Housebound (18 page)

“I just saw him. And offended him deeply, apparently.”

“Did you? How did you manage that?” Holly was genuinely curious.

“I asked him for twenty thousand dollars. I wasn't serious, of course. Speaking of which, Holly, I—”

“Don't start on me now, Annie,” she protested. “I barely have time to shower and change before we're due at the gallery. We can talk later.”

“Proffy's told you about our problem?”

“Proffy told me about the house,” she said evasively. “Now I really must run. I'll see you at the gallery. Tell me, is Wilson coming?”

Her studied indifference didn't fool Anne for a moment. “He'll be at dinner. I forgot to ask him whether he was bringing your car.”

“Oh, that's all right. I already picked it up,” Holly assured her blithely.

“When?” Surprise made the question sound abrupt, and Holly blushed with unaccustomed guilt.

“Don't be paranoid, darling. I came down on a flying trip last week—I didn't have a moment to even call you. Don't worry, you can trust Wilson.”

“Pity,” Anne said silkily, and Holly shot her a disbelieving glance.

“Don't tease, darling. I'll see you at the gallery.” And with that she raced down the hall before her older sister could make any more uncomfortable remarks. Anne watched her go, a smile hovering around her mouth, not even noticing that her sister was heading in the same direction Noah had recently traveled. Lost in a maze of contradictory thoughts, she headed back toward her room prepared to beard the Merry Widow in her den and fight for the right to the bed, if need be.

“Oh, my God!”

“Anne, dear,” the Merry Widow protested faintly, “I wish you wouldn't swear. I can't abide it. Please humor me in this matter, dear. I know it's hopelessly antique of me, but I can't help it.”

Anne ignored her protests, staring into the closet with grim shock. “Were you with Holly when she took her dress?”

“Of course I was. How else do you suppose she got in here? I trust the hotel management isn't in the habit of handing out keys to every Tom, Dick and Harry who happens to ask for one. I won't rest easy if that's the case.”

Anne ignored the faintly querulous tone. “Did she look at both dresses?”

“Of course she did. She took the green one first, then changed her mind and took the purple one instead. I can't imagine why it should matter—the dresses look very much alike to me.”

“The purple one was mine,” Anne wailed, panic breaking through her grim resolve. “I can't possibly wear the green one.”

“And why not? It will look quite stunning with your eyes.”

“I haven't got the figure to carry it off, for one thing. Or the guts. Holly likes her clothes a bit more risqué than I do.
This dress is bordering on indecent; the purple was demure and modest.”

“I'm sure Holly looked at them both carefully before choosing,” Mrs. Morgan observed shrewdly. “Maybe she's decided to change her image.”

A sudden vision of Wilson flashed through Anne's mind, Wilson with his disapproval and his attraction to Holly. “I'm sure that's what she decided to do,” Anne wailed. “But she picked a hell of a time to do it. I haven't got anything else to wear!”

“Your language, Anne,” Mrs. Morgan reproved. “And you don't need anything else. You'll look quite charming in the green dress—I expect you'll even surprise yourself. Holly is not the only one in need of a change, my dear. When I was your age I had already been married twice.”

Humor born of despair bubbled forth. “But that dress is hardly suitable for an old maid.”

“Fortunately such things as old maids are passé,” the Merry Widow observed serenely from her perch on the coveted bed. “If you have the right attitude you'll look glorious in that dress. And I wouldn't be surprised if Wilson decided he can't wait till this fall.”

Anne ignored the reference to Wilson. By that time he and Holly should be happily in love. But where would she be? “I don't suppose I have any choice,” she said doubtfully, eying the silky creation. She had always loved the color, after all. Perhaps it was fate. And what would Wilson say when he saw her in it? Even better, how would Noah react?

 

W
ILSON CHOKED
on his martini, staring at her, red-faced, when his coughing fit had passed. Holly, firmly attached to his arm and looking radiantly innocent in the purple dress,
peered at him through worried eyes, and Anne knew she was having second thoughts about having filched the wrong dress.

Indeed, she realized with a trace of smugness, catching a glimpse of her reflection above the bar, the dress couldn't have suited her better. The deep green darkened her eyes to a clear emerald, artfully enhanced by the Merry Widow's eye shadow. The front clung gently to her unbound breasts, the back dipped enticingly low, and her black hair was a cloud around her animated face. She would never have dared wear such a thing, but she could only be grateful that fate and her acquisitive sister had forced it on her.

