Feel the Heat

by Kathryn Shay

  “This morning.”

  “Happy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Well, I won’t interrupt your lunch. I’ll call you.”

  Dylan watched her go, his brow furrowed, his usually smiling mouth a grim line. “I can’t for the life of me see how you and Lizzie Borden are friends.”

  “And I can’t understand this antagonism between you two.”

  His gaze turned flinty. It was so unlike Dylan that Francey knew better than to tease him. “It goes way back. I don’t want to talk about her.” He glanced at the clock. “Look, I’m going over to Dutch Towers to carry some boxes out to the storage bins for Mrs. Mackenzie. Want to come?”

  Francey smiled at her friend. He spent a lot of his off time at the senior citizens’ complex reading to the older people, helping out with chores. Francey wasn’t quite sure why, but she thought his actions had to do with his grandmother, who’d died when Dylan was young. That and Beth Winters were the only things Dylan wasn’t anxious to discuss.

  “Sure, I’ll come with you.”

  A half hour later, sitting in Mrs. Mackenzie’s living room, Francey waited as Dylan carted boxes to the basement and the old woman fixed them tea. The apartment smelled of yeast and spaghetti sauce. Every room was neat and clean, no dust on the framed photos spread over her coffee table. They showed her eight kids and her husband of fifty years, who’d been dead a decade. Francey was examining a picture of the young bride and groom on their wedding day when the old woman brought in the tea. “Looking at my Rory?”

  Francey put the picture down. “He was a handsome devil.”

  Mrs. Mackenzie’s eyes lit from within. “He was a devil in more ways than one.” She handed Francey a cup and gazed lovingly at the picture. “I was four months along in that photo.”

  Francey choked on the tea she’d just sipped; it spilled all over her face and shirt. Wiping her mouth she said, “Four months along?”

  “Yes, dear. You know, I was expecting.”

  “Mrs. Mackenzie!”

  “I had to get him to marry me somehow.” The old woman settled herself on a faded flowered divan.

  Francey perched on a rocker across from her. “He didn’t want to marry you?”

  “No. And he wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen to it. He didn’t have any prospects. He thought I deserved better than a man who dropped out of school in the sixth grade to support his family.”

  “What happened?”

  “I didn’t agree.” Her smile gave Francey a glimpse of the beautiful young woman she must have been. “I won. We had nine children.”

  “Nine? I thought you had eight.”

  “I lost one. Miscarriage at six months. Almost killed my Rory.”

  “You had a good marriage, then?”

  Her eyes got dreamy. “Yes, and every time he sent me red roses on our anniversary—one for each year we were together—I reminded him of how I had to trick him into marriage.”

  “Did he ever regret marrying you when he knew he shouldn’t?”

  “Of course he should have, dear. When you love someone, there aren’t any shouldn’ts.”

  oOo

  Francey prowled the house for two days like a caged lion.

  On Wednesday night she sat in her living room, haunted by the hurt look in Alex’s eyes as he’d told her he wanted more from her. When I’m with you, these feelings intensify. And now, it hurts to be around you.

  She told herself to remember the pain they could cause each other—were causing each other. Just like Dad and Diana.

  But in bed, as she tried to sleep, the memory of that kiss was so vivid she felt like she was reliving those few moments, the way his lips took hers as if he had every right to her, the way she’d responded. She’d been surprised at his forceful passion. Excited by it.

  So what? That’s not enough to get together with Alex. Not for my parents either—look what happened to them.

  Thursday morning she ran and worked out with weights at Chelsea’s gym. She picked a time when she could avoid seeing anyone she knew. She needed to think. At the gym, she recalled Alex with Esmerelda. I hardly notice anymore when women swoon at my feet. Hell, if he’d kissed them all the way he’d kissed her, she totally understood.

  The thought led her to admit where he was, to imagine who he was seeing. She finally managed to banish that image.

