McNeil's Match

by Gwynne Forster

  “Seems you like him a lot.”

  “You bet I do, and I have no reason to apologize for it. If Brad ever meets Sloan with the attitude he has now, he’s subject to get the surprise of his life.”

  “Hmm. What does he look like? Do you have a picture?”

  Lynne let a shrug indicate what she thought of that question. “No, I don’t. He’s about six feet five inches tall, well proportioned, fair complexion about the color of shelled pecans, light brown eyes, and what eyes. The man is stunningly good-looking. In terms of personality and behavior, he’s everything Willard isn’t.”

  “A charmer, eh?”

  “Not to me,” she said with her head higher and her tone haughty.

  “Well ’scuse me,” Debra said. “Don’t let Brad discourage you. After what you went through, you deserve a man who makes you laugh.”

  “And he does that, all the time.”

  “Where’s everybody?”

  Debra glanced at Lynne. “Oh-oh. Out here on the porch, honey. I was just telling Lynne how you like to go fishing on July Fourth.”

  Her tall and handsome brother walked out onto the porch, dropped his Louis Vuitton briefcase by the door and opened his arms to her for a big hug. “My baby sis is looking great.” He stepped back and observed her closely. “Hmm. Looks like all that exercise you’re getting is putting a glow on you. Hope you had a good nap. How was your flight?”

  She sat back in the swing, crossed her knees and prepared for Brad’s onslaught. Whether it was a disarming mechanism he’d developed as an attorney, she didn’t know, but he usually engaged in senseless banalities and small talk just before he aimed for the jugular, as if that was his way of throwing his adversary off guard. She decided to preempt the attack.

  “What’s your point, Brad? If I’m glowing, I must be getting a fever. My physical training sessions have made me more supple, caused me a lot of pain and pulled me into shape. Period.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Somebody jerk your chain?”

  “I was merely beating you to the draw.”

  “Look, everybody can tell when a woman gets a new...er...love interest, misguided or not. By the way—” Here it comes, she thought, and he didn’t disappoint her. “Did you speak to him yet about running his business from his office? If he’s a Howard grad, it would suit him a hell of a lot better than fooling around beneath automobiles.”

  Brad enjoyed talking to her as if she were a teenager. He knew everything better and let her know it. She had always accepted his assumption that, being three years older and a man, he was better informed than she. Perhaps it was the way that Sloan treated her, his respect for her opinions and ideas that gave her the courage to stand up to Brad. Or maybe it was the strength she gained when she sued the reverend Willard Marsh for a divorce and won. Whatever. She’d found her tongue and she meant to use it.

  “Brad, the next time you mention that to me while I’m here these two days, I’ll start packing.”

  He raised his hands as if in surrender. “All right. All right. I’ll shut up, but—”

  “I meant what I said, Brad.”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he walked over to his wife and kissed her. “What are we doing for dinner, babe?”

  The short visit ended quickly, for which she was grateful. The current of tension between her brother and herself banished the warmth and camaraderie that usually attended their times together.

  “I’m sorry Brad had to spoil your visit,” Debra said to Lynne as they cleaned the kitchen that Friday night. “I guess you know he was waiting for the opportunity to tell you what he thought of your friendship with a mechanic. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he wouldn’t hear it. He doesn’t want you involved with a man who is a laborer. You’re the one living your life. If I was in your place, I’d ignore Brad.”

  “The problem is that he’s frequently right,” Lynne said, “but I think I should go with my feelings.”

  “Well, I’m not going to make the same mistake as Brad. You have to decide for yourself. When will you see Sloan again?”

  “Tomorrow night. He invited me to go to the local Howard University alumni club dance with him.”

  “Go for broke, honey. If the guy’s as good-looking as you say, look your best, because every woman there—married or single—will be able to see the same thing you can see, and they will look.”

  That Saturday morning, Brad drove her to Baltimore to get a seven o’clock flight to San Antonio. It seemed as if years had passed since she saw Sloan, although it had only been three days. “Something’s happening to me,” she said to herself, “and I’d better be careful.”

  “Why so quiet?” he asked as they neared the airport. “You and I were always able to communicate, but you’re in a world of your own these days.”

  “Do you realize that you never once tried to dissuade me from getting involved with Willard and marrying him? Not once. He made me miserable for six interminable years. I’ve been happier in Sloan’s company than I ever remember being, and I’m the only person who can make up my mind about him. Do you understand?”

  “You’re telling me that if you have to choose, it’s this guy over your blood brother?”

  Her gaze took in his Gucci loafers and moved up to the gold Rolex watch on his wrist. Of course he wouldn’t understand her affection for a man who repaired automobiles. “It’s not you or him, Brad. It’s my decision to run my life as I see fit, and after six years of having somebody tell me I can’t wear any color underwear but white, I’m going to enjoy the freedom to do as I please.”

  “All right. But remember what I said. You’ll be happier with him if he’s got an office job, because he’ll feel better about himself. My last word on the subject...for now.”

