Hideaway (6 page)

Martin watched Parris close her eyes, preferring to stare at her instead of the setting sun. He’d spent the day swimming and playing a strenuous game of racquetball instead of tennis. The tennis courts were crowded with women who were more interested in flirting than hitting the ball over the net. The vigorous exercise on the racquetball court substituted for the workout in the weight room.

The exercise had been fun for him. It had relieved him of the tension he felt whenever he was near Parris. He recognized the tension for what it was—sexual.

He wanted her the way he never wanted any other woman. Not only did he want to make love to her, but he wanted to keep her in his life forever.

He thought of the role he was to play in less than a week. He would be best man to a friend who would pledge his love and life to a woman when they married.

Marriage!

The word caused a shudder to shake him from head to toe. For twenty-nine years he never thought of marrying a woman, and now the pull was so strong it unnerved him.

Could he marry Parris?

Did he love her?

Did he want to spend the rest of his life with her?

He held his breath, then let it out slowly. The answer shook him to the core. Yes!

M
artin noted that Parris was unusually quiet during dinner. She appeared distracted and anxious.

“Is something wrong, Parris?”

Her head came up quickly, and she shook her head. “No. I guess I’m not very hungry.”

He pushed his own plate away, rising to his feet. “Do you want to go for a drive?”

“No.” Her voice was low, expressionless.

Circling the table, he reached out to touch her but she shrank from him. “What’s the matter?”

She stood up and folded her arms around her body. “I want to go home.”

The thing he had been dreading had manifested itself. She wanted to leave. “But you’re not well enough…”

“Stop it, Martin. I can be alone and you know it. I stay here alone—all day.”

“It’s different here.”

Her gaze searched his face, missing the pain in his jet-black eyes. “Why is it so different?”

“You’re safe here.”

Her chest rose and fell heavily as she bit down on her lower lip. “I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding behind a walled community.
Don’t forget I have a job that I’ll be returning to in another two weeks, and there are no walls to protect me when I travel, Martin.”

Martin pulled her to his chest, his arms tightening around her body as she struggled to free herself. “Listen to me, Parris.” She stopped struggling. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to live with me.”

Closing her eyes, Parris buried her face against his hard shoulder. She had to leave—now. She had to leave before she couldn’t.

It had taken nearly four weeks, but she knew she had fallen in love with Martin.

He had saved her life, protected her, taken care of her every need and in return she had secretly given him her heart.

She looked forward to seeing him each morning, and she couldn’t wait for his return each evening.

She yearned for his touch and his kiss.

She wanted Martin with an intensity she never felt with the man she had married. There were times when she even forgot that Owen had ever been a part of her life. Yet she could not forget his assault; however, if Owen ever came near her again she would follow through on the threat she’d made if he’d refused her demand that they annul their marriage. She’d threatened to disclose his substance abuse problem to his superior officers at the West Palm Beach Police Department.

“Parris?”

“I can’t.” Her reply was weak and trembling.

“Why not?” His lips grazed an ear. “Do you despise me that much? Have I been unkind to you? What is it you want me to do for you?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not you, Martin” she replied, her voice breaking.

Closing his eyes, Martin felt the breath rush from his lungs, leaving him breathless. He prayed silently that it wasn’t Owen Lawson.

“Who is it?” he gasped.

A hot tear rolled down her cheek, wetting his T-shirt. She had spent the day fighting the realization that it was her driving need for Martin that made her want to run as fast and as far away from him as she could.

“It’s me,” she cried, giving way to a rush of heartbreaking sobs.

Martin cradled her face between his hands and stared down at her. Something clicked in his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that she feared him.

“Are you afraid of men, Parris?” She shook her head vigorously. “Do you hate me?”

She sniffled loudly, once again pressing her nose to his chest. “No-o-o.”

His heart started up a double-time rhythm. “Do you at least like me?”

Her sobbing subsided and there was complete silence except for their labored breathing. Parris felt as if she had run a race. She was exhausted from her emotional ordeal.

“Yes.”

Martin wanted to shout, cry. He needed to do something to relieve the band of tension tightening his chest. Dropping a light kiss on her forehead, nose and finally her mouth, he whispered, “Now, was that so hard to admit?”

Parris smiled through her tears. “No.”

He returned her smile, flashing deep dimples. “You can always talk to me, darling. You must always let me know what you like, don’t like, want and don’t want.”

What she wanted to say was that she needed him. She needed Martin to make her feel like a woman.

He brushed away her tears with his fingers, kissing each inch of her face his hands caressed. “I don’t ever want to see your beautiful eyes fill up with tears again unless they are tears of joy,” he crooned, holding her close to his heart.

