Authors: Gwynne Forster
“Russ. Oh, my Lord.”
He stared down at her, his nostrils flaring, his eyes telling her what she knew his mouth wouldn’t say. His lips were so close that she breathed his breath, and her senses swirled dizzily as her nostrils caught the odor of his heat. Spirals of unbearable tension snaked through her and, frustrated beyond reason, she put her hands behind his head and brought his lips to meet hers, open and waiting.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she took all that he would give her, as he tested and tasted every centimeter, swirling and tantalizing until she moaned the agony of her desire.
Recovering as best she could, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Stop playing with me, Russ. You give in to your feelings when they overwhelm you, but you don’t want this to go anywhere.”
“I am not playing with you. Whether you were aware of it or not, you gave me one of the most seductive invitations
a man could get. You know how things are with us. What was I supposed to do? Pretend you weren’t there?”
His arms tightened around her and she kissed the side of his neck. “You’re famous for your self-control, so—”
“So I decide when to use it. Is that what you’re accusing me of?”
She leaned back and gazed into his face. So close and so precious. “Don’t you?”
His rough half laugh almost startled her. “I would have gotten to you if I’d had to jump over a mile-deep ravine. Decision had nothing to do with it.” A grin spread over his face. “I suppose I ought to put you down.”
“Yes, considering how much I weigh.”
“It probably gets less every day, considering how little you’re eating.”
“That’s the problem. I haven’t lost an ounce, and I’m hungry all the time.”
“Then stop being vain and eat. Losing weight won’t change your personality and probably not your face. They’re what I find most attractive in you or any other woman. I’d better get dressed if I’m going to Tara’s school.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Be careful driving.”
She had told him she hadn’t lost weight, but she had actually gained a pound. “If this continues, I’m going to see a nutritionist,” she vowed to herself. “Henry, I’ll be in Baltimore most of the day,” she called to him from the kitchen door.
“Ain’t no need for that. Russ is working at the warehouse today.”
“Henry, I am not going to Baltimore to avoid Russ.”
“You are so. He’s running from you, and you’re running from him, though I can’t for the life of me see what the two of you are running
for
. Any adult who’s around you for ten minutes can slice the heat with a knife, it’s so thick.”
“That’s not very consoling, Henry.”
“I ain’t supposed to console you. That’s Russ’s job. I’m just watching the two of you postpone the inevitable. Soon as Tel and Alexis get back here and start showing you how nice it can be… You just watch. I ain’t saying no more.”
After determining that Henry didn’t need anything from Baltimore, she started on her journey, shocked to have discovered that Russ had driven the car out of the garage and positioned it so that she wouldn’t have to back out.
“I could love that guy,” she said to herself, and not for the first time. “He’s everything I need, but I don’t believe he’s even thinking about developing a relationship with me, to say nothing of marrying me.”
In Baltimore, she made her first stop at a real estate company that specialized in small business needs. After settling with the agent as to what she wanted, she headed for Layne Bryant’s, intent on seeing how she would look in jeans.
She didn’t like the jeans, stretch or otherwise, and settled on two pairs of pants, one oxford gray and the other dark tan. She looked around until she found a sweater, below-hip length and very loose with one side tucked and held up with a self bow. She liked the design and bought lavender and burnt-orange versions of it. Then, she gathered her courage and went into the dress department, trying not to notice the beautiful caftans as she passed them. She saw a navy blue silk-crepe dress that had three-quarter-length sleeves, a fitted silhouette and flared ruffles at the hem. She tried it on and, encouraged, found a burnt-orange replica and bought both of them.
Maybe I’ll never wear them, she thought, unless Alexis says they look all right. But what did her svelte sister know about what did or didn’t look right on a short, overweight
woman? She put her parcels in the trunk of the car, bought a bag of miniature Snickers to make herself feel better and headed back to Eagle Park, munching as she drove, diet forgotten.
She arrived at Harrington House half an hour before seven, heard Tara practicing the piano and rushed to her room to shower and change. She expected comments from Henry and Tara, but she prayed that Russ at least would keep his opinions to himself.
When she got downstairs, feeling self-conscious in her brown pants and burnt-orange sweater, Tara greeted her, “Aunt Velma, Mr. Russ came to my school today and talked to my teachers and he brought me home from school, so I didn’t have to ride the bus. Mr. Russ loves me.”
She knelt before the little girl and wrapped her arms around her. “Of course he loves you, all of us love you.”
