Do You Love Me? Read online

  He yielded, lowering her inches at a time, sliding her down the hard length of him. She felt a mix of relief and torment as her feet again met the ground. She marshaled her faltering will and intellectual forces. “I have to think.”

  His dark gaze and the pained expression softened as he released most of her, at last steadying her with one hand. Vainly, she tried to free herself from that hand.

  He squinted. “I need to touch you, a little, only this, please.”

  “I can’t think when you’re touching me.”

  Keeping a hand at her elbow, he again dropped his eyes to the neckline of her gown beneath the gaping robe. Her glance followed his. The swells of her breasts seemed to entice him with each gasp, her globes rounded and firm, their tips at attention. His gaze lifted to her face.

  “I want to touch more of you.” He raised one hand to the neckline. She couldn’t stifle a groan as his fingers glided, tracing the neckline across the tops of her breasts. She stood, transfixed, until he lowered his mouth, obviously intending his lips should follow where his fingers had led.

  She whined, “No,” the one word more plea than command. He hesitated. She jerked free, pulled the thin cover-up over the gown, and retreated several steps. “Peter.” Her voice had a high-pitched edge. “If we are to continue our…our…project, we must control this…this…”

  “Passion, querida. It is passion you are feeling. I am honored to believe you have not known it before.” His gaze continued monitoring the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the layers of thin fabric.

  “Okay. We have to control this passion, or you will have to leave.”

  The green eyes became smoky as he raised them to hers. “Is your concern only for the success of your project?”

  She cleared her throat and tried to steady herself, acutely aware of reaching for his biceps. His upper arms flexed beneath her hands as he stepped forward. She levered herself from him. “I don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If you care for me, do not punish us.” There was a heavy silence. “I love you, Savanna. I want you to sleep in my arms tonight…and every night. I want to be your lover. Your friend. Your husband.”

  She shot a quick look behind her at the door into the house. “No, Peter. What you’re feeling is not love. It may be gratitude mixed with a dose of sexual interest.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Do you deny my love because you love another? I do not believe you love this Darryl Hightower.”

  Lord, no, Darryl was the farthest thing from her mind. Even at the beginning, he hadn’t inspired sexual desire, nothing like what she felt for Peter. Saying Darryl did, however, could provide a way out. She could tell Peter she was in love with Darryl. The lie would make things simpler between them.

  She didn’t want to lie to him, even if it were best for them both. She could not bear injuring him, not when her own feelings made her so achingly vulnerable, every nerve urging her to throw her arms around him and hold on, regardless of the consequences.

  “No. I don’t love Darryl Hightower.” She grimaced with the words realizing she didn’t even like Darryl any more.

  “Yet you have slept with him?” Peter seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Well, technically, no, I haven’t.” It was a quibble. She’d never slept with Darryl. She hesitated, uncertain about admitting the truth. Finally, she relented. “I have had sex with him.”

  Peter’s frown deepened. “Why did you receive him into your body, when you did not love him?”

  Suddenly flustered and ashamed, she shook her head. “I don’t know. He spoke of marriage…” She felt like an accused child desperately searching for a good reason for bad behavior. When she risked a glance at Peter’s face, he was grim.

  “I’m sure you’ve had sex with women you didn’t love.”

  He shook his head. “You must not do it again.”

  Peter’s words didn’t matter. She’d already decided not to have sex with Darryl again, not after the last time when he was so…so cruel. “I won’t.”

  “Nor with any other man.”

  “No.” She felt contrite.

  His tension seemed to ease and Peter’s voice dropped to a whisper. “My body will satisfy you.” She didn’t speak. “One day you will sleep in my arms, and we will continue together from that day for the rest of our lives.”

  She noticed the blood vessels straining in his neck and, as her eyes slid over his shoulders and along his well-formed arms, she smiled ruefully. This magnificent specimen wanted her to be his, exclusively. Yet Peter had none of the prerequisites a woman in her position required in a husband. That kind of talk was outrageous. She could never consider him seriously.

  She knew he was waiting for her agreement but she didn’t speak. Finally, he lowered his hands to his sides and exhaled with a shudder.

  Chapter Ten

  Because the sound of bath water had become so familiar to her, Peter’s nightly swim seldom roused Savanna from her sleep. It did Sunday night.

  She’d avoided him all day, reading, working at her computer, eating meals in her bedroom, replaying their antics of the night before, trying to come to terms with her own reckless behavior. Sleep eluded her early, but she had finally focused her mind on a contract awaiting her approval and drifted off. Now she was roused again.

