by Meryl Sawyer
“Let me take you on a tour,” Trevor said.
Matt decided to tag along. His reporter’s instincts had kicked into high gear. He wanted to know what Dexxter was up to, and he didn’t trust the FBI to find out.
“Hello, Trevor.”
Peter Holt came through the front door wearing a lightweight designer suit with a short, tight skirt and stiletto heels. Matt had to admit the transvestite was strikingly beautiful. He was no competition for Shelly, but chunky Irene with her piano legs and porn star boobs finished a distant third.
Dexxter’s appreciative gaze swept over the doctor. Irene scowled, evidently sensing more competition. They hadn’t figured it out yet. Not surprising. The only telltale sign was a slightly large Adam’s apple, which most people didn’t notice at first.
“Dexxter, Irene, this is Dr. Holt,” Matt said, omitting Peter’s first name to prolong the moment. He turned to the doctor. “They’re leasing a place on Sunset Key.”
“I know. I’m sorry I missed the party for them last night, but I had to lead a sexual addiction group.”
The doctor shook Irene’s hand, then reached for Dexxter’s eagerly extended hand. “Call me Peter. All my friends do.”
Matt could have picked Dexxter up with a spatula. Dexx stared, slack-jawed, then gasped.
Trevor stepped forward to ease the awkward moment. “Come on, everyone. Let’s start the tour.” He shooed the group up the stairs.
Matt released Shelly’s hand, whispering to her, “Talk to Dexxter. I want to see how he reacts.”
Matt hung back and let the others ascend to the second floor where carpenters were busy. Irene had a death grip on Dexxter’s arm, but he glanced over his shoulder at Shelly, who was just behind him.
“This home was originally built by a ship’s carpenter for William Otto, a cigar maker who had bribed his way out of a Cuban prison and came here.”
“What year was that?” Dexx asked Trevor, managing to sound interested, but Matt noted he was watching Shelly.
“Just after the Civil War.” Trevor pointed to a peg being hammered into place by a carpenter. “Ship’s carpenters didn’t use nails. To be true to their techniques, no nails will be used in this house.”
“Restoration is very detail oriented, isn’t it?” Shelly asked.
“That’s the first thing I noticed too,” Dexx eagerly told Shelly. “The details.”
“Ship’s carpenters built many of the fine homes in Key West,” Trevor continued. “That’s why there’s gingerbread dripping from the eaves and some of the most beautiful shutters ever made. They didn’t know what to do with themselves, so they just kept adding to the homes.”
When Trevor was on a roll about Key West’s history, nothing could stop him. Not that Matt minded. It gave him an opportunity to observe. The proud smile Clive wore told Matt how far their relationship had come. Trevor seemed to have found the right person.
Irene had not. Despite the ring on her finger, Irene was not a happy camper. He couldn’t blame her. Dexxter’s IQ couldn’t hit double digits. How could he be so obvious about his attraction to Shelly?
Last night Dexx had struck him as being more full of himself than intelligent. His observations today confirmed it. Why was he engaged to Irene if he found other women including a transvestite so appealing?
His reporter’s instincts went on alert. Things didn’t square. Maybe they were just pretending to be engaged.
Why anyone would devote so much time and money to restore a crappy old house was beyond Dexxter’s comprehension. Key West was beyond him. All the bars. All the fags. All the weirdos, like the doctor who was as hot as any of the techies who used to come to Dexx’s office.
After touring the second floor, they went down the narrow back stairs, the servants’ route. They had to go single file, and he was finally able to get away from Irene. He’d thought the ring would appease Irene until he could take care of her.
It had made her even more jealous and possessive.
Let Irene eat her heart out. He had bigger game to hunt. As they walked outside to check out the weeds in what had once been a garden, he moved closer to Shelly.
“Have you been to the Audubon House?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t,” she replied in that low, breathy voice he’d heard in his dreams last night.
