by Lynda Trent
“Damn,” Ryan muttered.
He peered again in his rearview mirror, but Clare and her escort were already out of his field of vision. He turned at the next corner and circled the block, but by the time Ryan had driven back to the restaurant, the Cadillac was gone and another car was pulling in. His frown deepened and he circled two more blocks in hopes of catching sight of the elusive couple. Was Clare seeing someone else? He could think of no other explanation for what he had seen.
Giving up his search, Ryan drove home to his apartment. There was a perfectly logical explanation, he told himself as he took his coffee thermos and lunch box out of the backseat and grabbed his hard hat from the seat beside him. He went up the concrete steps to his room. Of course she had a reason, he repeated to himself. She must have one.
Still frowning, he hung his jacket and hat in the closet beside the door, pulled off his stained khaki work clothes and heavy boots and tossed his shirt and pants into the basket of washing that was waiting for his attention. He showered quickly, then toweled himself dry. Still he couldn’t think of a single reason for Clare to be seen at a restaurant with the stranger… except for the most obvious one. His scowl deepened as he put on jeans and a velour sweater.
Ryan gave Clare ample time to reach home as he paced in his apartment, then he dialed her number. Betty told him she was out.
As he hung up, Ryan reasoned with himself. After all, Clare had told him she was not interested in any other man. He felt ridiculous at his unprecedented outburst of jealousy and was glad Clare hadn’t been a witness to it.
He cooked a hamburger for supper and washed it down with a Dr. Pepper. Nonchalantly, he dialed her number again. Again Betty assured him Clare wasn’t home.
Ryan frowned. Most of the ice was gone from the streets, though the bridges outside of town were still hazardous. But Clare didn’t have to cross a bridge between the restaurant and her house. Not if she went straight home.
He turned on the television to a station that specialized in old movies and pretended to watch Desk Set, but not even Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn could get his attention off Clare. Who was that man? he wondered. Clare had said she had no family. That ruled out uncles and cousins.
Again Ryan rang her number. This time, no one at all answered, and he realized Betty had gone to her own home. He flipped off the television and paced from the windows to the kitchen to the bedroom on a dozen useless errands. With nightfall, the temperature had dropped, and the streets were becoming slicker. He gazed out at the crawling traffic below his second-floor window.
Once more he called; again no one answered.
Had Clare somehow been abducted? She was a rich woman and kidnappings were not unheard of. His frown deepened and he paced faster.
And if she wasn’t being kidnappedwhich seemed unlikely as he doubted such people took their victims out to dinner first who was that man? Jealousy again flared within him.
In the next three hours, Ryan called Clare five times.
When, at last, she answered, he had progressed from concern to open anger.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Ryan?” she asked in surprise.
“I’ve been worried half to death over you. You could’ve been in a car wreck a dozen times over.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” she said, miffed at his tone of voice. “Calm down.”
“I am calm!” he roared. “And who was that old man I saw you out with at that restaurant?”
“He’s not old and he’s the owner of an art gallery in Dallas,” she said frostily. “It’s none of your business what I was doing with him.”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s none of my business!’” he thundered. “Doesn’t what we have between us matter at all to you?”
“Certainly it matters!” Clare’s voice was also rising. “But this has nothing to do with us! Don’t you trust me?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about trust!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Ryan Hastings! You don’t own me and you never will!”
“Does that mean you’re going to see him again!”
“That means it’s none of your business whether I do or not!” Her voice trembled with rage. “Why are you being so unreasonable? Are you drunk?”
“Not yet!” Ryan snarled, and slammed down the receiver.
Chapter Fourteen
Ryan sat in the smoky bar and motioned for the barmaid to bring him another bourbon. The music didn’t seem to be as loud as it had been when he’d arrived, and the people all seemed to be moving more slowly, as if they were underwater. He correctly assumed the alcohol was working; but the aching pain of Clare’s apparent unfaithfulness was undiminished. He paid the girl for the drink and tossed half of it down in one gulp.
“Hello there,” a sultry voice said quite near him. “Care if I join you?”
He looked up at the tall blonde and shrugged. “It’s okay with me.”
“I’m Regina Wharton,” she purred.
“Ryan Hastings.” He wished he hadn’t let her join him. Her perfume reminded him of Clare.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I haven’t been in Kilgore long.”
She took out a cigarette and gave him an opportunity to light it, but he appeared not to notice. She lit it herself and blew a stream of smoke upward. “This place is usually quite crowded, but tonight it’s dragging. Must be the weather.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Why didn’t she go away? Her knee brushed his beneath the small table and he shifted to give her more room.
“Have you been to the piano lounge at Nathan’s? It’s much nicer.”
“I know.” He tried to resign himself to her company.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” she observed with a smile. Breathing smoke, she French exhaled. Ryan glanced at her and looked away quickly, as if he had caught her doing something not quite proper.
Once more she nudged her knee to touch his and he looked at her sharply, though his vision was somewhat blurred.
“I’m so glad I came here tonight. Otherwise, we might never have met. What brings you to Kilgore?”
