Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  "What if the plane crashes?"

  "What a way to go," she giggled.

  He slipped his hands beneath her dress and gasped. She was naked. "Jesus," he groaned. He didn't need more of George's instructions. He lifted her onto the counter, stepped back the few inches he could, and unzipped his slacks. "George, it won't be much fun for you like this,'' he said.

  "Yes," she said, "yes, it will."

  He came into her with one thrust and lifted her against him. She wrapped her legs about his waist and buried her face against his shoulder.

  He felt her strain against him, and he pushed her upward against him, his hands fiercely kneading her buttocks.

  "It's been so bloody long," he groaned.

  Her reply was a low moan. He felt her body stiffen, felt her legs begin to tremble around him. He whispered her name, and buried her cries in his mouth. "Oh," she gasped, "that feels so good." She threw her head back and arched her back, driving him deep within her. The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and he half laughed, half moaned, as her muscles gripped him. He exploded within her.

  They clung to each other, until finally Elliot managed to start to think again. "What do we do now?"

  "I'm the one with the problem," she said, nibbling his ear. "You're just a disgusting male who has nothing to worry about."

  "Will you be all right?" he asked softly, looking into her dazed eyes.

  "I should be able to walk in another hour or so." She squeezed him. "Well, was it like making love in the back seat of your father's car?"

  "I'll think about it and let you know."

  He inched out of the lavatory a few moments later and ran smack into a flight attendant. He could swear he heard a muffled giggle behind him.

  When George emerged, she looked as if she'd just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, except for her eyes. They looked dreamy and utterly satisfied.

  She sat down and snuggled against him. "We still have fifteen minutes before dinner." "Greedy wench," he said.

  She laughed and he said lightly, "I didn't have room to kiss your breasts."

  Her breath hissed through her teeth. "Must you always have the last word?"

  "The last thrust, in any case."

  The flight attendant who served their dinner was the same one who had passed him in the aisle.

  "I'm sure you must be hungry," she said blandly, setting his tray down in front of him.

  "Why do you think I ordered the rare beef?" Elliot returned, just as blandly.

  The flight attendant nodded. "You're right, of course. Flying is an exhausting business. It's wise to keep your strength up."

  Elliot censored several crude retorts, and said, "A lot of things need to be kept up.. .even the plane."

  "So true," the flight attendant agreed, an unholy twinkle in her eyes.

  "What was that all about?" George demanded once they were alone again.

  "Just a little tit for tat. She knew exactly what we were doing, George."

  "I think she tatted you pretty well."

  "Well, I didn't have a chance to ti—"

  "Don't you dare say it, Elliot Mallory! Eat your dinner and think elevating thoughts."

  "A bad pun, George, very bad."

  George was the one who became quiet. She only picked at her dinner.

  "You're feeling all right, aren't you?" Elliot asked finally.

  "Of course." She eyed him a moment, her expression anxious. "Elliot, I want to talk to you. In a minute," she added, seeing the flight attendant return to take their trays.

  Elliot waited patiently, imagining that she wanted to talk about the operation.

  He was utterly taken aback when she turned in her seat, and blurted out, "Will you marry me?"

  He was taken utterly off guard and could only stare at her. Her eyes were shining with excitement. He felt a fist squeeze at his heart, his breath catching in his throat. That she would take the initiative had never occurred to him. Another example, he thought frantically, of the difference in their ages. A woman his age would never do such a thing. He didn't know what to say. He tore his gaze from hers, the no and the reasons for it trembling on his lips. He remembered her operation. He had to be certain she would go through with it. Very slowly, to gain time, he repeated, "Marry you?"

  "I didn't mean to shock you," she said, squeezing his arm. "I want to marry you very much, Elliot. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. We're compatible. We don't fight much. I very much enjoy sex with you."

  "George," he said, raising his hand to stem the tide.

  "Elliot, I know I'm young, but not that young. And I wouldn't be a parasite or a drain on you. My income is increasing steadily, with a big leap this year. I own two apartment houses in the Upper Haight, me and the bank, that is. I could give you the name of my accountant and she could give you a complete rundown of all my assets. My money isn't particularly liquid, but—"

  "George, for God's sake, I don't give a damn about your money!"

