Simple Riches (16 page)

“I’m free every night after nine, except Thursdays,” Cynthia said. “Thursdays I bartend at Jasper’s until eleven.”

“Okay.”
Beautiful Brown Eyes
drifted from the sound system.

“Call me.”

“Sure.”

She leaned over, kissed his ear. “You won’t be disappointed.”

The crowd stopped and Janice, the waitress at Hot Ed’s, knelt before him. She wore a hot pink dress that looked like it had been painted on her body, one stroke at a time. She licked her lips, grabbed his forearms with two-inch hot pink nails and kissed him, thrusting her tongue deep in his mouth. He jerked back, his gaze riveting involuntarily to Elise who stared at him in surprise and shock. Janice pulled him onto the dance floor and spent the next thirty-seconds rubbing her body against his. When the dance was over he snatched the pillow from her hand and sucked in air.

His feet began moving before his head registered where he was going. He placed the pillow at Elise Pentani’s shiny, pale blue shoes and knelt down. Their gazes locked, she moved forward.

“I… I don’t remember seeing you without your ball cap.”

“Yeah, well, guess it doesn’t go with the suit.”

“You’re very nice looking, Michael.” She sounded surprised.

“Even dogs take a bath once in a while.”

She inched closer, touched his cheek. “So smooth. And your eyes… like honey and brown sugar.”

Shit!
He was hard and ready. What was wrong with him? “Stop it, Elise. Nick’s gone. I’m not his substitute.”

She jerked back as though he’d slapped her.

“Kiss her! Kiss her!” the crowd shouted.

Michael pulled her toward him, determined to show her, teach her so she’d never confuse the two brothers again. Her lips parted, full, pink lips, moist with anticipation. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Who the hell was he kidding?
He couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t taste those lips, because once would never be enough. And she was in love with his brother. Michael brushed his lips against the side of her mouth, stood up, and headed for the bar.

Nick turned the wheel with one hand, winding along the back roads toward home. His other hand held Alex’s, clutched tight, in case she had second thoughts—not that he thought she would or that he would force her to stay if she did… hell, he didn’t know what he thought right now. All he did know was that his erection was throbbing hard and heavy against his zipper and he wanted her…
now
.

They hadn’t spoken much since he’d turned the key in the ignition ten minutes ago. One last kiss, then she’d eased away from him and fastened her seat belt. She seemed almost shy, as though she wasn’t used to or comfortable with the emotion they’d shared. Was she? He knew very little about her personal life other than the fact that she was an only child, an orphan, who’d been raised by her aunt and uncle. What else?
What else?
That was all he knew and now was sure as hell not the time to go digging around asking questions about her past relationships with men. Later, he’d find out later. All that mattered right now was that she wanted to be with him.

“It’s just around the bend, another mile,” he said as they passed his mother’s house.

Alex nodded. “Justin showed me one day. He pointed it out when we were on our way to buy corn.”

“You should’ve stopped.”

“You weren’t home.”

Hmm. Maybe she’d thought about it
. “Well, next time you can stop whether I’m home or not.” He paused, squeezed her hand. “And if I’m not, maybe you can wait for me to come home.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.
There were a lot of maybes floating around between them. “Here we are,” he said, turning down the wide road that led to his house.

“It’s… so you,” Alex said, her eyes fixed on the white farmhouse with the wraparound front porch.

Nick scanned the house and surrounding area—white, neat, clipped, with a comfortable old glider on the front porch and a barn in the back. His mother had spread her green thumb to his yard with three pots of impatiens and six hanging ferns. “It’s me all right,” he said, hopping out of the Navigator and hurrying to the other side. He opened the door, pulled her to him. “You can see anything you want later.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Right now, there’s only one thing I want to see… you… naked in my bed.”

She moaned into his mouth, flung her arms around his neck, and melted against him. He let out a groan of need and want, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house. He couldn’t wait to taste the rest of her… he climbed the last stair, headed toward his room… couldn’t wait to sink himself deep inside…

“Nick?”

He laid her on his bed, sat down beside her, placed a hand on her thigh. “Yes?” Her skin was pale, almost a pink blush against his dark fingers.

“I… I…” She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. “There’s so much we don’t know about each other… maybe… maybe we should talk…”

He laughed, ran the palm of his hand under her dress. Higher, higher… She caught her breath, held it. Alex wanted to talk about as much as he did right now. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, finding the silk scrap of panty wedged between her legs. “Let’s practice the Braille method, huh?” He flicked his thumb against her panties. “Talk through touch. How about that?”

