by Peggy Webb
She suddenly felt hot, even in the dress she had deliberately chosen for comfort in the sweltering heat of the old Victorian house.
Suddenly, Sam strode across the small pace that separated them and gripped her shoulders.
“Where in the hell did you get that dress?”
“Is it customary to greet guests that way in Florence, or is that your idea of good manners?”
“Good manners be damned! I asked where you got that dress.”
“From my closet. It’s filled with frocks designed to drive bankers mad.”
Samuel had a sudden vision of Carmondy’s face, his lust for Molly as clear as if it had been stamped there in red ink.
Holding Molly’s shoulders, he backed her into the room and kicked the door shut. She glared at him.
“I charge more if you insist on using caveman tactics.”
“This is no time for your jokes, Molly. Get out of that damned dress.”
“You didn’t say ‘Pretty please.’“
“You will not wear that dress to this party.” He released her and stomped across the room to the closet.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He jerked open the door and began to rummage inside. “I’m getting you a decent dress.” The coat hangers rattled in alarm as he shoved them around. “Bea is bound to have something suitable hanging here.”
“Suitable! Suitable for what? A wake?”
“Suitable for polite Florence society. While you’re here you will be suitable, or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“How dare you!”
He found what he was looking for and turned around, holding the dress in a death grip.
“This is my house and my town, and I won’t have you doing anything to jeopardize everything I’ve worked for.”
“Just who do you think you are, barging in here and ordering me around? I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of deciding what I will or will not wear.”
Molly had never been so angry in all her life. She had come to Florence somewhat reluctantly, but she had been willing to keep up appearances for her father’s sake. All that had gone by the wayside now. Samuel was giving orders as if he owned all of Florence and half of Alabama, but she wasn’t about to knuckle under.
Being told what to do always brought out the worst in her.
She raked her hand through her hair, lifting it seductively off her neck. Then she shrugged her shoulders so that her other strap slide down her arm.
“What’s the matter, Sammy baby? Afraid you’ll lose me to some good-looking local hunk?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, baby, I’d be more than willing to give the Florence boys a thrill.”
He tossed the dress onto the bed and pulled Molly so close she lost her breathe. She glared straight into his eyes.
“Don’t you ever let me catch you playing games with the men in this town. Is that clear?”
There was more in his face than anger. There was pain—a hurt buried so deeply that only someone with Molly’s compassion could see it. Her anger drained away, but she’d be darned if she would let him order her around.
“It was not my intention to play games, Samuel. I chose this dress because I wanted to stay cool.”
He loosened his grip on her shoulders, suddenly ashamed. Never in his life had he treated a woman – or anybody else, for that matter – with such high-handed tactics.
“Did I hurt you, Molly?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, Molly. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Nerves. I’m feeling a bit on edge myself.”
His smile was crooked and heartrending. “Don’t be too generous with me. I can’t promise not to do this again.”
“Why, Samuel?”
He swept his hands through her hair and let it sift back through his fingers.
“You seem to bring out the beast in me.”
She struggled against the magic of his touch, fought against the connection that wound them more and more tightly together.
“Funny, I thought it was only the tyrant.”
“That, too.”
The urge to bury his face in her hair was so strong, he moved closer. She parted her lips, and for an insane moment, all he could think about was kissing them.
Mentally he shook himself like an old wet dog. He couldn’t afford to be bewitched by Molly. Especially not tonight, of all nights.
He released her quickly and picked up Bea’s dress. “Don’t make this difficult, Molly. Please just wear the damned dress.”
She took the garment from him. It was a sedate black dinner dress, expensive and elegant and about as exciting as last Sunday’s casserole. Trust Bea to go for the understated look.
“Bea always did have good taste.”
“Thank you.”
She tossed the dress onto the bed. “But it’s not my taste, Samuel.” She pulled her shoulder straps up and smoothed down the hem of her bright coral party dress. “You’ll just have to hold your head up somehow, and pretend that I’m perfectly suitable for polite Florence society.”
He looked pained. “I didn’t mean to sound so pompous, Molly. I just want this party to go smoothly.”
“I can promise you that I won’t swing from the chandelier or dance on the tabletops or even flirt with the local heart-throbs. I think I can survive one evening without those activities. But I am wearing this dress.”
The only time he’d ever seen such a stubborn look on a face was when he and Bea had been kids. He’d had a new baseball and glove and had gone off to play backlot baseball with the boys in his neighborhood. Bea had tagged along. Not only that, but she’d insisted on playing the game. When he had told her girls didn’t play baseball, she’d stuck out her lip and said she’d prove that girls could play better than boys. And she had. She’d hit two home runs that afternoon.
“I’ll concede the victory to you.” He gave her a mock bow. “But don’t expect to win every time.”
“Does this mean we’re going to fight a lot?”
“Probably. But I’ve come to find our little skirmishes stimulating.”
She propped her arms on the ornate brass footboard of the bed and grinned at him like a naughty child. “You might even find a few of them educational.”