  She nodded eagerly. "No, I'm sure that you don't care any more about my money than I do about yours. But I wanted you to know that I would pull my weight. Elliot, it's not just sex. You're a wonderful cook, and you make me laugh, and we have such fun together." He didn't reply, and she plunged onward, "If you want, I could take some more college courses. I know you probably think I'm appallingly ignorant. I don't want you to ever be ashamed of me."

  "George, you are not ignorant. If you ever wanted to go back to school, you would do it for yourself, not me. As to my being ashamed of you, don't be a turkey."

  She smiled happily. "Then you do love me? You will marry me?"

  He closed his eyes a moment, swallowing all the arguments he had prepared to give her when she was well again after the operation. He turned in his seat to face her. "George," he said quietly, "you've taken me by surprise." That was certainly the truth! "I haven't thought of marriage. It's a very big step, a big decision." That was a bloody lie, and he was sounding evasive, like a woman who had just received a marriage proposal she found inconvenient. "Give me time to think about it. All right?"

  She searched his face anxiously.

  "And you think more about it," You're twenty-three and I'm thirty-eight! You have everything ahead of you.

  "I have," she said. She dropped her eyes to her hands, clasped together in her lap. "I suppose I did take you off guard. I don't mean to rush you, Elliot."

  "I know," he said, swallowing. He repeated steadily, "Give me some time, George."

  "I forgot to tell you that I would be happy to handle your investments for you, if you wish."

  Shakespeare was right, Elliot thought, a smile tugging at his mouth. There's nothing like the comic to temper the tragic.

  "I might consider that, George," he said, a laugh breaking through the knot of misery in his throat.

  Chapter 12

  "Didn't I promise you bedlam?" George whispered in Elliot's ear.

  "Utter bedlam and delight," he said, helping her into her chair at the dining-room table.

  The five children George had promised, all under the age of seven, were so full of exuberant energy and excitement that Elliot wondered if he could trade in his glass of wine for a stiff Scotch, neat. The dinner table was loaded with enough food for a battalion, to Elliot's eye, but George assured him it was just an ordinary meal when the family was all together.

  Tammy, Derek's wife, was busily serving up plates for their three children. She was a tall woman, dark-haired, a bit on the plump side and utterly impervious to her children's noise. Derek, George's oldest brother, was a large, athletic man of about thirty-five who seemed to have George's outgoing personality, with quite a bit of devilry thrown in. He raised his voice over the racket as he shoved a plate of fried chicken and potato salad in front of his three-year-old. "Don't expire, Elliot! You'll get used to it, that or you'll be out on the slopes twenty-four hours a day to escape."

  Elliot smiled and replied during a brief lull, "George tells me you're a
businessman. What do you do?"

  Jason Hathaway, the middle brother, a slender, rather stoop-shouldered young man with George's near-violet eyes, hooted with laughter. "Would you believe toilets?"

  His wife, Irene, poked him in the side. "Come on, jerk! Don't believe him, Elliot; Derek is a designer and consultant for very futuristic bathrooms and kitchens.

  "We call him Johnny Come Lately; J.C.L. for short," Tod called out.

  Duke Hathaway raised a quieting hand, and to Elliot's surprise, even the children grew instantly still. "Before you know more than you want about the Hathaway family, Elliot, let me say that we're delighted you came." He gave George a lazy smile and raised his wineglass. "Here's to a week of great skiing with no broken bones!"

  "Well, we've got a doctor here to take care of us," Tod said. "I've always said George is a smart cookie, always plans ahead."

  "At least he's worth more than a pitcher who can't strike out a little league," George said.

  "You mean he won't tell us to take two aspirin and send him fifty dollars?" Derek asked.

  "He'd tell you to take a dose of arsenic and jump off the ski lift, big brother," George retorted. "As for you, Tod the Dodge, he'd advise you to get a new pitching arm before the season starts."

