He entered her. Pushing into her warmth, holding back the gathering thrust of need. She tilted more. “Yes.”
He braced himself on his elbows, so he could watch her. He drew back, then slid deep into her again. Slow. Then again. And again.
“Rob.” One soft word. The final spark.
A tremor passed from her to him, then through them together. No plan, no thought. The rhythm no longer belonged to him or her. It was them.
He heard her cry, reaching higher. Heard it shatter into shimmers of sound and satisfaction. Then the roaring in his head, the convulsing flash of pleasure, pain, joy, need. All Kay.
She heard him get up. Pretended to be asleep when he went from the bathroom to the hall door and downstairs. She heard the back door open and close.
She couldn’t react, couldn’t feel. She floated in some limbo outside of time. Still rocked in the torpor.
Then the back door opened and closed again. She heard slight sounds of movement, clicks of lights and locks, then footsteps on the stairs.
The mattress depressed, tipping her toward him and she went with it, smiling as she buried her face against his shoulder and his arms came around her.
She stretched, still half-asleep, and found a lovely soreness in certain muscles.
They’d made love, slow and sustained after he’d let Chester out and closed up downstairs. Sometime in the first lightening toward day, he had awakened her by kissing her shoulder, and they had made love again.
Now he sat up in bed beside her, scrubbing his hands through his hair and yawning.
“Your back…”
He twisted, trying to look over his shoulder, giving it up, and grinning at her. “What about it?”
“It’s magnificent.”
He chuckled. “I thought you were going to say it had scratch marks.”
“Well that, too,” she admitted, peering at pink semicircular marks. “But it’s still magnificent.”
She kissed a semicircle near his shoulder. She remembered when she had made the marks. The ones on his shoulders, and the other set, lower. She crammed a pillow behind her to sit up.
She was remembering other things, too. Pieces clicked into place.
“So, will you finally admit that I was right all along?”
“About us?” He kissed her nose. “Oh, yeah. Definite rocket fuel.”
“Rocket fuel?” She chuckled. “I didn’t say anything about rocket fuel.”
“Story from my childhood.” He dismissed it, pursuing her original thread, not distracted by tangents. “Is that what you want me to admit?”
“Only for starters. The real one is that I was right about there being something bothering you beyond the divorce—the big thing bothering you. What you said last night about your career being over. You’ve known about this since we met, haven’t you? That’s why you said to me I was a financial analyst that first day.”
“Yeah. Kay—”
“I knew it! You kept telling me all that WYSIWYG stuff, but I knew it. But why all the secrecy? Since you’re not going back to Chicago for your career, you could stay here in Tobias for good, right? Everyone here will be thrilled.”
He dropped his head back and cursed the ceiling, then straightened. “Kay, we have to talk about why my career’s going in the toilet. We should have talked about it last night. I should have told you before—” He muttered another grim curse, this one at himself. “You’re right. I’ll be in Tobias for good. Maybe start a small business as a tax and investment adviser—that’s the good news.”
Which meant there was bad news, and his body language said it was big bad news.
“A change can be good, Rob. A chance to look at things from a new angle.”
He turned, met her eyes.
“It’s not like that. It’s a long story….” He let out a breath. “Mostly I worked outside the firm, investigating potential investments and consulting with only a few top individual clients. One of those clients, one of our best, ran into complications as a result of a nasty divorce and asked me to check over his investments, taxes, fees, everything.”
He shook his head. “It was a fluke. A one-in-a-million chance. But when I ran other figures for comparison, I saw a pattern. At first I thought I had to be wrong. At best there’s conflict of interest…at best. God, it’s our job to spot crap like this in other companies, to protect our clients from it. And here we’re doing it to them ourselves. I was sick.”
Pressure settled on Kay’s chest. A thick, smothering pressure.
“Is it illegal?” Her voice sounded small and distant.
“Yeah. And it’s damn unethical. And that’s what the firm’s been built on. The whole foundation will… I’ve seen—we’ve all seen—what happens to companies when they get busted. They die. A lot of people, a lot of good people who’ve only ever done their jobs or done business with the company in good faith, lose their shirts. Shirts, hell, they lose their futures. All because a few people in a position to twist things around get greedy. But I thought if it was caught from the inside, maybe that wouldn’t have to happen.” He levered himself up on one elbow, facing her. “People would take a hit, but not be wiped out. The firm could survive. And so could our employees and clients.”
“What did you do?’”
“I went to Mitchell Gordon, the man who recruited me into the firm. The man who gave me chances when other senior partners said I was too young. The man I respected more than anyone else. The man I trusted the most. I told him everything I knew and most of what I suspected. I expected him to grab the chance I was giving him. Shake things up, knock heads together, clean house. Instead, he asked for time to look into things.”
“That’s why you took the leave?”
He nodded. “He asked me not to be there. Asked me to give him room to maneuver—that’s what he said. Room to maneuver.”
