The Trouble with Andrew (13 page)

He stroked her cheek and very tenderly kissed her lips. “You're a very wise young lady, Mrs. Wells.”

“Not so young.”

“Hardly ancient. Nearly … perfect.”

“Nearly?”

“All right, perfect. But it's frightening to think of you letting such things go to your head.”

He cradled her against him, her back to his front, his lips close to her ear, his hand resting just beneath her breast. Katie felt the breeze again, moving over her shoulders, but she wasn't shivering anymore, not with the heat of his body around her.

Dear God, but she felt wonderful. Her house was demolished, she hadn't felt hot water in ages, and she spent her days sweltering.

And yet she felt she had come upon just a touch of heaven.

She felt his hand moving again, rubbing her belly. Heard his husky, tantalizing whisper at her ear. “Um, I'm so tempted. But, ah, well, you're new at this again, I wouldn't want to push things too far … wear you out.”

The last was suggestive. As suggestive was the intimate feel of his hand slipping down her body.

She turned in his arms, trembling as her movement brought his touch very intimately against her. She could feel his arousal, and that seemed to bring a sweet dizziness to her.

“I don't think I'll wear out,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Actually, I think I'd be fine. Unless, of course, you might be about to wear out?” she asked innocently.

“I don't think you can wear me out tonight, Mrs. Wells,” he said, his voice husky, his eyes absolutely devilish. “You're more than welcome to try.”

She found herself smiling. Until his lips touched hers. Until the fever mounted.

It had been so long…

But she didn't regret the time at all, and she was glad that things could be so right tonight.

She did wear out first, dozing even as she heard his soft chuckle, and felt him stretch out beside her, their flesh still touching. This was delicious, as well, sleeping this way, feeling his arms, feeling the closeness…

She must have slept like a log. She seemed in a fog as she struggled to awaken, and she did so because she was being called and heard a distant tapping, as well…

“Mom?”

She bolted up in a wild panic, wide awake in a flash. She couldn't believe that, no matter how wonderful the night had been, she had forgotten that she was a mother, with a ten-year-old son in the same house. A son who would naturally rise and look for her.

“Jordan!” she whispered.

But Drew was already up, pulling on a bathrobe. “I'll take him down with me and tell him to give you a few more minutes to sleep,” he assured her calmly.

“Oh, God!” she whispered miserably. “How could I have forgotten about Jordan, I—”

“Katie—” His voice was softer than hers when he leaned over her. “Katie, nothing is wrong. He won't mind coming downstairs with me. And besides, you don't even need to go out in the hallway.”

“What?”

He strode quickly across the room, pulling what had looked like an ornamental leaf on one of the built-in shelves against the wall. The shelf came forward as he pulled it, and she saw that it led to a shelf in her room.

She arched a brow.

“Don't you give me that look,” he warned her. “It's only here in case the room should ever be used as a nursery.”

“Mom?”

Katie leaped up and darted to the opening, then paused and streaked back for her nightgown and robe. The hidden door closed behind her. Even as she called out to Jordan—trying to sound suitably sleepy—she heard Drew exiting his room and coming into the hallway to meet Jordan.

“Morning, Jordan,” she heard Drew say. “Katie, we'll go on down and start the coffee on the Sterno,” he called loudly. “Take your time getting ready.”

“I'll—I'll be right down!” she called.

But she wasn't right down. She leaped into the shower and felt the daylight flood of emotions sweep through her. What had she been doing? She wasn't alone, she had a son. She was living with this man, she shouldn't be sleeping with him, as well.

No, she should be sleeping with people she wasn't living with? she taunted herself.

She dressed, trying to tell herself that it was really fine. She needed a life that went beyond her photography and her son's sports and parent-teacher night. And she shouldn't be berating herself. Drew had known that she would, which was why he had made her talk, made her see that she really did want to do what she had done…

So what was she afraid of?

Afraid that she had suddenly found something good, so good that she would hate to lose it?

She dressed and brushed her hair. Neither love nor life came with any guarantees. She couldn't stop living because of that. She had to take a few chances…

She had taken a chance.

And … It had been worth it, she assured herself. No matter what came in the future, she would be glad for last night.

At last, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Jordan was at the sink, carefully washing a few dishes.

She wondered if the word guilt was written all over her face.

Jordan smiled at her. “You're slow, Mom. Drew already made coffee and oatmeal, showered and went out.”

“Wow, I am slow,” Katie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Where did Drew go? To work?”

Jordan shook his head. “Not yet. Some people came to the door, and he went out with them. He said he'd be back in a little while and that you shouldn't worry. There are some envelopes and packing materials upstairs in his drafting room if you want to mail some of your photographs. He's got express labels and everything, he said. Do you know where you're sending your stuff, Mom?”

“Yep, for now. You know what I think I'm going to do this time?” she asked him.

“A book?” Jordan suggested.

“How'd you guess?”

Jordan shrugged. “There should be a book on this. Photos that show what happened.”

She ruffled his hair. “You're right. There should be a book—and I'm certain there will be lots of books. And mine is going to be one of them. But for the moment, I'm going to get my pictures and pack them up for mailing. I'll be back in a little bit.”

Her little bit was longer than she had intended, but she had to go to the garage for her photographs—all of them eight by tens in black and white. Then she had to fill out various mailing slips and dig through Drew's drawing room long enough to find the backing she needed for the mailers. When she came downstairs, she found Jordan alone in the kitchen, reading a book.
Old Yeller.
She smiled and poured herself a second cup of coffee. She sipped it, watching Jordan. After a moment, he looked up at her. “It's really very good,” he said defensively.

“Old Yeller
is a great book. Sad, but great.”

He shrugged. “There's not much else to do.”

