Do You Love Me? Read online

  As he spoke, he moved closer, advancing on her.

  Savanna was annoyed to find herself retreating from his words hurled like knives, cutting into her with each thrust.

  In two quick strides he grabbed her arms. He squeezed them and clamped his jaw tightly as he stared into her face for a long moment. Then his voice became ominously quiet. “But I have.”

  “You have what?”

  “I have found your soul, querida. I have looked beneath your fine house, your clothes, and your many possessions, and I have found a lovely, lonely woman, a woman burning with suppressed desire.”

  He flattened his hands behind her arms as he had done before and pulled her close.

  “I have mined into the tender core of you, Savanna, and I have uncovered a rich vein of…lust.”

  She tried to retreat, but he stayed linked with her, step for step, until her back was to the wall. She shook her head denying his words and his movements as his warm thighs pressed against hers. She tried to remain stiff, to hold herself away from him. Without her consent, however, her body softened and yielded to mold itself to his. Her gaze fluttered to his and away like a moth from a flame. His eyes shimmered with the fire she had seen there before.

  His generous lips were soft as they brushed across hers, but they did not light. Her hands on his chest, well positioned to shove him away, did not. She felt his heartbeat and the crescendo of that thrum kept beat with the rhythm pounding in her ears.

  Her mouth followed as his lips brushed over hers again and away. She gasped, suddenly desperate to taste him, just once more.

  His body pressed to hers. His large hands splayed at either side of her waist. His lips brushed back and forth, butterflies whispering, capturing her mind, casting out all other thought as her mouth followed his.

  When the butterflies lighted, she gave up all thought of resistance. His hands crept to the small of her back, pressing, sealing her body to his.

  She was frightened, fearful he would reject what she gave as her mouth softened. When he didn’t pursue his advantage and deepen the kiss, she yielded more. He made no move to enter.

  Made bold by his restraint, she sent her tongue quickly into the cavern and back. She felt him grin but still he did not avail himself of her wantonness.

  She needed to breathe, to think, but she could scarcely do either. Through her hands planted against his chest, she felt him swell, inhaling sharp little breaths he didn’t seem to expel, but he refused to pursue his advantage.

  Push him away, her brain commanded. Leave. Now. She was out of air and seemed somehow unable to take in more. She pushed, only slightly, and he released her. She bit her lips, looking at the floor, unable to raise her eyes to his, afraid of an unspoken accusation, or pity, or worse: ridicule.

  Her conscience screamed condemnation. She was abusing her position of trust. She was his mentor. As her student, he should be able to rely on her good judgment. By yielding to her base instincts this way, she betrayed his trust. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t speak, didn’t move, and his stillness prodded her to look up, to confront the thoughts written on his face.

  Instead of the accusing look she expected, however, a bittersweet smile occupied his generous mouth, the mouth which had been so gentle, so reticent moments before. She wanted to look beyond his mouth but couldn’t seem to force herself to look anywhere else. She noted the little scar beneath his lower lip and reached to touch it.

  Raising her gaze, she scanned up over his straight nose to his eyes, which had become jade and were veiled by the dark lashes. His chin was high, requiring that he look down at her from beneath the long lashes that could not completely disguise the ominous glint.

  He took a step back and she stumbled to the side, fairly dancing over the floor. Her feet had wings as she flew toward the stairs, scarcely making contact as she bounded up, up to her sanctuary.

  She swung the bedroom door closed behind her and stopped in the middle of the room to breathe. As she calmed down, she paced a couple of turns, dropped onto the side of her bed, buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth.

  The situation had become untenable. She thought she could will herself to be strong, could win this battle against her own base desires, but the chaste association had come under siege and fallen. He would have to leave. Now.

  Yet, she argued with herself, he had clearly shown he was no threat to her. Conversely he’d revealed just as clearly that she was the weak one, a distinct threat to herself, to them both.

