True Bliss (19 page)

Bliss went to the nearest French door and stared out at rain that blew almost horizontally. "He seems perfectly confident to me."

"He's learned to put on a great front. When you think of what he's accomplished, it's incredible." She sighed. "Hell, he started out with an idea no one else would have touched at the time. Running an airline like a bus service. Cheap fares. Show up to get your seat. No frills. And he talked himself into the capital he needed to get started. A hell of a lot of capital. Balls, that's what it took. Balls, charm, and a brain that lets him dance over obstacles that would stop most of us."

Bliss knew the story, but she still felt proud of Sebastian.

Proud and sad at the same time. He'd made his own chances, but so much of that drive must have been spawned by an early life that came close to crushing him.

"I want to confide in you, Bliss. Trust you. Can I do that?"

Trees whipped, willow branches brushed the ground. "As long as I don't have to compromise myself, you can trust me."

"I'd never ask you to do that. I didn't want to be the one who brought you bad news all those years ago. I did it for Sebastian—and because I felt sorry for you."

Bliss bit back a retort that she didn't want Maryan Plato's pity.

"Sebastian's ill."

Tightness gripped Bliss's scalp. She turned to look at Maryan.

The other woman let the heel of her shoe slip off and jiggled it by the toe. She took a long, long, pull on the cigarillo. "I'm the only one who knows—apart from the doctor."

Sebastian? 111? Bliss visualized him in her chair, on her bed. Big, muscular, strong. Laughing, wrestling—loving. "What do you mean, ill? What's wrong with him?"

"Crystal got over him in the end, you know."

Bliss pressed her fingertips together. "They're divorced."

"Yes. Finally she couldn't take it anymore. He's never forgiven her. He still craves her."

"What's the point in this?"

"To illustrate what I'm telling you. Crystal still isn't safe from Sebastian. Bliss, I've spent a lot of years looking after my brother, but this time I'm really frightened I might not be able to save him."

"He's dying?" Each breath Bliss took was an effort.

"He's under psychiatric care."

Bliss made it to her chair and sat down hard.

"Sebastian compensates for feelings of inadequacy by proving his sexual prowess over and over—as often as he can. He's sexually obsessed. That's what drove Crystal away."

The phone on the bedside table rang. Bliss got up and answered it. Sebastian asked if she would be ready at seven-thirty. "I'll call you back," she told him shortly, and hung up.

"Sebastian?" Maryan asked.

Why lie. "Yes."

"You're going out with him tonight?"

"I'm supposed to."

"Where's he taking you? To the party in Seattle, I suppose. Or are you staying here?"

Honesty need not go too far. "We haven't decided yet."

"Will you help me, Bliss?"

"I've already told you I will if I can."

Maryan rose and stubbed out her cigarillo. "I know I can trust you. I felt that when we first met. If you care at all about Sebastian, try to keep his mood level, but don't let him get too close to you." She looked sharply at Bliss. "You know what I mean. He has—unusual tastes. I don't want you hurt."

Bliss's throat was too dry to allow her to swallow.

"I don't want anyone hurt," Maryan continued. "It's been close on several occasions, but so far I've managed to intervene in time. And for selfish reasons, I don't want any of this to get into official hands."

"You aren't making any sense," Bliss finally managed to say. "I've been with Sebastian. He isn't violent."

"That's his pattern. First he lulls them into believing in him, into wanting him so badly they can't refuse him anything. Then things change. I don't want to go into it too deeply."

"I think you'd better."

Maryan picked up her raincoat. "It isn't necessary. We both want the same thing—Sebastian's happiness and safety."

"If he just wanted a woman, he wouldn't have to come looking for me."

"It doesn't work like that for him. He wants the challenge of conquering some obstacle. He must be living out some fantasy of subduing you all over again. Also you have money. Sebastian needs money."

Bliss started to argue but thought better of it. "I'd like you to go, Maryan. I need to think."

"Of course. As long as you let him think you're besotted with him, it'll be okay. Can you do that—be nice to him—for me?"

For her? Bliss wanted to be nice to Sebastian for herself.

