Connor finished the final swallow of beer. "I'm OK on my own," he said. "Thanks. I'll let you know if I change my mind."
"You want Erin all to yourself, huh?"
Connor ignored his younger brother's taunting with the ease of long practice. "Would you guys contact Seth and Raine about Novak?"
"I'm on it," Sean said promptly.
"I'll go get to work on this info," Davy said. "Get some sleep, Connor. You look beat. Crash here, and I'll give you the rundown over breakfast. The bed's already made up for you on the side porch."
"Thanks." He got to his feet and stared at his brothers, struck by the bizarre urge to say something sentimental to them.
Sean read it in his eyes, took pity on him, and headed him off. "Get a goddamn haircut if you're looking to get laid, Con."
Connor winced. "You are such a pig."
"Sure, but at least I look good," was Sean's parting shot.
Connor flopped onto the bed, staring out at the mass of tree branches that swayed outside the glassed-in side porch. The chair next to the bed had a towel, washcloth, and a pair of Davy's folded sweats lying on it, presumably for him to sleep in. He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. He closed his eyes, and his photographic memory promptly served up the image of Erin puttering around in her kitchen, her sweet, curvy body delicious in the faded jeans and T-shirt.
Fresh fodder for his sexual imagination. He'd fantasized about sneaking into her bedroom at Ed and Barbara's house for years. He'd imagined himself, a big, blundering bull in that feminine world of ruffles and lace, puffy pillows, perfume bottles, lingerie. And Erin, backing up toward her bed, her eyes heavy with excitement as he locked the door.
That fantasy had infinite variations, all of them red hot and X-rated, but tonight the setting changed by itself, unguided by his conscious mind. The ultra-femme bedroom of his fantasies gave way to the crowded studio apartment in the Kinsdale. Painfully neat and organized, the braided rug brightening up the scarred linoleum floor, the crazy quilt covering the narrow cot. Heaps of books piled against the wall. Alphabetized, for God's sake. How cute. Every detail lit by the patterned glow of the basket lamp and charged with erotic heat.
The Kinsdale room didn't make him feel clumsy and alien like the fantasy bedroom did, but it was even more alluring, because Erin was all over it. Her practicality and tidiness, her whimsical sense of humor, her refusal to give in to self-pity. Bright colors, indomitable spirit. That room was sexier than any place he could have dreamed up on his own.
He buried his face in the coarse wool army blanket and let the fantasy unfold. He kissed the salty tears off her cheeks, and she opened and clung to him as he devoured her tender mouth. He knelt down and nuzzled the warmth of that velvety strip of skin between the T-shirt and the waistband of her jeans that had so tantalized him tonight. He popped the buttons of the jeans open and tongued her navel as he dragged those jeans and panties down over her curvy hips, her round ass. Slowly, inch by precious inch, reveling in her hot female smell: baby powder and flower petal and ocean salt. He breathed it, in big, greedy gulps. He peeled every scrap of clothing away until she was naked, arms held out to him, her eyes soft with trust.
Yeah. Trust. He shoved away the derisive voices in his head. This was his fantasy, and he'd run it how he damn well pleased.
She trembled as he put his arms around her from behind and explored the exquisite, plump fullness of her breasts. Vivid details were imprinted in his mind as if they were memories, not fantasies. Her nipples puckered against his hand, tender buttons of flesh aching to be tongued and suckled. Her hair clip pulled loose, and her glossy hair tumbled and slid across her shoulders like a swath of dark satin.
He slid his hand over the rounded swell of her belly, delving into her dark thatch, searching for hidden treasure in the wet, secret heat of her cleft. She tightened around his fingers and flung her head back against his shoulder, squirming and whimpering with pleasure.
He pushed her down onto the bed and pushed her soft thighs until they sprawled apart. He cupped her rosy ass cheeks, kissed and tongued the folds and hollows between her legs, the electric fuzz of dark hair. He opened her like a dripping fruit with his tongue, sliding it along the glistening, succulent folds of her labia, wallowing in her colors and flavors. Lazy and slow, taking his time. Suckling her clit, flicking and lashing it with his tongue. He would bury his head between her thighs and thrust his tongue deep. He would make her buck and writhe and press her cunt against his face, until she jerked and sobbed and came.
And then he would do it all again.
