Just a look. An “Oh, please, as if you’d ever spend time with a male if there was a female within a hundred miles” look.
“Oh. Well, anyway, Shelli told me that there’s this guy up in the penthouse. Very mysterious. Very private. No one knows his real name, no one goes in there to clean except two people who’ve been sworn to secrecy. Lots of electronic equipment, based on the usa
ge, lots of room service left outside the door.”
“So you figure…”
“I figure he’s our man. This is a honeymoon hotel, cookie, or haven’t you noticed? He’s a loner, our friend in the penthouse. A loner who’s loaded.”
“You astound me with your journalistic skills. Honest. So when are you going to see Shelli again?”
“Tomorrow.” He started to rise, then stopped. “Hey!”
“I’m not such a bad journalist myself, bucko.”
“You’re just plain mean.”
She shook her head. “Nah. Just honest.”
His expression changed. It was still dark, and she could only make out the broad strokes of his features, but still she could tell something shifted. “So, honest one, tell me about the deal with Babs and Dan?”
“The deal?”
“Yeah. Why’d you really come up with this nutball scheme?”
“I told you.”
He shook his head. “The journalist in me says that was the cover story. I’m looking for the juice. Off the record, of course.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
She thought of turning on the light. Letting him see she wasn’t kidding around anymore. Then she realized he probably knew that Mitch was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. It’s not very exciting. Not even amusing.”
“Spill.”
She shifted a bit, and he did, too. He moved closer to her on the bed. Close enough to touch. His thigh met her thigh, and the collision brought on a little too much heat “You’ve met Babs. I would think that would explain everything.”
“I’ve also met you. And that’s the part that doesn’t add up. I know you can be a real tiger when you need to. So why are you such a pussycat with Mom?”
She sighed. “Don’t you have parents?”
He was quiet for too long. “Not so’s you’d notice.”
“Hatched, were you?”
“Might as well have been. Never met the old man. From what I know about my mother, I might have been better off not knowing her, either. But this isn’t my turn.”
His revelation didn’t surprise her somehow. As a matter of fact, it made a few things fall into place. His behavior at the office, for one. He’d often reminded her of the Artful Dodger, and now she knew why. He’d been on his own from the beginning. A scrapper, her father would have said.
“Come on. I don’t have all night.”
“There’s no good answer to your question, Mitch. The woman drives me up a wall. She’s more persistent than anyone I’ve ever met. More driven than a taxi. She just doesn’t let up.”
“Can you say no? I know you can.”
She grimaced at his joke. “That’s the point, Sherlock. With her, I can’t say no.”
He sat still for a long while. Long enough for her to remember about his thigh. The heat. About the fact that the couch was very small and the bed was very big.
“That surprises me, Bentley. Honest, it does. I’ll deny I ever said this, but you’re pretty damn remarkable. When you get hold of a story, you’re like a bulldog. You never let up. Huh. Just like Mom, eh? Maybe you two clash because you’re too much alike.”
“I’m not like her.”
“Hey, chill. It was a compliment. Babs is a beautiful woman. She’s successful. She’s confident. What’s not to like?”
“You want something, don’t you? You want something really, really big. That’s what this is about; isn’t it? Either that or you’ve been drinking a lot more heavily than I realized.”
“I want something, all right.”
Again, a shift. She doubted she would have noticed had the lights been on. She would have been looking too hard. She felt this change. One minute his conversation had been safe and easy, and now, with that one little sentence, all bets were off. The red flag was up, and she had better find shelter. Fast.
“You’ve round Colker. What more could you want?”
Then he was leaning. Bracing his arms on either side of her body. It wasn’t just his thigh that touched her now, but his chest, his arms. The heat expanded.
He kissed her.
Not like this morning. Not even like this evening. This time, he kissed her like he wanted to.
His lips were soft, warm. The pressure built slowly, stealing her senses. Then he opened his mouth just a little and teased her with his tongue. The winds screamed outside, the windows pulsed with the force.
Her lips parted of their own accord. He moved again, closer, tighter. He explored her more boldly, and she responded with a body that wasn’t hers, wasn’t wise. This was foolish. She couldn’t be kissing Carter. Mitch. Him.
Something banged into the window, scaring the bejeezus out of both of them. Mitch moved back. She turned to the window. Whatever it had been was gone. Probably a palm frond or a tree limb.
Or her guardian angel.
