Читать книгу The Pregnant Mistress - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8

ALMOST four weeks later, the phone in Sam’s apartment rang just as she was pouring her first cup of morning coffee.

She put down the pot, glanced at the clock and picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Amanda,” she said sweetly.

Her sister gave a dramatic groan. “Please don’t tell me they’ve perfected video calling. Not at this hour of the morning.”

Sam laughed. “This hour of the morning is how I knew it was you. Nobody else would call me at five after seven.”

“Anybody with a four-year-old would. Besides, I wanted to be sure and get you before you left for the day. Didn’t you say you had a job interview on tap?”

“Two of them,” Sam said, tucking the phone against her shoulder so she could open the fridge and get out the cream. “The first one’s in just a couple of hours, so—”

“So, you can’t talk long. Yes, I know. That’s been your excuse ever since we got back from Brazil.”

“It isn’t an excuse,” Sam said quickly. Too quickly, she thought, and told herself to slow down. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Well, what’s on that frantic schedule of yours today?”

“A couple of meetings this morning. Which means—”

“Which means,” Amanda said pleasantly, “you and I can get together for lunch. Remember that little place off Madison?”

“Where walking through the door and inhaling puts a thousand calories on your hips?”

“Haven’t you heard the latest scientific facts, sister mine? A blast of sunshine reduces the calorie count. And, in case you haven’t noticed, spring has finally sprung. Take a peep out your window. That big yellow ball hanging over the East River is sun.”

“It’s pollution. And honestly, Mandy, I don’t see how I can make it. I’m seeing somebody at the UN at nine—”

“You’re going to work at the United Nations? I thought you hated being bottled up indoors.”

“It’s a private job. Some letters that need translating. And then, at eleven, there’s a professor at Hunter who stumbled across some poems by a nineteenth century—”

“Fascinating,” Amanda said politely. “But I thought you didn’t do that. Translate poetry and letters, I mean. I thought you preferred on-the-spot things. You know, Mr. Pavarotti, meet Mr. Jagger. That kind of stuff.”

Sam laughed as she stirred a dollop of cream into her coffee. “Well, that’s what I prefer, but my bank account isn’t as finicky as my brain—especially when I haven’t picked up a decent job since—since I got back from that weekend at Carin’s.”

What an idiot! Surely, after all this time, she could trust herself to say “Brazil” without dredging up memories of that humiliating episode with Demetrios Karas.

“Really?”

“Really. Nobody seems to need translations in French or German or Italian or Spanish or—”

“Borneoese?”

Sam laughed again. “You just invented a language. Anyway, what I did in Borneo was translate from Italian to English and from English to Italian. There was this pair of ethnologists, see, and one spoke…” She sighed. “Trust me. I don’t do what you just dubbed Borneoese.”

“Or Greek,” Amanda said pleasantly.

Every nerve cell in Sam’s body went on alert. “Why would I need to speak Greek?”

“You wouldn’t. I just mentioned it. I mean, you said—”

“I know what I said. And what you said. And you said, Greek.”

“Samantha, honestly, stop being so defensive. Have you had your morning coffee?”

Sam stared down into her rapidly cooling cup. “No.”

“Well, you see? That’s what you get for trying to talk to me before you get your caffeine levels where they should be.”

“Amanda. You are the one who called me.”

“So I did, although I don’t know why you should be such a grump, considering that I’m inviting you to a sinfully scrumptious lunch where I’m going to tell you about your next job.”

Sam stood up straight. “Translating?”

“Of course. What other kind of job would Nick offer you?”

“Your husband needs a translator?”

“A business acquaintance of his needs one. Well, actually, a friend. And it’s your kind of thing, Sam, nothing to do with dusty old letters or poetry.”

“Well, that’s great!” Sam lifted her cup and drank some coffee. “Who’ll I be working with? Where? In what languages?”

“I don’t really know the details. You can get all that from Nick. He said he’d meet us at The Lazy Daisy and fill you in.”

“Okay. Fine.” Sam cleared her throat. “Uh, so, speaking of Nick…Did he, um, did he enjoy the weekend at Rio de Ouro?”

“Doesn’t he always? You know what good friends he and Rafe are.”

