Between the Lines
Angela Benson
Copyright © 1996, 2016 by Angela Benson
First published by Kensington, 1996
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http://www.angelabenson.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the Author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Other Titles by Angela Benson
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Titles by Angela Benson
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Tom Kerlin and Marie Hardin at the Clayton News/Daily in Jonesboro, Georgia, and Bill White at the Opelika-Auburn News in Opelika, Alabama, for teaching me everything I know about the newspaper publishing business. I couldn’t have written Jake and Eleanor’s story without them.
Other Titles by Angela Benson
Sweet Passion Contemporary Romance Series
Friend and Lover
The Nicest Guy in America
The Way Home
Bands of Gold
For All Time
Between the Lines
Single Title Inspirational Family Drama
The Summer of Me
Delilah’s Daughters
Sins of the Father
Up Pops the Devil
Genesis House Inspirational Romance & Family Drama
Awakening Mercy, Book 1
Abiding Hope, Book 2
The Amen Sisters, Book 3
Enduring Love, Book 4 (coming soon)
Nonfiction
Men Don’t Like Ugly, Women Don’t Like Broke: What Women Need to Know about Love, Money and Relationships
Telling Your Tale: A Beginner’s Guide to Writing Fiction for Print and eBook
Prologue
“Reconsidering our plan?” Mathias Sanders asked his lifelong friend Randolph Mason. The fifty-five-year-old men had lost track of each other after high school, but they’d found each other twenty years later at a publishing convention. By then, Mathias had moved to Lamar, Alabama, a small town about two hours from Atlanta and owned the Lamar Weekly News, while Randolph had been on his way to becoming the chairman and CEO of New York-based Mason Publishing, now the largest black-owned publishing company in the country. The cement of their renewed friendship was common tragedy. Randolph and his then fifteen-year-old son, Jake, had been alone since his wife, Tammy, had succumbed to cancer some seven years earlier. Mathias and his then eleven-year-old daughter, Eleanor, had lost their Barbara suddenly to an aneurysm less than a year before.
“Not really,” Randolph said, studying a recent photo of twenty-eight-year-old Eleanor. With her hair pulled back in a stern bun and her blouse buttoned to her neck, the girl defined “prim miss.” But the expressive, brown eyes set in her beautiful mocha-complexioned face hinted at passion. “We aren’t forcing them to do anything, Mat. We’re only providing them an opportunity.”
Mathias lifted a finger for the bartender to bring him another drink. “An opportunity,” he repeated, then looked at Jake’s photo on the bar next to Eleanor’s. Thirty-two-year-old Jake had his father’s strong chin, his big, alert, brown eyes, and his coarse, jet black hair. And from the stories Randolph had told over the years, Mathias knew Jake also had his father’s integrity and strength. “Somehow I don’t think that’s how they’re going to view it when they find out.”
Randolph popped a couple of peanuts into his mouth. “If, my friend, if find out. Let’s think positively here.”
Mathias raised his glass and took a swallow of his tonic water. He didn’t drink alcohol. He never had. “Okay, I’m thinking positively. Eleanor is going to kill me if she finds out what I’ve done.”
“You haven’t done anything, Mat. And all we’re planning is a business deal.”
Mathias gave a “humph.”
“Yeah, business and personal.”
Randolph ran a strong, lean finger around the top of the bowl of peanuts. He and Mathias had often discussed bringing their children together, but they hadn’t thought they would be interested in each other. Until now. “We have to do this, Mat. For their sake as much as ours.”
One
Jake Mason rocked his right leg from side to side impatiently as he sat in the expansive living room of the Sanders home wondering how he had allowed his father to convince him to come to Lamar, Alabama, of all places. He’d seen enough of Lamar already to know there was a good chance he’d die of boredom before the three months he’d given himself to do this job were up.
He checked his Cartier watch for the fifth time. Four-thirty. Mr. Sanders was supposed to meet him at four. Where was he? Was punctuality something small-towners lacked? Jake hoped not, because he knew his eyes would be on the clock for the entire time he was here.
Jake stood, pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, and began to pace. The cluster of picture frames atop the baby grand piano in the corner of the room near a set of French doors caught his attention. He strode over to the piano and scanned the photos. Most of them were of Sanders’s daughter, Eleanor. Jake knew this because Mr. Sanders had given his father, Randolph, many of these same photos.
He took his hands out of his pockets and picked up the frame holding what he thought was Eleanor’s most recent photograph. The bun that was apparently her favorite hairstyle made her face look stern and older than her years. But it was the buttoned-up blouse with the collar around her neck that made her look mousy. All she needed were the stereotypical wire-rimmed glasses. Jake placed the picture back on the piano, grateful that Eleanor held no appeal for him. A romantic entanglement with Sanders’s daughter was the last thing he needed.
