The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (56 page)

* * *

At home Nina said, "I had a nice time, Uncle Eric." On their third outing they'd decided Mr. Henson was too formal.

"I'm glad," he said.

She smiled briefly, then went to her room.

He turned to Adriana as she hung up her coat. "I'm healed."

She closed the closet door. "What?"

"My broken heart has been mended." He placed his hands on the wall behind her, trapping her in the circle of his arms. "And I want you."

She gazed up at him. "You don't know what you want."

"I want this." He kissed her mouth. "And this." He kissed her neck. "Especially this." He kissed her breast. She could feel the heat of his lips through her blouse.

"Eric." His name was a whisper.

"Am I beginning to convince you?"

Yes. "Nina could come out any moment."

"I hadn't planned on doing it out here."

"I hadn't planned on doing it at all."

His hand lowered to her blouse, he unhooked a button. "Fortunately, plans change."

"Not that fast."

"I've been patient. I haven't made any advances for two weeks."

Yes, she'd noticed that, but she hadn't been prepared for this. "True. However—"

"Do you want me to carry you or can you make it there yourself?"

"Eric—"

"Yes, that's what I thought." He swung her over his shoulder.

"Don't you dare!"

"Lower your voice," he ordered, heading down the hall. "Nina might hear you as well as half the building."

"Put me down," she ordered in a loud whisper.

"Don't worry, I plan to." He dropped her on the bed.

"You'll pay for this."

He tossed off his shirt and kneeled on the bed. "That's right, punish me. Make me beg for mercy. Blame me, if it makes you feel better."

It would be easy to do that. To be the helpless victim. Make him carry the responsibility of what they were about to do. But she wouldn't, because she wanted him too. She slipped out of her blouse. "No, I won't blame you." She pushed him onto his back and grabbed a condom from the side table. "But you will beg for mercy."

Neither knew who moved first. Their lips met as did their bodies, in a wild fervor of desire. Nothing was slow. Every movement was reckless, unheeding, almost violent as they grabbed each other, her hands roaming with audacious demand, her body thirsty for satisfaction, unrelenting of its quest. She didn't know why she always became impatient with him, forceful and commanding. Why she wanted to consume him or why he let her.

She kissed a path up his neck, the answer suddenly becoming clear. He kept part of himself hidden. He never asked for anything from her, no tenderness, no true intimacy, just sex. And as good as it was it suddenly wasn't enough. Their bodies were joined, but he was still a stranger.

She didn't want to sleep with a stranger, she wanted a man she could know and trust. She took a deep breath and then did something she never did during sex. She looked into his eyes and fell into their remote beauty. For a moment she saw a man there, hidden behind the ice. A man she could love. The thought frightened her. She turned away, knowing the image and memory would remain.

She wrapped herself in the covers when it was over, more a barrier to her feelings than from him. He didn't touch her or try to hold her. He just turned on his side. Adriana murmured softly to herself, staring into the darkness, then soon fell asleep.

* * *

Eric put a hand over his eyes. He had nearly lost it that time. He was an expert at being detached, but something about Adriana brought him close in a way that was dangerous. To him and definitely to her. When she had looked into his eyes, it took all his control not to envelop her, devour her in his need—the raw monster he kept hidden. He had to be careful, he knew where being reckless had gotten him before. Damn, he should end it now. End it clean. He grinned in spite of himself. The temptation was too sweet. He couldn't resist it until he had his fill.

It was just sex, he reminded himself, but damn, he didn't know a man could feel this good. This right. This real. He turned and reached out to touch her face, then pulled away.

They didn't have that type of relationship. They weren't supposed to fall asleep in each other's arms.

He rested on his elbows and watched her as the outside lamplight and moonlight slipped through the curtain, passing through the gauzy protection of the canopy, turning the pale light red. He wondered how it would feel to fall asleep with a woman in his arms. He would like to do that once. To know how it would feel to have someone belong to him. But he'd take what he could get. A man never found happiness by wishing for what he couldn't have.

He sat up, a restlessness nudging him out of bed. He changed and left the room.

He walked into the living room and stopped when cool air raised the hair on his arms. He saw the balcony door open. All his instincts became alert. The soft sound of crying changed it to concern. He saw Nina on the balcony wrapped in her coat with her purple nightgown peeking underneath the hem. She sat curled up, sitting in front of the railing.

He took a step forward, stopping when his bare feet hit the cold cement floor. A slow paralysis crept up his legs and torso. It was moments like these when he was most disgusted with himself. He tried another step toward her, but the paralysis reached up to his neck, threatening to choke him. He clenched his fists. He could run and grab her, but that would scare her. She would have to come to him.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked gently.

She glanced up and shook her head.

"It's cold out here. Why don't I make you some cocoa tea?"

She tilted her head. "What's that?"

"Hot chocolate." He held out his hand. "Come on. Tell me about the nightmare you didn't have." Relief filled him when she stood and took his hand, his large one swallowing hers.

In the kitchen, he checked the cupboards. "I'm afraid your mother doesn't have any hot chocolate. Why don't I heat up apple juice and we can pretend it's apple cider?"

"You like to pretend things?"

"Sometimes." He poured the drinks and put them in the microwave. "So tell me about your nightmare."

She made little circles on the table. "I didn't have one."

"But something made you cry."

She continued to make her invisible circles. Eric retrieved their mugs from the microwave. He placed one in front of her and sat down. "Moving is always hard."

"I hate it here," she said in an angry, little whisper.

"Why?"

"Everything is made of stone, cement, and metal. It's ugly and cold and gray. At my dad's house I had trees and grass and bushes and flowers. Here even the trees have cages."

