Her Man Upstairs
Page 15
As it turned out, he had stopped by the grocery store on the way back, bringing enough provisions to last an entire platoon a week.
“Are you that hungry?” she’d demanded. Relief came out sounding like irritation…which was probably just as well.
Without answering, he waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
Not a word about last night. Not a word about stealing her heart, her body, and anything else she had of value.
Together, they had worked all day, taking time out only to make sandwiches. At five she had come upstairs to shower and start getting ready for the birthday party, while he’d continued to rearrange shelves, leaving space to work around them to repaint her walls.
Once he’d heard the shower cut off, he had joined her upstairs. “Casual?” he’d asked, poking his head into the bedroom.
“Definitely.”
“Good. Otherwise, I’d have had to rush up to Virginia Beach and get my tux out of storage.”
He had whistled while he showered, shaved and dressed, taking half the time it had taken her just to decide on what to wear to Bob Ed’s party. While she’d stood in front of the mirror trying to do something with her hair, he had leaned in the doorway, again offering advice. She’d finally run him downstairs, but her heart had done cartwheels. If he’d so much as touched her, they’d have ended up back in bed.
All day long, while they’d whacked off and nailed on end boards in the garage and moved shelves into the house, she’d felt as self-conscious as a fourteen-year-old on her first date. That unsure of herself—which was absurd in a woman of her age. An experienced adult who’d had two husbands. You’d think they’d done something bizarre and a little kinky instead of just making love—
Not making love. Having sex. Big, big difference, she reminded herself sternly as she fastened a pair of gold hoops on her ears.
“Do we need to take anything? Beer? Wine? Food?” Cole called upstairs just as she started down.
“Lord, no. He’d be highly insulted. One of his clients has a brewery and another one has a barbecue catering service. That’ll give you an idea of what the menu will be tonight.” She joined him in the hall, glancing at her watch. Being a Virgo, she was always punctual, but that was before time had stopped three times during the night.
“I thought it was stewed Canada goose with all the trimmings,” he murmured, leaning over to inhale the scent of shampoo, soap and jasmine-scented body lotion.
He even claimed to be addicted to her coconut-flavored lip balm.
“That’s only the beginning,” she said breathlessly as she slid her arms into the sleeves of her warmest coat. She was about to tell him he looked good—and oh, my mercy, he did!—when he beat her to the punch.
“You look beautiful, Marty. I like what you’ve done to your hair.”
She had twisted it into a knot, anchored it with a fancy craft-show comb, and pulled out a few tendrils to curl at the sides. Ordinarily, she settled for a scrunchy. She could feel her face reddening.
Making a big deal out of checking her purse for necessary items, she thanked him.
Yesterday’s sleety rain was now only a damp memory. Streaks of gold and lavender brightened the western sky. To the east, the Hamburger Shanty’s neon sign cast a cheerful glow against the fast-disappearing storm clouds. Faylene swore that in all the years she’d known Bob Ed, it had never rained on one of his parties.
Marty had a feeling it could be raining buffaloes and she wouldn’t notice. “Your car, mine, or both?” she asked. Code for Will you be coming back here tonight, or are you moving back aboard your boat now that the weather’s let up?
“Mine—if that’s all right with you?”
A semi-self-conscious silence prevailed the rest of the way to the marina. Halfway there, Cole put on a CD. This time instead of Chopin, it was classical guitar. It could have been Spike Jones and his City Slickers and it wouldn’t have made a speck of difference. Any music shared was romantic music.
The parking area was jam-packed with vehicles of all descriptions. Sasha’s red convertible was parked close to the wharf. She had evidently come early to help with the preparations, although she knew better than to offer Bob Ed any decorating advice. Faylene still laughed about the time Sasha had made him a centerpiece using port and starboard running lights, a small anchor and three fat candles.
Cole found a place down near the end of the wharf, near his own boat. “Man, I had no idea it was this big a deal,” he murmured as he helped her from the truck, taking her arm and leading her toward the big, unpainted building that served the guide as both home and office.
Marty hugged his arm to her side. “It might not look like it, but Bob Ed’s place is famous all up and down the coast. His clients like to believe it’s their own private discovery—this little hole-in-the-wall marina just off the beaten track.” They dodged a puddle, necessitating a bumping of hips and shoulders. He smiled down at her, causing her heart to skip a beat, and she quickly looked away. Tonight was going to be tricky. One look and Sasha would know exactly what had happened. The woman had the internal radar of a bat.
Every window was lighted, guests spilled out along the wharf on both sides, and from the sound—and the smells—the party was well underway. They had just sidled between two pickup trucks, both bristling with rod holders, when she happened to catch sight of a familiar car. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared.
“Is that what I think it is?”
It was a gray Mercedes, far from new, but in excellent condition. Among all the SUVs and pickups, it stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Yep. Coincidence?” Cole murmured. “I don’t think so.” He moved around to check the license plate. “This should be interesting.”
It was all the excuse she needed to hang on to his arm, tucking her hand against his side to feel his comforting warmth. “Look, I probably made too big a deal of the whole thing,” she said. “Otherwise, whoever it is wouldn’t be right out here where anyone could spot him.”
