Hat Trick Page 7

  “Yes,” she agreed dryly. “You did.”

  He had turned slightly, facing her, his eyes as cerulean and intent as the late afternoon sky reflected in that nearby pond water. “I’m sorry, Liv. I am so desperately sorry. Once I left college behind, and grew up, and realized what life was all about, I wished—so much—that I’d been a better person. You deserved a bright, beautiful, shiny romantic hero, especially for your first time—and I was nothing more than a slug.”

  Bruno mumbled in his sleep. Nothing too rude; just wishing she would stop interrupting his well-earned slumber with idle chat that could more easily be done over breakfast. More specifically, a doggy dish overflowing with kibble.

  Half-laughing with exasperation, Olivia gave him a gentle nudge with her bare foot. “Really, you miserable beast, you might at least show a little more compassion, when I’m pouring out my heart to you. Who else should I be telling?”

  “Rrrrearow,” yawned Bruno, rolling over to sit upright with an interested stare. As in, Okay, I’m awake now. Lay it on me.

  “He apologized,” she mused, into the dead of night while the rainstorm’s force heightened and the wind rose. “He actually apologized for what he did to me, all those years ago. And it seemed genuine.”

  Inching closer, the dog plopped his muzzle onto her forearm. I’m with you, Babe. Still not sure you can count on him, right?

  A small noise down the hall outside her bedroom paused her ruminations. She waited a minute, deciding whether she needed to go check; the noise stopped. Good. Nothing else going on. She could continue mentally re-hashing her time spent with Jeff.

  “I’m not sure I can count on him,” Olivia murmured. “And I can’t quite let the bitterness and anger go. But—well, maybe I should at least give him the chance. After all, that’s why I contacted him again. So I need to follow through.”

  As their afternoon’s outing had slipped away into a beautiful star-studded evening in late June, they had finished their casual al fresco meal, cleaned up, and proceeded walking toward the park’s carnival center. There a magical lighted carousel sat on permanent display, spinning slowly round and round with its passenger list ranging from the young to the old.

  Without invitation, seemingly almost without thought, Jeff had once again put his arm around her, pulling her body close enough that she could feel his beating heart as if it were her own. They stood outside the colorful barrier, absently watching.

  If he were deliberately trying to rekindle their old romance, Olivia thought, distracted, he was certainly going about it in the right way. It had been too long—far, far too long—since she had delighted in a man’s touch. Was her weakness the reason she was allowing something she shouldn’t be allowing?

  “I’m not about to try explaining my marriage to you,” he said suddenly. With his gaze settled on the circling merry-go-round, a sympathetic smile for its riders played around his mouth. A mouth whose abilities and capabilities she had known for so brief a time.

  Silence for a moment, while she digested that. Tight against his side, enjoying his warmth and his scent and the rugged strength of his body.

  “That would be disloyal to Annajane. It would also make me come across as the typical straying husband who only wants to have an affair with an attractive woman. Y’know, the usual whiney bit,” his smile turned rueful, “about how my wife doesn’t understand me.”

  “Doesn’t she?” Olivia finally asked quietly. “Do you?”

  “Actually, not much, to your first question. And, yes—a helluva lot, to your second!”

  A little shiver passed over her frame, one almost of foreboding. Whatever she had hoped to have happen, she wasn’t sure it was this. If she allowed contact to continue, if she encouraged anything more from him than just companionship, how would she be affected? In that case, her father would be able to describe his only daughter’s behavior with an old-fashioned and ugly word. She couldn’t disappoint herself; God knew, she couldn’t disappoint her parents.

  “Are you cold, Liv?” he asked solicitously, bending his handsome head nearer.

  “What? Oh. No. No, I’m fine. Jeff, we should probably call it a night. It’s already eight o’clock, and—”

  “Wanna take a spin on that gadget?” A tilt of his head indicated the carousel, still turning with its capacity of high-spirited, laughing riders.

  “No, thanks. Not tonight.” And probably not ever.

