by Peggy Webb
He walked closer, lifting his head to gaze up at the work of art.
“Do you like it?” Jedidiah asked.
“It’s unbelievable.”
“Molly did it. Of all her work, it’s my favorite.”
Samuel studied the painting. He didn’t know much about art, but he had heard that it reflected the spirit and soul of the artist. If that were true, Molly had a soul as rich as the earth and a spirit as freewheeling as the sun. Something in him reached out to the painting, and he felt a tiny glow spring to life in the deep, dark recesses of his own battered soul.
He continued to gaze at the painting. Suddenly there was a sound at the doorway, and he turned.
Molly was standing there, posing. She was both mischievous sprite and lusty femme fatale, and she made the room as bright as new copper pennies. She’d been gone only a few minutes, and he was surprised to discover that he had missed her. Not her, he corrected himself. He’d merely missed her particular brand of excitement.
He leaned against the mantel, smiling. He could hardly wait to see what she would do next.
She slowly lowered her hand from the doorframe and began to walk into the room. Her eyes locked on his, and Samuel had no doubt whatsoever that the show was entirely for him.
Molly didn’t simply enter a room; she came in like a full-fledged parade. Her feet clicked against the wooden floor and her face was alight with mischief. Samuel peered behind her, expecting to see her followed by a band of pirates, or at the very least a string of prancing ponies.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” Her skirts danced around her as she moved.
“That’s all right. You are worth waiting for, isn’t she?” Jedidiah looked at Samuel for confirmation.
“Indeed, she is.” Samuel smiled at Molly to see how she took his hearty declaration. With aplomb. That’s how she took it. He would have been disappointed by anything else.
Molly moved toward the piano, gliding across the room directly in the path of moonlight so that she and her dress appeared to be liquid.
“Is everybody ready for the show, Daddy?”
Jedidiah beamed and escorted Glory Ethel to the large wing chair beside the piano. Then he seated himself on the piano bench and ran his fingers lightly over the keys.
Samuel didn’t know much about music, but he did know enough to recognize a masterful touch. The man had talent.
But the person who riveted his attention was Molly. She was leaning against the piano now, her hip pressed against the gleaming wood. Everything except the woman at the piano vanished from Samuel’s mind. Moonlight shimmered over her, turning her skin and hair to liquid gold. Lamplight burnished the rich wood so that the piano seemed to flow into and blend with Molly’s dress.
Woman and instrument were one. The heavy jazz beat of the music increased, and Molly started singing.
Samuel had never heard anything like it. Her voice was a throaty, bluesy whisper, and she was promising to make a saint turn into a sinner. He didn’t doubt it for a minute. He was on the verge of sinning himself.
He called on every resource to combat this strange and disturbing attraction. He told himself it was only a game they were playing. Still, his desire rose like a phoenix from the ashes of his harsh and bitter past. He blamed it on the moonlight, he blamed it on the music, he blamed it on fatigue.
The tempo of the song increased and so did his heartbeat. Molly was promising to be a naughty baby, and he longed for it. He leaned heavily against the mantel, more for support than anything else. Molly’s voice drugged him. The room seemed to spin away and he imagined the two of them together, legs entangled as the silvery dress spread underneath them.
Jazz flowed around him and through him, and from a distance, Molly’s voice drifted to him.
He felt the solid reality of the mantel. Molly was still beside the piano singing and he was still standing in front of the fireplace. To find himself there came as a shock. His fantasy had been so real he could almost taste her lips.
He wiped his face and tried to concentrate. There was a musical interlude, and thankfully her sultry voice stopped. But then, to his amazement, she danced across the floor, her shoes marking a sassy rhythm on the polished wood. He suddenly realized that that’s why she had disappeared and why she had made such a noise when she had come back: she was wearing tap-dancing shoes.
Jedidiah segued into another song, and Molly stopped dancing and started singing again. This time Samuel recognized the song—”Embraceable You.” He’d once dated a woman who had been fond of singing that song—badly, as he remembered. Not like Molly. Not at all like Molly.
The husky voice set him on fire again, but he clung to the mantel and to his sanity—barely. When she sang in that suggestive voice that she wanted her arms about him, he had to clench his hands into fists and ram them into his pockets to keep from obliging.
Finally he became aware that the music had stopped.
Around him there were vague movements and sounds—Jedidiah inviting his mother for a moonlight stroll, and Glory Ethel accepting. But he was lost in song—the remembered melody vibrating through his body and clouding his mind.
Suddenly he felt the swish of gossamer skirts against his knees.
“Daddy wanted me to sing.”
“You do it beautifully.”
“Thank you.”
Molly felt the tension flowing from him, and her body came alive under his intense scrutiny. She felt both taut and loose at the same time. Part of her was melting and part of her was so tightly wound she wanted to scream. He was a handsome man; virile, desirable. But there was something deadly about him, too.
She backed away from him. He cocked an eyebrow.
“What’s the matter, Molly. Afraid?”
“No. Is there any reason I should be?”