Passion pounded through his chest and body, and it was herculean control that prevented Martin from blurting out his true feelings for the woman he held to his heart.

* * *

The next time Parris shed tears, they were tears of joy. She dabbed her eyes carefully with a tissue as Brittany and Jon exchanged vows in the tiny white church whose walls and towering steeple were covered with climbing ivy and fragrant white roses.

She stared at Martin’s profile before he turned to follow the smiling bride and groom down the red-carpeted aisle to the doors of the church. He caught her stare and flashed her his sensuous smile. Lowering her spiky wet lashes, she returned the smile.

She hadn’t agreed to live with Martin yet she hadn’t returned to live at her studio apartment, and each day she stayed she found it more and more difficult to leave.

Their relationship was easy and unencumbered. Martin hadn’t asked anything from her except that she not leave him, and she hadn’t—not yet. Not leaving him was a small price to pay when she compared it with his saving her life or perhaps a more serious injury than a broken jaw.

Filing out of the church with the other guests, Parris made her way down a flight of stairs to a room set up with small round tables decorated with deep rose pink and white tablecloths.

“Hello, Parris.”

She turned and smiled at the man who had sat on her right at the restaurant the night of the engagement party.

“Hello, Bill.”

Bill Dobbs, a used car salesman, had grown up with Jon Grant. His booming voice, florid face and easy laugh enhanced his image as a natural-born salesperson.

He extended his arm. “May I have the pleasure of your lovely company once again?”

Parris took the proffered arm, smiling. She had come with Martin but he would sit at the bridal table with the bride, groom and the matron of honor.

Two other couples joined her and Bill at the table, everyone extolling the beauty of the ethereal ceremony and Brittany’s exquisite dress.

Her gown was a sheath of ivory organza and Alençon lace, and she had decided to forego the traditional veil, dressing her pale hair with a spray of miniature white roses and baby’s breath.

As the wedding party gathered on the church lawn for photographs, a quartet played familiar tunes while waiters served trays of hot and cold canapes.

Martin’s smile did not falter as Barbara Alexander pressed her firm breast against his arm. He couldn’t wait for the photo session to end where he could disengage himself from Brittany’s sister without causing a scene.

Barbara and Brittany shared the same ash-blond hair and cool-gray eyes, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Whereas Brittany was delicate and demure, her older sister was lush and provocative.

Barbara had flirted with him during the rehearsal and at the dinner which was given afterwards at the home of the Alexanders’ but he’d ignored her. What Barbara didn’t know was that her fair coloring, pale hair and gray eyes were “too cool” for his tastes. He preferred women of color with dark hair and skintones in varying shades of brown, ranging from cappuccino cream to a rich mahogany.

“That just about does it,” the photographer announced.

Martin was certain Barbara could hear his sigh of relief as he took her elbow, escorting her back to the church’s social hall.

His gaze swept around the room and he saw Parris sitting with Bill Dobbs. The man was more annoying than fly paper. He had latched on to Parris again. The only thing which prevented him from warning Bill that Parris was “off limits” was that she would go home with him.

Martin seated Barbara next to Jon, then took his own seat beside Brittany. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Parris as she smiled at something Bill said. He found her more beautiful than the first time he met her.

A long sleeve silk jersey sheath in a warm orange flattered her body and her coloring. She had blown out her hair and pinned it
up in a sophisticated French twist, leaving a few errant curls to grace her forehead and ears.

He had driven to her apartment to pick up the dress and a pair of shoes, and as he gathered other items she requested he’d tried to get a glimpse of who Parris was when he surveyed her apartment.

He had found it neat yet impersonal. Her bed was a convertible sofa and the small kitchen contained a bistro table and two chairs. There were no photographs or diplomas on the walls. A steamer trunk with a woven Navaho rug doubled as a coffee table and tablecloth. It was on the trunk that he found a stack of mail the landlady had left in the apartment whenever it wasn’t picked up for more than two days.

He’d checked her answering machine; no one had called or if they had they didn’t leave a message. If it hadn’t been for the business suits, blouses and dresses hanging neatly in a small closet off the entrance and a toothbrush in the bathroom, Parris Simmons would not exist.

Martin placed a hand over Brittany’s, squeezing her fingers gently. Turning, she smiled at him. Happiness shone from her gray eyes and he was pleased that she had married his friend. She was good for Jon, who claimed she mellowed him to where he’d given up his dream of racing cars to join his father’s lucrative law practice.

