Beauty & the Beasts (21 page)

“Madeline isn’t like that.”

“Oh, right.” His son sneered. “If Mom can be like that, so can she!”

“Your mother loves you,” Eric said wearily. “She’s on her honeymoon, for God’s sake.”

“Who’re you going to dump me on when
you
get married?” Garth spun on his heel and half ran to his bedroom.

“Garth!” Eric bellowed.

Slam.

Now what? Eric gently deposited Hannah on the back of the couch and went to stare out the window. Should he cancel with Madeline? Leave the boy here alone? Insist Garth get ready to go to Teresa’s? Try for another father-son talk?

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Was Garth really afraid that Madeline didn’t like him for himself? Did he think his father wouldn’t have time for him if he was dating? Or did Garth even know himself why he was upset?

Eric moved restlessly. Damned if he’d let a twelve-year-old’s temper tantrum keep him from seeing Madeline tonight. Garth couldn’t be allowed to win. Manipulating parents by sullenness and threats had to be discouraged.

Frowning, he went down the hall. He stopped and rapped on Garth’s door, raising his voice. “I’m going to take a shower. You get ready to go to Teresa’s.”

“I’m not going!” his son yelled.

“You don’t have to spend the night, but you
are
going for dinner.” Eric didn’t wait to hear further protests. He just hoped like hell Garth didn’t flat out refuse to step foot out of his bedroom. Eric couldn’t
quite see himself slinging a struggling teenager over his shoulder and throwing him in the car.

Half an hour later, dressed in suit and tie, hair still damp, Eric rapped on Garth’s door again. “Let’s go,” he called, and kept moving down the hall.

After a pause that had his neck muscles locking, he heard the bedroom door open and close behind him. Garth followed him out, got into the car, slammed the door and slouched low in his seat. He didn’t say a word during the two-mile drive to Teresa and Joe Hughes’s big modern house. When there, Eric pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition.

Into the silence he said, “We’re going to need to talk.”

Without looking at him, Garth reached for the door handle.

“Okay,” Eric said. “Maybe I should have let you stay home tonight. I don’t know. But I do know one thing. Now that you’re here, I expect you to be civil. They’re a nice family. They like you. Mark’s been disappointed that you weren’t interested in coming over. Just because you’re mad at me, don’t take it out on them. Got it?”

Of course Garth didn’t answer. Eric hadn’t really expected him to. He walked his son to the door and said hi to Joe, who raised his eyebrows as Garth barely mumbled hello and went in, still without saying a word to his father.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Eric said, “We had a fight. He wanted to sulk in his room. I made him come.”

“He’ll have a good time.” Joe’s voice was, as usual, calm and amiable. “Mark has a new game on CD-ROM that he thinks is better than eating, which is saying a hell of a lot.”

Eric laughed ruefully. “I felt so smug when Teresa was having trouble with Nicole.
My
kid would never act like that.”

“Pride goeth and all that.” Joe nodded toward the living room. “Want to come in?”

“No, Madeline is expecting me. Teresa has the number of the restaurant.”

“Why don’t you bring her over here for dinner some night?” A smile touched Joe’s blue eyes. “I hear so much about her and we’ve never met.”

“Sounds good.” Eric slapped him on the shoulder. “Better make it soon. Once the baby’s born, you won’t be doing much entertaining for a while.”

“I don’t know,” Joe drawled. “At least we have a homegrown baby-sitter.”

“True.” Eric lifted a hand in farewell. “I should be back before midnight.”

Anticipation was singing in his blood by the time he parked in Madeline’s driveway. Too bad her mother was still here. Knowing how she’d used Madeline made it harder to be friendly—not to mention that her presence precluded anything more intimate than a handshake between Madeline and him.

He’d hardly taken his finger off the doorbell when the door swung open. He liked that Madeline never kept him waiting so she could make some kind of grand entrance.

But it was her mother who stood smiling in the
doorway. “Eric, how nice to see you again. Come on in. Madeline’s not quite ready.” She bustled ahead. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

Madeline’s mother must have been damn near as beautiful as Madeline when she was younger. Her expertly styled hair was darker, but the bone structure was much the same; only the fine lines beside her eyes and mouth and the air of fragility showed the additional years. Sometimes her expression was disconcertingly similar to Madeline’s. What she lacked was her daughter’s warmth.