When he turned back, she scooted away, breaking whatever spell he’d cast. “No, no, no. I don’t think
SO.”
He reached out and caught her wrist.. “ Think? Who said anything about thinking?”
“I’m not going to do this. Not with you.” “Why not? It was starting to be pretty terrific.”
She jerked her wrist free, pushed back the covers and got out of bed. It was still cold in the room. When she’d come up from dinner, the place had been an icebox. Now it was just freezing. She moved to the door and flipped on the light. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they did she saw that Mitch, Mitch Slater, her sworn enemy and evildoer, was the man she’d just kissed. Again.
“You are so slick,” she said. “You know every trick in the book, don’t you? You weasel your way into my private life, steal my husband’s identity, take sides with my mother, go after my story, and now you want to hop into my bed, too?”
Mitch sprang from the bed. “Aha!”
“Aha?”
“Your story! Your story. I knew it. You call me slick. Ha! You’re good, Brewster. Damn good. But not good enough.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you didn’t mean it. You wanted to keep the lie going. You wanted Colker all to yourself. And I shared with you. Naughty, naughty Bentley. I should tell your mother on you.”
“Certifiable. That’s what you are. And, Mr. Genius Who Knows Every Damn Thing, where are you sleeping tonight?”
He pointed to the bed. “Right here, Mrs. DeHaven.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I want to sleep. Period.”
“Right. And that kiss was just between colleagues. I suppose you’d kiss Carl Bernstein the same way?”
“Carl’s married. For real.”
She stomped to the bed and pulled one pillow off, then tossed it onto the couch. “That’s where you’re going to sleep, buddy, and if I even think you’ve gotten off the couch for anything but a trip to the bathroom, I’m going to call security and tell them I’m being robbed. I’m going to scream bloody murder, and I’m going to cry. And they’re going to believe every word.”
“It’s all coming into focus now.”
She didn’t like the tone of his voice. Or the smug look on his face. “What?” she asked, despite her better judgment.
“The real reason you made up Carter.”
“I don’t want to hear this. I really don’t.”
“I just hope you wrote down that number tonight.”
“What number?”
“Your mother’s psychiatrist.” He moved close to her, backing her up against the wall. His hand moved toward her breast, paused, then fell back to his side. He looked at her again, smiled an evil Mitch smile. “He prescribes,” he whispered.
He caught her hand before it could connect.
Chapter Seven
Mitch held her still, enjoying the feel of her as much as the fight in her. It was going to be so much fun to see her reaction when he got the scoop on Colker and she was left sitting in the
dirt.
He’d only told her half the information he’d gotten tonight. Keeping it all to himself wouldn’t have been fair. This way, the game would be more even. She did have a shot at finding out the truth—-just not a very good shot. Unless, of course, Shelli got stood up by her boyfriend again, and Bentley was there to comfort her. Which didn’t seem all that likely.
“Let me go, Slater.”
“If I do, you’ll hit me.”
“I won’t.”
“I hear ’won’t’ on your lips, but I see ’will’ in your eyes.”
“What you see in my eyes is my heartfelt desire to strangle you. But that’s illegal, so you don’t have to fret.”
“Fret? I don’t fret.”
“I think you should start.”
“Bentley, what am I going to do with you?”
“Leave me. Abandon me. Take your things and go back to Los Angeles.”
“Even if I wanted to go back, I can’t now. Not with this weather.”
“If you promise to leave, I’ll change the weather. That’s got to be easier to do than putting up with you.”
“You’re turning my head, you flatterer.”
“Completely around, I hope.”
“No wonder you don’t have any friends.”
“I do so.”
“No you don’t”.
“How would you know?”
“I looked in your date book. The only numbers you have there are family and business.”
“You what?”
She struggled some more, and he realized she was stronger than he’d thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that last thing. Live and learn.
“Let me go right now, you nosy, interfering, obnoxious son of a—”
“Bentley! I’m surprised at you. Such language from a lady.”
“I’m not a lady.”
“Honey, I’ve kissed you. I know you’re a lady.”
She got her left hand free and swung at him with a roundhouse punch. He ducked, of course, but he had to let go of her right hand, and then she was swinging again and coming too damn close, so he bent low, rushed forward, grabbed her around the middle and lifted her in the air. She was flung over his shoulder like a sack of wheat, only this sack had a great derriere that was patting close.
