Snowflakes on the Sea (6 page)

This time it was Mallory who drew back the sheltering veil, baring her mysterious, aching self to him. She cried out in throaty ecstasy when she felt his breath, pleaded raggedly until he took timeless sustenance at the waiting feast.

Her fingers entwined in his thick hair, her breath coming in tearing gasps, Mallory reveled in his hunger, in the warm strength of the hands holding her knees apart, so that she could not close herself to him. As his tongue began to savor her in long strokes, Mallory shuddered and gasped a plea and loosed her fingers from his hair to again spread the veiled place for his full satisfaction and her own.

Tremors, both physical and spiritual, rocked Mallory’s entire being as he brought her to a release so savage that she sobbed out his name. Quivering with molten aftershocks, she was too stricken to speak again, or even move.

“I love you,” he breathed against the moist smoothness of her inner thigh.

Finally, after at least a partial recovery of her senses, Mallory met his eyes. She did not need to speak to relay her message; she wanted to be filled with him, to sheathe him in the rippling, velvety warmth of her and hear his familiar, rasping cries of need and violent, soul-searing satisfaction.

Understanding, his eyes dark with a wanting to match Mallory’s own, Nathan moved back a foot or so, still kneeling on the floor, and moaned as his wife slid from the sofa’s edge to face him. He trembled, closed his eyes and tilted his head back as she opened his slacks to reveal his straining manhood. For the next several minutes, Mallory enjoyed his magnificence at her leisure, with her eyes, her fingers, her mouth. Her spirit soared at his words of tormented surrender.

In a smooth motion born of passion and desperation, Nathan grasped Mallory’s slender waist, lifted her easily and then lowered her onto the pulsing pillar that would make them each a part of the other.

They moved with a rhythm as old as time, increasing their pace as the swelling crescendo building within both of them demanded. When the explosion came, it rocked them, and they shouted their triumph in one voice.

They were still one person, still shuddering with their fierce mingling, when Cinnamon began to bark in the kitchen and they heard the back door open with a cautious creak. “Nathan!” called Eric Moore, the lead guitarist in Nathan’s band. “Hey, Nate—I know you’re in here somewhere! Mallory?”

Nathan cursed and scrambled to his feet. He was fully dressed again before Mallory had managed to wriggle back into the discarded football jersey.

“Stay where you are, Eric!” Nathan ordered in ominous tones as he strode out of the glittering, cluttered living room without so much as a backward glance. “And next time, knock, will you?”

Still sitting on the floor, Mallory cowered against the front of the sofa, trembling with resentment and a wild, inexplicable loneliness. The conversation taking place in the kitchen was couched in terse undertones, and she understood none of it. She sighed. Understanding the exact situation wasn’t really necessary anyway. The fact was that, once again, Nathan’s dynamic, demanding life was pulling him in another direction.

Mallory was thoroughly annoyed. She had been planning to give up her role in the soap opera in order to devote more time to a marriage she knew was failing. And all her efforts would mean nothing if Nathan could not or would not meet her halfway.

She stood up slowly, feeling hollow and broken inside. Was Diane really the threat she appeared to be sometimes, or was Nathan’s career his real mistress?

Mallory stooped to recover the toy kangaroo that had been one of Nathan’s gifts to her and then held it close. She could hold her own against a flesh-and-blood woman any time. But how could she compete with thousands of them? How could she hope to prevail against the tidal wave of adoration lavished upon Nathan McKendrick every time he sang his soul-wrenching compositions?

Still clutching the stuffed kangaroo, she sank to the sofa in dejected thought. Obviously the physical passion between her and her husband was as formidable as ever. Still, Mallory knew that a lasting marriage required more than sexual compatibility, more than romance.

She sensed, rather than saw or heard, Nathan’s return to the room. He stood behind her, and though Mallory knew he wanted to touch her, he refrained. His voice was a low rumble and caused tremors in Mallory’s heart like some kind of emotional earthquake.

“I’ve got to go to Angel Cove for a little while, Mallory,” he said. “Diane is doing one of her numbers again. Do you want to come with me?”

Mallory did not turn to face her husband; she simply shook her head.

“Babe—”

Mallory held up both hands. “No—I’m all right. Just go and straighten everything out.”

“We’ll talk when I get back,” he muttered, and Mallory could tell that he was already turning away. “Pumpkin, there is so much to say.”

