Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers (9 page)

"Hey, shampoo girl-want to take a nice hot shower before you get dressed?" His voice was suddenly husky, almost cajoling. "And look-I'm sorry, and you're right. It's none of my goddamned business who you are or what you are."

Before she realized what was happening, he had seized her hand, and once more she was lost to reason. And now he was concentrating on her and not who she was or what she was. Her hair streamed wetly down her back, strands clinging to her shoulders and breasts, and he pushed them aside as he soaped her all over, lingering between her thighs.

"Is this what you look like when you're caught in the rain? My God, Annie, you're beautiful!"

The small bathroom turned steamy, and the soap dropped and was forgotten as they touched each other, exploratively at first and then more boldly. Easier to forget all the things that stood between them outside of this time, this moment.

Like Richard Reardon, shadow-father. A private, almost legendary figure who had already outlasted several presidents and was likely to outlast more. But he'd always stayed out of the limelight. The Watergate affair and all its nasty aftermath hadn't touched him; maybe it was true that was because he had too much on every leading politician for anyone to dare try to involve him. Reardon was a whispered rumor, a name hardly anyone had ever heard of outside a very few closed circles.

And yet, Webb, who moved in a very different world, seemed to have known. How?

Being her father's daughter, in spite of the lack of communication that had always existed between them, made her very vulnerable. It was an unspoken knowledge she had grown up with, and Craig had voiced it soon after they married and moved to Washington, where he had his law practice.

"You have to be very careful, Anne. I promised your father I'd look after you. There mustn't be any breath of scandal-not that I think you'd be that sort, darling. But I hope you'll be guided by me in your choice of friends."

God-he'd sounded like a Victorian husband! But it had been some time before she'd realized that, or even dared think it.

Anne felt as if her sanity had been returned to her too late. And she was able to begin to think rationally only because Webb, tossing his wet towel carelessly onto the floor, had gone into the other room to look for some clothes to wear. She was still trying to dry her hair, almost relishing the pull on her scalp as she rubbed long, wet strands between the folds of the towel.

"Wet silk ..." he had said, the touch of his fingers a caress. But how much of what Webb said was acting and how much was real? She didn't know why he had come looking for her, to bring her here, any more than she understood why she had come-and stayed.

Be careful-be careful! her mind warned her, but wasn't it almost too late for that?

What had happened to the carefully closed-in, inviolate part of herself that not even Craig had been able to reach? Anne felt curiously lost-and afraid. All the more stubborn because of it. Play it light, stay cool.

With a gesture of conscious defiance she tossed her towel aside on top of his, then walked back into the bedroom with what she hoped was careless insouciance.

Webb was already dressed, and her clothes were in a neat pile on the bed. She didn't want to look at him and see the way he watched her as each garment she pulled on became another layer of her defenses against him-and against her own weakness.

There didn't seem to be anyone in the hotel besides the desk clerk, who barely looked up as they came downstairs.

Outdoors the icy wind whipped color into Anne's pale face. Apart from the wind, the other moving thing on the street was a snowplow. The muffled-up man driving it waved to Anne and she waved back. She thought he turned his head to watch as Webb, suddenly impatient, dragged her along uphill with him.

They stopped at the electric gates in the high stone walls covered with skeletons of ivy; beyond the gates, a tree-lined avenue led to the house. Anne was out of breath, leaning against the warmth of his body, held in the curve of his arm.

"So this is the castle of the king where the orphan princess with silver-silk hair hides out ... Do you always hide behind high walls, Annie? Where's your No Trespassing sign?"

"Well, where's your Danger, Sex Maniac at Large sign, then?" she retorted. He threw back his head and laughed, and when he looked back down at her, his eyes were teasing instead of mocking.

"Poor baby. Is that what it seemed to you? Let's see-we've done it in the theater and the hotel-how about right here against the wall? Think the electric eye will be watching us?"

She laughed when he backed her up against the wall, but then she felt the hard urgency of his body against hers. "Webb!" She wished he wouldn't hold his mouth inches away from hers, tantalizing her, while he held her face immobile between his gloved hands.

"It's your fault, Annie-love. You're a New England witch, and you've put a hex on me.

