“Oh no!” She sighed. “Let me guess. This doesn’t have anything to do with sex, violence, or slavery in Newport, does it?”
“No! But if you’d like, I could add those in as perks of employment.”
“I was just joking. Now start. I want to hear this before we have to go and pick up Jada and Little Ted.”
They both looked down at their wrist watches the same time. Ten o’clock.
“And my conditions?” he pressed.
“Jeez, you’re a pain! Tell me what they are.”
He gave her a pleased look, and Meg almost laughed out loud.
“I have just one condition,” he said finally. “Be gentle! I’m very sensitive when it comes to this stuff. I’m just starting to like you, so watch it!”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah...fine...I’ll behave. As long as you stop acting the part of your idol, Drew King, and just be yourself.”
He paused a second and looked at her curiously. “‘You think he’s sensitive?”
“Sure, he has to be. You know he changes editors every five minutes. Why else would he do that? He’s got to have some serious insecurities about his work.”
“How do you know all of that stuff? About his editors and all?”
“The Boston Globe. They had an article about him Wednesday.” She pushed all the dishes to one side and leaned on her elbows, facing him. “Now I’m sick of talking about him. Let’s start on you.”
“Me!” he repeated.
“Tell me the story.”
“Okay.”
Meg saw the muscles in his jaw flicker once. Then, taking a deep breath, Evan lunged into his story.
She sat attentively and listened. He explained the story of a murder that takes place amid the high society of Newport. The victim--a popular and valued member of the upper crust--is found dead on the rocks beneath the Cliff Walk that borders the sumptuous mansions of the moneyed elite. In the wake of the murder, a husband and an estranged half-sister face a pressured police force and a frenzied news media. Meg nodded as Evan talked about the importance of this work not being a standard mystery novel, but a psychological thriller in a real life setting.
He talked a bit about the details--the fillers, the snapshots of the glamorous life, the sex and the violence--and about the final resolution of the novel where he reveals that the victim’s half-sister, rather than the husband, has skillfully engineered the cold blooded murder.
When he finished, she sat back and studied him for a moment.
“Well, tell me!” he asked impatiently. “What do you think?”
“It’s good. Very good!”
“For an amateur!”
“No!” She shook her head. “On the contrary. This is an excellent book for someone who is already established, but not for someone trying to get published for the first time. To set yourself apart from all the other murder suspense out there--to attract the reader to a name they’re not familiar with--you’ll need more complications in your characters and in your plot. You need a twist that sucks the reader in.” Upon seeing his face cloud over, she quickly leaned across the table and caught his hand in hers. “Look, I know I sound harsh, but listen to me first, before you get bent out of shape and decide to throw me over this railing.”
“I am bent out of shape!” he snapped. “And I don’t see the difference. A good book should stand on its own...no matter who wrote the damn thing!”
“True!” she snapped back. “Then what do you want me to tell you? You asked me to be gentle. I’m trying to be.”
He took his hand out of her grasp. “Forget what the hell I told you. I want to hear all of this. And let me have it straight.”
“Look! I was trying to do just that before you lost your temper.” She waited a moment to make sure he could handle it.
“Go ahead!”
“Evan, the story is great. You have it mapped out really clean. But there isn’t much depth in the relationships, based on what you’ve told me.”
“How the hell am I going to tell you the whole thing in five minutes? Those are things I’ll invent as I go along.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “How about the murder?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is the focus on her death or the struggles of the husband who is being accused of her murder? Or is the focus on the dead woman’s sister, who you say is the real murderer.”
He put a hand on top of his head and stared at her for a long moment. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, I’m thinking motives,” she continued. “You hinted something about the surviving sister having been in love with the husband...since forever, if I got that right. And also, that her lifelong jealousy was the reason for the murder. How about the husband’s feelings? Perhaps he could have been in love with the sister, as well!”
“Sure, but they were too young back then. Just teenagers. He definitely had a thing for her, but it was puppy love. They weren’t old enough to be held responsible for their promises or their actions.”
“How old were they then? Fifteen, sixteen? What about this?” She leaned forward and stared at him. “Maybe they had a child. Maybe she’d had to have the baby all alone.”
“You’re talking about Jada!”
“I’m talking about your book,” she corrected. “Could it be that the killing was not a ruthless crime? Could it be that it was one of revenge--justified at least in the killer’s mind--revenge for a much more hideous crime committed by the dead sister long ago?”
“You’re trying to force a twist into the plot.”
“No. I’m trying to introduce you to your characters. The secret of who we are now always lies in the past, doesn’t it? Your characters are all there, waiting to tell you more about themselves...and their pasts.” She leaned back against her chair and met his eyes. “Our lives aren’t simple--so don’t force theirs to be any different.”
Evan stared thoughtfully at her for a moment.
“You have a great story, Evan. But I think you should spend a little more time and get to know your characters. And when you feel comfortable, you’re there!”
