Season of Strangers (20 page)

Val smiled. “You wouldn't happen to know where I might find Julie?”

“Not right now, I'm afraid. I talked to her though. She said she'd be working late. Maybe you can catch her tonight at home.”

Not tonight, he thought, he planned to get laid—to coin a phrase from Patrick's vernacular. Then again, perhaps it was better this way, to wait to straighten things out between them when his night with Felicia was over. “If you happen to see her, tell her I need to talk to her, will you? Tell her I'll be in my office all day tomorrow.”

“Will do.” One of Bab's sleek dark eyebrows arched up. “By the way, I saw your ex-girlfriend out in the parking lot. She says she's back on the loose.”

“So I gather,” Val said.

“I guess we both know what that means.”

“Do we?”

“Sure. It means wild nights and partying. It means the old Patrick is on his way back in.”

“I told you, I'm through with alcohol and drugs.”

She fixed him with a cold-eyed stare. “Try to remember that, will you, Patrick? You've really been a nice guy lately. Even Fred's starting to like you. Don't screw things up.”

Val didn't answer. There was only one thing he wanted from Felicia Salazar. He wanted a lesson on how to make love. No strings, she'd said. No expectations. As soon as the lesson was over, that would be the end of it.

He left the office at five, headed home, wrote in his journal for a while, then changed to go out for the evening. He wasn't as nervous as he had expected to be. He had tuned in to Patrick's memories of sex with Felicia, something he didn't have with Julie, and he intended to use them to guide him. When the limo driver called from the lobby, announcing Felicia's arrival, he shrugged into his double-breasted black silk Armani jacket and headed downstairs, looking forward to the evening with a calm he hadn't expected.

The limo driver held open the door of the long white Lincoln stretch limo and Val climbed in. The slender black-haired beauty was waiting for him in the back seat, extending a frosty champagne glass in his direction.

Val accepted the glass. His body was in perfect physical condition. He would never take drugs, but in contrast to Babs's and Julie's fears, he knew a drink or two wouldn't hurt him, and tonight he needed to appease the lady he was with if he was going to accomplish his purpose.

“Thanks.” He took the crystal goblet from her hand and settled his tall frame next to her on the cushy gray leather seat.

“You look marvelous, Patrick, the best you've looked in years.”

He smiled. “I gave up the dope and the booze. This is the first drink I've had since my heart attack.”

“I heard about that.” She rested a hand on his leg, ran it halfway up his thigh. “It doesn't look like it's slowed you down any.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “I guess we'll find out a little later on.”

They drove to the bar at the Four Seasons hotel, one of the current celebrity hot spots in L.A., ordered an extravagant meal at an intimate table in the dining room, then returned to the limo.

Conversation with Felicia was limited at best, mostly sexual overtones about what she intended to do to him once she got him in bed. By the time the meal was finished, considering how little both of them ate and the uninspired dialogue between them, he wondered why they had bothered going out at all.

They returned to the car and the chauffeur started back to the Peninsula, Felicia's luxury hotel.

“Damn.” A sudden thought occurred, and Val pressed the intercom button that connected the back seat to the driver, who was sealed behind a darkened window in front. “I need to swing by my office. There's a file I've got to have.” To Felicia he said, “I've got a meeting first thing in the morning.”

She arched a brow at a move so out of character for Patrick, then gave him a petulant glance. “Not too early, I hope.”

His mouth curved faintly. “No. Not too early.” The big black Lincoln stopped at the rear of the office and as Val climbed out, Felicia pulled his head down for a kiss.

“Hurry back,” she said in her deep sexy voice, and he smiled.

“I'll only be a minute.”

As soon as he returned, they were off, the driver pulling into the long sweeping drive of the Peninsula hotel, a uniformed doorman helping them out of the car. Felicia's suite, in a separate row of town houses in the rear, was richly decorated in muted peach and cream. Marble and gilt, lavish and expensive. The minute the door was closed, he found himself wrapped in her arms.

“I must have been crazy not to bring you straight here,” she said, kissing him fiercely, dragging her fingers through his hair then biting the side of his neck. “In fact, I should have let you screw me in your office. That's what I really wanted. I just thought it would be nice for us to get reacquainted a little bit first.”

They were never really acquainted, Patrick's memory said. They had used each other. That was the way each of them wanted it.

Val kissed her deeply. His body stirred, continued to harden, but there was none of the hot, lusty fire he had known when he had kissed Julie. He felt Felicia's hands on his crotch, stroking him through his slacks. He worked the zipper at the back of her black cocktail dress and she stepped out of it, stood in front of him in a garter belt and black nylon stockings. She wasn't wearing a bra. And she wasn't wearing panties.

