by Francis Ray
The phone rang as she passed the end of the counter. Setting the plate down, she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“I’m not meaner or smarter,” Gina said, her voice weary.
“What happened?” Celeste asked, putting her plate and glass of green tea on the table. She listened as Gina told her about her confrontation with Gabrielle. “Give it time. I’d say you’re off to a good start.”
“I just pray you’re right. I don’t want to lose her because I’m too strict,” Gina said, worry echoing in her voice.
“Being too lenient will be just as bad.” Celeste took her seat and sipped her tea. “Hang tight.”
“I suppose. On the bright side, I have another job with Max.” She explained about her deal to cook for Max and his aunt.
“You’re a fabulous cook. They’re lucky to have you.” Celeste leaned back in her cushioned chair. “I’m lucky you and your aunt taught me.”
“I almost believe my life is turning around when I’m at Journey’s End with Max, who couldn’t be nicer, and then I have to come home and fight with Gabrielle.” Weariness laced each word. “It’s becoming more and more difficult not to hate Robert for what he’s put this family through.”
“I already told you I’m up for doing a number on that precious convertible of his,” Celeste said. “Need I remind you that I have friends who’ll give us an airtight alibi?”
“Evil for evil never works. Besides, you’re interested in a policeman, working in the home of another. How would it look if you were arrested?”
“We won’t get caught, so that’s not an issue,” Celeste said with every confidence.
“So you say, but I’m still against it.”
“Life can turn on you in the blink of an eye,” Celeste said, recalling her three public breakups.
“I just wish Gabrielle would revert back to her old loving self.”
“She will. It just takes time.”
“Hope so. Good night.”
“Night.” Celeste hung up the phone. “Now if someone would just give me a pep talk about Alec,” she said with a sigh.
Picking up her fork, she knew it would take a lot more than talk. “But I’m not giving up.”
The doorbell chimed. Frowning, Celeste went to the intercom. She wasn’t expecting anyone and hoped it wasn’t a salesperson. “Hello.”
“Er, Celeste. It’s, er, Alec.”
Speechless, she stared at the intercom.
“I— we forgot to set a time for me to pick you up on Sunday.”
Thank you, Yolanda. “Hold on.” Releasing the lever, Celeste went to the front door and opened it.
Alec stood on the porch, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his wide shoulders hunched. He looked like a man with a problem. “I don’t have your phone number.”
“No, you don’t.” She stepped back. “Please come in.”
He hesitated, then brushed past her. He’d showered and put on cologne as well. A tantalizing mixture of orange and spice. He smelled good enough to eat. She shut the door. “I was about to eat, would you like to join me?”
She thought she saw the corners of his sensual mouth tilt upward. “You know, you’re always trying to feed me.”
“Imagine that.” Hoping he’d follow, she went to the cabinet in the kitchen and set another place setting, then prepared his plate. “Is iced tea all right or would you like bottled water or a Pepsi?”
“Tea is fine.”
Celeste grabbed a glass, filled it with ice, then tea. “Please have a seat.” She set the glass on the table and started to sit. “You were saying?”
Alec jumped to hold her chair, then took his seat next to hers at the small round table. He looked at the salad, then back up to her. “You made this?”
She picked up a fork before answering, “Yes.”
He briefly bowed his head to bless his food, picked up his fork, and took a bite, chewed. “You really can cook.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to be casual when he looked absolutely scrumptious. His thick hair was damp. She could just imagine water sliding down his muscled chest, his flat stomach, farther still.
“Like I said, I don’t have your phone number.”
Flushing, she dragged her mind back to the conversation. Did he want it for himself? “I’ll give it to you before you leave. Would you like crackers or bread?”
“This is fine, actually better than fine.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Patrick is the cook. I usually pick up take-out.”
Be careful, Celeste. Don’t be too anxious. “Charleston is full of fine restaurants. Several are not far from Maureen’s house. I can give you a list if you’d like.”
Alec studied her a long time, then returned to eating his salad. “I might need the names of the men you recommended next week. I guess I didn’t see the numbers you left.”
“No problem. I’ll get that, too, before you leave. Would you like more salad?”
Alec looked down at his empty plate. “No, thank you.”
“I’ll get you the numbers.” Rising from the table, she went to a small desk in the kitchen and wrote the information on a piece of business letterhead. “Here you are.”
Alec rose, taking the paper. “I’ll pick you up around ten forty.”
“Or I can meet you there?” Celeste suggested. “I might not be able to stay to go sailing.”
His beautiful black eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you didn’t have plans.”
“It now seems as if I was wrong.” She smiled innocently. “I’ll show you out.” At the door, she pulled it open. “I’ll expect you Sunday at ten forty unless you have to cancel.”
“Patrick and Brianna expect us.”
“Then I wouldn’t like to disappoint them. Good night, Alec.”
Frowning, he stared at her, not moving.
“Was there something else?”
“I—” He glanced down at his feet, then up again. “My family is not going to believe that we’re dating if you keep acting the way you are now.”
Folding her arms, she lifted a brow. “And how is that?”
