Intimate Betrayal (15 page)

Reese rolled her hips and spread her trembling thighs to give him better access. “I'll try anything,” she moaned softly.

“But in the meantime,” he said in a husky whisper, pulling her on top to straddle him, “maybe this will help.”

Inch by delicious inch she felt him fill her. Yet he held her immobile with a steely grip until he reached full entry before letting her take the lead. And as they began to move together in unison, the shadows that stalked them soon became incinerated in the heat of their passion.

 

“Well, it's pretty obvious that we're not going to get any work done wrapped up in each other's arms.” Maxwell yawned, tweaking Reese on the nose.

“I thought I was working,” she taunted, giving him a sly grin.

Maxwell chuckled heartily. “You're right about that one. But what I meant was work-work—the bread and butter kind.” He untangled his legs from the twisted sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. He gazed at her reposed figure from over his shoulder.

“Why don't I help you pack your things?”

Reese slowly turned her head in his direction and frowned. “What are you talking about now? We don't leave for Japan for another week.”

“I know that. I just thought you'd like to stay with me at the house in San Diego until we left.”

Reese sat up and pulled the sheet with her. Her husky voice lowered as she angled her chin upward. “Are you asking me to move in with you, Mr. Knight?”

Maxwell turned completely around and stretched out on the bed until his chin rested on her knees. He looked up at her. “That's exactly what I'm asking.” He stroked her thighs. “Temporarily, of course.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a sidelong glance. “Of course.” She looked at his face of innocence for a few moments. “The question is, why?”

Maxwell straightened. “Always the investigator,” he said trying to sidestep the question. “Why can't I just want you to?” He began to pick up his discarded clothes.

“You're not the type of man who just ‘does' anything. If you want me to ‘temporarily' move into your house, you must have a reason, and I can't imagine that great sex is it.”

“Would it be so hard to believe that I just want you with me, Reese?” He turned to face her. “Maybe I don't want to tiptoe in and out of hotel rooms. Maybe I just want to spend enough time with you to see where this thing with us is going.” He sat back down on the edge of the bed and took a long breath. His eyes narrowed in question. “Do I really come across as someone who has no feelings, that is so unreachable?”

Reese caressed his jaw and searched the depths of his dark eyes that sought answers. “Max, you've held yourself in abeyance for so long that even when people are close—when I'm close, I can still feel the resistance—something invisible holding you back and keeping me out.” She gently pressed her
lips to his. “That doesn't mean that you're a man who doesn't feel. If anything, sweetheart, it shows me you're a man who feels too much. Way down deep in his soul. And he takes those feelings to heart. And sometimes, he just doesn't know how to share them because he's been dealing with them by himself for so long.”

Maxwell pressed his forehead against hers and braced her bare shoulders. Then he looked into her eyes. “Maybe—we can start sharing some of them together.” His jaw clenched. “What do you say about that?”

Her soft-spoken answer caressed his racing heart. “I say let's start packing. I want to reach home before it gets dark.”

 

Reese and Maxwell spent the drive out to his house in San Diego singing old songs over the blast of the radio, nibbling on nacho chips and slurping sodas from the can like two teenagers. By the time they arrived, bubbling with laughter and newfound joy, the sun was setting majestically over the bay.

Maxwell slipped one arm around Reese's waist and carried her bags in the other hand. Stepping across the threshold he dropped the bags and swept her into his arms, lifting her off of her feet. “I have certain rules of the house.” He began nipping on her lip. “First, in order to conserve water, all bathing and showering must be done jointly.” Reese began to laugh. “Second, that guest-room thing is out. I don't expect to turn over in the middle of the night and find an empty space. Third, I expect you to take me whenever and wherever the mood hits you, as I will you,” he added, nuzzling her neck. “And fourth, you can scream and holler my name in ecstasy as much as you want—our closest neighbors are miles way.”

Reese punched him hard in the arm and scurried away, her ankle-length gauze skirt spinning around her legs. “Well,
all I have to say is, you're going to have to work really hard to make me holler.”

