by Sandra Brown
"Doesn't that hurt your back?"
She smiled at him over her shoulder, but returned her attention to the design she had been sketching out. "I'm used to it." He came up behind her and propped his chin on her shoulder. "What do you think?" she asked.
"It doesn't look much like me," he said, tilting his head and staring at the drawing dubiously.
"You nut." She bumped her bottom against him, and he grunted with pleasure.
"What is it?"
"It's my house. See, here's the front door and the living room. I'm trying to decide where to build on a nursery. Should I go up or out?" He said nothing. "Taylor?"
"Don't you like it here?" he asked in a low voice.
"Of course. This is a beautiful house. But I've got to have the remodeling done on my own before the baby is born, so we'll have a place to live."
"Oh."
His body was curved around hers, so she felt the tension of dislike in every hard muscle. Did he hate the thought of her leaving or of having to make appointments with her to see his child? Diplomatically she scooted that set of plans aside and unrolled another blueprint, effectively changing the subject. They had seven months to work out a dual-custody agreement.
"What's that?" Taylor asked.
"Patio homes, which is a fancy term for duplexes. My client is building three sets."
"Speaking of sets." He reached around her and scooped her breasts into his palms. "Did you go braless to the office?"
"Certainly not."
"So you only took it off when you got home, to drive your husband to distraction?"
Ria held back the sigh that filled her throat. Ripples of sensation were eddying out from the circular massage of his hands and spreading down through her femininity. "No," she said unsteadily. "I left it off because it's binding. All my bras are too small now, and I haven't had time to replace them."
"Don't rush out and buy larger ones on my account." Moving her ponytail aside with his chin, he kissed her behind the ear. His thumbs gently fanned the tips of her breasts. "Our kid is gonna be so lucky."
Sliding his hands beneath her top, he simulated sucking motions with his fingers.
"Taylor, what are you doing?"
"In the vernacular, feeling you up. Scientifically it's called breast-feeding preparedness. Whatever, it's producing the desired results."
He was hard and full against her bottom. Ria's head dropped forward. Her elbows supported her against the drawing board. "I took off early today," she said breathily. "I've got work to catch up on." Her protests sounded halfhearted at best.
"Go on with what you were doing. Don't mind me." He moved one hand down to the snap of her jeans and undid it. The zipper came next.
"But I can't concentrate when you're doing that." She moaned as he slid his hand into her panties.
"I don't think you were concentrating solely on your work," he chided softly.
She heard the smile in his voice and knew that her body had betrayed her. She sighed his name. The mastery of his thumb was breathtaking. "Hm, Taylor, what's the scientific name for this?"
"Foreplay."
Ria was suspicious of the ease with which they settled into married life. She braced herself for the day when Taylor would come home cranky after work. It never happened. She braced herself for the morning he'd wake up in a bad mood. That never happened either. She expected to uncover some carefully concealed flaw in his personality. It remained concealed.
If he arrived home before she did, he was waiting when she came in, with a cool drink, a pillow for her back, and a foot rub. They ate out more than she cooked, though she told him repeatedly that she didn't mind cooking.
He took her to the offices of MacKensie Electrical Contractors, Inc., and introduced her to all his employees. On the way home he teased her about throwing some business their way. They had often remarked on how strange it was that, given their professions, they'd never worked on the same projects. It seemed that destiny had brought them together for a purpose on Christmas Eve. Ria liked to think that purpose was the child she carried.
Taylor picked her up for lunch one day at Bishop and Harvey. He and Guy Patterson shook hands, but there was a distinct chill in the air when they were introduced. Taylor was especially attentive and ardent in bed that night.
As the date for his official swearing-in as mayor approached, he was frequently called upon to serve as an after-dinner speaker at clubs and civic organizations. Ria always attended these affairs with him, smiling for photographers, shaking hands, meeting people on Taylor's behalf.
On the drive home after one such function, Taylor reached across the car and laid a hand on her knee. "I know all this is boring for you. You're a real trouper. I appreciate your attitude very much. Thanks."
She started to tell him that she was never bored when watching and listening to him. But she refrained. Endearments were only exchanged in bed at the height of passion. If she was tempted to express her growing affection for him, she reminded herself that their marriage was temporary and that it would be better in the long run to keep her feelings to herself.
They listened to each other's ideas, laughed at each other's jokes, shared past heartaches. They made love. Frequently.
But what was most surprising to Ria was Taylor's profound interest in the baby. During the first two weeks of their marriage, he became a prenatal expert, buying every book available on the subject. He hounded her with questions.
When will it start moving?
When will we be able to listen to its heartbeat?
Can you feel it?
Do women really carry boys differently than girls?
Most of the sentences began with a question word and had something to do with the baby. One night he joined her in bed, where she was glancing over her agenda for the coming week. He began reading aloud from the text of a picture book on fetal life.
"Isn't that amazing?" he asked, marveling over a fact he'd just discovered. Cupping his hands over her stomach, he shouted, "Hello in there. Do you really already have a thumbprint?"