“He was right out in plain sight when he was following you. He didn’t mind being seen when he parked in your neighbor’s driveway.”
“So he’s a gutsy stalker.” She attempted a carefree laugh, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Or maybe he’s new at it. Maybe he’s just got a learner’s permit.”
And then someone said, “Excuse me,” and they stepped back to allow one of the locals to pass. He was carrying a washtub filled with ice.
“Well, hey there, Miss Marty. My wife says when you going to get your bookstore open again?”
Her wariness faded. “Oh, hi, James. Tell her soon, I hope.” Looking back at Cole, she murmured, “It occurred to me that I’ll need to advertise. Mail out cards or buy radio time. Maybe even a trailer on the local weather station.”
By then they’d reached the door, which was propped open. They were immediately enveloped in a noisy, good-natured crowd, and Marty forgot about both advertising and her wacky stalker. Snatches of string music could be heard over the sound of laughter and dozens of voices all trying to be heard. The mingled scent of hickory barbecue and something gamier mingled with Brut, Old Spice and Eau de Whatever.
Someone yelled, “Marty, you’re the expert. Tell this here dumbhead that Clive Cussler’s been diving around these parts for years.”
“Expert on popular fiction, maybe, but not on diving. But yes, actually, I think he has.”
A strident voice yelled, “The potatoes is done!”
Someone else said, “We got enough Texas Pete?”
“Oh, lawsy, I lost an earring in the stew pot!”
As a dozen conversations swirled around her, Sasha sidled over and whispered in her ear, “Oh, honey, do I have a hot prospect for Lily! He’s right over there, talking to the sheriff.” On social occasions, local law enforcement overlooked minor infractions of certain laws. Tonight was obviously one of those occasions, as the man in question was holding a glass of clear liquid. Chances were, it wasn’t vodka.
&nbs
p; Faylene joined them. “Gus and Cassie, whaddya think? Her boobs and his beer belly ought to be a fit. Picture it.”
Marty did. She giggled.
Sasha said, “The mind boggles.”
From several feet away, Cole winked at her. He’d been buttonholed by old Miss Katie, a retired schoolteacher who considered anyone under the age of fifty to still have a few things to learn. She was probably right, Marty thought ruefully. About some of us, at least.
The party was in full swing by the time Marty broke away more than an hour later. Several people had stepped outside for a breath of cool air, among them an attractive middle-aged man wearing flannel and tweed and smoking a pipe. Probably a college professor, she thought. He didn’t look like a hunter or fisherman—but who ever knew?
She watched idly as he stepped down from the wharf and made his way past two trucks and an SUV. A moment later she saw a light come on as he opened the door of the Mercedes. Without taking time to think, she hopped down and followed. Just as she reached him, he closed the car door and turned away, holding what looked like a tobacco pouch.
“Stop right there,” she commanded.
He stopped. He stared. In the cold green glow of the mercury-vapor security light, she could almost believe his face reddened, but she could have been mistaken.
“Ms. Owens?” he said.
“Have you been following me?” While she waited for a denial, she tried to think of a way to make him confess. How did they do it in books? Threats? Torture? Both out of the question—but he was the one, all right. She knew it.
Proving it was another matter. “Just tell me this—why is it that you turn up everywhere I go? Even here.” All right, so he’d been here when she’d arrived; that was a minor technicality.
He tucked the pouch in the pocket of his tweed jacket and she caught a hint of vanilla-scented pipe tobacco.
“Ms. Owens, do you have any sisters?”
Puzzled, she tilted her head. “Sisters? Look, whoever you are, I’m not answering any questions until you tell me what’s going on.”
Only a few feet separated them in the crowded parking area. The man didn’t look all that dangerous—she might even be able to take him in a fair fight. But she’d rather not put it to the test. Her knowledge of martial arts had come from reading suspense and watching Jackie Chan.
“I do,” he said, sounding almost resigned.
“You do what?” That’s right, she thought—throw me off balance.
“Have a sister. Her name is Marissa Owens and she lives outside Culpepper. Kenyon Farms—at least it used to be a farm. All that’s left is the house and one empty stable. You might know the place.”
Oh, my God. She did. Beau had taken her there just once, right after they’d been married. His mother, who had not attended the wedding, had been frigidly polite throughout the brief visit.
“Then you’re…”
“Beau’s uncle, James Merchison. I’m truly sorry if I’ve frightened you. That was never my intention, but when my sister heard I was headed down to Hobe Sound, she asked me to lay over here long enough to find out if you still had any of the things Beau took from home. They’re family pieces, you know. We’d be more than willing to buy them back.”
“Then why didn’t you come right out and ask me?”
“I should have, but I didn’t know what to ask. It’s embarrassing to be put in the position of accusing someone who was once family of—well, I suppose it could be called receiving stolen goods.”
Marty took a deep breath and expelled it in a sharp huff. He looked so apologetic that she was inclined to forgive him, but not before she told him exactly what a piece of work his nephew was.
