Private Passions

by Rochelle Alers

  “I plan to return to Mexico to see my father.”

  The campaign manager’s mouth tightened in frustration as he bit back acerbic words. He wanted to impress upon his candidate that they were behind schedule. Savoy would capture the media spotlight by hosting his kickoff fundraiser two weeks before Delgado’s, and the whispered rumors about Chris’s father’s activities were beginning to surface.

  Reaching for the leather Pullman at Chris’s feet, Grant picked it up. “I’m parked in the lot. I thought we’d either go back to your place or mine. It doesn’t matter.”

  Adjusting a matching leather garment bag over his shoulder, Chris shook his head. “I’d rather find a quiet place here in the airport to talk. If that’s not possible, then we can check into the Best Western Fred Harvey for a couple of hours. I’m scheduled to take a four-fifty flight to Las Cruces.”

  “Something wrong with your folks?” Grant’s frustration escalated. He needed more than a couple of hours to confer with Chris.

  “No. It’s just that I left rather abruptly. I need to take care of a few things before I return to Santa Fe.”

  “There’s a restaurant at the end of the terminal that has a private area in the back. We can talk there,” Grant conceded.

  The two tall, well-dressed men made their way down the terminal, ignoring the surreptitious glances thrown their way.

  “You’ve got my vote, Senator Delgado,” an attractive young woman called out when she recognized Chris. He smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. The woman stopped, watching the sweep of his dark gray raincoat swirl around the trousers of his charcoal-gray suit. “Nice,” she whispered under her breath. “Very, very nice.”

  * * *

  Chris walked into the main house at Sterling Farms, encountering complete silence. It was apparent that his parents had gone out. Making his way to the wing of the large one-story house to the bedroom he had claimed when growing up, he placed his luggage next to a wall-to-wall walk-in closet. A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. It was exactly seven o’clock.

  He experienced a momentary disappointment, not seeing his mother or father, but shrugged it off as his own fault. He’d been out of the country for two weeks and hadn’t called either of them during that time.

  Slipping out of his raincoat and suit jacket, he placed them over the back of a chair. Within minutes he was naked, striding toward an adjoining bathroom.

  The image of Emily’s face—her demure smile, the color of her eyes after they’d made love—and the silkiness of her flesh under his tongue lingered in his mind while he shaved and showered. The sound of her sensual voice sang in his ears as he dressed. He was smiling when he made his way to the garage, where he’d left his Saab. Everything about his wife swept over him as he headed south.

  * * *

  Blazing lights in the sprawling house illuminated it like a jewel in the desert, while the sounds of laughter resounded off the walls and floated upward to the towering cathedral ceilings.

  “You’re spoiling him,” Salem whispered close to Emily’s ear when she picked up Isaiah and cradled him on her slim hip. “He can walk.”

  “How often do I get a chance to be with him?” she countered in the same hushed tone.

  Curving his long fingers around Emily’s neck, Salem pressed his mouth to her ear. “You live less than three hundred miles from here. And you know you’re always welcome to come to visit—at any time. Now, let his feet hit the floor, Miss Kirkland.”

  Pulling out of Salem’s loose grip, Emily rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving him frowning at her back.

  Salem encountered the same problem whenever his mother or Eve Sterling interacted with their grandson. They spoiled the child so much, Isaiah usually overdosed with their indulgences, leaving Sara to deal with his tantrums until he eventually settled back into his usual routine.

  Making her way into the dining room, Emily saw Sara studying each place setting to make certain they contained the same number of sterling-silver forks and spoons.

  “Do you need help with anything?”

  Sara glanced up, the lights from the chandelier overhead highlighting the brilliant gold-green color of her eyes. She shook her head. “No. I believe everything is ready.”

  Emily smiled at her hostess. “I like you with longer hair.” Sara’s raven waves were swept off her face, falling sensuously down the nape of her neck. The style was both sophisticated and very feminine.

