Authors: Susan Squires
“All set up at the other end, Kemble. All we have to do is get you there.”
Kemble gave him a salute and slid into the driver’s side. They drove up through the oleander hedges toward the gates to the estate in silence.
His face was so controlled in the strobes of light from the streetlights as they drove along P.V. Drive West and the silence so uncomfortable, Jane felt the urge to scream. “That . . . that was very nice of your family to make such a fuss.”
“Yeah.” But the way his lips narrowed, she wondered if he really believed that.
She didn’t say anything more.
The two cars accelerated slowly through the gates to the development called Las Brisas as they swung wide in response to Kemble’s key card. The guard usually stationed at the little kiosk had gone for the night.
Kemble frowned. “They’d better start manning that 24/7 with what I pay in association fees,” he muttered. “I’ll have to make a call.” Jane would bet there’d be a guard there next time they got here late.
The tract of huge houses stretched out before them, down toward the bluffs over the beach. There were lights on in a few, but mostly they were dark, lying silent in the fog. The Beemer pulled up in front of a long wall.
Kemble rolled down his window and waved Ernie’s Escalade on. “Thanks,” he called. The smaller gate to a driveway opened to them, and a man she didn’t recognize came out to wave them in. “Welcome home, sir,” he said, grinning.
Kemble didn’t break a smile. He just gave another salute and drove through. The gate closed behind them.
Across the lawns, broken by well-tended flowerbeds and a huge fountain, now silent, the house crouched in the darkness. It was huge, like the Breakers. Done in a vaguely Italianate style, it had red roof tiles and pillars on the second story over a wide portico. The Breakers had that slight patina of age that made it seem genuine though, rather than faux grand. She had no time for further impressions, other than the fact that somebody had probably put up tan stucco for days to cover it. They rolled to a stop on the circular drive in front of the doors. The porch light went on in greeting. Since the house was dark, it must be on a motion sensor.
“We’re here,” Kemble announced, a grim set to his jaw. He got out immediately and came around the car to open Jane’s door. He didn’t take her hand though. As she got out
, the house seemed to loom over her. Kemble cleared his throat as he fumbled for keys in his pocket. “I hope you like it. It’s fully furnished. You don’t have to lift a finger.” He looked around. “Wait, I’d better get the gifts in.” He walked to the trunk as he clicked it open with the key fob.
The family had, thoughtfully, put all the gifts except the case of pregnancy tests in a big basket with a silver bow, along with a couple bottles of wine. Kemble fit the big box under one arm and hefted the basket with the other. He handed the keys to Jane with one hand, awkwardly, since he was already loaded down. “Can you get the door?”
“Sure.” She took the keys and fumbled at the lock of the massive door handle. She’d always imagined being carried over the threshold, but of course that was impossibly romantic, a gesture for people in love. She pushed into the house and fumbled for a light switch.
The foyer was a rotunda two stories high with a long chain that held a chandelier
in modern shards of glass, very different than the Italianate exterior and apparently designed to make people feel small and inconsequential. The floor was marble. There were two small steel tables in the echoing space. Kemble set the basket down on one of them, and grabbed a bottle of wine. “Let me get you some wine and show you around.”
He led the way through a massive living room with sleek modern furniture in taupe and white with lots of chrome trim and lamps, through to a kitchen that was just as modern, all steel and glass. She hung Kemble’s jacket over the back of a chrome barstool at a black granite island and sat while he fumbled through drawers looking for a corkscrew. Jane glanced around and located a wet bar behind her, across a vast glass table that was apparently the breakfast set.
“Maybe in the bar?” She got up and walked over. “Oh, look. I think this is a wine pull.” It sat on the counter behind the bar and was shaped like a cougar’s head, with long needlelike fangs. Wow. Guess it was supposed to be able to uncork two bottles at once.