For a minute he stood there frozen. His loins were thick and heavy and yet he sensed there was something wrong. His body wanted him to take her, but the man he truly was, the man he seemed to be losing, said no. He wanted to have sex with her, to finally reach release, but his mind remained strangely unmoved.

Something is wrong, he thought again, more and more uneasy. With Julie his body and mind had worked as one, each heightening the sensations of the other. Now he was dealing with just his physical needs.

And something else bothered him.

It was an odd sensation, a gut-deep awareness that he was somehow failing Julie. He labeled the feeling betrayal, a violation of trust, a word that meant disloyalty and deceit. They were simply not acceptable to the man he truly was.

Felicia had his shirt stripped away and his pants unzipped before the full implications hit him. Sex was different than making love. Sex was physical. The animal act of procreation. Making love to someone required a form of caring. It was Patrick's way to stay removed from emotional involvement, to remain uncommitted, unconcerned and uncaring.

It wasn't Val's way and it never would be.

He grabbed her slim wrist as she reached inside the waistband of his shorts and Felicia's dark head came up. Her lips glistened with moisture, her eyes were glazed with passion, the brown of the irises nearly as dark as the pupils. His body craved release, ached to quench this hunger that had been with him for so long, yet his mind could not be swayed to that end.

For the second time in a matter of days, he was leaving a woman who wanted him in her bed. But for two far different reasons.

“Patrick?”

“I'm sorry, Felicia, this isn't going to work.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He began to ease away. “I said this isn't going to work. Too much has happened since we were together last. Too much has changed.”

“Wh-what's happened? What's changed?”

“I have,” he said softly, easing himself farther away. He reached down and picked up her dress, then handed it over to her. “I'm sorry things didn't work out. I hope you'll try to understand.”

“Understand?” she repeated, her back going rigid. She stepped into her dress, reached behind her to zip it up. “I understand, all right. I understand you're a real son of a bitch, Patrick. Just like you've always been.”

He drew on his shirt, buttoned it up and tucked it in. “I'm sorry, Felicia, I really am.”

“Get out of here, you bastard.”

He didn't say more, just opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. When he reached the lobby, one of the guys at the front desk waved a farewell, and a uniformed doorman hailed a cab for him outside the entrance to the hotel.

All the way back to his apartment, he reviewed what he had done, going back over each precise moment. Of all the decisions he had made, he had never been so certain he had done the right thing.

I
t was silly. Absolutely idiotic to be crying about a man like Patrick Donovan. But Julie couldn't help it. Not since the moment she had left the office at 10:00 p.m., climbed behind the wheel of her car, and seen Patrick pull up in Felicia Salazar's fancy limousine. Julie knew who it was—with a plate that read
Feline l,
it wasn't hard to figure out. Besides, she had seen the woman kissing Patrick when he had opened the heavy car door.

God, just thinking about it made her stomach roll with nausea.

Julie took a nerve-calming sip of the brandy she had poured herself when she got home. No wonder Patrick hadn't wanted her. Why should he when he had a beautiful, exotic creature like Felicia dying to crawl into his bed?

God, she felt like a fool.

She drank some more of the brandy, tilted the glass and drained the contents, then coughed as the burning liquid fired down her throat. Damn him! Damn him to hell! What in the world had ever made her believe he had changed?

Grateful to the alcohol for the numbness that began to seep through her body, Julie went to bed and eventually fell asleep. She tossed and turned, woke up at least four times, then lay awake till the alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.

All morning she felt groggy, drained and out of sorts, but she dressed in a pale peach pantsuit, grabbed her briefcase, climbed in her car, and headed in to work. She was tired of hiding. Patrick had made a fool of her, but she hadn't actually gone to bed with him so she still had the remnants of her pride.

And now that she knew the truth, she would arm herself against him more fiercely than she had ever done before.

She saw him at ten o'clock that morning, when he walked in with Ron Jacobs, one of the newer salesmen in the office. They were talking about selling the Weather by estate, a listing Patrick had apparently just helped Ron get, and both of them were laughing, heady with their victory over half the other agents in Beverly Hills who had been trying to do the same thing.

Even at a distance, Patrick's rough male voice sent an unwelcome fission of heat sliding through her. She tried not to notice how fresh he looked this morning, not at all as if he had spent the night thrashing around in Felicia's bed. She tried to ignore the hurt that welled inside her, making her want to turn and run.

