A Treasure Worth Seeking (13 page)

"Tell me about your husband, Erin." The request was made quietly, almost inconsequentially.

She didn't pretend ignorance. Giving in to an irresistible urge, she lay her head on his shoulder. "Joseph was the kindest man I'd ever met. He was immensely successful in business. Part of his success stemmed from the fact that his employees adored him. He gave even the lowliest mail clerk a share in the profits. Some may accuse him of being a shrewd manager, but I think that he really wanted to distribute his wealth."

Lance raised his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her head rested on his chest. "When he first started showing an interest in me, I thought it was because he valued my judgments, my knowledge of his business. And he did. But it was only after we had had several dinner dates that
I realized he was seeing me be
cause he liked me. In retrospect, I think I recaptured his youth. He had been widowed for many years. His children were grown and led their own busy lives. For a long time, his business had been his only interest in life. He was lonely.

"Anyway, he asked me to marry him. I was stunned and a little frightened. He had always been so scrupulously mannerly that his proposal took me completely off guard.

I consented, not because I loved him, at least not romanti-cally, but because I thought he would be hurt if I refused."

Her hand had found its way to Lance's thigh, and she was running her finger up and down the crease in his trouser leg. "I married him, much to everyone's dismay.

I think my name was bandied about as being an opportun-ist, a gold digger. I didn't like people thinking badly of me, but I knew my motives were above reproach. I couldn't let other uninformed opinions affect me or Joseph. I was young, lonely, and just a little flattered that such an important man could love me. That's all there was to it. He died later that same year."

Lance captured her hand with his and pressed it against the muscle of his leg. "Not quite all, Erin."

His tone was so intimate that she blushed. She raised her eyes briefly. He was leaning down over her so closely that their faces nearly came into contact. His blue eyes speared through her own. She returned her head to his chest.

"The marriage was never consummated. Joseph—he tried, but—he was already sick," she stammered. Her face was flaming scarlet. "When he went to a doctor to check on—uh—the other, they discovered the malignancy. It was inoperable."

Returning her thoughts to those sad days after Joseph's death, Erin was made aware of the change she had under-gone since meeting Lance. After Joseph's embarrassing attempts to make her his wife in the physical sense, she had become afraid of sex. He had been so completely devastated when he couldn't perform as a husband that Erin had felt his pain and embarrassment just as keenly as he had. She never wanted anything to do with sex again.

It couldn't be worth the price of sacrificing someone's self-esteem.

She hadn't become involved with a man again. It wasn't for lack of invitation. Many men in New York had pursued her before and after her marriage to Joseph, but she had managed to bridle their passions until they became frustrated enough to seek other partners. In Houston, much the same thing had happened until she met Bart and they had finally reached an understanding about her not sleeping with him.

It wasn't the act itself that frightened her. The O'Sheas had been a loving couple with a healthy, active sex life.

Even as a child, Erin had discerned that her parents shared something special.

Her problem was a fear of being disillusioned again if things went wrong.

Why then had she accepted Lance Barrett so readily?

Since that first embrace when she still thought him to be Ken, she had felt a desire kindling and igniting until it raged inside her like a forest fire. Even when she was flinging aspersions in his face, she had had to fight that forceful sexual awareness of him.

And he had known it. Her body hadn't been able to keep its longing a secret and his had instinctively responded. Unconsciously she had exuded a magnetic current that he hadn't ignored or resisted.

She was playing a dangerous game. Part of her reason for refusing to be Bart's mistress had been her compulsive desire for a family. Somehow, she had known that Bart wasn't what she wanted in the way of a husband and father to her children. Becoming too involved with him might put a stumbling block in the way of her achieving what she wanted most out of her life.

If Bart was a stumbling block, Lance was a mountain.

A few days from now they would go their separate ways and never see each other again. Why was she gambling her future? A brief affair with Lance led nowhere. It was stupid. It was hopeless. It was immoral.

Yet now, when she could feel his breath against her cheek and the pressure of his arm against the soft cushion of her breast, she also knew that it was ordained and out of her control.

She lifted her head and looked at him. He drowned in the depths of her dark eyes that were wide and liquid with the train of her thoughts. His lips compressed into a stern line when he said, "I'm sorry for what happened last night in the park."

