“Oh, he may win something.”
“He’s the type who would put it right back in the slot machines.”
“I never did understand gamblers,” Carson said. “The stakes are always against them, and they always think they can beat those odds.”
They talked for a while, and she became restless, wondering what he wanted for them. She knew he cared, but she’d begun to suspect that he still hadn’t made up his mind about her.
“Shall we explore the place a little?” he asked her. Then he laughed. “I forget that you know this ship inside and out. Come on. You’re much too beautiful to be stashed away in a stateroom.”
But right then, she wanted to be in a stateroom, and she wanted to be with him. “I think I’d like a glass of tawny port,” she said. She didn’t need it, but sipping it was a way to prolong the evening.
He stood, took her hand, walked with her to the bar lounge, ordered the wine for the two of them, and had a bottle of it and two glasses sent to her stateroom. “Charge that to 4116-A,” he told the bartender. Walking back to their rooms, he dropped her hand and eased his arm around her waist. At her door, she wondered why he stood looking down at her, his gaze unreadable.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked him.
“Are you sure you want me to?”
“Why are you reticent, Carson? And you are, you know. You want more, a lot more, but you’re not asking for it, and I want to know why because this is definitely out of character.”
“You don’t know how right you are. I’ve always avoided involvements with clients, because my integrity is a part of my license to do what I do. In a way, I’m working for you, and it doesn’t sit well with me. It never has. You’re right—I want more, and I need more, but I don’t want to appear to use you. You’re as important to me as the air I breathe.”
“But what about me? Do you care about the way I feel and what I need?”
“You know that isn’t a fair question. Imagine a hungry lion let loose among a herd of antelope. That’s how badly I want you. But if I can’t find that will and your brothers decide that I’m a charlatan who’s been using you, will you side with them or with me? I’m doing my best to make sure I don’t lose you.”
She slid her key into the lock. “Really? I can think of other, more certain ways not to do it. Good night.”
She went inside, closed the door, and looked around at the idyllic setting. Carson didn’t strike her as the kind of man who’d forgo such an opportunity. Most men would step up to the plate even if they merely liked the girl. She picked up the phone and dialed his room number.
“What is it, Shirley?”
“I’m perplexed. Are you sure you’re not married? I’m thinking that I don’t know any member of your family or any of your close friends. I don’t know much about you.” She knew from his long silence that he was battling his temper, but she waited. The ball was in his court.
“Do you have the key that opens the door separating us?”
“I have a key that fits it. Why?”
“Open the door.”
Her lower jaw sagged. It was not a request, but a command. A smart retort settled on the edge of her tongue, but she caught herself in time to restrain it. Both his words and his tone of voice said
Don’t play with me.
Maybe she’d taken a step too far. After debating with herself for a few seconds, she got up and opened the door.
With his legs wide apart, his hands above his head, braced against the sides of the door frame, he seemed to her a figure of towering strength. She would have welcomed a smile, but there was none. He merely stood there, filling the space where the door had once been.
She forced her teeth not to chatter the way they did when she was nervous, but it was as if marbles fought for space in her stomach, and perspiration dampened her undergarments. She stared at him, a thing of beauty, powerful and all man. Suddenly, her hand shot out and gripped his belt, in an attempt to pull him to her. He didn’t budge, but within a second, she was tight in his arms. He dumped her gently on his bed and sat on the edge of it.
“Let that be the last time you goad me. What is there about me that you don’t like?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you think I’m hiding from you?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you want from me?”
She sat up and looked him in the eye. “Everything.”
He sucked in his breath, and his left hand went to his chest as if trying to regulate his heartbeat. His eyes darkened to stormy mists, and his nostrils flared.
“What do you want from
me
?” she asked him.
“Everything. Everything a man can get from a woman,” he said, “and I don’t want any other man near you.” He stood, lifted her from the bed, locked her body to his, and parted her lips with his tongue.
Shock sped through her body as he pressed her to him in a boldness he hadn’t previously showed her. But if he thought she would protest, she let him know that he was giving her what she wanted, and she moved into him. He pulled his tongue out of her mouth and gazed down into her face. Unperturbed, she took his hand and rubbed it across the hardened nipple of her left breast. She knew he liked to suckle her, and the lights that flashed in his eyes told her she’d made the right move.
“Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes. I’ve been looking at them all evening, and I want it. Give it to me.” She released her right breast and held it to his mouth. He took it, owned it, and owned her. Minutes later he stormed within her, unleashing the power of his masculinity until she screamed her release, and he followed her, triumphant in his ecstasy.