Usually he finished himself off with the next logical step; clambering over her damp body and shoving himself into her quivering depths, sliding deeper and slicker with each thrust until his orgasm thundered through him. Tonight, he didn't get that far. He came along with her imagined orgasm, the pillow muffling his cry as he spurted into the washcloth. He pressed his face against the pillow, breath heaving.
When he lifted his head, he was startled to find his face wet with tears. That was weird. He wiped his cheek and stared at his wet hand for over a minute, but he was too tired to be overly freaked out about it.
He cleaned up in the back bathroom, dragged the blanket over himself and sank like a stone into real, honest-to-God sleep.
Chapter Four
"Sure, I can drop by and take care of kitty. No problem," Tonia said. "I have to come by really early, though. That OK?"
"Sure. I always wake up at the crack of dawn anyway when I have to catch a plane. Thank you so much, Tonia. You're an angel."
"I know. Get some sleep, chica. You have to look gorgeous for the zillionaire. I'm so excited that you're finally meeting him. 'Night, then. See you bright and early tomorrow morning."
Erin hung up, crossed Call Tonia to feed Edna off the To Do list, and proceeded to pace around the room like a caged animal. Every dish was washed, every crumb wiped up, every doable item on the To Do list was crossed off, except for Pack, which rated its own separate list.
Her rolling carry-on was small, so she'd been forced to eliminate several items, the latest of which was the little black dress she'd thought to take in case Claude Mueller proved to be interesting. For some reason, the brief, devastating encounter with Connor had taken all the fizz out of that possibility. As long as she had this stupid crush on him, every man she met would suffer by comparison.
Not that she hadn't tried. With Bradley, years before.
Something tightened up inside at the thought of Bradley. Ouch. Cancel that thought. If there was a fancy meal, she would wear her black pants and her silk blouse. Neat and sensible, and no chance that anyone could think she was hoping to attract romantic attention. She had no stomach for it. Which left room for the sewing kit, which she hated to leave. You always needed a sewing kit when you didn't bring one.
She was climbing the walls. She needed to laugh, or cry, but if she started crying she might never stop. She needed sleep, so she could wow them with her professional fabulousness. She needed to stop thinking about the way Connor could melt her into a puddle of terrified yearning with one exquisitely gentle hug.
She needed distraction. Packing and neatening were not enough. She'd promised Mom that she would call Cindy tonight. Now there was a worthy problem. She had to save Cindy's future from being derailed.
She dialed the group house where Cindy lived with her college girlfriends in Endicott Falls. "Hello?" responded a breathy voice.
"Hi. Victoria, right? It's Erin, Cindy's sister. Is she there?"
"No, she's down in the city with Billy," Victoria told her.
"Billy?" Erin's stomach fluttered with unease. "Who's Billy?"
"Oh, he's her new boyfriend. He's a really cool guy, Erin. Don't worry, you'll like him. He's, like, totally hot."
"What's she doing in the city? Don't you guys have finals?"
Victoria hesitated. "Um, I don't know Cindy's exam schedule," she hedged, uncomfortable. "But I'll tell her to call you when she ge
ts back. Or you could try her cell phone."
"Cell phone? Since when does Cindy have a cell phone?"
"Billy gave it to her," Victoria bubbled. "He's so cool. He gives her designer clothes, too. He drives a Jag, and Caitlin told me that Cindy told her that it's not the only awesome car he's got. Plus, he's got a—"
"Victoria. Would you please give me Cindy's cell phone number?"
"Sure. It's right here on the message board."
Erin wrote it down with white-knuckled fingers. She barely heard herself as she thanked Victoria and got off the phone. She sat there on the bed, trying to reason away the dread that sat inside her like a cold stone. She was just spooked, she told herself. This news about Novak, the strange scene with Mom, the unsettling episode with Connor, it had thrown her off balance, and she was seeing everything as sinister. There was no reason to panic yet. Maybe this Billy was a perfectly nice guy.
Uh-huh. Sure. A perfectly nice guy who happened to drive a Jaguar. Who showered a nineteen-year-old girl with expensive clothes and electronic toys and lured her away from school during finals week.
It was strange. It was scary. It stank.