Kemble came over and looked at it doubtfully, but positioned the bottle and pulled down on the handle. One of the fangs shot into the cork. A loud pop made both of them jump and the cork sprang free. “It must be one of those that shoots carbon dioxide in to force out the cork.”
“Oh.”
Kemble snagged some glasses from the rack overhead and poured the wine. He handed her a glass and looked down at her as if frozen for a moment before he came to himself and clinked glasses with her. “Are you tired?” he asked.
“A little.”
He nodded and chewed his lip. “Well, you would be, after today. I mean
. . . me too. I was sort of up all night arranging all this, and. . . . Well, you want to see the rest of the house?”
Jane smiled. He really was very proud of having provided her with a house on almost no notice. “Sure.”
“Well, it has seventy-five hundred square feet,” Kemble began, taking on his role as tour guide with obvious relief. “Not as big as the Breakers. . . .” He looked back, a little apologetic. “But there’s just the two of us.” He examined her face. Was he flushing? He turned suddenly and led her out to the gigantic living room. “Six bedrooms, a library, a fully equipped gym. . . .”
*****
If Jane wasn’t exhausted when she started, by the time she’d seen the lighted lap pool in the rear gardens, endless bedrooms and baths, the servants’ quarters, the den, the billiard room, the home theater, and the special facilities next to the laundry room for washing your pets, she was a wreck. The whole interior was done in the latest modernist style. One bedroom was painted bright yellow, surely enough to keep you awake. Another had a vibrant red wall. They ended in the billiard room upstairs. It was black, with big squishy purple corduroy squares everywhere for sitting. They were the most comfortable-looking furniture she’d seen.
“Who did you say owned this?” she finally asked.
“Some sports star. Lakers, I think.” Kemble wasn’t much for sports. At least she’d never have to spend long afternoons serving Buffalo wings and watching football.
“Oh.” When she saw the expectant look on his face, she realized she had a job to do. “It’s lovely,” she said, and smiled.
He grinned and straightened. “He didn’t spare any expense. They only reason he was selling was because he was traded to the Jazz.”
And then there they were, looking at each other, both acutely aware that there was one room he hadn’t yet showed her.
Kemble swallowed. “Uh, let me go down and get the bottle of wine. You stay right here.”
As he dashed out, she collapsed on one of the corduroy squares. They weren’t that comfortable after all, since they didn’t have any back support. Well, she supposed this house would eventually feel like home.
She could hear Kemble dashing up the stairs because they were just floating stone slabs that came out from the wall and any footsteps clattered through the whole house. He came in with the wine bottle and the basket. Uh-oh. She knew why he’d brought the basket up. He came to an abrupt halt in front of her. She rose. She didn’t want to make him say it. She could feel herself start to blush so she smiled and pushed past him as fast as she could. “So, have we seen everything?” she asked as she went out into the hall.
“Uh, not quite.” He followed her, cleared his throat. “Turn right at the end of the hall.”
Jane was hardly inhabiting her body at all as she walked down that long hall. Kemble’s heels clicked on the marble behind her. Did she hear hesitation in his step? Did he feel like he was marching to his execution? There was a reason women were called Plain Jane. That’s just what she felt like right now. Plain, ordinary, definitely not magic and not anybody’s true love.
She stood in front of the closed door. He was so close behind her she could feel his heat. His arm reached around and pushed the door open. The room was huge, of course. The floor was marble like the rest of the house. Some abstract taupe area rugs with off-white swirls that didn’t warm up the room at all were scattered here and there. The bed was enormous. Was there a size bigger than king? Oh, yeah, basketball player. He’d probably had it custom made. The headboard was chrome. A pair of black lacquer tallboys served as dressers. Could she even reach the top drawer? One side of the room was made entirely of mirrors. The other was all windows that must look out toward the sea. They formed a black wall right now. Wouldn’t anyone outside be able to see in? She felt
even smaller than usual.
“Do you like it?” He looked so tired. It showed around his eyes.
