Sweet Pretender Page 14

  "I love you," Melissa said. Though she'd meant to keep the words to herself, she was not sorry that they had burst forth.

  All his movement stopped. It was as though a master switch that controlled him had been turned off. He exhaled sharply and looked down at her with the eyes of one who wanted with all his heart to believe.

  "Oh, Melissa," he muttered, almost inaudibly. "Melissa." As if he needed to hear her name.

  A tremor passed through him and when it had gone, it had taken the anger and need for revenge with it. His touch was gentle, but no less numbing. It was no longer a punishing force but a caress. When he opened his mouth over hers this time, enveloping it in devastating warmth, it was no longer the kiss of the conqueror, but of the conquered. He was no longer in control. Melissa had won, and the knowledge of it sent her soaring.

  She squirmed under him, burrowing her face against the scratchiness of his chest. Now she was free to savor the heated scent of him and marvel at the texture of his skin and the thick hard muscles of his back beneath her fingers. What wonder there was in the delicate balance of strength and weakness that was Jeremy. What wonder there was in the power he had over her and in the power she had over him. The siege was over.

  Tightening her arms around him, she pressed her soft lips against the side of his neck, wanting to claim a spot of her own.

  His stomach muscles contracted and with a shuddering moan that might have been her own, he captured her lips again, again, and still again, until she thought she would self-destruct if he didn't make love to her.

  "Is there anything about you that isn't perfect?" he said against her ear.

  Odd. She had been thinking the same thing about him. About the utter and complete perfection of the man who held her heart as well as her body at his command.

  "They knew exactly what they were doing when they chose you."

  "They didn't choose me," she whispered almost fearfully, sensing a subtle change in him.

  "Did you answer an advertisement in the newspaper?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Wanted: one beautiful, desirable—perfect-woman. Must be completely irresistible."

  The magic moment had flown. No, it hadn't flown. It had been driven back by Jeremy's iron will—a will that could only have been fed by hatred. Was it possible that he could hate her after what they had shared— or almost shared—a moment before?

  She pressed her fingers against his lips. "Don't. Can't we forget what happened?"

  "Forget? Years of torment? Do you have any idea of the hell my father went through? Of the guilt he carried to his grave?"

  "I don't suppose it would be easy." The hollow ache began at the back of her throat again. If he needed to talk about it, she would let him. If she didn't, it would always wedge itself between them.

  "How did they go about interviewing you?"

  "They didn't. I wasn't hired." How many different ways would she have to say it? How many times?

  "Did Hendricks try you out?"

  This was too much. "Oh, Jeremy," she pleaded. "You mustn't."

  "Or did he have to work with you awhile to break you in?"

  She didn't answer immediately, thinking that sound of his question, hanging in the air, would make him realize the enormity of his insult. "Brian and I were only friends."

  He turned away from her, to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. "I suppose he never kissed you. Never made love to you. I suppose you never lay beside him as you're lying beside me now. You never told him you loved him."

  "We never made love," she said fiercely.

  "But you kissed him."

  "Yes."

  "And he stopped with that?"

  "Yes."

  "He doesn't look like that big a fool."

  "I've told you. We were friends, nothing more."

  "Do you think I've forgotten how he charged into the library that night, protecting his claim? Do you imagine I can forget how he looked when he saw you in my arms? It was the look of a jealous lover."

  "He'd been drinking."

  "What I saw wasn't drunkenness."

  Her inner need to lash out was hammering at her now for allowing his brutal insinuations. How she contained her own anger and remained calm, she would never know. Except that perhaps the love she felt for Jeremy was that much stronger and worth the loss of her pride.

  "How can I make you believe me?"

  "Very easily. Tell me where to find you friend Hendricks."

  "I don't know where he is."

  "I'm supposed to swallow that?"

  "It's true."

  "Why shouldn't I believe it, huh?" He brought a hand to her throat, letting his thumb brush the vein. "I believed all the rest of it."

  Unshed tears burned her eyes as he pulled himself away from her, stood up and reached for his shirt. "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "I have to get out before I do something I'll regret." He stopped at the door but didn't look back. "I suggest you clear out as soon as possible. If you're still here when I come back, I might reconsider my position."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Whether or not to say her final goodbyes to Eli and his little people had been a momentous decision. Melissa had half promised to return one more time. Still, circumstances had changed. Supposing Jeremy came while she was there? She couldn't bear another scene. She didn't want to see him even if he behaved like a perfect gentleman for the older man's sake.

  She pulled to the side of the road, debating heatedly with herself, and even drove partway out of town only to stop again and again before making a U-turn and coming back.

  "It's the busiest time of the day for me and my friends," Eli said when he met her at the door, brushing aside her apologies for arriving so early. "Do you think any of these little hellions would allow me to sleep past six in the morning?"

  He was right. The air was filled with a cacophony of squawks, cries and squeals that could have been interpreted as greetings, threats, warnings or simple expressions of joy. The shore was speckled with the white and gray of little feathered creatures inspecting the debris from yesterday's rain. Some of the birds were perched on rocks. Some were gliding. Others practiced their dives, and still others moved like arrows shot from bows.

