by Alicia Scott
Richard came into my room tonight, dressed in his dark satin robe, as if he had every right to be here. I told him I had a headache, but his eyes merely hardened. He told me that it seemed I was perfectly healthy for other men.
I suppose I should have pretended not to understand, but after more than a year, I’m tired of the games. I told him the other men were none of his business. I would lead my life any way I chose.
I admit, it was a bold approach, but Richard doesn’t fall for the normal simpering. I have three-fourths of the male population wrapped around my finger, but my own damn husband doesn’t so much as blink when I flutter my china blue eyes. Damn dark bastard. I fear I might have made a miscalculation.
Perhaps I should have married Blaine. He had less money, but at least Blaine I could have controlled...I can control.
Richard, on the other hand... You could see the anger in his eyes as he stood in my doorway, see the fierce clenching of his jaw. Then all of a sudden, he took two steps into the room, his eyes grim with dark determinat—
A knock sounded on the door, breaking Liz’s concentration. Scrambling like a guilty child, she closed the diary hastily, and tucked it between her mattresses. Her eyes turned to the newly moved armoire and the gaping black hole of the hiding place in the floor.
The knock came again.
Liz rushed to the cubbyhole, replacing the boards with shaking fingers. She didn’t question her need to keep her discovery secret, just as she’d kept the note and slashed portrait a secret. She already knew why. In this house, the only one she could definitely trust was herself. She went to push the armoire back, but the knocking sounded again, louder and more persistent this time.
“Liz?” came Richard’s distinctly low voice. “Liz, open the damn door.”
To hell with the armoire, Liz decided, tightening her robe around her waist. She’d just have to think of some excuse. Smoothing back her hair with a nervous hand, she approached the door. Taking one more deep breath, she opened it with a pounding heart.
There stood Richard, dark and intense in the doorway. He must have gotten ready for bed himself, because he was wearing a deep, burgundy terry-cloth robe, belted at his waist. But even then, she could see the exposed expanse of his chest as the robe formed a V to his waist.
She licked her lips nervously, her pulse rate increasing even as she searched for the appearance of normalcy.
“Good evening,” she said, the words coming out stilted and formal. Richard frowned, his steely eyes peering into her. Unbidden, the words from the diary came back to her. Those damn all-knowing eyes....
“What were you doing? Why did it take you so long to answer the door?” Richard demanded, automatically trying to look past her. He’d heard the sounds of someone scurrying around the minute he knocked. Coupled with the heightened color of her face, her eyes avoiding his own told him something was going on. For a moment, he felt a small flicker of dark panic. Blaine. So help him God, if Blaine was in her room, he’d kill the bastard.
But Liz was moving aside slightly, gesturing emptily to the room with her shaking hand. “Oh,” she tried to say casually, “I was just moving around the furniture some. Couldn’t sleep, you know?”
Richard peered at her once more, then swept his keen eyes across the room. Could he tell? Liz wondered frantically. Could he see the floorboard that had just been raised? Spot the outline of the piece of furniture on the old floor?
But as she’d moved the lamp back, the whole area had fallen into dim lighting, helping her cause. After a long, breathless moment, Richard’s gaze swept back to her, faintly satisfied. He still didn’t believe her story, but at least Blaine wasn’t involved. Dear, brother Blaine.
“I came to apologize,” he said abruptly, having the faint pleasure of seeing her eyes go round with shock. “I behaved badly in the tower today,” he continued curtly. “I should have had more control.”
In an instant, Liz knew what he was talking about. He was sorry for how he’d acted with Andrew. And in that moment, she forgot all about the dark writings of the diary, and could only see Richard, her Richard, in front of her.
“It’s okay,” she told him honestly. “It’s a natural reaction to go from fear to anger. Ask any parent.”
