by Billie Green
"As unlikely as it seems," he went on, "that's where we met Pete . . . and Charles. I never really had anything against Charles. He just seemed a little odd to me." Deep lines appeared around his eyes as he concentrated on the past. "He would never participate. In anything. Sports, parties. Sometimes I wondered if he were participating in life. But he always watched those who did with an ugly jealousy." He shrugged as he put the last container in the refrigerator. "That's all I can tell you about Charles. He was there, but that's all. I haven't got a clue to why he's doing this to Tony. I can't remember him being any more resentful of Tony than of me or Pete.
"This . . . this incident that the letters keep referring to, it had nothing to do with Charles. No one was involved except Tony and a girl." He got another beer from the refrigerator and took a long swallow before going on with his story. "Her name was He1ene. She had short black hair that made her look like a mischievous boy until you looked closer. I have to admit I was a little in love with her myself . . . until I got to know her better." He shook his head. "I still can't understand how Tony could have been so thoroughly fooled by her. They were supposed to be engaged, but she kept the ring in her purse and only wore it when she was with Tony. She broke dates with him time after time and each time he made excuses for her."
"She was seeing someone else?"
"Someone else? There was an army of someone elses. She even tried working her wiles on me once. But Tony was my friend and the fact that she was cheating on him made her look ugly. I wanted to tell Tony what I had seen and heard, but I felt it wasn't any of my business. You don't know how many times I've kicked myself for that."
"No, you were right," she said. "If he was obsessed with her, he wouldn't have believed you.
It would have caused a rift in your friendship at a time when he needed his friends."
He smiled at her attempt to ease his conscience, then shook his head. "One day she came to him and told him she was pregnant. Tony was over, the moon. He liked children and it meant they would get married—which was what he wanted."
He drew in a harsh breath and she could tell the next part wouldn't be pleasant.
"She told him she didn't want the baby and she didn't want to get married," he said flatly. "All she wanted was enough money for an abortion. I could have killed her for that. She didn't even try to let him down easy. It was as though she enjoyed hurting him. Then when he refused to give her the money for an abortion, she changed her tune. She became sweet and pliant and talked about their future together. She said she hadn't really wanted to get rid of the baby; she was only testing him, to see if he really loved her or would take the easy way out." He sighed. "You can guess what happened then."
"She pretended to need money for something else?" she asked quietly.
"For prenatal care," he confirmed in disgust. "She could have let it go at that. She could have simply told him later that she had miscarried. But she didn't. She called him the next day to tell him she was on her way to an abortionist and that he didn't have to worry about it because the baby wasn't his."
She sucked in her breath. "A double blow," she whispered with the sheen of unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "Losing her and the baby at the same time."
He nodded. "Tony went crazy. I tried to stop him, but there was nothing I could do except trail along behind as he went through the slums looking for her. He didn't even know what part of town she was in when she called. When I finally convinced him it was impossible to find her, we went back to the apartment and sat up all night waiting for her to call again."
He paused and she knew she didn't want to hear what he was going to say next.
"The police called about nine the next morning," he said quietly. "They had found his telephone number in Helene's purse. She was dead. She had bled to death in a little room in a suburb of Paris."
She tried to take in all he had told her, but it was too much, too fast. "I'm sorry, Alex," she said, her voice hoarse. She covered both his hands with hers. "It must have been very painful for him." And you, she added silently. The friend who wanted so badly to comfort but couldn't.
They sat for a while as they were, hands entwined, communicating silently. Then Kate said, "But I still don't understand about the blackmail part, Alex. The only guilty party is dead. How could anyone threaten Tony with that kind of information?"
"I've tried to tell him that," he said, nodding. "The letters blame him for everything—the pregnancy, the abortion, and Helene's death—but he had nothing to do with any of it."
She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. "Was his affair with Helene common knowledge?"
"In our circle? Sure it was. But everyone also knew Helene was sleeping around. No one connected her death with Tony."
"Someone obviously did . . . and still does. They're out to hurt him." She glanced at him. "I suppose the notoriety that would follow newspaper stories would do that"
"In his profession, notoriety is the norm." When she glanced at him in inquiry, he said, "Have you ever heard of Anthony Blakewell?"
She started to shake her head no, then stopped. "Anthony Blakewell. . . the Shakespearean actor?"
He nodded. "No, it's not publicity that's bothering him. Or the threats to tell his wife. Diane knows all about it. What's throwing him is that the author of those letters claims to have evidence that the baby was Tony's after all." He hesitated. "Tony and Diane can't have children. I think that's part of what's eating at him. He simply wants to know the truth and he wants the constant reminders to stop. He wants the past to be buried for good."
"What exactly do the letters say?"
"After accusing Tony, they demand that he turn down a contract he's been offered—the chance to star in a movie. It would mean a move to California, but it could be a major break in his career. He won't give that up. And even if he were willing, it wouldn't get him any closer to the truth. The only way is to find Out who's sending them and why." He frowned, flexing-his shoulders wearily. "And that's where I come in. I've got to find out who it is and stop him."
"We've got to," she corrected him softly.
