Running Wild (36 page)

Gaius Valerius Catullus, Carmina

Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote de la Mancha

So this, Nick thought as he watched Lee shoot several balls
on the billiard table into the pockets, this was happiness. Not, as he had
thought, the quiet peace of a mid-winter night in front of a fireplace, a glass
of brandy in one hand and a good book in the other. That was contentment.
Contentment was gentle and warm.

Happiness set a man’s blood to bubbling.

“Beat you again, Nick,” Lee said with a grin. “Fourth time
in a row. Not on your game tonight, are you old man?”

No, he sure wasn’t, not when Star, in a pretty, green dress
with her hair hanging loosely around her, stood across the table from him,
watching the game with a gleam in her eyes. His mind was focused on the minutes
between now and the next time he’d be alone with her. Not, tonight. Three
nights of her monthly flow, she’d told him. Then tomorrow night, eleven p.m., she’d
come knocking on his door and stay just as late as he wanted.

That, his heart answered, would be forever.

Love was happiness.

“Reckon I’m just tired with all the fiestas you Easterners
are always going to,” he said.

“Well then,” Lee joked, “I suppose I’ll skip the next game
and hand my cue over to Del. It’s been some time since he’s beaten anyone.”

The billiard room was long and narrow, with chairs along one
wall, on either side of a fireplace, and windows lining the other wall. The
windows were dark now, but during the day, the light made it easier to play by.
At the far end of the room was an additional grouping of chairs, a couple of
tables holding glasses and liquor decanters, and a bookshelf. Port sat in a
chair, propped against the bookshelf. In the chairs along the wall sat Jane,
dressed in her usual pink and lace, and Huntington, who’d arrived just that
morning for a three-night stay.

He
didn’t look happy. No wonder, that. Love didn’t
mean happiness for Huntington. Not with his wife, who he loved but was not in
love with, or Star, who he was head over heels in love with.

She’s mine
!

“Someone address me?” Del asked, looking up.

“I did,” Lee said, laying his cue on the table. “I thought
you might enjoy a round with Nick, here, seein’ as how a drowned cat could beat
him right now. Port’s already had a turn at him. As for Star,” he said with a
chuckle. “Well, we’ll leave that sleeping dog to lie, shall we?”

“What? Am I a dog now, Lee? How uncharitable of you!”

Lee grinned, wrapped his arm around his sister, and gave her
a one-armed hug. “No, but you’ve beaten poor Nick at everything from tennis to
chess. Let’s allow him some pride, shall we?”

“He beat me at rowing.”

“And shootin’,” Nick interjected.

“Sure, I’ll play you,” Huntington said, rising.

“Of course you will,” Jane snapped. “You claim that you came
to visit me, but you never truly stay with me, do you?”

He scowled down at her. “We are in the same room. I shall be
but ten paces from you, which is much closer than Philadelphia, if you think
about it.”

“But you’ll be talking to Nick and not to me,” she pouted.

“I can do both.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Nick interrupted hastily. “Why don’t I
play you too, Jane? That way you can laugh together over killing what Miz
Montgomery’s left of my pride.”

Jane lifted her head haughtily. “Thank you, but I don’t play
billiards. It is an unladylike game.”

Star, who’d been racking up the balls, straightened. Eyes
burning, she turned toward Jane, and Nick grimaced, waiting for the explosion.
“It most certainly is not. Games are not assigned a sex.”

Huntington shook his head in disgust. “That was exceedingly
rude, Jane.”

“Whether a game is one of luck or skill or both, women have
as much ability to play it as does a man,” Star continued as she chalked a cue.

Jane turned to her husband, her face mottled a deep, ugly
red. “You have the same beliefs as I do. You taught them to me!”

“Taught them to her?” Star sputtered. “Caldwell Huntington,
how could you?”

Damn. It was escalating. Nick’d seen those two go at each
other. It could get rough. Although he’d never mentioned it to Star, he’d spied
bruises on Jane’s wrists some mornings following an argument. On Del’s, too.

He looked to Lee for help, who shrugged, reached into his
waistcoat pocket for a cigar, and eyed Port.

“My point has always been, Jane, that for
some
women—” Huntington started.

