INSIDE HER FATHER’S HOUSE, Mallory, who’d entered moments before, having indulged in a rare after-work swim, heard the door chimes. “I can tell you’re busy cooking something delicious, Marta, judging by that wonderful smell. I’ll get the door. Are you or Dad expecting anyone?” she called into the kitchen, her voice muffled as she toweled her wet hair.
Marta responded from the depths of the commercial-size kitchen. But her words didn’t penetrate the fleecy towel.
Concerned more with the water tracks she was leaving on the black marble entry floor than with who might be calling on her dad, Mallory hurriedly yanked open the heavy door, expecting at most to direct a deliveryman elsewhere.
It’d be impossible to judge who was more shocked by her sudden appearance in a skimpy bikini—Mallory, Connor or Claire, whose breath escaped audibly. “I thought you said she had her own place,” Claire muttered in an accusing voice.
“Mallory?” Connor sounded incredulous. And Mallory’s hands shook so hard, she had trouble dragging the wet towel off her head. She made a fumbled attempt to cover the greater expanse of flesh left open to the scrutiny of her unwelcome guests.
“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask at last. “I skipped my after-work visit with Liddy Bea. Because D-Dad left a message at my office saying you were in town and would be stopping by to see her this afternoon.”
“I take it he didn’t tell you he’d invited Claire and me to stay at Forrest House?” Connor, jarred by Mallory’s thin frame, shifted his eyes from her the instant Claire’s fingernails dug into his arm. Yet it hammered inside his head that Mallory had lost too much weight. Though always leanly built, she’d never looked as gaunt as she did now. Her skin used to be perpetually tanned. One of the first things that attracted Connor—and everyone else—to Mallory had been her all-American-girl looks. Looks that were secondary to her limitless energy. Today, however, she appeared tired. Drawn.
Claire? Blinking, Mallory forced her eyes off Connor to focus on the cool-eyed blonde clinging to his arm. She understood, even before formal introductions were made, that this was Connor’s bride-to-be. Or, for all Mallory knew, they could be married already. Feeling her head begin to swim and her grip on the door handle weaken, she fought against losing the remnants of her self-control.
Fortunately, Marta burst out of the kitchen carrying a silver tray filled with a pitcher of lemonade and frosty glasses. “Senator Brad said we should make the O’Rourkes feel at home, Miss Mallory. I’ll set these cold drinks on the courtyard table, if you’ll show them to the blue suite on your way up to change.”
“We’ll need two rooms,” Connor interjected smoothly. “Claire and I aren’t married. We’re just engaged.”
Claire, who’d miraculously managed to recover her voice, squeezed Connor’s arm. “Come on, darling. I’m sure we’re dealing with two modern women here.” Her cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile sent a clear message to Mallory. A message underscored by the flash of her diamond engagement ring, as Claire deliberately tightened her possessive hold on Connor’s arm. “It’s so like him, to worry about my reputation,” she murmured in an aside to Marta. “On the drive here, we discussed our need for privacy. But with one room, we’d have all we need.”
Connor shifted away from Claire’s possessive hold, too late for Mallory to see. She busily knotted the towel around her breasts while leading the way up a circular staircase.
Marta missed nothing. “Senator Brad didn’t specify the number of rooms. We have plenty. I’ll leave this tray here on the hall table. It’ll take me two shakes of a lamb’s tail to move Ms. Claire’s suitcase from the blue room to the violet one. You’ll love the violet room,” she informed Claire, motioning her guests left at the top landing.
Mallory seemed to have disappeared.
“Miss Beatrice, rest her soul, decorated the violet room herself. She reserved it for special guests. Wait till you see the sitting room that opens onto a private veranda,” Marta murmured. She popped quickly into the blue bedroom and sorted Claire’s bags from Connor’s. Then she rejoined Claire.
Claire glared over her shoulder at Connor, who lagged behind the others. But Marta turned a corner at the end of the long hall, hiding him from view. She dragged Claire into a suite about as far from Connor’s as a body could get and remain in the same house.
“Oh, this is really nice,” Claire exclaimed, once she took a moment to inspect the antique furnishings. “But couldn’t you give Connor and me connecting rooms?”