  “Then—” his embrace tightened with purpose, “wanna take a spin with me at some nice motel?”

  Her breath stopped and her whole body went still. Her physical non-answer was answer enough. Jeff sighed.

  “Giving up on me already, are you? Okay, I understand. We’ll leave behind all the fun and merriment we’re having—all the fun and merriment we could have had—and head back to the car.”

  Both had little to say as he drove expertly through heavy traffic to return her to the late model red Ford Fusion hybrid she had parked at his office. The nighttime air, scented by ozone and rain, felt charged with the electricity of an approaching storm. Or the electricity of emotions, forcibly shuttered.

  Suddenly Olivia felt very tired, as if this game of remembrance and reunion had taxed her energy level to its utmost.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Jeff,” she told him, after he had stowed her belongings in the back seat. “I enjoyed being out and about in a different setting. This was a nice change from the expensive restaurants I’ve been wined and dined at.”

  She was already seated behind the steering wheel, ready to leave, so he leaned down toward her open window. “Just say the word, Livvie,” he said softly, “and we can do this again, any time you want.”

  “Oh, Jeff.” Illumination from the parking lot sodium lights and from her car’s dashboard showed increasing dismay. “I was—I think I was very wrong to contact you. We can’t pick up the threads of a past-due romance again. Not like this. Not while you’re married. You have—there’s just too much else to interfere.”

  “Livvie, I—” Whatever he had been about to say was broken off with a quick oath. “Here’s truth: you and I have spent more time together in the few weeks since you gave me a call than Annajane and I have spent together in the last few months. There’s so little there for me anymore that—Oh, hell.”

  Involuntarily, before she could think to halt the movement, her hand reached up to curve along his cheek. Just as involuntarily, his eyes closed, half in ecstasy, half in pain. Liberties. She was taking liberties she had no right to take.

  Or did she? She’d given up so much. Shouldn’t she be able to get something back?

  “No.” Again she pulled back, shoved her key into the ignition, and started the motor running. “No, we can’t do this. I won’t do this. Good night, Jeff.”

  A few spatters of rain came down suddenly from the threatening sky. His face had lost color, like beach sand under a broiling sun, and his brows had drawn together into a frown. “I can see I have to make some changes,” he said quietly. “But give me a chance to do that, okay? Being with you has shown me—well, a lot of what I’m missing.”

  For answer she could only shake her head with regret.

  By the time her car had reached the end of the parking lot, and turned left, with its taillights flashing red, the occasional wet drops had merged into a heavier fall. And still Jeff stood there, his hair curling into ringlets, his shirt plastered to his chest, watching the empty road down which she had disappeared.

  “And there we are, Bruno,” Olivia finished up. “What d’ you think? Is Jeff smitten enough to follow through?”

  The dog, lulled by her voice, shoved his nose under her hand to be petted.

  “Yeah, I think so, too. Trouble is, Bruno, my lad, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  *

  Jeff was surprised to find her waiting for him in their palatial living room, when he finally arrived home. The fireplace and a few dozen candles had been lit against the evening’s chil
l, so that even this massive area felt cozier than usual. Something by Chopin was playing softly in the background, and a fragrance reminiscent of lily and heather added ambiance to what normally seemed cold and sterile.

  Why the apparent welcome? His senses went into immediate lockdown mode. Danger, Will Robinson; danger, danger!

  “AJ,” he greeted her coolly. Crossing the threshold in clothing only slightly dried by his car’s heater, he took a seat and waited for whatever her chosen axe might be to fall.

  “Hello, Jefferson, darling.” Wearing elegant casual togs from her favorite designer—created specifically to enhance her coloring and frame—Annajane was holding a martini glass in her left hand and a cigarette in the other. Settled for the night, apparently; her state of mind was difficult to ascertain. “Out fighting the weather, I see.”

  He glanced down as if suddenly reminded of the condition of his garments. “Yeah. And I’d like to get into pajamas real soon. What’s doin’?”

