Strange Bedfellow (9 page)

“What are you thinking about?” Blake was close, only a scant few feet behind her.
 

“I was merely remembering the last time I stood at this window.” She sipped at the hot coffee.
 

“When was that?” He seemed only idly curious.
 

Dina felt his gaze roaming her shapely length as surely as if he touched her, and stiffened to answer bluntly, “The night of my engagement party to Chet.”
 

“Forget about him.” The command was crisp and impatient, as Dina guessed it would be.
 

“It isn't that easy to turn back the clock,” she muttered tightly.
 

The cup nearly slipped from her fingers as she felt the rasping brush of his fingers against her hair. Her throat constricted, shutting off her voice and her breath.
 

“Have I told you I like your hair this length?” His low voice was a husky caress running down her spine.
 

He lifted aside the molten gold of her hair, pushing it away from her neck. The warmth of his breath against her skin warned her an instant before she glimpsed the waving darkness of his hair in her side vision.
 

His unerring mouth sought and found the ultra-sensitive and vulnerable spot at the base of her neck. Her heart felt as though it had been knocked sideways, and Blake took full advantage of her Achilles’ heel. She felt boneless as her head tipped down and to the side to give him freer access.
 

The cup rattled in its saucer, but she managed to hold on to it. His arms wound around her waist to mold her back to his muscular length. For a magic second she was transported back to another time. Then a roughened hand slid under the overlapping fold of her robe to encircle the swell of her breast, a callused finger teasing its nipple, and the arms felt suddenly strange.
 

“Blake, no!” Weakly she tugged at his wrist, no match for his strength.
 

She gasped as his sensual mouth moved upward to her ear, and desire licked through her veins at the darting probe of his tongue. An all-pervading weakness went through her limbs. It was a dizzying sensation, wild drums pounding in her ears.
 

“Do you remember the way we used to make love in the mornings?” Blake murmured against her temple.
 

“Yes,” she moaned, the memory all too vivid.
 

The cup disappeared from her hand, carried away by a fluid movement of Blake's hand. It took only the slightest pressure to turn her around. She was drawn to his side, a muscular, silk-covered thigh insinuating itself between her legs as she was arched against him. She lifted her head, subconsciously braced for the punishment of his rough kisses. Her fingers curled into his shoulders for support.
 

There was the tantalizing touch of his lips against hers. “After last night, I thought I had you out of my system,” he said against them, “but I want you more than before.”
 

A half sob came from her throat at the absence of any mention of love. In the next second she didn't care, as his mouth closed over hers with sweet pressure. There was no plundering demand, only a persuasive exhorting to respond.
 

Her lips parted willingly, succumbing to the rapturous mastery of his exploration. The dream world of sensation seemed almost enough. She slid her fingers through the springing thickness of his hair, the scent of him earthy and clean.
 

As if tired of bending his head to reach her lips, Blake tightened his arm around her waist to lift her straight up, bringing her to eye level. It was another indication of his increased strength, that he should carry her weight so effortlessly. At the moment, Dina was oblivious to this example of his change.
 

His mouth blazed a moist trail downward to explore the pulsing vein in her neck. “Did Chet ever make you feel like this?” An attempt to exorcise the memory of Chet's kisses from her mind? Had it been motivated by nothing more than that? She pushed out of his hold, staring at him with wounded pride.
 

“Did he?” Blake repeated, a faintly ragged edge to his breathing.
 

“You'll never know,” she answered in a choked voice. “Maybe he made me feel better.”
 

He took a threatening step toward her, his features dark with rage. There was nowhere for Dina to retreat. She had to grand her ground, despite its indefensibility. Just then there was a knock at the door. Blake halted, casting an angry glance at the door.
 

Who is it?” he demanded.
 

The door opened and Chet walked in. “I'm a bit early, but Deirdre said you were in here having coffee. She's going to bring me a cup.” He stopped, as if sensing the heaviness in the atmosphere. “I didn't think you'd mind if I joined you.” But it was something of a question.
 

“Of course not.” Dina was quick to use him as a buffer.
 

“Come in, Chet,” Blake continued the invitation. “Speak of the devil, Dina and I were just talking about you.”
 

“Something good, I hope,” Chet joked stiffly.
 

“Yes.” Blake's dark gaze swung to Dina, a considering grimness in their depths. “Yes, it was.” But he didn't explain what it had been.
 

She started breathing again, her hand sliding up to her throat. She became conscious of her partially clothed state and used it as an excuse to leave.
 

“If you two don't mind, I'll leave you to have coffee alone,” she said.
 

“I hope you aren't going on my account,” Chet said, frowning.
 

“No,” Dina assured him quickly, avoiding Blake's mocking look. “I was going upstairs anyway to dress before Deirdre serves brunch. I'll be down shortly.”
 

As Dina left, she met Deirdre bringing the extra cup for Chet. The housekeeper's composure was under admirable control now and she was her usual calm-faced self.
 

Once she was dressed, Dina slipped Chet's ring into the pocket of her dirndl skin. At some point during the day she hoped to have the chance to return it to him while they were alone. But it was late afternoon before the opportunity presented itself.
 

THE PRESS HAD LEARNED of Blake's return and the house was in a state of siege for the greater part of the day. Either the doorbell or the telephone seemed to be ringing constantly. Blake had to grant interviews to obtain any peace, but his answers were concise, without elaboration, downplaying his ordeal. As his wife, Dina was forced to be at his side, while Chet adopted the role of press secretary and spokesman for the Chandler company.
 