"You were angry," she replied simply. "I knew that."

"That's no excuse for what I almost did. God! Rape."

He sighed in self-disgust. "I've never been violent with a woman, Erin. Believe me. Did I hurt you?" The guilty look on his face melted her heart.

"A little," she said with a smile.

"I wish it had never happened. If I could undo it, I would."

"Why don't you apologize?" she suggested seductively.

He smiled down at her tenderly and placed his index finger on her lips. He moved it from one corner of her mouth to the other with a slow, provocative stroke. "Erin, I apologize for my beastly behavior."

"Your apology is accepted," she whispered. His finger lowered her bottom lip and raked against her teeth.

Furtively, he glanced around him. "I wish we weren't in so public a place," he grumbled.

"Why? What would you do if we weren't?"

"E . . . Erin." He said her name through gritted teeth as she caught his finger in her mouth and sucked on it gently. "If your hand comes any farther up my thigh, you'll know beyond a shadow of a doubt what I would do."

"What would you do," she challenged breathlessly.

He picked up the thrown gauntlet. "I'd probably kiss you like this."

He kept one arm firmly around her and, with the other hand, cradled her face as he lowered his lips to hers. At first he teased her, biting gently on her lips, painting them with his tongue. He pulled back slightly to review the results of his torment. Her eyes were partially veiled with her black-fringed lids and her breath was escaping through parted lips, shiny and wet with the lubricant of his own mouth.

"Erin," he breathed as his lips closed over hers. Now was not the time to solve their problems. What if she did have a fianc
é
who was a millionaire? She wasn't wearing his damn diamond ring now. He knew almost to the minute when she had taken off that symbol of another man's claim.

What if he would never see her again? What if her income quadrupled his? What the hell did any of that matter now?

She was here. It was dark and cozy and they needed each other. Her body was supple and gave in to the demands of his. Her dear hand lay only inches from that part of him that knew her intimately and strained to know her again. Her lips were opened and receptive to his searching tongue. He had a hard time restraining a moan that formed in his chest and pushed up to clog his throat.

"You taste like brandy." The kiss was over, but their lips were still touching. "From now on, I'll love brandy."

"Drink some more," he said. This time it was her tongue that explored his mouth, finding all the hollows and filling them. When she pulled away, she teased the cleft in his chin with that relentless tongue which left him feeling weak and conversely powerful.

Her index finger replaced her tongue in that intriguing crevice as she asked huskily, "And if you got away with kissing me like that, then what would you do?"

He was all too eager now to participate in this duel of the senses. He put on his stern government agent face and said, "I'm not convinced that you're not some hardened criminal hiding behind a sexy disguise. Especially now that you've tried to seduce me, my suspicions are aroused."

"That's not all that's aroused," she said in a barely audible singsong voice.

Did she actually brush her hand over him or was that only his overactive imagination? Hell, the way he felt now, anything was possible. He swallowed hard and grated,

"You're getting me off the subject."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said contritely. "Please continue."

"As I was saying," he cleared his throat authoritatively,

"I'd probably feel the need to search you again."

His mouth took on an insolent slant that she remembered all too well. When she had first seen it, the arrogant expression had frightened her. Now she found that it caused her heart to pound with excitement.

"You surely wouldn't want to be derelict in your duty," she said solemnly.

"No. I couldn't let that happen." He brought his face down to hers again, but he didn't kiss her. Instead he looked deeply into her eyes as he slipped his hand under her blazer. It lay warm and heavy against her chest, similar to the warm heaviness that centered in the lower part of her body and throbbed between her thighs^ With agonizing slowness, he moved his hand downward.

Erin was held spellbound by the flashing sensations that radiated from his fingers through her blouse to her skin.

His eyes impaled her. They held her in a tender, but avaricious, gaze. He couldn't get enough of her.

His palm settled over her breast and molded it to his hand. Sensuously he began massaging her in a circular rhythm until he felt her become taut and firm in the center of his hand. The lips he was watching so hungrily parted and formed his name.

"You have two very feminine habits, Erin O'Shea," he said with infinite softness. "One of them is this." He brushed his thumb over the responsive crest. "The other is saying my name without really saying it. I find them both endearing."

