“Thanks for the movie, Patrick.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
Camryn swallowed the protest she had been about to make. Foolish, she told herself. What did she expect— that he would try to force his way into the house?
The light was on in the front hall, and it played games with the beveled glass in the front door, slicing itself into twisted geometric patterns that looked otherworldly against the porch floor. Patrick took her key and unlocked the front door, but when she started to push it open his hand closed gently on her arm and turned her to face him.
“What—?” she was just starting to say when he kissed her.
His mouth was firm against hers, but not rough, not demanding. His palm slid gently down over her hair and came to rest at the nape of her neck, warm against her cool skin. His other hand was braced against the door frame above her head, almost as if he was trying to keep himself from touching her in any other way.
But the lack of bodily contact didn’t translate to a lack of feeling, Camryn found. It merely concentrated all sensation to the two vulnerable areas he was touching, and from there tiny shock waves radiated out, overlapping and colliding with one another until not a single cell of her body remained untouched.
His tongue slipped gently between her lips, softly tracing the even line of her teeth. When, finally, he released her mouth, she found herself leaning against the door jamb, her face turned up to his as if to prolong that last moment.
“You taste like chocolate ice cream,” he said. His voice was no more than a teasing whisper.
“Are you sure that’s me?” She didn’t even hear what she was saying. “You ate the same thing I did.”
His eyes lit softly. “Perhaps I should try again, to be certain.”
She caught herself up short just as he reached for her, and fended him off, trying to sound amused. “All right, would you like to tell me what that was all about?”
He smiled down at her, eyes dancing. “Don’t you think Sherry will expect something of the sort?”
Her stomach contracted painfully for a second. Was that all? she thought, and then told herself not to be stupid. “It really wasn’t that sort of evening, you know.”
“She’d be awfully disappointed if you told her that. And you wouldn’t want to fabricate something to satisfy her.”
“I wasn’t planning to fabricate anything.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t one. Anyway, what does it matter what Sherry thinks?”
“I’d like her to get the idea that I’m capable of proceeding on my own.”
She nodded a little hazily and pushed the door open wide. She didn’t quite understand, but she wasn’t going to worry about it.
He didn’t move. “Camryn?”
She turned. He was holding out a small object that glinted in the light. “Don’t you want your key?” he asked gently. “Or would you like me to keep it?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sherry was still in the solarium, tucked up in her pink blanket and watching television. She turned the set off just as Camryn came in. It must have been an old romantic comedy she’d been watching, Camryn concluded; she had seen that particular soft, warm glow on Sherry’s face before.
“I wasn’t waiting up for you,” Sherry said quickly. “I was just ready to take my dishes down and check the locks before going to bed, when I heard the car in the drive and... well, I didn’t want to interrupt you and Patrick.” She smiled sweetly. “It was such a nice goodnight kiss.”
Camryn bit her tongue, hard. Damn him! she thought; he’d been right again. But how?
She sent a curious glance towards the front door. It was funny that she’d never noticed before how much of the house could be seen from the solarium. The glass wall that closed the room off from the landing did nothing to interrupt the view. She could see the entire hallway, and as for the porch—
Camryn could feel color rising in her cheeks as she reconstructed what the scene in the doorway must have looked like from this angle.
“I’ll have to remember that,” she muttered.
Sherry flashed her gamine grin. “Next time, bring him into the living room and close the door,” she suggested silkily.
Camryn ignored her. “That view will come in handy in a few years, when Susan starts to date.”
“Perhaps I should do the child a favor on her thirteenth birthday and warn her about it.” Sherry pushed her blanket aside. “She’s sound asleep, by the way.”
“Good.”
“Lady Marlow is all tucked in, too. She doesn’t want breakfast till late. Her son wore her out today.”
“That’s a blessing.”
“Yes, isn’t it? I think he did it on purpose because he feels sorry for us, having to cope with her.”
“Actually, she hasn’t been bad.”
“Speak for yourself, dear. You’ve just had too many other things on your mind.”
That was true enough, Camryn thought, even though the things that were on her mind weren’t quite the ones Sherry thought.
Sherry turned in the doorway. “Sweet dreams, Camryn. Oh, and don’t fret about me seeing you kissing him. It was perfectly decent. He is quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”
If there had been an ashtray handy, Camryn would have thrown it at her. Instead, she said gently, “Yes, he is. He even introduced me to his parents tonight.”
And before Sherry could manage to close her mouth, Camryn slipped past her and went up the stairs to her room.
Stupid, she told herself. That was very stupid. There are better ways to put an end to Sherry’s teasing, and all you managed to do was give her something else to speculate about.
She undressed in the dark, not even bothering to find a nightshirt, and slid gratefully between cool sheets. It had been an unbearably long day, and she was worn out.
“If someone had told you when you got up this morning, Camryn Hastings,” she muttered, “that you would finish off the day on your front porch in Patrick McKenna’s arms, being quite thoroughly kissed, you’d have thought you were having a nightmare!”
And she hadn’t exactly been in his arms, either, she reflected. He’d been very careful to keep it just a gentlemanly goodnight kiss, for Sherry’s benefit. No more than that.
