Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "And you lived happily ever after."

  Robyn moved toward the curtained windows. She felt much like an actress playing a part. "Not exactly. We were so naive. We believed because we loved each other every problem could be solved."

  "It didn’t work out."

  "It’s not what you’re thinking. We were so poor. We had no money at all. Getting jobs with no experience was impossible. Cameron joined the navy and had al­lotments sent to me. It made it easier for us both. When his ship was going to sail I went to San Diego for a week. We called it our honeymoon." She smiled exactly as she’d been cued to do. "On our last day there, he saw me off at the airport. On the bus back to the base, he died. Apparently, he had an embolism. The doctors said it was a blood clot too large to pass through a vessel in the brain."

  "I’m sorry." Grant sat fully up in the bed.

  "It’s all right," she said turning to him. "I’ve come to terms with his death." She paused a moment. "Which is more than you’ve done." His gaze narrowed as he stared at her. "You keep Robyn alive. You and your friends."

  Grant left the bed, pulling his pants on and coming to stand in front of her. Robyn could hardly stand not putting her hands on his muscular chest and outlining the clearly defined sections of his torso.

  "When David and I went to get the drinks, you and Susan were deeply engaged in conversation for a long time. And later, you disappeared with David. What did they say?"

  "Susan was concerned that I could hurt you. And David told me about your life since you lost your wife."

  "I see," he let the words out with a heavy breath of air.

  "I apologize for their actions. They—"

  "You don’t have to apologize for them," she inter­rupted. "They’re loyal, and they love you. They don’t know anything about me except suddenly you’re show­ing an interest in another woman, a woman they didn’t pick and choose for you. I guess they want to make sure you’re protected."

  "I don’t need their protection."

  "Of course, you do. Everyone needs someone’s pro­tection. Before David met Susan, didn’t you scrutinize every woman he saw?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Men are no different from women. We all want the one we love to like our friends. And have our friends like them. It’s very important."

  "I suppose you’re right. I just never thought of it that way before."

  "What about when you married Robyn. Weren’t you pleased David liked her and she liked him?"

  "I was more than pleased. David told me Robyn was like the sister he’d never had. When she died, he was almost as broken up as I was. I guess that’s why it seems like she’s still alive. Would you want your friends to forget you if you died?"

  "I wouldn’t want to be forgotten, but I’d want them to go on with their lives. I’d want them to live in the present, not the past."

  "You think I’m living in the past, that I’m refusing to go on with my life because I never really let Robyn die?"

  Robyn didn’t know what answer she wanted to hear. "Is it true?"

  "A month ago I’d have said, no. But since I walked into that waiting room, I’m no longer sure." He stepped around Robyn, giving his full attention to the street below for several long moments. Then he turned away. "You remind me of her."

  The statement was short, but it hit her like a nuclear missile exploding in her brain. She could see her years of training and the false sense of security she’d made herself believe evaporate into a mushroom cloud of reality. David had seen the similarities in her, too, and Grant had confirmed his friend’s fear that she could hurt him by being a constant reminder of his wife.

  "It’s not your voice, or the way you look," he con­tinued. "In fact, it’s nothing I can actually see. But in some way, when I’m with you. . ." He stopped. "I know that’s an insult, and I apologize, but. . .it’s true." The last was said quietly.

  Robyn wasn’t insulted. If she and his Robyn weren’t the same woman, she would have been. But more im­portant than being insulted, she knew the danger of her situation. She couldn’t pull off this kind of cha­rade. She wasn’t a good enough actress. Sooner or later, she’d tell him who she was.

  Or he’d guess.

  She knew she had to stop. She’d known it since the beginning. And now that he was starting to recognize things in her that the identity of Brooke Johnson could not hide, she had to break off their relationship.

  "Say something. Scream, shout, throw something. But don’t subject me to your silence."