  She got up and walked to the window to watch as his marvelous body swept up and down the length of the pool. She recalled the feel of that body when he held himself so rigidly against her and she pondered his prediction. She hoped he was right, that she eventually might sleep in his arms and share their bodies, though, of course, not permanently.

  As she stood watching and thinking, her gaze was drawn to light pouring from the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor at the Fletchers’ home next door, the oblique view a result of the houses positioned on their pie-shaped lots that met in a point at the far boundaries of their back yards.

  Mary Edith Fletcher stood in her bedroom window, clearly illuminated, unbuttoning her blouse. Slated to begin her third year of college, Mary Edith obviously hadn’t yet left to resume her education or, perhaps, she was home for the weekend.

  The girl removed her blouse. Savanna assumed the neighbor was unaware she was so visible there in the window as she reached both hands back to unfasten her bra, which she also removed. She stood, facing the pool, nude to the waist, and rubbed her nubby breasts with both hands. She was what Savanna termed pigeon breasted; her breasts small, flat items that spread over the broad expanse of a barrel chest. Of course, Savanna conceded, even imperfect breasts were provocative when exposed for all the world to see.

  Savanna glanced from the nocturnal swimmer who continued his laps unaware, then back at Mary Edith. The younger woman moved forward and reached for something on the wall. The security light outside her bedroom flashed on and off, on and off, three times.

  The swimmer stopped and put his feet on the bottom of the pool. He stood in water chest high and splashed his face with both hands, biceps bulging, before he looked up.

  He looked first toward Savanna’s room. She retreated further into the shadows. Then he looked up at Mary Edith who stood very close to her full-length window teasing her breasts with her hands and staring down at him.

  Startled by such obviously intentional erotic behavior, Savanna took a step forward to watch as the younger woman slowly unfastened and removed her shorts, peeling to bikini panties, and then stretched her arms high over her head, moving languidly from side to side.

  Savanna shot another look at Peter who stood unmoving, apparently fascinated by the impromptu striptease.

  Did he know it was entirely for his benefit?

  Of course he did.

  To get a clearer look at the girl’s performance, Savanna moved forward another step, out of the shadow cast by her drapes, into the circle of moonlight that crept a little distance into her room.

  She stared, hypnotized, as Mary Edith flipped the elastic waist of her panties, then snagged one side
with her thumb and pulled it down, tantalizingly low, never taking her eyes from Peter.

  Savanna glanced at the swimmer and did a double take, startled to see he was no longer watching Mary Edith’s exhibition but was, instead, looking directly up at her.

  Embarrassed to be caught watching and mortified for him to know she was witness to Mary Edith’s performance, Savanna stood paralyzed, unable or unwilling to withdraw.

  The expression on his face was somber as he regarded her. Finally, she raised a hand waist high and gave him a halfhearted wave. He smiled pleasantly and waved back. Then, without so much as another glance at the Fletchers’ house, he resumed his swim.

  Savanna retreated into the darkness of her chamber but cast a final look at Mary Edith’s bedroom.

  J.D. Fletcher, Mary Edith’s blustering father, burst into her room just as the young woman began rolling her panties down over her hips. Savanna could not hear his words but the disagreeable drone was audible despite sealed windows. Neither was there any mistaking their body language as Mary Edith grabbed a quilt from her bed to cover herself and shrieked a response.

  Fletch yelled and his daughter screeched, back and forth several times before the patriarch stormed to the window, peered out to see Peter continuing his laps, and yanked the draperies closed.

  At breakfast the next morning, Savanna tried not to think of Mary Edith, promising herself to forget what she had witnessed, certainly planning not to mention it nor to encourage conversation about it. To her relief, Peter assumed his usual, polite, aloof daytime manner. There was no evidence of Saturday night’s passion.

  That week, Savanna marveled at her student’s grasp of accounting as they moved into the new subject.

  She began simply, showing him her checkbook to demonstrate how to track household expenses, something with which he already seemed familiar. She carried ledgers home from the office, and was surprised her student was able to advance through them so quickly and go on to the online tax calculations involving employees’ withholding and retirement and health plans.

  She concentrated on not looking into his eyes, on not thinking how quickly he grasped the calculations, on not getting lost in the heady fragrance of the man.

  “I’ve never thought I’d be a very good teacher,” she told Carol over the telephone that night. “Peter is amazing. He grasps things on the first go-round. I don’t often have to repeat things.”

  Carol rasped her frustration. “Susu, when do I get a shot at finding out how amazing he is?”