He simply nodded, studying her eyes while she spoke. The nervous shadows were now gone, her midnight blue eyes softening with sincerity as she spoke in her beautiful Carolina voice. She looked relaxed, her hair loose around her shoulders and tumbling like thick molasses down her back, her cheeks still lightly flushed but glowing with health and vitality. Looking at her, he sometimes wondered how he could ever have found Alycia to be so beautiful. In hindsight, he saw her as only a brittle, porcelain centerpiece.
Whereas this woman before him, she was real flesh-and-blood vitality. Her eyes glowed with understanding, while her voice whispered of fresh-cut hay and warm summer days. She knew how to smile, how to laugh. She knew how to make Andy relax, and gain the little boy’s trust. She even knew how to penetrate his own grim control. Then again, perhaps she didn’t know that yet.
And he had every intention of keeping it that way.
If only just looking at her didn’t make him remember the feel of her skin, the taste of her breasts.
“Still...” He tried to maintain his purpose, but the word came out huskily. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”
“Perhaps you could talk to Andrew in the morning,” Liz suggested. He was looking at her quite differently, she recognized. His eyes were no longer so piercing, but had warmed to pale velvet, caressing her cheeks. She licked her lips once more, trying to keep her concentration. It was no use.
“Liz, sweetheart,” she heard him whisper. “Let me do this.” And then he was bending down, capturing her lips with his own. This time, he did not demand. This time, it was a gentle plunder, a warm exploration of her soft lips as she sighed and answered his age-old request by moving closer. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition, entwining themselves up and around his neck. She could feel the softness of his robe, and the warm silk of his black hair. Seizing his shoulders, she pulled him closer as the kiss deepened.
He reveled in the softness, the sound of her surrendering sigh against his lips, the feel of her arms wrapping around him. It made his blood pound hot, but he ignored the fiery beat. Too often, he’d simply claimed. Now, he wanted to gently cajole, to feel every acquiescent movement of her body. Lightly, he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, asking, not taking. She responded by meeting his tongue with her own, slanting her head back for greater access.
He complied, and felt the answering shiver in her body. Entranced now, he journeyed away from her mouth, tracing light kisses to the graceful curve of her neck. She arched back, and his lips found the soft nub of her earlobe. Her hands clutched at his back for support, the blood in her veins turning to molten lava that melted her willpower. She found herself playing with the collar of his robe, one hand slipping under it to feel the fiery heat of his naked skin against her palm. She could trace the firm outline of his muscled chest, feel the pounding rhythm of his heart against her palm. She wanted to follow that touch with her lips, wanted to press herself against the hard rippling contours of his body.
She wanted to lose herself to the magic of his touch, as his lips explored the sensitive curve of her neck. She could feel his hands, lightly tracing her shoulders, then moving down to gently outline the curve of her breasts through her robe. She felt the lava in her veins burst into fire.
This time it was she who pulled his head up, finding his lips with her own, overwhelming his control with a fierce hunger that demanded satiation. The gentleness was gone, and new primal instincts took its place. His hands didn’t ask anymore. They went directly to the belt of her robe and tore it aside, seeking and finding the warm shape of her curves, protected now by only a thin T-shirt. His broad palm cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing across the nipple as her own hands traced down to the outline of his boxer shorts.
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br /> The building sparks of the past few days caught, turning into an unexpected inferno. She knew she had reasons not to get involved, she knew she ought to have doubts about this man. But suddenly, she was no longer thinking, just feeling, his lips, his body, his hands. She pressed against him, and her body shivered with the intensity. If only she could tear off his robe. If only he would sweep her away to the bed and satisfy them both by plunging so sweetly and fiercely into her.
If only...
With a savage cry, she tore herself away. Richard, his eyes dark with burning desire, watched her. His jaw set, and for a moment, despite his best intentions, his hands clutched at her. Brutally, he clenched them back under control at his sides.
She could see the muscles cord on his neck with the effort.
She had to close her eyes and turn around, and even then she just wanted to cry. Her body shouted out for release, begged her to give in. She was young and healthy, and it had been so long since she’d been touched, since she’d felt desirable and passionate.
