Do You Love Me? Read online

  “All right, we’ll dance.”

  He stood and held out his arms. Savanna remained seated and gave him a brittle smile. “Not right now.” He was much too eager.

  He regarded her soberly for a long moment. She studied his expression, his body language. Would he sulk when she crossed him or would he be gracious?

  Instead of the expected pout, he smiled, recovering quickly. Good.

  Savanna went to the kitchen to ask Merriam to set the table for a formal dinner, a full setting of silverware, bread plates and linen napkins.

  As they dined that evening by candlelight, Merriam poured a taste of the dinner wine into Peter’s goblet. He breathed the aroma, sipped, and smiled.

  Savanna prodded him. “What do you think?”

  “It has an impertinent bouquet.”

  She blurted a laugh. “What? What does that mean?”

  His eyes glittered. “I have no idea.”

  Their laughter mingled. “Peter, where did you hear that?”

  “On television.”

  “And what do you really think of the wine?”

  “It is strong but very smooth. I have little experience of wine, except at communion. My funds run more to beer, occasionally bourbon.”

  “I thought they watered communion wine.”

  “Perhaps that is why this seems strong.”

  They sampled three wines as Savanna schooled him on costs and vintages and bouquets. They ate slowly, reviewing the courses and the use and placement of various pieces of china and silverware. She concentrated on not looking at the new, improved Pedro, now Peter.

  That night, assured by Merriam that Peter had a bed in the storage room and towels in the cabana bathroom, Savanna went upstairs, pleased that when she came down Tuesday, he would be there. She assumed the giddiness she felt was from the wine.

  Savanna didn’t want to think about Peter; instead, tried to read, a tedious novel she was determined to finish. When she found herself yawning every couple of minutes, her eyes blinking and teary, she gave up and turned off the lights.

  She had the next day’s agenda pretty well in mind and planned to be up early. Of course, she would alter her usual routine. Certainly there’d be no swimming nude before daybreak, even if Peter were a late sleeper.

  Yet to keep things as normal as possible, she’d swim early and have breakfast on the deck, with him, if he were available.

  Angus would keep Peter busy days while she was at the office. She would try to be home early during the duration to supervise her protégé’s progress.

  Struggling up from the numbness of early sleep, Savanna roused. It sounded as if someone were running a bath, although the drumming splash was sporadic.

  She sat up, squinting, trying to see out of sleep-swollen eyes. What was happening? The splashing came, not from the bathroom, but from outside.

  She got out of bed and padded to the French doors that opened onto a small, ornamental balcony off her room.

  Peering, she saw a form, Peter’s form, swimming, knifing through the water with long, sure strokes, his powerful shoulders rocking from side to side. It was the concussion of his kicking that sounded like water cascading into the tub.

  Savanna smiled to herself, started to retreat, but hesitated. At the end of the lap, he went under and pushed himself off the wall with his feet, achieving a long glide before he resumed the rhythmic stroke. His legs were well formed, his calves nicely muscled. She was again reminded of an automaton, a machine whose gears were well calibrated.

  What time was it?

  She checked the bedside clock. Ten forty-two.

  Peter was accustomed to a harsh physical regimen. Maybe he was restless after this day of leisure, standing and sitting in air-conditioned places. Or was he swimming off frustrations?

  The physical part of his life was none of her business.

  Still, it pleased her that he shared her fervor for swimming. Funny that he preferred swimming late while she liked the predawn sessions.

  Despite their many differences, she and this man had things in common. He showed promise of being a satisfactory companion.

  Smiling, she shuffled back to bed. She didn’t expect to sleep, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to be annoyed. While she didn’t want to be captured, his term, she didn’t intend to spend their entire project criticizing him.

  As she lay quietly, the rhythmic pounding in the pool lulled her.

  Rather than feeling threatened by the man’s proximity, Savanna marveled that she seemed to have a heightened sense of well-being.

