Caress Part One (Arcadia) (8 page)

“Come on,” Caroline said, “I’ll show you.”

Downstairs, we stopped just beyond the etched glass doors of
the Arcadia. George didn’t work weekends but the doorman on duty gave us a
friendly smile.

I returned it before focusing my attention on Caroline. She
was studying the street with a distant look in her eyes, as though she could
see beneath the present to the lingering layers of another time.

Softly, she said, “Imagine that it’s just after ten p.m. on
an evening in late September, 1957. The air is cool, a little damp, there’s a
hint of rain but that will blow over soon and the night will be clear. The
doorman offers to get a cab for Senator John Prentice who is leaving, but the
senator declines. Instead, he sets off on foot, heading south down Central Park
West. His destination presumably is the Plaza Hotel, a short distance away
where he keeps a suite of rooms and where, officially at least, he stays during
his frequent visits to New York.”

As she spoke, we began walking in the same direction.
Retracing the path taken by the handsome young war hero turned presidential
aspirant more than sixty years before, I was struck by how little what he would
have seen had changed. The cars were different and so were the clothes of the
people we passed. But many of the buildings were the same, as was the inviting
presence of Central Park to our left, little altered since its creation more
than a hundred and fifty years ago.

We were a few blocks from the Arcadia when Caroline said,
“Right about here, a passing cabbie sees a man who he will later tell police
matches the Senator’s description. Aside from the killer himself, that driver
is believed to be the last person to have seen Prentice alive.”

We continued walking a little farther until she stopped
again. “His body was found the next morning right there.”

I looked where she was pointing. A narrow alley ran between
two residential buildings. To call it nondescript was only to hint at its
ordinariness. All over the city, there were similar passages, convenient for
removing garbage and other mundane tasks. Nothing about it hinted that a life
had ended there.

“The body was lying about thirty feet in from the street,”
Caroline said. “Prentice had been shot once, in the abdomen. A .35 caliber
bullet was recovered but the murder weapon itself was never found.”

“What did the police think had happened?” I asked, unable to
take my eyes from the scene of a profound human trauma that might have changed
the course of history, preventing as it did the presidency of a man who seemed
destined for that office. It had certainly altered Margo’s life beyond all
recognition.

Sex and death. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, life
revolved around both. I lived with the reality of death--my father’s and some of
his victims. Mere hours before I’d finally had to accept the power of sexual
desire.

As for where love came into all that… I jerked away from
that thought as I would from a burning hot surface.

 “Officially,” Caroline said, “after a very long and intensive
investigation, the conclusion was that the senator died in the course of a
mugging carried out by a person or persons unknown.”

 “Officially? That doesn’t sound like you believe it.”

She shrugged. “If the senator was shot on the street, there
should have been a blood trail left from the body being dragged into the alley.
The police looked but they didn’t find one. That means that Prentice walked
into the alley under his own power. Why? Even if he suddenly decided that he
needed to take a leak, why go thirty feet into a dark alley? Especially when
there were all those convenient bushes right across the street in the park.”

“All right…what else doesn’t fit?”

“Prentice was wearing an expensive watch and cufflinks. In
that age before credit cards, he had a wallet stuffed with cash. None of that
was taken.”

“None of it?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

Caroline shook her head. “Some mugging, right? The cops said
that the mugger or muggers must have gotten scared off. But there were plenty
of people who didn’t buy that. They speculated that Prentice was the target of
a hit man. He’d made no secret that he was planning to use his chairmanship of
a Senate committee to go after the heads of organized crime.”

“What do you think?” I asked as we started back toward the
Arcadia. Her answer surprised me.

“About the idea that it was a hit?” She shrugged. “No way. A
pro would have finished him off with a head shot to be sure that the job was
done. I think the most curious detail is that Prentice left Margo Stark’s
apartment at 10 p.m. When the doorman told the detectives that, they didn’t
believe him at first.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because even in the 1950s, it was assumed that the Senator
and Margo were having an affair. That being the case, why would he have left
her place at 10 p.m.? Why not stay over and just slip away discretely in the
morning? When he was pressed about it, the doorman admitted that Prentice
usually did exactly that.”

 “That would explain the master bedroom…sort of.”

