By the time he returned downstairs, she was waiting for him at the foot of the staircase.
She held his sheepskin coat for him as he slid his arms into the sleeves.
"What time will you be home this evening?" she asked as she patted the fleece collar into place.
"About five."
"Is dinner at six okay?"
"That's fine."
Reaching inside his coat, she slipped a white envelope into the breast pocket of his shirt.
Leaving her hand lying against his chest, she came up on tiptoe and quickly kissed his lips.
"See you then."
He bobbed his head once, abruptly. "Yeah, see you then." He rushed toward the door as though the house were on fire.
Because she never went to the office this early in the day, Marcie sank down onto the hearth, took the poker in hand, and dejectedly stirred the live coals beneath the cold ashes. After she carefully fed them kindling, they ignited.
Watching the new flames devour the logs,
Marcie wished she could ignite her husband's passion as quickly and easily. Right now it seemed hopeless, but if there was a way, she was determined to find it. She had overcome the—mostly unintentional—cruelties of her childhood peers. Successfully, she had earned the respect of her colleagues and amassed a fortune. She was no longer looked upon as merely Goosey Johns.
All her other goals, however, paled in comparison to making Chase love her. The money she had bartered with was insignificant. She had gambled much more—her pride, her womanhood, her future happiness. With that much at stake she simply had to make it work.
Chase tapped the white envelope against his opposite palm several times before working his finger beneath the flap and opening it. The check was written on her personal account, made out to him personally. She'd had
the sensitivity not to make it directly to the bank, thereby sparing his pride. Leave it to her to handle the transaction in a face-saving manner. The amount of her check was generous, more than he needed. The excess would provide operating capital for several months.
With a trace of irritation he tossed the check onto the desk and moved to the window. He sightlessly stared through the cloudy glass.
He felt like a heel. He was a heel.
She hadn't uttered a single word of censure or complaint, but he knew he must have hurt her last night, emotionally for sure, and perhaps even physically.
Unaware of it, she had grimaced slightly when she sat down on the barstool. He had left her tender if not in pain; that made him feel like a brute. It had been on the tip of his tongue to express his concern over her discomfort, but he hadn't wanted to broach the subject of their wedding night. Not in any context.
Because if they talked about her physical pain, they might touch upon her emotional battering, and that would have been too difficult for him to handle. He could promise never to hurt her again physically. But emotionally?
It had been readily apparent that she expected them to spend the day together at home.
She had said she planned to go to her office, but since when did she wear silk lounging pajamas and ballet slippers to the office?
He couldn't spend the day alone with her and stay away from the bedroom. No way in hell. So, like a gutless coward, he had left her feeling badly about herself, little knowing that he had run not because last night had been so bad, but because it had been so damn good.
Yeah, Marcie probably thought he'd left her bed last night because he'd been repulsed, when, in fact, the opposite was true.
Shoving his hand through his hair, he cursed.
Up to last night he hadn't felt guilty about this marriage. Now he felt guilty as hell. Guilt had made his stomach queasy. Guilt was eating at his entrails like an insidious bacteria.
"Face it," he hissed to himself, "last night you didn't want to leave her bed." That's why he hadn't trusted himself to stay. She'd been so tight, so… God, help him. He had wanted to make love to her a second time. A third.
That hadn't happened to him since Tanya.
He pressed his forehead against the cold pane of window glass and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to remember how Marcie had looked wearing nothing except the golden, wavering glow of candlelight.
Porcelain and fire.
Inside his jeans he grew stiff, thinking of her impudent nipples. He had wanted to test them against the tip of his tongue, suck them into his mouth, tug…
He was so lost in the fantasy, he hadn't seen Lucky's Mustang as it rounded the bend in the road and pulled to a halt outside. Chase jumped when his brother bounded in, shedding his jacket before he was fully inside.
Lucky stared at him stupidly. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here."
"Don't play dumb. What are you doing here today? Where's your bride?"
"Probably at her office by now."
"Kind of a short honeymoon, wasn't it?"
Chase frowned at him in a way that he hoped would quell his curiosity. Lucky, however, had never been daunted by his brother's intimidating frowns. "How'd it go?"
"What?"
"Have you gone dense?" Lucky cried impatiently, resting his hands on his hips. "Last night. How was it?"
"Do you expect a blow-by-blow account?"
Lucky's face broke into a wide grin. "Is that particular choice of words significant?"
"None of your damn business."
Lucky barked a laugh, drawing his own conclusions.
The check on the desk caught his eye. He picked it up, read the amount, whistled.
"Well, you must have done something the lady liked. And done it real good."
"That's not funny." Chase snatched the check from his brother's hand. "Keep your filthy mind off my wife and out of my personal business."
Still chuckling, Lucky went to the hot plate and poured himself a cup of the coffee Chase had brewed.
"Careful, big brother. I'm beginning to think all those rationalizations you piled up for marrying Marcie were just so much crap."
"Go to hell." Chase rounded the desk and sat down. "If you're done with being cute and cocky, read that."
He had previously circled an article in the business section of the morning newspaper.
When Lucky had finished reading it, Chase asked, "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Lucky said, his brows steepling. "They're from out of state. They don't know us."
"They don't know any locals. That's why they're soliciting bids for drilling equipment and know-how."
"It says they're operating on a shoestring budget."