“Oh, very much.”
“And look, over here.” He went to the wall of mirrors and pushed on the middle one. “Your own walk-in closet.” The door sprang open and he stood aside.
She peered in and saw with surprise that her clothes were hanging along one wall, her shoes lined up on a shelf. They took up only half of one side. “Oh, how thoughtful, Kemble.”
He gave her a proud grin. “Mr. Nakamura did the deed while we were at the courthouse.”
“Do you have a closet too?”
He made a flourishing gesture and walked over to push on another slab of mirror. “Of course.” His clothes were in there too. All his suits, his business casual clothes, the jeans she loved so much that he wore around the house when he wasn’t working, racks of ties and shelves of shoes. They took up more room than hers did in the other closet.
“Wait until you see the bathroom.” He strode over to open the door.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “That will wake you up in the morning.” The marble everywhere was dark gray with generous amounts of chrome in the fixtures and lights. But the shower that looked big enough for group orgies was tiled in really bright chartreuse, echoed in a panel at the back of the toilet. The shower boasted multiple stationary showerheads as well as two handheld wands. A huge soaking tub sat just under a big oval window, which meant
she’d be able to sit in it and look out over the gardens to the sea during the daytime. She saw several jets, so it must be a Jacuzzi. And there was a bidet. She’d never known quite what to do with those. No doubt she’d find out. The very thought made her shudder. Was that desire, or fear?
She turned and looked back at him and they just kind of got
. . . stuck. Because there was only one place to go from here. The tour was over. It was going on one in the morning. The only place left was the bed.
“I guess it’s time,” he said, h
is voice hoarse.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kemble watched the flush creep up Jane’s neck and felt the heat in his own cheeks answer. She blinked several times, rapidly. Was she frightened of him? Or just what he was about to do to her? This was so screwed. They were married, for God’s sake. It had to happen sooner or later. And whose fault is that? His. He was the one who talked her into this. Or rather gave her an escape hatch from her horrible situation. She’d had no choice but to accept, really. She wasn’t likely to get another offer since she spent almost all her time with her mother or at the Breakers. But she had accepted and here they were. Best get on with it. He cleared his throat.
But it was Jane who spoke. “If you could get me the
. . . the basket, I’ll just . . . freshen up.”
Okay. Okay. That was something he could do. He turned and practically dashed for the basket with the gifts. Or rather the one gift she’d need. But he brought her the whole thing.
Her blush increased. “Thank you.” She retreated into the bathroom and shut the door.
Kemble wasn’t aware of how he had gotten to his closet, but he was here, taking off his tie, hanging it on one of the circular tie racks. He unbuttoned his cuffs, kicked off his shoes. He’d never thought about what he’d wear to bed. He usually just slept in his boxers, or in the buff in the summertime. But you couldn’t wear underwear to bed on your wedding night. He couldn’t imagine just springing himself on Jane naked either. She’d probably faint. Like all the Tremaine men, he was pretty well-endowed. Pajamas? He owned a pair he kept for hotels. You never knew when there’d be a fire alarm and everyone would end up out in the street in whatever they were wearing. Not that he’d been to a hotel since the family went after Drew in Chicago. Five years. Had it been that long? Where were the damned pajamas? Aw, hell. You couldn’t wear pajamas on your wedding night either. Shades of Ozzie and Harriet. When Jane would be wearing that little red silk négligée? Pajamas would practically be an insult to her. Well, he better think of something before Jane came out. He looked around, disgusted with himself. He should have had a little more foresight. Okay. A robe. He had a robe somewhere. He found it hanging on a hook in the back. It was a dark blue. Terrycloth. Not exactly sexy, but it was what he had.
He unbuckled his belt and hung it on the belt wheel mounted on the wall and stripped off his suit pants, taking time to hang them neatly. Socks and boxers went into the hamper in the corner. He shrugged on the robe. There. That was pretty appropriate.