  Earlier he’d scalded her with hateful words about being her gigolo and the other. She groaned. People liked her. She was sure they did. Of course, sometimes she felt animosity from certain quarters, but she had friends. Plenty of them. Most of them were rich, but they liked her for who she was, not just for her money.

  Didn’t they?

  Who liked her? Other people with money. Mostly people with less money. Were they only kissing up?

  Okay, maybe some, but not all of them. Not Carol.

  Carol!

  Of course. Savanna sat straighter, dropped her hands to either side and braced herself on the bed.

  There was her solution. If Carol were here, she could intervene, relieve the sexual tension.

  Carol wanted to come. Savanna had promised to invite her, this week.

  It was time. It definitely was time. If Peter needed a woman to ease his fomenting libido, Carol would be perfect. She’d been married. She’d experienced genuine passion. She thought Peter attractive, had even volunteered to accommodate his sexual needs.

  Carol was wealthy. It probably would take little encouragement for him to transfer his amorous interest from Savanna to Carol, particularly if he were only pretending.

  Savanna’s shoulders slumped beneath the creeping sorrow. Why should any of that make her sad? If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was jealous. She recoiled. No. He was mistaken about that. After all, what was he to her except a project to be achieved, a challenge to be conquered?

  Conquered how, exactly?

  She smiled sadly as she recalled his teasing, his laughter, his dedication to their project, his willingness to help Angus, carrying the heavy bags of fertilizer, yet not allowing the man to record those hours on his time sheet.

  She thought of Peter’s thick, sure fingers on the piano, his automaton’s body, his powerful shoulders propelling him through the water swimming laps at night, his biceps flexing as he pulled her against him.

  “He’s wrong. I’m not conquered,” she said into the empty room. Then whispered uncertainly, “Not yet.”

  Savanna picked up the phone and tapped in Carol’s number.

  Chapter Eleven

  Merriam called Savanna to the telephone from the dinner table Wednesday evening. Carol had arrived in the afternoon, a whirlwind of distracting talk and commotion. As Peter carried her luggage upstairs to a guest room, he flashed Savanna a look of understanding

  After depositing Carol’s bags in a guest room, he left the women without a word. Savanna assumed he’d gone downstairs and was surprised to find him standing at the open door to her bedroom, his eyes closed, inhaling. He started and gave her a wolfish grin before turning and wordlessly preceding her down the stairs.

  Normally Savanna did not take phone calls during the dinner hour, but Merriam knew she was eager to speak with Murphy Eth.

  “We’ve got the bastard nailed, Ms. Cavendish.” Murphy’s voice practically shouted over the telephone. “Forgive my French.”

  “Was it one of your three suspects?”

  “I was right on target. It’s one of your vice presidents. Name’s Hightower.”

  Her breath caught. Darryl? Darryl was the embezzler? Impossible.

  Murphy’s voice droned on. “Oh, he’s been slick, covered his tracks like a pro, but we kept giving him rope and the S.O.B.’s finally hanged himself.”

  She felt her stomach grind. Not Darryl. Of the four vice presidents, he was the one who had her comple
te confidence, was the last person she would ever have suspected.

  That’s why he probably should have been her first, most logical choice. Working outside the cloud of suspicion, he held an advantage. However, Eth didn’t give her time to digest his initial report as he forged ahead.

  “How do you want to handle this? I’ve got enough to take it to the district attorney, but I didn’t know if that’d embarrass you or the company. Thought you might like to handle it in-house, although, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He waited. When she didn’t pick up her end of the conversation, he continued.

  “We could keep it to ourselves, but I don’t recommend it.”

  Again he paused. Savanna remained silent, still too flabbergasted to speak. This was her fault. She’d been distracted, hadn’t paid enough attention to business.

  She cleared her throat. “How long has this been going on, Murphy?”

  “Twenty-nine months, give or take.”

  He’d been skimming before she took the helm two years ago. That was some comfort.

