Perhaps something had happened in her childhood, some major trauma that had broken her heart and turned her mean. Mark hadn't known because he'd been in the army, fighting in Korea at the time.
But shit happened to a lot of people, Ryan thought. That didn't excuse monstrous behavior.
He went home only long enough to don his leathers. At four on a Friday afternoon, the third Friday of the month, he knew where to find his adversary.
He had it on very good authority that Eloise Robertson Riggs played bridge every third Friday at five p.m. at the Bay Country Club.
He wasn't stupid enough to confront the woman without a bevy of witnesses. And if he just happened to embarrass her in the process—why that would simply be a marvelous bonus.
* * * *
Eloise's eye critically examined the dining room. She felt her pique rise as she noted several tables occupied by patrons who weren't dressed properly. It didn't matter if the club executive had voted last year to relax the dress code on all but the most formal of occasions. The Bay Club used to be an exclusive establishment. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, the time had come to rethink her membership.
She'd worked hard all her life to gain the social stature she enjoyed now. Among her accomplishments, she'd been elected as President of the Arts Council, President of the Harbor Club, and was the current past President of the Children's Charity Fund. Other women—those she considered above her station—sought her out for her sound advice. Lesser women courted her favor, she suspected, just to be seen with her.
It had taken her fifty years to reach the place she believed should have been hers by right. She nodded once, decision made. If the executive of the Bay Country Club did not see reason when she addressed them next week, she would cancel her membership.
Other, more polished and exclusive clubs would be delighted with her patronage, and pleased to call her one of their own.
As always, she arrived last to the small, intimate meeting room her private group used for its once-a-month gathering. This particular card club had twelve members, making three tables for bridge. Card playing came secondary to being seen, and the general exchange of information. One had to keep up, and this had proven a fairly good venue for that purpose.
"There you are, Eloise. Stylishly late, as usual."
The greeting came from Doctor Margaret Sampson-Drake. Her husband had founded a prestigious law firm, and she herself, before she retired, had been Chancellor of the University. Not that Eloise approved of women working outside the home. But if one felt moved to do as much, one should at least aspire to do so at the top.
"And you, Margaret, ever the schoolmarm taking attendance."
She nodded to some, and air kissed the cheeks of others. Taking her seat at the head of the first table, she had her back to the door.
The gasps alerted her, but before she could even turn around in her chair, a heavy something—she recognized it as a helmet of some sort—landed on the table before her. Two large leather gloves landed on top of it. She looked up and into the angry dark eyes of a scowling hoodlum.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You may very well before I'm done with you."
"I don't know you. Remove yourself from this room at once before I have someone call security.” And it did peeve her that none of her group seemed to be moving to do just that.
"I'm hurt. Now, how can you say you don't know me, Eloise, when you reported to the police that I was a minor child being molested by your very own daughter?"
"I don't know what—” she felt her face getting red, and then squirmed even more when the hoodlum snagged an empty chair, turned it around, and sat astride it. He continued to speak loud enough for all in the room to hear him.
"See, here's the deal. I'm sorry for whatever happened in your life that turned you into a miserable, mean, sour old bitch. But I can't have you going around making the life of the woman I love difficult anymore. So you have two choices. Back off, leave her alone, and only have pleasant things to say to her when you call. Or, continue on, as you are, in which case you will be hearing from my lawyers. I'm delicate. Having the police accuse me of being a child traumatized me. Expensively."
"I do believe it will be you hearing from my lawyers, you young ... thug."
"Kincaid. Ryan Kincaid. And sister, you have no idea how happy you've just made me."
* * * *
Lily had no idea if Ryan would be back for dinner, or not. When he left, he hadn't said, but she thought he might be. She almost took the time to throw a meal together before she caught herself. She resolved to stop doing things the way she had always done them in the past.
That meant she wasn't going to assume the responsibility for ‘taking care’ of Ryan the way she had always taken care of her family. He certainly didn't expect her to cater to him. When he returned, they'd discuss meal options together.
Nodding her head firmly, Lily returned to her list of things to do. She'd already spoken to her physician. Placing a check mark beside his name, she moved on to the next item. The next item read, simply ‘Plan Event.'
It had been a while since she'd put together a dinner party. Reg had used them extensively when his firm had been just getting started, and Lily had done a wonderful job of not only organizing, but also preparing the multi-course feasts. But then as the firm prospered, he preferred to have catered affairs at trendy Toronto eateries.
Lily felt torn. Going to a restaurant felt tantamount to airing her dirty linen in public. But at the same time, she really didn't want to host the event at home, either. She didn't want the memories of what could very well turn out to be an ugly scene to flourish here.
But this was her home, the place where she felt most in control. If things got really ugly, she could throw the bastards out.
Another decision made, she thought. Now all she had to decide was the date. As she reached for her calendar, the phone rang.
* * * *
Lily looked up from her cup of tea when Ryan came through the door. By the way he stood there for a moment, she understood that he'd read her mood.
"Are we about to have a fight?"
"I think so, yes."
