by Janet Dailey
The ground floor of the house was used mainly as a storage area because of the risk of high water. The living quarters were on the second floor, access was provided by a wide staircase. As Angie moved to the steps, the stale, stuffy air pressed its suffocating weight on her. She was conscious of Deke climbing the steps behind her, his firm tread echoing after her own.
At the top of the stairs, there was another door which was also locked. They brushed shoulders as Angie moved out of the way so Deke could unlock it. The physical contact sent a disturbing wave of sensation through her body. It was crazy how his touch had always been able to do that to her.
“You’ll need the key,” he said and handed it to her.
Her fingers closed around the warm metal, its notched edges poking into her palm. Angie looked up and found Deke studying her with a silent intensity. He seemed to hold her gaze for a long time as the blood pounded in her heart, but it was really only seconds. Without a word, he turned and pushed the door the rest of the way open, then walked in ahead of her.
The interior was dark; all the drapes were pulled closed, shutting out the sunlight. Deke crossed the room, weaving around the ghostly white shapes, and tugged on the drape cord to let in some light. All the furniture was covered with dust protectors that reminded Angie of shrouds. Deke stripped aside the one on the bright cinnamon couch and another on a matching chair, and the room seemed to come to life. But he didn’t continue with the task of stripping the covers from the furniture. Instead, he walked back to where Angie was standing.
“It’s practically the same as when you were here,” Deke stated. “You remember your way around, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She knew the kitchen was to her left and the bedrooms were to the right, but there was still some rediscovery to be done.
“I’ll bring your things up from the car.” He moved immediately away from her to the stairs.
With the sound of his footsteps traveling swiftly down the steps, Angie looked around the room for a minute more, then the stale air became too oppressive. She crossed the room to the large windows facing the Gulf and unfastened the catch to slide them open. A fresh, salt breeze swept into the room to chase out the old air. She turned back to the room and looked at the two pieces of exposed furniture among the white mounds. Immediately, she set to work dragging off the rest of the white cloths on the other furniture and piled the covers in a heap to be folded later.
From the living room, Angie moved to the dining room, opening windows as she went. Engrossed in her task, she didn’t hear Deke return and wasn’t aware he was back until she turned and saw him standing in the archway watching her. She was surprised by something in his expression, but it was masked before she could read it. His glance made a sweeping inspection of the room, then came back to her.
“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, and moved toward her with lithe ease. “But you always were able to stir things up in a hurry, weren’t you?” Deke didn’t seem to expect a reply. “I put your things in my room.”
Something in the rich timbre of his voice reached out for her, although he made no attempt to touch her. Angie was laced with the feeling that he wasn’t telling her everything.
“Why did you bring me here, Deke?” She searched his face for an answer, but it offered none.
“You want to be close to the ranch so you can see Lindy, don’t you?” he replied smoothly.
“Yes,” she nodded slowly.
“What could be more convenient than this house?” Deke reasoned. “It’s completely furnished and no one’s living in it. Which reminds me—I’m sure the cupboards are bare.” He reached in his pocket and took out a money clip, peeling off some bills and handing them to her. “You’ll need grocery money,” he explained.
“I—” Angie wasn’t sure she should accept it. First he’d given her a place to live; now he was offering her money for food.
His hands took hold of her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I have to get out to the ranch,” he said, ignoring her attempted protest. His fingers tunneled into the hair by her ear while he ran his gaze over her features. “Have dinner ready at seven-thirty tonight.”
Angie was still trying to sort through her confusion when Deke kissed her, his mouth firm and demanding in its possession. Disarmed completely by his expert invasion, she responded openly, but the scrape of his beard soon had her pulling away, her fingers touching the tender underside of her lip.
“I promise to shave.” His mouth quirked in a lazy smile, then Deke was leaving her.
For several seconds, Angie stayed where she was, a little too numbed to move. She listened to his footsteps descending the stairs. An inner force compelled her to go to the head of the stairs. Deke was on the last step. He paused and looked up, as if sensing she was there. Suddenly Angie had to fill the silence.
“Give my love to Lindy,” she said.
Something hard and unpleasant flashed in his eyes, then he was gone out of her sight without acknowledging her words. She felt chilled and hurt, and tried to convince herself that she had only imagined that look.
What was left of the morning went quickly as Angie busied herself with opening the house. She reexplored the house and its rooms, already familiar to her from previous visits with Marissa. There were minor changes, specifically in the bedrooms. Originally, one had been a guestroom; Deke and Marissa had each had a room of their own; and the master bedroom had belonged to their parents. The guest bedroom and Marissa’s remained the same, but Deke’s old room now contained a collection of stuffed toys, its masculine decor changed to suit a little girl. Angle took her time cleaning Lindy’s room, polishing the furniture and arranging the stuffed toys. It was easy to tell which toy had been Lindy’s favorite. Angie picked up a dog-eared kangaroo that was slightly dirty and worn from much handling. She held it, pressing it against her cheek for a few poignant seconds, then returned it to its place with the other toys.
