Prospect Street (31 page)

“Sucked enough that you're really serious about going on to other things? Like traveling?”

“That surprises you?”

“In the world I come from, people don't leave important jobs. They continually negotiate for bigger ones, unless scandal brings them down.”

“Did your father want to be president?”

She swirled what was left of her wine. “When he was younger. Before his heart attack. But he made one serious career mistake a long time ago. He remained a Democrat when most conservatives fled the party, and he lost his chance to
move up and on. I've never been quite sure why. A rusty sort of idealism, I guess. If Joe Huston had been fighting for the Confederacy, he never would have surrendered.”

“Maybe he's not as political as you think.”

She looked up at him. “Oh, don't make that mistake. He's terrifyingly political, but he's stubborn, too. He's at war with himself, and I'm glad. For the sake of our country. Joe Huston should never be in charge.”

He wondered if that was the wine talking. “You don't like him very well, do you?”

“This isn't personal. I just think his brand of politics isn't what we need in the Oval Office. He's a Democrat, but he doesn't really believe in democracy. He's an unrepentant backroom pit bull. He may sound like a populist, but he really doesn't like the common man. He just likes to think he knows what's best for him.”

“That's quite an indictment.”

“That's quite a bottle of bull's blood.”

“I'm trying to understand here. You say this, but you were married to a man who's even more conservative than your father.”

She inclined her head. “David's conservatism is both honestly compassionate and intellectual. He truly likes people and believes the best about them. He just doesn't believe the government should run their lives.”

“What about you?”

“I'm so confused I'm not even sure who to vote for next month. I'm spending this year trying to forget everything I thought I believed. Then I'm going to think for myself.” She smiled, although that admission was more poignant than humorous. “And you?”

“I know who to vote for. I'm so liberal Joe McCarthy would have had me at the top of his hit list.”

“My father thinks it's an honor to be named Joe.” She raised the glass in toast. “Three cheers to you, Pavel. We neatly got off the subject of your life and on to the subject of mine. Are
you just a great listener, or do you really hate to talk about yourself? I know so little.”

“What do you know?”

She cocked her head. “A test, huh? You were born in the area, but you grew up in California. And you were educated somewhere in the Midwest?”

“Chicago.”

“You came to visit and stayed to found Scavenger. You've never been married, because you don't like long-term relationships.”

“Wait a minute. You're hypothesizing there.”

“Am I wrong?”

He couldn't deny it.

“Then there's that house,” she went on. “A long-term project if ever there was one.”

“I'm easily bored. I need a house that has endless potential to keep me busy.”

“But not a woman?”

“Do you know any women like that?”

The moment he said it, he was sorry, but Faith only laughed. “Do you need a woman who keeps you on your toes? Somebody who indulges in temper tantrums and sweeping flights of fancy?”

“I grew up with a woman like that. Even though she kept me on my toes, the view from that position was decidedly bleak.”

“I'm sorry. That doesn't sound good.”

She
was
sorry. Empathy sang in her voice and softened her gaze. Exactly the kind of woman Pavel had always tried to avoid.

“My parents separated when I was little, and I never saw my father again. My mother drank her way in and out of depression more times than I could possibly count.”

“You said she died before you left California?”

“Her life was wasted on regret.”

“Not wasted. She had a son.”

“And occasionally she remembered, and then life was sweet for a while. Until she started drinking again.”

“That's a hard way to grow up.”

He supposed it was, although years ago he had learned not to feel much about it. “Good things came out of those years. I spent every hour I could at school so I wouldn't have to go home. I learned to make friends easily for the same reason. Both of those things helped make a success of Scavenger.”

“I bet.” She finished her wine and set down the glass before she spoke again. “Do you remember anything about your father?”

“That he didn't stay around to see me grow up.”

“Sometimes life seems like one big club for people with unhappy childhoods.”

She looked so solemn, he had to laugh. “Faith, it's all right. I'm not unhappy now.”

“I just wonder how I'll hurt my own children. Maybe I have already. Or maybe knowing their father is gay will be an insurmountable hurdle for them.”

“No, because you're involved in their lives in a way that makes the difference, and from what little you've said, so is he.”

“You would have been a good father.”

“Do you think so?” That surprised him. What surprised him more was how little thought he'd ever given to it. With no good role models of his own, he hadn't been eager to chance it.

“You're terrific with Alex,” she said. “You're even good with Remy, and that's the litmus test.”

“You liked the part where I told her I wanted to turn her over my knee?”

That sexy Dietrich laugh rumbled in her chest. “I liked the part where you didn't do it.”

Pavel set down his glass and told himself not to pour another. Because with one more glass of wine warming his libido and cooling his inhibitions, he was fairly sure what he would do next.

He got to his feet and stretched; then he held out a hand. “Let's walk off that food.”

“The sun's going down, isn't it?”

“Not fast enough to catch us.”

“I was just hoping the sunset would be spectacular and the stars would come out on the walk back.”

“We might see a few. You'll need your coat.”

She let him take her hand to pull her up, stumbling a little as she got to her feet. He put an arm around her to steady her. “Whoa there.”

“Don't worry. It's not the wine. My leg was asleep.” She looked up at him, pale eyelashes framing the summer sky-blue of her eyes. “That was a lovely dinner, Pavel. Thank you.”

He considered forgetting the walk. Faith had been a married woman for years. He suspected she had yet to redevelop the defense strategies single women used routinely. He doubted she understood what she was doing to him with that unfettered gaze and the weight of her body in his arms.

On the other hand, he wondered if she understood completely.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” He released her, waiting a moment to be sure she was steady on her feet. “You'll enjoy the fresh air, too.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

His eyes flicked to the huge, soft pillows they had dragged to the Persian rug in front of the fire and the still flickering flames. From the stereo system a Liszt symphonic poem breathed sensuality into every corner of the room.