  Peter remained out of sight during Savanna’s morning ritual in the pool but appeared on the deck soon after she had wrapped the terry cloth robe over her most conservative bathing suit. He carried two cups of coffee.

  “Good morning.” His smile quickened hers as he handed her a cup. “I prepared your coffee myself.”

  He was impeccably dressed in hounds tooth slacks and a cream-colored dress shirt that enhanced his dark good looks. She felt drab with no makeup and her wet hair plastered against her head.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. To your office, with you.”

  She hadn’t considered that he might want to accompany her. The prospect had its drawbacks, like his startling good looks that were sure to draw attention and set tongues wagging. There was another little glitch. How would she identify him to friends and coworkers? He wasn’t exactly an employee. She could just imagine herself saying, “He lives with me now.”

  Mentally groping for an elusive explanation, she hummed a simple, “I see.”

  “I will add a necktie and the black blazer. That will make me presentable in your business office. Isn’t that correct?”

  She hesitated, considering. He was imposing himself on her and she didn’t like it. Still, she was committed to this project and all its annoying ramifications. She drew a deep breath. “Yes. That is correct.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I was just wondering how to introduce you, how exactly to explain you.”

  “We can practice, if you like.” Obviously he was trying to pinpoint the problem. He put his cup on the table and stood at attention. Grimacing, she rose and stood before him.

  “How do you do. I’m Savanna Cavendish.”

  He smiled affably. “How do you do? I am Peter Rivera.”

  She bit her lips. “Too stilted. After someone introduces herself to you, you just need to say your name distinctly and shake hands.”

  “All right. Again.”

  Rehearsing something as simple as introducing him heightened her anxiety. “How do you do?” she tried again.

  Peter said his name and captured her cool hand in his warm one, securing her gaze just as firmly with his glistening eyes. Savanna’s breath caught. He stood poised for several heartbeats before he relinquished both hand and gaze. “Better?”

  She felt shaky. “That was fine.” At least her voice sounded steady.

  She decided to forgo breakfast and went upstairs to shower and dress and try to settle her pounding heart.

  Dressed and ready for work, Savanna didn’t talk as she walked to the car carrying her purse, the morning newspapers clasped under one arm. Silently, she allowed Peter to put her in on the passenger side. Before he closed her door, he said, “Where is your briefcase?”

  Now how could she have forgotten her case? She swiveled in the seat but he touched her arm lightly.

  “I will drive to the front and go in to get it for you. It is in the front hallway, near the credenza, is it not?”

  “Yes.” She settled back to read the market news, looking up when Peter returned with the briefcase. He got into the driver’s seat and sat studying her until she noticed the lack of activity and glanced up. “What?”

  “I want you to acknowledge my presence.”

  “You mean your getting back in the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, you’re acknowledged, now can we go?”


  He started the engine and pulled around the circle drive and between the brick columns into the traffic lanes beyond.

  Darryl was sitting on her secretary’s desk as Savanna and Peter got off the elevator and cut through the lobby to her office suite. He said, “We missed you yesterday.”

  Without waiting for a response, Darryl eyed Peter up and down. “Hello. I’m Darryl Hightower, vice president.”

  Without a hitch, Peter took Darryl’s offered hand. “Peter Rivera.”

  “I think I recognize Mr. Gardeny’s work. Did he style your hair?”

  “He did.”

  “Then you must be Savanna’s new neighbor.”

  “Her new neighbor.” Peter repeated the words and flashed Savanna a surprised look, hesitating only a moment. “That’s correct.”

  “Don’t worry, old boy, that’s not from the office grapevine. She just happened to mention it to me in private yesterday when she called for my advice.”

  Now there was a reach. She hadn’t called Darryl for his advice, only for the name of his hairdresser. Funny how things got embellished.

  Darryl studied Peter suspiciously. “What do you do, Mr. Rivera?”

