by Sandra Brown
“Same here,” Seth said firmly, and smiled his heart-melting smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to let Kathleen show you to the door. I think I’d better let George get me out of these clothes as soon as possible.”
“I’ll take you as far as your door,” Hazel said solicitously to her brother, assuming a proprietary position behind his chair.
Kathleen’s knees would barely support her as she rose and walked with Erik to the wide arch leading into the hall. “Oh, Kathleen,” Seth delayed their departure, “I promised to show Erik how we’ve lighted the pool. Would you be so kind as to take him around back and show it to him before he leaves?”
The blood pounded in her ears. She would have to be alone with him! “O-Of course.”
“I’ll say goodnight then.” Seth blew her a kiss and then he wheeled away, Hazel following him.
As soon as the double front door with the etched glass windows shut behind them, Kathleen faced Erik belligerently. “Must you see the pool?”
“Absolutely.” The well-mannered mask had been dropped. His features were set and hard. He gripped her arm and virtually dragged her along after him. She tripped and stumbled in her high-heeled sandals and finally gasped his name.” Let go of me,” she said. It did no good. He neither slowed down nor relieved the pressure on her arm.
When they were past the cabana beside the pool, he flung her against the dark side of the building and pinned her there with his body.
His hands came up to each side of her face, not in a gentle gesture but in an imprisoning one, crushing. His face was fearsome. She had seen it that way once before, just as he was about to slug the two cowboys in the lounge at the Crescent Hotel.
“I want to know. And I want to know now. Is he my son?” The voice wasn’t Erik’s. It wasn’t the same voice that had lulled her to sleep while whispering love words in her ear. This voice vibrated with fury and hatred.
She struggled against him but his body only thrust against her harder, and he flattened her arms on either side of her head with iron fists that threatened to crack her fragile wrist bones. “Answer me, damn you! When is his birthday? Your little accident in there isn’t going to prevent me from finding out.”
He thought she had spilled the coffee on purpose! “Let me go.” The words were literally pushed past her lips, which were rigid with anger.
“Not a chance,” he growled. “Not until you tell me the truth. Is he my son?”
He pressed against her, and despite her anger, that tight coil of desire that had lain dormant inside her for two years slowly began to uncurl and wind through her body with an awareness of the hard muscles, the masculine scent, the virility that speared into her belly.
She fought it. She closed her eyes briefly, partly to block out his furious face so close to hers. “Would it make a difference?” she asked at last in what she hoped was a disparaging tone.
“To a lying slut like you, probably not. But it does to me.”
She choked on a sob. How cruel and unfair he was. She had loved him! He was the one who had been unfaithful, cheating on his wife. Yet he insulted her like this.
Kathleen wanted to hurt him the way she had been hurt. “Yes!” she hissed. “He’s your son. And a fat lot of good it’ll do you to know it.” Her head went back against the hard surface of the wall and she defied him with every fiber of her being.
First his face revealed suspicion as he searched her own features for signs of deception. Then a look of wonder and awe broke across the face that she loved. An infinite sadness replaced that. Finally, the anger returned as he snarled down at her, “I wonder if Seth knows what a hot little number his wife is?”
Again Kathleen struggled, and again it was futile to expect escape. “You called me that once before. It wasn’t true then and it isn’t true now. You know nothing about me, Erik.”
His head lowered a fraction and he brushed across her forehead with his mustache. “Don’t I?” he breathed. “I can prove how well I know you.”
“No,” Kathleen begged softly as she felt his thigh insinuating itself between hers. “No,” she said again, wanting to convince herself. His hard thigh was pressing her to the wall, rubbing against her femininity through the thin silk pants.
His thumbs made mesmerizing circles on the pulse points of her wrists until her balled fists relaxed. He covered her palms with his, making even that simple touch erotic. His breath was hot and agitated against her face as he promised, “I’ll exorcise you from my mind yet, you hot little… hot… hot…” His mouth took hers hungrily, working her lips apart with his tongue.
Kathleen made outraged sounds deep in her throat that soon changed and became little more than murmurs of ecstasy. His hands traveled from her palms, down her arms to her shoulders, then around her back to lower the short zipper of her top. Weakened by the power of his kiss, she didn’t—couldn’t—resist. Nor did she want to.
He pulled down the strapless blouse. Her breasts spilled into his waiting hands. He buried his face in the deep cleavage, drinking up the intoxicating fragrance and reveling in the texture of her skin as he massaged her gently. His mouth closed around her, eager and wet, and she arched against the long, strong leg between her own.
He found the dusky center of her breast, which was swollen and tingling with passion, and worried it further with his tongue. Then he suckled her gently, drawing on her sweetly, begging for sustenance. Unconsciously, her arms went around his neck, pulling his head nearer and holding it there. At the small of her back, she felt his hands lifting her onto his thigh.
He strained against her and urged her with beseeching hands under her hips. Upward. Closer. Wider. The hard bulge in his trousers fit snugly into her welcoming vulnerability. Only clothing prevented the sexual union from being complete. He moved. She responded with an answering pressure. Most intimately, his body stroked hers.
