A Mother's Vow

by Ken Casper

  The lights flashed, indicating the concert was about to begin.

  “Where are you sitting?” he asked.

  She gave him her seat number.

  “I’m nowhere close, but I’ll see you at the intermission.”

  Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

  She shuffled into the packed auditorium, resisted the urge to search for him, and took her assigned place left of center, six rows up from the stage. On the way she nodded a greeting to her father-in-law at the other end of the row. He chose to ignore her. So did Jordan’s mother. Tyrone continued an animated conversation with the man next to him. Only Melissa waved an enthusiastic greeting.

  During the first half of the concert Catherine couldn’t help being swept up by the enchanting arias of Verdi, Puccini and Wagner. She remembered what it felt like to have Jordan sitting beside her, her hand encased in his, but then her mind wandered to the image of Jeff, handsome in his tux, his eyes catching hers and the longing they ignited.

  As soon as the applause subsided she was out of her seat and hurrying to the lobby. The fatigue of the day dissipated at the thought of being with Jeff.

  The moment she stepped into the lobby he was at her side. Warmth swept through her when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the slow-moving crowd. She had to fight the temptation to lean into him.

  Friends and acquaintances greeted her, forcing her to engage in casual conversation, when what she wanted was for everyone around her to vanish, everyone except the man who was touching her.

  Well past the doorway now, Jeff steered her to one side, away from the streaming flow that fanned out into the high-ceilinged lobby.

  “I had no idea you were interested in opera,” she said. She’d already established she was a snob. Now she was babbling.

  He took in the assembly around them with a glance. “I haven’t always been. A friend introduced me to it a few years ago.”

  Images of a socialite in a white sheath, dripping with diamonds, flashed across Catherine’s mind. “She must have seen your potential.”

  A smile crept across his face and made his hazel-green eyes twinkle. “He.” His lips curled. “Sal Vecchio and I were detectives together in fraud. As far as he was concerned music and opera were synonymous. He played it all the time in our car. I learned to appreciate it by default.” He grinned. “Or maybe it was self-defense.”

  They were surrounded by glitz and glitter, but she was far more aware of the man standing beside her and the warmth he generated. She used her program to fan herself. “I’m thirsty,” she said.

  “What would you like?” he asked. “I’ll get it.”

  “Something soft, without caffeine.”

  “Be right back.” He faded into the milling crowd.

  Her in-laws weren’t too far away, but she elected to people watch, rather than join them. She had no idea what kind of reception she would receive from the other Tanners and decided it would be best to let them approach her. Melissa was stunning in a full-length silver gown that hugged her slender hips and thighs and showed off enough cleavage that every man in the room was giving her the once-over.

  Catherine shifted to her right to watch another part of the crowd, only to find Carlotta Rialto gazing up at her.

  The seventy-something woman resembled everyone’s favorite grandmother. Her ankle-length gown of black lace over satin epitomized elegance.

  “I saw you on television today,” she said in a sweet voice. Catherine knew she could be anything but. In spite of her public persona, Carlotta Rialto was reputed to be not just the head of her family, but a kind of “godmother” to the people she dealt with.

  “I was very disappointed,” she said. “It upsets me to think you suspect our family of being unpatriotic.”

  “Mrs. Rialto, I never said that or implied it. In fact, I was very careful to make sure everyone realized I wasn’t making any accusations. At this point we have no idea what happened—”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” Carlotta said with a saccharine smile. “We have a standing in this community, you know. Our name and reputation are so important to us we would do anything to protect it. I hope you’ll continue to make certain everyone understands that.”

  As benign as the words sounded, Catherine had no doubt she’d just been threatened with dire consequences if she caused trouble.

  “Dlacido is wonderful, don’t you think?” Carlotta said. “We’re very privileged to get to hear him. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Tanner.”

  She disappeared into the milling crowd. Catherine searched for Jeff and spied him fourth or fifth in the line that was snaking its way toward a portable bar. She was about to join him when she heard someone behind her call her name.