“Oh, sure.” Sam ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “And—and I’m sure he saw other friends that weekend, too. I mean, they all know each other, don’t they? Nick. Rafe. And—and other people.”

“All of a sudden, I have the feeling I’m the one in need of a translator. What are you talking about?”

What, indeed? Sam shut her eyes and rubbed a finger across the bridge of her nose. If Demetrios Karas had figured out who she was, if he’d told either of her brothers-in-law about his—his encounter with her, she’d have known it. Rafe and Nick would have confronted her like the protective big brothers they’d become.

By now, her sisters and their husbands would have been all over her.

No, her family was clueless and they were going to stay that way. What had happened was history, and so was Demetrios Karas. Just thinking it made the day improve.

“Sam?”

“You don’t need a translator,” Sam said briskly. “It’s me. I need that caffeine you mentioned before I can carry on even a halfway intelligent conversation. I’ll see you at The Lazy Daisy.”

“Wonderful. I’ll reserve a table in the solarium so we can enjoy this gorgeous sunshine.”

But by late morning, the sun had gone into hiding.

The sky was a leaden gray when Sam hurried towards Hunter College for her appointment; by the time she left the college, it was raining. Fat drops pattered against the pavement as thunder rolled across the city. Sam eyed the traffic, but she knew better than to stand around and get wet in the futile hope of snagging a taxi. Someday, somebody would solve the mystery and figure out where cabs hid when the weather turned soggy. In the meantime, there was no choice but to make a run for the restaurant.

She was thoroughly drenched when she finally ducked under The Lazy Daisy’s royal-blue canopy. The captain hurried towards her as she stepped through the smoked-glass doors.

“I’m meeting someone,” Sam said, out of breath from the mad sprint.

“Certainly, Miss Brewster.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls as he helped her out of her coat. What a mess! She had a faint resemblance to something left too long in the wet, but it didn’t matter. She’d already finished her business appointments. Neither Amanda nor Nick would care if she looked like something the cat had dragged in.

“This way, please, Miss Brewster. Her Highness is waiting for you.”

Sam fell in behind the captain and tried not to grin. She had no illusions about him remembering her from a visit nearly six months earlier. It was Amanda’s presence that had done it. Her sister didn’t actually have a title, not since Nick had renounced the throne of his homeland, but you couldn’t tell that to some of the world-class snobs who became New York head waiters.

Despite the rain, Amanda had taken a table in the solarium as she’d promised. The rest of the area was deserted. Evidently, nobody else wanted to sit inside a glass room while rain poured from the skies but the scene was cozy enough and Amanda looked warm and content as she sat in a candle-lit booth.

She waved when she saw Sam. “There you are,” she said happily, rising so they could exchange hugs. They sat down, smiling at each other, talking about Amanda’s children, Sam’s much-loved nephew and niece, pausing only when the sommelier appeared with a bottle of wine.

“I ordered a syrah,” Amanda said. “Is that okay with you? I figured red wine goes with cool, wet weather.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam smiled. “So does sitting underwater in a solarium.”

“Do you mind? It’s so private, and besides, there’s something wonderfully decadent about…Oh, Sam. Just look at your hair!”

“Fortunately,” Sam said dryly, “I don’t have to. You’re the one stuck with the view of me masquerading as Medusa.”

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it. All those curls…It’s glorious! You ought to wear it this way all the time. It’s so sexy.”

Gravely, the sommelier offered Amanda the cork. She smiled and waved it away. “I trust you, George,” she said. “Just pour, please. My sister and I are parched.” When the glasses were filled, she leaned forward. “How’d your appointments go?”

Sam sighed, lifted her glass and took an appreciative sip. “Let’s put it this way. It’s a good thing Nick has a job for me.”

“Nothing panned out, huh?’

“Well, the guy at the UN turned out to be the second assistant to the first assistant to….” Sam made a face. “Oh, what’s the difference? The bottom line is that he’s developed a thing for a secretary in the French delegation, and he thought it would be cool if I’d write maybe a dozen love letters for him.”

“He wanted you to write love letters for him?” Amanda stared over the rim of her glass. “As in, you’re Cyrano and he’s whoever the other guy was in that old play?”

