Charade

by Sandra Brown

  “Everything’s fine, thank you.”

  “Mr. Webster hisself sent down orders that we were to be on the lookout for anything peculiar goin’ on.”

  He looked beyond her shoulder at Alex. Had he tucked the gun out of sight?

  “You a friend of Ms. Delaney’s?” the guard asked.

  “Yes, he is,” Cat replied before Alex had a chance to speak. “He gave me a lift back to my car.”

  Not one to be passed over, Alex said, “We’re almost done here, buddy. Do you mind?”

  “Everything’s all right, really,” Cat interjected, hoping that her smile looked genuine. “We were just chatting. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

  “Well, okay, then.” Self-importantly, the guard hiked up his belt and holster, as though to remind Alex—or himself—that he was armed and dangerous.

  The standing joke around the TV station was that the guards had only one bullet among them, and that they took turns with it. Chances were his weapon wasn’t even loaded.

  Alex’s was.

  “I’ll be right over yonder, Ms. Delaney, if you should need me for anything.” He glared a warning at Alex, then ambled back to the building.

  Cat rolled up the window. She’d managed to be civil with the guard, but when she confronted Alex, she gave vent to her temper.

  “Are you crazy? How dare you point a loaded gun at me! You scared the hell out of me!”

  “I wasn’t aiming at you. I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “From a shadow I saw looming out of the darkness and approaching the window. I didn’t know it was the guard.”

  “You could have waited to find out before pulling a gun.”

  “Which is a damn good way to get killed, wait and let the other guy get the jump on you.”

  “No, your way is much better. Shoot first and ask questions later. Isn’t that what happened on the Fourth of July when you killed that man in Houston?”

  Her angry words reverberated inside the car, then were followed by a startling silence that was broken only by her rapid, choppy breathing.

  Alex’s face turned to stone, and his eyes glittered like flint. “Who told you about that?”

  Cat instantly regretted her outburst. “Alex, I—”

  “Who told you?”

  “Dean. Dean told me. This afternoon.”

  “I bet the son of a bitch got a charge out of that,” he muttered. “Told you all the grisly details, did he?”

  “Actually, the details were sketchy.”

  Alex snorted scornfully.

  “I’d like to hear your side of it.”

  “Some other time.” He reached across her and opened the passenger door, giving it so hard a shove that it almost sprang back on itself.

  “Alex, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Not like that.”

  “Too late,” he said curtly. “It’s out. Now, you’d better go.”

  She hesitated, but it was apparent that he was furious and not in a mood to defend himself. She got out of the car and closed the door. He gunned the engine and sped from the parking lot, leaving her alone.

  Cat was startled awake from a deep but troubled sleep. Before she could scream, he placed his hand over her mouth.

  “It’s me.” He spoke in a low, husky whisper, but she instantly recognized his voice. “I need…this…I need you.”

  He lay down beside her, half covering her body with his. “Don’t be afraid, Cat. Are you afraid?”

  She shook her head.

  Gingerly he removed his hand and replaced it with his lips. He kissed her lightly at first, then evocatively, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

  When the kiss finally ended, he rested his lips against her throat. “Don’t send me away.”

  He unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, and drew her hand inside. “It’s been a bad night. I’m dying, baby.” He used her hand to massage his solid erection. When her thumb rolled across the straining glans, he moaned.

  Lowering his head, he nuzzled her breasts through her nightgown. “You want me. I know goddamn well you do. Don’t you, Cat? Don’t you?” He sighed her name beseechingly.

  She murmured, mingling protest and consent, the former giving way to the latter. Cloth whispered against cloth as she bicycled her legs from beneath the covers. She parted his shirt. His skin was hot against her fingertips, her lips, and when he was at last naked and lying on top of her, she enveloped him in a welcoming embrace.

