Hannah felt the firm touch of his lips pressing against hers, nudging them apart. She was determined to resist, and for nearly a second or two, she did manage to keep her lips locked tightly together. But his tongue was coaxing for admission, flicking lightly over her lips, tracing the shape of them, tantalizing her to allow him entry.
An insidious combination of pleasure and temptation undermined her resolve to push him away. She heard a small moan and realized that it had come from her. Hannah tried to remember why kissing him was such a bad idea, but the only thing she could summon to mind was the thrill of his kiss. Her senses recalled every single detail of his touch and his taste and were demanding to experience it all again.
Finally she gave in, her usual strong-willed stubbornness conceding to the urging of her body. Without any force from him, her lips relaxed and parted, and he thrust his tongue deeply inside her mouth.
Hannah’s whole world careened into a timeless, sensual realm where nothing mattered except the heat and hunger and passion of their kiss. His hands still cupped her face, holding her mouth firmly under his as he slanted his lips over hers, first at one angle then another, drinking deeply from the moist warmth within. His tongue moved masterfully against hers in an erotic stimulation that she found exquisitely arousing.
She clutched his shirt with her hands, trying to pull his body closer, wanting—needing to feel his hard male frame against her. Heat spilled from her breasts to her belly and ribboned lower, surging into a hot river of desire. Hannah whimpered and swayed closer in sweet surrender.
Matthew abruptly raised his head. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her back against her seat. She slitted open her eyes to see him reach across her and fling open the door on her side of the van. His body momentarily brushed hers but he slipped back into his own seat behind the wheel as she slumped bonelessly against the dark upholstery.
A gust of wind blew raindrops inside through the open door. Hannah felt the cool moisture against her skin and shivered. The blood was roaring in her ears and she was gulping for breath. She opened her eyes wider and turned her head to look questioningly at Matthew.
He was watching her. “Ever hear about being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Well, it applies here and now.” He shrugged. “We were getting ahead of ourselves. If we’d followed through with what we both wanted to do, you would’ve missed your curfew, little girl.”
His words punctured her sensual daze as effectively as a pinprick to a helium balloon. Hannah bolted upright in her seat. “I don’t have a curfew!” She hurled the words at him, suddenly as furious as a spitting cat. He’d kissed her senseless, ended it when she was quivering with urgency and now had the nerve to quote song lyrics and make jokes at her expense! “And the only thing I want to do is—is to get away from you!”
He laughed softly. “Now why am I having trouble believing that?”
“Well, believe it!” As an exit line, she conceded that it lacked flair and originality, but her mind was too muddled to come up with the devastating rejoinder that the situation required. Her emotions churning, Hannah climbed out of the van and rushed into the dry safety of her own car, pulling the door closed with a hard, satisfying slam.
Matthew idled the van alongside her car until she turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Then he drove away, retracing the route back to the boardinghouse. Hannah waited until her breathing and pulse rate had returned to normal before beginning her drive home.
It was a short, fast drive with the radio blaring in an attempt to displace the thoughts tumbling kaleidoscope fashion through her head. And though she arrived home in record time, Matthew Granger continued to dominate her thoughts, no matter how loud the music blasted over the airwaves.
Contrary to Matthew’s taunt, she did not have a curfew and the house was dark and quiet when Hannah let herself in the front door. She was relieved that her parents had already retired to their suite for the night; she wasn’t up for even a superficial conversation with them. Hannah removed her shoes, and for a moment, let her toes curl luxuriously into the thickness of the Oriental carpet in the hallway. She was halfway up the stairs when the soft hum of her grandmother’s wheelchair caught her attention.
“Hannah? Hannah, is that you, dear?” her grandmother’s voice called from downstairs. The noise of the motor grew louder, indicating that the wheelchair was drawing nearer.
Hannah stifled a sigh. Though she loved her grandmother dearly, she wasn’t up to a chat with her just now. But she turned and padded back down the stairs, her shoes dangling by the straps from her fingers. “Hello, Grandmother.”