  "It's a beauty of a day, isn't it?" Eli remarked, squinting at the sky.

  "Yes," Melissa agreed. "It's hard to believe there was a storm last night."

  "The storm, yes. It took its toll." Eli invited her inside and, as he was busy with new arrivals, he set Melissa to mixing up a batch of egg custard for his invalids.

  "I can't stay long," she told him.

  He grunted. "Haven't worked things out with our boy yet?"

  "They can't be worked out."

  "So you scrap it all, the way you'd scrap a piece of knitting that turned out wrong?"

  She swallowed hard, not wanting to discuss it, not even with Eli. She slid the pan off the burner, to scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon. "Sometimes that knitting is so twisted and tangled it's better to scrap it and start all over again."

  "It's that easy, is it?" He hunched his shoulders and held up a flat palm. "Listen to me, jabbering like the busybodies I try to stay clear of."

  "We're even, then," she admitted. "I'm guilty of forcing unwelcome advice on you, too."

  But Eli's opening the door—mentioning Jeremy-had left her with an aching need to know more about the man she loved. The man she would now have to learn to stop loving.

  But not yet.

  She asked questions and Eli answered them. He told how their friendship had begun, with twelve-year-old Jeremy bringing him a pigeon he'd had to fight two bigger boys to rescue.

  "Poor little tyke looked as much in need of doctoring as the bird," he said, chuckling at the memory.

  "Oh, how he wept when that pigeon died. We buried her at the top of the hill in a metal cookie box. Her name was Valerie."

  Eli talked about Kathryn too and how she and Jeremy had known each other for so long they we
re more like brother and sister than husband and wife.

  "Frail as a little bird herself, she was. And pretty as one, too. Jeremiah tried to keep her alive through sheer willpower. When he couldn't, it was like he thought he'd failed her."

  Maybe that feeling of failure to save a loved one had been the tie that bound him and Eli so closely, Melissa thought.

  "Well now." Eli pushed back his chair with the resignation of someone who was about to do something he'd been putting off. "It's time to say goodbye to our friends."

  "Are you sure?" Melissa asked. "It could rain again."

  "Now you sound like me. Always inventing some excuse to keep them one more day." He swung the window down, allowing the chain to take its weight. It made a perfect platform for departing birds to use in their own time.

  Illona hopped out first, gingerly pecking the air before going back again. For Murphy, however, there was no reluctant departure. He preened himself while his cage mate tested the takeoff point for him. Then he gave a little hop and soared out of sight.

  So it hadn't worked out for them, either. Did birds feel rejected? Melissa wondered, thinking of poor Illona. Did they know heartbreak and loss?

  Illona stood on one foot for a very long time, mulling over her decision. At last, she fluttered her wings, trying them, before gliding onto a nearby rock.

  "Do you ever hope they won't go?" Melissa asked.

  "Every single time. But they always do. Their world is out there. But let me tell you, once in a while, sometimes much later, one of them comes back." His lips trembled, and he pressed them together. "Ah, that's a feeling no man alive can know unless he's experienced it."

  "I can imagine."

  "Lookit there, will you, girl?" Eli's voice rose another octave as he pointed, stamping a foot on the ground.

  Illona, who had hopped onto the sand to satisfy her curiosity about a bit of seaweed, had been joined by another bird of her kind. The bird, holding a small herring in its beak, dipped and bowed, seeming to offer the fish to her.

  "He's back."

  "But how can you know it's Murphy? So many of them look alike."

  "It's him, sure enough. Watch. It's her turn now to be coy. They play the same games we humans play."

  Illona hopped away and stood stretching her neck in apparent boredom. The other bird hopped after her, holding out its herring. He dropped it and strutted for a moment, then offered it again. With a quick pecking motion, she took it.

  "Good for you, Murphy," Eli guffawed, digging an elbow into Melissa's side. "What did I tell you?"

  "What does it mean?"

  "Exactly what it means when a boy offers a girl a diamond ring."

  "Oh, Eli," she scoffed. "It could mean she's hungry."

  He narrowed his eyes. "And they say the male of the species is the cynic."

  When Melissa looked back again, the two birds were flying away together. She clasped her hands and brought them to her mouth. Whether his interpretation of the scene was correct or not, she chose to believe it.

  It was time. The sun was getting warmer, and she had a long way to go. Eli held out a hand, but she ignored it and kissed him on the cheek instead, hugging him close. "Goodbye. I'll never forget you."

  "I don't expect you will. We'll meet again."

  "It isn't likely."

  His eyes twinkled all the more. "We'll see."

  She was almost grateful for the long drive and the traffic that took too much of her attention to allow for thinking. Hoping to involve herself again with what was happening in the rest of the world, she tuned her radio dial to a news station and kept it there.

  It struck her as the road signs announced that she was only seventeen miles from Albany. Much as she would have liked to go straight home, she couldn't. There was unfinished business, and if it wasn't too late, she had to tend to it.

  She'd only been there once, on the day they'd begun their journey, when Brian had taken her to meet Natalie. But she found the elm-shaded street easily and the apartment house at the curve of the cul-de-sac.