“Uh-huh. He couldn’t believe it when I said thanks but no thanks, that I was a translator, not a Miss Lonely Hearts who wrote letters for the lovelorn.” Sam drank some more of her wine. “So, then I went to see the guy with the poems. Only it turned out he doesn’t have poems.”

“No?”

“No. He has a poem.”

“A poem, as in one?”

“Yup. A sonnet. Fourteen lines, written by some obscure Spanish poet in the nineteen twenties. How long would it take me to translate it? he asked. How about you ask someone in the Spanish department? I answered. Better half a minute of their time than mine.”

“Do I detect a touch of bitterness?” Amanda said, arching a delicate eyebrow.

Sam dug into her purse, took out her appointment list and tore it in half. “Two meetings. An entire morning. And what do I have to show for it? Nada. Niente. Nichts.”

Amanda winced. “It’s a good thing I’m buying lunch.”

“It’s even better that you have a job to offer me. Do you know any of the details? I mean, if some bozo’s going to push a memo under my nose, ask me to translate it…”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s more involved than that. Nick said this might take weeks, even months, something about an international conglomerate. French money, Italian money…Who knows what?” She sat back, smiling, as their waiter handed them oversize menus. “Sounds as if it’s right up your alley.”

“The man’s a friend of Nick’s?”

“Uh-huh. Mmm. What’ll we have? The duck is wonderful here.”

“Foreign?”

“I don’t think so,” Amanda said, her eyes still on the menu. “Isn’t the best duck usually local? From Long Island?”

A chill tiptoed up Sam’s spine. Her sister was up to something. The only question was, What? “Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you talk about this man?”

“I told you. I don’t have details. Ah. They have seared scallops. I just love—”

“You must know something. Is he an American? Or is he a foreigner?”

“Both, actually.” Amanda lifted the menu higher. All Sam could see of her sister was the top of her head. “Which shall I have, the duck or the scallops? Decisions, decisions.” Her tone was artificially bright. “I know,” she said, folding the menu and waving for the waiter. “We’ll get both, and we can share.”

Sam paid no attention as her sister placed the order. Why should she suddenly think of Demetrios Karas? She’d thought of him before, far too often, but always when there was time to relish how he’d looked when she’d dropped his jacket into that stall. Why think of him now, in the midst of what was going to be a pleasant lunch?

“Well,” Amanda said briskly, “that’s done. Now tell me how you’ve been. And what you’ve been doing, who you’ve been seeing—”

“Answer the question, please. Who’s the man who needs a translator?”

“I told you. A friend of—”

“Am I supposed to believe that he’s nameless?”

“Sam.” Amanda leaned forward. “Cross my heart and hope to die—”

“That’s what you always said when we were kids and you were about to tell me a lie.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Amanda said with indignation, “we aren’t kids anymore. Besides, you made it perfectly clear that night at Carin’s that the last person in the world you wanted to bother with was Demetrios Karas, so why on earth would I try and set you up with him again?”

Sam stared at her sister. “I didn’t mention Demetrios Karas.”

Amanda blinked. “Didn’t you? I could have sworn you just said—”

“I didn’t,” Sam said flatly.

“Well.” Amanda smiled, picked up her glass, then put it down. “Well, you said you thought I was trying to fix you up. And I guess I just thought of the last time that happened. And—”

“Actually,” Sam said softly, her gaze fixed on her sister, “I didn’t say that, either. I simply asked who it was that needed a translator. You were the one who started babbling about not fixing me up with the highly esteemed Mr. Karas.”

“Really, Sam—”

“Really, Amanda. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. For goodness’ sake, here I am, trying to give you some good news—”

“What does it have to do with that man?”

“What…Ah. Here’s our lunch.”

Deftly, Amanda divided the scallops and the slices of duck breast. Sam watched her through narrowed eyes.

“You know what man,” she said, after a few minutes. “Demetrios Karas.” Her sister’s face went from pale pink to deep rose. It was not, Sam thought coldly, a good sign. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

Amanda sighed, put down her knife and fork and touched her napkin to her lips. “Look, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Yes, okay. What happened was, Nick had dinner with Demetrios a couple of nights ago. And Demetrios said—”

“Whatever he said, it was a lie!”

“For goodness’ sake. Why would Demetrios lie?”

“I didn’t even tell him my name!”

“What?”

