Читать книгу Southern Belle - Fiona Hood-Stewart, Fiona Hood-Stewart - Страница 18

She had a sensational body, Harlan reflected, letting his hand slide over Teresa’s voluptuous naked butt. And boy, could she move it. What a great piece of ass, he sighed happily. Now he understood why Tyler Brock had moved her into his Skidaway mansion so fast. She was as hot as chili pepper, even if she couldn’t speak a damn word of English. Anyway, who needed language to have good sex?

She stretched on the large bed like a cat, her dark hair brushing against his skin, and moaned in satisfaction. Turning her around, he lay back against the pillows and let her come down on him, her tongue playing havoc with his balls. Then she straddled him, and he let her guide him inside her, delighting in her damp heat, the way she rode him and the sensuous roll of her hips that caused all sorts of indescribable sensations. Closing his eyes, Harlan indulged himself. Then two delectable realizations hit simultaneously; that he was fucking a hot little whore in Elm’s very own bed, which was no more than she deserved for all the trouble she was causing, and that there was something wonderfully empowering about screwing a woman while Brock unknowingly picked up the tab. The combination made him come in a quick, hot spurt that left him incredibly satisfied.

Boy, Teresa was a good fuck. Best one he’d had in a while. And Brock couldn’t be taking care of business for her to be fucking like this off the record, he reflected smugly as he lay in the aftermath, the girl’s head on his shoulder. Brock might go on believing he was at the helm, that his donations to the campaign made Harlan subservient, willing to answer his beck and call. But he was wrong, Harlan concluded, a grin covering his face, damned wrong. Still, it served its purpose to have the man stay on his ego trip for now, at any rate. Once he was reelected and the funds were in, things might be different. Or they might not, he recognized ruefully. There would always have to be men like Brock around, until he was absolutely sure of his own power base. They were, after all, a necessary part of an up-and-coming politician’s entourage.

He sighed, then yawned and, giving Teresa’s butt a friendly slap, sat on the edge of the bed.

“Time to leave, baby.”

“Leave?” She frowned.

“Yeah, you know, bye-bye, adios. But not for long. I’ll call you on your mobile.” He pointed to her cell phone lying by the bed next to her handbag. “Sexo, muy bueno,” he added in his minimal Spanish, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Teresa laughed, threw back her long black hair and flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “Muy bueno,” she agreed, arching her tits toward him provocatively.

“Oh no, hon, no more today,” he said, shaking his head sadly, then grinning. “Mañana.”

Teresa pouted and nodded and let her hand play with her breast, eyes holding his. For a moment he was tempted to fuck her again, but then thought better of it. It would mean he’d be late for the Historic Savannah Preservation Society dinner. Leaning over, he gave her nipples a quick pinch and a taunting lick. Then, straightening, he motioned to her to get dressed before moving toward the bathroom.

Hmm, he pondered, if it weren’t so damned inconvenient for other reasons, Elm’s absence was something he could definitely get used to.

The next morning Elm woke to a bright day peeking through the drapes, and the delicious smell of freshly baked croissants and strong Italian coffee floating up from the dining room. She stretched, realizing something was vaguely different this morning. Then she recalled the night before and smiled sleepily before jumping out of bed and pulling back the drapes. Sunlight burst into the room, settling in a puddle on the duvet. A knock on the door made her look up.

“Come in.” She turned, rubbed her tousled hair and smiled at Gioconda, who had popped her head around the door.

“Good morning, bella. Have a nice evening?” Gioconda glided into the room, already dressed in her sleek black-and-white Prada ski suit and a crimson sweater. “I’m joining a group on the glacier today. We’re going up in the chopper. I’ll be gone all day. So, tell me—” she sat down on the edge of the bed and studied an errant nail as Elm slipped on her dressing gown and slippers “—how was your dinner last night?”

“Great.”

Gioconda stretched out on the bed, long, lush and feline, and propped her chin thoughtfully in her hands, her mischievous eyes black as two ripe olives. She let out a husky low laugh. “Is that all, just great? From what I heard, you came in late enough.” She quirked a well-groomed brow.