He asked about her trip to Lake Quinault Lodge. She raved about the scenery, the service, the rustic rooms. Eric stole a surreptitious glance at his watch. Was he early? No, it was now ten minutes after the time they’d set. Well, Madeline might have gotten held up at work. What was ten minutes?

Another five minutes passed before he heard a door down the hall open. Heels clicked on the hardwood floor. Midsentence, he lost track of whatever he’d been saying and rose to his feet. A second later the sight of Madeline hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.

A shimmering green sheath fit her tall impossibly slender body like a second skin. If she wore a bra or underwear, he didn’t know where they were hiding. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a bra—the spaghetti straps of the dress couldn’t hide one. Heels added a couple of inches to her height. Covered only with the faintest sheen of silk, her legs went on forever.
Her gleaming auburn hair was swept back into a French roll. Freshwater-pearl earrings dangled nearly as long as her neck. And even her face—by God, he couldn’t actually see the makeup, but she glowed, her cheekbones subtly accentuated, her eyes huge and mysterious, her mouth an incredibly sexy pout

This was the Madeline Howard whose face and figure had been worth a fortune.

Her thick dark lashes batted flirtatiously. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“You’re magnificent,” he said, then cursed himself. Was this some kind of test? Was he supposed to prove he could keep his eye fixed on her inner beauty no matter how she gilded herself?

But she was smiling. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t think I need a wrap. Shall we go?”

As she passed, her scented warmth brushed him. If he’d still been breathing, he would have quit then.

Her mother, hands clasped, smiled her approval. “Have a good time!”

In a dream he escorted Madeline out to his car and held open the door for her. As she swung her legs in, her dress rode up, exposing a sleek expanse of thigh. Dazed, he circled the car to the driver’s side.

It had barely begun, and already this was the most bizarre evening he could recall. Garth, who adored Madeline, didn’t want his father dating her. Meanwhile, Madeline, who hated being judged for her outer beauty, had dressed as seductively as a Victoria’s Secret model.

Eric stole another glance at her. She smiled and
deliberately crossed one long slim leg over the other. He shook his head again, although it hadn’t clarified anything the first time, and tried to get the key into the ignition despite his acute awareness of her thigh, only inches from his hand.

Damn, how he wanted to touch her. His fingers itched to wrap around her leg and slide up into the shadow beneath the hemline of that skimpy dress. He was hard already, and he still hadn’t gotten the damned car started!

“Where are we going?” she purred. Oh, hell, she probably just asked, but his nerves were so on edge now everything she did had provocative overtones. If this was a test, he was going to fail.

He named a classy Italian restaurant on Fifth Avenue in downtown Seattle. He got the car started at last, the clutch in, but saw her when he had to turn to look over his shoulder to back out.

“Oh, I love that place!” Madeline said in a voice that was just a little huskier than usual.

They talked during the drive; Eric hoped he wasn’t making a complete fool of himself. By the time he parked half a block from the restaurant, he couldn’t remember a thing he’d said. Or she’d said. All he knew was that her voice was like a velvet coverlet pulled over his head, so his whole world was darkness and texture, incredibly sensuous but also smothering.

Even in a restaurant where beautiful people dined regularly, she got a reaction. As they were shown to their table, a pool of silence spread ahead, murmurs behind. Her usual brisk stride had been replaced by
a sexy sashay that increased his discomfort, along with his arousal. Who
was
this woman?

Who cares?
an appreciative side of him asked. He got to spend the evening with this sexy creature, and he was wasting a thought on the Madeline Howard who wore baggy olive green T-shirts and jeans? What, was he crazy?

They perused the menu and ordered, then gazed at each other across the candlelit table. A smile played around her mouth, as though she knew how he felt and was secretly amused.

“Garth took Ron out to explore the house today,” he said almost at random.