With his parents’ death, Deke had moved into the master bedroom. It was one room Angie had never been in and it was there that Deke had left her clothes. The master suite was typically large, with a sitting area in addition to the queen-sized bed and its furniture. A sliding glass door opened onto a private balcony with a view of the blue Gulf waters. The bathroom contained a shower stall as well as a full-length tub, double sinks and a dressing room. All the furnishings in the suite were done in a deep marine blue with an accent of gold, contrasting with the rooms’ white walls.
There was nearly as much floor space in the bedroom suite as her apartment’s living room and bedroom had contained. Angie unpacked her clothes and hung them in one of the two walk-in closets. They looked almost forgotten in the huge closet.
By the middle of the afternoon, Angie had worked her way to the kitchen. It was ultramodern, with a center-island workspace and every modern convenience imaginable. After taking stock of the supplies on hand, Angie began making a list of the groceries she’d need to buy. She heard a car pull into the driveway and stop. When she went to the window to look, a cowboy climbed out of her car and trotted to the road where a man in a pickup truck was waiting to give him a ride. Deke had her car delivered as promised.
By seven o’clock that evening, she had managed to make the house presentable, done the grocery shopping, taken a bath, changed clothes and had dinner on the stove. Angie was definitely proud of herself as she shredded lettuce into a salad bowl. She had always been organized, but she’d never had an occasion to test her domestic talents. She caught herself humming and realized she hadn’t been this content in a long time.
A car drove in just as she was about to set the table. Angie glanced at the kitchen clock which showed a quarter past seven. If it was Deke, he was early. She heard a car door slam. Had it been one door or two? Angie lifted her head and looked toward the staircase, listening. Her heart gave a crazy little leap at the sound of a little girl’s laugh. Quickly, she set the dinner plates on the counter and started toward the stair door.
Deke
was almost to the top of the stairs when she reached the door. He paused a split second, then flashed her a smile that knocked her heart backward. Angie glanced behind him, expecting to see Lindy, but there was no one else. Frowning slightly, she searched the base of the stairs, then returned her gaze to Deke.
“I never guessed you’d be waiting at the door to welcome me,” Deke murmured, a possessvie glitter in his eyes.
“Where’s Lindy?” Angie saw the light fade and an impenetrable iron color take its place.
“What made you think I’d bring her?” His features were bland, his voice too casual. “I didn’t say anything about it.”
“No,” Angie admitted. “It’s just that—right after I heard the car drive in, I heard a little girl laughing. I thought it was Lindy.”
“It must have been one of the neighbor’s kids,” he dismissed the subject and took hold of her arm to turn her out of the doorway. He let it stay around her as he followed her into the living quarters. “Is dinner ready? Something smells good.”
“Almost. I still have to set the table.”
The dinner should have been enjoyable. The food was good and the conversation flowed easily between them, but a seed of suspicion kept nagging at Angie. If she and Deke were getting along so well, why did he keep avoiding the subject of their daugher?
As Deke finished his coffee, Angie stood up to take the plates to the kitchen. “Leave the dishes till later,” he said. “Let’s go in the living room.”
“All right.” She found no reason to argue with his suggestion.
It was dark in the living room. While Deke turned on the lamp by the couch, Angie crossed over to the windows and closed the drapes. When she turned to face him, Deke was reclining on the couch with the coffee table acting as a footstool. The lamp cast a pool of light that masked his features in shadows. He appeared relaxed, yet steadily watchful.
Unable to bear the suspense of not knowing, Angie voiced the question that had hammered at the corners of her mind all through dinner. “When are you going to let me see Lindy?”
There was a long, stretching silence before Deke finally said, “Come here, Angie.”
Her hesitation was slight before she walked to the couch. It was difficult to conduct a conversation with the width of the room dividing them. Deke swung his feet off the coffee table as though to give her access to the couch cushions next to him. But when Angie started to pass, he reached out to stop her, spreading his hand against the back of her thigh. Warmth radiated out from his touch, heating her flesh in spite of her efforts to retain control of her senses. She looked down and felt herself being drawn toward the silver brilliance of his gaze.
“Before we bring Lindy into this, we need to get to know each other,” Deke told her. “Agreed?”
There was some logic in his statement—at least on his side. He had already indicated a lack of trust in her promise not to try to take Lindy from him.
“Agreed,” she gave in reluctantly, although it did explain why he’d brought her here and why he’d come back for dinner.
His hand slid suggestively up her thigh to her rounded bottom. He applied pressure to pull her toward him while he caught at her hand. “Sit down.” But Deke meant on his lap.
A spreading weakness lowered her resistance and she let herself be drawn onto his lap. Deke settled her comfortably against him, the seductive darkness of his eyes playing havoc with her pulse. When he moved to kiss her, Angie turned away at the last second and his mouth grazed her cheek. He nibbled at an earlobe and nuzzled the shell-like opening, sending quivers over her flesh. Her fingers curled into the material of his shirt, hanging on against his attempt to arouse her.
“Don’t you think we should talk so we can get to know each other?” Angie suggested with throaty effort.
