Words of Seduction (7 page)

“Do you see what is written here?” He beckoned for Suzanne to take a closer look. The wording said “Made in China.” Then he showed her what was wrong with the old grandfather clock that sat on the mantle in the living room, it had remade parts that were clearly made in the twentieth century. Next he showed her that the dining room table and chairs were not totally made of wood, but had veneered Formica inserted in the joints.

The most disappointing of all was the fact that the freestanding armoire in the master bedroom was simply an excellent replica of old English woodwork and the hardware was not “old” anything, but rather recent salvaged parts.

She stopped him before he could continue anymore. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“I don’t understand. My mother’s family had these antiques appraised and insured them.”

“Then someone must have sold the real ones and replaced them with reproductions. They’re excellent replicas.”

She sank against the wall. “So I don’t have anything of value?”

“You could still do a sale, but you won’t get as much as you’d hoped.”

Suzanne covered her eyes. “I don’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry. I could look around some more.”

“Maybe another time,” Suzanne said, feeling tired. “I’ll call you.”

She led the dealer to the door and sat on the porch swing, staring at the lawn. Her father was a bigger bastard than she’d thought and she was in deeper financial trouble than she’d imagined. She didn’t know how long she sat there. She saw the bright red wings of a cardinal as he darted through the sky, a gray squirrel scurry through the lawn and dash up a tree, and soon she saw Rick’s black BMW drive up. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She’d eat lunch with him then come home and bury herself under the covers.

He stopped at the foot of the porch steps and stared up at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, surprised by his question. She looked at the bag in his hand. “Is that lunch?”

He nodded.

“Good, it’s a nice day. Why don’t we have a picnic? I’ll get a blanket and dishes.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She didn’t want to be inside the house of lies with him any longer than she had to. When she reemerged he was still standing in the same spot. He sent her an odd look, but didn’t say anything.

“How about near the magnolia tree over there?” she said and started to walk down the stairs.

He stepped in front of her. “No.”

She halted, startled. “What?”

“What’s going on?”

“I told you it’s nothing.”

“You’re lying to me,” he said in a low voice that made her take a step back.

She turned to the door. “If you’d prefer to eat inside—”

“You had that same look on your face that night.” He rested his hands on her shoulder and slowly turned her around. “You trusted me before, why won’t you trust me now?” He took the plates and blanket from her and set them on the porch swing then cradled her face. “Wasn’t I there for you?”

Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself weaken under his touch. His hands were as she remembered and their tenderness made her tremble. She couldn’t deny how vulnerable his touch made her feel, how the sensation of his hands went through her.

“Yes,” she said in an anguished whisper. She took his wrists and removed his hands from her face. “But you walked away.”

“You wanted me to.”

Because I couldn’t make you stay.
“I don’t want to talk about the past.”

“Are you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

“To have lunch.”

“You don’t suspect that there’s another reason?”

Suddenly everything about him became clear. He wasn’t the man in the suit, or the one in the work clothes. He wasn’t just a handyman or a millionaire. He was something different and he was no longer a stranger. She knew him. She knew that he liked black licorice and listening to bluegrass. That he hated the sight of lightning but loved the sound of thunder. All
those dormant feelings came rushing back like an avalanche and again there was no father to stop her.

Just as she had done that night all those years ago, she threw away her inhibitions and surrendered to her feelings. “I do,” she said, placing her lips on his.

S
he tasted even better the second time, Rick thought as Suzanne’s soft lips welcomed his onslaught. His plan had been to wait until after the picnic for this moment, but he always seized an opportunity that presented itself. But something was different with this kiss from that one in the attic. This one was too close to the first kiss they’d had. The one that had changed everything for him and he would never let that happen again. He was the master seducer, but he had to make sure he wasn’t the one being seduced.

He went still then drew away from her. It took all his effort to do so because at that moment his body was tense and hot and he wanted nothing more than to seek release between her thighs, but he wasn’t going to be used again. He wasn’t going to relinquish his control.
When she was in his arms again it would be because she wanted
him
. Not just because he was handy and useful. He wasn’t going to repeat the past. One day Suzanne would be his completely, but today wasn’t that day. He spun away from her and gripped the porch railing.

“What’s wrong?” Suzanne asked. He could hear the worry in her voice. He was glad she was worried, she needed to be.

He took a deep steadying breath to compose himself before meeting her eyes. “That’s what I asked you.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth. “And don’t waste your time lying to me.”

Suzanne smiled and leaned forward, giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. “I didn’t realize you were that interested in my problems.”

