by Sandra Brown
He stared at her for a long moment. “What was he thinking?”
“Who, Noah?”
He shook his head. “The hero of the book. Sawyer. You said when they hanged him he was thinking…”
“Oh. He was thinking about the first time he saw Charlotte.”
She hesitated, but Parker motioned for her to continue.
“Noah wrote that passage so vividly, with such detail, that I could see the orchard, smell the ripening fruit, feel the heat. Sawyer had been traveling for days, remember? He comes upon Charlotte’s family’s farm, where he hopes to get water for himself and his horse.
“No one is around, the place seems deserted. But as he makes his way toward the water trough, he spots Charlotte sleeping on a pallet of quilts in the shade of a peach tree. A baby is sleeping beside her. Sawyer assumes the child is hers.” Maris smiled and added softly, “He’s glad to learn later that the child is her baby brother.”
Parker was entranced by the cadence of her voice. He felt himself being pulled into the scene.
“Charlotte is the most beautiful woman Sawyer has ever seen. Her long hair was unbound. Descriptions of it, her complexion, her lips, go on for paragraphs. Because of the heat, she had raised her dress as high as her knees, and she’s barefoot. Sawyer is a lusty young man. Seeing her bare calf and foot inflames him. She might just as well have been naked. He’s fascinated by the breathing motion of her bosom. And yet, there’s a reverent aspect to his admiration of her, as though she were as untouchable as the Madonna.
“He should have been a gentleman and politely withdrawn the moment he saw her. Instead, he stays and gazes at her until he hears a wagon approaching, announcing the return of her family, who had gone into town for supplies.
“Charlotte never knew that Sawyer had watched her sleeping that day. He never told her, which I think was particularly dear of him. It was too special a memory to share even with her. It was so special that he called it forward on the day of his execution. He was reliving it when the trapdoor of the gallows dropped open beneath him. Because it was the most pivotal day of his life, he died reliving his first sight of Charlotte.”
Parker had listened. Motionless. Intent on every word. For several moments after she stopped speaking, they just looked at one another. Neither was capable of dispelling the mood, or willing to.
When he finally spoke, his voice was abnormally husky. “You should have been the writer, Maris.”
“Me? No,” she said, shaking her head and laughing softly. “I envy the gift. I can recognize it in those who’ve been blessed with it, but I’m a facilitator, not a creator.”
He pondered that for a time, then said, “Do you know what made that scene so erotic?”
She tilted her head inquisitively.
“It was his having that much access to a woman, his having cerebral intimacy with her, without her knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“His eyes and mind had touched what his hands and lips wanted to. He hadn’t seen much, but he felt guilty for looking at all.”
“The forbidden.”
He nodded and said in an even lower voice, “The strongest sexual stimulant of all. What isn’t good for us. What we can’t have. What we want so badly we can taste but can’t touch.”
Maris drew in a shaky little breath and exhaled it slowly. For the first time becoming aware of the loose strands of hair on her neck, she raised her hand to them, but repair seemed beyond her. She lowered her hand back to her lap, but not before it made a brief stop at that button she had fiddled with before. This time, she merely brushed it with her fingertips as though to reassure herself that it was still there. But Parker’s gaze fastened on it and remained.
Suddenly she stood up in the narrow space separating them. “I’m going back now. The rain has stopped.”
That wasn’t altogether true. It had stopped coming down so hard, but it was still raining lightly. Parker didn’t argue, however. He let her pass.
Almost.
Before she could take a full step, he reached out and stopped her with his hands. They clasped her just below her waist, the heels of them pressing her hipbones, his fingers curved back toward her hips. He was eye level with that alluring strip of bare skin between blouse and skirt. Slowly, his eyes moved up.
She was looking down at him, startled and apprehensive. Her arms were raised, her hands in front of her shoulders as though she were unsure where to place them, what to do with them.
“We know why I kissed you last night, Maris.”
“To frighten me off.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t even merit an argument. I kissed you because you braved Terry’s and showed up everybody in the place, including me. I kissed you because just looking at you made me ache. I kissed you because I’m a rotten son of a bitch and your mouth looked so goddamn kissable. Simply put, I kissed you because I wanted to. It’s something I admit and you damn well know. But there is one question that’s driving me fucking crazy.”
His eyes focused harder on hers and, by doing so, penetrated. “Why did you kiss me back?”
Chapter 12
Maris’s call came at an inopportune time, but Noah figured he had better take it to avoid her becoming suspicious. Even though he had a meeting scheduled in ten minutes, he asked his assistant to put her call through. “Darling! I’m so glad to hear from you.”
“It’s nice to finally talk to you, too,” she said. “It’s been so long, your voice sounds strange.”
“Strange?”
“My ears have become attuned to a southern drawl.”
“God help you.”
“Even worse, I’ve actually slipped and said ‘y’all’ a few times, and I’ve acquired a taste for grits. The secret is lots of salt and pepper and drenching them in butter.”
“Keep packing down a diet like that and you’ll return to me fat.”
“Don’t be surprised if I do. What the southerners don’t cook in butter, they cook in bacon grease, and it’s all delicious. Have you ever had fried green tomatoes?”
