“Yes you can, if you try hard,” Blaise said in a sultry voice that excited her all the more.
Her delicately polished fingertips tried just once to keep his head from lowering as his lips drew near her breasts. She felt her nipples grow harder in anticipation of his warm mouth and tongue.
“Blaise, I—“
He put his finger to her lips. “Shh. Why don’t you stop all this small talk? I’ve got something better for your lips to do,” he said, just before he covered her lips with his own.
There was something about the way his body pressed against hers, the feel of her breasts rubbing against the light covering of dark hair on his brawny chest, that caused a lightning ray of overwhelming agitation to shoot through her being. It was as if Pat had never been kissed before, never desired before, never had a man hold her before. This was all new, all wonderfully, passionately new.
Her body was on fire as she felt him caress her over and over. Then his hand slipped under the cover to find one shapely, tapered leg and inch its way maddeningly up, slowly, languidly, until it came to rest on her thigh, teasing her. She knew that he was well versed in his craft, knew that she should pull back before she fell headlong into something that she had no business letting happen, least of all now.
But it was too late to run for cover.
All her life she had dreamed of this feeling, not fully understanding it, not believing that it was possible. After marriage, she had convinced herself that it was a product of wistful romances and old movies. But it wasn’t. It was real. This magic flashing through her over and over again made her desire more, made her blood run hot and her pulse threaten to explode. This was happening right now and nothing else mattered. There was no family schism, no children siding with her mother-in-law, no Hamilton jet demanding her time and endless energy. There was just Blaise and this wonderful, wondrous feeling.
She clung to him, entwining her fingers in the thick shock of his hair, loving the way it felt in her hands, loving the pattern that it traced along the nape of his neck.
“See, Patti,” he said, his face just above hers, “you can if you try.” He whispered the words against her cheek, then kissed her again, his mouth scorching her in its demand for her.
His tongue traced out the contours of her own as Pat realized that she had been freed of her nightgown and that his hot body was fitting against hers, rounding against the curves and filling out the hollows. He continued to heighten her desire until she thought she’d scream out his name and plead for him to take her. She had never before known such pleasure, never before known such a building of a climactic crescendo.
He took his time with her, as if leading a young girl to her first taste of love, and in a way, he was. He might not love her, but now she admitted to herself that all these years he had been a dream for her, buried deep in the caverns of her mind. He had been there since the first time his eyes took hold of her at the party. She had longed for him, had wanted to be his. It was an irrational, inexplicable emotion and Pat had denied its existence for twenty years. She loved Blaise Hamilton, always had, always would. It had been too late for her from the very first meeting. The rhythm of their lovemaking grew frenzied, and suddenly the world exploded for Pat as she wildly called Blaise’s name.
The lights twinkled and faded as she returned to her canopied bed in her house in the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico. But the wondrous journey was not over. Blaise’s arms were still around her, and his kisses, now soft and tender, were gently covering the outline of her cheek and neck. She realized that the heavy breathing, which she had thought was her own, was partly his as the rhythmic sound grew steadier.
“No, Patti, you are definitely not ‘past’ it,” Blaise said with a small laugh. “What a fool Roger was,” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing a pattern between her breasts and gliding along her taut, flat stomach. “I would have sold a dozen factories for one night like this with you,” he said, and there was no mocking, teasing tone to his words.
His touch began to arouse her again, igniting the fires that dwelled beneath her skin’s surface, and she heard herself say, “The night’s not over yet.”
Blaise raised himself on one elbow, looking down at her. She could not understand the look in his eyes. “No,” he whispered, “it’s not.” And he took her into his arms once more.
Pat was not sure how to face him the next morning, for she had never had a lover before, never been loved by anyone except Roger. So when she found Blaise in the kitchen, it was by accident, for part of her was afraid that he would treat it all as a joke.
But his behavior was no different than it had been before they had made love. His look was light, though his eyes held more familiarity than they had yesterday.
“I thought you’d never get up,” he said, offering her a glass of orange juice that Angelica had set out.
Pat sipped it cautiously as she watched him. “Do you know you look pretty in the morning without makeup?” Blaise asked.
“Shh!” Pat chided, glancing at Angelica to see if the woman had heard. She caught a glimpse of a smile on the woman’s round face as Angelica went on preparing Pat’s breakfast at the far side of the kitchen.
“What are you ashamed of?” Blaise lowered his voice to a loud stage whisper. “Men and women do this sort of thing all the time, you know. That’s how other little men and women come about—or hasn’t anyone explained that to you?” he asked. “I’d be happy to give you a quick refresher course.”
“You are impossible,” Pat said, thinking that the remark sounded as if it came from an old movie.
He chucked her under the chin fondly. “No, just eager, Patti.” He rose to leave, taking his jacket under his arm. “I’m going to make arrangements for a flight to Ottawa,” he explained as her eyes questioned his departure. He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I never leave a tigress waiting too long.”
Pat felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and Blaise’s deep laugh rang in her ears. She glanced up to see Anglica stealing glances at her. grinning.
“Angelica,” Pat said, almost hiding behind her juice glass as she raised it for another sip, “whatever you’re thinking—don’t.”