“How do you feel?” he asked her after some minutes.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had an experience like that. It was wonderful, but I don’t feel like myself. I—”
He levered himself on his elbows and gazed down into her face. “You are something of a phony. Talking about your needs. You didn’t know what you needed, because that’s the first time you’ve had an orgasm.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your behavior told me. I’m in this real deep, sweetheart. What about you? Did you mean what you said a few minutes ago?”
“What did I say?”
“I’m serious, Shirley. You told me that you love me.”
She couldn’t help grinning, because she had what she wanted, and she meant to keep him. “Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I? My brothers will tell you that I always keep my word unless it’s impossible, and I never lie, even when the truth is painful. Does that answer your question?”
“Not really, but it will do.”
“Don’t I have a right to know whether you love me?”
He tweaked her nose. “I’ve loved you for months. Didn’t you know it?”
“Know
that
? I knew you cared for me, because you showed me in so many ways.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Carson, I’m so happy I want to shout it to the whole world.”
Looking down at her, he let his hands stroke her face in gentle caresses. “Right now, I feel as if I’ve got planet Earth in my own hands. But I know that happiness is a fragile state, Shirley. A lot depends on your ability to trust and respect those you love. Kiss me.” She did. He rolled over to his side, pulled the cover over them, and slept.
She lay in his arms, wide awake, trying to deal with what she’d experienced. She’d told him that there were more certain ways of binding her to him, but in truth she hadn’t known what she was talking about. Now she knew, and she was much less sure of herself. He’d just taught her that he could control her as easily as she could control him. Perhaps even more easily. And she understood his reluctance to become involved with a person with whom he had a business relationship, albeit a remote one.
He took his time, she conceded to herself, because he knew what intimacy with her could bring, and she’d pushed him, because she hadn’t imagined how much it would change her and what it would do to her feelings for him. He had his hand draped loosely across her belly, but suddenly a smile slid over his face. He stroked her breast until her nipple hardened and her libido began to gnaw at her. After about twenty minutes of discomfort, she sat up.
“Wake up, you.”
“Hmm?”
“Wake up. I’ll bet you’re not really asleep. You’ve got me completely out of sorts.” Annoyed because he didn’t respond as she would like, she massaged him to an erection and crawled on top of him. He awakened then, flipped her over on her back, and gave her what she needed.
“That’s the most wonderful compliment you could have paid me,” he said when she had climbed down from an incredible high.
“I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate my waking you up.”
“Few things can make a man as happy as hard evidence that his woman wants him. Never hesitate, and don’t concern yourself about my reaction. I can’t imagine not wanting you.”
Chapter Ten
Gunther had begun to look forward to Thanksgiving Day as the possible turning point in his life. If he found that Caroline suited his lifestyle, he’d work at strengthening their relationship and teaching her to care for him. He corrected that. He’d court her seriously, and if their attraction for each other intensified, he’d work at making it permanent.
He ran his hand through his hair and lifted his left shoulder in quick, successive shrugs. “I must be getting desperate. No man is more vulnerable to stupidity than a desperate one. I’ll just see what happens.” He answered the phone on his desk.
“Mr. G, Frieda said she’s been trying to get in touch with you. She said it’s very important.”
“What’s her number?” She gave it to him. “Thanks, Mirna. I’ll call her.”
He dialed the number that Mirna gave him. “Ms. Davis, please.”
“Frieda speaking.”
“Ms. Davis, this is Gunther Farrell. I understand that you wanted to speak with me. How are you?”
“I’m good, Mr. Farrell. I need you to write me a reference. I been working at the hospital for ’bout eighteen years. They gave me a small raise when I got my LPN four years ago, but I feel they should give me more money, Mr. Farrell. Would you please write me a recommendation and say how much you paid me?”
Was he hearing correctly? “Are you saying they pay you less than that?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir.”
He sucked his teeth in disgust. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll be glad to do it. What’s your address?”
She gave him her address but added, “I’d appreciate it if I could drop by and pick it up. I’d like to take it to my supervisor when I get to work.”
“Do you mean you’ve already left your mother? How is she?” He wondered about the relationship, but didn’t think he had a right to probe.
“She’s up and about. She doesn’t need a nurse now, and I’m not one to wear out my welcome, Mr. Farrell.”
He’d have to think about that one. “Right. But I’m sure she appreciated the fact that you went to her aid when she needed you.”
Was that a sigh? “I think she did. At least things are a lot better between us than they’ve been. Still, the only things in this life that you can count on are taxes and death, and ain’t neither one of them welcome.”
“I’d forgotten what a philosopher you can be at times. I’ll be home about five-thirty, and your letter will be ready.”
“Thank you, sir. You know I appreciate it. See you around six. Bye.”
