Blush

by Suzanne Forster

  Instead he watched her coil and convulse and go limp beneath him, and when she was lost to everything but her own delirium, he pulled her into his arms and held her in the low glow of the lamplight. He was still throbbing deeply inside her, but the soft comfort of her flesh might have been enough if she hadn't begun to question him, to touch and try to soothe him.

  "No, don't," he whispered as she pressed her lips to the wild pulse in his throat. "It won't help."

  "You haven't even let me try," she insisted.

  Sighing, he watched her stroke and kiss and caress his overstimulated body, knowing that none of it would have any effect except to make him harder and more miserable. Still, he could feel a razor-sharp tension building as she worked her way down his abdomen, and when she pressed her lips to the very heart of his discomfort, he groaned aloud. His shaft jerked involuntarily under her tender attentions, nearly sending him through the roof.

  "Have faith," she promised, running the tip of her tongue to the very base of him, where all the fullness had accumulated in what felt like a swollen knot.

  Her mouth worked him so beautifully, he couldn't help but relax, and soon she had him taut and tingling in every fiber, yet strangely fluid. The sharp stirrings he felt told him something was happening, but it was only when she curved herself seductively over his loins and took him deeply in her mouth, it was only when she began to stroke up and down, nearly swallowing him, that the miracle occurred. He lost control. Totally and mindlessly. All decisions were taken out of his hands, and his release, when it finally came, was so agonizingly sweet, it brought tears of wonder to his eyes. Fire from the gods, he thought. Like

  Prometheus, he had stolen it. And now, like Prometheus, he would die.

  Lake stood in the open doorway of his sister's bedroom, watching her as she spoke in hushed tones into the receiver of her cordless telephone. He had something urgent to tell her, but her secretive manner made him hesitate. She was clearly having a private conversation with someone, and though Lake was consumed with curiosity, he was reluctant to move closer and risk giving himself away.

  Lily was seated at the walnut secretary with her appointment book in front of her, making notes as she talked. Strong morning sunlight, diffused by the mullioned windows, illumined shelf after shelf of the silver knickknacks and potted pansies she loved.

  As she said her good-byes, hung up, and continued writing, Lake promised himself that he would have a look at that book the first opportunity he got. It wasn't like Lily to keep things from him, and his curiosity was fueled as much by brotherly possessiveness as anything else. As he watched her delicately boned hand move across the page and saw her shoulders lift with a tense sigh, he knew. His lovely twin had a secret.

  She was wearing a floaty white silk blouse and brick-colored jodphurs this morning, and she'd gathered her hair into a thick bundle at her nape. He couldn't see the front of her blouse, but he assumed it was fastened with the diamond and pearl Medusa brooch that had been their mother's, and before that, their grandmother's, and so on, going back all the way back to the daughter of the founding Featherstone, Matthew Tobias.

  "You didn't come down to breakfast," he said.

  She jerked around, her eyes wide and startled. "I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that, Lake. You know it frightens me to death. " She closed the appointment book, opened the drawer of her desk, and slipped it inside.

  "Did you go riding?" he asked. Ordinarily he would have entered the spacious suite of rooms and made himself at home. The Victorian settee by the terrace doors was the spot he preferred, although occasionally he sprawled on her canopy bed as he used to do when they were young. He and Lily had never observed the same rules of space and privacy that other adult siblings did. They'd been together in the womb. They would be together until the grave, or so it seemed, which was undoubtedly why he resented so deeply her keeping secrets. He was also quite sure their embryonic connection was why neither of them had ever married. Why should they when they had so much of what they needed in each other?

  She had seemed distant recently, he reminded himself, although he'd assumed it had to do with Gus's situation. Having someone like Culhane skulking around was intolerable to a woman like Lily. When it came to the household, she ran a tight ship, which was undoubtedly why Frances Brightly had lasted as long as she had. The housekeeper could be a martinet, but she was also as meticulous as a surgical nurse.

  "No, I didn't go riding," Lily was telling him, "but our younger sister had quite a wild time of it, apparently. " She pushed back from the secretary and swung around on the chair, hooking her bootheel in one of the rungs. It made her look pensive and tomboyish, a rare pose for her, and one he found surprisingly attractive.

