Show and Tell (5 page)
What had possessed her to let a strange man into her room no matter how yummy he looked? Who had she become? It wasn’t only tonight. It was running out on her best friend’s baby shower. It was sneaking off to Tahoe—after knowing Harper a month—for a quickie wedding when all her life she’d wanted the white dress and a walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. It was how badly she’d disappointed Daddy by cutting him out of that special day.
Finding Harper with that woman, she’d had the thought that she’d momentarily lost her sense of self. The truth was far worse. She’d never had a sense of self at all.
Will the real Trinity Green please stand up?
She came up for air, shoving the pillow aside, then rushed for the door to slam home the deadbolt.
She was her daddy’s little girl, Harper’s trophy wife, the country-club debutante, the elegant heiress. Yet she felt like the princess in
Shrek
. She wanted everyone to think she was the gorgeous Cameron Diaz when actually, beneath the enchantment, she was just a troll. Or was it the other way around, the troll was the enchantment and Cameron was real? Whatever. Trinity couldn’t remember. The point was she didn’t even know herself.
Shrek
. She wanted everyone to think she was the gorgeous Cameron Diaz when actually, beneath the enchantment, she was just a troll. Or was it the other way around, the troll was the enchantment and Cameron was real? Whatever. Trinity couldn’t remember. The point was she didn’t even know herself.
And she could now add to the list being an exhibitionist who masturbated for a complete and total stranger. And loved it.
What evil demon spirit had possessed her?
But, honest to God, it had been the hottest moment ever. Bar none. She hadn’t cared how she sounded, braying donkey or not, or how she was splayed on the bed. It was the most liberating experience of her entire existence on planet Earth. Because he was so damn hot for her.
After her big moment, as she’d floated back down in a million little pieces like ash from Mount St. Helens, he’d white-knuckled the armrests. If she looked, she was sure she’d find little crescent moons in the wood.
He’d wanted her. Without makeup. Without her daddy’s money. Sight unseen, he’d knocked on her door because her voice had driven him crazy with desire. Now
that
was a power trip.
that
was a power trip.
Better than mind-blowing, she’d had the absolute best orgasm ever. With a total stranger. And he hadn’t even touched her.
She wanted more of it.
Which was why it was a darn good thing that he didn’t know her name and she didn’t know his, much less have any way to contact him.
BY dawn’s early light, Scott knew he couldn’t walk away and leave it to the fates as to whether he saw her again. He’d fallen asleep to fantasies, half hoping she’d wake him in the night with the sound of her voice through the wall.
Instead, the call of the alarm had dragged him out of bed.
As he closed his door behind him, there wasn’t a sound from beneath hers. Since it wasn’t even five o’clock, he didn’t expect there to be.
He couldn’t pinpoint any one thing that made him want her with this intensity. Sure, there was the mystery element. Who was she? And yeah, she was goddess material, the way she looked, her moves, her sighs. She was also a lot younger than him, which brought to mind the midlife crisis issue. Except that he wasn’t having a midlife crisis. He’d had that when Katy divorced him. Now he was moving on, doing well. He didn’t have any desire to buy a fast sports car or marshal a younger woman around on his arm to show he was still virile.
His desire might have a helluva lot less to do with his mystery lady and far more to do with his state of mind at this time in his life. He needed connection, romance, passion; whatever the hell you called it, he wanted it. She captured his imagination with her voice. Her sexy, sultry bedroom sounds had wormed their way into his vitals, and he’d never get her out unless he followed through on this need. For him, she spelled excitement, and he wanted that feeling. He’d missed it during the last fifteen years of his marriage, started craving it the year before Lexa went off to college, before Katy had torn his world apart. He’d thought he and Katy could find each other again, recapture love, yet she’d checked out of the relationship long before she actually told him.
Now, he didn’t care how he got that passion back. He didn’t care how long the thrill lasted. He wanted a taste of it for any length of time he could grab hold of. It was probably ridiculous to hope he could get what he needed from a stranger, but then fantasy was all about believing the impossible could be possible. He wanted a woman in his life. He wanted
this
woman. Days, weeks, months, he’d take whatever she’d give him.
this
woman. Days, weeks, months, he’d take whatever she’d give him.
Scribbling a couple of lines on a piece of hotel notepaper, he shoved that and his business card under her door before he gave himself time to debate the wisdom of giving his name, his company, and his work number to a stranger he’d gotten kinky with. He was the picture of conservative, the suit, the tie, the dress shirt, serious when required, responsible, all that. He’d be the executive voted least likely to pick up a woman at a hotel bar while away on a business trip. It was also true that while he’d experimented a bit after his divorce, his sex life prior to that had been pretty vanilla.
Yet he’d knocked on a woman’s door and asked to watch her masturbate.
She’d made him feel completely alive for the first time in years. And he wanted to feel it again. The thought of acting out a few of his fantasies with her was titillating. No, too mild a word. The possibilities were downright exhilarating.
Now he just had to hope she didn’t tear up the card.
3
SHE should have torn up the card. Oh my Lord. Her friends would host an intervention if they knew. He could have been a serial killer. Not that he looked like any serial killer she’d ever seen on TV, and she didn’t believe it when the neighbors all said, “But he was such a nice guy.” A serial killer had to
look
like a serial killer.
look
like a serial killer.
