by Neesa Hart
Annie sucked in a sharp breath when Irene, wearing a smile as red and seductive as her negligee, opened the door and let Pete inside. “This is disgusting,” she said.
Mark grabbed her hand, then pulled her through the wall. “Come on.”
Annie yelped. “Mark!” They were inside the room. “For God’s sake! I don’t want to watch.”
Mark was staring intently at the sight of Pete Sherban’s pudgy hands anchoring Irene’s slender form against him in a torrid embrace. “We have to. I need to know if this is your basic extramarital fling, or if Petey here is influence peddling.”
Annie covered her eyes with her hands. “This is gross.”
Mark narrowed his gaze on Irene. Her long red nails were threaded in Pete’s thinning hair. He was sucking on her earlobe, and she was watching the mirror with a look that had “victory” written all over it. “Wait in the bathroom,” Mark said.
“What?” Annie looked up, only to turn her back when she saw Pete roughly palm Irene’s full breast.
Mark pointed to the door. “The bathroom. Wait in there. I’ll come get you when it’s over.”
She frowned at him. “I’ll still be able to hear.”
“Then wait in the hall,” he said, exasperated. “We don’t have another choice, Annie.”
She looked over her shoulder at Pete and Irene. “The bathroom,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll wait in the bathroom. Just hurry.” She looked quickly at Pete and Irene. “This is so gross.”
Annie disappeared through the bathroom door. Mark turned his full attention to the groping couple. He was more certain than ever that Pete Sherban was selling Maggie, and the other bidders, out for a quick roll in the hay with Irene Fussman. All he needed was something to prove it. He sat down in a chair, ignoring a twinge of revulsion, and watched as Pete and Irene carried out their carnal drama in Room 716.
Twenty minutes later, Mark rolled his eyes. He resumed his now well-practiced pacing of the floor. How much more of this was he going to have to endure? Pete Sherban had already climaxed twice, and except for the brief flashes of annoyance Mark had seen cross Irene’s features, he still had no indication that Pete was peddling influence with Max Wedgins in exchange for sexual favors from Irene.
Pete was pumping into Irene for the third time, having been made hard and ready by the antics of her full red mouth. Mark waited while the bed rocked and the floor squeaked and Irene moaned in Pete’s ear until, finally, Pete collapsed on top of her with a guttural oath. Irene scored her nails down his hair-covered back. “You’re hot, baby,” she whispered.
“Damn, you’re good,” he said, rolling off her. He threw an arm over his eyes.
She rolled to her side to reach for a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. Pete accepted the lighter from her, flipping it open. Irene took a long draw on the cigarette, and the ember flared bright in the dim light. “You do it for me, Pete. I told you.”
He grunted as he rolled his arm back to look at her. “You’re the kinkiest woman, Irene. I don’t think you need me to do it for you.”
Abruptly, Irene stubbed out the cigarette in the crystal ashtray by the bed. She turned to Pete with a look so distressed, so anxious, Mark wanted to vomit. “That’s not true,” she whined as she pouted and laid her hand on his chest. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Now, Irene—”
“You think I’m loose, don’t you?”
“I’m not an idiot, Irene. I’ve heard things.”
“They’re lies, Pete.” She pressed her naked body into his. “How could you defame what we have by saying I’d behave like this with anyone else?”
He snorted. “What we have is great sex.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes filled with tears so convincing even Mark was impressed. Pete sat up and reached for her. “Now, damn it, Irene, don’t cry.”
“Don’t cry? Don’t cry? How could you say that, think that?”
Mark caught the calculating look Irene gave the mirror while she held Pete’s face against her neck. Pete ran his hand down her back. “Irene, baby, now stop that. You know that’s not what I meant.”
“It was,” she said, sounding miserable.
“No it wasn’t. I just meant I can’t see what a sexy woman like you would want with a middle-aged flabby guy like me.”
Mark wondered if Irene would point out that Pete had passed middle age about two decades before. She didn’t. She sniffed delicately and pulled on his hair until he met her gaze. “Oh, Peter, how can you think that? You know I love you. I love you because you take care of me.” She wiggled against him. “No one’s ever taken care of me like you.”
“Irene—”
She shook her head and moved away from him to climb out of bed. Mark watched as she walked to the window. He’d have bet a fortune she knew exactly how the moonlight seeped in through the sheer curtains and highlighted the curves of her body. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, and gave Pete a siren’s smile. “It’s because of Max Wedgins, isn’t it?”
Mark stiffened. Pete sat up in the bed. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Max.”
She leaned against the window, giving Pete an excellent view of high, firm breasts and flaring hips. “It does. I never asked you to use your influence with Max. I wanted to get the bid on my own. You were the one who went to him, Pete, and now you think the only reason I—” She paused, choking back a dramatic sob. “You think that’s all I want from you.”
Pete tossed the covers aside. He lumbered off the bed, then crossed the room to her. She turned her back to him, but Pete wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “That’s not true, Babe. I don’t think that.”
“I want you to call Wedgins right now, and tell him I’m not going to bid.”
