by Sandra Cox
Tamara tapped her index finger against her chin, thinking. “What an excellent solution to our dilemma. My nephew, of course, would have to come after you.”
She stood up, the interview at an end. “I’ll send Beatrice to show you out.” As she walked away, she said over her shoulder. “I keep it in the solarium. And child to be a good thief, you really shouldn’t warn your victims.”
Gabby stood stunned, her mouth hanging open.
* * * * *
The driver of the dark sedan parked across the street lowered his paper as Gabby came out of the house. He picked up a phone and dialed quickly. “It’s the same woman, madam. I’m sure of it. Somehow Saint must have gotten back the globe. Do you want me to stay here or follow her?”
“Very good.”
He started the engine and pulled out into traffic keeping a safe distance between him and the cab Gabriella Bell had hailed.
Chapter Nine
It was nearing dinnertime. Tamara was sitting in a white wicker chair, in the sunroom, when her nephew walked in. A ceiling fan moved the air, its blades reflected in the high glossed oak floor. His aunt lifted her cheek for Christopher’s kiss.
A paper tucked under his arm, he sat down in the chair beside Tamara. Unfolding the paper, he glanced at the headlines then turned to the sports page, the chair creaking as he settled in.
Tamara leaned forward and picked up her glass of iced tea, sitting on the white wicker table between them. “Are you going out tonight dear?”
“Um hmm,” Christopher mumbled from behind the paper.
“Anyone, I know?”
“Sherry.”
“Oh.” His aunt’s voice spoke volumes.
With a sigh, he put down his paper. “I know you don’t like her, but it’s not like she’s going to become a member of the family. I promised I’d stop by this evening.”
“You may not be intending to marry her, but she intends to marry you by fair means or foul.”
Christopher arched his brows. “If you are insinuating what I think you are, you really don’t need to worry about that.” Rustling his papers he stuck his nose back in them.
“You’re a man,” she said darkly. “Of course, I have to worry.”
Christopher could feel her silent stare. He lowered his paper an inch. She was tapping a frosted pink nail against her lip and her violet eyes held a glint of speculation.
“I had a visitor today.”
“Oh?” There was something in his aunt’s voice he didn’t quite trust.
“A young lady.”
“Mm,” he grunted.
“Your vaunted appeal with the opposite sex has certainly slipped with this one. In fact, she thinks you are quite common.”
He sighed and put down the paper. “All right, Auntie. Spit it out. Who was your visitor that thinks I’m quite common?”
Tamara smiled, a Cheshire cat smile, as if she were savoring the moment.
His apprehension grew, though, why he had no idea.
Finally, she said, “Gabriella Bell.”
“What! How did she find…? I mean,” Even to his own ear he sounded like a fish out of water, gasping for air and flopping on a sandbar. He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“So you do know the young woman?” Tamara took a delicate sip of tea then sat her glass down.
Christopher scowled. He had the most uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he was getting on a regular basis since meeting Ms. Bell. “Yes, I know her. What in sweet hell was she doing here?” he asked. As if he didn’t know.
“Tsk, tsk. Language, Christopher.”
He mumbled an apology.
Tamara cupped her ear. “What?”
Christopher started to speak but Tamara waved him to silence. “She wanted her crystal ball. She is laboring under some misguided notion that my ball is hers.”
“It got stolen, Aunt Tam. She found it in a specialty shop and bought it. She was well recompensed.”
“Hmm. I believe the young lady did mention something about two thousand dollars. Though, when she referred to you as common, she attached the word thief. But don’t worry dear I told her there was nothing common about you.”
“Thank you. I think. What else did she say?” he asked warily, his head reeling.
Tamara picked up her needlepoint sitting on the table. Running a bright scarlet thread through the net, she said casually, “She informed me she intended to get it back even if she had to steal it.”
“And what did you say to that?” he asked in a fading voice, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach growing by the minute.
“I told her I keep it in the solarium,” she replied calmly, studying the effect of the bright red against the silver.
The paper slipped from Christopher’s nerveless fingers. He stood up and walked out of the room hardly aware of where he was going. His voice drifted back as he left the room. “You told her you keep it in the solarium.” And then he began to laugh, the sound rising to a hysterical note.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy was coming down with something,” Tamara murmured to the maid, who’d just brought her a fresh glass of iced tea.
While Tamara chatted with the maid, Christopher took the stairs two at a time. It was a beautiful old suspended staircase, stained the color of honey. Reaching the top, he turned right and walked down the hall to his suite.
His bedroom was large and filled with the paraphernalia of boyhood. Sports trophies, from grade school through college, lined the walls. An old baseball bat leaned against a battered bookcase. A football sat beside a state-conference ring. There was no indication here of the hard-edged man he’d become.
Christopher had left the room as it was when Edward James died. His uncle had been so proud of every award, every home run and every touchdown. It was his only way of saying thank you. That and taking care of Aunt Tam.