"That's right," he said, the tired look disappearing from his eyes as he gazed at her. "Did I tell you how lovely you look in Pete's robe?"
She grinned, trying to copy his light tone. "Pete's got rather flamboyant taste, doesn't he?"
"It matches his personality," he said dryly.
He stood and stretched, his strong, lean body holding her eyes fast. When he turned and found her eyes on him, he caught his breath sharply. Then, shaking his head, he said, "I guess we'd better decide where we're going to sleep, Duchess."
She nodded silently and followed him out into the hall. They were both avoiding the sensual tension that had been building steadily. Being alone in an apartment was suggestive enough without this thing, this incredible awareness, that was between them.
"Would you rather have Pete's bedroom or the guest room?" he called back over his shoulder.
"I think I'd prefer the guest room. Pete looks like the type to have-concealed mirrors over the bed."
He laughed. "Not that I know of, but I wouldn't swear to it." He opened a door and showed her a modest-sized bedroom, elegant in powder blue and gray but not as showy as the rest of the apartment. Its small satin-covered bed was obviously built for one and she stared at it for a moment.
She hesitated as she walked through the door, glancing up at him through her lashes. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then," she said huskily.
He nodded and started to turn away, then halted abruptly and swung back around and pulled her into his arms.
"Kissing in bedroom doorways can be dangerous stuff, Katy," he whispered. "But I'll be damned if I can wait till we're in a more circumspect place."
He dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers, lightly at first, but within seconds he lost control and the kiss showed his fierce need. Kate didn't even try to withstand the onslaught. She had been aching for this kiss all day— ever since sh
e had found him kneeling beside her in the hay that morning. She parted her lips eagerly, meeting his searching tongue with her own.
Last night she had stopped him because her feelings for him were confused. Tonight there was no confusion, no hesitation. Her path was clear-cut . . . and it led straight to him.
The kiss deepened until she felt they were merging into one. Her hands climbed up his back beneath his T-shirt, her fingers grasping and kneading the hard muscles. She felt him tremble at her touch and a thrill such as she had never felt coursed through her.
When he reached inside the velvet robe and took the weight of one breast in his callused hand, she felt fire leaping in her blood and raised her knee to press her bare thigh against his. He was pressing her back into the doorjamb urgently and with his free hand he cupped her buttock to bring her closer as the fever burned in them both.
He drew back his head with stiff abruptness,-sucking in a harsh gasp of breath. His hand shook slightly as he gently stroked her cheek and stared into her caramel-colored eyes.
"I'm not rushing you, am I, Katy?" he rasped out urgently.
"No," she said, giving a shaky laugh.
"Good." The word came out in a gust as he took her hand, and she blinked in surprise when he began to pull her with rough haste toward the master bedroom.
As they went through the door, she smiled indulgently at the relief she had heard in his voice. The heat between them had been banked down to a slow boil now that they were no longer locked in each other's arms, and she was pleased to see that there was none of the embarrassment that people usually feel after having exposed their emotions to another.
"I'm so glad you're not shy, Katy," he said, echoing her thoughts as he dosed the door behind them. "Because I can't take it slow and romantic. Not now. Not when I've been waiting so long for you."
"Two days?" she asked, giving him a slow smile.
"Not two days—thirty-seven years," he corrected softly. "All my life I've been waiting for you, Katy. I always knew you existed; I just didn't know where to find you." He inhaled a short, exuberant breath. "Oh, Duchess, I have so many things to show you."
"Oh?" she murmured, her brows raised as he stripped off his T-shirt.
"No," he said, laughing. "I mean other things. When I would come across a particularly spectacular view back in Wisconsin, I used to think, 'She should be here with me to see this.' " He gathered her close again. "I even bought you things. Do you think that's strange? When I would find something—a piece of porcelain or a pen-and-ink drawing—that was too exquisite to pass by, I would buy it and put it away, telling myself, This is for her.'"
"No," she whispered hoarsely. "I don't think that's strange. I think it's the loveliest thing I've ever heard." He had told her once that he wasn't romantic. Someday she would have to correct that misconception. Someday, but not now.
He tossed his T-shirt on a chair, then pulled her into his arms again as though he couldn't stay away even for the time it took to remove the rest of his clothes.
"You feel it, too, don't you, Katy?" he whispered hoarsely as he spread the lapels of the robe and ran his open hand over her taut nipples. "You feel the inevitability of it ... of us being together. Our bodies fit together the same way our minds do. Two pieces of a two-piece puzzle. We connect where we're supposed to connect."
She moaned and arched her upper body, needing to feel his hot flesh against hers. The rough hair of his chest abraded the sensitive tips of her breasts as she pushed closer and rubbed against him, sending a fiery streak of pleasure straight to her core.
Her robe had already slipped to the floor and together they somehow managed to remove the rest of his clothes before they walked to the bed. As she sat on the side of the bed, he undid her braid and she heard him moan deep in his throat as he pulled her back and wrapped her hair around them both.
Moments later, as he leaned over her and murmured softly, Alex touched every part of her body. Not with the sure, slick touch of a practiced lover, but as though he were discovering a new world.