Yes,
Mallory thought,
there is so much to say, and it is all so painful.
“I’ll be here,” she said aloud, wishing that she could crawl inside the pouch of the toy kangaroo and hide there forever. “Nathan?” she whispered, on the off chance that he was still near enough to hear.

He was. “What?” he asked, somewhat hoarsely.

“I love you.”

He came to her then, bent, brushed her temple with his lips. A moment later, he was gone, and the glistening beauty of the decorated room was a mockery.

Mallory sat very still for a long time, absorbed by her own anguish and confusion. It was only the smell of burning turkey that brought her back to her senses.

She took Nathan’s awkward attempt at culinary competence from the oven before wandering into the bedroom to dress. When the telephone rang, she was standing in the kitchen, trying valiantly to salvage at least a portion of the incinerated fowl.

“Hello!” she snapped, certain that the caller meant to make yet another impossible demand on Nathan’s time.

“It’s me,” said Pat, Nathan’s sister, in a placating tone. “Mall, I’m sorry if I’m intruding—”

Mallory loved Pat, and regretted the tart way she’d spoken. “Pat,” she said gently. “No, you’re not intruding. It’s just—”

“That plenty of other people are,” Pat finished for her with quiet understanding.

“Right,” agreed Mallory, who had learned never to try to fool her astute sister-in-law. At twenty-two, Pat was young, but her mind was as formidable as Nathan’s. “Shall we start with the band, and progress to Diane Vincent, press agent
extraordinaire?
”

Pat sighed heavily. “Please,” she retorted. “I just ate.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, Mallory began to cry in the wrenching, heartbroken way she’d cried after losing her parents.

Pat drew in a sharp breath. “Mallory, honey, what is it? How can I help?”

The warmth in Pat’s voice only made Mallory sob harder. She felt stupid, but she couldn’t stop her tears, and she couldn’t manage an answer, either.

“Sit tight,” Pat said in brisk, take-charge tones. “I’m on my way.”

Mallory sank into one of the kitchen chairs and buried her face in her hands. The telephone receiver made an accusing clatter as it bounced against the wall.

It was a full fifteen minutes before Mallory regained her composure. When she had, she dashed away her tears, marched into the bathroom, ran a tubful of hot water and tried to wash away all the questions that tormented her.

Was Nathan’s casual dislike for Diane Vincent really part of some elaborate ruse designed to distract Mallory and everyone else from what was really taking place?

“Diane is doing one of her numbers again,” Nathan had said just before he dashed off to handle the situation.

Mallory slid down in the hot, scented water to her chin, watching the slow drip fall from the old-fashioned faucet. Diane wasn’t really the issue, she reminded herself. It was just easier to blame her, since she was so obligingly obnoxious in the first place.

Grimly, Mallory finished her bath and, wrapped in a towel, walked into the adjoining bedroom. As she rummaged through her drawers for clean clothes, she regretted not asking Pat to stop by the Penthouse for more of her things.

Once dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft yellow sweater, Mallory went to the bedroom window and pushed back the brightly colored cotton curtains to look outside. The snow was still falling, already filling the tracks left by Nathan’s car.

Mallory returned to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair and apply a touch of makeup. Unless she was on camera, she needed nothing more than a dab of lip gloss. Her eyelashes were thick and dark, requiring no mascara, and, normally, because of her fondness for the outdoors, her cheeks had plenty of color. Now, staring at herself in the old mirror over the bathroom sink, Mallory saw the pallor that had so alarmed her friends and co-workers of late. Because she hadn’t brought blusher from the penthouse, she improvised by pinching her cheeks hard.

In the living room, the lights on Nathan’s Christmas tree were still blazing, and with a sigh, Mallory flipped the switch. The glorious tree was dark again, and the tinsel dangling from its branches whispered in a draft.

Mallory closed the door leading into the living room as she went out. The January Christmas was a private thing, and she did not want to share it with anyone other than Nathan—not even Pat.

In the kitchen, she sliced off a piece of turkey and gave it to an appreciative Cinnamon, but she had no appetite herself. She cleaned up the mess Nathan had left behind and put the half-charred bird into the refrigerator.

Mallory was brewing fresh coffee when she heard the sound of a car motor outside. Knowing better than to hope that Diane’s crisis, whatever it was, had been resolved so soon, thus freeing Nathan, she didn’t bother to rush to the window and look out.

