She always felt a little tingle of excitement whenever she thought about decorating the spaces. She hadn’t offered her services to Martin, thinking perhaps he wanted to use his own decorator. But she had begun making notations on a pad, hoping he would ask her. She would design an incredible showplace for the man who had saved her life.
Walking into the kitchen, Parris stopped short. Martin stood at the cooking island humming along with a song coming from speakers hidden within the walls. He wore a pair of shorts and a tank top, and like her his feet were bare.
It was the first time she had seen so much of his flesh exposed that her mouth went dry as she noted the thick black hair on his strong legs. Her gaze moved up and he turned to face her.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She missed his dimpled smile as she stared at the thick mat of hair on his chest. She found herself mute again.
“What…what are you doing here?” Her normally low voice had dropped half an octave.
“I live here.”
Her face heated up. “I didn’t mean that.”
He registered her embarrassment. “I took a much-needed day off.”
“Where’s Mrs. Johnson?”
Martin turned back to beating an egg mixture with a wire whisk. “Mrs. Johnson won’t be coming back anymore. You’re able to talk now and Luis says you should be completely healed in another couple of weeks.”
“I don’t need you to look after me,” she said, thinking perhaps he thought she needed help because she possibly had a hangover.
His hair shielded his face with black damp curls as he concentrated on preparing breakfast. “I don’t intend to look after you, Parris. What I am going to do is enjoy my home for the first time. I’m going to try to get in a game of tennis, do a few laps in the pool and lift some weights at the health club before I sit out on the patio and watch the sun set.” He stared at her. “Does that meet with your approval, Miss Simmons?”
Embarrassment turned to humiliation. “Yes, sir.”
Martin laughed loudly, compounding her uneasiness. He laughed harder as she turned and walked across the kitchen and out to the patio.
She sat on the patio enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her face until Martin appeared and served breakfast.
Parris finished reading a paperback book Martin had brought from her studio apartment when he had gone there to retrieve her clothes. The novel was one she had picked up at the West Palm Beach airport the day she had flown to San Francisco.
Laying aside the book, she thought about her position with the architectural and design firm. She had been away three weeks and she wondered who had covered for her. Would she lose her coveted position with the West Palm Beach branch or would she be forced to move to another city wherever there was an opening. West Palm Beach was her home and she wasn’t ready to leave it—not yet.
West Palm Beach was where Martin was and she didn’t to leave him—not yet.
Martin watched Parris close her eyes, preferring to stare at her instead of the setting sun. He’d spent the day swimming and playing a strenuous game of racquetball instead of tennis. The tennis courts were crowded with women who were more interested in flirting than hitting the ball over the net. The vigorous exercise on the racquetball court substituted for the workout in the weight room.
The exercise had been fun for him. It had relieved him of the tension he felt whenever he was near Parris. He recognized the tension for what it was—sexual.
He wanted her the way he never wanted any other woman. Not only did he want to make love to her, but he wanted to keep her in his life forever.
He thought of the role he was to play in less than a week. He would be best man to a friend who would pledge his love and life to a woman when they married.
Marriage!
The word caused a shudder to shake him from head to toe. For twenty-nine years he never thought of marrying a woman, and now the pull was so strong it unnerved him.
Could he marry Parris?
Did he love her?
Did he want to spend the rest of his life with her?
He held his breath, then let it out slowly. The answer shook him to the core. Yes!
Chapter 6
Martin noted that Parris was unusually quiet during dinner. She appeared distracted and anxious.
“Is something wrong, Parris?”
Her head came up quickly, and she shook her head. “No. I guess I’m not very hungry.”
He pushed his own plate away, rising to his feet. “Do you want to go for a drive?”
“No.” Her voice was low, expressionless.
Circling the table, he reached out to touch her but she shrank from him. “What’s the matter?”
She stood up and folded her arms around her body. “I want to go home.”
The thing he had been dreading had manifested itself. She wanted to leave. “But you’re not well enough…”
“Stop it, Martin. I can be alone and you know it. I stay here alone—all day.”
“It’s different here.”
Her gaze searched his face, missing the pain in his jet-black eyes. “Why is it so different?”
“You’re safe here.”
Her chest rose and fell heavily as she bit down on her lower lip. “I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding behind a walled community. Don’t forget I have a job that I’ll be returning to in another two weeks, and there are no walls to protect me when I travel, Martin.”
Martin pulled her to his chest, his arms tightening around her body as she struggled to free herself. “Listen to me, Parris.” She stopped struggling. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to live with me.”
Closing her eyes, Parris buried her face against his hard shoulder. She had to leave—now. She had to leave before she couldn’t.
It had taken nearly four weeks, but she knew she had fallen in love with Martin.
He had saved her life, protected her, taken care of her every need and in return she had secretly given him her heart.
She looked forward to seeing him each morning, and she couldn’t wait for his return each evening.
She yearned for his touch and his kiss.
