Her Foreign Affair (8 page)

“I’ll be out in a few minutes. Why don’t you check the backyard and see if Court went out there?” In the mirror, she crossed her eyes, and he almost laughed out loud.

“I think I want to stay right here and make sure you’re okay.”

Damn, but the old man was bloody tenacious. And, apparently, still as rabidly overprotective as he’d been years ago.

“I’m fine,” Randi snapped and deftly repaired her face, or at least erased the smudges. Quick fingers combed through the layered cut until the soft strands fell into place and brushed the tops of her shoulders. She looked sexy as hell, all warm and tumbled as if just rolling from bed.

His eyes met hers in the mirror and damned if he didn’t want to take her right up against the door with her father on the other side. Let the old bastard listen to his daughter being pleasured.

Randi waved at him, mimed combing his hair, and handed a tissue over her shoulder. He took the hint and looked in the mirror. Before he could laugh, Randi was there, her hand over his mouth again, eyes twinkling at her own repressed giggles.

“Randi? You coming out anytime soon?”

“I’m waiting for you to leave.” To add emphasis, she leaned to the side and spun the toilet paper on its holder. “Do you mind?”

“Okay, okay, but you’re acting mighty strange today. I’ll go open the champagne, but only heaven knows what you’ll be like with a little alcohol in you. You’re not going menopausal are you?”

“Already did that when I had my hysterectomy, Dad.”

Surprised, Court frowned. The reason she didn’t have more children? When had it happened? When she fell ill after Birdie’s arrival?

“Oh. You did?”

Exasperation escaped and she growled. “Dad! Go. Away.”

Randi reached past Court and flipped a switch for a fan overhead, then leaned to listen at the door while he finger combed his hair into place.

Court raised a brow but she shook her head. The old man remained in place. Randi reached over and flushed the commode, and he turned on the water in the sink.

Finally, the footsteps retreated, and they both let out their breaths.

“Give me a couple minutes,” Randi said, straightening her clothes. “If I don’t talk with him now, he’ll keep pressing for the truth. I’m sure he’s figured out you’re ‘the damn bastard who knocked his girl up and sent her home.’”

Yeah, her father would see it that way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers to keep from reaching for her again. He’d have it out with the old man. Today. However, it didn’t stop him from giving her his best sad puppy dog look.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she blew out the words. “I’m still mad at you.”

“And this conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot. I’m pretty pissed myself.”

A moment later, she was out the door, leaving him alone and wishing everyone else in the house to Mars.

“Good heavens, can’t a person take a potty break every once in a while? It’s the first time I’ve been off my feet all day.” She gave her father a good glare for emphasis.

“If you’re feeling poorly, and judging by the sounds coming from the powder room, you might be ready for the hospital, you can go lie down for a bit.”

Rolling her eyes, she threw up her hands. “So now you’re spying on me by listening at bathroom doors?” Not that she wouldn’t put it past him, the man was that nosy.

“I don’t call it spying when motivated by concern for your wellbeing.” Bushy white brows lowered in his customary scowl.

Randi snorted and began to pull champagne glasses from a cabinet. “Did you do a head count?”

“I did, but came up short by two.”

“Well, count me in. I’m pretty sure Court will be interested as well.” She set six fluted champagne glasses on the counter in front of her dad.

“So are you going to confess, yet?”

“Confess what?” Time to baste the turkey, she turned away and reached for the hot pads. Court had returned them to their hooks. Good man. Been playing bachelor father for the past six years? Did it translate to knowing his way around a kitchen? So far, he’d proved helpful. And distracting.

Before she could get the oven open, her father crowded her from the left. “About the man who contributed the other half of the genetic material to create your daughter. Don’t try to tell me the name is a coincidence.” White brows lowered in an angry V. A look nowhere as intimidating as it had once been. “After Wyatt filed the birth certificate I asked him about her name and he said you’d named her after the father. The name is too close to be an accident.”

Hadn’t Wyatt been the chatty one when it suited him? “Smart man to put two and two together. And you’ve waited all this time to bring it up?”