  Peter glanced at Savanna who was at a loss. “This and that.”

  “I mean, what do you do for Ms. Cavendish?”

  Peter flashed a disarming smile. “We play chess.” Just as Darryl was about to ask another question, Peter spoke again. “We are working on a special project, one Ms. Cavendish considers quite private. Is that correct?” He turned the gossamer eyes on her. They were wide with innocence.

  “That’s right.” She hadn’t realized he could think so quickly on his feet.

  Obviously piqued, Darryl gave Savanna a terse rundown on Monday’s activities in her absence, ignoring Peter to the point of rudeness.

  She looked up as Tina, her secretary, swept through the office door. “Tina, this is Peter Rivera.”

  The secretary glanced at the visitor, then did a double take. The expression on her face softened from an intense frown to what Savanna considered an insipid smile. Tina took a couple of steps out of her way to offer Peter her hand.

  Returning the smile, Peter took her hand in both of his and looked deeply into her eyes. Savanna thought his response a bit over much and was even more annoyed when a flush crept up Tina’s neck and splotched her face.

  “Peter will be studying our office efficiency for a couple of weeks, Tina.” She intended the phrasing to bring the pair back to reality. It was Darryl, however, whose interest seemed most aroused.

  “I wasn’t aware we needed an efficiency expert.”

  Ignoring Darryl’s comment, Savanna looked from Peter to Tina and back.

  “Tina, do you have time to take Peter on a quick tour of the plant and introduce him around?”

  Tina beamed. “Right this way, Mr. Rivera. I’ll show you everything around here that’s worth seeing.”

  Peter flashed Savanna a suspicious glance as Tina took his arm. If his look was a plea for help, Savanna wasn’t interested. She’d noted Tina’s double entendre. It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have been quite so charming. Besides, she had work to do.

  Savanna excused Darryl as soon as Tina and Peter left, settled at her desk, opened a file, and turned to her computer. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She repeated the secretary’s words in a falsetto voice. “I’ll show you everything around here that’s worth seeing.” Savanna exhaled noisily. Peter was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

  But what if he were interested? Tina was probably attractive, if he liked females with boyish figures; marginally intelligent, twenty-two years old, and whose primary goal in life was to be perpetually in love. Savanna had found it difficult in the past to avoid knowing more about Tina’s love life than she wanted.

  What was this? Jealousy?

  Ridiculous. He was a highway construction worker, for heaven’s sake, not even remotely eligible to someone of Savanna’s standing. More suited to Tina. Besides, his sex life was none of Savanna’s business. The contract in front of her was, and she needed to get onto it.

  By the time the couple returned, Tina was obviously smitten. “Are you taking time for lunch today, Savanna?”

  Savanna glanced into Peter’s emerald eyes. “I have a couple of things I need to finish. I can get away early if I skip lunch or have it sent in. Do you suppose you could…”

  He spoke before she finished. “I will stay with you.”

  “But…”

  The green orbs flashed beneath a cautioning arch to his brows. “I will remain here.”

  Confused and maybe a little flattered, Savanna relented and asked Tina to order two blue plate specials from the tea shop on the ground floor of the Cavendish Building.

  When Tina had gone, Savanna turned her full attention on Peter. “You could have…”

  He held up a hand like a cop stopping traffic. “I am your feel-good project. Do not try to palm me off on a teenybopper.”

  Chuckling, Savanna didn’t answer. Teenybopper? It was a dated designation, but a remarkably accurate definition of Tina. How astute of him to have come up with it.

  Chapter Nine

  “Peter, do you read music?”

  By Thursday, four days into their project, Savanna and Peter were again seated at the desk in her den. She had linked her computer to the office machines so she could spend more time at home.

  They had had several elocution sessions, since his primary goal was to sound American, but the harder he tried, the more frustrated he became.

  Savanna reminded him. “Don’t speak so precisely. Use contractions. Slur your words. Swallow them.”

