Enough of this “son” talk. The last thing she needed was a baby, for cripes’ sake. She was twenty.
Her father was still talking, nodding to the house to their right “And you’d live right next door, so we could help you out whenever you needed.”
“Phin wouldn’t kick Junie Miller out of that house,” Rachel said. “That would be mean.”
“There’s no reason for him to house his ex-mother-in-law,” Stephen said, and Rachel cast a wary look back at the kitchen in case her mother heard. Her mother could go on for hours about how Diane Miller had made Phin buy the house next door to the Garveys just so she could rub their marriage in Virginia’s face.
“Just don’t wait too long to decide,” Stephen was saying. “Or you’ll end up tike Clea Whipple, not getting married until you’re over thirty, no children, living all over the place and never coming home until you’re middle-aged....” He went on, and Rachel thought, God, that sounds great.
Her father talked on, about family values and her living next door and how they’d see each other every day and how her son would grow up to be mayor, too, and Rachel decided that she was definitely going to L.A.
Whatever it took.
When Sophie peered through the glass front door of the bookstore in the heat of the late afternoon, she saw Phin frowning at papers on the counter. Then he saw her and his face cleared, and he let her in. “Hello, Sophie Dempsey. What brings you here?”
“Amy needs to borrow a letter sweater. And I might buy some books.” Sophie turned away so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes and discovered that she was in a really nice bookstore. It was the downstairs of a converted Victorian house, but it had been opened up with support columns so that what had once been four rooms was now one big room. There were a couple of comfortable chairs and four fireplaces, but mostly the room was filled with walnut bookcases, neatly labeled with copperplate signs. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Really beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Phin said, without any of the cynicism that could make his voice grate on her. “My grandpa did it all.”
Toward the back, there was an open doorway, and she said, “What’s back there through that door?”
“My pool table,” Phin said, and she went to check it out.
The kitchen and a breakfast room had also been opened into one big room, and the pool table sat in the middle of it.
“It’s pretty,” Sophie said when she saw it, knowing what a massive understatement that was. It was a magnificent nine-foot hand-carved oak table, with rosewood rails inlaid with pearl and gold silk fringe on the pockets. Phin winced at the “pretty,” but he said, “Thank you,” like the gentleman he was.
She went to the cue rack and put her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t touch anything. The temptation was terrible. The rack was old and very beautiful, an Eastlake design that had New England Pool Cue Company lettered in gold across the top. “This is really pretty, too.” She backed up a step and almost fell over a stack of boxes behind her.
“Careful,” Phin said. “Campaign posters.”
There were cartons of them stacked all along the wall. “You planning on running a big campaign?” Sophie said, and Phin said, “No, my grandma made a mistake.”
“My grandpa wanted these for his second campaign, back in 1942. He told her to order a hundred of them. So she did, but she didn’t notice that they came in lots of a hundred, so she ordered a hundred lots and Grandpa ended up with ten thousand posters. We’ve been using them ever since.”
“You haven’t changed posters since 1942?”
“Only once. After Gil Garvey beat my dad because he’d built the New Bridge.” Sophie frowned and he went on. “Gil made a big deal out of what a waste of money it was because we had to buy that right-of-way from Sam Whipple to put the new road in, but by the time the next election came around, people had noticed that there weren’t as many car wrecks and the driving was easier. So my dad had bumper stickers printed that said He Built the Bridge and he and my mom and I sat here one night and stuck them over the More of the Same part of the poster and then went out and hung them the next day.”
“And he won,” Sophie said.
“In a landslide.” Phin stuck his hands in his pockets, a clear giveaway, Brandon would have said, that he was repressing his emotions.
“So what’s the rest of the story?”
Phin shrugged. “He served his term, had a heart attack, served four more terms, had another attack, and died a year later from his third attack. He got the office back but he was never the same.”
Sophie frowned. “I can’t imagine wanting anything that much.”
“I don’t think it was the wanting,” Phin said. “I think it was the years of tradition he felt he’d broken. And then he thought he had to play it safe after that so he wouldn’t lose again. It finished him.”
“Just because he lost one election.” Sophie shook her head.
“Tuckers don’t lose,” Phin said. “Which is why I’d like to know if you’re shooting porn out there.”
Sophie blinked. “Porn? Good grief, no. I wouldn’t do that.” She looked down at the posters and thought, I don’t want to be his New Bridge. “We’re shooting a sex scene, though.” Maybe two, if this afternoon goes well. “About at the level of the NYPD Blue stuff on TV. It’s not porn, I swear, but some people might think it was.”
Phin relaxed a little. “Not if it’s something you could show on TV. If that’s all you’re doing, we don’t have a problem.” He smiled at her, and Sophie felt the heat kick in just because he was close.