Ryan seemed to take this news in stride, for he nodded to her once, slipped off his jacket, draped it over another chair, and then took the chair opposite her.
"You told me, this very day, that you thought my plan brilliant."
"I did, I do, and it is."
"I see. But you obviously didn't trust me to take care of the situation, did you? You went and confronted my mother, threatening her."
"You're damn right I did. Do you think I'm going to stand by when the one person in all the world who is supposed to be on your side, instead attacks you?"
"You lied to me, then!"
"I never did! She's your mother, Lily. Can you sit there and actually tell me you could tell your mother to kiss off in the same way you can your ex? Can you stand against her the way you're standing against me, and scream at the top of your lungs?"
Not trusting her voice, Lily grabbed up her empty tea mug and hurled it against the wall.
"Good shot."
Lily was horrified with herself. She'd never thrown anything in anger in her life. She looked at Ryan, unsure what would happen next—not expecting what actually did.
Chapter 17
With a loud bark of laughter, he rounded the table, grabbed her up and into a passionate kiss.
"Let go of me. Are you crazy? We're having a fight here!"
"So? Our having a disagreement doesn't mean we don't love each other anymore. Does it?"
The startled look on Lily's face told Ryan she did, indeed, think that's what it would mean.
"You can be pissed with me and still love me. And I can be pissed with you and still love you."
"But you took over. Do you have any idea ... damn it, Ryan, when you went after my mother, you treated me the same way they did!"
"Oh, now, you're going to get me pissed with talk like that.
Lily—” he paused, took her hand in his and kissed it. Then he sat down, and settled her in his lap.
"I didn't take over. That wasn't my intention. I just couldn't stand by while she kept hurting you. I'm more than willing to stand back while you fight your own battles. But don't ask me to never come to the defense of the woman I love."
When she continued to just stare at him, he kissed her lightly again. “There's a difference, darling, in taking over and taking care. Maybe the actions appear the same, on the surface. Where they differ is in the intent—and the heart that lies behind them. The woman is your mother. Underneath everything, she's your mother."
"She is. And I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to disrespect her. But I may have to, a little. Not to get even, nor even to vindicate myself. But just to get her to stop. The really sad thing is, I don't think there's anything I could do or say—that anyone could do or say—that is ever going to change her."
"Then maybe, sweetheart, the best we can hope for is that she'll leave you be once she realizes there is no potential gain of any kind for her to continue to harass you."
"Maybe. So ... how did you ‘threaten her in a vile and unspeakable manner?’”
* * * *
John felt good. The phone call from his mother, and the invitation to dinner, could only mean one thing. She had caved. He wasn't surprised. He knew his grandmother had been active, and that his father had gotten involved. He felt so happy, he jumped up and tried to slap the ceiling. Everything he had ever wanted would soon be his.
When he'd opted for a degree in social work, it had been because he thought it would be the easiest degree to get. He'd never dreamed that studying how to ‘help’ people could so easily be converted to how to help himself. Of course, he'd always been able to get his way. Whether with family or friends, he had only to plant a few ideas, affect a hurt or devastated demeanor, and bam! He got what he wanted.
He pushed aside the sense of dejection that threatened when he thought of how Sheila had dumped him. Old news. Soon he would be so irresistible that he'd have a parade of willing woman through his bedroom.
Focusing on the money he would soon rake in chased away any invading sadness. He thought he'd head out to the Jaguar dealership, pick up the latest brochures. A slow smile spread across his face.
Yes, a Jaguar would absolutely suit the image he wanted to build for himself. With a Jag and an apartment—no, a loft, he decided then and there, on Wellington, near the St. Lawrence market—his life would finally be where he wanted it to be.
He had no doubt whatsoever that his mother had caved. She'd never stood up to anyone in her entire life.
* * * *
"Do you know what I would like to do?” Lily grinned when Ryan chuckled. “No, Ryan, not that. At least not just this minute."
"Sorry. What is it you would like to do ... other than make love to me again?"
"We can't make love in this hammock.” Lily had finally gotten used to the sense of being suspended above the ground, and to the swaying. She was pretty sure the ropes wouldn't give way suddenly and dump her on the grass. But she didn't think the contraption could be trusted to hold while they had sex.
"Now you've challenged me, and very shortly I'll have to prove you wrong. What is it you want to do, sweetheart?"
"I want to travel."
"Traveling is good."
Lily snuggled into him, her heart melting when he gathered her closer. How had she survived all these years without being held? Now that she knew what it felt like to be in Ryan's arms, now that she'd tasted the warmth and the security of being held, she wanted never to do without it.
Reg had never held her. Even when they first married, his displays of affection had been few and far between. One kiss before copulation and one kiss after. But an afternoon spent simply snuggling? It never happened.
"Is there any place in particular you want to go?"
His question brought her back to the present, and she stroked Ryan's chest as she thought. She laughed lightly. “Well, I know a few places where I don't want to go."
"And that would be?"
"A handful of cities where Reg traveled over the years for conferences. He never took me along, but I'm quite certain he didn't go to them alone."
"Any of those cities in Australia?"
"No. All of them are in North America. Australia?"
