Texas Heat (25 page)

Rand's hands were in Maggie's hair, lifting the glossy black strands to his lips, stroking the nape of her neck and tracing patterns along her jaw. It was as though he were committing her to memory, as if his lips and fingers were branding her image in his brain. The kisses he traced along the curve of her neck sent little shivers of delight up her spine. Anticipation throbbed through her veins and warmed her center. It seemed an eternity that she wanted to know him this way, but it had only been a matter of months. Months, weeks, a lifetime. She'd tried to rid him from her thoughts and, failing that, had attempted to place him within the confines of friendship. She'd failed. Only now could she admit to herself that during Cranston's. visit and their most intimate moments together, it had been Rand she'd wanted and needed. She'd tried to substitute, but nothing she'd dreamed or fantasized could have prepared her for this moment.

His hands traveled her body, lightly skimming her tingling flesh from the hollows beneath her breasts to her smooth haunches. He explored the curve of her hips and the softness of her belly to the firmness of her bottom. She shuddered beneath his hand when he leaned up on one elbow to follow this newly discovered path with moist kisses and gentle teasings of his tongue. It was as though she were rediscovering herself through this journey of hand and mouth. She reveled in his delight and in the growing, hungry need that burned through her loins.

Maggie was unable to lie still beneath his touch. His caresses had inspired something in her, a need to share, a desire to give. In tender, sensuous patterns she stroked his flesh, beginning at the definition of his chest to the plane of his belly. She traced his hair patterns, following the lines that swirled upward over his breasts and downward over his middle to a darker, thicker patch surrounding his sex. He quivered when she kneaded the muscle of his inner thigh and moved upward to his groin. Her movements were teasing, enticing, affecting her as well as Rand until the throbbing in her veins became a roaring demand to have him for her own, to become a part of him and him a part of her. His mouth moved over her body with exquisite care, nipping, nibbling, heating her flesh.

“Now, Rand, now?” she whispered. It was a question; it was a demand.

“Now, Maggie, my Maggie.” His voice was husky, filled with emotion. He wanted her, had wanted her these many months, but the emotion was deeper than being with her this way. He didn't merely want to couple with her; he wanted to fulfill her, to know her and become a part of her. When he placed himself between her open thighs, he looked down into her face, seeing there her kiss-bruised mouth, moist and pouting, the flush of passion staining her cheeks and spreading over her throat. But it was her eyes that held him, the color of a summer sky and glistening with tears. His heart reached out for hers as he kissed the crystal droplets that had fallen onto her cheeks. Her own heart, Maggie's heart, was only a breath away. And when she cried his name, it seemed their souls broke through an eternity of desolation to reach out, to touch. Loneliness and emptiness were banished, and it was with a boundless joy that she drew him inside her, the passage hot and wet, stroking with long, slow undulations.

He arched his back, holding himself above her, his loins pressed hard against hers, forcing himself to be still, struggling for control as he had not since his first sexual experience. That same boyish impatience flooded through him, but the man he had become knew the wisdom of waiting and relishing each sensation and sharing it with his partner. But Maggie refused to be still beneath him. Her hands raked his chest, teasing his nipples and pulling at the hair. Her hips moved, rocking her body beneath his, locking him against her, her sheath stroking and rippling around him until he yielded to her passions and her driving needs.

He thrust himself into her, seeking to relieve this pulsing ache she had created in him, unable to go deep enough or hard enough, until the fire spread from his loins to touch every part of him, and he surrendered to the blinding rapture and joyful knowledge that Maggie was just behind him, following closely, sharing in this glory.

Maggie became a part of him, suffering the same agony, seeking the same release. She followed the route he charted, heard the cries from his throat and reveled in the deep thrusts that filled her completely. She held herself to him, matching his movements, feeling herself floating beyond these delicious physical sensations to a place that was quiet and still, a place where he waited for her to touch her soul with his own. Her fingers dug into his flanks as she penetrated the last barrier before finding her own satisfaction, giving herself over to the warm waves of pleasure ebbing and flowing with each beat of her heart.