  She walked into her house at eleven-thirty that morning, went out on the deck and remembered that Caesar was with Sloan. “I guess I’ll go jogging by myself,” she said, having become accustomed to running with her dog. After the five-mile run, she took her mobile phone from the table in the foyer, threw off her clothes and shoes and stretched out on the chaise longue on her deck. With the warm breeze refreshing her, she let her naked pores breathe in the invigorating air.

  “When I have my pool, I’m going to fence in this place and swim nude,” she said to herself, thinking how shocked Willard would be if he saw her right then.

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted her dozing. “Hello.”

  “Were you asleep? What happened to you? I waited in the terminal for an hour and a half after the plane landed. Didn’t you check luggage?”

  “Sloan! I was half asleep. I never check luggage if I can avoid it. I went directly to the taxi stand. Honey, I’m sorry I missed you. Thank you so much for making the effort.” As if he could see her, she crossed her legs and covered her breasts with her left arm.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t meet you?”

  “I guess I just didn’t think. Am I forgiven?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Would there ever come a time when his voice didn’t make her tingle all over? “Want me to bring Caesar when I come for you this evening?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. I miss him.”

  “I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

  No point in trying to sleep. She went upstairs, checked her melon-red evening gown for imperfections and examined her black silk shoes and bag and rolled up her hair to give it shape, as she planned to wear it down around her shoulders. The day passed so slowly. For lunch, she managed, by forcing them down, to consume four shrimp, two lettuce leaves and a handful of cherry tomatoes. She measured the living room windows for blinds and forgot to record the measurements, made a list of the changes she wanted in her kitchen and lost the paper. Disgusted, she attempted to contact a painter for an estimate, remembered that the day was Saturday and gave up
after the phone rang half a dozen times.

  Five-thirty finally came, and she took a leisurely bubble bath. After drying off, she pampered her skin with Fendi lotion, slipped on red bikini panties, red garters and sheer off-black stockings and enjoyed the wickedness she felt. At six-fifteen, she combed out her hair, applied Fendi perfume where it counted, stepped into the sleek, figure-flattering red dress and zipped it. After slipping into her shoes, she put on her diamond earrings, the only extravagant purchase she made during her former tennis successes, grabbed a black lace stole and reached the bottom of the stairs as the doorbell rang.

  When she opened the door, his eyes widened. “You look... Hi.” His arms opened, and she walked into them making room with her own to clasp him in her embrace. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, “and I can’t even kiss you.”

  “Just look at you. I can’t kiss you, either. All you need is for me to get powder or lipstick on this white tuxedo. My! What a figure you make in it. Where’s Caesar?”

  “I decided not to bring him. He’s not as considerate as I am. The minute you opened the door, he would have been all over you, and your dress would be a mess.”

  That hadn’t occurred to her. “Thanks. I hadn’t thought of that. Can you bring him tomorrow?” The look of surprise on his face told her much, and it occurred to her that he might not have planned to return to San Antonio after bringing her home.

  He handed her a bunch of purple and yellow calla lilies, and without thinking, she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Oh, dear, let me get that lipstick off you.”

  His eyes sparkled with lights. “How do you know I don’t want all those guys at the reception to know you kissed me?”

  She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “In that case, maybe I should kiss your mouth so they’ll see that I know how to do it properly.”

  When his bottom lip curved into a devilish grin, she expected an example of his piercing wit, but he said, “It’s enough that I know it.”

  She put the flowers in water, turned off the lights and handed him her key. As they strolled together down the cobblestone walk to his car, she wondered if she was living in dreamland. The willow trees facing her house swayed in the breeze, fireflies danced as they blinked on her lawn and even the yellow dandelions that peeped up from between the stones of her walkway appeared to her as flowers and not weeds. She looked up at the blanket of stars that twinkled around the moon, so bright and arrogant in its majesty. Unaware that she squeezed Sloan’s hand, she missed a step when his arm went around her. As they reached his car, he paused. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never known a night like this,” she said. And she hadn’t, for she had never looked and felt as she did then in the company of a man like Sloan McNeil, a man capable of turning any woman’s head. “I even missed my high school prom because I had what they called ‘the grip.’ And this night... It’s so perfect.”

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, he handed his car keys to the bellboy at the Hyatt Regency Hotel situated on the River Walk, took her hand and walked with her into the hotel and on to its grand ballroom. He presented their tickets at the door, and as he walked with Lynne into the glittering room he gave thanks for his foresight in straightening things out with Vickie Moore as soon as he realized he wanted Lynne. In a black sequined gown and alone, Vickie strolled toward them.

  “Hello, Sloan,” she said. “How nice to see you. Perfect as usual.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw that Lynne watched him, and he allowed himself a broad smile. “How are you, Vickie. This is Lynne Thurston. Lynne, this is Victoria Moore. I spoke to you about her, though I didn’t identify her.”

  That ought to set things straight here. I’m not going to allow anything to spoil my first real date with Lynne. I want this evening to remain perfect for her.

  Lynne extended her hand to the woman, her face radiant with a smile. “How are you, Vickie? I’m glad to meet you.”

