Low Pressure (18 page)

“I do need the toothpaste, but that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

She folded her arms across her middle and waited for him to continue.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Oh.” For a moment the simplicity of the question took her aback. She hadn’t expected a practical one. “Maxey’s is a ten-minute drive from here. It opens for lunch at eleven-thirty. I thought we should arrive about then.”

“Giving Steven no time to become too busy to see us or to duck out the back door.”

“Something like that.”

He bobbed his chin. “Good plan. Want to meet for breakfast first?”

“I’ll just have coffee here in my room.”

“You don’t eat breakfast?”

“Sometimes.”

“But not tomorrow.”

“Dent.”

“Okay. Fine. No breakfast for you. So . . . we’ll meet around, what? Eleven-fifteen?”

“Perfect.”

“Up here or in the lobby?”

“Are you always this detail oriented?”

“Absolutely. Pilots usually don’t get do-overs. The airplane can be on autopilot, but you don’t want the pilot to be, do you?”

She knew he was baiting her, but she went along. “Lobby.”

“Roger that.”

“Is that all? If so, it’s late.” She gestured toward the open door behind him, but he didn’t take the hint.

“Did you talk to Olivia?”

“No change.”

“That’s good.”

“I suppose. Did you speak to Gall about your airplane?”

“He tacked at least another two weeks on to how long the repairs will take.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Then for the next several moments, neither of them spoke or moved. She swallowed, hearing the gulp herself and knowing that he probably had, too. “I’m going to say good night now, Dent.” Again she gestured toward the gaping doorway.

“I haven’t asked my question yet.”

“You’ve asked several.”

“But not the main one.”

“I’m exhausted. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Was your heart broken?”

Of course she knew what he was referring to, and she figured he wasn’t going to give up and go away until she answered him. “Over losing the baby, yes. Very much so. Over losing him, no. The breakup was an inevitability. Long before the documents were filed, he and I were already separated emotionally.

“His plans to remarry were announced even before our divorce became final. He and his intended relocated to Dallas. I moved to New York and started outlining my book. There were no blowups, no fireworks. It was all very civilized.” As an afterthought, she added, “Just like the marriage had been.”

At some point during the telling, he’d shortened the distance between them. She had retreated from the intensity of his eyes by lowering hers, and now found herself talking to that enticing triangle that provided a view of soft brown chest hair.

His voice low, he said, “A shame about your kid.”

She only nodded.

In her peripheral vision she saw him raise his arm, and a second later the clip holding up her hair was released. He caught the tumbling strands and combed his fingers through them.

“Dent? What are you doing?”

“Getting out of line.”

Then his arm curved around her waist and he lowered his head. His lips caught the startled breath that escaped hers, and the shock of the contact brought back the vivid memory of the first time she’d ever seen him.

She and Susan were at a Sonic drive-in. He’d pulled up beside their car on his motorcycle and had looked past Bellamy in the passenger seat to Susan, who was behind the wheel.

The lazy smile he’d sent her sister caused curls of sensation deep inside Bellamy’s twelve-year-old body. It was an awakening that, even from her inexperienced point of view, she had understood was sexual. The stirrings had intrigued and thrilled her, but the mind-stealing strength of them had frightened her.

It still did.

She put her hands against his chest and tried to push away.

“You didn’t scream,” he whispered against her lips as his brushed back and forth across them, barely glancing them on each pass. At first. But when she still didn’t scream, or even murmur a protest, he cradled the back of her head in his palm, his mouth claimed hers, and the kiss became deep.

As a virginal preteen, and as a woman who’d taken lovers, she had daydreamed about kissing Denton Carter. While writing her book, specifically the sex scenes between him and Susan, it hadn’t been her sister he was kissing, caressing, and taking with adolescent fervor. It had been her. The fantasies had left her aroused, but irritated with herself. Surely her imagination embellished how good lovemaking with him would be.

But now she realized that her daydreams had actually been tepid. His kiss was delicious and darkly erotic. It delivered. It promised more. And the substance of what it promised made her wet, feverish, and needy.

His hand moved over her hip and into the loose waistband of her pajamas, where it applied pressure to her ass, drawing her forward, lifting and securing her against him.

“Damn,” he groaned. “I knew you’d feel good.”

His mouth scaled down her throat, then lower, leaving her T-shirt damp where he planted kisses as he moved toward her breasts, which were so tight and tender she realized she had to stop this now.

“Dent, no.”

She gave his chest a forceful push. His hand snapped free of her pajama bottoms and he fell back, cursing when his spine came up hard against the edge of the open door. “What the hell?”

“I don’t want to.”

“No?” He looked down at her nipples so obviously peaked against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. “Then want to explain—”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Well, you kinda do. One minute you’re kissing me back like there’s no tomorrow and whimpering make-me-come noises. The next, you’re shoving me into doors. Forgive my confusion.”

“Well, we can’t have you confused, can we? I don’t want to have sex with you. Is that clear enough?”

His body was rocking slightly, like he was furious, on the brink of losing his temper. She actually flinched when he whipped the tube of toothpaste from his pocket and pitched it onto the bed. “I lied. I don’t need anything from you.”

Then he backed into his room and slammed the connecting door closed.

W
hen Bellamy stepped off the elevator and into the hotel lobby a few minutes before the appointed time, she saw Dent seated in an easy chair reading the sports section of the newspaper. He stood up as she approached. “Braves lost last night.”

“I don’t follow baseball until the World Series.”

