A Matter of Principal

by Leigh Michaels

“I can deliver. There will be games and prizes and lots of kids.”

  “Except for Susan, perhaps. I am running a business here, you know, and I can’t just leave it at the drop of a hat.”

  “If you insist, I suppose we could take a chaperone along,” he added airily. “I wonder if Sherry would like to come.”

  “I want Mommy,” Susan said.

  Patrick shrugged. “You heard her.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Camryn accused. “Getting her hopes up before you know if it’s going to be possible.”

  “Go on and have a good time, Camryn,” Sherry said. Camryn hadn’t even seen her sitting in the corner window seat till she spoke. “I certainly don’t have any plans for tomorrow.” She turned and stared out at the street again.

  Camryn thought, For two cents I’d go and grab that girl and shake her till she tells me what’s wrong. But Sherry was an adult, and if she didn’t want to talk about it no one could force her. Camryn sighed. “I suppose I’m ready to go,” she told Patrick.

  He gave Susan a hug. “See you in the morning,” he promised.

  “I wish you hadn’t invited her,” Camryn said. She closed the back door carefully behind them and went out to the car. “It’s a family party, and she shouldn’t be—”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a block party that gets bigger every year. Last summer, half the university was there.” Patrick helped her into the car.

  “You shouldn’t invite her just because you feel guilty about tonight. You shouldn’t attempt to buy her forgiveness by giving her something you originally had no intention of offering.”

  Patrick leaned into the car. His hand cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. “Be quiet,” he ordered, and kissed her.

  Little flickers of electricity trembled along Camryn’s veins. Her mouth softened under his, and his tongue slipped gently between her lips, seeking, testing, exploring. She made a little sound, and his hand slid to her throat, his fingertips resting softly on the pulse point below her ear as if he was searching for something.

  He let her go, finally, just a couple of minutes short of the moment when her whole body would have slumped into a melting puddle against the soft upholstery. He walked around the car and slid behind the wheel, and Camryn thought hazily that apart from the fact that he was breathing a little faster than normal, he appeared to be perfectly fine. She, on the other hand, didn’t feel normal at all.

  She checked the mirror on the back of the sun visor and sighed. Her lips were slightly swollen, and her eyes were huge and dark and moist. She reached for her tiny makeup kit. “Now I’ve got to fix the damage. Why did you do that, anyway?” she asked briskly, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  “Don’t you know?”

  She darted a frightened look at him. He sounded serious. I can’t handle this, she thought. I really can’t.

  He took one hand off the wheel and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, and murmured, with a smile, “Because I think it’s very sexy to watch a woman repair her lipstick, that’s why.”

  *****

  Dianna Stanford’s idea of a picnic was more like a Buckingham Palace garden party. An entire section of Lakemont’s largest park had been roped off, and a series of tents, all complete with wooden floors, had been erected to form a huge square.

  I should have known, Camryn thought with a jaundiced look at her own flat-heeled shoes, that Dianna wouldn’t let a little thing like grass interfere with fashion.

  In one of the tents, space was set up for a band and a dance floor. Another looked like a hive full of caterers’ men, all scurrying around with quantities of food. The next tent was full of small tables, already set with napkins and flatware and glasses—not linen and silver and crystal, exactly, Camryn noted, but not paper and plastic, either.

  In the next tent, a long bar was set up, and people were milling around with glasses in hand. It wasn’t a big crowd, perhaps a hundred people altogether, but the noise level was already high.

  “What would you like?” Patrick asked. “There’s champagne, or they can do any mixed drink you’d like, I’m sure. Or if you’d rather have something innocent—”

  “At the last picnic I went to,” Camryn said thoughtfully, “the beverage of the day was warm beer, because the hostess forgot the ice to pack it in. The alternative was dipping water out of Lake Michigan.”

  Patrick shuddered. “Champagne,” he decided, and went to get it.

  Warren Stanford’s booming voice said, “Hello, my dear,” and he swooped down to put a dry kiss on Camryn’s cheek.

  He’s been at the bar for a while, Camryn thought, or else he can’t quite remember who I am, and he doesn’t want to ignore me. I should be grateful; either way, it’s less destructive than his handshake!

  She smiled at him and said hello, and cast about for a topic of conversation. Be charming, Patrick had said, and she was willing to try. But before she could come up with a remark that was sufficiently captivating, an elderly lady in a pale blue spangled cocktail dress slipped between them. She put one hand on Camryn’s arm, and one on Warren Stanford’s.

  “I just had to tell you,” she said, “what a delightful young man your Patrick is. He’s always so helpful, and so charming, and he has such a way about him.”

  That’s nice, Camryn thought. I’ll have to tell him the matrons are complimenting him to his boss—just in case he doesn’t already know it.

  “You’re an extremely lucky young woman, Mrs. McKenna,” the lady said, with a melting smile at Camryn.

  Patrick reached for her hand and put a cold glass into it. Camryn nearly dropped it. Mrs. McKenna? she thought. Where had that come from?

  The woman patted Camryn’s hand, where her gold wedding band gleamed. “You should hang on to him.”