“Umberto,” Elm said darkly. “Back to his old tricks, I see.”

“He’s worried about you being out late with a strange man. I told him Johnny wasn’t strange, that you’ve known him for twenty years. He felt happier about it.”

“Gee, thanks! Anything else you’d like to share with the class?”

“No, but before I leave I want to know what happened.” Gioconda sat up straight, glanced at her Chopard diamond watch and moved her hands impatiently.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing? Not one itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny kiss?” Her hands dropped in patent disappointment. “Madonna mia, I had a better opinion of Graney than that.”

“Gio, don’t be ridiculous. We had a nice, pleasant, civilized evening, that’s all. Stop trying to make this into something it’s not.” Elm tried to sound convincing. It was true, of course. It had been a delightful evening. But to deny the undercurrents would be to fool herself.

“Are you going to see him today?”

“He said he’d call.” Elm glanced at her friend doubtfully. “But perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see him, Gio. I don’t need problems right now. I’ve got enough to cope with already, and I didn’t intend to—”

“Ah!” Gioconda rose from the bed, triumphant. “So nothing happened, but you know very well that it could happen if you let it, right, cara?”

“Lordy, I don’t know.” Elm threw up her hands in despair. “It’s too early in the morning to be talking about all this. Can’t I at least have a cup of coffee?” she countered. But as they made their way down the wide staircase and approached the dining room, Elm came to a sudden halt on the last step. “You know what Aunt Frances would say about all this, don’t you?” she asked.

“No, tell me.”

“That Johnny Graney has trouble written all over him and that one should always avoid what’s bound to end up in tears.”

“Va bene, I’ll say no more.” Gio shrugged, cast her eyes heavenward and mumbled in Italian as she led Elm into the dining room and poured her a large caffe latte.

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Elm continued, “I do. In fact he’s—well—terrific. I just think I should back off a bit,” she murmured after the first long sip, “before he gets any ideas, you know…” She threw her friend a pregnant look.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Gio wiggled her black brows expressively and laughed. “Loosen up, Elm, you’re on vacation. You came here for a break, to get away from that idiot paranoid husband of yours and have fun. Let this be a fresh start. A little flirtation can’t do you any harm. Quite the opposite, I should think. Now, instead of blushing like a Victorian virgin, you should be thinking when and where you’re going to get him into bed.”

“Gio! It’s not like that,” Elm exclaimed, setting the large blue-and-yellow china cup down in the saucer with a bang. “We’re just old schoolmates. I mean, he hasn’t even kissed me.”

“Who are you trying to fool, bella?”

“I…” Their eyes met, Gioconda’s filled with wicked understanding and laughter.

“Go for it, Elm. You’re young, beautiful, single—nearly—and it seems to me it’s about time you caught up with all you’ve missed while you catered to Harlan Machiavelli MacBride. Why, you’ve about as much idea of men as you had when you left school. And Dio, that wasn’t saying much,” she added with feeling. “Besides, I’d be willing to bet Harlan was selfish as hell in bed.”

“Really, Gio,” Elm sputtered. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be discussing this over breakfast.” Somehow discussing her husband didn’t seem right, even if he was out of the picture.

“Really, cara? And when, exactly, do you consider it an appropriate time?” Gioconda asked, spreading her tapered, scarlet-nailed fingers on the table, eyes brimming with affection.

“Oh, I don’t know! Why don’t you go skiing and leave me be,” Elm complained. “If Harlan was, well, not the world’s most exciting lover—though as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have much room for comparison—I always thought it was well…okay.” She shrugged. “It could have been my fault, too, you know,” she ventured. “After all, it takes two to tango.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Gioconda jumped up, hair flying. “You’re not going to take the blame again. No way, bella.” She wagged a finger firmly. “All these years I’ve heard you convince yourself that everything wrong in that marriage was your fault. I didn’t say anything at the time because it wasn’t my place. But now, basta. No more. You’ve got more guts than that. Elm, recognize the truth,” she implored. “Harlan used you, just as he uses everybody, for your money, your father’s position and anything else he thought he could suck out of you.”

