Heart's Reward

by Donna Hill

  “Hmm. I’ll skip over to all the good stuff,” he said, making her laugh, and she realized he made her laugh often and easily.

  He talked a little bit about his job, what he liked and disliked about being chief of staff for the senator. He told her about his love of fishing, which he rarely got to do, and his motorcycle, which he rode whenever he could.

  “I can see you on a bike,” she said with renewed appreciation for this man’s man.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he said, bobbing his head. He looked across the room and zeroed in on the piano. “Come on.” He took her hand and walked her over to the piano. He sat down on the bench and invited her to join him. Once she was settled, he drifted into a rendition of “Ordinary People,” then segued to “A House is Not a Home,” then a medley of some jazz pieces and R&B favorites. Everyone from their spot in the room either hummed or sung along, and for a time lost themselves in the moment and the music.

  “That was amazing,” Melanie enthused when he brought his one-man show to an end. “If you ever leave government, you can always get a night club gig.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  When they looked up, they realized that they were alone. The others had drifted off.

  “Well,” Melanie said on a breath, “I should show you to your room.”

  “Sure.”

  They pushed back from the bench. Claude’s arm braced her back when she stumbled over the leg of the bench. She turned halfway and found herself in an almost embrace.

  Her cheeks heated and again she was thankful for the darkness.

  “Good catch. Thanks.” She righted herself and moved out of his arms and realized how good they felt around her, even better than they did the night they met.

  She went to the other side of the room and took one of the lamps and a flashlight from the table. She handed the lamp to Claude and led the way upstairs with the flashlight.

  When they reached the top of the landing Melanie turned left down the hallway, adorned on either side by abstract art from a local female artist from the Harbor who’d captured Melanie’s attention.

  “Your room is right here.” She opened a door and, even in the dim light, Claude could see it was a stunning layout. King-sized bed, bay windows overlooking the surf, flat-screen television mounted on the wall, lush carpet cushioned any footfall. An armoire and an eight-drawer dresser provided the additional furnishings, along with a deep, overstuffed lounge chair near the window.

  “This is some spread for a guest,” he said.

  Melanie laughed lightly. “We never know who might wind up staying with us and we want to make sure that everyone is as comfortable as possible. During the summer months we have guests that stay for a couple of weeks at a time. It’s quite beautiful here in the summer.”

  “Yes, it is.” He drew in a long breath and slowly exhaled.

  The awkward moment introduced itself and stood between them. Waiting.

  Claude cleared his throat.

  Melanie lightly ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “Um, the bath is through that door,” she managed to say.

  He nodded but didn’t speak, his gazed fixed on her, taking her in.

  If anyone would have asked her what in the world she was thinking at that moment, she would not have been able to explain. It was like watching a movie. That fateful moment when the two actors realize that they can’t deny their attraction any longer and the woman finds herself tightly woven in the embrace of the man she’s desired but couldn’t have.

  Their kiss was surreal and electric, inevitable yet stunning in its suddenness. Warmth became a physical thing touching and stroking her curves, stoking what before was smoldering until her skin was on fire and the pool of heat settled in her center.

  His mouth was more than she’d imagined when she memorized the dip and thickness of his lips. It was firm and soft and full and gentle and teasing and commanding—all at once. She couldn’t keep up with the sensations so she let herself become one with them.

  “I’ve thought about this from the day that I met you,” he said against the hollow of her neck.

  The feathering of his lips along the lines of her throat vibrated through her body. She moaned softly, sinking further into his embrace, tracing the sinewy lines of his broad back with the balls of her fingers. He eased her closer to the hard contours of his body until they were molded together as perfect as an artist’s sculpture.

  They seemed to think and feel the same thing simultaneously as they moved in unison toward the bed that beckoned them. Sitting on the edge, Claude eased back and looked closely at Melanie. He caressed her cheek and cupped her chin in his hand when she placed her lips there. He stroked her shoulder, moving slowly down her arm. “Is this what you want?”

  Her eyes fluttered open. She focused on the sincerity in his gaze that struggled with the passion that hovered there.

  “Yes, I want this,” she said in whispered conviction.

  He took her mouth then, melding it with his before removing her top and tossing it aside. Her full breasts rose to greet the heat of his lips, which brushed tantalizingly across the butter-soft crests.

  Melanie shuddered as the raw thrill shot through her. He reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, then eased the straps over her shoulders. In the play of shadow and light he tried to memorize how perfect she was. He took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. He unfastened the one button of her slacks and slid them down over her hips.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so beautiful through the eyes of someone else. He grazed the pad of his thumbs lightly across the hard ridges of her nipples and her inner thighs trembled, the hot silky dew slid along her insides, readying her body for him.

  With sure fingers she began unbuttoning his shirt. He tugged it off and tossed it next to her clothing on the floor. He didn’t give her a chance to undress him further—he did it all.