He forced himself toward the hallway coat closet. “Let me get my coat.”

“Mine's by the front door. I'll meet you outside.”

He spent a full minute digging through the closet and wishing that this woman, like every other woman in his life, meant nothing important to him.

 

Faith was feeling particularly exhilarated. She wasn't sure whether to blame the wine, the food, the clear mountain air or simply Pavel's company. The question seemed important. The
fact that she wasn't sure seemed important, too. On some nearly subliminal level she understood that the answer, whatever it was, was the key to some part of her future.

“It's as beautiful as I thought it would be,” she said, breaking a long silence.

They had strolled around the pond to a crude gazebo that looked out on the valley below. She wasn't sure how long they had been sitting side by side on an old wooden glider with a carpet of evergreen needles at their feet. Long enough to watch a crimson sunset fade to twilight. Long enough to watch a harvest moon begin its ascent and stars punctuate the sky.

Pavel had put on a heavy wool sweater, and now he pulled the collar up to shelter his neck. “I try to spend weekends out here when the leaves are turning and the air's crisp.”

“I wouldn't have pegged you for a country boy. This place alone would be an incentive to stay with Scavenger.”

“I can buy the whole thing outright if I leave. It's in my contract.”

She imagined that if he ever left Scavenger, he would have enough surplus cash to buy all of West Virginia. “You don't act like a wealthy man, Pavel. I never would have guessed.”

“You
didn't
guess, as a matter of fact.”

“The paint-spattered Rolex should have been a clue, huh? Not that it matters one way or the other. Except that sometimes wealthy people retreat into their own private worlds, and you're a regular guy.”

“Because I drive a beat-up Subaru and do my own renovations?”

“Because you come visiting with chicken curry and pad Thai in brown paper bags, and crawl under my sink to check for leaks.”

“Do you know how many dot coms fail every year? Scavenger was a good idea, but so were a thousand others. I was lucky. I don't see why that should turn me into a different person.”

She poked him in the arm. “Humble, to boot.”

“Hey, I had humble beginnings. I was born at D.C. General, to parents who couldn't pay the hospital bill. I was raised on potatoes and cabbage, Mom's Irish roots. That's one way I've changed. I don't eat cabbage. I don't even want to smell it cooking.” He turned to smile. “Just in case you're really planning to have me over to dinner sometime.”

“The cook here is an act I can't live up to.”

“I like your company better.”

They hadn't touched since leaving the house. She was grateful to Pavel for not pushing intimacy, for seeming to understand her conflicts—or possibly his own. At the same time, she missed the feel of his skin against hers.

She placed her hand on his in one more of a short list of daring gestures. “I like your company, too. And I promise you dinner soon. I'll even scratch my favorite cabbage soup off the menu.”

“I would be more than grateful.” He turned his hand and captured hers. “Shall we start back? We've still got a long drive home.”

She knew the evening had to end. Yet her sadness that it was about to was familiar. She recognized it, of course. She had been haunted by this so many times in her marriage, times when she wanted to deepen the intimacy with David and was lovingly rebuffed. These circumstances were different, of course. Pavel was not her husband, and they had never been lovers. Their relationship was new and uncharted, and might be nothing more than a close friendship.

She was still sorry the evening was ending.

“You're right.” She got to her feet, holding his hand. “Do we walk back the same way?”

“It's shorter in the other direction.”

She supposed shorter was better. “You're going to have to come quietly, mister. I can't pull you up.”

Their eyes met and held; then he pulled her down instead, with one fluid twist of his wrist and a groan. She was on his lap before she could take a breath, and he was kissing her before she could take another.

He cradled her face in his hands, his lips simultaneously soft and insistent. She drew a startled breath; then the desire that had been simmering all evening boiled over in sensation so intense it had no precedent.

“Faith…”

She was kissing him back. Thought fled immediately. A starving woman would have torn into bread the same way. No manners, no plan to nourish anyone else, no worries about what might follow. She kissed him as if he might disappear the moment she stopped. She inhaled the masculine scent of him, absorbed his warmth through layers of clothing, listened avidly to the moaning murmur deep in his throat.

He pushed her away. “This is not the place.”

She gauged the distance back to the house and measured it in regrets and fears. “Your fault.” She kissed him again, and he tugged her against him hard, wrapping his arms around her to hold her there.

Even if she had wanted to make the trip to the house, it was impossible now. Along with thought, her ability to maneuver fled. At the moment she couldn't have found her way out of a phone booth. And Pavel was no guide. He, too, seemed incapable of more than exploring her mouth with his tongue, her back with his hands. He unhooked her bra, and the feel of his palm against her breasts severed the final link to sanity.

The air was cold where her skin was bare, and with the rising of the moon had come a heavy blanket of mist that rose heavenward like steam. She didn't care. The carpet of evergreen needles was soft and dry as they tumbled to it together. They worked at each other's clothing, pawing, pushing, tugging.

A man stripping away her clothes like so much annoying wrapping paper was new to her. Pavel had large, sturdy hands, but they were surprisingly skillful at small details. Her jeans were unbuttoned; her leather sneakers went flying. She felt the rough denim scraping her skin as her legs were bared. The green sweater found a new home under a towering spruce.

She could smell resin and woodsmoke and the unique,
earthy fragrance of Pavel's skin. Between them they made short work of the sweater and Scavenger sweatshirt. In the faint moonlight she saw that his chest was wide and hard, not sprinkled lightly with hair but defined by it. The muscles rippled against her palms, and his skin was as hot to the touch as if they were in front of the fireplace after all.