Housebound (13 page)

“What are you working on?” he'd inquired lazily, tucking his hands behind his curly head and looking up at her. “You've got a frighteningly fierce expression on your face.”

“Tropical diseases,” she'd replied glumly. “Schistosomiasis, trypanosomiasis, yaws.” She sighed, stretching her cramped muscles. “It's getting a little tedious.”

“What's yaws?” Noah asked.

Anne raised her head, contemplated him a moment, and then said sweetly, “A Swedish shark.” She had to move fast to duck the pillow he'd thrown at her, but the memory made her chuckle as she stood undecided over the savory chicken.

In the long run, though, what did they have in common other than an appreciation of terrible jokes? That, and a barely controlled lust for each other. Plus a real sense of peace when they were together as they had been that afternoon, not talking, just sitting in front of the fire, completely at ease. She
had listened to his impersonal conversation, his amusing tales of the time he'd spent as a public defender when he was young and idealistic, as he'd put it. Obviously he'd hoped to keep the topic neutral and nonprovocative. But he'd ended up revealing more of himself anyway. Despite his wry humor in describing his inept felons, his real compassion for them came through. And as she recognized that compassion, she felt the strands of attraction wrap tighter and tighter around her.

But when it came right down to it, what did she really know about the man? That he was a widower, still mourning his dead wife. That he indulged in recreational sex. That he disliked being a lawyer and the compromises in integrity it involved. She knew he was gentle and kind and driven. What else had Holly told her during that phone conversation so long ago? That he was the sexiest man alive? That phrase would come back to haunt her, reminding her of her initial skepticism. She could attest to the fact that on that count at least Holly was remarkably astute.

The utilitarian black phone hung on the kitchen wall, a mute temptation to her suddenly insatiable curiosity. She barely hesitated. It took her no time at all to dial Holly's number in New York, all the time hoping that there'd be no answer. She was about to hang up on the third ring when her sister's light, breathless voice came over the phone.

“Darling, how are you?” she cried happily, and a fresh wave of guilt swept over Anne. “Is everything all right? Are you having as nasty a storm as we are? How's Proffy?”

“Proffy's just fine. He's out with the Merry Widow, and he told me he might very well spend the night with her.”

“Naughty, naughty,” Holly chided with a bubble of laughter. “What are we going to do about such a disreputable example?”

“I don't know. I only hope the widow Morgan isn't playing fast and loose with his affections.” Anne kept her voice brisk and cheery. “Speaking of which, how's your love life?”

“Smashing, as always. I've met the most divine man. He's in advertising, if you can imagine anything so completely soulless. But he does have the most magnificent body. He lifts weights, he tells me. And he has the cutest little mustache—he's sort of like a short Tom Selleck.” She let out a soulful sigh.

“Uh…sounds wonderful, Holly. But what about Noah Grant? I thought you were interested in him?” She held her breath, waiting for the artless answer.

“Heavens, I gave up on him weeks ago. He was proving amazingly hard to get, considering his reputation, and I decided to hunt for easier game. Not that I don't have my moments of regret every time I see him.” Another lusty sigh. “I sure wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

“What exactly is his reputation?” She kept her voice casual, but Holly's suspicions were finally aroused.

“Why?”

Anne thought fast. “Why?” she echoed vaguely. “Oh, I think he's been in touch with Proffy about something. I'm not sure what, but it made me curious.”

Surprisingly enough, Holly seemed satisfied with the explanation. “He's got a reputation as a very astute, knowledgeable and charming man. Excellent at his job, socially very desirable. Discerning when it comes to women, but seldom without a real beauty beside him. He's still mourning Nialla, I think, but that makes him all the more attractive.”

Nialla, Anne thought numbly. Somehow knowing her name made it worse. “He's pretty social?”

“Not as much as he used to be. As a matter of fact, he's been
practically reclusive the past few weeks. Quite a turnaround for him, but I gather his closest friends aren't surprised.”

“Who are his friends?”

“I can't imagine why this is pertinent, Anne,” Holly said crossly.

“Humor me, Holly. I'm just curious.” Her voice was lightly innocent, and once more Holly swallowed it.

“Actually, he has a rather strange assortment of cronies. I went to a cocktail party at his apartment a few months ago, and he had paroled safecrackers hobnobbing with Wendell James, of all people.”

“Who's Wendell James?”

“Head of the Allibet Foundation.” There was a sudden nervous rush to her voice.

“Allibet Foundation? What do they do?”

“You
must
be bored!” Holly snapped. “I thought you wanted to pump me about Noah Grant, not about some arts foundation.”

“I do not want to pump you about Noah!” she denied hotly. “I was just bored and curious.”

“You've never been bored in your life,” Holly said with more than a trace of envy. “And you still haven't found out what you want to know, have you?”

“Haven't I?”

“No. And I'm about to satisfy your curiosity, though I can tell you now—you won't want to hear it. Do you know how Noah's wife died?”

“I suppose you're going to tell me he murdered her,” Anne said caustically.

“I wouldn't tell you any such thing. Noah adored his wife. They had this absurdly romantic marriage—always holding hands and the like.”

The jealousy was gnawing at Anne's stomach like a vulture, and too late she wished she'd never made this phone call, wished she could think of some reason to stop this conversation that had taken a decidedly painful turn. But there was nothing she could do without giving herself away.

“How very nice for him,” she said distantly.