Before he could reach out and snatch her, Reese was off and running up the stairs with Maxwell hot on her heels.

 

Larry Templeton sat back in his car and dialed James's number. “Looks like they're in for the night.”

“Don't let anyone near that house.”

F
rank Murphy walked reverently across the grassy well-tended field. It was so peaceful here, he thought, moving around the headstones and up the small incline to his sister Faith's final resting place. It was here that he could come and think and talk with his sister about the things that troubled his heart and weighed down his spirit.

He removed his hat, his close-cropped dark blond hair streaked with gray, and chest full of medals glistened in the sunlight. He knelt down beside Faith's headstone and brushed away the leaves and dried flowers, placing a fresh bunch in its place.

“I know it's been a while, sis, but you're always in my thoughts.” He paused measuring his words. “Things are not good, Faith. I feel everything coming apart around me.” He chuckled disheartenedly and briefly shut his green eye. “My past is coming back to haunt me, as you said it would. But back then I didn't see any other way out. As much as Hamilton
meant to me, I couldn't let him destroy my career.” He sighed. “But now, looking back, I wish I'd done things differently. Maybe I could have reasoned with him. But he was so hell-bent on seeing justice done, he was blind to anything else. I was given a job to do. I was following orders. He should have understood that. Chemical testing on our own men has been going on for decades. They did it in Korea and Vietnam and it continued in Desert Storm.” He ran a hand across his weary face. “And now his daughter is interviewing James's son.” He shook his head at the absolute irony of it all. “How long will it be before the trail leads back? We were able to cover up the ‘accident.' But this…” He sighed heavily. “Victoria went to see Maxwell after all these years. We worked hard to dismantle that relationship, and I'll still do whatever is necessary to see to it that it never happens again.” He looked ahead watching a family place flowers on a headstone.

“I don't think I can ever thank you enough for caring for Victoria all of those years. You were as close to a mother as she'd ever have. I know how much having children meant to you and how devastated you both were to find out that you couldn't have children of your own before John died. And I'll move heaven and earth, Faith, to ensure that Victoria keeps that memory of you as her mother. It was the one thing I could do for Hamilton and it's a final trust I'll never betray.”

He sat back on his haunches and looked out onto the horizon. A soft breeze blew around him carrying the sweet scent of flowers and fresh cut grass. “I still think about Celeste, Faith. How different would things have been if I'd convinced her that we could be happy together? But her heart was always with Hamilton even after he married her sister, Sharlene. I've tried to stay away from her, Faith, to put her in the back of my mind. But I can't. When you love someone you want to share your life, your hopes and your fears with them. I guess that's what brought me to her house this morning. She's
not well, Faith, and the thought that I'll soon lose her too is tearing me apart. I was able to handle loving her from afar. But not to be able to ever see her or hear her voice again… Now the painful irony is, she's at the end of her life, but she handed me a ticket to a new one.” He shook his head as the sting of tears burned his eyes, slowly spilling over his dark lashes. “What…what am I going to do, Faith?” His voice broke as his body shook with sobs. “What am I going to do?”

 

Celeste moved slowly through the airy house, opening windows and pulling aside the curtains. She felt better today than she had in a while. The pain was bearable. Absently, she pressed her hand to her stomach. The doctors said the growth on her ovaries was inoperable, but perhaps it could be controlled with chemotherapy. She'd laughed at that then. Being a nurse, she knew what that did to a person. Often the treatment was worse than the cure. She'd opted to live out the rest of her life the best she could.

Turning away, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of lemonade and took it out to the enclosed patio. The patio was her personal haven, a place that she often retreated to when she needed to think. With the surprise visit earlier in the day from Frank, these few moments of reflection were just what she needed.

Birds sang melodiously in the trees, the sun shone brilliantly in the sky, all a testament to the wonders of nature. She pulled the long yellow-and-white-striped lounge chair closer to the front of the patio to get the greatest benefits of the sun and the breeze. Stretching out, she allowed the warmth of the sun to soak into her tired bones.

