Manacled in Monaco (20 page)

She giggled, an incongruous little girl sound coming from a face hardened and lined by excess.

He slipped his hand under the soft jersey bodice, found her nipple, and pinched it taut. She moaned and ground her bottom against his groin.

Sarita’s face, her flushed skin when she climaxed burned his pupils, and his cock finally responded, thickening. “Let’s take this below deck, Shan.”

Spanish fly turned Shannon’s hands into snaking claws. He scooped her into his arms so she wouldn’t notice his disinterest.

He loved having Sarita in his arms. Her diminutive form made him feel like a warrior king.

Shannon’s five eight statuesque figure weighted his arms. By the time he set her on the oversized mattress in the master, his cock had become flaccid again.

A quick glance at the digital alarm on the bedside table showed it was nearly eleven and he had to keep her occupied for at least a couple of hours. Shannon stripped in between cheerleader moves.

Images of prom night and Sarita on the fifty-yard line danced in his head.

She tugged his T-shirt off.

Conducting mechanical sexual foreplay, his mind torn between guilt and revulsion, but his prick didn’t care and reacted automatically.

As he suckled Shannon’s breasts, he visualized Sarita’s.

“Get to the point, sweetie. My pussy needs some attention.”

One eye on the clock, he pinched one nipple and rubbed her moist folds. Her hips lifted off the mattress and she snapped, “For Chrissake Rolan, get undressed and put that hard cock inside me. I’d forgotten how much you turn me on, baby. Either stick in your cock or a couple of fingers. I’m nearly there.”

He’d forgotten her vocal crudity. Back in high school it’d turned him on, but now her vulgarity held no appeal. Another image burned his pupils, that of Sarita blushing the first time she’d said, “Lick my pussy.” Reaching over, he turned up the volume on the intercom and the lyrics of “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet,” filled the cabin.

Writhing naked on the bed, eyes closed, bottle blonde hair streaming across the pillow, Rolan worked his fingers in and out of her. Realizing she wasn’t near climax, even with the added Spanish Fly incentive, he brought the other hand into play, pinching her nipples.

“Harder,” she commanded. “For Chrissake, put some muscle into it.”

Bitch. He twisted one nipple, pulling on it, and she squealed like a stuck pig, arched off the bed, and drenched his fingers. A gust of cold air hit the back of his neck. He shifted and froze.

Sarita.

Their eyes met for an instant, hers brimming. A lone tear spilled down one cheek.

It’s not what you think
, he wanted to scream, but couldn’t get past the lump that clogged his throat.

Shannon’s thighs closed around his hand. Horrified, he looked down at the visual Sarita had seen. Whipping his fingers out of her, he shot to his feet, but Sarita had vanished.

Rizzo stood in the doorway. “Frickin’ hell.”

“Did you get it?”

“Yep. Done. Sorry it took so long.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

Rolan’s gaze shifted to Shannon’s features drawn into a mask of malice.

“I have the tape, Shannon. Your little blackmail scheme’s busted.”

“What a stupid jock ass you are, Paxton. I have more than one copy. Either you pay me five million or that tape goes public. I have two newspapers and at least three televisions bidding for it.”

“Game’s over Shan. I also have the three copies that were in your Manhattan condo.”

That got her attention and she bounded out of bed. Fists clenched, she stalked over to him. “You can’t. How did you know?”

“Does it matter? I have them all.”

“That’s what you think,” she spat and slapped his face, hard. “You’ll pay for this, Paxton.”

Showing not an ounce of modesty, she grabbed her clothes off the floor and stomped out of the cabin buck naked.

“Jesus,” Rolan said and tunneled one hand through his mussed hair. He caught a waft of Shannon’s musk and gagged. “I need a shower. Jimmy, check on Sarita, will you? Jesus knows how I’m going to talk my way out of this one.”

“If I were you, I’d go for the truth. Anything else will come back to bite your ass. I’ll get Terry to make the bitch leave and I’ll go to Sarita. I have the bitch’s copy of the lease, by the way. Didn’t want to chance anything.”

“Good move.”

In quick order, Rolan stripped and showered, his thoughts tangential. What had happened? The plan had been for Geoff to keep Sarita and Tony occupied for two hours, two lousy hours. Yet, here it was less than an hour later, and she’d burst in on them. Why?

What to do? Find a plausible explanations for Sarita interrupting him bringing Shannon off? He thunked his head against the tiled shower stall Had he found his true mate only to lose her because of that bitch Shannon?

He’d just finished dressing when the cabin door opened.