“She died trying to have his baby, you know,” Holly said slyly, and Anne almost did push down the receiver. She said absolutely not a word, but Holly didn't need any encouragement, taking an almost malicious delight in imparting the information. “They'd always wanted children, and she had trouble getting pregnant. When she finally did they were in seventh heaven. She took off for a long weekend at their cabin in Western New York State while Noah was busy with work. It turned out she had an ectopic pregnancy, it ruptured, and she died there before she could get help. I guess Noah got worried when he didn't hear from her, and he went up and found her.”

“You're making this up,” Anne accused her flatly.

“I'm afraid not. Of course he's been plagued with guilt ever since. I guess he feels responsible, though I can't imagine why. Nialla was always the most willful woman, according to Wendell. There was no stopping her once she decided to do something.”

“And why should Wendell James know all the intimate details of Noah's marriage?”

“Because Noah was married to his daughter.”

“Oh.” Anne's voice was hollow.

“They've stayed good friends, despite Nialla's death,” Holly continued. “So I would think he'd know.”

“Poor Noah,” Anne said sadly. And poor Nialla. And poor, poor Anne.

“Oh, don't waste your pity, darling. He does well enough—he's hardly taken a vow of celibacy. Though I wouldn't think you'd be his sort at all. For one thing, he goes for tall redheads, with a few blondes interspersed. I gather Nialla had dark-brown hair. Somewhat like yours.” Holly paused. “I think you'd better watch your step around him, Anne. He's more my kind of man—I don't like involvements any more than he does. But he'd break your heart.” For a moment there was real warmth and concern in Holly's tone, a warmth and concern that had been missing for a long time.

“I don't think I have to worry about it. After all, I'm engaged to Wilson.”

“So you are. How could I have forgotten?” Holly's voice turned flat and cold and definitely hostile. “I don't think that will protect you if Noah decided he wants you.”

“I think I'm safe, Holly.” Anne managed a creditable drawl. “Thanks for the information, though. If I happen to see him again I'll watch my step.”

“Oh, you'll see him again. Despite what he said, I have no doubt at all on that score. ‘Bye.” She hung up without another word, and slowly, thoughtfully Anne replaced the receiver.

“Find out anything interesting?” Noah murmured pleasantly from directly behind her.

She whirled to face him, her face flushed with guilt. The cool expression in his blue, blue eyes wasn't the slightest bit reassuring. She stalled for time. “I beg your pardon?”

“Surely Holly must have given you all the lurid details of my past,” he said with deceptive sweetness, the grimness around his mouth the only clue to his anger. “I've already told you that reports of my sexual prowess are greatly exaggerated.”

“I didn't realize Holly had firsthand knowledge,” she snapped back nervously.

“Is that what she told you?” He shrugged. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady. Is dinner almost ready?”

“Just about.” She eyed him warily, but that blank, easygoing mask had shuttered down over his face again. “Noah, I'm sorry. That was a rotten thing to do.”

“Yes, it was.” His lovely, rich voice was hard and uncompromising. But at last that bland expression had left his face once more.

“Will you forgive me if I promise not to pry again?”

“I might consider it,” he drawled, a predatory gleam lighting his eyes, “if you'll sleep with me tonight.”

“I'm going to put saltpeter on your chicken,” she warned, relief making her slightly light-headed.

“It won't do you any good,” he said smugly. “It's been tried.”

“I can imagine,” she muttered. “You carry the silver and the wineglasses, and I'll be up with the food in a moment.”

He took the cutlery from her, his eyes suddenly quite somber. “No more telephone calls?”

“I promise.”

He smiled at her, that achingly sweet smile she saw so seldom. “I trust you.”

She watched his disappearing back with a strange longing in the pit of her stomach. He knew just how to reach her, she realized with no small amount of alarm. He had an uncanny knack of finding her most vulnerable spot and soothing it with his gentle, seductive charm. If she knew what was good for her she would forget her promise, call Wilson up and invite him over for supper. A firelit dinner on a rainy night was just
a trifle too romantic to be safe, especially in the company of Noah Grant. She stared at the telephone for a long, contemplative moment, then turned back to dish up the chicken. Even if she hadn't promised, Wilson Engalls would be the last person she would call that night. She was going to count on her own pride and sense of self-preservation to keep Noah at bay. The last thing she wanted to do was follow a well-trod path to his bed for a few blissful nights.

And they would be blissful, she had little doubt of that. But it would be too great a price to pay for a weekend or two. If she even lasted that long. With her lack of sexual expertise his interest would undoubtedly pall almost immediately.

Though he didn't seem to tire of kissing her, she thought dreamily as she started up the stairs. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in it, almost as much as she did. Perhaps…

There was a huge, rending crash from directly outside the house, the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and the hallway was suddenly plunged into an inky blackness. Anne tripped, the plates went flying for the second time in one day, and she ended sprawled in the hallway.

“Annie!” Noah's anxious voice reverberated through the dark hallway, and she managed to roll out of the way just before he would have trampled on her. She felt rather than saw him squat down beside her, and his hands were gentle as they caught her and helped her up. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine. I'm afraid that was the last of the Wedgwood. And all our dinner,” she added mournfully. Struggling to her feet, she tried to peer through the inky darkness. “What happened?”

“One of those old trees, I imagine. The wind was just too much for it.”

An irrational panic gripped her. “Do you think it hit the house?”

“I don't know. I heard some windows break, but that might have just been from the vibration of the falling tree. Go on in by the fire and I'll check.”

“Check? How?”

“By going outside and seeing what I can see,” he replied patiently. “If it brought the lines down we'll have to call the power company. Unless, of course, it brought the phone lines down, too.”