by Nora Roberts
And she had no business tingling around Harper. It really had to stop. Why couldn’t it go back to the way it used to be? When she’d been pregnant, she’d felt comfortable around him. Even the first months after Lily’s birth she’d been easy in his company. When had it started to change on her?
She didn’t know, she couldn’t pinpoint it. It just was.
And couldn’t be. Lily wasn’t the only one who couldn’t have everything she wanted.
four
SHE FELT ODD and out of sorts at work. As if her skin was too small, her head too heavy. Too much yoga for the novice, she decided. Too much work, not enough sleep. Maybe she should take a little vacation. She could get the time off, and she could afford a few days. She could drive back to Little Rock, visit some of her old friends and co-workers. Show Lily off.
But it would eke into the vacation fund she’d started to take Lily to Disney World for her third birthday. Still, how much would it cost, really? A few hundred dollars, and the change of scene might do her good.
She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. The air in the greenhouse felt too close, too thick. Her fingers as she tried to arrange dish gardens were too fat and clumsy. She didn’t see why she got stuck with this job. Stella could’ve done it, or Ruby. Then she could work the counter—a monkey could work the counter this time of year, she thought irritably.
She should have had the day off. It wasn’t as if they needed her. She should have been home, in the cool, relaxing for a damn change. But here she was, sweating and dirty, stuffing plants into bowls because Stella said so. Orders, orders, orders. When was she going to be able to do what she wanted, when she wanted?
They looked down on her because she didn’t have the bloodline, she didn’t have the education, she didn’t have the fancy background that made them all so important. But she was just as good as they were. Better. She was better because she’d made her own way. She’d clawed her way up from nothing because—
“Hey, hey! You’re breaking the roots on that ludisia.”
“What?” She stared down at the plant, and her fingers went limp as Stella snatched it from them. “I’m sorry. Did I kill it? I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay. You looked upset. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.” She shook herself, and flushed with the shame of her own thoughts. “The heat’s making me irritable, headachy, I guess. I’m sorry I haven’t got these done. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
“It’s okay. I came back to give you a hand anyway.”
“I can do it. You don’t have to take the time.”
“Hayley, you know how I like to play in the dirt when I can. Here.” She reached into the cooler under the workbench, took out two bottles of water. “Take five.”
What had she been thinking before? she wondered as she took a long pull from the bottle. Nasty, petty thoughts. She didn’t understand why her mind would have come up with such mean things. She didn’t feel that way. But for a minute or two she had, and it made her feel ugly now.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Stella.”
Frowning, Stella laid her hand on Hayley’s brow in the classic mother’s gesture. “Maybe you’re coming down with a summer cold.”
“No, I think it’s more the blahs. Not even the blues, just the blahs. They keep sneaking up on me, and I don’t know why. I’ve got the most beautiful baby in the world. I love my job. I’ve got good friends.”
“You can have all that, and still get the blahs.” Stella took an apron off a hook, studying Hayley as she tied it on. “You haven’t dated in more than a year.”
“Closer to two.” And that called for another long drink of water. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve been asked out a few times. You know Mrs. Bentley’s son, Wyatt? He was in a few weeks ago, buying her a hanging basket for her birthday, and he was flirting pretty hard. Asked me if I’d like to have dinner sometime.”
“He’s pretty cute.”
“Yeah, he’s got that sexy jock thing going for him, and I thought about it, then I just didn’t want to go to all the bother, and I edged back.”
“I seem to remember you pushing me out the door when I talked about not wanting to go to all the bother when Logan first asked me out.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She smiled a little. “I’ve got such a big mouth.”
Before Stella selected plants, she tightened the band that held her mass of curling red hair into a tail. “Maybe you’re just a little nervous on the board? You know, taking that dive into the dating pool again.”
“I’ve never been nervous about dating. It’s one of my primary skills. I like going out. And I know if I wanted to, you or Roz, or David would take care of Lily.” The knowledge brought on another stab of guilt for the resentful thoughts that had wormed into her mind. “I know she’d be fine, so that’s no excuse. I just can’t seem to get myself in gear.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met somebody who makes you want to oil the gears and get them moving again.”
“I guess . . . maybe.” She took another long drink, braced herself. “The thing is, Stella . . .”
When the silence dragged on, Stella glanced up from the pot she was building. “What’s the thing?”
“First you gotta promise, swear that you won’t tell anybody. Even Logan. You can’t say anything.”
“All right.”
“You absolutely swear?”
“I’m not going to spit in my palm, Hayley. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
“Okay. Okay.” She walked down the aisle between tables, then back again. “The thing is, I like Harper.”
Stella nodded encouragement. “Sure. So do I.”
“No!” Frustrated, mortified to hear herself say it out loud, Hayley set the water down and clamped her hands over her face. “God.”
It took her a minute for the light to shine. “Oh,” Stella said with her eyes going wide. “Oh. Oh,” she repeated drawing out the syllable. Then she pursed her lips. “Oh.”
“If that’s the best you can do, I’m going to have to hit you.”
“I’m trying to take it in. Absorb it.”