"Yeah. I'd like to see Australia. That would be a long trip, though. You'd want to stay for at least a month. And I'd like to go back to England and Scotland. I walked the grounds of Stirling Castle and could have sworn I heard the sounds of battle, the ring of claymores as they clashed, and the scream of men as they died. It gave me shivers. I'd like to share those things with you Lily, see them again through your eyes."
"You'd like to travel with me?” Lily winced at the tone. She'd sounded almost pathetically hopeful. In the next instant, she found herself no longer cuddled next to Ryan, but on top of him.
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Lily. But I'm not going to ask for that commitment right now. You need to see more and do more and feel more. You deserve to live, to put yourself first. When we've traveled, when we've seen and done and felt, then I'll ask. I'll ask you for forever. But for now, this is enough."
How could he know her so well? How could he understand the mass of conflicting emotions that streamed through her veins? She wanted him. Oh, she wanted him with a passion so fierce it amazed her continually that it didn't set fire to them both, consume them both completely. But she had other emotions inside her, emotions that had only recently been set free and needed to run their course.
Anger ran so deep within her, Lily felt ashamed to call it her own. This anger had been there all along, beneath the cloak of her indifference, simmering and waiting for its moment to erupt. It had been born out of the pain and emptiness growing where her mother's love should have been, and then fed by years of emotional abuse from her husband. She could not consider herself blameless in the creation of this anger, for she understood the failure to connect properly with her own children was her failure. In some ways, she'd been a good mother to her babies. She had fed and nurtured, hugged and loved. But she'd fallen down in the discipline, in that part of parenting that required her to guide her children to become responsible adults. In this, Ryan had spoken the truth.
Her eyes had been opened now, and she had much to settle, within herself and without, before she could freely join her life, forever, to another's. So, no, he couldn't ask her yet, nor could she answer. But she could offer him one very important thing.
"I love you."
* * * *
Ryan smiled, the words never failing to heat his blood and trip his heart.
"I love you, too."
He brought her head down and feasted on her mouth. Hers was an exotic flavor. Addicted, he wanted never to go without the taste of her. He loved the way she responded, the way she melted into him, squirmed to get closer. So damn open and giving, he thought her a wonder.
"Lift up.” He could tell by the look of surprise on her face she hadn't noticed his busy fingers opening her shorts. She lifted her hips and he slid the garment down, and off—and at the same time opened his own pants.
"I'm not taking my panties off."
Ryan chuckled at the prim challenge. He caressed her nylon-covered bottom, pushing her against the hard ridge of his engorged cock.
"No, huh? So, you don't want to feel my cock inside you?"
"I didn't say that."
Ryan pulled her down so that he could drink from her lips once more. Restless hands smoothed over her ass and moved her against him. He felt the hard peaks of her nipples poking him through both their shirts. She wore no bra, but he'd gone one better.
"Oh, my."
"Yep. I picked a good day to go commando, didn't I?"
His hungry cock, unfettered by underwear, had worked its way past the thin barrier of the nylon crotch and pulsed slow and deep within the folds of her pussy.
"Ryan, you drive me crazy."
"Do I? That's nothing compared with what you do to me.” He took over the motion, his smile almost feral. He felt her resistance, and met her laughing eyes. She teased him, the little minx, teased them both.
"Fuck!” he lifted her, whipped the nylon from her, then brought her hips back down. As soon as he felt her flesh on his, he used his hands to push her into a sitting position, then burrowed them under her shirt to squeeze her breasts.
"Grab the condom out of my right pocket and slip it on me, would you please? My hands are busy at the moment."
"Do you always go around with condoms in your pockets?"
"Only since taking up with you, darling."
He nearly laughed at the look of concentration on her face, and the way she seemed to be moving ever so carefully. Likely, she was afraid she'd tip them over. He hissed softly when she took his penis in her hands and covered him with the latex.
"Now, take me inside you, baby. Fuck me."
Hot and wet, tight and terrific, he felt nearly drowned in the sensations as she raised herself up, then settled on him again. Her sheath swallowed his cock, until he could feel the lips of her pussy caressing his groin. Their movements slow and gentle, the hammock that supported them rocked in an easy, light rhythm.
He loved watching Lily's face when she became lost in the moment, when she got so close to coming that her entire body tensed and strived. That look came upon her now. Reaching down, he used his fingers to stroke her clit, then gritted his teeth to hold back his own orgasm when hers flooded over him.
"I love you, Lily.” He brought her down so their lips could touch, their tongues dance as he let go. Her pussy still shivered in delight, and his penis reveled in it, and in her. As she collapsed on him, he enveloped her in his arms holding her tight. Just holding her.
* * * *
A ham baked in the oven, and the scent of it filled the house. Lily wasn't certain how many diner guests she would have. Ryan would be there, of course. She'd invited her son and daughter, and her ex-husband and his wife. She'd also extended the invitation to her mother, though that woman had not said if she would attend, or not. She'd included one other person whom she knew without a doubt would be there. She had a nice zinfandel chilling, an amazing peach cobbler cooling, and a definite agenda simmering.
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