“Reading is good for you.”

“It's not like I
never
read.”

“And it's not like you read all the time.” She glanced at her watch. They were well into the afternoon now. She sipped her coffee, then told Jordan, “I think I'm going to see what's going on. Drew seems to have some kind of pull with repair people. Well, of course, I guess he should. He's a builder himself. He probably contracts these same people for his jobs.”

“I'll tag along,” Jordan told her.

“I thought that the book was good.”

“It is—but the dog just died.”

Katie hid her smile. Jordan was too old to cry in front of her over a book.

And no one was too old to feel like crying when that poor old yellow dog died!

“Come on, kid,” she told him, setting an arm around his shoulder.

Drew stood with Giles in the hallway of Katie's house, looking at the beams that remained in her roof. “I swear to you, Drew,” Giles was telling him, “I checked the records all backwards and forwards. I did your house—you know, of course, because you were around for the construction. But I wasn't given this job. The last three here were completed last November. And in November, I was sent up to the development in Palm Beach. I don't know what the hell happened here, I can't even find a work order on the place.”

“Who inspected it?” Drew demanded.

Giles riffled through the papers on his clipboard. “Let me see… A. Alonso.”

Drew let loose an expletive. “That bastard has been taking bribes left and right for years.”

Giles shook his head. “But the staples were legal. I imagine they might be outlawed now—”

“They've been ignoring the building codes for years, dammit, putting up shoddy construction. My dad used to complain about it. Inspectors were taking bribes when he was still alive.”

“Drew, I'm sure that inspectors were taking bribes way back when the pyramids were being done.”

Despite his anger and aggravation, Drew had to smile. He liked Giles a lot, and he depended on him. Giles was a man who took tremendous pride in quality workmanship.

“The point is, everyone knows that
Hunnicunn
doesn't put up a roof like this! And there were three of them—in my own damned development!”

“Well, I checked all that I could, Drew. And it seems that all the work orders were signed by your own hand.”

Drew shook his head. “You know that I would never have okayed something like this.”

Giles shrugged uncomfortably. “Then it would seem that someone high up in your corporation is skimming from somewhere. It's a horrible thing to say, but…” His voice trailed away.

Drew gritted his teeth and forced himself to admit the truth.

Someone was skimming. And Drew had grown careless; he hadn't read everything that came before him—he had just gotten accustomed to being busy and signing his name when paperwork was put before him.

He lowered his head, closing his eyes for a minute, remembering his father. His dad had been gone a long time now, but Drew could still remember the pride with which he'd always said that his boy would grow up and build good houses, quality houses. The kind that would last, that would protect people in a storm.

It didn't help his sick feeling any when he read in the newspapers that over eighty thousand homes had been lost.

His shouldn't have been among them. He had built the houses in his development to withstand those winds. His own house had withstood them, and so had the Holloways', the Hamptons' and the Thomasons'.

The three that had sustained the devastating damage had all had the same flaw.

Cheap roofing. And he knew that stapled roofs had not been in his plans for the homes.

Most of his main office had been untouched, but a number of records were missing. Jeannie, his secretary, who had made it in to work yesterday, seemed at a loss to explain it.

Not that it mattered. He had never okayed such practices, but the homes were his responsibility—his fault. But he'd be damned if something like this was ever going to happen to him again. He had to have the truth.

He set his hands on his hips, staring at the roof. If it hadn't been for the storm, he might never have known how three of the houses in the development had been built. But because of Andrew, he was standing in Katie Wells's house, looking at the destruction around him. She had salvaged a lot, but pieces of her life were still here, ruined. A sodden photo book, caught beneath the corner of a crushed sofa. A single baby shoe, blown into the living room from somewhere. Jordan's, he imagined. Something Katie had meant to keep forever, like a flower pressed into the pages of a book.

This was all his fault…

But he'd slept with her last night anyway.

He gritted his teeth. Well, he thought angrily, he had never lied to her. He'd told her he was an architect and a builder; he had even said he had been there every day when his house was being built.

He hadn't lied … but he hadn't told her the truth. He hadn't made her see the truth. She kept thanking him. Damn, if only she'd quit thanking him. He should have told her.

Maybe not. If he had told her, he might never have had last night. And he didn't think he could trade last night for anything—not even honesty. Somewhere, during the years, he had become so damned jaded. Then he'd plucked Katie out of the wind and the rain and…

She had been everything he had been missing. Arousing, at first, with the gown clinging to her breasts and nipples with an amazing appeal. He hadn't lied about that—he had wanted her from the moment he had first seen her, touched her.

He hadn't known how much he wanted her until he came to realize that he loved the sound of her voice, the sweet, low, slightly husky alto. He loved her eyes. Blue as a clear morning sky. He loved the way she could pitch in so quickly, the way she could make the best of a situation. The way she could rush in wildly—then listen with gravity and wisdom.

He'd loved coming home…

To dinner, to Katie. To Jordan. In all his life, he'd never had a situation quite like this.

His dad had died, killed in a building accident the summer Drew had turned eighteen. He hadn't wanted to go to college then. But his mother had reminded him that Harvard had been his father's dream, and so he had gone. His first few years out of school he had worked like a maniac for other people. Maybe that was why he had lost Janet.

Maybe they had just grown apart, or maybe they had never been meant for each other. It didn't matter. She had wanted a sports car, he'd wanted children. They could have had both in time, he was certain. But Janet hadn't wanted to wait to have what she wanted, and he didn't know whether she had ever cheated on him. All he knew was that he had come in at midnight one time too many and found her gone.

He'd filed the papers. She'd wanted to fix things then. It had been too late.

Maybe he should have had more patience.

Maybe not. He'd heard she was on her fourth husband.