“And then there’s this.” He passed her the day’s edition of
EyeSpy
. “The headline speaks for itself. In the article, I’m the ‘ruggedly handsome stranger later identified as Denton Carter,’ boyfriend of your slain sister.”

With a sinking stomach, Bellamy scanned the front page, which was dominated by Van Durbin’s column. The text was accompanied by a snapshot of her and Dent. She realized the shot had been taken yesterday outside Lyston Electronics. “His photographer was hiding and used a telephoto lens.”

“Not my best side,” Dent said, scrutinizing the grainy photograph. “Pretty good of you, though.”

She stuffed the newspaper into her shoulder bag. “I can’t read this now or I’ll throw up.”

Traffic along Peachtree Street was at a crawl due to construction. They got stuck at an intersection where they sat through three cycles of the traffic light. Dent swore under his breath and played an impatient tattoo on the steering wheel with his fingertips. Yesterday’s chambray shirt had been replaced by an oxford cloth, the color of it close to the mossy green of his eyes. It was tucked in. His jeans were belted.

“Where did you get the shirt and belt?” she asked.

“Ralph Lauren store in the mall across the street from the hotel. I was there when it opened. Dammit! If that moron would pull forward into the intersection to make his left turn . . .” He finished on a string of oaths, then once again the light turned red before they could get through the intersection.

“You’re not mad at the traffic or other drivers. You’re mad at me.”

He looked over at her.

“This visit with Steven could be awkward. It won’t help if you’re pouting over what happened, or didn’t happen, last night. There. It’s out. Let’s not make it an unsightly wart that’s
there
but no one acknowledges.”

“Don’t sweat it, A.k.a. I asked, you—”

“Funny. I don’t recall you asking.”

“Maybe not in so many words, but, just FYI, in a crotch-grinding embrace, when a man’s got his tongue in your mouth and his hand on your ass, it’s a pretty safe bet on what he has in mind. I
asked
, you said no.” He shrugged with supreme indifference and returned his attention to the traffic. He lifted his foot off the brake. The car rolled forward only a few yards before he had to brake again.

“You should have known better than to try,” she said. “You’re the one who remarked on my TFR. Except that it’s not temporary. I don’t relate well to men in that way. I never have.”

“Well, that creates a communication problem for us.”

“Why should it?”

“Because ‘that way’ is the
only
way I relate to women.”

They sat through another cycle of the traffic light in teeming silence. Then he said in a low voice, “One thing, though. About your kid, your baby . . . it being a shame that you lost it?”

She turned to look at him.

“I meant that. I don’t want you thinking that I said it just to soften you up.” He shot her a one-second glance. “I can be a bastard, but not that much of one.”

Maxey’s was already bustling when they arrived. The hostess, dressed in a short black dress and four-inch heels, was a rail-thin, platinum-blond beauty. Bellamy could have been invisible, because the young woman’s baby blues homed in on Dent. In a drawl practically dripping honey, she asked if he had a reservation.

“We’re just having drinks,” he told her.

Once they were seated on stools that looked too insubstantial to support an adult, they ordered glasses of mint-sprigged iced tea. When they were served, Dent said, “Sip slow. That’s an eight-dollar glass of tea. God knows what they charge for a cheeseburger.” Then he looked around the dining room, with its cloth-draped tables and creamy pale orchids in the center of each, and added, “If they even make a cheeseburger.”

“There he is.”

Bellamy had spotted her stepbrother, who was leaning across a table to shake hands with two diners. Steven had been a sullen but good-looking boy. He’d grown into an incredibly attractive man. His dark hair was swept back from his high forehead and left to fall in soft waves almost to his shoulders in a fashion that was distinctly continental. He wore a black suit with a white silk T-shirt that seemed color-coordinated with the smile he flashed as he moved from table to table to greet his patrons.

“Excuse me? Aren’t you Bellamy, Steven’s stepsister?”

She turned toward the man who had addressed her from behind the bar. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a pleasant smile.

“I thought it was you,” he said. “I recognize you from television.” He extended his hand. “I’m William Stroud, co-owner of the restaurant.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She introduced Dent. The two men shook hands.

“Does Steven know you’re here?” he asked.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

His smile remained in place, but she noted a flicker of misgiving in his eyes. “He’d want you to have the best table. Leave your drinks. I’ll bring them over.”

He rounded the end of the bar and escorted them to a corner booth on the far side of the dining room. “Steven sometimes sits here because you can see the whole room. I’ll get him.”

She watched as William Stroud wended his way through the tables and sidled up to Steven. He spoke only a few words to him before Steven quickly looked their way. His gaze lit momentarily on Dent, then focused on Bellamy and maintained eye contact with her as he said something to William, who nodded and returned to the bar. Steven started walking toward the booth.

“He doesn’t seem all that surprised to see us,” Dent murmured. “Or happy about it.”

Bellamy, by contrast, was overjoyed to see Steven. She slipped out of the booth and was waiting to embrace him when he reached her. She hugged him tightly and held on even as she felt him easing away.

She had loved him from the day Olivia had introduced him to his soon-to-be stepsisters. She and Steven had bonded instantly and had remained close friends until the event that had shattered all their lives. Their friendship, as strong as it had been prior to Susan’s death, couldn’t withstand the strain of the tragedy. The pall cast over the family, and over each of them singly, had remained through Allen Strickland’s trial and beyond.

By then, Steven was making plans to go away as soon as he graduated.

When he left for university, Bellamy had been disconsolate, sensing that his leaving would be permanent and that their separation would entail more than geography. Sadly, her foreboding had come about.

She clasped both his hands. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.”