In the Best Man's Bed

by Catherine Spencer

  It taught me things I never want to forget, she longed to tell him, but he was in no mood to listen. The warmth he’d briefly lavished on her was gone and he was once again the cool, unwilling host under obligation to a guest not of his choosing.

  “Come,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him across the bridge. “Your suite is only a few yards farther on.”

  A moment later, the flickering yellow flames of the tiki lamps bordering the guest pavilions’ terrace appeared. The maid had left a small lamp burning in Anne-Marie’s foyer, but the adjoining villa was in complete darkness. Just as well. She was in no shape to face Solange.

  “You’ll be all right now?” he asked.

  “Perfectly, thank you.”

  “Then I’ll say good night. I hope you sleep well.”

  Fat chance, Ethan! “I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby,” she replied and, still shaken, went inside and leaned against the wall beside the filigree ironwork at the window of her bedroom, listening.

  Over the still-thudding extravaganza of her heart, she heard his footsteps crunch over the gravel and fade away, and wondered how she’d ever face him again without blushing. Because she knew that if he’d asked, she’d have let him stay and would have spent the night in his arms. But worse by far was that she was afraid he knew it, too.

  Over the next several days, she avoided him altogether by concentrating on putting together the wedding party’s outfits and using that as an excuse to keep away from the main house. She established a routine of working during the early mornings and cool evenings, and spending the stifling midday hours either by, or in, the pool outside her door.

  Although by no means ready to tackle anything too ambitious, she found that, with daily practice, she gained a new measure of confidence in the water and took real pleasure in finally being able to swim the forty foot length of the pool without panicking. The sun turned her skin a delicate honey color and lent streaks of shimmering highlights to her already blond hair.

  She arranged for her meals to be sent down from the main house. Three times daily, one of the servants would arrive in a small golf cart, with a covered tray—fruit, hot sweet rolls and coffee for breakfast, a salad with more fruit for lunch, and for dinner, whatever the family was having. It was always immaculately prepared, always delicious.

  Adrian came to visit most afternoons. His nanny dropped him off about half past two, and picked him up again around four. During their time together, he’d climb on Anne-Marie’s lap and beg, “Tell me another story about living in Canada, Anne-Marie. Tell me about snow.”

  He’d never seen snow, never built a snowman, never made snow angels, poor, deprived darling.

  Once, when he caught her drying her hair after a swim, he leaned against her and said sadly, “Maman had gold hair like yours, but she went away. Papa says you’ll go away, as well, but I wish you wouldn’t. I’ll miss you.”

  “I don’t have to go yet,” she told him, knowing it was small comfort. “We still have lots of time to spend together. And when I do go home, I’ll send you pictures of my house and garden, so you’ll know where I live.”

  He looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes wide and solemn, then buried his face against her shoulder. “It won’t be the same,” he said, his voice muffled and quivering. But he didn’t shed a single tear because he already knew that crying wasn’t enough to make a person stay. It broke her heart that he’d learned such a hard lesson so early in life.

  Later, when she thought he’d forgotten all about their conversation, he asked, “I can read a bit. Will you write letters to me, as well? I like it when I get mail. The mailman brought me lots of cards on my birthday.”

  “I’ll send you lots of letters,” she promised. “And just so that you get them faster, I’ll e-mail them to you on your daddy’s computer.”

  “No. Papa might be angry. He says I shouldn’t keep bothering you.”

  “Then I’ll send them to Solange instead, and it’ll be our little secret.”

  It wasn’t the only secret she kept from Ethan. The first evening of her new regime, after she’d finished work, she wanted to stretch her cramped muscles before turning in, and decided to explore the gardens. That was how she found the rough-hewn steps leading down the cliff.

  At the bottom was a quiet cove, a perfect crescent of white sand with a big flat rock in the middle where she sat for the longest time, watching the moon rise over the sea. On her return, she almost bumped into Philippe as he materialized silently from the shadows on the far side of the pool, and let himself into Solange’s villa.

  Every night after that, Anne-Marie went down to the beach, aware that under cover of dark, Philippe sneaked down to spend the night with his fiancée. Solange was not sleeping alone, whatever Ethan might like to think, and he’d be furious if he ever found out.

  Anne-Marie wasn’t all that thrilled, herself. The smallest sound carried clearly on the quiet air and try as she might, she couldn’t help hearing the muffled laughter from next door, or the murmured voices, or, worst of all, the smothered moans.

  She was, she realized with disgust, jealous. Jealous of her friend’s happiness. Jealous that Solange had someone to love, when she had not.

  Then, just after ten on the fifth night, with Solange’s place already in darkness, Ethan showed up at Anne-Marie’s door. “I saw the light on and thought I’d stop by,” he said. “Are you still working?”

  He wore a shirt made of some lightweight, oatmeal-colored fabric, matching drawstring pants, and black molded Teva sandals. She, on the other hand, had just stepped out of the shower. She was barefoot, wore a thin cotton robe which barely covered her knees, and her hair was wrapped in a towel turban.

