He was in love with Jenny, and he’d planned to tell her just that. Everything had gone fine until Barry Henderson showed up while they were kissing. Dexter hadn’t known anyone else was in the apartment. He’d made a serious mistake in his assumption that he and Jenny were alone, but one look at Barry and Dexter had him pegged as a rich older dude, looking for a trophy wife, someone he could parade around with a look-at-the-fox-I-married smirk on his face. Somehow he’d managed to convince Jenny that he was making such a huge sacrifice in marrying her, knowing she didn’t love him. All he wanted was sex. It was a cinch Jenny would refuse to sleep with a married man. Couldn’t she see the connection between Barry’s anxiousness to marry her and his desire to get her into bed?
Dexter sighed. The night she rejected him in Baltimore he’d made a vow that he was through chasing her; if she wanted him she would have to make the first move. For the most part he’d kept his promise, other than a little harmless flirting or stating the obvious, buoyed by confidence that eventually she’d come around. Now he had to consider that day might not ever come. He felt like a first class chump, rushing uptown to see her after she told him she loved him, entertaining the fantasy that she could ever say those words to him and mean it. It had been nothing more but an attempt to convince the INS agents their marriage was authentic.
His eyelids began to feel heavy, a sure sign that he was probably on the right track. He needed to get some sleep. He’d sent out résumés to some of the city’s leading law firms, and his future looked bright. That was where his thoughts needed to be.
He’d go to the INS interview Friday. Heck, he’d even take tomorrow off and go to Jenny’s to prepare. They’d ace it, and after that he’d leave her alone.
That decided, Dexter rolled over on his stomach and gave his pillow a final punch. Within three minutes he finally dozed off.
Chapter 22
“Mrs. Gray, thank you for agreeing to the change in plans.”
Genevieve nodded politely. “I should be thanking you. Your coming here instead of us going downtown makes it much easier on my ankle. I wanted to unwrap it today, but Dexter insisted I leave it wrapped for the full week. He graduated from medical school, you know, before going to NYU Law. He’s going to specialize in malpractice law.”
The agents appeared duly impressed.
Dexter, standing at the edge of the foyer, made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Please, won’t you sit down?”
Both Mrs. Galasso and Mr. Chmielewski introduced themselves to Dexter and shook his hand before sitting, this time in the two club chairs that flanked a round end table. Dexter guided Genevieve to a seat on the sofa and sat beside her, not too close, but he covered her hand with his. “Oh!” he exclaimed, his spine straightening. “Can I offer you some coffee, or something cold?”
“No, thank you,” Mr. Chmielewski replied in a clipped voice.
Genevieve felt a chill. He’d turned on his stern, unforgiving persona again. If he ever needed a career change, a school headmaster would be perfect. Or a prison warden.
“I’m good, thanks,” Mrs. Galasso said pleasantly.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gray,” Mr. Chmielewski began, “It’s already been established that Mrs. Gray has been in the country illegally for some time now. I tracked her down last spring, and I couldn’t catch her at home until this week, five months later. Seems a little odd, doesn’t it?”
Genevieve’s heart thumped at the implied distrust, but Dexter seemed unruffled. “I can readily understand why there might be some concerns on your part,” he said easily. He glanced at Genevieve’s legs, both in the sitting position. “You know, Jenny, I’m sure no one will mind if you elevate your leg.” He gently lifted her still-wrapped leg and placed it on the hassock.
“With such a crackdown on illegal immigration, we have to investigate marriages between citizens and non-citizens for fraud,” Mr. Chmielewski explained.
“This is a lovely apartment,” Mrs. Galasso stated. Genevieve decided she was either trying to put them at ease or she was preparing to move in for the kill. And the agent’s next words told her it was the latter.
“Would you take us through it, Mr. Gray?”
“No need for you to come along, Mrs. Gray,” Mr. Chmielewski said quickly. “You stay there and rest your ankle.”
Genevieve knew this was no casual request. They wanted Dexter to give the tour to gauge how familiar—or unfamiliar—he was with the layout. “Go ahead, Dexter,” she suggested. They had nothing to fear. Dexter had brought enough clothing, toiletries, and law books over to make it perfectly believable that he lived here full-time. She added for playful effect, “But I told you that you should have cleaned up the office.”
She sat quietly in the living room while Dexter showed the agents around. She heard snippets of conversation as they moved about. Dexter joked that she’d threatened to split the office where she drew her sketches and he studied in half, with her side neat and clean and his side messy and unkempt. From the powder room she heard him say, “Jenny makes me get dressed out here rather than the bathroom in our bedroom. She says I make too much of a mess with my facial hair all over the sink, and that I never cap the toothpaste.” She pictured the uncapped tube of Pepsodent behind the faucet of the pedestal sink and smiled, but at the same time she hoped he wouldn’t lay it on too thick. If they could convince these people during this brief visit that their relationship was genuine, she would receive approval for her legal status, so a lot was riding on it. In spite of all that she and Dexter had learned about each other in the past two months and the hours they spent quizzing each other just yesterday, she still wasn’t sure they could pass a grueling fraud interview.