  “It’s not long by choice. I don’t have the luxury of a lot of free time anymore. I’d like to think that I’m in control of my life, but there are days when I feel as if I’m drowning in an abyss of futile activity.”

  Moving closer, Emily stared at her friend. “Are you saying marriage and motherhood isn’t what you thought it would be?”

  “No, Emmie. It’s just that I haven’t decided what I want to do. I love Salem, and I love my son. But being a wife and mother doesn’t quite do it for me. What I’m trying to say is that I miss my career.”

  “What you probably miss is the excitement of preparing for trial. You miss the rush when you walk into the courtroom, where all eyes are focused on you. And if you’re truly honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you miss being onstage.”

  Sara went completely still. “How did you know?” Her voice had lowered to a hushed whisper.

  “I know because I go through the same thing whenever I’m in front of the camera, knowing that millions of people are watching me, listening to my words, believing me. I could sit there and tell them lies, and because I’m Emily Kirkland, political analyst for KCNS Metromedia News Twelve, they believe me.”

  An expression of relief softened Sara’s delicate features. “You’re better than a shrink, Emmie. Salem and I are talking about having another baby, but I told him that I had to think about it. I’m only thirty-one, so I have a few more years before I’m considered high-risk. But he’s thirty-eight, and he says he doesn’t want to wait too many more years.”

  “When do you plan to start trying?”

  “Probably August. By that time Isaiah will be two, and hopefully completely toilet-trained. I’d like him to attend preschool for a couple of hours each day so he can socialize with other children his age. It will also allow me time for myself before I go back to breast-feeding, teething and toilet-training all over again. I’d really like the next one to be a girl. I think having a girl will settle me down.”

  “Everything will work out fine, Sara. You have a wonderful husband, a gorgeous son and a beautiful home. And you can always resume your career whenever you want.” Emily remembered Chris saying that he wanted to start up a practice with his sister.

  “You’re right, girlfriend.” Curving her arms around Emily’s neck, she pressed her cheek to hers. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  The doorbell rang, echoing melodiously through the large house. “I wonder who that can be?” Sara said. Her parents had arrived at seven, and she knew Salem hadn’t invited anyone else.

  “I’ll get it,” Matthew Sterling said, making his way to the front door.

  “Whoever it is, please try to make it quick, Daddy. We’re ready to sit down to eat,” Sara informed him as she walked back to the kitchen to help her husband, who had offered to carve the succulently herb-roasted leg of lamb.

  Matt Sterling opened the door, his curving eyebrows meeting in an angry scowl. “I should beat the crap out of you,” he hissed through his teeth, “for what you’ve put your mother through these past two weeks. Where the hell have you been?”

  Chris smiled, the tiny lines around his penetrating dark eyes deepening. “Hello to you, too, Dad.” Curving an arm around the older man’s neck, he kissed his cheek. “I’d prefer you beating the crap out of me to Mom’s tongue-lashing.”

  Matthew Sterling smiled. “You’re
right about that. Even after being married to the woman for thirty-two years, I do everything possible not to get whipped by her tongue.”

  The two men hugged each other in a rough embrace, then moved into the house. “Look who I found,” Matt announced when they walked into the living room.

  Eve Sterling rose gracefully from a love seat, her stunned gaze fixed on the tanned face of her firstborn. “You’re back.”

  Chris closed the distance between them quickly, pulling his mother’s still-slender body to his. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom, about leaving so quickly. But there were a few things I had to take care of.”

  Easing back, Eve looked up at her son. She had to admit that he looked magnificent. She didn’t know why, but at that moment Christopher reminded her of his father—the man who had inflicted such pain—a pain that had lessened with age but left scars that would never vanish.

  Placing a hand on his cheek, she smiled a smile so reminiscent of his own. “We’ll talk later.”

  He gathered her to his chest again, brushing his mouth over hers. “Thanks.” His head came up and he went completely still as his gaze met Emily’s. He missed his nephew cradled in her arms, seeing only her radiant beauty as she offered him a secret smile.