  She’d consult her journal, see when Darryl, hemming and hawing, had asked her out the first time. He might have decided there was no need to settle for gathering golden eggs when he could bag the golden goose herself.

  She had been such a fool at first, enjoying Darryl’s sweet words, his implied regard, his phony affection, before she discovered the truth. Darryl had been a fool, too, resorting to strong-arm tactics their last time out. Pinching, squeezing, hurting her. When she complained, he laughed and became even more abusive, physically and verbally, demeaning her, restraining her, hurting her. She hated the memory of their last night together.

  Later Darryl said it was supposed to be a turn-on, for both of them. He’d apologized but she’d promised herself that she would never again subject her body or her will to his perversions.

  Even thinking him sexually perverse, however, hadn’t made her suspect Darryl of the embezzlement. Quite frankly, she didn’t think he had the balls for it. Certainly she didn’t make a connection between his mistreatment of her and his attitude toward the company.

  Darryl had access to company records, had even asked for information from the backup ledgers she kept at home, the safeguards. Curiously, the last time he’d asked, she didn’t want to be bothered so she told him she’d stopped keeping the backup books.

  Murphy Eth coughed, bringing her back to the call and his question.

  “Let me sleep on it, Murph.”

  “Yeah. Well, okay, Ms. Cavendish, but I think the sooner we do something…”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Savanna returned to the dinner table to catch the end of Carol’s long-winded account of a ribald event she had orchestrated in college.

  The speaker scarcely looked up or acknowledged her return, but Savanna could feel Peter’s bright eyes on her. She kept her face turned, unwilling to let him see her chagrin.

  “What’s wrong?” Carol asked later when they were alone in the den.

  Savanna didn’t want to discuss Darryl with anyone, yet. “Nothing.”

  “Come on, girl, don’t try to hold out on me. Is it this project?”

  That was a good diversion. “I guess.”

  “You’re getting soft on the guy, aren’t you? I can tell. That’s why you called me in. He wants a little nooky and you’re not willing to put out, am I right?”

  Savanna hated that word, wasn’t sure there was such a word or if nooky was just a term Carol dreamed up to embarrass her.

  “You’re trying to take some of the heat off yourself by unloading it on me, right?” Savanna shrugged.

  “The whole thing may be a colossal mistake. It was stupid to think I could housebreak this man without damaging him.”

  “What?”

  “It’s happening. He’s turning into a pansy, like all the other guys in our crowd. He bows and scrapes and hovers and I hate it. Remember how arrogant he was before?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Savanna sat straighter, realizing that what she’d conjured up fumbling for a safe subject was true. The morning’s flare up made it clearer. Peter had endured one humiliation after another, from the first, when he’d allowed them to cut his hair and dress him like a male model.

  It was a travesty to turn a macho man like Peter into a money sniffing lap dog. If she couldn’t make some radical changes, he would have to go, not for her sake, but for the sake of his manhood.

  After pacing for forty-five minutes in her darkened bedroom, Savanna finally lay down and fell into a shallow sleep. Dreaming she heard a girl’s muffled giggle, her eyes popped open. A dream? Probably, but there was a peculiar reality to this dream.

  The bath was running, certainly a familiar enough sound. Peter doing his nightly laps. She closed her eyes, lulled by the usual pounding, relaxing back into sleep when her bedroom door burst open. She squinted against the light from the hallway silhouetting Carol in a see-through sleep set.

  “Your greaser is throwing a party in your pool in the middle of the night.” As usual, Carol issued her news flash with dramatic emphasis.

  Savanna tried to wave her back, didn’t want to get fully roused, wanted to get back to sleep if she could. “He swims every night, Carol. Go back to bed.”

  “Does he usually swim with naked women?”

  Savanna lifted to an elbow and rubbed her eyes. Carol was fuming, nodding with indignation as she paced in a tight circle.

  Savanna drew a deep breath, sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She swiped her hair out of her face and scratched at a bit of crust at one corner of her mouth before she heard a woman’s laugh trilling from the pool below.