Her lips parted, her eyes grew wide, serious. “Nick…”

“Just say yes.” It was as close to a plea as he’d ever come.

She hesitated, just a second, then said, “Yes. Yes, Nick.”

He reached for her, a pulsing mass of heat and need, pulling her to him with an urgency that surprised him. His lips were everywhere, her throat, her breasts, the tip of her hipbone. He slid his hands up her thighs, reached for the silk scrap of panties, and yanked them off. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, planting a kiss on the inside of her thigh. She clung to him, her fingers buried in his hair, a low moan on her lips. He lifted his head, watched her.

“Open your eyes, Alex. Look at me.”

She met his gaze, her blue eyes bright. “Nick… Nick, I…”

“Shhhhh.” He stroked her cheek, ran a finger over her lips. “No words. Not now. Okay?”

She nodded, reaching for him. And then there were no more words as he flung aside her dress, her bra, her reserve, reveling in the touch and feel of her, the way she fumbled over his belt buckle, shy yet determined, yanking his pants off, clinging to him, mouth open, welcoming his tongue, gasping in frustration when she couldn’t get close enough. He wanted her and she wanted him. The need was there too, throbbing between them as though it had a life of its own, pleading for union, for completeness, for the desperateness of this moment to end. Her body trembled when he entered her, shook and vibrated as he moved inside her, gasps of pleasure on her lips. She wrapped her legs high over his back, pulling him closer, tighter, bucking with him, against him, tearing at the tiny scrap of control he had left. And when he knew he’d explode if she moved one more time, she jerked and convulsed against him, screaming out his name. It was too much; Nick grabbed her buttocks, buried himself into her one final time, deep, and let his release flow over him and into her, hot, needy, exhausting.

***

Alex rolled over, wondering what time it was. Five? Six? The last time she looked at the clock it was three-thirty and Nick had just—her whole body throbbed with the thought—turned her onto her stomach, spread her legs, and slipped inside. She’d been asleep, or half asleep, until his hardness invaded every pore in her body.

She was exhausted, sore… sticky… Nick. They’d made love three times, each different, equally explosive, totally possessive. The first had been filled with a clinging neediness, a fear that the moment would slip from their grasp if they didn’t take their fill from each other, drink, hard, fast, greedy. The second was a leisurely exploration of touch and sensation, a promise of heightened pleasure and hidden passion. And the third, the three-thirty wake-up call, well, that was a new familiarity based on desire and need, pure and elemental.

Last night, no, it had started long before last night, Nick had stripped away her layers of cool reserve, the self-possessed attitude that had taken Uncle Walter and Aunt Helen years to teach.
There’s no room for blatant displays of affection
, Aunt Helen had told her over and over.
Base emotions are crass and unsophisticated. Remember that, Alex, always remember that
. Had she remembered
too
well, believed
too
much, lived
too
much of the disjointed, separate-bedroom relationship her aunt and uncle shared? Was that why her earlier relationships with men had failed? Why no man had been interested enough to push past the aloofness, the distancing, why they gave up long before they got to
her
, the real Alex Chamberlain, crouched in a corner like a lost child, hidden somewhere beneath advanced education and impervious etiquette? Even Eric, when he was her husband, had not tried hard enough, with enough courage, determination, or sincerity to elicit any response stronger than tepid acquiescence.

But Nick Androvich had gotten to her, through sheer will, expectation, and honesty. She’d seen the truth on his face—he’d wanted
her
, Alex Chamberlain, the woman, not Alex Chamberlain, the socialite, vice president of Development at WEC Management, the magna cum laude graduate of Wharton, the niece of Walter Chamberlain, the heir to her uncle’s vast wealth. Nick had wanted none of that, he wasn’t even aware any of it existed.

Alex let out a slow breath. He’d made love to her and yet, he knew almost nothing about her. Her stomach clenched, twisted. What would he say if he found out she was planning to buy him out, flatten his house, his mother’s, his sister’s?
What would he say then
? Would he forgive her, would he listen, even try to understand why she’d done it? Could she convince him that life in the suburbs, even in the city, really did have a lot to offer him and the people of Restalline? Or would he turn away, shun her, just when she might have found the one person who could make her feel something real?
Would he hate her?

Alex’s heart was pounding so hard she never heard the footsteps coming toward her. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar voice shot into the semidarkness that she realized someone was in the same room, a man, and it wasn’t Nick.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Goldilocks.”