“Is that a warning, Molly?”
“No. It’s a promise.”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. Molly, in a stubborn mood, was extraordinarily beautiful—and desirable. But then he’d discovered that Molly in any mood was intoxicating. And having her leaning on the bed didn’t help matters one bit. He decided that in the future it might behoove him to stay out of the bedroom when he confronted her.
“I’ll see you downstairs at the party.” He started toward the door, then stopped and said over his shoulder, “And, Molly, I’ll be watching to see that you keep your promise.”
She chuckled. “I never break promises, Samuel.”
The sound of her laughter followed him out the door. It was going to be a very long evening. He strode quickly to his room and began to dress.
After he left, Molly put the finishing touches on her makeup and hurried down the stairs. She’d heard guests arriving for the last ten minutes and she didn’t want to miss a single thing. Now that she was in Florence and her first encounter with Samuel was over, she was feeling perky and ready to party. She didn’t know what she had expected—perhaps the tenderness that had so undone her in Tupelo. Or maybe she had expected another of those soul-searing, possessive kisses. Expect for that heady moment when he had held her in his arms, she had come through their encounter all in one piece. And she had won their skirmish. She had promised to be good, of course, and she would; but not too good. Too good was boring.
She was smiling when she stepped into the festive living room downstairs.
Glory Ethel came across the room and kissed her cheek. “You take my breath away, you’re so beautiful.�
�� She glanced up the staircase. “Have you seen Sam, yet?”
Molly’s face flamed. “Yes.”
Glory Ethel took note of the flushed face, but wisely refrained from comment. “Good. He works so hard, I wasn’t sure whether he would even take time off for the party.” She took Molly’s hand and patted it. “My dear, would you mind keeping an eye on him? He’s been an absolute bear this week. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Anyhow, I’m not exactly the chaperone type.”
“Here he is now.” She turned toward her handsome son, who was descending the staircase. Taking Molly’s hand, she dragged her over. “This sweet thing has agreed to look after you, Sam.” She linked their hands. “Now, you behave and don’t give her any trouble.”
Glory Ethel departed in a swirl of chiffon skirts and a cloud of perfume. Molly couldn’t help but smile. Her daddy was very lucky.
“You can take that wicked smile off your face, Venus. I didn’t intend to be looked after.”
At close range, Samuel Adams in a tuxedo was deadly. This was one time she dearly wished she was a coward and able to run.
“You needn’t put any gray hairs in your head worrying. I have more important things to do than watch you.”
“Shall I make a few wild guesses, or do you intend to tell me?”
She looked about the room, taking her time. She wanted to madden him as much as he maddened her.
“Well, the chandelier appears too flimsy for swinging. And there’s too much food on the table to have any dancing room.” She paused long enough to zero in on the handsomest man in the room. Actually, the next handsomest. And he finished a poor second to Samuel Adams. “But I do see a local heart-throb who is pining for me to give him a thrill.”
“Molly, I’m warning you…”
“I remember. You make people quake in their boots. But you should remember, too, I’m not wearing boots.” She reached for the hem of her skirt.
Samuel’s hand snaked out and caught her wrist. “Save those legs for a more appreciative audience.”
Her smile was a study in wicked innocence. “You don’t appreciate them?”
He ignored that taunt. “A private audience.”
“Tsk, tsk. Have you forgotten? The whole world is my audience.”
Carmondy’s picture floated through his mind.
“Florence, Alabama, is not the whole world. And don’t you forget it.”
He left her abruptly, stalked toward the table and snatched up a glass of champagne. He hated champagne, but he downed the entire glass in three swallows. Across the room, Molly was flirting with a muscle bound jock named Graden Williams. Thank God, she’d be in Florence for only a day or two, and then she’d return to Tupelo or Paris or wherever the hell she had to go and pose naked.
He clipped another glass from the table, more to have something to do with his hands than anything else. They kept wanting to curl into fists and smash something—mostly Graden Williams’s smirking face.
Samuel made his way across the room, stopping occasionally to chat with friends, smiling and nodding to others as if he were enjoying the evening, playing the role of perfect host. But all the while he was moving closer to Molly. His mother had gotten their roles reversed. She was the one who needed looking after. As head of the family, it was his job to take care of her.
When he was close enough to overhear their conversation, he stopped. Still holding a full glass, he leaned against a marble column his mother’s idiotic decorator had insisted on installing in the room, and watched Molly. She had already besotted poor hapless Graden. And it had taken her less than ten minutes.
Samuel began to see the humor of the situation. He relaxed and decided to enjoy the entertainment.
“Graden, don’t tell me you do all that by yourself? You run a whole de-part-ment store? How fa-sci-nating.”
Samuel grinned. Molly’s exaggerated drawl was so thick it could be swirled around a fork and still not drip on the plate. He was amazed that Graden didn’t see through it. But then, Graden had probably never met a woman like Molly.