“You look pretty, Aunt Velma. Is Mr. Drake coming home tonight?”
“No, dear. He’s gone to Barbados for a few weeks.”
“Oh. He likes to go there a lot.”
Tara took her hand and walked with her to the breakfast room where Russ and Henry waited for them. As soon as they sat down, Russ said grace.
“Mr. Russ says my grace takes too long,” Tara said, blessing them all with her smiles and giggles.
“Henry, this food is first class,” Russ said of the medallions of pork, saffron rice, artichoke hearts in cream sauce and asparagus.
“I made a brown Betty for dessert. Alexis left a slew of recipes, and I’m using ’em. I suppose you know how to cook, Velma.”
At least he hadn’t mentioned her clothes. “Henry, I have two degrees in home economics, and I make a living
catering galas and other affairs. And you ask me if I can cook.”
“Well, you don’t have to do the cooking yourself. You can hire somebody.”
She glanced at Russ, and found his gaze pinned on her. “If you want a sample, I’ll cook one day this weekend.”
“I’d like a sample,” Russ said almost before the words left her mouth. “Make it Sunday. One of my college buddies is having supper with us. I was going to take him out to dinner because I don’t like adding to Henry’s burdens, but since you’re cooking—”
“Ain’t no burden to add an extra plate. He ain’t on a special diet, is he?”
Russ shook his head. “Tara, did you finish your homework?”
“Yes, sir. I did my whole workbook.”
“What about your reading?”
“I read that yesterday. Can I go play the piano?”
“After your Aunt Velma or I checks your homework, you may.”
“And after Mr. Henry gives me some black-cherry ice cream,” she said, bringing a laugh from the adults.
Once more, she left the table feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. She took the plates into the kitchen, rinsed them and opened the dishwasher. As she raised up to get the plates off the counter, she glimpsed Russ’s gray pinstriped pants.
“You could at least make some noise when you walk. Scare the bejeebers out of a person.”
His hands gripped her shoulders, his lips covered hers, and she tasted him. “Russ!” His fingers sent fiery ripples spiraling along her arms, and she pulled his tongue into her mouth, loving him, shaken by the terrible sweet hunger he stirred in her.
When he released her, she gripped his arms for support. “Russ. Honey, would you please leave me down here on planet earth. I want to stay off this seesaw of yours.”
“I like the way you look, and I wanted you to know it. Warm and sweet.” He kissed her nose. “Nice nose, too.”
In the days that followed, she planned her time carefully and managed not to be alone with Russ except on the rare occasions when he surprised her, as he said, “Just so you’ll know I’m here and that I know what you’re doing.”
She didn’t ask him what he meant, because she knew. She also knew that until he indicated that he wanted more from her than hot kisses, more than a casual relationship, she intended to stay out of his way.
“If you’re going to let me cook tomorrow, Henry, I’d better run into Eagle Park and do some shopping.”
“Guess you’d better. If you told Russ you’d do it, that settles it. He don’t break his word for nothing, and he expects the same of everybody else. Check the pantry before you make yer list.”
She returned from shopping, made a large bowl of crème Courvoisier, put it in the deep freezer, made raspberry sauce for it, marinaded a pork roast and called Henry.
“The kitchen’s yours till around one tomorrow,” she told him.
“If you need from one to seven to get dinner together, you must think the president’s coming.”
She winked. “What makes you think he isn’t?”
Not to be outdone, Henry called to her as she walked down the hall, “If that’s the case, it’s high time you started acting like it. If a man’s head honcho, his woman lets him and everybody else know it.”
Russ turned the corner with Tara holding his hand. “Who’s head honcho?”
Henry didn’t look at him. “Humph. Since you don’t know, telling ya won’t do a bit of good.”
She hurried up the stairs, went to her room and busied herself with plans for the gala she had contracted to service in New Orleans. The more she thought about it, the less attractive the venture appeared.
Darkness had already set in that Sunday afternoon around five-thirty when she began setting the dining room table. She decorated it with a large crystal bowl of pink and white rose buds that she had bought in town the previous day, and pink candles in crystal candle holders. She used a white damask cloth and napkins, white porcelain that had a tiny pink floral design, heirloom silver and crystal goblets.
At the last minute she decided to wear her new navy blue dress, added rose quartz beads and earrings, combed out her hair, remembered his comment about short women piling their hair on their heads to look taller and pinned hers up on top of her head.
“I’m not going to remake myself for him, and I want him to know it,” she said aloud and she walked down the stairs.
