The Proud and the Prejudiced (17 page)

“So are you killing him off?” Jack asked.

“No. He’s being ordained.” All four of them burst
out laughing. “Would you believe that son-of-a-bitch had it in his contract
that his character could not be killed off for three years? So he will be
taking his final vows. I think the ordination will make for riveting television
– and all the turmoil he has gone through before choosing God over Sienna.”

“And how did he take the news?”

“I have no idea. They weren’t telling him until
today.” They laughed and congratulated her for wisely being out of town.

“Of course,” Peter said, “it’s not quite as bad as
being her brother.”

“I hope you aren’t still holding a grudge about
that,” Alice said.

He peered into her eyes until she thought her
heart had stopped beating. “No. You were right. It was an inspired twist – no
one saw it coming. I don’t hold any grudges...about anything.”

Alice couldn’t be sure what happened in the
moments she and Peter sat gazing at each other, but she imagined some sort of
sign language passed between Eileen and Jack since they were simultaneously
overcome by exhaustion.

“I am really wiped out after the flight up here,”
Jack said with a dramatic yawn.
An hour flight?

“Yeah, going to all these wineries has worn me
out. I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Clearly alarmed, Peter looked back and forth from
Eileen to Alice. “But you can’t go yet. We just opened this bottle of wine!”

Alice sat frozen with her mouth slightly open, not
comprehending the conversation around her.

“No, I’m sorry, Peter, I’m just beat,” Jack said
standing up from the table, “but I don’t want to spoil the evening for
everyone. You stay and enjoy the wine.”

Then Eileen pushed her chair back. “Jack, I can
give you a ride. Peter, you don’t mind bringing Alice back to her cottage. Do
you?”

He had barely shaken his head before the pair
disappeared into the night, leaving Alice still unsure of what had just
happened.

“For being so exhausted,” she said, “they sure ran
out of here.”

“Do…do you want me to take you to your room? If you’re
uncomfortable...”

“Are you kidding? We have a bottle of Bordeaux to
drink.” She smiled, but he did not smile back. “Unless you feel uncomfortable.”

“Alice, I can honestly say there is no place in
the world I would rather be right at this moment.”

She wasn’t sure if she was about to implode or
melt or both. His words gripped her chest so tightly she lost her breath.

The wait staff ran out and efficiently transformed
the setting to a table for two then disappeared, with a word from Peter that he
would call them if they needed anything, leaving them as the only two people in
the candlelit courtyard under the night sky.

He poured the wine himself and handed her a glass.
“I want you to know, I did not arrange this. I mean, for you and me to be left
alone together.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“But I can’t say I’m sorry.”

She stalled for time by drinking her wine. “I have
to admit, I am a bit surprised by that. After the way we left things in New
Orleans.”

“Let’s just leave all that in New Orleans. We’re
here now.”

“I do thank you for arranging this amazing dinner
under the stars.”

“I know how you enjoy courtyards.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because even though you were so miserable from
the heat and humidity, you always wanted to sit out on the courtyard. Here you
have it with no heat and no humidity.”

“And no paparazzi.”

He squeezed his eyes shut before returning them to
her. “Alice, I am so, so sorry about the photos in
The Intruder
.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who elected to
sit in a public place.”

“But you didn’t know I would follow you there.”

“Hey, I thought we were going to forget about New
Orleans. It’s so beautiful here.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

“But you would never want to leave L.A. Would
you?”

“Are you kidding? In a New York minute. I’m a
writer – I could certainly do that better someplace like this. I’m only in L.A.
because of a job writing, even if it is for a soap. I’m not like you, Peter.
I’m not part of that Hollywood culture and the Southern California lifestyle.”

“I don’t think I’m like me either.” He took a sip
of his wine while Alice puzzled over his cryptic remark, but before she could
ask him to explain, he said, “Alice, there’s something I need to talk to you
about.”

“Is it what you needed to talk to me about in New
Orleans?”