Kathleen felt herself being drawn into that frenzied height she had not forgotten. She flew toward it before she was aware of her flight and in control enough to call herself back.
Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back, and she rotated her hips against that beloved invader between her thighs. His mouth withdrew from her breasts a fraction and only his tongue remained to lash gently at her nipples. The tumult rolled over her, bathing her with liquid fire. “Erik, Erik,” she cried as each spasm seized her.
When it was over, she clung to him limply while she gasped for breath. His own breathing was ragged against her neck. Her fingers wound through the golden strands of his hair, which she had memorized by touch long ago. “Erik,” she sighed in exhaustion, replete with love.
Suddenly, he slung her away from him against the wall. The lips that had brought her so much pleasure moments before were now curled in cynical derision. “You see, Kathleen,” he mocked. “You’ve just proven my point. You are no fit mother for my son.”
* * *
Days later Kathleen was still distraught over what had happened. She didn’t even want to listen to Eliot as he persistently shook the invoices under her nose.
“Kathleen, pay attention. I asked you if you had canceled this order. Seth is on the telephone. Hazel,” he grimaced eloquently, “is with him, complaining that our customers are looking for the new Polo shirts in the fall colors and none are to be had.”
She dredged herself up to a level of consciousness where his words finally registered. “Aren’t they in yet? I ordered a dozen shirts in every color in varied sizes for each of the three stores. How can there not be any in stock?”
“Damned if I know,” Eliot said, raking his slender fingers through his artificially but beautifully streaked hair. “But will you talk to Seth? I’ve never heard him so upset.”
She picked up the telephone and spoke calmly into the receiver. “Hello, Seth. I don’t understand the problem, but I’m sure I’ll get it straightened out.”
“Kathleen, the problem is that we don’t have any of our most staple item, and you created that problem. What
I want to know is why.”
Kathleen had never heard such exasperation in Seth’s voice. And it was directed toward her. “I created the problem?”
“Yes. I called the shipping department directly. The goods were received by us—by you—on July thirteenth. You refused them, initialed the return slip and sent them back. How could you do such a thing?” he demanded.
“I didn’t!” she shouted, causing Eliot to raise an expressive brow. He had never heard one cross word between Kathleen and her husband. She rubbed her forehead with frustrated fingers. Why, when she was already upset, did something like this have to happen? She tried to be reasonable. “Seth, there is some mistake. I never even saw the goods. I never initialed anything.”
“Then how is it that I’m looking at a very good carbon copy of the order and staring at your initials? I ought to know my own wife’s signature when I see it, for godsake!” She bit her lips in an effort not to scream back at him. She was well aware of Eliot observing her shrewdly and knew Hazel was gloating on the other end.
Hazel.
A light began to dawn. Could the woman do such a thing? Would she sacrifice the welfare of the stores in order to cause friction between Kathleen and Seth? Kathleen had given Hazel more credit than that, but maybe she had been too generous.
“I never sent back that order, Seth,” she said matter-of-factly.
Seth sighed heavily. “I’ll call Ralph Lauren again and try pleading with them to send us the shipment. In the meantime, we’ll have to hope that our customers don’t go somewhere else.”
“I’m coming over to the offices in a while. I’ll see you then,” Kathleen said before she heard the click on his receiver that ended the conversation.
She replaced the instrument slowly and stared at it for a moment. She saw Eliot out the corner of her eye as he moved toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
“Sit down. We’re going to have a talk.”
She obliged him, in too much inner turmoil to object. “What’s been happening to you, Kathleen? For the past three days, you’ve acted like a zombie. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean, sweetheart. Where’s that bouncy vibrancy we’re so used to seeing? Where’s our Little Mary Sunshine? Hm?”
She could never get too perturbed with Eliot. He was too nice to look at. His tall, lank frame was created to hang clothes on and he wore them with élan. The well-maintained bleached hair was boyishly casual. His tan was perfectly tawny, and Kathleen suspected it covered his body. Straight white teeth and a delicate mouth made his smile engaging. His heavily lashed gray eyes were direct and, at times, insolent. It was that perpetually contemptuous attitude in which he held the world that prevented him from being completely beautiful. But he was her friend.
She avoided his eyes as she said grumpily, “I haven’t slept well lately. That’s all.”
“Un-uh. It’s more than that, but if you don’t feel inclined to tell me, don’t. What do you think happened to that order?”
“I don’t know.”
“And I’m the King of Siam.” He sat down on the corner of her desk and swung his expensively shod foot.
Baby blue linen shoes indeed! she thought with a smile.
“Do you remember when Mrs. Vanderslice ordered that ball gown for her daughter? You ordered a size ten, but a size twelve was shipped. The old bitch threw a bloody fit, accusing you of thinking her daughter was fat? Do you remember all of that?”
“All too well, but—”
“Hear me out,” he went on. “Do you remember when you sold the identical dress to two old broads attending the Opera gala? Do you remember the ruckus they raised?”
“Yes.” How could she forget? Her brow wrinkled in perplexity. “Eliot, what are you trying to say with this long, convoluted story?”
“That someone is sabotaging your work, dear girl.”
“But who?”
