Barbara Dunlop - A Secret Life

She grinned at that one, as he followed her down.

His hands trailed over her breasts, while she explored his firm pecs and delineation of his chest. He kissed her. Gently at first, but then with increasing force and passion.

He cradled her face. “My beautiful Joan.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, remembering all the hurtful things that had passed between them.

He shook his head. “Shhh.” His fingertips trailed along her thigh. Higher and higher, until she gasped out loud.

She was close to the edge. He’d barely touched her, and she was already…

“Now,” she cried. Her hips arched and her breathing escalated.

He moved on top of her, grasping her hands, entwining her fingers with his, staring straight into her eyes as he entered inch by careful inch.

She watched his irises, sky-blue, as his rhythm started off slow. Then they darkened to turquoise and sweat broke out on his forehead.

Liquid passion poured through her body, igniting her veins, making her skin tingle and her nerve endings cry out for release. The room grew hotter. The scents grew sharper, and Anthony’s rough breathing synchronized with her own.

His eyes turned dark as a midnight sky. And shooting stars took flight on the periphery of her vision. He moved faster, his muscles straining against her body. He was as hard as steel inside her. Her thighs tightened, her breathing held, until her whole world exploded in a shower of shooting sparks.

Anthony cried out her name as she floated through a cloud, spiraling round and round, the earth far, far beneath her.

ANTHONY COULDN’T move.

He might never move again.

Which was fine with him.

He could die right here, a happy man.

“Wow,” Joan breathed.

“Wow,” Anthony returned, gathering her warm body against him, spoon fashion, in his bed.

“We’ve known each other how long?” she asked.

He chuckled against her hair. “Ten years.” He drew a deeper breath. “Believe me, if my fantasies had been more accurate, I never would have kept my hands to myself this long.”

She smiled. “You’ll have to tell me about those fantasies someday.”

“Someday, I’ll show them to you.”

She stretched, yawning delicately and closing her eyes. “Sounds good.”

He toyed with a loop of her hair. “You’re going to remember all this in the morning, right?”

Her lips curved into another smile. “Are you kidding? I’m going to remember all this on my death bed.”

“We’ll do it your way from now on,” he said.

“Do what my way?”

“Your career.”

She looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

Her reaction wasn’t as gracious as he’d expected.

He felt his jaw clamp down on a rebuttal, and he repeated Brett’s words inside his head.

“Because I can feel the pull,” she said, her tone softening. “And I have to tell you, it scares me.”

“The pull?”

“The pull for more publicity, more notoriety, more sales, more fame, more power.” Her words sped up. “It goes on and on and gets faster and faster and more and more seductive.”

“What exactly scares you?” What did she mean by seductive? Did she hate it? Or did she like it and hate herself for liking it?

She shook her head. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start debating the merits of my opinion with me.”

“I’m only-”

“I mean it, Anthony. It’s my opinion and my choice. I won’t let you take that away from me.”

He stared down at the determination in her eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, repeating the mantra of Brett’s words. If she fired him again, he couldn’t do a thing for her. If he gave way on some fronts, he’d be there to advise her on others.

It was a tactical retreat.

“Who wants to talk business now anyway?” he asked.

“Not me.” She curled her small hand into his. “I like your family.”

“They like you.”

“They said that?”

“Mom didn’t give us connecting rooms by accident.”

Joan glanced around. “Basketball, huh?”

“In high school,” he said. “By college, I wasn’t tall enough.”

“Is that when you skied?” She shifted and came up on her knees, reaching to the shelf over his headboard to retrieve a downhill trophy.

“Upstate New York and in Canada.”

“Were you good?”

“I won, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. But it might have been one of those B-level, northwestern, southern quadrant state league things.”

He reached for the biggest trophy at the end of the shelf and held it in front of her. “Junior Nationals.”

She put back the smaller trophy and took the national one in her hands, smoothing the gold skier as she grinned. “It’s a big one,” she said with mock reverence.

He whisked it out of her hand. “Oh, give it back.”

“Didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t insult me.”

“You seem a little touchy there about your trophies.”

He wasn’t touchy. Or maybe he was. He just didn’t want her to think he was some hick jock. He could compete with the big boys.

“What did you do in college?” he asked.

She scooted back down under the covers, lying in the crook of his arm. “Played the piano.”

“Are you any good?” he joked.

“Didn’t win the national junior championships, but I once played with Azek Breeze.”

“No way.”

She nodded. “It was in their early years. But then my mother found out. And, poof, that was the end of that.”

He was impressed. “You could have been a rock star.”

“Or Azek Breeze could have tanked because they had a lousy piano player.”

Anthony shook his head. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Joan would have succeeded as a musician.

“That was when my parents knew for sure I was trouble,” she said.

He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “You’re not trouble. Why do you say things like that?”

“Because I’m always embarrassing them.”

“Frankly, I think they’re the ones who are embarrassing to you.”

She twisted her neck to look at him again. “Are you kidding? Nobody’s embarrassing in Chanel couture at the opening of a pediatric hospital wing. My parents might be a lot of things, but they’re not an embarrassment.”