“You’re right. Though I like to think that, at least at the beginning, we were…well, I guess ‘in love’ seems like a big statement after all that’s happened since, but—” She looked away, the years of criticism and self-doubt rolling before her. “Anyway, Johnny’s probably just out for a good time,” she remarked, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.

“Isn’t that what you’re out for, too? You’re both adults. Where’s the glitch?”

Elm smiled briefly. “I guess there isn’t one. I’m just not as worldly as you, Gio. I need to adjust. It seems kind of…I dunno.” She shrugged once more and downed some more coffee.

“Whatever.” Gioconda shook her head. “I have to go.” She blew Elm a kiss from the door. “Just don’t take forever making up your mind about Viscount Graney. It’s—” she glanced at her watch “—my God, already the twenty-second of December today, and the vacation will be over in a couple of weeks. If I was you, I’d make my mind up fast.” She winked. “And remember, men are only good to have fun with. Enjoy it while it lasts. No commitments, no until-death-do-us-parts, just plain old fun.”

“You make it sound like I just want a handsome lover.”

“Frankly, cara, I think a handsome lover—and from the reports I’ve heard, Johnny’s pretty remarkable in that department—is exactly what you need.”

“Reports?” Elm squeaked, suddenly uncomfortable. It made her feel cheap, another notch in a well-used belt.

“Oh, stop getting uptight.”

“But you said—”

“Niente, nothing to worry about—” Gioconda waved dismissively “—just things one hears along the grapevine.”

A car horn hooted outside and Gioconda grabbed her anorak from the chair. “I have to get this show on the road if I want to catch the chopper. Bye, bella, have another coffee and relax. And remember, you’re not in Savannah anymore, there’s no need to be looking over your shoulder wondering what people are thinking. It’s your life. Live it. Ciao.” She waved goodbye.

The phone rang just as Gioconda closed the door, and Elm could hear Umberto’s deep voice answering the call. Her heart beat faster as she wondered if it was Johnny.

Confirmation came thirty seconds later. “Buon giorno, signora, the telephone is for you.” Umberto handed her the portable phone with a little bow then disappeared into the kitchen. Elm managed to quiet her pulse, but couldn’t suppress the grin covering her face from ear to ear.

It was at lunch on the sunny terrace of the Sonnenhof—a gorgeous chalet atop a mountain above the village of Saanen with a cozy wood interior, low pine beams, a killer view and food to die for—that Elm realized just what a hypocrite she’d been that morning. For sitting across from him, slowly sipping her Kir Royal, she couldn’t stop her vivid imagination from picturing them together, preferably somewhere quiet and undressed. The thought was deliciously shocking.

Johnny had picked her up at ten sharp and they’d driven up to Shönried, then done several runs down the Horneggli before ending up, well exercised, at the Sonnenhof. They’d laughed a lot, she reflected with a satisfied little sigh. Perhaps their conversation wasn’t terribly profound—they certainly hadn’t dug into world politics, which, after Harlan, was just fine by her—but he was amusing, charming and easygoing. Being with him wasn’t a strain. She didn’t have to think of what to say or wonder if he thought she was stupid, as she so often did with Harlan’s supercilious Washington cronies and the pseudo-intellectual group he liked to have hanging around him, parroting his opinions. This was simple, and reminded her of who she really was. Gio and Meredith were right, she concluded, she’d become so focused on catering to Harlan’s every whim that she’d lost touch with herself.

They had just ordered when she saw two men approach the table. One was of medium height, sandy-haired, in his mid-thirties, and obviously American, the other a boy who could only, she decided, be Johnny’s son. They were like peas in a pod, she reflected, realizing with a stab of nostalgia that it was like seeing a replica of Johnny all those years ago.

“Elm, this is my brother Liam, and my son, Nicky.”