“It’s crazy. I know it’s crazy.” Hayley dropped her hands. “I know it’s not right, it’s not even on the table. But I . . . forget I said anything. Just highlight and hit delete.”
“I didn’t say it was crazy, it’s just unexpected. As far as not being right, I don’t follow you.”
“He’s Roz’s son. Roz, the woman who took me in off the street.”
“Oh, you mean when you were penniless, naked, and suffering from some rare, debilitating disease? It was saintly of her to take you in, clothe you and spoon-feed you broth night after night.”
“I’m allowed to exaggerate when I’m being a fool,” Hayley snapped. “She did take me in, she gave me a job. She gave me and Lily a home, and here I am imagining how I can get naked and sweaty with her firstborn.”
“If you’re attracted to Harper—”
“I want to bite his ass. I want to pour honey all over his body then lick it off an inch at a time. I want to—”
“Okay, okay.” Stella held out one hand, laid the other on her heart. “Please don’t put any more of those images in my head. We’ll just agree you’ve got the hots for him.”
“Major hots. And I can’t do anything about it because we’re friends. Look how screwed up things got for Ross and Rachel. Of course Monica and Chandler’s a different story, but—”
“Hayley.”
“And I know this isn’t a television show,” she muttered over Stella’s roll of laughter. “But you know how life imitates art? Besides, he doesn’t think about me that way.”
“The honey-licking way?”
Hayley’s eyes went blurry. “Oh God, now I’ve got that image in my head.”
“Serves you right. Anyway, are you sure he doesn’t think of you that way?”
“He hasn’t made a move, has he? It’s not
like there haven’t been opportunities. And what if I made a move on him, and he was just, like, horrified or something?”
“What if he wasn’t?”
“That could be even worse. We’d have ourselves some wild jungle sex, then after we’d both be . . .” She lifted her hands into the air, waved them wildly. “Oh God, what’ve I done, and all awkward with each other. And I’d have to take Lily and move to Georgia or somewhere. And Roz would never want to speak to me again.”
“Hayley.” Stella patted her on the shoulder. “This is just my impression, just my opinion, but I’m fairly sure Roz knows Harper has sex.”
“You know what I mean. It’s different when he’s having sex with women she doesn’t know.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure she’s perfectly delighted that her son has sex with strangers. Strangers to her, anyway,” she added with a laugh. “And naturally she’d be appalled to learn that he might be intimate with a woman she knows and loves. Yes, that would be a real knife in the heart.”
“It’s a kind of betrayal.”
“It’s no kind of betrayal. He’s a grown man, Hayley, and his choices in relationships are his own business. Roz would be the first to say so, and the first—without a doubt—to tell you she doesn’t want to be one of the angles in this triangle you’ve formed.”
“Well, maybe, but—”
“Maybe, maybe, but, but.” Stella waved them all aside with such enthusiasm, Hayley had to duck and blink. “If you’re interested in Harper, you should let him know. See what happens. Besides, I think he’s had a crush on you from the get-go.”
“He has not.”
Stella shrugged. “Just my opinion, just my impression.”
“Really?” The quick bump under her heart at the idea was painful and nice. “I don’t know. I think if he has a crush on anybody, it’s Lily. But I could think about maybe giving it a little push, see what happens.”
“Positive thinking. Now, let’s get these dish gardens done.”
“Stella.” Hayley poked a finger in the dirt. “You swear you won’t say anything about this to Roz.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Stella held out her palm and, mimicking the sacred rite she’d seen her sons perform, spat in it.
When offered the hand Stella held out, Hayley stared at it, and said: “Eeuuww.”
IT MADE HER feel better. Having somebody else know what she was thinking and feeling took a weight off. Especially when that somebody else was Stella. Who hadn’t been shocked, Hayley reminded herself. Surprised, sure, but not shocked, so that was good.
Just as it was good to take a couple of days and think about it. In fact, she was thinking about it, a little dreamily, when with Lily down for the night, she stretched out on the sitting room couch to unwind with some TV.
Idly, she channel surfed and decided how nice it was to have nothing to do for an hour. Still, reruns, repeats, and other summer dreck, she decided, wasn’t what she wanted for a lazy hour of entertainment.
She flipped to an old black-and-white movie, something she didn’t recognize. It seemed like some kind of romantic drama, where everyone wore gorgeous clothes and went dancing every night at elaborate clubs where they had orchestras and voluptuous girl singers.
Everybody drank highballs.
Why did they call them highballs? she wondered, yawning as she snuggled down. Because the glasses were tall, okay, but why were the glasses called balls? She should look it up sometime.
What would it be like to wear those incredible gowns and glide around a dance floor with everything all Art Deco and glittering? He’d be wearing a tuxedo, of course. She bet Harper looked awesome in a tux.
And what if they’d both come with someone else, but then they saw each other. Through all that silk and shine, their eyes met. And they just knew.
They’d dance, and everything else would wash away. That’s the way it was in black-and-white. It didn’t have to be complicated; whatever separated you could be vanquished or overcome. Then it all washed away except the two of you together as the end music swelled.
And when it did, you’d be in each other’s arms, your face tipped up to his as your lips came together in that movie-perfect kiss. The kind you felt all the way down to the soles of your feet, the kind that meant you’d love each other forever.