  The laugh had a familiar, whinnying quality.

  The splashing stopped and a man’s voice soothed and quieted the woman’s giggle. There was no mistaking Peter’s dulcet tones. Savanna blinked, fully awake.

  A splash followed by a squeal. People were in the swimming pool. She’d had to run local teenagers off before, usually early in the summer. By September, most of the preseason swimmers were ready for fresh, autumn escapades. Her bedside clock showed eleven-twenty. She heard the giggle lilting again.

  Mary Edith Fletcher, the little vixen.

  If the girl wanted to swim, why was she in Savanna’s pool and not her own? Savanna clenched her teeth. As if she didn’t know.

  Mary Edith had come up with a variety of excuses for visiting them recently, her mother wanted Merriam’s yeast roll recipe, did they have a needle to pump up her basketball? How much chlorine did they use to winterize the pool? Savanna didn’t recall Mary Edith’s ever having been that interested in food preparation or pool maintenance before.

  Carol flipped on a floor lamp next to the window, then paced away from the opening and back to stand behind the drape and peer at the noisy scene below as Savanna fumbled in her closet for a robe.

  “I think you’re mistaken,” Carol said. “I don’t think that’s little Mary Edith Fletcher.”

  The girl’s laughter erupted again.

  “Oh, yes, it is. I’d recognize that whinny anywhere.” Forget the robe. She was decent enough to brace Mary Edith. She focused her pique on Carol. “Get out of the doorway and turn off that lamp.”

  Savanna stepped to the door that opened onto the decorative little balcony and scanned the area.

  Fiber optic light bathed the pool in blue. Mary Edith lay stretched on her side, squirming provocatively in her bathing suit, if a thong bikini could be considered a suit. She propped her head on one hand and ran the other over her nearly nude body. The pose definitely showed her physique at its best angle.

  In front of her, out in the middle of the water, Peter stood regarding her and talking softly.

  Carol followed as Savanna swept down the stairs. In tandem they strode the length of the great room and Savanna threw open a French door. “Mary Edith Fletcher, what are you doing here, waking people up in the middle of the night?”


  The girl leaped to her feet and sucked in her stomach, assuming a new pose. Savanna frowned. Mary Edith was too pear-shaped for a thong, but men weren’t always that discriminating when the offering was right in front of their noses.

  The ingenue-wanna-be wriggled again and put an index finger in her mouth. The gesture was corny in the movies and doubly annoying at this time of night beside Savanna’s pool.

  Savanna paused a moment, changing her tack and her tone with “little Mary Edith Fletcher.”

  “You need to run along home, now, sweetie.” Savanna felt triumphant as the younger woman’s face flashed astonishment, then fury.

  Instead of leaving, however, Mary Edith spun, took a giant step, and leaped into the pool, practically on top of Peter who, in fending her off, caught her. His arm muscles bulged as he carried her to the side. He slid her onto the cement walkway and gave her exposed rump a slap, a solid smack rather than a playful swat.

  “Ouch.” Mary Edith jumped up rubbing her bare bottom briskly with one hand while she flashed Savanna a murderous glare. Cutting her eyes to smile at Peter one last time, the girl flounced as she darted around the cabana and out, slamming the gate.

  Having forgotten her apparel for the moment and with Carol at her elbow, Savanna strode to the near end of the pool.

  Peter glided into the shallow water at her feet and, as his body emerged, Savanna realized with a shudder that his bathing trunks were little more than Mary Edith’s thong. It was the kind of bathing suit Olympians used in competition, covering only his essential parts. Savanna couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the suit or the area of his anatomy it concealed. He moved up the steps, scrubbing his hair, flipping water everywhere until he stood a step below her bringing his face level with hers. She was impressed all over again with the man’s physical size and his male attributes. He locked his hands on top of his head, allowing her a full, unobstructed view of his marvelous physique. He cocked his head and looked her up and down before the smug little smile broke over his face. That smirk ripped her temper wide open.