Molly (9 page)

“Suitable! Suitable for what? A wake?”

“Suitable for polite Florence society. While
you’re here you
will be
suitable, or you’ll have me to
deal with.”

“How dare you!”

He found what he was looking for and turned
around, holding the dress in a death grip.

“This is my house and my town, and I won’t
have you doing anything to jeopardize everything I’ve worked
for.”

“Just who do you think you are, barging in
here and ordering me around? I’m a grown woman and perfectly
capable of deciding what I will or will not wear.”

Molly had never been so angry in all her
life. She had come to Florence somewhat reluctantly, but she had
been willing to keep up appearances for her father’s sake. All that
had gone by the wayside now. Samuel was giving orders as if he
owned all of Florence and half of Alabama, but she wasn’t about to
knuckle under.

Being told what to do always brought out the
worst in her.

She raked her hand through her hair, lifting
it seductively off her neck. Then she shrugged her shoulders so
that her other strap slide down her arm.

“What’s the matter, Sammy baby? Afraid you’ll
lose me to some good-looking local hunk?” She batted her eyelashes
at him. “Why, baby, I’d be more than willing to give the Florence
boys a thrill.”

He tossed the dress onto the bed and pulled
Molly so close she lost her breathe. She glared straight into his
eyes.

“Don’t you ever let me catch you playing
games with the men in this town. Is that clear?”

There was more in his face than anger. There
was pain—a hurt buried so deeply that only someone with Molly’s
compassion could see it. Her anger drained away, but she’d be
darned if she would let him order her around.

“It was not my intention to play games,
Samuel. I chose this dress because I wanted to stay cool.”

He loosened his grip on her shoulders,
suddenly ashamed. Never in his life had he treated a woman – or
anybody else, for that matter – with such high-handed tactics.

“Did I hurt you, Molly?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, Molly. I don’t know what got into
me.”

“Nerves. I’m feeling a bit on edge
myself.”

His smile was crooked and heartrending.
“Don’t be too generous with me. I can’t promise not to do this
again.”

“Why, Samuel?”

He swept his hands through her hair and let
it sift back through his fingers.

“You seem to bring out the beast in me.”

She struggled against the magic of his touch,
fought against the connection that wound them more and more tightly
together.

“Funny, I thought it was only the
tyrant.”

“That, too.”

The urge to bury his face in her hair was so
strong, he moved closer. She parted her lips, and for an insane
moment, all he could think about was kissing them.

Mentally he shook himself like an old wet
dog. He couldn’t afford to be bewitched by Molly. Especially not
tonight, of all nights.

He released her quickly and picked up Bea’s
dress. “Don’t make this difficult, Molly. Please just wear the
damned dress.”

She took the garment from him. It was a
sedate black dinner dress, expensive and elegant and about as
exciting as last Sunday’s casserole. Trust Bea to go for the
understated look.

“Bea always did have good taste.”

“Thank you.”

She tossed the dress onto the bed. “But it’s
not
my
taste, Samuel.” She pulled her shoulder straps up
and smoothed down the hem of her bright coral party dress. “You’ll
just have to hold your head up somehow, and pretend that I’m
perfectly suitable for polite Florence society.”

He looked pained. “I didn’t mean to sound so
pompous, Molly. I just want this party to go smoothly.”

“I can promise you that I won’t swing from
the chandelier or dance on the tabletops or even flirt with the
local heart-throbs. I think I can survive one evening without those
activities. But I
am
wearing this dress.”

The only time he’d ever seen such a stubborn
look on a face was when he and Bea had been kids. He’d had a new
baseball and glove and had gone off to play backlot baseball with
the boys in his neighborhood. Bea had tagged along. Not only that,
but she’d insisted on playing the game. When he had told her girls
didn’t play baseball, she’d stuck out her lip and said she’d prove
that girls could play better than boys. And she had. She’d hit two
home runs that afternoon.

“I’ll concede the victory to you.” He gave
her a mock bow. “But don’t expect to win every time.”

“Does this mean we’re going to fight a
lot?”