“Housekeepers are not paid to think,” Angelica replied, but Pat could tell from her tone that the well-rounded woman was pleased.
Pat’s euphoric state lasted until three o’clock that afternoon, when Sara came home. Her daughter was attending the University of New Mexico and lived on campus, an arrangement that had at first saddened Pat, and then, when the trouble over the will had started, had become a relief.
“What are you doing home?” Pat asked, hoping that her daughter’s visit signaled a change of heart. She hated being separated from her and Bucky over the Eagle, hated their viewing her as a pawn. She had always believed that her children had thought of her as her own person. Obviously, she did not know them as well as she thought she did.
“Uncle Jonathan called me at school,” Sara said, her voice brittle.
She looked like a female version of her father— the same wide face, the same nose, not quite small, but with a dignity to it. Her frame was larger than Pat’s, and she was taller, even though she wore flats and Pat was in heels. How could she look so much like Roger and not have some of his feelings? Pat wondered for the thousandth time since the schism had started.
“Oh?” Pat said, indicating with her eyes that Sara should sit next to her on the living-room sofa. Sara chose to take a chair opposite her mother instead.
“He asked me to try to talk some sense into you one last time before the trial,” Sara said, her gaze unwavering.
“Not above turning the knife a little more in the wound, is he?” Pat asked, then regretted the bitterness of her words.
“Oh, Mother, don’t be so melodramatic. Uncle Jonathan and Grandmother just want you not to make a fool of yourself over this thing before it’s too late.”
“And what do you think?” Pat pressed, hoping against ho
pe to hear something different from her daughter. If only now, at the eleventh hour, her daughter could be moved to join her, then Pat’s victory would be complete. She knew that whatever Sara decided, Bucky would naturally join in. They were very close that way.
“Why, I agree with them, of course,” Sara said in haughty surprise. “Why else would I be here?”
“Why else indeed,” Pat echoed, rising. “I thought perhaps it was just to visit your mother.”
“Don’t you start on guilt,” Sara said highhandedly.
Pat whirled on her firstborn with angry eyes. “Then don’t you start making impossible demands,” she said. “This project was something your father believed in, and I promised to see it through—and so I will. Neither you, nor Jonathan, nor Rose is going to stop me!”
Sara lifted her chin. She looked a little like a bull terrier, digging in, Pat thought sadly. It was a look Roger had worn when things were particularly tough. “Act your age. Mother. You can’t do this alone.”
“I’m not doing this alone. Your cousin Blaise is helping me,” Pat said with a touch of triumph. Someone in the family sided with her!
“Cousin Blaise?” Sara said, her voice disparaging despite the fact that the last time she had seen him she was no more than six, and could have no real memories of him, Pat was sure. Except, perhaps, the ones that Mother Rose and the others fed her. “Now you’re letting him lead you around by the nose?”
That tore it. “You listen to me, young lady. I don’t know what’s happened to your mind, or your eyes, but if you’d open up both, you’d see that no one leads me where I have no desire to be led. And as for my age, missy, I’m a hell of a lot younger than you are!” she said with outraged dignity. “Because I can give credence to visions while all you can see is the mud and the mire!”
The sound of applause was heard from the top of the living-room steps. Pat jerked her head around to see Blaise standing there, nodding his approval.
“Very well put,” he said genially, coming into the room and putting one hand on Pat’s shoulder while extending the other toward Sara. “Hello, Sara,” he said.
Stiffly, the plainly dressed girl shook his hand, a scowl on her face.
“Well, you’ve got Jonathan’s handshake, that’s for sure,” Blaise said, looking at the limp hand in his.
Sara’s face sank deeper into a scowl as she pulled her hand away abruptly. “You’re making a terrible mistake, Mother, if you’re listening to him,” she said, nodding insolently at Blaise. “You’re going to lose everything and make us a laughing stock as well,” she snapped.
Pat was embarrassed by Sara’s behavior toward Blaise and infuriated that her daughter still thought of her as someone’s pawn, be it Blaise’s or Roger’s.
“On the contrary, he is listening to me—which is why I have his support. Get it through your head, Sara, no one is manipulating me. And no one’s going to manipulate me!” she said with finality, glancing at both Sara and Blaise, in case he had thoughts to the contrary after last night.
Sara turned on her heel in a huff and left the house as abruptly as she had entered it.
“Well,” Pat sighed, “that was a short visit. I’m sorry about her behavior,” she said ruefully. “I did raise her to have manners—I also raised her to have clearer sight. I seem to have failed in both,” she said, shaking her head sadly as she looked in the direction of her departed daughter.
Blaise took her in his arms gently, with no intention other than comfort. “They don’t always turn out the way you bend them, no matter how good your example. But Sara’s young, she might come around yet,” he said optimistically.
“In the meantime, I have a court battle to prove I’m not crazy in believing in Roger’s plane,” Pat said wearily.
“If you are, then the Prime Minister of Canada is crazy and so is Houston Fields. Now, I don’t know about you,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “but I wouldn’t want to be the judge to tell the rich old man that he’s crazy, would you?” he asked.