He was silent for so long, merely staring at her, that she wet her dry lips with her tongue. Finally he reached out, ever so slowly. She felt the whisper touch against her cheek, the lightest brushing of fingertips against her skin. And then he withdrew the hand.
“I’m a man. And I’m not accustomed to turning down such blatant invitations.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“The song, Molly. You practically invited me to make love to you. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
She resisted an urge to put her hand over her racing heart. “It wasn’t an invitation.”
“What was it, then?”
“Do you really want to know the truth?”
“It would be refreshing to hear the truth.”
“Music, dance, drama, painting—Daddy loves all the arts.” Molly moved toward the wing chair beside the piano as she talked. She felt a restless need to be moving; but more than that, she felt a need to put some distance between herself and Samuel. There was a connection between them; she could feel the tug. And connections were dangerous. She sat in the chair, tucking her feet up and settling her skirt over her legs. “And he made sure that I loved them, too. I was taking voice lessons before I could read. He had visions that I would be one of the great singers—another Mariah Carey. The closest I ever came to singing fame was winning the Jersey Queen contest.”
“Jersey Queen? As in New Jersey?”
“No. As in cows, Jersey cows.” She saw his shoulders shake. “Go ahead. You can laugh. We thought it was pretty darned funny ourselves. And it was a convenient way to win a scholarship. I was eighteen, and I headed abroad to study.”
She searched his face, and thankfully saw nothing except genuine interest.
“I sang and danced to that song. It’s been Daddy’s favorite ever since, and he takes great pride in having me repeat my Miss Jersey performance. I haven’t the heart to turn him down.”
Samuel was drawn into her story. He pictured Molly at eighteen, singing that torch song. Had she been as beautiful then as she was now? And as deadly?
He drew a ragged breath. In the last few minutes he’d seen exactly how much he was his fath
er’s son. It had been a flashy woman who had enticed his father, who had made him give up a wife and two children and the respect of an entire town. Samuel would do whatever it took to keep from being another Taylor Adams.
He hardened his heart and his voice. “Does the song have a name?”
“Naughty Baby.”
“It fits.”
There it was again, she thought. That remote, cold look that made her want to shake him.
“You don’t approve of me, do you, Samuel?”
“Quite frankly, no.”
“Is it the dress?” She lifted the hem of her skirt and let it float back around her. “The jewelry?” She touched the baubles at her neck. “The tap-dancing shoes?” She stood up and did a quick staccato rhythm on the hardwood floor.
He arched one eyebrow in that sophisticated way he had. Molly felt a surge of anger. This arrogant man, this hell-bent-for-leather bossy banker, was ripe for a lesson. And she was going to give it to him, even if he was Bea’s brother. She’d worry about the consequences tomorrow.
Using her best model’s gliding walk, she swayed across the room toward him, very much aware of what the moonlight did to her skin and hair and of the enticing way she made her skirt swirl around her legs. She hoped his throat was as dry as ashes from last year’s fire.
She didn’t stop until she was so close she could see the glowing center of his blacker-than-midnight eyes.
“Or is it this, Samuel?” She looped her arms quickly around his neck and tangled her hands in his hair. Making her voice a seductive purr, she leaned closer. “Am I too much woman for you to handle?”
“You think that, do you?” His voice was low and dangerous, and it sent shivers up her spine.
“Yes.” Her smile was inviting and wicked. “You act like a man on the run.”
He reacted—not in quick anger, but with slow, sure deliberation. His right hand cupped her cheek, resting there for a small eternity before gliding back into her hair. She felt her scalp tingle as he raked through her heavy tresses and let them drift slowly through his fingers.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to; his eyes said it all. Anger and passion burned there; and something else, something so deep, so mysterious, that Molly felt all the breath leave her body.
With his free hand he pulled her hard against his hips. In a quick burst of hindsight she wondered if she had pushed him too far. He tightened his hold and slowly lowered his head.
She felt his warm breath against her cheek, smelled the clean masculine scent of him, heard his deep intake of air. And then his lips were on hers. There was no tenderness in the kiss, no genuine feeling, no warmth, no great desire. It was the kiss of an experienced man, an expert; a knowing kiss performed with all the artfulness of a master deceiver.
In spite of that, she let herself go, straining close and enjoying the kiss.
Samuel’s lips moved over hers, coaxing, demanding, sensual, and he felt the full voltage of her response. Danger signals clanged in his head. Pulling back, he gazed down at her. She was flushed and lovely, and he discovered that he was more vulnerable than he had thought.
It was an entire minute before he could speak.
“I never let a challenge go unanswered.”
“Neither do I, Samuel.” She backed away and leaned against the mantel. “Just remember this: you were the one who kissed me.”
“I wasn’t kissing you, Molly. I was taming you. There’s a difference.”
“I suppose a man of your vast experience has a little black book of excuses that cover a multitude of sins.”
“A man of my experience knows how to give a woman what she wants. But beware who you entice, Molly. Not all men will kiss and retreat. If you behave that way, you’re asking for trouble.”
“I wasn’t enticing you. I was merely teaching you a lesson.”