  "George needs to come down a peg," Tod said. "All this fame is going to her head and mouth."

  "Now, now, brother," Jason said. "The only reason anyone watches you play baseball on TV is because of the commercials."

  Mrs. Hathaway, who was smiling calmly at the flying jabs that followed, turned to Elliot. "It's so nice to have the family together. I hope the children never change."

  "George tells me you come here every year to ski?"

  "Yes. We bought the cabin some ten years ago."

  "I don't think I'd call it a mere cabin," Elliot said, staring around the large dining room.

  "Well, no, I suppose not. We have Duke to thank for that, else we'd be piled up like rugs in a department store. He always told me that we'd better plan ahead for grandchildren. The five bedrooms are already full, and Tod and George aren't even married yet. Do you come from a large family, Elliot?"

  "Just one sister, Lindy, and two nephews and a niece. I have a feeling this is going to be quite an educational week."

  "Oh, this is nothing. Wait until they really get going. Would you like some baked beans?"

  Elliot shook his head. "George looks quite a bit like you, Mrs. Hathaway."

  "Dorothy, please. Thank you for saying so. I've always thought the raw materials were lurking about in me and came together in George. Her height and figure come from her grandmother. As for that financial intuition she has, none of us can figure that out."

  "She's been badgering me to let her take over my investments, what there are of them."

  "I'd let her," Dorothy said. "She's been advising her father and me for three years now. Her brother Derek hooted with male disdain when he heard about it, but Tammy told me that during the past year, Derek would come up with an idea, chew it over for a couple of days and then get on the phone to his sister. Tammy, of course, thinks it's marvelous. She's a nurse and champing at the bit to get back to her profession. You'll hear some real heady arguments when George and Derek get going about women leaving-their-ba-bies-in-the-hands-of-strangers. I believe you've already met Tod?"

  Elliot nodded, glancing toward the handsome youngest brother, who was lounging back in his chair flying a chicken wing toward one of his nieces.

  "George dragged you to one of the A's games?"

  "Yes, but she neglected to tell me that the pitcher was her brother,"

  Dorothy Hathaway laughed. "You're not a baseball fan then?"

  "Let's say I'm becoming accustomed. Actually, until now, I haven't watched much baseball."

  "Well, all my kids seem to have been interested in most sports."

  "Except swimming?" Elliot asked.

  "That's true, although George told me some months ago that she was taking it up. As for Jason, he was an excellent golfer until he became infatuated with computers. I'm afraid his nine irons are rusting in the closet. This year I doubt he'll have a prayer arm-wrestling with any of his brothers. But he is a good skier."

  "Jason is a programmer?"

  "That too. He owns his own company now."

  Elliot laughed. "It appears I'm surrounded by overachievers."

  "Yes, isn't it marvelous?" Dorothy said complacently, "I've never been able to figure it out. Here I am, a dirt farmer's daughter."

  "I bet there was oil under that dirt!"

  "I suppose I should give some credit to Duke. Tod, get that bone out of Ginger's ear!"

  Elliot waited until Ginger's ear was back in place, then said quietly to Dorothy Hathaway, "Perhaps there's a question you can answer for me." He paused a moment, fiddling with his potato salad. "George is beautiful, in fact her looks are quite spectacular. But she has no conceit that I've ever seen. Whenever I or anyone else comment on her looks, she just tosses it off, says it's a good thing or else she wouldn't have a job."

  "And you can't understand it?"

  "Frankly, no. I keep waiting for a little conceit, or a little pleased recognition of her looks, to surface."

  "Her grandmother's influence, I think. You see, her grandmother, Camilla, my mother, was beautiful. She died beautiful a couple of years ago at nearly eighty. Good bone structure and all that. In any case, Camilla kept an eagle eye on George while she was growing up. If George ever showed any signs of conceit, she promptly took her down a peg or two. And, of course, there are her brothers. They're more interested in her jockdom than in her beauty. They don't really look at her like you do or like strangers do. Does that make any sense?"

