Paradise Burning (33 page)

Slowly, sensuously, Mandy slid her hands back
down, lingering long enough to glide below the belt, where she
explored his rigidity while looking him straight in the eye.
Paralyzed, Peter simply watched as she slid out from under him and
sauntered, caftan swishing, toward the rug.

He was going to have to remember not to call
her Mouse. His wife had metamorphosed into a tiger.

Poised in the center of white artificial fur,
she slipped her caftan over her head, cocked a naked hip in his
direction. “Well,” she taunted, “are you coming?”

God, yes. Definitely. Any moment now.

Without taking his gaze from his wife, the
full naked length of her haloed by the red warmth of the fireplace,
Peter finally sprang to life, skinning himself out of his clothes.
He stalked the short distance across the room, folded her into his
arms, his male hardness pressed between them. “I don’t want to give
us up, Mrs. Pennington. “And I’m damn sure you don’t either. We’ll
find a way. I promise.”

“
Shut up.”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

Mandy nuzzled one of his nipples, gave it a
tentative nip. Peter’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Planning on
whips and chains next?”

She drew back, stricken. “I was just—”

He pulled her tight against him. “I know, I
know. Forget Big Mouth here. Nip away, I like it.”

Taking him at his word, Mandy sank her teeth
hard enough around his other nipple to surprise an “Ah!” out of
him. She pulled down his head and nipped his lower lip. “Sorry,”
she murmured on a sigh, resting her head against his chest, “it was
worth a try, but it’s just not me. Amanda Armitage, forever plain
vanilla.”

“
You forget. Vanilla’s my favorite
flavor.”

“
You said you liked nips.”

“
I liked your willingness to
try.”

“
Oh.”

“
There’re all kinds of sex, Mou–Mandy.
But love is kinder, I think. There’s a warmth, a glow that
transcends the games people play. Sex has never been our problem.
We don’t need games to keep our marriage alive. Just a bit of
compromise.”

Mandy punched him in the stomach. Not
hard.

“
Sorry,” Peter grunted.

“
Since you’re so intent on talking us
to death, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

Peter had no trouble wrestling her to the
rug, where he sprawled full length on top of her. “Waggling your
boobies as well as your booty in front of a man is considered an
open invitation in every culture I know. No taking it back.”

“
You said we didn’t have to play
games.”

“
You started it.”

Damn
. So she
had. “Peter?” Mandy winced as she heard how soft and sorrowful she
sounded. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to have sex without
talking each other to death first?”

Peter closed his eyes, heaved a sigh. “How
about we turn over a new leaf?” he offered as his amber gaze
refocused on her. “Starting now?”

He cupped her with his hand. Smiled at the
feel of the dampness coating his fingers. “All that talk and you’re
still ready.”

“
So are you. Or someone shoved a brick
between us.”

“
Shut up.”

“
Yes, sir.”

They’d been married seven years, yet it was
fresh and wonderful, warm and healing, slow and powerful, full of
infinite promise. They belonged together, a matched pair.

They just had to find a way to make it
work.

Mandy, clutching two plastic bags from
Publix, slowly climbed the stairs to the Amber Run model. Since
Claire Blue seemed to have an endless supply of bottled water and
soda, Mandy insisted on contributing bakery cookies for their
frequent lunches. The cookies, several dozen each week, were also
enjoyed by Amber Run’s prospective clients, Brad, who had a
definite sweet tooth; Jamie, when he arrived after school; and Phil
Whitlaw, who had begun to stop by at least once a week, probing
Claire’s experiences with pregnancy.

Mandy, fascinated, took it all in, both
information and situation. It couldn’t be often that a man’s first
wife learned the nitty gritty of pregnancy from his second
wife.

“
Why the snail pace, Mandy?” Phil
called from the ground below. “You knocked up too?”

Mandy almost dropped the cookies. “Just
. . . things on my mind,” she gulped. She was blushing, she
knew
she was blushing. She’d almost
answered, “Just not much sleep last night.”