  Eve felt the muscles in his arms tense, and she turned to glance over her shoulder. Her perplexed gaze registered the silent entrancement between her best friend’s daughter and her son.

  Emily moved closer, handing Isaiah to his grandmother when she held out her arms. “Welcome home, Chris. You wear your vacation well.”

  Inclining his head, he smiled. “So do you. How…” His words trailed off when Sara walked into the room, arms extended.

  “Hey, bro!”

  “Hey, sis.” He picked her up, swinging her around. “I owe you one,” he growled in her ear.

  “About what?” Sara asked innocently.

  “About me being a man.” He held her at arm’s length. “And I can assure you that I am very much a man,” he said.

  Sara kissed his mouth, then wiped away the streak of color from her lipstick with her thumb. “Sorry about that remark, bro. I had to do something to galvanize you into action. It worked, didn’t it?”

  “No comment, counselor.”

  Salem walked into the living room, announcing that dinner was ready, but hesitated before going into the formal dining room with the others when he saw his brother-in-law. He greeted him warmly, then stared at Chris with a strange look on his face.

  “What’s the matter, Salem?”

  The veterinary surgeon closed his eyes, then opened them. “If you don’t protect her, then you’re going to lose her, Chris,” he said cryptically.

  Chris’s left eyebrow rose a fraction. “Who are you talking about?”

  Salem leaned closer. “You know damn well who I’m talking about. Your wife? And no, she didn’t tell me. She didn’t have to,” he added.

  It was Chris’s turn to close his eyes. “Does Sara know?”

  “If she does, she hasn’t said anything to me.”

  Opening his eyes, he stared at his brother-in-law. There had been a time when he hadn’t wanted to believe Salem’s predictions, but he knew he spoke the truth. He had been given the gift of sight, and on more than one occasion his prophecies were manifested.

  “Hire a protection specialist, Chris,” Salem continued in a soft whisper. “If not, then you’ll find yourself placing flowers on her grave.” Resting an arm over the younger man’s shoulders, he patted his cheek. “I don’t know about you, Governor Delgado, but I’m starved. Let’s sit down and eat.”

  The fact that Salem had referred to him as governor paled when Chris sat down at the table next to his mother and opposite his wife. No one at the table suspected his connection to Emily Kirkland because Salem’s warning made the breath solidify in his throat, not permitting him to speak.

  He answered questions directed at him, responding like an automaton, while Emily’s mood was buoyant. Her luminous eyes sparkled in amusement when Isaiah picked up a spoon and managed to feed himself without dropping a morsel.

  “Is it good, Isaiah?” she crooned softly.

  The little boy’s head bobbed up and down. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to display its contents. “See food,” he said clearly once he swallowed.

  Sara frowned at her son. “Isaiah is suppose to eat food, not show it.”

  Eve touched her daughter’s hand. “Let him be, Sara. He’s just being a child.”

  “You never let us behave that way at the table.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Chris mumbled, concurring with his sister.

  Eve Sterling sat up straighter, the brilliant prisms of light from the chandelier glinting off her curly silver hair, creating a halo effect. She would soon celebrate her sixty-seventh birthday, and her exotic beauty had not diminished with age. “It’s different with grandchildren.”

  Salem shook his head in a hopeless gesture. “Why is it always different with grandchildren?”

  “Because it is,” Matthew and Eve chorused in unison.

  He winked at Sara. “I rest my case.”

  She gave him a you-should’ve-known-better-than-to-ask look at the same time she forced a smile. She and Salem tried not to spoil Isaiah, but all their efforts were in vain.

  Dinner became a leisurely, festive affair as several different wines were served, along with a flavorful lobster bisque, a walnut salad in endive, a mixed green salad with a cider vinaigrette dressing, thinly sliced leg of lamb with roasted herbs, marinated asparagus spears, cabbage stuffed with mushrooms, walnuts, and bulgur and homemade yeast rolls.