Marta, involved in opening violet-sprigged brocade drapes, could have missed hearing Claire’s request. “Dinner’s at eight,” she announced. “Senator Brad prefers informal meals except on Sundays. I’ll go move the lemonade to the courtyard.”
Marta peered at a watch worn on a thick gold chain looped around her neck. “You’ll have time for a shower before dinner. Or a swim. If you didn’t bring a suit, Miss Mallory stocks a variety of styles and sizes in the pool house.”
Claire again attempted to ask for a room closer to Connor but failed to get her wish out before Marta sped from the room.
Slowly massaging her temples, Claire wrenched open her suitcase, found her travel kit and shook out two analgesic tablets. She stalked into the adjoining bath in search of water with which to take the pills, and stopped short, gazing raptly at a pale lavender Jacuzzi tucked into a secluded corner of the room.
Which was precisely where Connor found her some thirty minutes later. “Claire?” He opened her bedroom door after receiving no response to his knock. As Claire’s suitcase lay open on the bed and the clothing she’d had on was strewn about, he knew this was the right room. Drawn by faint strains of music and a mysterious rumble, Connor opened a second door. A blast of steam hit him full in the face.
Once the vapor dissipated, he saw why Claire hadn’t heard his knock. Cuban music pulsed from a built-in CD player. A bottle of wine and a crystal glass she’d unearthed from somewhere danced on a table attached to a bubbling Jacuzzi. Up to her neck in suds, Claire had her eyes closed tight.
He would’ve backed out of the room and left her to her enjoyment had she not lazily opened one eye. “Hey!” She raised the glass, half filled with dark-red wine. “You’ll find another glass on the top shelf in that white cupboard.” Her instructions were slightly blurred.
Connor took a second look at the wine bottle and judged there probably wasn’t enough left in it to fill a second glass. “I’ve been downstairs with the lemonade, waiting for you. I made a fair dent in that pitcher.” He patted his flat stomach.
Claire’s gaze followed the path of his hand. Her eyes, already bright from the wine she’d consumed, grew slumberous. “Lemonade is for children, Connor. If I must dine with your former lover, I deserve, uh, need something stronger.”
“I thought we were going to use the time before dinner to discuss what we learned from Dr. Dahl.”
“So come over here, big guy, and we’ll discuss.” Claire waggled her wineglass and gave him a naughty grin.
Conner smiled indulgently. “Finish your soak, Claire. Dress in something casual, and I’ll meet you downstairs. The inner courtyard is directly to the right of the main entry. You can’t miss it.”
“Can’t we talk later? Oh, all right,” she snapped. “I’ll be down shortly. At least top off my glass before you go.” She held it unsteadily.
Connor decided she didn’t need more wine. Stepping farther into the room, he felt overpowered by the heavy rose scent rising from her tub. Trying not to breathe, he snatched a glass from the cupboard, then reached for the bottle, only to be tipped off balance when Claire lunged up and grabbed his shirtfront with wet, soapy hands.
“Lose the clothes and join me,” she said huskily, scant seconds before she mashed her mouth over his.
Connor couldn’t catch his breath. And both his hands were otherwise occupied. One held tight to the wine bottle, the other to the glass he was afraid might shatter all over Claire and the tub.
It w
as a brief struggle. One that ended with the front of Connor’s clean shirt soaked through and Claire ultimately getting the message that he wasn’t kissing her back. Releasing him with a sigh, she slid into the tub again. The resultant splash drenched his khaki pants.
“I’ve already showered, for Pete’s sake.” He retreated a safe distance. “What on earth has gotten into you, Claire?”
“Into me? I’ve got a flash for you, bud. I’m the woman you’re supposed to love.”
His irritation muted by a stab of guilt, Connor took his time returning the wine bottle and empty glass to the table where Claire set hers down with a thwack. He could no longer deny that something was eroding his feelings for her.
As his guilt increased, Connor swung aside and grabbed a towel to blot up the water on his shirt. “I know all I’ve done these past few days is apologize, Claire. Maybe it’s being in Tallahassee again. Or maybe it’s the jolt I got walking into Liddy Bea’s hospital room—and confronting the fact that I really do have a child.” Connor stopped pacing. “I need some space. Things have happened to change me from the man who put that ring on your finger. But…that scene just now…isn’t you, either, Claire.”