Pat laughed a little in response. “No, I guess not.”
“Better, much better. I said you looked pretty without makeup, but a sad look certainly does dress you down. Keep those frowns at bay, hear?” he said, touching her cheek fondly.
“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting.
“That’s right,” Blaise nodded in approval, “the proper respect at all times and we’ll get along fine,” he teased. “Did you mean what you said about not being led where you didn’t want to go?” he asked. But his manner told Pat that he already knew the answer and merely wanted her to reaffirm it for him.
Her attitude became a little cooler as she thought of her independence. At the moment, it was the only thing she was sure of. “If you mean last night, yes, I came to you willingly, and yes, it was wonderful, but it doesn’t mean that there are any obligations between us or that I’m letting you take over.”
Blaise shook his head, and she was at a loss to know whether her words angered him or merely amused him. “You’re a tough cookie, Lady Pat. Would you like my lawyers to draw up a pre-affair agreement?” he asked, letting a smile come to his lips, but it was a smile tinged with bitterness.
“There isn’t going to be an ‘affair,’ Blaise,” Pat said, turning to leave the room. It sounded so cold, calling it an affair. What she had had last night was something special, something no one else had ever had before. She didn’t want to pin a common label on it.
Blaise caught her arm and turned her back around. His eyes were intense as he looked down into her face. “There already is one,” he said, his voice quiet, not matching his expression.
Shaken, Pat withdrew.
But Pat did not have much time to contemplate her private life. The phone rang several minutes after Blaise left, and it was Sam, reporting that someone had broken in and stolen one of the specialized parts of the gas turbine engines.
All the way to the plant, Pat’s head ached with conjectures and indecisions. Whom was she to trust? Was someone within the plant betraying her? Or someone from the outside? With all her heart, she fervently prayed it was the latter.
“We’ll have to get a new part,” Pat said to Sam after surveying the area from which the item had been taken. The door to the factory had been jimmied open and it was only after the security guard had discovered it that Sam and Pardy had been called in. Sam had called Pat as soon as he had assessed what had happened.
“That’s going to take time,” Sam said, shaking his head.
Pat turned desperately to the foreman. “Can a new one be made instead?” she asked.
The barrel-chested man scratched his head as he rolled the thought over in his mind. “I don’t think so.”
“But you’ve got the specifications,” Pat urged. “They were written up just last Friday. If we called in Bill and Dale,” she said, naming the head engineers, “and they did it with the help of the reliability section ...” She turned to Sam, who, unlike Pardy, nodded his agreement.
“It’s worth a try,” he said. “Better than standing around and scratching our heads,” he said rather deliberately, and Pardy glared at Sam, obviously taking offense at his words.
Pat knew that Sam did not like the foreman, had never liked him, but Pardy had been with them a long time, longer even than Sam, so she tried to keep the peace.
“All right,” she said to Sam, “call them.” She turned to Pardy, knowing that the man took any unintended slight as an insult to his authority. “Work with them, Wade. If anyone can get us through this, you can,” she said, and the ruddy-faced man gave her a quick smile before he went off to his office.
“Something’s not right, boss lady,” Sam said when she turned back to him.
“You mean other than just everything?” Pat said, her voice echoing through the huge, barnlike, gray-walled production area.
“Whoever broke in knew just what they were looking for,” Sam said. “They didn’t waste time with petty destruction. They went right for the heart o
f the plane.”
Pat closed her eyes. “I know what you’re saying,” she said heavily. It was an inside job—there was no fooling themselves about that. Sam was just her Greek chorus, reiterating what she knew was true. “Get more security guards. The ones Blaise hired for us aren’t enough,” she said ruefully.
“What are you going to be doing?” Sam asked, not standing on ceremony.
“I’m going to be getting ready to go to Canada to lie and tell those people that everything is going smoothly, that our plane can not only fly but do tricks, and that we will meet the deadline we hemmed ourselves into at that press conference,” she said with a bewildered sigh.
Sam’s gaunt, dark face studied her closely, his thoughts masked from her, as always.
Chapter Eight
“What’s bothering you?” Blaise asked as they left “the plane. Carrying the two carry-on suitcases that comprised their only luggage, he guided Pat toward the exit at the far side of the busy airport. “All during the trip you’ve seemed preoccupied— and hostile.”
“You’re imagining things,” Pat said, dismissing his statement airily while she kept her eyes averted.
“Lady, if there’s one thing I can spot, it’s a hostile woman. Now you’d better pull yourself together for the Prime Minister. He doesn’t care for scowling women—and neither do I,” Blaise added. “What’s the matter? Did I overstep another boundary again?” he asked. This time he sounded a bit annoyed.
They had spent the long journey from New Mexico’s Municipal Airport to Ottawa Uplands Airport mostly in silence, as Pat mulled over the entire situation. Someone was obviously betraying her and she didn’t know whom to suspect. No one within the factory, or “the Family” as she had come to think of them all, stood to gain anything if the Eagle never made it off the ground.
“Is that a smile, or just gas?” Blaise asked, taking her arm as they stepped outside. The cold November wind whipped at Pat’s ermine hood, pushing the pile forward against her face.
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