He walked through the bedroom and into the den. No symbols of youth were present in this room. It was a man’s room, mahogany wood gleaming everywhere. Reaching the desk, Christopher picked up the phone. He quickly pushed the digits with his index finger then held the shiny black instrument to his ear.
The line was busy. He disconnected and tried again. It was still busy. Murmuring a curse, he cradled the phone.
Grabbing a set of car keys off his desk, he strode out of his rooms and down the stairs.
* * * * *
Christopher pulled up in front of a modern brick condo. He killed the engine then jumped lightly out of his black Jag convertible, whose license plates read SAINT.
When he rang the doorbell, a middle-aged woman, dressed in black with a white apron, opened the door.
“Hello, Mr. Saint. I don’t think Miss Davis was expecting you this early. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“I’ll announce myself. Where is she?”
“The bedroom.” Her face was expressionless, but there was something lurking in her eyes. He had never really cared for the woman.
He nodded curtly then walked past her.
Christopher had no problem finding Sherry’s bedroom, he’d been there many times before. He opened the door and stood in the doorway.
Sherry sat at a delicate cherry dressing table applying a pencil to her eyebrows. She was wearing expensive black underwear and her red hair cascaded down her back. The image was extremely erotic.
And it left Christopher cold. He knew now he hadn’t just been coming over to break their date for the evening. He had come to say goodbye. It had been a good ride, but it was time to end it. Sherry had become a tad bit possessive of late. He wondered uneasily if Aunt Tamara was right. Sherry had always claimed to be sterile. ’Til tonight, he’d never doubted her.
Sherry’s lovely green eyes met his in the mirror. She gave a start then smiled provocatively.
She got up from the table and approached him slowly, an invitation in her eyes. “Darling, you startled me. You look like a large tiger ready to eat a poor little gazel
le.” Her eyebrows arched. “A redheaded gazelle maybe?”
Earlier in their relationship he would have found her conversation titillating, now he just found it trite.
She reached him and placed well-manicured hands on his chest. Throwing back her head, Sherry smiled up at him. She was petite and very firmly put together. Aerobics no doubt, he thought cynically.
He wondered fleetingly what it would be like to kiss someone and not get a crick in one’s neck, someone with heavy blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. The Nordic Queen was nearly as tall as he was.
“Christopher?” Sherry questioned, when he did not respond.
“I’ve got to break our date tonight. Someone came into town unexpectedly.”
Sherry’s eyes narrowed. She removed her hands from his chest and walked back to the dressing table and sat down. “Then why not bring him along, darling.”
Christopher gave a sardonic grin. Sherry was on a fishing expedition.
“He’s from the country, darling. Wouldn’t fit in at all,” he drawled.
She powdered her nose as they talked. “I’d love to meet him. I’m sure it would be quite entertaining.”
“Quite,” Christopher said dryly.
She gave him a sultry look. “Darling, this is very awkward. I had special plans for tonight.”
“I’m sorry. It can’t be helped.”
He watched her in the mirror. Her face was hard and calculating. Catching his eyes on her, Sherry’s face immediately softened. She pouted, sticking out an unnaturally full lower lip. “Please.”
Christopher gave an impatient sigh and ran his fingers restlessly through his hair. He had known she wouldn’t make this easy. “I wish there was a better way to say this, but it’s over, Sherry. It’s been fun. I wish you well.”
As he watched, her face went white then the blood came rushing back into it.
She stood abruptly. The elegant little stool she had been sitting on went tumbling to the floor, the crash muffled by the thick white carpet.
“Fun? Why you arrogant bastard. Is that what you call what we have?”
He still stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed lounging against the doorframe but his eyes flashed a warning.
“And what would you call it, darling?” he asked, his voice cold.
Sherry flinched but recovered. “Why love, of course.”
Christopher snorted inelegantly. “Miss Davis you are in love with only one person and that’s yourself.”
“Why you…” She walked quickly toward him, her arm drawn back. But before she could slap his face, he grabbed her wrist.
“Now, now,” he admonished. “Let’s try to behave maturely.”
“Why, you bastard,” she hissed.
He dropped her hand. “Your vocabulary is quite limited. Frankly, you are beginning to bore me.”
Thinking furiously, she played her trump card. “What if I’m pregnant?”
He arched a brow. Damn Tamara anyway. “Immaculate conception?” he asked politely. “I do recall, between moans of passion, your assurance that you were sterile.”
“Maybe they got the charts mixed,” Sherry ground out.
He grabbed her arm and drew her close, his voice deceptively soft. “Understand me and understand me well. If you are pregnant and if it is my baby…”
Sherry caught her breath. “How dare you insinuate I might be pregnant by someone else!”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I would support it emotionally and financially, but I would not marry you.”
“But I love you,” she replied, her breathing labored.
He let go of her, his voice bored. “Give it a rest, Sherry. You may be in love with my money and you may enjoy yourself in my bed, but that hardly means you are in love with me.”
“And how would you know you heartless bastard?”
He sighed. At least she’d switched from arrogant. Maybe her vocabulary was more extensive than he’d given her credit for.
