Her Secret Affair

by Arlene James

  Janey turned away, arms folded, and limped back to the window seat. “You’re right. I-I don’t really know my son. He was an infant before the accident, after all.”

  “That’s no reason to ignore him now.”

  Janey whirled. “You don’t understand how much things have changed! I’m doing the best I can. If you would just get out of my way, I could have it all back!”

  “If you think that,” Chey told her dryly, “then you really are delusional.”

  Janey lifted her pert chin to a mulish angle. “Stay away from Brodie,” she ordered, the veneer of reason and supplication stripped away. “He’s mine.”

  Chey tilted her head. “We both know that isn’t so.”

  Suddenly, Janey’s pretty face crumpled, and she collapsed against the corner of the bed, sobbing as if her heart was broken. She was good, very good. If all else failed, Chey mused silently, the woman could always go on the stage. Folding her arms, Chey waited for the melodrama to end, shivering a little inside her wet suit. She didn’t have to wait long.

  Janey lifted eyes starred with wet lashes, the very picture of a broken-hearted angel. “All I want,” she wept, “is a chance to win my husband back!”

  Chey sighed and decided to be blunt. “In that case,” she said, “you ought to reconsider your tactics. The pretense does no one any good, least of all you.”

  Janey jerked her head up, all stiffened effrontery. “I don’t know what you could mean.”

  “Oh, come on. You seem to forget that Brodie knows the truth.”

  “Whatever are you suggesting?” Janey demanded, grasping at the bodice of her dress.

  Chey rolled her eyes, at the end of her patience. The last thing she needed was a Janey Shelly rendition of Camille. “Fine. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to change.”

  Recovering instantly, Janey bounced up and screamed, “I want you out of my house!”

  “Your house?” Chey repeated skeptically.

  Suddenly, the facade slipped away. In an instant, Janey looked older, more tired, desperate. “I can’t let you ruin this,” she muttered in a low voice.

  “There is nothing to ruin, Janey,” Chey told her. “That’s the whole point.”

  “You’re just after his money,” Janey accused, stumbling toward the door.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then what is it?” Janey demanded, throwing up one arm. “Why not go after some other man? Why does it have to be Brodie?”

  Chey blinked at her. Then she tilted her head, studying the other woman. What she saw astounded her. “You really don’t know, do you? No matter what you said before, you don’t have any idea what it is that sets Brodie apart.”

  “You mean, besides his bank account?” Janey sneered.

  Chey shook her head, amazed at the shallowness. “Yes, he’s successful, and, yes, I admire that about him, but it goes far deeper than that. Brodie is a strong, confident, accomplished man who squeezes every moment of joy from life, and not only does he lives up to his responsibilities, he goes beyond them because he cares. I love that about him,” she said, realizing that it was true.

  “But he loves me,” Janey insisted. “He has to!”

  “How can he,” Chey asked, “when all you see when you look at him is dollar signs?” And all I’ve seen is the responsibility that comes with him, she added silently. “My God,” she went on, talking as much to herself now as to Janey. “There is so much to love about this man that it boggles the mind. The pride he takes in this old house, the way he laughs when he drives his car too fast with the top down and the vain attention he pays to his appearance and the way he goes after what he wants. How could I not love him?”

  “But he’s not yours,” Janey whined.

  That much was true, and Chey had never been so aware of it as now, but he wasn’t Janey’s either, and Chey would not stand aside and let this predatory creature get her hooks into him again, so she cocked her head and played her part, saying, “Not yet.”

  “I’m warning you,” Janey snarled, all pretense gone now. “Get out of my way!”

  “Not on your life,” Chey told her.

  “Then let it be on yours,” Janey snapped, lurching toward the door and then through it.

  Chey stood for a moment, alone and shivering, then she calmly walked over and closed the door. Her every doubt about Janey had now been confirmed. Despite the angelic looks, the woman was incapable of love. What Janey felt for Brodie was more akin to greed than anything else, and he deserved better than that, much better. If only, Chey brooded, she could be what he—and his son—needed, she really would give Janey a run for the money.

  “Did Janey actually threaten you?” Brodie asked, his hands enfolding both of hers atop the breakfast table. They were alone in the room, but he craved the feel of her, and as he’d reminded her, one never knew who might waltz in and get the appropriate eyeful. Chey shook her head, but he couldn’t help feeling that she wasn’t telling him everything.

  “She just blustered and accused me of being after your money.”

  “She would think that,” he said wryly.

  Chey looked down at their entwined hands and whispered, “The thing is, I think she’s cracking.”

  “She’s not the only one,” Brodie murmured, pitching his voice low. “My attorney has paid a visit to this doctor of Harp’s.”

  He nodded at her look of question. “It seems there was a ‘misunderstanding’ about the good doctor’s prognosis. My attorney is having the ‘correct’ prognosis put in writing. It falls short of an outright admission, but it means we can stop indulging this fiction of Janey’s.”

  Chey looked down again and then quite softly said, “Does that mean you’re ready to call their bluff?”

  “No, not yet. We need more, real proof of some kind.”

  “And more time to find it,” she said, melancholy softening her voice.