She drew her knees up under the sheet. “That’s great, Rob. He’s probably getting things in order, using the time to—”
“Cover his ass—that’s what he’s using the time for. The first few weeks, I told myself he was making things right. But as time went on, I had to accept that Mitchell wasn’t putting the house in order. I would have heard. And then I had a call from my ex on Mitchell’s behalf, reminding me what a great mentor he’d been, reminding me my career was on the line.” He gave a sardonic snort. “Also reminding me that my own ass might need some covering.”
“Why? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He smiled briefly at her indignation. “Not the things they’re doing, no. But the authorities will have every right to ask why I didn’t come to them earlier.”
“You tell them the truth—you gave your mentor time to make it right.”
“Make it right? Or cover it up? It all depends on how you look at it. I’ve got to believe Mitchell is part of it, as much as I don’t want to, because of the way he’s reacting. But even aside from what the authorities do, my career’s over.” He smoothed his hand over the crown of her head, lowered his mouth to kiss below her ear. “If we’d met a year ago, I could have transferred to New York and maybe—”
She dropped her knees, sat up straight. “Don’t do it. Rob.”
He lifted his head, questioning her.
“Don’t do it. Not any of it. Leave it behind you. You don’t have to go back to that company. Come to New York. Get a job with another company.”
He shook his head. “Firms might talk a good game, but in the end they don’t want whistle-blowers. Besides—”
“That’s what I’m saying. Don’t be a whistle-blower.”
“Kay, you don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand. You haven’t lived through this. I know what happens when someone blows the whistle. I’ve seen the toll.” She looked away, unfocused. “Including the toll on the whistle-blower. Don’t do it, Rob. Don’t do it to this man you liked, respected, and above all don’t do it to yourself. You have no idea what it’s going to be like.”
“I have some idea. I’ve read accounts of what people have gone through. Losing their jobs, losing friends, losing spouses. There’s a support organization and I contacted them anonymously. They told me to expect the news crews outside my door for a while, calls at all hours, slams by the firm in the media, the whole thing.”
“Then how can you do this?”
“Kay, this involves a lot of people’s money.”
She swung back to face him. “Screw the money. What about the people? Mitchell, your co-workers, you.” And her, too, she hoped. But she couldn’t put that on him now. “And all their families.”
“I’m thinking about people—the people who could lose their life savings. It’s about them, too. People living off the pensions the firm handles—people like Miriam Jenkins, getting less money while some VP gets a private plane. And it’s about all the people who work at other companies like ours. It’ll come out someday, somehow. The longer this goes on, the less the public will trust. Having the problems exposed by an outsider only makes it worse. And then it’s not only my company, it’s a whole lot of companies going down.”
“It’s going to come out someday—let it. You don’t have to be the one, Rob. You don’t have to do this. You have a choice.”
“No, I don’t. I can’t leave it to someone else.”
“You’re putting abstract principle before anyone you lo—anything.” Tears choked off her words.
He reached for her. “Kay—”
She jumped up, grabbed a towel. “I told you, I told you what happened when Dora—I can’t talk…. Please leave now. I have to…”
She ran.
The Academy Awards needed a new category.
Best Performance of Normalcy When Your Insides Are Whirling Like a Blender.
Kay figured she and Rob would share that Oscar.
Then they’d stand at the lectern side by side, just the way they were walking now, on the sidewalk beside the brick wall surrounding Bliss House.
They’d met at the corner of the grounds, both heading for an emergency meeting that Miss Trudi had called. “It is not bad news,” she’d said, and that’s all either of them had been able to get out of her on the phone.
Kay had stopped when she saw Rob, but he’d come right up to her. He extended a hand as if to touch her face, then dropped it.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, hoping he hadn’t heard her throwing up before he left.
“Kay—”
She shook her head.
“We have to talk.”
“Not now.”
“Sometime.”
“Sometime,” she agreed. “Not now.”
He looked at her a long time, then gestured for her to continue walking toward the entrance to Bliss House’s grounds.
She couldn’t talk about what he was going to do, but she couldn’t stand the silence, either.
“I need a whelping box,” she said abruptly. “Actually, Chester does. Is there a store that—”
“I’ve got my doubts even Manhattan would have a whelping box store.” He looked grim, but his voice sounded almost normal. Almost. “There’s definitely no whelping box store in Tobias.”
“The book says it’s not hard for you to build a whelping box.”
“Who’s you? Compost bins are the extent of my carpentry skills.” They reached the drive to Bliss House in time to see Max enter the gate to Miss Trudi’s quarters. “I’ll ask one of Max’s guys.”
“Which one?” she asked doubtfully.
“Kay, if these guys are good enough to put Bliss House back together, they’re good enough to build a box for Chester to have puppies in.”
“It’s not the same thing at all but if you’re sure he’ll do a good job, okay.”
Rob started to respond, then looked beyond her and said, “Something’s going on at Miss Trudi’s.”
Looking through the gateway to Miss Trudi’s domain, Kay saw the open front door and people milling inside. She and Rob picked up their pace.
Miss Trudi stood in her front hall, urging people there to go on in. At their approach, she came outside and met them on the front steps.
“Miss Trudi, what’s wrong?” Kay asked. “You said it was an emergency.”
“A good emergency, Kay, dear.” Miss Trudi took her hands. “Your grandmother is here.”