“Like the movie title?”
“And the book. Both named after the real thing. Dredged in cornmeal, fried in bacon grease, they’re scrumptious. Mike taught me how to make them.”
“The author extraordinaire also cooks?”
“Mike’s not the author. He’s… well, Mike does just about everything around here except the writing.”
Noah checked the sterling Tiffany clock on his desk and wondered when he could gracefully break this off. “Is the book coming along? How’s it working out with the author?”
“He’s talented, Noah. He’s also opinionated, difficult at times, and impossible at others. But he’s a challenge I can’t resist.”
“So the trip has been productive?”
“Yes. And unless there’s something that requires me to come home, I’m going to stay here through the weekend and spoon-feed him constructive criticism and encouragement. There’s no reason for me to rush back, is there?”
“Besides my missing you, no.”
“Your missing me is no small thing.”
“I wouldn’t selfishly have you return strictly on my account. I can tell by the enthusiasm in your voice that you’re enjoying being a hands-on editor again.”
“Very much. Are you writing?”
“When I can. I’ve been busy going over second-quarter reports, but I’ve managed to put in a couple hours writing each evening.” After a short pause, he asked, “You aren’t going to start nagging me about my output, are you?”
“I wouldn’t call it nagging.”
“Just remember it’s a part-time job, Maris. It can’t take precedence over my responsibilities here.”
“I understand. It’s just that I’m eager to read something new by my favorite author.”
“Don’t hold your breath. It might take a while and the process can’t be rushed.”
“Has your idea gelled?”
“It’s getting there,” he re
plied evasively.
“Whatever you write will be well worth the wait.”
“If you’ve got that much time for leisure reading, we’re not keeping you busy enough.”
“No worry there,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve got my hands full with this project, in addition to the other manuscripts coming due in the next few months. I’ll be editing in my sleep.”
He liked the sound of that. If she was distracted by work, he’d be freer to devote more time to finalizing his deal with WorldView. He was feeling the pressure of the deadline unexpectedly set by Morris Blume. While it was uncomfortably compressing, he welcomed having a definite goal, a finish line toward which to make a final push.
He wasn’t panicked, but he definitely experienced an adrenaline rush every time he thought about it. He was confident he would meet the deadline. If for any reason he didn’t, he was equally confident that he could persuade Blume to extend it. The CEO coveted Matherly Press too much to relinquish it over a matter of days.
Meanwhile, this was a perfect time for Maris to be out of town. Her absence made it more convenient for him to manipulate Daniel. The old man had to be carefully finessed. Subtlety was key. Hit Daniel over the head with something, and he would fight it to his dying breath. Stroke him lightly, and his mind could be changed. Perhaps not as easily as most, but Noah didn’t doubt his ability to eventually whittle down all of his father-in-law’s objections to a merger.
Maris’s absence also allowed him more time with Nadia. She could be a harpy if she was unhappy, and she was unhappiest when deprived of the time and attention she felt she deserved.
“I can’t wait for you to read this book, Noah,” Maris said, drawing him back into their conversation.
What had she been talking about for the last few minutes? Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t retained a word of what she’d said. He couldn’t see that his inattention mattered much.
“The author hasn’t shared with me the whole plot,” she went on, “but I think it’s going to be good.”
“If you think it’s going to be good, then it will be. Listen, darling, I hate to cut short our conversation, but I’m due down the hall in two minutes.”
“So what else is new?” She posed the question tongue-in-cheek and without rancor. Their exchanges during work hours were typically brief.
“I have a meeting with Howard, and you know what a stickler he is about punctuality.” Howard Bancroft was Matherly Press’s chief counsel and head of the legal department. “If I’m a nanosecond late, he’ll stay miffed for days.”
“What’s the meeting about?”
“I can’t recall off the top of my head. Something to do with one of our foreign licensees, I believe.”
“I hate to get you on Howard’s bad side,” she said, “but there is something else I wanted to talk about.”
He had to work at keeping the impatience out of his voice. “Then I’ll take the time. What’s on your mind?”
“Is Dad all right?”
“Seems to be. I saw him last evening and talked to him again this morning.”
“He came into the office?”
“No, he called to ask if I could muddle through without him today. I urged him to take off not only today but the remainder of the week. You’re not here, so we haven’t any scheduled meetings that I can’t handle alone. It’s an ideal time for him to take it easy.”
“He’ll get bored.”
“Actually he’s got a fairly heavy schedule. He said he planned to spend the morning at his desk at home to handle some personal chores, then he was having a late lunch with an old crony. They were meeting at the Four Seasons.”
“Lunch with an old crony,” she repeated absently. “I hope he doesn’t drink too much wine.”
“He’s certainly earned the right to have a few glasses of wine at lunch if he wants them, Maris.”
“I know, but I worry about him negotiating the stairs at home. With that weakness in his joints—”
“He needs full command of his equilibrium. I see your point.”
“When someone his age falls and breaks a hip, they sometimes never completely recover. He couldn’t abide being bedridden.”
“I’ll ask Maxine to keep a closer eye on him.”