“What the hell happened, Geoff? How’d you screw up like that?”

And then he noticed the cast on the man’s forearm, the pale cast to his skin. “Crap. What happened to you?

“Fender bender that went awry. Sorry, Rolan, it was out of my hands. Law got involved. Broke my wrist, had to have an operation, they put two pins in it. I came as soon as they would let me. Sarita came back to get you, left Tony with me. I tried, I really tried to make her stay.”

Rolan sank onto the bed. “Jesus.” He buried his face in his hands.

“But, it gets worse, chappie.”

“What?” He lifted his head and snorted. “Couldn’t possibly.”

Geoff held up a sheet of paper, an envelope was in the other hand.

“Sarita and Tony are gone. She resigned.”

Chapter Fifteen

Three weeks later, Sarita stared at the Miami Herald’s headline and her stomach flip-flopped. “
Paxton High School Sex Tape a Fraud Says Expert
.” The extra large bold letters seemed to emphasize the lines of exhaustion bracketing Rolan’s mouth in the accompanying photo.

“Skipper Jack said newspapers and politicians are all part of a huge conspiracy to deceive the public.” Tony tossed a football from one hand to another. “I figure what that means is, you can’t always believe what you read.”

“You’re wise beyond your ten years, Anthony Rolan Paxton.” Despite her moroseness, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Come here.”

“Aw, Mom. I’m getting too old for all these sissy hugs,” Tony protested, but walked into her outstretched arms and gave her waist a football-edged squeeze. “Dad didn’t do it, you know.”

She yanked backward and studied her son’s clamped mouth and blazing eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“I just am. He’s not that kind of guy. ’Sides, he’s my dad.” Tony planted the football on the Key West blue-tiled kitchen counter. “Skipper Jack’s taking me fishing, Mom, in the row boat. We’re gonna stay in the bay, so you can come and watch us if you want.” He shrugged out of her embrace. “See you on the pier?”

Accustomed to her son’s abrupt change of subjects, Sarita ruffled his hair and replied, “Definitely. I want a nice little snapper for dinner.”

“Aw, fish again?”

His mouth crooked down and he looked so much like his father at that moment, her heart jockeyed with her brain and won an internal battle. Refusing to over-rationalize her actions, she booked two flights to Boston for the following day and began packing.

Time to stop running.

Her instinctive flight reaction, one she thought she’d eradicated, had dictated all her movements after seeing Rolan’s fingers in Shannon’s…no, she couldn’t even finish the thought. Tony believed in his father. Why couldn’t she muster the same faith in her husband?

Because buried deep in her soul, she had internalized all the childhood taunts about being a mongrel, unworthy and unlovable. Hadn’t the past ten years taught her differently? The shock hadn’t worn off for two weeks. She’d walked around in a dazed numbed trance and not one fellow human being noticed. Reading that newspaper headline had jump-started her brain. She dusted off her hands and surveyed the two packed suitcases. Right. They’d have to drive to Miami this afternoon and stay in the airport hotel tonight.

Thank goodness Geoff had insisted on paying her, although she’d have to return the other eighteen thousand dollars he had wired to her US account. A sudden thought arrested her fingers as she strapped on sandals. The tape the newspaper mentioned had to be of Shannon and Rolan on Homecoming night. She read the article all the way through twice. Inspiration didn’t strike, so she made her way to the pier.

They’d taken two weeks to travel down to Key West, exploring each of the major isles along the way. Staying in mom and pop motels, they hit Key Largo, Islamorada, Key Marathon, and Big Pine Key. Tony had tanned Brazil nut brown within a couple of days because he spent every waking moment in the water or on the beach. His self-confidence now rivaled Rolan’s.

She spied Tony and Skipper Jack, a wizened ponytailed sixtyish hippie, a flower child exile, in his
Boston Whaler
heading for the jetty. Tony hopped onto the pier and helped his bearded companion secure the boat. He waved good-bye, spun around, and sprinted to where she stood.

“I caught a yellowtail, but Skipper Jack said it was too small, so we threw it back into the sea. No fish tonight.”

His exuberant shout barely reached her ears as a wind gust blew across the wooden planks. Tony caught up to her and she told him about their flights to Boston the following day. He did a warrior’s dance, yelling, “Woo-woo,” along the narrow path to their cottage. Since she’d packed everything and checked out, they transferred their belongings to their rented Ford Focus and began the journey.