  He gathered her nightgown in his hands, bunching it up inch by inch, until he slipped it over her head and tossed it aside. His hands moved down her torso from collarbone to hipbone, all ten fingers extended, touching as much of her as possible in one pass. He pressed his face into the giving softness of her belly; she clutched his head to her and locked her legs around his hips.

  He kissed her navel, rubbed his cheek against the nest of tight, springy curls. His tongue traced the groove between her belly and thigh. Her heels dug into the mattress as she arched up, grinding her mons against his face.

  He placed his hand between her thighs and slipped two fingers inside her. She gave a soft cry of surprise and pleasure.

  “Don’t come,” he ground out. “Not yet. I want to be inside you when you come.”

  But she was very wet, and his fingers were nimble and deft. She fought the passion building inside her until she couldn’t fight it any longer.

  He seemed to know the exact moment of her surrender because he levered himself up and sank into her just as the first contractions seized her. The walls of her body closed around him like a tight fist.

  “Ah, Christ, yes.”

  Moments later, replete, he lay heavily atop her, their skin so silky with sweat that their flesh seemed to meld.

  After a while he raised himself to his knees. She wasn’t ready for him to leave her. Doing a partial sit-up, she angled the upper half of her body up and placed her open mouth on a damp patch of hair-dusted skin low on his abdomen, just below his navel.

  He tangled his hands in her hair and fell backward onto the mattress, bringing her with him. She bent over him and dabbed his stomach and chest with light kisses. She flicked his nipples with the tip of her tongue until they protruded stiffly.

  When she took his sex in her hand, he was hard again. She straddled his middle and remained poised above him to heighten the anticipation, then gradually lowered herself onto his rigid length. He watched her through half-closed eyes as she rode him, her chest thrust out, her breasts high and proud. She was shocked by her own exhibitionism, her lack of modesty.

  Holding her stare with his, he moistened his fingertips with his saliva and brushed them across her nipple. It shrank to a hard pebble that he gently pressed between his thumb and forefinger.

  He slid his other hand into the mesh of their pubic hair and touched her center. The sensation was electrifying. Her head fell back on her shoulders; her hips pumped faster. He continued to stroke her there, barely glancing the slippery little nubbin with the pad of his finger.

  Her release was shattering. Impaled on him, she bore down hard. He gripped her cheeks and held her anchored to him as, together, they experienced a drenching climax.

  Then she collapsed on his chest, gasping, her heart drumming against his. He gathered her to him like a child and held her close, his lips moving in her hair, whispering. But because of the pounding of her own pulse, she couldn’t distinguish the words.

  Cat awoke with her head at the foot of the bed. She’d been covered with the corners of a sheet and a blanket, but the rest of the linens formed a tangled heap in the center of the bed.

  She sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and glanced around her bedroom. It was illuminated only by the gauzy grayness of predawn. The house was silent. She knew she was alone.

  Sometime between ecstasy and sleep, Alex had left.

  Or had she dreamed it?

  No, their erotic interlude had been indisputably real. Her body bore the bitterswee
t imprints of it.

  Chapter Forty

  It was three days before she saw him again. He didn’t call or try to see her. Frequently during those three days, she thought that maybe the stress of the last few weeks had taken their toll on her sanity, and that she had imagined him sneaking into her house, into her bed, and taking her on the most thrilling sexual adventure she’d ever experienced.

  But she had only to examine herself closely—her emotions as well as her body—to know that it hadn’t been her imagination.

  Any lingering doubts vanished when he popped his head inside the production van where she sat with Jeff, discussing the details of the Cat’s Kids segment they were about to shoot.

  He tapped on the side of the van. She raised her head from the file she’d been perusing. Jeff turned in his seat.

  “Mr. Pierce,” he said, showing his surprise. “Hi.”

  Alex acknowledged her assistant’s greeting with a mumbled hello, but his eyes were fixed on her.

  Her reaction to seeing him was a comical cliché. She went limp. Lifeless fingers dropped her fountain pen. It rolled off the edge of the folder on her lap and landed on the floor of the van.