“You know as well as I do.” He leaned down and whispered in a stage whisper, “Hazel Baby.”
Kathleen stood up and walked to the only window in her tiny office. “I didn’t order that Vanderslice girl a size twelve and I wouldn’t sell the same dress to two society women.”
“Precisely.”
“But why would Hazel do those things?” Kathleen asked, admitting unwittingly that his surmise might be correct.
“Because she’s so jealous of you that the poison darts literally fly through the air every time she looks at you.” He made a gesture with his hands that was so descriptive and so comical that Kathleen laughed in spite of the seriousness of the subject. “And,” Eliot continued, “if you ask me, as far as Seth goes, she doesn’t give a shit.”
“Eliot, please,” Kathleen said. His blunt language had been one thing she could never tolerate.
“All right, Chastity Ears,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “Hazel doesn’t give a damn about him, except to control him and keep him eating out of her hand. The way she manipulates him is sickening. As if that weren’t enough, he can’t see through her. He doesn’t know he’s being had.”
Kathleen didn’t want to admit it, but Eliot was right. Where his sister was concerned, Seth’s handicap wasn’t his paralysis. It was blindness.
“Watch that bitch, Kathleen,” Eliot warned. “She’s out to hurt you. I know.”
Kathleen tried to laugh at Eliot’s dire prediction, but the sound she uttered was little more than a strangled breath. Eliot came up behind her and kissed her lightly on the neck. She was accustomed to his displays of affection and didn’t mind them, knowing that they meant nothing more than friendship. Today she shrugged away from him and folded her arms across her chest protectively. She shivered with cold, though the temperature was only seasonably cool for mid-September.
“What is it, Kathleen? It’s more than Hazel Kirchoff, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said evasively.
“Yes, you do. You’re jumpy and distracted. Neither your mind nor your heart is in your work. What is it?”
My former lover and the father of my child has come back to torment me. There. Was that what she was supposed to say? Should she tell Eliot, everyone, what was the matter with her? Would they believe her? She grinned wryly. Eliot would. Some of the stories he had told her of his escapades had made her hair stand on end. This would neither surprise nor shock him.
But she had been shocked to the very core of her being by Erik’s reappearance in her life. What had happened behind the cabana was disgraceful. She wasn’t surprised that he had tried to make love to her. No, not love. Sex. And it had been doled out like punishment. If he was enough of a cad as a married man to seduce the innocent she had been two years ago, he was perfectly capable of wanting to pick up the shabby affair where it left off, even though she was married now, too.
What surprised Kathleen was how she had reacted. Why hadn’t she fought harder? Instead, she had welcomed the feel of his body against hers. She had reveled in the taste of his mouth and the heady scent of his cologne mingled with his own unique essence. The expert touch of his hands had brought her to—
God! She covered her face now with shame at the remembrance.
“Kathleen? Are you all right?” Eliot asked, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m just tired. If you can take over here, I’m going over to the main office and then home. I want to spend the rest of the day with Theron.”
She gathered up her things and left, but as she drove the few blocks to Kirchoff’s executive offices, she felt again that stabbing fear that had pierced through her when Erik had spoken his parting words.
He wouldn’t do anything to separate her from her child, would he? He wasn’t that cruel. Besides, even if he wanted to, he’d never get away with it. Theron was hers. Erik had had another wife when the baby was conceived. She could always cry desertion if it came to that. But he hadn’t really deserted her. She h
ad deserted him.
The fear of a custody trial was secondary to the initial havoc Erik would wreak on her life if he told Seth about them. It would devastate her husband. He considered Theron to be his. Since the day he had proposed marriage to her, he had never referred to Theron’s father. It was never “your child” but always “our child” when he talked about the baby during her pregnancy. He never failed to call Theron “my son.” If people speculated on Theron’s parentage, they were polite enough not to mention it. For all practical purposes, Theron belonged to Seth.
Kathleen had been scrupulously faithful, never giving anyone room to question her devotion to her husband. Seth often told her to go out more, to make friends, develop outside interests, but she had refused, pleased to be home with him. He was truly remarkable. He went more places than anyone had a right to expect of him. They took Theron on outings to Golden Gate Park. They went to Ghirardelli’s for ice-cream sodas. They went to movies and to dinner. Of course, George always went with them and handled the complicated transportation problems, but Seth had tried his utmost not to let her give up anything she liked to do for his sake.
Lately, though, he had shown a fatigue that she hadn’t noticed before. He seemed less inclined to want to go out, and seemed much more at ease sitting beside the pool while she swam or they sipped drinks and talked. His color hadn’t looked good either. She had questioned George, but his answers had been vague and patronizing. She took it upon herself to phone Seth’s doctor, but his lengthy answers to her inquiries into her husband’s health, though sounding professional, told her nothing.
These thoughts had been revolving in her head like a macabre carousel for the last few days, ever since Erik’s untimely visit to their home. They were still circulating in her brain when she arrived at Seth’s offices and found them deserted. However, there was a note on his door telling her that he and Hazel had gone to lunch and would be back shortly. She was to make herself at home. Claire’s computer was covered. She was out to lunch as well.