  Lake felt a twist of nostalgia as he thought about the adventures they'd had together as children, the galloping rides through the woods on their ponies. Lily had worshipped their father, mostly from afar—he wasn't a demonstrative man—but Lake had never felt the need of anyone's company but hers. And then Gus had been thrust upon them, ruining their bucolic existence. But even her intrusion had drawn them closer. Tormenting their little stepling had been a constant source of entertainment. God, what fiendish monsters they'd been.

  He regretted their cruelty now, especially when he heard Gus struggling to speak, but he was relieved to know his suspicions were true, that Gus was the source of Lily's mood. "She actually took Sapphire again? Do you want me to speak to her?"

  Lily rose in a fury and started toward him as if he were the object of her wrath. "She didn't take Sapphire! She and that dumb brute husband of hers spent the night in the stables with the other dumb brutes. I'm surprised Daniel could distinguish Culhane from the horses when he discovered them. "

  "Were they naked?" The question slipped out uncensored. Lake had seen both Gus and Culhane naked on the security screens. Now he was trying to imagine them together. Perhaps he'd put a camera in the stables.

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "I thought you said they spent the night in the stables having sex."

  "They were in the tack room, and yes, they were having sex. They must have been having it loud enough to wake the dead. I couldn't ride Sapphire this morning she was so skittish. Not that I wanted to, after that news. "

  Lake could feel himself perspiring and wished he'd worn something cooler than the white linen shirt and slacks Frances had laid out. Lily had never liked him in shorts, said his legs were too thin. "Frightening the horses? That old saw?"

  The antique brooch gleamed, Medusa's frightening countenance seeming to come to life as Lily fingered the pin. "That joke is what our lives have become, Lake. I thought you were going to do something about it. "

  "I am doing something about it, Lily. I've taken steps—"

  "Steps?" she said, briskly closing the remaining distance between them. "Forgive me if I take some steps myself. " Her hand flashed out as she reached him, and he thought she was going to slap him. Instead, she took hold of the bedroom door as if to close it—and force him out.

  That possibility stung Lake unbearably. It also brought out a rage in him that few but Lily could touch. Their father had been able to make him crazy—Lily and their father— but no one else. Lily had once betrayed him to Lake, Sr., when they were young, and Lake still considered it the only serious breach in their relationship. She had revealed that Lake had been spying on their parents' marital bed. The patriarch had been so repulsed he'd whipped Lake severely, confined him to the house, and forced him to wear a blindfold for days. He'd also been ordered to recite the commandment about honoring thy father and thy mother every time he spoke. But worst of all, Lake had always suspected Lily'd done it for the sole purpose of displacing him in their father's affections, and even though it had backfired, Lake had found that very difficult to forgive.

  "What are you doing?" he asked now, harshly.

  "I'd like to change my clothes. Is that all right with you? I'm meeting Ward for lunch at the club. "

&nbs
p; Lake stepped back as she swung the door shut, then braced himself and flung out a fist, slamming it open. The door crashed around violently and hit the stopper, snapping it in two. Across the room, one of Lily's collection of silver odds and ends fell off the bookshelves, adding to the clatter.

  Lily's frightened gasp pleased him. The little witch needed to be brought back in line occasionally. Nothing too extreme, of course, just a reminder of who called the shots. She seemed to like it that way. And he really didn't understand why she couldn't accept that he would handle this problem. He'd always taken care of things before, hadn't he? All those problems with Jillian, all that messiness about the baby. Hadn't he handled that?

  He caught the door as it rebounded and swung back at him. "The detective called me this morning with some interesting news. It seems someone is trying to kill Jack Culhane. Apparently our own sweet Gus has made several attempts on her husband's life, although it isn't clear why she wants him dead. "

  "I know why I'd like him dead, " Lily muttered. She'd stepped back and was clutching herself as if Lake had hurt her, which of course, he hadn't.

  Lake debated whether or not to reveal the seriousness of the situation. He had the distinct feeling that Lily was up to something, perhaps even hatching a plan of her own, and if that were the case, she would only interfere.