He wrote the letter, all the while thinking that maybe his situation growing up hadn’t been so bad. He hadn’t had to pay rent, eat, take care of all his other needs, and plan for a future with the amount of money he paid Frieda, which she had considered a windfall. Leon Farrell gave his children at least a comfortable home and plenty of food; although, unfortunately, after his wife died, he gave them very little beyond that. If he’d learned anything from the man who sired him, it was how
not
to be a father.
He walked into his apartment a few minutes before five o’clock, changed his clothes, and went down to the pool on the ground floor of the apartment building. After several laps, he climbed out of the pool, spent ten minutes on the treadmill, swam another lap, and got back to his apartment minutes before Frieda arrived.
“Where’s Mr. Farrell?” he heard her ask Mirna. “He paid me forty-three dollars a week more than I get for that backbreaking work at the hospital, and he’s giving me a recommendation. I need a raise so I can move from that fourth-floor dump on Franklin Street. Tired as I am when I get home from work, I have to walk up three flights, and that building has high ceilings. But right now, it’s all I can afford.”
“He a good man,” Mirna said. “And whatever he say he gon’ do, you can put money on it.”
“Don’t I know!” Frieda said. “Ain’t many like him. And a real gentleman, too.”
Gunther took the letter from his pocket and walked into the dining room where the two women sat talking. “Here you are,” he said to Frieda. “I hope it works for you.”
She looked at the unopened letter and then gazed at him for a long time until he wondered at her behavior. Finally, she said, “Mr. Farrell, I’ll never forget your kindness to me. I wasn’t gon’ tell you this, but one good deed deserves another. The day I left here driving to Baltimore, your brother passed me on his motorcycle and sideswiped my car, spinning me around in a circle. He could’ve killed me, and he didn’t even slow down.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. I passed him about three miles farther on the highway where he’d stopped to talk on his cell phone. I got his license plate number, looked it up, and saw that Harley belonged to Edgar Farrell. I was without my car for two weeks. But he’s your brother, so I won’t report him.”
“I’m not a bit surprised. You should have reported it. Next time he’ll kill someone. Have you had your car repaired?”
“It’s been fixed, sir. I don’t want you to do a thing about it, but I know you wouldn’t want no kin of yours in jail.”
He thought about that for a few seconds and surprised himself when he said, “I appreciate your sentiments, but I don’t know about that. Maybe getting what he deserves would turn him around.”
He surmised that Frieda Davis was not as simple as her apparent warmth and lightheartedness suggested. He knew she took her work seriously and did it with pride, more often exceeding what was required of her. And her ever-ready sense of humor could be as effective as a doctor’s prescription. But for all that, she maintained a distance, a right, as it were, to reverse herself and attack if need be.
He walked with her toward the front door. “I get the feeling that you’ve had a difficult life. My siblings and I have thought that our lives were tough, but I suspect you had it far worse.”
She stopped walking and looked up at him. “It’s interesting you say that ’cause I try hard not to let it show. I was adopted at birth. My birth mother gave me up without knowing whether I was a girl or a boy. My father—whoever he was—raped her on the way home from school. Coreen—my mother—told me what she suffered during that pregnancy, and I don’t know how she stood it. After that was over, she picked herself up, got two university degrees, is head of a big social agency, and has been president of her international professional organization.
“But her life wasn’t a bit harder than mine. Starting when I was twelve, my adoptive father raped me whenever he felt like it. I left home in the middle of a winter night wearing my adoptive mother’s housecoat and an old blanket and with one hundred and twenty-six dollars that I stole from my adoptive father’s pants while he violated me. I blamed my birth mother. I spent nearly two years looking hard for her, tracing leads and trying to make her miserable.”
He didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath until he suddenly gasped for air. “I gather you found her.”
“Yes. I tried to ruin her happy marriage and her nice family life, but it didn’t work. I was glad, too, after she told me what she went through. I caused a lot of pain and trouble for her and her family, and I’m sorry. But we’re all on pretty good terms now, and I’m grateful. It’s not perfect. I tried to call her Mother, but I couldn’t. At least, not yet.”
She looked at Gunther and frowned. “Funny thing. I’m the spitting image of her.”
He hurt for her. “No matter what’s gone down before, Frieda, she probably would have died if you hadn’t found her and if you hadn’t given her the bone marrow.”
“You’re right, and I like to think that doing that made up for the trouble I caused. You know, Mr. Farrell, the Lord works in strange ways. Sometimes I just can’t figure Him out.”
He gave her a light pat on the shoulder. “I don’t think we’re supposed to. Let me know if you get that raise.”
“I sure will. Thank you so much.” He opened the door for her. “Hmm,” she said, looking up at the sky, “looks like we gon’ have some snow for Thanksgiving.”
He told her good-bye, went to his bedroom, and dialed Shirley’s cell phone number. “This is Gunther. Have you done anything about getting Frieda a job on one of those cruise ships?”