  “Hello, Ty,” Catherine said, trying to sound relaxed as she looked up at his dark face. The glint in his ebony eyes proclaimed both intelligence and humor. With the curl of his full lips he also projected a hint of mischief and danger that many women found fascinating, even erotic.

  Catherine had been unperturbed by Carlotta Rialto, but this man put her nerves on edge.

  “Where’s Melly?” she asked.

  Tyrone sipped from a flute of champagne that seemed ridiculously delicate in his large, long-fingered hand. “Went to the powder room. Are you and Rowan enjoying yourselves?”

  She had the impression he wasn’t referring to the music. She wished Jeff would return. Aware of how much she wanted him as a buffer, a protector, she felt like a coward. But she was stronger than that.

  “It’s a wonderful concert,” she said.

  “I must say, your choice of white knight surprises me.”

  “What?”

  A woman nearby turned at her sharp tone, eyed the big black man and blond woman, then averted her gaze and rejoined her party’s conversation.

  “Jeff Rowan,” Tyrone said. “The two of you have been mooning over each other all evening.”

  Catherine was stunned. She had no idea anyone had noticed.

  Tyrone’s grin was villainous. “I suppose a disgraced cop is about the best you’ll be able to get these days. You know the old saying, sleep with a black, you can’t go back. You realize, of course, that no decent white man will want you now. I mean, how could he compete with the memory of a good black lover?” He glanced again at Jeff. “He’ll never be able to satisfy you.”

  She felt the heat rise to her face and knew it must be crimson, not from embarrassment but from staggering rage. The impulse to slap him across the face was overwhelming, until, as she was about to bring her hand up, the last shred of reason told her that was precisely what he wanted her to do. Create a public spectacle. Her muscles quivered with suppressed fury, but she managed to keep her arm by her side.

  “Catherine, are you all right?”

  Tearing her gaze away from her brother-in-law, Catherine focused on Melissa.

  JEFF STOOD IN LINE, chatting with the people around him, every few seconds glancing over at Catherine. It wasn’t until a huge black man approached her, however, that he became concerned. During the course of their conversation her color rose then fell, leaving her pasty-faced. She wasn’t just upset, she was irate, maybe even frightened.

  Though he’d finally ordered their drinks, he considered bolting to her side until he saw a stunning black woman in a shimmering silver gown join them and the atmosphere relaxed. Jeff gave the bartender a generous tip and wended his way back.

  “You must be Jeff Rowan,” the big man said, as Jeff approached. “I saw you on TV today. That was quite a press conference.”

  Jeff handed Catherine her lemon-lime soda.

  “Jeff, this is Tyrone Tanner,” she told him. Her social poise was back, but he could feel the controlled storm just below the surface.

  All of six-feet-six, broad-shouldered and flat-bellied, the editor of the Houston Sentinel was both impressive and imposing. He thrust out his hand and smiled a smile that lit up his whole face, beaming pure charm and goodwill. In
that instant Jeff understood how the guy got away with so much. He possessed the kind of charisma that made men want to like him and women gape. That brand of personal magnetism could be intoxicating.

  Jeff wasn’t surprised at the strength of the man’s handshake.

  “And this is his wife, Melissa,” Catherine said.

  “Ms. Tanner.” He took her small, more delicate hand. For a moment, as she offered the usual social niceties, he glimpsed anxiety in the woman’s deep-brown eyes.

  The lights flickered, signaling the end of the intermission.

  “We better get back,” Tyrone said. “Enjoy the rest of the concert.” He shepherded his wife toward the door to the auditorium.

  “What did he say to you?” Jeff asked, as they proceeded toward another line.

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  Jeff clasped her elbow and turned her to face him. “Whatever it was, it got you pretty riled. I thought you were going to punch his lights out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That obvious, huh?”

  The crush of people forced them to move forward again.

  “To me it was. So what did he say?”

  Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “He seems to think there’s something going on between us.”