  Robyn turned around and looked in his eyes. Des­peration was reflected there. She didn’t want to leave him, even though she knew it was inevitable. She would return home, and somehow, she’d make good on her promise to Ja­cob. She wouldn’t see Grant again. But now. Just one more time, she wanted to be in his arms.

  "Take me back to bed," she said.

  Chapter 12

  She came easily. Her hands were like hot wax dripping along his shoulders as she ca­ressed him. She seemed to revel in the feel of his skin, just as he came alive under her tutelage. He could feel his muscles bunch and relax at her touch as if they were under her orchestration. She pressed her mouth to his breast. Fires of emotion rocketed through him like a G-force, pressing his body against a stress factor too strong to ignore. He’d lifted her lithe body and carried her back to the bed. He slid her to the floor, her body tracing his on its journey. She was electrified. He felt jolt after jolt of energy pass through him as his tongue paused and rested in the contours of her sensually sculpted body. Standing her on the floor, he kissed her lightly, rubbing his lips gently, caressingly over hers. Heat emanated from her in vast waves. He knew she wanted him to deepen the kiss. Her hands were frantically working in his hair and across his shoulders. But he held back. He wanted to tease her, tease himself, make her want him so badly she’d be blind with urgency when he finally took her. He could barely stand not to devour her. Then, his hands went to the buttons on the shirt she wore, his shirt. He slowly undid them. Moon-drenched skin was exposed inch by inch.

  He put his mouth to the exposure. Small whimper­ing sounds came from her as her fingernails dug into him. Lower and lower, he slid down her his hands memorizing her body and his tongue tasting her. The sound acted like an aphrodisiac, boiling his blood and driving him toward the edge. When all the buttons were released, he slipped the covering off her shoul­ders, and silently it fell to the floor. He stood back and looked at her, his eyes as hungry as his loins. She was beautiful. In the filtered-light of morning, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She didn’t appear aware of her nakedness. He discarded his pants, his erection hard and ready. He took her in his arms and lowered her to the silk sheets, joining her there.

  He tangled his hands in her hair gently pulling her to him. He fit into the well of her body as if he had been constructed for no other reason. He took her mouth with a hunger that had worked its way from deep within his belly. Tongues and lips battled each other for dominance. He rolled over on her, extending his length, feeling her softness beneath him. Then, his hands ran over her body. She was warm and pliant, and with each touch of his fingertips, he drove her into a frenzy. Finally, he spread her legs and entered her. He knew it would be wonderful. She fit tightly around him, pulling him in and releasing him only to suck his body back to hers. He tried to be gentle, but she was too hot, too ready, and too out of control, writhing beneath him.

  And, then, it happened. The soaring came suddenly and without preparation. She lifted her legs around him, and he scooped her buttocks in his hands, rock­ing her savagely. Fingernails grazed the sensitive skin of his back. He cried out at the fierce pleasure that tore through his body with widening radiation at the feel of her body taking him into it. He held on for as long as he could. The pleasure funnel spiraled upward with an ever widening vortex. He wanted the pleasure to continue forever, but finally, with one maddening cry, white heat tore through him and the night exploded. For the space of an eternity, she held him in t
hat semi-world where life begins and ends. Then, he collapsed. His breathing was ragged as he took short gulps of air, trying to fill his lungs. His body was bathed in sweat, and his limbs felt as heavy as boulders.

  What had she done to him? Never had he lost such complete control. Never had his bones turned to powder or his muscles held less substance than water. With his last ounce, of energy he rolled his weight off Brooke. He cradled her in his arms and together they slept.

  Grant’s internal clock woke him. The summer sun shone through the curtains and brightened the room. Brooke was still imprisoned in his arms. He held her tenderly as if she were an endangered species. And indeed she was, at least to him.