“Now, Irene—”
“I mean it. I won’t have you thinking that I—”
Mark could see Pete’s hands, reflected in the window, roaming over Irene’s body. They came up and squeezed her breasts. “I don’t want you to do that, baby,” Pete said. “You deserve that bid. That’s why I talked to Max.”
Irene dropped her head back on his shoulder. “Do you really mean that?”
Pete slid one hand down her belly. He cupped the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs and hauled her back against him. “You don’t think I’d let sex, no matter how hot it is, cloud my judgment, do you?”
Mark snorted. Irene reached up a hand and caressed Pete’s face. “You’re too good a businessman for that, lover.”
“That’s exactly right,” Pete said. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck. “And I don’t want to hear any more shit about your pulling your bid. Max is already expecting your designs.”
Irene rubbed her buttocks against his crotch. “You don’t have to, Peter.”
“I want to,” he said, pressing her closer. “I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise.” He nipped her earlobe. “I’m just not very good at expressing myself with you.”
Irene smiled a victorious smile at her reflection in the window before turning in his arms. She pressed a steamy, openmouthed kiss to his lips, sucking at his lower lip as she drew away. “I know one thing you’re good at expressing,” she said, and dropped to her knees in front of him.
Mark swore in disgust. He stalked into the bathroom. He found Annie, seated on the floor, her knees drawn up under her chin, her eyes closed, her fingers stuck in her ears, singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” off-key and at the top of her lungs. He smiled as he tapped her on the head. She stopped singing. Her eyes flew open. “Time to go,” he said.
She pulled her fingers from her ears. “What?”
“Time to go.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Thank goodness.” She paused to frown at the noises coming from the bedroom. “Did you get what you wanted?”
Mark nodded. “Pete’s definitely wheeling and dealing with Wedgins to get Irene the bid.”
“I hope she’s worth it.”
“Well
, I have to admit I’ve never seen a woman who—”
Annie slapped a hand over his mouth. “For crying out loud, Mark, I don’t want to know the details. I just want to get out of here.”
He pulled her hand away. “As you wish.” He tossed her over his shoulder, then stepped through the wall into the corridor.
Annie slapped his back. “Put me down, you big bully.”
Mark dropped her feet to the floor with an exaggerated sigh. “Some people are never satisfied.”
Annie glowered at him while she straightened her clothes. “All right, so now you know Irene’s not competing on a level playing field. What do you think you’re going to do about it?”
Mark took her hand. He started toward the stair well. “That’s the tricky part. I’m not sure what we can do.”
“What about Ryan?”
“What about him?”
“What if he called that Carl guy and tipped him off?”
Mark looked at her, stunned. “I’m not going to tell Ryan that Irene Fussman and Pete Sherban are having an affair.”
Annie frowned. “Do you think I’m a complete idiot? Of course you aren’t.”
“Then what do you think I should do?”
“Maggie seemed to know Carl fairly well at that meeting.”
Mark nodded. “His grandson plays on Ryan’s hockey team.”
“Well, there you go.”
“There I go what?”
“Have Ryan call Carl for some hockey reason. I don’t know—the father/son game maybe. He can sell him a ticket or something.”
“And in the middle of the conversation, my seven-year-old can just happen to mention that maybe Carl should pay closer attention to the sexual behavior of his partner?”
Annie looked stung. “I didn’t mean that.”
Mark let out a ragged breath. “I know. I’m acting like an asshole. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted,” he said, by way of explanation.
She nodded. “Me too. I can’t remember the last time I was this tired.”
“I think being away from Maggie and Ryan is draining my energy. My concentration is shot.”
“Maybe we should just go home and talk about it in the morning.”
“Good idea. I think you’re right about Ryan. He’s the only one we can communicate with, so somehow he’s going to have to tip off Carl. I just don’t want to get him involved in this.”
Annie reached up and smoothed the crease from his forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”
Ten
Maggie propped her slippered feet on the coffee table. She sank back against her couch. It had been a long and exhausting day, but despite her bone-deep fatigue, she had been unable to sleep. She took a sip of her cocoa.
The moon was bright, and she shut her eyes, allowing herself to ponder the strange feeling of unease that had plagued her all evening. Ryan had been edgy, upset when Scott had picked her up for dinner that evening. They’d dropped him at Lily’s, but even the promise of Franklin’s companionship had done little to calm him down. Lily confessed that Ryan had spent most of the evening curled up in front of the television, looking miserable. Maggie hadn’t been able to get any answers out of him except for a mumbled explanation about missing his father, before he’d finally settled into an exhausted sleep.
It hadn’t helped matters any that Scott had been tense as well. Maggie’s nerves were stripped raw by the time he kissed her good-bye and told her he’d be back from Dallas the following Tuesday. She’d been almost relieved that the evening was finally over.
She studied the silhouette of snow-laden evergreens outside her window. In the silver moonlight, the trees looked enchanted. What, she wondered, had soured her mood so completely? She was stressed, she knew, about submitting her plans the next day, but the meeting had gone well that morning, and except for that small business with Pete and Irene at the restaurant, she had enjoyed a pleasurable afternoon showing Scott around Cape Hope.