“Joan?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s change the subject.”

She nodded.

“You’ve got a lot of books to autograph tomorrow.”

She relaxed in his arms. “I couldn’t believe Nadine had read everything.”

“She couldn’t believe I knew you.”

Joan chuckled. “It’s a bizarre experience having people think you’re somehow special.”

“You are special.”

“You know what I mean. Leila was afraid to ask me to read her book. She wanted a cover quote, of all things.”

Anthony stiffened. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Leila capitalizing on his relationship with Joan. “You don’t have to do that, you know. She should have-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll read her book. And I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“Joan, you can’t-”

“What’s that? Business comes before family? Did I hear you correctly?”

“They’re not your family,” he corrected.

“I’ll read her book. For what it’s worth, I’ll give a nice quote.”

“Readers will take your recommendation.”

She shrugged.

“If you’re not-”

“Do you like the book?” she asked him.

“Of course I like the book. I wouldn’t have represented it if I didn’t.”

“Then it’s a good book, and I’ll like it.”

“Joan.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She had to start thinking strategically about her career. She couldn’t make decisions to suit everyone else around her. But he wasn’t about to start that up again, not when she was lying naked in his arms, and he was starting to think about making love with her again.

He kissed the top of her head.

“You know we have to go back,” she whispered.

“No, we don’t.” Indigo was a bad place for Joan right now.

She flipped over onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “We have to look at my research notes.”

He shook his head.

“My book,” she continued. “The transcripts of the Kane inquest. I’m the one with the best chance of figuring out what’s going on.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “Somebody thinks you know something.”

“Then they think Samuel knows something, too. The break-ins have focused on his place, not mine.” She was silent a moment. “What could he possibly know that would-”

“Stop doing this, Joan.”

“Is there something in the transcripts? Was Samuel a witness?”

“I thought you were taking an emotional break?”

“Break’s over. The margaritas wore off.”

Well, Anthony sure wasn’t ready for the break to be over. But he wasn’t about to start another argument tonight.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, reaching for another condom. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “But surely you’re not planning to leave tonight.”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Then we’ve got at least six hours of our break left.” He kissed her again.

This time, she kissed him back. “Why are you being so agreeable?”

He put his arms around her and settled her flush against his body. “It’s the new me.”

“There’s no new you.”

“Then it’s the old me.” He slid his palm over the small of her back and down her rear end, kneading into her taut muscles. “Or maybe it’s the aroused me.”

“That I can believe.”

“Good.” He kissed her deeply, drawing out her tongue, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. “Because even the agreeable me isn’t letting you out of this bed before morning.”

She slid her arms around his neck. “Guess I could be agreeable on that point, too.”

“Finally. Something.”

She giggled, then quickly sobered, peppering his mouth with little kisses while her legs twined sensuously with his.

HEATHER SAT cross-legged on the floor of Samuel’s trashed bedroom, separating shorts from T-shirts from slacks and boxers while the hot sun set far over Bayou Teche. They’d spent the entire day in the kitchen and living room, and the cottage was finally starting to look livable.

“What happened to all your underwear?” she asked, gauging the relative size of the piles in front of her.

Samuel glanced up from where he was gluing one of the dresser drawers back together. “What underwear?”

She pointed to two pairs of black silk boxers. “Maybe we finally figured out what he stole.”

“I sleep in those,” said Samuel.

Heather glanced around. “So, where’s… Oh.”

He laughed and went back to work. “Guess they don’t do that in Boston either, huh?”

She stood, carrying the T-shirt pile to one of the empty drawers that hadn’t been broken. “It’s a lot colder up in Boston.”

“And the men are a lot more upright.”

“They wear suits. Some of them are wool.”

“Poor babies.”

“There’s nothing wimpy about wearing underwear. I wear underwear.”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Start what?”

“You’re still wearing your sling, bucko.”

“I can take it off anytime.”

She layered the shirts by color order in the bottom of the drawer. “The doctor told you to wait until tomorrow.”

“What does he know?”

“You mean just because he took the trouble to attend medical school?”

“It’s my arm.”

She returned for a pile of western shirts. “And if you want to keep it, you’ll do what he says.”

“Are you threatening me?”

She turned to give him an incredulous stare. “No.”

“You’re not threatening to take off my arm if I don’t obey orders?”

“I’m suggesting you’ll get an infection if you don’t listen to your medical professional.”

“Oh.”

She headed toward the dresser. “You’re weird.”

“Don’t put those in the dresser.”

She turned.

“They go in the closet.”

She gave him a snappy salute. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” She tried unsuccessfully to fight the shimmer of awareness caused by his smoldering gaze. Angling her path, she opened the door to his closet. The thief had dragged most of the contents from the closet, and now nothing remained but a few stray hangers on the bar and a black…

She peered into a darkened corner shelf.

Hello.

She set down the shirts and slid the old leather case into her hands. “What’s this?” She turned to Samuel, holding it out.

“Dad’s fiddle.”

“May I?” she asked.

“That’s right. You play, don’t you?”

“I play the violin.”

“Excuse me.”

She felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t meant to insult his father. “You mind if I take a look?”