“
That’s okay,” Phil said, as she
climbed, clutching the handrail. “We’re none of us virgins here.
Feel free to say anything.”

If Mandy hadn’t been blushing before, she was
now. Rosy pink gone to beet. How did Claire do it? she wondered. If
Peter had been married before, and his first wife came to her,
looking for advice, she’d be inclined to chase her off with a
carving knife. And yet Claire . . . ?

Claire Blue was a saint.

After Mandy had sighed over a blissfully
sleeping Bubba and Phil had looked at the baby as if he might turn
into a dragon at any moment, the three women settled at the kitchen
table and unwrapped the deli sandwiches Phil had brought.

Claire picked up her sub, then hesitated,
staring at Mandy’s solemn face. “Okay, out with it, girl. What now?
Aren’t you ever going to put that man out of his misery?”

Mandy took a large bite, ostentatiously
concentrated on chewing.

“
Look, Mandy,” Phil said, waving her
six-inch sub like a club, “we’ve all been there. I chose my career
over my husband and came damn close to missing out on both love and
children. Sure, I’m scared of being a mother, particularly at my
age, but if I could wipe it all away with a wave of my hand, it’s a
case of no way, no how. I threw love in the trash, and for some
incredible, wonderful reason, I was given a second chance. But
don’t count on it. Hang on to that man and don’t let him
go.”

“
And me,” Claire said, “I hated
Florida. I felt exiled, impossibly alone. I just wanted to
go
home
. And, believe me, home
wasn’t here. Yet here I am. And I wouldn’t trade my life for the
whole world on a silver platter. Phil’s right, Mandy. Nothing is
more important than love, even if we have to compromise to make it
happen.”

Mandy stared down at her sandwich, whose
tempting ingredients had turned to sawdust. “You make it sound so
simple,” she whispered, “but—”

“
No buts!” Phil snapped. Either you
love him and want to be with him, or you don’t.”

“
If you love him, you have to find a
way,” Claire urged. “Stop dragging your feet.
Do
something.”

Mandy jumped up, nearly knocking over
her chair.
Damn! What made them think they
knew more . . .?

Claire and Phil knew. Of course they knew.
They’d even survived loving the same man.

Tears blurred Mandy’s eyes as she stood in
front of the greatroom’s wall of glass that looked southeast toward
the town of Pine Grove. She was a selfish, self-righteous prig.
Forty lashes with a wet noodle.

But if she gave up AKA after losing Kira,
what did that make her?

She didn’t have to give up the fight. Peter
had suggested she work long-distance. What was twelve hundred miles
to a computer terminal?

Mandy rubbed her eyes, blinked. Stared out
the window. “Claire,” she called, “is there another controlled burn
scheduled for today?”

“
No.” Swiftly, Claire joined Mandy at
the window, where a huge column of dark smoke could be seen, rising
in the distance. “I’ll check with Brad.” Scooping up her
walkie-talkie cell phone from the desk, she punched the
button.

A minute later she was back at the window,
Phil by her side. “Brad says not to worry, it’s at least ten miles
away, but it’s a real one this time, started by lightning. They’ve
already had to close down I-75.”

Ugly, Mandy thought. At the moment the cloud
of smoke was no bigger than last week’s controlled burn, but the
menace made it uglier, far more frightening. Trees and shrubs were
burning, terrified animals running for their lives. Firemen gearing
up, knowing they’d have nothing but a few tanker trucks,
flamethrowers for backburns, a helicopter with a Bambi bucket, and
a variety of basic tools for hand-to-hand combat.

“
It’s all right, Mandy,” Phil said. “We
get lots of wildfires in Florida. Our guys are experienced. They’ll
have that controlled in no time. Come on, let’s eat.”

Mandy shivered, prickles running down her
spine. There was something ominous about that billowing black
cloud, a pall on the day.

Almost . . . a warning.

Day after day of brilliant sunshine,
interspersed with occasional puffs of white clouds, spiced only by
the endless twittering of birds and squirrels, was a dead bore.
Mandy came close to livening up yet another long day by shouting,
“Boo!” at the stately egret stalking toward the chicken leftovers
she had just tossed onto the deck.

