Pillow Talk (11 page)

A vision of yellow the color of morning sunlight met Meg's eyes. She took in a four-poster bed covered in frilly yellow fabric, an armoire, a chaise covered in yellow velvet, and a skirted dressing table. Here and there splashes of white and cornflower blue relieved the yellow. The effect was startling, but definitely cheery. "It's perfect," Meg said.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" But Parker wasn't looking at the furnishings. He gazed straight at her with an expression akin to hunger in his eyes.

Meg gazed back, unable to break the connection. His blue eyes had darkened, turning almost inky. "It's my favorite color," she whispered, meaning the blue of his eyes.

"Mine, too," he said. He raised his left hand
an
d with a touch as light as a butterfly grazed her cheek. "You were terrific with Gus."

Meg's cheek sizzled from the simple contact. "It was nothing—" she caught herself from finishing the sentence. She'd been about to say nothing I wouldn't do for my own children. But Parker, despite his dutiful errand to break the news to Gus of his father's death at his grandfather's behest, didn't strike her as a man who'd take to a woman with three children of her own. Driven purely by her instincts, she chose to rely on them and keep the knowledge of her family to herself.

Parker stepped back. In a brisk voice, he said, "Well, you may call it nothing, but the family owes you a tremendous thanks. So the room will do? There's a bathroom attached." He pointed to one of two doors. "I'll go get your bags and be right back."

"Sure." Meg wondered what had shifted his mood so abruptly. Had he frightened himself? She certainly had. What was she doing thinking about what type of woman Parker Ponthier might be interested in!

The door across the hall burst open and Gus sauntered out dressed in his WalMart garb. "At least I've got cable in my room here," he said. He pointed to the yellow finery. "Is this your room?"

"Yes. And does your room have a bath attached, too?"

He grimaced. "Sure we can't forget about the bath?"

"Sorry,” Meg said. "A bath can be a lovely experience. Think of it as pleasure rather than punishment."

Gus wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes you talk like a teacher," he said. "Is that what you were before you married my dad?"

"No, but I plan to be a teacher." Which is one of the reasons she had married Jules, ironically enough. She'd hoped to pay off Ted's mountain of debts and have enough to return to college for her degree.

Gus blew air through his mouth and nose in a rude fashion. "Ho, you don't have to work now. You'll just spend your time drinking martinis and screwing your personal trainer."

"And not paying attention to Gus?"

He nodded, then picked at the hem of his sweatshirt. "That's what my mom does. I mean my real mom. And CeCe, too, except she likes women."

Meg hoped her reaction didn't show. Thankfully, Parker was headed up the hall, her Saks boxes piled high.

He put them in her room. She said to Gus in a low voice, "I don't drink martinis and I've absolutely no use for a personal trainer."

"Yeah?" He shrugged. "You'll just find another way to spend your time."

"Let's go start that bath water and let Meg have a well-deserved rest," Parker said to Gus.

"You're sure, Parker?" Meg was surprised at how good it felt to hear Parker's name on her lips, and she was also pleased by the way he was jumping in to help with Gus. "I am the one who turned down Horton's services."

He nodded.

"Hey, I can take my own bath," Gus said. "I'm not a baby." Looking from Parker to Meg, a crafty grin lit his face. "If I go take a bath right this minute, will you hide me from"—he bugged his eyes out and made a fake sobbing sound—"Teensy!"

Parker raised his eyes upward, obviously seeking patience. Meg smiled and watched as Parker pointed his nephew across the hall. Gus, carrying on at top volume with his fake boo-hooing, marched, with Parker falling in behind.

Twenty minutes later, revived by a shower and a quick change of wardrobe, Meg paused at the open door to Gus's room. Parker stood beside one of the twin beds. The bathroom door remained shut and from behind its protective muffling, the booming of a radio pounded.

As if he sensed her presence, Parker turned from the window. A smile lifting his lips, he said, "Parenting must be a full-time job."

From the doorway, Meg nodded and said, "Oh, it is!" Then to cover her far too expressive statement, she moved forward into the room and said in a much more subdued voice, "So I'm told."

He dropped to the edge of the bed. With a rueful smile, he said, "I can't even begin to pretend to know the first thing about helping out with a child. I plead complete ignorance."

"Oh, it's not so hard to learn," Meg said, approaching the bed.

"Sugar production, real estate, finance"— Parker grinned, almost mocking himself—"I can master those easily enough, but somehow I've never understood children."

"Do you want to?" Meg told herself his answer did not matter, yet she knew she lied. Holding her breath, she said, "Do you want to have children of your own?"

Parker regarded her, a serious, thoughtful expression in his eyes. "You know, I do. But I honestly can't say I'm qualified."

Meg smiled. "You learn as you go."

"Perhaps." Then he flashed one of those dangerously seductive smiles, especially seductive because he didn't seem to realize the effect he ha
d on her. "But all that aside, I
wish I could do more for Gus."

"What would you wish for?" Meg had moved so that she stood beside the end of the bed. Parker sat midway up its length.

He was silent for awhile. The thumping of bass reverberated through the bathroom door. Meg waited for his answer, curious as to what he would say.

Suddenly, he rose and said, "Where are my
manners?" He gestured to the bed and said, "Please, have a seat."

Meg smothered a smile, but was delighted nonetheless. "Thank you," she said, seating herself primly on the foot of the bed.

Parker dropped down and the bed bounced softly. Meg felt the movements echoing within her body and wished to the high heavens that his good manners and breeding hadn't asserted themselves. She'd felt much safer standing.

Slowly, he said, "I'd wish for wisdom, to start with. You showed me the value of that."

"I did?"

He nodded. "At the school, then by the way you convinced him to go to WalMart."

