скачать книгу бесплатно
“Then I guess he’s lucky to have you to help him,” Jack told her and decided he hadn’t misjudged Delia after all.
“That’s what Frank says, too. And I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. But every now and then it feels so overwhelming,” she continued and took a step closer. “It makes me wish I had someone that I could lean on, someone who would take care of my needs for a change.”
“Maybe you should get a nurse to help you with Frank,” Jack suggested, ignoring the obvious invitation. He took a step back. “I’m sure Frank’s doctor could recommend someone.”
Temper flashed in Delia’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly Jack wondered if he’d imagined it. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly trust Frank’s care to anyone else—not after that close call he had. Why, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened and I lost my Frank.”
“Somehow I think you’d manage. But hopefully you won’t have to because Frank will be with us for a long, long time.”
“Of course he will,” she said. “But enough talk about Frank and my problems. What I want to know is if the rumors are true? Are you really planning to run for the state senate?”
Jack frowned. “Where did you hear that?”
“Never mind where I heard it. Is it true?”
He supposed it had been foolish of him to think that word wouldn’t get out, Jack told himself. He had been approached by a group of business leaders and asked to run for the soon-to-be-vacated seat. As yet, he hadn’t made up his mind. He still wasn’t sure he was ready to take on the demanding task of a campaign and life in the public eye—which was why he hadn’t wanted the news to get out. “I haven’t decided whether to run or not,” he answered honestly. “But I am considering it.”
Delia brought her hands together. “Oh, but you have to run, Jack. You’d make such a wonderful senator. Everyone thinks so,” she said with a smile. “And of course you know you can count on my support.”
“Thanks,” he told her.
“You must let me host a party for you.”
“I appreciate that, but, as I said, I haven’t decided to run yet,” he told her just as thunder boomed overhead. Grateful for the interruption, he noted the crowd beginning to disperse as the sky darkened and rain scented the air. “I should go pay my respects to Abby and Luke before the rain hits. Give my best to Frank.”
Delia turned up the collar of her coat and glanced at the threatening skies. “You might want to wait until you get to Abby’s.” She paused. “You are going to Abby’s house, aren’t you?”
“For what?”
“The after-service reception. At a time like this, Abby needs the support of all of her friends. I’m bringing a layer cake.”
“I see,” he said, surprised. He wouldn’t have pegged Delia as a friend of Abby’s. After all, everyone in Eastwick knew that Abby was part of the Debs Club—the name the members of the country club had given the group of women who met regularly for lunch at the club. As far as he knew, Delia wasn’t a part of that circle.
As though reading his thoughts, Delia said, “Just because I’m not part of the Debs Club doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for Abby. I do. After all, I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I lost both of mine when I was a teenager.”
“I’m sorry,” he said when he saw tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s all right,” she said and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “I don’t like to talk about it.” She sniffed and shoved the handkerchief into the pocket of her coat. “I’d better go. Frank’s waiting for me. But you should go to the Talbots. Maybe your lady friend will be there.”
She wasn’t there, Jack decided after spending the better part of an hour moving from room to room in Abby and Luke Talbot’s home. She wasn’t there, but practically everyone else was. Half the members of the Eastwick Country Club were there. So were most of the politicians, the newspaper editor and the entire board of Eastwick Cares. As he scanned the room in search of his mystery woman, he noted Luke Talbot excusing himself from a group and disappearing down the hall. He couldn’t help but note the way Abby’s eyes followed her husband.
A hand came down on his shoulder. “Jack, my boy, I’ve been looking for you.”
Turning, Jack stared at his father. At sixty-eight, John was the picture of health. He kept his six-foot frame just under two hundred pounds. The tan he’d acquired from his weekly round of golf at the country club accented his silver hair and gray eyes. He suspected his father’s recent retirement from the law firm accounted for his relaxed demeanor. “Hey, Dad.”
“You looked like you were in a bit of a hurry when you left the funeral service. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
His father eyed him skeptically. “You sure there’s no problem at the office? Because if there is, you know I’ll be happy to help out.”
“Relax, Dad,” Jack told him, knowing that his father had not found it easy to turn over the reins of the law firm he’d founded, even though he had wanted the freedom of retirement. “Everything at the office is fine. I just saw a friend at the service that I’d been trying to reach for a while.”
