by Lisa Hendrix
It was all Mason could do to remember to reach for one of the condoms in the drawer, and rolling off of Raine long enough to get the damned thing on almost cost him his sanity. She wasn’t helping any, either, with the way she squirmed beside him, hands dancing over his skin, urging him to hurry, but he finally got it, and then he was back in her arms, moving with her, pressing her deep into the mattress. The vague knowledge that he should take his time, make it sweet, was lost in the overpowering fact of his need. He drove deep into her, laying claim to her in the most primal way.
A cry of pain and pleasure ripped from her throat. The word virgin flickered through Mason’s brain, but before he could get his mind around it, she’d hooked her heels behind his thighs and pulled him deeper. The question vanished in the erotic grind of her hips against his, and within moments he was lost in her all over again.
Raine’s release came hard and suddenly, without any warning. One second she was trying to drive Mason over the edge, and the next, she’d gone over it herself, the surprised victim of his fingers against her nipples. Her world centered on the shock waves rippling out through her being, and she barely heard his low exclamation of delight. As the tremors subsided, she felt the change in him, as his rhythm shifted and the tension increased in his body, and she had barely regained control of her arms to gather him close when he called out her name and convulsed deep within her.
“Oh, sweetheart. Sweet, beautiful Raine.” He trailed kisses over her cheeks and eyes, and down her throat as he murmured her name. After a long time he shifted his weight off of her, but kept her in his arms. His kisses and sweet words slowly drugged her, until finally she surrendered to the darkness and the exhaustion of a long day, and sleep dragged her eyes shut. Her last conscious thought was of how much she loved this man, and what a huge mistake she’d just made.
*
The carpenters’ pounding was annoyingly persistent, thought Tish as she fought her way up from sleep. She finally woke up enough to recall that they weren’t doing any renovations these days, and that it must be someone at her door.
“Who is it?”
“Lawrence, madam. There’s a telephone call for Mr. Alexander and I can’t seem to rouse him. I thought perhaps you should take it.”
Enough sleep still fogged her brain that she thought for a moment he meant Malcolm, but no, he meant Mason.
“Just a minute.”
She quarreled briefly with a sheet that wanted to cling to her feet, but managed to get out of bed. Her robe was, as always, on the chair at her dressing table, and she slipped into it and raked a brush through her hair before she opened the door.
“Good morning, Lawrence. What do you mean you can’t rouse Mason?”
“I tried his room several times. There was no answer. It’s Mrs.—that is, Miss Lathrop. About Miss Samantha, she said.”
“Thank you, Lawrence. I’ll take it. What time is it?”
“A quarter past six, madam.”
She went to the hall phone. She’d always refused to have one of the tedious things in the bedrooms, but Malcolm had insisted on this compromise. And of course, Mason had put one into his suite when he’d moved back in, along with a line for his computer.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello, Elizabeth. Is Samantha all right?”
“Oh, Tish. Hello. I was expecting Mason. I’ve been on hold forever.”
There was no way Tish was going to apologize for taking a long time to get to the phone at this ungodly hour. “He seems to have gone missing, temporarily. He’s probably in the pool or something. What about Samantha?”
“She’s fine. You’ll see for yourself in a little while.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found out there’s an auction in Milan that I have to go to. She’d be coming out there in a couple of weeks anyway, so I decided to let Mason have her ahead of time. I popped her on a plane early this morning.”
“It still is early this morning.” Tish stared out the window at the sky, flat gray and barely touched with light. “You can’t mean you just put that child on a plane without talking to any of us first. What if none of us had been home?”
“I just found out last night late, and I had to get her and myself both packed. Besides, I know you aren’t going too far these days, and Lawrence or Paul or somebody would have picked her up and kept her safe until you got home. Listen, I have to meet with the curator before my flight this afternoon, so I’ve got to go. Write this down.” She rattled off the airline flight number and arrival time.
“For God’s sake, Elizabeth. That’s barely an hour from now.”
“I know. Sorry. I had to pick up some paperwork on the way back from the airport and I didn’t want to wake you up even earlier. These things come up. I’ll fax you with my hotel and flights, and Sam knows my e-mail. Ta.”
The line went dead.
“Bloody bitch,” Tish said aloud before she hung up. That poor child, shipped off like an inconvenient kitten. Elizabeth was nothing if not consistent. She’d treated Mason the same way, taking a series of lovers and filing for divorce when the business had started making him inconvenient.
And speaking of Mason, where had he gotten off to?
“Lawrence!”
He appeared so quickly, Tish knew he’d been lingering just around the corner, probably listening in. “Yes, madam.”
“Check to see if Mason’s in the pool or on the tennis court. And have someone see to Samantha’s room. Her visit is starting a little early this year.”
“I will take care of it myself.” He looked delighted, and Tish knew she’d feel the same way as soon as she got over her irritation at Elizabeth and found Mason.
Miranda appeared in her door, bleary-eyed and sleep-rumpled. “What’s going on?”
Tish summarized the conversation with Elizabeth. Before she finished, Miranda was headed toward the guest room.
“He’s not in there,” said Tish. “I made certain they went to bed separately.”
