Every Move She Makes (14 page)

Ella stormed off the dance floor, leaving poor Dan to wipe the egg off his face. Had her mother really led him to believe that she was some pathetic old maid who’d never been with a man and had no hope of ever marrying someone who loved her? Did her mother think that she’d honestly be grateful that Dan was willing to offer marriage?

Within minutes, she found herself surrounded by people milling around in the park. Somewhere in the distance she heard Dan calling her name. She had to get out of this crowd, had to get away from everyone, especially Dan Gilmore. Fleeing the festivities, she didn’t pay much attention to where she was going. All that mattered was that she find a quiet spot to collect her thoughts and come to terms with the outrage she felt. Her white sandals clipped softly on the pavement as she crossed the road.

“What are you waiting for?” Heather asked.

“You think I should follow her?” All Reed needed was one word of encouragement from Ella’s best friend and he’d run after Ella.

“She’s going to need a big, strong shoulder to cry on. Why not yours?”

Reed looked pointedly at Heather. “I’m an ex-con bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Why would you trust your friend with me?”

“Did I say I trusted you?” Smiling, Heather gave him a gentle shove. “Junior Blalock deserved killing, so if you did it, you did the world a service. And I just happen to think that what Ella needs right now is a bad boy. A real bad boy. She’s had one too many gentlemen pushed on her by her mama.”

“You’re something else, Heather Marshall.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Reed kissed her cheek, then turned and rushed through the crowd. He followed Ella’s path, barely keeping up with her. A couple of times, he lost sight of her, but the minute she crossed the road, he knew where she was headed. Back to the garden. Back to the wooded area where she’d accidently come across her aunt and Briley Joe going at it like a couple of wild things.

She didn’t slow her stride until she crossed the bridge. She stopped running then and stood with her back to him, her shoulders slightly stooped, as she caught her breath. He soon realized that she had no idea he was following her. The area was empty, with not another soul in sight. Over the loudspeakers, Reed heard an announcement, the voice barely discernable from a third of a mile away. The country music had stopped and now the mournful wail of a Muddy Waters blues tune, sung by a local artist, cried out in heartfelt pain. The distinct sounds of harmonica, bass, and guitar blended together as background music for the soulful rendition of “You’re Gonna Miss Me.”

Reed sneaked up behind her. Something told him that if he announced his presence too soon, she’d bolt and run. When he was only a few feet away from her, she undoubtedly sensed his presence. She whirled around and faced him, her eyes wide with surprise, her mouth opening on an indrawn gasp.

“Are you all right?” Reed asked. “I noticed you and your boyfriend had an argument. You ran off the dance floor, so—”

“Go away. Leave me alone.” There was a stricken look in her big brown eyes, like that of a trapped animal afraid for its life.

“You don’t really want to be alone right now, do you? Wouldn’t you like somebody to give you a little tender loving care?”

“I don’t know what you think happened between Dan and me or why you’d assume I might want anything from you, but you’ve got this all wrong.”

Reed took several tentative steps toward her. She took just as many steps backward, away from him. He grinned. Suddenly, the look in her eyes changed from fear to provocation, as if she were daring him to come after her. Well, he’d always been a man who couldn’t resist a dare. He moved forward; she eased backward. He wondered if she realized that, unless she changed direction, she was backing up right into a tree. He advanced. She retreated.

“Damn it, why won’t you leave me alone?!” she screamed, the words a plea.

“You don’t really want me to leave you alone, now, do you?”

He backed her up against the tree. Her breathing quickened. Her gaze flashed right and left, seeking an escape route. There was none. He placed his hands on either side of her head, his palms resting on the tree trunk as he leaned toward her. His chest brushed her breasts. Her gaze connected with his.

“Your aunt has a taste for danger. She likes walking on the wild side. What about you, Miss Ella? Are you looking for some excitement?”

“No…no.” She trembled.

“I think you’re curious,” he said. “You’d like to know what it feels like to have a bad boy back you up against a tree and lift your skirt and—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Ella covered her ears with her hands.

Reed pressed closer, aligning their bodies. Ella was tall enough so that he didn’t have to stoop over to reach her mouth or to position his erection against her mound. And he had a stiff one all right. He was as hard as a rock and he hadn’t even touched her.

“I want to be your bad boy.” His breath mingled with hers. “I want to run my hands up under that pretty red skirt you’re wearing and cup your butt in my hands. I want to kiss you until you’re breathless and then I want to put my mouth on your breasts. I want to hear you say my name and beg me to take you. Here. Now.”