They held each other for a very long time, like two children hiding in the dark while they waited for the danger to pass. He rested his chin on the top of her head, smoothing the round of her shoulder and stroking the tender skin near her temples. She was crying. There were tears in his own eyes and a lump in his throat. He didn't need to ask why she was crying; words were unnecessary when two souls touched. They had done it, committed the very sin of which they were accused.

“Now, more than ever, I have to leave, Maggie.” His voice was deep, ragged.

She nodded. “Yes, you must leave.” She choked back the tears, swallowing hard, working her throat muscles until she could ask, “Will you come back, Rand? Will you?”

“That's up to you, Maggie, my Maggie,” he said when he could speak. “Will you want me to come back? We've found something together, darling, something very, very precious. The question you must ask yourself is do we have any right to keep it?”

The kaleidoscope of autumn's colors gave way to the drab
browns of encroaching winter. Halloween passed with a lone jack-o'-lantern dotting the portico of Sunbridge. The early weeks of November rushed past accompanied by, according to the weather forecasters, the most severe weather in years.

The last football game of the season was played and won by Crystal City High, thanks to Riley's defending tackle and interception. The dance ended on a high note of frivolity. Maggie herself was one of the chaperones. Cole did not attend.

December found Maggie meeting herself coming and going. Texas, it seemed, went all out for Christmas. She was forever chasing from one meeting to another, freely lending her name and her expertise. She used her lunch hours to run to the Crystal City Post Office, where she rented a mailbox. At least every other day box 771 held an airmail letter from England. She sat in the parking lot, nibbling on crackers, while she read Rand's latest offering. She herself wrote almost every day—light, chatty, newsy letters full of the happenings of her life. Always she ended each letter with the hope that he would join all of them for the holidays. She said she counted the days, the hours, and sometimes the minutes.

Today she had to Christmas shop. She'd put it off too long already. She wanted mountains of gifts for everyone, and the biggest Christmas tree in all of Texas. And she meant to have it. This was a special Christmas.

Another few days and the boys would be out of school for the holidays. She'd made no definite plans yet. She didn't even know for sure who was coming for the holidays. Billie and Thad had agreed to come, subject to last-minute events at the farm. She'd been unable to reach Sawyer for confirmation. Cole and Riley claimed to be uncertain of Sawyer's plans. Rand hadn't definitely committed, either, but she was certain he would come because she wished for it every night.

She was so busy planning parties, luncheons, and tree trimmings, not to mention a private church service, she hardly had time to remember that her divorce from Cranston would become final soon after the New Year. She would deal with that on the second day of January, she told herself.

Maggie sat for a few moments holding Rand's letter to her breast, oblivious to the mink-clad woman who walked past the car. Amelia was tempted to tap on the window, but didn't. There was something clandestine about the way Maggie was sitting in the parking lot of the post office holding a paper close to her breast. Obviously she had a secret. It didn't surprise Amelia. And it didn't take any brains at all to figure out who the secret was.

Amelia completed her business at the post office and was leaving the building when she saw Maggie pull out of the parking lot. It was probably a good thing Maggie hadn't noticed her, she thought as she got into her car. She might have said something that could be taken wrong.

Amelia sighed as she pulled out of the parking lot. Life at Sunbridge was not what she'd thought it would be. There were so many undercurrents these days! Cole and Riley were at each other's throats hourly. Susan wandered around the house with a vague, lost look in her eyes. Maggie was always flitting from this place to that. Even Cary seemed out of it. Business was consuming him; their lovemaking had dwindled to once a week on a Sunday morning—and even then only if she initiated it.

Every day this week she'd called and invited Cary to lunch. Every day he'd refused, nicely of course, saying he had to be on the site. She'd offered to bring a picnic basket in the car, but he'd vetoed that, saying the other workmen wouldn't appreciate it. They ate together, all the hard hats, with the bosses.

She was almost at the site now. Maybe she could stop and at least say hello. She could go into the trailer office, have a cup of coffee, and leave a note for her husband on his clipboard. He'd get a kick out of that. Or would he feel she was chasing him, not giving him breathing room? The hell with what he felt. This was what she wanted to do and she was going to do it.

The road leading to the construction site was a series of deep potholes, all of them filled with water. For miles all she could see was acres of mud and slabs of concrete. Here and there were trailers with wires hooked up to generators. Bulldozers, all manner of heavy-duty equipment, were at work.