Placing the glass on the ground beside her, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Images of the handsome Frank Murphy as he looked that morning standing on her doorstep filled her
vision. Her heartbeat picked up its pace at the memory. He still had the ability to make her feel weak in the knees, even after all of these years.

“I know I should have called first, Celeste,” he'd said in greeting, “but I just needed to see you. Do you mind if I come in?”

Celeste stepped aside. “Please. Come in.” She followed him into the house, thankful that she'd dressed in a bright yellow sundress and had put on some makeup to cover the dark circles beneath her eyes.

Frank stopped in the center of the living room and turned toward her holding his hat in his hands. She could see his struggle to hide the shock of her looking so thin.

“Can I get you something?” she asked nervously, rubbing her hands—which had suddenly become cold—together.

“No. Nothing thanks. May I sit down?”

“Of course. I'm sorry.” She patted her soft curls and crossed the room, taking a seat opposite him. “What brings you out here, Frank?”

He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I know it's been a long time for us, Celeste. And I know you made a decision a long time ago that I've tried to live by.” He swallowed and shrugged in confusion. “Maybe it's old age, maybe it's loneliness.” He shook his head. “I just know that I've been doing a lot of soul searching these last few weeks—looking at my life—the choices that I've made and the things I've done.” He looked up. “I know I'm not making any sense. But…what we had Celeste…I never forgot. I can't forget…”

“Frank, please…”

“No. Hear me out, Celeste.” He averted his gaze then looked directly into her pleading hazel eyes. “I know you chose Hamilton over me even though he could never love you the way I did. I thought it would kill me when you became
pregnant with his child.” Celeste shut her eyes and lowered her head as the painful memories consumed her.

“But I made myself go on, Celeste. I had to. And all of these years I kept the secret and my promise to the both of you. I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate him. But I couldn't. Instead I took my pain out in every other way that I could—through power and manipulation. For a moment, I was happy when he was killed. I thought that maybe you would come to me then. But you never did.”

He stood up and began to pace the room, moving backward and forward through time. “And when Victoria was born and looked so much like you as she grew older, I wanted her to be my own daughter—our daughter. But that was never to be.”

Unknown to him the prevarication of his words slammed against her, making her wince. Would she ever be able to tell him the truth, even now—that she envied her sister Sharlene so desperately that she'd been willing to take and claim what was never hers—if only to have whatever Sharlene had? As if that would somehow make her Sharlene's equal, worthy of love.

But how much time did she really have? It wasn't fair to Victoria for Celeste to go to her grave with a lie that she'd constructed to assuage her wounded heart.

Slowly, Celeste rose, her large eyes filled with years of pain and deceit. “Why don't we take a walk outside, Frank?”

 

More than two hours later, Frank returned to his car, his mind and heart still spinning from the revelations. His sturdy body felt as if it had been ravaged in battle. All these years he'd never known. He sat down in the car and turned his gaze toward Celeste's home. How could she have done this—deprived him—deprived them all?

His emotions struggled to consume him. They vacillated between rage and a pain so deep he could not find the words
to describe it. And yet he still loved her—after all she'd done. She was a woman who needed love more than anyone he'd ever met. She measured her worth by what her sister had. It was not until today that he fully understood the magnitude of her resentment for her sister Sharlene, which stretched back to their days as young girls. But Celeste never outgrew the sibling rivalry between her and her younger sister. Instead, it bloomed, and grew like the cancer that now pecked away at her life.

Frank was visiting his buddy, Hamilton, when he spotted Celeste across the crowded grounds of the George Washington University campus. She was so beautiful in an almost effervescent way, he realized, his heart knocking hard against his chest. He poked Hamilton in the side and angled his square chin in Celeste's direction. “Who's that?”

Hamilton gradually looked up and in the direction Frank indicated. “What about her?” he asked with caution, a slight edge to his tone. “That's my lady's older sister, Celeste. Why?” Hamilton's dark eyes drilled into his friend's green ones.

