Private Passions

by Rochelle Alers

  Emily smiled at the Lassiters’ pet, scratching him behind his ears. “Hey, Shadow.” Sara and Salem still had the best silent wireless security system in the Mesilla Valley. No one ventured onto their property without permission because of the wolf’s presence.

  The front door opened and the tall figure of Sara Sterling-Lassiter walked out into the bright sunshine. Marriage and motherhood had agreed with her. The jeans she had paired with a white cotton pullover blatantly displayed the feminine curves of her slender body. She wore her black wavy hair longer than she had when she’d worked as an assistant U.S. attorney in a New York federal court. She had brushed it off her face and secured it atop her head with an elastic band. Several wayward strands floated down around her long, slender neck.

  Extending her arms, she embraced Emily. “Welcome home, Emmie.” Pulling back, she surveyed her best friend, smiling broadly. Large gold-green eyes examined the tanned face and brilliant green eyes that sparkled like precious jewels. “You look fabulous. I must say Jamaica agreed with you.”

  “That’s not all that agreed with me,” Emily said cryptically.

  Sara folded her arms under her breasts. “What else?”

  “It’s not a what but a who.”

  Giving her a critical squint, Sara said, “Chris?” She’d whispered even though there was no one around to hear them.

  Flashing a smug grin, Emily nodded. Closing her eyes, Sara mumbled a silent prayer of thanks. It worked. Her brother had gone after Emily Kirkland. She hugged her again. “You’re going to have to tell me all about it.” The words tumbled over each other as they rushed out. “You don’t have to tell me the most intimate details, but I want to know everything else.”

  Emily picked up one of her bags while Sara took the other. She couldn’t tell Sara everything. She couldn’t tell her that because she’d married her brother they were now sisters-in-law.

  “Where are Salem and Isaiah?”

  “Salem’s in Carlsbad at the Living Desert Zoo. He should be back later tonight. As for Master Lassiter, I just put him down for his nap.”

  Emily followed Sara into the towering two-story structure and through an immense foyer reminiscent of a museum hall. Primitive-looking pieces of sculpture, each placed on its own freestanding block of wood, were displayed under dramatic lighting that cast shadows on the carved figures, which appeared to dance playfully along the smooth white backdrop of the walls. All of the pieces had come from Salem’s parents’ Taos-based art gallery.

  Sara glanced at Emily over her shoulder as they climbed the staircase to the second level. “I’ll let you settle in before I begin the cross-examination,” she teased. Before she’d resigned her position with the federal court, she had distinguished herself as an aggressive prosecutor who’d destroyed defense attorneys who opted to face her in the courtroom.

  “I just might plead the fifth,” Emily countered. Both women laughed as they entered the guest bedroom where Emily would sleep during her stay in Las Cruces.

  Sara placed her bag on a cushioned bench at the foot of a queen-sized bed. “If you need anything, Emmie, just let me know.”

  “I’m going to shower and change my clothes, then I’ll be down.”

  Sara nodded. “Take your time. I told Mom and Dad that you were expected today, so I hope you don’t mind that I invited them to share dinner with us.”

  “Of course not. I always look forward to seeing them.” What Emily could not say was that the man and woman she called Uncle Matt and Aunt Eve were now her mother- and father-in-law.

  She waited until Sara walked out of the bedroom, then went about the task of unpacking. Sitting on the carpeted floor, she stared at the box containing Chris’s grandmother’s jewelry. The ring he had slipped on to her finger was nestled among the other priceless pieces. Reaching into the box, she withdrew Keith Norris’s ring. Even if she had wanted to consider marrying Keith, she was now another man’s wife. She would call Keith and arrange for the return of his ring, then call her parents to let them know she’d returned to the States.

  * * *

  Emily’s damp hair curled over her forehead as she reclined on an overstuffed club chair on the Lassiters’ sun porch, sock-covered feet stretched out in front of her. She took a sip from a cup filled with a fragrant blackberry herbal tea.

  Sara sat on a matching chair, her legs folded under her body in a yoga position. “I can’t believe you threatened Keith Norris with exposing him.”

  “I hated to go there, Sara. But my mother called me in Ocho Rios about a list of names for wedding invitations, and I wasn’t about to perpetuate Keith’s lie.”

  “Well, he had to know that you were serious. He had his agent issue a press release saying that he was calling off the engagement indefinitely for personal reasons.”

  Emily shook her head. “What I don’t understand is why he didn’t let his agent announce the engagement. Then he could’ve saved face by saying that his agent had misunderstood him. The problem is, he’s beginning to believe his own hype.”

  “I’m not defending Keith, but I think he was intimidated by your threat.”

  She snorted delicately. “Not hardly, Sara. He’s only concerned with his inflated ego.”

  Sara gave her a skeptical look. “You don’t see yourself the way others do, Emmie. You’re the only woman I know who can strip a man of his masculinity in ten words or less. And if it’s not your tongue, then it’s the way you look at them. Do you remember poor Jeffrey Harris?”

  Emily rolled her eyes upward. “Don’t remind me.”

  “The man would’ve attempted to walk on water for you, but you always looked through him as if he didn’t exist. And it never seemed to bother you that he went on to become one of the youngest federal judges in the state.”