She sat for a minute before she turned off the ignition, wondering if it all was going to work. Was Texas ready for Cary's dream? God, it was going to take ten years to complete. She could be dead by then. Cary would just be coming into his own, a handsome fiftyish widower. The thought was so terrible Amelia almost leaped from the car. Mud splashed up on the silvery mink. She cursed loudly and strongly. Then she laughed. She'd wear hip boots and slog through mud up to her waist if she could be near Cary. She'd eat out of a metal lunch box and wear a bright yellow hard hat. She might even give up her false eyelashes and fingernails if they got in the way.

Amelia drew in her breath when she opened the door to the trailer office. The last time she'd seen it, it was dirty and messy. Clutter everywhere. Some magical fairy must have been at work, she decided. Now there were tailored drapes on windows that just last month were practically solid grime. Green plants rested in wicker baskets on the tables. The floor was clean and the lamps dusted. There were piles of incoming and outgoing mail in wire baskets on Cary's desk, next to a new computer/printer. Amelia frowned. Cary hadn't said anything about a computer. The old black telephone was gone, too, replaced by one of AT&T's newest consoles.

Amelia looked completely around her. She didn't remember the walls being paneled. Or the aluminum-framed pictures of different sections of the state of Texas. Four chocolatey-colored chairs were scattered about the long room, with not a trace of fuzz or dust on the deep-welted corduroy. The bar, another new addition, was stocked with expensive brands of liquor. She knew there'd be a refrigerator behind it, filled with beer and soft drinks. Clients? Hardly. Probably Cary and his partners. The union men wouldn't be permitted to tramp in and out of this office.

The last thing she checked was the tiny bathroom. It had been newly carpeted in pink—pink!—and a wicker basket with yellow-and-white daisies sat on the back of the toilet. She peered into the bowl. It was clean. So was the sink. Pretty paper towels in a stack. Hand towels? A bottle of Avon hand lotion and little squares of what looked like Cashmere Bouquet soap were piled neatly next to the paper towels. Even the mirror and overhead light were different.

Who had done all this? She wondered. Cary hadn't said a word about it. For some reason, she felt annoyed—and vaguely uneasy. She also felt hot.

She was turning down the portable heater when the door opened and a pair of trim ankles in outrageously high heels came into Amelia's view. She turned and stood erect. “I thought this was set too high. Fires can happen with these things,” she said coolly.

“I suppose you're right. It gets very cold in here. Drafts from the door. Can I help you? First I have to take off my coat and scoot to the bathroom. I had to get lunch for the men. Chinese,” she called over her shoulder.

Amelia blinked. Whoever she was, she had the closest thing to a perfect figure Amelia had ever seen. She also had good skin, and she was young. Very young. Twenty-five, tops. Perfection? Confection? The men must love coming in here, Amelia thought.

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but nature calls every so often,” the young woman said blithely. She settled herself behind the desk, hiked up her clinging blue jersey skirt, and looked directly at Amelia. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Perhaps you could tell me where my husband is.”

“If you tell me his name, maybe I can. My name is Eileen Farrell.”

“Cary Assante. I'm
Mrs.
Assante.”

Eileen's deep brown eyes widened. “You're Mrs. Assante?”

“In the flesh,” Amelia said coldly.

“Uh ... hi! Cary didn't say you'd be stopping by. He's out on the site somewhere. We're supposed to have lunch at one o'clock, but they're late now. We'll probably have to put it in the microwave.”

“There's a microwave here?” Amelia asked in surprise.

“I insisted. What with the cold weather and all. The men need something warm when they come in. It's over there behind the cartons. It was the only place to hook it up. Cary said it's a wonderful idea. Everyone seemed pleased.”

Microwaves, bars, green plants, pink carpets in the bathroom, and this... this ball of fluff. Amelia wanted to gag.

“Tell Cary I was here,” Amelia said, bringing the mink close to her neck. It tickled her chin. Any other time she would have smiled.

“I'll do that, Mrs. Assante. I love your coat. It must have cost a fortune. Someday I plan to get one.”