“Do you know he even stole my wedding ring? Not that it was all that valuable—it definitely wasn’t a family heirloom, because I was with him when we picked it out. He told me he was going to have it checked to be sure none of the stones were loose, and then he claimed the jeweler lost it.” She glanced down at her bare finger. “As for the paintings he claimed his mother gave him because she didn’t have room to hang them, they hung on our walls for—oh, maybe five months. He claimed he was going to have them appraised for insurance purposes. I never saw them again.”
They were still comparing notes on the lying, gambling-addicted wretch she’d had the misfortune to marry when Cole found her. His eyes narrowed as he took possession of her arm.
“Is there a problem here?”
Marty introduced the two men. The older man said, “Merchison, Saunders, Vessels and Wilson, Attorneys at Law.”
“Then I guess I don’t have to tell you what you’ve been doing is probably actionable,” Cole said evenly.
“It was personal. I’ve apologized and explained to the lady.”
“He has, Cole, and I understand. Really, I do.” She patted James Merchison on the hand. “If I were you and I were looking for Beau, I’d cruise on up to Atlantic City. Or anywhere there’s gambling.”
The three of them rejoined the party in time to fill paper plates with everything from stewed goose and dumplings to barbecue, to grilled tuna and crab cakes. Beverages ranged from soft drinks to beer to gallon jugs of white liquor of the no-questions-asked variety.
While Cole worked his way closer to the musicians, Marty cornered Faylene to compliment her on her new hairstyle, which was more Farrah Faucett than Dolly Parton.
“Law heppus, if this wind don’t let up, I’m gonna get me one o’ them WeedEater cuts. Whatcha think of that feller over there with the Mercedes for Miss Lily? She’s some taller, but some men like that in a woman.”
It was long past midnight when they got home. Neither of them questioned the fact that Cole would be spending the night there; otherwise he’d have suggested that they drive separately. For the past few hours they had mingled, sometimes separately, sometimes together. Cole had wandered over to talk to the musicians, but even across the room she’d felt his gaze return to her again and again, his eyes glowing with a message she was almost afraid to interpret for fear she’d get it wrong.
Looking around her house now as she shed her coat, she shook her head. “It still comes as a shock when I see the chaos. Can you believe I used to be compulsively neat?”
“Yeah, I can believe it.”
His smile held sympathy and more understanding than she was ready to accept.
“You want a nightcap?”
“After that feast? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t, either.”
And then neither of them could think of anything to say. Marty reminded herself that she’d lived with the man—well, practically lived with him—for a week. They had shared meals and dog-walks and shopping; she had introduced him to her friends, argued with him and even fired him.
She had made love to him, for heaven’s sake.
So why was she acting like an idiot? Why was she quaking inside? Was she afraid he was going to tell her goodnight and drive all the way back to the marina?
“Look, do you want to go to bed, or not?” she blurted. “With me, I mean. You can always sleep on the sofa. It’s a mess in there, but I can give you a pillow and a blanket and—”
He hushed her with a finger over her lips. His eyes were laughing. At her, or with her?
Oh, Lord, you’d think she’d eventually learn, wouldn’t you?
Upstairs, Cole helped her hang up the clothing she’d left scattered across the bed. Then he undressed her, carefully easing her turtleneck sweater over her head.
“Sorry I messed up your hair. It looked pretty, but I like it the way you usually wear it, too.” He was so close she could feel the heat of his body through the navy flannel and whatever he wore under it.
When he stood her up again and unbuttoned the waistband of her slacks she noticed how unsteady his hands were. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. Whispered because she couldn’t seem to breathe properly.
“Yeah, I do. Measure twice, cut once. It’s an old carpenter’s saying.”
His own clothes came off quickly, though. Khaki, flannel and cotton knit, tossed at a chair, half of it falling to the floor. Marty pulled out her box of condoms and took one—and then another one. And then a third. Just in case. Sooner or later they were going to have to talk.
Or not.
Color stained his angular cheeks. His hands trembled, but there was nothing at all hurried or unsure about his kisses. Slowly, he explored her mouth, his tongue dueling with hers, then thrusting in a seductive promise of things to come. He kissed her eyelids, her ears, suckling the lobes. The moment his lips found that sensitive place at the side of her throat, she sucked in her breath, goose bumps racing in waves down her flanks.
“I…can’t…wait,” she managed to whisper when his tongue traced a pattern around her nipple. While her fists flailed the sheets and her head moved from side to side on the pillow, he proceeded to drive her wild, first with his hands, then with his lips and his tongue.
“I need you…now!” she whispered fiercely. If he would just come inside her and ease this intolerable ache he’d created, then she might survive. Otherwise, there were no guarantees.
“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this,” he said in a raspy voice, nipping her belly with soft ferocity. “I’ve waited all night—all day—all week.”
He aligned her underneath him. As if they’d done it a thousand times, her toes pushed against his, then her knees lifted to clasp his hips and she breathed in the clean musky scent of his body. She felt the tip of him move intimately against her.
He hesitated. “Tell me what you want,” he said, lifting his head so that he could watch her reaction.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. After years of thinking of herself as lukewarm in matters pertaining to sex, in a single night this man had turned her into a woman she didn’t even recognize. A woman who was daring and desirable, a creature of her own fantasy with a fantasy lover all her own.