Her parents' reasoning behind encouraging Cindy to go to a private college in the small town of Endicott Falls was in the hopes that she would have more guidance and supervision than she might find in a big, sprawling public university. The thoughtless, impressionable Cindy was so eager to be liked. Willing to be led anywhere, just to be cool. The opposite of her shy, cautious older sister. And so pretty, too. Much prettier than Erin. Walking bait. Erin already hated Billy and his Jag. She hated him more with every number she pressed.
She was startled when the phone actually rang.
"Hello?" said Cindy's bright voice.
"Hi, Cindy. It's Erin."
"Oh. Um… hi. How did you get this number?"
Erin gritted her teeth. "Victoria gave it to me."
"What a ditz. I'm gonna have to kill her."
Her breezy tone put Erin's nerves on edge. "Why wouldn't you want me to have it, Cindy?"
"Don't even start," Cindy said, giggling. "You're such a little old lady. I didn't want you to worry, that's all."
"Worry about what?" Erin's voice was getting sharper.
"About me staying in the city with Billy for a while."
"Staying where, Cin?"
Cindy ignored her question. "I was going nuts in that sleepy town. Nobody does anything but study during exam week, so I—"
"What about your exams?" Erin burst out. "Why aren't you studying, too? Your scholarship was contingent on keeping your GPA—"
"See? I told you. This is why I didn't call. I knew you'd get all self-righteous on me. Billy offered to take me—"
"Who is this Billy?" she demanded. "Where did you meet him?"
"Billy is great," Cindy snapped. "He's the best thing that's happened in my shitty life since Dad got thrown in jail. I'm just taking a break from that tight-ass place and having some fun—"
"Cin, what kind of fun?" Her voice was a nervous squeak.
Cindy giggled. It was a trilling, mindless sound, so unlike her normal laughter that it made Erin's flesh creep. "Like, please," she said. "As if you'd know what fun was if it pinched you on the butt. Take a chill pill, Erin. I'm with Billy. I'm safe, I'm fine. I'm over the moon."
Erin was bewildered by the wall that had suddenly risen up between her and her sister. "Cin, we have to talk. We've got to figure out how you can stay in school. Your scholarship—"
"Oh, don't worry." Cindy giggled again. "My financial problems are at an end. That scholarship is, like, so minor, Erin."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Panic was clutching at her chest, making her heart pound. "Cindy, you can't just—"
"Don't get your panties in a wad. There are lots of ways to make money. More than I ever thought, and Billy is showing me how to—huh? What? Oh… yeah, totally. Billy says to tell you that college is overrated. A big fat waste of time and money. Who cares about Chaucer or counterpoint or Freud or the Industrial Revolution, anyhow? I mean, like, get real. It's all just theory. Life is to be lived. In the moment."
"Cindy, you're scaring me to death."
"Relax already. I'm just trying my wings. It's so normal. Just because you never wanted to party doesn't mean I can't, does it? Don't say anything to Mom, though, OK? She'd go ballistic for sure."
"Listen, I need to talk to you about Mom, too—"
" 'Bye, Erin. Don't call me, I'll call you. And don't worry! Everything will be totally cool." The connection abruptly broke.
Erin redialed the number. The prerecorded message informed her that the party she was trying to call was unreachable.
Like she didn't already know.
She slammed the phone down and curled up on her bed. She fished the matchbook that had Connor's phone number written on it out of her pocket, and stared at it.
Anything happens, anything at all, call me, he'd said. Promise me.
She was so tempted to call him and sob out all her problems to him. He was so warm and strong. He beckoned like a lighthouse in a storm. She wiped tears angrily away. Not an option. Connor was the last person she should turn to for help. No matter how terrified she felt.
Oh, Christ. There were at least a dozen big, scary-looking vitamin pills lying on the table next to a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice when Connor stumbled out of the back bathroom in the morning. Davy had the imperturbable macho-zen act down to a high art, but he still insisted on treating his younger brother like a goddamned invalid.
Davy glanced at him, jerked his head toward the vitamins, and narrowed his eyes, as if to say, Don't even think of struggling.
"I start with coffee, not orange juice," Connor grumbled.
"This is my house. I am boss in my house. If you swallow them all down without giving me any shit, I will give you some coffee," Davy said. "And then we'll go over the Mueller stuff."
That snapped his mind to instant alertness. "Find anything interesting?"
Davy gave him an oblique look. "Want some breakfast?"
Connor yawned. "Hell, yes." His stomach was groaning.