He forced himself not to notice the invitation as a bead of sweat slid down his back. “So you admit that you have some?”

Her smile dimmed and this time worry entered her eyes instead of her voice. Her weakness was his advantage and he regained control. “Do I need to ask you again?”

“Let’s eat first.” She scooped up the blanket, plates and utensils and went inside. He grabbed the bag and followed. He sat at the table and watched her spread things out—each movement deliberate and swift. She wasn’t upset or angry. She was furious and that made him only want her more. Her anger made her more human. He loved seeing the fire flow through those ice veins of hers. However, she was back on her pedestal, but he wouldn’t let that last long. He knew that one day she’d be knocked off that high perch and would fall into
the gutter where she thought he belonged. Now they were equals and one day she’d have to admit it. Suzanne finally sat down at the table and fixed her plate. She ate as though she were dining at a high-priced restaurant in downtown Durham. Rick watched her for a few minutes. “So why did you come back here?”

“You know why,” she replied with cool politeness.

Rick shook his head. “At first I thought your kitchen was bare because you didn’t plan to stay long, but then I began to wonder why you came back at all.”

“I’m taking care of things. You know that.”

“You could have had someone else sell the house for you. Isn’t that what your family always did? It’s what you’re used to. Why didn’t you hire someone to mow or keep the garden up? Tell me the truth.”

Suzanne gripped her fork before slowly setting it down and clasping her hands together. “I think you already know the truth.”

“I just want to make sure.”

“You mean you want me to admit it.”

“Yes.”

Suzanne pushed herself from the table and folded her arms, staring at Rick like they were adversaries at war. “Oh, I see. Your moment of triumph has arrived. This is what you wanted. You weren’t just after the house or even me,” she said with a bitter laugh. “You wanted to hear me admit my ruin.”

Something cold touched his heart as if something fragile but beautiful between them had died. It wasn’t her words that caused regret to assail him, it was her face. Her expression, that devastating look of betrayal and helplessness. She could mask it from others with
her tightly schooled features, but he’d always been able to see it in her eyes. He’d seen it before, but had never been the cause of it. “No that’s not—”

She shoved herself from the table. “Don’t disappoint me, Rick. You promised not to lie to me. I’m used to men lying remember? I thought you were different.” She lifted her glass and took a delicate sip. “So what would you like me to admit first?”

“Look, I didn’t mean—”

She took another sip. “My father left me a whole lot of debt, which is why I had to sell the house. Now why didn’t I just hire someone to sell it for me? Because I’m broke. I lost my money to bad investments and my agent ran off with the rest. I haven’t written anything in three years because I’ve already proven to be a failure and don’t want to be again. Does that confession suit you? Are you ready to gloat?” She lifted her glass. “Let’s make a toast to the fall of the mighty Rands.”

“Suzanne, I—”

“I don’t need your pity. I’m just telling you the truth. I know you hated my father and never cared much for me.” She laughed with cruel irony. “You didn’t even want pity sex, that says a lot.”

Rick leaned forward, desperate for her to understand. “That’s not why I stopped kiss—”

She ignored him and slammed the glass down on the table. “You’re going to love this. I’d hoped the sale of the house would have fixed all my problems, but now I have to sell the furniture, too. But guess what?” She waited. “Don’t you want to guess?”

“No, I—”

“Everything is basically worthless. Dad sold all the genuine pieces so there goes my chance of an auction.”

“I can buy the furniture.”

“I’m sure you can buy a lot of things.”

“I’m offering to help you.”

She shook her head. “It won’t be enough.”

“Tell me how much you need.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to be in my debt?”

“No, I don’t want to make you pay antique prices for cheap reproductions. I may not have money, but I still have my pride and integrity.”

“I wouldn’t know the difference.”

She frowned. “Between pride and integrity?”

“No, the fakes from the originals.”

“I would. But thanks for your charitable offer, Mr. Gordon.”

He frowned at her use of his name. “Don’t start that.”

“I’m giving you respect, Mr. Gordon. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you’re paying for?”

Rick came around the table and seized her shoulders. “Suzanne, stop it.”

“I thought you liked stories.”

He tightened his grip. “I said stop it.”

“Stop what?” she shot back. “Stop telling you the truth? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“You’ve got it all wrong.” He reached to touch her face, but she jerked away from him and he let his hand fall. “I didn’t come here to—” He swore when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number before swearing again. “I have to take this, just give me a second. Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not—”

“Sit down anyway,” he snapped and answered his phone. “Hi, honey,” he said then left the room.