You make me want to rape you, to find out if you'd fight or not ... and then again ...

when you close your eyes that way, I think I'd rather make love to you. Over and over and over ..."

Was it Carol or Harris who had warned her? "When Webb chooses to exert his charm, few women can resist him. He knows that-and he's had lots of practice ..."

But his lips were brushing hers between his murmured words, and when his mouth closed over hers at last she clung to it greedily, responding fiercely to his kiss while her body tingled with sudden warmth. Who cared for warnings? Her eyes were open, she wanted nothing but this-an affair of the senses, a lover who made her feel like a whole woman, able to respond like a woman.

Confused thoughts spiraled close to the surface of her mind but never quite got there while she gave herself up only to feeling. The texture of his hair under her fingers, cold air against her face, and heat everywhere their bodies touched as she pressed more closely against him.

"Christ, Annie!" he whispered at last. "Whose dumb idea was this? I should have kept you in my room and thrown your clothes out the window so you couldn't escape .. ."

He had a feeling that he didn't like-that she was escaping, and using him. From her husband? Reardon? He couldn't imagine Reardon emerging from his nerveless, coldly calculating citadel long enough to fuck a woman and make a daughter. It had probably been for the sake of the "ordinary man" image he wanted to project to the world.

But the hell with Reardon. This was Anne, Reardon's daughter, he was holding in his arms, feeling her trembling, wanting her again in spite of himself. And it had been his idea to bring her back home-to see her politely out of his life.

He'd made up his mind to that last night, after she'd fallen so deeply asleep it was almost as if she'd passed out. She obviously wasn't used to drinking too much. She hadn't heard the shrilling telephone that had awakened him from the beginnings of sleep.

Harris-checking up on Anne, his voice solicitous. And then Carol, her voice no longer furious as it had been earlier, but dripping sweet sarcasm. "Darling Webb-I know we've had our differences and always will have, but I really wouldn't want to see you tarred and feathered and ridden out of town, or whatever the modern equivalent is!

But Anne is Richard Reardon's daughter. And she's married to Craig Hyatt. Time magazine had a piece on him not too long ago-lawyer grooming for politician, you know the story. I know they're separated or something right now, but you know how that goes,don't you?" Carol had given a malicious chuckle that made him want to strangle her. "Washington gossip says she's a nympho-that's why Reardon kept her under wraps ..."

"So you talked her into doing your scene, Caro?'

"Therapy, darling, therapy! She's been seeing a psychiatrist for years, to cure her of her little problem. And I must admit I thought it might be fun to throw you two together, especially since we'd made that bet! I didn't think you'd ..."

"I know just how you think, Caro." His voice, dangerously soft, caused a silence at the other end. He could almost imagine Caro sucking in a breath, green eyes narrowing as she prepared for her next barbed retort. And he hadn't wanted to hear it. Anne stirred in her sleep just then and he felt the silkiness of her hair against his thigh. Damn her! He didn't know how to deal with her, but he knew Caro too well.

Two of a kind-they used to laugh about that in the early days, when their affair was still white-hot.

"Look Caro, I'll talk to you tomorrow. And I'm touched by your concern, but right now all I can think about is getting some sleep."

He could hear her voice, rising, sputter, "Webb, you bastard ... let me warn you ..." as he hung up on her. He unplugged the phone as a precaution before he settled back on the bed, lying there for a long time, frowning angrily into the darkness before he could finally get to sleep.

So much for Carol. AIl he'd meant to do was feed Anne breakfast, make love to her again if he had a mind to, and send her home to daddy with a pat on the bottom for good measure. Reardon would know he'd screwed his little girl and kept her out all night. If small-town people gossiped as they were supposed to, the whole damn town would know; and that would be the tiniest part of the payoff of his debt of hatred and revenge.

For Ria. He hadn't wanted to think about Ria for years. He didn't want to remember the clean, sweet reality that had been Ria before Reardon had stepped in and Ria had died trying to prove she was a patriot, prove that she could share in the part of his life he'd always kept separate from the life they'd shared. Life and loving-Ria had been both. And after there was no more Ria, every other woman he'd met and used was a cardboard cut-out to hold between himself and her memory.

