Prime Time

by Sandra Brown

  “Because I love you.”

  “You said that last night, but this morning you were ready to murder me when you thought I’d tell someone about your father.”

  “Harry …?” the mother said again with rising panic.

  “Look at the duckies,” the father said to his daughter, who was intrigued by this scene, which was better than anything she’d seen on television.

  “It was conditioned reflex, Andy. I didn’t trust women after what Jerri did. I didn’t like women any more. I’d use them, yes, but not like them. Can you imagine the kick in the gut it was for me to realize I loved you? Gracie was all too eager to point out my stupidity.”

  “I wonder who Jerry and Gracie are?” asked one of the airmen.

  “Shhh,” said one of the blue-haired ladies.

  “Is Jerry a guy or a girl?” whispered the other airman to his friend.

  “I’m not sure I want to know. He said he didn’t like women anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Andy asked tremulously.

  “That you wouldn’t have left the tapes with me if you’d ever intended to harm my father. That you didn’t lie to me about wanting a simple story about his life just before his death. That it was Les I should be angry with and not you.”

  “Les?” the mother asked. “I thought his name was Jerry.”

  “Shhh,” said the father.

  “I quit my job today, Lyon.”

  He reached out and took her hand. His thumb massaged the palm. “Why?”

  “I could never be objective about the story after I met you. My heart wasn’t in it, and Les knew it. I tried to deny it, but he was right.” She sighed. “You and your father came to mean more to me than any story.”

  “Since you quit, what were you going to do?”

  She shrugged. “I thought I’d go to Mexico somewhere and lie on the beach until I’d sorted it all out.”

  “I like Mexico and the beach,” he said quietly. He kissed the palm of her hand then lay it against his cheek.

  “You do?” she asked in a thin voice.

  “Perfect place for a honeymoon.”

  “I see the moon,” the little girl chimed.

  “Honeymoon?” Andy parroted.

  “And the moon sees me.”

  “Will you marry me, Andy?”

  “Marry you?”

  “Can’t you hear the man, young woman? He’s asked you to marry him. Now answer him so we can all get off this boat.”

  Andy stared at the elderly lady who had issued the order. Then she surveyed all the eager faces that were staring at her and Lyon. She looked into his expectant face and smiled. “Yes.”

  “You are a beast,” she murmured against the warm skin of his shoulder. “I’m almost afraid to go out in public with you.”

  “Why is that?” He stretched beside her, his long legs tangling with hers.

  “Every time we’re in public, you embarrass me. First in Gabe’s when you told me to take a certain part of my anatomy back to Nashville and—”

  “A delectable part of your anatomy, I might add,” he said, patting the smooth curve of her hips.

  “Then that night on the river in front of all those—”

  “Drunkards.”

  “And now tonight. Whatever possessed you to propose like that?”

  “There’s safety in numbers. I was afraid you’d turn me down if I asked you nicely.”

  “I should have slapped your face.”

  “But you didn’t. I think deep down you have the soul of a hussy.” Before she could offer a rejoinder, he was kissing her mouth with a fervor that threatened to give proof to his words.

  She curled against him, thrilling to the touch of his naked flesh along her body. A small laugh starting in her chest gained force until it broke through her lips. “I was just thinking about what Gabe Sanders said about you.”

  “And?”

  “He said you were likely to do what you damn well pleased.”

  “Did he now?” he drawled, tilting her lips up for another long, deep kiss.

  They had returned to her hotel room as soon as they could push their way through the curious crowd that disembarked from the barge. The moment he closed the door behind them, he caught her in his arms and said gravely, “Andy, I love you. Don’t ever leave me. Marry me.”

  “I love you, too, Lyon. I want so badly to marry you.”

  “Children?”

  “A man once told me that it was a dreadful waste that I hadn’t had children before.”

  He smiled, his eyes loving her face as it was turned up to his. He cupped it between his palms. “I love the woman you are.”