“So I...” she began, and he moved closer, and she met his eyes and went dizzy at the heat there.
“Tell me what you want and you’ve got it,” he said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sophie said, trying not to fall against him.
“I’m talking about that look in your eyes. I’ve seen it three times now, and it makes me cheerful.”
Sophie looked at the ceiling.
“Forget it, Soph,” he said. “You don’t want to do it, fine, but don’t try to tell me you don’t want it.”
She met his eyes. “Oh, I want it,” she said, and he kissed her, running his hand up her side to her breast while she leaned into him.
Fifteen minutes later, she was stretched out beside the pool table with her blouse open, her zipper down and her body ready. Phin stopped to get his breath and said, “You know I have a bed upstairs,” and then the front door opened, and she clutched at him.
“I locked that,” he said. “Fuck, it’s my mother.”
Sophie grabbed for her blouse while Phin rolled to his feet and tucked his shirt in.
“Hey, Mom,” he said as he walked toward the front of the store, and Sophie heard a cold voice say, “What were you doing back there? You’ve left papers all over the counter. People can see this mess from the street.”
“It’s Sunday,” Phin said. “There are no people in the street. That’s why you came in here?”
“I’m on my way to pick up Dillie, but I wanted to talk to you alone first.”
I shouldn’t be listening to this, Sophie thought. She tucked in her blouse and then, just as Phin’s mother said, “Virginia Garvey came by,” she stood up and walked toward the front of the bookstore, saying, as non-sexually as she could, “Well, thanks for the help.” She let her eyes drift to Phin’s mother, casually, no big deal, but when she got a good look, she froze in place.
Liz Tucker was tall, elegant, blonde, and expensive, but mostly she was terrifying. And with the chill she was radiating right now, if they could get her to sit in the living room at the farmhouse, they wouldn’t need central air. Ever. Sophie took a step back.
“This is my mother, Liz Tucker, who is just leaving,” Phin told her. “Mom, this is Sophie Dempsey. I like her, so be nice.”
“How do you do, Miss Dempsey.” Liz Tucker held out a perfectly manicured hand that had a diamond on it that could have paid off any y
oung doctor’s college loans. Sophie looked at her left hand. The diamond there was even bigger.
“Pleased to meet you,” Sophie said faintly, and took her hand. It was cold and dry and the handshake Liz gave her was the equivalent of an air kiss, sliding away before any real contact could be made.
“You’re one of the movie people,” Liz said. “Virginia said you were working hard.” Liz’s eyes went to Phin. “And interacting with the community.”
“You know, I should be going,” Sophie said. “Lots to do.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Phin opened the front door. “Good-bye, Mom. Give my best to Virginia and tell her to get a life.”
Liz looked as if she wanted to argue, but Phin opened the door wider and pointed to the porch, patiently staring his mother down until she gave up and went out the door, giving Sophie one last, cool look before she went.
“Boy,” Sophie said when she was gone.
“She wasn’t always like that,” Phin said. “My dad’s death hit her hard. She has a good heart.”
Sophie wanted to say, How can you tell? But it was his mother, after all. “I’m sure she does.”
“No, you’re not.” Phin came closer. “But I don’t care. I was about to be in the middle of you. Pick a place, anyplace, and lie down.”
Sophie caught her breath and took a step back. Anyplace. Something that would be good in a movie. “The pool table.” That could make up for the bad rep pool tables had gotten in The Accused.
Phin stopped in his tracks. “Are you insane? Do you know what that would do to the felt?”
As a matter of fact, Sophie did, but she was surprised he’d think of it now. “So much for adventure,” she said to him, and he said, “Any adventure you want, as long as it doesn’t screw up my pool table. Let me show you the upstairs. You can pick out a letter sweater and take off your clothes.”
The bedroom at the top of the stairs was sloppily comfortable, and the bed was wide and rumpled. “Is this where you live?” Sophie said, looking around, and Phin said, “Not anymore,” and kissed her, taking her down into heat.
“I want something exciting,” she said breathlessly, as she came up for air. “I want something exciting and different and depraved.”
He laughed as he stroked his hands down her back. “Talk’s cheap. Give me details.”
He kissed her neck, finding that good place, and she felt dizzy. Concentrate. “I can’t think of anything,” Sophie said, which was true; her mind was going south again.
“Handcuffs.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just as well, I can’t find them anyway.” Phin tugged her toward the bed and tipped her onto the quilt. “Ice cubes. Feathers. Whipped cream.”
“What?” Sophie scooted over on the bed, her heart pounding as he took off his shirt. “Never mind. No.”
“I could call Wes over for a threesome.” He stripped off his pants and rolled onto the bed beside her.
“No, you could not,” Sophie said, and shivered as he put his arms around her.
