Brazen Virtue
Page 1
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
Nora Roberts
“Her stories have fueled the dreams of twenty-five million readers.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Roberts is indeed a word artist, painting her story and characters with vitality and verve.”
—Daily News of Los Angeles
“When Roberts puts her expert fingers on the pulse of romance, legions of fans feel the heartbeat.”
—Publishers Weekly
“You can’t bottle wish fulfillment, but Nora Roberts certainly knows how to put it on the page.”
—The New York Times
“The always reliable Roberts continues to find new and clever ways to flawlessly fuse thrilling suspense and sexy romance into captivating stories.”
—Booklist
“The world’s leading romance writer, [Nora Roberts] has inspected, dissected, deconstructed, explored, explained and extolled the passions of the human heart. Millions of devoted … readers have had their fantasy lives shaped by her work; she can make romance seem fresh and hopeful every time.”
—Time
“The best romance novelist … Nora Roberts amazes me.”
—STEPHEN KING
“Women are addicted to her contemporary novels as chocoholics are to Godiva.… Roberts is a superstar.”
—The New York Times
“Nora Roberts shines.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A consistently entertaining writer.”
—USA Today
“Roberts has a warm feel for her characters and an eye for the evocative detail.”
—Tribune
Bantam Books by Nora Roberts
Brazen Virtue
Carnal Innocence
Divine Evil
Genuine Lies
Hot Ice
Public Secrets
Sacred Sins
Sweet Revenge
Brazen Virtue is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1988 by Nora Roberts
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-89700-5
www.bantamdell.com
v3.1
To Amy Berkower
with gratitude and affection
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Prologue
AND WHAT WOULD YOU like me to do to you?” the woman who called herself Desiree asked. She had a voice like rose petals. Soft and sweet. She did her job well, very well, and customers asked for her over and over again. She was talking to one of her repeaters now, and she knew his preferences. “I’d love to,” she murmured. “Just close your eyes, close your eyes and relax. I want you to forget all about the office, and your wife, and your business partner. It’s just you and me.”
When he spoke to her, she answered with a low laugh. “Yes, you know I will. Don’t I always? Just close your eyes, and listen. The room’s quiet and lit by candles. Dozens of white, scented candles. Can you smell them?” She gave another low, teasing laugh. “That’s right. White. The bed’s white too, big and round and white. You’re lying on it, naked and ready. Are you ready, Mr. Drake?”
She rolled her eyes. It killed her that the guy wanted her to call him mister. But it took all kinds. “I’ve just come out of the shower. My hair’s wet, and there are little beads of water all over my body. There’s a drop clinging to my nipple. It slides off and onto you as I kneel on the bed. Feel it? Yes, yes, that’s right, it’s cool, cool, and you’re so hot.” She fought back a yawn. Mr. Drake was already breathing like a steam engine. Thank God he was so easily satisfied. “Oh, I want you. I can’t keep my hands off you. I want to touch you, to taste you. Yes, yes, it drives me crazy when you do that. Oh, Mr. Drake, you’re the best. The very best.”
For the next few minutes she just listened to his demands and delights. Listening was the biggest part of her job. He was right on the edge now, and she glanced at her watch, grateful. Not only was his time almost up, but he was her last customer of the evening. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she helped him go over the top.
“Yes, Mr. Drake, it was wonderful. You’re wonderful. No, I’m not working tomorrow. Friday? Yes, I’ll look forward to it. Good night, Mr. Drake.”
She listened for the click, then hung up the phone. Desiree became Kathleen. Ten-fifty-five, she thought with a sigh. She was off at eleven, so there should be no more calls that night. She had papers to grade, and a pop quiz to make up for her students for tomorrow. As she rose, she glanced at the phone. She’d made two hundred tonight, thanks to AT&T and Fantasy, Incorporated. With a laugh, she picked up her coffee cup. It was a hell of a lot better than selling magazines.
Only miles away, another man clung to the phone receiver. His hand was damp. The room smelled of sex, but he was alone. In his mind Desiree had been there. Desiree with her white, wet body and her cool, soothing voice.
Desiree.
With his heart still pumping fast, he stretched out on his bed.
Desiree.
He had to meet her. And soon.
Chapter 1
THE PLANE BANKED OVER the Lincoln Memorial. Grace had her briefcase open on her lap. There were a dozen things to be packed away, but she stared out the window, pleased to see the ground rushing up toward her. There was nothing, as far as she was concerned, that was quite the same as flying.
The plane was late. She knew that because the man across from her in seat 3B kept complaining about it. Grace was tempted to reach across the aisle and pat his hand, to assure him that ten minutes in the scheme of things really didn’t matter so much. But he didn’t look as though he would appreciate the sentiment.
