by Sandra Brown
whispered, "Perhaps you're judging her too harshly, James. There could be many
reasons why she didn't go with you. "
"Like what? What would make a person stay with a violent, drunken fiend like
that?"
"Fear of retribution, for one thing," she said. "Or love."
"Love?" he asked incredulously.
"Maybe. There's no explanation for love. Perhaps she loved him in spite of his
violent temper. Or maybe she was too proud to leave him. I understand that it's
very difficult for a woman to admit that her husband values her so little as to
physically abuse her."
Laura lovingly touched his face. "Or maybe she stayed to protect you, James. I'm
sure she wanted you to have a better life than she did. She could have been afraid
he'd come after you both if she didn't stay behind. I think she made a tremendous
sacrifice for you. Even to the point of risking her life."
Laura could see the ambivalence in his features as he studied his hands, turning
them this way and that while deep in thought. She sensed that he was viewing
Leona's decision in a whole new light. His previous convictions weren't so
steadfast now.
"James," she asked quietly, "are you ashamed of your mother? Are you afraid that
an association with her will remind people of where you came from? Is that why
you don't want to see or be seen with her?"
He said nothing for a moment, then turned his head. "Whew! You fight dirty,
don't you? You hit below the belt." He left the bed again and prowled the room
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aimlessly. "If that were true, I'd be a real bastard, wouldn't I?" He expected no
answer and got none. "But I guess that's been in the back of my mind." Sighing, he
dragged his hand down his face. "What kind of person does that make me, Laura?"
"Human." She extended her hand to him. He took it gratefully and let her pull him
down to lie beside her. She cradled his head between her breasts, smoothing her
hand over his hair.
"Your mother is a real lady, James. I like her very much."
"You do?"
"Yes. She's gracious and kind. Eager to please."
"Does she really have a picture of me?"
"In a silver frame. Displayed in the most prominent place in her house."
"It must be the only picture ever taken of me before I left home." A trace of the old
bitterness was in his voice.
"That's probably why she values it so much." Her calm rejoinder quelled his
resurgence of hostility.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to call her."
Because he couldn't see her face, Laura clamped her lower lip between her teeth
and squeezed her eyes shut in profound relief. After a moment she said, "She
won't make the first move toward a reconciliation. She respects you too much. I
think she's in awe of you. "
"I don't know, Laura," he said skeptically. "It's been a decade. There's been a lot of
water under the bridge. I'm probably not what she wants or needs, not even what
she expects."
"Have no doubts on that score. You're her son. Her baby. She loves you and would
forgive you anything. I'm sure the inadequacies you feel can't compare to her
feelings of inferiority."
For a long time, Laura continued to hold him, giving him the maternal cosseting
he'd been deprived of as a boy. Leona Paden had loved her son. But survival, hers
and James's, had been a daily challenge. She hadn't had the luxury of nurturing
him spiritually.
At thirty-three, he sought that nurturing in the arms of his loving wife. Laura ran
her fingers through his hair and idly scratched his back, whispering endearments.
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She was certain that he would mend his relationship with his mother, but
something else disturbed her.
"James?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you still angry at God?"
After a time, he said, "He made it all up to me and we came to terms."
"How?"
Very simply he said, "He gave me Mandy."
He almost added, "And you." But he didn't. And in a short while they both fell
asleep.
* * *
He had already gone downstairs when Laura awakened the following morning.
Wearing a smile that simply wouldn't go away, she showered and dressed quickly
and joined him and Mandy in the breakfast room. Mandy was giggling.
"What's so funny?" Laura asked from the doorway.
James swung around to look at her, and her heart soared at the impact his
glowing eyes had on her. She recalled all the times he had reached for her during
the night. There had been a childlike desperation in his touch, as though she
might vanish if he lost physical contact with her. She'd been there, ready with a
reassuring word, a soft caress, a kiss.
"Daddy's tickling me. Do it to Mommy, do it to Mommy," Mandy chanted,
hopping up and down in her chair.
"Only too happy to oblige." James left his place at the table and moved toward
Laura. For Mandy's benefit, he slid his hands up and down her rib cage as though
he were tickling her. For his benefit, he kissed her accommodating mouth. His
lips slid beneath her hair to her ear. "Too bad I can't tickle you like I did
yesterday. I really made you squirm. Remember?"
Laura blushed to the roots of her hair. He laughed, pleased in a possessive,
masculine way. After another hard, swift kiss, he escorted her to the table. As soon
as they'd eaten breakfast, he excused himself, saying that he had errands to run.