She wanted Martin with an intensity she never felt with the man she had married. There were times when she even forgot that Owen had ever been a part of her life. Yet she could not forget his assault; however, if Owen ever came near her again she would follow through on the threat she’d made if he’d refused her demand that they annul their marriage. She’d threatened to disclose his substance abuse problem to his superior officers at the West Palm Beach Police Department.
“Parris?”
“I can’t.” Her reply was weak and trembling.
“Why not?” His lips grazed an ear. “Do you despise me that much? Have I been unkind to you? What is it you want me to do for you?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not you, Martin” she replied, her voice breaking.
Closing his eyes, Martin felt the breath rush from his lungs, leaving him breathless. He prayed silently that it wasn’t Owen Lawson.
“Who is it?” he gasped.
A hot tear rolled down her cheek, wetting his T-shirt. She had spent the day fighting the realization that it was her driving need for Martin that made her want to run as fast and as far away from him as she could.
“It’s me,” she cried, giving way to a rush of heartbreaking sobs.
Martin cradled her face between his hands and stared down at her. Something clicked in his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that she feared him.
“Are you afraid of men, Parris?” She shook her head vigorously. “Do you hate me?”
She sniffled loudly, once again pressing her nose to his chest. “No-o-o.”
His heart started up a double-time rhythm. “Do you at least like me?”
Her sobbing subsided and there was complete silence except for their labored breathing. Parris felt as if she had run a race. She was exhausted from her emotional ordeal.
“Yes.”
Martin wanted to shout, cry. He needed to do something to relieve the band of tension tightening his chest. Dropping a light kiss on her forehead, nose and finally her mouth, he whispered, “Now, was that so hard to admit?”
Parris smiled through her tears. “No.”
He returned her smile, flashing deep dimples. “You can always talk to me, darling. You must always let me know what you like, don’t like, want and don’t want.”
What she wanted to say was that she needed him. She needed Martin to make her feel like a woman.
He brushed away her tears with his fingers, kissing each inch of her face his hands caressed. “I don’t ever want to see your beautiful eyes fill up with tears again unless they are tears of joy,” he crooned, holding her close to his heart.
Passion pounded through his chest and body, and it was herculean control that prevented Martin from blurting out his true feelings for the woman he held to his heart.
* * *
The next time Parris shed tears, they were tears of joy. She dabbed her eyes carefully with a tissue as Brittany and Jon exchanged vows in the tiny white church whose walls and towering steeple were covered with climbing ivy and fragrant white roses.
She stared at Martin’s profile before he turned to follow the smiling bride and groom down the red-carpeted aisle to the doors of the church. He caught her stare and flashed her his sensuous smile. Lowering her spiky wet lashes, she returned the smile.
She hadn’t agreed to live with Martin yet she hadn’t returned to live at her studio apartment, and each day she stayed she found it more and more difficult to leave.
Their relationship was easy and unencumbered. Martin hadn’t asked anything from her except that she not leave him, and she hadn’t—not yet. Not leaving him was a small price to pay when she compared it with his saving her life or perhaps a more serious injury than a broken jaw.
Filing out of the church with the other guests, Parris made her way down a flight of stairs to a room set up with small round tables decorated with deep rose pink and white tablecloths.
“Hello, Parris.”
She turned and smiled at the man who had sat on her right at the restaurant the night of the engagement party.
“Hello, Bill.”
Bill Dobbs, a used car salesman, had grown up with Jon Grant. His booming voice, florid face and easy laugh enhanced his image as a natural-born salesperson.
He extended his arm. “May I have the pleasure of your lovely company once again?”
Parris took the proffered arm, smiling. She had come with Martin but he would sit at the bridal table with the bride, groom and the matron of honor.
Two other couples joined her and Bill at the table, everyone extolling the beauty of the ethereal ceremony and Brittany’s exquisite dress.
Her gown was a sheath of ivory organza and Alençon lace, and she had decided to forego the traditional veil, dressing her pale hair with a spray of miniature white roses and baby’s breath.
As the wedding party gathered on the church lawn for photographs, a quartet played familiar tunes while waiters served trays of hot and cold canapes.
Martin’s smile did not falter as Barbara Alexander pressed her firm breast against his arm. He couldn’t wait for the photo session to end where he could disengage himself from Brittany’s sister without causing a scene.
Barbara and Brittany shared the same ash-blond hair and cool-gray eyes, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Whereas Brittany was delicate and demure, her older sister was lush and provocative.
Barbara had flirted with him during the rehearsal and at the dinner which was given afterwards at the home of the Alexanders’ but he’d ignored her. What Barbara didn’t know was that her fair coloring, pale hair and gray eyes were “too cool” for his tastes. He preferred women of color with dark hair and skintones in varying shades of brown, ranging from cappuccino cream to a rich mahogany.
“That just about does it,” the photographer announced.