She fluffed her pillow into shape, but as soon as she put her head down on it her traitorous, overtired mind took her straight back to the front door, into his embrace. And this time it wasn’t a gentlemanly kiss. It was still soft and tender, but it was deeper, warmer, infinitely more seductive. And this time she was in his arms. In fact, he was carrying her up the stairs, and when they reached her room at the top he wasn’t even out of breath, but she was gasping, more hungry for him than for oxygen—
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said crossly. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.
It was as if arms had closed gently around her. The brush of the cotton sheet against her bare skin was like the stroking of a warm hand—
“What’s the matter with you?” she accused herself.
—a warm hand gently caressing her, and strong arms that held her firmly, not with force, but with the knowledge that she wanted to be held securely against his body, while the world tilted crazily askew...
She reached up, breathing hard, and snapped the bedside light on. For a long moment she lay there staring at the quiet room, trying to impress on every level of her mind the undeniable fact that she was alone.
“You’re acting like a sex maniac,” she muttered half-consciously, and winced at the very unexpectedness of what she had said.
For months after Mitch had died she had simply been numb about everything. Each day she did the things that had to be done, because her brain told her it was necessary; each night she lay alone in the bed they had shared, and slept because she was too exhausted not to sleep. But she had not felt anything; shock had kept her anesthetized.
Then after a while she had started t
o feel things again—confusion about what had happened, and fear for the future, and sorrow for her loss, and tenderness and love for her child. She had started her business, and she had moved out of the big bedroom and up one floor, to a room she had never shared with Mitch. And though she lay awake sometimes and thought about him, after a while she had come to realize that her sexual longings had died with Mitch. She was glad. Life was hard enough as it was, missing him. It would have been just too complicated otherwise.
She had dated, of course, after a decent interval. Even her mother had told her she should. But she and Susan were a package, and it was inevitable that sometimes Susan had to come first. Camryn had found there weren’t many men who really liked that idea. They tended to drift away, and she hadn’t really missed them. It wasn’t as if she felt a need for anything more than friendship.
But tonight—on the front porch, in Patrick McKenna’s arms—there had been a stirring of that other self, the one she thought had died more than three years ago when that plane crashed.
“Don’t be such a dimwit,” she told herself sternly. “Nothing happened. And you weren’t even in his arms, really.”
You might as well have been, her conscience declared. It was a very thin line. And you’d better watch yourself in the future, too, Camryn Hastings. If you’re going to start thinking about male company again, fine. There’s nothing criminal about that, and Susan’s older now— more independent. But there are a lot safer people around than your banker. Patrick McKenna is a land- mine in disguise.
She reached for her robe and went to check on Susan. The child’s bedroom, just down the hall from Camryn’s, was dim, with a pale pink nightlight glimmering softly in one corner. Susan lay sprawled on her stomach, her blankets kicked aside, one leg stretched out over the side of the bed, her nightgown bunched and twisted by her restless movements.
The length of her startled Camryn. She’s growing so fast, she thought sadly. My baby’s gone, and soon my little girl will be a big one.
It had seemed a joke downstairs, when she had said that some day Susan would be kissing a boy goodnight on the front porch. But now it seemed uncomfortably near.
How will I handle it? she thought. How will I teach her what to do, and what to expect? Mitch would have told me what to do. A little girl misses her father, but a bigger girl needs him even more.
She stooped over the bed and straightened Susan out, tucking her under the blankets again. The child sighed and flung her arm out, and from under her pillow peeked a furry dark brown object. Camryn picked the stuffed toy up and held it for a long moment, while memories crowded in one after another. Mitch had brought Freddy Bear to the hospital the day after Susan was born...
Camryn put the bear down next to Susan, who shifted in her sleep and pulled it close to her chest and smiled a little.
It’s all right, Camryn told herself. We have time. Perhaps she’s not in such a hurry to grow up, after all.
*****
The silver Mercedes convertible was parked in the space nearest Lakemont National Bank’s main door on Monday morning. Camryn eyed it warily; if Patrick had been driving it, she suspected, it would be tucked away somewhere neatly in the far corner, out of the customers’ way. The fact that it was displayed so prominently probably meant that the glitzy blonde was in the bank, and if there was one person Camryn didn’t really want to run into today, it was that female.
But she didn’t have much of a choice. She had to see Patrick, and the sooner the better, no matter who else might be outside his office.
She reached across to unfasten Susan’s safety belt. “Leave your bag here,” she said as Susan reached for the backpack that held her special shoes. “We’ll just stop at the bank for a couple of minutes, and then I’ll take you on to class.”
Susan frowned, but she obediently slid out and held Camryn’s hand as they walked into the building. She looked even taller today, Camryn thought with a sigh, dressed for her gymnastics class in pink tights and leotard. The outfit was almost new, but it wouldn’t be long before it was outgrown.
Camryn deposited John Marlow’s payment for his mother’s weekend stay in her account, and turned towards the executive offices. Susan trailed behind her, unwrapping the lollipop the teller had given her.