Frank gave a little shrug. “Why don't you introduce me?”

“Why should I? It can't go anywhere, Murphy, and you know it. So why stress yourself?”

Frank stared at him belligerently. “Because I'm white?”

“Yeah, pretty much. You may not have a problem with it, but plenty of others will, including her folks. You may be a liberated northern boy, and all that good stuff about crossing the color lines is not a problem for you, but this is still the fifties, man. Down South fifties. Whether you want to believe it or not, blacks and whites still don't mix in most of this ‘liberated' country of ours.”

“If you won't introduce me, then I guess I'll just introduce myself,” Frank replied, totally ignoring Hamilton. He pushed
himself up off of the grass and began a slow stroll across the sloping hill.

“You're asking for trouble, Murphy,” he yelled to Frank's retreating back.

And trouble was exactly what Frank Murphy got, from the instant Celeste Winston turned around and stared at him with those incredible hazel eyes. His heart was hers for the taking.

He'd never felt so quickly, or so intensely about anyone as he had about Celeste Winston in the short months that they went from discreet friends to secret lovers. He knew it was a forbidden love—a love frowned upon by society. Maybe that was the incendiary device that fueled their clandestine passion. All he knew for certain was that he couldn't stop himself if he'd tried.

Foolishly he'd believed they could surmount the obstacles. What he could never defeat, however, was Hamilton Delaware and the hold he had over Celeste's heart, or the obsession she had in besting her sister.

Frank put the car in gear and mindlessly pulled away, looking back only once. All he'd ever coveted in this life was now a possibility. Celeste had handed to him the key to a dream he'd lost forever. Within his grasp was an opportunity to make some atonement for the deaths and destruction of which he'd been a part. But what awaited him on the other side of the door, should he dare to open it? If he dared, he'd have more reason than ever to keep Reese from uncovering his past.

 

Reese puttered around in the spacious kitchen, pretending to fix something edible for breakfast. “Can't go wrong with toast,” she mumbled, looking over her shoulder for any signs of Maxwell. She popped two pieces of whole wheat bread in the toaster and depressed the lever.

Smiling and rubbing her palms together as if she'd accomplished a great feat, she pulled open the refrigerator door and took out the container of apple juice. Moving easily around the center island she retrieved two glasses from the overhead cabinets and placed them on the counter at the precise moment the rather burned toast ejected.

“What are you burning in here?” Max grumbled, turning up his nose as he entered the kitchen. He took a quick glance at the toast in Reese's hand and the total look of dismay, overlaid with disgust on her face, and he burst out laughing. “Please tell me you can boil water,” he howled.

She slammed the two damning objects on the counter, pieces of burnt bread scattering across its top. Whirling away, her silk kimono fanning around her, she stomped toward the door, her humiliation complete.

“Hey, hold your horses,” Maxwell chuckled, biting down the last of his laughter. He grabbed her arm just as she attempted to whiz by him. He spun her stiff body around until it lined up perfectly with his. Merriment danced in the depths of his onyx eyes and it took all Reese had to maintain her irate front and not laugh instead.

He ran his finger along the bridge of her nose. “I'm sorry?” he asked more than stated. She gave him a good punch in the chest, or at least the best she could do under such close circumstances. He kissed her forehead. “Why don't I fix breakfast and you just relax and look beautiful?”

“Don't patronize me,” she huffed, pushing away from him. “I just never really learned to cook. My aunt Celeste refused to have me in the kitchen. I had no sisters or brothers or other relatives to learn from.” She shrugged. “When I finally moved out on my own, my life was so fast-paced I didn't have the time or the inclination to learn. Take-out is my middle name.”

Maxwell bit down yet another chuckle. “That's understand
able,” he said off the cuff. He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. “We'll just have to remedy that situation. Instead of hitting the town restaurants, we'll whip up our own meals.” His smile was slow and warm and it touched another corner of her heart. This man would never stop surprising her. “Starting with breakfast, 'cause I'm starved. Especially after the workout you gave me this morning,” he said, flashing her a leer.