For that matter, neither had he. His mother had an earthy humor and a big laugh, but she was as plain as yesterday’s meat loaf. His sister Bea was beautiful, of course, but not in an ordinary way. Bea’s was a subtle beauty that would go unnoticed unless you took the time to really look at her. She was not at all like Molly.
He lifted the glass to his lips and watched her over the rim. Her vibrant, vivid beauty socked him in the gut, and he found himself holding his breath. Since he’d spotted that painting in Carmondy’s office, he couldn’t look at Molly without picturing her naked.
Giving a snort of self-disgust, he turned to go. But Molly’s next words stopped him.
“Well, Graden, I’m certain Glory Ethel’s garden is lovely this time of year. I’d be delighted to take a stroll in the moonlight with you.”
“We might even find something besides flowers, Molly girl.”
Over his dead body. Samuel squeezed the champagne glass so hard the stem popped. Champagne cascaded to the floor and the top half of the glass shattered against the tiles. Samuel caught the sharp eye of a waiter, gave a peremptory nod, put the rest of his glass on the waiter’s silver tray, and then zeroed in on Molly.
He took her arm and smoothly drew her to his side.
“There you are, Molly. I thought I had lost you.”
“How can you lose me, Samuel? You never had me.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held it in a tight grip. “Anyhow, I can’t talk to you now. I’m going for a moonlight stroll with Graden.” She gave him a spunky grin and kicked his shin.
He didn’t even grunt. Instead he smiled at her like a benign father.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt your plans, but we do have important business to discuss.” He favored Graden with one of his best president-of-the-bank glares. “You do understand, don’t you?”
Graden knew enough about Samuel Adams not to cross him.
“Certainly. Anyhow, I need to give my congratulations to the happy couple and be on my way. Tomorrow is a big day at the store.” He backed off.
“Nice seeing you, Graden. Thank you for coming.”
“Let go of me, you big tyrant.”
“Molly, if you kick me one more time, I’ll be forced to kiss that smile off your face.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“Of course not.” She cocked her head to one side so she could see his face better. “Besides, you can’t do two things at one time.”
A hint of a smile played around his lips. “And what is that other thing I’d be doing?”
She took her time, smiling innocently up at him, widening her eyes in a way she’d been told drove men mad.
“I think showing is so much nicer than telling, don’t you?”
“It depends on who’s doing the showing and what’s being shown.”
“Oh, I’m doing the showing, Samuel. This is my game.” She hooked her arms quickly around his neck and stood on tiptoe. She’d expected at least a token show of resistance, but he just stood there, grinning at her. No, not grinning: leering, smirking. Not that exactly, either. What he was doing was looking at her like some big jungle cat who has just seen his dinner.
Her heart hammered, but she pressed on. She slid her hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, and he still didn’t move. His slow, satisfied smile made her shiver.
“I’m waiting, Venus. Are you going to show me?”
She knew she should go ahead right then with her plans. Strike while the iron was hot, and all that business. But Samuel was such an intimidating man. She wavered just a moment too long, and suddenly found herself being lifted off her feet.
“What in the world are you doing?”
He slung her over his shoulder, caveman style. “Relax, my dear. This will be painless.”
“You put me down!”
“Why, Molly, I thought you
were the one who loved excitement?” He strode across the room, taking his time, smiling and nodding at the guests, even stopping to chat with a few while she hung upside down over his shoulder.
“She’s feeling a little faint, Herb. I’m taking her out for air.”
“No, she’s not sick, Mrs. Reims. She just loves to be carried around this way.”
“You know how it is with women, Clyde. They have to be shown who’s the boss every now and then.”
Molly hammered her fists into his back. It was useless. He continued his relentless march toward the French doors.
“Tyrant.” She tried to kick the fronts of his knees, but he caught her legs in a vise grip and pressed them tightly against his body.
“I warned you about playing with fire. Remember?”
How well she remembered. But she wasn’t sorry. Not one bit. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t had this much fun since she’d jumped into the fountain at Pierre’s party on the Left Bank in Paris. She’d get Sam for that remark about showing women who was the boss, though. All she had to do was wait for an opportunity. And it would come. She knew that as well as she knew she was Venus de Molly.
Samuel reached the French doors and shoved through. A blast of humid summer air made Molly’s dress go limp.
“This damned heat,” he said.
Molly took heart. The always in-charge Samuel Adams wasn’t as in control as he pretended. She decided to relax and enjoy the ride. He carried her across a well-lit, stone-paved patio, through the rose garden and into the darkness of the trees.
When they reached the shelter of a magnolia tree, he lowered her to her feet. But he took his own maddening time, pressing her so close she felt every sizzling inch of him.
“Now, what was that you were going to show me, Venus?”
At the moment she couldn’t have shown him the Tennessee River if it had been rolling over her feet.
He chuckled. “Lost your nerve, Molly? In that case...”
He bent over her, blocking out the moon, the stars, the deep velvet sky—blocking out everything until there was only his face with its piercing black eyes and its ruthless mouth.
Chapter Six