Ella swallowed hard. “I hate you!”

“Do you? You hate me for making you feel the way you do, don’t you? For making you want to act on your sexual fantasies. And don’t tell me that you haven’t been fantasizing about us making love. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

She closed her eyes and dropped her hands from her ears. “If there’s one shred of decency in you, you’ll go away and leave me alone.”

“Ah, but that’s the problem, Miss Ella.” He nuzzled her neck. She keened softly. “There’s no disgrace in admitting that you want me, that you’ve thought about our being together like this. God knows I’ve thought about it. I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”

She opened her eyes. He stared at her, wanting her as he had never wanted anything in his life. She was temptation personified. He had no right even to touch her, and yet his body told him that this woman belonged to him, that she was meant to be his. If he kissed her, if he allowed himself to touch her, to caress her, would he be able to stop? He honestly didn’t know.

His lips swooped down over hers, fast and furious, but with as much restraint as he could muster. She tried to turn her face, to end the kiss. He kept his mouth tightly on hers. She struggled, inclining right and left, then she shoved against his chest and stopped his attack. They glared at each other for an endless moment, both of them breathless and undeniably aroused.

He kissed her again. Softer. With as much gentleness as he could manage. She didn’t struggle, didn’t fight him, didn’t try to turn away from him. He teased her mouth with sweet kisses, tender nips, and moist, seductive swipes of his tongue. When she sighed with pleasure, he took advantage and dipped his tongue into her mouth. She responded to his blatant invasion, returning his kiss with equal fervor.

They both gave themselves over completely to the moment. Hot. Wild. Free. Consumed with a raging hunger. He devoured; she reciprocated. And when it wasn’t enough, when passion demanded more, Ella lifted her hands to encircle his neck. Her fingers threaded through the long hair at the nape of his neck.

He pressed his erection against the apex between her thighs, showing her that he wanted her in the most basic way a man can want a woman. She rubbed herself against him, her movements sensual and alluring. He lifted his left hand, grabbed the back of her neck, and held her head in place, securing her mouth to his. Although he didn’t think she was going anywhere, he wanted to make sure. He ached with the need to take her, to open her up and lose himself in her sweet body. He placed his right hand on her hip and caressed her through the fine cotton material of her skirt. Her body was round and full. A woman’s body. A man’s greatest temptation. He eased his hand down her thigh. His fingers ate the material, bunching it up, drawing it higher and higher, so that he was able to slide his hand beneath and stroke the smooth flesh of her outer thigh.

He lifted his mouth from hers and looked at her flushed face. She whimpered. He raked his cheek across hers, then nibbled on her earlobe. “You do like danger, don’t you, babe?”

She shuddered, alive with desire. Needing and wanting. Probably hurting in the same way he was.

He kissed her neck—quick, nibbling kisses—then covered her collarbone with the same attention. His mouth sought and found her pebble-hard nipple straining against her bra and the bodice of her sleeveless red blouse. When he encompassed the peak with his lips and sucked through the material, she flung back her head and moaned.

“Tell me you want me,” he said.

“I want you.” The words tumbled out in a breathy sigh.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Reed.” She clung to him, her mouth seeking his again. “I want you, Reed.”

He inserted two fingers beneath the leg-band of her panties. Just as he skimmed over the triangle of curls, a noise rumbled inside his head. He felt Ella tense. Laughter. The laughter of children. Dammit, not now! But the sound grew louder and mingled with voices.

“Ah, babe, someone’s coming this way.” He withdrew his hand from her panties, smoothed her skirt over her legs, and garnering all the willpower he possessed, separated his body from hers.

Ella took a deep breath. Her eyelids fluttered and her breasts rose and fell with labored breaths. She was still as aroused as he, still aching for fulfillment.

Within minutes, two women and a gang of preteen boys and girls came into view just across the bridge. Ella wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to move away from Reed. He grabbed her wrist, halting her withdrawal.

“When can I see you again? Tonight?” To his own ears he sounded as if he were pleading. Hell, maybe he was. If she wanted him down on his knees, he’d go there, if that’s what it took.

“No,” she told him, her gaze jerking to and fro, checking to see if they had been noticed.

“When?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled free.

“You don’t want things to end like this. I know you don’t. Sooner or later, we’re going to finish what we started here today.”