  Patrick smiled at the woman. “Mrs. McKenna?” he said thoughtfully. “The name’s got a nice lilt to it, hasn’t it, Mrs. Johnson? My mother’s gotten quite fond of it. She says she’s only going to share it with very special ladies, and I haven’t found anyone who meets her approval yet.”

  Mrs. Johnson looked disappointed. She pursed her lips and shook her head and turned away, and as soon as she was gone Warren Stanford laughed, and said, “Very neat, my boy.”

  Camryn tried to conceal a sigh of relief. Patrick smiled down at her. “Drink your champagne,” he recommended.

  As she raised her glass, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Dianna Stanford, tall and slim and elegant in red silk. Her hand was resting on the arm of a very good-looking man with prematurely white hair, but Dianna was looking at Camryn, and the spite in her eyes was like a rock hitting Camryn in the face.

  Patrick took her arm. “Shall we wander around and mingle? It’s my duty, you know.”

  She said under her breath, “Maybe you should tell Dianna that this is only business.”

  He looked down at her thoughtfully. “Maybe I don’t want to,” he countered.

  “Then I suggest you be on the lookout for arrows coming in your direction. I certainly am.”

  “Don’t worry about Dianna.”

  “What’s the matter with her, anyway?”

  “Nothing much. Once upon a time, Dianna convinced herself that I was going to ask her to marry me, and she hasn’t quite forgiven me for never getting around to it.”

  “Oh, in that case I can certainly see why you’re not worried.”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear dripping from your voice?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard about a woman scorned?”

  “Who said she was scorned? I certainly didn’t reject her. I just never proposed.” He watched the bubbles rise in his tulip glass, and added thoughtfully, “I thought about it. I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  “Why not?” Camryn asked tartly. “I’d think there would be lots of advantages for an aspiring young banker.”

  His voice was a soft and wicked murmur. “Because if this is her idea of a mere picnic, I’m terrified of what she would p
ut together for a wedding reception.”

  Camryn tried to smother a giggle, and choked on her champagne. Don’t encourage him, she told herself. He was hopeless enough as it was.

  “Besides, she’s certainly got masculine company enough tonight without me,” he went on. “That’s the president of Lakemont’s major industry, and if she’s foolish enough to mess around with him, that only confirms my opinion.”

  “Why?” Camryn stole a look at the man.

  “Because he isn’t completely divorced yet.”

  “Maybe it’s only business between him and Dianna, too. Like our partnership.”

  “Perhaps it is. After his wife gets finished with him, he may need an infusion of cash.” He sipped his champagne. “And if you say one more word about Dianna, I’m going to take you off to a secluded corner of the park and shut you up in the only way I’ve ever found that works.”

  “Oh.” It was a bare squeak, as she remembered how effective his methods had been earlier when he hadn’t wanted to talk any more about whether Susan should go to his parents’ party. “I’ll be careful.”

  He grinned, and a wicked sparkle lit his eyes. “On second thought, don’t,” he murmured. “It sounds like a lot more fun than sitting through this damned picnic.”

  *****

  It was a beautiful evening, and Camryn couldn’t help but think that it would have been a perfect one for a real picnic—one that took place on a blanket with only the stars for a roof, and only the infinite variations of cricket song for accompaniment. It was a relief when, a bare ten minutes after Warren Stanford left the dance tent to the younger generation, Patrick said, “Ready to go home?”

  A relief, and a disappointment, too. The promptness of his suggestion made it very clear, Camryn thought a bit sadly, that he’d been thoroughly bored by the picnic, and probably by her company as well. At least, she thought, there was no need to carry it on through tomorrow, at his parents’ party. She’d find a way to explain to Susan that she could not go.

  She told him that, as he drove her home. He didn’t answer.

  “It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” she said finally. “The full moon, and the stars.”

  He nodded and parked the car beside the Stone House. “Are you going in right away?”

  Was that a hint not to bother to invite him in for coffee? “No, I think I’ll sit on the terrace for a while,” she said carelessly, “and watch the moon.”

  “May I join you?” Before she recovered her breath, he added, “I live in one of those big apartment blocks downtown, so I don’t have a terrace.”

  “Besides, in the middle of the city, the moon looks like just another streetlight,” Camryn agreed. She led the way to the secluded flagstone terrace behind the house.

  He glanced at the furniture, and up at the moon. “I think we’ll have the best view from there, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but led her over to a small, canvas-upholstered loveseat, just big enough for two, and settled her comfortably in it, with his arm around her and her head against her shoulder. His hand came to rest against the sensitive skin just under her ear, and his thumb idly stroked her earlobe.

  They sat that way for long minutes, and Camryn found herself trying not to breathe for fear of disturbing the moment. She looked up at him through half-closed eyes. The soft moonlight caught in his eyelashes, and cast long shadows across his cheekbones.

  It was a long time since she had sat this way with a man—a very long time indeed, she thought, remembering how seldom Mitch had been home at all in that last couple of years, much less with time just to sit and look at the moon.

  There was something very restful about Patrick McKenna, she thought vaguely. Perhaps she’d been wrong, and he hadn’t been bored tonight at all. In any case, she wasn’t going to worry about it; it was very pleasant to sit here like this.