The sound of splashing water caused Jake to look toward the French doors. A pool, he thought. So small-towners did believe in swimming. Thank God for that. He could use a swim now himself. It was hot in Alabama in the summertime.
He walked to the French doors and peeked through the white lace curtains. There was a pool, all right. An Olympic-size in- ground pool that made his mouth water.
The splashing continued but Jake didn’t see anyone. He opened the door and started in the direction of the sound. Maybe Mr. Sanders had gotten so engrossed in swimming that he’d forgotten their meeting. Jake could understand that.
By the time Jake reached the pool, the splashing had stopped and a figure that he immediately knew wasn’t Mr. Sanders stood drying her legs with a fluffy white towel. Damn, what a pair of buns on that honey, he thought. She stood bent over from the waist with her back, rather her buns, to him, all chocolate and glistening from the water.
Jake’s eyes traveled her body, starting with the full hips covered with a thin strip of white cloth that gav
e new meaning to the word thong. He’d heard of thong bikinis, hell, he’d seen them, but this honey wore a one-piece suit in white that had less material than a lot of jockstraps he’d seen. His eyes continued their trip down her long legs and he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have those legs wrapped around him. His lips curved in a smile. Maybe Lamar, Alabama, wouldn’t be so bad after all.
If Jake could have formed a rational thought, he would have made his presence known with an introduction, but he couldn’t so he continued watching the beauty. When she stood to her full height, he was surprised that she wasn’t very tall, five-four at most. With those Tina Turner legs, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been six feet tall.
Turn around, honey, he pleaded silently. He had to see her face. Everything else was exactly as he liked it. Though he didn’t consider himself a hair man, there was something about the wet mane plastered against her shoulders that made him want to shout.
Turn around, he pleaded again. He felt his breathing quicken when she started walking away from him. He opened his mouth to call after her but he heard someone call his name. He closed his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Damn Mr. Sanders’s timing.
Jake made his way back through the French doors, dismayed he’d missed meeting what was probably the most exciting woman in this one-horse town.
“Jake, my boy,” Mr. Sanders began. He walked over and grabbed Jake’s hand, pumping it for a few seconds before saying, “Damn,” and pulling Jake into his arms for a bear hug.
“I can’t believe this is our first meeting,” Mr. Sanders continued. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
Jake couldn’t help but smile at the greeting. The older man’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I feel the same way, Mr. Sanders. Dad has talked so much about you and your daughter that I feel I know you, too.”
Mr. Sanders smiled and Jake knew then that the fifty-five- year-old man had probably been hell with the women in his younger days. Jake knew all too well how women responded to the sincere smile of a good-looking man, and he had no doubt Mr. Sanders had been an attractive young man. He still was. He was tall, Jake’s height, about six feet. He had the same salt-and-pepper hair Randolph sported and the same muscular build, but there the similarities ended. There was an openness in Mathias Sanders’s face that Jake had never seen in his father’s.
“Have a seat, my boy,” Mr. Sanders said as he walked to the eight-foot upholstered couch that stretched in front of the idle brick fireplace. “How do you like our town so far?”
Jake’s thoughts went immediately to the woman who had been in the pool. He liked her, but he couldn’t tell Mr. Sanders that. “It’s certainly not New York.”
Mathias Sanders laughed, a rich full laugh that caused the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth to become more pronounced. “You’re right about that, but give us a chance. Lamar is not such a bad place.”
It didn’t really matter to Jake if Lamar was a bad place or not. This assignment was exactly what he needed to prove his capabilities to his father and to himself. And he was going to do it. Big Time. And his father would be so impressed, he’d beg Jake to take a lead role in Mason Publishing.
Jake only wanted to do the job he’d been assigned and get out of this town and on with his life. He also wanted to find out who the woman was at the pool, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask. “About the paper, Mr. Sanders—” Jake began, but Mathias interrupted him.
“Not tonight, Jake. Tonight is family time. We’ll have plenty of time to do business later. Now tell me some more about yourself and what you’ve been doing. Maybe you can add to what your father has already told me.”
Jake settled back against the pillows on the sofa, giving up on his plans for a business discussion tonight. He told Mr. Sanders about his recent trip to Asia, leaving out most of the exciting things he’d done and the exotic women he’d met.
“You’re a lucky young man, Jake. You should be glad your father encouraged your travels. A man needs broad horizons. So does a woman. I wish I could get my Eleanor to see that.” Mathias laughed, but this time the wrinkles around his eyes didn’t get involved.
Eleanor. How quickly Jake had forgotten about her, while thoughts of the beauty by the pool refused to leave his mind. “Eleanor doesn’t like to travel?”
Mr. Sanders shook his head. “I sent her off to college in Georgia, but she came right back home. Never wanted to go anywhere.”