His father arched his eyebrow. “Did you catch up with her?”
“I never said it was a woman. But no, I missed her.” Not wanting to give his father the chance to question him further about who she was, he said, “You said you were looking for me. Did you need something?”
“Your mother wanted me to tell you that she brought a spinach quiche. It’s one of her new recipes and she wants you to be sure to try it. It’s in the dining room.”
Jack grimaced. His mother was a lousy cook. When he’d been growing up, the lady had managed to burn, undercook and virtually ruin more meals than his stomach cared to remember. Unfortunately, she loved to cook and neither he nor his two sisters nor his father had ever had the heart to tell her how truly awful she was at it. Thankfully, their housekeeper Alice did most of the cooking. But his mother continued to astound them with new recipes. “Is it as bad as her liver mousse?”
“Nothing’s as bad as her liver mousse,” his father said dryly. “Come on, she’s looking this way.”
Jack followed his father into the dining room and was directed toward the quiche. Reluctantly he placed a serving on his plate. Looking up at his father, he asked, “Aren’t you having any?”
His father smiled. “I had some last night. Now it’s your turn.”
“I hope my stomach will forgive me,” Jack muttered and shoveled a bite of the quiche into his mouth. The egg-and-spinach mixture seem to expand inside his mouth and he forced himself to swallow it.
“Here,” his father said and handed him a glass of water.
Jack washed it down, then shuddered. While his father chuckled, Jack took the remainder of the serving and dumped it in the trash. After wiping his mouth with a napkin, he told his father, “You’re a better man than I am. I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s called love, son. Mark my words. Someday you’re liable to find yourself eating something that tastes like dirt. But you’ll do it with a smile because it makes the woman you love happy.”
“Hopefully I’ll marry someone who can cook.”
His father shrugged. “Maybe you will. But then, I never married your mother for her cooking ability.”
No, Jack thought. His parents had married for love. It was something that had always amazed him, how after forty years of marriage they were still in love with one another. He, on the other hand, had had numerous relationships in his thirty-three years and had even gotten engaged a few years ago until he and his bride-to-be had realized they were better off as friends than as husband and wife. But he had never come close to experiencing with anyone the kind of connection his parents shared.
Suddenly he recalled a slim redhead with ghost-blue eyes. He had felt something with her that night, something strong and powerful, something that went beyond the physical attraction and incredible sex. It was as though some invisible force had drawn him to her that night. And obviously, she’d felt it, too.
“Jack?”
“Sorry, Dad,” he said, shaking off the memory. “What was that?”
“I said Tom Carlton asked me if you’d give any more thought to running for Petersen’s seat in the senate when he retires.”
“I’m considering it. But I just don’t know if I’m right for the job.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” his father told him. “You’re a fine attorney, son. You’re smart and savvy enough to work with those politicians and get things accomplished. Most importantly, you’re honest and you care about people. Just look at what you’ve been able to do since you joined the board of Eastwick Cares. Everyone’s raved about the program to battle illiteracy.”
“It was a joint effort. There are a lot of good people on that board and working for Eastwick Cares.”
“Bunny, God rest her soul, told your mother it was your idea.”
It was true, but he and the other members had all contributed to making the program happen. “Even if it was, sitting on the board of a non-profit agency and sitting on Capitol Hill are two different things. I’m not sure I want to make that kind of commitment and jump into the political fish bowl.”
“Well, you’re going to have to decide soon. Petersen has just over a year left to serve before he retires and people are already lining up to toss their hat into the ring for his seat. Running a campaign is expensive and the sooner Carlton and his group know who their candidate is, the better.”
“I told Carlton I’d give him my answer by the end of the month.” And Jack knew he would have to make a decision soon.
His father slapped him on the back. “Whatever you decide, your mother and I are behind you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.”
His father nodded. “I better go find your mother.”
“And I need to get back to the office.”
“Make sure you call your mother and tell her something nice about that quiche.”
“I will,” Jack promised and as his father went in search of his mother, he headed for the door. In the foyer, he retrieved his gray raincoat from the closet and stepped outside onto the veranda.