Music was throbbing through the room, an artful accompaniment to Ashley's bold canvases. It was a strange mélange—the Pointer Sisters fading into Vivaldi and then on to Bruce Springsteen. Anne peered over the edge of her champagne glass, content to eye the wandering crowds, ever alert for Noah's entrance. In the end it was he who found her, coming up behind her when she least expected it. She had just stepped out into the back hallway to catch her breath, away from the suffocating clouds of cigarette smoke and the chattering clatter of high-pitched voices. The hallway was dark, empty and depressing, and she was just about to rejoin the crowds.

“What are you trying to prove in a dress like that, Annie?” His voice was low and seductive just beside her ear, and she could only be glad she was in enough control not to jump.

She turned slowly, looking up into his faintly scowling face and smiling—a slow, sure smile. “That you can't resist me?” she suggested lightly, taking another sip of the champagne she'd brought with her. His own glass was half full.

There was a blessed trace of a smile lighting his dark Gypsy
face, and his hand reached up lightly to brush her cheek, the touch sending a tiny shiver down her exposed backbone. “You're probably right. I'm glad to see your bruise faded.”

“There are still some lovely yellow traces beneath the makeup,” she murmured, trying to still the sudden uprush of hope at his casual words.

“What have you been doing the last two weeks? Falling off roofs or racing into power lines?” He kept his voice light.

“Missing you.”

The champagne in his glass spilled slightly, and his eyes darkened. “Did you?” he replied noncommittally.

He wasn't about to give in, she realized in sudden despair. No matter how much he wanted her, he wasn't about to admit it. And there was no way she could be sure he even wanted her. “Yes,” she said, turning away.

She had forgotten the effect of her back, or the lack thereof. Before she could move away there was a sudden intake of breath and his hand caught her almost bare shoulder.

“Good God, Annie,” he groaned. The silent, empty hallway surrounded them with a velvet solitude. At any moment the door to the crowded exhibit could open and part of that spectacularly plumaged crowd could spill out after them. But for the moment they were alone. His strong hand burned into her shoulder, holding her turned away from him, that long, narrow back exposed to his heated gaze.

Before she could divine his intention she felt the cool, silvery drops of champagne slide down the curve of her back. A moment later his mouth followed, his tongue snaking out to catch the drops he'd showered on her back, slithering down the warm, sensitized skin, its rough texture a soul-destroying caress.

Anne swayed, and it was only the strength of his hand that kept her standing. A helpless little moan of desire had escaped her, but there was no one around to notice.

“Damn you, Annie.” His voice was low and almost anguished. “What do you want from me?”

“A two-night stand?” she suggested, not daring to turn around.

The hand released her, reluctantly, the fingers clinging to the silky material for a long moment. When he said nothing she turned around, only to see him disappearing back through the doorway.

It took her a moment to follow him. “How do you like it, Anne, darling?” Ashley weaved his way up to her, and for a moment all thought of Noah Grant fled. Her brother looked absolutely horrible. That he was already very drunk was without question—his eyes were bloodshot from days or weeks or months of constant drinking. His tan had faded to a dissipated yellow, his hair was limp and in need of a cut, and his face was puffy.

“Very impressive,” she said vaguely, taking one slender hand in hers. “Are you all right, Ashley?”

“Of course I am, dearest.” He withdrew his hand quickly, but not before she recognized the deathly chill in his skin. “Why shouldn't I be? Another smash success, with all my dear, dear friends to celebrate my triumph. Not to mention my glorious family. You're looking quite ravishing, my dear. How did you get Holly to part with that magnificent dress?”

“It was her choice.”

“I must say I'm surprised. Maybe she's trying to prove to Wilson how subdued she can be.”

“That was my theory,” Anne agreed with a forced smile.

“So you finally know about that, do you?” Ashley shoved
a nervous hand through his lank blond hair. “I wondered how long it would take you.”

“Too long, I suppose. I still don't know whether Wilson realizes it.” The two of them eyed the couple in question. Wilson was leaning over Holly, lecturing her very intently, and Holly was listening meekly enough, her slender hand still on his arm.

“I think he might be catching on,” Ashley said dryly. “I wonder where that leaves you.”