  He’d awakened in this room every morning for four years, but today it felt complete. This morning, Brooke was here, by his side. He smoothed the hair away from her face. She stirred, a dreamy smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  He wanted to kiss that mouth, wake her gently, slowly, ease her into the day, then make violent love to her until his name broke from her lips in shattering finality. He groaned as his body began to harden at the thoughts coursing through his mind. For a mo­ment, he hesitated, then quietly left the bed. He dressed in the guest bathroom and headed up Con­necticut Avenue at a leisurely pace. He smiled and whistled for the twenty minutes it took to reach Dupont Circle and the small Italian house of confections. The smell of sugar had his mouth watering the mo­ment he opened the door. There were people ahead of him and suddenly he was impatient. He thought of Brooke waiting for him. It was unreasonable, but sud­denly he was sorry he’d left her.

  When it was his turn, he bought muffins. They were still warm from the oven and smelled delicious. Brooke would probably be asleep when he got back. He’d make coffee and crawl back in bed with her. They could eat, read the paper, drop crumbs on the sheets, and make love. He didn’t care what they did as long as they did it together.

  The doorman touched his hat and pulled the hydraulically operated glass door open when Grant returned to his condo. Grant smiled as he passed him. He took the first elevator. At the fifth floor, he got off. Everybody in the building must have decided to go out for pastries this morning, he thought. The small room was full of smiling faces, and every button was lighted. The smell of warm bread wafted through the confined space. He’d walk the last three flights. Hold­ing the box in front of him, Grant took the steps two at a time. Waiting for the elevator to climb one floor at a time was too taxing while the woman he loved still wallowed leisurely beneath the white silk sheets of his bed. He was too excited to stay crowded in the elevator.

  "Brooke," he called, pushing the door closed behind him. His smile was wide and welcoming.

  Stopping midway through the living room, he turned around. His smile faded and was replaced with a frown. His heartbeat increased. Somehow, the apart­ment was different. Sterile was the word that came to mind. It had a hollow sound despite the gray carpet muffling his footsteps.

  "Brooke?" he called again. No reply bought her voice or her person into view. Grant went into the kitchen, then to each of the bedrooms and the den. She wasn’t in any of the rooms.

  Dropping onto the piano bench, he tried to deter­mine what had happened to the apartment. He got up and walked through the rooms again. Everything was as he had left it, almost. It was neat and clean—too neat and too clean. Brooke had cleaned the coffeepot and cup he’d left on the counter yesterday. The pot was back in its place on the stove, and the cup was neatly stored in the cabinet.

  The bed had been made, and the living room fur­niture looked polished. He lifted the flower vase on the dining room table. No dust ring was present. Then, he went to the coffee table, repeating the procedure. Again, no dust ring. It was as if the apartment had been sucked clean. Everything was in the exact place that he expected to find it, yet nothing was the same.

  And where was Brooke? Somehow he knew she was gone for good. Why hadn’t she left a note? Maybe she’d gone to Susan’s. She seemed interested in the store when he’d told her about it. Grant reached for the phone and quickly dialed the number.

  Susan hadn’t seen her.

  Where could she have gone? And why? Why did he know she wasn’t coming back? The cleanliness of the apartment told him, she wasn’t just out, she had wiped herself out of his life.

  But how could she? After the night they had spent together, didn’t she realize how much he loved her? She’d asked him to take her back to bed. And they had made love. She’d shown him how much of his life was missing. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. She couldn’t disappear from his life.

  ***

  Robyn didn’t know how she got there, but sud­denly, she found herself in front of 1651 Gayle Street. She smiled at the pregnant woman working in the garden. Her old house looked happy. A young couple, probably having their first baby, lived there now. In the front yard, a young woman knelt, pulling weeds. Robyn was glad to see her taking care of the flower bed she had planted before her first anniversary. A moment earlier, a young man had left. He’d kissed his wife and reversed the Honda Civic out of the driveway with a happy smile and a wave to the woman on her knees.

  Robyn wondered if they could be moles, planted by the men searching for her? She watched the pleasant looking woman for a while. Her body, in full bloom, had a glow that shown radiantly on her oval face. Robyn decided she was all right and took the chance of crossing the street and calling out to her.