“No.” She shook her head. “We can’t.”

Ella hurried away from Reed, leaving him there in the Sarah Rogers Garden all alone, with the hard-on from hell.

“I do wish you could get away for a few days and come with us,” Webb said as he spread orange marmalade on his toast. “This will be the first time you haven’t gone to the beach with us. It won’t be the same without you.”

“You know Ella can’t just up and leave,” Carolyn said. “Not now that she’s a judge. We’ve offered to postpone our annual trip this summer and she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving her here in Spring Creek. Not with Reed Conway out of prison. There’s no way to know what that man might do. I think we should change our plans, postpone our trip and stay here.”

Ella set her china cup on the saucer. This morning was a rare occasion. Seldom did her mother come to the table for breakfast. Customarily, Viola served breakfast to Carolyn in bed. But this morning was special—the first day of her family’s annual Gulf Shores vacation. Her family owned a house right on the beach.

“I’d think you two would be looking forward to some time alone together. You could make this a very romantic vacation.”

“She’s right, you know.” Carolyn reached for Webb’s hand. “It’s been ages since the two of us had any time alone.”

He caught Carolyn’s hand in his, but glanced at Ella. “With the Halls and Donnells spending a week at the beach the same time we are, I doubt we’ll have much time to ourselves. You know how Kit Hall and Pattie Donnell love to monopolize your mother’s time.”

“And if I know Jim Donnell and Trey Hall, they’ll have you off deep-sea fishing by the second day we’re there.” Carolyn glanced meaningfully at Ella. “Pattie Donnell is bringing her two grandchildren with her. Jim Jr.’s two little girls. If you’d just give Dan some encouragement, I could have a grandchild one day soon.”

“Mother, please, I don’t want to discuss Dan. Not again. I’ve told you and Daddy that Dan and I have agreed to end things. We’re having a farewell lunch today.”

“For the life of me, I don’t understand you, Eleanor. Fine young men like Dan don’t come along every day of the week.” Carolyn munched on a bite of toast. “It could be ages before someone half as suitable shows an interest in you.”

“Carolyn, really,” Webb said. “Ella’s a fantastic catch for some lucky man. And I dare say that we’ll never think anyone is quite good enough for her, but if she doesn’t love Dan, then—”

“She could learn to love him.” Carolyn glared at her husband.

“I would think you’d want more than that for her. I certainly do.”

Ella let out a long, low whistle. Her parents turned their heads and stared at her. “Hey, I’m sitting right here. Don’t talk to each other as if I’m not.”

“Sorry, honey,” Webb said.

“Will you two stop worrying? I’m fine. I’m a big girl who can take care of herself and make all her own decisions. So, what I want is for my mother and father to go to their beach house and spend a relaxing week together. A romantic week.”

Before either Webb or Carolyn could reply, Bessie entered the breakfast room with a long, white florist’s box in her hands. She cleared her throat.

“I found this lying on the back doorstep,” Bessie said. “There’s a card attached with Miss Ella’s name on it.”

“My, my, flowers on a Friday morning. Someone is obviously trying to patch things up.” Carolyn eyed the box curiously.

“I don’t understand why the florist didn’t ring the doorbell and deliver them to the front door,” Webb said.

“What do you want me to do with ’em?” Bessie asked.

“Give them to Miss Ella, of course.” Carolyn sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward, an expression of exasperation over the hired help’s lack of astuteness.

Bessie had been with the Porter house for four years now, ever since her aunt, Maisie Clark, retired at the age of seventy, and still she lacked the proper attitude for a servant. “Maisie knew her place,” Ella had heard her mother say more than once. “But Bessie is much too fresh. She acts as if she thinks she’s our equal.” And it was a real bone of contention between Carolyn and Bessie that Bessie refused to live in as her aunt had done.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bessie dumped the box on the table in front of Ella, right beside her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

The moment the housekeeper disappeared into the kitchen, Carolyn said, “Webb, we simply must find someone to replace that woman. She’s totally unsuited to being a servant.”

“Now, we’ve been through this before,” Webb said. “Bessie is good at her job. She keeps this house spotless and she runs things like a well-oiled machine. She’s a good cook, too. Almost as good as Maisie was. Just because she doesn’t bow and scrape enough to suit you doesn’t mean we need to replace her.”

“She doesn’t bow and scrape at all.” Carolyn huffed.