Maryan picked up her coat. "This isn't a game. When you're doing it for me, you'll be doing it for yourself. If you thwart him, the pattern's predictable."

"Predictable?" The solid thud of Bliss's heart was stifling.

"Nothing's been proved, but I think it's predictable. Things will happen to you. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean you should put out for him. As soon as you do that, he'll lose interest in anything but playing his games. Painful games. Games guaranteed to scare you—to death."

Bliss didn't want to know about painful games. "How do I know any of this is true?"

"I didn't want him to come here, but leaving New York for a while was a good idea. There was too much there that might catch up with him. If you don't believe me, I can get Crystal to talk to you."

"No! No, I don't want to talk to Crystal." She wanted to be alone. "I've got to go."

"Of course, you've got to go and meet Sebastian. Just remember to be nice, but not too nice. You're too exposed here— particularly at night. Sebastian likes the night."

Bliss picked up the dirty Spode basket. "Thanks for the warn-mg.

"There's a name for a man like Sebastian, Bliss. When he becomes obsessed with a woman—for whatever reason."

Even if that reason was only because he wanted her money? He knew she had financial difficulties here, but he also knew she would inherit a large trust fund and that this property was worth a great deal. She refrained from suggesting that the name for the type of man Maryan described might be, opportunist.

"Crystal could tell you about it. It broke her—almost ruined her life. Sebastian becomes a stalker."

Twelve

Fab had argued against the glasses.

Polly, ever the practical one, had pointed out that whatever Bliss might gain in elegance without them, she'd lose fast when she started falling over things.

Bliss had opted for safety.

"You look terrific," Sebastian said.

She couldn't help smiling. "Thanks—again." He drove a dark gray Thunderbird tonight—borrowed from William, whoever William might be.

Driving across the 1-90 bridge toward Seattle, Sebastian glanced at her, then over the choppy, gray surface of Lake Washington. They'd left after nine and the light was failing. "People tend to come back here, don't they?" he said.

Not if Maryan had her way. "I guess. I couldn't wait to get back."

"After school?"

"Mm. It's home. Always will be." She couldn't relax. Her back ached with tension.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in white before."

Few people had seen her in white. "We don't exactly have a history of attending formal gatherings—together."

He thought about that for a few moments, then said, "No," speculatively. "Does this seem unreal to you?"

She gave a sharp laugh. "Unreal's a bit weak, wouldn't you

say?" From the bridge, they'd entered the tunnel leading into industrial Rainier Valley. The rain had eased to drizzle.

"Sorry you agreed to come?" His green eyes were utterly serious.

"Wondering why I did," she told him honestly. And unable to shut out Maryan s accusations against him.

"This had to happen."

Bliss looked at his thigh in the slacks of his beautiful dark suit. He changed gears. Muscle flexed. His hand on the stick was broad and long-fingered—strong, very strong. He'd taken off his jacket and she smelled the scent of his freshly laundered white shirt. Against the collar his hair was black. Against his cuffs, his hands were tanned and lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Scratches on his knuckles and a bruise at the bridge of his nose reminded her of their night together.

The corner of his mouth jerked down. "You agree with me?"

She parted her lips and breathed in slowly. "That we had to go to a party together?"

His laugh was cynical. "You're smarter than that. You know what I meant. We've been moving toward this all our lives. Coming together."

"We were together once. We aren't together anymore."

"Aren't we?" His glance was no more than a flicker, but she shifted in her seat at its intensity. "We're together, Bliss. And this time we're staying together."

He must be living out some fantasy of subduing you all over again. Maryan had said.

"Bliss?"

"I can't make a leap like that. You can't expect me to." As long as you let him think you 're besotted with him it '11 be okay. "We're strangers." She couldn't pretend.

"Like hell we are." This time his laugh held disbelief. "We're old friends who should never have been parted. And we've already been where we'd never been before . . . before."

She ignored his last comment. "But we were parted. Your decision, not mine."

The drizzle had stopped. Sebastian turned off the wipers. "Is this because of the scene with your mother? This coolness? You were warm enough before she arrived yesterday."