  “I’ll just…” In tune with the awkwardness of the moment, Jeff stammered an excuse, then climbed out of the van and left them alone.

  Alex continued to stare at her through the open side door. He was dressed in jeans and an unironed chambray shirt with the cuffs loosely rolled back to his elbows. It was a humid, airless day, but his hair looked wind-tossed.

  “Hello, Alex. What brings you here?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the production crew setting up video equipment on the park playground. The video photographer was discussing camera angles with Jeff. The production assistant was checking microphones. The rent-a-cop, which Bill had insisted on, was leaning against a tree, smoking.

  “I’ve never seen you work,” Alex said, turning back to her. “Not on location.”

  “It’s not as glamorous as it might seem when you’re watching it at home.”

  “I’d like to stick around, if you don’t mind.”

  So they weren’t going to address it. Okay. If he wanted to pretend that the orgy hadn’t taken place, fine. It was probably better this way. He’d come to her in the middle of the night, desperate and begging for physical and emotional release, an indication that he had weaknesses just like all other mortals. She’d responded to him without a whimper of resistance, an indication of her susceptibility.

  They’d both exhibited a lack of self-control and common sense. She couldn’t condemn him for using her without condemning herself for being so easily used. Why open it up for discussion? To spare themselves embarrassment, why not just pretend that it hadn’t happened?

  Besides, she wasn’t sure she could speak freely in glaring daylight about what they’d done in the dark. Her cheeks were flushed just thinking about it.

  “I don’t mind if you watch,” she told him. “But you’ll probably get bored before we finish.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Jeff approached hesitantly. “Uh, Cat. Sherry just arrived with Joseph.”

  “Coming.”

  She tied on the sneakers she’d previously taken off. Alex gave her a hand down as she stepped from the van. “Thanks.” For the benefit of Sherry, Jeff, and the production crew, she tried to appear casual, although her knees were still wobbly over his unexpected appearance.

  Joseph soon took her mind off Alex. The boy’s growth had been stunted by his crippling disease, so, although he was seven, he looked no older than four. His legs were in braces, but he was able to walk on his own. He had large ears and wore glasses with lenses so thick that they distorted the size of his eyes.

  He was beaming at Cat as he hobbled forward. “I came to be on TV,” he announced proudly.

  Sherry Parks laughed. “Maybe I’d better warn you, Cat. He’s a natural ham. Watch him, or he’ll steal the show.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Joseph.” They’d been introduced at Nancy Webster’s picnic. Looking down at him now, she narrowed her eyes and growled threateningly. “But if I catch you upstaging me, you’re history. Remember, I’m the star!”

  “Okay,” Joseph said, laughing. “Does he run the camera?” He was pointing at Alex.

  “No. He’s only observing. This is Mr. Pierce, Joseph. He writes books.”

  “Books? No foolin’?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Joseph.” Alex shook hands with the boy as though he were an adult.

  “You’re tall.”

  “Naw, it’s the boots.” Alex raised his foot and showed the boy the riding heel of his boot. “Without these, I’m only five feet five.”

  Joseph’s laugh erupted like bubbles from a bottle of champagne. Cat made a mental note to get that laugh on videotape. Who could resist it?

  She made a round of introductions, then Jeff announced that they should get started. She took Joseph’s hand and said, “Don’t forget, I get all the best lines.”

  She and Joseph sat side by side on a merry-go-round. The production assistant put wireless mikes on them, and they recorded the interview segment first. She chatted with Joseph about inconsequential things until he was unmindful of the camera and completely relaxed.

  “Would you like to be adopted, Joseph?”

  “Sure. Could I have brothers and sisters?”

  “Possibly.”

  “That’d be neat.”

  All his answers were disarming and endearing. They reshot the interview from a reverse angle so that, when edited, segments could be lifted from either camera angle, making it appear that the piece had been shot with at least two cameras.