She dressed Tara in a red-and-white-checkered pinafore and secured her hair with two red clamps. “Sorry, honey,” she said, “braids will have to wait till your mother gets back.”
“How many more days?”
“Five.”
She clapped her hands and exuded happiness as giggles poured out of her. “And then Mr. Telford will be my daddy… I mean my dad.”
“He’s been your dad ever since the wedding.”
Tara’s wide eyes stared up at her. “Will he like being my dad?”
“He will love it, because he loves you. Let’s go. It’s supper time.”
“Who’s she?” Velma heard a male voice ask, looked in the direction from which the voice came and saw a tall man-for-the-ages sexual dynamite staring at her.
“She’s Velma Brighton. Why?” Russ asked his guest.
“Why? You have to ask why? Is she yours?”
“No, she isn’t,” Russ replied. “Dinner’s ready.”
R
uss steered Velma away from her usual place at the table, beside Tara, and sat her opposite him. With Telford away, he sat at the head of the table.
“That’s my mummy’s seat, Aunt Velma.”
“Not tonight,” Russ said. After saying grace, he looked at Velma. “Ms. Brighton, this is Dolphe Andrews. We were roommates for a while when I was in graduate school.”
“Delighted to meet you, Ms. Brighton. He told you about me, but hasn’t said a word about who you are.”
To his surprise and delight, Velma answered, “Glad to meet you. Russ will get around to it. He takes his time with just about everything.”
“But I’ll only be here overnight,” Dolphe said.
Velma passed Henry the tiny crab cakes that served as the first course. “That’s plenty of time for him to tell you whatever he wants you to know.”
Dolphe looked from Velma to Russ and back at Velma.
“Am I missing something here? I don’t want to louse up my welcome.”
“Keep on the way you’re heading, and you’re gonna do a first-class job of it,” Henry said. “Russ, you mind carving this roast? I’m enjoying having nothing to do to this meal but eat it.”
Russ served Henry a slice of pork roast, and then served the others at the table. Henry tasted a small piece and chewed it slowly. “Now this is what I call a pork roast.”
“Yeah,” Russ said, glad that Henry had moved Dolphe away from the subject of Velma, “it’s delicious.” Although Dolphe was a good student, he also had a reputation as a stud. Women clamored over him, and he had always seemed to relish the adulation. However, Velma treated him as if he was just another human being, and he’d bet it had been years since Dolphe Andrews met a woman who looked straight through him. “This is
some
meal,” Dolphe said. “I haven’t had a meal like this since I left home to go to college. Who cooked it?”
“My aunt Velma,” Tara said. “Most of the time Mr. Henry cooks, but sometimes my mummy cooks, too. I loved the crab cakes, Aunt Velma.”
Russ pushed back a laugh. First Henry and then Tara had thwarted Dolphe’s attempt to make Velma the center of conversation. He wondered what his friend would try next. He knew he could end the game by telling Dolphe that Velma was important to him, but how he felt about Velma was none of the man’s business. After all,
she
didn’t even know what she meant to him.
“I don’t see how you can top off this meal,” Henry said to Velma.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dolphe said. He looked at Russ. “Man, you live like a prince.”
Returning from the kitchen with servings of crème Courvoisier, Velma said, “Why shouldn’t a prince live like a prince?”
The visitor’s whistle was barely audible, but Russ knew Dolphe could be dense when it suited him.
“I stand corrected,” Dolphe said.
“And not a bit too soon,” Henry interjected, put a spoonful of dessert in his mouth and gasped. “Taste it, Russ. I’ve died and gone to heaven. I just know it.”
“Can’t I have some, Aunt Velma?”
“It’s full of cognac, Tara,” Russ said. He went into the kitchen, got a spoon and let her taste his. “Well?”
“Oooh. It’s so good.”
“But you’ll have black-cherry ice cream,” he said. She nodded. Such an easy child to manage. Her wants were so simple. Give her love, and she radiated happiness. He put two scoops of ice cream in a double cone and gave it to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Russ. I like ice cream in the cone.”
“Have a seat in the den with Henry and Tara while Velma and I straighten up here. Cognacs and liqueurs are in the bar,” Russ told Dolphe.
“You don’t like him?” Russ asked her as they worked together.
“I neither like nor dislike him. Generally, I don’t like men who advertise their sexuality. They’re usually immature.”
“What kind of men
do
you like?”
