Graveyard Shifts: A Pat Wyatt Novel (12 page)

When I started to make noise, he moved his hand (the one on my breast) to my mouth. It was a good thing I had on no-smear lipstick. And after a couple of minutes, he started to move as I rocked up and back against him. It was as if we were making love fully clothed, his finger picking up its pace, while I bit his hand. He made a little sound of pleasure, and we stood there, rhythmically moving together.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my nails dug into his flesh when it was time. The pleasure racked my body once…twice…and then my head was spinning.

After, we stood there, not moving, just breathing, as he removed his hands from my body. I felt like I was going to collapse until he turned me around to face him, and I pulled on his neck so we could kiss, our tongues doing a rough dance.

“I would’ve done that earlier if you would’ve let me,” he whispered against my lips, placing his hands by my head on the wall.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I breathed, and we kissed again, but this time he moved away from me. I fixed myself as he walked back into the kitchen.

When he came back, he looked very satisfied with himself.

“How do I look?” I asked as he stood in front of me.

“A little flushed,” he said, kissing my forehead, “but still gorgeous.”

“I’m going to compose myself,” I said in a rush, “and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Satané.” He bowed, glancing up at me with a wink and a smile.

Once he was gone, I leaned against the wall, thinking about what we had done. There had to be a way out of this marriage without getting either one of us killed. However, there was a small piece of me that still wanted my husband.

I scolded myself for wanting both men to myself.
Do you want to be miserable?
the voice in my head yelled.

And as I walked back to the party, another voice whispered,
Yes.

.

chapter

ELEVEN

When I finally made my way back into the sitting room, I was relieved to see that it was time for dinner. All forty or so of us took our seats at the round table, but instead of my usual seat (which faced the mirrored wall), I was sitting between Samuel and Mike in the opposite direction. This was not good, and it would become interesting (to say the least) if anything went wrong.

Mike was kind enough to pull my chair out for me, and I nodded to him before I sat down. Then, when I saw Samuel wasn’t sitting, a tight smile plastered on my face. I knew what he was doing. He was going to make a speech. The topic? Yours truly.

He lifted his wine glass with a smirk on his face. “Ladies and gentleman,” his voice boomed, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Friends and lawyers.” Everyone laughed, and I looked over at Mike. He smiled at Samuel’s joke, in earnest, and when he caught me staring, he winked.

I looked away quickly, turning my attention toward Samuel, who was staring down at us with a concerned look on his face. Or was it annoyance?

“I would like to make a toast,” he began again, keeping his eyes on us, “to the newest members of my family, Mr. and Miss Wyatt,” At that they both smiled and nodded. “Mr. Wyatt’s fiancée, Cindy,” he said, and she blushed. “And to my beloved wife.” He turned his attention back to me, and he looked like he might kill me at any moment. “One who I know loves me unconditionally no matter what I say or do,” that was a lie, “and one who I feel will be faithful until the end.” That was a strange comment, and as he said it, his eyebrow raised slightly as if to warn silently that I’d better be.

I touched my glass to his while everyone murmured their “cheers,” and he sat back down, kissing me on the cheek. After the “aws” had subsided, our food was served: roast chicken and a root mash with rosemary. The smell was so good that it made my mouth water, but I took small bites just in case I had to talk during the meal.

No one said anything for a while, and I was beginning to think I was in the clear, but it wasn’t long before everyone was having their own little conversations.

I’d noticed that a couple of people hadn’t even touched their food, while others just pushed it around on their plates. But I didn’t have time to contemplate why because my sister rudely shouted at Samuel from across the table. “So Samuel,” she said with a bright smile, and I saw Mike roll his eyes. “Where did you two meet? I’m just
dying
to know.”

Samuel shook his head at her, but the others started to ask as well. He cleared his throat. “Pat tells it so much better than I do. Why don’t you ask her?”

“Tell us, Patty Melt,” she probed, pouting like a two-year-old, but I shook my head. “Oh, come on,” she insisted, and then everyone else chimed in.

“Where do I begin?” I said, looking at all of their eager faces, glancing over at Tina to help me, but she just nodded for me to continue. Great help she was. Then I looked at Mike, and I knew what to say. Inspiration stuck like a lightning bolt.

“It all started with an article,” I began, and some people nodded while others whispered to each other. They were most likely telling one another that I was a writer.

This is how it would go down: I would tell them everything. Well, as close to the truth as possible without sounding like I was off my rocker. So I began with Tina and our little adventure.