He left her only long enough to set free two of her buttons. Then it was the flesh of his hand sliding over the lush curves. As gently as if he were undressing an infant, he pushed aside the wispy lace barrier of her bra and surrounded her with his hand.

She leaned forward, making herself fuller, more accessible to him. But never did their eyes waver
. Hers became shuttered
momentarily when his thumb began its own distinct finessing.

He leaned over her and placed his lips against her ear.

After kissing it and the velvet, scented skin around it, he whispered, "Erin, God help me, but I want you." His words were urgent, but if anything, his questing hand became more soothing.

Rolling her nipple between sensitive fingers, he asked,

"Did I tell you what a pretty color you are? I can remember just what this feels like in my mouth, against my tongue, what you taste like. Right now, I want—"

The seat belt sign lit up and they heard the soft chimes that called attention to it. Lance's breath was expulsed near her ear with a muffled curse. He eased away from her and, protecting her with his body, rebuttoned her blouse before returning to sit straight in his own seat.

She reached out tentatively to touch his arm, but he hissed, "Don't touch me." When he saw her hurt expression, he smiled. "Hasn't it occurred to you that it may take a minute or two for me to become decent again?" He looked at her with a lopsided grin until she caught his meaning. When she did, she jerked her hand back and faced the front of the airplane, not daring to move. He chuckled deeply.

Just when the wheels of the aircraft skidded to the runway, she looked at him shyly. "Lance, do you . . . do you think I'm terrible for acting so shamelessly in light of what happened today? Am I a disgraceful person?"

His smile was gentle and sincere. "It's been my experience over the years to watch the reactions of people in all sorts of chaotic situations. I've discovered that an emotional release from tension or grief can take myriad forms.

Some people weep, or scream, or get angry. Others laugh uncontrollably. Some turn to love." He paused significantly. "One emotion is as honest as the next, Erin."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Hello, Aunt Reba. This is Erin. Is Mother there?"

"Erin! We were just talking about you. Are you back in Houston?"

"No. I'm calling from San Francisco."

"Well, I won't keep you. Your mother is dying to talk to you. Good-bye, dear."

The funeral would take place in an hour, but Erin needed to talk to her mother so desperately that she took the time to place the long distance call.

Yesterday had been the grimmest day Erin had ever spent in her life. Melanie had decided not to delay Ken's funeral. It was planned for four o'clock in the afternoon, barely allowing time for all the preparations to be made.

The decision was a wise one, Erin thought. The sooner Melanie could restore her life to some semblance of nor-malcy, the better.

"Hello, Erin." Merle O'Shea's cheerful voice was like a balm on Erin's wounded spirit.

"Mother, it's so good to hear your voice. How are you?"

"I'm fine. But more to the point, how are you? You sound unhappy."

That was all the encouragement Erin needed. The

whole story came gushing out amid a torrent of tears. She began with her arrival on Ken Lyman's doorstep and ended with the funeral taking place that afternoon. She sobbed brokenly into the telephone.

"Oh, my darling girl, I'm so sorry for you. I can't even imagine how horrible this has all been. Especially when you were looking so forward to finding and meeting your brother." Erin heard her mother's voice crack. As always, when Erin was hurt, so was her adoptive mother. Erin hadn't grown in her womb, but she had certainly grown in her heart.

"Is there something I can do? Would you like for me to come to San Francisco?"

That would be a supreme sacrifice. Merle O'Shea was terrified of flying. "No, Mother. It's helped so much just to talk to you. Really, I'll be fine. I have to be for Melanie's sake."

"She sounds like such a sweet girl."

"She is. We really feel like sisters."

Her mother stumbled over her next question, "Erin, did—I mean did you find any information about your—real mother?"

Erin smiled into the receiver. Her mother couldn't help a little spark of maternal jealousy. "No, Mother, I didn't."

"I'll never forgive myself for destroying those records they gave me at the orphanage before I even read them.

When Gerald and I got you, I was so thrilled and so selfishly possessive of you—"

"Mother, please. We've been through this a thousand times. At the time, you felt that you were doing the right thing for me. Besides, I'm not sure I want to know anything more now. I don't think I could stand another disappointment."

Each of them was lost in thought for a moment before Merle asked, "This Mr. Barrett, is he nice? I hope he's not some insensitive tough guy."