Laura told Mandy to help Gladys carry the dishes to the sink and followed him
out. She reached the entrance hall just as he was shrugging into his sports jacket.
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"Going anyplace in particular?" she asked with affected nonchalance.
He gave her a crooked smile and took a square, cream-colored envelope from his
breast pocket. She recognized it as one of the party invitations. Leona Paden's
name was scrawled across it.
"Don't you need a stamp?"
"This one gets hand-delivered."
"Oh, James, I—" She almost told him then that she loved him. Catching the
spontaneous words just in time, she satisfied herself by stepping into the circle of
his arms and returning his hearty hug. "Would you like me to go with you?"
"Yes," he confessed, clenching her tighter. But he shook his head and pushed her
away. "I would love to have you there to lend moral support. But this is something
I've got to do alone," There was no humor behind his short laugh. "I'm more
nervous about meeting my own mother face-to-face than I ever was before a car
race."
She ran her hands over his lapels. "She'll be much more nervous than you."
He cocked his head to one side and squinted down at his wife. "You know, for a
sexy broad, you've got a lot of human kindness."
"Why, Mr. Paden," she simpered, southern-belle style, "I do declare! I never k
new
you had such a winnin' way with words."
He laughed in appreciation of her posturing, but then turned serious. "Thank you,
Laura, for making me do this."
She shook her head in denial. "You would have done it by yourself sooner or later.
I only gave you a boost."
"Still…"
He had every intention of giving her a tender, husbandly kiss of gratitude. But his
arms wrapped around her malleable body, and the kiss lengthened and grew
hotter until his manhood responded. He set her away from him. "Later, baby."
Before he submitted to his impulses, he stalked out the front door, letting the
screen slap closed behind him.
* * *
The next few days were devoted to preparations for the party. The guest list was
continuously updated, and invitations were rushed to the post office in time to go
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out in the afternoon mail.
"Why didn't we just put an ad in the paper and issue a blanket invitation to
everybody in town?" James asked dryly as Laura thrust another batch of stamped
envelopes into his hand to be mailed. "Just kidding," he said when she looked up
at him, horrified by the suggestion.
Over Gladys's strenuous protests, Laura hired a caterer to help with the food for
the party. The caterer and the housekeeper had battles royal, but finally agreed on
a menu. It was to be a typically southern spread, with steamed crab and prawns,
battered fried fish, fried chicken, corn on the cob, baked beans, okra gumbo, along
with salads and relishes and watermelon and Gladys's famous pecan tarts for
dessert.
James hired a crew of boys still out of school for summer vacation to help Bo
manicure the vast lawns surrounding the house. The lower branches of the trees
were lined with tiny clear Christmas lights to give the whole yard a fairyland aura,
which delighted Mandy. Lanterns were strung along invisible wires that ran from
tree to tree, and the pier was lined with torches planted in buckets of sand. A
dance band from Atlanta would provide the music.
"Only one thing bothers me," Laura mused aloud late one afternoon. They were
walking their horses back to the stables after taking a ride with Mandy.
"What's that?" James swung down from his mount to assist Laura off hers. Bo had
already assisted Mandy. "What could go wrong? Laura, the White House staff
doesn't go to this much trouble to plan a state dinner for the visiting premier of
China. What stone could you have possibly left unturned?"
"The weather." Worriedly, she glanced up at the sky. "There's a storm brewing
down in the Caribbean, and the weathermen are saying that by the weekend we
might get rain." She gnawed at her lower lip. "That would spoil everything."
"I don't think so." James grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.
"We could send everybody home early and have our own party in the privacy of
our bedroom." He nuzzled the V of her open collar, which was on a level with his
nose. "Just the two of us. Nekkid and nasty. BYOBO."
"BYOBO?"
"Bring your own baby oil." She smiled, but the worried frown between her brows
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didn't fade. "Look, baby," James said with a long-suffering sigh, "it's not going to
rain. Okay? Okay?" he repeated, shaking her slightly until she agreed with him.
"Okay," she mumbled. He imitated her pout. Only, he did it much better. He
looked adorable. "Okay!" She finally succumbed to laughter.
* * *
The day before the party, around noon, James descended the dim steps leading to
the cellar. "Yoo hoo!"
"Down here."
"I know, but where?" he asked, reaching the bottom.