If he had the courage to ask, she had the guts to tell him. “Well…since you ask… A man with a great physique, tall, muscular and lean.” She pretended not to see his eyes narrow. “Clean shaven, square chin, nice dark eyes, full bottom lip, dimpled chin, long tapered fingers, thick chest, long silky lashes, curly hair. I like a man who loves children,
is tough with life but gentle with women, children and weaklings, who’s honest and loyal. A man who talks when he has something to say.”
She put the pot lids in the pantry, hung the pots on the rack and threw the towel at him. “If you know one like that, tell him to come up and see me sometime, to quote that queen of old black-and-white movies, Mae West.” She didn’t wait for his reaction, but headed for the den, certain that she had rung his bell. If he didn’t know what he looked like, he had to be one humble brother, and she didn’t believe that. Beaming with pleasure at having rocked him, at least for the moment, she strolled into the den, took a seat in the corner of the sofa and crossed her knees, something she rarely did owing to her conviction that her legs were too large.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?” Dolphe asked her the minute she walked into the room.
I thought he’d given up.
“Food is my business, although I’m not usually cooking it.”
“Anybody who can read can cook,” Henry said. “All you need is common sense and a little imagination. Velma here has it down to an art.”
“My mummy can cook.”
“She sure can do that,” Henry said.
Dolphe sipped his Tia Maria quietly, ever so often glancing at her from the corner of his eye, and she knew he had something to say as well as the courage to say it.
“This is an unusual household,” he said, and she sat forward waiting for the sally that she knew would follow. “It’s an extremely tightly knit group, but as I’ve figured it out, only Tara and Miss Brighton are related. Who’s absent?”
“My two brothers and my sister-in-law.”
Her head shot up, for she hadn’t realized Russ was in
the room. “And you’re right, Dolphe. We are a very close family.”
Dolphe looked at Velma. “Are you part of this family? I mean, do you live here?”
“I’m visiting. And I suppose you’d say I’m a part of this family because my sister and my niece belong to it.”
He drained the glass. “I don’t know any more than I did when I entered this house.”
“Then quit fishing,” Henry said. “If you want to know whether there’s anything between Velma and your friend, there is. Plenty. Or my name ain’t Henry. And it don’t take Mr. Einstein to figure it out.”
Apparently dissatisfied with Henry’s answer, he looked at Velma. “Is there any truth to what he just said?”
She leaned back against the sofa and swung her right foot. “Mr. Andrews, I cannot imagine Henry telling a lie. He’s both too proud and too arrogant to even consider lying. That answer your question?”
He made no attempt to hide his disappointment. “Yeah. Too bad. I was beginning to think that, but I had to be sure.”
She wondered what kind of man made his pitch to a woman in the presence of two men and a five-year-old. She’d have to remember to get Henry’s view on that. As she sat there, happy that the conversation had shifted from her, it occurred to her that the man’s apparent interest hadn’t impressed her. It certainly hadn’t flattered her. Tara began to yawn, so Velma asked to be excused, took Tara’s hand and started out of the room.
“You’re not telling me good-night, Tara?” Russ asked, then took her hand, lifted her into his arms and smiled at Velma. “I’ll carry her.” She walked along with him, afraid to say a word, for she’d learned that he had a reason for
everything he did. He opened the door and sat Tara on her bed.
“Is it too late to read something from your book?” he asked Tara. Although she said it wasn’t, her head slumped to his shoulder. “She’s too sleepy. Let’s get her to bed.”
She prepared Tara for bed, threw back the bed cover and Russ lifted the little girl and tucked her in.
Although barely awake, Tara smiled up at him. “’Night, Mr. Russ.” He placed the teddy bear in her arms, kissed her cheek, turned out her light, opened the bathroom door and clicked that light on so that she wouldn’t be afraid if she awoke.
“Now, young lady. I’m assuming you’re aware that I know what I look like.”
She raised an eyebrow and started for the door. “Really. You’re the last person I’d have thought would be self-centered. I can’t believe you spend time looking at yourself in a mirror.” She opened the door and dashed out of the room.
“Go ahead. Run. I always get what I go after.”
She sprinted up the stairs and into her room, closed the door and leaned against it. She couldn’t risk another of those sizzling sessions with Russ. The last one had nearly gotten out of hand. She’d been on the verge of putting his hand on her breast when he set her on her feet. Nobody had to tell her that, considering how fast and how thoroughly he could heat her up, if he ever put his mouth on her body, whatever he wanted would be his.