Her eyes flew open and she saw the shadowy cast of a man standing beside the bed, dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

“Michael.” Instinct told her this was Michael Androvich, Nick’s brother. He was taller and broader than Nick, with wide shoulders and muscled forearms. She pulled the sheet closer to her body, aware of her nakedness. Where was Nick?

“So you’ve heard about me?” He let out a hollow laugh that bounced off the walls. “I’m sure Nick had some interesting things to say.”

The animosity in his voice was hard to miss. “Actually,” Alex said, “he didn’t seem to want to talk about you.”

He laughed again. “That’s called diplomacy.”

“He isn’t here.”

“Obviously.” He pulled up a chair, sat down. “No man with half a pulse would leave his bed with a beautiful woman in it unless he had no choice.” He rubbed his jaw. “Nick’s probably doing his doctor thing, you know, the patient comes first bullshit.”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she said.
Leave.
She wanted him to leave.

Michael touched the brim of his cap. “Appreciate it. Alex, isn’t it?” He crossed his broad arms over his chest. “I’ve heard all about you, Alex. Everybody has. The whole town’s talking. Some say you’re one of those smart sophisticates from the city, who’s come to write about the plight of the poor common folk.”

“That’s not exactly—”

“Others say you like small towns, and you’re traveling around, trying to promote them to your city publishers.” He paused. “And then there’s a few that say you’ve got a whole different agenda, one that nobody’s even thought about.”

Alex tried to remain calm, keep her voice even. “And you, Michael? What do you say?”

He leaned forward, placed his big hands on his knees. “Me? I say I don’t care what in the hell you came to Restalline for, but don’t screw with my brother.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Save it, okay? I’ve seen the way he watches you, like you’re all he can see. Shit, everybody saw him practically deep throat you at the wedding yesterday. That’s not Nick. He’s never out of control, but you’ve done something to him.” His tone was whisper soft, in total opposition to the menacing words coming out of his mouth. “Nick and I don’t see eye to eye on too much these days, but he’s still my brother and I’ll be damned if some short skirt is going to waltz into town and screw him over.” His laugh was crude and raw. “You can screw him all you want but you better not screw with him, you got that Goldilocks? I don’t know what your game is, but I’ll be watching you and I’m not the gentleman Nick is. I’m a street fighter.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Don’t mess with him, and I won’t mess with you, you got that Goldilocks?”

She nodded once, unable to find the words to respond.

“Good.” He stood up, tossed something on the bed. “You dropped these.” Then he turned and left.

Alex didn’t move until she heard the sound of an engine outside. When she was sure he was gone, she looked down at the objects Michael had thrown onto the bed. Three shiny condom packets, ripped down the middle lay on Nick’s pillow.
You can screw him all you want but you better not screw with him, you got that Goldilocks? … I’ll be watching you… I’ll be watching you…

She flung back the covers and raced to the bathroom crouching in front of the porcelain toilet. Her stomach heaved and roiled, Michael’s warning twisting her insides...
I’ll be watching you
…

***

Alex almost drove right past the woman sitting on the bench next to Stop-n-Go. Actually, she had driven past her, but the idea of a gray-haired woman in a floppy white hat sitting on a beaten up bench in her Sunday best on a Wednesday afternoon, clutching a white purse with white-gloved fingers, was so out of place that it made her do a double take. It was the second take that made her gasp and turn the car around.

What was Ruth Kraziak doing on the edge of town dressed like she was going to church? It was the middle of the week and St. Stanislas was five blocks away. Alex parked the car, got out.

“Mrs. Kraziak?” she called, walking up to the older woman. “Ruth?”

Ruth Kraziak blinked, turned toward Alex. “Oh. Hello.” She tilted her head and the hat flopped to one side. “You’re the young lady Norman introduced me to the other day.”

“Yes. I’m Alex.”

Her thin lips pulled into a frown. “Alex. That’s a boy’s name.”

“It’s short for Alexandra.”

“Alexandra.” The name rolled off her lips. “Alexandra.”

“May I sit down?”

Ruth Kraziak lifted a white-gloved hand, arced it in the air. “Sit down, Alexandra.”

Alex slid onto the bench, folded her hands in her lap.
Did Norman know his wife was sitting on a bench in front of Stop-n-Go?

“I hope she makes it today,” Ruth said, consulting the small gold watch on her left wrist.