Finally, at four o'clock, the siege seemed to be over and a blessed quietness began to settle over the house. Norma Chandler, who had insisted that coffee and sweets be served to all those who had come, was busy helping Deirdre clear away the mess.
 

The ringing of the telephone signaled a last interview for Blake, one conducted over the phone. Dina had started helping the other two women clean up. When she noticed Chet slip away to the library, she excused herself, knowing she might not have another chance to speak to him alone.
 

As she stepped inside the library, she saw him pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter over ice cubes in a squat glass. The engagement ring seemed to be burning a circle in her pocket.
 

“Would you pour me a sherry, Chet?” She quietly closed the door, shutting out Blake's voice coming from the living room.
 

Chet's sandy blond head lifted, his surprised look vanishing into a smile when he say her. “Of course.” He reached for another glass and a different decanter. Pouring, he remarked, “It's been quite a hectic day.”
 

“Yes, it has.” Dina walked over to take the sherry glass from his hand.
 

Ice clinked as Chet lifted his glass to take a quick swallow of whiskey. “A reporter that I know from one of the local papers called and got me out of bed this morning. He'd gotten wind that there was a shake-up in the Chandler hotel chain and he wanted to know what it was. I pleaded ignorance. But that's why I rushed over here so early, to warn Blake that the onslaught was coming. I knew it was only a matter of time before they found out.”
 

“Yes.” She nodded in agreement, glad there had been no announcement of their engagement in the newspaper or the reporters would have turned Blake's return into a circus.
 

“Blake really knows how to handle himself with the press,” Chet stated with undisguised admiration.
 

“Yes, he does.” Dina sipped at her drink.
 

“And it will make good publicity for the hotels,” he added.
 

“Yes.” She was beginning to feel like a puppet whose string was being pulled to nod agreement to everything Chet said—when it really wasn't what she wanted to talk about at all.
 

“I imagine somebody in the company let it slip about Blake.” He stared thoughtfully at the amber liquid in his glass. “I called around to all the major officers yesterday to let them know he was back. That's probably how the word got out.”
 

“Probably,” Dina agreed, and promptly took the initiative to lead into her own subject. “Chet, I've been wanting to see you today, alone—” she reached in her pocket to take out the circlet of diamonds “—to return this to you.”
 

He took it from her outstretched hand, looking boyishly uncomfortable. His thumb rubbed it between his fingers as he stared at it, not meeting the sapphire brightness of her gaze.
 

“I don't want you to get the idea that I was deserting you yesterday.” His voice was uncertain, almost apologetic. “But I know how you felt about Blake and I didn't want to stand in the way of your happiness.”
 

With the explanation given for the way he had so readily abandoned their engagement, Chet lifted his head to gaze at-her-earnestly, a troubled shade of. clouded blue in his eyes. Affection rushed through Dina at his unselfishness, sacrificing his wants for hers.
 

“I understand, Chet.”
 

Relief glimmered in his smile. “You must really be glad to have him back.”
 

“I...” She started to repeat the positive assertion she had been making all day, ready to recite the words automatically, but she stopped herself. Among other things, Chet was her best friend, as well as Blake's. With him she could speak her mind. “He's changed, Chet.”
 

He hesitated for a second before answering, as if her response had caught him off guard and he wanted to word his reply carefully.
 

“Considering all Blake has been through, it's bound to have left a mark on him,” he offered.
 

“I know, but....” She sighed, agitated and frustrated because she couldn't find the words to explain exactly what she meant.
 

“Hey, come on now,” Chet cajoled, setting his glass down and grasping her gently by the shoulders, his head bent down to peer into her apprehensive face. “When two people care as much about each other as you and Blake do, they're bound to work out their differences. It just can't happen overnight,” he reasoned. “Now come on. What do you say? Let's have a little smile. You know it's true that nothing is ever as bad as it seems.”
 

Mountains and molehills. Reluctantly almost, her lips curved at his coaxing words. His steadying influence was having its effect on her again.
 

“That's my girl!” he grinned.
 

“Oh, Chet,” Dina declared with a laughing sigh, and wrapped her arms lightly around him, taking care not to spill her drink. She hugged him fondly. “What would I do without you?” She drew her head back to gaze at him.
 

“I hope neither of us has to find out,” he remarked, and affectionately kissed the top of her nose.
 

The knob turned and the library door was pushed open by Blake. At the sight of Dina in Chet's arms he froze, and the same paralysis gripped her. She paled as she saw his lips thin into an angry line.
 

But the violence of his emotion wasn't detectable in his voice as he remarked casually, “Is this a private party or can anyone join?”
 

His question broke the chains holding Dina motionless. She withdrew her arms from around Chet to hold her sherry glass in both hands. Chet turned to greet him, insensitive to the heightening tension in the air.
 

“Now that you're here, Blake, we can drink a toast the last of the newspaper reporters,” he announced in a celebrating tone, not displaying any self-consciousness about the scene Blake had interrupted.
 

For a while anyway,” Blake agreed, his gaze swinging go Dina. “What are you drinking?”
 

“Sherry.” There would be no explosion now, Dina realize. Blake would wait until they were alone.