“Hard to believe it was only a few days ago,” I said, smiling at Samuel, who smirked back. Then I told them about the file Mike kept on me, which made them laugh, and that when Samuel saw me, he just “had to have me in his possession.” Some of them whispered heatedly, but I went on.

I smiled, laughed, and tossed my hair until charm oozed out of every pore. The story of our whirlwind romance was told as if I’d been telling it my whole life. I even teased Samuel about being a vampire. That got a few laughs, but some people’s eyes widened. Still, I was as personable as possible.

“And so,” my voice was strong as I concluded this episode of my recently complicated life, “imagine that it all started with the pursuit of the perfect piece of pie.” They laughed, and then I added, “The end,” with a shrug and a sheepish smile. I got a round of applause from everyone, and when I looked as Samuel, he seemed less than amused.

“Baby girl,” Pops toasted me, “you always could tell a mean story.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” a handsome man with an eye patch, and long nose, said from beside Samuel with a snooty English accent, “but you should write a novel or at least a play.”

I blushed. He’d flattered me to no end. “Thank you,” I said with an awkward smile.

He leaned over Samuel, extending his hand to me. “Christopher Marlowe, at your service, mum,” he introduced himself, taking my hand in his.

That was weird. “You’re joking, of course.”

He kissed my knuckles and winked at me with his one good eye, while I slipped my hand out of his. “I am afraid not. My mother loved the Elizabethan era.”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Marlowe?” I asked. I just had to know.

“I am a writer,” he answered with a smile, and I laughed at the coincidence. “That is the usual reaction.” He winked again, which made me blush deeper. He was flirting with me, and my husband was sitting right between us.

“Really, Chris,” Samuel interrupted in a huff, “if you must hit on my wife, please do so when I am not in the room, or for that matter, when I am sitting somewhere else.” Samuel placed his hand on my knee, squeezing it gently.

Chris smiled at me and shrugged. “I cannot help myself, Samuel. When such beauty is in front of me, I must obey the laws of nature.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Mike agreed, placing his hand on my other knee, gently moving it up my thigh.

I let out a little gasp and told myself not to move. I was afraid their hands would touch. “You both flatter me,” I recovered with modesty because that little gasp had almost caused an incident, and Samuel’s hand slid up my other thigh.

“Not at all,” both Mike and Marlowe said.

“I do so love your dress,” a rather pale, haughty beauty in green said from across the table. “Where ever did you get it?”

“A little boutique my friend Tina found,” I said, gesturing over to her so the attention would be off me. I didn’t want people to know I was silently panicking.

Tina smiled and took on the conversation like I knew she would, while their hands kept moving closer and closer to a central point. Oh dear. “Excuse me,” I said, standing, and so did every man in the room. “Nature call,” I whispered, as Samuel pulled my chair out for me.

I hastily walked out of the room, rushed past Charlie, and slammed my way into the study. Sinking into the leather chair, I couldn’t breathe, I was so panicked. Finally, I took several deep breaths before deciding to get back in there.

I stood, shaking myself like a football player would shake off an injury. And with my head held high, I walked into the foyer, making sure no one was out looking for me. That’s when I heard a soft knock on the front door.

I waved for Charlie to stay where he was and decided I would open it myself. There was no need for him to walk all the way across the hall to open the door when I was right there.

My hand turned the knob, and the door flung open, I swear by a will of its own. And standing there before me, as beautiful and as flawless as her painting upstairs, was Samuel’s mother. Her sparkling silver eyes, full mouth, and white-streaked black hair, looked different from her painting, but it was her. In the picture she was more matriarchal than she appeared in person. But her beautifully heart-shaped face and predominantly straight nose were unmistakable.

My eyes searched for a flaw in this creature because she certainly didn’t look like a human being, but she (and her floor-length ivory gown) was perfect. Tall, slender and scary.

“You must be the
new
Mrs. Satané?” she spoke with an accent that I couldn’t place, and I was so stunned that all I could do was nod. She walked in, sweeping her red shawl off. I watched it land on the floor and then quickly looked at her again. “I am the old one,” she said, her voice like velvet as she stood there, her eyes scanning my body.

“My son has very good taste,” she paused, as her eyes hovered over my breasts. “You are
extremely
pretty.”

“Th—thank you,” I stammered and moved aside, shutting the door behind her, “Mrs. Satané.” If my husband had told me his mother was coming; I would have been more personable to her. As it was, her entrance had bewildered me.

“Please,” she purred, waving off my formalness, “call me Mum.” I nodded. “And you are?” she asked with a creepy white smile.

“Pat,” I breathed, blinking at the question. “Patricia Wyatt.”

