Parris’s smile was soft and inviting. “Like father, like son?”
“No lie,” Samuel gushed loudly.
M.J., stunning in a dress of black and gold silk, smiled. “Well, it looks as if I got the third daughter I always wanted.”
Parris returned her smile, offering her cheek for M.J.’s kiss. “Thank you.”
M.J. signaled the hired caterers, and the silent, efficient waiters began setting the twisted white rattan tables with food. Patterned coral and white cushions on the many chairs and love seats were quickly filled with Coles and close friends of the family.
Parris smiled graciously, accepting handshakes, kisses and the good wishes from the assembled. After a while she felt as if her face was going to crack from the continuous effort. She lost count of the names of well-wishers and felt strangely relieved when she, having lost Martin in the throng, found herself face-to-face with Joshua. She permitted him to lead her to a deserted area of the loggia. A large potted palm concealed them from the view of the noisy crowd.
She smiled up at him. “I feel like a wooden puppet with a hideous grin painted on my face.”
Joshua nodded, his expression unreadable. His light green eyes caressed her face briefly before his lids shuttered them from her gaze. “Get used to it, Parris. As Martin’s wife you’ll smile when you least want to.”
Martin’s disclosure that he was going to enter the political arena chilled her with Joshua’s statement. “Let’s hope you’re wrong,” she whispered.
Joshua held her left hand, examining the circle of graduated marquise-shaped diamonds in a gold setting on her delicate finger. His left hand moved to her chin, raising her face to his. “You’re a Cole now, Parris.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing. “Surely you’re aware of what’s expected of you. You have it all: beauty, charm, money. Those are the prerequisites, and you’ve succeeded with Martin where so many other women have failed.” He released her hand, but not her chin. “Martin’s taste in jewelry is almost as exquisite as his choice of a wife.” Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. Joshua released her and walked away.
Parris leaned against a column of coral marble staring at the space where Joshua had been. He had disappeared like an apparition. His words tumbled over themselves in her head. Surely you’re aware of what’s expected of you.’
A tremor coursed through her body and she turned, meeting the dark accusing stare of her mother-in-law. Glancing away, Parris searched for Martin, finding his broad shoulders under the jacket of his gray suit as he stood with the judge and his father, talking.
She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and gulped it down. She returned the empty glass to the tray, reaching for another. The cool sparkling liquid numbed her quivering nerves. Looking around at all of the smiling, talking people she felt alone. Aside from Regina, Martin and Joshua, these people were strangers to her. She recognized names and faces, but she actually did not know them. All of them were Martin’s family and friends and she felt like an outsider. Regina was a Cole by birthright, and she had become one only through her marriage. She wondered if she would ever feel close to this large, peculiar clan.
The celebrating continued, everyone eating, drinking, dancing and talking incessantly. Some of the younger children were escorted protestingly to bed, Regina among them, while the adults became more animated with the approach of the new year.
Parris felt light and carefree after her second glass of champagne. The oysters she had eaten did little to counterbalance the alcohol in her blood. She swayed to the beat of a popular love song. The hired band had a repertoire ranging from Big Band tunes to the latest club favorites.
Her body stiffened. She detected the familiar fragrance of a specially blended masculine cologne and the warmth of the large body pressing against her back. Fatigue and the champagne had lowered her resistance to where she couldn’t move to escape him. Common sense dictated she not forgive him for his deceit, but all traces of prudent and sound judgment had vanished when she agreed to stay in Florida and marry Martin.
She’d blamed it on Regina, knowing the child wasn’t solely the reason. Martin’s memory had been strong enough for Parris to keep men at a distance, and his love for her strong enough to repress the fear of the blackmailer’s threat until he mentioned politics. Campaigning would not permit her to maintain her privacy or an attempt to achieve a measure of anonymity.
“Promise me you’ll protect me,” she pleaded. The words slipped from her tongue against her will.
Martin’s fingers tightened around her upper arms. “I told you I would, Parris.”
She turned, staring up at his frowning expression. Her fingernails bit into the tender flesh on his wrists. “Promise me!”
Martin felt the fine hairs rise on the back of his neck. He hadn’t noticed any hostility between her and his parents, and could only think of one person who could generate that much panic in her voice. Owen Lawson.
His hands went to her shoulders. “It’s Lawson, isn’t it?” His eyes flashed danger like a cornered animal. “You’ve seen him. He’s bothering you.”
Parris’s hands slipped down to his chest and she tried leaning against Martin, but he held her fast. He was asking her questions she couldn’t answer. Who was it? Owen? Her abductor? Her blackmailer?
“It’s not Owen.”
“Then, who is it?” He shook her gently.
Her fingers curled into tight fists. She was not successful in concealing their trembling when Martin saw them shake. “I don’t know who it is. Promise me, Martin,” she insisted. “Just promise me.”
“Damn it, Parris!”
“Say it!”
“I promise,” he said, his voice thick and unsteady with tension. He released her and Parris rose on tiptoe, capturing his mouth and seeking and drawing what she needed from him. His gasp of surprise was momentary as he crushed her body to his, desire straining to break loose at any second. She was controlling him and he didn’t care. As long as she loved him he would attempt to walk on water for her. He could not deny Parris anything.