Ella untied the red ribbon from around the white box, laid the ribbon on the table, and lifted the lid. “How beautiful.” Red roses. Not her favorite, but beautiful all the same.

“That’s odd. There isn’t a florist label on the box,” Ella said. “Our three local florists usually attach an identification sticker when they deliver flowers.”

“Check for a card,” Carolyn said. “The florist label may be on the card. I’m sure Dan used The Flower Box.”

Yes, Ella thought. Of course Dan would use only The Flower Box, since it was the florist everyone in their social circle used. She wished Dan hadn’t sent flowers. If he’d thought roses would soften her heart and make her more inclined to give their relationship a second chance, then he was wrong. He shouldn’t have wasted his money.

What if they’re not from Dan?

Ella’s heartbeat accelerated. When she lifted the card from the box top, her hand trembled. Reed wouldn’t send her flowers, would he? He didn’t seem to be the romantic type. If they were from Reed, how would she ever explain to her parents? She could hardly say, “I almost made love with Reed in the woods at the park yesterday.” She’d gotten very little sleep last night. Actually, she had been afraid to fall asleep, afraid she’d dream of Reed.

Dear God, what had she been thinking yesterday to have allowed things to get so out of hand? That was just the problem—she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been feeling. The emotions Reed aroused in her were unlike anything she’d ever known. A hunger so great that she would have risked discovery, right there in the Sarah Rogers Garden. She would have let Reed make love to her in the same way his cousin had made love to her aunt Cybil. But that kind of mating wasn’t lovemaking. It was nothing more than screwing to release sexual tension.

“Aren’t you going to read the card?” Carolyn asked.

“Huh? Oh, yes, of course.” The small envelope in which the card was encased had her name typed on it. But there was no florist’s label. She lifted the card out of the envelope and began to read aloud.

“What the hell kind of message is that?” Webb shoved back his chair, stood, and rounded the table. He grabbed the card out of Ella’s hand. “The damn thing is typed.”

“I don’t understand,” Carolyn said. “Why would Dan—”

“Hell, woman, don’t be dense,” Webb roared. “Dan Gilmore didn’t send these.”

Ella’s hand hovered over the lovely flowers. A dozen perfect long-stemmed roses. Suddenly something slithered over the roses, weaving in and out around the stems. Ella gasped. What on earth?

“Daddy, I—I think there’s something in this box.” Her pulse drummed maddingly inside her head.

Webb grabbed the box away from her and dumped the contents onto the breakfast room floor. The roses fell apart, scattering across the hardwood surface. A green snake wriggled about at Webb’s feet.

Carolyn screamed. Ella jumped out of her chair.

“God damn it!” Webb eyed the scaly creature, then reached down and picked it up.

“Webb, be careful!” Carolyn cried.

“It’s nothing but a harmless garden snake,” he explained, then left the room, carrying the squirming serpent with him.

“This is Reed Conway’s doing,” Carolyn said. “I was afraid he wouldn’t stop with letters and phone calls.”

Ella whirled around and stared at her mother. “How did you find out about the letters and…Daddy and I didn’t want you to know. Who told you?”

Carolyn glanced into her lap, averting direct eye contact.

“Viola somehow found out and told you, didn’t she,” Ella said. “She knew we didn’t want you to worry.”

Carolyn held out her hand beseechingly. “You mustn’t be angry with Viola. You know I depend on her to keep me abreast of everything. She’s been my most loyal confidante all these years. She understood that I had a right to know my daughter was being threatened.”

“No one has actually threatened me. Harassed me, yes. Threatened me, no.”

“What do you call sending someone a snake?” Carolyn glanced toward the closed door leading into the kitchen. “There’s simply no way that Webb and I can go off to the Gulf and leave you here alone.”

“No, Mother, y’all are not staying here. You look forward to this trip every year. I will not let you cancel your plans because of a stupid garden snake.”

“A garden snake this time,” Carolyn said. “But what about next time. He said this time, no harm. Next time—be prepared.”

“This could have been someone’s idea of a sick joke,” Ella said. “It may have nothing to do with the letters and phone calls.”

Webb stomped into the room. “I thought we’d agreed not to tell your mother about—”

“She didn’t tell me,” Carolyn explained. “I already knew.”

“Viola.” Webb groaned.

“We can’t go to the Gulf now, Webb.”

“I agree.”