  "I suppose it does. I would like to have met her grandmother."

  "She was a grand old lady. We all miss her." Dorothy turned to pour some milk into a grandchild's glass.

  George took the opportunity to whisper to Elliot, "Did Mother tell you how great we all are?"

  "Paragons, the lot of you. I listened politely."

  "I'll bet your mother is the same way. Can't wait to crow about her brilliant son."

  "At least it's all true," he said blandly.

  "I think that bone that was in Ginger's ear belongs in your mouth."

  "Now, George, if you can't compete, don't play the game."

  "Dr. Mallory," Tammy Hathaway called over the table, "you're the chairman of the Radiology Department?"

  "Yes, and call me Elliot. I understand you're a nurse."

  Tammy shot a sideways glance at her husband. "Yes, and next year I'm going back."

  "Now, Tammy," Derek said, his brows lowering. "The children need—"

  George burst into merry laughter. "We've only been together for two hours and you've already got my blood boiling, Derek!"

  "A trace," Duke Hathaway said, "at least for the duration of dinner."

  "Yeah, Der," Jason called. "Go design a new john, Johnny!"

  "Wait until I get my hands on you, circuit brain!"

  "I'm going to flush both of you down," Tod called out.

  "And on and on," George said.

  "I don't think anyone could ever die of boredom in your family, George," Elliot said.

  "No, but burst blood vessels are another matter. What do you think of Mariana? It's odd," she added, frowning thoughtfully. "She's the first woman Tod hasn't had me check out."

  Mariana Hammond was very beautiful and very quiet. She appeared rather dazed by all the noise, but Elliot thought he saw a smile lurking in her brown eyes.

  "Maybe playboy Tod is serious," Elliot said.

  "Hmmm," George said. "Well, everyone started checking you out the minute you walked through the door. Mariana," she called out, "where did you meet my clod of a brother?"

  The deep brown eyes lowered a moment. "At a charity ball. Tod was our guest of honor."

  "Ah, jock of the night, huh?"

  "George," Tod mocked, "never just one night!"

  "You've
been had again, sweetheart," Elliot said under the cover of laughter that erupted around the table. To his delight, George was actually blushing.

  Suddenly, there were several gasps. Mariana Hammond had leaned over in her chair and dumped the rest of her wine down Tod's shirt.

  He yelped, leaped up in his chair and collapsed again as his nieces and nephews and siblings went into gales of laughter.

  "Good for you, Mariana," Mr. Hathaway said. "Would you like some more wine?"

  "Dad, whose side are you on?" Tod complained, wiping off his shirt with a napkin.

  "My dear Tod," Mr. Hathaway said gently, "look at your mother and your sister, Need you ask?"

  "I would love some more wine, sir," Mariana said calmly.

  Elliot had imagined that after-dinner coffee in the living room would be conducted in a more subdued way. He was wrong. The children were packed off to bed, but despite the huge meal, the four Hathaway siblings were still in tearing spirits. Elliot sat down next to Mariana Hammond, watching their antics from the corner of his eye.

  "I understand you arrived last evening?"

  "Yes. I had my introductions over a dinner of four gallons of Irish stew."

  "You, I take it, aren't from a large family."

  "No, I'm an only child."

  "You live in San Francisco, Mariana?"

  "In Mill Valley," she said, smiling toward Jason and George, who were on their stomachs on the floor, arm wrestling.

  "What do you do with your time?"

  She shrugged, elegantly. "Nothing, really."

  "Oh," Elliot said, rather daunted.

  There was a shout of laughter as Jason dragged George's arm down to the carpet.

  Elliot sipped at his coffee.

  "George looks quite different in person."

  Oh no, Elliot thought. Now for some cattiness.

  "If anything," Mariana continued thoughtfully, "she's even more beautiful. One wonders how that can be true with her in jeans and a western shirt and look at those socks—lavender with pink panthers— but it is."

  Elliot decided that Mariana Hammond, whatever else she was, was a very honest person,

  "George has a fondness for unusual knee socks," he said.