“I missed you so much,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his still face, tracing his full lips tenderly with a forefinger. “Come back to me.”
He obeyed, bending to press his burning cheek to her belly, slipping one hand under her hips to lift her as he pulled off her briefs with the other. She closed her eyes as his fingers slid over her thigh and then between her legs. She whimpered and bit her lip, inhaling sharply as his caresses brought her to an anxious pitch of arousal. When he moved back suddenly, she clutched his arms and found them knotted and rigid with tension. It was costing him something to make love to her in this practiced, disciplined way; he wanted—or feared—to lose control as much as she did.
That knowledge gave her hope and encouragement. She remembered how he had once responded to her slightest movement and she leaned forward, sitting astride him. He was still dressed, but she felt him as if he were naked, powerful and ready between her thighs. His hands slipped down her back and cupped her buttocks, his lips compressed, his chest heaving. She bent forward and kissed his throat, moving her hand inside the waistband of his pants. She felt his abdominal muscles contract beneath her fingers, and he made a helpless, guttural sound. Seconds later he thrust her away from him almost roughly, as if afraid of revealing too much.
“Heath,” she said, clinging to him.
For one awful moment she thought he was going to shrug her off and leave. But desire won, as it always had with them. He tore off his shirt and pants, stripping so quickly that she hardly had a glimpse of him in the scant light from the foyer before he joined her. He gently pushed her back to the bed and held her arms above her head and moved over her, kissing her wildly until she was wrapping her bare legs around his hips, reaching for him and pressing against him intimately. He pushed her down and kissed her body feverishly, his awareness of his own strength diminished as he finally pinned her and pulled her legs around him.
He drove into her wildly, all control gone, making her cry out with the sensation. When he paused, thinking he had hurt her, she dug her nails into his hips and urged him onward, pressing her heels into the backs of his legs. He surged into her repeatedly, catching her up in his rhythm. His back was slick with sweat so her hands slipped along it, his hair at his nape damp and clinging to her fingers. He lowered his head and pressed his face into the soft, warm curve of her shoulder. Everything about him was beloved to her, and well remembered: the yielding softness of his mouth, the hardness of his body, the effortless sureness of his movements. Tears seeped from under Ann’s closed lids as he quickened his pace, carrying her along with him.
Heath, she thought desperately. Heath, I still love you so much. She bit her lip as she spiraled upward, moaning with him in mutual release. Then she could feel their hearts pounding together as he relaxed against her, the beat slowing as she stroked his hair and ran her fingers down the length of his spine. When he moved, she turned to embrace him, then fell back against the bed in shock as he released her abruptly and stood, walking to the bathroom without a word.
She lay still and listened to the start of the shower beyond the connecting wall, then listened again as he emerged in a cloud of steam and soap scent to dress in the dark.
It wasn’t until she heard the door click closed behind him that she really believed he was gone.
He had used her like a whore, taking his pleasure and then washing off her smell and touch. He had discarded the memory of their lovemaking, sluicing off in a rush of water and suds.
He clearly thought of them like two striped cats coupling in an alley.
Ann turned her face into the pillow and cried.
Chapter 8
Ann spent a week at the Imperial Plaza with Heath and then they moved back to his house on Lime Island. The housekeeper and her husband had returned. They were polite but distant; Heath’s marriage had been a surprise and they were taking their time to make a judgment about their new mistress.
Ann filled her days working on her book, visiting with Tim and conferring with his lawyers about his case, and planning the annual Christmas party Heath gave for his executives. In the past, his office had handled the event, but this year Heath wanted his wife to act as hostess. Ann knew that her involvement was part of his trophy-wife syndrome but she went along with it as she had gone along with everything else, considering it part of her bargain. The task kept her busy as Christmas approached and she was glad of the distraction; she didn’t feel much like celebrating the holidays this year and Heath was often gone on business. She was lonely in the big house, looking forward to his returns in spite of her misgivings about their arrangement.
At least when he was home he slept with her.
In bed, he was passionate, demanding, fulfilling, everything she could have wanted. Out of bed he treated her like a doorstop, a convenience to be noticed only when needed.
Ann wasn’t very happy.
The party was scheduled for the day before Christmas Eve, and that morning Ann oversaw the florist’s delivery, watching as the house was transformed into a holiday bower. The rooms were banked with poinsettias and a large, decorated spruce was set up in the entry hall, ready to greet the guests as they arrived. At four, the food service arrived, and Ann checked off the items with the caterer as trucks disgorged folding tables and napery and silver. The uniformed waiters would come later, along with the liquor and the glassware and the entertainment. By seven o’clock, Heath was still not home, Daniela and Victor were hard at work with the caterers, and there was nothing for Ann to do but get dressed.
The radio blared Christmas carols as Ann bathed and dressed in what she still thought of as Heath’s bedroom. Heath was generous with money if not with himself, and Ann just charged anything she wanted, discovering quickly that she didn’t want much. Heath had told her to buy an outfit for this occasion and she had settled on an evening pantsuit of blond silk, with a tunic top embroidered at the sleeve cuffs with gold sequins. It was elegant and understated, just what she wanted. She was fixing gold studs to her ears when the intercom buzzed. Ann leaned over to flick the switch and said, “What is it?”
“You have a visitor, Mrs. Bodine,” Daniela’s voice replied.
“Now? Who is it?”
“A Miss Horton.”
“Amy? For heaven’s sake, send her in!”
Seconds later Amy burst through the door, her arms loaded with gaily wrapped packages, her face split by a huge grin.
“Surprise!” she said, and threw her bundles in a colored jumble onto the bed.
Ann hugged her friend and said, “Am I glad to see you! I’m facing this shindig tonight and I could sure use an ally. But I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind. I broke up with Graham and I found myself with a free night, thought you wouldn’t mind if I just sort of turned up for the festivities.”
“How could I mind, you’re a lifesaver. You’ll be the only person at this party not connected to Heath’s business, which is reason enough to welcome you with open arms.”
“It looks like they’re cooking up quite a soiree out there. The house looks beautiful and so do you.”
“Thanks.”
“Where is Himself?”
“Not home yet.”
Amy sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned the light sweater she was wearing. “How is it going with him?”
A shadow crossed Ann’s face and she shook her head without comment.
“But you love him, don’t you?” Amy asked.
Ann looked away, then nodded.
“Any hope?”
“I doubt it. He’s just going to play this revenge game until he gets tired of me, but I think I can keep it going long enough to at least get Tim out of trouble. Heath enjoys displaying me as his wife, having me act as his hostess—Henry Talbot’s daughter on the arm of the self-made man. That’s very important to him but I’m sure the novelty of it will pale with time.”
“Then what happens to you?”