  “Less than a week ago you didn’t think I was too much of a woman.”

  “I thought so all along. I just didn’t want you to know I did. You scared hell out of me.”

  “Scared you? How?”

  “Because I was so sure about everything. I thought I had my life just the way I wanted it, set apart from everyone. I wanted no commitments and no responsibilities. I certainly didn’t want anyone to love me, because that would mean loving her back, and I didn’t want to take the risk.”

  His finger ironed out the crease of her worried frown. “You came along and knocked the slats out from under me. I wanted you from the first time I saw you. Carnal lust. Pure and simple. Then when I saw how you were with Dad and how vulnerable you looked that day we got caught in the rain, I started loving you. I wanted to hate you for reducing me to such a lowly state. But I couldn’t. When I had finally driven you away for good, I came to my senses. I had to come after you, praying that you’d have me.”

  “I’ll have you. Now and always,” she said with trembling lips. “I had given up hope of having a life with a man I loved. My first marriage was such a disappointment. I was convinced I was cut out for a career, not a home, family. I want to share your life, Lyon, be your partner in everything.”

  “I meant what I said earlier about a television station. If you want to continue working, that’s okay with me.”

  “I’ll think about it on a part-time basis. I may miss it after a while.”

  “You’re too good at it to give it up completely. For all my implications to the contrary, I do recognize your professionalism, your talent.”

  “Thank you for saying so. But I hope you never stop thinking of me as a sex object.”

  “You can count on that.”

  The wide, cool bed received them, and now, an hour later, they were still rejoicing in their professions of love.

  “How did you find me?” she asked lazily.

  “I called Telex and asked for your next of kin. They gave me your mother’s telephone number. I called, introduced myself charmingly and told her I was her future son-in-law, but that I’d misplaced my bride. She was the happy bearer of the news that you had called her from here and that you were planning a trip to Mexico and that I’d better hurry if I intended to catch you in time. I think, Ms. Malone, that she wants to marry you off.”

  “I guess that long-distance call to my mother this afternoon was worth every penny … Oh, Lyon … you have such a talent for changing the … the subject.”

  His hand had been lovingly, playfully caressing her breast, plumping it in his hand. A mischievous thumb skated over the dusky nipple, and he watched with a mixture of wonder and delight when it peaked with arousal. It was a temptation not to be denied. He touched it with his tongue.

  “You taste so good,” he said. The sudden greediness that seized him told her more than did his words. She was drawn into the sweet, wet vise of his mouth.

  She arched against him. “Lyon—”

  The telephone rang. His vicious curse bounced off the walls. She reached for the phone.

  “Don’t answer.”

  “I have to, Lyon. I can’t let a telephone ring.”

  He groaned, but didn’t stop her from bringing the telephone to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Hi, sweet baby, whacha doin’?”

  “L
es!” she exclaimed. She was too shocked by the sound of the last voice she expected to hear to notice that Lyon didn’t seemed surprised by the identity of the caller. Nor did his mouth stop its meandering caress across her stomach. “What … how … why are you calling?”

  “Haven’t I always told you never to answer a question with another question? You didn’t learn one damn thing in all those years. Anyway”—he sighed resignedly—“I couldn’t reach Lyon, so I tracked you down to give him a message. Somehow I get the feeling you’ll be seeing him soon.”

  She glanced down at Lyon’s dark head, which was making steady progress down her chest and taking love bites all along the route. “What mess—” She cleared her throat. Lyon was nibbling at a rib. “What message?”

  “Tell him that was a helluva generous thing he did to send those tapes to the network. He forged my name on the covering letter, but I forgive him. Those tapes landed me a job! I’ll be in my new office overlooking sooty ol’ New York in two weeks, baby.”

  “He did that?” she asked on a high note. She tangled her fingers in Lyon’s hair and tried to lever his head off her stomach, but despite the pain she must be causing, he refused to comply. “What was in this … ahhh … Ly … forged covering letter?”

