Secrets in the Stone (19 page)

*

“You want this, don’t you?” Melinda murmured, leading the fresh-faced porter into a dim alcove on the third floor of the hotel. Absorbing the intoxicating desire radiating from Rooke and Adrian had inflamed her, and the urge to feed the raging hunger had come over her so intensely, so violently, she had to satisfy it
now.
She couldn’t wait for Becky to come on duty tonight, and she couldn’t satisfy the need herself. No amount of masturbation would dull this craving. She craved another’s passion. The young woman pushing a room service cart had stared at her appreciatively as she’d exited the elevator, and when Melinda slowed and smiled back, the young woman had been eager to talk. It hadn’t taken long to convince her to take a detour before returning downstairs to the kitchen. An encounter with such an innocent would likely do little more than blunt her appetite, but she would have to be content with that for now.

“Tell me,” Melinda said, pulling open the buttons on her jacket with trembling fingers. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“Oh yes,” the young woman gasped, dipping her hands inside the black lace cups. “I want it.”

Melinda leaned back against the dark wood paneling and closed her eyes while her nameless lover groped and sucked her breasts in a frenzy. In her mind, the mouth at her breast was Rooke’s and the hot, pulsing sex she fondled Adrian’s. The three undulated together, limbs entwined, mouths ravenous as they kissed and caressed and tormented one another. The cavernous need inside her stretched to infinity, an endless black void demanding to be filled. Her hips writhed beneath the relentless pressure and she tangled her fingers in Rooke’s thick hair, forcing her breast harder into Rooke’s mouth. She stroked Adrian faster, swirling her fingers over velvety skin while arousal ripped at her sanity.

“I’m getting really close,” a desperate voice cried. “Oh, unnh, my clit, it’s—”

Melinda forced her lover to her knees, lost in the swirling depths of Rooke’s dark eyes. “Drink me.”

A hot mouth instantly devoured her and her sex pumped wildly. The young woman whimpered, climaxing as she sucked Melinda voraciously. Melinda exalted as pleasure at last suffused her. Before her orgasm finished, her clitoris stiffened again, and she rode the tongue that incited her toward another climax.

“More,” she demanded, her world a conflagration.
More. Again. Again. More.

She came and came again, and again, until the red haze and the raging ache receded. She pulled away, and her lover slumped back against the wall, drained—body and soul. After straightening her clothes, Melinda bent and fastened the young woman’s black trousers.

“Rest for a few minutes and then go back to work.” She smiled into the dazed blue eyes and caressed the flushed face. “You were an unexpected delight.”

Then she walked away. Once back in her room, she called the estate auctioneer to emphasize her definite desire to acquire the statue. When she intimated to him what she intended to bid, she was assured she would have no competition. She would have it, of course, but now she wanted something else even more. She wanted the fathomless passion of the sculptor.

*

By the time Adrian pulled into the driveway of her grandmother’s house, she’d gotten herself under control. Her physical reaction to Rooke was more than embarrassing, it was inexplicable. She’d had almost-anonymous sex on a few occasions when she’d known little more than a woman’s name and occupation before sharing a few desperate hours in a frantic attempt to obliterate images of death and inhumanity. Those encounters proved she was capable of a purely physical response to an attractive woman, but Rooke was much more than just a stranger in a strange land. She was a tender, sensitive, remarkable woman and Adrian had no intention of falling into bed with her, even if Rooke was interested. She didn’t want her hormones or pheromones or whatever was driving her libido these days to make her do something she’d regret.

Rooke had said there was a woman in her life, and whatever their relationship was, Adrian didn’t intend to get in the middle of it. Besides, she had a life that was already too complicated, and Rooke’s quiet, secluded existence was about to undergo major changes if Melinda had anything to do with it. No, now was not the time for anything more than friendship. She needed to take about ten steps back and a long cold shower, and maybe her good sense would return.

“Do you need me to hold the ladder while you go up on the roof?” Adrian asked as she parked.

“I should be okay.” Rooke opened her door, but didn’t get out. “You know, I can just check the tarp and leave. If you’re busy.”