Suzanne didn’t move. Not because she couldn’t but because she was ashamed. She’d noticed the change in Rick’s tone when he’d responded to the voice on the phone and watched as he gripped his hands into fists. Of course he’d have to stop their conversation for a woman. He was never without one. And she’d nearly made herself another bauble on his long chain—again. How dumb could she be? The last kiss in the attic had been on his terms just the way he liked it—swift, hot and simple. He’d done it to prove a point. This time she’d gotten the message—she didn’t matter. She was glad she’d told him everything. At least she didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Rick returned, looking grim. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” she said in a hollow tone. “Thank you for lunch.”

“If I had more time—”

“But you don’t so goodbye.”

He hesitated. “Do you mind if I bring someone by tomorrow? I want them to see the house.”

Suzanne stood and began clearing the table. “It’s your house, Mr. Gordon. You don’t have to ask permission.”

He glanced up at the ceiling. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what? I’m giving you the respect you deserve. What you’ve always craved. You’ve gotten all that you’ve wanted and you came back to town because you’re rich and I’m poor. You’re a success and I’m a failure. I don’t care if you pity me, but don’t pretend to care.”

“Suzanne,” he said, his voice a plea. “That’s not—” He stopped and swore when his phone rang again.

“Must be nice to be so popular.” She set the dishes in the sink.

He looked at the number then put the phone away. “We’ll talk about the furniture later.”

She turned the faucet on full blast. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He turned the faucet off. “I’ll see you tomorrow around eleven.”

“Whatever suits you, Mr. Gordon.”

He stared at her as though he wanted to say more and she boldly stared back, daring him to. He pounded his fist against the counter and left.

Suzanne stood and waited for the front door to close and the moment it did, she sank into a chair, rested her head in her arms and began to sob.

T
hat night Suzanne slept in the attic. She moved aside some of her old things stored there and pulled out an old futon. The attic was the one place that didn’t remind her of her father’s influence. As she looked around the small space she thought about the apartment she’d rented right after her divorce. It was the first time she’d lived alone and she’d felt inadequate. At that time she didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, pay bills or cook. She’d depended on Wallace and their chef for so much. Growing up she’d watched her housekeeper, Neena, in the kitchen, but had never participated in preparing a meal. Years later she’d been forced to learn how.

Suzanne sat on the futon fighting a returning feeling of inadequacy. She’d been down before but she was
eager to rally again. She’d written one book. She could write another. And if it failed she didn’t care. At least she would have tried. It was better than living with the constant fear that had haunted her these past years, a fear that her first book had been a fluke. A lucky break. She feared she wasn’t good enough. All the men in her life thought she wasn’t good enough, but she was determined that Rick would be the last man to make her feel that way. She’d prove to him—to all of them—that she was strong and worthy. That she could not be broken. That she wasn’t the simpering belle her mother used to be or the society maven her aunt Bertha tried to make her. Then she remembered a statement her aunt always repeated: “You can either be a weeping willow or a magnolia.” Suzanne thought of the strength and beauty of a magnolia tree and made a decision. She would be just as majestic and sturdy.

Soon the first line of a story came to mind. She grabbed her laptop and began to write in a hot creative rush. She based the story on another character from her fictional town of Waverly. One who needed redemption and in her book she would offer it to him. Time blurred into nothingness as she filled the computer screen with words, using language to paint pictures and sketch scenes. Suzanne didn’t notice that the sun had set until she decided to take a minibreak to stretch her back and fingers. She yawned then looked at her watch—it was two o’clock in the morning.

She had to get some sleep before her visitors arrived. Suzanne drifted off to sleep with a sense of renewal. Although she was financially poor, she was still a Rand and proud to be one. Rick may be rich now, but she was
Suzanne Rand bestselling author and she felt she was on the verge of another blockbuster.

The loud “teakettle-teakettle” call of a Carolina wren greeting the morning woke her from her brief sleep. She showered and changed into an old shirt and jeans. She didn’t see the point in dressing up for her guests. There was nothing to prove anymore. No facade to maintain. She didn’t look like the frump she’d become after marrying Wallace, but no one would recognize her as Suzanne Rand the successful novelist and she didn’t care. She didn’t mind fading into the background, the house was all that mattered.

She ate a light breakfast of toast with scrambled eggs and orange juice, and went into her father’s study to continue working on her story. She was busy drafting a major scene when she heard Rick’s car pull into the driveway. She reluctantly set her laptop aside and went to greet them.

When she opened the door the first thing she noticed was Rick’s expression. He didn’t smile, however the woman next to him did—broadly. “Sorry, we’re late,” she said.

