Not that she believed everyone needed a partner in order to feel whole. She could name too many happy, satisfied singles who contradicted that theory. But deep in her soul, Marissa knew she wasn’t one of them. Her heart longed for someone to love, someone who’d love her back with the same intensity. And her arms ached for children.
But life with Harry had made her vulnerable and cautious. Better an incomplete solitary existence than marriage to a man who lacked commitment. She glanced across the table at Blake. Her old friend would be so easy to love. He met all the criteria: companionable, funny, sexy, smart, handsome. His list of attributes was endless. But, she thought with a sigh of disappointment, Blake was tops on another list, too, the list of friends whose single status brought them total contentment.
“Don’t you think?” Blake was saying.
“I’m sorry. What do I think about what?”
“It’s unlikely Mrs. Ryarson would want custody of Annie. The poor woman can hardly manage for herself, much less take care of a baby.”
Marissa agreed. “And, according to her, there’re no other relatives on Andy’s side of the family. Assuming he actually was the father.”
“Couldn’t DNA tests determine that?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Marissa said. “We haven’t found Melanie or the baby boy yet.”
“Tomorrow we’ll know where they are.”
“Assuming Fred and Estelle Smith will tell us. They may not talk to us.”
After leaving Mrs. Ryarson’s, Marissa and Blake had driven to the Smith house on the other side of the island, but no one had answered the door. A neighbor, walking his dog, had volunteered that the Smiths were at a church retreat and wouldn’t be back until later that night. Marissa and Blake had decided to wait until the following day to contact them and had rented the waterfront condo for the night.
A two-bedroom condo, Marissa had insisted, when the town’s tourist overflow had precluded separate hotel rooms.
After finishing dinner, they’d strolled along the pier, window-shopped, and finally returned to their lodgings. While Blake made a call to Pete to check on tomorrow’s landscaping schedules, Marissa had opened the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the balcony to reminisce about the day’s events.
“I love the smell of salt air.” Blake joined her, placed his hands on the railing and took a deep breath.
“We’re lucky it’s not low tide. A different smell entirely.”
“Don’t be a grump, Rissa.” He moved behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her against him.
Her senses leaped at his touch. Being held, enjoying the warmth of his body molded against hers, the comfort of his arms, and the stir of his breath against her hair filled the yawning emptiness inside of her. She didn’t even try to hide her sigh of contentment.
“I’ve missed you, Rissa,” he said with a gentle squeeze. “It’s good being together again.”
Together.
The word offered endless possibilities. And probable heartache.
He leaned forward until his cheek pressed against hers. “You’ve always been my best friend.”
“I thought Pete was your best friend,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“Pete doesn’t know me like you do.”
“We haven’t seen each other for years.” She tried to keep her emotions under control with words while her traitorous body reacted in all the wrong ways to his proximity. She should simply leave him alone on the balcony and lock herself in her room, but she was reveling in the closeness too much to pull away.
“You and I grew up together,” Blake said in a deep, low voice that made her go all soft and swirly inside. “Warts and all. Friends don’t get any closer than that.” His mouth brushed the lobe of her ear, his words caressed her.
She was sliding, drawn in spite of herself down the slippery slope of desire.
“We shouldn’t do anything to damage that friendship.” Silently she cursed the breathlessness that plagued her voice and exposed her longing.
With his hands on her shoulders, he swiveled her to face him. She was caught in a tender trap between Blake and the balcony railing.
“Anything like what?” His gray eyes glittered almost black in the moonlight.
“Like this.” She wriggled against him in an attempt to escape, but the movement only heightened her desire. And made her unavoidably aware of his, evident in the hardness of his body pressed against hers.
“Just say no, and I’ll let you go.” His voice was husky with need, but she trusted him to keep his word, no matter how much he wanted her.
All she required to end this exquisite torture was to say the word, but her longing for completeness locked it in her throat.
Blake searched her face, waiting for her response. When she said nothing, he gathered her closer with a groan and covered her mouth with his.
Her misgivings vanished on the Gulf breeze, burned away by a passion she couldn’t control. She lifted her arms around his neck, twined her fingers in his hair, and opened her mouth to him.
He took what she offered with a hunger she’d never suspected beneath his facade of quiet reserve. And his kiss, the taste of him, the heat of his fingers burning through her clothes drove her wild.
Blake trailed kisses down her neck and unbuttoned her blouse. As he nibbled her bare shoulder, she floated on two planes, one purely sensual that exalted beneath his touch, the other emotional and totally aware that Blake was taking their friendship to another level, one that would either strengthen or destroy it.
She had to stop him, stop herself before they ruined everything, but when his warm, callused hands closed over her breasts, she lost the war and surrendered. With a fierce joy she’d never experienced, she tugged at his clothes, helped him shed hers.
Blake was magnificent, tall and naked in the moonlight like some ancient Greek god cast in living bronze, but no sooner had she formed that thought than he sank onto a chaise longue and pulled her on top of him.
Blinded by a haze of longing, she had no idea where the condom came from but was glad for its presence, even though its protection shredded her last rational objection.