Martin was certain Barbara could hear his sigh of relief as he took her elbow, escorting her back to the church’s social hall.
His gaze swept around the room and he saw Parris sitting with Bill Dobbs. The man was more annoying than fly paper. He had latched on to Parris again. The only thing which prevented him from warning Bill that Parris was “off limits” was that she would go home with him.
Martin seated Barbara next to Jon, then took his own seat beside Brittany. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Parris as she smiled at something Bill said. He found her more beautiful than the first time he met her.
A long sleeve silk jersey sheath in a warm orange flattered her body and her coloring. She had blown out her hair and pinned it up in a sophisticated French twist, leaving a few errant curls to grace her forehead and ears.
He had driven to her apartment to pick up the dress and a pair of shoes, and as he gathered other items she requested he’d tried to get a glimpse of who Parris was when he surveyed her apartment.
He had found it neat yet impersonal. Her bed was a convertible sofa and the small kitchen contained a bistro table and two chairs. There were no photographs or diplomas on the walls. A steamer trunk with a woven Navaho rug doubled as a coffee table and tablecloth. It was on the trunk that he found a stack of mail the landlady had left in the apartment whenever it wasn’t picked up for more than two days.
He’d checked her answering machine; no one had called or if they had they didn’t leave a message. If it hadn’t been for the business suits, blouses and dresses hanging neatly in a small closet off the entrance and a toothbrush in the bathroom, Parris Simmons would not exist.
Martin placed a hand over Brittany’s, squeezing her fingers gently. Turning, she smiled at him. Happiness shone from her gray eyes and he was pleased that she had married his friend. She was good for Jon, who claimed she mellowed him to where he’d given up his dream of racing cars to join his father’s lucrative law practice.
“How did Parris meet Owen Lawson?” he asked her without preamble.
The blood drained from her face before she recovered. “I warned you to leave her alone.” Her tone was sharp and waspish.
Martin’s darker hand tightened on her fingers. “I can’t leave her alone. She’s going to be my wife.”
Brittany’s eyes widened until they resembled large silver dollars. “No,” she whispered. She attempted to rise to her feet but he stopped her.
“Sit down.” The two words were spoken quietly but said with such authority that Brittany obeyed him immediately.
“I am going to marry her,” he repeated with emphasis. “But I need to know what happened between her and Owen Lawson.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she whispered. “Parris met him when she was eighteen. Her car blew a tire one night and he came along and helped her fix it. He was off-duty so she didn’t know he was a police officer. He took down her plate number and got her address through DMV. As a cop he had his ways of securing her unlisted telephone number and he called the next day. They dated a few times that summer and I thought it was over when we went back to Savannah for the fall semester.
“But whenever he had time off he drove up to see her. He was a lot older than she was and even I had to admit that he was very, very charming. He asked her to marry him and a few months after she graduated they were married. I felt she should’ve waited to marry him because she still was very broken up over losing her mother in a horrible car crash. But Owen didn’t want to wait so they married and a month later it was over. She had to grieve twice, Martin. The breakup of her marriage and her mother’s death.”
“You don’t have to worry about her anymore, Brittany. I’ll take care of her and make her very, very happy.”
She stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Those were the exact words Owen said the day he married her.”
Martin’s jaw hardened. Taking care of someone was not the same as trying to kill them, he thought.
Raising his own glass of champagne, Martin saluted Jon before he drained the glass. He couldn’t wait for the wedding reception to end so he could take Parris home.
Chapter 7
Parris danced through the front door, curtsying deeply to Martin. “You owe me a dance, Mr. Cole.”
Martin closed the door, took her in his arms and waltzed her over the living room floor, humming.
“You hum nicely, but how about putting on some music?” she suggested, staring at the waning sunlight coming through the windows.
He noted the dreamy expression on her face. “What’s your pleasure?” Martin spun her around and around until she begged him to stop. Grasping her hand firmly, he led her over to the shelves of compact discs and cassettes. “Something slow, fast or a little salsa?”
“Salsa.”
He retrieved a cassette and inserted it in a tape deck, then removed the jacket to his tuxedo before he pushed the play button. Tossing the jacket across the room, he swung Parris against his body, molding her breasts to his chest.
“You’ve chosen the dance of passion and fire,” he whispered, lowering his head until his warm breath swept over her mouth. “Are you familiar with passion, Parris?”
Staring up at him, she nodded mutely. She had glimpsed passion the few times he’d kissed her.
“How about the fire?”
“No. Not the fire,” she admitted breathlessly.
The slow rhythmic pounding of conga drums filled the living room and Martin moved fluidly to the beat as she followed his expert lead.
She felt the muscles in his thighs flexing and unflexing with each step. Closing her eyes, she floated with him as their bodies were joined, chest to knees, swaying and calling to each other.
The two glasses of champagne simmered in her blood and she felt the rising inferno coming from Martin and spreading to her until she wilted in the heat.
Hideaway Page 6