“Some women?” Jane snapped. “You mean Star, for whom you
make every exception as always. I however, you believe lack—”

Port gave Lee an almost imperceptible nod.

“Speaking of which,” Port interjected smoothly, dropping his
magazine in his lap. “Have any of you heard of Romeo’s latest attempt to fix
Star’s interest?”

Lee frowned as he puffed on his cigar to light it.
Huntington and Jane, successfully diverted, turned to Port. Nick’s shoulders tensed.

“Pray tell, who is Romeo?” Jane asked.

“Star’s secret admirer,” Lee replied.

“Oh!” Jane exclaimed, the anger melting from her face. “You
have a secret admirer, Star? Why how very romantic!” She sounded both
enthralled and jealous.

Nick stared at Star, who avoided his gaze. She expertly
knocked a ball into the corner pocket and then shrugged. “It’s not all that
romantic, Jane. On occasion his letters are plain irritating.”

“I find them entertaining,” Port said with a touch of
amusement in his voice. He leaned over to the table next to him and poured two
drinks. “Romeo fancies himself quite adept at the written word and appears to
enjoy a very close association with adverbs and adjectives. Brandy, McGraw?” He
held out the sifter. Nick took the three steps to retrieve the offered glass.

Lee chuckled. But as Nick turned, taking a quick gulp of his
drink, he marked wariness in the laughter. Wariness that cut straight to Nick’s
bones.

“And how long has this been going on, sugar?” Huntington
asked, sitting back down and laying his arm across the back of his wife’s chair
in a casually possessive manner. Even from across the room, Nick could see Jane
stiffen.

Star studied the table, moving left, then right, gauging her
best shot—and refusing to look at Nick. “For several months. Port’s making more
of it than it deserves.”

Nick wanted to holler that a trunk full of confetti-clothing
was a helluva big deal. Instead, he took two more gulps of brandy and clamped
down on his jaw until his teeth hurt.

“He’s telephoned as well,” Lee said.

“Telephoned?” Nick asked, startled.

“We think it was him,” Lee said. “Your best shot is probably
from that corner, Sis. Yes, I answered the telephone a couple of times,” he
continued, “to a man asking for Star. When I inquired as to his name, he rang
off.”

“That happened to me once, also,” Port said. “Poor man is
besotted by a social butterfly. Presently, he’s become so frustrated as to send
flowers.”

“Flowers?” Nick asked. If Romeo sent flowers, he’d have
ordered them from somewhere, a clue that Keller could investigate, along with
the telephone calls. It might move the investigation forward. So far, they’d
hit nothing but dead ends.

“Why yes,” Port said. “Roses, as you would expect from a man
in love. But here is the inventive part. Our Romeo has been so frustrated by
his flirt of a lover, that he had them dyed black to get Star’s attention.”

Nick’s shoulders tensed so much they ached. “Black?” he
asked, peering at Star, willing her to meet his gaze. Damn it, but she oughta
have told him. She’d promised.

“Yes, with a note attached that said ‘You belong to me’.
Inventive
and
romantic, but one must wonder if he’s considered that it’s
infinitely easier to fix a woman’s interest by actually
talking
to her.”

Nick’s knuckles turned white on his glass. She belonged to
him
.

Leaning against one of the windows, Lee took a puff on his
cigar and scowled. “Inventive, yes, but I can’t like it, Star. It seems a
trifle dark for someone who wishes to win your love. Has he sent you anything
else of late?”

After taking another shot, she straightened. Then, holding
Nick’s gaze, she answered, “No. Just the flowers.” Her stare held a challenge
and her eyes warned him that the consequence of spilling the beans could be
losing her. Damn, damn, damn, she had too much courage for her own good!

“Dark?” Port repeated. The merriment in his voice grated on
Nick’s nerves. “Why, what else would you expect from a man who loves our
sister, Lee? You must know she’s ignored all else. I doubt that most days she
gives the poor fellow a second thought. Dying the roses was a stroke of
genius.”

Huntington grinned. “Why, I’ll credit him with intelligence
as well. I’m sure Star receives flowers regularly and scarcely notices who sent
them.”

She stiffened and her eyes threw bullets at Huntington. “I
am not so ill-mannered, Del, as to ignore a simple thank-you note.”

