Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  “I wasn’t jealous—”

  “But that was years ago. You can’t still be harboring a grudge.”

  “There’s no grudge.”

  “There’s pure hatred. It’s irrational. Sick. You’re a successful man, John. Why is Cutter such a threat to you?”

  John had had as much as he could take. When it came to Cutter—maybe even when it came to Pam—his feelings were irrational. He didn’t have to make excuses or discuss them with anyone.

  “Cutter Reid,” he stated with force, “will never be part of this family.” He came forward again, angry enough to dare it. “And if you so much as scratch my skin with that knife, you’ll regret it.”

  She sighed. “More threats? They’re getting tiresome.”

  “Then I haven’t used the right ones. Try this one on for size. You scratch me with that knife—you carry on with Cutter Reid so the press gets wind of it—so that anyone gets wind of it and it comes back to me—and I’ll destroy your mother.”

  “That’s a joke. She’s been paralyzed from the waist down, confined in a mental hospital for ten years, and you’re going to destroy her? What more could you do?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like tell the world why she became catatonic after the accident.”

  “She was overcome with grief.”

  “She was overcome with guilt.”

  “Because she wasn’t the one to die. Any woman who loved her husband the way my mother did my father would feel the same.”

  John shook his head. “There was more to her guilt than that. She was responsible for that accident.”

  Now he had her attention. “Are you saying that she was the one driving after all?”

  “No. She was the one who upset Eugene so much that he drove through that light.”

  “They never knew whether he drove through the light or skidded.”

  “Either way, he was driving recklessly, and it was because of what she’d done.”

  “But she was in the car with him. If she’d done something so awful, he’d have taken off alone.”

  “She followed him into the car to calm him down.”

  Pam continued to hold the knife like a spike rising from her chest, but its tip wavered. “They had their fights, but it was never so bad that Daddy would have raced off into an accident.”

  “It was this time.”

  “Why? What had she done?”

  “She slept with another man.”

  “You lie! She wouldn’t have done that!”

  “She did. He found them together.”

  “You lie.”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to make the connection. He knew she would. She wasn’t dumb.

  The tip of the knife came up at the very same time as a look of loathing so intense as to be palatable came to her eyes.

  “Get out,” she whispered.

  Given the excuse, he straightened his shoulders and backed away from the knife. He kept his voice low. “I’ll spread the word, Pam, and I’ll let it be known that she was the seducer. Then I’ll tell her what I’ve done. Think she can bear up under that kind of shame?”

  “Can you?”

  “I have a solid image. I also have a PR department that can make me come out smelling like a rose. I’m not fragile. Your mother is.”

  “Get out.”

  “I’m going,” he said. She was upset. He had made his point. From the kitchen door, he turned and said, “So if you want what little is left of your mother’s mental health salvaged, I’d watch it with Cutter. I’ll go public, Pam. I’ll destroy her and then get permanent control over her stock.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “If it comes to that, fine. I don’t have any more use for you than I do for her.”

  “Get out,” she said again, coming slowly toward him this time. “And don’t you ever set foot in this apartment again. Your presence soils it.”

  “I mean every word I say.”

  “Your word isn’t worth a thing. I know better than to trust it.”

  “Stay away from Cutter, or I’ll destroy Patricia.”

  “Destroy Patricia, and I’ll marry Cutter so quick you won’t know what hit you. Then we’ll both fight you.”

  “Fat chance you’ll have of winning.”

  “Try us.”

  “There won’t be any need for that as long as we have an agreement.”

  “Get out.”

  He opened the door, then turned back to her and winked. “See you at work, hon.” When she slammed the door in his face, he grinned.

  Chapter 22

  New York, late June 1990

  JOHN WASN’T GRINNING WHEN Hillary opened the door. Still she felt the same rise of excitement she always felt, a conditioned reflex deep inside, whenever she laid eyes on him. Three months had passed since his engagement announcement. She should still be angry. She was still angry. But the excitement was there, even when he strode in without a word of greeting and turned to glare at her.

  “What in the hell are you up to?” He was wearing a dark summer suit and would have looked perfectly civilized had it not been for his eyes, which were dark and feral.

  “Me?” Her heart was beating fast. That, too, always happened when he was close.

  “You’ve been in Timiny Cove.”

  She struggled to think straight. He wanted an explanation. “I come from Timiny Cove. My dad still lives there. I go up to visit him sometimes. You know that.”

  “You’ve been visiting other people. You’ve been asking questions about me. What’s up, Hillary?”

  She didn’t have to ask who had told on her. Half of the townsfolk were beneficiaries of John’s charity. Over the years he had helped this one with housing, that one with medical bills, the other one with education expenses. The repayment came in the form of loyalty—in this case, intelligence.

  Given that he’d probably been in touch with more than one source, she saw no point in denying what he’d heard. “I’ve been thinking of doing a piece on you. My questions were by way of preliminary research.”