“How did Parris meet Owen Lawson?” he asked her without preamble.

The blood drained from her face before she recovered. “I warned you to leave her alone.” Her tone was sharp and waspish.

Martin’s darker hand tightened on her fingers. “I can’t leave her alone. She’s going to be my wife.”

Brittany’s eyes widened until they resembled large silver dollars. “No,” she whispered. She attempted to rise to her feet but he stopped her.

“Sit down.” The two words were spoken quietly but said with such authority that Brittany obeyed him immediately.

“I am going to marry her,” he repeated with emphasis. “But I need to know what happened between her and Owen Lawson.”

“There’s not much to tell,” she whispered. “Parris met him when she was eighteen. Her car blew a tire one night and he came along and helped her fix it. He was off-duty so she didn’t know he was a police officer. He took down her plate number and got her address through DMV. As a cop he had his ways of securing her unlisted telephone number and he called the next day. They dated a few times that summer and I thought it was over when we went back to Savannah for the fall semester.

“But whenever he had time off he drove up to see her. He was a lot older than she was and even I had to admit that he was very, very charming. He asked her to marry him and a few months after she graduated they were married. I felt she should’ve waited to marry him because she still was very broken up over losing her mother in a horrible car crash. But Owen didn’t want to wait so they married and a month later it was over. She had to grieve twice, Martin. The breakup of her marriage and her mother’s death.”

“You don’t have to worry about her anymore, Brittany. I’ll take care of her and make her very, very happy.”

She stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Those were the exact words Owen said the day he married her.”

Martin’s jaw hardened. Taking care of someone was not the same as trying to kill them, he thought.

He released Brittany’s hand and smiled over her head at Jon. Jon’s dark blue eyes were sparkling with excitement and his face was flushed from several glasses of champagne.

Raising his own glass of champagne, Martin saluted Jon before he drained the glass. He couldn’t wait for the wedding reception to end so he could take Parris home.

P
arris danced through the front door, curtsying deeply to Martin. “You owe me a dance, Mr. Cole.”

Martin closed the door, took her in his arms and waltzed her over the living room floor, humming.

“You hum nicely, but how about putting on some music?” she suggested, staring at the waning sunlight coming through the windows.

He noted the dreamy expression on her face. “What’s your pleasure?” Martin spun her around and around until she begged him to stop. Grasping her hand firmly, he led her over to the shelves of compact discs and cassettes. “Something slow, fast or a little salsa?”

“Salsa.”

He retrieved a cassette and inserted it in a tape deck, then removed the jacket to his tuxedo before he pushed the play button. Tossing the jacket across the room, he swung Parris against his body, molding her breasts to his chest.

“You’ve chosen the dance of passion and fire,” he whispered, lowering his head until his warm breath swept over her mouth. “Are you familiar with passion, Parris?”

Staring up at him, she nodded mutely. She had glimpsed passion the few times he’d kissed her.

“How about the fire?”

“No. Not the fire,” she admitted breathlessly.

The slow rhythmic pounding of conga drums filled the living room and Martin moved fluidly to the beat as she followed his expert lead.

She felt the muscles in his thighs flexing and unflexing with each step. Closing her eyes, she floated with him as their bodies were joined, chest to knees, swaying and calling to each other.

The two glasses of champagne simmered in her blood and she felt the rising inferno coming from Martin and spreading to her until she wilted in the heat.

Her slender arms moved from his shoulders to his strong neck and she held onto him like a straw tossed on an ocean wave.

Registering her feminine heat and the rising scent of her body, Martin pulled her closer, trying to absorb her into himself. He was certain she could hear his increased respiration and feel the hardness he was helpless to control. His fire and passion were raging and spreading—out of control, and he did to her what he didn’t do the first time he tasted her lips. He devoured her mouth.

One hand held her chin gently as the other searched for the zipper at the back of her dress. Forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered the zipper to her waist, exposing her bare back. Martin didn’t want to hurt Parris nor did he want to frighten her.

Both hands feathered over her naked skin until his hands grazed the cotton panty of her pantyhose. She moaned once against his invading tongue as one hand gathered the hem of her dress to her waist.

Parris was lightheaded with her rising desire and her hands were as busy as Martin’s when she untied the deep rose pink length of satin from around his neck. The bow tie floated to the floor.

A low tortured groan was swallowed up by the drums the moment Martin’s hand slipped under the waistband to her pantyhose and he found her hot, wet and pulsing.

“That’s the fire, baby,” he crooned against her moist lips. “You are the fire.”