  “I’m fine,” Vickie said. “Sloan didn’t tell me about you, only that there was a you. The alumni gala is one of my favorite social occasions. I hope you both enjoy the evening. It was good to see you, Sloan. Goodbye.”

  He told her goodbye and marveled at the way in which she carried off her obvious disappointment. Obvious to him, at least.

  “She’s a gracious woman,” Lynne said.

  “She has no reason to be otherwise. We had a lot of fun together, but I never led her to believe that anything would develop between us. As I told you, we were never lovers, or even close to it.”

  “But she wanted it.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

  “So she said when I told her goodbye.”

  “I wouldn’t be that sanguine about it.”

  Her back was bare almost down to the curve of her hips, giving him plenty of room in which to press his hand to her naked flesh and he did so with relish. “I didn’t go as far with her as I’ve gone with you.”

  “Sloan, you’re not playing fair right now.”

  He rubbed her back, though not enough for an onlooker to realize what he was doing. “Where do you want me to put my hand? If I put it on the back of your dress, I’ll disgrace you, so—”

  She interrupted him. “When I get even, I do it with a vengeance. You watch.”

  He imagined the danger of laughing at her, so he controlled as much of the laughter as he could, and let it spill out in a big grin. “I have to claim rights. Here comes a brother ready to horn in on my territory right now.” He could see her priming herself to get some of her own, but he didn’t plan to let it happen.

  “It’s been a while, Jacques,” he said, extending his hand to the man. “How are you, and how’s Melanie? Haven’t seen her for ages.” He nearly collapsed in laughter as the man seemed to shrink as a balloon shrivels when the air seeps out of it.

  “Uh, Melanie’s good. Who’s...uh...this American beauty rose you’ve got here?”

  “The lady is Miss Lynne Thurston. I heard you’d gone monogamous, and that you and Melanie moved in together.”

  “How’d you know? Man, news sure travels fast. That happened last week.” He wanted Jacques to move on so that he could introduce Lynne to a couple of his friends.

  “Well, nice running into you, man,” he said. “See you around.”

  She pinched his arm. “You brushed him off.”

  “You bet I did. You were just about to begin your vengeance, and he’s one guy who wouldn’t let you get away with playing up to him. Jacques is not a man of principle. He’s living with Melanie, but he’d date you tomorrow if he got a chance. Let’s find our table.”

  “Sloan McNeil! It’s great to see you, man. I always wondered why you never came to any of the alumni gatherings. I’m down here in San Antonio because my bride-to-be is from around here, and her cousin, Magnus Cooper, invited me to his annual gala. Come, I’ll introduce you. This is Pamela Langford. Pamela, meet a classmate and good friend, Sloan McNeil.”

  “Hello, Pamela. I’m delighted to meet the woman who brought Drake Harrington to heel. Pamela and Drake, this is Lynne Thurston.” He knew his arm draped around her in a gesture of possessiveness, but what the heck! If she wasn’t his then, she soon would be.

  “What a pleasure,” she said, extending her hand first to Pamela and then to Drake. “I wish you both as much happiness as a human being can bear.” Her comment brought a laugh from both Drake and Pamela, and they thanked her in unison. They made plans to meet after the reception, and Sloan continued to his table.

  “They are a good-looking couple,” Lynne said. “I liked them at once.”

  “Drake’s got the charm to sell saltwater to ocean fishermen, but he’s a serious man, and I hear he’s very successful as an architectural engineer.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “It would
be a pity if a man with his looks and presence was trifling.”

  “He certainly isn’t that. Here’s our table. I apologize if the menu consists of mashed potatoes, peas, chicken à la king and either chocolate or coconut cake. We have to remember that this is a fund-raiser.”

  She looked around at the women who helped support the French, Italian and American fashion designers in a style to which the women themselves couldn’t even aspire and, as if he read her thoughts, Sloan said, “You put most of the women here to shame. Lady, you are one elegant woman.”

  She blinked back a tear. “What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked her, leaning forward and grasping her hand.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just...so wonderful to be complimented rather than berated.”

  He leaned closer and spoke to her ear. “I like everything about you, and every time I’m with you, I’m more impressed with the kind of person you are. And if we were alone, I’d have you in my arms this minute.”

  She bit her lip to stop its trembling. “And that’s where I’d want to be.” She looked away from him so that he couldn’t read her thoughts. If they were alone in her house, she wouldn’t let him leave there without making love with her.

  “Look at me.” She dragged her gaze to his face, aware that her own reflected the desire that churned within her, and stared into his dark and fiery mesmerizing eyes. Eyes that burned with hot desire. He swallowed again and again as if trying to rid himself of an unwanted taste.

  “Sloan, I want you to meet my wife,” a voice to his left said.

  Saved from the passion that threatened to engulf him, he turned to the man. “Bill Jones. I’m glad to see you.”

  “Me, too, man. It’s been a while. I’m club president now, and I’d love for you to attend the meetings. We need some sensible voices.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. Thanks for seating me at the head table. This is Lynne Thurston.”