  "Be careful, Lily, " he said, softening his voice to a hush.

  The house carried whispers, and he couldn't risk anyone else hearing. "Don't do anything foolish. In fact, don't do anything at all. If Jack Culhane is who I think he is, he poses a grave, grave threat to this family. We are all vulnerable, every one of us, perhaps Gus most of all. "

  With some satisfaction, he watched the light of recognition seep into his sister's sea-mist green eyes. On the heels of her awareness came fear. "My God, Lake, what are you saying? That he knows about Jillian? That he knows about—"

  "Shhhh... yes, I'm afraid he might. "

  She began to work the clasp of her brooch. "Does Gus know about any of this? Is that why she's trying to get rid of him?"

  "It's not clear what she knows and doesn't know. The detective's information has been sketchy so far. Apparently Gus and Rob Emory had a relationship that went well beyond business, and Culhane came along and upset the applecart. It was Gus and Emory who were supposed to be married. The detective hasn't been able to determine why she married Culhane instead, but he thinks Culhane may have something on her. "

  "Gus is being blackmailed by Culhane?" Lily's hand stilled. "Then Emory himself has a motive for wanting the man dead, doesn't he? The scorned lover?"

  "Yes, possibly... and speaking of lovers, where is Gus now?"

  She smiled tremulously. "Oh, this is rich," she said. "You're going to love this. Frances says they've all gone to the beach, the three of them! Gus, Jack Culhane, and Bridget. "

  "They've taken Bridget?" Lake didn't give a damn what Gus and her husband did in the stables. They could screw each other and the horses if they wanted, but he was genuinely unhappy to hear this news. He could wait no longer. It was time to act.

  Chapter 23

  For the bored and the disaffected, Venice Beach, California, was an oceanside carnival and fleamarket rolled into one. The cement strand that wound along the becalmed Pacific was thronged with the usual buff golden bodies, but it was the fringe entertainment that had immortalized the area—the chainsaw jugglers, the street magicians, and the monocycling clowns.

  Everyone vied for attention. Rappers jammed on Rollerblades and acrobats walked on their hands, but the largest crowds had congregated down by Jody Maroni's Sausage Kingdom, where the real action was. Irresistible smells poured from the grill of Jody's kitchen, including the spicy sizzle of Moroccan lamb sausage and the piquant pungency of his orange, garlic, and cumin creation. Out front, beneath the awning, an accordionist played beer-barrel polka music, but the biggest draw was several quarter-size holes drilled in the pavement that jetted compressed air and blew up women's skirts.

  For the hungry there were pushcarts of steaming hot dogs, billowy cotton candy and rainbow-colored Sno-Kones. One street vendor came armed with a wandlike appliance that dispensed electrical shocks, which he claimed would cure everything from migraines to inhibited sexual desire. No one in the long line for the shockmeister's services appeared to be suffering from anything worse than a sunburn.

  Today Jack, Gus, and Bridget were among the curious, milling crowd. The boardwalk had been Jack's idea. It had come to him the night before, during their confinement in the tack room. "If we get out of here alive, " he'd promised wryly, "I'm taking you to Venice Beach. You've got to try one of Jody Maroni's Bombay bangers. "

  When Daniel had found them the next morning, Jack had kept his promise. Not thirty minutes after they'd been sprung from the stable, wearing swimsuits under their jeans and T-shirts, he and Gus had piled into his Chevy Blazer. Her Mercedes wasn't a "beach" car, he'd informed her. But they hadn't driven more than a block from the house when he'd stopped the car, and they'd both murmured the same thing simultaneously.

  "Bridget," they'd said, and looked at each other.

  "Let's take her along!" Gus had cried.

  Jack had known a moment's hesitation. He'd begun to feel like a marked man, and he was concerned about endangering the child. Whoever had him under surveillance wasn't going to take a day off to let Jack Culhane have a field trip. But his desire to spend time with Gus and Bridget doing something "normal" was profound, and Gus's enthusiasm had finally burned through his concerns.

  "She'll love it," he'd said, wheeling the Blazer around in a sharp U-turn.