Adrian knew she should take advantage of the opportunity and agree. A little distance would help her regain her perspective. But what would Rooke think if Adrian let her disappear, which was what she sensed Rooke wanted to do? Would she see Adrian as just like all the other people who weren’t really interested in knowing any more about her than what they assumed? Would Rooke believe she was like Ida Hancock, the grandmother who wouldn’t even acknowledge her? Just thinking about the rejection and disdain Rooke must have endured her whole life enraged her. She wouldn’t be another person who turned away from Rooke’s truth.

“I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Comfort food. Tell me you don’t like it,” Adrian said.

Rooke grinned fleetingly. “I’d rather not lie to you.”

“Good. I’d rather you didn’t either.” At the sight of Rooke’s smile, Adrian forgot all the reasons why distance would be a good thing. “Let me help you carry the ladder up to the house, at least.”

“All right. Then you have to let me do the dishes.”

Adrian laughed. “Deal.”

*

“Rooke,” Adrian said as she relaxed at the table with a cup of tea while Rooke washed and rinsed dishes. After Rooke had declared the roof sound, they’d had an enjoyable meal during which the subjects of Melinda and her interest in Rooke’s sculptures had not come up. Adrian told Rooke about some of the articles she’d written and answered Rooke’s many questions about the places she’d visited around the world. While Adrian took notes, Rooke had described the symbols common to cemeteries in the region. Their conversation had been easy and pleasurable. Now she had questions running through her mind she couldn’t silence.

“Hmm,” Rooke asked, stacking plates on a dishtowel.

“How do you think Bea Meriwether came to have your sculpture?”

Rooke paused in the midst of drying a cup, and then finished it and set it aside. She rinsed the last dish and wiped her hands on a blue terrycloth towel. She pulled out a chair next to Adrian and sat down.

“I think Pops gave it to my grandmother and she didn’t want it. She either gave it away or someone rescued it before she could destroy it.”

Adrian stifled her shock at the dispassionate tone of Rooke’s voice, as if she were completely used to being erased by her grandmother. As if that erasure didn’t matter. “Why do you think he gave it to her?”

“I don’t know.” Rooke absently ran her finger around the rim of Adrian’s empty teacup. “Maybe he was trying to mend the rift.”

“The rift?”

“It’s a long story.”

Adrian smiled into Rooke’s eyes. “I’d like to hear it if you want to tell me.”

Rooke searched Adrian’s face for a long time. “Why?”

“Because I want to know about you,” Adrian said immediately. “And before you ask me why, it’s because I think you’re interesting and remarkably talented and I’m from this place too. So we have a little bit of history in common.” She didn’t add
you’re
beautiful and sensual and so tender you break my heart.

“Okay.” Rooke pushed back in the chair and stretched her legs out, hooking her thumbs into her front pockets as she stared at the tops of her boots. “About fifty years ago my grandfather was in love with Ida Hancock, and she apparently let him believe it was mutual. They were high school sweethearts, I guess you would call it, but in secret. No one knew except some of Ida’s best friends.”

“Like my grandmother and Bea Meriwether,” Adrian said softly.

“And a couple of other daughters of the prominent families.”

“How do you know all this?”

Rooke smiled wryly. “When people think you’re…handicapped, they talk in front of you because they don’t think you’ll understand. Some of it I got in school, before my grandfather pulled me out. Some I—”

“Wait,” Adrian said, having trouble keeping up. “Your grandfather took you out of school?”

“Yes. When I was seven. They told him I was mentally challenged and couldn’t be in the same class as the other kids.”

Adrian murmured, “Oh my God. How could they not know what was wrong?”

Rooke shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t look too hard. Anyhow, I was homeschooled after that. When I was older, sometimes I’d hear customers talking about my grandfather or me. I pieced most of it together on my own. Dom filled in some blanks.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted. I’m sorry…never mind. Go ahead about your grandfather and Ida.” Adrian knew Rooke wouldn’t want her sympathy, but inside she was weeping for the child Rooke had been, and outraged for the adult.

“When it came time for my grandmother to have her coming-out ball and take her place in society, she wasn’t interested in a relationship with the son of the local cemetery caretaker any longer.”