Ria gave his shoulder a shove. "He's got a mentally unbalanced father. I know that for a fact." He untied the belt of her robe. "Stop that," Ria cried, laughing and swatting away his hands.
"I've got to check you out."
"Check me out?"
"To make sure you're doing everything right."
"I went to the doctor yesterday. He checked me out and charged a very handsome fee for doing it."
"But I'm going according to the book." He raised the book and shook it as though it were Holy Writ in the hands of a prophet. "And I don't charge near as much as the doctor."
Laughing at his adorable insanity, Ria let him open her robe. She was naked underneath. Consulting the open book, Taylor muttered, "Let's see now, page one. Are your breasts noticeably larger?" He tested one by kneading it gently. "I'd say so. Up one millimeter from last week."
Ria rolled her eyes. "Should we document this?"
"Hush, I'm concentrating. Page two." He turned one of the wide, glossy pages. "Ah-ha! Are your nipples changing color?" He brushed his fingers across her nipples. They responded. "Hm. Slightly. I think the kid will know what to do with them."
But just in case he didn't, Taylor showed him.
As his soft, wet mouth caressed her, Ria began to move restlessly beneath him. She arched her back, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and held his head against her.
He swept his hand down her lower body. "Rounded abdomen. Taut. Good, good," he said, panting against her skin. "Perfect. Perfect mother. Perfect wife. Perfect woman."
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
« ^ »
"Ria?"
She glanced up from her desk. Guy Patterson was standing in the doorway of her office. She'd seen little of him since she had told the firm's associates of her marriage. He had avoided her. She didn't blame him. It was well known that they'd been going out together for q
uite some time. For her suddenly to marry another man, especially one as dynamic as Taylor MacKensie, must have made Guy lose face. She hoped they could still be friends, but his dour expression didn't hold much promise of that.
"Hello, Guy. Come in."
"Actually I was sent to fetch you. The partners have called an emergency meeting."
She rose from her chair. "What's up?"
"I think I'd better let them tell you." He stood aside and let her precede him, pointedly ignoring the question in her eyes. Together and in silence, they walked down the carpeted hallway and into the serene boardroom, where the executives of Bishop and Harvey were already congregated.
The atmosphere was unnaturally subdued as they took their places around the massive walnut table. Ria thought that either she was becoming paranoid or everyone was indeed treating her to covert glances.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know you're busy, but this matter concerns all of us, and it's highly important." Mr. Bishop, the founder of the firm, had retired three years earlier. Mr. Harvey, his nephew, served as president and presided at all the meetings.
"Being awarded the contract for the Community Arts Center would mean a great deal to the firm," he began. "I'm sure you're aware of that."
The city's proposed arts complex had been under consideration for years. A bond issue had been passed in the previous year's election. That funding, along with private donations, was now making it possible for plans to come to fruition. The city had begun taking bids on various aspects of the Center's construction. Bishop and Harvey was one of the architectural firms being considered. It would be a massive, prestigious, highly profitable project.
"The city council is in the process of reviewing and eliminating bids," Mr. Harvey went on to say. "We hope that when all the others have been eliminated, we'll still be a strong contender for the contract. However…" He halted, coughed. Several others around the table shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. As a body, they were like an ailing animal, restless and malcontent.
Ria felt that it was time to put them out of their misery. "Does this impromptu meeting have anything to do with my recent marriage to Councilman and Mayor-elect MacKensie, Mr. Harvey?"
He couldn't have looked at her more gratefully if she'd thrown him a lifeline in a turbulent ocean. "Everyone here is delighted about your marriage," he said, including that "everyone" in his happy grin. When his eyes lighted on Guy Patterson, he coughed unnecessarily again and blustered on. "But the public might see this as… What I mean to say is… The firm wouldn't want to lose the contract because of a conflict of interest."
"My husband and I haven't even discussed the Community Arts Center."
"I'm sure two newlyweds have had other things to talk about." A polite twitter of laughter circulated around the table. Mr. Harvey looked pleased with his troops, then turned serious when he faced Ria. "We must guard against anything that smacks of kickbacks or favors."
Ria pressed a hand against her chest. "There's been no such thing! Are you accusing me of—"
The president of Bishop and Harvey held up both hands. "Good Lord, no, Ms. Lavender, uh, Mrs. MacKensie. I'm not impugning your integrity or your husband's. You can see, however, what a dilemma this could turn into and how delicate the balance is. Millions of dollars are involved. If we're granted the contract, a rival might jump to the wrong conclusion as to why."
"Well, that would be their problem, wouldn't it? This firm had bid on the contract before I even met Mr. MacKensie. Surely—" Ria fell silent.
One passing glance at the faces of the people around the table told her that her protests were falling on unsympathetic ears. Everyone in the company liked her personally and admired her work. She'd made a contribution to the firm and had proved her worth several times over.
But getting the Community Arts Center contract would mean money in their pockets. Lots of it. Being denied the contract, for any reason, would cost them not only money, but prestige.
"Mr. Harvey," Ria said softly, "may I see you alone in your office, please?"