His hand claimed her womanhood, one finger searching
between the succulent folds and finding her ready. Her pulsing flesh closed on his finger and he swept her up in his arms, taking the stairs two at a time.

Placing her on the center of his bed, Martin didn’t take his gaze off her face. He recognized the flood of desire flushing her features. Her dress, bunched up above her waist and down around her shoulders was a twisted ribbon of orange. Silken nylons shimmered on her long legs and the variegated colors of orange, purple, pink and red on the snakeskin high heels on her narrow feet contrasted sharply against the white bed sheet.

Undressing quickly, his trousers, cummerbund, socks and shoes were pooled on the carpeted floor. Seconds later his briefs joined the pile, and he stood above her, naked, proud and magnificent in all of his throbbing male splendor.

Parris wanted to look away but couldn’t. She could not believe the perfection of the body poised above her. Martin Cole was larger, much larger than she thought he could possibly be. His broad chest was covered with thick black curling hair which tapered to a thin line before disappearing into an inverted triangle of even coarser hair, from which throbbed a long, thick length of hard dark-brown flesh nestled between strong muscled thighs.

She closed her eyes, registering the overwhelming heat from his body as he sank down to the bed. She curled her fingers into tight fists as he removed her dress, shoes and then her pantyhose, opening them only when she heard Martin’s breath explode from between his compressed lips.

Every muscle in his body screamed and vibrated. The smell of her perfume on her skin and hair rose sharply in his nostrils, making his blood rush hot and uncontrollably in his veins.

Martin laid his right hand, fingers outstretched over her flat belly. She inhaled deeply and her firm golden breasts with their dark nipples trembled noticeably above her narrow rib cage. He lay down beside Parris, pulling her to his side. He had to force himself to go slow; slow enough so he wouldn’t spill out his passions before he claimed her body.

“I am going to love you, Parris. Love you until you forget any
other man ever existed. Love you until you want me as much as I want you.” Moving over her, he supported his weight on his elbows and lowered his body.

Her arms curved under his arms and grasped his thick shoulders. “I want you, Martin. I want you so very, very much,” she confessed.

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth, then moved lower to her neck, his tongue tasting and savoring her flesh. “Oh, baby,” he moaned before his mouth closed over a breast. He devoured the breast, his teeth tightening on the nipple, then moved over to give the other one equal attention.

Parris swallowed back the sobs threatening to spill from her throat. She ran her hands up and down his damp back, feeling the muscles contracting under her fingers. She did gasp when his tongue traced a path downward between her breasts to her ribs and further down to her stomach.

His hot breath scorched the furred triangle between her thighs and she arched instinctively. Her body squirmed beneath him once his finger found her again, her hips moving erotically on the sheet.

The temperature of her body alternated between hot and cold. The pleasure Martin wrung from her was pure and unrestrained.

The dormant sexuality of her body had been awakened and she craved his possession, her desire rising quickly. She groaned in frustration when he left her, but she smiled when she saw him reach into the drawer of the bedside table and withdraw a small packet.

Breathing heavily, she waited until he withdrew the latex covering and rolled it down the length of his rigid flesh.

Her breasts tingled against his hair-roughened chest as he moved over her again and positioned his length between her thighs.

Martin found her opening and pushed gently. He increased the pressure until a small cry from Parris halted him. She was wet enough but he hadn’t thought she would be so tight.

“Relax, baby,” he crooned. He kissed her mouth, renewing her desire. Her fingers fastened in his long hair, pulling the heavy curls from the confines of its elastic fastening.

Moving down her body, he kissed her belly, leaving heat as his
hot mouth seared her naked flesh. Settling himself at the foot of the king-size bed, he tasted the honey flowing from between her legs.

Parris gasped in sweet agony, unable to believe the pleasure whirling and spiraling, screaming for release.

She couldn’t disguise her body’s reaction as his tongue searched where his finger had been and she surrendered to the ecstasy shaking her uncontrollably.

She was so caught up in the wonder of fulfillment that she barely registered the sharp invasion of her body. Arching, she cried out as Martin again sought entry into her tight flesh.

Martin went still. She couldn’t be, he thought. She just couldn’t be!

He withdrew and removed the latex condom. A spurt of desire made him harder, and he wanted her even more.

His own need for fulfillment matched Parris’s as he pulled back and drove his starving flesh into hers. He felt the resistance give way and seconds later he was lost in the fiery force of vibrating liquid fire, pulling him in where he was helpless to resist the ecstasy hurtling him to another dimension.

Parris felt the rigid fullness taking up every inch of her body and she responded to the rocking motion of her womb. The involuntary tremors began, taking her higher and higher until she thought she would surely die.