  Then she and Joseph walked among the Spanish moss-laden live oak trees while the photographer followed, carrying the camera on his shoulder.

  When Jeff announced that they had all the raw footage they needed, Alex gave Joseph a high-five. “If you ever get a hankering to go into show business, I want to be your talent agent. Deal?”

  Joseph’s smile was radiant.

  Cat knelt down and hugged him. “Let’s hope for the best, okay?”

  “Okay. But don’t worry, Cat. If I’m not adopted, I won’t be mad at you.”

  A hard lump formed in her throat. His father had split before he was born. His mother suffered from drug addiction and depression. When Joseph was three, the state had taken him from her. He’d been living in foster homes ever since. He deserved a family’s love. And, with his charming personality and sense of humor, he’d be an asset to any family. She regretted having to return him to Sherry and continued to wave until they drove out of sight.

  Alex dragged his sleeve across his sweating forehead. “You’re right. It’s not as glamorous or as easy as it looks. Two hours’ work for a two-minute piece?”

  “That’s not counting all the postproduction time,” Jeff told him. “And the taping time would be doubled if Cat weren’t such a pro. She rarely has to do more than one take.”

  She dropped a coquettish curtsy.

  “Y’all coming?” the PA called from the van. The equipment had already been reloaded. The cameraman was in the driver’s seat. He’d started the motor and had the van’s air-conditioning going full blast. The rent-a-cop was grinding out his last cigarette, ready to climb into the van. He’d never challenged Alex or questioned his being there. Bill was wasting his money on that precaution, Cat thought.

  Jeff headed for the van, but she held back and looked shrewdly at Alex. “You didn’t come out here on an unseasonably hot day just to watch, did you?”

  “It was interesting.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re a little old for field trips. Come clean, Pierce. What’s up?”

  “I found Cyclops.”

  He was squatting beside his Harley, replacing a spark plug. It didn’t really need the tune-up; he was tinkering just to keep his mind off his problems. If everything in his life ran as well as his bike, he’d be a happy man. His Ha
rley was the only thing he could rely on to obey his commands without argument. Riding it never failed to give him a thrill.

  Kismet was another matter.

  He shot her a malevolent glance over his shoulder. She was seated on a yellow vinyl bean bag that she’d dragged into the shade of a scraggly cedar tree.

  A few years back, she’d been the hottest piece of ass around. He’d been the envy of every man who knew him. Her temper had burned hot and fierce. She’d been afraid of nothing. Not even him.

  Hell, back then, if he did something she didn’t like, she’d light into him, sometimes drawing blood with her fingernails and teeth. They’d go at it until the fight turned into screwing, which it always did. Violence had been her biggest turn-on. The rougher the better. Bucking and heaving, she’d scream like a banshee when she came.

  Now, the dark eyes that used to smolder hardly reflected light. They were dead eyes. She fucked like a corpse, too, tolerating him but never participating.

  She even looked different. She kept her tattoo covered and tried to keep her hair tamed. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen her wearing something that showed off her figure. She didn’t talk the same, either.

  Trying to resurrect the old Kismet had become his life’s occupation. She presented him with a constant challenge. The hellcat was in there, somewhere. Behind that vapid expression, the real Kismet was still sneering at the world. He knew it; all he had to do was come up with a way to draw her out.

  Was she worth all the crap she put him through?

  No way in hell. He’d have dumped her years ago, except for one major reason: That’s what she wanted. She’d like it if he booted her out. For that reason alone, he planned to keep her till hell froze over. He had let her escape him once, and it had made him a laughingstock.

  Although he’d gotten the last laugh, hadn’t he?

  Once Sparky was out of their lives, they’d picked up where they had left off. Well, not entirely. She’d never been the same. Most of the time, she looked through him as though he weren’t there. The only thing that seemed to penetrate her indifference was fear. When she got good and scared of him, she turned to putty.