  "Hello," Robyn greeted, standing on the outside of the white picket fence that surrounded the carefully manicured lawn.

  The woman turned, shielding her face against the morning sun.

  "Good morning," she called, brushing the dirt from her knees as she approached Robyn.

  "Do you know if Susan Collins will be back soon?"

  "Susan Collins?" the woman repeated, her brow furrowing. "I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name."

  "She lives in the house next door." Robyn pointed to the white vinyl-sided ranch-style house with black shutters and window boxes spilling over with yellow and white mums.

  "We haven’t lived here very long, but Mike and Cara Evans live there."

  "Oh," Robyn managed to sound sorry and look sin­cere. "I’ve been away a long time. I used to live here and Susan was my next door neighbor. I didn’t realize she’d moved."

  "You lived here?" The woman seemed surprised. "In our house?"

  Robyn nodded. "It was a very long time ago. This is my first trip back."

  "My husband’s just gone to his office for a few hours. Why don’t you come in and have some tea with me?"

  "I couldn’t."

  "Of course, you can. I’m Jenny Bryant, and I love making tea." She pulled her gloves off and offered her hand.

  Robyn smiled. "I’m Brooke Johnson." She took the soft hand.

  "Brooke, what a wonderful name."

  Robyn couldn’t believe her luck. When she crossed the street, she had expected to talk briefly and leave. Being invited in was like grabbing the golden ring. Moments later, she found herself sitting in the spa­cious kitchen where she’d received the news of Grant’s hijacking. The walls had been yellow then. Now, they were a Wedgwood-blue. The china cup and saucer holding the steaming cup of dark liquid was blue.

  "I’m into names at the moment." Jenny rubbed her bulging stomach. "I like Brooke, but Brooke Bryant is too many B’s."

  She had to agree with that. "When is the baby due?" Robyn sipped her tea. It was bland to her taste. She always spiked hers with apple spice.

  "Three more months. But I feel like a cow."

  "You look wonderful. Enjoy the time. It’s one of the best there is."

  "You have children?"

  "Only one. A daughter. Her name is Kari."

  "How old is she?"

  "Four. Have you decided on a name?" Robyn steered the conversation away from herself.

  "Yes, I like Margaret Elizabeth if it’s a girl and War­ren Michael if it’s a boy. My husband, William, l
ikes Joann and William, Jr." Jenny frowned at her hus­band’s choice of names.

  Robyn envied them. It was something they could share. She had made the decisions alone. Grant wasn’t with her, didn’t even realize there was a child to name.

  "William is an engineer," Jenny continued. "Unfor­tunately, he had to work today. I’m sure he would have liked to meet you. He has so many questions about the house."

  "Maybe I can help answer some of them."

  "Finish your tea, and I’ll give you a tour. I’m sure you’re dying to see what’s happened to it since you left."

  "You’re right," Robyn confirmed as she obediently drained the cup.

  Jenny led her through to the living room. It was nothing like she remembered. The plantation white walls were gone, replaced by a pale yellow that picked up the scheme in the multicolored sofa. On the walls hung several paintings which looked of the variety you find in any department store’s glass and mirror sec­tion. They did coordinate the room and make it warm and cozy.

  One of the walls in the dining room had been pulled out and in its place a glass door led out to the patio with brightly colored chairs surrounding an umbrella table. Robyn liked it. It gave the small room air and a sense of additional space. She had entertained Susan and David there often.

  Grant’s den which had built-in bookcases and a case for his collection of airplanes, was now filled with engineering books. Now, a drafting table sat in one corner, and the posters of airplanes that he’d hung on the walls had been replaced with photographs of bridges and tunnels.

  Robyn’s eyes misted over but she blinked them away. Jenny led her up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Here, everything was as she had left it that April morning five years ago. A gentle breeze floated through the windows, blowing the white sheers into the room.