Her fingernails bit into the firm muscles in his buttocks and she buried her face against his shoulder. Her teeth claimed the flesh below his throat and she cried out shamelessly as she abandoned herself to the sweet burning joy of completion.

Martin was aware of the moment her body flowered and closed around his sex and he was lost. He exploded, filling her womb with his love and his passion.

Parris felt his weight, registered his heat and felt the soreness between her thighs, savoring the feeling of satisfaction that left her unable to move. Closing her eyes, she succumbed to the sleep of a sated lover.

Martin loathe to withdraw from her body. He wanted to lie between her thighs—forever.

But he did withdraw, his brow furrowed in confusion. Reaching over, he turned on the lamp on the table and stared down at the dark red stains on the sheet and between Parris’s thighs.

Sitting back on his heels, he shook his head. How could she be? How could Parris be a virgin when she had been married?

Even though she had lived with Owen Lawson for a month—surely that should have been time for her to share her body with her husband.

He picked up the unused condom and tossed it on the floor. Sinking down the bed beside her, he exhaled and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to think, and again he wanted answers from the woman asleep under his roof.

The answers would have to wait; wait until she woke up.

Parris woke, not knowing the time or the day. The vertical blinds were drawn and the bedroom was bathed in a soft pink light. Turning over, she realized she was not in her bedroom.

She sat up and Martin moved from where he sat in the shadows to stand beside the bed. “What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

She saw the direction of his gaze and she pulled the sheet up over her naked breasts. “How long have I been asleep?”

He took in her heavy lids and the huskier than usual sound of her voice. She was even sexy after making love. “A little bit more than three hours.” Reaching out, he pulled the sheet from her loose grip. “I ran some water for your bath.”

Parris was forced to let go of the sheet and hold onto his neck as he scooped her from the bed. Burying her face against his strong neck, she kissed him behind the ear.

Martin stumbled slightly and tightened his grip under her knees. “Don’t do that.” He tried to sound angry, but chuckled when she ran the tip of her tongue around the outline of his ear.

“You have sexy ears, Martin.” She fastened his curling hair behind his ears. “Why do you wear your hair so long?”

Studying her face thoughtfully for a moment, he said, “It’s my way of rebelling.”

“Against who?”

“Against those who think they know who I am,” Martin answered truthfully. “When it comes to business and finance I can walk the walk and talk the talk with the best of them. But that’s where the similarity ends. When I work a deal everyone at the table knows which is mine because I’ve given it my signature. In other words it is the same but it looks different.”

A slight frown of confusion appeared between her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

He walked into the bathroom and settled her into a sunken tub of swirling warm water from pulsating jets. Stripping off his jeans, he joined her in the black marble Jacuzzi.

“You’re a designer. What’s makes your work different from someone else’s?”

She luxuriated in the healing water, sinking down to a depression along the side of the tub. Moisture beaded quickly on her face and curled her hair.

“My preference for certain color combinations and fabrics. I’m known for working with light walls, natural woods and mirrors.”

“These features are your signature, Parris. One of these days I’ll have you read a proposal, then ask you to identify my signature.”

She watched Martin run a wet hand through his hair, pushing the heavy curls off his forehead. “How will I know which is or isn’t yours?”

“You’ve lived with me for a month. You should’ve learned something about me in that time.”

Her expression still registered confusion.
Don’t you know that I’m in love with you, Parris?
Martin screamed silently to her.
Don’t you know that I want to marry you?

He waded over to her, pulling her against his chest. The warm water heightened the color in her face. Lowering his head, he kissed her tenderly.

Her legs floated between his and Parris didn’t have to look down to see his rising desire. She felt it against her bare thighs.

“Put your legs around my waist,” he ordered quietly.

She complied as he lifted her easily and entered her newly
opened flesh. The water warm helped ease the sore muscles she never had to use before.

Holding onto his neck, she leaned back in Martin’s strong embrace and once again experienced a shimmering moment of uncontrolled passion. Her eager response to his raw sensuousness shocked the both of them as she collapsed against his chest, her breath coming in long, surrendering moans.

Deep shuddering groans escaped Martin’s parted lips before they faded away when he repeated her name over and over like a litany.

He recovered enough to retrieve a thick terry wash cloth and a bar of scented soap and lathered her body, taking special care with the area between her legs.

Parris returned the favor as she lathered his large body, her teasing fingers lingering between his thighs.

He scooped a handful of water over her hair; she sputtered, then splashed his face. It ended with a passionate kiss that left the both of them breathless.