Chosen for Death (26 page)

"Oh, I'll be there after all," she said. "Paul has his kids tomorrow. You coming in on Tuesday?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Maybe not on Wednesday either. But I'll definitely be back on Thursday for the meeting at Acton Academy. Do you mind calling tomorrow to confirm that?"

"Not at all," she said. "Should we both go?"

"I think so. It will make them feel more important if they get the head honcho. And that's you. But I'll set up a meeting with the Willis School. They want to talk about our proposal. Mrs. Pettigrew sounds very eager to start working with us."

Suzanne smiled. She liked being head honcho. But she was also fair-minded. "We're both head honchos now," she said.

"As long as we don't turn into a pushmi-pullyu, I guess we'll be OK with two heads. Seems odd, though, that as soon as I'm a partner, I stop coming to work."

"I'm assuming assaults, accidents, and murder investigations aren't going to become a chronic condition," Suzanne said.

"What's a pushmi-pullyu?" Andre asked.

"I hope not," I said. "I don't think my aging body could take it."

"Didn't you ever read Dr. Doolittle?" Paul said.

"What does that have to do with aging?" Suzanne asked.

It was all beginning to sound a little bit like who's on first.

Paul pointed at Andre. "I was talking to him," he said. "Dr. Doolittle is a character in children's fiction who started off as a people doctor and decided he liked treating animals better. His house gradually became a menagerie including an animal with a head at each end called the Pushmi-Pullyu, which had trouble deciding what to do because the heads couldn't agree."

"And he had a parrot, and Jip the dog, and..." Suzanne began.

I signaled for a time-out. "All right, you guys. Enough. We can talk about children's fiction some other time. I hate to be a party-pooper, but I've put in a hard day of sleuthing and it's worn me out."

Suzanne was already on her feet. "Sorry, Thea. We need to get going anyway. Laurie is dropping Amy and Jeremy off at eight tomorrow morning. I have to be packed up and out of there before she comes." She wrapped an arm around Paul's waist. "Now that the divorce is final, I don't have to worry so much about my presence in Paul's apartment being an issue, but I'd rather get to know the kids a little better before I start greeting them in my bathrobe." She wrapped her other arm around my waist. "Not that there's anything wrong with entertaining in your bathrobe. You do it very well. See you Wednesday. Or Thursday. Let me know which, OK?" I hugged her back, but I was feeling confused. It seemed like there was a whole chapter of the Suzanne and Paul story that I'd missed completely. When I got current matters settled, I'd have to tackle that mystery.

Andre and I walked them to the door and watched them dash away through the rain. I shut the door and faced him. "I'm not leaving," he said. "At least, not yet. I promise not to talk about fictional animals."

The combination of alcohol and exhaustion was impairing my ability to be cool and rational. I wanted him to stay, and I wanted him to go, and I didn't know which I wanted more. He took charge before I could decide, taking me by the hand and leading me down the hall to the bedroom. He sat me down on the bed, sat beside me, and took me in his arms. I could feel his body trembling as his weight forced me back against the pillows. I was trembling, too, but not with passion. Sex with David had been satisfying, intoxicating, honest, and fun. My experience with Steve had been so bad I didn't trust my instincts anymore. I wanted to sleep with Andre, but I was scared.

He reached over to unzip my robe, but I put a hand over his. "Wait, Andre," I said. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

I watched his face anxiously for signs of scorn or rejection, but there were none. He was smiling. "I'm afraid I'm too ready," he said, "except for the shoes. My mother told me never to put my shoes on the bedspread." He bent over and took off his shoes and socks, rolling the socks up neatly and tucking them into his shoes. He walked around the bed, propped two pillows up against the headboard, and lay down on the other side, leaving a wide expanse of bed between us. "What aren't you ready for, Thea? Sex? Involvement? Undressing in front of a stranger? I'm afraid I'm guilty of assuming that because I want this so much, you must want it, too. I didn't mean... I don't mean... to rush you. We can take things as slow as you want."

Already it was clear this man was no Steve. I sat cross-legged on the bed, facing him. He was wearing a blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves and tan cords. He looked comfortable and sexy and friendly, waiting patiently for me to speak. I looked down at my hands, clenched in my lap. "I haven't done this for a long time," I said. "There's only been one man since David. It was a disaster. He made me feel like trash because I had needs and desires of my own. I don't want to get into something with a man I can't talk to. I'm afraid to trust my instincts. Oh, I don't know. I can't seem to say it right."

He was watching me, his eyes shining. "I'm listening," he said. "Please try to overlook the lust in my eyes. I can't help staring at you. You're even more gorgeous than I remembered. I've dreamed about you, Thea. Endless wicked, erotic, incredible dreams. And woken up and kicked myself because I was cruel to you at the hospital. Jumping to the conclusion I was supposed to reach. Judging you, when I had no right to, and when I was wrong anyway. Doubting you after you explained. So I know I have no right to be here with you like this, but I couldn't help myself." He gently unclenched my hands, and took them in his. "Talk to me, Thea. We can go back to the living room, if that would make you more comfortable."

Maybe I could talk to him. He wasn't ashamed to apologize, and he was willing to listen. I took a deep breath. "OK," I said, "here goes. I want to sleep with you, but there are some things holding me back. I'm afraid I'll blow it again. I'm afraid I won't be satisfied. And I'm even afraid that I'll like it, and I've learned to live without sex." I shrugged. "I'm doing OK, you see. Why rock the boat?"

"Because life without sex is like champagne without bubbles. Sure, you can drink it. But it's not the same," he said. "Whew. Now I'm getting nervous. There's nothing like performance anxiety to kill desire."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to..." He took my hand and guided it to his body. His desire wasn't dead yet.