  “Oh, nothing, really, at the moment. I thought possibly you might want to continue from where we left off with our earlier conversation.”

  A dismissive shrug. “Not so much. I’m hardly in the mood to take any more of your vitriol right now.”

  “Vitriol?” She inhaled, long and slow, then exhaled a lazy plume of smoke. “I think, more, it was simply a—marital discussion.”

  “Marital discussion, huh? Okay, sure, AJ. Whatever you say. Got anything else? Because I’d really like to get out of these wet clothes.”

  “Of course you would, darling. Very untidy, and probably quite uncomfortable. Especially if you’ve already gotten out of them once already this evening.”

  Jeff shot her a look edged with annoyance. “You’re always talking to me in nuances, Annajane. Whatever you’ve got to say, just be honest for once and spit it out.”

  “Surely.” Taking her time about it, she leaned forward to tap ash into a heavy leaded crystal Waterford dish. “If you can do the same.”

  “I’ll do my best. I always have. What exactly are you after?”

  “Your floozy. Your tootsie. Your tart. What exactly are you after?”

  “My, my. What an interesting vocabulary. Straight out of the Roaring Twenties.”

  “I’m serious, Jeff. I want to know how long this latest affair has been going on. I do believe I have that right.”

  Heaving a heavy sigh, he plucked the damp material of his shirt away from his chest. For one so concerned about her rights, she took little interest in his. “AJ, we’ve been over this again and again. You keep accusing me, and I keep denying. What do I have to do to convince you that I am not now and never have been involved with another woman?”

  It is called projection, according to Sigmund Freud. One takes his or her own worst personal fault and reflects it onto another, who may be perfectly innocent of the same. And then the wrongly placed accusations can start.

  Was that true in Annajane’s circumstance? That possibly she was the unfaithful partner?

  For five years he had given her his love, his devotion, his fidelity, his trust. He had never questioned any of her casual public flirtations, or any of her calculated absences in the name of social expedience. Had he merely been a blind fool? Or were his own emotions neither as engaged nor as profound as might be expected?

  Then, again, there was the flip side of the coin: perhaps he was being repaid in the present for his own questionable past.

  Whichever, he was under the uncomfortable impression that she was toying with him, as the female praying mantis might do just before she kills and devours her mate.

  Amazingly enough, Annajane, too, sighed. Stubbing out the smoldering cigarette, she leaned back against the cushy couch pillows to curl her legs sideways under her body. “We started out well, didn’t we, Jeff?” she finally asked, in what sounded like a plaintive tone.

  He studied her for a moment, too suspicious of her recent behavior to trust any show of genuine emotion now. “We did. We had a whirlwind courtship, and we had a flamboyant wedding. With twelve bridesmaids, if I recall, and several hundred guests. And the whole thing against your father’s wishes.”

  “Yes. Well…Daddy has always gotten his way in ruling my life. I wanted to prove I could at least choose my own husband, just to show him.” She chuckled. “He really does still despise you, doesn’t he, poor man?”

  Interesting. This was the first time he was hearing that she had married him as an act of rebellion, of defiance against an autocratic parent. More head-in-the-clouds sucker he: how had he never guessed her motive? One must wonder if love had entered the picture at all.

  Or was it merely a case of simple acquisition? Annajane had spied him at a charity event, liked what she’d seen, picked him out like some plastic duck at a carnival booth, and decided to make him hers? He supposed it might have been worse; she could have had him tied up and branded, as some prize bull taken from the herd.

  Bracing both forearms on his thighs, he surveyed her, his wife of five years, and considered her wiles. “Any feeling there?”

  “Feeling? You mean—”

  “I mean love, AJ,” he said dryly. “When we were married, was there any feeling of love involved?”

  Silence. She took a slow, deliberate sip from her glass.

  “I see.” A death knell sounded in his voice. “If there were any, Annajane, you wouldn’t have to think about it.”

