Her Secret Affair Read online

  She was just about to turn into the newly constructed hallway when the bark of a sharp female voice, followed instantly by a shushing sound, drew her up short. Her attention captured, she tilted her head and caught the low murmur of what seemed to be two voices coming from Janey’s suite. Something about those voices struck her as patently odd, almost as if one of them had been raised in anger, but who would be arguing in Janey’s suite? Her feet moved of their own accord toward the door. Impulsively, she reached for the knob. Only at the last moment did she think to tap politely on the door and wait to be invited inside.

  A wary greeting reached her. “Yes?”

  Chey opened the door and stepped partly through, looking across the sitting area toward the bed. Emma Brown sat in a straight-back chair, frowning at her, a book in her hands.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Simmons?”

  “I, um, I thought I heard voices.”

  Brown’s flat, wary eyes narrowed slightly. “I was reading aloud. The doctors say it’s good for her.”

  Of course. A perfectly reasonable explanation. And yet… Shaking off half-formed suspicions that felt utterly foolish now, Chey debated whether or not to fully enter the room. Her curiosity proved greater than her hesitation, and she stepped inside, moving toward the bed. Was Janey Todd truly as beautiful as she remembered? Or had pity colored her perception?

  “How is she?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Chey paused, surprised at the response, and fixed her attention on the stout nurse. “From concern, of course. It’s very sad, what’s happened to her.”

  “Yes. Sad,” Brown echoed.

  Disregarding the nurse, Chey walked closer to the bed. The woman who lay there might have been a sleeping princess materialized from a fairytale, her lovely face a study in peaceful repose.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Brown said, the note of adoration in the normally dull voice as shocking as a shotgun blast in the quiet room. Chey jerked a look over her shoulder.

  The woman had come to her feet, and her face fairly glowed as she stared at her charge.

  “She’s lovely,” Chey admitted quietly. “Very.”

  “It’s so unfair,” the nurse said with such ferocity that Chey stepped back.

  “Accidents happen,” she murmured, wondering if the woman was unhinged.

  Nurse Brown glanced at her almost in surprise, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone. Then she nodded and folded her hands. “It’ll come right, though. You wait and see. She’s a fighter. She’ll come out of this. Some day.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Chey said doubtfully. It was not likely to happen. Comas of this duration rarely reversed.

  “She has to,” Brown stated flatly, “for everyone’s sake.” Her beady eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Especially Mr. Brodie’s. Oh, you should have seen how broken up he was when it happened. I’ve never seen a man so worried or sad. Everyone thought she’d die, but Mr. Brodie wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her give up.”

  Chey was unprepared for the impact of those words. They swirled over her like an angry, stinging swarm of bees, each one sharp and burning. She felt suddenly ill with the strength of some emotion so bloated and distorted that she required a moment to identify it. Jealousy. She was jealous of this pathetic, comatose creature! Not because she was beautiful but because for some period of time she had possessed the love and care of Brodie Todd. And perhaps she still did. Shame and shock overwhelmed her as Chey realized how unprepared she was to accept that.

  “Why did he divorce her then?” she demanded.

  Brown shrugged, averting her gaze. “What does it matter? He hasn’t forgotten her. He’s taking care of her, isn’t he? When she wakes up, they’ll get back together.”

  Staring at the angelic being on the bed, Chey could well believe it; yet something within her rebelled at the notion. The nurse turned away and began briskly straightening the rumpled bedcovers. “How can you be so sure?” Chey whispered.

  Brown straightened to gaze down at her patient once more, saying, “She’s the mother of his child. That alone binds them forever.”

  “As it should,” Chey muttered.

  “It’s more than that, though,” Brown vowed. “Sometimes even now when he looks at her, you can just see the longing in him.”

  Chey stared at the delicate woman on the bed. Did Brodie look at his ex-wife with the same longing with which he looked at her? Or was Brodie hopelessly in love with his comatose ex-wife and simply trying to get on with his life with the first attractive woman he’d met? The thought hurt. Surely this thing between them was more than that. On the other hand, if he were still in love with his comatose ex-wife, wouldn’t he be safe for casual involvement? Suddenly it all seemed so clear to her.

  This attraction was a godsend for Brodie and perhaps for her, too. Neither of them could support a deep emotional involvement, but they each needed what the other had to offer. Didn’t they? How wrong would it be to just explore the possibility of…what? Mutual satisfaction? Fun? What could it do just to get to know him on a personal level, especially if no chance really existed that it might lead to more—and since it was what she wanted to do anyway? Without even questioning her own intention for once, she turned and moved toward the door, a decision made.

  “I’m sorry to have interrupted you, Brown. Thank you for your time.” She left the room, moving purposefully back down the hall toward Brodie’s office, every footstep lighter than the last. It was time to allow herself a few private memories, and surely the relief she felt was an indication that she was doing the right thing.

  Chapter Seven

  Brodie shifted the telephone receiver to the other ear, covered the mouthpiece with one hand and called, “Come in,” before going back to his conversation. “I appreciate that, Ambassador. Why don’t we…”

  The thought died on his tongue as the door opened and Chey walked in. She looked cool as a cucumber in black jeans and a white, sleeveless sweater, a simple black band holding back her pale hair. He sat up straighter and indicated with his hand that she should take a seat before forcing himself back to his call.