  But late that afternoon, his words came back to her. I’m going out with Suzanne on her yacht. She’s divorced now. Was he with Suzanne last night? Tonight? She knew he’d be at the Hyatt until tomorrow. Then he’d be with Suzanne. Touching her intimately. “So let him,” she said as she reorganized her kitchen cupboards, denting soup cans and crushing boxes of cookies. “It’s for the best.”

  Thursday evening, she climbed into the bathtub at about nine, hoping to soak away the fatigue that enveloped her from two nights with little sleep. But as she laid her head against the old claw-footed tub, she was swamped with memories of Alex—sitting naked in his hot tub, zipping up her jacket, sweat trickling down his forehead as they ran, at the fire museum, holding her as she confided things she’d never told anyone else.

  At ten o’clock, she tumbled into bed, wearing sexless cotton pajamas that Chelsea would have relegated to the Salvation Army. She fought with the pillows for an hour, struggling to block out her father’s ragged claim. She made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Dylan’s advice. Life without risks isn’t worth living. And Mrs. Mackenzie’s belief. When you love someone, there aren’t any shouldn’ts.

  “You don’t love him,” she told herself in the darkness. “You’ve only known him a little over four weeks.”

  She glanced at the phone, then the clock. Eleven. She cared about him. The thought of not seeing him again twisted her inside out. The thought of him kissing Suzanne, who was probably some delicate blond flower like Elise, made her sick to her stomach.

  Snatching up her cell, she called his number. It rang on his end. Five, six, ten times. Francey hung up. Oh, God, she’d waited too long. He wasn’t there. He was with Suzanne.

  She sat for fifteen minutes holding onto the phone. Then she called Boston again. Still no answer. Damn. An hour later and three more calls under her belt, she flung the phone to the floor. Stabbing her pillow viciously only sent a jarring pain up her newly un-casted arm. Tears clouded her eyes. She wiped them away, refusing to let any fall. Switching off the light, she lay down and willed herself to sleep. Firefighters were notorious for zonking out and waking up in seconds, and she begged the blissful oblivion to overtake her.

  It didn’t. At two o’clock, she tore off the blankets, found her cell the floor and dialed him again. “One more time,” she said aloud, pacing the floor as the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

  Francey was about to hang up when she heard a click and a deep, slurred male voice mumbled, “Hello.”

  Swallowing the emotion rising in her throat, Francey closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “Alex. It’s me. Francesca.”

  Dead silence. For too long.

  Oh, God, was he with someone at the hotel?

  Finally he spoke. “Just a minute.”

  An eternity later, he was back on the line. “Francesca.” The word was a caress, like his hand stroking her naked back.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Amusement laced his voice.

  Why not? she thought irritably. He’d won. She began to wonder how much she’d have to grovel. She paced. “I, um, I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

  “All night, huh?”

  “Yeah. I gave up at twelve and threw the phone across the room.”

  “Hmm. Now why is that?”

  A lot. She was going to have to grovel a lot.

  “Where were you?” She attempted to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

  His chuckle told her how unsuccessful she’d been. “I was at dinner.”

  All right, so she’d ask. “With who?”

  “A friend.”

 
Plopping down on the bed, she rammed a hand through her hair. “Damn it, Alex, just tell me. Were you with Suzanne tonight?”

  He waited a moment. “No, I don’t think I’ll tell you quite yet, Francesca. Not until you tell me a few things.”

  More than a lot, damn him.

  Fine. She’d do it. “Are you done with your business tomorrow?” She studied the ceiling, wishing she’d paid better attention to how women flirted. She needed pointers right now.

  “Yes, I’ll be finished about five.”

  “Then you could come back here tomorrow night?”

  “I could. But I told you Tuesday night I had plans for the weekend.”

  “You told me a lot of things Tuesday night.” Her voice turned husky, and she ground her heels into the bed.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Did you mean them?”

  A long pause. “I meant every word.”

  Oh, God. Still, silence on his end. “Come home tomorrow night, Alex. Come here.”

  “Why, Francesca?”