“I’m a geologist. I’m drilling a well outside of town.” He felt her foot rubbing against his ankle in an unmistakable signal. Although he started to pull away, he didn’t move. There seemed to be no reason to resist. The woman was not unattractive, though she looked too hard and calculating for his taste. At least she seemed to want him and not some gray-haired man that was old enough to be her father, as Clare apparently preferred. Ryan gazed at his glass.
“How fascinating! I’ve been in Mexico and have gotten so out of touch with what’s going on around here.” Regina leaned forward slightly so that the neck of her blouse parted to reveal her breasts. “Are you going to strike oil?” Her narrowed eyes gave the words a deeper meaning.
“That’s the general idea,” he said, tossing down the last of his drink.
She laughed delightedly. “That’s marvelous!” she exclaimed theatrically. “That calls for a celebration.”
“We haven’t hit it yet. In fact, we’ve only begun drilling.” In spite of himself, Ryan felt himself responding to the woman’s advances. After all, he reasoned, Clare doesn’t own me, either!
“Why wait until the last minute?” Regina murmured. “We could have our own celebration. Tonight.”
Ryan regarded her through the warm haze of his bourbon-clouded reason. Why not? he asked himself. Why the hell not? “Let’s go.”
He followed in his car as she drove slowly through the nearly deserted streets so as not to lose him at a stop light.
She pulled up in front of her ostentatiously large French provincial home and waited for him to open her car door.
By this time, the bourbon had dulled Ryan’s senses to the point of not noticing the piercing cold, and he had become somewhat maudlineven to the point that the creaking of the icy trees sounded remarkably like a heart breaking. He supposed, philo
sophically, that meant he was drunk. As he followed her into the house, he wished heartily that he was with Clare. Perhaps he could still leave.
“What can I fix you to drink?” Regina asked. “Brandy?”
“Bourbon. On the rocks.” One more drink couldn’t hurt. Then he would leave.
Regina handed him a glass of amber liquid and sat down on the silver couch. The room was done in neutrals and seemed to Ryan to be as frigid and stiff as the night outside. She patted the cushion beside her and he sat down.
“Are you always this quiet?” she queried.
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind tonight.” Without the smoky stench in the bar, he was even more aware of her perfume, and the dull ache in his chest deepened.
Regina sipped her brandy and studied him. He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen not in a pretty way, but rugged. Like the men on the beer commercials who rescued the floundering calves from the snow or plunged on horseback through flooded streams. She smiled. Lately, she had felt Neal Thorndyke’s interest was waning, which had prompted her visit to the bar. What better way to make him attentive than through jealousy, and who would do better for the job than the gorgeous man beside her?
“I don’t mind if you don’t feel talkative. Sometimes words aren’t necessary.” She lifted her finger and tickled the hair at the nape of his neck.
Ryan wished he hadn’t come, but he could see no way to leave gracefully now. And why should I? he asked himself. Clare doesn’t love me. Maybe she never will. I wonder if she let that man kiss her.
“Do you mind if I slip into a robe? This dress isn’t very comfortable,” Regina was saying seductively.
Ryan felt as if he had somehow stumbled onto a bad movie set. “It’s okay with me,” he said obligingly as the bourbon traced a trial of forgetfulness down his throat.
I can’t leave now, he thought as she left the room. But as
soon as she comes back, I’ll tell her I have to go. Then he thought, I wonder just how far Clare did let him go! The idea made Ryan shake with frustration.
Regina appeared in the doorway and, like an actress from an old, old movie, struck a seductive pose. ”Miss me?” she breathed.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’d better be going,” Ryan said, after glancing at the transparent robe and the nakedness beneath. “It’s getting late and”
“Silly,” Regina purred. “It’s not all that late.” Sensuously, she began to trace a design on his chest with her fingers.
A maddening vision of Clare doing exactly that with the stranger made Ryan wince. What if she let that bastard make love to her! Ryan’s intentions of leaving melted, and he let his desire for Regina build. Why should he let Clare get to him? She wasn’t the only woman in the world, nor even the only one who found him appealing! He could get by without her, if that was the way she wanted it, though it would take some effort. Regina’s red-tipped fingers were unbuttoning his shirt. As she slipped her hand inside his shirt and caressed his skin, Ryan gave in. He put down his glass, took her in his arms and kissed her. She wasn’t the woman he loved, but she was there. And maybe in her arms he could forget Clare and ease the pain that tore at his heart.
Regina held her lips more firmly than he liked and she jabbed at him with her tongue in a way he found almost repelling. The cigarette smoke on her breath was distasteful after the sweetness of Clare, but Clare had given herself to another man. The thought made him groan with pain and he kissed Regina roughly.
Her features were too knowing to be pretty, he reflected, and she was overly thin, with skin that had seen too much sun. But many of the men he knew would have found her desirable. Even if her eyes were blue rather than smoky gray and her hair unnaturally blond rather than rich brown. Ryan fumbled at her small breasts and tried to forget Clare’s supple body.
Feeling his passion rising as Regina expertly unfastened his zipper, Ryan untied the belt of her robe and kissed her thin shoulder. As he touched her hard breasts, Regina squealed playfully.