Mr. McKenna was in conference, the secretary said. No, she wasn’t able to predict when he might be available, but if Mrs. Hastings would care to wait...
Camryn sat down just outside his open office door, tapping her foot on the luxurious carpet and checking her wristwatch at least every thirty seconds. She knew it was ridiculous to have assumed that he’d be standing at the door waiting, but somehow she had assumed that he would be expecting her.
He spent most of Saturday with you, one way or another, she lectured herself, and so you started feeling important!
Susan sucked thoughtfully on her lollipop and looked around. She’d never been past the tellers’ windows before. “Does Patrick live here?” she asked finally.
“No, dear. He works here, in that office.”
Susan stood in the doorway and inspected the room. “He’s not there.”
“He’s probably in another office, behind one of those doors.”
“Can I go and find him? I’ll knock.”
“No!” It was slightly shrill, and Camryn caught herself. “He’s busy. He’ll come out to see us when he can.”
“But how does he know we’re here?”
The logic of a four-year-old, Camryn thought, was sometimes enough to defeat the most sensible adult. She pulled a picture book out of her handbag, and Susan reluctantly climbed into the chair next to her and began to turn the pages. It was a well-loved story, and Susan knew it practically by heart.
Camryn’s nerves tightened as time slipped away, and still the row of doors remained obstinately closed. Finally, she approached the secretary. “I’ll just have to leave a message for him,” she said. “If you’ll tell him I was here, and to please call me as soon as he can...”
Behind her, there was a little shriek, and the book went flying as Susan dashed across the lobby to a door that had opened silently. By the time Camryn turned, Susan was tugging at the sleeve of Patrick’s dark gray suit. He bent and swung her up into his arms.
Sticky hands and all, Camryn thought miserably.
Then she saw the blonde woman beside him, every hair in place, her makeup perfect. Her fuchsia dress was carelessly elegant. She drew back a bit from Susan’s enthusiasm, and turned to stare at Camryn.
“I guess I’m not as unpopular as I thought,” Patrick said. “Come and meet Mr. Stanford, Camryn.”
“Actually, I didn’t intend...” She felt incredibly clumsy as she crossed the little lobby under the blonde’s gaze. Here I am in my jeans, she thought, next to that vision.
“Who have you got there, Patrick?” It was a booming voice, and the man who appeared in the office door was built to match it. He was tall and thick-shouldered and massively constructed.
“One of our youngest depositors,” Patrick said. “And her mother. I was telling you about Mrs. Hastings earlier.”
Warren Stanford had a handshake that could cripple, and a way of wrinkling his bushy white eyebrows and looking straight under them and into the soul. It was terrifying, Camryn thought. She almost wanted to curtsy—or just to turn and run.
“Don’t mind me.” The blonde’s voice was a sultry purr. “I’m just leaving anyway.”
Warren Stanford grinned. “Now, Dianna,” he said pleasantly. “You take care of the arrangements for the picnic, and let Patrick and me get back to work. And I’ll see if I can’t drag him home to dinner tonight so you can tell us all the details.”
The blonde’s eyes went from Camryn to Susan to Patrick. “You do that, Daddy.”
Daddy. Well, Camryn thought, that was no big surprise. I plan to end up as chairman of the board, he had said. This went a long way towards explaining how he intended to pull it off.
Patrick shook his head. “I’
ll try, Dianna, but I won’t promise. We may have to make it some other night.”
“You’re working too hard, my boy,” Warren Stanford said. “Good thing there’s a holiday coming up. That reminds me, Mrs. Hastings. As a good bank customer, you should come to our picnic on Friday evening. It’s just a little thank you for our favorite customers, right, Dianna?”
Dianna Stanford’s eyes had sharpened to blue diamonds. “Of course,” she said, and only another woman would have heard the ice under the polite words. “Do come, Mrs. Hastings. I think you’d find it an interesting change of pace.” She kissed the air beside her father’s cheek and turned on her heel to leave the bank.
Warren Stanford chuckled. “That young woman has a one-track mind,” he said. “All she can think about is her picnic. Patrick told me you have a mortgage problem, Mrs. Hastings. Come into my office and we’ll talk about it.”
She met Patrick’s gaze, and made no effort to conceal the panic in her eyes. “I’m afraid I have another appointment just now. I only stopped because I need a minute with you, Patrick.”
His eyebrows rose. For a moment, she thought he was going to insist, and she looked at him pleadingly. Finally he said, “This afternoon would be better, Warren. Camryn and I can finish up the paperwork over lunch so it’s all ready for you to look at.”
The president glanced at his watch. “I suppose that would work,” he said. “I have a lunch appointment myself. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”
Camryn muttered as he went off to talk to the secretary, “Of course the chairman of the board can take two hours for lunch.”
“What’s the matter with you, Camryn? I had him prepared—all in the mood to talk to you. Didn’t your doctor friend come through?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Susan, come on, we’ll be late to your class as it is. Patrick, when can I talk to you?”
Patrick turned towards the door, still carrying Susan. “Right now. Over lunch.”
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