  “It didn’t bother me because, number one, he was your brother’s friend, and number two, I was in love with Christopher Delgado.”

  Sara hadn’t wanted to meddle in her brother’s personal life, but Emily had just provided her with the perfect opening. “Speaking of Chris, where is he? The last I heard was that he’d left Mom and Daddy a note telling them he was going to Ocho Rios.”

  Staring down into her cup, Emily forced back a smile. “When I left him in…” Her words trailed off; she had almost said Mexico. “He took a later flight.”

  “Why didn’t you come back together?”

  “Chris refuses to fly on the ColeDiz jet. He claims it would be tantamount to accepting a personal gift or a campaign contribution.”

  “He’s right about that. Rumors are flying that this race between him and Savoy will be nothing like the last one. I’ve just signed on with the Las Cruces office as legal counsel. At least you and I will get to see each other when Chris comes down to campaign.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Sara.”

  “Why not?”

  Emily repeated what she had told Chris about Richard Adams’s reassigning her to cover William Savoy’s campaign. A rush of blood darkened Sara’s deep brown face as she struggled to control her temper.

  “Does your boss know that he’s playing directly into William Savoy’s hands? How much information do you think Savoy is going to disclose to you when he realizes your association with his opponent? And the fact that I’m married to his late lover’s widower makes it even more bizarre.

  “Grace Clark was involved with William Savoy while she was still married to Salem. The affair ended only when Salem initiated divorce proceedings. However, Savoy refused to marry Grace once she discovered she was carrying his child, and she freed everyone from their obligations when she took her life, along with Salem’s son and the unborn child in her womb.”

  Emily placed her cup on a table. Pressing her head against the back of the chair, she closed her eyes and combed her fingers through he
r short hair, pushing the wayward curls off her forehead before she opened them. Determination shimmered from their depths.

  Sara had just confirmed what Salem had confided to her a week before he married her best friend. Emily had heard the rumors about William Savoy’s proclivity for conducting affairs with married women, yet no one had been willing to publicly verify them.

  “William Savoy will not stop me from reporting the facts.”

  “I want you to be careful with him, Emmie. He preys on vulnerable women, and he’s not above using his political connections to seduce the unsuspecting, who usually are taken in by his charismatic personality. After he lost to Chris two years ago, rumors were flying that he promised he would stop at nothing to become governor of New Mexico.”

  Emily’s expression was impassive, her eyes a frosty green. “I’m neither vulnerable nor that naive. Which means that William Savoy doesn’t frighten me.” She didn’t tell Sara that at present, despite her reassignment, she was more in control of her career than her private life.

  “I’m not saying he should. It’s just that I don’t want anything to happen that would jeopardize your career.”

  “What’s he going to do if I report what I hear or see? Threaten my life? I don’t think so, Sara. I don’t know what he said or did to Grace Clark to make her take her own life, but I’m not her.”

  A shiver of apprehension swept up Sara’s spine, but she dismissed it. “Enough about William Savoy. What’s happening between you and my brother?”

  Lowering her gaze, Emily could not stop the flood of heat sweeping over her face, neck and chest. “I’m glad I waited for him,” she admitted softly, smiling.

  “Hallelujah,” Sara crooned, pressing her palms together. “I’d almost given up on the two of you.”

  Emily sobered quickly. “I want you to promise me something.”

  Vertical lines appeared between Sara’s eyes. “What?”

  “I don’t want you to breathe a word about Chris and me. We want to wait until after the election before we go public.”

  Sara’s eyes crinkled in a knowing smile. She had tried playing matchmaker for years, yet it was Keith Norris’s announcement that had spurred her brother into action. Her anxiety about Emily joining Savoy’s campaign was overshadowed by her best friend’s apparent joy.

  “Of course, Emmie. You can count on me to keep your secret.” The sound of a door slamming caught the women’s attention. Sara glanced at a clock on the mantel. It was only two-ten; Salem was early. Within minutes he walked into the room, a warm smile softening the lines of exhaustion lining his forehead and ringing his mouth.

  Tall, slender and broad-shouldered, he presented a dramatic figure in black: wool crepe jacket, slacks, cashmere turtleneck sweater and low-heeled boots.

  Placing her cup on a side table, Emily rose from her chair. “Belated Happy New Year.”

  He dropped a kiss on his wife’s waiting lips, then closed the distance between himself and Emily. He gathered her in a strong embrace, bending down and brushing his mouth with hers. “Happy New Year.” Holding her at arm’s length, he looked her over. “From the looks of you, I’d say you had a wonderful vacation.” Her tanned face was proof that the sun worshipped her.

  “It was excellent.” She affected an attractive moue. “You look great, Salem.” And he did. His long, straight black hair, secured at the nape of his neck, was streaked with a few silver strands. The overall effect was stunning. The deep red undertones in his brown face were the perfect foil for his dark, slanting eyes, long, thin nose, high cheekbones and a firm mouth that was full enough to be thought of as sexy. He had inherited the very best physical characteristics of his Navajo and African-American parents.

  Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he said, “You can thank Sara for that. Thanks to her, I’ve become quite a contented husband and father.” His penetrating gaze swept around the room. “Where’s Isaiah?”

  “He’s still asleep,” Sara said. “I plan to wake him up around two-thirty.”

  Salem smiled at his wife. “I’m going to change my clothes, then I’ll wake him up. The little prince and I are going to hang out for a while.”

  “Don’t hang out too far,” Sara warned her husband. “Remember, Mom and Daddy are coming for dinner.”

  He glanced at his watch. “What time do you expect them?”

  “Seven.”

  “We’ll be back before six.”

  “I’ll get him up while you change your clothes,” Emily volunteered. She was lucky if she saw her godson half a dozen times a year.

  She walked out of the room and made her way up the staircase to the upper level. Her footsteps were muffled in the deep pile of the plush carpeting lining the wide hallway. Soft lights reflected off the baseboards along the hallway. She walked into the nursery and found Isaiah lying quietly on his side, facing a window.

  Emily crept silently toward the crib but was surprised to find the child wide awake. His large hazel eyes regarded her for several seconds. Rolling over, he caught hold of the railing and pulled himself up. Extending his arms, he smiled. Isaiah hadn’t forgotten her. He had a few more tiny white teeth than he’d had when she last saw him.

  “Arriba.”

  “Of course I’ll pick you up.” Reaching down, she lifted him from the crib, pressing her lips to his inky black hair.

  Even though Isaiah was eighteen months old, he rarely spoke in full sentences. However, when he did, it was to issue demands. Sara was troubled by what she thought was delayed speech, but Salem reminded her that their son was exposed to so many different languages that he hadn’t decided which one would predominate. Sara spoke English to him, Salem a Navajo dialect and Matthew and Eve Sterling Spanish.

  Emily inhaled the clean, intoxicating scent exclusive to babies. “Daddy’s home,” she crooned against his velvety cheek. “And he wants to take you out.”

  Isaiah hugged her, his chubby arms tightening around her neck. “Pot-tea, Titi,” he giggled close to her ear.

  Pulling back, she stared down at the round, rosewood-brown face. “Potty?”

  “Sí, Titi. Potty.”

  Isaiah laughed uncontrollably as she raced toward the adjoining bathroom while struggling to take off his disposable diaper.

  The diaper dropped to the tiled floor, but she wasn’t quick enough. Within seconds the front of her shirt and jeans were soaked through, while Isaiah pointed to his little potty chair.

  She stared at him staring numbly back at her. “Oh, oh, Titi.”

  The look on his face was so serious that she burst out laughing. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Titi will clean it up.”

  Isaiah called her Titi, aunt in Spanish. Little did the child know that she had actually become his aunt.

  Is this what I have to look forward to when I become a mother? “Probably,” she mumbled under her breath as she removed his undershirt and placed him in the bathtub.

  She wanted to share with Chris what Sara and Salem had: a home, a child and a love that promised forever.

  Chapter 19

  Chris spied Grant Carsons first. Bespectacled Grant was the epitome of conservatism—from his dress to his deportment. An only child, Grant had grown up privileged. His mother had become pregnant for the first time after twenty-three years of marriage, and Drs. Benjamin and Eulalie Carsons’s lives changed forever. Eulalie resigned her position at a municipal hospital in a small Los Angeles suburb to devote all her time to her son.

  Chris and Grant had met on the Stanford University campus when they pledged Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity, and their friendship was cemented once they shared an apartment while attending law school.

  Grant had married after graduating, but the union didn’t last a year. The woman he’d married claimed he wasn’t ambitious enough b
ecause he refused to join one of the top law firms in Los Angeles who had offered him a mid-six-figure starting salary. Benjamin and Eulalie’s son had graduated number-one at Stanford and Stanford Law School, and had earned an almost perfect score on his bar exam. He loved the law, but not enough to spend more than sixty hours a week writing briefs and billing client hours. He signed on as legal counsel with a local community organization who offered their services free of charge to low-income citizens.

  What the ex-Mrs. Grant Carsons did not realize was that Grant’s desire to study law was not to earn a lucrative salary or become a partner, but because he wanted to help the disenfranchised. He was persuaded to leave his not-for-profit organization to spearhead his fraternity brother’s bid for a state senatorial seat. After helping Chris win his first elected office, he returned to Los Angeles. However, two years later, he was back. He’d promised Senator Delgado that he would deliver the gubernatorial seat—and this time Chris would win by a greater victory than sixty-four votes.

  Chris walked up behind Grant, tapping him on the shoulder of his cashmere topcoat. Grant shifted, his intelligent gaze widening behind the lenses of a pair of wire-framed glasses.

  “Welcome home.” He slapped Chris on the back. “As much as I hate to admit it, you look great.” Two weeks in the sun had tanned his face to a rich chestnut brown, and relaxation had filled out the hollows in his cheekbones.

  Chris returned his rough embrace. “The next time I disappear, I’ll check in periodically.”

  Pulling back, Grant shook his head. “There’s no next time, Brother Delgado. At least not until after the election.”

  “There may have to be an exception.”

  A slight frown furrowed Grant’s smooth nut-brown forehead. “Why?”