Native Affairs (74 page)

“Miss Talbot?” he said in astonishment.

Ann paused for a moment and gazed back at him. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Yes?” she said.

“Don’t you remember me? Carlos Sanchez, Luisa’s nephew. I used to drop her off at work at your house sometimes.”

“Oh, yes, Carlos. Of course. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? How are you?”

“I’m fine. Though my Aunt Luisa died a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know. I heard. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks. What are you doing back in the Keys? Nobody’s seen you around here for the longest time.”

“She came here to get married,” Heath said, walking around the car and joining them. “Ann is my wife.”

Carlos stared at Heath and then smiled slowly. “So you two got together, anyway,” he said.

“Anyway?” Heath inquired.

“Aunt Luisa used to talk about how Henry Talbot was trying to break up your romance.”

“With her expert assistance,” Heath said humorlessly, staring at Carlos.

“Yeah, well, she was very devoted to Mr. Talbot,” Carlos said, looking from one to the other nervously.

“Yes, she was,” Ann said, shooting Heath a look. “And my father appreciated it very much. It was wonderful to see you again, Carlos, but it’s been a long day and I’m very tired. Do you think we could go up to our room now?”

“Sure, sure,” Carlos said, happy to extricate himself from what had quickly become an uncomfortable situation. He and the other valet preceded Heath and Ann up the wide stairs of the hotel and into the spacious, marble-floored lobby. It was tastefully decorated in Florida pastels and open to the air on all four sides behind floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

“Mr. Bodine!” the desk clerk said with a broad smile. “It’s delightful to have you staying with us again. And this must be your wife. What a lovely lady, you have excellent taste. Mrs. Bodine, how do you do?”

Ann shook his hand and then watched as he bustled over to get the room key.

“These people all greet you like a long-lost relative,” she said to Heath.

“I spend a lot of time in hotels,” he replied shortly.

When they reached the suite, Carlos was already setting their bags on the luggage rest in the foyer. Heath tipped him and Carlos flashed Ann a smile and said, “Good to see you back in Florida, Miss Talbot—I mean, Mrs. Bodine.”

Heath slammed the door shut behind him. “Still bowing and scraping before you, aren’t they?” he said disgustedly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ann said.

“Of course you do. You can’t resist playing lady of the manor with the underlings.”

“I was just being polite to him, Heath. You should try it sometime.”

“I seem to have done all right with my inadequate manners. We didn’t have too many finishing schools in Hispaniola.”

“Why do you have such a chip on your shoulder? What was I supposed to do, Heath, ignore him? I knew him years ago—his aunt worked for my family a long time.”

“His aunt was your father’s dupe! He thought of her as a convenience, somebody to wash his clothes and cook his food—a peasant from shantytown! She thought she was his friend and she ceased to exist for him the moment he could no longer use her.”

“That isn’t true, Heath. My father left her enough money in his will to retire to a nice place in Miami. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t live long enough to enjoy it.”

“You’re justifying your father’s behavior to me now?” Heath said incredulously. They were standing in the suite’s foyer, arguing like two barristers.

“I’m not defending him. I’m merely telling you that he repaid Luisa for her loyalty.”

“King Henry doling out the royal favors,” Heath said sarcastically.

“I have more reason to hate him than you do. I’m just trying to be fair.”

“You’re just acting like a princess born to the purple. It must be true what they say—it’s in the blood.”

“It’s in the way you treat other people. You can’t buy—” She stopped.

“What? Class, good breeding, refinement?” he said sneeringly. “Sure you can. I bought you, didn’t I?”

Stung, Ann didn’t reply for a second, then said, “You bought my body, Heath. That’s all.”

“That’s enough.” He tossed his jacket onto the foyer table and left the suite.

Ann sagged against the wall, drained as if she had just run a marathon. How could they go on like this? They had been married only a couple of hours and already they were at each other’s throats.

She walked desultorily into the parlor with its adjoining bedroom. The rooms were large and light, richly appointed and lushly carpeted, with a balcony overlooking the beach and an ornate bathroom. This was done in the same marble as the lobby floor, with a Jacuzzi tub and gilt fixtures. Ann paused in the doorway and looked around. His and her plush bathrobes hung on the back of the door and the vanity contained a tall glass jar filled with little soaps in the shapes of seashells. Everything was wrapped in paper, including the toilet. Stacks of thick towels filled the shelves next to the shower and a tray on the sink held miniature bottles of everything from herbal shampoo to mint hand lotion.

Ann had never stayed at the Imperial, but she knew it had been one of her father’s favorites.

She went back into the bedroom and hung the few things she had brought with her in the capacious closet. She had no idea where Heath had gone or when he would be back. So she went to the phone and called her brother to see how he’d been doing, her editor in New York, and Amy Horton. She stretched the conversations out as long as she could. Then, depressed by the events of the day and bone weary from the stress of containing her emotions, she undressed to her camisole and briefs and lay down on the embroidered bedspread.

In minutes she was asleep.

Ann was conscious of nothing for the next several hours. When she came to, the room was dark and Heath was sitting next to her on the bed, his hand on her shoulder.

Ann knew it was Heath before she was even awake, before she remembered the wedding or their circumstances. She knew it instinctively, from his scent, his posture, the feel of his fingers. Without a word she turned into his arms.

Heath held her loosely for a moment and she put her head on his shoulder. Then his grip tightened and his mouth came down hard and fast on hers.

Ann’s mind spun out, reeling back to the summer they had shared. The kiss he had given her at their wedding was light, fleeting. This one recalled the passion of the two teenagers who had come together like a spark and tinder, never to be the same again.

In an instant Ann forgot the sarcastic remarks, the sullen looks, the fury and bitterness he had shown her since their reunion. She was seventeen, and this was Heath, whom she loved so much. Her lips opened to admit his probing tongue as his hands slipped under her camisole, seeking her skin. His fingers were still rough as a boy’s, callused, and she shivered as he ran his hands up her bare arms and across her back, lifting the scrap of silk over her head and tossing it onto the floor. She gasped against his mouth as his hand closed over her breast and she felt his thumb rasp her nipple, increasing the pressure until she moaned and her head fell back, exposing an expanse of soft, pale skin.

He bent his head and ran his tongue along the slender line of her throat, holding her to him with one arm and lifting her legs with the other. He lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him. She sighed as she felt him along the length of her, his mouth moving from the hollow between her breasts to each sensitive nipple, sucking gently. Ann held his head, his thick hair like strands of raw silk against her fingers, his lips caressing her until she tugged on him to raise his head. His long-lashed eyes looked down into hers in the dim room, his skin dusky against the collar of his crisp white shirt, his mouth wet and reddened from her kisses.

“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.