“You were too ill, and then after, well, it didn’t seem so important anymore.”

“Because you fell in love with her. Well fine, now you know my biggest secret. Keep it to yourself. I’ll tell her later. In the meantime, don’t let her and Drew get cozy, if you understand my meaning.”

“No problem.” Dad straightened and began ripping the foil from around the cork. “But we’re still going to talk about why he never came looking for his child.”

“I never told him.”

Let him think about that. Bending to see to the bird, Randi silently apologized to her daughter for siccing Grandpa on her. It was for the best, honestly. The less she and Drew cuddled up together, the less revulsion they’d feel later.

Family meeting. Tonight. The moment prying old grandpa disappeared with his guest.

Almost as if he’d heard the reference to him in her thoughts, Jordan entered on cue. She had the feeling he checked out her backside currently on prominent display. The one wide enough to block her father’s view of the humongous TV.

“Randi, those brie wraps were out of this world. High class football munchies.” Jordan at least kept a respectable distance away.

“Thanks, glad you liked them.” She squirted juices over the bird and thought about adding more wine. Nah, more than one bottle was overkill and a waste of good wine. A few more passes with the baster and she decided the time had come to leave the lid off. Tom Turkey needed a little browning and he had thirty minutes left in the oven. Provided she’d guessed right this time. She glared at the little pop-up timer, not sure it was at all trustworthy.

Sure the factory put out a million of these a day and tested them by the handful, but what if she got the one that would have failed the test? What if she had the one in two million that didn’t have enough wax to hold the little pin down until the right moment? What then? These things happened. Like the time she’d gotten a can of Pepsi Light, way back in high school, the one in the six-pack that was only half full and had a slice of lemon in it. Well, at least they’d used real lemons, but still, what a rip off and an example of spotty quality control. Accidents slipped through all the time.

“What’s wrong, love?” Court asked, and she cut her glare in his direction. How’d he move so quietly on the tile floor of the hall? Arrogant SOB, using that endearment with her. He hadn’t been fond of it back then, why now?

Pushing aside her urge to throttle him for reminding her how well they fit together physically, she snapped, “Nothing. Just wondering if I should put a thermometer in it.”

“Believe in redundant systems, do you?”

She didn’t appreciate the mocking nature of his lifted brow. The laughter rested there, twinkling in his damn beautiful blue eyes.

“Never hurts to be sure.” All the same, she shut the oven and hung up her hot pads. Yeah, Dad watched from beneath his bushy brows. The man was still too protective by half.

“What can we do to help?” Court asked.

“Get out of my way? All of you?” Her female dominated house suddenly had far too many too-tall men in it. Three of the four stood around her. Dad had barely finished pouring the champagne when she grabbed the first flute.

“Let’s have a toast,” dear old Dad announced. “Birdie, Drew, come in here.”

“Okay, but they’re setting up a punt pass return.”

At least that’s what it sounded like Birdie had said.

“We’ll make it quick,” Randi promised. “I want these men out of my kitchen, and they won’t leave until we do a toast.”

Behind her, Court wrapped a hand around her right butt cheek and gave a little squeeze. His specialty, sneaky squeezes in public places where she couldn’t react the way she wanted to. One time, he’d managed to squeeze a breast in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, complete with nipple tweak. And she’d had to endure what had almost been a full breast exam right there. In front of God and everybody. Princess Di herself could have walked in and Randi wouldn’t have cared. Ten minutes later, they’d been back in her flat, ripping off their clothes.

“Okay, everyone with us?” Dad gave her a meaningful look. Oops, drifted off again and Court’s hand slipped lower yet, easing deep into territory where, dammit, he was wanted, but not this moment. But to swat his hand away would draw attention to his actions. It wasn’t as if she had room to move away, or even the strength. She still shook from the interlude in the powder room, and his touch weakened her knees. Her world had begun to unravel, and she was desperate to keep things as normal as possible, hoping she could weather the storm and survive the day. Just a few more hours…

“Sure, I’m ready. Got a good one for us?” Randi challenged her father.