“Hey, Julie!” Ron approached as she walked past Fred Thompson's desk. “Did you hear? I just got the Weather by listing—thanks to Patrick. You should have seen him. He was really terrific.”

“That's great,” Fred said, grinning. “Congratulations, boy. Now all we have to do is get the damned thing sold for you.” It was Saturday morning. Fred wasn't dressed for work. He had only just stopped in to pick up some paperwork on one of the properties he had sold. Instead of his usual suit and colorful bow tie, he wore khaki pants and a T-shirt that read Math Students Do It By The Numbers, apparently a leftover from his teaching days.

“I've seen the property,” Julie said, keeping her eyes on Ron, refusing to glance at Patrick, who stood just a few feet away. “I was there a couple of years back. I might be able to show it for you. I've got a client coming in from New York on Wednesday afternoon whose husband's with NBC. He's being transferred to the West Coast office. The place might be perfect for them.”

“Great,” Ron said. “I'll get you a copy of the listing and make arrangements for you to get in. Just let me know what you need.” Ron was thirty, a college grad who'd always had trouble working for others. He seemed to have found his niche in the real estate business, where his employer, for the most part, was himself.

“I'll let you know as soon as I find out the details,” she said. Two months ago, Ron had been grumbling about changing offices, still new enough to need a certain amount of guidance that he wasn't getting. Lately Patrick had started to help him. Now it looked like he just might stay.

She still didn't look at Patrick, not that it mattered. She could feel those intense blue eyes focused squarely on her face.

“Did you get my message?” he asked, forcing her to acknowledge him. “I'd like to talk to you as soon as you've got time.”

Her chin came up. “I'm afraid I'm busy right now.” She smiled sweetly at the others. “If all of you will excuse me…”

Fred eyed her with interest as she started to walk away. Ron waved and headed for his desk to start processing his listing. Patrick simply fell into step behind her. When she reached her office, she started to close the door, but his foot slid into the opening.

“I only need a minute.” His long body moved forward, forcing her backward into the room.

Julie pasted on a smile. “I'm afraid I don't have a minute, Patrick. I've got an important appointment. I have to leave.” She stared up at him, determined not to falter, having to tilt her head back since he was so damned tall. “We'll have to talk some other time.”

Patrick closed the door, the resounding thud as hollow as the feeling in her stomach. “We have to talk now.” Intense blue eyes bored into her, bright with determination.

She held her ground a moment, then wavered and backed away. “We don't have anything to say.” Turning toward her desk, she fumbled through some papers, then began to stuff them into her briefcase.

“I think we have a lot to say. To begin with, I want to explain what happened the other night.”

She turned, a cynical smile on her face. “That's kind of you, Patrick. While you're at it, maybe you'd also like to explain about spending the night with Felicia Salazar. I have a feeling that's a far more interesting story.”

Patrick's black eyebrows drew together. She could see he was wondering how she knew.

“I saw you with her. I was working late. I had just gotten into my car when the two of you drove into the parking lot.” She snapped the latch on the briefcase, hoping he wouldn't notice the way her hands were shaking. “Now may I leave?” She started for the door, but Patrick blocked her way. In the light slanting in, his face looked ominous, cheekbones darkened by shadow, eyes a darker blue and swirling with some turbulent emotion.

“I was with her, yes. But I didn't sleep with her.”

“Give me a break, Patrick. The woman had her tongue halfway down your throat in the parking lot.” She reached for the doorknob, but he caught her arm.

“I didn't have sex with her, Julie. I give you my word.”

“You give me your word,” she repeated sarcastically.

“Yes.”

She stared up at him. His expression never faltered. How could he seem so damned sincere? Then again, of all the things he was, Patrick was never much of a liar. “You didn't sleep with her,” she repeated. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn't want to. I discovered it was you I wanted. No other woman would do.”

She scoffed at that. “Oh, yeah. You wanted me so badly you walked out and left me standing half-naked in the living room, feeling like an absolute fool.”

His hands came up to her shoulders, holding her firmly in place, yet his touch was strangely gentle. “I don't blame you for being angry. I know I made a mess of things. That's why I had to see you.”

With an effort, she broke free. “Get out of my way, Patrick. I've heard all I'm going to.”

He didn't move.

“I'm warning you, Patrick. Get out of my way or I just might do you bodily harm.”

He almost smiled, a corner of his mouth curving faintly. God, he was so damned handsome.

“What time will you be through?”

“None of your business.”

“Listen to me, Julie. One way or another, you're going to hear me out. This conversation isn't over until you listen to what I have to say.” He stood immobile for several seconds more, then reluctantly moved away.