Once her decision had been made, she was in a hurry to get home and tell Taylor. She had tried to track him down by telephone, but couldn't reach him at either office. She felt good about her decision and was anxious to share it with him and gauge his reaction.
He was making a pitcher of wine coolers when she entered the living room at a near run and tossed her briefcase into the nearest chair.
"Taylor, I need to talk to you."
"What happened to hello?"
"Hello."
"Hi. I didn't hear your car. How was your day?"
"Up and down."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it came out okay. Will you sit down, please?"
"Well, I'm kinda busy, and—"
"This won't take long."
"I hope not, because there's—"
"Please, Taylor, listen to me. I've thought this through, and—" The doorbell cut her off. "Are you expecting someone?"
"That's what I've been trying to work in edgewise," Taylor told her as he crossed the room. He opened the door and invited an attractive woman inside. "Ria, this is Delia Starr, a reporter for the Telegram. She wants to do an article on us for this Sunday's edition."
"Uh, hello." Ria recovered enough to shake hands with the reporter.
"Let's all sit down." Taylor was looking strangely at Ria.
"Will you please excuse me? Ms. Starr, Delia, I got in from work just seconds before you arrived," Ria explained, knowing she looked harried. "I'd like to freshen up."
"I understand," the woman said. "Take your time. I have plenty of questions to ask Mayor-elect MacKensie. Maybe I should warn you that a photographer is joining me later to take pictures."
Ria rushed into the bedroom and closed the door. "Damn." She had been psyched up to tell Taylor what she'd done, and now it would have to wait.
In the bathroom/dressing room, she repaired her makeup, brushed her hair, and changed into slacks and a blouse. The outfit looked softer and more feminine than her business suit. She had noted that Taylor had changed from his suit into a more "at home with the MacKensies" look.
Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she rejoined them in the living room. Taylor stopped talking the moment she came in. He stood, took both her hands, and led her to the short, soft sofa where he was sitting. Handing her a club soda and lime, he peered inquiringly at her. Her reassuring smile told him that everything was okay.
"Did I miss anything?" she asked brightly.
"Just boring background stuff about my interest in local politics," he said.
"I don't think anything about your husband is boring," Delia Starr told Ria.
"Neither do I." Taylor had aroused, amused, and angered her, but he'd never bored her.
Ms. Starr asked Ria about her career as an architect, taking copious notes. Ria wondered if she noticed that Taylor was listening carefully too. Most of what Ria talked about he'd never heard before either.
"It's really uncanny that you picked today to interview us, Ms. Starr." Ria clasped her hands together nervously. "Because today marks a milestone in my career. I resigned from Bishop and Harvey."
"What?" Taylor looked at her mouth, as though lip-reading, not trusting his ears to have heard her correctly. "You resigned?"
"Yes."
"Does your resignation have anything to do with the Community Arts Center project, Mrs. MacKensie?"
"What about it?" Taylor demanded.
Ria placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Indirectly."
"Did they call for your resignation?" the reporter asked.
"No, Mr. Harvey was a perfect gentleman, as always. He said that he sincerely regretted losing me."
"But better you than a multimillion-dollar contract."
Ria ignored that well-placed shot. "Actually, the Community Arts Center controversy spurred me to do something that I've been thinking about doing for a long time."
"Quitting?" Delia asked.
"Resigning from Bishop and Harvey in order to set up my own firm."
Delia Starr was bent over her tablet, scribbling frantically. Ria looked at Taylor, surreptitiously shaking her head, warning him not to say anything until she'd had a chance to explain. "Taylor endorsed the idea wholeheartedly."
"Wholeheartedly," he echoed.
But the reporter was a veteran, and not that easily duped. "You seem surprised, Mr. MacKensie."
Taylor smiled at her engagingly. "I didn't know that Ria had reached her final decision. Congratulations, darling." He kissed her.
His kiss was tender and meaningful, but Ria wondered if it were all for show. How did he really feel about her decision?
"Well, you can no longer be accused of conflict of interest," Delia said.
"No one had accused us of that." Taylor was still smiling, but his voice was steely. "For clarity's sake I think you should make a point of that in your story."
Delia Starr stared him down. "Why did you rush into marriage?"
The question was seemingly spontaneous and out of context, but both Ria and Taylor were savvy enough to recognize the bloodthirsty smile of a media shark.
Taylor, more accustomed to dealing with the press, responded easily. "It was a case of lust and love at first sight when we met. I don't believe in long engagements. I've been a bachelor for thirty-five years. When I saw Ria I knew why I'd stayed single. I'd been waiting for her."
He gazed down at his wife and squeezed her hand.
"It wasn't a shotgun wedding?"
Reflexively Taylor's grip tightened around Ria's hand. She held her breath. The reporter was making notes again. Finally she looked up at them inquisitively.
"What a quaint term." Taylor's smile was narrow and cold. "Apparently you know that Ria is pregnant."
"Rumor would have it," she said. "Just so you don't waste our time by denying it, I spoke with some of Ria's associates at work."
Not some. One. Guy Patterson, Ria thought. He was the only one who knew about the baby.