“We’ve been talking all through dinner, ever since I got here,” Deke answered against her neck, his mouth warm and stimulating on her sensitive skin. His hand slid under her knit top and her stomach constricted sharply at the contact of his hand to her flesh. “I want to know all of you.”
His hand continued its wayward journey up her ribcage, overriding Angie’s mute objections, but it stopped when it encountered the obstacle of her brassiere. He slipped his hand behind her to the fastener. He lifted his head, his eyes three-quarter lidded while he viewed the weak protest written in her expression.
“Aren’t you one of those liberated women who’ve eliminated the bra from their lingerie?” he chided, and watched the small gasp part her lips when he undid the hook to loosen the lacy cups encircling her breasts.
“No. It’s uncomfortable without one,” she managed a disturbed explanation.
“Then wear it in the daytime if you must.” His hand was back in the front, working on a strap under the cover of her knit top. “But take it off at night so I won’t have to fight with it.”
His request barely registered at first. She was distracted by his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Releasing the straps.” By then, Deke had detached the adjustable straps from the cups. He removed the disassembled bra without Angie having to take off her top. When the bra was tossed to some distant point on the living room floor, his hand once again slid under her top and closed on a rounded breast, kneading it with practiced ease.
Sensation was trying to swamp her, but Angie resisted it. His previous comment returning to mind. “Do you mean you’ll be coming here at night?”
“I can’t get to know you very well if I’m not around, can I?” he reasoned smoothly.
“No.” She supposed it made sense, but she couldn’t think any more.
He seemed to know it as he lifted her top and exposed her breasts for his visual and sensual enjoyment, caressing, kissing and teasing them until she melted. There was a shifting of positions until they were both lying on the couch and the hard pressure of his body was against hers.
Again, Deke pulled back to look at her, leaving her aching. “God, you’re like a habit-forming drug, Angie,” he muttered roughly. “I can only make it so long without a fix.”
She didn’t like being compared to a narcotic. It made her sound like something bad. She levered herself partially into a sitting position, but the hand on her bare waist kept her from getting too far away from him.
“You make it sound like I’m a sickness,” she accused.
He didn’t deny it. “It’s hell wanting you, honey.” He curved his hand over a firmly swollen breast. “Come make me feel good.” His voice was thick with longing.
Angie swayed toward him and that was all it took.
It was a long time later before Deke carried her into the master suite. He joined her in bed and they made love again. She fell asleep in his arms.
When she woke up the next morning, Deke was in the shower. She laid in bed without moving, deliciously tired and content. There was a warm, wonderful glow inside her and she didn’t want to move in case it went away. The shower water stopped running and Angie listened to the noises he made in the dressing room. When he emerged, fully dressed and clean-shaven, he looked vitally handsome and strong.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” Deke saw she was awake. “It’s late. The coffee should be done. You can fix me some breakfast.”
Stretching catlike, she climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom. When she came out, Deke had left the room. She dressed quickly and went to the kitchen where she found him sitting on a stool drinking freshly perked coffee.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Angie poured herself a cup of the coffee and set it on the island counter.
“Bacon and eggs, soft scrambled.” Deke put in his order.
“Toast?”
“Right.”
Doubling the portions, she fixed herself the same and sat down at the counter bar to eat breakfast with him. When they had finished, she cleared away the plates and stacked them in the sink. She paused beside the percolator.
“More coffee?” she asked as she unplugged it to carry the pot to the c
ounter where their cups were.
“Just half a cup. I’ve got to be going,” Deke reminded her.
A faint smile touched her mouth as she filled his cup half full. “I feel like a wife getting her husband off to work.”
It became very quiet for a minute. Angie glanced at Deke. His expression was grim and withdrawn. He flicked her a cutting look that seemed to slice right to the quick.
“We never did get around to being husband and wife, did we?” It was a biting retort. “It’s a pity you never gave us a chance, Angle. We might have been able to make it work.”
He didn’t bother to drink the coffee she’d poured him. Instead, Deke pushed off the stool and walked toward the staircase. The warm glow had been blown out by his chilling rejoinder. Angie had no defense against his observation, nothing she could say in her own behalf. He paused at the door to take his hat from the hook.
“I should be here by seven for dinner,” he informed her.
“Okay.” But she doubted that Deke heard her, his footsteps on the stairs drowning out her reply.
The pattern had been set for the following week. Deke would come for dinner and stay the night, rising early in the morning and having Angie fix him breakfast. They talked about a lot of things, but never Lindy or the past. They made love. In many respects, Angie had the feeling she was leading the life of a married woman. What was a little more frightening was the knowledge that she was liking it. It was so easy to remember that they had been married—and so easy to forget that they weren’t.
Chapter Nine
Music was playing softly in the background; the only light in the living room came from the lamp by the couch where Angie was curled contentedly in Deke’s arms. His feet were propped on the coffee table while her legs were stretched across the couch cushions. His hand absently fingered her amber silk hair. These quiet moments in the evening had become part of their pattern, too.
Angle’s thoughts wandered ahead. “I suppose you’ll be spending Thanksgiving with Lindy,” she murmured, which was only three days away.