Caroline frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s very masculine in design even though Margo clearly
slept in there. Her clothes are in one of the connected dressing rooms. But it
wasn’t decorated even with a couple in mind, more like just for a man.”

“Prentice did have a reputation for being a real alpha type,
always in charge,” Caroline said. “At any rate, my personal theory is that
something happened that night that caused him to alter his usual pattern and
leave when he did. Maybe he and Margo had a fight or he could have just
suddenly gotten a phone call. Whatever the case, if someone could discover why
he walked out of the Arcadia when he did, one of the city’s most mysterious
murders might finally be solved.”

“You think the answer could be in the apartment?” I asked.

“Maybe. After the funeral, Margo wasn’t seen in public at
all. Word was that she was prostrate with grief. Finally, a few months after
Prentice’s death, shortly before Christmas, 1957, she walked out of the Arcadia
for the last time. One lone member of the paparazzi, or whatever they were
called back then, was still keeping watch across the street from the building.
He actually got a photograph of her just as she left. You can see it on-line.”

Caroline fell silent for a moment. I suspected she was
picturing that photograph in her mind, trying to understand what it meant.
Finally, she sighed and said, “She was an amazing woman who had built a great
life for herself but she abandoned everything--the apartment, her career, the
world. In a sense, she might as well have died, too.”

 “You don’t believe that she was overwhelmed by the loss of
the man who may have been the love of her life?”

“You tell me,” Caroline said. “You’re living in her home,
looking through her belongings, and I can see that you’ve gotten interested in
her. So do you think that she was the kind of woman who would retreat from life
the way she supposedly did?”

I hesitated. My mind kept going back to the pictures on the
gallery wall--the smiling, warm, confident woman who had conquered Hollywood
and seemingly the world. But I thought also of master bedroom, so unrelentingly
masculine with no allowance made for the fact that it was also occupied by a
woman.

Why had Margo left it like that after Prentice’s death? Why
had she moved out of the apartment but never allowed anyone else to live in it?

Slowly, I said, “It really is a mystery.”

Caroline grinned. “Lucas is going to be so pissed.”

A shiver ran through me. After protecting myself from
people’s negative emotions for so long, I was dismayed by how viscerally I
reacted to the thought of him being upset or angry with me.

“Why would you say that?” I asked as casually as I could
manage.

“Because he hates this little hobby of mine. He’s convinced
it’s going to get me in trouble someday. When he finds out that I’ve turned you
on to it--”

She broke off suddenly as we approached the entrance to the
Arcadia. A man was getting out of a cab.

Before my mind registered the tall, hard body in the
perfectly tailored business suit, the flash of dark brown hair glinting in the
sun, and the sudden razor-focus of the gaze the settled on me, I knew who it
was.

“Speak of the Devil,” Caroline said.

Emma and I rode up in the elevator alone. I’d invited my
sister to come upstairs and have a little chat about why she was there. She’d
demurred, claiming that she had somewhere else to be. The shit-eating grin on
her face told me that it was more a case of ‘mission accomplished’.

She’d gotten what she’d come for--not just a look in the
apartment but quite possibly an ally as well. If she’d roped Emma into trying
to solve the Prentice murder instead of keeping her focus where it belonged--

Where was that exactly?

The darkest, most primal part of my mind had no doubt about
the answer. On me and nowhere else.

I’d lit out for the office before it was barely dawn because
I didn’t trust myself to be around Emma. She was too damn innocent--maybe. I
was too damn attracted to her--for certain. Bottom line, I needed to put some
distance between us.

That lasted just long enough for me to touch base with
several contacts in Europe and the Middle East. As much as I tried to focus on
those conversations, my thoughts kept straying to the exquisite, passionate
woman I’d held in my arms all too briefly the night before. Finally, I faced
the obvious. It was time to man up and talk to her.

Except, standing in the damned elevator, it wasn’t talking
that I was interested in.

I wanted to put her back against the wall, push my leg
between her sweet thighs, take her mouth, and make her moan with the same kind
of hot, unbearable need that I was suffering.

And then I’d--

I jerked back from a fuck fantasy so hot it had me hard as
rock. What the hell? The dreams weren’t bad enough at night? They had to take
over my day, too?