Julie turned the knob and jerked open the door. “Tell it to someone who cares.” Squaring her shoulders, ignoring the knot in her stomach, she brushed by him and walked out into the main part of the building.

Fred and Ron both looked up as she passed but neither of them said a word. Several other salespeople had come in. The smell of a fresh pot of coffee drifted out from the small employee lounge. The phones were ringing, people scurrying about. If they noticed the tension between her and Patrick they didn't show it.

Julie worked hard all day, filling every spare moment, trying to keep her mind busy and her thoughts from straying to Patrick. Still, when she wasn't thinking of Laura, worrying about what might be happening to her sister, she couldn't help thinking about him.

The formidable man she had left in her office was far stronger than the Patrick she had known, far more determined—and far more appealing.

She wondered what he could possibly have to say.

Damn it, there was nothing he
could
say. She had practically thrown herself at him and he had turned away, rejected her flatly for Felicia Salazar.

There was nothing more to it, there couldn't be.

Still, she couldn't stop remembering the way he had kissed her that night beneath the moon, fiercely hot, yet achingly tender. Even in his passion, he hadn't been demanding as she would have expected. In fact, he had seemed almost shy. She could still see his face when he had finally turned away, taut with some strange dark emotion. If she had to name it, she might even call it fear.

It was impossible, completely out of character. Yet whatever it was, it stirred her in some way, tempted her to hear what he wanted to say. She shook off the temptation. Patrick was too smooth, too polished at handling women for her to risk herself that way. She had done it once and look at the price she had paid.

No, she wasn't letting Patrick come near her.

If she saw Patrick coming, she would run like a deer the opposite way.

 

Val wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel that hung around his neck and kept on running. It was six o'clock Monday morning. He had already run ten miles, but today it wasn't enough. Not after the dream he'd had, the erotic images he battled every time he had fallen asleep. Images of the times Patrick had made love to Felicia. Only it wasn't the dark-skinned Brazilian beauty he saw in his vision—it was Julie. She was naked and responsive, pressing her lovely full breasts into his mouth, clawing his back and begging him to take her.

He had gladly obliged, dragging her down on the floor and spreading her wide for him, driving himself inside her again and again. Still he'd awakened hard and throbbing.

Shaking off the images, he jogged on, rounding the corner of Alden onto Elm, his feet padding rhythmically, returning him to his apartment. Once he got there, he stripped off his sweat-drenched clothes and headed for the shower, pausing only a moment to add a few more lines to the journal entry he had made earlier in the day.

The water felt good raining down on his head, soaking away the soreness in his muscles, draining the last of the sexual tension from his body. He toweled himself dry, shaved, and dressed to go into the office.

It took a load of concentration, but eventually he forced his mind to focus on work. Several calls came in, the last one with Sarah Bonham, chief administrator of the Ventura County Teachers' Pension Fund.

“Mr. Starky over at the Westwind Corporation suggested I call you,” she said. “He thought, as the former owner and developer of the Brookhaven condos, you might have some pertinent information. We were hoping you'd have time to show the members of our executive committee around the site sometime this week.”

“I'd be happy to,” he lied, then was conveniently unable to find time in his busy schedule for them to meet. He would call them next week, he assured her, knowing full well he had no intention of setting up an appointment.

If he stretched the time out long enough, chances were his sojourn as Patrick Donovan would be over and without his assistance, hopefully the deal would never be made. The teachers wouldn't have squandered the money in their retirement fund and Patrick wouldn't be around to go to jail.

He drummed his fingers on the desk next to the phone. Then he smiled. Sandini and McPherson wouldn't be pleased when they discovered their fraudulent plans had been thwarted. Perhaps he would leave this place with the knowledge he had done at least some small measure of good.

Of course, that wasn't really his purpose. His objective was to study Julie Ferris, and since his arrival he had been hard at work.

By using the modem on the primitive computer in his office, coupled with the ship's sophisticated computer banks, he had collected a number of files on her. He had locked into the Internal Revenue system and pulled up all the records associated with her Social Security number, which was easily obtained through Donovan Real Estate's accounting department. It was amazing what he had found.

Since the number had been issued during her junior year in high school when she had gotten her first job, he could track her employment record. She had worked since she was sixteen, starting as a clerk at the gift-wrap counter of a Macy's department store. She had earned enough to put her through college, where another computer bank had turned up the fact she earned mostly straight A's and graduated at the top of her class. Her financial records were there: bank accounts, school loans, home loans; even medical information could be accessed by the claim forms she had submitted to the insurance companies.