His mouth devoured her luscious full lips, and like a starving man he wanted more; he wanted all of her. “Let’s get out of here,” he panted as he pulled his mouth away from hers.
“We haven’t cut the cake,” Parris sighed, her body throbbing with passion.
Martin ran a forefinger over her swollen lips. “You’re being traditional, darling.”
The corners of her mouth curved in a seductive smile. “You’re right.” She was still smiling as she followed him through the garden to the garage where he had parked his car.
Parris felt like a virginal bride as she reentered the bedroom. Martin stood with his back to the sliding glass doors, waiting for her. He’d surprised her when he drove down the coast to the little beach front cottage where they would spend their honeymoon. They had not talked about a honeymoon, and she simply had put the idea out of her head. The one-bedroom guest house had been stocked with food, and somehow Martin had gotten her dress size and purchased an elaborate trousseau without her knowledge.
He drew one hand out of the pocket of his robe. “Come here.” His soft command sent tremors along her spine. She walked toward him, trancelike. Black eyes, like polished jet, noted everything: her damp hair curling around her neck, the untanned swell of golden-brown breasts rising above the lace of the satin floor-length nightgown, and the undisguised look of love in her eyes.
The soft chiming of a clock on the bedside table penetrated the thick layer of desire gripping Martin. He continued to stare at the woman he had married, listening for the final chime signaling the beginning of a new year.
It was the beginning of many things: being a father; a husband; severing his professional association with his family’s business enterprises, and challenging an incumbent who held the political reins of the state tightly within his grasp.
Martin smiled. He would succeed; only because of the woman standing inches from him.
He wa
tched the play of emotions cross her lovely face. This woman, above all women, made him aware of himself as a man as no one ever had before or since. It was as if Parris had the power to make him physically cognizant of his compelling need to surrender all he had to her.
She, alone, possessed the key to unlock his heart, baring his soul until all of him lay open, raw and penetrable. He was powerless to resist her, and he had not stopped to ponder whether it was physical. If it was it would not have mattered.
The tension in the room was hot and volatile. Their unspoken passions increased and shimmered like waves of heat. Parris ached for Martin: his nearness, his protection, his possession and his love. With Martin she was never rational. Her reaction to his lovemaking from the very first time had always been strong and uncontrollable.
Reaching out, her fingers slipped to the opening in his robe, untying the belt at his waist. The white silk robe parted silently, and her hand moved over his flat belly with agonizing slowness, her fingers brushing over the tight thatch of black hair to encircle the rigid tumescence jutting majestically from between his muscled thighs. Martin was ready for her; he was fully aroused.
She continued caressing the thick velvet softness, smiling as it jerked and pulsed strongly against her palm. Martin closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the exquisite torture.
His hands moved up to her shoulders, increasing the pressure on her delicate bones as his chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps. She changed the rhythm and his grip on her shoulders lessened as his fingers swept down to remove the thin straps holding up her gown. One delicate strap ripped when her hand inched lower, fondling and cradling the taut sac filled with his seed.
Parris stared up at the blatant carnality gripping his handsome features. She never knew when the fabric sheathing her body floated to the floor in a whispering shimmering shower of creamy satin.
His fingers began their own exploration as they grazed her breasts, thumb and forefinger tightening on her full, bursting nipples.
“Love me, Martin. Love me the way I love to be loved.” Her litany filled the room.
They had shared a bed Christmas Eve but not since then. He had waited ten years for her. He would wait a little longer.
“No, Parris. Not yet.” His ragged breathing indicated Martin’s control was slipping away as quickly as hers.
Picking her up in one smooth motion, he placed her on the middle of the bed. His body followed quickly, his mouth fixed on hers, demanding and savoring all she had to give him. His fingers slid down her belly and thighs, parting the moist folds concealing her womanhood.
Parris moaned aloud. Shivers of pure pleasure shook her entire body as his fingers plunged deeper.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” Her eyes opened, the tear-filled, green-flecked brown orbs, imploring him to take her. “Tell me what you want,” he crooned near her ear.
“No…no,” Parris cried out when he removed his finger. He smiled. He had no intention of stopping. His finger found her again and again, and her body arched again and again against his hand and questing fingers. The waves of desire crashed down, drowning her with their rushing, heated force.
Martin waited for Parris, cradling her to his chest. She felt the strong pounding of his heart under her breasts as her tongue tasted the salty wetness of his throat, then explored his body as it made circular motions over his hair-matted chest and flat belly.
Every muscle in his body tensed and screamed when her mouth closed on him with a claim that made Martin faint in burning surrender. He smothered a savage growl, throwing his forearm over his face. She was driving him crazy. Her mouth sent violent jolts through his system, and he sat up suddenly.
“Don’t! Not yet! Please!”
Parris glanced up at Martin, recognizing the desperation in his command and the naked fear of loss of control. She slid up the length of his damp body, rubbing her breasts against his, while kissing him fully on the mouth. His hands traced the length of her spine, and he shifted until she straddled him. He cupped her buttocks whenever he rose to meet her, establishing a fierce driving rhythm.