  “Uh, why don’t we get together and discuss this in person? I’d be delighted to bring you and your family and staff here to Fair Havens in New Orleans.”

  Chey settled into the chair, even as she whispered, “I can come back.”

  He held up a staying finger, not about to let her go as easily as that. On the other end of the line, the ambassador was effusively accepting his invitation, detailing who and what would have to be included in his entourage. Brodie had to look away from her in order to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Let me check my calendar,” he suggested expediently to the ambassador, “and I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a definite date.”

  The ambassador agreed to this, then chatted on while Brodie listened with half an ear, impatient to get the man off the phone. Finally he did so, hanging up quite abruptly and focusing all his attention on the woman sitting patiently in front of his desk. A smile broke across his face as he sensed that weeks spent carefully stoking the flare of attraction between them were about to pay off in some way. At this point he’d welcome even the slightest thaw in his ice princess.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. That was the ambassador of the Sultanate of Legan, a small country in the Middle East.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” she assured him.

  He braced his elbows against the top of his desk and pressed his hands together. “They’ve uncovered some amazing ruins there, and now that the digging and restoration are done, they’re ready to exploit it by allowing a select group of paying customers to tour them. And BMT is going to package and sell the first all-inclusive tours.”

  She beamed at him. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is. In fact, I predict it’s going to be one of the hottest vacation spots in the world within the next five years. One small problem.” He tapped a finger against the edge of the desk. “
I need to bring the ambassador and his party here to finish the deal. How soon do you think we can be ready for them?”

  She pursed her lips, one foot swinging back and forth as she thought about it. “Several more weeks, at least.”

  He was pleasantly surprised. “Really? That quickly?”

  “If we work hard, yes.”

  He lifted his hands in delight. “Excellent!”

  “Of course,” she said, holding her gaze with his, “you’ll have to give me a good deal of your attention from here on out. Details require the most decisions.”

  His heartbeat quickened. Unless he was mistaken, that was a flame he saw flickering beneath that sheath of protective ice. “That’s no problem at all,” he told her, allowing the huskiness of his voice to betray his hopes.

  “Good.” She dipped her head and looked at him from beneath her lashes.

  Ruthlessly suppressing the desire to go over the desk after her, he cleared his throat and asked carefully, “Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

  She shook her head but said nothing for a moment more. His nerves were stretched paper-thin by the time she finally blurted, “I’ve been thinking.” He forced himself to remain still and silent until she added, “About us.”

  He sat forward calmly, his heart beating so hard that he feared she could see the movement of his chest. When he thought he could speak in a level tone, he asked simply, “And?”

  She twisted her hands together. “A-and maybe we could…well, get to know one another better, spend some time together.”

  He allowed himself a smile but kept it tight, fearing that if he didn’t he’d wind up laughing in sheer glee. “Okay.”

  “I mean,” she went on quickly, “the job will be done in a matter of weeks, so it can’t really hurt to, ah, enjoy one another’s company, I guess.”

  He wanted to crow with delight but instead wiggled his foot beneath the desk to release a little of that euphoric energy. “I see.”

  “I’m not saying we should rush into anything,” she went on quickly. “I-in fact, I think we ought to take it slow.”

  “I can take it as slowly as you can,” he told her honestly.

  She cleared her throat and looked away. “Excellent. Then we understand each other.”

  “Just one thing,” he said, tapping the edge of his desk lightly with his finger. “What changed your mind?”

  Hunching one shoulder, she smoothed a hand across her lap. “Does it matter?”

  He thought about that and shook his head. “No. Just curious.”

  “You didn’t wear me down, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him tartly. “I’ve just been working a lot, and I thought it would be nice to get out a little more.”

  “I see.” What he meant was, “In a pig’s eye.”

  “Well, then?” She stared at him until he realized it was his move.

  “Are you busy tomorrow?” he asked, holding back his smile.

  She skittered a glance around the room. “Tomorrow evening? No, I don’t think so.”

  He beamed, deciding to take it easy on her. “How about a movie?”

  The look of eagerness on her face sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin. “I…I can’t remember the last time I saw a movie. That would be nice. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Okay, then, why don’t you check the listings and pick out something you like.”

  “I will.” She turned and reached for the doorknob, then paused, saying, “Oh, and I’ll have a number of fabric swatches ready for you in the morning.”

  He chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

  She tossed a smile over one shoulder and left him. He leaned back in his chair, let out a hot breath, and pumped his fist in celebration.

  He was nervous. He admitted it to himself as he drove toward her place in the small, extravagant sports car, the tan vinyl top up in deference to the light drizzle that fell to the pavement only to rise again in tendrils of steam. It made no sense, this anxiety. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone on a thousand dinner dates, staged a dozen seductions. He told himself that it was because Chey was not the sophisticate he’d first taken her to be, but the truth was… The truth eluded him, frankly. Perhaps it had to do with prolonged celibacy and the anticipation generated by the past three weeks.