“Still,” Huntington said shaking his hand, “I’m sorry for
the poor fellow.”

“Well, I’m not,” Lee said. “If he wants Star that badly, he
ought to be a man and tell her to her face. All this secret admirer cr—sh—” He
stopped. “At any rate, it’s only romantic for a time. After that, it’s creepy.”

Star glowered at Lee. Nick’s estimate of Lee, always high,
climbed.

Port smirked. “You’ve no guarantee that he hasn’t already,
Lee, and this is nothing but another approach. You’ve grown up with her the
same as I have. Star’s a frightening woman. No, it is a far better tact to
butter her up over time, intrigue her, and then spring himself on her. Give him
credit, Lee,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “It’s been almost a year.
He’s lasted longer than all of her fiancés!”

Huntington laughed, Jane chuckled and even Lee couldn’t
resist a grin. “All right, I’ll award him credit for perseverance. And
inventiveness, and,” he said, nodding to his sister, “good taste. While any man
who hopes for a lasting connection with you, Star, is sadly deluded, I can
readily understand why he might try.”

Star smiled. “So I am no dog after all?”

“If you’ve any resemblance to an animal at all, it is of the
feline persuasion. God knows Port and I felt your claws often enough!”

“Only,” she answered, arching an eyebrow, “under extreme
provocation.”

“Or to sharpen them,” Port said acerbically.

“Why, yes, on occasion,” Star answered with a laugh, “you
were especially useful in that respect, Port!”

“Yes, and I recall one time. . . ” Port started, and
proceeded to relate a story of their youth. Afterward everybody laughed.

Everybody except Nick.

***

Star’s short, light breaths tickled Nick’s ear. Eyes closed,
he breathed in her scent while enjoying the weight of her body on top of his
and her breasts pressed again his chest. She was quiet for once, while their
hearts galloped in unison, then slowed in unison, as if connected by an
invisible bond. He could lie like this forever. If not for the fact, he thought
smiling, that in another hour he’d want to start all over again.

By and by, she sat up and rolled to his side. She heaved a
deep satisfied sigh. “My, Nicholas, but that was quite an interesting way of
doing it, wasn’t it?”

Grinning, he reached for the two abandoned glasses of port
on the bedside table. “Thought you’d like it.”

“Thank you,” she said when he handed a glass to her. “It’s
rather a physical position. At least for the woman.” As he removed the french
safe, she fluffed a pillow behind her and leaned against it. Naked, purely
naked next to him and not in the least self-conscious, not even with the gas
lighting shining off her pearly skin. Society lady by day—siren by night.
His
siren.

“Guess it is. Puts
you
in complete control, though.”

Her eyes glittered wickedly over the rim of her glass. “And
we both know how much I
adore
control. I shall confess to you, however,
and you alone, that I have recently discovered there are times it is enjoyable
to relinquish it.”

He raised his eyebrows as his heart took a tumble. Of all
the different ways those wildcat eyes could gleam, he reckoned that touch of
wickedness was his favorite.

He loved it when they shone with affection, too.

Or with love. Sometimes he could persuade himself it was
love, even if she never said it. “Do you? And when is that?” he asked.

“Why,” she said wriggling nearer until her thigh touched his
and he could smell the sweet grapiness of port on her breath, “sometimes when
you are feeling especially excited.”

He smiled down at her, treating himself to the sight of her
breasts. A half hour earlier he’d dripped the port along them, then licked it
up slowly, which had set her to purring. “Reckon that’s most of the time,
ma’am, since pretty near every thought of you leads to excitement.”

“Really?” she asked. The wickedness fled as she searched his
eyes for something deeper, something stronger, something he refused to confess.
What was the point if she didn’t love him, too?

Or even if she did?

“Really,” he confirmed. “Listen, Star,” he said, putting his
empty glass back on the table, “we need to talk a bit here.”

She gave him her Cheshire-cat grin and reached up to run her
hand over his chest. Her nails dug slightly, leaving thin white marks behind
and sending shivers of pleasure along his arms. “Oh yes, let us by all means
talk
about it, for if I am correct we shan’t be able to do anything else for half an
hour.”

“Not about that,” he said, taking her empty glass to put it
back on the table too. He drew a breath and focused on her. “It’s about Romeo.”