If she was going to have an intimate relationship with a man, she preferred it on her terms. At present, Russ defined and engineered their relationship, or at least it seemed that way to her. If she were svelte and beautiful like Alexis, she’d be the one calling the shots. She performed her ablutions, got in bed and waited for sleep. After about an hour, she
heard Russ and Dolphe come upstairs and nearly laughed aloud when she realized that Russ walked with Dolphe to his room before going to his own room on the other end of the hall. Russ once told her that he left nothing to chance. She put the pillow over her head and went to sleep, comforted by the thought.
The next morning, after weighing herself, she called a nutritionist, a college classmate who lived in Baltimore.
“What’s up, girl?” Lydia Swindell asked after an enthusiastic greeting. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Eagle Park, Maryland, not too far from Frederick, and I’ve decided to settle in Baltimore. I’m going to establish my business there, and I can be closer to Alexis and Tara. They’re my only relatives, and I want to see them as often as I can.”
“No tall, dark and handsome on the scene?”
How did she answer that? “There’s a possibility. Lydia, I’ve got to lose weight. Knowing that I’m shortchanging myself and probably ruining my health is getting me down. You should have seen Alexis in her wedding dress. She was—”
“Now, now. Haven’t I been telling you since our college days not to compare yourself with anybody else? And especially not your sister. She puts half the female population of this country in the shade.”
“I know that, but why can’t I look at myself in the mirror and be proud of the way I look? How would you feel if a man couldn’t get his arms all the way around you? Huh?”
“For goodness sake, stop exaggerating, and find a guy with longer arms.”
“Finding a guy is enough of a problem without having to worry about the length of his arms. I’m serious, Lydia. I’ve been eating practically nothing for a week without losing
an ounce. I ate a decent meal last night and gained three pounds. I want you to work out a diet for me.”
“Okay. When are you coming to Baltimore?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll stop by your office.”
She entered the brick-faced building around eleven o’clock that morning and walked through the expansive, marble-columned lobby wishing she could afford such a regal address for her own business. However, that was out of the question; she’d be lucky to find the kind of place she needed at any price. Lydia’s office impressed her with its spaciousness, carpeted floor, living-room-type furnishings and atmosphere of comfort and warmth.
“You’ve arrived,” Velma told Lydia. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I was afraid to take this place, but I’m glad I did. The better looking your surroundings, the more willing people are to pay what you ask. I was making chicken feed before I moved here.”
Velma made a mental note of that, sat down, took out her notebook and pen and asked Lydia, “Do you think you can help me?”
Lydia stared at her. “No small talk, eh? This
is
serious. All right. First thing, I want you to pack up all your caftans and store them someplace where you can’t easily reach them, for example, with a storage company. Weigh yourself on the same scale once a week only. Drink a minimum of eight glasses of water a day.”
“That will certainly keep me busy.”
“I’m serious, Velma. Please fill this out. I need some information about your medical history.”
“Medical history? I just want to—”
“I’m not interested in your sex life, just your health. Besides, unless you changed a lot, I pretty much know what
your secret life is like.” She laughed. “Nothing happening with you that you couldn’t tell a ten-year-old.”
“Now who’s exaggerating? I want to buy a house or an apartment, preferably a house. What part of town should I look in?”
“I like the Druid Hill Park area, but there are others as nice.”
“I’ll drive through that area this afternoon. After years of living like a vagabond, seeing my Wilmington, Delaware, apartment about every three months, I want a normal life.”
“That will be good for your weight, too. Follow this.” Lydia gave her a folder. “Do everything written here, and don’t even call me for one month. Then, come back to see me.”
“Thanks. I see you haven’t lost your crowd-control, school-marm personality.”
“You bet. If I hugged you and told you to try to follow these instructions, you wouldn’t take me seriously. Would you?”
“Probably not. See you in a month.”
She drive through the residential sections around Druid Hill Park, noted houses for sale and co-op buildings that advertised vacancies and made her next stop her real-estate agent.
“Finding a house or an apartment will be much simpler than getting what you need for your business,” he said. “Warehouses that can be modernized without spending a fortune are hard to find, unless you don’t mind being located in a low-income neighborhood.”
“I certainly don’t expect to find a warehouse in an upperclass residential area,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
She made Macy’s her last stop before leaving the city. After three hours, she had four daytime dresses, two suits,
four blouses, three sweaters and a tailored leather skirt. No more hiding behind caftans, and she hoped Russ Harrington wouldn’t assume she’d changed her style of dress for him. She was doing it for herself.