“Really? Ron and Chev ought to be neutered pretty soon. In fact—”

“They’re ready for a home. I know.” Eric grimaced. “I don’t know if Garth does.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Will you let him take on some more? If he’s saying hello the minute he’s said goodbye, I think he’ll take it better.”

Even her hand felt different tonight; he knew it was strong, but right now it felt silky smooth, fragile, utterly feminine. She’d painted her nails, he saw, a deep rose that somehow looked just right with the emerald green dress.

What had she said? The teasing scent of lavender that gently wafted across the table seemed to fog his mind. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. She gazed at him with those huge eyes and smiled faintly.

Garth. That was it. Could he take some more kittens.

“Sure,” Eric said. “Of course. Do you have any more that’ll make him feel as needed?”

“We always have more.” The hint of dryness in her tone sounded like her normal self. “We just got in a mom and litter. Five kittens. He’ll enjoy them.”

Six cats in the bedroom. Oh, hell, Garth wouldn’t care.

Wine and salads came. They talked about politics, business and cats. She admitted to having missed her riding lessons; they planned a trail ride the next weekend, her first.

“Can you find another horse so Garth can come?”

He’d imagined the two of them ambling along in the sunshine, maybe taking a break beside the stream, stretching out in the tall grass while the horses grazed nearby. But she was right. “Why not?” he said. “Maybe your mother would like to ride, too.”

She rolled her eyes, and he had the satisfaction of having pierced her armor, however briefly.

Over dinner they moved on to movies they’d seen, concerts and theater they’d attended. She’d just been to. the touring production of
The Phantom of the Opera,
having missed it the first time it came to Seattle. Jealousy burned in his gut as he wondered who she’d seen it with. She was careful to avoid saying, and he was damned if he’d ask. Rage rose, swift and unexpected.
He’d
had the chance to date and hadn’t taken it! But she went to the Fifth Avenue Theater? For all he knew, she’d been out every night the past
two weeks! Maybe she hadn’t been dating him exclusively in the first place. He’d assumed—

“Why are you frowning so fiercely?” she asked in that velvety voice.

He grabbed the first excuse that came to him. “Worrying about a dog I did abdominal surgery on today. Sorry.”

Her eyes were magnificent, bottomless wells of femininity and understanding. He could drown and not care.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Madeline murmured. “Tell me about it.”

He did, though he kept wondering who’d sat next to her at
The Phantom of the Opera.
Had he discreetly held her hand? Where had they gone to dinner? Had she minded him telling her she was beautiful?

Maybe not; maybe that was why she’d blossomed in confidence enough to be willing to quit hiding behind ugly clothes and messy hairstyles.

By the time they finished their coffee and left the restaurant, Eric was a churning mass of confusion, frustration and hunger. He wanted her, but he also, for reasons he didn’t understand, resented her manipulation of him. She was trying to drive him to the edge; she
had
to be!

But he’d vowed to be patient; he had self-control, he reminded himself grimly. She wasn’t ready for sex. He was prepared to wait until she was damned sure it was what she wanted to do.

He seriously doubted that she’d become certain of anything since Wednesday.

The drive home was mostly silent. Romantic music poured out of the speakers. Every streetlight and passing headlight shimmered over her long legs and the slippery green fabric of her dress. He couldn’t think about anything but her. His palms were sweating.

He found himself remembering the first date he’d ever been on. His parents had a 1971 Chevy that stalled easily. It happened twice that evening, both times in the middle of intersections with oncoming traffic. Ellen Marie Fitzgerald—good God, he not only recalled her name, he saw her plain as day!— had squealed. She had also not only opened her mouth for his kiss at the end of the evening, she’d let him touch her breast.

More than he was going to get tonight.

They were entering the city limits, and he put on the turn signal for Madeline’s street.

Her voice came to him, clear as his memories. “Is Garth home?”

Desire lanced through him, a painful stab. “No.” The one word was so rough he cleared his throat. “He’s at Teresa’s.”

Her hand touched his thigh. “I’m sure,” she whispered.

“Thank God,” he said, and accelerated past the turn to her house.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
LL HE WANTED
was to pull that dress up around her waist, yank off her silk stockings and bury himself in her. Guaranteed to send her running.