She smiled as the older woman steered the motorized wheelchair into the vestibule. Her grandmother had selected the chair after her stroke, when it had become clear that walking was no longer an option for her. Now Lydia Farley was an accomplished driver, something of a speed demon, able to commandeer the chair to take her any and every place she wanted to go. She was also a night owl with a sweet tooth and held a plate of iced sugar cookies on her lap.
“I’d just come to the kitchen for a snack when I heard your car,” Lydia explained, holding up the plate of cookies and offering them to Hannah. “Do join me, my dear. Come into the parlor.”
Hannah followed her into the cozy sitting room down the hall from the large formal living room. She reached for a cookie and took a dainty bite. It was rich and buttery and melted in her mouth. She took another bite and sighed, feeling herself begin to unwind at last. “Thank you, Grandmother. I really needed this.”
Her grandmother nodded approvingly. “Sometimes it’s cognac or sherry and sometimes it’s cookies or chocolate ice cream. One must be aware which panacea works best and when.”
“In that case, after a night like tonight I probably should be downing a triple whiskey in one gulp,” Hannah said wryly.
“My goodness, it sounds like you had quite an evening. Wasn’t the surprise engagement party the success you had hoped for?”
Hannah devoured another cookie. “Oh, yes, I suppose it was. Abby and Ben were very happy and everybody seemed to have a good time. Yes, the, uh, the party was...very nice.”
“Very nice,” her grandmother repeated. “How very bland. I can’t remember the last time you described anything as ‘very nice,’ Hannah Kaye. I’ve heard you use ‘fabulous’ and ‘heinous’ and all sorts of terms in between. But nice? The party must have been dull indeed.”
“I wish it had been dull!” Hannah exclaimed fervently. “I would’ve gladly settled for dull. Dull would be preferable to the—the...fiasco that—” She broke off, aware that she was blushing.
“Ah, a fiasco. That explains it.” Her grandmother nodded. “You met a new man at the party. And from the looks of you, he has you in quite a tizzy.”
“Grandmother, I am not in a tizzy!” Hannah paused to glance curiously at her grandmother, who was regarding her with amused gray eyes. “How do you know he’s a new man?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been kissing the ones you already know. And you were kissing this man, my dear. Don’t bother to deny it. Your hair is tousled, your lipstick is all rubbed off and I haven’t seen you blush in years. Now tell me, who is this mystery man? What is his name and when did he come to Clover?”
“He’s a mystery, all right. And the biggest mystery is why I ever...why I let him...Ohhh, Grandmother.” Hannah sank onto a silk upholstered walnut settee and clutched her head with both hands. “He’s trouble. He’s aggressive and moody, and—and he’s way too macho and self-confident. He makes me shaky. He makes me furious. I should’ve slapped him down—”
“But you didn’t,” Lydia concluded. “You kissed him instead. And the evening was far from dull. I believe ‘nice’ is a bit out of context, too.”
Her grandmother seemed pleased. Hannah frowned. “Grandmother, this is not a man you would ever want me to get involved with.”
“That doesn’t tell me much, Hannah. I practically begged you not to get engag
ed to that cold-fish Milquetoast, Carter Moore, but you went right ahead and did it anyway.”
“Believe me, Grandmother, Matthew Granger is nothing like Carter Moore.”
“That is definitely a point in his favor,” Lydia said succinctly. “At least this new man, this Matthew Granger, sounds as if he has blood in his veins instead of liquid refrigerant like the glacial Mr. Moore.”
“Carter was a human iceberg, wasn’t he?” Hannah grimaced.
“And marriage to him would be like setting sail on the Titanic. I was positively thrilled when you broke your engagement to him, my dear.”
“You were the only one who was, besides me, of course.” Hannah heaved a sigh. “Mother and Daddy still lament the loss of Carter as their son-in-law.”
Lydia dismissed the laments with a shrug and a wave of her hand. “I know they are your parents, I know your father is my son, but Baylor and Martha Lee are stuffy bores. You grandfather and I could never understand how our son grew up to be so stiff and humorless. He considered us too frivolous. We did not fit with his rigid notions of propriety and so he chose to marry your mother who, as we all know, is very, very proper indeed.”
“And so are Sarah and Deborah and Bay.” Hannah smiled. “How come I turned out to be the only capricious throwback to you and Granddaddy?”