Erin had deliberately refrained from any mention of her personal involvement with Lance Barrett. Was he nice?

"Yes, he's nice, I suppose, though he's handled everything very professionally. I wouldn't call him insensitive."

Her mother seemed satisfied with her answer. "Good.

You have that to be thankful for."

"Yes."

"When are you coming home, Erin? I'll feel so much better when you're back in Houston. You won't seem so far away."

Erin sighed. She hadn't made any plans to go home, though she knew now that she must. "I don't know, Mother," she answered honestly. "I want to make sure that Melanie is going to be all right. Within a few days for sure. I'll let you know."

"Please do." Merle paused for a long moment; then she said, "Erin, I know how much this meant to you. If I could spare you this heartache, I would. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Sometimes things happen in our lives for which there isn't an explanation. I hope this hasn't lessened your faith that God takes care of you."

"No. I need that faith now more than ever."

"You'll be in my prayers. I love you, Erin."

"I love you, too. Good-bye, Mother."

"Good-bye."

Erin replaced the receiver, hating to break that communicating thread with the loving woman who had given her life, if not birth.

Listlessly, she returned to the guest bedroom to finish dressing for the funeral. In Houston, she had packed a simple Halston dress of black wool jersey to wear to dinner should the occasion arise. Now she was wearing it to a funeral. Black textured hose and black suede pumps completed her outfit. Her only adornments were a pair of pearl studs in her ears and a strand of pearls around her neck.

Erin looked good in black and wore it often. It complemented her dark hair and eyes and her fair complexion.

But Melanie wasn't so fortunate. The black dress she had borrowed from Charlotte Winslow wrapped around her like a shroud. Her fair hair was still peeled away from her face in a severe style. The black dress made her wan complexion look even more sallow. Her eyes, which Erin had seen sparkle with childlike excitement, were lacklus-ter and vacant.

It was a strange cortege that proceeded from the house to the chapel in the cemetery. Erin and Melanie rode in the somber limousine provided by the funeral director.

They were accompanied by Melanie's parents, who appeared annoyed by the whole affair. Disparagingly, Erin wondered if the funeral had conflicted with a bridge tournament or a golf game and inconvenienced Melanie's parents.

Lance, Mike, and Clark followed at a sedate pace in their unmarked government car.

Melanie seemed to have cried herself dry last night before boarding the airplane. After landing, when Erin and Lance had roused her, she had remained composed, if somewhat aloof. She withstood the funeral service stoically.

A grief she hadn't experienced since the death of Gerald O'Shea washed over Eri
n as she looked at the unpreten
tious coffin covered with the spray of copper chrysanthemums that contained her brother's body.

She had come so close to knowing and loving him. So close, and yet she would never see him alive. Never hear his voice. Never enjoy the nuances of his personality. Had she entered his life a few days earlier, could her appearance have altered the course he had taken? Would her existence have made a difference in his life?

During the funeral service, she performed much like Melanie. She was vague and disoriented, mired down in a miasma of despair.

It was almost dark by the time they" returned to the Lyman residence. Erin went upstairs with Melanie and left her at the door of her room. Before she did anything else, Erin wanted to take off the black dress. She doubted she would ever wear it again.

She put on the old jeans she had worn her first night in the house and a comfortable sweater. She brushed her hair and repaired her face, which had been marred by streaking makeup. Feeling somewhat better, she decided that, even though she wasn't hungry, she should eat some of the food that friends and neighbors had brought to the house. She was still having some residual weakness from her illness and hadn't eaten properly in the last three days.

At the bottom of the stairs she stood awestruck as she saw Melanie coming down the steps carrying two suitcases.

"Melanie, what—"

"Erin, this is probably the rudest thing I've ever done in my life, but I've got to leave you here."

Erin was stunned by her calm announcement. "Bu—but where are you going? Why?"

"Did you hear my parents?"

It would have been hard not to, Erin wanted to say. The Winslows had accompanied their daughter home from the funeral and immediately upon entering the house had started railing at her to come home with them. They had caused quite a scene, embarrassing the young widow.

"I told them that I wanted to spend the night in my own house, especially since you would still be here. But I promised that tomorrow I would move back home." Melanie's lips formed a resolute straight line. "That's a promise I have no intention of keeping. They've ruined my life, not to mention Ken's. I'm not giving them the opportunity to go on controlling me."