“Audubon is such an interesting man, known worldwide as a conservationist,” Dexx said, trying to think how to make intelligent conversation with this beautiful woman. “I’d like to see his home, wouldn’t you?”
She beamed a smile at him that made his blood thick and hot. “Audubon didn’t build the house. Captain Greiger did. John Audubon never even lived there.”
“Really?” Dexx wasn’t sure if she was making fun of him or playing hard to get. He’d spent too much time with hookers, he decided. He needed practice with a real woman. “Even if it’s not his home exactly, I understand many of his drawings are on display there.”
“True. Do you realize the man was famous in his time for killing birds?” she asked as he took a half step closer to her.
“It’s absolutely a fact,” Peter said, coming up to them. “Audubon considered it a bad day if he didn’t shoot a hundred birds.”
“It’s amazing that his name has become synonymous with conservation,” Shelly said to the cross-dressing doctor.
Dexx cursed Peter under his breath. Why didn’t he stay with the others and leave him alone with Shelly? Dexx wanted to ask the doctor what he did with his dick when he wore such a tight skirt. But Shelly was a lady, and he didn’t want to seem crude around her.
“We’re going to Audubon House next,” he told her as Irene’s hand clamped around his arm like a vise. “Why don’t you come with us?”
Before she could respond, Jensen stepped up beside her. “We’re outta here. It’s time for your therapy.”
Shelly held up her hand, the only part of her that wasn’t absolute perfection. “I still can’t use my hand. I have therapy everyday. Have fun at the Audubon House.”
Jensen guided her out of the garden, saying good-bye to everyone. The way Matt curved his arm around her was protective and possessive at the same time. It wasn’t Irene’s insecure clinging. This was a self-confident man who assumed Shelly loved him.
For the first time, Dexx considered that he might have to eliminate Jensen to get to Shelly. That presented a little problem, but not for a man of Dexxter’s talent. He’d think of something. He always did.
“Therapy. That was a great excuse to get away,” she said.
He smiled at Shelly as they crossed the living room on their way out of the house. “Actually, it isn’t an excuse. I could use a little sex therapy.”
She tried for a shocked expression. “Then make an appointment with Peter.”
Matt chuckled, then pulled her into his arms for a kiss. As she closed her eyes, wondering if she’d ever become accustomed to the thrill of being in his arms, she looked over his shoulder.
At the back of the house, several rooms away, stood Dexxter, watching them. Every muscle in her body went rigid.
“What’s the matter?”
“Let’s go.” She led him to the front door. When they were outside, she said, “Dexxter was watching. He gives me the willies.”
“That’s because he is a little creep.” Matt looked up and down the street. “I don’t see anyone who looks like they’re tailing Dexx, do you?”
The area was deserted except for a woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk. The late afternoon sun cast deep shadows along the tree-lined street. The houses were close together with banks of dense ferns between many of them.
“He could be hiding somewhere,” she said.
“Maybe, but I’m not counting on it. Remember Waco and Ruby Ridge. Anything can go wrong. We may have to deal with Dexxter ourselves.”
They headed toward the water shuttle, Matt’s arm around her shoulders. She asked, “What do you think Dexx is up to?”
“I’m not p
ositive, but I think he came down here to see if you were Amy. Now he’s wa–a–y too interested in you—as a woman. Mark my words, Dexx wants to get you in the sack.”
The idea was as shocking as it was sickening. The thought of Dexxter touching her made her stomach heave.
The shuttle to Sunset Key was just loading as they arrived at the pier. Matt helped her in, then sat beside her. She asked, “I can’t figure why Dexxter suddenly gave Irene a ring.”
“A very cheap ring at that. Last night he was bragging about all his dough. Then he gives her a chintzy ring. Why?” Matt pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head as the puzzle fell into place. “He doesn’t care what she thinks, and he doesn’t expect their relationship to last.”
“That makes sense. This is some sort of temporary arrangement Except—”
“Except that Irene is hopelessly in love with him.”