  He tightened his hands around hers, panic slicing through him. “You aren’t giving up, are you? You’re not leaving?”

  She shot him an unreadable look from beneath the fringe of her lashes and shook her head. Relief shimmered through him, and he gave in to the impulse to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “It shouldn’t be long now, though,” she said, sounding almost morose.

  “You’re probably right,” he conceded quietly, praying that it wasn’t so. He wasn’t ready to give up this closeness. On the other hand, Harp could be ruthless, and Brodie was in no way willing to gamble with her safety. “I don’t want you to worry,” he told her. “I’ll look out for you, and so will Nate.”

  She looked up at that. “Why do I wonder if Nate’s really a nurse?”

  “Oh, he is,” Brodie assured her, “a very experienced nurse, but before he changed careers, he was a cop.”

  She stared, then rolled her eyes. “And just how did you come across him?”

  “He was recommended to me by a certain physician of my acquaintance. It seems that Nate has been instrumental in blowing the lid off several bogus medical malpractice suits, as well as tracking down a hospital drug thief. I have him watching Brown, you know.”

  Her eyes widened appreciatively. “That’s a good idea. You’ll let me know what he finds out?”

  “Of course. You must be in a hurry for this to be over,” he said carefully.

  She looked away. “Not really.”

  He smiled and cupped her cheek, turning her face back to his. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all that you’re doing. I know how difficult it must be for you.”

  He kissed her gently then, wondering how much longer he could get away with such behavior. As badly as he wanted her to be a permanent part of his life, as readily as she accepted his touch and came into his arms, as willing as she seemed to be to help with Seth and as accepting of the boy’s affection as she was, Brodie knew that she remained deeply conflicted. The worst part was that he could do nothing about it, for as much as he loved Chey, his re
lationship with his son was the one nonnegotiable part of his life. And yet without Chey, he might as well be alone.

  Chey plumped her pillow, then settled down into it, reaching for the bedside lamp. Before her hand closed around the short, dangling chain, however, a tapping at her door alerted her to a visitor, obviously not one of the Shellys. She dropped her hand and pulled the covers up to her shoulders, calling out, “Yes?”

  Brodie’s muffled voice came through the door. “It’s me, honey.”

  It was the first time he had come to her room since she’d moved in, for despite the scenes they’d been staging for benefit of the Shellys, they had maintained a certain distance in private. Knowing that something momentous had brought him here now, she immediately pushed up onto one elbow. “Come in.”

  He opened the door and slipped inside. “You have to hear this,” he said, holding up a tiny tape recorder. He walked over to the bed and sat down, placing the box on the bedside table next to her recharging cell phone. “Nate followed Brown to a meeting with Harp and recorded their conversation. The whole thing is pretty incriminating, but this is the part that concerns me most.” He started the tape. Harp’s voice, though muted and fuzzy, came through clearly.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  “He’s talking about Janey,” Brodie put in quickly.

  “It’s all her fault. She was supposed to get knocked up by Brodie himself, but no, she couldn’t even manage to get him in bed. If I hadn’t been there to tell her to go after the brother, she’d have walked away without a dime!”

  “She’s doing the best she can,” Brown whined.

  “What use is that face and body if she’s not smart enough to use them?” Harp snapped.

  “She’s been sick,” Brown argued pleadingly.

  “Better than two damned years she’s cost us!” he ranted. “I can’t marry the man myself, damn it! And she had him! She had him, and she let him go for a puny million!”

  “She’s trying to make up for that!”

  “She damned well better,” Harp growled. “I’m tired of living hand-to-mouth.”

  “We should’ve took the million and looked for another mark,” Brown opined.

  “A million don’t go far divided up,” Harp insisted, “and single millionaires don’t exactly grow on trees. She’s too gimpy now to land another sucker, so she damned well better get her hand back in the pocket of this one!”

  “The problem is that Simmons woman,” Brown muttered.

  “Yeah,” Harp agreed. “We’re gonna have to get her out of the way. There has to be something we can use against her, something to make her dump Brodie or vice versa. Maybe she’s padded her bills. I’ll have Dude look into it.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Brown asked timidly.

  Chey could hear the smile in Harp’s voice, feel the smugness of it. “Maybe she’ll get into a coma, just like that stupid Janey did,” he said.

  Chey caught her breath as Brodie stopped the recording. “Oh, Brodie, you don’t think he had something to do with Janey’s accident, do you?”

  Brodie tilted his head. “He was the one to find her, and there can be little doubt that he was angry with her about the divorce and the settlement. I’m more concerned with you, however.”

  “You don’t really think he’d try to hurt me?”

  “He’ll try to discredit you first,” Brodie said, “but I’m not taking any chances. I don’t want you wandering off alone. From here on out, either Nate or I will be keeping a close eye on you. Frankly, I’d rather not let you out of my sight. Meanwhile, we need someone watching your shop, too.”

  “You think they’ll try to break into the shop?”

  “It’s the logical choice if they’re going to get a look at your invoices.”

  Chey glanced at her cell phone on the bedside table and nodded. “I’ll call Georges and have him move into my place temporarily.”

