Breath of Scandal

by Sandra Brown

  Forgetting about the peach in her hand, she folded her arms around his neck and leaned back, offering her throat and breasts to him. He kissed his way up to her lips. When their mouths fused, he growled with animal arousal.

  He turned her to face him and guided her legs to rest on his hips. As they kissed, her body squirmed against his, making him crazy.

  Against his mustache, she murmured, “Would you think I was forward if—”

  “No, not at all.”

  Her hand disappeared beneath her skirt, which was bunched around her waist. When her fingertips brushed him, he moaned. When her hand cupped his testicles, he muttered a mix of prayers and curses. And when she lifted his cock out of his jeans, he kissed her hard. She guided it into her body, and took all of it, slowly sheathing every hard inch.

  Dillon nudged the ground with his heel and the swing moved forward, driving him even higher into her. The pleasure was immense. Then the swing arced back and Jade was pressed down on him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  “Don’t let me hurt you,” he whispered.

  “It doesn’t hurt. But I can feel more of you than last night.”

  “I’m in deeper.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  The swing continued to rock. Each time it started to slow down or stop altogether, Dillon would give them a gentle push. He was ready to come before she was, but he held back. Dipping his head low, he whisked his tongue across her nipple, then rapidly fanned it until he felt her body begin to close around his like a velvet fist. She gave a series of choppy, breathy cries as her body milked from his a long climax.

  They clung to each other, damp with sweat and sticky with sex and peach juice. After a slumberous time, he raised his head and gazed into her face. He brushed damp tendrils of hair off her dewy cheeks. “I woke up this morning,” he began softly, “and before I even realized where I was, I wondered why I felt so good.”

  “I feel good, too, Dillon. I can never thank you for—”

  He laid his finger against her lips. “The pleasure was all mine.”

  “Not all yours.”

  “It was some great sex, Jade. But it was more than that.” He clasped his hands behind her head. “I liked having you asleep next to me.”

  “I liked that part, too,” she said mistily. “Very much. It’s the first time I’ve ever slept with a man. I didn’t know that it could feel so safe. No wonder people make such a big deal over it.”

  “No wonder.” He grinned and pulled her against his chest.

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “Dillon?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Last night, just as I was about to, you know, for the first time…” she said haltingly.

  “Yes?”

  “You said, ‘No, Jade.’ Why did you say no?”

  “I was going to put on a condom first.”

  “Oh. I didn’t even think about that.”

  “Well, you should have, but since you didn’t, let me reassure you that there’s no need for you to panic. The worst that could happen is that you could get pregnant.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “I’d never strap you with a baby.”

  His eyes delved into hers. “I can’t think of anything nicer.”

  On a catchy little breath, she asked, “Are you saying you love me?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “I love you, too, Dillon. I love you, too.” She softly kissed his lips before returning her head to his shoulder.

  The only sounds they could hear were those of their matched heartbeats and the squeak of old rope. They stayed in the swing long after it had coasted to a full stop.

  * * *

  Myrajane Griffith parked her gray Ford sedan in the semicircular driveway in front of Ivan Patchett’s house. Neal’s invitation to brunch had come like a bolt out of the blue. Myrajane had retired two years ago. Since then, she hadn’t seen or heard from the Patchetts. She had often thought it tacky of them to present her with her gold pin, shake her hand, and then forget her entirely after working for them for thirty-five years.

  Of course it was Lamar’s fault that folks shunned her. Who wanted to be friends with the mother of a man who had died in disgrace in a condemned, heathen city? Not that she believed a word of what folks said about her son. Lamar had not been a pervert. He had not engaged in the unspeakable aberrations people said he had. He had died of pneumonia and a rare form of skin cancer.

  To this day, she refused to believe his monstrous deathbed confessions. He had made admissions that weren’t true because his mind had been distorted by painkilling drugs and the brainwashing of a medical staff on a witch hunt. Everyone in San Francisco was so terrified of AIDS that anybody who got sick was believed to have it.

  Obviously the Patchetts didn’t believe the lies any more than she did, or they never would have invited her into their home. As she gazed at the impressive facade of the house she had always envied, she pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves. Her hands were damp with perspiration caused by nervous excitement.

  Whatever could Ivan want to see her about? Neal had hinted that it was important and urgent. It really didn’t matter to her what was on Ivan’s mind. She was flattered to be summoned.

  Her floral voile dress was perfect for the morning appointment. It was several seasons old, but it was a quality garment. Her daddy had always said that it was better to own a single quality item than a dozen that were substandard. Whenever Myrajane went downtown, she was appalled by how women dressed nowadays. They didn’t seem to care what they wore. You couldn’t tell quality folk from trash because they all dressed badly.

  Propriety and modesty were things of the past—just like the Cowan dynasty, just like the family estate. It had recently sold, she had heard. The rumor was that the bank was glad to unload it. When she heard about it, she had cried bitter tears.

  Sadly, some things were irretrievable. She would never live in her family’s house again, but, to her dying day, she was going to cling to the gracious traditions of the past, such as never wearing slacks in public and never appearing at a social gathering without gloves and a handkerchief. On her way up the veranda steps, she adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat, which would be appropriate until five o’clock in the afternoon. It was never going to be said of the Cowans that they didn’t know how to conduct themselves with dignity and decorum. As the last living one, Myrajane took it as her personal responsibility to uphold the reputation of her maiden name.