“She says that with our next home we’ll definitely have his-and-her closets,” she heard Dexter saying, surmising that he’d shown them his sloppy end of the closet and her neat and organized one.
She listened to Dexter recounting a story, and from the few words she was able to pick up here and there, she determined that he was telling them about the rash she’d gotten from his failure to dry the surfaces he’d cleaned. It was the perfect icebreaker, at least for Mrs. Galasso, whose laughter floated through the air. Dexter made it all sound so natural.
She’d better do the same.
By the time the agents left, Genevieve was so nauseated from the stress that she excused herself and, in the privacy of the master bath, retched repeatedly over the toilet. When the wave passed she stood up and carefully washed her face and rinsed her mouth. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and could see the stress on her face in the form of barely noticeable fine lines around her mouth and eyes that weren’t usually there.
Chances were that they’d deepen before it was all over. It would take up to two weeks before she and Dexter were notified of the INS decision, and she was worried about Agent Chmielewski, who seemed so rigid and unmoving, so doubting of her and Dexter, from the time he entered the apartment until the moment he left. Genevieve knew they’d done an excellent job, and most of it hadn’t involved playacting. Their natural comfort with each other shone through.
No doubt, she and Dexter did have chemistry. Surely even Conrad Chmielewski could see that, even if he found their marriage to be disingenuous. And that raised a very important question.
Did she really want to leave the U.S. for what would undoubtedly be a lifetime of misery and hardship without spending one night with Dexter?
When she returned to the living room, she found Dexter sitting in one of the club chairs, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped. He looked dejected, but brightened when he saw her. “Hey, I was about to send in a search party for you.”
“Sorry,” she said as she lowered herself onto the sofa. “I just needed a few minutes to compose myself. From the looks of it, you’re feeling as worried as I am.”
Dexter leaned back in his chair. “I actually think it went pretty well, at least with her. But he’s another story altogether.”
“I know what you mean. That Mr. Chmielewski is so hard to read, and to me he didn’t look like he believed us. I was worried about you in there with him.” She and Mrs. Galasso had remained in the living room for a one-on-one interview, while Dexter underwent the same with the unreadable Mr. Chmielewski in the office, and then the agents changed places for a shorter but intense series of questions to help them determine just how well Genevieve and Dexter knew each other. As a result of their intense preparation, plus more subtle factors like the CD collection Dexter brought with him or the cooking they’d done together, they were easily able to answer questions about their taste in movies, music, and food, plus more personal questions like which side of the bed they slept on.
“I was fine. Didn’t give anything away. But that look he gave me as they were leaving gave me the willies,” Dexter remarked. His fingertips drummed the arms of his chair. “I guess all we can do now is wait. We gave it our best shot. That’s got to count for something. I don’t think we stumbled anywhere, do you?”
Genevieve knew he sought validation from her and sought to reassure him. “No.” After a pause, she slowly added, “But I don’t think he believes us, Dexter.”
His sigh told her he had the same fear. “At least Mrs. Galasso looked like she believed us. Maybe she can talk him into it.” He cursed softly. “I do think that two-week period to find out what they’ve decided is ridiculous. They knew when they left here what their decision will be.”
Genevieve leaned all the way back and stared at the ceiling, sighing heavily.
He quickly rose and came to sit beside her. “It’s probably pointless for me to say we should try not to worry,” he remarked. “But while I’m here, let me take a look at that ankle.”
Genevieve’s skin tingled as his deft fingers removed the Ace wrap and pressed against her skin. She never thought of the ankle as an erogenous zone, but the way he fingered it, examining both her bony prominences and the surrounding skin, made her want to throw herself into his arms.
Unfortunately for her, he was all business as he studied her facial expression for signs of discomfort while simultaneously palpating around her ankle, applying pressure every few seconds.
“It’s fine,” he declared. “I wouldn’t even worry about going back for a checkup. But I do need to make sure you can bear weight on it without pain. It was a very bad sprain.”
Genevieve got to her feet and walked in a circle. “It feels fine.”
“Good. You’re all set.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Well, that’s it, then. I’ll get my things and be on my way.” He got up and started for the office.
She watched helplessly, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t let him leave. The feeling of foreboding intensified when he emerged from the office, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ll get Z.L. to hail me a taxi,” he remarked.
She saw an opportunity to possibly prevent him from leaving and pounced on it. “Aren’t you concerned about what he’ll think when he sees you leaving with a bag?”
“The INS people have left,” he reminded her. “Besides, this can easily be explained. Now that you’re recovered, I’m going up to spend some time with my grandparents. Okay, I’m outta here. Call me the moment you hear, huh?”
“All right,” she said weakly.
“It’s gonna be a long two weeks,” he muttered. He was just a few feet from the door when she suddenly cried out, “Dexter!”
“Yeah,” he replied pleasantly, turning.
She closed the brief distance between them. “Don’t leave.” At his puzzled look she rushed on. “Stay with me. I can’t...I can’t spend another night alone.”
The moment the frown appeared on his face, Genevieve knew something had gone terribly wrong.