“We’ll see.” Miranda knocked twice, then pushed the door open. “Cover up, I’m coming in.”
Tish peered over her daughter’s shoulder. The room was empty, the bathroom stood open and silent, and Miss Hobart’s nightgown lay on the floor. “Well. At least the bed shows signs of having been slept in. Maybe they’ve gone for an early morning walk together. Lawrence will find them.”
“At this pace, it will take all morning. I’ll get dressed and make a quick run through the garden.”
“All right, darling. I’ll get dressed. If we can’t find Mason within ten minutes, I’ll go after Samantha myself. Have Paul bring the car around.”
“It’s Sunday, remember? He’s off. If I don’t find Mason, I’ll just get the Explorer and we’ll both go.” Miranda leaned over and gave her mother a kiss. “See you on the terrace in ten minutes.”
She dashed off, and Tish headed for her own room, where her first step was to put on a kettle of water for tea. She made short work of her morning beauty routine, then slipped into a comfortable gauze skirt and tunic in a raspberry shade that compensated for a lack of makeup. Out of consideration for the distances at airports, she picked out a pair of flat sandals. By then her kettle had started to steam, and she made her tea and carried it downstairs to wait for Miranda. Eight minutes had passed.
She strolled out on the terrace with her cup, enjoying the few moments of calm before the storm named Samantha arrived. Unless the child had changed since Easter, she rose with the robins, and there would be no such thing as a quiet cup of tea on the terrace or anywhere else until she left again—thank the Goddess. Sometimes this old house was too quiet.
Far below, a freight train rumbled by on the Burlington Northern tracks that ran on the narrow band of land at the base of the cliff. You could only hear the trains when the air was right, but the sound always reminded her of a trip she’d taken with the children when they were small, through the Swiss Alps. She wandered closer to the edge.
A streak of b
rilliant white on the stones outside Mason’s room caught the corner of her eye. She turned to look and noticed Mason’s doors open.
Concerned, she took a closer look. His shirt. That was Mason’s shirt. And that black was his jacket, lying underneath. And his tie, a few feet away. Here and there, gold studs sparkled in the early light.
She was drawn toward the open doors almost against her will. More clothes lay inside on the carpet: his trousers, her dress, someone’s underwear—she couldn’t bear to identify whose.
And there, on the bed, Mason and Miss Hobart.
They lay twined together, clinging to each other amid the rubble of the bedclothes like the survivors of some natural disaster.
She stood there, staring at them, not quite sure how to proceed. She must have stared long enough that it disturbed Mason. He stirred, passed a hand across his eyes, and lifted his head.
His eyes focused, and his mouth set. He reached to pull the coverlet over the sleeping woman beside him.
“For God’s sake, Mother.” His voice was a harsh, accusatory whisper. “Don’t you have the decency to knock?”
Beside him, Raine shifted sleepily.
“The door was open,” said Tish. “I assumed everyone was invited for a viewing. By the powers, Mason, do you have any idea what this will do to your prospects with Caroline?”
“My prospects, with Caroline or anyone else, are not up for discussion. What do you want?”
“Elizabeth called. She has to go to Europe, and, in her usual logic, she decided to send Samantha out early. Her plane will land at SeaTac in”—she glanced at her watch—“fifty-three minutes. I thought she deserved to have her father meet her, but seeing as you’re indisposed, Miranda and I will go.”
“She’s my daughter. I’ll go.” He sat up, the linens barely covering his crotch. “Unless you want to see more of me than you have since I hit puberty, you might want to leave. Have Paul—”
“He’s off today. Miranda is bringing her car around. You can drive that.” She left, taking a moment to close the French doors behind her.
*
“Oh, geez,” said Raine. She pulled the covers over her head.
Mason tugged the blanket away. “You heard.”
“Oh, yeah.” She turned away, unable to face him. “You’d better go take a shower. You don’t want to show up at the airport smelling like me.”
“I’m sorry.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “This wasn’t how I pictured things.”
“I know.”
He headed for the bathroom.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
As the shower pounded down in the adjoining bath, Raine sat on the bed and berated herself. How could she have lost such touch with reality that she let herself be drawn in by Mason and his plotting?
Five thousand dollars didn’t get him sex. Shoot, she wasn’t nearly that expensive: just a dinner dance and the right CD, and she made a perfect display for his mama. The dress had bumped the price up, but overall, he’d gotten a deal.
She had no delusions about her part: she’d been a demo for Tish, nothing more. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t arranged something for Miranda, too. Surely with such a graphic display of their handiwork run amok, he would have no trouble getting them to swear off witchcraft forever.
Now, if she could just find some way to swear off him.
The shower went silent, and seconds later Mason emerged, damp and gorgeous in his deviousness.
“Marine shower,” he said, toweling his head. “Sixty seconds or less. Of course, they don’t have hair.” He tossed the towel in the corner, then ripped off the one at his waist and tossed it, as well.
Raine sneaked a peek while he hit his dresser for some jockeys and a T-shirt. He was magnificent, and, for a fleeting instant, she wished that things were different, that he wasn’t a scumbag who had just used her to teach his mother a lesson.