“You have no idea what love is,” Sherry said, her well-formed breasts heaving.
For a moment, he could see Aunt Tamara’s beloved face twinkling up at Uncle Edward, then a dim picture of a dark-haired woman holding a toddler. “Perhaps, you’re right. Goodbye, Sherry.”
She clung to him, refusing to let him go. “No. No. You can’t leave me.”
He pulled her hands away from him, compressing his lips in distaste. He hated scenes. Sherry had always seemed so cool and controlled, except in the bedroom. It was one of the reasons he’d taken her for his lover.
“May I suggest you pull yourself together and try for some dignity.”
She straightened, her eyes flashing. “You’re right, of course, Christopher. One must maintain one’s dignity at all costs.”
She turned her back on him and walked toward her dressing table. Quick as a cat, she picked up a delicate bottle filled with perfume and flung it at him.
He ducked.
The bottled smashed against the entryway, spraying him with her heavy, cloying scent.
He flicked a piece of broken glass off his shoulder. “Goodbye, Sherry.”
“Wait, darling!”
Christopher curled his lip as he watched the look of cunning that flit across her lovely, cold face.
“Maybe, you are right. Maybe it’s time we saw other people. Will you at least attend the charity ball with me? The one that my parents are hosting? It’s less than a week away. They are planning on our appearance you know,” she wheedled. “Please, for old time’s sake.”
It was a mistake and Christopher knew it, but he’d told her over a month ago that he’d take her. And a man was only as good as his word.
“If that’s what you want,” he said curtly. “But it’s over Sherry, spending an evening together isn’t going to change that.”
As he closed the door, he heard a scream of pure rage and a dull thud against the door.
Saint nodded to the maid as he left. He didn’t particularly care for the woman, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Her evening was not going to be pleasant.
Chapter Ten
Restless, Christopher stirred on the hard bench. He had spent the last three nights waiting in the solarium. After his little tête-à-tête with Sherry, Christopher had come back to begin his vigil. He knew Ms. Bell would come. The question was when.
Christopher glowered. The damn globe belonged in a steel-lined vault, not left out in a room filled with plants, begging to be stolen. He sighed and wondered if Aunt Tam had any notion of its true worth. Knowing his aunt, even if she did, it would make no difference.
He sat up as he heard a rustling at the far end of the solarium. A tiny pinpoint of light flickered in the dark.
“Damn,” came a low whisper.
Christopher grinned. The Nordic Queen had just encountered some of his aunt’s more prickly specimens.
He waited, his hand resting on the globe.
The stealthy footsteps drew closer. Christopher blinked as she waved the penlight in his face. “You!”
He stood and gave her an abbreviated bow. “Ms Bell.”
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I live here,” he replied calmly. “More to the point, what are you doing here?”
“I came for my globe.”
He grinned. The woman was a pit bull. Once she had an idea firmly fixed in her mind neither reason nor common sense would dissuade her.
“It belongs to my aunt.”
“It’s mine,” she responded passionately.
Christopher stepped closer. “Are you always this obstinate? Don’t you realize some might term this breaking and entering?”
“Well, you should certainly know about that,” she retorted.
Christopher had been fighting an uncontrollable urge ever since she’d plastered her body against him in the rain. He was very much afraid he was about to give in to it.
“I suppose I should,” he murmured as he drew her into his arms and lowered his
head.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.
He could feel her body stiffen against him. “Darling, it takes no thought at all.” He tilted her chin up and placed his lips on hers.
Gabby’d had every intention of fighting him off. But the moon shining through the glass roof and the lush scent of tropical flowers assaulted her senses. And this man’s arms and lips were having the strangest effect on her.
She’d read in more than one romance novel the expression, “her insides turned to jelly” but she’d never truly experienced it before tonight. Another first, she thought incoherently, remembering the way their eyes had met across a crowded room.
Her arms crept around his neck and clung, afraid in her suddenly weakened condition, that if she didn’t hold on to something she might fall.
Christopher was also having problems with reality. He felt like he was holding loaded dynamite that would either blow up in his face or send him careening toward the celestial heavens.
A calm voice shattered the crystalline moment. “That’s right, Christopher dear. Hold her until the authorities arrive.”
Christopher jerked his head up and looked around, knowing his eyes were wide and unfocused.
Gabriella’s head was thrown back as if her neck muscles were too weak to hold it up. Her parted lips were wet and swollen from his kiss, her eyes unfocused.
He shook his head to clear it. When had Aunt Tam come in? And what the hell was she talking about?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Language, dear,” she chided. “You caught her in the act. She was trying to steal my crystal.”
“She hasn’t even touched the damn globe.” He raked his fingers through his hair. This was too bizarre.
“Young woman what were your intentions?” Tamara asked calmly.
Christopher watched Ms. Bell squint wild-eyed at the shadowy figure. But when she replied her voice was almost as calm as Tamara’s. “To recover my property.”
Tamara put her palms in the air as if to say, “You see.” The gesture was barely discernible in the moonlight.