Kathleen would be complaining too, she thought. Not out loud or anything, Grace mused as she smiled and settled back for the landing. Kathleen might have been just as irritated as 3B, but she would never have been rude enough to mumble and moan.
If Grace knew her sister, and she did, Kathleen would have left home over an hour before, making certain to take into consideration the unpredictability of Washington traffic. Grace had heard the note in Kathleen’s voice betraying her annoyance with Grace that she’d chosen a flight that would arrive at six-fifteen, the height of rush hour. With twenty minutes to spare, Kathleen would have parked her car in the short-term lot, rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and made her way, without being tempted by the shops, to the gate. She would never have gotten lost or mixed the numbers up in her mind.
Kathleen was always early. Grace was always late. That was nothing new.
Still she hoped, really hoped, there could be some common ground between them now. Sisters they were, but they had rarely understood each other.
The plane bumped to earth and Grace began tossing whatever came to hand into her briefcase. Lipstick tumbled in with matchbooks, pens with tweezers. That was
something else a woman as organized as Kathleen would never understand. A place for everything. Grace agreed in principle, but her place never seemed to be the same from one time to the next.
More than once, Grace had wondered how they could be sisters. She was careless, scatterbrained, and successful. Kathleen was organized, practical, and struggling. Yet they had come from the same parents, had been raised in the same small brick house in the suburbs of D.C., and had gone to the same schools.
The nuns had never been able to teach Grace anything about organizing a notebook, but even as far back as sixth grade at St. Michael’s, they had been fascinated by her skill at spinning a tale.
When the plane was at the gate, Grace waited while the passengers who were in a hurry to deplane clogged the aisle. She knew Kathleen would probably be pacing, certain that her absentminded sister had missed a flight again, but she needed a minute. She wanted to remember the love, not the arguments.
As Grace had predicted, Kathleen was waiting at the gate. She watched the passengers file off and felt another flash of impatience. Grace always traveled first-class, but she wasn’t among the first people off the plane. She wasn’t among the first fifty. Probably chatting with the flight crew, Kathleen thought, and tried to ignore a quick stab of envy.
Grace had never had to try to make friends. People were simply drawn to her. Two years after graduation and Grace, who had skimmed through school on charm, had been rising in her career. A lifetime later and Kathleen, the honor student, was spinning her wheels in the same high school they had graduated from. She sat on the other side of the desk now, but little else had changed.
Announcements for incoming and outgoing planes droned on. There were gate changes and delays, but still no Grace. Just as Kathleen had decided to check at the desk, she saw her sister walk through the gate. Envy faded. Irritation vanished. It was next to impossible to be annoyed with Grace when faced with her.
Why was it she always looked as though she’d just stepped off a merry-go-round? Her hair, the same dark sable as Kathleen’s, was cut to the chin and looked forever windswept around her face. Her body was long and lean, again like Kathleen’s, but where Kathleen always felt sturdy, Grace looked like a willow, ready to bend whichever way the breeze beckoned. Now she looked rumpled, a hip-length sweater riding over leggings, sunglasses falling down her nose, and her hands full of bags and briefcases. Kathleen was still dressed in the skirt and jacket that had gotten her through her history classes. Grace wore high-top jogging shoes in canary yellow to match her sweater.
“Kath!” The moment she saw her sister, Grace set everything down without giving a thought to blocking the flow of passengers behind her. She hugged as she did everything, with full enthusiasm. “I’m so glad to see you. You look wonderful. New perfume.” She took a big sniff. “I like it.”
“Lady, you want to move?”
Still hugging Kathleen, Grace smiled at the harassed businessman behind her. “Go right ahead and step over them.” He did, grumbling. “Have a nice flight.” She forgot him as she forgot most inconveniences. “So how do I look?” she demanded. “Do you like the hair? I hope so, I just spent a fortune on publicity shots.”
“Did you brush it first?”
Grace lifted a hand to it. “Probably.”
“It suits you,” Kathleen decided. “Come on, we’ll have a riot in here if we don’t move your things. What’s this?” She hefted one of the cases.
“Maxwell.” Grace began to gather bags. “Portable computer. We’ve been having the most marvelous affair.”
“I thought this was a vacation.” She managed to keep the edge out of her voice. The computer was one more physical example of Grace’s success. And her own failure.
“It is. But I have to do something with myself while you’re in school. If the plane had been another ten minutes late I would have finished a chapter.” She glanced at her watch, noticed it had stopped again, then forgot it. “Really, Kath, this is the most marvelous murder.”
“Luggage?” Kathleen interrupted, knowing Grace would launch into the tale without any encouragement.
“My trunk should be delivered to your place by tomorrow.”
The trunk was another of what Kathleen considered her sister’s deliberate eccentricities. “Grace, when are you going to start using suitcases like normal people?”