She sank farther under the water. “My robe’s hanging on the back of the bathroom door,” she said quietly. “Will you hand it to me before you go, Connor? I’ll dress and come downstairs. Will…Mallory be there?”
“She wasn’t when I came to see what was keeping you. I haven’t laid eyes on her since we walked in. Claire, I told you that’s history. Don’t be jealous of Mallory.”
“Of course I’m jealous of her,” Claire snapped, ripping the robe from his hands. Standing, she belted it swiftly around her. “You two share a child. Not only that, she crooks her little finger and you come running.” Claire’s motions were jerky as she shut off the Jacuzzi motor and let the water out of the tub.
“That’s not how it happened. You sound as if you think she invited me here for a romantic tryst. Can’t you see that dealing with me is the last thing she wants?”
“Yeah, sure. She wants you, all right.” Claire brushed past him, marching into the bedroom. Connor followed more slowly. His own anger at Mallory, which he thought he’d successfully extinguished, roared back, darker and more crushing than before. Not only had she stolen something vital from him by keeping Liddy Bea a secret, she seemed bent on destroying his hope of finding happiness with Claire.
“I don’t know what it’ll take to convince you that Mallory decided to deal me out of her life a long time ago. Nothing can ignite a spark that doesn’t exist.”
“Men can be so obtuse.” Claire reached the bed and dug through her suitcase. “I saw the look that came into her eyes when she discovered you standing at her door.”
“Me, too. She was mad as hell at her father for inviting us. I’m part of a past she’d prefer didn’t ever resurface.” Walking up behind Claire, Connor stroked lightly up and down her robed sleeves. “Let’s not argue. I know you have concerns about some of the information Dr. Dahl gave us. I left my copy downstairs. Dress, and come down. We’ll talk. If there’s stuff we don’t understand, I’ll make a list and phone Dahl. We’ll keep asking questions until you feel reassured.”
“Okay.” Claire pulled out of his loose grip. “I do have questions, Connor. Including a couple I’m not sure anyone can reassure me about.”
A knot formed again in the pit of Connor’s stomach. He backed away, attempting to offer a comforting smile. He suspected it’d come out more of a grimace.
It didn’t help to round the corner and come face-to-face with Mallory, who suddenly exited the room directly across from the one he’d been given. At first, all Connor could imagine was how Claire would feel if she saw how close his room was to Mallory’s. Then he decided that was silly. They were all going to have to find a way to get along. For the sake of Liddy Bea. Because now that he’d found his daughter, he didn’t intend to let her disappear from his life. And therein lay what was perhaps the biggest obstacle between him and Claire.
Mallory glanced at him, then quickly away. She didn’t remark on the wet handprints on Connor’s shirt or the water splotches on his pants, but she didn’t have to. Her elevated eyebrow made her opinion abundantly clear. Of course, she knew exactly where he’d been.
But dammit, Connor didn’t feel he owed her any explanation. Staring at her stonily, he fell back a step to let her precede him down the winding stairs.
“You shouldn’t have insisted Marta make up two rooms,” Mallory said. “As Claire pointed out, we’re all adults.” Mallory hoped she sounded more matter-of-fact than she felt. Her stomach had tensed the instant she saw the state of Connor’s clothes. It probably served her right for keeping the man on a pedestal all these years. The Connor she’d known and loved would never have flaunted an afternoon romp across the sheets—or in the Jacuzzi. She remembered that when the two of them had succumbed to the overpowering tug of youthful hormones, he’d gone to great lengths to keep what went on between them private and personal.
Gnashing her teeth, Mallory grabbed her purse from the hall table and marched straight to the front door. As she yanked it open she surprised her father coming in.
He glanced at his watch. “Where are you going? Marta will be serving dinner in an hour. I see you know we have guests.” Bradford acknowledged Connor, who still stood on the staircase, with a nod.
“You have guests, Father.” Mallory attempted to skirt him.