  Of course! I always dress like this to work, she was tempted to reply, but decided she was in no position to be saucy. He might be dressed casually, but at least he looked decent which was more than could be said for her. “No,” she said mildly. “I’m done for the day.”

  “Then may I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”

  Given that he already had one foot inside the door and wasn’t about to pay the least mind to any objection she might raise, she moved aside in tacit consent. “About what?”

  “First off, my son.” The foyer was just large enough for a couple to tango if they felt so inclined, but it shrank to insignificant proportions under the aura of disapproval radiating from his imposing six-foot-plus frame. “He’s spending altogether too much time with you.”

  “I enjoy his company.”

  “If it’s company you’re looking for, there’s plenty to be had at the main house.”

  “Then let me rephrase it. I prefer his company.”

  “To my aunt and uncle’s?”

  “No,” she said. “To yours.”

  His mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m crushed, my dear! But I’ll survive—and so will you. Adrian, however, is a different matter. He is far too vulnerable to be left to your mercies.”

  “What are you afraid of?” she exclaimed incredulously. “You can’t seriously believe I’d do anything to hurt him?”

  “Not intentionally, perhaps, but however well-intentioned your motives, in the long run you’ll end up doing him more harm than good.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ethan, I don’t rot his teeth by feeding him sugar, or teach him foul language, or let him wander off into the jungle unsupervised! He’s never in the pool unless Solange is with him because I know I’m useless in the event of a water emergency. All I do I play with him.”

  “I know,” he said, loping past her to take a turn about the salon, and pausing to admire the shimmering aquamarine fabric laid out on the worktable. “But he’s not a toy, Anne-Marie. And he doesn’t understand the games played by women like you.”

  There wasn’t another man on earth who could match his ability to put her back up and leave her so angry she could almost smell smoke! “What’s that supposed to mean—women like me?”

  He stopped before the dress
form to inspect the bead-work on the bodice of Solange’s wedding gown. “The flyby-night kind who flits without warning or reason from one obsession to another. Right now, you’re enjoying the adulation of one small, impressionable boy, but once the novelty wears off and his neediness becomes a burden, you’ll drop him and move on to the next thing to catch your fancy, without any thought for the hurt you’ll inflict on him.”

  “You must be confusing me with your ex-wife,” she said acidly. “I wouldn’t dream of treating a child, or any other living creature, for that matter, as shabbily as you seem to think.”

  “Leave my ex-wife out of it!”

  “Why should I, when we both know she’s smack in the middle of it?” she retorted, prepared to go toe-to-toe with him on this one. “You’re saddling me with her failings and holding me accountable for them.”

  “Can you blame me? You’re part of that glitzy, artificial world that lured her away from here in the first place.”

  “To assume that makes me glitzy and artificial is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

  “We’re reflections of our tastes and inclinations, Mademoiselle,” he said, making his way to where she stood.

  “Oh, good grief, are we back to the mademoiselle nonsense again?” She smacked him smartly on the shoulder which probably wasn’t the wisest thing she could have done, but it beat rapping him on his thick skull, which was what she really felt like doing. “Well, listen up, Monsieur! Believe it or not as you please, but I’m not in the habit of treating people as disposable commodities. Having known firsthand how it feels to be left with virtually no one, I treasure friendship above all else and I’m sincerely fond of Adrian. I fail to see how anyone could not be. He’s adorable.”

  “He’s fond of you, too. That’s my whole point. He misses his mother and is constantly looking for someone to take her place. But you’re only a temporary fixture in his life and how your leaving will affect him isn’t something you’ll have to deal with. I’m the one responsible for his happiness and well-being, which is why I’m taking steps now to protect him from you.”

  “Are you forbidding me to associate with him?” she asked hotly. “Because if you are, I want your word that you’ll explain it to him without making me out to be the villain of the piece. I won’t have him think I’ve abandoned him by choice.”

  “There’s no need to take quite such drastic steps. He understands you have work to do and that he can’t disturb you whenever the mood takes him. All I’m asking is that, instead of fostering this close one-on-one relationship which, ultimately, must come to an end, you instead spend time with him at the main house and become part of our larger family group. Which brings me to my second point. You do recall there were two matters I wished to discuss?”

  “Sweet heaven, how could I possibly forget? I’ve been waiting with breathless anticipation for the other shoe to drop!” She lowered her lashes and sighed with deliberately melodramatic emphasis. “All right. I’m braced for the worst. Let me have it, and don’t spare my feelings.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Is it any wonder?”

  Purposefully, he stepped closer, and the expression in his eyes made her quake a little inside. If ever there was a man on a mission, he was it! “Do you think avoiding me is going to change what happened between us the other night, Anne-Marie?”

  “No,” she said, not so transfixed that she wasn’t woefully conscious of how absurd he must find her, in her too-short robe and too-large towel turban which made her head look at least three times bigger than it ought to be. “But not having to see you helps me to put the whole unfortunate incident into perspective. I didn’t come here looking to have an affair.”

  “I don’t recall suggesting you did.”