  “Love.” Her low, sensual trill of laughter sounded exactly the same as when they had first met. “I did promise to love, honor, and obey, didn’t I? Seriously, Jeff. And you believed it?” Another trill, as she shifted to set down her glass. “I was under the impression our marriage was more a business proposition than one of—emotion…”

  “Not for me,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, please, darling. I was in the market for a husband, and you seemed to fit the bill—handsome, charming, utterly delicious in a tux. And, thank God, you knew the difference between a fish fork and an oyster fork. Getting cold feet about the whole thing now, are you?”

  A muscle along his jaw clenched, unclenched, clenched again. “Just finally asking questions that I should have asked at the beginning, I guess. Cards on the table, AJ. Since you apparently loved the thought of maintaining a useful partner more than the partner himself, have your feelings for me changed over our time together?”

  “Give me a minute, Jeff. A serious question requires serious thought.” The minute passed, then another. “Where were you tonight?”

  “Out.”

  Tilting her head slightly, she gave him a reproachful look. “Jefferson.”

  Outside, a new deluge of rain and wind slashed at the windows, streaming down with determination as a solid streaming sheet. Under a slight stirring of air inside, several of the candle flames wavered, and one guttered into melted wax. Given the sense of tension in the room, and the unpleasant weather, and an almost eerie impression of other-worldliness, it might have been a Halloween night instead of late June.

  He shifted his broad, muscular shoulders as if under the lash of a whip. “I was out with Olivia Bower.”

  “Indeed. Where?” Her tone was soft, silky.

  “Nowhere special. Coffee, hot dogs, a walk in the park. Casual stuff, nothing fancy.”

  “And this—woman—you took up with, does she live in the area?”

  “No. Over the state line a ways, I believe. Why?”

  The wave of her hand indicated his damp and still uncomfortable garments. “A hotel, then.”

  Newly irritated, he surged to his feet. “No, dammit. No residence. No hotel. Both of us bought a change of clothing at Empyrion’s. That was it, AJ. That’s all it’s ever been.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I do say. Now, if you wanna discuss our marriage, and the problems we have to resolve, fine. If not, then we’re done. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.”

  Uncurling her model’s legs to rise with her usual languid, elegant use of motion, she crossed to where he
stood, restlessly shifting from one foot to the other, and reached up to brush the back of her smooth hand along his stubbly jaw. At any other time, her nearness, her gesture, her obvious intention would have excited his interest.

  Not now. With his gaze fixed on hers, he took a calculated step away. “And what were you doing tonight, my lovely bride?” Jeff decided to ask.

  Annajane smiled. “I was out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  One lovely shoulder lifted. “I was consulting with my client, Roger, just as you might claim you were doing. We had a few details to iron out with his proposed plans.”

  “Seems to me there’s a boatload of late-night consultation going on.”

  “Oh, only in your own sordid mind, darling. It’s all legitimate. Like yours.”

  He sucked in a hard, harsh breath. “AJ, this can’t go on. The strain between us is getting worse, and we’re at each other’s throats. The way I see it, at this point we have only two alternatives: either we see a counselor, to get things back on an even keel, or we call it quits.”

  “Jefferson.” She eyed him like one might some odd alien creature pulled from the sea. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

  “No. Well—maybe. Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Hardly the most gentlemanly thing to do, is it, dearest? I mean—what’s good for the gander is surely good enough for the goose, don’t you think? And certainly we are adult enough to overlook any little—um—escapades, are we not? It is quite convenient for me to remain married just now, and I really have no desire to change the status quo.”

  Every muscle under the damp clothing had tightened, and his insides felt curdled by foreboding. “Annajane, this has become a farce of a marriage. You must see that. You must realize we can’t go on as if—”

  “Jeff.” She moved closer again, like a predatory cobra circling in on its prey. “Of course we can. Until I say we stop. Understand that, please. The one who had the power calls the shots.”

  “Has the—” He felt kerflummoxed, as if someone’s vindictive fist had suddenly punched a blow straight to his belly, and left him reeling.