Marta stuck her head out of the kitchen. “I thought I heard voices. Senator Brad,” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m glad you’re home early. The roast cooked faster than I anticipated. I’m afraid you’ll have to forgo cocktails before dinner, unless you want overdone meat. Oh, Miss Mallory, you’re not leaving, are you? I set the table for four.”
“I’m sorry, Marta. I decided since Dad has guests tonight, I’d go on back to the hospital and have a second tray sent up to Liddy Bea’s room.”
“And leave me to entertain alone?” Bradford caught her elbow. “Your mother taught you better manners. Liddy Bea won’t miss you,” he said. “Fredric gave her two new Disney videos, and you know how engrossed that child gets when the TV’s on. Now, occupy Connor and Claire while I shower off the scent of Marge Livingstone’s perfume.”
Before Mallory could respond, Brad wrinkled his nose. “If there’s anything I can’t abide, it’s a woman who bathes in perfume. Ever since Beatrice passed away, Marge has felt it incumbent upon her to drag me around the room at all her parties until she finds another lonely soul to hook up with me. By then, my jacket reeks of…what is that stuff she douses herself in?” he muttered, shoving his jacket sleeve under Mallory’s nose.
She drew back. “Phew! I don’t know. Ghastly would be a good name. Pepe Le Pew has nothing on you, Dad,” she teased, finally unleashing a genuine smile.
“That’s what I mean. I can’t sit down to dinner without first sealing this suit in a laundry bag. Mallory, please run down to the cellar and select a wine to go with the roast Marta slaved over all afternoon.”
Mallory capitulated ungraciously. She flung her car keys and purse back onto the hall table. She swept past her father and Connor without another word.
“Bring up a bottle of my favorite after-dinner brandy, too, will you?” her father called. “Connor promised to tell me all about his invention. I need to figure how much money it’ll cost the state to adequately protect Florida’s coastline. Especially the Panhandle.”
From his position on the lower stair, Connor gave a start. “Aren’t you rushing things, Senator? I’m still field-testing my system. High as my hopes are for this last modification, it’s still too early to speak in terms of appropriations.”
Brad waved a hand, flashing a diamond pinkie ring. “My boy, it’s never too early to lay groundwork in matters where one day you’ll need government funding. That’s the main fault I see with scientific grants. The science community refuses to share their findings with the
people ultimately responsible for buying and producing their bright ideas.”
Connor’s lips edged up in a smile. “Because we won’t be pressured to produce by politicians. I saw some great systems scrapped too early by hovering backers demanding results. I want to save lives. For that reason, I don’t want eager-beaver politicians jumping the gun, forcing me to react before I know all the components operate. If that happens, it’s not the politicians who lose credibility. It’s the scientist whose funding gets lopped off.”
“Nice speech, my boy. But you strike me as a man who’ll land on his feet after any setback. I hope you’re smart enough to realize grant money doesn’t get extended indefinitely. Not without showing the public some results.”
Connor chewed on Bradford’s last remark.
Already partway down the hall, Mallory, oddly enough, sprang to Connor’s aid. “What are you saying, Dad? Is someone at the state level threatening to pull the plug on Connor’s grant?”
“Aren’t my field tests funded by the national tropical-prediction center? I’m at the center in Miami but my funding is independent of theirs.”
“Look, I never intended this topic to get out of hand. Especially not without first relaxing over dinner and drinks. Anyway, I’m facing a more pressing issue. Namely that Marta will kill me if I dink around and let her roast dry to shoe leather.”
“Senator Brad is right. Shoo,” Marta said, uncurling her arms to flap her apron at him. “Mallory, take Dr. O’Rourke to the cellar to help carry the wine. I predict this will be a two-bottle evening.”
“Please, call me Connor,” he said, smiling at Marta. “Do you need my help?” he asked, cocking an unsure eye at Mallory.
She said no at the same moment Marta declared, “Yes, she does.” The housekeeper’s insistence overpowered Mallory’s denial.
Connor glanced uneasily up the stairs to see if Claire had surfaced yet. The only activity on the winding staircase was Bradford heading up. So, Connor followed Mallory as she snagged a ring of keys Marta tossed her.
The Seven Year Secret Page 7