“Make sure it's a Fischer if you do. If someone else is paying for it, that is.”

Eileen giggled. “Oh, you mean if I get a rich husband or lover.”

“Whatever. It was nice meeting you, Miss Farrell. By the way, how long have you been here?”

“Exactly a month tomorrow. You wouldn't believe what this place looked like when I took the job. The first thing I said to Mr. Assante was I couldn't work in such a messy place. He gave me some money and told me to fix it up. Everyone loves it. It's a pleasure to come to work now.”

“I just bet you're worth every penny of your salary.”

“Mr. Assante says I am. The others seem to agree. I finally got the hang of this computer. I'm the only one who knows how to work it. The Wang Company sent someone out here to train me.”

“How much are you earning?”

“I guess it's okay to tell you, being you're Mrs. Assante and all. Four fifty a week.”

“Dollars?”
Amelia asked in amazement.

“Plus benefits,” Eileen chirped. “Dental, eyeglass plan, major medical, as well as three weeks' vacation and twelve sick days. I snapped this right up.”

“I would, too,” Amelia snorted as the door closed behind her. So, nothing was new on the construction site. Well, Eileen Farrell was new, like a bright, shiny penny. Even her eyelashes were real, heavy-fringed and perfectly mascaraed. Soft brown naturally curly hair that she'd kill for. And she was young.

Amelia returned to her mother's house. She wasn't in the mood now for carpenters or paperhangers. She didn't want to see the workmen goof off and she didn't want to remind them that she was paying them by the hour.

A whole afternoon to get through. She knew she wouldn't accomplish anything—she'd just be waiting for the phone to ring. Cary would call her; that much she knew. He'd think something had happened. She never visited the trailer anymore—not since he'd told her it didn't look good to the other men. She didn't want to embarrass him, did she? Oh, no. She'd
never
do anything to cause Cary trouble.

Eileen Farrell. Who was she? The intricate wooden sign on her desk had read Design Consultant. Eileen Farrell, Design Consultant. But just what the hell did that mean? What did she design... and who did she consult with?

Amelia felt like smashing something—preferably a mirror, any mirror.

 

It was three o'clock when the phone rang. Amelia let it ring seven times before she answered. She made her voice sound breathless and impatient. “Yes?”

“Hi, babe, how's it going?”

“You really don't want to know. I'm handling it. How are things at the site?”

“Fouled up as usual. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you stopped by. You could have joined us for some Chinese. You didn't miss anything, though; it wasn't all that good.”

“Poor baby,” Amelia cooed. “I didn't know you had a microwave.”

“Oh, sure. We got one when we fixed up this place. How'd you like it?”

“I thought you did a pretty good job.”

“Hell, I didn't do it. The little gal Eileen did it. I just gave her the bucks and told her to go to town. It was a smart move the day Jacobsen brought her here and we hired her. Things sure are running smooth. We even got a computer with a printer. Damn fool thing scares me, but Eileen is a whiz with it.”

“What does she design?” Amelia asked airily.

“Elevators. Best one in the business according to Jacobsen. And he's the best architect in Texas.”

“Elevators are important,” Amelia said stupidly.

“Damn right. You can't do anything without elevators.” Amelia thought she could hear a giggle in the background.

“Gotta go, darling,” she said with false lightness. “One of the workmen is calling me. I'm glad you're getting hot meals for lunch these days; I do worry about you. See you tonight.”

Cary hung up the phone and grinned at Eileen. “She's something, my wife.”

“She sure is. I loved her coat.”

“She must have twenty. All different colors and lengths. She's one classy lady.”

“I could tell,” Eileen said sweetly.

“Listen, Eileen, if Sherm Alphin calls, tell him I'll be in around six-thirty and not to leave till he hears from me.”

“Mr. Assante, why don't you get a beeper? Each of you men should have one. It would make things so much simpler for you. I could have the phone company come out here and hook up a phone in the middle of the site and you guys could just call to your heart's content.”

“Do you really think we should get those things?”

“I certainly do. I can make the arrangements and have them ready for you by the middle of next week.”

“Do it,” Cary said, clamping his hard hat on his head. “It occurs to me that you're doing the work of a secretary instead of what you're supposed to be doing.”