“I guess that’s my cue to take you in my arms and carry you off to the bedroom,” he said drolly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jenny, but I’m not a toy at the mercy of your whims. You changed your mind on me in a minute’s time when I came to you the night we got married, or have you forgotten?”
Her eyes narrowed. “So this is payback?”
“No, Jenny, it’s not payback. That’s childish. I just don’t like having my strings pulled. I think you need someone who’s more...malleable.” He walked toward the door, and she watched helplessly as he walked out of the condo, and perhaps her life as well.
She stumbled down the hall. Who could possibly be ringing her doorbell at this hour? It was one o’clock in the morning, and Z.L. had gone off duty at midnight, but still, the building’s lobby was inaccessible without a key. “Who’s there?” she said, her voice low with suspicion. The last time this happened the teenager next door had taken advantage of his parents’ weekend trip by throwing a party, and a few guests had rung her bell by mistake.
“It’s me, Jenny.”
Stunned, she confirmed this by looking through the tiny glass in the center of the apartment door. If he’d forgotten something important, like his keys, it had sure taken him long enough to realize it. He’d left hours ago.
She opened the door to see him standing there, hands in pockets, water on both his trench coat and in his hair. She hadn’t been aware that it had begun to rain. “What’s going on?”
“You gonna let me in?”
She stepped back, allowing him entry. “Dexter, it’s one o’clock in the morning.”
“And you look delectable.”
She suddenly became conscious of the turquoise nightgown she wore. She’d felt terribly down when he rebuffed her, and she perked herself up the best way she knew how—by taking a bubble bath and putting on a pretty nightgown. She’d learned a long time ago that it was hard to feel bad when you looked good...even if there was no one to see it.
Except now there was.
“Thank you,” she replied stiffly. She felt a desperate need to cover herself; a sexy nightgown wasn’t the proper attire to discuss whatever was on his mind...and the way he stared at her suggested he might forget what he wanted to say himself. She sighed. “You go in and sit down. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
She turned, intending to get a robe, but she’d barely taken a step when he moved behind her, his arms encircling her waist. She noticed that he held a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane, and in that instant she understood why he’d returned.
“I came back because I couldn’t stay away, Jenny,” he said softly, his lips so close to her ear she could feel a vibration. “It was foolish to deny myself something I’ve wanted from the very beginning, just because my ego got bruised in Baltimore,” he whispered against her hair.
Her body went taut. The cut of her nightgown left her back, shoulders, and much of her chest area bare, and the thinness of the fabric that covered her breasts, belly, hips, and legs made it feel like his hands were touching bare skin. Then she relaxed and leaned into him with her chin raised, savoring the feel of his hard muscles against her back. His hands ran up and down her side, down the indent of her waist and out in the flare of her hips. She felt warm lips nuzzling the niche where her throat connected to her shoulders, and she spun around in his arms.
They kissed with abandon, both of them secure in the knowledge that this time they were alone. The sound of swishing cellophane told her the flowers Dexter brought had fallen to the floor. She felt his large palm moving over her breast, and she impatiently pushed his coat off of him. While his tongue and lips tantalized the hollow of her collarbone and his fingers reached inside her bodice to stroke an erect nipple, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
She gasped when his eager hands moved down and pulled her nightgown up over her hips, and then, cupping her buttocks, he raised her body off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his midsection, and they resumed their hungry kisses, now at eye level. Her arms cradled the back of his head, her fingers clutching at the dark curls, wet from the rain outside.
A moan escaped from deep in her throat as he toyed with her other nipple through the thin fabric of he
r nightgown. She slowly opened her eyes, her lids feeling heavier than usual, when the feel of his lips and hands on her body suddenly ceased.
He was looking at her with naked adoration.
“Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.
“No, but I will be.” He pointed to her nightgown with his chin. “Get rid of that thing.”
Genevieve removed her arms from around his neck, knowing he would not let her fall. Her eyes on his, she crisscrossed her arms and her fingers pulled the straps off the opposite shoulder. Her gown fell off her, coming to a stop at the swell of her hips.
Her eyes closed and her back arched when Dexter lowered his head to explore her breasts with his mouth. She felt his grip tighten around her hips. “Hold on to me,” he ordered between laving her nipples with his tongue and gently biting them.
“Yes,” she murmured. Her arms went back around his neck, and she cried out in pleasure when one of his hands reached under the flowing fabric of her nightgown to stoke the fire raging between her thighs. Dexter left her breasts and reclaimed her mouth, smothering her moans. She trembled in his arms, loving his touch and blissfully pinned between his body and the wall.
Dexter didn’t mean for it to happen this way. He’d wanted to do something romantic and special for her, like carry her to a moonlit bedroom, sensually peel off her clothes, taste her from head to toe. Instead, here they were in a fully lit foyer just steps from the outside hall, Jenny naked from the waist up, her nightgown hanging behind her hips in a mass of soft shimmering material, and her legs wrapped around his waist. But he wanted her desperately, right here, right now, and he felt powerless to stop long enough to move them, not with his long middle finger blissfully sheathed inside her, covered with her moistness, feeling her muscles contract around him, urging him on.
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