  When Ivan’s housekeeper answered the door, his guest handed her an engraved calling card. “I’m Myrajane Cowan Griffith. Mr. Patchett is expecting me.”

  * * *

  When they arrived at her house, Jade asked Dillon to come in with her. “I’m a mess,” he protested. “I haven’t shaved, and the hairs on my chest are stuck together with peach juice.”

  “You’re no messier than I am. Please. I’d like to cook your breakfast.”

  “I didn’t even buy you dinner first.”

  “What do you mean ‘first’?”

  He laughed at the blue glare she shot him. “I’ll come in for coffee—one quick cup.”

  With their arms looped around each other’s waists, they ambled toward the front door. “How do you know Graham and Cathy aren’t waiting inside for me with loaded shotguns?”

  “They’ll be happy about us,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m happy.” Jade went in ahead of Dillon and almost collided with Cathy, who was rushing out. “Good morning.”

  “Thank heaven you’re home,” the older woman said breathlessly. “I just woke up and found a note from Graham. He took off on his bike to meet Dillon and you at Dillon’s trailer.”

  Jade ignored the inquisitive inflection at the end of Cathy’s sentence. “He knows better than to leave the house without permission, even on a Saturday,” she exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll have to ground him for a week.”

 
; Dillon laid his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “Maybe he was worried about you. Did you think of that? It was irresponsible of us not to call. If Graham’s on his way to the site, I’ll catch up with him on my way out there.”

  “I thought you were staying for coffee.”

  “That was before.”

  “But—”

  “Why don’t I go on ahead and rendezvous with Graham. When you and Cathy are dressed, you can meet us at my trailer. I’ll treat everybody to pecan pancakes at the Waffle Shack.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Jade couldn’t keep from smiling. Nor could she remain angry at Graham. This morning, animosity just wasn’t possible. “Cathy?”

  “I’m all for it.”

  “Good,” Dillon said. “See you in a little while.” He placed his finger beneath Jade’s chin and tilted her head back for a soft kiss. Dreamily Jade watched him cross the lawn and climb into his pickup. He waved as he drove away. When she turned around, Cathy was watching her shrewdly.

  “I’m surprised,” she said. “I didn’t expect him to be someone like Dillon.”

  “ ‘Him’?”

  “The man who released you. I would have expected someone from the other end of the macho spectrum, someone not quite so physical.”

  “Dillon’s very sensitive.”

  Affectionately, Cathy touched Jade’s tangled hair. “He would have to be to overcome your fear.”

  “Since his wife and child died, he’s been grappling with his own dragon. I’ve been as good for him as he’s been for me. That’s the best thing about it.”

  With a skeptical eye, Cathy took in her deshabille. “You’re sure that’s the best thing?”

  Jade laughed out loud, a throaty, sexy laugh that would have been foreign to her yesterday. God, it was great finally to be a full-fledged member of the human race. No longer alienated by fear and repression, she was now in on all the grown-up jokes.

  Cathy must have read the answers to her myriad questions in Jade’s shining eyes. Her own glistened with tears. “You look positively radiant, Jade.”

  “I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” she said without qualification.

  * * *

  They never made it to the Waffle Shack that morning. Jade and Cathy arrived at the construction site within forty minutes of Dillon’s departure from their house. Loner circled the Cherokee, barking, glad to see them. As they were trying to calm him down, Dillon emerged from his trailer.

  Jade’s heart skipped a few beats at the first sight of her lover after their brief separation. Lover. The word was a strange addition to her vocabulary. She repeated it several times in her mind, trying to accustom herself to its sound and implications. Pride and possessiveness bloomed inside her chest. Joy bubbled from a wellspring of newfound love.

  Then he said, “Graham’s not here, Jade.”

  Her ebullience fizzled. “He’s not here?”

  “Oh, dear God,” Cathy murmured. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have overslept.”

  “Boys wander off. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Jade could tell by the furrow between Dillon’s brows that his words carried little conviction. “Where could he be?”

  “I don’t know. I took his normal route on my way out here and didn’t see him anywhere along the way. I was expecting him to be here when I arrived. He wasn’t. Loner’s food bowl was empty, so I don’t think Graham’s been here at all. The first thing he does when he gets here is feed the dog whether he needs to be fed or not. I drove to the other side of the site, where they’ve been surveying, but there was no sign of him.”

  Jade hugged her elbows, although the sun was well up by now and the day was much too warm for her to have chills. “Maybe he went fishing,” she said hopefully.

  “Maybe. I was on my way to check his favorite spot on the channel when y’all drove in.” He squeezed her upper arm reassuringly. “Stay put. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He drove away in the company pickup.

  “Let’s go into your office to wait,” Cathy suggested.

  Jade allowed herself to be led into the portable building, but after they got inside she couldn’t sit still. She paced in front of the windows, glancing out every few seconds in the hope of seeing Dillon returning with Graham.