“Like you could care less if you ever saw me again,” he answered.
The bite in his voice let Celeste know he wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asked.
His gaze captured hers. “Yes, I guess.”
Unfolding her arms, she stepped closer. “Make up your mind, Alec; what do you want from me?”
“I already know what I want from you,” he rasped. His nostrils flared, his gaze narrowed on her lips, his hand lifted to slide around her neck.
“So, what’s the problem?” she asked.
His hand fell. “I’m trying to sort through a lot of things. A woman like you could complicate matters.”
She took another step until her unbound nipples brushed his shirt. “What kind of woman is that?”
“A woman that fulfills a man’s every fantasy.”
Bolder than she ever believed possible, she slid one finger down the curve of his cheek to his tempting lips. “What’s your fantasy, Alec?”
He jerked her into his arms, his hot mouth fusing on hers. Sensations pummeled her. Their tongues met, fed on each other. She heard a groan. She wasn’t sure who emitted the sound and didn’t care. She feasted on him and he returned the erotic pleasure.
She felt herself being lifted, faintly heard the door slam. His hand cupped her breast, causing her knees to tremble. His thumb grazed the sensitive nipple, causing it to bud to hardness.
Lifting his head, his breathing as rough and as labored as hers, he rasped, “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did, and we both enjoyed it.”
“Still pushing, Celeste.”
Withdrawing her arms from around his neck, she took an unsteady step backward. “Habit. Good night, Alec.”
His expression changed, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to figure her out. “Night. Celeste.” Turning, he opened the door and left
.
Celeste plopped in the nearest chair, her heart still thumping out of control, her legs unsteady. Kissing Alec was like catching the tail of a comet, wild, exhilarating, dangerous. Playing it cool toward him was going to require all of her willpower.
Alec got to her in the best possible way. During dinner tonight she’d caught him looking at her a couple of times like he wanted to pull the top of her dress down over her breasts and put his mouth there.
Her legs quivered. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain cool when all she wanted was to give free rein to the sensual attraction arching like an electric current between them. She wanted to find out where all those hot looks of his would lead. But more than that, she wanted him to find the peace he sought.
Could she accomplish both, or was she doomed to finally find a man who made her heart glad, her body hum, only to lose him?
Gabrielle was taking a chance, but it had to be done. She huddled beneath the bedcovers waiting for her mother to check on her. None of her friends had to go to bed by nine; some of them could stay up as late as they liked. Not wanting to be called a baby, she’d told her friends she had an 11:00 P.M. bedtime. All cell phones, however, were discontinued at nine, but there were always ways around that.
A brief knock sounded on her door. With the covers pulled up to her neck, she pretended to be asleep. Moments later she felt the brush of her mother’s lips on her forehead.
“Sleep well, Gabrielle. I love you,” her mother whispered.
No, you don’t, but that’s all right because my father loves me. After slowly counting to two hundred, Gabrielle opened her eyes. Not taking any chances, she pulled the covers over her head, activated her girlfriend’s cell phone, and called her father.
Parents didn’t know anything. They might take your cell phone, but all you had to do was borrow a friend’s, a friend who you would do the same for when theirs was taken away.
“Yeah?”
“Daddy,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Gabby, is that you?” he asked.
Hearing her father use his affectionate pet name for her, Gabrielle felt better already. “Yes, sir. I want to come live with you.” She had thought about it for a long time. “You could drop me off at school every morning, and I could take a bus home.”
There came the briefest hesitation. “Is your mother on you again?”
She clutched the cell. She knew he’d understand. “She always takes Ashton’s side. I have to wash dishes while he plays with that stupid soccer ball.”
“I’ll talk to her about it. Don’t worry. Now Daddy has to go, but I’ll see you next Saturday. Night, Gabby.”
“But, Daddy—” Her eyes closed on hearing the dial tone.
Gabrielle shut off the phone, got up to put it in her backpack so she wouldn’t forget it, then crept back to bed. Her father still might let her come live with him. He hadn’t said no. He’d become angry on her behalf.
A moment of unease slithered down her spine. Perhaps she should have asked him not to mention to her mother the day and time she’d called. Not wanting to take a chance and call him again, Gabrielle decided to call him tomorrow and explain. He’d understand. She could always count on him.
Feeling better, Gabrielle closed her eyes. Unlike her mother, her father loved her. And soon she’d be living with him.
Robert took another tour through the fitness center. There was a new woman who’d been giving him the once-over for a couple of weeks now. He’d been playing it cool, but he was definitely interested.
He watched her lift the five-pound weights, the slight bounce of her full breasts, the way the shorts fit her thighs, cupped her butt, her woman’s softness. Man, he had it good. He couldn’t have picked a better profession. He got as much action as he wanted and got paid at the same time.
He stopped in front of the brunette he’d been watching. “You’re doing well, Doris, but then you were already in good shape.”
“A woman has to take care of herself,” she purred, giving him a slow once-over.
He let his gaze travel back over her. He’d perfected looking over a woman without leering. “I can’t see a thing that needs improving on.”