  This dating business was trying. They’d been to not one, but three movies, strolled around Jackson Square to watch the painters and performers, been roller-blading in Louis Armstrong Park, listened to a rousing concert at Mahalia Jackson Theater and attended a history lecture at a local university, all without so much as seeing the inside of her apartment or reaching the level of intimacy he so desperately craved. He didn’t think he could endure one more hot, groping goodnight kiss or the resulting midnight swim he took later to cool and exhaust himself enough to sleep, so tonight he was pulling out all the stops and taking her for dinner and dancing at BuFord’s, one of the city’s finest supper clubs.

  As he turned the small, dark green car down her narrow street, he patted his pocket once more, assuring himself that it still contained the pair of foil packets he’d slipped inside earlier, then slowed and put on his turn signal. Carefully, he eased the low-slung car onto the sloping drive that cut through the banquette and into the narrow passage beside her shop. As usual, the wrought-iron gate stood open, pushed back against the stone walls. The passage was as deep as the building, perhaps twenty-five or thirty feet, and opened into a small courtyard that was mostly drive. It was a nice place, though. She actually had a garage, a rarity in the French Quarter, and nestled within the heart of the U-shaped property was a small garden with a little fountain, bench and trellises blanketed with honeysuckle and bougainvillea. He killed the engine of the car and got out, a closed, compact umbrella in hand.

  “Hey!”

  Looking up in the direction of the voice, he saw Chey on the balcony. One look and his blood pressure went straight through the top of his head. She was dressed in form-fitting hot pink that began well below her shoulders and ended well above her knees.

  “Come on up!” she called. Tucking the umbrella beneath one arm, he jogged quickly across the courtyard to the stairs that led up to the covered balcony, or gallery. “You look great,” she said, her gaze traveling up and down his body, taking in the shiny white T-shirt beneath his black suit coat, his black alligator belt and shoes and pleated, cuffed pants.

  He was too enchanted even to thank her for the compliment. The dress was a tube of very elastic fabric that hugged her body like skin. Her long blond hair had been piled in artful chaos atop her head, with long tendrils left free to float about her face and bare shoulders. Beneath the hem of her dress, her long, lean, shapely legs seemed to stretch on and on, ending finally in a pair of glittery silver shoes with straps and tall, thick heels. If she was wearing stockings, they were too sheer to be detected, but he doubted that she was, doubted, in fact, that she wore much of anything under that dress. He didn’t realize how long he stood staring at her until she asked timidly, “Too much?”

  Too much, he wondered, that little thing? “Lord, no. It’s simply…” He dragged his gaze up from her breasts to her face, encountering worried, darkly lashed, bright green eyes and plump lips touched with luscious pink. He was possessed of a sudden, insane urge to peel that dress off her, toss her over his shoulder and find the nearest bed. He looked deeply into those green, green eyes and said suggestively, “You almost look too good to take out in public.”

  Her sultry smile and the hand she laid lightly against his chest sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin. “Thank you,” she whispered. If he’d been foolish enough to hope that she’d just ditch the preliminaries, finally invite him inside and lead him straight to her bed, he would have been bitterly disappointed when she added, “Just let me grab my things.”

  Thankful for the cut of his trousers, he watched her turn and hurry away on those high heels, that dress hugging her sweet butt with all the fervency of a thoughtful lover. She retur
ned an instant later, having grabbed a small silver purse and tossed a pale, creamy gray Pashmina around her shoulders.

  He opened the umbrella and lifted it over their heads as they reached the top of the stairs, keeping it steady as they descended the steps side by side. Unlocking the car with the pocket remote, he walked her to the passenger door, then handed her down inside before hurrying around to take his place behind the steering wheel. After carefully backing out the car, he dashed back through the mist to close the gate and thereby secure the apartment. The look of gratitude she gave him for that kept his blood simmering all the way across downtown to the supper club on the river. They pulled up to the entrance and were met by a white-jacketed valet with an open umbrella who escorted them to the bronze-appointed red door. Chill air and silent, opulent promises of pleasure beckoned them inside. The place was a stylish Art Deco and Old World combination of red vinyl, black marble, mahogany and chrome.

  Brodie nodded at the maitre d’ and slipped an arm proudly around Chey’s slender waist. In short order, they were ushered into the dining room to a red vinyl booth with a gleaming black-topped chrome table. A squat candle glowed within the small, shell-shaped holder on the table’s center.

  They were given artful descriptions of the night’s specials: crawfish wraps or shrimp salad, spicy vegetable soup or fruit compote, prime rib or pompano, potatoes Creole or red-hot rice, asparagus torte or braised broccoli, and for dessert, praline pie with cream or chocolate pecan trifle with flaming cherries. They made their selections, and Brodie ordered a bottle of champagne, knowing that he would have to imbibe sparingly as he was driving. Overhead, a glittery silver ball reflected narrow rays of light on to the empty black marble dance floor, across which a lone, self-absorbed musician played a softly tinkling piano at the edge of the bandstand. The effect was dreamy and intimate.