“I gave her application to the head of our clinics and asked her to interview Frieda. As soon as I get to Orlando, I’ll push it hard. Not to worry.”
“Thanks. She needs a break. By the way, Riggs has been trying to reach Carson. I take it you know where he is.”
“I do, indeed,” she said, and he heard the preening in her voice suggestive of someone’s having won a huge lottery prize.
He told himself not to react. “When is he coming back here? I mean, when will he be home?”
“Sunday afternoon, for certain.”
He didn’t like that. “I see,” he said, and he did. So Carson had scored with his baby sister. He told himself she had a right to live whatever life she chose, but he’d rather not know the details. “I gather you know what you’re doing.” He didn’t believe that, but he accepted that, for Shirley, he probably wouldn’t think any man good enough.
She spoke softly, without stridence or a tone that suggested he was interfering where he shouldn’t. “I can only judge him by his behavior with me and toward me, Gunther. Right now, he’s batting one thousand. He’s ... Gunther, he’s wonderful. You’ll see.”
“It’s a cinch I won’t see what you see,” he said dryly. “I hope it works out the way you want it to, sis. So far, I don’t find any fault with him. But I’m waiting for him to deliver. In any case, we’ll all be together at Thanksgiving. Give him my regards.”
He hung up and let out a sharp whistle. The old man’s devious behavior had precipitated changes that Leon Farrell could not have imagined and probably wouldn’t have wanted. He disliked government and legal authority and was suspicious of anyone associated with it, including police. Carson Montgomery was a law enforcement officer. Gunther laughed because he needed to release some tension, and laughter was the least painful way of doing it.
Thanksgiving Day arrived with scattered snowflakes falling softly and quietly and darkening clouds that threatened a more wintry day. Shirley set the dining room table, adding tall, yellow candles and a centerpiece of brown, yellow, orange, and red mums and yellow place cards. The fires that Gunther had lighted in the dining and living room fireplaces sparkled and crackled with warmth, and added festiveness to the day.
As she regarded the results of her handiwork, it occurred to Shirley that her mother would be proud of her, for Catherine Farrell had loved and enjoyed beautiful things. With that thought came the realization that, after Catherine’s death, their father had rejected the beauty and elegance that their mother had loved and with which she had surrounded them.
Could it have been that Leon Farrell’s descent into a mean-spirited, stingy man was his way of dealing with the pain of their mother’s loss? If that explained it, perhaps she could forgive him. But she was not convinced.
“If you was smart as I think,” Mirna said as she put individual salt and pepper shakers in front of each plate, “this ’ud be the last Thanksgiving you had here in this apartment.”
A frown etched deep grooves in Shirley’s brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this time next year, Mr. Montgomery ought to be at the head of your Thanksgiving Day table in your and his house. That’s clear, ain’t it?”
Shirley laid her head to the side and looked hard at Mirna. “Why do you say that? You haven’t seen that much of him.”
Mirna locked her knuckles to her hips and looked toward the ceiling. “Honey, I know a man when I see one, and that man’s got everything a woman could need and plenty of it. Like I said to Mr. G, he’ll make a woman happy, and I ain’t only talking about sex. If he say he gon’ do somethin’, honey, I bet my neck it’s good as done. He ain’t got no right to be single.”
“So far, you’re a good judge of people,” Shirley said, patted Mirna’s shoulder, and went to her room. Three days with Carson on the
Utopia Girl
and exploring Ocho Rios with him had increased her appetite for the man, and she had made up her mind that if he remained single, it would not be her fault.
Caroline arrived first, and after one look at the woman, Shirley decided that her brother had found someone wonderful. “I’m so glad to meet you, Caroline,” she said, “and I hope this will be your happiest Thanksgiving ever.”
“Thanks. Me too,” Caroline replied. “I’ve been a wreck for days thinking about this. I thought, thank God, I don’t have to meet his mother. Then I shamed myself and remembered that he has a sister. Have you ever been through this?”
Shirley’s laugh allowed her to get rid of some tension and to calm her own nerves. “I’m in the same boat as you, Caroline. My friend’s closest relative, his younger brother, will be joining us today, and I haven’t met him yet. So worry not. I’m in your corner.”
The doorbell rang, and Shirley raced to it, her heart thundering in her chest. She opened the door and gazed up at Carson. Speechless. “What kind of welcome is this?” Carson asked her, stepped inside, wrapped her close, and kissed her. “Shirley, this is my brother, Ogden, and Marsha Harris, his girl.”
“Come in, Ogden, Marsha,” she said, more nervous than she could ever remember being, for Gunther would have something to say about that French kiss she’d shared with Carson, quick though it was. She completed the introductions with Gunther and Caroline, aware that Carson’s arm remained around her.