“Hi.” They shook hands.

“Mind if they join us?” Johnny asked.

“Of course not.” She moved over on the corner bench and smiled invitingly at Nicky, who eyed her warily then sat down. Liam and Johnny sat opposite.

“So, you’re from Georgia?” Liam inquired.

“Savannah.”

“Beautiful city.”

“Dad, can I order a Coke?”

“Of course.” Johnny hailed the waitress. “I guess you’ll be having your usual, guys?”

“Yep.” Liam leaned back and smiled. “Only decent steak you can get in this town. He brings the meat in from Argentina. That’s the trouble in Europe, you can’t get—”

“Did you ski with my dad?” Nicky asked her suddenly.

“Yes, we skied the Horneggli.”

“You must be good,” he conceded reluctantly. “Dad’s a pretty advanced skier.”

“And you?”

“I snowboard mostly. I’m on the Rosey team.”

“So was your father, if I remember rightly. The ski team, I mean.”

“You went to Rosey?” Nicky eyed her with new respect. “Bet that was a while ago, huh?”

Johnny met Elm’s eyes and they laughed. “It certainly doesn’t seem nearly twenty years, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Elm agreed, determined to include Nicky in the conversation.

“My mother was at Rosey, too,” he said. Elm caught the edge of defiance in his tone.

“I know. I remember her. She was very beautiful and had great grades. She won the prize for drama, I recall.” She noticed the quick look exchanged between Liam and Johnny. Something wasn’t right. There was an uneasy undercurrent when Marie Ange was mentioned. She could almost feel the tension coursing between Johnny and his son.

Liam was studying his cell phone. He sent her an apologetic glance. “Just need to check some stock prices. Haven’t had time this morning. This vacation has put everything on hold.”

“Uncle Liam, get a life,” Nicky exclaimed.

“Nicky’s right,” Johnny said. “Leave that damn phone at home, Liam, and enjoy yourself. Elm, we have this major family problem here.” Johnny leaned toward her, laughing. “Liam never has time for anything except work. We’re trying to convert him—unsuccessfully, I might add—to pleasure.”

The lunch proved to be deliciously entertaining. Elm enjoyed the interaction between the brothers, amused at how different they were, the one so dark, Irish and aristocratic, the other a strong-willed workaholic American businessman. And Nicky. He was sweet and bright and sulky and all the things she imagined an adolescent would be.

They left the restaurant ready to hit the slopes, although after a huge steak à l’ ardoisek, a couple of Kir Royals and two bottles of delectable local Swiss wine, Elm was amazed any of them could even move. Nicky challenged her to a run and by the end of the afternoon they’d become fast friends. She made him promise to show her some of his snowboarding moves before she left for the States. By the time Johnny dropped her off at Gioconda’s chalet, she was wonderfully tired and ready for a hot bath.

“It was a delightful day, thank you. Your brother and son are great.”

“How about tonight?” He leaned back against the car door and eyed her thoughtfully.

“I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m pretty beat and I have some calls to make to the States.” It was ridiculous, of course, to refuse his invitation when she’d like nothing more than to accept, but she needed to catch her breath, to assess just where she intended to go with all this. A quiet evening seemed like just the thing.

“You’re sure I can’t persuade you? We could go to the movies, if you don’t want to be late. I could see what’s on and call you,” he said, his smile deliciously persuasive.

“Well, I…look, why don’t we have a rest and then see in a little while,” she countered, dying to accept, but not wanting to give in too fast. Oh God, this was all so difficult. She could feel him drawing her like a magnet. She had never felt anything quite so strong, so intense or alluring. If she’d read about it in a book she would have thought it was nonsense.

But it wasn’t.

She reached for the car door. “Thanks for a wonderful day. It’s been truly great. And I’m still reeling from lunch.”

Johnny jumped out of the Range Rover and, removing her skis from the back, came round and helped her out. Then he walked her slowly to the chalet.

“Well, perhaps dinner tomorrow, then,” he said regretfully. “I’ll give you a call.”