  Her brisk knocking didn't bring anyone at first. She was about to turn away when the door opened. Without waiting for Brian to invite her in, she thrust herself past him.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Why?" He recovered quickly. "Money, kitten, money. Why does anyone do anything?"

  She studied him, half-surprised to see the face still look so boyishly innocent. Something about his appearance should have changed to reflect the twisted moral character of the inner man. "All those lies!"

  "Would you have cooperated if I'd told you the truth?"

  "You know the answer to that."

  "Well then?" He raked his fingers through his hair. "Hope you don't mind talking while I pack. If you found me here, it's a cinch York or the people at his beck and call will do the same. Natalie's already split."

  Melissa followed him into the bedroom where dresser drawers were pulled open and two suitcases lay open. "I would have thought you'd have gone together."

  "We had, shall we say, a falling out." He picked up a bottle of shaving lotion, held it up to the light to check how much was left and dropped it into a trash can. "Was there anything in particular you wanted?"

  His matter-of-fact tone was almost laughable. Surprisingly cooperative, he answered her questions without hedging. Yes, Natalie had actually been pregnant with Jeremy's child when Harold York paid her to go away. He'd promised to take care of all expenses and to provide generous support payments until the child—boy or girl—turned eighteen. The only requirement was that she stay away and Jeremy never be told about it.

  "The upstanding, self-righteous old bastard," Brian said through clenched teeth. "When Natalie miscarried in the third month, she didn't tell him. Let him go on paying as long as she could get by with it, she figured. Then she married Larry Kerr, a likable but penniless commercial artist. When they had a daughter, Nat juggled the dates and let the old man believe Jean was the child Jeremy had fathered. It wasn't hard. He didn't give a damn about details, and he sure wasn't going to carry any pictures of the little bundle of joy in his wallet."

  "Wouldn't it have saved a lot of trouble if Natalie had convinced the real Jean to attend the bicentennial? I would think that on such an important occasion their differences could have been put aside."

  "Attend it?" Brian pulled out one of the dresser drawers and emptied the contents on the bed. "We're lucky the kid didn't call York and blow the whistle on us. When she found out about the plot—eavesdropping, her greatest talent—you'd have thought we were planning to overthrow the government. She packed up and went to live with her father. Said she never wanted to see her mother again. It's good riddance, as far as I'm concerned."

  "But Natalie wanted the money for Jean's musical education, didn't she?"

  He stopped packing and smirked. "If you believe that, kitten, you'll believe anything. Jean plays very well and for a while had ambitions in that direction. But you know kids. Now she wants a career in outer space."

  "You aren't really Natalie's brother, are you?"

  "Hell, no," he snorted. "We met shortly after she and Larry called it quits. She noticed a surface resemblance that would let me pass as family, discovered that I was going through a few financial setbacks, shall we say, and offered me a good slice of the pie for posing as her brother. The real one is in California somewhere. It added a touch of authenticity to the tale, and as it turned out I was handy to keep you out of the way. That, by the way, I would have done for nothing."

  Melissa groaned and slapped away the hand that smoothed her cheek. "And you don't feel guilty for the pain you've caused?"

  "Do I cry over the Yorks? Hah! Why shouldn't they share some of the wealth? They've trampled on enough of us commoners to get where they are. Anyhow, thanks to that brainless little broad—" He fluttered one hand. "Sorry. Thanks to Arlene's getting dizzy over baby brother, Todd, we didn't get the pot of gold we'd expected to get."

  "At least I can be grateful f
or that." There was no point in going on with it, Melissa decided. Brian—or whoever he actually was—didn't even think he'd done anything wrong.

  "Wait a second, kitten." He rushed ahead to bar the door. "You're a bright kid. It probably isn't necessary to tell you this."

  "Well?"

  "Your sister accepted payment in advance and by check for her role playing. If you decide to go to the authorities and turn us in, I'll see that she takes the fall, too."

  Melissa shook her head slowly. "You played your part well," she said. "You were terribly charming."

  "I'm a charming fellow," he agreed.

  "And completely lacking in honor."

  "With honor and a couple of quarters, I can buy a cup of coffee," he sneered. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  "Nothing at all," she said, pushing past him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Albany had been sizzling when Melissa left, and it was sizzling when she returned.

  Thanks to the careful attention of Marcia Hanning, who lived next door, the Creeping Charlie hadn't died of thirst and newspapers hadn't been allowed to accumulate on the lawn. The only sign of her absence was a stack of unopened letters waiting on the telephone stand, and perhaps the stuffy smell of an unaired house.

  She had, herself, undergone so many changes, she'd half expected to feel as Rip Van Winkle had upon returning after his twenty-year snooze. The grass should have been waist high. The shrubbery should have been overgrown, and spider webs should have decorated the corners.

  She moved around aimlessly, opening windows, unpacking and sorting mail. A week of her holiday remained, and as she figured it, there was a year of odd jobs to be finished. A rusting screen in Arlene's room needed replacing. A window over the kitchen sink was stuck from too many repaintings. The carpets needed shampooing. On and on. She'd made a list during her more ambitious, prevacation days. But she didn't know where she'd put it.