It hadn’t been until later, just before they left for dinner, that her mood had begun to deteriorate. She’d had an inexplicable uneasy feeling all evening, and despite Scott’s reassurances to the contrary, she was certain he had suffered the effects. Maggie took another sip of her cocoa, followed by several deep, calming breaths.
She was concentrating so hard, she barely heard the knock on her door. Maggie tipped her head and listened. She had nearly convinced herself it was a trick of the wind, when the knock sounded again. She was certain it was Scott.
She pulled the door open to find him shivering in the snow. “Scott!” She grabbed his hand to drag him into the house, so she could shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here? Where’s your coat?”
He shook his head. “I had to see you, Maggie.” He rubbed his upper arms for warmth. “I know it’s late, but I got to the hotel, and I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either,” she said. “Come on in. I’ll make you some cocoa.”
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“I won’t. I had already heated the milk.” She pointed to her mug on the coffee table.
Scott’s gaze slipped past the mug to the empty fire-place. “There’s a chill in here. Do you mind if I start a fire?”
She waved her hand in the direction of the living room. “Go ahead. I was too tired to bother. I’ll just get your cocoa and join you in a minute.”
Five minutes later, Maggie sat down beside him on the sofa. She handed him a mug. He’d built a robust fire, and the orange glow cast eerie shadows on his handsome face. Maggie shivered. “Here you go.”
Scott wrapped his long fingers around the mug. “Thanks, Maggie. I—I’m sorry it’s so late. I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s all right.” She picked up her mug. “I told you I couldn’t sleep either.”
Scott swallowed some of his cocoa. “Maggie,” he paused, “about tonight—”
She held up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything, Scott. I felt it, too. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so”—he searched for a word—“tense.”
“Edgy,” Maggie supplied at the same instant.
Scott’s smile was rueful. “You noticed.”
“You weren’t the only one. Ryan was climbing the walls when we picked him up at Lily’s, and I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t out of sorts myself.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Full moon, high tides, cosmic forces.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was just the stress of that meeting today.”
Scott set his mug down on the table. He pried hers loose from her fingers, then set it down as well. Taking both her hands in his, he met her gaze. “Maggie, something’s going on here, and I don’t know what it is, or why it’s happening, but I do know that I need to be with you tonight. Even if we just sit here and talk, I can’t spend another minute alone in my hotel.”
“I don’t want to be alone either.”
Scott tugged on her hands until she moved into his embrace. “I want you,” he said, “I want you in a way I’ve never wanted another woman in my life. Not even Annie.”
She looked at him, startled. “Scott—”
“Don’t say anything,” he said. “I know it’s too soon for you. I shouldn’t be saying this.” He ran his hand down her spine. “I swear I’d never push you into anything. But you make me feel alive again, Maggie. I used to think I died when Annie did. Like there was nothing left of me. You make me feel like there’s a reason to get up every morning and nothing to fear about going to bed every night. Sometimes, I dream about you, and sometimes I just feel you, there with me.” He grumbled something beneath his breath. “This sounds like crap. I know it does.”
Maggie shook her head. “No it doesn’t.”
“I can’t explain it. I’m confused and frustrated, and then tonight—oh hell.”
Maggie laid her head against his chest. She listened to the heavy, even rhythm of his heart
. He was warm and solid, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on. “Scott?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t sleep with you.”
“I know.”
She waited. “Are you angry?” she asked when he didn’t say anything else.
“No.”
“Do you want to know why?”
“It’s too soon for you,” he said.
She shook her head. “That’s not the reason.”
Scott tipped her chin up. He stared at her. “It’s not?”
“No. I’m not going to deny that I want to,” she said. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
Scott’s eyes darkened. “Maggie?” His voice sounded hoarse.
“I want to,” she said. “I want to a lot.”
“Maggie what are you saying?”
She took a deep breath. “I haven’t let go of Mark yet. I still feel married to him.” She held up her left hand, and studied her engagement ring and wedding band. “If you and I, if we—” She took a deep breath, then started over. “If we made love, I’d feel like I was betraying him,” she explained, feeling more than a little foolish. She wondered if Scott would think she was crazy.
Scott let out a ragged breath and hugged her close. “Oh, Maggie, what a pair we are.”
“Scott, I—”
He pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re feeling.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “This hasn’t been easy on me either, you know. I find myself torn between the joy of falling in love with you, and the guilt of forgetting how I felt about Annie.”
Her eyes widened. She felt a shaft of panic race up her spine, and in that instant, she put a name to the feeling that had been clawing at her all evening. It was fear. “Falling in love?”
He chuckled. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know. The signs were all over the place.”
Maggie was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t love her. He just couldn’t. “I guess I didn’t want to think about it.”
He brushed her hair off her face. “I didn’t either. There was a time when I could see Annie’s face as clear as a picture. Now, I’m not so sure. Sometimes, I can’t see her at all for thinking about you.”