Kay’s stomach rolled again. It was too much. All of it.
“But…how?”
“I believe a hired car brought her.” Then, as if that answered Kay’s question, she sailed on. “When I called yesterday to ask for her assistance, she immediately made arrangements. She arrived on an early flight and was driven right here. A few people have gathered to welcome her.”
Miss Trudi must have called Dora as soon as yesterday’s meeting had ended. And Dora must have caught a very early flight.
Kay recognized that figuring out flight schedules—with Rob beside her and her grandmother a few yards away—was avoidance.
She wasn’t ready to see Dora. Not now. Not with her emotions raw. Over her outburst on the boat, over Chester’s pregnancy, over making love with Rob, and over what he intended to do. If she didn’t keep the lid on tight, that powerful blender churning inside her would have her emotions splattering all over the place.
Miss Trudi spoke as serenely as ever. “As hopeful as I am that she will provide excellent assistance to us in preparing for Bliss House’s opening, I am equally hopeful that you will be able to help her.”
“She doesn’t need help from anyone,” Kay said, “least of all me.”
“She has not accepted assistance easily her entire life,” Miss Trudi acknowledged. “However, she has never faced this situation before.”
“What? Painting this mural? It’ll be a snap for her.”
Miss Trudi went oddly still. “Surely you knew that Dora hasn’t painted for nearly five years.”
Through this new shock, Kay felt the warmth of Rob’s hand at the small of her back, a gesture of support.
“That can’t be right. Dora lives to paint. Always has.”
“And yet the fact remains that she does not paint any longer.” Miss Trudi’s eyes were soft with sorrow, but her voice was firm. “Her arthritis has denied her the ability to control the brush with the exactitude she maintained all those years.”
“I know she was diagnosed years ago, but it can’t be that bad.” Memory washed over her…. Dora at the deli, the long wide sleeves of her jacket covering her hands. Never touching her. No… It couldn’t be. Dora unable to paint was like the world unable to spin. “She would have said something or…”
“When?” Miss Trudi’s solitary word spoke eloquently of the estrangement.
Kay shook her head. “You can’t be right. New Dora Aaronson paintings have come out.”
“After her diagnosis she worked intensely for years without increasing the number of paintings sold or displayed, creating an inventory to mete out when she could no longer paint to her standards, so that no one would know.”
“No, of course not. Dora Aaronson couldn’t let her reputation in the art world suffer. That was always her priority.”
Miss Trudi didn’t blink at Kay’s harsh tone. “I should say that she could not bear to have anyone who understood her loss feel sorry for her.”
For all the serenity of the older woman’s tone, Kay recognized it as a rebuke for not understanding—for not trying to understand—Dora’s loss.
The last time Kay had been in her grandmother’s studio, Dora had stood before a newly finished painting, her left hand slightly cupped, absently sliding over the back of her right hand, wrist to fingers, fingers to wrist. Until minutes ago Kay would have described it as a gesture of tending to that talented right hand. But it could have been checking the inroads of arthritis. Or a way to soothe pain. Or an attempt to accept her diminishing abilities at the same time her only child disregarded his own honor and the integrity of the art world she had devoted her life to.
> “She could still paint,” Miss Trudi, was saying, “if she were willing to explore new techniques.”
Kay gave Miss Trudi a look. Oh, yes, Dora’s old teacher knew as well as Kay did that Dora would never compromise her precise style or her exacting standards.
And then Kay read another message in those wise eyes.
“But if her hands…? How’s she going to do the mural?” Kay blurted.
“That’s something we need to discuss.”
That’s what Miss Trudi said, but was that what she meant? Or was this a plot—a double plot—to get Dora Aaronson painting again and to heal the rift between granddaughter and grandmother?
Kay swung around to Rob to see if he’d been involved in arranging this, but she instantly recognized his concern for her. Somehow, despite the strain between them, Rob’s concern made an impossible situation less so. Maybe it was the sense that she had someone in her corner.
“Yes. We do need to discuss this,” she said to Miss Trudi. “Because we need that mural for the sake of Bliss House and Tobias.”
There. She’d put the older woman on notice that her machinations hadn’t escaped notice, and that whatever Kay did, it would be for the good of the project, not because she’d been manipulated.
“Yes, indeed, we do need it. Shall we join the others and your grandmother?”
The Tobias grapevine had drawn enough residents eager to see the town’s famous native to pack the room.
If Rob could have banished them all or whisked Kay away he would have done it in a second. But she was walking in beside Miss Trudi, with her head high and her back straight.
After the past twenty-four hours he wouldn’t blame her if she’d curled up in a ball in a corner…the way he imagined she must have after being sick in the bathroom last night.
What an ass he’d been.
He’d known she was reeling, and what did he do? He dumped the fact that he was ending his career and opening himself up to the kind of public scrutiny that had torn her apart as a kid—just after they’d made love.
The bed had been rumpled and warm with the earthy scent of their lovemaking. Lovemaking unlike any he’d known. He’d expected the rockets, yet hadn’t been fully prepared for them. And he’d never known he could feel such overwhelming tenderness at the same time.
Least Likely Wedding? Page 16