“No, forget all about that. Remember – no more New
Orleans. I’ve already told Jack this, but I wanted to be sure it wouldn’t upset
you.”

“Oh, for the love of God! Just say it! The
build-up is killing me!”

“You don’t think we should cut for a commercial
break?” He grinned. “Tag you in a close-up?” She playfully punched him in the
arm then realized it was their first physical contact since he had helped her
up at the vineyard. That light punch must have broken down some barrier because
he took her hand in both of his. “Alice, I’m going to tell my lawyer to drop
the lawsuit. I want to come back to
All My Tomorrows
and finish out my
contract. I’ll stay for a full story arc if you let me. But I don’t want to do
anything that will cause you any kind of discomfort or embarrassment.”

If she had devoted every cell in her brain to
predicting what he would say, she would not have come to that conclusion.
“Peter, do you mean it? Are you sure? You’ll stay through sweeps? That could
save the show!” A smile broke across her face.

“So you’re OK with it?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t know how you would feel working with me
again after…all that has happened. Plus, with the paparazzi, you know there
will be speculation. People might think that you and I…”

“I can think of worse fates than being mistaken
for a movie star’s girlfriend.” She pulled her hand free from his and wrapped
her arms around his neck without even thinking. “Thank you. I would put up with
all manner of mortification to save those jobs.”

His hands rested on her upper arms, and he did not
hug her back. After too many seconds, humiliated by her impetuous reaction, she
released him, sat back, and drank her wine. He wiped his brow and took a sip
from his glass too, and the silence fell over them like a hot New Orleans
night.
No! No more New Orleans!

“I’m sorry, Peter. Now I’ve made you
uncomfortable. I’m just so happy and so grateful, you have no idea. In fact,
for a split second I thought you were telling me that so I’d sleep with you.”

“Would it have worked?” he asked quickly.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t want
you that way. I wouldn’t want you to sleep with me out of gratitude or pity.”

She barked out a laugh that startled him. “I’m
sorry, but the very idea that someone would sleep with Peter Walsingham out of
pity is an inherently ridiculous proposition.”

They eased back into the relaxed banter of earlier
that evening and spoke of his daughter and traded anecdotes from their own
childhoods. They discussed their mutual fondness for French literature and how
she had managed to get a degree in it and still couldn’t communicate with a
Parisian cab driver. They talked until the bottle had been depleted and they
had no excuse to stay. The quick car trip required minimal conversation and
nothing to strain their imaginations. Then he pulled the car into the gravel
drive way and put it in park, and they were silent.

“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?” she
asked, then realized she had nothing to drink in her room.

He kept his hands on the steering wheel and his
eyes straight ahead. “I can’t.”

Oh.
“All right then.” She unbuckled her
seatbelt.

“Eileen said you are in a cottage?”

“Yes, just around the main building.”

He turned off the engine. “I’ll see you to your
door.”

Neither spoke as they walked on the narrow path to
her door or when she turned the key. She turned back to face him, unsure what
to do or say.

“Thank you for a magical evening,” she said.

“But magic isn’t real. Is it? It’s all an illusion.”

She couldn’t tell if she detected bitterness in
his tone or defeat, but either way it squeezed her heart and made her eyes
burn.

“Good night.” She moved to embrace him, a kiss on
the cheek; but he grasped her arms and held her back, and she didn’t know how
long she could stave off the tears. “I suppose a part of you must hate me.”

He shook his head gently without taking his eyes
from hers. His grip tightened on one arm as he raised his other hand to the
side of her face and swept his thumb from her temple, down her cheek, to her
lips. As he rubbed his thumb on her lower lip, her heartbeats and breaths
quickened, and her eyes slid shut. He rolled his thumb all around her lips,
inside and out, sending a current of desire through her core until she thought
she might burst if he didn’t kiss her.

His thumb still against her lip, he leaned his
forehead against hers and spoke with a low ragged breath. “Alice, I can’t. I
can’t kiss you.”