  “Make them final. Dump the project.”

  She felt a spark of annoyance. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Any special reason?”

  “I don’t want you writing about me.”

  “Why not? You’re important. There have been articles written in the past. There’ll be more in the future. Why shouldn’t mine be one of them?”

  “Because I say no.”

  She stared at him. Not even the pleasure of seeing him again blunted her frustration. She couldn’t believe that he had the gall to barge in and demand that she act simply on his wishes, particularly after the last few months.

  “Don’t do it, Hillary. You know things no one else knows. I won’t be betrayed that way.”

  “You won’t be betrayed?” she burst out. “What about me? After I’ve been here for you all these years, you turn around and make plans to marry someone else!”

  “I never promised you a thing. I thought you understood that.”

  “Oh, I understood it. But I’m not made of steel. What you’re doing hurts.”

  He said nothing for a minute. Then his eyes fell to her breasts. She felt their touch, saw the spark in their depths, and felt some satisfaction in knowing that she still turned him on.

  He came toward her. “Is it revenge, then?” he asked in a soft voice.

  She couldn’t help but be caught up by his grace, the smooth way he walked, his sexy darkness. At fifty, he was as tall and good-looking as he’d been at thirty. She knew she ought to turn and run, particularly given all she’d learned about him in the past weeks, but her heart was the only thing that moved. It beat faster than ever.

  “I haven’t yet decided what to write.”

  He slipped his fingers into her hair, then ran his thumb over her cheek with surprising gentleness. “Don’t write anything.”

  “Do you have a better
suggestion for how I should spend my time?”

  “Definitely.”

  He brought her face up and kissed her with the kind of force that never failed to arouse her. It didn’t fail then. She let herself luxuriate in his hunger for a minute before tearing away.

  “I don’t want this, John,” she said in a breathy, singsong way.

  “Bullshit.”

  When he reached for her again, she dodged his arms and ran down the two steps into the living room. There she sank into the corner of the sofa, looking as defiant as she could, and waited for him to make a move.

  Slowly and deliberately, he squared his shoulders. “You’re still in a snit about Janet.”

  “I sure am.”

  “There’s no need. The engagement’s off.”

  Her heart started speeding again. “Off?”

  “Broken. Over.”

  “Why?”

  “I decided I didn’t want to marry her after all.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t love her.”

  Hillary sniffed. “Love was never an issue.”

  “Then like.”

  “You liked her fine when you got engaged.”

  “I decided I didn’t like the confinement.”

  After a minute’s consideration, she understood. “Ahhh. You went to bed with someone. She found out and made a fuss.”

  “Something like that.”

  She searched his face for remorse or regret but found neither. “You bastard.”

  He actually looked wounded. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “Pleased that you see nothing wrong with cheating? Pleased that you sleep around with half of the women in the Western World?”

  He came down the steps toward her. “One woman, Hillary, and only after you said you wouldn’t sleep with me.”

  “And I meant it. Even I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “There’s no need anymore. The engagement is off.”

  “That’s convenient.” She tucked her legs up under her skirt and wrapped her arms around her knees. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of poses, but she didn’t care. She felt vulnerable and very much in need of protection from John. “You break up with Janet just in time to get it off with me. Will you go back to her when we’re done?”

  “That doesn’t even merit an answer.”

  She laughed and shot a sad glance at the ceiling. “My God, you sound pious.” Abruptly looking as grim as she felt, she met his gaze. “You don’t understand, do you, John? You live by a different set of rules from the rest of us. You didn’t see anything wrong with cheating on Janet, and you didn’t understand when I refused to do it.”

  “I offered her a hell of a lot in return. I thought she knew the score.”

  “That’s not the point! The point is that people don’t like being used. It doesn’t matter what you give them in return. At some point the abuse isn’t worth it.”

  “Abuse?” His expression hardened. “Hold on a minute. I never abused Janet. I never so much as raised a finger to her.”

  “There are different kinds of abuse.”

  “So let’s keep them straight. You say I used Janet. People use each other all the time. It’s a mutual thing in an engagement or a marriage. Physical abuse is something else entirely. I didn’t do a single thing in my relationship with Janet that could remotely be considered physically abusive.”

  “My, you’re defensive,” Hillary observed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She realized then how much she’d learned in the three months since she’d seen him last. “It means that you have it in you. You have a mean streak. Mean streaks turn violent. Maybe Janet saw that.”

  “I broke it off with Janet, not the other way around.”

  “Maybe she let you think that. Women aren’t as dumb as you’d like to believe.”

  He watched her cautiously for a minute. “Are you trying to tell me something, Hillary?”

  “Me? I’m just sitting here telling you why I won’t have sex with you. I don’t trust your motives.”

  “My motives are pure. I want you.”

  Her insides began to hum. She ignored it. “You want me to stop writing my story.”

  “That too,” he had the grace to admit. “But mostly I want you.”