Her head bowed, and she took deep, gulping breaths of air. It didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Slowly, with trembling hands, she managed to belt her robe once more.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, the words shaky. “I didn’t mean...I never meant for it to get that...” She gave up on the words completely. He could fill in his own.
“Then just what did you mean?” Richard growled darkly, his eyes watching her intensely. His pulse was racing so fast, he could practically feel the ringing in his ears. Never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted her. One minute so sweet and willing in his arms, the next pulling away like a nervous virgin. He would swear she was a witch.
“I think you should go now,” Liz managed to say. She didn’t trust herself enough to turn around.
“What if I don’t want to go?” he threatened softly.
“You will,” she told him. She took another deep breath, willing sanity even as her body cried out for satisfaction. “I know I let things go too far, but I meant what I said last night. I’m not a one-night stand kind of woman, Richard. I’m...I’m just not.”
“Sweetheart,” he drawled thickly. “I think it would take more than one night to get enough of you.”
She whirled, the passion suddenly replaced by fury. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. One night, one week, it doesn’t matter. It’s all temporary and it’s all merely physical. I want more. I want something more out of life.”
Richard’s jaw clenched, and for a minute, he had to restrain himself from reaching out and shaking her. Damn her and her hang-ups with emotion. Didn’t she realize love was as fickle as desire? Hunger was pure in its own way, giving exactly what it promised each and every time.
But he could see from the look in her eyes, she was beyond yielding to him. And he’d made a fool of himself too many times before to do it again. Instead, he drew himself up, the control at last falling icy and clean across his features.
“Very well,” he said dispassionately. “Have it your way.”
He moved to the door, pausing as he was about to close it behind him. “Sweet dreams, Liz,” he said, and even she could hear the mockery in his voice.
The door closed behind him abruptly, leaving her alone in the shadows of her room. Too overwhelmed by the conflicting desires of heart and body, she sat down on the edge of her solitary bed, and wept.
Chapter 10
Liz fell into a dark, tumbled sleep filled with chaotic images. The dusty emptiness of the shut-up ballrooms. The long dark hallway, shadowed and cold. Andrew standing at the very end, his eyes wide with fear as he held out his six-year-old hands and cried her name. But the more she walked toward him, the longer the hallway became, until it was twisting and turning as she stumbled through.
Then she turned the sharpest corner, holding out her hands to find Andrew, but running into Richard instead. He took her in his arms with his dark shuttered eyes, kissing her while an icy rage swept around them. And even as the bitter chill cut through her clothes, his kiss kept her warm. So she clung to him, pushing herself closer, wanting more....
Liz sat up in bed with a jerk, her heart pounding in her chest from the nightmares. All around her, the sheets and blankets were twisted into complete disarray, a waking testimony to her unconscious turbulence. Already she could feel the dull throb of a burgeoning headache. She shook her head slightly, willing the images away once and for all.
The strain of the past few days was getting to her. She could feel it in everything from the headache to the faint trembles in her hand.
But with determination, she pushed herself out of bed, walking over to the window to throw the curtains back. The revealed sky was a sharp blue, contrasting nicely with the crisp fields of grass. The only trees around the mansion were cypress and fir trees, but she imagined somewhere down the road, the maple and birch trees were turning a fiery golden-red.
She contemplated the view a little longer before the idea came to her. Of course, a picnic. An early October picnic. It would do them all good to get out of the house. But then, another thought tightened her stomach. She should ask Richard to attend, to help get him and Andy closer together. Given his regrets for yesterday’s behavior, she could probably get him to agree. But that, of course, meant she would have to seek him out. And assuming he agreed, that meant they would have to spend the afternoon together, sitting so quaint and cozy on a picnic blanket.
She could see him in a thick, wool-knit sweater, his eyes matching the cool sky as he poured them steaming cups of hot chocolate from a brown thermos. Would he smile when he offered her the cup? Did he ever smile? How would he look, those dark, stern features broken up by something as simple as a smile? She was willing to bet he had a dimple. A beautiful, sexy dimple.