  “You might as well have! From the way you kissed me—”

  He shrugged. “I’m no saint, Anne-Marie. When a beautiful woman makes it plain she’s both willing and available, I’m as susceptible as the next man to what she’s offering.”

  It was as bad as she’d feared! He’d interpreted the moment all too accurately, right down to her practically throwing herself at him. “You’re also more imaginative than most!” she snapped, humiliated. “We kissed—kissed, Ethan, and by mutual consent at that, so don’t make it out to be more than it was—a colossal, foolish mistake.”

  “Exactly—as I believe I said, both before and after the fact.”

  “I ought to have guessed you’d be an I told you so kind of man.”

  “But I have been known to be wrong on occasion.” A slow smile crept over his mouth, and try as she might, she couldn’t drag her gaze away from it, or quell the rising heat in her blood as he covered the remaining distance between them.

  “You have?” she squeaked.

  “Indeed yes. You look very appealing in that thing, by the way.” He hooked a finger between the buttons on the front of her robe and tugged her even closer. If he’d touched her skin, she swore she’d have burst into flames. “But this doesn’t do a thing for you.”

  Before she could guess his next move, he’d unwound the towel from her head and was running his hands through her hair. “There,” he said, his voice about as seductive a purr as she’d ever heard. “That’s much better. Hair such as yours should never be hidden from sight.”

  “I don’t think you should be doing that,” she protested faintly, as he continued massaging her scalp. “I think it could lead to our making another really colossal mistake.”

  “Or not,” he murmured, moving in for the kill. “It depends on your point of view.”

  She’d wondered often enough over the last few days if memory had played her false; if it had blown the other night out of all proportion and left her vulnerable to huge disappointment, should there ever be another such encounter. As his mouth came down on hers a second time, though, she learned the folly of such thinking. If that first kiss had taken her by surprise, this one took her by storm. More deliberate, less cautious, it caught her up in a deluge of sensory pleasure so intense that the world tilted on its axis.

  Nor, for once, was he entirely in command of the universe. His mouth was hot and possessive, his hands hot and urgent as they traced down her back from her neck to her hips. In truth, he was hot and hard all over, a fact made glaringly apparent by the flimsiness of the clothing separating their two bodies.

  And she, clinging to him for fear that she’d melt in a puddle at his feet if she let go, wanted to submit to his implicit demands, and never mind that they barely knew each other and didn’t much like what they’d so far discovered. Because Solange had been right. All that superficial animosity had been nothing more than camouflage to mask the attraction which had exploded between them with the suddenness and force of spontaneous combustion.

  If, rather than meeting him formally amid the grandeur of his estate, she had instead come across him in a street market, the outcome would have been the same. She didn’t need to know his name, nor he hers. He didn’t have to be rich and powerful, nor she successful and independent. They could have been beggars, and still the only reality that would have mattered was the primal knowledge that, somehow, out of all the other men and women in the world, they had recognized each other.

  This is insane! You’re both crazy!

  The admonishment fought to surface in her befuddled mind, and was swamped. What chance had reason against such elemental force?

  None at all! She was ready to yield to him completely, there on the cool marble floor of the foyer, and hang the consequences. But even as a whimper of surrender rose in her throat, another, fraught with equal passion, floated faintly through the night and turned her rigid with trepidation.

  “Oh!” she moaned, loud enough to drown out the other sound, and then, just to be on the safe side, “Oh, oh, oh!”

  If she’d hoped to distract him, she succeeded, but hardly in the way she’d hoped. He lifted his head, stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, and said coldly, “You sound pained.
Is it because of something you ate?”

  “No,” she said, embarrassed.

  “Then it must be me. I had no idea you found my attentions so unappealing.”

  The next moment, she was alone, feeling so let down and frustrated that she could barely stand.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AN INVITATION to afternoon tea with Josephine arrived at Anne-Marie’s door the following day, and turned out to be such a mutually pleasant event that it became a daily ritual after that. Sometimes Solange joined the party, and Adrian was always there, hopping with impatience for his new best friend to put in an appearance.

  The refreshments, served in the shade of a verandah overlooking the hummingbird garden, consisted of an array of delicacies wheeled out on a trolley, to where Josephine presided at a low table set with snowy linen and a magnificent sterling tea set.

  “Ethan’s mother started the tradition,” she explained, one day when Solange had gone to visit friends with Philippe, and Adrian, bored with too much grown-up talk, had wandered off into the garden to play with his kitten. “She was born in London, you see, and although her father was a doctor on Saint Vincent, here in the Caribbean, she grew up in England and held its customs very dear to her heart.”

  Anne-Marie helped herself to a buttery scone heaped with imported preserves and clotted cream. “How did she happen to meet Ethan’s father?”

  “She came out here on holiday when she turned nineteen and met him at the races in Barbados—horse races, that is. They’re very big in this part of the world. You must get Ethan to show you his stables, someday when you’re not both tied up with work.”

  “I’d like that.” Not that there was any chance she’d ever get it! She’d seen neither hide nor hair of him since the night he’d stopped by. At first seeming as helplessly attracted to her as she was to him, he’d initiated a kiss that fairly singed the already steamy night.