“He wouldn’t do it anyway,” Phin said against her hair, as his fingers moved down her blouse. “Private kind of guy, Wes is. Why are you still dressed?”
“What?” Sophie said. “Oh.” She sat dip and realized she was unbuttoned again. “I was thinking of something more—” She shivered as he pulled her blouse off her shoulders and the air-conditioned air hit her.
“More what?” he said, sliding her zipper down, and she tried to organize her thoughts and said, “You know. Erotic but not embarrassing.”
He stopped at that. “Let me get this straight. You want something exciting but not weird, different but not kinky, and depraved but not embarrassing.”
“Yes,” Sophie said, trying not to notice that he was naked. God, he was beautiful.
He sighed. “Can’t we just have sex? It’s not as if we’ve known each other long enough to get bored.”
“No,” Sophie said. “I’m learning a lot from you. This is like college.” Touch me.
“College,” Phin said.
“I never got to go,” Sophie said. “And I always wanted a degree. So I’m getting it from you.” Give it to me.
“In sex,” Phin said.
“Well, you’re a master at it, aren’t you?” Sophie said, batting her eyelashes at him as she shoved off her shorts. Take me.
“Don’t even try to charm me,” Phin said, but he sounded distracted.
Sophie put her arms around him and pulled him close. “Teach me something new,” she said, and he bent her back onto the bed and she shivered as his body slid against hers.
“Okay,” Phin said. “But pay attention, Julie Ann, there’ll be a quiz.”
Sophie woke up alone. She stretched, sliding across almond oil-soaked sheets, which was disgusting, but she felt terrific, so what the heck. She squinted at the clock beside Phin’s bed and realized that she’d been asleep for over an hour. Those quizzes took a lot out of a woman.
She wrapped herself in the slippery top sheet and tiptoed down the hall until she found the bathroom, and then she showered until she was sure all the oil was gone. The stuff was everywhere, so it took her a while.
Then she went back to Phin’s bedroom and dressed, and, because she couldn’t stand the mess, she stripped the oil-stained bottom sheet and mattress pad from the bed. Something clanked as she pulled them off, and she stooped to look under the bed to see what had fallen.
Handcuffs.
She held them up, and they glinted back at her, and she thought grim thoughts about what Phin had been using them for and who he’d been using them with.
It wasn’t that she was jealous at all, she told herself.
It was just that he was a perv.
“Would these be yours?” she asked Phin when she got downstairs.
He turned from the register, looking sleepy and satisfied in the late-afternoon light, and said, “Oh, good, I’ve been looking for those.”
Sophie held the cuffs higher, hoping to instill some sense of shame, if not in him, then at least in herself. One look at him and she wanted him again. “I found them in the bed.”
“That makes sense,” Phin said. “That’s where I lost them.”
“I’d ask what you were doing with them,” Sophie said, trying not to sound bitchy, “but I probably don’t want to know, do I?”
“Sure you do. It was exciting and different and depraved.” Phin nodded toward the stairs. “Go put them someplace we can find them, and I’ll show you later. How do you feel?”
“Unsure,” Sophie said, looking at the cuffs with growing curiosity.
“Not about them, dummy,” Phin said. “This is the part where you get frosty and turn on me.”
“What part?” Sophie said.
“The part after we have sex,” Phin said. “When you remember that I’m a pervert, and you’re not this kind of woman, and it’s all my fault.” He sounded pretty cheerful about it.
Sophie looked back at the cuffs, now definitely intrigued in spite of herself. There was no point in being disgusted with him; she’d loved everything he’d done to her. And if she was going to be honest, she was open to discussion about the cuffs. “I think we can skip the frosty part from now on. So exactly what do you—”
The front door opened, and Sophie tried to hide the cuffs, too late.
Wes looked more startled than she did. When he recovered, he said, “Those are mine, thank you.” He took the cuffs from her and put them in his back pocket. “Why does it smell like salad in here?”
“I had plans for those,” Phin said, at the same time Sophie said brightly, “Well, I’ve got to go.”
She tried to sidle out the door, but Phin blocked her. “Wes was just going back to the pool table,” he said, and Wes said, “Right. I’ll just go back to the pool table.”
When he was gone, Phin said, “So we can skip that part from now on.”
“What part?” Sophie said, and he bent and kissed her, gently this tim
e, and she leaned into him and felt her breath go, just because he was so close and so gentle and so hot.
“We can skip the frosty part,” he murmured against her mouth. “And go straight to the good stuff.”
“Right,” she breathed. “Absolutely.” She slid her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, fairing into his kiss again, and when he came up for air, he said, “You know, I don’t have to play pool right now.”
“Oh. Sure you do.” Sophie stepped away from him. “I have to get back. I have ... work to do.”
“Work.” He let his breath out. “Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Welcome to Temptation Page 17