  He was getting it, but had been working so hard that planning the schedule for their fourth day, Savanna thought some recreation might be in order. She’d scheduled tennis, but a cloudburst prevented that until someone sponged the court. Music was a diversionary tactic.

  “No, I don’t read music.” He paused. She smiled, pleased with the contraction, and waited for him to continue with whatever he obviously wanted to add. “I do play.”

  When his eyes met hers, she blinked, a defense she practiced to avoid getting caught in his gaze. “Play what?”

  “A four-string mandolin.”

  “Any other instruments?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never tried, but yes, I think I can play others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes when I see an instrument, I have the feeling I could play it.” He flashed a suggestive grin, implying she might be one of those instruments he could play.

  Ignoring the implication, she stood and motioned him to follow her into the sun room. On an inside wall, out of the direct sunlight, stood a spinet piano.

  “Look at the piano, Peter. Do you have the feeling you can play it?”

  He gave her a smug, calculating glance. “Maybe.”

  “Have you ever played a piano?”

  “No.”

  “Have a seat.” She pulled out the piano bench, motioned him onto one end and she sat on the other.

  He moved to the middle of the bench, much closer to her than she thought necessary, and stared at the keys. After a moment, he spread his hands, poised his thick fingers, and struck, producing a thunderous noise.

  “Yes, I can play it.” He grinned. The fingers of his right hand rippled over the keyboard. Moments later, to Savanna’s amazement, his experimental run produced a distinctly zydeco sound. He added the bass, his left hand striking the keys with authority.

  “You have played before.”

  Blinking, as if awakening from sleep, he hammered away. Deep notes thrummed from the bass, blending with the rhythmic treble. He glared at the keyboard as if willing its compliance, but his words were quiet. “No, I have not.”

  In his fervor, thrusting his elbows, his upper arm brushed her breast. He didn’t seem to notice. She slid away to give him more space. “How can you make this music, then?”

  His eyes were fixe
d on the keys. “I don’t know.” He shifted position until his upper arm again touched her breast. He shook his head and barked another laugh. “It’s something I can do.”

  “Your contractions are improving.”

  Laughing out loud, he bounced in time to the music, and continued staring at the keyboard. “I know.”

  When he was not with Savanna, Peter trailed Angus on the grounds, lifting and carrying heavy materials at the older man’s instruction, learning the names of plants and how to tend them. When she asked Angus privately about Peter, the older man pointed with some pride to a new, portable gardener’s bench.

  “He gave that to me, to make planting and weeding easier for me. He is a fine addition to our household.”

  Savanna felt curiously vexed by the endorsement.

  Other times, Peter was in the kitchen with Merriam, erect in his chair, practicing with the silverware, naming pieces of China, laying out place settings, reading menus in cookbooks to learn terms, and pretending to concoct drinks as he studied bar guides.

  When Savanna asked Merriam if their guest was a nuisance, the housekeeper dropped her voice to a whisper. “He is like a sponge, absorbing all I say as quickly as I say it. He lifts words from the air, repeats them, letting them roll over his tongue. He mimics the television, watching old recordings, particularly news reports. He sounds like Lester Holt, although I assured him the lisp wasn’t necessary.

  “Look what he gave me.” The housekeeper directed Savanna’s gaze to her shoes, a spanking new pair of leather tennis shoes. “They are for jogging. I mentioned to Peter that the slab floor here in the kitchen can cause cramping if you stand too many hours. He said these would cushion my feet.” She giggled. “And they do. I haven’t received a gift in many years from a man who was not my husband. He is a beautiful person. Don’t you agree?”

  Savanna attempted to drift out of the room without answering, but Merriam insisted. “I said, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” Savanna murmured. “He is quite beautiful.”

  By Saturday night, Savanna was restless. Peter occupied her mind day and night, his spontaneous laughter, his warmth, his wit, the haunting fragrances and the constant, incidental touching.