“Perhaps because you are the result of the only moments of spontaneity that your parents ever experienced.” Lydia grinned wickedly. “I’ve often speculated about it. That summer Baylor and Martha Lee vacationed in the south of France—their family quite complete—with absolutely no plans for any new little additions and then...suddenly they are carried away by an inexplicable bout of passion that resulted in you, Hannah. You simply had to be different, and I am thankful every day that you are who you are.”
“Careful, Grandmother, you’re encouraging me again,” Hannah teased. It was a long-standing joke between them. Baylor Carleton III and Martha Lee were forever admonishing Lydia for ‘encouraging’ Hannah in un-Farley-like behavior.
“And I shall continue to do so, my dear. Now, back to your new young man—”
“Grandmother, he is not my new anything. He can’t be. He’s—he’s too unnerving.”
“I think that the same characteristics that unnerve you attract you to him, too.” Lydia took a contemplative bite of another cookie. “And it sounds to me as if it isn’t his virility that frightens you as much as your own response to it.”
“Grandmother!” Hannah admonished. “Did I mention a thing about virility?”
“You didn’t have to, child. I’m not blind. I can see the effect this man has had on you. And I—”
She stopped in midsentence when they heard the front door open and then close. Hannah’s brother, Baylor Carleton IV, strode down the hall, stepping into the parlor when he noticed the lights on.
“Grandmother, what are you doing up at this hour?” Bay frowned his disapproval. His eyes darted to his younger sister, took in her unabashedly sexy silver dress, and his countenance grew even more stern. “Hannah, please tell me you did not leave the house in that...that—”
“It’s called a dress, Bay.” Hannah arched her brows. “And I wore it to Ben and Abby’s engagement party at the Clover Street Boardinghouse.”
Bay’s frown eased somewhat. He had no interest in Hannah’s friends who were outside the Farley family social circle. “Well, as long as you weren’t at the club or anywhere where you could be seen by anyone that matters... But as far as dresses go, yours is a bit extreme, Hannah, even for that particular...group of yours.”
Hannah and her grandmother exchanged glances.
“Would you care for a cookie, Baylor?” Grandmother offered her grandson the plate.
Baylor shuddered. “At this hour? No, thank you. And you shouldn’t be eating them at any hour, Grandmother. Consider the ingredients—sugar, butter, eggs. All are bad for you. If you must snack, carrot sticks or celery or perhaps even a rice cake would be far more suitable.”
“My dear boy, when you’ve passed your eightieth birthday as I have, one can have a cookie whenever one pleases.” Grandmother split the last cookie in two, handing one half to Hannah and nibbling on the other herself.
“Where were you tonight, Bay?” Hannah asked, glancing at her brother’s custom-tailored tuxedo. Someplace insufferably stuffy and dull, she was sure of that. Though it was late, he looked immaculate, every hair in place, not even a single wrinkle in his clothing or a smudge on his polished shoes. She compared his impeccable appearance with her own and felt a tingle of pink stain her cheeks. Unlike herself, it was plain to see that brother Bay had not been necking with an impossibly inappropriate individual.
Bay actually smiled. “I was invited to dinner at the Wyndham estate,” he said proudly. He sat down on the matching settee opposite Hannah’s.
Grandmother looked bored. “I’m surprised that they didn’t demand you appear in white tie and tails. Dining at the Wyndhams is more formal than a White House state dinner.”
Hannah sat up straight, her every nerve on alert. It seemed queerly coincidental that her brother had spent the evening at the very place she’d seen marked in target red on Matthew Granger’s map. Was it some kind of weirdly prophetic clue? At a moment like this in an occult-suspense movie, there would be a dramatic crescendo of blood-chilling music as a tip-off. But sitting here in the quiet Farley parlor, there were no such telltale sound effects.
“I was invited to be Justine’s escort,” Bay continued proudly.
“Now which one is that?” his grandmother asked.
“She is Alex’s daughter, Justine Wyndham Marshall.”
“Ah, yes.” Grandmother nodded her recognition. “Alexandra is divorced from Justine’s wretched father, Justin Marshall.”