  Salem and Matt cleared the table, Chris and Emily washed and stacked dishes for the dishwasher, and Eve stored leftovers in refrigerator containers, while Sara took Isaiah upstairs to bed.

  Emily pushed several buttons on the dishwasher just as the telephone rang. Salem answered the call, then extended the receiver to her.

  “It’s your mother,” he said quietly.

  She took the receiver and placed it to her ear. She heard the words and saw four pairs of eyes staring at her. “Yes, Mom. I’ll let everyone know. Uncle Matt is here,” she continued, as if she were in a trance. She extended the telephone. “Uncle Matt.”

  Closing her eyes, she tried to keep her legs from shaking. The waiting was over. Her grandfather had died in his sleep.

  Chris moved quietly to her side, his arm going around her waist as he eased her gently to a chair. “What’s the matter?”

  Her gaze locked with his. “Grandpa is gone.”

  Ignoring the others, Chris pulled her face to his chest and held her. Emily Kirkland adored her grandfather, and he her. Samuel Cole had been known to say that Emily was his favorite grandchild, his favorite because she most resembled the woman who at one time he had loved more than his own wife.

  Matt covered the telephone’s mouthpiece with one hand. “Chris, what’s on your schedule for the next few days?”

  Turning and looking over his shoulder, Chris said, “Nothing. Why?”

  “You, Salem?” Matt asked his son-in-law.

  “Nothing my backup can’t handle.”

  Matt’s glowing eyes swept around the kitchen, like a large cat searching out its prey. “We’re all going to West Palm Beach for a funeral. The ColeDiz jet will pick us up at the Las Cruces airport at six in the morning.”

  Rising to his feet, Chris stared at Matt. “I can’t travel with you.”

  “Why not?” Matt barked.

  “I’ll take a commercial flight.”

  “Bull…”

  “I will not discuss it,” Chris shot back, cutting him off. A vein in his temple throbbed noticeably.

  Eve loo
ked at her husband, then her son. “Chris,” she said softly, “it’s not a pleasure trip, darling.”

  He turned and stared at her, and she took a step backward. His expression was so like Alejandro Delgado’s that she thought she had gone back more than thirty years in time.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he said with a finality that chilled everyone in the room. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the kitchen and out of the Lassiter house.

  Raising the receiver to his ear, Matt said quietly, “We’ll be ready at six.”

  Chapter 20

  West Palm Beach

  Chris had been in Florida for more than eight hours when the ColeDiz jet touched down on a private airstrip at the West Palm Beach Airport. He’d called Grant and informed him that he had to leave the state to attend the funeral of a family friend, promising to check in every day.

  He hadn’t slept on the red-eye flight, but after the jet touched down in Florida he rented a car, drove to a hotel, checked in and left a message for a wake-up call for nine that morning.

  Dressed in a lightweight dark wool suit, white shirt and dark gray tie, he drove along a boulevard, then turned off onto a private street leading to the Cole estate.

  He was met at a set of decorative iron gates by a man with a two-way radio. Lowering the window in the car, he leaned out. “Christopher Delgado.”

  The guard checked his name off on a list, then waved him through. “Stay to your right until the end of the drive. Someone will park your car.”

  “Thank you.”

  He drove slowly, his gaze sweeping over the magnificence of the showplace property. It was styled in the Mediterranean tradition, overlooking a lake and constructed to take advantage of both natural light and water views. Visitors were met with the grandeur of twin staircases leading to the upper level and four apartment suites. The house was filled with the priceless objects the Coles had acquired over several generations, and it was in their boxwood garden that he had kissed Emily Kirkland for the first time.

  Thinking of his wife eased the lines of tension around his mouth. He had only touched her once since their return from Mexico, and that was to comfort her. He wanted to touch her in passion, taste her lush, sweet mouth and hold her while counting the strong, steady beats of her heart.