Erin glanced around in desperation and saw Lance standing behind her. He was listening to Melanie's declaration. "But where will you go tonight?" Erin asked, grasping at straws.

"I don't know," Melanie shrugged with disinterest. "I really don't care. Just away from here. From them." She sighed sadly. "I really don't want to sell the house just now, but I can't stay here and be subjected to their constant badgering. Do you understand?"

It was a plea for assurance. In spite of her misgivings about the advisability of Melanie's plans, Erin said, "Of course I understand."

"Thank you, Erin. I knew you would. I'm leaving a letter for my parents on the entrance hall table. Please give it to them when they come for me tomorrow."

"Is there anything else?"

"No. I'll contact you soon. I wrote down your address and telephone number in Houston. I hate to run out on a guest like this, but it's something I have to do."

Erin smiled. "I'm not a guest. I'm family."

"Is there anything you need, Mrs. Lyman? Do you have any money?" Lance asked quietly from behind Erin. He endorsed Melanie's leaving.

"Yes. I have a personal account. I hate to give you any more responsibility, Mr. Barrett, but when you have cleared out all your equipment, would you leave the key to the house with the next door neighbor? She's expecting it. She agreed to look after things for me until I come back."

"It's done," he stated firmly.

Impulsively, Melanie walked toward him. The next instant she was enclosed in his arms. "Thank you for being so nice about everything," Erin heard her mumble into his shirt front. "I know you did everything you possibly could to find Ken and bring him back. You would have dealt with him justly."

Lance squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "I wouldn't have had it happen like this for anything in the world, Mrs.

Lyman." Melanie withdrew to the door, then turned to face them.

"In a way I'm glad that Ken didn't have to go to prison or suffer any more indignities. He had been unhappy for a long time. In his letter to me," she touched her breast where Erin guessed the unmailed missive was secreted,

"he says he was looking for acceptance. I think he took the money to get the world's attention as though saying,

'I'm alive. Here I am, Kenneth Lyman.' I'm no philosopher or psychologist, but I see his motives so clearly now.

And I know he loved me, despite everything."

Out of the mouths of babes, Erin thought, and tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks as she clasped this dear sister-in-law to her one more time. She and Lance stood by the front door as Melanie backed her car out of the garage and, with a poignant wave, drove off into the night.

"Do you think she'll be all right, Lance?" Erin asked anxiously.

"Far better than she's been," he murmured, and Erin found comfort in his simple words. "Here," he said, looking at her with an amused grin. "Let me wipe your face."

He extracted a white handkerchief from his hip pocket and blotted her tears. "How long has it been since you had a decent meal?"

"I can't remember," she laughed.

"That's what I thought," he said grimly. "You're getting skinny." As if to show her, he placed his hands on her ribs and steered her in the direction of the kitchen.

"There's enough food in here for an army, and we'll have to throw it away in the morning. So let's dig in."

While she was filling her plate in the kitchen, he went into the living room and picked up the red telephone.

"Mike, tell the boys to take a break and come eat some of this food."

He was tieless and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows when he walked back into the kitchen. "You haven't got enough," he said, inspecting her plate like a schoolmaster. Over her protests, he added another piece of cold fried chicken and a scoop of potato salad.

"I'll get fat," she wailed as he continued to pile food onto her plate.

He grinned that open, friendly, teasing smile that was so rare, but so captivating. "Not a chance. Besides, I know a
couple
of places that could stand some plumping out."

His eyes dropped meaningfully to her breasts.

"I—" she opened her mouth to rebuke his audacity, but the back door swung open and his men trooped in. She recognized only Mike and Clark, but there were three others. She was certain they had seen her and knew that they had overheard her conversation with Bart, She blushed as Lance introduced them.

They were all uptight, overly polite, and far too quiet.

Erin finally figured out that their obsequious manner was in deference to her. There had been a funeral today and each of them was all too aware of the circumstances. For her own sake as well as theirs, she set about to alleviate the gloom.

She began asking them polite questions and before long they were responding to her openly without first darting a permission-seeking look at Lance. Then they began to contribute to the dialogue, and by the time they left, there had even been some spontaneous laughter.