They passed baggage claim, where people stood three deep, ready to trample each other at the first sign of familiar Samsonite. When hell freezes over, Grace thought, but only smiled. “You really do look great. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Then because it was her sister, Kathleen relaxed. “Better, really.”
“You’re better off without the sonofabitch,” Grace said as they passed through the automatic doors. “I hate to say it because I know you really loved him, but it’s true.” There was a stiff northern breeze to make people forget it was spring. The sound of incoming and outgoing planes hammered overhead. Grace stepped off the curb toward the parking lot without looking right or left. “The only real joy he brought to your life was Kevin. Where is my nephew, anyway? I was hoping you’d bring him.”
The little slice of pain came and went. When Kathleen made up her mind about something, she also made up her heart. “He’s with his father. We agreed that it would be best if he stayed with Jonathan through the school year.”
“What?” Grace stopped in the middle of the street. A horn blasted and was ignored. “Kathleen, you can’t be serious. Kevin’s just six. He needs to be with you. Jonathan probably has him watching MacNeil-Lehrer instead of Sesame Street.”
“The decision is made. We agreed it would be best for everyone involved.”
Grace knew that expression. It meant Kathleen had closed up and wouldn’t open again until she was damn good and ready. “Okay.” Grace fell into step beside her as they crossed to the parking lot. Automatically, she altered her rhythm. Kathleen always rushed. Grace meandered. “You know you can talk to me whenever you want.”
“I know.” Kathleen paused beside a secondhand Toyota. A year before she’d been driving a Mercedes. But that was the least of what she’d lost. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Grace. It’s just that I need to put it aside for a while. I’ve almost got my life back in order.”
Grace set her bags in the rear and said nothing. She knew the car was secondhand and a long step down from what Kathleen had been accustomed to but was much more worried about the edge in her sister’s voice than the change of status. She wanted to comfort but knew that Kathleen considered sympathy the first cousin of pity. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”
“Last week. They’re fine.” Kathleen slid in, then strapped on her seat belt. “You’d think Phoenix was paradise.”
“As long as they’re happy.” Grace sat back and for the first time took in her surroundings. National Airport. She’d taken her first flight out of there, eight, no, dear Lord, almost ten years before. And had been scared right down to her toenails. She almost wished she could experience that same fresh and innocent feeling again.
Getting jaded, Gracie? she wondered. Too many flights. Too many cities. Too many people. Now she was back, only a few miles from the home where she’d grown up, and seated beside her sister. Yet she felt no sense of homecoming.
“What made you come back to Washington, Kath?”
“I wanted to get out of California. And this was familiar.”
But didn’t you want to stay near your son? Didn’t you need to? It wasn’t the time to ask, but she had to fight the words back. “And teaching at Our Lady of Hope. Familiar again, but it must be strange.”
“I like it really. I suppose I need the discipline of classes.” She drove out of the parking lot with studied precision. Tucked into the flap of the sun visor were the parking stub for the short-term lot and three singles. Grace noted she still counted her change.
“And the house, do you like it?”
“The rent’s reasonable and it’s only a fifteen-minute d
rive to school.”
Grace bit back a sigh. Couldn’t Kathleen ever feel strongly about anything. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” But she smiled a little as she merged with traffic. “I’m not interested in sex.”
Grace’s brow rose. “Everyone’s interested in sex. Why do you think Jackie Collins always makes the best-seller list? In any case, I was speaking more of companionship.”
“There’s no one I want to be with right now.” Then she laid a hand on top of Grace’s, which was as much as she had ever been able to give to anyone except her husband and son. “Except you. I really am glad you came.”
As always, Grace responded to warmth when warmth was given. “I’d have come sooner if you’d let me.”
“You were in the middle of a tour.”
“Tours can be canceled.” Her shoulders moved restlessly. She’d never considered herself temperamental or arrogant, but she would have been both if it would have helped Kathleen. “Anyway, the tour’s over and I’m here. Washington in the spring.” She rolled the window down though the April wind still had the bite of March. “How about the cherry blossoms?”
“They got hit with a late frost.”
“Nothing changes.” Did they still have so little to say to each other? Grace let the radio fill the gap as they drove. How could two people grow up together, live together, fight together, and still be strangers? Each time she hoped it would be different. Each time it was the same.
As they crossed the Fourteenth Street Bridge, she remembered the room she and Kathleen had shared throughout childhood. Neat as a pin on one side, tumbled and messy on the other. That had been only one bone of contention. There had been the games that Grace had invented, which had frustrated more than amused her sister. What were the rules? Learning the rules had always been Kathleen’s first priority. And when there weren’t any, or they were too flexible, she simply hadn’t been able to grasp the game itself.