"I know how you feel. When I left Jamaica I missed trees bursting with fruits, the sound of coconuts dropping to the ground, the blue of the Caribbean Sea, the feel of sand and pebbles beneath your feet and slipping through your fingers, and the smell of water. To come here to this concrete jungle was a shock." A place where your poverty stared at you like a cracked mirror—distorting your image, showing you a truth you'd never seen. There were no neighbors to talk with whose quick wit and easy laughter could lessen the struggles of the day. There were no trees or bushes with which to pluck fruit to ease the pain of hunger. Cold forced you to find shelter.

"What did you do?" she asked.

He'd begged his parents to go back. Then they'd died and he'd struggled to make the city a place he didn't despise, not succeeding until he was grown. He didn't wish to reveal the destitute nature of his childhood. "I bought plants, lots of them. I learned to find the beauty that was here. There's plenty to see in the museums and there's the Tidal Basin, and the blossoms in the spring, the Mall. I also read lots of books and made up stories."

She wiggled in her seat with childlike eagerness. "What books? What stories?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, I'm sure you've heard the stories of Anansi."

Her brow furrowed. "Anansi?"

"In some stories he is a boy, but most often he is a spider. An arrogant trickster. Let's go into the living room and I'll start from the beginning."

They settled in the couch. Nina held her mug in both hands, her eyes fixed on him, expectant.

He slipped into patois. "Anansi, him neva did have nutten himself. Den a famine came in de land."

Nina began to giggle. "You sound funny."

He looked at her with mock severity. "You want me fi finish?"

She giggled some more but nodded.

He then told the tale of Anansi in Fish Country and two other tales of trickery until her eyes drifted closed.

* * *

Adriana woke to an empty bed. She hated the bereft feelings that filled her as her hand swept over the space where Eric had lain. She hadn't expected him to stay till morning, but that fact didn't lift her spirits. She sat up when she heard footsteps down the hall. She grabbed her robe, opened the door, and turned on the hall lights. Eric squinted at the glare. Nina lay asleep in his arms.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"She couldn't go to sleep." He looked at the two doors. "Which one is her room?"

Adriana went in front of him and opened the door. She hadn't been inside since Nina arrived, feeling there was an invisible Keep Out sign. It was a typical child's room kept suitably messy and ten times smaller than her old room. The armoire and paintings emphasizing that fact. She watched Eric rest Nina on the bed and draw up the blankets. The scene was a little too natural for her liking. She turned away and walked into the hall.

He closed the door behind him. "I guess I should be going."

"You can stay till morning."

He glanced at his watch. "It is morning."

She went into her room. "Until daylight. I know how you need your sleep. I'd hate for you to fall asleep while driving."

"Hmm." He watched her in his intense way. Strangely the gaze didn't feel intimidating or cold. It was just him.

She touched his face, the stubble on his chin tickled her fingers. "You know you could grow a full beard in a week."

"I guess I should start bringing a razor."

They stared at each other, knowing what was happening between them was much more than an affair, but unable to admit it aloud.

She dropped her robe and slipped into bed. He took off his shirt and did the same.

She shivered. "I'm cold." It was an invitation more than a statement. She held her breath, preparing herself for rejection. Preparing that he would turn up the heater or offer to get her a blanket.

He drew her close instead, her back resting against his chest, his leg over hers. She moved her cheek against his arm. In moments they fell asleep.

* * *

Two days later Nina came down with a cold. Miserable and cranky, she stayed home and caused her mother anxiety, while she instructed her in what her housekeeper at her father's house used to do, Adriana bought every cold medicine she could find, turning her place into a sanitarium with windows drawn, utensils boiled, and rushing to Nina's room every half hour. Soon the chaos subsided when Nina's cold eased and she became her solemn self again.

* * *

Carter looked at his Visa bill and swore. He wished someone had warned him how expensive it was to keep a wife. Especially one that continued to glance over the fence to see what others had that she didn't. Their Chevy Chase home was never enough. The location alone cost him thousands, but that didn't matter to her.

Serena had a curvaceous figure, long, dark hair that tended to curl, and blue eyes. She was an attractive woman. He usually forgot that fact when she bitched at him. He glanced at her as she bent over to pick lint off the carpet, her designer jeans showing off their price tags like dollars signs tattooed to her butt.

"The neighbors are getting a gazebo," she said.

"We have a pool."

She sat and grabbed a
Home and Gardens
magazine. "But a gazebo would be nice too."

"We don't need it."

She sat on the couch. "If you made more money—"

"What? You'd spend it faster?"

She ignored him. She had turned the activity into an art form, especially in the bedroom. Most nights he felt he should have married his right hand instead. When he made money, he'd probably get rid of her and get someone young, desperate, and grateful. A grateful wife would be a nice change. He looked at Serena as she folded down a page. No, he would not go young. He would get someone older. There were plenty of older women who wanted to get married and their biological clocks were ticking to the eleventh hour.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked.

"Nothing." Yes, a woman who wanted a baby would be good. He'd be there to help her out and finally get some action. Plus he wouldn't mind being a dad. It would be a nice change to have someone look up to him. He glanced at his wife again. She could ignore him now. He wondered if he'd get her attention if he hit her with divorce papers.

Chapter 9

The man was obviously lost, the clerk concluded. She toyed with her strawberry-blond hair as she watched him make his way through the aisles. Men like him usually didn't end up in a used bookstore like Papertrail Books where stacks of hardcovers and paperbacks lined the shelves. He was an incongruous shape, standing in the dusty children's section surrounded by old dolls and used toys. Yet something about him made it seem all right. He didn't have the hurried impatient look of most businessmen, but she couldn't picture him with a family. He had a distant, isolated quality about him. Perhaps he was looking for a family member. Maybe he'd forgotten someone's birthday, but that still didn't explain what brought him here when there were plenty of stores to buy things new.