  Melanie’s soft inhale at the sight of him fueled his own desires. They stretched out on the bed, exploring each other, slow and deliberate then with more urgency as their needs blossomed. His lips, his tongue, his fingertips acted as a conductor, a maestro stirring her flesh, her mind, the very blood that coursed through her body setting it all on fire.

  She found herself beneath him, his weight like a comforting quilt that she wanted to wrap herself up and around in.

  The thickness and heat of his erection pressed against her and instinctively she parted her thighs to give him what they both longed for.

  He was so incredibly hard, she thought in an instant of clarity, which only intensified the warm liquid that slipped out to meet him.

  Claude pushed just the head against her opening and his head spun. She whimpered ever so softly as he slid his arms beneath her to lift her flush against him.

  She spread her thighs wider and bent her knees as he pushed past her throbbing opening. They both moaned at the exquisite rush of pleasure that shot through them as he moved deep and slow within her.

  Claude groaned almost in a kind of agony, the feeling so intense that it shook him down to the balls of his feet and all he wanted to do was be still and let it wash through him. But need overrode all else and he moved in and out of her, hoping to touch and claim every inch within her.

  He wasn’t just inside of her, his mouth and hands made love to her, as well. He kissed, he nibbled, he touched, he suckled, every act, driving her to a near frenzy.

  Melanie longed for the magnificent release that she knew was close at hand, but she didn’t want the ecstasy to stop. It was too sweet, too perfect. But she could feel herself on the brink of coming. It began in the back of her legs, the heat, the tingling, moved up her thighs and taunted her undulating behind, settled in her center and grew like a firestorm, building, uncontrolled.

  He was moving faster now, deeper, stronger.

  She tightened her knees along the sides of his body. Her heart was racing out of control, her breath coming in short escalating pants as her finge
rs dug into his back, her face buried in his neck to stifle her cries of release that slammed into her like the waves that crashed against the bluffs below the window.

  Her body was electrified as jolt after jolt rocketed through her, shaking her like a rag doll with its power. But he wasn’t done. Even as her insides continued to grip and release him, he moved steadily in and out of her, his erection even harder and more full if that was even possible.

  Claude slid his arm under her hips, his other behind her back pulling her tight until they were sealed together from their lips to their toes and he exploded within her, setting her off on another body-rocking climax.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered against his damp neck.

  Their hearts banged and slammed against one another even as the last drops of his essence jerked out of him.

  By degrees their breathing slowed, their limbs loosened and their pulses moved toward normal.

  Claude kissed her tenderly as if for the first time. So sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.

  Cocooned in the security of darkness, they drifted off to a satiated sleep, tucked in each other’s arms.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept or what woke her. She tried to focus in the dark. Her stomach lurched when it hit her where she was and what she had done. She felt sick. She turned her head slightly. Claude was stretched out next to her. His arm was draped possessively across her waist. Gently and quietly, she lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. In the darkness she located her clothes and got dressed the best she could. With her shoes in her hand she eased toward the door and prayed that she wouldn’t run into anyone in the hallway en route to her room.

  She closed the door as softly as she could and hurried to her room, where she spent the rest of the night in misery.

  Chapter 7

  Claude stirred. It was the silence that awakened him. The storm had ceased and the pale moon struggled behind an army of clouds for recognition. The candles were all but burned out, their remains like fallen clothing at their bases. He turned, anticipating the warmth of Melanie’s body, and met cool emptiness. He sat up, adjusting his eyes to the gray light.

  He tossed the twisted sheet aside and noticed the digital bedside clock flashing 2:00 a.m. The power must have come back on while they slept, he rationalized abstractly. He stood and listened for signs of Melanie, thinking that she must be in the adjoining bathroom. On the floor where he’d tossed their clothing, only his remained. He drew in a long breath of reality followed by a mental marathon of questions that ran in succession, never waiting for answers. Why did she leave without saying anything? How did he not hear her? Had something else happened that caused her to leave without explanation?

  He reached down on the floor and retrieved his boxers. He couldn’t very well go looking for her in the middle of the night, he thought, putting them on, or go knocking on her bedroom door, not that he knew which door it was, and in any case neither scenario was an option. He dropped down onto the side of the bed, then fell back against the firm mattress, throwing an arm across his eyes. What he felt inside was gray like the light beyond his window, affording the viewer just enough illumination to determine shapes and not much more. It didn’t feel right at all. But there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it until he saw Melanie again.

  Melanie showered and dressed, wanting to extend her morning ritual throughout the day and into the night. Perhaps by then Claude would have gone back with Alan to the city and she wouldn’t have to face him. The muscles in her throat tightened as she struggled not to cry. How could she have been so stupid, so reckless to jeopardize the business and its reputation just so that she could live out her fantasy of getting laid by Claude Montgomery? Oh God. She was just as trifling as some of the women TPS had refused to deal with.

  How could she face her brother, her family knowing what she’d allowed to happen? It would be all over her face. She knew it.

  She ran a comb through her hair as she faced the mirror and was appalled at the dark circles under her eyes. There was only so much magic makeup could do. She took her time covering up her indiscretion.