“Did he describe me to Nick? Did Nick figure out that…? Amanda. The man’s a liar.”

“But why would he lie? Honestly, Samantha—”

“Oh, that’s it. Take his side instead of mine.”

“Will you calm down?” Amanda looked around them, then leaned over the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I want nothing to do with Demetrios Karas! I don’t like him. And I especially don’t like being set up by my very own sister.” Sam plunked her napkin on the table. “Enjoy your lunch. I’m out of here.”

“Are you nuts?” Amanda grabbed Sam’s wrist as she began to slide across the booth. “You’re acting like…” She paused, cocked her head. “You don’t like him? But you said you’d never met him.”

“Never mind what I said. I’m telling you that I want nothing to do with—”

“Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Sam jerked her head up. Nicholas al Rashid stood beside their table, a smile on his handsome face. A tentative smile, anyway, Sam thought furiously. Maybe he wasn’t as dense as his wife. Maybe he’d already figured out that she wasn’t to be played with.

“Nick,” Amanda said, and let out a breath. “Darling, would you please tell my sister that she’s behaving like an idiot?”

“Nicholas,” Sam said curtly, “whose idea was this? Amanda’s? Or yours?”

Nick gave his wife a bewildered look. “What’s she talking about?”

“I don’t know. I started to tell her about Demetrios and she exploded.”

Sam tugged her hand free, shot to her feet and glared at Nick. “Actually, I don’t care whose idea it was. You can just tell Demetrios Karas that—”

“Tell him what?” a voice said, and Sam froze. There was only one man who could take a couple of simple words and make them sound as if he were murmuring them into a sated woman’s ear as she lay in his arms.

Please, she thought, oh please, let this not be happening. Let the floor open and swallow me whole…

But it was happening. Demetrios Karas had joined Nick beside the table. Sam held her breath. His gaze swept over her, moved past her to Amanda…and returned to fix on her face. She’d always wondered if people’s jaws really dropped in astonishment. Now, looking at him, she knew that they did.

He was as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

Then—then, nobody knew what had happened. Not Nick. Not Amanda. Her knees went weak with relief, but it was short-lived. They would know, in a couple of minutes.

“Sam?” Nick said softly.

Her brother-in-law slid his arm around her waist. She looked up at him, heart thumping.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I just…”

Just what? She had only two choices, turn tail and run or stick out the next embarrassing moments. There was no real choice. She’d never run from anything in her life…anything but this man. All these weeks, she’d told herself she’d come to her senses that night and put a stop to what had been about to happen. Now, faced with the living, breathing reality of Demetrios Karas, she was forced to admit the truth.

Fate had permitted her to escape him that night, but it wasn’t going to give her a second chance. She was going to have to deal with this and do it without flinching.

“Nick,” she said, on a deep breath. “Mandy. I know you meant well, but—”

“So, Nicholas. You told me your sister-in-law was a talented linguist. You neglected to mention that she is also a beautiful woman.”

Sam blinked. Demetrios had recovered his composure. The self-confident smile was back—but the glitter in his eyes was hard as ice.

“Save your breath,” she said coolly. “I’m not that easy to impress.”

The intake of Amanda’s breath seemed to echo in the room. “Sam!” she hissed, but Demetrios laughed.

“And she is direct, too. How charming.”

“This man and I already know each other,” Sam said. Her chin lifted. “And he’s wasting his time if he thinks he can make me think anything less of him than I already do.”

“Surely,” Demetrios said, his smile fading, “the lady will accept my apologies for what happened that night at Rio de Ouro.”

“Rio de Ouro?” Amanda looked from Demetrios to Sam. “Do you two know each other? Sam? You never said anything. I mean, all of us wanted—we hoped—and now it turns out—it turns out—”

“Perhaps I’ve given the wrong impression.” Demetrios’s voice was smooth as silk. “We met, but only briefly. And, before we really got to know each other, I was, ah, distracted. By the time I returned, your sister was gone. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”

What kind of game was he playing? “No,” Sam said, glaring at him. “And it’s Miss Brewster.”

“Sam,” Amanda said nervously, “what’s the matter with you? Demetrios, really, I apologize. My sister’s had a, uh, a difficult day. She went on two job interviews—”

“Amanda!”