Jake detected a bit of sorrow in Mr. Sanders’s voice and he wondered what caused it. “Like they say, different strokes for different folks.”
Mr. Sanders laughed as Jake had hoped he would. “Maybe you’re right, Jake. Eleanor is different, all right.”
Jake agreed with him, but he had a feeling it would be rude to say so.
“Have you seen her around here?”
Jake shook his head and his thoughts returned to the beauty by the pool. That certainly hadn’t been Eleanor. There was no comparison between the beauty and the mousy-looking woman in the photographs. Maybe the beauty was her best friend. Some beautiful women surrounded themselves with less attractive friends to make themselves look better. He hoped the beauty he’d seen wasn’t that shallow. Not that it would matter to him if she was. He was only here for three months and she could make the three months seem a lot shorter if—
“Don’t you think so, Jake?” Mr. Sanders was saying.
Jake shifted his attention to Mr. Sanders and nodded. He didn’t have any idea what the old man was talking about.
***
Eleanor wanted to scream. She should have said something, but she’d been too mortified to do much more than slink back to her cottage beyond the pool.
The nerve of that man. Just who the hell did Jake Mason think he was? Oh yes, she knew who he was. Even though she’d only gotten a quick glimpse of him as she’d toweled her legs, his face burned itself on the pages of her mind. How could she forget it? The man looked better in person than he had in the photos her father had shown her, and she hadn’t even thought that was possible.
Jake Mason was one fine brother. Too fine, if you asked her. His tailored suit only enhanced his broad shoulders and slim hips. She could tell that much even though he’d been over a pool’s length away from her. And that leer that masked itself as a smile across his mahogany-colored face was enough to make lesser women weak in the knees. It wasn’t fair that a man could be so attractive.
And he had to know it. It took a man very secure in his looks to stare at a woman the way Jake had stared at her. Either that or he was crazy. And she didn’t think Jake Mason was crazy. No, Jake Mason was used to staring at women, and unless she was way off base, she was sure women usually returned his stare with one suitably welcoming.
Well, she wasn’t one of those bimbos and she wasn’t going to act like one of them. She was a woman. A liberated woman. And she hadn’t appreciated Jake’s appraisal. She wasn’t a piece of meat to be ogled at by some man like a dog would ogle a juicy bone. The man had been practically smacking his lips as he’d stared at her upturned bottom. She could have died when she’d looked through her legs and glimpsed him staring at her. If wishes came true, the ground would have opened up and swallowed her right there. Better yet, it would have opened up and swallowed Jake.
She tightened the towel she had wrapped around herself and quickened her steps. She needed the security and safety of her home now. Knowing she was fully out of his sight, she broke into a run for the last fifty feet to her door.
She dropped the towel on the hardwood floor of her living room as soon as she entered the front door. By the time she reached the marble tile of her bathroom, she’d discarded the suit as well. She turned on the water in the shower, adjusted the shower head, and stepped in. Leaning back against the tiled walls, she let the water massage her body. The soothing warmth was a welcome balm to her muscles, but it did nothing for her attitude. No, it’d take more than warm water to restore her good spirits.
Nothing short of getting Jake Mason out of Lamar would do that.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Eleanor stepped out of the shower refreshed, but still peeved. She toweled off with another of the fluffy white towels she’d bought in nearby Welles, loving the sensuous feel of the soft cloth against her naked skin.
Dry, Eleanor tossed the towel aside and reached for the perfumed lotion she always used. After seating herself at the bathroom vanity, she massaged the lotion into her skin. The soothing sensation felt sinfully good.
Finished, she got up and reached for the robe she kept hanging on the bathroom door. She removed it from its hook, but she didn’t put it on. Rather she walked from the bathroom to her bedroom and threw the robe across the treadmill that held most of the clothes she had not worn that week.
Eleanor loved being naked. She often thought that if it wouldn’t kill her father, she’d join a nudist colony. Since she knew that act would indeed kill him, her only alternative was to turn her home into a mini-nudist camp. It was why she kept her blinds closed and her drapes drawn at all times.
Thoughts of Jake Mason entered her mind again. She was tempted to call Carl Winters, her childhood friend and the paper’s top investigative reporter, and ask if he’d gotten the results from the background search she’d ordered on Jake Mason, Randolph Mason, and Mason Publishing, but she didn’t do it. She knew Carl would probably hang up on her anyway. She’d been bugging him about results since she’d given him the assignment a couple of days ago. The last time she’d spoken with him, he’d told her not to call him again.
Who was Carl to tell her when to call? she asked herself. She was paying for his services. She could do whatever she wanted. She reached for the phone on her black lacquer nightstand. It rang before she could pick it up.
“Hello,” she said, hoping the call was from Carl.
“Hey, girl,” her friend Megan began. “Do you want to go over to Welles tonight? Victoria’s Secret is having a sale.”
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