Why remember that now? Ria, and the less cynical part of himself, had been lost a long time ago. Reality today, right now, was Anne, who reminded him in some crazy, indefinable way of Ria. But Ria had been transparently innocent-Anne was not.

Damnit! He had to shake himself free. Kiss her again, making his kiss light and meaningless this time, and walk back down that hill to town without turning back.

He'd forgotten what he had said to her, but just as if she'd sensed the dark tum of his thoughts Anne put her lips against his throat. He wanted to keep on kissing her, postponing the inevitable, and he didn't trust his own reactions.

Webb put his hands in her hair, pulling her head back.

"Damn you, Annie! What are you trying to do, incite me to rape? You'd find the snow makes a cold bed; and your daddy might not approve, besides."

Why hadn't she learned to keep the hurt from showing in her eyes? Wide, dark blue eyes like an ocean to drown in. "Why do you keep throwing my father in my face?

Why can't anyone see me as myself? Are you afraid of him, Webb?"

He had his excuse now, if he'd needed one. He moved away from her with an only half-smothered curse. "Shit yes, I'm afraid of him! Who isn't? I'm just an average, ordinary guy, princess, and he's spit up bigger and stronger men like so many orange pips. I shouldn't be playing around with you and you shouldn't be playing around with me." He made his voice deliberately cruel, trying to blank his mind to the suddenly frozen look on her face. "Not that it wasn't fun, baby, but as much as I'd like to keep you around for a while, my survival instinct is stronger than all the other instincts you bring out in me. I was a ghetto kid, baby. Chicago. My father was a crooked Irish cop and my mother was Italian-Sicilian. I grew up with the streets for my playground, and that's where I learned about survival. That, and a lot of other things you wouldn't like to hear about. A whole different world from the one you've been used to. Didn't Harris and Caro tell you what a bastard I am? I'm not your kind, and you're not mine. So"-this time his voice took on a kind of controlled fury that made her wince-"what in hell are we doing here together?"

He suddenly brought his hand up to her face, letting his fingers slip down its contours as if he was trying to memorize her by touch, not really knowing why he had to, for one last time.

Anne jerked her head away, thrusting her cold hands into the pockets of her jacket as she forced herself to stare back at him defiantly. "Why do you ask me that? I haven't demanded explanations from you, Webb-or anything else! You don't have to-oh, damn! Good-bye and thanks for the experience. It doesn't really have to be put into words, does it? Not that you needed to . . ." Now she only wished he would leave her quickly, severing her free with one swift knife cut.

It was almost ironic that the gates should soundlessly slide open just then. A long black car was driven out, to come to a skidding halt and back up.

"Anne! I was on my way to look for you. We've all been worried since you didn't call last night. Where .. ."

Oh God, why Craig of all people? She could have faced her father more easily at this moment. When had he arrived? Why? And why now? Not that she should worry about what Webb might think, but ...

Anne heard Craig's voice change, sounding colorless. "Oh hi! Sorry I didn't see you at first, but I've been concerned .. ."

Classic confrontation, almost like one of the old movies. Husband and lover-s-ex-lover, hadn't Webb just made that clear?

Damn, damn! Shreds of stilted dialogue passed over her head while her face burned and she hated them both for different reasons. They made her feel like a puppet pulled in two different directions.

"Can't say that I blame you ... I thought for sure Annie had called home .. ."

Annie! How dare he? She had the feeling he was spoiling for a fight again, as he had been last night, only Craig was far too civilized to rise to the bait, of course. But Craig had no right to be here either, or to be concerned about her.

Anne heard her own stiff voice performing pointless introductions, then Webb was refusing Craig's offer to give him a ride back to the hotel. He was acting, a deliberate Western drawl in his voice.

"Shoot, no, thanks all the same. I enjoy walking. Just wanted to be sure I got Annie here back home safe. Promised Carol." She wanted to scream at them both, Stop it, stop it! Stop playing your goddamned male roles over my head as if I didn't exist! But in the end she decided it was Webb who needed putting down most, and she'd show him that she could act too.