Sultry

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  “Yes. Hopefully in the near future.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, by the way, have I told you how pleased I am with your work?”

  Apparently this man was as complex as his daughter—maybe more so, if that was possible. “That’s good to know,” Mitch said, forcing his mind back on track.

  “Therefore I’m giving you a healthy raise.”

  Mitch tried to look grateful, when, in fact, he was green with jealousy inside. Over his dead body would Lindsay marry someone else. “Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mitch nodded, then strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. But that was as far as he got. Since no one was around, he stopped for the sole purpose of regrouping.

  It was while he was jerking himself back together that he heard the voice. It was coming from the library that was around the corner from the study, though still within hearing distance.

  The voice was that of a man, and though he couldn’t be sure without checking, Mitch thought it sounded like Tim Newman. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have given the fact that son was visiting father and using the phone a second thought, except for what he heard.

  As if his feet were on a mission all their own, Mitch stepped closer to the door of the library, which was ajar. He peered inside and saw that it was indeed Tim whose back was to the door. Mitch remained in the shadows and unabashedly listened to the one-sided conversation.

  “We had a deal.”

  Silence.

  “The shipment should’ve already been here,” Tim said in a hissing tone. “Mexico’s not that far away.”

  Another silence.

  “Well, if you don’t get your ass in gear and deliver, I’ll find me another supplier.”

  With that, Tim slammed down the receiver.

  Mitch frowned. Sonny boy was sweating bullets over something—something that had an illegal ring to it.

  Mitch turned quickly and made his way toward the kitchen, the smell of fresh-made cookies drawing him.

  However, it wasn’t eating cookies that was on his mind, but that disturbing conversation. Mexico. Shipments. Prescriptions. Money. None of that was to his liking, especially when it was obvious that Dr. Tim Newman had some kind of scheme going.

  So what if he did? That wasn’t Mitch’s concern. He didn’t give a damn what the young Dr. Newman was up to. He no longer had to be; that was the beauty of it.

  “I have you a tin of cookies ready.”

  Dolly’s voice pulled him up short and forced him to refocus. He grinned, grabbed the tin, planted a kiss on her cheek, then winked. “Let me know when you’re ready to run away.”

  “You best go on and get outta here, Mr. Mitch, before you get into trouble.”

  Truer words were never spoken, Mitch thought as he made his way back to his quarters. The whole family was bad news.

  If he were smart, he would indeed run from this place, as fast and as far as he could go.

  Eighteen

  Lindsay stared at the cloud-free azure sky. In fact, as far as the eye could see, there was not one blemish on that blue expanse. Such perfection. And on the earth, too, she reminded herself, watching the water wind its way through the creek, listening to its sound, a cadence that would normally have made her want to tap her foot.

  But Lindsay wasn’t in the mood for tapping her feet. She was in one of her funks. Earlier she’d had Hector saddle her horse Belle, and she had ridden here, to her favorite hideaway on the estate—the place where she’d come after she’d found her mother.

  Even though a lot of the memories associated with this secluded area were bad, there were also many good ones. Today the good outweighed the bad. From where she sat at the foot of a huge oak tree draped with moss, Lindsay glanced over at Belle, who was shaking her mane, trying to get rid of a bothersome fly.

  “Hang in there, girl,” she said with a forlorn smile.

  Belle turned and stared at her with those big, dark eyes, then nodded her head, as if she knew exactly what Lindsay had said.

  Lindsay’s lips flexed into a real smile, but it was short-lived. A shuddering sigh followed. She was depressed, and that was what frightened her. She’d been so frightened that she’d visited her psychiatrist, Dr. Milbrook. Usually those visits refreshed her mentally, steering her back on track.

  Only not today.

  She was at fault, not him. He had tried to get her to open up, to tell him what was on her mind, but she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t uncork her anxieties.

  “Lindsay, talk to me.”

  She had stared at the middle-aged man with his thinning blond hair, rimless glasses and gentle voice, who had been so kind and patient with her through the tough years, and suddenly realized she didn’t know what to say to him.

  “I’m waiting,” he pressed, still in his gentle tone.

  “Somehow I can’t seem to find the words,” she admitted, clearly frustrated.

  “Then let me help you.” He paused. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Yes, but—” Lindsay broke off, casting him a guilty look.

  Dr. Milbrook sighed. “You know, Lindsay, it’s all right if you don’t want to confide in me. I understand. But please, don’t gnaw on what’s bothering you too long before you spit it out.”

  “I hate being depressed,” Lindsay said bleakly. “When it happens, I’m afraid of…”

  “Afraid of what?”

  He knew, of course. But part of her therapy was telling him, purging her mind and body of those fears. “Of ending up like Mother.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. You’re not going to let yourself. You’re strong and healthy now, Lindsay. You have to believe in that and in yourself.”

  “I had one of those nightmares.” She shivered. “Blood was everywhere again.”

  “Would it help to talk about it?”

  “No, because nothing’s changed.”

  “What triggered it?”

  Lindsay sighed inwardly. She couldn’t hide anything from him. But then, she guessed that was good. “I…I definitely can’t talk about that right now.”