"My mother has nothing to do with anything. I can't just forget. I can't forget that you ... I can't forget, that's all. It's there."

"And you don't want to start over?"

"I"—she turned in her seat—"I can't say that, either. If I could, my life wouldn't feel as if gravity just quit."

"You, too, huh? But, hey, who needs gravity? We haven't floated away yet."

He might not have floated away. She felt decidedly separated from reality.

They drove the graceful freeway ramps that brought them to the Kingdome, Seattle's massive sports arena with its giant orange-juice strainer top. A jumble of warehouses and railroad tracks surrounded acres of parking lots.

"Seems a lifetime since I was here," Sebastian said.

Bliss felt less and less secure. "It is a lifetime." Could she find a way to bring up the subject of Crystal again?

"I don't know if I want to take you to this party after all."

"Because I'm not bubbling over with enthusiasm?" She remained where she was, swiveled to face him. "I can't pretend nothing's changed."

"That wasn't what I meant. I know I can't do the impossible and change history. I was talking about not wanting to share you."

He could make her heart flip so easily.

"I'm a selfish man." He smiled at her. "I think I'm glad you usually favor fashions by Goodwill."

Bliss chuckled. "Am I being insulted or complimented? Or both."

"Complimented only. You're the one woman I've ever known who could make anything look good." His next glance held only unnerving appraisal. "But I think I could spend a lot of time just looking at you in white silk."

She'd bought the dress to wear to a fundraising event, then been unable to go because the Crow sisters got the flu and Bliss had to look after them, and Bobby.

"I'm glad you still wear glasses."

Bliss used a forefinger to poke the bridge. "Eyesight doesn't tend to undergo major improvement."

"I mean, rather than contacts. The specs suit you. You look like an exotic, incredibly intelligent bird of some kind in all that floating white silk."

"An exotic bird?" Bliss grimaced. "Thanks, I guess."

"Did I ever tell you what a sexy body you've got?"

She felt herself grow warmer. "Yes. Quite recently if memory serves."

"Yeah. Well, you do. The dress doesn't cover enough of it for my taste. For my taste in public. Can't you pull the top up?"

She stared at him, then down at her bodice on its thin straps. The long, silk mesh scarf she wore loosely tossed around her neck didn't disguise the fact that the dress was low-cut. "I hope you're kidding."

"I am. I enjoy making other men jealous. No bra, right?"

"Sebastian!"

"Sorry." He grinned. "What can I say. I'm observant. It's one of my strengths. I like the lilies on the scarf. And the silver speckly things in the stockings, too—all the way up."

She shook her head. "Okay, you're observant."

"Hope you didn't pay too much for the dress."

He said the weirdest things. "What does that mean?"

"No top. No bottom. You're all arms and legs and . . . Well, you're all a lot of things I'd better not say if I don't want you to slap me."

They'd entered the outskirts of downtown Seattle and the concrete and glass-lined gulches swallowed the Thunderbird. Sebastian stopped for a light, then drove past the old Union Station and made a left turn from Fourth Avenue onto Jackson.

"I want you back, Bliss."

She held her breath and listened to the thrum of her pulse in her ears.

"Whatever it takes, I'm going to do it."

Her hands were cold, yet her palms sweated.

"Say something."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you want the same thing. Say we'll never let anything separate us again."

Couples and groups swarming toward the Pioneer Square district became a passing blur to Bliss. Colors swam together, and faces.

"Why fight it? Don't tell me you haven't felt what I've felt in the past few days."

"I don't know what you've felt."

He found her hand and placed a swift kiss on her palm. He closed her fingers and let go to shift gears. A right-hand turn took them onto First Avenue, in the midst of clubs spilling patrons onto the sidewalks.

Bliss looked at her clenched fist.

"That's how I feel," he told her. "As if I'm around you and inside you, mixed with you. I don't need to know where my blood ends and yours begins, or my skin."

She dropped her head against the rest and pressed her closed hand to her throat.

"Tell me what you felt that first day when I walked into the kitchen at your place."