  “Could his note to you have been forged? Do you think it was written under duress?”

  “Of course not,” Cathy said. “Graham slipped the note under my bedroom door and left an open box of PopTarts on the kitchen table. I think he was on his way out here to see Dillon and you, just as his note said.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “He got distracted and stopped somewhere.”

  “He’s not supposed to stop unless he has permission to.”

  “Children sometimes forget. Sometimes they flagrantly disobey.”

  “Not this time,” Jade said stubbornly. “Besides, Graham isn’t a child.” A new thought struck her. “Do you think he was upset because I stayed out all night with Dillon?”

  “I seriously doubt it. Graham fell in love with him long before you realized you had.” Jade cast her a sharp glance. “What surprises you, Jade? That Graham loves the man, or that you love him? Or are you surprised that I knew what was happening between Dillon and you before either of you were aware of it yourselves?

  “It was obvious from the day I met him how Dillon felt about you, and equally as obvious that you were falling in love with him. As perceptive as he is, don’t you think Graham would have seen the signs, too? He’s crazy about Dillon. I’m certain he’s delighted that you finally got together.”

  Jade was distracted by a noise outside. “He’s back.” She ran out the door just as the telephone rang. “Cathy, get that, will you?”

  Graham wasn’t in the truck. “I didn’t see him anywhere,” Dillon told her. “I drove along the banks of the channel. There was no sign of him or his bike.” Jade crammed her fist against her lips. He drew her into his arms. “Don’t panic. He’s somewhere, and we’ll find him.”

  “Jade,” Cathy called from the open doorway. “The telephone is for you.”

  “Take a message.”

  “It’s Neal Patchett.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Dillon drove with only one consideration—speed. “Those sons of bitches. What did they do, snatch him off the side of the road?”

  “I don’t know. Neal didn’t say.” Jade’s eyes were fixed on the road. “All he said was that Graham and Myrajane Griffith were at his house having a conversation he thought would interest me.”

  “Myrajane is…?”

  “Lamar Griffith’s mother.”

  Dillon reached across the seat and tightly squeezed her hand. “They can’t hurt you anymore, Jade.”

  “They’ve got my son.”

  “They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on him.”

  “Maybe not physically. But they’ve got their ways, believe me. You don’t know them like I do.”

  No sooner had Neal delivered his chilling message than she had dropped the office telephone. She quickly removed something from the small safe beneath her desk before running for the door.

  “I’m going with you,” Dillon had said. “Cathy, lock up the office, please. Take Jade’s car home and wait for us there. We’ll call when we can.” Dillon intercepted Jade at her Cherokee and guided her toward his pickup.

  “This is my problem, Dillon. My fight. I’ll handle it.”

  “Not without me. So stop wasting time and get in.”

  Now, she was glad he had come along. His was a strong, reassuring presence. Besides, he drove more aggressively than she would have had the strength or presence of mind for.

  They arrived at the Patchetts’ estate in record time. Jade bolted from the pickup the instant it came to a stop. She raced up the steps and across the veranda. Dillon was right behind her as she barreled through the front door.

  “Graham!”

  Her shout echoed off the walls and tall ceilings.

/>   “He’s in here.”

  The scene in the formal front parlor looked as deceptively innocent as a stage setting. There was a steaming silver tea service on a low table, along with biscuits and jam, a fresh fruit compote, and a serving platter of paper-thin slices of baked ham. No one was eating.

  Myrajane Griffith was seated in a wingback chair, her floral dress clashing with the patterned upholstery. Her rouge had been applied with a heavy hand, making two vibrant coins of color on her wrinkled, pale face. A pair of white gloves lay in her lap. She was wearing a ridiculous hat… and a murderous glare aimed at Jade.

  Ivan, sitting in his wheelchair, looked like a shapeless mass held together by ill-fitting clothes. His smile was sly and malicious. His sunken eyes looked like windows into hell.

  Despite his swollen nose and bruised chin, Neal appeared as well groomed and unruffled as ever. He had on gray linen slacks and a pink oxford shirt. He was standing in front of the marble fireplace, one elbow negligently propped on the carved mantel. He was swirling the contents of a highball glass, which looked to be a Bloody Mary.

  Jade took in all this at a glance, then focused on her son, who was seated alone in a chair. She rushed toward him. “Graham, are you all right?”

  He sprang from the chair, circled it, and placed it between them. His hands alternately flexed and gripped the backrest, which had dogwood blossoms carved into the wood. “Get away from me. I hate you.”

  Jade drew up short. “Graham! What are you saying?”

  “You let him die. I could have helped him, but you wouldn’t let me, so he died.”

  “Who?”

  “Hutch,” Neal informed her. “He’s no longer with us.”

  Jade was momentarily stunned. Donna Dee sprang to mind, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her. “Hutch is dead?”

  “Donna Dee called us with the bad news late last night.”

  “You killed him!” Graham shouted.

  “Don’t speak to your mother in that tone of voice,” Dillon said sharply.

  “You, you, shut up,” Graham sputtered. He was doing his best not to shed the unmanly tears standing in his eyes. “She’s a whore, and now you know it, too. She probably screwed you all night.”