The wonder and breathless joy she saw on his face were more exciting, more erotic than anything she had ever imagined and she reacted with the same open wonder as she ran her hands Over his hard male form.
It was only when the pleasure grew too intense for them to endure that they came together with a passionate fierceness, a piercing joy. His rough breathing and hoarsely spoken words of love brought her quickly to the place she sought with her arching hips. As he thrust deeply, she met the stroke and felt a blinding burst of uncontrollable pleasure that shook her body in waves. She dug her fingers into his back as she felt his body shudder in the grand frisson and knew that he had found his release too.
For long moments the silence was broken only by the harsh sound of their labored breath. Then, as though their joint physical release had brought about a similar release in their minds, they began to talk quietly, about life, about love, and about themselves, sharing things they had never shared with another human being.
The darkness was beginning to glow faintly in a prelude to dawn when they fell asleep with their weary bodies entwined.
Eight
Kate poked her head around the curtain and saw Alex relaxing on an elegant floral sofa In the salon of the dress shop they had entered thirty minutes earlier. Drawing in a final bracing breath, she thrust aside the curtain and stepped out into the room.
He didn't see her until she strolled in an exaggerated model's walk onto the show floor in front of him. Then he leaned back lazily, his fingers forming a peak as he rested his hands on his stomach.
She was dressed in deep emerald green satin knickers, a pale lilac gauzy blouse with voluminous sleeves, and a pert sequined green hat with a flirty little veil just barely covering her eyes. Except for the hat, she could have been one of the Three Musketeers.
Alex ran his eyes up and down her flamboyant costume, then murmured, "you've got to have it, Duchess."
Turning his head, he nodded to the attentive saleswoman standing behind him, but while his back was turned, Kate waved frantically at the woman, shaking her head in an emphatic negative motion.
They had already chosen her dress for this evening. It was a floor-length sheath of dusty green silk jersey that they had found in a little shop earlier. Its halter top had pearl buttons that ran from throat to waist, allowing the dress to be as demure or provocative as the wearer wished.
The dress and accessories were stored away in the trunk of the Renault. Alex had rented, along with the things he had purchased for himself. Now they were simply having fun.
Shopping in Paris was unlike anything she had ever experienced before and Kate knew the two of them were behaving like children in a toy store, but she didn't care. She had heard all her life that Paris was for lovers and today she and Alex were proving it.
She had never known a man who liked shopping, but Alex liked hats . . . any kind of hat. And he liked to watch as Kate tried them on. So she had tried on hats. Dozens of hats. She had tried on enough hats to last her a lifetime. Hats that looked like flying saucers with brims big enough to shade the whole town of Plum, and hats as small as teacups. She had tried on feathered hats and beaded hats, outrageous hats and demure hats.
And she had posed and postured before a laughing Alex who had urged her to buy everything she tried on. After a while she realized It was a losing battle and stopped arguing with him, simply canceling his orders when his back was turned, as she had just done.
As soon as she had changed, she rushed him out of the shop before he could discover that she had canceled the order for the knickers. She had bought enough casual clothes to last her a couple of days and she refused to let him spend his money on her.
He found it hard to understand why she wouldn't accept his gifts as naturally as she accepted his body and his friendship, but she had been paying her own way for a long time and remained steadfast in her refusal.
And remaining steadfast with Alex was not an easy task,
she thought later that evening as she dressed for Sauset's party. When he gazed down at her with loving eyes, everything solid in her body turned to liquid.
She smiled as she thought of the way he had looked that morning when he woke to find her leaning over him, studying his features. The look on his face was the most touching thing she had ever seen. As incongruous as it sounded, there had been an innocence about the look he had given her, like a child who had just seen his first bluebird. And as she stared down at him, her heart had almost burst with love.
Oh, yes, she loved him. She had known that even before they made love. Somewhere on their wild trip from Monte Carlo, somewhere on that ridiculous motorcycle or on a pile of hay, she had fallen deeply, irrevocably, in love and the wonder of it filled her completely.
She stared at her sparkling eyes in the mirror of Pete's bathroom and smiled slowly, then began to put the last touches of makeup on her face. She fingered one of the wispy curls that lay against her face, setting off the Gibson Girl look that had been adapted for her long hair, then shook her head and began to apply a beige, almost invisible lipstick.
Giving her hair a final pat, she picked up her evening bag and stepped out of the dressing-room, then stopped abruptly as Alex turned around. It was the first time she had ever seen him in evening dress and the sight took her breath away.
The noble savage, she thought as her eyes roamed hungrily over his now familiar lines.
"You're gorgeous," she said, then her gaze returned to his face, and the look in his eyes as he stared at her pulled her across the room and into his arms.
"Men aren't gorgeous," he said huskily. "I'm only breathtakingly handsome; you're gorgeous." He dipped his head to kiss her and she had no chance to answer as the kiss took every thought from her head.
"We really have to go to this thing, don't we?" he murmured a few minutes later against her throat while his fingers kneaded her buttocks and pressed her close.