  “Camryn,” Patrick said softly. “I’ve got to ask you.”

  She murmured something, a protest, perhaps, at having this quiet perfection interrupted.

  “While you were married, did you like making love?”

  Her eyes opened wide. She didn’t pull away from him, but her whole body tensed warily. “What on earth is this all about?”

  “Don’t jump up and run. I know the proposition from your friend the doctor turned you off, and I can certainly see why. But was it just him? You sounded as if you found the whole idea of sleeping with someone nauseating.”

  She closed her eyes again. “No, it’s not that. But I have to admit I don’t see why so many people go crazy about it. Take my so-called friend the doctor, for example. He’s got a perfectly good wife. Why would he want me?”

  He was silent for so long that she finally opened her eyes and looked up to see if he’d gone to sleep or something. Instead, he was staring at her, his eyes dark, with an expression in them that was almost incredulous. The way he looked at her did something funny to her insides, and her toes tried to curl themselves up into knots.

  “You really don’t know why?” His arm tightened around her, just a little. “I’m tired of looking at the moon, Camryn,” he whispered. “I’d much rather look at you instead.”

  His first kiss was tender. Her lips softened automatically to meet his, and as she relaxed his mouth grew more possessive, wandering across the hollow of her cheek, caressing the soft line of her throat, then returning to her lips to plunder. He drew her even more closely against him, and after a few minutes she didn’t know any longer where her body stopped and his began. She could feel his heart beating strongly against her breast— or was it her own heart instead?

  His fingertips traced the soft skin of her shoulders, slipped under the edge of the sun-dress, then retreated to caress her breast. The heat of his hand seemed to dissolve the thin fabric. It sent a shudder of feeling through her, followed by a sharp pang of sanity. They were practically making love on the terrace. . . How utterly mad could she be?

  “Let me go,” she whispered.

  Frustration gave his voice a rough edge. “I want to touch you, Camryn, every inch of you. I want to make love to you.”

  “Please, Patrick.”

  His breathing sounded harsh in the stillness, and for an instant she was almost afraid, but he let her go. She slipped slowly away from him, leaning back in the corner of the loveseat, uneasily aware that she wasn’t far enough away from him to be safe, but knowing that she lacked the strength to move.

  He ran a hand through his hair. She noticed, vaguely, that it was the first time she’d seen it really messed up. It looked good on him, and she raised a hand so she could weave her fingers through the dark waves; then she realized that it wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do just now.

  “Why are you pulling away, Camryn?” His voice held a harsh note. “Because if you went to bed with me, you’d feel disloyal to Mitch?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think Mitch has anything to do with it.”

  “Then would you mind telling me what the hell is going on? I feel as if I just got hit by a truck.”

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and then he smiled wryly. “Coffee is your answer whenever you’re feeling desperate, isn’t it?” He stood up. “No, thanks. I think I’d better go home instead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Patrick?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.” It was a bare whisper.

  “Well, that’s some relief.” He opened the car door and leaned against it. “Don’t sleep well, Camryn.”

  *****

  She didn’t. She dreamed that she had gone to bed with him, and woke in the still coolness of dawn feeling exhausted, frustrated and horrified at herself. “Just last week,” she lectured herself, “you thought you’d probably never feel the desire to make love with anyone ever again. And now—”

  Just thinking about the vivid images her dreaming mind had conjured up brought hot color flooding to her face.

  Obviousl
y, she thought, her physical side hadn’t died after all. It had merely been in cold storage somewhere, waiting for a chance to attack her when it was least expected.

  Which left her, very squarely, in the middle of a problem. She could hardly say she didn’t find Patrick McKenna attractive, when she’d spent the best part of an hour last night in his arms. And now that her body seemed to have come to life again, she could scarcely spend the next twenty years taking cold showers, either.

  But there was something deep inside her that shuddered away from the idea of having to explain to Susan why there was a man in her bedroom.

  It had all been a great deal easier last week, she told herself. Perhaps what was happening to her now was a nightmare, she thought, without a great deal of hope. And perhaps, if she was very careful not to think about it, maybe it would all go away.

  *****

  Sherry arrived in the kitchen less than five minutes after Camryn and grabbed an apron. “I’ll take care of the breakfast-in-bed crowd,” she offered, and started taking trays out of the corner cabinet where they were always stacked.

  Camryn stood still for a full minute, staring at her, while Sherry briskly arranged baskets and china and flatware on the trays. She wanted to demand an explanation of Sherry’s sudden transformation, but she thought that asking might send Sherry back into vagueness, and this morning she needed all the help she could get. So she turned her back and started the coffee perking instead, and put the trays of buns back into the oven to warm, and began to check items off her list of things to do.

  “Sherry, can you pick up the laundry? I’ll need the big tablecloth for tomorrow’s breakfast buffet, and since you aren’t busy today. . .” With all the confusion yesterday, she thought, it’ll be a wonder if that’s the only thing I forgot.

  “Did I say I wouldn’t be busy?” Sherry paused in the middle of filling a teapot, and looked across the room with a soft smile. “Oh, yes, I remember it now. That was before I made plans.”