Given the differences in our lives, I should have had most
of the power in any relationship between us. Instead, I felt as though I had
next to none. That was new and unsettling, especially since it made me wonder
about the life I’d been leading up until now. I’d told myself that it was all I
wanted. Hell, what guy wouldn’t? Business success and no lack of female
companionship.

No doubt about it, I’d been sitting pretty until a certain
blonde hurtled into my life, reminding me that raw, hot passion could go along
with actually liking a person, even admiring her. What the hell was I supposed
to make of that?

“We’re here,” Emma said softly.

The elevator had stopped. She’d stepped out into the
mirrored foyer and was waiting for me to do the same.

Suave guy that I was, as I unlocked the apartment doors, I
mumbled, “I’ll be in the library. I’ve still got some work to get through this
afternoon.”

There were always less-than-pleasant tasks to take care of
in my business: Developers who thought they could pass off shoddy building
materials on a demanding clientele, some of whom weren’t above used firing
squads as a means of personal expression.

A wannabe rival who imagined he could engage in a little
poaching via deliveries of hookers and dope.

An owner who through some unfathomable combination of
arrogance and stupidity was trying to swing a private deal under the table.

I was suddenly in the mood to tackle them all.

I’d rattle a few cages, make a few palms sweat. That would
calm me down.

“Oh--” Emma said. I stared at her mouth as it formed that O.
God forgive me, all I could think of was the truly sinful things I could be
doing with it.

“In that case,” she continued, “if it’s all right with you,
I’d like to start inventorying Margo’s wardrobe.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want.”

I headed for the library, shucking off my jacket as I went.
It felt too tight. All my clothes did. Tossing the jacket on a chair near the
library windows, I loosened my tie and undid the top buttons of my shirt. That
helped but not much.

If I’d had any sense at all, I’d have gone to the gym
instead of coming back to the apartment. At least there, I would have had a
chance to wear myself out enough to maybe, just maybe, get some rest in the
coming night.

But no, I had to go ‘home’ instead. That was the real
kicker. The apartment wasn’t ‘home’, not remotely. It was just a property that
I was going to sell and make a fat commission on. But in the past week, having
breakfast with Emma every morning on the terrace, thinking about her being
there during the day, wondering what she was doing, it had come to mean more.

Or she had.

I made the calls but somehow they didn’t have the results
I’d expected. The problems went away readily enough, replaced by a flurry of
assurances that nobody wanted any trouble, it was all just a misunderstanding,
and we were best buddies forever.

That was fine as far as it went but I left no doubt about
what would happen if there was any backsliding. I was a nice guy…until I
wasn’t.

But when it was done, I remained tense, coiled inside, and
to my disgust, still semi-hard, all courtesy of Miss Emma Whittaker.
Apparently, I couldn’t stop lusting after her even when I was supposed to be
taking care of business.

With a snarl, I threw down the Mt. Blanc pen that I’d been
trying to snap in two, stood, and crossed the length of the library, wrenching
open the door before I could think better of it.

I’d just talk to her, that was all. After the scene on the
couch, there was no question that we were powerfully drawn to each other. But
she obviously had some pretty serious doubts about acting on that desire or she
wouldn’t have fled the way she did.

Was she merely being sensible--something I should maybe give
some thought to trying? Or did she just not know how to deal with her own
feelings?

And if she was as innocent as I feared, what the fuck was I
going to do?

Walk away, the better part of me said. Hell, run.

At the thought of doing so, something dark and deep stirred
far down in my limbic system. I remembered how she’d felt struggling against me
in the pantry, how she’d looked after I’d bound her wrists, what she tasted
like when I plunged my tongue into her.

Outside the master bedroom, I forced myself to stop and take
a breath. Letting it out slowly, I told myself that I was fine. I had it all
under control. It wasn’t like I was really some grunting caveman with his cock
in one hand and a club in the other.

This was the 21st century, thank god. Plumbing, the
internet, sports bars, no-strings sex. I’d never had any trouble accepting
women as complete equals in every way. If I had ever been that stupid, my
mother and sister would have long since set me straight, painfully.

Emma and I would talk. If that went okay, we could get some
lunch. Had she had anything to eat today?

The coffee and power bar that I’d grabbed at the office were
a distant memory. Maybe that was my problem. I just needed to eat something.
Food…not the sweetest pussy I’d ever encountered. A sandwich.