CHAPTER 14
Jada tidily piled her belongings on the bed. Looking at the care packages that the hospital was sending her home with, she knew her backpack would never hold all of it.
At least when Evan and Meg came, they’d have plenty of hands to carry the stuff down. She glanced at the little clock radio on the night stand, wondering if she should call Evan and remind him about the infant car seat. But she shook her head. He’d remember.
She’d planned to leave most of the flowers--but the balloons were coming home. She smiled at the big teddy bear, sitting like some scowling person on the chair.
“You’re definitely coming along,” she said out loud.
Jada looked up and smiled as the nurse brought in another package of diapers for her to take home.
“I saw the staff pediatrician going in to check on your son now. It should be no time at all before you’ll be ready to go!”
The young woman nodded and wrapped her arms around her still bulging middle. Her own doctor had been in to see her earlier, and everything was fine. She just couldn’t wait to get home. Her father might get back by the end of the weekend, and she so desperately wanted to have the apartment ready for him. When he came through that door, she wanted to present him with a happy picture of life with his new grandson.
And she knew, despite all his gruffness, he was happy that she’d kept the baby rather than give it up for adoption.
Jada heard the dividing curtain move, and she turned, her eyes focusing on the grave-faced doctor who’d just stepped in. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.
“Hello. Ms. Serra?”
Tensely, Jada stepped forward and shook hands with the man.
“One of the hospital’s social workers is on her way in, but why don’t you sit down. We’ve got some things to talk about.”
******
His mind suddenly e
lsewhere, Evan closed the dishwasher and ran the towel vacantly over the countertop.
A minute or two earlier, Meg had disappeared into the bathroom, and Evan now leaned against the kitchen counter. Through the door into the sitting room, he could see the laptop on the table by the couch.
For several minutes, not a muscle moved in his body, but his mind was racing. Standing there, he found himself organizing all the new ideas and thoughts flooding through his mind.
There was a lot of truth in what she’d said about his grasp of the characters. When he felt comfortable, when he knew them, he’d be ready. No, he’d be there, she said.
Since The Long Journey, he hadn’t been there. But now, suddenly, a roaring excitement was building within him, racing in his blood, and he felt the itch at his fingertips. Ideas were beginning to explode in his head. And every one of them was crying out to be written down, tested, heard.
Heard! He glanced in the direction of the closed bathroom door. Never before today had he ever asked for someone else’s input on an idea or on a proposal for a book. He worked alone, wrote alone, and he alone told Henry where to sell them. Simple as that!
But today, with Meg, he’d felt different. Something else had been going on. He’d been looking for...hoping for...her approval. But why? He ran a hand through his hair. Was it because he’d heard her rip his alter ego, Drew King, to shreds?
He watched her appear in the doorway. Any other woman, he thought, would have been fixing her makeup or some such nonsense. But not her. She didn’t even look like she wore makeup. She looked fresh and scrubbed and as beautiful as he remembered.
She smiled at him as she came into the kitchen. She looked around at the empty counters.
“Hey, perfect timing,” she quipped. She took the towel out of his hand and hung it up on the little hook by the sink.
In the small space of the kitchen, he was all too aware of her sweet scent, of the brush of a hand, of the curve of her buttock as she leaned forward over the sink.
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her. In a sudden rush, Evan felt his creative juices mixing in with a strong and lustful urge to hold her and to kiss her and to run his hand beneath the sensible white shirt that she had so neatly tucked inside her khakis.
As she turned around, he moved until he stood right before her. Evan watched her look up and meet his gaze. A rosy hue crept into her cheeks, but she didn’t back up and that gave him all the permission he was after.
He removed her glasses and laid them on the counter. As he did, she placed her hands against his chest.
“What’s this all about?”
“How about if we just consider it part of the breakfast menu.” He encircled her waist. “Call it dessert.”
“Oh!” She smiled. “I’ve never had dessert with breakfast.”
As she lifted her parted lips to his, Evan felt the fires of desire flare up in his loins.
It was madness. It was pure lust. It was the most carnal mating of tongues and mouths that he’d ever experienced. Withdrawing and plunging--searching and delving. Over and over again, he found himself making love to her mouth. The heat blazed between them, engulfing them both in a scorching and passionate madness.
She shivered in his arms as he pulled her body tight against his. He groaned into her mouth when she rubbed her hips seductively against him.
He hungrily tugged the shirt from her pants and reached beneath it to feel her skin. She was silky soft, and when he ran his hand upward, cupping her breast over her bra, she moaned deep in her throat.
There was no holding back. They turned until her back was against the fridge door. He shifted her into his arms, and she lifted one knee as he pressed against her inner thighs. Meg leaned her head against the fridge door as he hurriedly stripped the shirt over her head and tossed it onto the counter.
He gazed into her half-closed eyes before delving his tongue once again into her mouth. Then, drawing back slightly, he slid his hands along her spine until he reached the clasp of her bra. That, too, joined the shirt on the counter.
“You are so beautiful!”