Four days waiting for the other shoe to drop.
No beach, no malls, no plays. No ballet. No clubs. One trip to the
grocery store with Peter riding shotgun, almost literally. Mandy
carried a Smith & Wesson AirLite in her purse. Peter had a
Glock 9, with a 12-gauge openly displayed on top of the
refrigerator. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing, had happened.

Doug Chalmers was wrong. And so was
Brad, who had stopped by the evening of their three-girl luncheon
to assure them the wildfire near Pine Grove was under control.
Claire’s husband also dropped a few dire hints about his
experiences with the Russian mafia, ending with such encouraging
words as, “Don’t worry, but stay inside, keep your doors locked and
guns handy.
Never
think you’re
safe.”
Aargh!

Amber Run had once been Shangri-la, a
sheltered refuge from the drama of the outside world. Now . . . the
days were merely surreal, outwardly like every other day of
mockingly brilliant sunshine since Mandy had come to Florida. But
at night the jungle along the river came alive with phantom menace.
Trees creaked in the breeze; dry and brittle leaves whispered like
lost souls. Wild hogs snorted for acorns under the live oaks.
Smaller creatures chirped and chattered, trilled and hooted. Mandy
thought birds slept at night, but that didn’t seem to be the case
in Florida. The air around the house was filled with strange and
mysterious sounds.

Would it be possible to hear a footfall on
the deck?

At the moment it was only dusk, with another
night to endure. Not that having an excuse to snuggle up to Peter
was all that bad. Mandy’s lips curled as she watched the egret fly
away, its broad expanse of white wings taking it high over the
pines and live oaks. Well fed and free.

As she wanted Nadya to be free. And the other
girls across the river. The women and children Kira had been trying
to help.

Slaves everywhere.

So if she and Peter had to endure a siege, so
be it. It was a small price, compared to what Nadya and her friends
had paid. Besides, after four days the problem seemed moot. Doug
Chalmers reported that all was quiet across the river. Business as
usual. The FBI case was on-going. Hopefully, not long now until
action would be taken.

The egret disappeared into the twilight,
heading for wherever it spent its nights. Mandy went inside and
began the routine of locking up, closing the vertical blinds,
drawing the draperies. She flipped the switch that activated
spotlights at the four corners of the house and the one for the
lights in the parking area below. She jumped as the buzzer on the
dryer sounded only a foot from her hand.

Damn!
She was a
Kingsley-Armitage. Her nerves were supposed to be stronger than
that.

Scowling, Mandy tossed the load of her
personal laundry into a wicker clothesbasket and headed for the
blue and green bedroom. As she started to fold a particularly sexy
nightgown, her anger faded beneath pulse-pounding memories. If she
ever tried to convince herself that she’d come to Florida solely
for a research job, she had only to look at this evidence of the
surreptitious trip she’d made to Victoria’s Secret in Boston before
heading south. Not to mention the new clothes she’d ordered on her
way down.

She’d come to Amber Run, armed and ready. Not
with guns and ammo, but with a new hair style, a full array of
fashionable cosmetics, and a suitcase full of sexy lingerie. And
somehow she’d done it without admitting her motive. Even to
herself.

Talk about denial!

More exactly, she’d come armed, but not
ready. Not ready to admit her true feelings. Not ready for the full
force that was Peter Pennington. But she’d survived the tidal wave
of emotion. Now she only had to come to terms with the aftermath .
. .

Prickles ran up the back of Mandy’s neck. Her
fingers crumpled the soft fabric of the gown. Someone was watching.
Now. This very minute.

Silly
. Nobody
could get in. Nobody could even see in. So why was she so certain
eyes were staring at the bedroom window.
Don’t just stand here, idiot. Take a look!

She should call Peter. But just
yesterday, when a sharp crack sounded on the south side of the
house, she’d dashed upstairs, breathlessly declaring there
was
someone out there
. He’d
turned his face to the office ceiling and howled. Laughed so hard
he’d nearly fallen off his chair.