  Catherine watched him struggle with the concept. Did he want to deny it? Remind her they were business associates, nothing more, that a kiss didn’t make them “us.”

  She’d loved only one man her entire life, and he was dead. Maybe what she was feeling for Jeff Rowan was nothing more than need growing out of loneliness and frustration. Maybe any man touching her the way he had would have provoked the same response.

  What about the vile things Tyrone had said, that no white man would ever want her now? She’d never thought of Jordan as black. He was simply a man. More important, he was the man who loved her.

  Now she found herself attracted to someone else.

  Jeff held her arm as they inched along. She’d been unwilling to answer his earlier question. Would Jordan have wanted her to live the rest of her life alone? She would never have been unfaithful to him while he was alive. Was she being unfaithful to him now because she wanted Jeff to touch her, to put his lips to hers, to make her feel again just a little of what she had felt before?

  “What exactly did Tyrone say that spooked you?” he repeated.

  Should she tell him? What would his response be?

  No, she decided. It wasn’t worth repeating. “That I must be desperate to be interested in a disgraced cop.”

  Jeff’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, merely an unconscious response to the slight.

  They reached the point where they had to separate. He stepped aside to let other people pass.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Don’t wait for me after this is over, just come to the house.”

  His smile had her itching to run her finger along the cleft of his chin. “I’ll be there.”

  She wanted so much to kiss him. Instead she forced herself to turn away and saunter to her seat.

  She couldn’t have described what was played or sung in the second half of the concert. Love arias, probably. At least that’s what the memory of them felt like when she later made her way out of the hall and hurried to her Lexus. Her reserved parking space was near the exit so she could get out quickly if duty called.

  The fatigue of the long day was beginning to catch up with her by the time she arrived home. It was after eleven. Had she not invited Jeff over, she would have taken off her clothes and crawled into bed. The idea had a lot to recommend it. Instead she exchanged her evening dress for a satin robe that was both modest and stylish.

  In the kitchen she checked the wine supply, trying to decide if Jeff would prefer red or white. Perhaps he’d rather have brandy or port. She poured herself a glass of cream sherry and felt her tired body begin to mellow out at the first sweet taste.

  The doorbell rang just as she was about to ensconce herself in the living room and turn on the TV to one of the news channels.

  Jeff’s hair was unruly when she let him in, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. Fatigue crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  “I won’t keep you up,” he said, as he stepped into the entryway.

  “Take off your coat and let’s sit down.”

  He unbuttoned the tuxedo jacket but didn’t remove it until they were in the living room, where he draped it over the back of a chair.

  “I’m having sherry,” she said. “I also have beer and wine, brandy, whiskey—”

  “Maybe some Scotch.”

  She led him to the wet bar and started to fix him a drink, but he motioned her to the couch and poured the twelve-year-old single-malt himself.

  “Actually, what I wanted to talk to you about could have waited until tomorrow.” He settled beside her, facing the grand piano and picture window that looked out on to the night. “I just thought . . . I talked to Derek this afternoon. He did a further check on Jordan’s last editorial. It was deleted from his office terminal about three days after he died, by a person who had logged on using Tyrone’s new password.”

  “So Tyrone deleted it.” She sipped her drink.

  “It appears so.” He extended his arm across the back of the couch. His hand wasn’t touching her neck, but its heat cascaded down her shoulders, her chest and collected lower.

  “So where do we go from here?” he asked.

  How about the bedroom?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  WHEN JEFF DIDN’T RECEIVE AN ANSWER, he said, “It’s pretty obvious Tyrone considers you the enemy. I have to ask why.”

  She couldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t. She hadn’t even told Jordan.

  “I think he’s infatuated with you,” Jeff said. “Probably always has been.”

  “What?” She’d started to lift her wineglass to her lips, but a shiver forced her to put it back down.

  No decent white man will ever touch you. No white guy will ever be able to satisfy you.

  “Don’t let yourself be alone with him.” Jeff’s voice was soft, caring . . . seductive. “If he comes to the house when you’re alone, don’t let him in.”