But he was, and she was the fool who had thought that somehow loving him would be enough. It was a naive fantasy. She knew that now, in the light of day. But last night, when he had kissed her and whispered desire into her ears, it hadn’t seemed like a fantasy at all. He’d made it seem like a real possibility. She ought to know by now that men did whatever it took to get in a girl’s pants. Why should Mason be any different?
He pulled on khakis and a navy polo shirt, slipped on a pair of loafers with no socks, and came to sit on the bed beside her. His fingers were warm on her back, not fevered like last night, and he silently stroked her shoulder. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.
“I wish I could spend the morning with you, but there’s an eleven-year-old who’s going to be in tears if no one shows up for her.”
Raine felt tears prick at her own eyes, and just nodded. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
He kissed her once more. “You’re a sport. Go back to sleep and I’ll be back in a little while so we can sort out the day.”
Raine nodded, but as soon as he was gone, she gathered herself, stole a thick robe from his closet, and slipped hack up the circular stairs to the guest room. It took her less than ten minutes to shower off his smell and throw the few things that were really hers into the gym bag she used as an overnighter, and then she ran back down the circular stairs and out the door. This time she headed for the carriage house.
The garage was empty when she got there, but she found a buzzer and pressed it, and Paul soon came trotting downstairs.
“Miss Hobart,” he said, surprised. “May I help you with something?”
“Yes, please. I know you’re off today and I hate to ask, but I really need to get home. Can you help?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky to him as it felt to her.
He looked at her, long and hard, as though he could see what was bothering her, and then he folded the book he was carrying.
“Of course, miss. Give me a minute to get my license and the keys.”
She was safe in the backseat of the Rolls Royce before the tears began to fall.
*
Thirteen
« ^ »
“Daddy!”
It was the best word in the world, and anyone doubting it needed only to look at the smile on Mason’s face as Samantha rushed out of the jet way. She’d grown a good two inches since spring, he realized as he hugged her, so much that his arms went around her at a different angle. Such changes were the worst part of being a long-distance father, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it, so he squeezed her.
“I love you, squirt.”
“Me, too, Daddy. Guess what? Libby Crawford and her parents were on the plane. She’s from my school.” She flipped her long black hair, like some half-size fashion model. “Her mom was born here, so they summer up in the San Juans, and they were just back East because her other grandmother was sick. Can we go up and spend a week with them while I’m here? Libby’s mom gave me her cell phone number.”
“We’ll see.”
The woman from the airline came up behind Sam, smiling. “I would take that as a positive I.D., but I’m afraid the company has stickier standards.”
“We know the drill,” said Mason. “We do this often.”
Too often, and not often enough, he thought. Summers, Christmas, spring break, an occasional weekend when he could make it back to Boston. Still, since Sam would be starting boarding school in Connecticut this fall, he’d see her almost as many total days as Elizabeth did, just not as frequently. He pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket and handed over his driver’s license to the airline woman, then he and Sam followed her to the desk to sign off on all the paperwork.
“We won’t have to do this baby stuff on the way back. I’ll be twelve and they’ll let me travel alone.”
“Hey, that’s right. I’ve got you for your birthday this year. This was all so abrupt, I hadn’t sorted that out yet.” He had a lot of things he hadn’t sorted out, thanks to Elizabeth. “Your mother and I will have to consult about your traveling alone. I’m not q
uite sure we’re ready.”
“Da-a-addy.”
“Already with the preteen whine? I don’t mean you, I mean Mom and me. You know, your grandmother and aunt are going to love this birthday deal.”
“Party?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. After all, twelve is an important birthday.”
“Wow. One of Gran’s famous parties just for me. I’ll invite Libby, and Marnie Hirshberger, and…” She chewed on one corner of her mouth as she tried to figure out who she knew in town. “Can I ask adults?”
“You can ask whomever you’d like, but maybe you should wait for your grandmother to actually offer to have a party before you start mailing invitations.”
They collected her luggage—too much and too light, as usual, Elizabeth’s backhanded method of ensuring Sam came home with new school clothes filling up all the space—and headed for the car.
Sam chattered all the way home. Mason tried to keep up, but he lost track of the Madisons and Madelines and Ashleys and Brookes that his daughter rattled off while telling him about school and summer so far. He resorted to the sage parental nod and “Mmm,” which allowed his mind to wander.
Naturally, it wandered to Raine. Mason’s groin tightened as he thought of her, last seen looking tousled and sleepy and not-so-happy in his bed.
That last bothered him. A lot. Last night shouldn’t have happened. He’d known better even as he’d hunted for a Glenn Miller CD in his mother’s collection, but he’d justified it—it was just a dance, and she probably wouldn’t come downstairs, anyway. And then she had and there had been that zipper. That damned, delightful zipper.
He shook off the mood. He’d straighten things out with Raine when he got home. Right now his daughter deserved his attention, even if he did have Maddy Hoffman and Maddy Livingston terminally confused.
Besides, she was watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“You weren’t paying attention.”
“I’m sorry, squirt. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and it’s hard to focus. What did I miss?”