“Probably. But I’ve come to find our little
skirmishes stimulating.”

She propped her arms on the ornate brass
footboard of the bed and grinned at him like a naughty child. “You
might even find a few of them educational.”

“Is that a warning, Molly?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

He cocked one eyebrow at her. Molly, in a
stubborn mood, was extraordinarily beautiful—and desirable. But
then he’d discovered that Molly in any mood was intoxicating. And
having her leaning on the bed didn’t help matters one bit. He
decided that in the future it might behoove him to stay out of the
bedroom when he confronted her.

“I’ll see you downstairs at the party.” He
started toward the door, then stopped and said over his shoulder,
“And, Molly, I’ll be watching to see that you keep your
promise.”

She chuckled. “I never break promises,
Samuel.”

The sound of her laughter followed him out
the door. It was going to be a very long evening. He strode quickly
to his room and began to dress.

After he left, Molly put the finishing
touches on her makeup and hurried down the stairs. She’d heard
guests arriving for the last ten minutes and she didn’t want to
miss a single thing. Now that she was in Florence and her first
encounter with Samuel was over, she was feeling perky and ready to
party. She didn’t know what she had expected—perhaps the tenderness
that had so undone her in Tupelo. Or maybe she had expected another
of those soul-searing, possessive kisses. Expect for that heady
moment when he had held her in his arms, she had come through their
encounter all in one piece. And she had won their skirmish. She had
promised to be good, of course, and she would; but not
too
good. Too good was boring.

She was smiling when she stepped into the
festive living room downstairs.

Glory Ethel came across the room and kissed
her cheek. “You take my breath away, you’re so beautiful.” She
glanced up the staircase. “Have you seen Sam, yet?”

Molly’s face flamed. “Yes.”

Glory Ethel took note of the flushed face,
but wisely refrained from comment. “Good. He works so hard, I
wasn’t sure whether he would even take time off for the party.” She
took Molly’s hand and patted it. “My dear, would you mind keeping
an eye on him? He’s been an absolute bear this week. I don’t know
what’s wrong with him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Anyhow, I’m not
exactly the chaperone type.”

“Here he is now.” She turned toward her
handsome son, who was descending the staircase. Taking Molly’s
hand, she dragged her over. “This sweet thing has agreed to look
after you, Sam.” She linked their hands. “Now, you behave and don’t
give her any trouble.”

Glory Ethel departed in a swirl of chiffon
skirts and a cloud of perfume. Molly couldn’t help but smile. Her
daddy was
very
lucky.

“You can take that wicked smile off your
face, Venus. I didn’t intend to be looked after.”

At close range, Samuel Adams in a tuxedo was
deadly. This was one time she dearly wished she was a coward and
able to run.

“You needn’t put any gray hairs in your head
worrying. I have more important things to do than watch you.”

“Shall I make a few wild guesses, or do you
intend to tell me?”

She looked about the room, taking her time.
She wanted to madden him as much as he maddened her.

“Well, the chandelier appears too flimsy for
swinging. And there’s too much food on the table to have any
dancing room.” She paused long enough to zero in on the handsomest
man in the room. Actually, the next handsomest. And he finished a
poor second to Samuel Adams. “But I do see a local heart-throb who
is pining for me to give him a thrill.”

“Molly, I’m warning you…”

“I remember. You make people quake in their
boots. But you should remember, too, I’m not wearing boots.” She
reached for the hem of her skirt.

Samuel’s hand snaked out and caught her
wrist. “Save those legs for a more appreciative audience.”

Her smile was a study in wicked innocence.
“You don’t appreciate them?”

He ignored that taunt. “A
private
audience.”

“Tsk, tsk. Have you forgotten? The whole
world is my audience.”

Carmondy’s picture floated through his
mind.

“Florence, Alabama, is not the whole world.
And don’t you forget it.”

He left her abruptly, stalked toward the
table and snatched up a glass of champagne. He hated champagne, but
he downed the entire glass in three swallows. Across the room,
Molly was flirting with a muscle bound jock named Graden Williams.
Thank God, she’d be in Florence for only a day or two, and then
she’d return to Tupelo or Paris or wherever the hell she had to go
and pose naked.