As if made only for each other, their bodies melded. She gasped with pleasure as Blake moved beneath her. Like the waters on the beach below them, electrifying sensations ebbed and flowed, and she could no longer tell where she ended and Blake began. She was riding the crest of the wave, and Blake with her.
In an explosion that left her breathless, they came together.
Sated, shaken and exhausted, she collapsed onto his chest. He enfolded her in his arms, pushed her hair from her face and kissed her with a tenderness that almost made her cry. For a long time they lay together, their breathing and heartbeats synchronized.
When she found the strength to move, she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. She couldn’t read his expression. “What are you thinking?”
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, a very talented mouth, she recalled with a delicious shiver.
“I’m thinking,” he said, “that the next time we go slow.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning Marissa awoke in the king-size bed in Blake’s room with his arms wrapped tightly around her, clasping her close against the length of him in his sleep. Her body responded instantly, but in the bright, clear light of morning streaming through the windows, she was able to regain control, something she’d obviously lost the night before.
She blushed, recalling her wantonness, her total abandonment to sensation.
And to Blake.
He’d been true to his word. The next time had been slow. Blake had loved every inch of her with excruciating delight and finally brought her to completion in such a cataclysm of pure pleasure that their earlier lovemaking seemed tame by comparison.
She had to face the fact now that she loved him.
But he’d never said he loved her.
What did you expect? her conscienc
e taunted her. Declarations of undying devotion? You knew all along that Blake isn’t a committing kind of guy.
She couldn’t argue with truth. With a sigh of disappointment, she disengaged herself from his embrace, scooted out of bed and headed for the shower. She had to forget about a love that had no future. She would chalk up last night as merely incredible sex, pray that it hadn’t damaged their friendship and try to pretend it had never happened.
And, most important of all, make damned sure it didn’t happen again.
BLAKE TURNED THE TRUCK onto the Smiths’ street and slowed to a stop in front of their house. He glanced at Marissa, but she didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead out of the passenger window.
After he’d awakened alone, he’d found her on the balcony, dressed in a casual skirt, blouse and sandals, and drinking coffee as she looked out to sea.
“Good morning,” he’d said.
“It is, isn’t it?” she agreed, a little too brightly, her back still to him as she gazed over the bay.
“Last night was good, too.”
She turned, distress turning her hazel eyes a deeper green. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
He wanted to reach for her, pull her close and insist that not only should they have made love, but that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But she’d raised her defenses, manned her barricades and, after last night’s unbelievable closeness, effectively shut him out.
“You could have said no,” he reminded her gently.
“I should have.”
“Why?”
She placed her hand on his cheek, then quickly pulled it away. “Because our friendship is too important to risk over a roll in the hay.”
His heart fell. He’d felt more than physical pleasure when their bodies joined, had experienced something special in the union, but apparently he’d misjudged Marissa, and the emotional intimacy had been one-sided.
“Good thing you had condoms,” she said in an inquiring tone.
“I didn’t plan last night, if that’s what you’re implying. Pete stuck those in my wallet months ago during a lecture on getting myself a life.”
“Getting a life or getting laid?”
Blake winced at the sarcasm in her tone. He’d discovered he wanted more than friendship with Marissa, but apparently Dirty Harry had soured her on love.
“I’m sorry,” he said, truly regretful about more than she knew.
Remorse flickered briefly in her expression before she settled her features into an all-business look. “Are you ready to visit the Smiths?”
“Sure,” he’d said, adopting her impersonal tone. “Let’s go.”
She hadn’t spoken a word since then. He’d awakened on top of the world, but their lovemaking obviously hadn’t meant the same to Marissa as it had to him. He couldn’t blame her. Although he found himself drawn to her more and more, they had no future together. She deserved A-plus husband and father material. Blake was ready to register for the course, but he was afraid he might not make the grade.
He turned off the ignition in front of the Smiths’ tidy little bungalow. In the glare of the morning sun, the pale blue paint job appeared fresh, every window in the house sparkled, every blade of grass and shrub in the lawn were uniformly trimmed. An American flag waving from a pole by the garage door appeared brand-new. Either the Smiths were preparing to place their property on the market or they were compulsive neatniks.
He climbed from the truck and headed around the cab to open Marissa’s door, but she hopped out and joined him before he could reach it.
“Maybe I should do the talking,” she suggested. “A woman may seem less threatening.”
“Okay by me. Lead the way.” He gestured toward the front walk.
With brisk strides, Marissa reached the porch and rang the bell. Within seconds a short, stocky man with graying red hair, a ruddy complexion, and small eyes, made even tinier by squinting, opened the door.
“Mr. Smith?” Marissa asked.
“Who wants to know?” The man’s grating voice was almost a growl.
“I’m Marissa Mason, an attorney in Dolphin Bay. And this is my assistant, Blake Adams.”
“I’m Fred Smith.” He stepped out of the house, pulled the door closed behind him, and folded his arms across his barrel chest. “What’s this about?”
As he’d promised, Blake, curious about what tack she’d take with the adversarial Mr. Smith, let Marissa handle the interview.