"I want you so badly I'm shaking," he said, "but I don't want to do anything that isn't right for you. Let's just take off a few of these clothes, climb under the covers, and see what happens. We can take it as slow and easy as you want. We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Scout's honor. We can even stop right here and just cuddle. And I promise not to call you a tease or moan about blue balls or anything else to make you feel guilty. OK?"

"OK," I said, beginning to relax.

He unbuckled his belt, took off his pants and shirt, and folded them neatly on a chair beside the bed. I sat on the bed, watching him. He stood before me in his underwear, uninhibited. "What you see is what you get," he said. He held out his hands to me. "Come here."

I took them and let him pull me to my feet. Slowly he unzipped the robe and slid it off my shoulders, down my body and into a pool at my feet. I stepped out of it and stood there in my underwear, feeling shaky. He didn't touch me; he just stood there, admiring. After a minute, he reached out and touched the fading bruise on my side, where Charlie had kicked me. "Does it still hurt?"

"Only when I laugh," I said, "or lift heavy things."

"I'll be careful," he said, reaching past me to pull down the covers. "Jump in. It's cold out here."

My bed is a big mahogany sleigh bed, with a high curving head and foot. It's always felt like a big ark, or fortress, where I'm safe and secure. Steve was never in this bed, so it isn't tainted. Andre held up the covers. I slid in and he slid in after me. A quiver went through me when our bodies touched. He turned out the light and put his arms around me. His body was hard and muscular. I buried my face in his warm chest, feeling the crisp rough hair under my cheek. He smelled like soap.

"I'm going to kiss you from head to toe," he said, starting with the side of my neck. He nibbled on my ear, and then found my mouth. We stopped there for a while, exploring, and then his lips traveled south. Along the way my remaining clothing got in the way and was discarded, and so was his.

I forgot about being afraid and surrendered to the pleasure of being with a man who liked women's bodies. Suddenly he pulled away and sat up. "Thea," he said, "what about birth control? Are you protected?"

"Yes," I said. In one smooth, quick motion, he rolled me onto my back and lowered his body onto mine. He started slowly and gently, as though afraid he'd hurt me, but my body jumped to meet his and we gave ourselves up to the ancient, satisfying art of love, our bodies showing none of the hesitation that had been in our heads, reaching a dizzying, mutually satisfying crescendo that literally rocked the bed. And all the time he was careful to keep his weight off my cracked ribs. Afterwards we lay in a sweaty, panting heap.

"Was it good for you?" he asked, finally. I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. He wasn't experiencing performance anxiety.

"My worst fears have been realized," I said. I felt him stiffen beside me. "Do you think we could do that again?"

Chapter 21

It was a night for the record books. For my personal record book, at least. I hadn't realized how much I'd been missing. I'd felt restless stirrings, and the occasional stronger urges that had driven me to the banker. In that relationship—and it really glorified it to call it a relationship—I'd felt nothing but frustration. After that I'd pushed it all away, burying my frustrations in aerobics and work. Now it was like a dam had burst, and all my stored-up passion let loose. We spent the night like starving people at a banquet. It was insane, delirious, and fantastic. It was dawn when we finally fell asleep. When I woke, my watch said nine. Andre wasn't in the bed, but I could hear the shower running. I snuggled back down under the covers, lazily watching the patterns of sun and shade on the ceiling as I slowly woke up, feeling sore and bruised, the way you do after an excess of pleasure, but also very content.

Drawn by the appealing sound of running water, I went into the bathroom and opened the shower door. Startled, Andre whirled to face me, trapped without a weapon. "At ease, Trooper," I said. I stepped in and shut the door behind me.

I'd been too nervous last night to notice his body, the body I now knew so intimately. This morning I took the time to study it. He was very different from David. Andre had a heavier, sturdier body, comfortably furry, with big shoulders and strong legs. His bristly hair was beaded with water, and he needed a shave. His eyebrows rose slightly when I picked up the soap and began washing his chest, but he was smiling, and the smile broadened as the soap traveled lower. We ended up making slippery, soapy love against the shower wall. He rinsed and got out, and I stayed in to wash my hair, letting the hot water pour over me, wondering idly what this was all leading to.

When I arrived in the kitchen, clean, combed, and dressed, breakfast was ready and Andre was pouring out the coffee. He hadn't shaved, and the stubble made him look slightly debauched, but he also looked relaxed for the first time since I'd known him. His quick dark eyes traced me from top to toe, as though I was being memorized. "I've never spent a night like that," he said. "I've heard about them, but I didn't believe it. You're incredible."

I removed the coffeepot from his hands, set it on the stove, and wrapped my arms around him. He smelled of soap, and felt so good. "Or insatiable," I said. "Oh, man, Andre Lemieux, I am sore and sated and I feel like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"Hey, lady," he said, "watch who you're calling a canary." His grin was positively wicked. "Not too sore to sit, I hope. We'd better eat before this gets cold."

I let go of him reluctantly, and went to the table. It was a perfect day. A few fat white clouds were floating in an otherwise clear blue sky. The treetops swayed gently. The thermometer said sixty-five. Some of the leaves would have turned, along the turnpike. Too bad I was going to miss it. Before the evening had turned into a party, I'd been ready to sleep for a week. I'd probably slept about four hours. I needed a clear head for the next part of my search and I felt like a zombie. A contented zombie. A zombie who was going to sleep all the way to Maine.

I sighed audibly as I looked at my loaded plate. There's nothing like exercise to give you a healthy appetite. I was ravenous. Despite my lack of supplies, Andre had managed to make us a huge breakfast—toast and eggs, fried ham, and home fries. My refrigerator must be completely empty now. Between us we ate every scrap on our plates. I reached for the last piece of toast just as he did, so we divided it. "So, what's for dessert?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.