He clipped another glass from the table, more
to have something to do with his hands than anything else. They
kept wanting to curl into fists and smash something—mostly Graden
Williams’s smirking face.

Samuel made his way across the room, stopping
occasionally to chat with friends, smiling and nodding to others as
if he were enjoying the evening, playing the role of perfect host.
But all the while he was moving closer to Molly. His mother had
gotten their roles reversed.
She
was the one who needed
looking after. As head of the family, it was his job to take care
of her.

When he was close enough to overhear their
conversation, he stopped. Still holding a full glass, he leaned
against a marble column his mother’s idiotic decorator had insisted
on installing in the room, and watched Molly. She had already
besotted poor hapless Graden. And it had taken her less than ten
minutes.

Samuel began to see the humor of the
situation. He relaxed and decided to enjoy the entertainment.

“Graden, don’t tell me you do all that by
yourself? You run a whole de-part-ment store? How
fa-sci-nating.”

Samuel grinned. Molly’s exaggerated drawl was
so thick it could be swirled around a fork and still not drip on
the plate. He was amazed that Graden didn’t see through it. But
then, Graden had probably never met a woman like Molly.

For that matter, neither had he. His mother
had an earthy humor and a big laugh, but she was as plain as
yesterday’s meat loaf. His sister Bea was beautiful, of course, but
not in an ordinary way. Bea’s was a subtle beauty that would go
unnoticed unless you took the time to really look at her. She was
not at all like Molly.

He lifted the glass to his lips and watched
her over the rim. Her vibrant, vivid beauty socked him in the gut,
and he found himself holding his breath. Since he’d spotted that
painting in Carmondy’s office, he couldn’t look at Molly without
picturing her naked.

Giving a snort of self-disgust, he turned to
go. But Molly’s next words stopped him.

“Well, Graden, I’m
certain
Glory
Ethel’s garden is lovely this time of year. I’d be delighted to
take a stroll in the moonlight with you.”

“We might even find something besides
flowers, Molly girl.”

Over his dead body. Samuel squeezed the
champagne glass so hard the stem popped. Champagne cascaded to the
floor and the top half of the glass shattered against the tiles.
Samuel caught the sharp eye of a waiter, gave a peremptory nod, put
the rest of his glass on the waiter’s silver tray, and then zeroed
in on Molly.

He took her arm and smoothly drew her to his
side.

“There you are, Molly. I thought I had lost
you.”

“How can you lose me, Samuel? You never had
me.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held it in a tight
grip. “Anyhow, I can’t talk to you now. I’m going for a moonlight
stroll with Graden.” She gave him a spunky grin and kicked his
shin.

He didn’t even grunt. Instead he smiled at
her like a benign father.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt your plans, but
we do have important business to discuss.” He favored Graden with
one of his best president-of-the-bank glares. “You
do
understand, don’t you?”

Graden knew enough about Samuel Adams not to
cross him.

“Certainly. Anyhow, I need to give my
congratulations to the happy couple and be on my way. Tomorrow is a
big day at the store.” He backed off.

“Nice seeing you, Graden. Thank you for
coming.”

“Let go of me, you big tyrant.”

“Molly, if you kick me one more time, I’ll be
forced to kiss that smile off your face.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Of course not.” She cocked her head to one
side so she could see his face better. “Besides, you can’t do two
things at one time.”

A hint of a smile played around his lips.
“And what is that other thing I’d be doing?”

She took her time, smiling innocently up at
him, widening her eyes in a way she’d been told drove men mad.

“I think showing is so much nicer than
telling, don’t you?”

“It depends on who’s doing the showing and
what’s being shown.”

“Oh, I’m doing the showing, Samuel. This is
my
game.” She hooked her arms quickly around his neck and
stood on tiptoe. She’d expected at least a token show of
resistance, but he just stood there, grinning at her. No, not
grinning: leering, smirking. Not that exactly, either. What he was
doing was looking at her like some big jungle cat who has just seen
his dinner.