The visitor was Pat. Her trim camel’s hair coat glistened with snowflakes as she rushed into the kitchen, shivering. “Good Lord,” she complained, hurrying to stand beside Mallory at the stove. “It’s
cold
out there!”

Mallory laughed, somewhat rawly, and began to divest her sister-in-law of her coat and knitted scarf. When the things had been put away, the two women sat down at the kitchen table to sip coffee and talk.

Pat’s shimmering blond hair was swept up into an appealing knot on top of her head, and she looked slim and competent in her tailored black suede suit and red silk blouse. Her blue eyes searched Mallory’s face as she warmed her hands on her coffee mug.

“You were pretty shook up when I called, Mall. Are you okay now?”

Mallory nodded. She was tired of all the solicitude, and besides, there was really nothing Pat could do to help. In any case, she had no intention of complaining about Nathan’s demanding life to his sister. “I—I’m all right, Pat—honestly. And I’m sorry if I frightened you. C-couldn’t we talk about something mundane—like the weather?”

Pat gave her a cynical look, but she wasn’t the type to pry; that was one of her most endearing qualities. “You and Nathan assured me,” she said, arching one golden eyebrow, “that the weather on Puget Sound was
mild
. Do you realize that it has been snowing for almost a week?”

Mallory shrugged, grinning. “What can I say in our defense? Every few years somebody up there forgets that it isn’t supposed to snow much here, and we get buried in the stuff. Seattle must be wild.”

Pat rolled her eyes. “We are talking blatant insanity here!” she cried. “When I drove onto the ferry, I was amazed that I’d made it through town in one piece. People are slipping and sliding into each other over there, with and without cars.”

“You like Seattle, Pat,” Mallory challenged kindly. “You’re not fooling me one bit.”

Suddenly Pat was beaming. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled, and her face glowed. “You’re right,” she confessed. “I love it! The water, the mountains, the trees—”

Mallory laughed. “Not to mention the fresh raisin bagels they sell at Pike Place Market.”

Pat shook her head. “I’ve sworn off bagels, along with lottery tickets and cigarettes.”

“How about Roger Carstairs?” Mallory teased. “Have you sworn off him, too?”

Pat seemed to shine like the Christmas tree hidden away in the living room at the mention of the handsome young attorney she’d met while acquiring property for Nathan’s growing corporation. Since then, Roger’s name came up a lot. “No way. I don’t make a habit of swearing off hunks, Mallory.”

Mallory’s green eyes danced with mischief. “Patty McKendrick, you’re in love!”

The guess was correct; Pat blushed slightly and nodded her head. “Don’t tell Nathan, though. I don’t want him doing one of his Big Brother numbers—demanding to know Roger’s intentions or something.”

Mallory laughed. That would be like Nathan; he was fiercely protective of his sister, partly because their parents, like Mallory’s, were no longer living. “I promise not to breathe a word!”

“Good,” Pat said. “How is Nate, by the way? He looked pretty undone at the penthouse the other night.”

Mallory laid her hand on Pat’s, quick to reassure her. “He’s fine.”
I’m the one who might have to be carted off in a padded basket.

Like her brother, Pat could be uncannily perceptive at times. “Mall,” she began cautiously, “I love you, but you really look like hell. Have you told Nathan that you’re thinking of dropping your contract with the soap?”

Mallory’s eyes strayed to the window, and she pretended an interest in the incessant snow. “No.”

“Why not?”

Cinnamon came to lay her head in Mallory’s lap and whimpered sadly. Probably she was feeling abandoned, since Nathan had left her behind this time. Her mistress patted her reassuringly. “I’m not sure how he’ll take it, Pat.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure how he’ll take it? You know he hates the demands the show makes on you, and, well…” Pat paused, and when Mallory glanced back at her sister-in-law, she saw a reluctant look in her eyes. “Mallory,” she went on at last, “it hurts him that you don’t use his name anymore.”

“I know,” Mallory nodded, thinking back to Diane’s visit the day before, when she had announced her intention to drop “O’Connor” and call herself Mallory McKendrick again. She hadn’t had a chance to explain her decision to Nathan—or was it that she hadn’t had the courage? Now, she wasn’t sure which was really the case. “I guess, in the back of my mind, Pat, I’m afraid that taking back my married name isn’t going to matter to Nathan. His life is so fast paced, and I’m not sure I can keep up anymore.”