Abruptly, she shook the thought away. Andrew needed to get out more, and Andrew needed his father. Which meant she needed to get over her brief infatuation with Richard now. She’d come here to take care of Andrew, and she would not forsake that duty. It was that simple.
With determination, she quickly showered and threw on jeans and a red-and-blue-plaid shirt. Humming softly to herself, she brushed out her long hair and tucked it behind her ears with a simple hair band. Her hair was still wet, but by the time she was done running around this morning, it would be dry enough for her to go outside. Satisfied, she left her room.
Only to find Blaine lounging negligently in the hall outside her door. She paused, and unconsciously, felt the wariness set in. Why hadn’t he told her he’d proposed to Alycia? Who was he trying to protect? She stiffened slightly, but didn’t say anything. Instinct already told her the diary should be her own little secret. At least until she had time to read all of it.
For now, she pasted a smile on her face and tried to appear casual.
“Good morning,” she said. “Isn’t this a little early for you?”
Blaine glanced down at his Rolex. “Eight o’clock. Sure enough, I don’t remember the last time I got up at this hour. Going to bed at this hour...now, that’s another thing.”
She nodded, looking at him intently. Was it her imagination, or was he having a problem meeting her eyes?
“So what’s the special occasion?” she tried again.
Blaine sighed, giving her his best woeful look. “Jillian. She has this thing for early-morning walks. Who could have known?”
In spite of her suspicions, Liz found herself smiling. It looked as if Jillian was finally making progress. Perhaps that would warm the blonde’s chilly face. “The things we do for love,” Liz teased.
Blaine gave her a distinctly wolfish grin. “I don’t know if I’d call it love, but you’re right, the things we’ll do for it.”
Liz didn’t have to ask for explanation. Given the conversations she’d been having lately with Richard, she caught Blaine’s connotation all too easily. What was it with the men in this family?
She was saved from further comment, however, by a door opening severa
l doors down. Jillian appeared, looking sharp and attractive in a blue and green silk jogging suit. The minute the blonde looked up, though, and saw Liz and Blaine standing together, her features froze. Her blue eyes darted from one to the other, but she said nothing.
Immediately, Liz understood the impression it must make, her and Blaine talking so cozily together. Not wanting to create problems, Liz greeted Jillian with a warm smile.
“Blaine was just telling me how excited he is to walk with you this morning,” Liz attempted to explain, her voice light.
Jillian arched a delicate eyebrow. “Excited?” she quizzed dryly.
Liz smiled. “All right, my choice of words, not his. But I’m sure you’ll both have a great time.”
Jillian’s expression still didn’t relent, though Liz was getting the distinct impression Blaine was enjoying the byplay very much. Wanting to untangle herself from the mess once and for all, Liz hastily made her goodbyes.
At the bottom of the stairs, however, Liz’s footsteps began to drag. She moved forward into the foyer, her eyes sweeping up to the left-hand tower stairs. Better now than never.
She didn’t question the fact that Richard would be in the tower at this early hour. Near as she could tell, he was always in his lab, keeping ungodly hours. Sure enough, with the first knock, the door swung open.
“What do you want?” Richard asked bluntly, his eyes dark. Liz swallowed, seeking her voice as her eyes swept over him. If it was any consolation, he didn’t appear to have slept much, either. His hair was rumpled, his cheeks littered with a twenty-four-hour shadow. His slacks were slightly wrinkled, and his shirtsleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong forearms. As if he could sense her taking a mental inventory, he straightened before her, his hand raking back his hair into its usual smooth black waves.
“Are you playing more games of hide-and-seek?” he prodded curtly. “Or did you merely get lost on your way to the kitchen?”
Flushing slightly, Liz pulled herself up for the encounter. “Actually,” she began primly, “I came to invite you on a picnic this afternoon.”