“The writer.” It was a statement, but I nodded anyway. “My son is not always so…sensible when it comes to his women.” She laughed, and I winced. It gave me the hibby jibbies. “However, in your case, I can see that he has done rather well for himself.” She gave me that scary, straight, white, toothy smile again, and I shivered.

“Let me show you to the dining room,” I managed to say as I swept my arm out in front of me. She bowed her head, linking our arms together. “Samuel really doesn’t look like you.” I don’t know why I said it, but it just came out. Sometimes I really wish I could keep my mouth shut.

She sighed. “Yes, I know. He looks like his father.”

We walked together, and when Charlie saw us, his mouth dropped.

As we made our way into the dining room, all the men stood for our entrance. But when I looked at Samuel, he didn’t look the least bit surprised that his mother was here, and he showed not even a hint of affection toward her.

“So sorry I am late,” she said with a smile, rolling her R’s almost violently. “Traffic was terrible.” She pulled me over to where Samuel stood and nodded to her boy, acknowledging him with a, “Son.”

“Mother.” His voice was cold as he took her hand and kissed it.

“Where shall I sit?” she asked, patting his cheek.

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if telling her something silently. “Anywhere you would like, of course.”

She unhooked her arm from mine and walked around the table to find a seat. Then we both sat, which was the cue for everyone else to do the same.

“What is your problem?” I hissed in Samuel’s ear, trying not to let anyone know how upset I was with him.

“We will discuss this later,” he whispered back, and that was the last on the subject.

After dinner, we went into the sitting room where a man named Ludwig entertained us on the piano. He had crazy hair and a great spirit, but as soon as I saw him playing, I knew this would
not
end well for me.

“Sing for us, baby girl,” Pops yelled, pushing me toward the piano.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I said, skidding to a stop. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s evening.”

“Nonsense,” Samuel’s mother shouted. “Sing!” She insisted, as did everyone else.

Oh, great! “All right.” My voice sounded shaky, and I gulped. “If you insist.”

“We do,” my sister said with a smirk.

Ludwig smiled up at me, waiting for my request. “Do you know ‘Every Time We Say Good-bye’?” I asked, and he nodded. Then he started to play it (I’d hoped he didn’t know it, but that’s just my luck). “A little slower,” I suggested, “please.” Nodding again, he made it a smooth and beautiful lullaby.

It was nerve-wracking, but with a deep breath, I began to sing my favorite Cole Porter song. The only reason I love it so much is that my mother used to sing it every night when I was little before I went to sleep. Besides, it was the only one I knew all the words to.

Closing my eyes, I sang it with all my heart. And when I opened them, I looked at Mike.

He’d been standing by Samuel, and even though it was risky, I decided that I’d sing to him. Everyone else melted away as I watched his face rise and fall with the music, and a tear came to his eye when I hit the last note. It faded into the air around me, and I was glad that this humiliation was over.

Ludwig stopped playing, glancing up at me with a smile on his face. And the whole room was silent.

For a minute, I thought that I was so bad that they didn’t know what to do and that I’d offended everyone’s ears by even opening my mouth. But as it turned out, they were just stunned.

In a second, the clapping was so hard and the hooting was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. “Brava,” Mrs. Satané yelled above the din. “Brava!”

Tina stepped forward, placing an arm around my waist. “I’ve been your best friend for years,” she said as the clapping subsided, “and I didn’t know you could sing.”

I blushed as we made our way through the smiling, satisfied crowd. I shrugged. “You never asked.” I paused, taking a breath. “Was I that good?” I asked, knowing that she would tell me the truth no matter how painful.

“Good?” she whispered in my ear. “Sweetie, you were
fantastic
.”

I smiled as Mike walked up to us, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “That was beautiful,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,
Mike
,” I emphasized his name. I was letting him know that we could be on a first-name basis again.

He seemed to understand, and he nodded. “You’re welcome,
Pat
.”

We both smiled at each other, while Tina waved to someone, leaving us alone. I followed her with my eyes as she walked right into the sixty-year-old millionaire’s arm, and I felt happy for her.

After a minute the crowd started their private conversations again, and I could finally take a breath.

“Tina looks like she’s found her match,” Mike said, rubbing his neck with a smile.

I couldn’t help smiling at her flirtatious manner. “She does look content, doesn’t she?”

“Mm-hm.” Mike chuckled, and then grew serious. “Listen, about the hallway—”

“Mike,” my voice was passive, “not now.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” he explained, holding my hand discreetly.

My eyes were fixed on the floor. “The funny thing is…” I paused, knowing that what I was going to say was true. “Neither am I.” I bit my lip, and we were silent for a minute.