“No, you’re right on time,” Suzanne said, trying to mask her surprise. The woman wasn’t anything she’d expected. She was lovely, in a wholesome way, from her outmoded dress to her overly pressed hair. Suzanne could feel Rick’s gaze on her, but fought to combat any effect he had on her. He would not make her melt or tingle or feel uneasy. He wouldn’t make her feel anything. She was numb and she would not let him penetrate her shield again.

“I’m Mandy and this is Luke,” the woman said, glancing down.

Suzanne followed her gaze and noticed a little toffee-colored boy of about five wearing a large baseball cap with a picture of a frog on it. She gaped at him. Rick was with a woman who had a son? She quickly recovered herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she stammered.

“You, too,” Mandy said, and then she nudged the boy.

He slowly raised his head and said in a soft voice, “A pleasure, ma’am,” as though he’d practiced it many times.

Suzanne stared at him, frozen with astonishment. He looked exactly like Rick. He had a perfectly shaped head, with finely cropped black-brown hair, large dark eyes surrounded by sweeping lashes that any woman would envy; he also had a small, perfectly shaped nose and rosebud lips, the color of pink taffy. He was beautiful and soon the image before her became clear. This wasn’t just some woman with a child. This was
his
child.

Suzanne looked at Mandy’s hand and didn’t see a ring, but was sure that would come soon enough. She glanced at the porch swing and the embarrassment of her behavior yesterday rushed back to her with painful clarity. Like her father and Wallace, Rick probably liked his women on the side to be docile and unobtrusive. Instantly she realized that she’d asked for something she knew he could never give—loyalty and faithfulness.

Suzanne stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please do come in. The house is yours. No place is off-limits.”

“It’s not what you think,” Rick said in a low voice, glancing at Mandy who was sniffing the freshly picked flowers in the foyer.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Suzanne replied in a cool tone, not meeting his gaze. “Are you a mind reader?”

He stepped in front of her. “I can explain.”

She turned away and straightened a picture on the wall. “There’s no need to.”

“I won’t show them your bedroom.”

“You can show them any room you want to. I’m staying in the attic.” She smiled at him with smug indifference. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to stay long, Mr. Gordon.”

“Call me Mr. Gordon one more time and you will regret it,” he said in an acid tone.

“That won’t be anything new. I regret a lot of things when it comes to you.”

His jaw twitched, but before he could say anything, Mandy called out to him from the living room.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, darting through the rooms like a kid in a toy shop. “Rick it’s wonderful. Has your mother seen it yet?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“And the furniture is perfect.” She rushed over to an item on the mantle. “Wow, a genuine antique clock.”

Suzanne shook her head. “Actually, it’s—”

Rick rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “Yes,” he cut in.

“I’m surprised.” Mandy looked at Suzanne. “You should see his apartment. Nothing in it is older than the last decade.” Mandy smiled and studied the bookshelves.

Suzanne glared at him. “What are you up to? Or do you regularly lie to her?”

He grinned. “So you
are
interested in our relationship. You had me worried.”

“I don’t like deception.”

He shrugged. “No one needs to know,” he said, removing his hand.

Mandy looked at the dining room. “Rick, come see this.”

He turned to Suzanne and said, “Don’t leave,” before following Mandy into the other room.

Suzanne was about to do just that when she noticed a small figure standing near the doorway. Luke. She’d forgotten about him. Had they forgotten him, too? Mandy was an absentminded mother if that was the case. The boy stared at the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Suzanne loved children and had always hoped to have a few of her own, but fate hadn’t given her that choice. She wondered if Rick knew how lucky he was.

She squatted in front of the boy. “My name is Miss Suzanne.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in the same soft tone as before.

“Don’t you want to see your new house?”

“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t move.

Suzanne was trying to think of something to break through his shyness when she noticed the reptile prints on his shirt and glanced at his hat again. “There’s a pond out back.”

He lifted his gaze, intrigued. He looked so much like Rick it unnerved her.

“A pond?” he said. “Really?”

“Yes and you can see it clearly from one of the rooms upstairs. Would you like to see it?”

He nodded and took her hand with instant trust. Suzanne’s heart shifted, surprised by the feel of his
small hand in hers. She headed upstairs to one of the spare rooms.

“Where are you going?” Rick demanded when they were halfway up the stairs.

“To see the pond!” Luke said as though Suzanne was taking him to the circus. “Come, Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Suzanne teased, still trying to reconcile herself with his new role. “Come on.”

Rick sent her a hooded look she couldn’t interpret then followed them up the stairs.