Her son chatted all the way to Miami, flinging out question after question about Rolan, football, a new school, and being able to go to father and son night. That last one tripped her heart. Could she erase that picture of Rolan’s fingers up…but she shook her head and refused to go there.

That night lying in bed, head cradled in her hands, Sarita acknowledged she loved Rolan Anthony Paxton, had always loved him, and there would be no other man for her. Given that fact, her options in this situation proved limited, or rather settled into one -- she had to find a way to forgive him.

First thing the following morning, she called Geoff. Both he and Terry were staying at Rolan’s house in Salem.

“Is Rolan there?”

“No, he’s with Suresh and his publicist. They’re preparing for a press conference this afternoon.”

“Tony and I are flying in on the morning flight. We leave in an hour. Can you pick us up, Geoff? But please don’t let Rolan know as yet.”

“He doesn’t need any more surprises.”

“Can you just trust me on this, Geoff?”

“I do trust you, Sarita. I’ve seen the way you look at Rolan, as if he’s some sort of comic book superhero. He’s human just like the rest of us and he makes mistakes. We all do.”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be all right,” she said and set the hotel phone back on its base.

The three-hour flight didn’t prove as nerve-wracking as she had anticipated. Tony put the
Ratatouille
DVD on and the charming tale kept her engrossed. Before she knew it, they had wheeled their suitcases out of the baggage area to meet Geoff.

An hour later, they arrived at the Pats’ new headquarters, a two-storied building that took up a whole block.

“It used to be a sports club,” Geoff said and wriggled elegant fingers in the direction of the gleaming white building. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sarita?”

“Yes.” She nodded, gritting her teeth. “Just promise me you’ll get Tony out of there right after I make my announcement.”

“No worries, love.” Geoff chucked her chin. “You’re one fine woman. And your faith in Rolan will be vindicated. You need to hear everything from him.”

The man had been deliberately vague with Sarita, refusing to explain the scene she’d interrupted on the
Glory
. And the nebulous “everything” had the butterflies in her stomach swarming like locusts. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

They met no one in the deserted hallway leading to the gymnasium. A makeshift stage and podium occupied the corner of the almost empty gym. About fifteen rows of metal chairs formed a rectangle in front of the raised wooden platform. Curtains lined the high wall behind the stage and two separate sets of steps bracketed each end. Geoff, Tony, and Sarita stood behind the blue drapes on the left side.

Loud creaking heralded the opening of the swing doors on the far side of the room. A crowd of men and women stomped into the room. Some carried cameras, all held either iPods, or BlackBerrys, or some other handheld device. A team of men dragged standing lights across the room and arranged them in place. Flashes, curses, and a murmured mixture of conversations reigned for the following ten minutes.

Dressed in a sable pinstriped formal suit with a snow-white tailored shirt and a burgundy tie, Suresh strode onto the stage. He wore the same satisfied smile which had decorated his face on the cover of
TIME Magazine
. One long forefinger tapped the microphone and the sound echoed.

“Ladies, gentlemen, before we begin this news conference, let’s set the ground rules. Mr. Paxton will read a statement on the…” Suresh paused, his fingers mimicked quotation marks, and he continued, “…the videotape. He will not respond to any queries regarding the tape, but will answer any other questions you may have. Right. I’ll turn the mike over to Mr. Paxton now.”

As Rolan strode onto the stage, she stepped forward, one arm draped over Tony’s shoulder. Her ankle bracelet tinkled. Sarita adjusted the swath of fuchsia silk swathing one shoulder. She heard an indrawn breath, looked up, and drowned in Rolan’s emerald eyes.

He stumbled, adjusted his stride, and straightened, his gaze manacled to hers.

Cameras flashed. The two powerful lights on either side of the stage spotlighted her and Tony, and she hugged him closer. An excited babble broke out from their audience. Rolan’s eyes flickered in that direction and then back to her.

When they met him in the middle of the platform, Tony shrugged out of her embrace. An anticipatory quiet held sway over the small crowd. Sarita realized every individual in the room had pinpointed them. The swish of her sari sounded like waves crashing on rocks in the eerie silence.

“Hey, Dad,” Tony said, back straight, head tilted. “I caught a marlin as tall as Mom two days ago. Can we go fishing in the Keys for Labor Day?”

Rolan masked his surprise, and though he tried to stifle it, his lips curved into a wide grin. “Sure son, but there’s one rule. If you hunt or fish, you eat what you kill.”

“Aw, who made up that rule? You know I hate fish.”

“Is this your son, Rolan?” This from a bearded man wearing jeans and a polo shirt.

“What’s your name?”

