Lethal Seduction (9 page)

“Why on earth would it upset me? I know how much you loved Mommy, which is why you never got remarried. I'm
happy
you have a date. I'm sure if she's with you, she must be someone special.”

“Yeah, honey, she is, she is.”

“What does she do?”

Chas fumbled for a moment. “She's uh . . . she's a nurse,” he finally said, trying to decide how he was going to tell his current stripper girlfriend that she had to pretend to be a nurse for the night.

And
how
was he going to get her to hide those huge silicone jugs?

Jesus! Problems, problems.
But nothing he couldn't deal with.

“See you later, kiddo,” he said, and hung up.

•

Dexter felt like a criminal. He'd done as his father had advised him, located Rosarita's diaphragm—which he'd found conveniently stashed in her bathroom cabinet—and poked a few
minuscule holes in it. Doing such a thing had made him feel bad about himself. Was it right to trick her? On the other hand, was it right that she wanted a divorce after only eighteen months of what he considered a pretty good marriage?

Since their argument last night, Rosarita was behaving. She'd taken his mother shopping and bought her a beautiful scarf. She'd actually sat down and had a conversation with his father about a Clint Eastwood movie they'd both seen and liked. Then she'd informed them that she'd organized dinner at Chas' house.

The Cockrangers were duly pleased. “What shall I wear?” Martha repeated over and over, fussing.

“Don't worry about it,” Matt said, winking at his son. “Let's leave the two lovebirds alone. I suggest we all take an afternoon nap.”

Dexter knew exactly what his dad had in mind.

After his parents retired to the guest room, he followed Rosarita into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. “Good idea,” he said.

“What's a good idea?” she said.

“Taking a nap before we go to Chas' tonight. You've had a tough day. I know it's not easy taking my mom shopping, she doesn't make quick decisions like you.”

“Is that a dig?” Rosarita asked suspiciously.

“No, what I mean is you're an excellent shopper. I remember when we went to Bloomingdale's and you bought me some shirts. It was like, wham bam. You chose right, and they looked great. I still wear them.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, regarding him with narrowed eyes.

“Because . . . I love you.”

Rosarita sat down on the edge of the bed. “Love's not what makes the world go around, Dex,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

“You look beautiful today,” he said.

“I do?” she replied, enjoying the compliment. She'd never told him about her various plastic surgeries, so he was under the impression she was a natural beauty. God! She'd better tear up
all her old photos, it wouldn't do to get busted; her previous face was a horror.

Dex walked over and stood in front of her. His belt buckle was at her eye level, and she couldn't help noticing that he had the beginnings of a hard-on.

You're just a raving sex magnet,
she thought to herself.
As soon as anyone gets near you, it's let's go, mama!

Idly she wondered if she should teach Dex a thing or two before bowing out of this marriage. He certainly had
the
most gorgeous body. And his cock wasn't bad either. Of course, he wasn't Joel, but maybe while she was waiting for Matt and Martha to leave town, she could teach him a thing or two.

Brilliant red nails sprang into action as her hands snaked forward, preparing to pull down his zipper.

His dick popped out immediately—one of the advantages of wearing no underwear.

“Ooooh, Little Dexie is lookin' good today!” she crooned, putting on her “I'm ready for sex” voice.

He picked up the remote and activated the drapes, closing them.

Not exactly Joel's style, Rosarita thought, Joel was interested in people watching his sexual antics, which was a major turn-on.

She gave Dex a little lick to encourage him, then jumped up. “I'll be right back,” she said, hurrying into the bathroom.

He walked over, locked the bedroom door, removed his clothes and lay back on the bed, waiting.

He wondered if she'd notice the damage he'd done to her diaphragm and emerge from the bathroom screaming with fury.

How could she possibly notice it? The holes he'd made were tiny—just big enough for those pesky little sperms to fight their way through.

It was a sneaky thing to do, but she hadn't given him any choice. And when they had their first child, a healthy, bouncing baby boy, she'd thank him.

Oh yes, she certainly would. Dexter was sure of it.

“H
ERE'S THE DEAL
,” Michael said, his worldly green eyes fixed firmly on his daughter's face.

Deal? Madison had no idea what he was talking about. She was already upset enough, she didn't need to hear anything else.

They were sitting in the restaurant of the palatial Plaza Hotel. She'd ordered a mimosa to drink, and eggs over easy with bacon and sausage to eat. Now the food sat on a plate in front of her, abandoned—because she couldn't touch a thing. And the mimosa was almost finished.

“Yes, Michael,” she said, staring back at him, her green eyes alert.

He was on his second cup of coffee. For the first time she noticed he had dark shadows under his eyes, and tiny flecks of gray in his jet black hair. Was her handsome father finally getting old?

No. Not Michael. It was impossible.

“I never thought I'd tell you this,” he said, his voice serious enough to match his expression. “Somehow it didn't seem necessary. But now that Stella has taken this step, you
should
know the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Madison asked, wishing that this wasn't happening.

“About you and me,” he said steadily. “About our family.”

She felt queasy. Something bad was going to come out of his mouth, something she didn't want to hear.

“You know, sweetheart, I've always loved you and I always will,” he said. “You're very, very precious to me.”

In a rush it came to her. Oh, God!
He was about to tell her she was adopted!

So
that's
why she'd had to call them Stella and Michael all these years.
That's
why they'd never wanted to be called Mommy and Daddy like normal parents. Of course. It all made sense.

Her stomach lurched. Her hands were clammy. She felt sick and faint all at the same time. This was so bad, the last thing she'd expected.

Pull yourself together,
she told herself sternly.
Get a grip and listen to what he has to say.