“No!” Ella flung out her arms, the palms of her hands open, in a gesture of exasperation. “Letters, phone calls, and a harmless garden snake aren’t going to hurt me. I refuse to allow the person who is harassing me to scare me.”

“The person who is harassing you?” Carolyn inquired. “You can’t mean you think it’s anyone other than Reed Conway.”

“I don’t know who it is, but we have no proof that it’s Reed.” Ella didn’t dare say more, couldn’t defend Reed and risk her parents’ displeasure.
Displeasure? Get real, Ella. Outrage would be more like it
.

“He went a little too far with the prank he pulled today,” Webb said. “Frank Nelson should be able to track down the florist those”—Webb eyed the flowers in the floor—“roses came from and find out if they have a record of who purchased them.”

“Unless they’re stolen,” Carolyn said.

“What?” Webb and Ella piped in unison.

“Reed Conway killed a man. You don’t honestly think that stealing flowers would be beneath him, do you?”

“I’m calling Frank,” Webb said.

Ella laced her arm through her father’s. “The flowers were probably purchased at Food Express or another grocery store. If that’s the case, there won’t be any record of who purchased them. So, go ahead and call Frank, but after you do that, put this problem in his hands. I insist that you and mother get in the car this morning and head for the Gulf as planned. I’ll be perfectly all right here for a week without y’all. Aunt Cybil and Uncle Jeff Henry are right next door, and if I get lonely I’ll spend a few nights with Heather.”

Carolyn frowned. “Oh, dear. I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I shudder to think what might happen while we’re gone.”

“Nothing is going to happen. And if by some chance it does, I’ll contact Frank immediately.” Ella knew what this week at their family’s cottage meant to her mother. Over the years, it had become an annual ritual.

“Maybe I’ll pay Reed Conway a visit before we leave,” Webb said.

“No, Daddy, don’t do that. You’ll lose your temper and there’s no telling what might happen. You and Reed might come to blows. You don’t want to go on vacation with a black eye, do you?”

“Someone needs to warn that man again.” Webb clenched his hands into fists.

“If Reed needs warning again, let Frank do it. After all, it’s his job.” Ella patted her father’s forearm. “Besides, how many times can Reed be given a warning when there’s no proof that he’s behind the harassment.”

“We’ll get the proof,” Webb said. “And when we do, Reed will be heading straight back to prison.”

“That’s exactly where he belongs,” Carolyn said.

Was Reed the person harassing her? Ella asked herself. She didn’t believe he was. But what if she was wrong? What if he’d sent the letters, made the phone calls, left the flowers? What if pursuing her was part of his plan for vengeance?

She wouldn’t see him again, wouldn’t allow herself to be alone with him. He might excite her in a way no other man ever had, but he also frightened her in the same inexplicable way. No doubt about it—Reed was a dangerous man. Any smart woman would stay the hell away from him.

Cybil looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and groaned. Despite the face-lift she’d had three years ago when she turned forty-five, old age was catching up with her. Every day she noticed a new wrinkle, fine lines creeping up her neck and at the edges of her eyes. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair. If not for the monthly visit to her beautician, her black hair would be streaked with gray.

She filled a cup with water and rinsed out her mouth. The residue of one too many whiskey sours last night had left a bitter taste. At least her teeth were still good and all her own. She raked a hand down over her naked body, across her full breasts—not quite as pert as they’d once been, but not sagging either. Her hips were trim and her legs lean. She eased her hand between her thighs and rubbed her fingers over her feminine folds. Even though she’d begun menopause last year, she hadn’t experienced any real problems. Her periods were erratic, but she had yet to have her first hot flash. And there were no problems with dryness. Thank God. She inserted her fingers into her body and strummed her thumb over her clitoris. Her nipples peaked. Moisture coated her inner folds.

Loud, repetitive tapping from outside her bedroom door ended her sensual musings. Damn, it was probably Judy, all fresh and cheerful. How the woman had anything to smile about, Cybil would never know. She was poor as a church mouse. She had slaved away five days a week as their housekeeper for the past twenty-odd years. She had an ex-con son who was nothing but trouble. She’d been married and widowed twice—once to a real louse who deserved killing more than anyone Cybil had ever known. In retrospect, Cybil admitted that her brief fling with Junior had been the biggest mistake of her life. Death had been too good for the likes of Junior Blalock. Someone should have tortured him for endless weeks before slitting his throat. Of course, she didn’t have the stomach for torture herself. Murder, yes. Torture, no.