“No! That would start World War Three,” she exclaimed. “He’ll get mad at her for babying him, and then he’ll get mad at me for asking her to.”
“Another good point,” he said. “How about…”
“What?”
“Well, I was going to suggest that I talk to him about it. Caution him confidentially. Man to man.”
“Yes,” she said, sounding relieved. “I like that plan much better.”
“Then I’ll go over this evening and have a chat with him.”
“Thank you, Noah.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else?”
“Why?”
“Howard’s waiting on me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I shouldn’t have kept you.”
“Nonsense. This was important.” He wanted to end the call quickly, but he didn’t want to leave her worrying over Daniel. Concern might bring her rushing back. “Maris, don’t worry about Daniel,” he said tenderly. “He’s a tough old bird, stronger than we give him credit for. There’s really no cause for alarm. If anything, over the past few days he’s seemed more like his old self. Full of piss and vinegar.”
“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just that when I’m not with him, my imagination gets away from me and I start worrying.”
“Unnecessarily, I assure you. Now, forgive me, but I really must run.”
“Apologize to Howard for me. Tell him it’s all my fault that you’re late.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” He chuckled. “ ’Bye, now.”
“Noah,” she added just before he disconnected, “I love you.”
For a moment, he was taken aback. Then, in the absentminded way of a devoted but preoccupied husband, he replied, “I love you, too, darling.”
Professions of love meant nothing to him. They were sequences of words without any relevance. He’d told many a woman that he loved her, but only when trying to woo her into bed. He’d vocally expressed his love for Maris when they were courting because it was expected. He’d vowed his love for her in order to win her father’s blessing on their marriage, and he’d played the expressive newlywed husband to the hilt. But in the last several months his avowals had become increasingly infrequent.
By contrast, Maris had an affectionate nature. She was touchy-feely to an irritating degree. She declared her love at least once a day, and while he’d become accustomed to hearing it, he still felt no connection to the sentiment.
But this most recent profession of love gave him pause. It wasn’t the words themselves that had been curious, but the manner in which she’d spoken them. It had sounded to him almost as though she were trying to reestablish, either in his mind or her own, that she loved him. Had the surprise anniversary party failed to reassure her of his devotion? Did she still suspect him of infidelity?
As he breezed past Bancroft’s assistant with barely a nod and entered the counsel’s private office, the exchange with Maris lingered on his mind. It had raised questions that required further thought. Her “I love you” had been declared with an undercurrent of desperation. He must determine what, if anything, that signified.
One thing was certain: She would not be proclaiming her love for him if she knew the contents of the folder he carried into the lawyer’s office with him.
“Hello, Howard. Sorry I’m late.” He banged ahead to prevent Bancroft from remarking on his tardiness. “I was on the telephone with Maris, informing her that she would be receiving this document either tomorrow or the day after at the latest. She’s in the boonies, on the outskirts of nowhere, but she assured me that the parcel carriers deliver.”
Without invitation he sat down on an upholstered love seat and spread his arms along the back of it, a study in nonchalance. Lookin
g through the windows behind the attorney’s desk, he remarked, “You know, Howard, I don’t know what you did to rate this office. It’s got an incredible view.”
His cavalier attitude was calculated to distract Bancroft from the business at hand. But he knew from experience that the little Jew was no pushover. His wizened appearance added a decade to his age. He stood five feet five inches tall in elevated shoes. He had a bald, pointed head with a distinct knob on the crown. He favored wide suspenders and wore them with tweed trousers regardless of the season. On his nose were perched small round reading glasses. Howard Bancroft looked like a gnome. Or exactly what he was—a shrewd legal mind.
“Is the document ready?” Noah asked, even though the referenced document was lying in plain view on the lawyer’s desk.
“It’s ready,” Bancroft replied.
“Thank you for preparing it so expediently.”
Noah leaned forward and reached for the document, but Bancroft laid his heavily veined and spotted hand on it. “Not so fast, Noah. I’m unwilling to let you have this today.”
“Why’s that?”
“I followed your directives and drew up the document as you requested, but… May I be candid?”
“That would save time.”
“I was reluctant to write the document as you specified. Its content is troubling.”
The lawyer removed his glasses and began polishing them with a large white handkerchief he’d taken from his pants pocket. Shaking it out, it looked to Noah as though he were waving a flag of surrender, which he might just as well do. Howard Bancroft could not win this fight.
“Oh? How is it troubling?” Noah gave his voice just enough edge to caution the attorney that Noah’s reasons for requesting the document were not open for discussion. They weren’t even to be questioned. Bancroft, however, did not take the hint.
“You’re certain that Maris approves of this?”
“I made the request on her behalf, Howard.”
“Why does she feel that such a document is necessary?”
“You know as I do, as Maris does, that publishing isn’t the gentleman’s cottage industry it was a century ago. It’s gone cutthroat like everything else. If you stand still in this marketplace, you’d just as well be backing up. If you’re merely maintaining the status quo, your competitors will pass you by, and before you can blink, you’re in last place. We don’t want Matherly Press to be choking on the heel dust of the others, do we?”