“Not here,” she protested coyly. “Not in the living room!” She caught his hand and led him into the hallway.
Ryan followed her upstairs to the pale, monotone bedroom. As she pulled down the silver satin bedspread, he silently removed his clothes.
“Oh, my!” she actually giggled. “You are fine!” She grasped his erect manhood firmly and stroked the shaft admiringly.
Ryan wished that he had left but felt unable to act upon the wish. Instead, he willed the bourbon to keep his brain foggy as Regina giggled again. Quickly, he pulled the robe away from her shoulders and kissed her.
“Not like that. You’ll rip it.” She stepped back and wriggled out of the robe like a snake shedding its skin. “There!” she said with a triumphant flourish.
Ryan appraised the length of her naked body noncommittally. It was no better or worse than others he’d seen. It would serve the purpose of making him forget Clare… if only momentarily.
Regina sidled up to him and pretended to pout as she ran her bony fingers over the hard ridges of his muscles. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?” she coaxed.
“Of course,” he said pliantly, hoping she wouldn’t sense his insincerity, as he fondled her breast.
“Well, then say so,” she teased, pulling his hand away.
Ryan sighed. He was in no mood for games. “You’re pretty.” Before she could demand more, he clamped his mouth to hers and eased her back onto the bed.
She arched her body beneath him and spread her legs invitingly. As Ryan entered her, she locked her legs around his waist.
Ryan was aware of her yelps of delight, but they were as a thing apart. He sought only the blinding oblivion of mounting passion and quick climax.
Soon they lay spent, their skins slick with sweat from exertion. Regina made a mewling sound, and he rolled over to let her breathe more easily.
“Oooh,” she sighed. “You don’t talk much, but you don’t need to. You’re great!”
Ryan grunted in what he hoped was a tone that implied the same about her performance. The last of the alcohol had left
his brain; and her chatter, as she recounted every detail of their physical encounter, prevented the escape of sleep. When at last she finished recapping their individual climaxes, he slid away.
“Thanks,” he said, trying not to notice the black smudges of mascara beneath her eyes and the lipstick-smeared sheet.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she smiled, running her hands provocatively over his hips.
Quickly, Ryan swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The brief interlude had not helped, and he felt only guilt at having used the woman.
“Wait a minute,” Regina protested as he pulled on his pants. “Where are you going?”
“Home. I have the early shift tomorrow.” He was lying, but she would never know.
“Oh.” Disappointment was written clearly on her face. “You’re welcome to stay the night, you know.”
Thanks, but I really have to go.”
Regina yawned and stretched. “Well, we’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ryan pulled on his shirt, stepped into his shoes.
“Okay if I don’t walk you to the door?” she asked. “I’m really tired.”
“That’s fine. No problem. I’m sure I can find my way out.” He strode with determination down the hall.
“Be a darling and lock up as you leave,” Regina called sleepily after him.
Ryan didn’t answer, but pulled the front door closed harder than was necessary to insure the house was secure. He felt such a disloyalty to Clare that he would have gladly turned back time to undo the last several hours if he could.
When he reached home and went to bed, sleep eluded him. All his thoughts were on Clare and his ridiculous jealousy. He thought uneasily about his tryst with Regina, but put it from his mind. He had no intention of ever seeing her again.
Regina knocked on the door of Neal Thorndyke’s office and went in w
ithout pausing. He greeted her with a smile and a kiss that was meant for her lips, though she turned her head to receive it on her check.
“How are you today?” he asked. “You look as if cold
weather agrees with you.” He sat back down behind his desk and moved a pile of papers over so Regina could sit on the corner nearest him.
“Why, thank you, Neal,” she replied as she eased one hip onto the desk and swung her silken leg back and forth teasingly. “As a matter of fact, I feel especially good today.”
“I suppose our date is still on for Friday night,” he said confidently.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I suppose so.”
“What? You ‘suppose so?’ What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing, Neal,” she soothed. “Just… nothing.”
He looked at her closely, and she averted her eyes and pretended to be very interested in the ring she wore on her right hand. “I know you too well, Regina Wharton.”
As if caught in a web of intrigue, she sighed. “I said it’s nothing.”
“Are you seeing someone else?” he asked, choosing the most unlikely suggestion that occurred to him.
Regina let her eyes grow big. “Who on earth told you?”
Neal stared at her in stunned disbelief. “What?”
She tried to blush but settled for looking flustered. “I haven’t known him long. He’s a geologist.” She checked Neal’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. “Ryan Hastings.”
“Hastings! Ryan Hastings?”
“You know him?” Regina asked in genuine surprise.
“I’ve heard of him. Everyone in oil has. He’s the top geologist in the business. I knew he was in town, but I had no idea you’d met him.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We… well, we never got around to talking about that.” She reached across the desk and picked up the paperweight she’d brought Neal from Mexico and examined it as if she had never seen it before.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He was turning a deep red and stood up abruptly.
“Really, Neal, I don’t think I should tell one man about another. It’s so tasteless.” She put down the paperweight and slid off the desk as if she were about to leave.
