Best Kept Secrets(121)
Years ago, he'd sworn to take what women could expediently
give him, chiefly sex, but never to cultivate tenderness
toward one again. He would certainly never come close to
loving one.
But the short-term affairs had become too complicated.
Invariably, the woman developed an emotional attachment'
that he couldn't reciprocate. That's when he'd started relying
on Nora Gail for physical gratification. Now, that had soured.
Sex with her was routine and meaningless, and lately, he was
having a hard time keeping his boredom from showing.
Dealing with a woman on any level demanded a much
higher price than he was willing to pay.
Still, even as he lay there mentally reciting his creed of
eternal detachment, he found himself thinking about her.
At this advanced stage of his life, he'd started daydreaming
like a sap. She occupied more of his thoughts than he would
have ever thought possible. At the edges of these thoughts
was an emotion very akin to tenderness, nudging its way into
his consciousness.
Nipping at the heels of it, however, was always pain: the
pain of knowing who she was and how irrevocably her conception
had altered his life, of knowing how decrepit he must
appear to a woman her age, of seeing her kiss Junior.
"Dammit."
He groaned into the darkness and covered his eyes with
his forearm as his mind tricked him into witnessing it again.
It had produced such an attack of jealousy, it had frightened
him. His fury had been volcanic. It was a wonder he hadn't
erupted from the roof of the Blazer.
How the hell had it happened? Why had he let her get to
him when absolutely nothing could come of it, except to
widen the gulf between him and Junior that had been created
by her mother?
A relationship--the word alone made him shudder--between him and Alex was out of the question, so why did it
bother him to know that to a smart, savvy career woman like
Alex, he must look like a hick, and an old one, at that?
He and Celina had had everything in common, but she'd
been unattainable, so how the hell did he imagine there was
common ground on which he and Alex could meet?
One other small point, he thought wryly. Celina's murder. Alex would never understand about that.
None of that sound reasoning, however, kept him from
wanting her. An influx of heat surged through his body now,
and with it, desire. He wanted to smell her. He wanted to
feel her hair against his cheek, his chest, his belly. Imagining
her lips and tongue against his skin cost him precious breath,
but the lack of sufficient air was worth the image. He wanted
to taste her again and tug on her nipple with his mouth.
He whispered her name in the darkness and focused on
that instant when he had slipped his hand into the cup of her
bra and caressed forbidden flesh. He was consumed by the
fire of his imagination. It burned brightly and fiercely.
Eventually, it dimmed. When it did, he was left feeling
empty and alone in the cold, dark, lonely house.
Thirty-three
"Good morning, Wanda Gail."
Fergus Plummet's wife fell back a step. "What'd you call
me?"
"Wanda Gail," Alex repeated with a gentle smile. "That's
your name, isn't it? You're one of the Burton triplets, informally
known as the Gail sisters."
Mrs. Plummet had answered her door with a dishrag in her
hands. Shocked by Alex's knowledge of her past, she took
a quick little breath. Her eyes darted about the yard, as though
looking for artillery backing Alex up.
"May I come in?"
Alex didn't wait for permission, but used the other woman's
astonishment to step inside and close the front door. She
had discovered Mrs. Plummet's identity quite by accident
while idly perusing the pages of the yearbooks over her morn
ing coffee. After glancing past it a hundred times, the classroom
picture had suddenly leaped off the page. She'd thought
her eyes were deceiving her until she verified the name in
the margin. Wanda Gail Burton.
Hardly able to contain her excitement, she'd consulted the
telephone directory for the address and driven straight to the
parsonage. She had parked well down the block and hadn't
approached the house until Fergus had driven away in his
car.
The two women stood face to face in the dim hallway.
Alex was curious. Wanda Gail Plummet was clearly afraid.
"I shouldn't be talking to you," she whispered nervously.
"Why? Because your husband warned you against it?"
Alex asked softly. "I don't mean to cause you any trouble.
Let's sit down."
Assuming the role of hostess, Alex led Wanda Gail into
the drabbest, most unattractive room she had ever been in.
There wasn't a single spot of color or gaiety. There were no