Not wanting to startle her, I knocked on the bedroom door.
When she didn’t answer, a dozen possibilities ricocheted around in my head, all
of them bad.

She’d left. She’d thought things over and was so mad that
she didn’t want to speak to me. She’d taken one look at the bed and somehow
known that I’d been having sex dreams about her.

By the time I got back to worrying that she’d left, I had
the door open and was half-way into the room.

I stopped, frozen in place.

A vision stood in front of me. A goddess in scarlet silk,
golden hair falling over smooth, bare shoulders, breasts swelling above a
low-cut neckline, the fabric clinging to the curve of her waist and hips, down
the seemingly endless length of her glorious legs.

She looked like she belonged in a ballroom or on a throne.
Draped in diamonds or better yet, nothing at all.

Big blue eyes opened wide in surprise. “Oh!” she gasped.

Oh indeed. Damn, did she have no idea of what she unleashed
in me?

“What--?” I didn’t get any further. My chest was tight, my
heart beating hard and fast, my whole body on fire from the inside. As for my
cock--

“I’m so sorry,” Emma blurted. She gestured at the dress. “I
just thought that I’d try it on for a moment and there wouldn’t be any harm
done. But I never should have. It’s totally unprofessional and--”

I barely heard her. All I could think of was that I had
never felt like this in my life. It wasn’t just how she looked, utterly
enticing though that was. It was who she was.

I felt sorry about what life had handed her but I sure as
hell didn’t pity her. She had more courage and grace in her little finger than
most people I knew could ever hope to possess.

And she was so fucking lovely.

 “You look--” I closed the distance between us without a
thought in my head except the overwhelming need to touch her.

She stood her ground, didn’t back up an inch. On the
contrary, her chin lifted and she looked straight at me. As I watched, heat
shimmering through me, her gaze drifted down my body, lingering at my crotch
before returning to meet mine unflinchingly.

Oh, fuck.

As in I was so.

In a heartbeat, my hands cupped her face, my thumbs brushing
over the softness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips, the curve of her
chin. I wanted to go slow but damned if the fire raging in me wasn’t making
that impossible.

“Emma--”

That was it, just her name, I couldn’t manage anything more.
She couldn’t be real yet she was. A vision, a woman, a survivor and a fighter.
I wanted to give her everything and take the same in turn.

I dragged in air, unable to tear my gaze from her. “You are
so beautiful--”

“Lucas--”

My name on her lips, that breath of sound, coupled with the
look in her eyes, that was all it took to unravel me.

I was on her in an instant, my mouth on hers, hot,
devouring, giving no quarter. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything
in my life. More than air or hope or purpose. I was ravenous to sate myself in
her.

Her hands tangled in my hair, a moan rising on her lips. She
sucked my tongue into her mouth, played with it with her own, bit me lightly,
and generally made the top of my skull feel as though it was about to rocket
off.

If that weren’t enough, the gown slipped, revealing the
crest of her hardened nipples with small, tight aureoles blushing pink.

I groaned. The full expanse of her back was exposed to my
questing fingers. Her skin was soft, smooth, warm, enticing beyond bearing. I
wanted, needed, had to have more.

With a tug, I eased the scarlet silk down to her waist and
beyond. Her breasts fell gloriously free, full and ripe, begging for my hands
and mouth. I gave her both, sucking her hard, lost in the fury of sensation she
evoked.

The pool of scarlet slipped to her feet. She was left
wearing nothing but a scrap of white lace panties.

The bed was only a few steps away. I could see her lying
there, her eyes huge and luminous as I tugged those panties off, kissing and
licking my way up each beautiful leg from the arch of her foot to her taut
inner thighs, and then I’d--

Instead, I ran my hands down her back to the sweet curve of
her ass. Easing her against my groin, I trailed my lips down her throat. The
taste and scent of her was dizzying. I had to close my eyes for a moment at the
force of the tremor that vibrated through us both.

While it still resonated, I grabbed hold of the last fraying
shred of my self-control, and tongued the shell of her ear. Hoarsely, I
whispered a mingled prayer and plea.

“For the love of god, Emma, tell me that you want this!”

TO BE
CONTINUED…

Emma
and Lucas’ sizzling story continues in

CARESS:
Part Two

Coming
September 30, 2015!

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