  “All right, Lindsay. When you can, I’ll listen. Meanwhile, if you get overwhelmed, you can always go back on your medication.”

  Lindsay gave her head a savage shake. “No. I don’t want to do that.”

  “I don’t want you to, either. So keep reminding yourself that you’re in complete charge of your life for the first time in years. Then rejoice in that assurance.”

  Now, as Lindsay recalled that conversation and continued to perspire in what was left of the late-afternoon sunlight, she wished his words were true. But they weren’t. She didn’t feel in charge of anything, especially her emotions.

  Since she had met Mitch and made love to him, she’d been a mess. She wished she could have told Dr. Milbrook about him, but she couldn’t. And the frustrating part was that she didn’t know why.

  “Oh, Belle, what am I going to do?”

  The mare swished her tail, then nodded her head.

  Lindsay smiled. “I know. Neither of us has the answer.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them, peered at her watch and gave a start. Daddy’s dinner party—it was tonight. Ugh. She had forgotten about that, since it was such a small gathering, and she hadn’t had much to do except take care of the menu and flowers.

  And show up, which was the part she didn’t like. Still, she knew she had no choice. Forcing herself upright, Lindsay walked to Belle, grabbed the saddle horn and stepped in the stirrup, only to have the entire rigging slide sideways, taking her with it.

  “Ouch!” she yelped as her backside landed on the ground.

  “Need any help?”

  Mitch?

  Scrambling to her feet, Lindsay whirled and faced the direction of the voice, her fingers clenched in a tight ball. Sure enough, her mind hadn’t bee
n playing tricks on her. Mitch was in front of her, in the flesh, sitting tall in the saddle.

  She despised the way her heart kicked at the mere sight of him. But then, it wasn’t just her heart that was affected. Her knees were weak, her hands were clammy, and adrenaline was charging through her.

  “What’s the deal?” she asked, squinting up at him. “You seem to know whenever I’m in trouble, and show up.”

  He dismounted, then strode toward her, a grin on his lips. Or was it a smirk?

  “The other night I just happened along,” he said in that drawling voice that was so very his, and so very sexy, too.

  “And today?”

  “I deliberately followed you.”

  She turned away from the glint in his eyes. Nonetheless, she couldn’t move. She felt paralyzed as he strode toward her with his easy gait. He had on a pair of jeans and a yellow short-sleeve shirt, both equally worn. Through the thin material, she could see his muscles, almost feel their strength.

  There was something so natural, so sensual, about him that it made her want to throw caution to the wind and leap into his arms. That was when it hit her. She wanted to have sex with him again with an intensity that shook her to the foundation of her being.

  But that was wrong, for the right reason. This “thing” between them was just that—sex. She didn’t want someone to screw; she wanted someone to love.

  “I’m…okay,” she said in a halting voice. “I don’t need any help.”

  He glanced at the saddle, which was still askew, then back at her, one eyebrow raised. “I reckon Belle might think differently.”

  A smile broke through, answering his. “You reckon?”

  He laughed out loud, then stared at her long enough to send her heat level to scalding before he crossed to the animal and repaired the damage.

  “Who saddled her?” he asked, easing his head and body back around.

  “Hector.”

  “You best tell him about this.”

  “Uh…I will.”

  “So this is your getaway,” he said in a husky tone, though there was a teasing edge to it.

  “How did you know?”

  He shrugged, but his eyes darkened. “What are you getting away from?”

  “You.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that. The tiny word had simply slipped through her lips as if it had to be said.

  “Why?” he almost choked, moving to stand in front of her, shielding her eyes from the remaining sunlight.

  “Mitch…”

  “Mitch…what?” he whispered, reaching and pushing an errant strand of her hair behind one ear, then cradling the back of her neck with his big, callused hand.

  She wet her lips. “We can’t keep on like this.”

  “Can you stop?”

  “No.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “But it’s a road going nowhere,” she whispered, gazing up at him, knowing that her tormented feelings were there, mirrored in her eyes for him to see.

  “I know,” he muttered in an agonized voice. “But you’re making me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you.”

  “Oh, Mitch,” she said hoarsely.

  He sank his lips onto hers, hot, hard and deep, while grasping her shoulders and urging her down until their knees were nestled in the velvet-soft grass.

  At the contact, Lindsay pulled back and stared into his deeply glazed eyes. “This—”

  Groaning, he covered her mouth again, his kiss hotter and wetter than before. Before she realized what was happening, they were lying on the grass, side by side.

  With unwavering eyes, he shoved her T-shirt up and unclasped her bra. A sob tore at her throat as her breasts spilled into his face.

  Groaning again, he moved his mouth to each of her nipples in turn, while his hands removed her jeans. Once that was done, he unzipped his, then lifted her top leg over his hip.

  “Oh, yes,” she panted, digging her nails into his shoulders. He slid his hand between her legs, easing a finger inside her. She bucked, clinging to him that much more tightly.

  “I wanted to make sure you were ready,” he rasped.

  Before she could so much as whimper a reply, he thrust inside her, where he pounded with the force of a gentle jackhammer.