Soft, soft kiss, so tender as his hand brushed over your hair, then deepening, heating just a bit when your arms locked around his neck. Up on your toes so your body leaned to his.
Line, angle, curve, all beautifully fitted.
Then after it faded to black, his hands moved over you, touching where it tingled and ached. Stroking over silk and skin so that your mouths met now with little gasps and moans.
The taste of that kiss was so potent, so powerful, the flavor of it streamed through your whole system, woke everything up, made everything swell.
And everywhere you’d felt cold and tired warmed again because you wanted, and were wanted.
Candles were flickering. Smoke and shadows. Flowers scented the room. Lilies, it had to be lilies. The flowers he’d brought her, bold and red and passionate. His eyes, deep brown, depthless brown, told her everything she wanted. That she was beautiful to him, and precious.
When they undressed each other, her gown melted away into a pool of glittery white against the black of his jacket.
Skin to skin, at last. Smooth and soft. Gold dust and milk. His shoulders under her hands, the length of his back, so she could feel those muscles tense as she aroused him.
The way he touched her, with such need, filled her with excitement so that when he gathered her up in his arms—oh—she was quivering for him. He laid her on the bed, the big white bed with sheets as soft as water, then sank into it with her.
His lips skimmed her throat, captured her breast so appetites quickened, and the tug, that long, liquid pull in her belly made her moan out his name.
Candlelight. Firelight. Flowers. Not lilies, but roses. His hands were smooth—a gentleman’s hands. Rich hands. She stretched under them, arched, adding throaty purrs. Men liked their whores to make noise. She stroked her hand along the length of him. Ready, more than ready, she thought. But she’d tease him a bit longer. It was wives who lay passive, who let men do what they willed, to have done with it.
That’s why they came to her, why they needed her. Why they paid.
She brought her shoulders off the mound of pillows, so her curling mane of golden hair spilled back. And she rolled with him, lush breasts and hips to entice, rolled him over on the bed to slither her way down, to nip and lick her way down his body to do what his cold-blooded, prim-mouthed wife would never do.
His grunts and gasps were her satisfaction.
His hands were in her hair now, gripping, twisting while she pleasured him. His body was trim, and she could gain some enjoyment from it, but had he been fat as a pig she’d have convinced him he was a god to her. It was so easy.
When she straddled him, looked down at his handsome face, saw the greedy desperation in his eyes, she smiled. She took him into her, fast and hard and thought that nothing fit so well inside her as did a rich man’s cock.
Hayley bolted up from the sofa as if she’d been shot out of a cannon. Her heart clanged, hammer to anvil, in her chest. Her breasts felt heavy as if, oh God, as if they’d been fondled. Her lips tingled. Panicked, she grabbed at her hair and nearly wept with relief when she felt her own.
Someone laughed, and had her stumbling back, rapping up against the couch and nearly spilling onto it again. The television, she saw as she crossed her arms protectively over her breasts. Just the television, sophisticated drama in black-and-white.
And oh, God, what had happened to her?
Not a dream, or not just a dream. It couldn’t have been.
She dashed out of the room to check on Lily. Her baby slept, snuggled with her stuffed dog.
Ordering herself to calm, she went downstairs. But when she reached the library, she hesitated. Mitch sat at the library
table, tapping away at the keyboard of his laptop. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she had to check. She had to be sure. Waiting until morning just wasn’t in the cards.
She stepped inside. “Mitch?”
“Hmm? What? Where?” He looked up, blinked behind his hornrims. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry. You’re working.”
“Just some e-mail. Do you need something?”
“I just wanted to . . .” She wasn’t shy, and she wasn’t prudish, but she wasn’t sure how to comfortably relate what she’d just experienced to her employer’s husband. “Um, do you think Roz is busy?”
“Why don’t I call up and see?”
“I don’t want to bother her if . . . Yes, yes, I do. Could you ask her to come down?”
“All right.” He reached for the phone to dial the bedroom extension. “Something happened.”
“Yeah. Sort of. Maybe.” To settle one point, she walked to the second level, behind the table and studied the pictures on Mitch’s work board.
She stared at the copy of the photograph of a man in formal dress—strong features, dark hair, cool eyes.
“This is Reginald Harper, right? The first one.”
“That’s right. Roz, can you come down to the library. Hayley’s here. She needs to talk to you. Right.” He hung up. “She’ll be right down. Do you want something—some water, some coffee?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m okay, just feeling a little weirded out. Ah, when Stella first came here, when she was living here, she had dreams. That’s when it really started, right? I mean, before that there were . . . incidents. Sightings. But nothing much ever happened—at least not that Roz heard of—that was dangerous. Regarding The Bride, I mean.”
“That seems to be the case. There’s been a kind of escalation, which seemed to start when Stella moved in with her boys.”
“And I came a few weeks after. So it was the three of us here, living in Harper House.” Her skin still felt chilled. She rubbed her bare arms and wished for a sweatshirt. “I was pregnant, Stella had the boys, and Roz, well, Roz is bloodline.”
He nodded. “Keep going.”