"Over here. Gladys sent me down to take last-minute inventory. She's making the
final, final, final run to the grocery store today." Laura was standing in front of a
storage shelf, making additions to a growing list. "What are you doing home? I
thought you had business in town. Is it lunch time already?" Surveying her list,
she absently tapped her pencil against her cheek. "Did you see Leona? I asked her
over to help Gladys arrange flowers."
"Yes, I had business in town, but I finished it earlier than I thought I would."
James caught his wife around the waist and turned her about to face him. He took
the notebook and pencil out of her astonished hands and tossed them down on a
worktable that an ancestor had fortuitously provided.
"Yes, it's lunchtime already. Yes, I saw Mother and Gladys and Tricks out on the
terrace arranging flowers. In fact they told me where I might find you, and now
that I have your attention, Mrs. Paden, how about giving your husband a hello
kiss?"
Before she could answer, he sealed his mouth over hers, parted her surprised lips
even wider, and swept her mouth with his tongue. "There," he murmured several
heart-stopping moments later, "that's more like the welcome I had in mind."
"Any time," Laura said breathlessly.
"Really?" One corner of his lip tilted into a sexy smile. "I can't tell you how glad I
am to hear you say that, darlin', because I have a real hankering for you right
now."
"Right now?"
He moved forward, backing her against the edge of the table. "Uh-huh. I want a
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taste." He reached for the buttons of her blouse and had them undone before
Laura knew what had happened. Beneath her blouse he found a frilly pastel teddy
and muttered his appreciation.
"I wanted to see your undies."
"What? When?" His hands were moving over her breasts, making her almost
incoherent.
"Always. When I'd see you walking down the sidewalks of town and in the halls at
school. I was dying to know what kind of undies rich girls wore. What kind Laura
Nolan wore. I'd have gone crazy for sure if I'd ever imagined anything like this."
He peeled the lacy cups down over her breasts and bent his head to take the tip of
one between his lips.
She clutched at his hair for balance. "James," she whimpered as his tongue laved
her beguilingly.
"You're delicious." His lips closed around the pouting flesh and sucked gently.
She moaned. "Someone might…" Her eyes flickered toward the top of the steps,
where light from the open cellar door poured in. But it barely registered on her
whirling mind before her eyes closed of their own accord.
His hands moved up her thighs beneath her full, casual skirt. They caressed their
way up to her waist and lifted her onto the table. He stepped between her thighs.
"Look what you do to me." He pressed her hand to the front of his trousers.
"It's the middle of the day." No protest had ever sounded so feeble.
He rubbed himself against her palm. "I've been this way since morning."
"Even after last night?"
"Every time I see you, think about you."
She gave a short, startled cry when he unsnapped the teddy and caressed her
where she was already wet and warm. The sound of his zipper could barely be
heard over the rapid soughing of their breathing.
"Always so sweet and small."
That was his last strangled groan. After that, their words weren't discernible.
Several minutes later, he eased himself off her and helped her up to perch on the
edge of the table. "How do you feel about the cellar now?" he asked gently,
running a finger down her cheek.
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"Well, if that didn't banish my fears, nothing will." She gave him a bashful smile
so out of keeping with her lustiness only moments earlier that he grinned.
Considerately he passed her a handkerchief. When she was finished with it, she
stuffed it in her skirt pocket and restored her clothing. Between kisses, James
helped her. It was he who closed the last button on her blouse, and he did so only
after stealing one last glimpse of her breasts.
"James, you didn't use—"
"I keep forgetting to go to the drugstore."
"You know the risk we're taking."
"Do you really want to talk about that now?" He eased her off the table. Her knees
were weak, she discovered when she tried to stand. Slumping against him, she
curled her arms around his neck for support and rested her cheek against his
chest. "No, I guess not."
He rubbed her back soothingly. "What would you like to talk about?"
"About how decadent I've become." A chuckle rumbled up from his chest. "Isn't
there a law against corrupting the morals of a very nice lady?"
"I don't think you were really all that nice," he whispered directly into her ear. "I
think you were a decadent wanton hiding behind a disguise of primness and
propriety. You were ripe for a mean stud like me to come along and sweep you off
your feet."
She sighed with resignation. "I suppose so. Otherwise I couldn't have been
corrupted so easily."
"You were a pushover."
Rather than take offense, she merely smiled, drinking in his familiar scent. "Is it
true what they say, that a man wants his wife to be a lady in the parlor and a
whore in the bedroom?"
"Where do you come up with all this stuff?" He angled his head back to glance
down at her.