“Alex?” Hannah raised her brows. “You’re certainly getting chummy with her, aren’t you, Bay?”
Baylor glowered at his sister. “Alexandra would like nothing better than to see Justine and I make a match of it. Needless to say, so would I. It’s almost unimaginable, but in all these years a Farley has never married a Wyndham. I would like to be the first to unite the two families. It will be nothing less than a historic joining!”
“But Justine just turned twenty—she’s still in college,” Hannah noted. “And anytime I’ve seen her, she’s been quiet and anxious, not your type at all, Bay.”
“An eight-year difference hardly matters later on, but the difference between twenty and twenty-eight is crucial,” their grandmother interjected. “And I firmly believe that a twenty-year-old is too young to marry anybody. Why, imagine if Hannah had wed at that age!”
“Grandmother, there is absolutely no comparison between Hannah and Justine, and for that I am immensely grateful. A girl like Hannah would drive me mad in less than a week, but Justine is very quiet—irritatingly so—but she is also quite pliable. I can mold her into the type of wife who will suit me. And Alexandra agrees. She wants Justine to have a husband who is a stabilizing influence.”
Hannah was appalled. “What a disgustingly retro viewpoint! What about what Justine wants? And what about love?”
“Hannah, you are so naive.” Bay rose to his feet and glared disparagingly at his sister. “Romantic love is nothing but a childish delusion, fostered by the media and the advertising-industrial complex. It is definitely an impractical and unrealistic basis for marriage. I want to marry a Wyndham to enhance my personal wealth and my social standing. Alexandra wants me to marry Justine to keep her from falling for some totally unsuitable idiot who will not match the standards of the Wyndham family. Justine is a biddable girl who will do as she’s told.”
“And Baylor Carleton Farley IV more than meets the high standards of the illustrious Wyndhams, I suppose,” Hannah said caustically. She was incensed. Alexandra Wyndham was a snob and worse if she were willing to push her daughter into a loveless marriage with the blatantly social-climbing Bay! Maybe she deserved to have Matthew Granger pay a midnight visit to her jew
elry box after all!
Bay either missed or ignored the caustic note in his sister’s voice. “One could argue that I exceed the Wyndham’s requirements,” he replied smugly. “I am a successful stockbroker, an excellent golfer and a lively conversationalist. I am the ideal candidate for Justine’s hand, and I intend to be engaged to her by the end of the summer.” He bent down and dutifully kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Good night, Grandmother. Please go to bed soon. You need your rest. Don’t let her keep you up too late.” He shot another disapproving glance at Hannah.
Bay marched grandly from the room. Hannah and her grandmother sat quietly until they heard him mount the stairs.
“You go first, Grandmother,” Hannah offered eagerly.
“My dear, I cede the floor to you. I can see you’re absolutely bursting with the need to comment on your brother’s cold-blooded, coldhearted, self-serving plan.”
“I wanted to shove a flashlight down Bay’s throat!” Hannah exclaimed. “Have you ever heard such an ego?”
“I’m sorry to say that young Baylor heads his own admiration society,” Lydia said, sighing.
“He’s the only member in it.”
Lydia’s gray eyes, so like Hannah’s gleamed with mischief. “I’m unfamiliar with his success in the stock market or on the golf course, but I have never thought of young Baylor as a lively conversationalist.”
“Poor Justine! I wish we could rescue her.” Hannah looked troubled. “I don’t know her very well—I don’t think anybody does—but from what I do know of her, she is shy and seems to be totally dominated by her mother.”
“Sad.” Lydia tsked with sympathy. “A pity.”
“Why would Alexandra Wyndham want to marry off her only child to Baylor, Grandmother? He’d cold and pompous and he doesn’t even make a pretense of loving Justine. He doesn’t love anything except himself—and money and social status, of course.”
“Heaven only knows.” Lydia shook her head. “But I certainly don’t think that Alexandra is qualified to pick a husband for anyone. She did such a poor job of selecting one for herself. Justin Marshall was simply vile, a country-club Casanova with a drinking and gambling problem. Why she ever married him in the first place is beyond me, but I do recall hearing certain rumors about her when she was just a girl.”
The Engagement Party Page 7