  “What was that, Andy? Say, are you all right? You sound kinda weird.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she gasped out. An ardent mouth had returned to her breast. “The covering letter …?”

  “Oh, it said that regrettably you weren’t available, that you were leaving the business for a while to get married, but that I would consider a post as an assistant producer for their evening news show. By God, they hired me!”

  “That’s wonderful, Les. Oh, L-Lyon … that’s wonderful.” The telephone receiver fell from her hand. Lyon picked it up.

  “Andy, Andy? What’s going on? Are you—”

  “Congratulations on your new job, Les. Andy can’t talk anymore right now. She’s busy writhing in ecstasy. She’ll call you back—in a year or two.”

  More Sandra Brown!

  Please turn this page for a bonus excerpt from

  TEMPEST IN EDEN

  available wherever books are sold.

  This is a cabin in the woods?” Shay Morrison muttered to herself as she slowed her compact car to a halt in front of a two-story dwelling. Situated atop a gentle rise, the structure had a rough timber exterior but was otherwise far from rustic.

  Shay pushed open the car door and got out, regarding the acreage surrounding the house with appreciation. Virginally green with the first buds of summer, the forested landscape was breathtaking. At least her mother hadn’t exaggerated about that.

  Shay smiled, remembering the conversations with her mother just two days before. “But, Shay, you must come. He’s dying to meet you.”

  “And I’m dying to meet the man who hustled you to the altar,” Shay had said. She hadn’t been notified of her mother’s marriage until after the fact and couldn’t keep from ribbing her mother for marrying so hastily after having been a widow for seven years. “What was the rush? You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

  She heard her mother’s familiar, resigned sigh. “Shame on you, Shay. When will you learn to speak like a lady?”

  “When not being one stops being so much fun.” She had laughed lightly.

  “I know I should have told you about the wedding, but … well, everything happened so fast. There we were sitting in John’s son’s house, sipping coffee, and the next minute we were reciting the vows.” Her mother sighed blissfully in remembrance. “We made up our minds and acted on the decision immediately. It was so romantic.”

  “I’m sure it was, and I’m glad for you,” Shay said sincerely.

  “You will join us this weekend, won’t you? John is so looking forward to meeting you.”

  Shay nervously twisted the telephone cord. It wasn’t that she really minded her mother marrying again. Celia Morrison had been alone too long. After having been happily married to Shay’s father for twenty-seven years, his death had been a hard blow. John Douglas had been described to Shay as a retired businessman who was interesting, fun, handsome, and deliriously in love with her mother. Of course, that had been her mother’s assessment.

  “I don’t know, Mother. You’re barely out of the honeymoon stage and—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We really do want you to spend the weekend with us or else we wouldn’t have invited you. Please, Shay. It’s very important to me to unite my new family.”

  A weekend in a cabin sounded a bit lame to someone with Shay’s zest for life, but she supposed she could make this one concession to her only parent. It might not be full of fun, but she could get some well-earned rest. “Where and when?” she asked.

  “Oh, how marvelous,” Celia cried enthusiastically. She gave Shay directions to the cabin near Kent Falls in western Connecticut. Shay insisted she drive her own car rather than take the train. She didn’t want to have to rely on train schedules to make a speedy escape should the boredom of the weekend induce her to leave before Sunday afternoon.

  “The countryside is lovely. Wait until you see the cabin,” Celia gushed.

  Shay glanced at her watch and realized she would be late for a sitting if she didn’t hurry. “I’ll be there sometime Friday evening if I can get off work Saturday. That’s customarily a busy day at the gallery.”

  “I’m sure you can arrange it if you explain the circumstances to Mr. Vandiveer. We’ll have such fun. I can’t wait for you to meet Ian.”

  “Ian?” Oh, please, no, Shay groaned to herself. “The son?”

  “Why, of course. This is the joining of two families, remember?”