"A shoestring is better than nothing. Thanks to Marcie's, uh, loan, we can come in with a low bid. We might not clear much, but it would be something."
For the first time in two years, Chase felt a rising excitement about his work. There was a glimmer of optimism on the horizon. A contract, any contract, would do his tottering ego a world of good.
Apparently his excitement was contagious.
Lucky grinned. "Hell, why not? We've got nothing better to do. Let's go for it."
IO
Eager to discuss the business prospect with Marcie as soon as he got home, Chase rushed through the front door at five to five, loudly calling out her name.
"Oh, there you are," he said when he spotted her standing near the hall table. He hooked his jacket on the coat tree.
"Guess what? Today I was reading about these—" Getting his first good look at her face, he drew up short. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Looking stricken, she turned away abruptly. "You sound enthusiastic about something. Come into the kitchen and tell me about it."
At first he was mystified by her strange behavior. Then he noticed the telephone on the table. The receiver was off the hook. "Did you get another call?" She ignored his question, so, as he repeated it, he caught her by the upper arm and pulled her around to face him. "Did he call again?" Swallowing visibly, she nodded yes. "What did he say?"
Lowering her eyes to the open collar of his shirt, she shrugged. "More of the same. Nasty propositions.
Lewd scenarios."
"Why didn't you just hang up?"
"Because I thought if I listened, I might be able to place his voice among the men I know."
"Did you?"
"No."
"That's not all, is it?" He tipped his head down until he could read her eyes. "Come on, Marcie. What else?"
"He… he said that my being married won't make any difference. He plans to keep calling."
"You told him that you got married?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course not. He already knew."
"Christ." Chase realized now why this particular call had upset her so much. "That means the guy is keeping mighty close tabs on you. He knows what you do and when."
"It doesn't mean anything of the sort. It only means he reads the newspaper. Our wedding announcement was in this morning's issue."
She gave him a faltering smile. "Now,
let's not let him spoil the rest of our evening.
I'll fix you a drink and you can tell me your news."
He followed her into the kitchen. "I'm going to call Pat and have him put a tap on our line."
"I'd rather you wouldn't, Chase."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want all our telephone conversations to be overheard. Clients often talk to me about their personal business and financial affairs. That's privileged information intended for my ears only.
Sooner or later, the caller is bound to get discouraged and stop calling."
"In the meantime he scares you spitless every time he calls."
"I'm not scared. Just annoyed."
"Marcie, I saw your face. I know the difference between fright and annoyance. You were scared."
Acting on instinct, he pulled her into his arms. Once again he was impressed by how fragile she felt within his embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head while his arms slid around her waist and linked at the small of her back.
"I hate to think of some sicko creep jacking off while he's whispering dirty words to you."
A shudder rippled through her. She turned her head so that her cheek was lying against his chest. Raising her hands, she lightly rested them on either side of his waist. "I appreciate your concern."
They stayed that way for several moments.
Holding her began to feel so good that Chase warred with himself over whether or not to sweep her into his arms and carry her up to bed.
She needed comforting. Wasn't that the least a husband could do for his wife, comfort her when she needed to feel safe and protected?
The only thing that stopped him was the niggling suspicion that providing comfort might not be his only motivation for wanting to take her to bed. He seriously doubted that once they were lying down they would stay dressed for long or that his caresses would remain entirely noble.
Thankfully Marcie relieved him of having to make the choice. She eased away from him, but left her hands at his waist. She tentatively flexed them, then relaxed them, repositioned them, flexed again.
"Your bandage is gone."
"I went to the doctor today. He stripped off the tape, examined me, and pronounced me well."
"Did it hurt?"
"It didn't feel good. But it didn't hurt as bad as it would have if they hadn't shaved me before they wrapped me."
She winced. "Ouch! I can imagine."
"Oh, yeah?" he asked teasingly. "I didn't notice any chest hair on you last night."
At the inadvertent reminder Chase lowered his gaze to her breasts. She was wearing a thick sweater, but his memory penetrated her clothing like X-ray vision.
In vivid color he envisioned the milky mounds of her breasts and their delicate pink centers, that shallow groove that bisected her rib cage into perfect halves, the smooth slope of her belly, and that beguiling, downy delta between her thighs.
He turned his groan into a loud, unnatural-sounding cough. Marcie moved to the bar and mixed them each a drink. Handing him a whiskey and water, she said, "You seemed excited when you came in. Sit down and tell me what's up."
He doubted she really wanted to know. Or maybe she already did. They had been standing very close.
How could she not have felt his arousal pressing against her middle?
He observed her as she went about preparing dinner. Her cheeks looked abnormally rosy, but that might have been caused by the simmering pans on the cooktop. Steam was rising from one of them, causing the tendrils of hair on either side of her face to curl.
Willfully tamping down his misplaced desire,
Chase told her about the prospect they had for a drilling contract. "Lucky and I spent all day working up a proposal. We submitted what we think is a rock-bottom bid. All we can do now is wait."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed." She drained the boiling pasta in a colander in the sink.
"Sell any houses today?"
"They don't sell just like that, you know." she said over her shoulder.
"Show any?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Unfortunately?"
"I've been working with this couple for months. The Harrisons. They still haven't made a decision. About the only thing they agree on is their penchant to argue. I doubt I'll ever get them to sign a contract on a house. Oh, and I talked with Sage. She called to say good-bye before she left for Austin."
"Good riddance."