Meg waved a hand, wishing Parker weren't sitting quite so close to her, wishing he didn't look nearly so delectable. "Merely a bit of applied psychology."

"Hmmm." Parker stared towards the windows, then said, "I'd wish for knowledge."

"You were a ten-year-old boy yourself," Meg pointed out gently.

"So I should look within for answers?"

She nodded. "But wishing is good, too." Feeling more relaxed with him, she turned sideways on the bed so she faced him. Tucking one foot under her, she said,
"I
believe very much in the power of wishes. Some people think of them as affirmations, but I like to call
them wishes. We—" She stopped, realizing what she'd been about to say.

“We?" Parker leaned closer, his eyes fastened on hers.

"I"—Meg corrected herself—"I have a tradition involving wishes."

"And what's that tradition?" Parker asked the question in a low murmur. By this time, he'd moved much too close for comfort. Meg hadn't once seen him scoot or edge over, but the fact was when she looked up at him, her own eyes wide and her heart pumping in response to his nearness, Parker was only inches from her. What she ought to do was wish him away.

"I call it pillow talk," she said softly, then raised her chin. If he made fun of her now, it wouldn't matter how fast her heart raced in response to him.

"And it has to do with wishes?"

She nodded and reminded herself to speak in the singular. She was so used to thinking of herself and her children as a unit that the "we" slipped naturally off her tongue. "Wishes for dreams." Meg pointed to the pillow tucked under the bedspread. Feeling more than a little bit shy, but wanting to share her tradition with him, she said, "If you hand me that pillow, I'll show you the best way to make a wish."

Without taking his eyes from hers, Parker reached around, yanked the pillow out from beneath the covers, and handed it to her.

Meg tucked the pillow against her chest. There, at least it would protect her from Parker getting too close. "
So, you hold onto the pillow"—
Meg began—"and so does
…
"

Parker touched the pillow just above where her hand clasped it. "Let me guess," he said in a low voice, "if you're sharing pillow talk with someone, that person holds onto the pillow with you?"

Meg tightened her grasp on the pillow. As she did, her hand brushed Parker's. "You're pretty smart, aren't you?"

He shook his head. "No, you're a good teacher." Touching her lightly on the back of her hand, he said, "You led me straight to the answer."

Meg glanced down to his hand beside hers and in a wild moment of desire, wished the pillow weren't separating their bodies. Then she reined in her imagination. In a controlled voice, she said, "With pillow talk, you could wish to find more ways to spend time with Gus."

Watching Meg fondle the pillow, Parker stroked the bottom side of Meg's pinky finger. "And can I wish for more than one wish?"

"One or two," she said, her gaze fastened on his hand. He moved his explorations of her soft skin to the top of her hand, then skimmed her forearm with his palm.

Before she could consider objecting to his caress, he tucked her hair away from her cheek,
and leaned close to kiss her. His seductive lips hovering above her mouth, he whispered, "And could I wish that I can spend more time with you?"

She parted her lips, considering her answer. She could feel the heat of him—the expectancy.

The bathroom door burst open. The radio blasted into the room, as did Gus, wearing only a towel.

Meg jumped back.

"Dudes!" Gus grabbed at his towel. "What's a guy have to do to get some privacy around here?" He backed into the bathroom and Meg dropped the pillow on the bed and fled the room.

Parker picked up the pillow and hugged it.

From the bathroom, Gus said, "See what happens when you make me take a bath."

Parker chuckled and left Gus to his privacy. But Meg was indeed a very good teacher; Parker couldn't wait to make some wishes for his dreams.

A
fter the feelings Parker had aroused in her, Meg felt it was less risky to face Grandfather Ponthier than to remain in Gus's room with Parker. Descending the elegant staircase, Meg tried to compose her expression, but it was tough. The man had gotten to her! Glancing downward, she found a pretty silver-haired woman watching her approach. Remembering
she was supposed to be a grieving widow, Meg schooled her features.

"You must be Jules's widow," the woman said in a well-modulated voice. "I'm Julianne Soniat. Please accept both my felicitations and my condolences."

"Thank you," Meg said, relieved that the woman wasn't a clone of the harsh-tongued Aunt Mathilde. Even her shower hadn't prepared her to face that member of the Ponthier clan.

"My grandson Michael went to school with Jules at Country Day. He's out of town but I'm sure he won't miss the wake."

Meg nodded. When was the wake? She hoped this nice woman wouldn't ask her. And what did one do at a wake, anyway? She'd never been to one as it wasn't a custom observed by the Protestant families she knew in Las Vegas. For Ted, there had been visitation hours at the funeral home, then a graveside service. Perhaps a wake was a New Orleans custom or a practice followed only by Catholics. She'd have to ask Parker.

"I'm just leaving," the woman said gently. "I'll tell Michael we spoke."

Meg realized the woman thought she was lost in her sorrow. She repeated her thanks, thinking that if she kept her conversation to those two words she might escape the next few days without committing too many blunders.

The wheelchair appeared from the direction
of the library. "Julianne," Grandfather called, "thank you for coming."

The woman had been pulling on her gloves. She stopped and turned to face Grandfather, a lively glow sweeping over her face. "Wild horses wouldn't have kept me from your side, Augie."

Grandfather wheeled to her side. Taking one hand in his good one, he kissed her knuckles.

"But you'd run away without saying goodnight."

She tugged on her gloves. "Guilty there."

Meg recognized personal history when she saw it on stage. Had they been lovers once? Or was it unrequited?

"Goodnight, Augie, and you too, dear," she said, and walked gracefully toward the door.

Grandfather shook his head. "What a waste," he muttered.

"An old flame?"

"Nosy sort, aren't you?"

"As Mrs. Soniat said, 'Guilty there.' "