  Terrific. A whole weekend in a remote cabin in the woods with an older couple acting like silly adolescents in the throes of first love and a new stepbrother who probably wouldn’t be any more enthusiastic about the arrangement than she was. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m posing for a photographer this afternoon.”

  “An artist?”

  “No. Very commercial this time. Legs only. An ad for a lady’s razor.”

  “Oh.”

  Celia kept it no secret that she sometimes felt uneasy about her daughter’s profession. Before she could launch into an interrogation, Shay said, “I’ll see you Friday. Bye, Mom.”

  Now Friday afternoon found Shay climbing up the wooden steps to the wide front porch of the cabin, a weekend hideaway belonging to her mother’s new husband. The legs that had been photographed au naturel only a few days before were now encased in tight-fitting jeans that molded to her figure. They hugged her shapely calves and enhanced the length and form of her thighs.

  The front door of the house had a note tacked to it: “Go on in. John and I buying groceries. Back soon.”

  Shay was surprised when she tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. Apparently there were still places in rural America where people felt at ease about leaving their houses unsecured.

  The door opened onto a room that ran the width of the house. Cozy and homey, it offered several couches and chairs to curl up in, a stone fireplace, uncovered windows with a panoramic view, throw rugs on a polished oak floor, vases of fresh flowers placed strategically on tables and shelves, and countless books and records stored in floor-to-ceiling shelves. Shay was impressed as she closed the door behind her.

  Making a cursory inspection of the lower floor, she saw a friendly kitchen that was thoroughly modern but quaint in design, a dining room with a long maple table and captain’s chairs, and a storage pantry with a washing machine and dryer.

  “John doesn’t believe in roughing it,” she said to herself as she returned to the living room and climbed the stairs to the second story. Directly in front of her as she stepped onto the landing was a wide window with a spectacular view of the gently rolling countryside. On either side of the stairs were doors leading to bedrooms. Another note almost exactly like the one on the front door was tacked to one of these: “Shay’s room.”

  “Mo
ther thinks of everything.” Pushing open the door to the bedroom, she got only a flashing first glance at the brass headboard with white porcelain knobs, the apple-green quilted comforter over the white eyelet dust ruffle, the white wicker rocking chair, and the cheery lace curtains at two windows before she was brought to attention by loud singing coming from an adjoining bathroom.

  The masculine voice was singing an innovative rendition of a Beach Boys song. Shay laughed out loud. The voice was singing all the parts from the lowest bass to the highest falsetto. Every once in a while he threw in a ba-da-da-da to emulate drums. He was accompanied by the pulsing rhythm of the shower’s spray.

  “Hello,” Shay called out, wanting to alert the shower-taker that he wasn’t alone and that he had left the door to her bedroom open. The song continued even as the water was shut off. Shay heard the click of the shower door being swung wide. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words passed her lips. She stared in speechless awe as a long, muscled leg extended out of the shower stall. A foot, well-shaped with a high arch, groped for the bath mat before standing firmly on it. A lean body followed the foot. A sinewy arm and a hand that conveyed both sensitivity and strength dragged a towel from the bar on the shower door.

  Shay rushed across the room, intending to shut the door before the man saw her. He was now singing into the towel as he vigorously rubbed his head with it. Momentarily, almost involuntarily, she indulged herself in a view of the naked male form in all its splendor.

  Wide shoulders and chest tapered to a slender waist and narrow hips. Water ran down the magnificent torso in crystal rivulets that called attention to the texture and hue of his tanned skin. Droplets beaded on dark, curling hair that matted the deep chest and halved the flat stomach with a ribbon of black satin. The muscles of his back rippled smoothly as he moved. His legs were bunched with hard, sleek muscles. Taut buttocks tightened as he leaned forward over the basin to peer at his reflection in the mirror. He slung the towel haphazardly around his neck and ran slender fingers through his mop of wet black hair.

  Then he saw her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was rapt, her lips slightly parted, her brown eyes wide with admiration.