  It was good advice, and she planned to heed it. She couldn’t allow herself to be intimidated by Tyrone.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I mean it,” Jeff murmured as his fingers coursed over her shoulders, cupped the back of her neck. He inched closer, his thigh pressed against hers, solid, warm, welcoming. He leaned into her. Their eyes met. Slowly he brought his mouth to hers. Her hands expanded against his chest, not in rejection, but finding comfort in the tantalizing contours of his hard muscles.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair, held her captive as his tongue plunged between her teeth. A warning bell rang in her head. No, not a warning, she amended, more a carillon.

  An erotic jolt swept through her. She felt herself begin to melt. She could still say no, but she didn’t want to. His other hand caressed her left breast, a tender massage that had her begging for more. Her nipples hardened. Lust bunched and pinched in her belly. Breathless, she broke off the kiss.

  “I want you, Cate.”

  No one had ever called her that. She’d been Cathy as a kid. Jordan had sometimes called her Cath. But no one had ever called her Cate. This was Jeff’s name for her. She liked it.

  His hazel eyes searched hers for a response.

  “I want you, too,” she murmured, then lowered her gaze, unwilling to let him see how much, or glimpse the full impact of the desire reflected there.

  He rose to his feet, extended his hands and pulled her up. Their knees touched. He swept her into his arms and kissed her again, pressing his body to hers, letting her feel his arousal.

  She led him halfway down the hall to a room on the right. It was shrouded in darkness but for the moonbeams streaming through a double window on his left.

  Turning to him, she wound her arms
around his neck. His mouth was hot and eager. As they deepened the kiss, he untied the belt of her gown. With shaky fingers she loosened his bow tie, felt the racing throb of his pulse as she unfastened his collar button. Undoing the ones below it, she slid her hands beneath the starched fabric and rubbed his warm flesh.

  Suddenly they were struggling to get out of their clothes. He tugged the silky robe off her shoulders. She pulled his shirt out of his pants. He unsnapped her bra and drew it away. A whimper escaped her when he touched her nipples. She unbuttoned his waistband, felt the heat of the bulge beneath it. His trousers tumbled to his ankles. He tried to step out of them, but his shoes tangled in the cuffs.

  With a nervous laugh, she knelt and untied his laces, slipped the shiny shoes off his feet and looked up as he stepped out of them. His hands extended to her, he raised her into his arms and almost lost it when her naked breasts made contact with his bare skin. Her nipples were hard against his rib cage. Their kisses became frantic. Lips still locked, they stumbled toward the double bed. In seconds they were shucked of the last remnants of clothing.

  They sat on the edge of the bed. With one hand he fondled her breast. The other he knotted in her hair. Her pulse chugged and hammered as she spread her hand along his chest, grazed the fine sheen of hair over taut muscle. Liquid heat welled inside her, leaving her wet and needy.

  His teeth and lips nibbled their way down her neck to the hollow at its base, slithered down her chest and captured a sensitive nipple. He tasted, then moved to the other. Eyes closed, she lay back on the downy pillows and let out an ecstatic moan when he continued his journey across her belly. Her breathing became fitful, ragged. Her heart pounded wildly. She exploded with a gasp when his ravaging tongue explored lower.

  Jeff’s needs were insatiable now. His hands and mouth couldn’t get enough of her. His body ached with the desire to possess her. Then, in a move he hadn’t anticipated, she was on top of him, doing things that were agonizingly pleasurable. He wouldn’t last at this rate. Couldn’t.

  When she lowered herself onto him, he knew he was lost. He gazed up at her, her face ethereal, glowing in the pale moonlight. She smiled down at him, taunted him with her body, tantalized him as she alternated motion and restraint. The sweet torture she imposed was a whiplash of unbearable pleasure. He breathed out and in, his heartbeat a jackhammer in his chest. His body was more alive than it had ever been before. His existence, his fulfillment were all centered on this incredible woman.