  “Because I want you to. I want to be with you…like a woman wants to be with a man.” Though parroting his words from the other night felt awkward, she wanted her meaning to be clear.

  She heard him draw in a breath. “Oh, sweetheart, do you know what it means to me to hear you say that?”

  Relief flooded her, momentarily making her speechless. Her whole body sank into the mattress. “I think I do. But this isn’t easy for me, Alex. I’m scared.”

  “Of me?”

  “No, of how I feel about you. Of what it will lead to between us. Do you think…do you think we could take this phase of our relationship slow? Just at first?”

  She heard a very male chuckle and answered it with a smile. “I suppose I could control myself for a while longer.”

  Now that the constricting band of emotion that had gripped his heart since he’d walked out of her house on Tuesday had begun to loosen, Alex relaxed. He fell onto the bed that only hours ago had felt so empty he’d gone down to the bar and had three Scotches just to be able to sleep. Staring at the whirling ceiling fan, he tried to internalize what had happened. He’d won. Francesca had given in.

  “I can control myself, but I want to kiss you again,” he told her, imagining where she was, what she was wearing.

  He heard her draw in a breath. Oh, this was going to be fun.

  “I want to touch you, Francesca. And hold you against me.”

  She cleared her throat. “Alex.”

  “Do you want that? Say it.”

  “Yes, I want you to touch me.”

  “Where?”

  “Where?”

  He chuckled. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I think we should be in the house.”

  He laughed aloud, though he felt hotter than when she dragged him out of that burning building. “I meant where on your body, love.”

  “I know that’s what you meant. I always joke when I’m nervous.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  He heard her laugh. “Yes. I’m not used to this kind of talk.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  “This…sexual banter.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes. Good. I’m glad you’re not used to it. We’ll take it slow, but I can’t wait to introduce you to all kinds of things.”

  After a moment, she whispered softly, “Me, too, Alex. I can’t wait, either.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Diana’s Designs was tucked away in a small strip mall in Pittsfield, an upscale suburb of Rockford. Where Alex grew up, Francey thought as she sat in her truck and stared at her mother’s shop. No time for second thoughts now, she told herself. She’d made a commitment to let their relationship take its course, and she couldn’t back out now.

  Besides, she didn’t want to.

  After exiting the truck, she strode across the parking lot to the storefront. A discreet pink-and-silver sign was staked into a garden of wildflowers and shrubs in front of the shop. A soft bell jingled as Francey opened the door and stepped inside. She scanned the interior. More pink and silver—subtly striped wallpaper, the floor tiles. The place was so Diana. Elegant. Sophisticated. Francey reached out and ran her fingers over the cuff of a pink silk blouse.

  “May I help you?”

  Francey pivoted to find Elise. When she recognized Francey, Elise tossed back her blond hair and gave her a withering look. “What do we have here? I didn’t think you’d wear anything that didn’t come from an L.L. Bean catalog, Francey.”

  Staring at Elise, Francey felt the familiar anger and frustration well inside her. She scanned the woman’s coordinated dark pink slacks and top and dainty sandals. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Her eyes narrowed on her stepsister. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Elise would like nothing better than to drive Francey away, as she’d done seventeen years ago. “I’ve come to see Diana,” Francey told her. “Is she here?”

  Elise’s lips thinned. “What do you want with Mother?”

  Mother. “I’d like to see her. If she isn’t here, just tell me.

  “Elise, do you have the numbers—” Diana stopped abruptly as she came through the doorway from the back and glanced up from the ledger in her hands. Dressed in a short-sleeved knit off-white dress and contrasting peach belt, she was lovely in the bright sunlight pouring through the wall of windows. Her smile was just as dazzling. “Why, Francesca, what a surprise! Did you come to see me?” Her mother’s voice caught on the last word.

  “Yeah.”

  Diana crossed to them and hugged Francey. “How wonderful.”

  Over Diana’s shoulder, Francey saw Elise pale. Francey thought about getting even with the other woman for all the grief she’d caused her but realized there was nothing to gain from stooping to Elise’s level. She stepped back. “Diana, could we talk somewhere?”