She smiled, ran her tongue seductively over her bottom lip. “Do you offer the services of a personal trainer?”
Better and better. “You’re looking at him. Why don’t you come into my office when you’re finished and we can talk.”
“I’ll do that.”
Robert walked away. Another woman to fill his needs as Gina never could. In his office, he checked his stash of condoms, the chilled bottle of wine in the refrigerator, then went to sit behind his desk.
He glanced at the picture of Gabrielle and Ashton in the silver frame they’d given him for Father’s Day. He hadn’t been able to be with them long the last time because he’d had a date. He cared about them, but he had his whole life to be with them. This was his time, and he was going to live life to the fullest.
Women loved that he’d been married, had children, sympathized with him that his wife didn’t understand him.
A knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”
The door opened and the woman he’d been talking to entered. He moved to greet her and locked the door behind her. Yeah, life was great, and on his terms.
“At your service, Doris.” His hand went to her breast.
TWELVE
Alec had a sleepless night. This time it wasn’t the face of the man he’d killed who haunted him but Celeste’s, beguiling one moment, indifferent the next. Sitting up in bed, he planted his feet on the floor, his head in his hands.
She was driving him crazy. Last night after he’d left her he’d sat in his car a good fifteen minutes before his hands were steady enough to drive. If one kiss made him rock hard, how much more would sinking into her satin heat do?
Groaning, Alec pushed upward and headed for the shower. Stepping inside the tile enclosure, he turned the five jets on full blast. They wouldn’t help, but for the moment it was all he could do. Celeste was addictive; one taste and you wanted more.
Only he couldn’t have more. Once had been too much, and she’d known how it affected him. She’d stood there, her lips moist and tempting after their kiss, and calmly told him good night.
His eyes closed, his palms pressed against the wall of the shower, Alec took one calming breath after the other. If she could act cool, then so could he.
But his body ached, wanted. Lifting his head and opening his eyes, he reached for the soap and washcloth. Get it together, Dunlap. No woman had ever thrown him and none ever would.
Big talk. So why could he so easily visualize her here with him, the water running off her silken skin, his hands and mouth following, wringing cries of pleasure from her lips, lips that he thought about on his body more and more?
In a foul mood, he viciously twisted the knobs to turn off the water. Thinking like that wasn’t going to help.
Stepping out of the enclosure, he reached for the large white bath towel from a stack on the counter. He rubbed the fluffy cotton cloth briskly through his hair, took a few swipes over his body, then wrapped it carelessly around his waist. He reached for his briefs and heard a noise.
His head jerked up. It was only half past six. Celeste didn’t come until around eight. He went to the nightstand. Opening the drawer, he reached for his service revolver. As if his hand hit an impenetrable wall, he stopped inches away. His fist clenched with rage, with fear he didn’t want to face.
Resisting the urge to slam the drawer shut, he went to the fireplace and picked up a poker. Quietly he crept to the partially open bedroom door, flattening himself against the wall so he could look into the hallway.
He didn’t hear anything else, but he wasn’t about to think it was his imagination. He wasn’t that jumpy. Someone besides him was in the house. The maid and housekeeper weren’t returning to get the house in order until two days before Maureen and Simon were due to return.
He cou
ld call the police, but he had no intention of answering questions about why he had a poker in his hand instead of a gun. He eased into the hallway. His room was at the end of the hallway. He couldn’t get a clear view of the stairs.
He started down the hall, his bare feet soundless on the runner, the poker gripped like a baseball bat ready to swing. Reaching the end of the hall, he peered over the stairs. Nothing.
Then he heard a noise again. This time from Maureen and Simon’s room. Their three-week-long trip away had been well publicized. Thinking about Celeste last night, Alec had failed to set the alarm for the morning. Since he slept so poorly he was always up early to cut it off before Celeste arrived.
Chastising himself, he eased down the hallway to the open door of the master suite. A quick peep into the room revealed nothing. He stepped inside and heard a clinking sound coming from the bathroom. His hand tightening on the poker, he advanced in that direction. You picked the wrong house, bud.
Ready to swing, Alec stepped through the door connecting the bathroom. And froze. This time for a completely different reason.
“Celeste!”
Celeste shot up from crouching on the floor, wheeling as she did. Her eyes wide, she pressed her hand to her chest.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I—” she stammered, glancing from the poker at his side back to him.
“Talk,” he rasped, trying to combat the adrenaline rushing though him, mixed with arousal.
For once she couldn’t seem to get the words out. Alec frowned. She couldn’t possibly be afraid of him. He took a step toward her, felt the towel slip. Saw her eyes widen, not with fear but sexual curiosity—and reached to catch the towel a second too late.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, her eyes staring at a part of him that hungered for her; then she turned away, which probably saved both of them.
Grumbling, Alec snatched up the towel, tried and failed to secure it around his waist. “I’ll be back,” he rasped, and left. In his room he replaced the poker, pulled on his briefs, sweat-pants, and a T-shirt. No way was he going to get on his jeans in his condition.