  He'd been right. After some strenuous protesting that she should be allowed to wear her new Sleeping Beauty dance costume, Bridget had given in to Gus's imprecations that she "dress like a normal kid for once. " With a sour look, she'd changed into a red-and-white polka-dot sundress, but by the time they reached the beach, her mood had brightened considerably.

  "Should have let her wear that damn tutu, " Jack said once they'd checked the boardwalk scene out. He pointed to a group of teenagers with spiked hair in Day-Glo colors and strange jewelry piercing even stranger places. "This is Weirdo Central. Sleeping Beauty would have fit right in. "

  But Gus was too busy lavishing coconut-scented sunblock on her exposed parts to give the teenagers more than a glance. She'd removed her clothes in the car and wrapped herself with a chiffon skirt that matched her tiger-striped one-piece tank suit. Now she wanted to be sure her shoulders and arms were protected from the blazing July sunshine. She'd oiled Bridget up, too, much to the child's disgust. Only Jack had refused her mother-hen ministrations. Apparently Mr. Quiet-but-Deadly was too macho for sunblock.

  "Want to get zapped?" Jack whispered in Gus's ear as Bridget scampered off to check out the wares of the various booths.

  "I think I already was," Gus said, laughing. She recapped the sunblock and dropped it in her shoulder bag. "Last night. "

  "You have a dirty mind." He pulled her close, his hand in her hair as he nibbled on the silky pink lobe of her ear and breathed a steamy appreciative sound. "I was talking about him, " he said, pointing to the shockmeister.

  "Oh..." She favored Jack with a wicked grin and ran her finger down his leg, sorry he'd decided to leave on his jeans, but glad he'd shucked his T-shirt. "I'd rather have one of those sausages you mentioned. "

  "Watch your language, woman, the child is nigh. "

  Bridget was running toward them, yelling something about wanting a souvenir. "Can I have a tattoo?" she asked, breathless and pink with excitement as she reached them. "Come look! They've got naked women and skulls and crossbones!"

  "Naked women? Ouch!" Jack winced as Gus slugged his arm.

  "Tattoos are permanent, darling," Gus explained to Bridget. "Madame Zola wouldn't approve of her Sleeping

  Beauty looking like a biker mama, and you do want to dance that part in the recital, don't you?"

  "What's a biker mama?" Bridget wanted to know.


  "Cher," Jack volunteered.

  "Oh... yeah, " she agreed with a thoughtful nod. Ever resourceful, the child had a ready alternative. "Forget about the deathhead then. It wouldn't go with my costume anyway. How about a live baby tarantula?"

  "I've got an idea." Jack waved her with him over to a nearby stand where stuffed animals were sold. "How about this?" He held up a gray-and-white stuffed hippo with curly black eyelashes and a pink net skirt.

  "What's that?" Bridget asked.

  "It's a hippo in a tutu."

  "I know... but what's the point?"

  "You like ballet, don't you?"

  "Yes... "

  "Haven't you ever seen Fantasia?'

  Apparently Bridget could see where this conversation was going. She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I don't go to Disney movies anymore, " she informed him. "Haven't for years. "

  "How many years could it have been?" He gave her a reproving look. "You're going to this one, Sleeping Beauty. And you're going to like it. A lot. "

  His firm tone said that was an order, and Bridget peered up at him, clearly startled. Traces of pink color stained her porcelain cheeks, but her blinking gaze was tinged with awe. "Okay, " she said softly. "Don't get your knickers in a knot. "

  Gus was secretly amused at the little girl's reaction. To her credit, Bridget had already figured out that throwing a hissy fit with Jack Culhane would not be a good move. It appeared that the five-year-old had finally met her match.

  Gus experienced a tiny thrill of awareness watching the chemistry between the very large man and the very little girl. They were clearly smitten with each other, and it was a wondrous thing to see. Jack's ruggedly masculine profile and powerful, scarred body was such a profound contrast to

  Bridget's watchful, dimpled softness. She was the key to the future, a child of wonder and sweet, untainted promise. He was locked in the past, a man harboring profane knowledge about pain, about life and death. They seemed perfect complements, as if together they could somehow form a whole.