  Voices from downstairs reached up to her and she tried to listen for Claude’s voice among the others but she didn’t hear it. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he’d gone. Maybe last night didn’t really happen. But it did, you fool.

  Tossing the comb on the dresser, she sealed her emotions behind a façade of professionalism when she entered the dining room, although last night was anything but professional.

  Evan was at the serving table pouring a glass of juice. Veronica and Jessica were in conversation. Vincent, Alan and Claude were not there. A momentary sensation of relief was quickly replaced by disappointment when Jessica told her that Alan had driven Claude back into the city and Vincent went home to check on Cherise.

  Was he that eager to get away from her that he couldn’t bother to say goodbye? Maybe she had no reason to feel guilty. Maybe it was no more to him than a roll in the hay. The thought stung.

  “You okay, Aunt Mel?” Veronica asked.

  Melanie blinked her into focus. She forced herself to smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep very well.”

  “At least the power is back on,” Veronica said. “I have tons of work to do. I told Mr. Montgomery about our choices for him and he seemed very pleased. I’ll make the calls today and get everything set up.”

  Every word was a blow. He seemed very pleased. Of course he did. What happened between them was just a fling between two consenting adults. He can walk off without a care in the world, while she was left feeling like the neighborhood good-time girl. She felt ill. She’d never done anything so reckless before. Oh my God…they hadn’t used protection.

  “Aunt Mel, what is it?” Veronica said, alarm present in her voice. She was halfway out of her seat.

  Melanie concentrated on slowing down her racing heart with measured breaths.

  “You gasped like you’d seen something horrible.”

  She did. Herself. She turned her back to her nieces, reached for the coffee on the table and came face to face with Evan.

  “You don’t look well, Ms. Harte. Maybe I should fix you some tea.”

  “Thank you. I think that might help.”

  “Right away.”

  “Are you coming down with something? You did say you didn’t sleep well. Maybe you’re catching a cold.”

  “Maybe. I think I’ll take it easy today, just in case,” she said, happy for an excuse to steal away to her room.

  “We can handle everything here,” Jessica offered.

  “Go rest. I’ll ask Evan to bring your breakfast.”

  Melanie waved off the offer. “Tea is fine for now. Maybe something a little later. Thanks.” She walked out of the room and upstairs. It took all she had not to burst into tears.

  Quietly she shut her bedroom door. She had no reason to feel so miserable. But she did. She felt silly and she had to get over it. Claude Montgomery may have been her heart and body’s desire, but he was still a paying client and she could not, even for a moment, allow him to think that his 50k bought any side favors from her.

  What must he think of her? That sick sensation rolled in her stomach again. She shook her head. She would have to put it out of her mind, find a way to mentally move through it and do what she was hired to do: find the perfect woman for Claude Montgomery.

  Asking for a refund would be petty, Claude thought as he donned his helmet and pushed his bike down the pathway of his house toward the street. He’d tried to sleep. That was useless. His mind became filled with images and sounds of Melanie and their incredible night together. Only it all seemed like something he’d made up, a figment of his imagination. He certainly couldn’t talk to his best friend, Alan, about the situation. “Oh, by the way, bro, I slept with your sister last night and it was fabulous.” Had it been any other woman, he was sure that Alan would have some great advice along with a hearty congratulatory slap on the back. But this was his sister and
it was clear from how he talked about her, talked to her and treated her that he truly adored Melanie.

  This wasn’t his fault, he reasoned as the mighty engine roared to life beneath him. But of course it was. He’d kissed her first. Told her it was what he wanted from the moment they’d met. So what if it was true? Had he not kissed her, become tantalized by her lips, her scent, the feel of her next to him, beneath him, wrapped around him, then the fact that she was gone without a word when he awoke wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t give a damn. And he was mad as hell at himself that he cared.

  He took off down the street, heading for the highway. He had no particular destination in mind, he only knew that he needed to get out, find a way to clear his head. He raced past cars on the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, eliciting the blare of horns and strings of curses from the drivers. He didn’t care. He could feel his anger, humiliation and disappointment boil beneath the surface. How had she been able to get under his skin so quickly and so thoroughly to a point where he wasn’t thinking clearly? He’d never been one of those guys that was led by their little head. So why now, and why Melanie Harte?

  He drove further into the Westchester suburbs until the houses became less numerous, guarded by massive lawns, towering trees and electronic gates.

  On the ride back from Sag Harbor he’d been withdrawn, unusually quiet with the man he’d known for most of his adult life. When Alan questioned him, he passed it off as being tired, which wasn’t as much of a lie as it was a detour from the truth. He was tired after having stayed up the balance of the night wondering what went wrong. What he wanted to talk about was Melanie. He wanted to ask Alan what were the things that made her happy, why had she never married again, was she seeing anyone, what was her favorite dessert, her passion. He wanted to learn everything there was to learn about her, but he couldn’t ask, and now he would never know. And that was his last thought before he heard the sound of sirens.