  It was over just as quickly as it had begun. Wrung out from hard, sharp orgasms, they clung to one other for a long time, their clammy bodies stuck together.

  Finally Mitch pushed her slightly away from him and righted her clothes. Then they got to their feet. Lindsay watched him re-zip his fly, then lifted her eyes to his.

  “I’m addicted to you, Lindsay Newman,” he said in an unnatural voice.

  “I’m on the same drug,” she admitted, her voice duplicating his.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  She colored. “You didn’t.”

  “Your breast might be burned.” He rubbed his scratchy jaw and chin. “I need a shave.”

  Her color deepened. “I’ll—they’ll be fine.”

  “How ’bout you?”

  “Don’t ask me that now, please.”

  “I promise you the next time will be slow and easy.”

  Her insides turned over. “Are you sure there will be a next time?”

  “Won’t there?”

  She opened her mouth but nothing came out, so she slammed it shut.

  “Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay.” He pulled her against his chest and held her.

  For a moment she was content to remain there, listening to their hearts beating as one, obliterating the sound of the babbling creek.

  Finally she shifted out of those strong arms, but she met his gaze. “Daddy must never find out about us.”

  Mitch’s jaw tightened. “For my sake—or yours?”

  “For both our sakes.”

  “Whatever. It’s your call.”

  She turned, walked to her horse, then climbed into the saddle.

  “I want to see you again,” he said, peering up at her. “And soon, too.”

  She looked down at him, then nudged Belle in the side and rode off, her heart beating faster than the horse’s hooves.

  Nineteen

  As usual, Mary Jane was running behind schedule.

  Lindsay glanced at her watch, then back at the children playing in the park across the street. Their laughter filled the air, along with the chirping of birds in a nearby tree and the gentle sighing of the summer breeze.

  It was too lovely a day to waste sitting in the car, Lindsay told herself, suddenly giving in to a spontaneous thought. Why not get out and wait for Mary Jane on the park bench that seemed to beckon her?

  Moments later that gentle breeze was caressing her cheeks, which lacked color despite the humidity and heat. Although she tried to concentrate on watching the children ride the merry-go-round—their laughter louder than ever—she couldn’t.

  Her stomach was a mass of nerves. But she wouldn’t panic. Yet when she thought of Mitch’s reaction… Stop it! Don’t go there. Not yet, anyway. Not until she knew for sure.

  Lindsay peered at her watch again, her stomach continuing to rebel, to let her know that it was there. Her daddy thought she was going to see her shrink.

  Cooper had confronted her first thing that morning at the breakfast table. “Something’s wrong with you, Lindsay, and I want to know what it is.”

  “I’m all right, Daddy,” she said hesitantly.

  “Ever since that party, two weeks ago now, you’ve been walking around like you’re in a daze.”

  “Have I?”

  Cooper’s mouth hardened. “You know you have. I presume you’re still seeing Harvey.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Well, apparently you’re not seeing him enough. I suggest you go today.”

  “Daddy—”

  “Don’t ‘Daddy’ me. I know what’s best for you.”

  “I’m just working really hard.” That was an inflammatory thing to have said; she knew that the second after s
he’d uttered the words.

  “On that goddamn project that’s a one-way street going nowhere.”

  Lindsay chewed her lower lip. “It’s important to me. I wish you’d be more understanding.”

  “And I wish you’d just marry Peter and settle down. If you had a husband and children to attend to, you wouldn’t—”

  Lindsay stood abruptly, her breakfast practically untouched. “Don’t start, Daddy.”

  “I’ve already started.”

  Lindsay gave him a perplexed look. It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it that gave her pause. “Started what?”

  “Or at least I’m headed in that direction,” Cooper added, seemingly more to himself than to her.

  “What are you talking about?” She didn’t bother to mask her impatience.

  “The south wing. I’m going to have it remodeled, made into separate living quarters.” He paused, pinning her with a direct look.

  Warning bells went off inside Lindsay’s head. She wanted to give in to the weakness in her legs; she feared they wouldn’t support her much longer. But she wanted to escape more, unable to bear being in the same room with Cooper at that precise moment.

  “If it’s for Peter and me, you’re wasting your time.”

  Cooper’s eyes hardened to match his mouth. “I don’t see it that way. I talked with Mitch—”

  “Mitch!”

  She cried his name before she thought.

  Cooper raised his eyebrows, then said in a gruff voice, “Yes, Mitch. Mitch Rawlins. He’s our estate manager, in case you didn’t know.”

  Lindsay had to turn away. She didn’t dare chance his reading the thoughts that were raging inside her. Her eyes were often a dead giveaway.

  “When…when did you talk to him about this?”

  Cooper shrugged. “The day of the party. But what difference does it make?”

  “Did you tell him why?”

  “What if I did?” Cooper’s expression was so intense that his wiry eyebrows protruded over his eyes like tiny mustaches. “Who the hell cares what he thinks?”

  Me.

  “He’s an employee, for God’s sake. He’s here to do what he’s told, and that’s all.”

  “Look, Daddy, I have to run. I have an appointment.”

  “But you haven’t finished your breakfast.”