He looked at the nipples hardening under his circling thumbs. Her breasts were round and full. Perfect, he thought appreciatively. She gasped when he lowered his head and suckled the waiting prize. As her fingers raked through his hair, he continued his play, kneading and caressing one breast while his mouth and tongue paid homage to the other.
But it wasn’t enough. Her hips ground against his thigh and her half gasps of breath told him how close she was to release. He reached down quickly for her belt and zipper and undid them. She turned slightly, and his fingers slid over the downy mound and slipped into her, drawing from her a moan of pure pleasure.
Damn, she was sweet, he thought, continuing to stroke her and feeling her rock intimately against his hand.
She clutched his hair and lifted his mouth to hers as their tempo increased. He plunged into her mouth again and again--his tongue and lips playing out what his body craved to be doing. Suddenly, she cried out--her body rigid with ecstasy--then moaned and wrapped herself tightly around him. And he held her, gentling his strokes as she continued to shudder.
A moment later though, she pulled back and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He still could feel the tremors of pleasure running through her--the aftermath of her climax traveling in waves through her limbs. He placed gentle kisses against her hair, the soft skin of her neck, and drawing his hand from the juncture of her thighs, he cupped her firm buttocks.
She straightened her head. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes still glazed with rapture.
“I...I’m...” she breathed.
“Shh!” He silenced her words with a brush of his lips. She was perfect--beautiful and sexy and so much ready for more.
Hesitantly, she slid her hand down over his chest--continuing lower to his jeans until she found his aching manhood. He was so aroused that he figured he’d burst through the denim any second now.
And then he couldn’t think anymore.
“When you came down to my room this morning...” Meg placed a soft kiss on his chin. “I remember you mentioning something about four reasons...for coming to my door?”
“What?” Evan frowned, trying to focus on what she was saying. Then he smiled, moving them both until his back leaned against the counter. She stepped in between his legs, and he looked down appreciatively at her perfectly shaped breasts pressing against his chest. “But I thought you didn’t want to hear those reasons.”
Meg’s hands worked themselves beneath his shirt. With one fluid motion he peeled the thing over his head. Her skin was cool and smooth against his.
“How about if I say I do now.”
“Well, I told you the fourth reason.” He pushed her khakis over her hips, giving her just enough freedom to step out of them. “But the first one...let’s see. Oh yeah. I couldn’t sleep last night. In fact, I think I wore a path between my bedroom and the balcony. Kept watching you, sitting curled up in the window for a while and then moving to your bed. To be truthful, I was looking forward to seeing you take that tee shirt off again.”
Although she was standing practically naked in his arms, Meg turned a pretty shade of pink. “So reason number one is that you’re a pervert.”
“Only under certain conditions.”
“I suppose that’s all right, then. And I guess you saw me take my shirt off.”
“Only the first night.” He took her chin and lifted it to look into her face. “But I have to tell you, I like this view much better.”
She nodded mischievously, then reached down and started undoing his belt. “And the second reason?”
Hooking his thumbs into her panties, he pushed them down her legs.
“The kiss!” He brought her tightly against his chest and bent his head. Slowly, seductively, he took possession of her mouth once again. “But you know, even this is better than I remember.”
She reached between their bodies a
nd started lowering his zipper. “And the third reason?”
He paused, holding his breath, as her soft hand reached in and encircled his throbbing member. “You just discovered the third reason all on your own.”
As she pushed his pants over his buttocks, he realized that they were not going to wait until they could get to his bedroom. Not even the sofa, he thought, growing wild at the feel of her fingers fondling and massaging the length of him.
Hell, the counter will do just fine, he thought, turning her as he quickly lifted her onto the edge. It’ll do for this first time, anyway.
Suddenly he stopped. Reached to his left, and opened a drawer next to them and rooted blindly through the contents. She left off kissing and biting his neck and looked into his face.
“What are you doing?” she asked innocently.
“Protection! Condoms!”
She smiled with amusement even as she reddened. “You keep them here in your kitchen?”
“In the catch-all drawer.” He pulled one out and tore the wrapping with his teeth before handing it to her. But she simply studied it as if she were looking at one for the first time. He took it gently out of her hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
But before Evan could do anything more, Meg reached over and answered the phone on the first ring.
*****
She didn’t have enough time even to fasten her seatbelt before the Range Rover took off like a shot.
“Are you sure Phil won’t mind you just taking his car?”
“I don’t give a shit what Phil minds,” Evan growled, running the stop sign and cutting across America’s Cup Avenue. Meg turned her head and stared as two cars veered and slammed on their brakes, avoiding a collision.
“So was there anything else that Jada said?”
“No.”
Meg placed a hand on the dash as the vehicle sped up a narrow street.
“Just that they’re not releasing the baby,” he said, concern evident in his voice. “She was too hysterical to make any sense beyond that.”
Seeing the approaching stop sign and intersection, Meg decided it would be best if she didn’t look. She played back in her mind the short telephone conversation that had launched them out of that apartment.
Made in Heaven Page 12