“Okay, now this is therapy,” Matt told her.
They were back at Half Moon Bay in his room. The shutters were closed, but light from a crimson sunset cast an amber glow across the bed. He was applying lotion to her back, soothing her tired muscles.
They’d already made love, stripping the minute they’d closed the door. Now they would make love again. It was just a matter of time.
“You know,” Matt said, his palms fanning out across her back, spreading the lotion. “You’re a fast learner. I swear, if I didn’t know it for a fect, I’d never believe you were a virgin. Course, you did have a life master as a teacher.”
“That’s bridge, Jensen, not the sexual Olympics.”
“Go on. You can’t mean it.”
She was relaxing so quickly now that it was hard to think, let alone talk. With the lotion now spread over her back, he began to smooth his hands over her shoulders. His fingers glided over her skin, exerting just enough pressure to take the tension out of her muscles. He worked down one arm, using his thumb to tease the sensitive skin.
When he reached her hand, he added two drops of lotion to her palm, then went to work on her injured hand. He tenderly coaxed each finger to straighten just a little more. Massaging her palm and between her fingers, he urged the taut muscles to open a bit more than they ever had.
He planted a kiss squarely in the middle of her palm, and slowly ran his tongue in a circle. She released a soft moan of utter pleasure.
“That feels s–o–o–o good.”
“Hey, we aim to please.”
Next, he placed his hands at her waist, using the heels of his palms to press into the muscles and force the tightness out of them. She was limp by the time he reached the back of her neck. Straddling her, he kneaded the tired flesh at the back of her neck with his thumbs.
At the base of her back she felt the hot, hard length of him pressing against her. She knew what was coming next and wondered if she had the strength to respond.
Well, maybe. Just once more.
She gripped the pillow with both hands as he focused his attention on her thighs, removing the tantalizing pressure of his arousal from the small of her back. Before a protest could leave her lips, he was applying lotion to the backs of her legs down to her feet. Moist heat was building rapidly now, desire replacing languid relaxation.
Only too well she knew what pleasure those talented hands could bring. Right now, though, he concentrated on smoothing the lotion into the arch of her foot. He continued upward, massaging her calves until they relaxed, then working his way up to her thighs.
By now the sun had set, cloaking the room in the deepening shadows of night. Somewhere in the distance a bird called to its mate, and through the open window she heard the surf rushing up to the shore. The scent of lavender came from the lotion, swirled through the air by the ceiling fan overhead.
She tightened her hold on the pillow and released a ragged sigh into the soft down as he stroked her, moving closer and closer to her inner thighs. He paid extra attention to the already soft muscles there, caressing them with exquisite skill.
“You’re hired,” she managed to say.
“I’m expensive.”
“Worth it, trust me.”
“Then I can count on a big tip?”
He shoved a powerful arm under her hips and levered her upward to a kneeling position. With an aggressive thrust of his hips, he entered her from behind.
In a few strokes he had her quivering beneath him—on the brink. Then a bolt of something akin to lightning hit her with blinding force. She barely heard herself cry out with pleasure. In a moment he joined her, collapsing sideways onto the bed.
How long she remained in his arms, she wasn’t sure. When she awoke, she was cuddled against him and the room was pitch black. Something had awakened her, she groggily realized.
“Shelly, Shelly.” The voice came from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Trevor?”
“Yes, Clive wants you to call a patient out at the clinic. She’s having a bad time. He wants you to talk to her.”
“What?” Matt asked from the pillow beside her.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him, diving into the heap of clothes beside the bed. She was positive there wasn’t any woman at the clinic. There had to be news about a treatment for Matt. Oh, please, God, let it be good news.
Chapter 30
“What’s up?” she asked Trevor once she closed the door behind her, leaving Matt.
“Clive’s been on the Internet for hours.”
She glanced down at her watch and saw that it was nearly midnight. A wave of guilt kept her silent as they crossed the house. While she’d been making love, Trevor and Clive had been working hard to help Matt. She should have been with them.