The rain that had threatened earlier was now coming down steadily. Too bad his umbrella was sitting in the car, he thought, as he slipped on his raincoat. After turning up the collar, he slipped his hands into the pockets and his fingers brushed a piece of paper. Frowning, Jack pulled out a buff-colored sheet of paper that had been folded in half. He unfolded it and began to read the unsigned message typed in large bold letters:
WHAT WOULD THE GOOD CITIZENS OF EASTWICK THINK IF THEY FOUND OUT THAT THEIR CANDIDATE FOR THE SENATE WAS ABOUT TO BECOME AN UNWED FATHER?
UNLESS YOU WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET, YOU’LL PLACE $50,000 IN SMALL BILLS IN A SHOPPING BAG AND LEAVE IT IN EASTWICK PARK UNDER THE BENCH ACROSS FROM THE FOUNTAIN BY NOON TOMORROW. IF YOU FAIL TO DELIVER THE MONEY OR NOTIFY THE AUTHORITIES, YOU CAN FORGET THE SENATE NOMINATION.
Two
Stunned, Jack didn’t notice that the rain was coming down harder. He didn’t notice that the pink-and-white blossoms from the mountain laurels lay scattered beneath the shrubs or that the branches of the white oak bowed beneath the weight of the downpour. He didn’t even notice that on the other side of the door was a house filled with people. His entire focus was on the note he held in his hands. He reread it, and, as he did so, shock gave way to anger.
He was being blackmailed!
Or at least that’s what the person who’d written the note had intended. Turning the sheet of paper over, he studied it, looked for something that might indicate who the author was. But he found nothing.
It didn’t matter who had written it, he told himself as he crushed the note in his fist. Whoever had done so had made two very big mistakes. The first mistake was thinking that he would ever succumb to extortion and the second mistake was the allegation itself. The charge was flat-out ridiculous. He hadn’t fathered any child and no one was expecting his baby. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t involved with anyone, he hadn’t even been with a woman since last year. Not since … Jack went still.
Not since the night of the black-and-white ball.
Suddenly, images flashed through his mind. Images of a moonlit room, of a woman with silken skin and ghost-blue eyes.
Was it possible? Could she be pregnant?
No. She couldn’t be. They might not have known one another and, granted, the sex had been explosive, but at least they’d had the good sense to use protection. Then he remembered that last time they’d made love….
“You have the softest skin,” Jack whispered as he lay in the bed beside her. He drew his finger down her back. She felt like satin—only warmer and with the faint scent of roses and something else. It was a scent he could easily get used to, wanted to get used to, he realized. But they had agreed at the outset that what happened between them tonight ended tonight. The masks they’d worn at the ball had made the evening both intriguing and exciting. They were strangers. Yet the physical attraction had been palpable. He still couldn’t believe he’d given her his room key—or that she’d come. Her insistence that they not reveal their identities had seemed like a good idea at the time. There had been something dangerous and appealing about not knowing who the woman was behind the mask. Only now, he wasn’t sure he should have agreed because the more time he spent with her, the more sure he was that he didn’t want things between them to end. He pressed a kiss to her spine and when she shivered, he asked, “Ticklish?”
“No,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.
He slid his arm around her waist and drew her body closer, fitting her against him. No, he definitely didn’t want tonight to be the end. Easing the sheet down, he kissed her bare shoulder and, when she trembled, desire stirred inside him again. It had only been an hour since he’d last made love to her. And already, he wanted her again. But this time, he wanted more than just her body. He wanted her. “I know we agreed not to exchange information, but maybe we should rethink that.”
“No,” she said, her body tensing.
“Why not?”
“Because it would mean going back to the real world. And I don’t want to go back to that world. At least not tonight. Tonight I don’t want to think of anything outside this room.”
Moved by the desperation in her voice, he turned her over so that he could see her face. He trailed a finger along her cheek, saw something haunted in those blue eyes. “All right. Tonight there is no world outside this room,” he told her. “But at least tell me your name. I can’t keep calling you Red.”
“I like you calling me Red,” she told him. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
“But I—”
She sat up and pushed him back onto the bed. “Shh. No more talking,” she told him and then she took the lead. She kissed him on the mouth, deeply, thoroughly. Then that hot, moist mouth of hers moved south. She kissed his neck, his chest, and moved lower. When she pressed her lips to his belly, his gut tightened. He reached for her.