“And they both married other people?” Adrian guessed.

“Yes.”

Adrian frowned. “But then…” Her eyes widened. “
Their
children are your parents?”

“My mother was Ida Hancock’s daughter. She and my father fell in love their last year in high school and she got pregnant. My grandmother disowned her.”

“Was your mother’s name Grace?” Adrian asked quietly.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I saw her name in the newspaper.”

Rooke looked away, her expression pained. “The accident.”

“Yes.”

“She was on her way back from my grandmother’s. One version I heard is that she brought me there to try to change my grandmother’s mind about the estrangement. I don’t think anyone really knows why she was there that day.” Rooke turned wounded eyes to Adrian. “One thing is clear, though. My grandmother sent her away. Into the storm.”

Adrian couldn’t bear her sadness. She leaned across the table and stroked Rooke’s cheek. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Rooke covered Adrian’s hand and held it to her face for an instant, then let go. “Do you believe in fate?”

“I think so,” Adrian said, remembering that Melinda had asked the same question. “I know we don’t always understand the reasons why things happen in the moment. I believe there are patterns and forces in the universe we can’t fully comprehend. Maybe that’s fate. Or destiny. Why?”

“I wonder sometimes if my mother and father weren’t destined to live the life that Pops and Ida should have had.” Rooke grimaced. “But if they were, fate sure wasn’t on their side.”

“Maybe the story isn’t finished yet.”

“My grandfather gave my statue to my grandmother, and she gave it away. Just like she sent my mother away. Now Melinda wants it. Do you think that’s part of the story?”

“I don’t know,” Adrian said quietly. “What do you think?”

“The answers have always been in the stone. And maybe they still are.”

Adrian stared at the paragraph that had been staring back at her from her screen for the past forty minutes. Now she knew something was wrong. Wherever she was in the world, whatever was happening in her life, no matter how chaotic or dangerous or painful, she’d always been able to work. She’d chosen her career and the life that came with it over her parents’ expectations and favor. The price she paid for turning her back on her family’s blueprint for success had been the loneliness of always being the outsider, and the knowledge that she disappointed those she loved. She had friends, but no lovers. Her work was her escape and her solace.

When Rooke left, she’d booted up her computer, planning to spend the rest of the day outlining the new project, but within minutes her mind had drifted to the story of Rooke’s grandparents’ ill-fated love affair and the tragedy that played out in the lives of their children. If she hadn’t come from a family that put such great stock in social status and maintaining the family’s image, she would have found it impossible to believe that Ida Hancock had cast out her daughter for falling in love with a poor man. She doubted it was all about money, though. Ida’s anger probably had a lot to do with the fact that her daughter chose a Tyler, when she herself had not been willing to. And Rooke had been the ultimate victim of this twist of fate. Adrian was certain that if Ida Hancock had publicly recognized Rooke as her granddaughter, Rooke never would have been treated so poorly in school and by members of the community. Ida would not have allowed it. But Rooke was not a Hancock. She was every inch a Tyler, having inherited the talent that had been her family’s legacy for generations. Rooke’s skill, her passion, was to unleash the hidden grandeur in the stone. Adrian wondered if Ida Hancock had any idea how extraordinary her granddaughter was or how much she had missed out on by not acknowledging her. She couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for Ida’s loss, though. Ida Hancock did not deserve Rooke.

Rooke. She wondered what Rooke would decide about Melinda. As soon as she pictured the seductive way Melinda had leaned into Rooke as they talked in the hotel, touching her constantly, her concentration went all to hell. She knew firsthand how compelling Melinda’s attentions could be, and she knew from her own career achievements the seditious allure of celebrity. Although she was far from famous, she’d won a few awards and been interviewed for several national magazines, and even appeared on a network news show once. For a very short while, she’d enjoyed the media attention. And if she was honest with herself, she’d enjoyed the interest from women who were probably more attracted to her star status, such as it’d been, than anything else. Adrian didn’t need to use any imagination to know that Rooke—amazingly talented, young, gorgeous, sexy Rooke—was going to have women falling at her feet if Melinda put the spotlight on her.