“We’ve found something, but we need to talk about it.”
Trevor led her into his room. It was a suite facing the ocean on the other side of Half Moon Bay, which was a vast sweep of water with a thin ribbon of a beach. Off to one side of this private retreat was an alcove with a desk and a computer.
Clive was sitting at the desk, scrolling through notes on the computer’s screen. He looked up when they came in. Trevor pulled out a chair for her next to Clive, then brought one up for himself.
“What have you found?” she asked, mentally keeping her fingers crossed.
“As I suspected, the tumor Matt has is inoperable,” Clive said, “because it’s growing between the coils of the hippocampus.”
“I had just basic biology. I don’t remember too much about the brain.”
“The hippocampus is the enfolding of the cerebral cortex deep in the center of the brain. Its shape reminds many people of a sea horse. That’s how it got the name, hippocampus. Think of it as a switching station buried deep in your skull. If a surgeon is off a millimeter, the body ceases to function normally.”
The knowledge that Matt was so at risk twisted inside her. It was a moment before she found her voice. “Is there any hope?”
“Clive found one experimental laser procedure called microsurgery,” Trevor said. “It’s a long shot at best.”
“Has Matt mentioned having migraines to you?” Clive asked.
“No, he hasn’t, but maybe he wouldn’t say he had a headache.”
“It would be more than a simple headache. A killer headache accompanied by nausea or vomiting or hypersensitivity to light and sound.”
“No, he hasn’t complained of anything like that. Why?”
Clive and Trevor exchanged a look that made her uneasy, then Clive said, “What Sloan-Kettering sent were tests almost a month old now. The absence of migraines may mean the tumor hasn’t grown. If the tumor has grown, even the long-shot laser surgery will be out of the question.”
“Matt must get a new MRI to see if the procedure is possible,” Trevor added.
“What we’re really going to need is a miracle to convince Matt to undergo yet another test. When he told me about his situation, he insisted he was through with doctors. That’s why he doesn’t want anyone to know. He doesn’t want to be nagged.”
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Trevor touched her shoulder, saying, “You won’t be nagging him. You’ll be persuading him.”
She had her doubts. There was a moody, brooding side to Matt as well as a certain stubbornness. Character determines fate, she suddenly thought. It fit this situation. Her character wasn’t ruled by The Beast any longer; she was a much stronger person now. She would find a way to convince Matt.
“Tell me about the procedure and the doctor performing it,” she said.
Matt peered into the refrigerator and spotted a platter of cold chicken. He took a piece and wandered out onto the terrace overlooking Half Moon Bay, Jiggs and Bingo at his bare feet.
“What’s keeping Shelly?” he muttered to himself.
He ate the chicken, sharing a bite or two with the animals as he sat on the chaise. Across the water, the lights of Key West sparkled and the sound of reggae drifted toward him on a light breeze. He wondered if he’d ever been this happy, then quickly decided he hadn’t.
Where had she been all his life?
Beyond his reach. Only an odd twist of fate had brought them together, when he needed her the most. He didn’t have long to live, and what he wanted was someone special to share the final months until he became ill.
Then he would have to go away.
He was determined that she remember him the way he was now. No chance he was going to allow her to see him slowly deteriorate the way he’d seen his mother. He intended to go through the suffering and the pain.
Alone.
“Matt? Matt? Oh, there you are.” Shelly walked out onto the terrace. “Could you come inside? We need to talk.”
Something in her tone put him on alert. He went inside, tossed the chicken bones into the trash compactor, and washed his hands. She was seated on a barstool at the island. He pulled out the stool beside her, curious about what she wanted.
“My mother had a saying,” she began, looking directly at him, two deep lines of worry between her eyes. “Character determines fate.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Matt, do not joke. I’m serious.”
He’d been testing her, and now he knew he was not going to like what he would hear next. She was going to badger him, the way Emily had. Unlike his sister, he had no intention of walking out on this woman.