“Yes, Martin. Oh yes. Yes-s-s.” The sound of her husky approval gripped him and his ardor spiraled out of control.
His world tilted, careened, and he gave into the hot tides of love and passion sweeping him out to a sea of bright lights and weightlessness. He was afraid to open his eyes to look up at Parris; stunned by the raw sensuousness she had offered him and afraid of the power she wielded and what she would do if she ever realized it. He never thought he would fear a woman—especially if that woman was his wife.
Chapter 24
Parris had been married a month when she sat at her husband’s desk in the offices of ColeDiz signing a stack of papers.
Signing the documents signaled a change. It was the last day in the first month of the new year; it was Martin’s fortieth birthday; warm winter temperatures had vanished, leaving the early mornings and late nights cool and crisp, and all traces of the Christmas holidays had vanished, the decorations and the parties.
Her neat signature and the date glided across the last document: Parris S. Cole, January thirty-first. “That should do it.”
The pale, wiry attorney pushed the documents into a leather portfolio. “Thank you, Mrs. Cole. I believe everything’s in order. I’ll file the necessary papers to change your daughter’s name in the morning, and I’ll call the real estate agent in New York for a date to finalize the sale of your property.”
Martin fingered a sterling silver letter opener. “Thanks, Phil.” He smiled at the man who headed the corporate legal department. Normally one of the associate attorneys would have done the legwork, but this was too personal to entrust to someone other than Philip Trent. “After you return from New York, why don’t you take a few weeks off. I heard you had a good time in Costa Rica.”
Philip Trent blushed, then blanched. He ran a hand over his neatly brushed light brown hair. He offered Martin a weak smile. “No thanks, Martin. It was too hot…” He glanced over at Parris, unable to complete his statement.
Martin steepled his fingers to his mouth, hiding a grin. “Was it the heat or the women, Phil?” The middle-aged bachelor’s golden-brown eyes were downcast as he rushed out of the office, Martin’s laughter following his stiff back.
“Martin!” Parris couldn’t believe his teasing the obviously embarrassed attorney.
Martin stood up. “Let’s go, honey. I don’t want to be late for my birthday celebration.”
“Do I have time to change?” she asked, watching him slip on his suit jacket.
Martin examined the lightweight navy blue wool suit she had paired with a gold silk blouse. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his arms curving around her waist.
“If I wore nothing you’d say the same thing.”
“Wrong, Mrs. Cole. I wouldn’t say anything, but I sure would do something.”
Picking up her handbag, Parris walked out of Martin’s office, smiling at his secretary. Joan Shaw returned her smile.
Things were progressing quickly. Regina’s name would be changed from Simmons to Cole, her apartment had a buyer and Martin was to officially announce his candidacy for the gubernatorial race that evening. All that remained was finding a house she wanted to live in. She’d refused to think as far as the next January when they could possibly live in Tallahassee instead of Fort Lauderdale.
The number of cars crowding the garages and driveway indicated many of the guests had already arrived at the Cole residence by the time Parris and Martin returned to the house. Aside from family members, selected members of the press had been invited.
“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be down,” Parris flung over her shoulder at Martin as she raced up the stairs to their suite.
It took only ten minutes for her to apply a fresh coat of lipstick, buff the shine off her nose and change into a pale peach wool sheath with a squared neckline. She hadn’t bothered to change the navy blue lizard pumps.
Reporters and photographers mingled with family members as they huddled together in small groups, talking quietly. The light of twin chandeliers in the large living room gleamed like jewels as serving carts were rolled in, filled with crudités and beverages.
Martin’s candidacy had been a well-kept secret. Only a few were privy to his plans, and Parris suspected the press was in for quite a shock.
Martin had joined his father’s company at twenty-five, taken over as president at thirty, and now at forty was ready to enter politics. What would he, she thought, want at fifty? Sixty? When was too much ambition dangerous?
“He’s going to be a tough act to follow,” David remarked near Parris’s ear. He leaned over, kissing her cheek.
“Don’t try to be Martin,” she suggested. “Just be David Cole.”
“A major in music and a minor in business doesn’t quite prepare me to assume control of ColeDiz International,” he admitted, smiling his lopsided grin.
Parris stared at David’s wavy hair laying heavily on his wide shoulders covered in black silk. The long hair and black attire would soon become a part of his past when Martin officially resigned. Being lead singer and drummer for Night Mood would soon become a sparkling memory for David. Memories he would one day relate to his children.
David ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Dad doesn’t like this, but there’s little he could do once Martin decided to go ahead with his plan. He hates politicians. He says he doesn’t trust them.”
“He’ll change his mind once Martin’s elected.”
“Let’s hope you’re right…” David broke off as he caught the eye of an attractive photographer who stared openly at him from across the room. “Excuse me, Parris. I think I see someone I know.”
All conversation ceased, and Parris turned to find Joshua Kirkland leaning against the arched entrance. A myriad of expressions crossed the faces of the Coles.
Parris was stunned by their reaction. Why were they treating Martin’s friend like a leper? She broke the spell, walking across the room and holding out her hands to him. The uncomfortable silence ended once the low babble of voices started up again.
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