Everyone raised their glasses in a ragged circle. Why did they all have to squeeze into the tightest corner of the kitchen? Court had to be baking, right up against the ovens with her. Time to open a window or two.

“Here’s to the feast before us, the friends and family who join us, and our thanks for all the little miracles which have yet to be explained,” her father said, his hazel gaze locked firmly on hers.

Around Randi, answers of
hear-hear
and the tinkle of fine crystal touching were drowned out by the buzzing in her head. The rat. Was he hoping Birdie would suddenly figure it out? Silence fell for a few seconds while people sipped their wine. Well, in her case, guzzling replaced sipping. Pinching her nose to hold back a sneeze, she held out her glass to forestall any comments on the toast. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

Dad set down his glass and took hers. “That will require a second bottle.”

“Good, the one in the freezer should be cold by now.” There. See? She’d remembered it.

Dad slanted her a curious look, but she wasn’t about to move or change expression if she could help it. Court had one long finger playing in a most delicious manner. One finger slid beneath the hem of her sweater, an action possible because she had yet to put on her apron again. An oversight she’d correct the second she was free. The sneaky finger traveled up her spine a few inches, tracing lazy circles then moving south to slip under the waistband of her slacks. With great concentration she squelched a shudder of pleasure. This so wasn’t fair. And she’d never found a way to get him back for it. Not once. The scoundrel.

She shifted her hips, whether to encourage or discourage him, she couldn’t have said with any degree of conviction. Of course he took it as encouragement, the tip of his finger wriggling into the top of the cleft between her rear cheeks.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” How Court managed to do this to her, in this crowd, was almost unforgiveable. Except it felt so good. Especially with the champagne percolating in her blood. She felt warm and sultry, the tension in her shoulders easing while another tension began to rise again.

“Mom, you look a little flushed. You feeling okay?”

Blinking, she looked at Birdie, and for the millionth time, it struck her how much her daughter looked like Court. “Yeah, honey, I’m fine. Let’s get some windows open and cool the house down a little. Anyone else feeling warm?” It took effort, but she managed to escape the crowd, and Court’s seductive, sneaky hand, and headed for the door to the backyard. She didn’t have to look to know he grinned, knowing he’d gotten to her—again.

Heels clacking on the tile softened to heels tapping on hardwood flooring as she stepped down into the sunken living room. It was tempting to drop into her favorite overstuffed chair in the reading nook, but she kept going until she stood on the rear deck, breathing in the autumn scents of dried grass, dead leaves, and someone’s wood fire.

How could anyone be burning a fire on a day like this? The sky arched overhead in clear blue, the exact shade of Court’s eyes. And Birdie’s. Hell, and Drew’s. Three cut from the same cloth. Desperate for more distance, she moved onto the patio surrounding the pool and into the sun. Ah, the scent of charcoal. The Wilsons were barbecuing their turkey again. She eyed the cool blue water in the pool. A dip sounded wonderful right then. Would the people inside think she was loco for jumping in fully clothed? Her gaze moved to the spa to the left. Now there was an idea. Later tonight, under the cover of darkness, she’d come out and…

“You forgot your champagne.”

Should have known Court would find a way to follow her. She turned to face him, only to see Jordan right on his heels.

“Great day to be outside,” Jordan said. He held a full glass as well as a small plate of appetizers. “Thought you might want a few bites yourself.”

Had to like a man who wanted to feed her. “Thanks.” She picked up one of the brie wraps.

Dammit all. The simple snack brought back a memory of Court feasting off her body in bed. One night, they’d splurged on several containers of Chinese seafood. He’d laid towels on the bed and then arranged their dinner with artistic precision. Shrimp curled around her nipples, fried rice heaped over her belly button, won tons and other delights scattered up and down her body. He’d alternately eaten from her and dropped morsels into her mouth, using his fingers to feed her and chopsticks to tease her. Wyatt had always wondered why Chinese food, spicy shrimp in particular, had turned her on. When Wyatt wanted to get laid, he’d brought home take-out. After Wyatt had died, she’d cleaned out the junk drawer and found it nearly full of wooden restaurant chopsticks.

Lord, was she so easy to manipulate?