  “Of course, I have an office in the back.” Diana’s face glowed as if she’d been given a gift. “You haven’t seen the store, have you?”

  “No. I’d like to. Later.”

  “All right.” Diana turned to Elise. “Can you handle the counter for a while?”

  Elise stared at Diana. Now her face was pinched with jealousy. Amazingly, Francey felt sorry for her. “Yes, of course, Mother.”

  Diana hustled Francey to her office. The room was about twelve feet square, painted a soft peach with rich wood trim. A polished oak desk and filing cabinets took up one wall, a set of mirrors and a window another. Lights were recessed. The smell of potpourri delicately scented the air.

  “This is a nice room.”

  “Here, let me take your jacket.” When Francey shrugged out of it, Diana exclaimed, “Oh, you got your cast off!”

  “Finally.”

  “It makes life easier, I’ll bet”

  Francey nodded.

  “Sit down, dear.” When Francey sat, Diana reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s wonderful to see you.” Francey tilted her head. Diana straightened. “I guess I mean it’s wonderful that you came to see me.”

  A lump formed in Francey’s throat. Such a little thing. “I haven’t gone out of my way to see you much.” She swallowed the emotion welling inside her. “I’d like that to change.”

  “Oh, Francesca.”

  Francey rolled her eyes. “Besides, I need help.”

  Diana gave her a watery smile. “With what?”

  Feeling her face flush, Francey drew in a deep breath. “I, um, jeez, I don’t even know how to say this.”

  “Just start.” Diana smiled. “I’m your mother—you can tell me anything.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes, of course.” Again, Diana reached out and squeezed her hand. “Is this about a man?”

  Disgusted, Francey closed her eyes briefly. “God, it’s so lame. I have a date tonight. An important one. And I want to look good.” She hesitated, then added, “Damn, I want to look feminine. You’ve seen my closet. It has one or two dressy things, and the rest a
re like this.” She flicked a hand down her tan twill pants and light blue tailored blouse. Elise was right about the way she dressed. Even when she wasn’t on duty, her clothes were unisex.

  “And the outfits you design, they’re so pretty. I know they wouldn’t look as good on me as they do on you. I’m a lot bigger. But I thought maybe something…” Francey trailed off. She was a rookie in feminine territory, and she didn’t like it any more than she’d liked being a probie in the fire department.

  But she wanted something special for tonight. For Alex. Remembering the beautiful white roses that had arrived this morning with a card that said, “I can’t wait to see you,” Francey squared her shoulders. “Think you can do something with me?”

  Diana laughed aloud. “Francesca, you’re gorgeous. How can you not know that?”

  Francey smiled at the compliment. “It’s just that I want something sexy.”

  Almost bubbling, Diana stood and clapped her hands. “I’ve got several things that would look terrific on you.” She grasped her daughter’s arm. “Come on.”

  Uneasy, Francey glanced out the door. “Could you bring the clothes in here? I don’t want to do this in front of Elise.”

  “Oh, of course. I’ll be right back.”

  Twenty minutes—and four outfits—later, Francey stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. “This is it.”

  “Turn around and let me see.”

  Francey pirouetted. The clothes made the gesture seem natural, though she’d never seen herself as a Cinderella type.

  “You look breathtaking.” Diana crossed to her and unbuttoned the top three buttons. The opening revealed a hint of cleavage. “Now, that’s sexy. If you put the little lilac teddy Chelsea got you for your birthday underneath, the outfit will be perfect.”

  The deep indigo highlighted Francey’s eyes. And the design of the clothing flattered her figure. The top fell in soft folds over her breasts, accenting their fullness. It tucked into the waist of matching pants that slimmed down her hips and nipped in at her ankles. The sleeves narrowed just past her elbow. Around her waist, her mother had braided purple and white sashes. Then she’d brought in delicate slipper-like shoes that fit Francey perfectly.

  Diana rose and stood next to her. “Alex will love it.”