  “I hope he won’t mind,” Brodie said, and she chuckled.

  “He’ll love it. He’s coveted my place ever since I bought the building, and believe it or not, even he relishes the hero role once in awhile.”

  “But do you think he could actually catch someone breaking into the shop?” Brodie asked skeptically.

  “Oh, yes. There’s a silent alarm set off by a motion detector inside the shop. When activated it calls the police and turns on the television upstairs.”

  “That’s brilliant! The burglar wouldn’t know anyone was on to him. He’d just think someone couldn’t sleep and turned on the TV.”

  “One of my nephews set it up,” she told him proudly.

  “Yet another Simmons prodigy,” he quipped. Then he lifted a hand and smoothed it down her bare arm, adding silkily, “Now we only have to worry about you. I meant it when I said I didn’t want you out of my sight until this is over.”

  Awareness spiked through her. She had to swallow in order to ask, “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “It is for my peace of mind,” he told her, stroking her arm again. The nightshirt she wore couldn’t be called alluring, but it was short and sleeveless and made of a single layer of thin, tropical-weight cotton, and just Brodie’s nearness was enough to put her nerve endings on sensual alert, so when he brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, she shivered. “Cold?” he asked softly.

  “No.”

  “You know what all this means, don’t you?” he asked, stroking her again. “We’re one giant step closer to ending this nightmare.” He looked down, his gaze moving to the buttoned placket of her collared nightshirt. “I should be glad.”

  She swallowed again. “But you’re not?”

  He looked deeply into her eyes then and said, “I’d keep Janey here if it meant keeping you, too.”

  “Brodie,” she began, but what could she say, really? She couldn’t stay here forever, unless… She closed her eyes against a fresh wave of longing. Could she be all that he—and Seth—needed her to be?

  He put his forehead to hers and whispered, “I want to climb into this bed and make love with you.”

  It was exactly what she wanted too, and she was so very tired of fighting herself and him and the situation. “Brodie,” she said again, lifting her mouth tentatively to his.

  He cupped her face with both his hands and kissed her with studied gentleness, passion tightly leashed. She knew she was going to set that passion free. It was doubtless a mistake to give in to this, but it was a mistake she would make without regret. She slid her arms around him and lay back against the pillow. Brodie lifted his head and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring.

  “Tell me to stay,” he whispered.

  “Stay,” she said simply, every impulse she might have had to refuse him gone like a puff of smoke in a stiff breeze. One corner of her mouth kicked up in a wry smile.

  His smile mirrored hers, then he lowered his head again. The kiss he pressed on her this time was a hot, open-mouthed joining that melted her bones and set fire to her blood. When he sat up to pull his shirt over his head, she slid her hands over his sleek torso in carnal appreciation. He closed his eyes, sucking in his breath, then sighing it out again before beginning to unbutton her nightshirt. He watched his hands at work. She watched his face, her breath pumping deep and slow. When he reached the bed covers he lifted his hips from the bed and swept the covers back. Chey reached for the chain on the bedside lamp, but he quickly intercepted her hand and placed it once more upon the cool sheet.

  “Last time, in the dark,” he said, going back to her buttons, “it was like a dream, a fantasy. I want it real this time.” He locked gazes with her. His irises were wide bands of blue against the black centers. Then he swept back the sides of her nightshirt and dropped his gaze. “Beautiful,” he said, spreading his hands at her waist and sliding them upward to cup her breasts.

  Her breath seized. The weight and heat of his hands enveloped her as he began to massage. Her eyes rolled shut as sensation wheeled through her body, her breasts growing larger,
fuller, more sensitive. She felt as pliant as heated wax by the time he lifted her into a sitting position and pushed the nightshirt from her shoulders and down her arms. Tugging it from beneath her, he tossed it away. She seldom wore panties to bed, especially in the summer, so she lay back before him naked, lifting her long hair from her nape with her hands to spread it across the pillow.

  “Incredible,” he said, sweeping her with his gaze. Rising to his feet, he stepped out of his shoes and began stripping away his slacks. The length and strength of his arousal had her pushing up onto her elbows again. “Need I say how much I want you?” he asked, sinking back down onto the bed.

  Suddenly he lifted a finger as if something forgotten had just occurred. Then he bent and fished a small article from his clothing, placing it on the pillow next to her. She slid a glance at the tiny foil packet and let a smile tweak her lips.

  Leaning forward with a hand braced on either side of her, he confessed, “I’ve been carrying that for weeks.”

  “Let’s put it to good use,” she whispered boldly, sliding her arms about him.

  He chuckled against her mouth. “Oh, I love an eager woman.”

  He slid his hands into her hair and covered her mouth with his, easing his weight down on top of her. It felt so right, lying there together, skin to skin, mouths locked. She moved her legs apart, cradling him between her thighs. The heaviness and heat of him where he nestled against her excited her senses, and she moved urgently beneath him, murmuring, “I think I’d like you to hurry.”

  Pushing up on one arm, he reached for the packet with the other. “I think I’d better, this first time.”

  She watched him tear into the packet with his teeth, and suddenly she felt like laughing, a strange new joy and lightness filling her. “I take it there are more where that came from?”