“How old are you?”

The shouted questions penetrated Sarita’s mind and she glided over the wooden floor, her bare toes finding every crack in the wood. When she stood not two inches away from Rolan, she rose on tiptoe, spread her palms on his chest for balance, and kissed him full on the mouth, lapping at the closed seam of his lips. For a long moment, he did nothing, then groaned, slid his arms around her waist and took control, eating her mouth hungrily.

“Aw. Mom, Dad, will ya stop that?” Tony’s plaintive complaint resonated through the gym.

As one, the assembled reporters broke out laughing.

Sarita broke away, cheeks flaming.

“Look it you guys, I have to go to a new school in a couple of weeks. Do you know the kind of ribbing I’ll get if they keep doing that?”

Stunned, Sarita could only watch as her son sidled up to the edge of the stage, a hand shading his eyes from the light.

“What’s your name?” Someone called out.

“Anthony Rolan Paxton,” Tony replied, shoulders squaring. He hooked a hand in the front pocket of his khakis. “That’s my Mom, Sarita Kathleen Paxton, but we both used to be Khans.”

“He’s a ham,” Rolan muttered and shook his head, but the glazed expression didn’t leave his eyes. He cupped her chin. “This is going to be splashed all across the news tomorrow, maybe even tonight.”

“I know, but families stick together, especially in a crisis.”

“Jesus. I know this isn’t the time or place, but I love you, Sarita. And I do have an explanation, although I now realize I made a stupid decision.”

And all at once, a joyful tranquility settled her jumpy stomach. She memorized the words, the rasp of his husky voice, so she could replay the moment later, over and over.

“Now you tell me,” she whispered and held a finger on his mouth, halting his words. “After, all right?”

He nodded.

An arm around her waist, they walked to the microphone where she disengaged his arms and tiptoed. The microphone still hung a good four inches above her mouth. “Before Rolan reads his statement, Tony and I have a statement of our own.”

“Mom, they can’t hear you. Here.” Tony fiddled with the old-fashioned standing mike, the mouthpiece slipped down, and the sound rumbled around the hall.

Rolan reached across her and adjusted the equipment to her height.

“Thanks darling,” she said and kissed his cheek before he straightened. She inhaled and faced her audience. “Rolan and I grew up together in Orangeville, a small Midwestern town. We dated briefly during his senior year and the Patriots drafted him during his last semester. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until after he had left for Boston. My mother died suddenly and I had no other relatives. I was sixteen and very proud, and I decided not to tell Rolan about my condition. I had the baby on my own.”

“Me. But I’m not a baby.” Tony pointed a finger at his chest. “I’m going to be eleven next month. Go on, Mom.”

“Rolan and I met again a couple of months ago --”

“Can I take over from here, Sarita honey?”

Jade orbs pleaded with her and she nodded.

“I took one look at Sarita and realized there was no other woman in the world for me. Shannon Cartwright, the woman who leaked this tape…” He held up a videotape and continued, “…and I had dated before I met Sarita. And I have to admit I dumped Shannon for Sarita.”

A loud murmur broke out and a woman shouted, “Didn’t the two of you date for over a year?”

“Yeah. She was the head cheerleader. What can I say? At any rate, the tape you are about to see was taken on Homecoming night way before Sarita and I hooked up. I’ll ask you to wait until my son’s out of the room and then I’ll play it. Son, go with Geoff.”

“All right,” Tony grumbled and followed Geoff out of the gym.

As soon as the swinging doors shut them out, Rolan popped the video into its slot and pressed play.

Sarita had never expected this, and her insides clenched so hard she nearly retched right there and then. The poor quality of the tape made it difficult to identify anyone clearly. It showed about twelve high school seniors and college-age couples passing a joint around, swilling from a magnum of champagne while engaged in a game of five-card stud poker. Rolan and Shannon occupied a shadowed corner, the two of them engaging in some serious lip locking.

One pretty brunette dropped her cards, stood, and took off her shirt exposing plump pearled breasts. She edged over to the winner who had scooped the round’s chips in front of his bare feet, sat on his lap, wound her arms around his head, and tongue kissed him.

A game of strip poker and cross coupling, Sarita realized. Her clenched fists relaxed, for she’d expected much worse. Before the tape ended, a virtual orgy had been had by one and all, including Rolan. By her count, he’d partnered every female in the room.

Rolan stepped up to the mike. “Which one of you went through high school without a major regret? Without doing something you’d rather your kids didn’t know about?” He shrugged. “Will any part of this tape sell more papers?”