“We’re looking for Melanie Smith,” Marissa said.
Fred didn’t bat an eye and maintained the pugnacious jut of his chin. “Why?”
“As I said,” Marissa countered without skipping a beat, “I’m an attorney. Melanie is a possible witness in a case I’m involved in.”
“Melanie Smith is dead.” His announcement was terse, flat and devoid of emotion.
Before either of them could react, Fred pivoted on his small feet, entered the house and slammed the door behind him.
Although Marissa rang the bell and knocked several times, Fred didn’t reappear. After a few minutes she glanced toward Blake with a what-do-we-do-now? look.
“He’s not coming back,” Blake said. “We might as well leave.”
He struggled to keep from battering down the door, going after Smith, and shaking him senseless. How could anyone be so unfeeling about his own child? Remembering Judge Standiford and how an attack by Blake on Annie’s grandfather would sit with His Honor, Blake reined in his anger.
Marissa headed toward the car with Blake in step beside her.
“You think Smith’s telling the truth?” she asked.
“Seems unlikely Andy Ryarson and Melanie both would die.”
“You’re forgetting Romeo and Juliet,” Marissa said sadly.
“Melanie had to have friends in town. If we snoop around, surely somebody can tell us what’s happened to her.”
“Psssst!” The loud signal came from behind a vine-covered fence that shielded the Smith house from its neighbor.
“Who’s there?” Blake said.
“You wanna know about Melanie?” a young female voice replied softly from behind the confederate jasmine.
“Of course,” Marissa answered.
“Go to the end of the block, turn right. I’ll meet you at the third house on the left.”
The vines rustled, and sun glinted off a flash of red hair as the girl hurried away.
“You think that’s Melanie?” Marissa asked.
“Only one way to find out. Get in the truck.”
Blake followed the girl’s directions. When they reached the house she’d indicated on the next block, a red-haired, blue-eyed teenager in shorts, halter top and sneakers waited for them on the sidewalk.
Blake and Marissa got out of the car and approached her.
“Are you Melanie?” Marissa asked, but Blake could tell she was skeptical. Although the girl had Melanie’s coloring, no way was she either seventeen or the mother of twins. She barely looked ten.
“I’m Rebekah, Melanie’s sister.”
Blake carefully phrased his next question. “And Melanie’s…gone, like your father said?”
The girl scowled. “She’s gone all right, but not dead. Even though him and Mom act like she is.”
“What happened?” Marissa asked gently.
The girl stood on one foot and scratched the back of that calf with the top of her other ragged sneaker. “Daddy kicked her out.”
“Because of the babies?” Blake hadn’t liked Fred Smith when he first saw him. Now he liked him even less.
Rebekah nodded. “Said she was a disgrace to the family, pregnant and not married. But she couldn’t marry the babies’ father.”
“Andy?” Blake said.
The girl nodded again.
“What did Melanie do then?” Marissa said.
“She left.”
“Left home?”
“Left Cedar Key.” The girl glanced in the direction of the Smith house, apparently sa
tisfied herself that her father wasn’t around and continued. “She moved to Clermont. She has a friend there.”
“Have you heard from her?” Blake asked.
Rebekah’s smile reminded him of Annie, and Blake realized with a start that this girl, still a child herself, was the baby’s aunt.
“Melanie writes to me when she can,” the girl explained. “But she has to send the letters to my friend Carrie’s house. Mama and Daddy would tear them up—and me, too—if they saw them.”
“Melanie’s not in Clermont anymore,” Marissa said.
“I know. She wrote she was moving to Orlando. Said she was going to get a job as a waitress so she could finish high school. Then she plans to go to Central Florida University there. Melanie’s real smart.”
“Did she mention the twins?” Blake asked.
“What about them?”
“What was she going to do with them?”
Rebekah shrugged. “She didn’t say. I guess she was gonna get a baby-sitter.”
Marissa gazed at Blake over the girl’s fiery red curls, and he figured she was thinking the same thing. Melanie apparently hadn’t told her little sister that she was abandoning Annie.
“You’re certain she’s gone to Orlando?” Blake asked.
“That’s where she wanted to go all along after high school, before…you know.” She glanced past them again. “I gotta go. Daddy will tan my hide if he catches me talking to you.”
“He beats you?” Marissa asked with alarm.
“Not if I behave myself.” The girl’s face broke into an impish grin. “Or don’t let him catch me.”
She turned and ran between two houses, headed for her backyard.
Blake followed Marissa back to the truck. “If we leave now, we can make Orlando in time for lunch.”
MARISSA LOOKED UP from the Yellow Pages of the Orlando phone book and crossed another number off her list. After lunch at the Cracker Barrel, she and Blake had checked into a Hampton Inn on Universal Drive. Their room had become the command post for their search for Melanie Smith. Dividing the listings of area restaurants between them, they’d begun making calls, Marissa on her cell, Blake on the room phone. They were almost halfway through the extensive list, and so far no one admitted to hiring a Melanie Smith.
Verdict: Daddy Page 12