Still, this morning Trinity had slipped the card into her purse instead of throwing it out, and she’d thought about him all day. Scott Sinclair. He worked at some Silicon Valley firm. Chief financial officer. He’d folded a note around the card. “Back from a trip tomorrow, Tuesday. Call me. Since you’ll go through our phone system, there’s no caller ID so you have no worries about me tracking the number back.”
Would a serial killer bother to write a note like that? She knew his name, not the other way around. She could meet him, then disappear again, and he’d never know who she was.
It had such delicious possibilities.
Total control.
Lord, that thought felt good after the morning she’d had. Returning to the condo, she found Harper had been and gone, taking one suitcase. She’d promptly had the locks changed, then called the security company and altered the alarm code. Thankfully her father hadn’t let her put Harper on the account. His reasoning:
When Harper pays back the down payment, we’ll put him on the paperwork
. Until then, the condo would stay in her father’s name. Thank God. Otherwise, Harper could have claimed half ownership. The last thing she’d done was to leave a note for Edith, her twice-weekly housekeeper, to wash all the sheets, towels, and bath mats. She didn’t want a trace of Harper left.
When Harper pays back the down payment, we’ll put him on the paperwork
. Until then, the condo would stay in her father’s name. Thank God. Otherwise, Harper could have claimed half ownership. The last thing she’d done was to leave a note for Edith, her twice-weekly housekeeper, to wash all the sheets, towels, and bath mats. She didn’t want a trace of Harper left.
Trinity heaved a great sigh.
Her father’s secretary Verna Underwood misinterpreted the sound. “He’ll be done in a minute.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait.” What could he be talking about that he didn’t want her to overhear?
Seated in one of the armchairs, Trinity sifted through the magazines, but neither
Money
nor
Popular Mechanics
grabbed her interest. She sometimes slipped in through Daddy’s second office doorway, which exited directly onto the executive row hallway at Green Industries. This morning, however, that door had been locked, a fact which Verna explained away as a “very important
private
conference call.”
Money
nor
Popular Mechanics
grabbed her interest. She sometimes slipped in through Daddy’s second office doorway, which exited directly onto the executive row hallway at Green Industries. This morning, however, that door had been locked, a fact which Verna explained away as a “very important
private
conference call.”
So here she was in the outer office with too much time to think about how she’d break the news. She hated to hurt Daddy or worry him. Since her mother died, she’d tried to spare him as much trauma as possible. She must have had a momentary brain malfunction marrying Harper the way she did. How could she have done that without a thought for how badly her father would feel? It was an unconscionable act. Another sigh puffed out.
“You all right, hon?”
Verna had been around forever, though she didn’t look older than fifty-five. Her hair had long since turned from black to blue gray, and her skirts had inched down from above the knee to below. She was now the closest thing Trinity had to a mother.
Still, she couldn’t say to Verna, “Yesterday, I caught my husband screwing another woman in our shower, I masturbated for a total stranger last night, and today I’m filing for divorce.”
The thought did not make her feel sick or scared. It did
not
. She’d made up her mind. As if her subconscious had made plans in her sleep, she’d woken this morning knowing that’s what she’d do.
not
. She’d made up her mind. As if her subconscious had made plans in her sleep, she’d woken this morning knowing that’s what she’d do.
She shuddered with the thought of how upset Daddy would be. Still, she smiled for Verna, though it felt a little brittle. “I’m fine. Honestly. But thanks for asking.”
Verna gave her a look that said she didn’t believe a word, then her phone beeped. “Oh, there he is. You can go in.”
When Trinity walked through the door, her father was shoving a file folder in his middle drawer.
“Hey, Daddy.” She rounded the desk and kissed his cheek.
He worried her. As had happened while her mother was ill, he’d lost weight in the last few months since the merger with Castle Heavy Mining. Until last year, Green Industries had been an independent supplier of Castle. Her father was on Castle’s board, and he still ran Green as a subsidiary, but . . . he’d changed. The weight loss wasn’t bad on its own, but instead of looking healthier and more fit, he appeared haggard and gaunt. He wouldn’t give up his cigars, either, as the ubiquitous ashes on his blotter attested. His favorite saying was, “I’m sixty-eight and too old to give up the one last thing I enjoy in life.”
Now Trinity had to add to his burden.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit, sweetie?”
Brushing aside ashes, she perched on the edge of his desk. There was no appropriate lead-in. “I’m getting a divorce.”
He sat back in his leather chair. He’d had that chair so long that his bottom left a permanent imprint. Everything else in the office was relatively new, and definitely luxurious, but he wouldn’t give up his favorite chair. Now, he sank into the soft leather, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Praise the Lord,” he murmured, though he’d never been a religious man.
Trinity flopped down in the chair opposite his massive desk. Thank
God
he wasn’t upset. “Didn’t you like Harper?”
God
he wasn’t upset. “Didn’t you like Harper?”
Her father leaned forward once again, both elbows on the desk. “No man is good enough for my little girl.” He reached into his middle drawer and drew out the folder she’d seen him stash when she walked in. “But Harper Harrington the Third”—he gave the title a derisive slur—“wasn’t worthy of washing the underside of your Mustang.”
He opened the folder, and Trinity got a bad feeling. She noticed he hadn’t asked why she was divorcing Harper. He didn’t care. Or maybe he already knew why. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Background check.”
Her mouth was suddenly dry and swallowing hurt. “When did you do that?”
“I had it done when you came back from Tahoe.” He tapped the top page in the file. “I have the private investigator update me monthly on Harper’s activities.”
“You were talking to your investigator, weren’t you?” That supposed conference call.
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