“—two interviews, one with a guy who wanted her to write love letters for him and another with some jerk who had a poem to translate. Both job offers were so much below her capability that it’s pathetic.” Amanda flashed a wary look at her sister. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Those interviews have nothing to do with this,” Sam said coldly.

“I would hope not.” Demetrios’s smile tilted. “It would be unfortunate if Samantha…sorry. If Miss Brewster were to let her disappointment over her morning affect her dealings with me.”

Nick and Amanda looked from Demetrios to Sam. They might as well have been at a tennis match, Sam thought bitterly. And, in a way, they were right. Demetrios had just sent her a wicked backhand shot. He’d woven a story that sounded plausible, if you didn’t think too much about it. She was a woman with a dented ego; he was a man who’d become inattentive. The self-deprecation was enough to make her want to be sick or to slug him, especially now that he’d added a threat so well-disguised that nobody but she would recognize it for what it was.

Still, the bottom line was that he’d chosen to keep their secret, and heaven knew that was better than blurting out the sleazy truth.

Why had he lied? She wasn’t fool enough to think it had anything to do with his being a gentleman. He wasn’t. He was a rogue in a custom-made suit and yes, maybe that was part of what had attracted her to him that night, but that nonsense was long past.

Wasn’t it?

She shivered. Nick, who still held her in a loose embrace, gave her a quick hug. “Cold?”

“No,” she said brightly, “I’m not. I’m just—I’m just—”

“She’s just still hungry,” Amanda said quickly. She flashed a smile around the little group. “We were about to order dessert when you guys showed up.”

“I am not the least bit interested in dessert. And I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” Demetrios smiled lazily, just as he had that night. “Women always think too much, when it comes to things that bring pleasure.” His eyes met hers. “Like dessert,” he said smoothly. He moved closer, linked his hand through hers. She jerked at his touch and his fingers tightened on hers in silent warning. “Coffee and something sweet sounds like a fine idea. And then, after your sister and brother-in-law leave, we can have a second cup of coffee and discuss my need for your services.”

“I have no intention of—”

“You know,” Amanda said briskly, “I really don’t want any dessert. Nick? Darling? How about you?”

“Well,” Nick said, looking bewildered, “actually, I thought I might even have a sand…” His voice trailed off as he met his wife’s gaze. “No. No, I don’t.”

“In fact,” Amanda said, “we have to leave. We have an appointment.”

“Right,” Nick stammered, “right. An appointment. How could I have forgotten?”

They were lying, the both of them. Sam knew it. Everyone in the uncomfortable little group knew it, but she couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out of the line of fire though knowing Amanda, she was probably romanticizing the whole thing.

Demetrios’s hand tightened on hers again. Don’t make a fuss, he was telling her, but why would she? The things she had to say to him were best said without an audience, especially one made up of family.

Moments later, after hugs and kisses, handshakes and phony smiles, they were alone. Sam jerked her hand away and glared at Demetrios.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” she snapped, “but it won’t get you anywhere.”

“Such anger, Miss Brewster. Such hostility. Could it possibly be a disguise for your real feelings about what happened that night?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Anger is a safer emotion than embarrassment.”

Sam flushed. Maybe he was right, but she’d choke before she admitted it. “You mean, it’s safer than bad judgment. If I hadn’t had that caparhinia—”

“Imagine that. A reserved spinster with a drinking problem.” Demetrios folded his arms. “Your brother-in-law would be fascinated to hear it.”

“I don’t have a problem. I was tired. And surely you don’t expect me to believe Nick described me as a reserved spinster!”

“No. Certainly not. Rafe said that. Nicholas merely said that he had a sister-in-law who was an excellent translator.” He smiled coldly. “I had no reason to think they were describing the woman who’d promised everything and delivered nothing that night in Brazil.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Karas.”

Demetrios took her elbow, deftly maneuvered her into the booth and slid in beside her.

“Your brothers-in-law see you as an intelligent, honorable woman leading a lonely existence. By the time they finished describing you, I pictured a stick in a tweed suit.”

“I am intelligent and honorable,” Sam said, wincing for having said something so nonsensical. “I am certainly not lonely. And if you think of women as stereotypes, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“I had to lie to Nicholas—to my good friend—to protect your, ah, honor.”