“Splendidly celibate.”

“Best way to be,” Ashley said sadly. “Listen, darling, Proffy has told me you're desperate for money. I can't help.”

“But Ashley, the house is going to fall into rubble if we don't do something!”

“Let it,” he said. “Best thing for it, and for you. Really, Anne. I'd like to help, but I simply can't. I'm already up to my ears in debt.”

“But how could you be? I know you live rather well, but you also make quite fabulous sums of money. I just need a loan, or if you could cosign a loan with a bank—”

“I'm afraid my credit is worthless, darling, and I haven't even got the money to pay for the reception tonight.” He grimaced, draining his glass. “You see, not only do I have expensive…friends, but I've also discovered the myriad pleasures of gambling. Atlantic City is just a little too close for me, I'm afraid.”

“Ashley!”

“Sorry, darling. I'm afraid you'll have to count on Holly for help.” He turned and walked away.

Elvis Costello had faded into Mozart during the last few minutes, but anything less like Mozart's delicate fantasies
would be hard to imagine in her current state of mind. The world seemed to be closing in on her, and wherever she turned, doors slammed in her face.

Plastering a social smile on her face, Anne wandered through the exhibition, barely touching her champagne, longing to escape back to the hotel, and hoping against hope that the Merry Widow might be indiscreet enough to share her father's single room. If there ever was a night when Anne needed her privacy, tonight was it.

She would have made it through with flying colors if it hadn't been for Marvin Gaye, she realized later. Keeping away from the champagne helped lessen her self-indulgent state of mind. Ignoring Noah's presence also aided her in her resolve. If she could still feel his tongue dancing along her backbone, she sternly ignored it. She was on her way out of the door, heading back to the hotel and a blessed few moments of peace in her room, when the silky, sensual strains of “Sexual Healing” replaced Chick Corea on the sound system. Anne felt her knees melt as the music wove its familiar, seductive spell around her, felt her breasts tingle and a fire begin a slow, escalating conflagration in her loins.

She couldn't go back through that room, the music throbbing at her from strategically placed speakers. Someone would find her cape and fetch it later—at the moment all she needed was escape.

She made her way blindly to the door, but Noah was there ahead of her, her cape over his arm. Startled, she looked up into his face, her eyes meeting his for a long, fiery moment.

“I give up,” he said. His hands lingered for breathless moments as they draped the cape around her. “Come on.”

She followed him blindly out into the spring night, oblivi
ous to the curious, troubled glances they left behind. When they reached the sidewalk Noah pulled her hand into his, tucking it close to his body as he took off down the street. Without a word she followed him, her feet rushing to keep up with his long stride as they crossed the blocks that led back to the Elgin Hotel. He didn't say a word until they were behind his bedroom door, the lock securely turned.

And then he reached for her, pulling her against his lean, muscled body, his hands firm but gentle as he held her there. “I warned you, Annie, love,” he whispered against her midnight-black hair. “I did warn you.” He pushed the cape off her shoulders, and it fell in a shimmering pool at their feet as his hands molded her pliant back to his tense frame. And with a sigh she gave herself up to the magic of his embrace, closing her eyes to doubt and the prospect of tomorrow. Her hands were on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with desperate haste to break through that rough cloth barrier and feel the warmth of his flesh against her. Eagerly she pulled his shirt free from his pants, sliding her hands up inside, her fingertips trailing along the smooth, warm hide of him. And suddenly she couldn't get enough—reaching up, she sought his mouth, desperate in her need for him.

His hands were deft at the back of her gown, and a moment later it followed the cape onto the floor, leaving her standing in the circle of his arms, wearing nothing but a thin wisp of silk panties.

He groaned, deep in his throat, his tongue exploring her mouth with an almost savage thoroughness as his hands traced her curves, cupping her full breasts as they pressed against the frustrating shirtfront. And then his hands joined hers, ripping off his jacket, his shirt, as they tumbled toward the bed.

Anne fell backward across it, Noah's body sprawling across hers, and she looked up at him, breathless with laughter and excitement. “In a hurry?” she murmured, brushing her lips against his, her tongue darting out to trace the contours of his mouth.

“God, yes!” he groaned as her hands slid across his chest. He caught one of those hands, pressing it against his raging desire, and she gasped.