“You’ve missed your calling. You make a delightful teacher.”
“You’re laughing, and this is no laughing matter.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He ran his hand over his face as if he were wiping away his grin. “Tell me, Molly, what was that lesson you taught me?”
“I was trying to teach you that you’ll always find the things you expect. Look for the worst, and that’s what you’ll get.”
“You don’t have to rationalize your behavior for me. You’ve wanted to be kissed from the minute I walked through your door tonight. And I obliged.”
Color blazed in her cheeks. “I have not!”
“That dress, those teasing, flirty looks, that provocative song. I’m thirty-two years old. There isn’t much I haven’t seen or done.”
“If you’re trying to tell me you’re jaded, don’t bother. Your kiss already said that.”
He took her swiftly this time—without fanfare, without warning and without mercy. His mouth was hard and punishing.
The air left her lungs and the starch left her knees. She clung to his shoulders for support. A part of her battled against him, and another part surrendered. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and she knew it.
When he finally released her, he stepped back as casually as if he’d just returned from the corner convenience store with a loaf of bread.
“You like to play games, don’t you, Molly?”
“Yes.” She longed to press her hands to her hot cheeks, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
He put his hand into his coat pocket for his pipe, and then he remembered that he’d given up smoking last year when his blood pressure had started creeping up. He’d have to face Molly without a crutch.
“Then be warned. I don’t play anybody’s game. I live by my own rules.”
“There’s something you should know about me, Samuel. I believe rules were made to be broken.”
His eyes darkened. “I loved a person like that once.”
His voice was so filled with passion and pain that Molly spoke in a whisper. “Who?”
“My father.”
The room because hushed and still. Molly stared at the raw pain in Samuel’s face and felt a great remorse. She’d always lived for the moment, lived for fun and excitement and joy. But never had she inflicted hurt. She had a marshmallow heart that caused her to cry over every unfortunate creature—stray cats without homes, fallen birds with broken wings, abused dogs with cruel masters.
Impulsively she reached toward his face.
Samuel turned abruptly and walked away from her. Sitting down in the wing chair beside the piano, he smiled. “It seems that we are left with time on our hands. Sing for me.”
Molly looked at that sad, brittle smile, and wanted to cry. Samuel would have hated it.
Assuming a nonchalant manner, she walked over to the piano. “I can’t play as well as Daddy, but here goes.”
The sound of music filled the room, and then she began to sing Someone to Watch Over Me.
o0o
Sitting in the middle of her bed with her skirt spread around her and her cheeks still flushed from her encounter with Sam, Molly powered up her laptop.
From: Molly
To: Bea, Janet, Joanna, Belinda, Clemmie, Catherine
Re: Dinner with Glory Ethel
Oh, Bea, she’s every bit as wonderful as I remembered! I’ve never seen Daddy so happy! And, Clemmie, the squash casserole was a huge hit!
Bea, I’m a little worried about your brother, though. Sam seems to hate the idea of being part of the family, and I know your mother depends on his advice. You don’t think he’ll do anything to sabotage Daddy’s happiness, do you?
BTW, he called me a TEENAGER!
Molly
From: Bea
To: Molly, Catherine, Belinda, Janet, Joanna, Celementine
Re: Mother
Mother may look like she’s hanging onto Sam’s every word, but she will do exactly as she pleases! You don’t have a thing to worry about, Molly. She’ll be walking down the aisle like a Southern belle, if I can ever get a weekend off to go shopping for the perfect we
dding dress with Cat.
Don’t let Sam rattle you. He’s a control freak. But underneath all that posturing, he’s really a nice guy. In the end, he’ll want Mother to be happy. Just don’t let him get the upper hand! Call him an old fart!! That’ll get his attention!
Bea
From: Clemmie
To: Molly, Bea, Janet, Joanna, Catherine, Belinda
Re: Weddings
I just adore weddings. Yesterday Miss Josephine got this old faded satin dress out of moth balls because she thought Junior was back for the wedding. It was sad, but sweet at the same time.
I’m so glad you enjoyed the squash casserole. I’m freezing some lovely chicken gumbo. The next time I come to Tupelo, I’ll bring you a batch.
Clemmie
From: Janet
To: Molly, Bea, Belinda, Joanna, Clemmie, Catherine
Re: Sam Adams
Don’t worry about him, Molly. He shares the same genes as Bea. There’s no way he can be anything except good looking and intelligent. A really smart man will typically always behave himself.
Janet
From: Belinda
To: Molly, Bea, Joanna, Clemmie, Catherine, Janet
Re: Reeve
My husband has companies all over the world, and he’s done business with Bea’s brother. I know, because I recognized the name when he said Samuel Adams. Anyhow, what I’m rambling on to say is that Reeve thinks Sam is brilliant and just about the bees knees. Of course, the bees knees was my part of the equation, but that’s okay. I’m a pretty doggoned good judge of character. Look at me, married to most wonderful man in the world! Of course, I know Janet will give me some argument!
Peanut peed on the Persian rug. The children thought it was funny and Quincy thought the world was coming to an end.
Belinda