“Yes?” she said blankly.
Spit it out fast, Michael, because I cannot stand the suspense.

He gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “This isn't easy,” he said, tapping his index finger on the table.

You think it's easy for me?
she wanted to yell.
You're about to tell me I'm adopted, and
you're
sitting there telling
me
it's not easy. Screw you! Screw you, Michael! I hate this.

“Here's the thing,” he said, his eyes still fixed firmly on hers. “Stella . . . she's uh . . . she's not your mother.”

No big surprise. She waited patiently for him to add,
And I'm not your father, but rest assured that we desperately wanted you. In fact, we chose you. Picked you out.
Isn't that the kind of crap adoptive parents usually came out with?

“So you adopted me,” she said, barely able to get the words out.

“No,” he said, vigorously shaking his head.
“I'm
your father. Your
real
father.”

This was all too weird. “You are?” she murmured faintly.

“You bet I am. I
never
would have abandoned you. Never.”

“I . . . I . . . don't understand.”

“Let me try explaining,” he said, taking a gulp of coffee to
fortify himself. “I . . . I was a single guy. I had a girlfriend, Gloria. Well, Gloria and me—we were cosmic twins. Inseparable. We grew up together, did everything together, eventually we made a baby together.”

Now her world was really spinning. He was telling her that
Stella wasn't her mother.
How could that be?

A long pause before he continued. “That baby was you, sweetheart.”

“Me?” she said blankly.

“I was involved in something at the time that wasn't exactly legitimate. It was a mess, and when you were six months old, the people I was dealing with decided they had to punish me.”

“Punish you?” Madison said, frowning. “For
what?”

Ignoring her question, he continued with his story. “The deal was that uh . . . either I gave them what they wanted, or they'd take away my family. I didn't believe them—besides, I had both of you well protected. Anyway, one day Gloria managed to get out of the house without anyone knowing. She wanted to buy me a birthday present. That's when they shot her.”

“Who
shot her?”

“It's too complicated to get into now, it was a long time ago—twenty-nine years. They killed her. The bastards killed her.”

“Oh God!” Madison cried.

“Truth is,” Michael said, “I've never gotten over her. And Stella knew it.”

Madison felt like she was in the middle of some insane soap opera as she listened to his story. Everything she knew was crumbling around her. Stella—the beautiful, Marilyn Monroe–like Stella—was not her mother. And who was Gloria? She wanted to see a picture, find out everything about her. She had to know what happened when Gloria was shot. Did she die immediately, or was she injured?

Oh God, so many questions, and who was going to give her the answers? Her mind was racing in a million different directions, and at the same time she was sick to her stomach and totally lost.

“A year later I met Stella, who was everything Gloria wasn't,” Michael continued. “When we started talking about marriage, I gave her the conditions. If I married her, she had to become your mother in every way. And no more kids. You were it. She agreed, but I know she was never there for you the way Gloria would've been.” He shrugged hopelessly. “What could I do? And now . . .” His voice hardened. “The bitch has betrayed me. And believe me—as far as I'm concerned—she's dead.”

All of a sudden Madison had a blinding headache. Maybe it was the mixture of champagne and orange juice. Maybe it was simply staring at this man whom she now realized she didn't know at all. For God's sake, was this her life? All these years, had she been living a lie?

“I . . . I have to go home and . . . digest this,” she managed, standing up.

“Don't run away from me,” Michael implored, grabbing her hand. “I need you, sweetheart. I've always needed you.”

“Maybe you do,” she said, feeling a sharp pain burning within her. “But this is too much of a shock, and I have to deal with it on my own.” Pulling her hand away from his, she stood up and hurried from the restaurant.

Outside on the street everything seemed different.

She didn't know what to do or where to turn. All she really wanted to do was burst out crying.

Why do you want to cry?
a little voice within her asked.

Because I don't know who I am anymore.

•

Jamie and Peter spent almost the entire day cruising around Barney's. After one of Peter's drinking bouts, he got a strong attack of the guilts, and to assuage them, he spent freely.

Jamie took advantage of every moment. She charged boots, jewelry, shoes, sweaters and a long blue cashmere coat, which, when she snuggled into it, made her look like a blond Russian Princess.

“You
do
know you're the most gorgeous girl in New York,” Peter told her admiringly. “And
I'm
the luckiest man alive to be married to you.”

Jamie smiled. Why had she ever suspected him? He was the best, and they had the greatest marriage. Just because he'd gone off sex for a few weeks didn't mean there was another woman. Plus, last night he'd made up for it. And how!

No. There was absolutely no reason for her to meet with Madison's detective. Peter was one hundred percent a loyal and loving husband, he'd proved it to her today.

They left Barney's at last, both of them loaded down with packages.

“Madison said something about meeting us later,” Peter said as they stood curbside, searching for a cab.

“Is your phone on?” Jamie asked.

“Of course it is,” he said, patting his pocket.

“Then she must've got tied up.”

“About time!” Peter said with a dirty chuckle. “Hasn't it been rather a long dry spell?”

“You know Madison,” Jamie said airily. “She's
very
particular about the guys she gets involved with.
Especially
after David.”

“I liked David,” Peter remarked.

“How can you say that?” Jamie said. “It's so disloyal.”

“I told you I had dinner with him and his wife one night when you were in Boston with Anton, didn't I?”

“No. You didn't tell me.”

“I meant to.”

“How
could
you, Peter? That's so disloyal.”

“He kept on calling me, and I had nothing else to do, so we went to Elaine's.”

“What's his wife like?”

“Blond, big overbite, enormous tits. Real, I think.”

“Ha!” Jamie scoffed. “You guys
always
think they're real. Those kinds of girls
never
have real tits. They're man-made for sure.”