Why not?
She thought the words but could
not speak, too wrapped up in the sensations he aroused in her.

“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. I won’t
stop kissing you. And I won’t stop with just kissing you. I will have to make
love to you, and you won’t be able to stop me. Not again. Do you understand
what I am saying, Alice? If I kiss you, I will not be able to stop until I have
had you, completely, and nothing you say or do will do any good. If I kiss you,
I will make love to you. Do you understand?”

She nodded as much as their position allowed. Then
his thumb stopped its ministrations and he held his hand on her cheek, and she
said, “Kiss me.”

And he did. He pulled her body hard against his
and stabbed his fingers into her hair as his mouth covered hers, plunging his
tongue in with the first savage embrace. She tried to kiss him back, but he
controlled it, his hunger overwhelming them both, and she surrendered fully.

He pushed her back through the open door and
reached behind him to close it. In that moment, she dropped her purse and
curled her arm around his neck to pull him closer, bring him deeper, as their
mouths melded into one. He snaked his arm around her back, tightening his hold
as if she might float away, which she thought she very well may. Then with a
quick twist and a move she thought he must have used in a movie, he had her off
her feet and in his arms. Without breaking the kiss, he hesitated in his steps
before carrying her into the bedroom, dark except for the light from the moon
and an outside lamp streaming in through the French doors. He laid her on the
bed, and only then did he pull his mouth from hers.

Without taking his eyes off her, he kicked off his
shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. She sat up as he did so, and once he had
divested himself of his shirt, he leaned around and pulled the zipper down her
back. He took her hand just long enough to bring her to her feet, then he
pushed her dress off her shoulders and arms, and it fell into a puddle on the
floor. As he reached over to turn down the bed, she stepped out of her dress
and shoes and stood only in her lingerie. He turned and took her into his arms
again then fell with her upon the bed, crushing their bodies together and his
mouth upon hers.

She touched him, wherever she could, running her
fingers through his hair and her hands down his neck and back, as their mouths
moved together. When he rolled over, he brought her with him, their lips still
sealed, and she ran her hands over his chest as he unfastened her bra. They
worked together to free her arms of its straps, and he tossed it away. Then
they lay on their sides, chest to chest, their hands roaming as they continued
to kiss. His fingers traced a path from her neck to her breast and lingered
there, making her cognizant that he had never actually touched her breast
before, which thrilled her that much more.

After an excruciatingly light pass over her
nipple, his hand continued its journey and touched her over the thin silk
between her legs, rippling shockwaves out like from the epicenter of an
earthquake. He worked his fingers under the waistband, and she trembled as he
fondled her feminine flesh and whimpered into his mouth as he rhythmically
touched her inside and out. Tension coiled in her womb until he stopped and
pulled his mouth and hand away from her. His breathing heavy, he gazed at her
as he eased her back against the mattress and held himself over her. Working
his way down her body, he kissed her forehead, the hollow of her throat, and
between her breasts. He placed a kiss on her navel and then just above the lace
waistband before inching the silk and lace over her hips and down her legs,
exposing her shadowed form to him completely. He rolled off the bed and stood
devouring her with his eyes in the dimly lit room as he unbuckled his belt and
removed his slacks.

He climbed back into bed and took her face in his
hands, allowing no escape as he joined their lips and teeth and tongues in
another deep embrace. When he ended the kiss, he lifted his head and traced her
features with his eyes as he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I think you are in love with me, Alice. You’re
just afraid to admit it.”

Without waiting for a reply or admission, he
brought his lips to hers in gentle, lingering kisses. He maneuvered between her
legs, kissed her once more, then held her eyes with his as he pushed inside of
her. She gasped and her eyes closed with the welcome intrusion. He didn’t move
at first; he held steady there, being one with her, still watching her when her
eyes opened, and nothing had ever felt so perfect, so complete. In that moment,
she knew he was right. She was in love with him. Desperately. Madly. Violently.