  “You want me, but you proposed to Janet. You want me, but you went to bed with someone else when Janet wouldn’t put out. Was your need so great?”

  “For you? Yes.” He chewed on the inside of his mouth, looking younger, almost awkward. “Take a look, Hillary. You’re the only one I want this way.”

  Her eyes dropped to his trousers. The smooth fabric did nothing to hide his arousal. The sight of it increased the humming inside her, making it harder to ignore. She pressed her thighs together and prayed for strength. She didn’t want to give in.

  Dropping her forehead to her knees, she murmured, “That doesn’t change a thing.”

  “Doesn’t it tell you something?”

  “It tells me that you’re a horny bastard, but I’ve known that all along.”

  “Horny, yes. Bastard? What have I ever done to you that’s so awful?”

  She looked up in astonishment. “Aside from the whole business with Janet? You pick me up, then drop me, pick me up again, drop me again. You come to me when you feel the urge and leave as soon as it’s filled. We spend a long weekend making love, then days go by before you think to give me a call. You keep me separate from the rest of your life, as if I’m not good enough, as if I might spoil something for you. I satisfy one need, and one need alone. You use me, John.”

  “If I use you, it’s because you allow it.”

  Hillary was incensed. “So it’s my fault? Just like it’s Janet’s fault the engagement ended because she didn’t understand the rules?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And Pam’s fault that you forced her into an abortion she didn’t want? And Patricia’s fault that you seduced her behind Eugene’s back? And Cutter’s fault that you gypped him out of Little Lincoln—or that you had him beaten? I know about it, John. I know about all of it. So if you’re thinking that I’m going to look up at you like you’re some kind of idol, forget it. You’ve got feet of clay, just like the rest of us.”

  He said nothing. After staring at her for a time, he put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling. He raked his upper lip with his lower teeth. He hung his head. Then, when she was beginning to feel guilty for all she’d said, to wish that she could go over and wrap her arms around him, he met her gaze.

  “Those are some pretty strong accusations.”

  She shrugged.

  “Is that what you’re planning to write about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

  She held her breath, then said softly, “Don’t, John.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Lay down rules. Make threats.”

  “I’m simply giving advice.”

  “Advice that’s in your own best interest. But what about mine?”

  “It’s yours that I’m thinking about,” he said and came to her. Bending over, he propped a hand on either side of her hips and lowered his mouth to hers. But while she steeled herself against a kiss, what she got were a series of teasing touches that left her breathless and aching. Moaning softly, she turned her head away.

  “You want me.” He ran a hand up her leg. “Have you been heavy with it, too?”

  “Shhhh.”

  His breath was warm against her cheek. “You always liked it when I said things like that. It heated you up.” He tongued her earlobe. “Are you dripping for me, Hillary?”

  She was sure she was. She was melting inside, despising herself for it, but needing him, just as he said. “Go away, John.”

  His hand was on the outside of her thigh, then sliding around. “Open your legs.”

  “No.”

  “Open them. Let me feel.”

  �
�No.”

  But he found his way there anyway, and his breath came sharply. “Oh, yeah. You want me.”

  “Doesn’t mean a thing,” she managed to gasp. She was losing her grip, hating it, loving it.

  “Hillary?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Touch me.”

  “No.”

  His fingers paused in their deep stroking. “Do it.”

  Letting out a low whimper of frustration, she unwrapped her arms from her knees. As they spread apart, she felt his arousal through his trousers. But it wasn’t enough. Touching him brought back images of what he was like bare, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him that way again.

  Hating herself for what she was doing but half-wild with need, she pulled at his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered the zipper. She slid her hands inside, under the band of his briefs, and with the very first touch she sucked in a breath.

  “It’s for you,” he said in a voice that was low and gritty. “Doesn’t get like this for anyone else.”

  She wanted to believe him, wanted so badly to believe him that when he began to unbutton her dress she didn’t protest. She stroked him, then raised her hips at his urging. He had her panties off in a second, and in the next had her against the sofa with her dress and her bra wide open, her knees bent and spread.

  He dominated her world then, took control, blotted out everything else there might have been. If she’d ever wanted more in life, she couldn’t remember. There was nothing but John—John needing her in ways no other man had, ways no other woman could possibly understand. In the afterglow, she truly believed she’d found her place.

  Then, speaking quietly in her ear in a voice that was still faintly husky, he ruined it. “Proof is hard to come by, Hillary. Without it your claims are worthless.”

  They were sprawled on the sofa, a tangle of arms and legs and clothes that hadn’t been fully removed. She lay still, trying to take in his words, but the deeper they sank in, the more they hurt.

  He raised his head. “Are you listening? Write that story, and there’ll be trouble.”

  For a minute she couldn’t move. Then suddenly she felt she was suffocating. Scrambling out from under him, she withdrew to the far side of the room. She held her dress together with a shaky hand.

  “Did that mean anything to you?” she asked.