Wondering what spell this siren had cast on him, Jack took her mouth, explored her body as she had explored his. Never in his life had he wanted a woman this way, a want that felt dangerously close to need. When he could stand it no longer, he reached over to the nightstand for the condom.
“No, let me,” she said, her voice breathless. She ripped the foil package open with her teeth, sending desire slicing through him again. He lay back against the pillow and watched her as she slowly eased the condom over the length of him. The sensation was exquisite. So was the look of wonder on her face. He’d known she’d had little experience the first time they’d made love. There had been an innocence and an abandon in her response that had told him this night was something as out of the ordinary for her as it was for him. For a moment, he wondered why she had come to his room. What was it in that real world that she’d wanted to escape?
And then he couldn’t think anymore because she was lowering herself onto him. Jack caught her hips, let her set the tempo. She moved back and forth, back and forth, increasing the pace with each movement.
“I … I can’t,” she gasped.
“Yes, you can,” he urged, holding back his own pleasure, wanting to give her more. She gasped again and when the orgasm hit her, her muscles contracted around him. With each sound she made, each movement, he felt his own climax growing closer. When he could wait no longer, Jack flipped her over onto her back and buried himself in her once more.
And then the condom broke.
“Cartwright? Cartwright, are you all right?”
Jack reeled himself back to the present and found Luke Talbot standing in front of him, eyeing him skeptically. Shaking off the memory, he shoved the crumpled blackmail note into the pocket of his raincoat. “I thought I’d wait for this rain to slack up some before I made a run for it,” he explained.
“I just came out to get some air,” Talbot told him.
But given the look of annoyance on the other man’s face, Jack wondered if that was the truth. He sized Talbot up, estimating him to measure an inch or so below his own six feet two inches. The man had what his football coach in college would have called a wiry build, but there was no mistaking that he kept himself fit. There was nothing remarkable about the brown hair and eyes, but the man always seemed to be watching. Just as he was watching him now. “I spoke with Abby earlier, but I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about your mother-in-law.”
“Thanks. It’s been pretty rough on Abby.”
“That’s understandable, given the circumstances,” Jack offered.
Talbot reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a cell phone which had obviously been placed on vibrate. He frowned as he looked at the number. “Excuse me, I need to take this call.”
“No problem. I think I’ll make a run for it,” Jack told him and stepped off the veranda and into the rain to head to his car.
And as the rain slapped him in the face, Jack thought once again to that night last December. She’d been gone when he’d awakened the next morning. Despite making several inquiries, no one seemed to know who his mystery woman was. Obviously, the woman had known Bunny Baldwin. He closed his fist around the note in his pocket. Using the remote, he unlocked the door to his car and slid behind the wheel. After starting the engine, he wiped his hand down his face in an attempt to dry it. Then he slicked back his wet hair and stared out at the rain. She’d made it clear that she’d wanted no relationship beyond that night, he reminded himself. It was the reason he hadn’t made a serious effort to find her.
Until now.
Sorry, Red. The rules of the game have just changed.
Lily dug through the files in her desk drawer. Finally she located the one for which she’d been searching and snatched it from the pile. As she shoved it into her briefcase, she glanced up at the clock and groaned. Twenty minutes past five. The board meeting for Eastwick Cares started in ten minutes and she didn’t want to be anywhere near this office when it did. She should have been out of here long before now, she admitted. But when Kristen, one of the teens she’d been counseling, had shown up needing to talk, Lily hadn’t been able to refuse. As a result, she’d cut it too close this time. The board members would be arriving any second.
Since seeing Jack Cartwright at Bunny’s funeral three days ago, she’d been edgy. He had recognized her. Of that much she was sure. As a result, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that the other shoe was about to fall. She locked the file drawer, then switched off her desk lamp. Grabbing her keys and purse with one hand and her briefcase with the other, Lily hurried toward the door. She had just pulled the door closed behind her when she heard the distinctive chime of the elevator. Six flights or not, the stairs would be safer, she reasoned and headed for the stairwell in the opposite direction.
“Miss Miller! Miss Miller, wait!”