Davy blinked. "I'll be damned. I'll go put on some eggs and ham for you. Two eggs or three?"
"Four," Connor said.
A grin split Davy's stern face. He vanished into the kitchen.
Connor was frowning at a weird transparent amber pill when Sean wandered out onto the porch. "What is this crap?" he asked plaintively. "It looks like a congealed glob of oil."
"It is a congealed glob of oil, you ignorant slob. Four hundred ECU of vitamin E in a gel capsule. Good for skin, nails, hair, and scar tissue. Take it. You need all the help you can get." Sean placed a mug of coffee in front of him. "Davy says if the pills are gone, you can drink this."
Connor studied his brother's sartorial splendor with wondering eyes. Sean always looked well-groomed, even when he just rolled out of bed. Some recessive gene that Connor had utterly failed to inherit.
Sean was decked out in a wine-red sweater that showed off all his muscles. Tight designer jeans. Hair mussed into perfect stylish disorder. A whiff of expensive aftershave drifted over and assailed Connor's nose.
He closed his eyes against Sean's blinding glory and swallowed down the gummy capsule. "What are you still doing here?"
Sean grimaced. "Woman trouble. Julia is camping out in her car in front of my condo. I told her from the start not to get all intense on me, that I'm not looking to commit right now. Didn't work. Never does. So I figured if I don't come home till morning for a few nights, she'll figure I'm boffing someone else and get a clue."
"You slut," Connor said. "Someday you'll pay up, big time." He picked up the last vitamin, a big, yellowish brown pill. "This is the one that makes your piss turn chartreuse, right?"
Sean glanced over at it. "That's the one. B complex. Great stuff."
"It looks like a rabbit pellet," Connor complained. "And it smells like horseshit. Why do you guys t
orture me with this crap?"
"Because we love you, asshole. Shut up and eat the pill."
Connor froze, startled by the edge in Sean's voice. Sean stared out at the water. A muscle twitched in his sharp, clean-shaven jaw.
For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the depths of his brothers' worry for him, and a hot ache swelled up in his throat He covered by shoving the evil-smelling pill into his mouth, and choking it down with a gulp of coffee. "Jesus. I've got yellow skid marks on my esophagus."
"Suffer," was Sean's succinct rejoinder.
They sipped their coffee. This tense, meaningful silence was too much for him to take first thing in the morning. He had to knock it down to the level of bullshit banter, so they could both breathe again.
"So, uh… Julia," he ventured "Is she the aerobics instructor with thighs like a vise?"
Sean seized onto the change of subject with evident relief. "Hell, no. That was Jill. You missed Kelsey, Rose and Caroline."
"Ah. I see," Connor murmured. "So what's with this Julia?"
Sean winced. "Curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, five-inch heels. I met her at a club a few weeks ago. It was fun for a while, and then bam, out of nowhere, she mutates into this gigantic bloodsucking insect."
Connor winced. "Shit. I hate it when that happens."
"Me, too. Lurking in the dark outside my condo all night, brrr. Creeps me out. Next thing I know, she'll be boiling my bunny."
Connor made sympathetic sounds. "Sounds painful."
The screen door flew open, kicked by Davy's massive booted foot. He laid two plates before his brother. Thick slabs of grilled ham, a heap of scrambled eggs full of melted cheddar. Four pieces of toast, dripping with butter. A pile of fresh honeydew, cantaloupe, and pineapple chunks with a big scoop of cottage cheese perched on top.
Connor blinked. "Whoa. So, uh… where's my damask napkin and my lemon-scented finger bowl?"
Davy shrugged, unembarrassed. "You need protein."
No arguing with that. He dove in, ignoring his rapt audience. A few minutes later, he pushed back two highly polished plates. "Let me have it," he said. "What's up with Claude Mueller?"
Davy flipped open a manila folder full of computer printouts. "There's not as much as I would've expected, for such a rich guy," he said. "Born in Brussels in '61. Mother Belgian, father Swiss, a big shot industrialist. Outrageously wealthy. Claude was sickly as a child, suffers from some weird form of hemophilia, now more or less under control. A reclusive loner type. He studied art and architecture at the Sorbonne from '80 to '83 and then gave it up due to ill health. In 1989, his parents were killed in a car accident. Claude was the sole heir to a fortune of around a half billion or so."
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