“Where’s Mandy?” Suzanne asked as she opened the door to one of the rooms.

“Somewhere,” Rick said without much interest. “Don’t worry, she’ll find us.”

“Yes, I suppose she’s used to finding you in a bedroom.”

Before Rick could reply, Luke ran to the window and stared at the pond enchanted. “I can see the pond. Daddy, look!”

Rick walked up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I knew you would like it.”

“You didn’t tell me it had a pond.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Suzanne watched the pair with a slight ache of longing. They looked like the perfect picture of a father and his son and it was an intimate portrait where she didn’t belong. She took a step back. “I’ll leave you two and—”

Luke spun around with dismay. “No, don’t go, Miss Suzanne.”

Suzanne bit her lip finding no reason to stay, but Luke’s liquid brown gaze softened her resolve. “Okay, I’ll stay just a few minutes.” She sat down on the bed,
and before she could motion for him to sit besides her, he scrambled up on the bed and promptly sat on her lap. Suzanne looked at Rick for guidance, but he appeared as surprised by his son’s boldness as she was.

“Luke, you’re supposed to
ask
permission before you sit on someone’s lap,” he said.

“Miss Suzanne doesn’t mind. She likes me.” He looked up at her. “Right?”

“Right,” she said, wondering if he were truly as shy as he’d first seemed.

“Can you tell me a story? Daddy says you know lots.”

She glanced at Rick wondering what else he’d told his son. “I do.”

“But you can only tell me your safe ones.”

“My safe ones?”

“Yes.” He giggled. “Granny says that you tell dirty stories, but I’m not big enough to hear them yet. And she says—”

Rick cleared his throat. “That’s enough about Grandma. Let Miss Suzanne tell you a story.”

“Okay.”

Suzanne thought for a moment, then said, “Well, let me tell you how a pond came to be in our backyard. One day, when I was about your age, I wanted to go swimming, but I couldn’t find any water. So I decided that I would make my own swimming pool. I found some of my mother’s gardening tools in the barn and went out in search of the perfect place. When I found a small hole in the ground, already filled with some rainwater, I decided that that was where my swimming pool would be. I did some digging, a lot I thought at the time,
and when I was finished I decided to try it out and go for a swim.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I got a lot of mud all over me. I had a great time, but when I tried to enter the kitchen, my mother screamed in horror at the sight of me covered in mud, and my dad had to take me out back and use a hose to wash me down. I cried and cried, because I couldn’t understand why they were so angry. My dad kept asking me, ‘What on earth were you doing, child?’ In between my tears, I told him that I had gone swimming in my swimming pool.

“Well, later that day, my father found my swimming hole and hired a contractor to create a ‘proper’ pond for me to swim in. The contractor was the father of Billy Waxman, a boy in my class who liked me. When Billy found out that his father was making a pond for me, he had his dad fill it with goldfish and tadpoles. Billy was my first boyfriend. He liked me a lot and I liked him a lot. We were in first grade. So you see, you will be only the second little boy to play in the pond. Billy was the first.”

“I want this to be
my
room,” Luke said, scurrying off her lap.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I can wake up and see the pond every day.”

“Yes, and there are frogs and snakes and fish.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I was a little girl I used to sit out there and play my violin.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And sometimes, if you listened really carefully, you could hear the crickets play along with me.”

Luke widened his eyes and said, “Can you play your violin for me so I can hear them?”

“It’s been a long time and I’m sure the crickets are gone.”

“You could make them come back. Maybe because they haven’t heard the violin since you left so they went away. But when they hear it, maybe they will come again.”

Suzanne sent Rick a rueful look. “Smart kid.” She returned her gaze to Luke. “Maybe another time.”

“When? Tomorrow?”

“No, but we’ll see.”

He pointed to an image on his shirt. “Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“It’s a green tree frog.” He pointed to another image. “And this is a spring pepper and this is a pig frog.”

“Wow,” Suzanne said, impressed.

Luke lifted his head, basking in her praise. “I can tell you the names of all the frogs on my shirt,” he said. Smiling broadly, he pointed to each frog and told her its name.

“Good job,” she said once he’d finished.

He leaned against her. “Daddy’s gonna get me a book on crocodiles, but crocodiles don’t live in ponds.”

“No,” Suzanne said in a soft voice. It was too comfortable being with him. His little body curled up against hers. He was not just any child, he was Rick’s child. He smelled good and she could imagine tucking him into bed at night and kissing his forehead in the morning. “I’d better go,” she said, desperate to escape. She stood and headed for the door despite Luke’s cry of protest, but Mandy stopped her.