  “Give me another week and you can come.”

  “You’re not making any moves on him yourself, are you?”

  Savanna thought it better not to mention her momentary lapses…or Tina’s response to him…or Mary Edith’s interest. “Absolutely not. This is practically a pristine relationship. I am the woman from La Mancha, watching pure and chaste from afar. I can’t think when I’ve ever enjoyed a man’s company this much. I wouldn’t do anything to muddle the clarity between us.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  At Savanna’s insistence, Peter boxed up his old clothes and wore only the new ones. She soon found he lacked dedication for shopping. That pleased her, since he was amiable about wearing anything she selected.

  “Do you like those Chinos?” she asked as they sat at breakfast in the dining room one morning. He wore new slacks and a sport shirt she had gotten the day before.

  “Yes.”

  She gave him a querying look. “The style, the color or comfort? What is it you like about them?”

  He leveled his green eyes and gave her a teasing smile. “I like that you were thinking of me when you bought them.”

  “Well, sure.”

  His smile waned and his look became more intense. “Do you think of me often when we are apart?”

  She needed to tread cautiously. It would be easy to confuse things again, to make him think her interest was…well…personal. It was up to her not to allow either of them to wander again off the path to their goal. His eyes remained on her face, waiting for a response. She needed to be diplomatic.

  “Certainly I think of you, Peter.” She kept her words intentionally cool. “Don’t fish for compliments. It makes you sound shallow and insecure.”

  “I want to know how you think of me.”

  “You know how I think of you. Aren’t I investing my time and resources in this project?”

  “Must you always refer to me as a project? I want you to have regard for me as a man.”

  “I do have. You are a big, fine-looking fellow with a quick mind, a pleasing personality, and many God-given talents.” Did he actually need all this reassurance?

  His expression darkened and he leaned toward her, his forearms on the table. In a quiet, almost sinister tone, he said, “But do you love me?”

  “Love you?” The words barked into the room on their own.

  Merriam whipped into the dining room through the swinging door, carrying the morning paper, which Savanna vaguely realized was a prop. The housekeeper’s face was set, her disapproval apparent and aimed solely at Savanna.

  Peter waved a hand at the housekeeper as if fanning at a gnat. “Merriam, do not interfere. I need her to be honest with me, no matter how brutal her words.” His intense gaze scanned Savanna’s face. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

  “What you’re thinking,” she corrected, emphasizing use of the contraction.

  His eyes narrowed.

  She didn’t realize he had become so sensitive, so concerned about her opinion of him. “Peter, you are dear to me.” He nodded, indicating she should continue, but the intensity of his gaze held hers. “I have only one sibling, a sister. Men have always been an enigma to me. That’s e-n-i-g-m-a, if you want to look it up.”

  He blinked slowly as if containing his temper, but made no attempt to speak.

  Tossing Savanna another disapproving glance, Merriam shoved the newspaper across the table and stalked back through the swinging door. Savanna fingered the rubber band binding the abandoned newspaper.

  “Peter, you have a wonderfully quick mind. You fairly absorb information. You follow directions extremely well. Your diction has improved to a point I can hardly tell your speech from that of the natives. I’m not sure that’s a compliment except that it was one of your stated goals.

  “You look good in your clothes.” She hesitated. “Of course, you looked fine in your work clothes, too. The difference is you are always clean now and smell like…”

  He frowned. “Smell like what?”

  “Like a city boy.” She wanted to keep this light.

  “Instead of?”

  “A working man.”

  He pulled at his shirt front. “I can assure you, this perfume, these clothes have not changed me from man to boy.”

  “I know that. I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “I am a man, Savanna.”

  “Certainly, I know you are, an exemplary man. I didn’t mean to say…”

  “You suggest I am less now than when I came here.”

  She eyed him suspiciously and paused a moment, marshaling her wits. Then she got an insight. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  His jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed to slits before he lowered them. He remained unmoving for several beats before his expression and his gaze lifted with what appeared to be new understanding. His chair teetered as he stood. “You are afraid.”

  She hated looking up at him but felt she must remain seated. If she stood too, the situation might escalate. “Afraid? Of you? No, I’m not. Not a bit.”

  “Yes, of me, but not of the intellectual, sweet smelling boy.” He lowered his voice. “You are afraid of my hunger for you.” He studied her in sulking silence.

  “Is it my passion that frightens you, or the same force now raising its head within you? My desire for you stimulates your desire for me, doesn’t it, Savanna?” He sneered and tossed his head. “I thought you to be a bold woman, but I see you more clearly now.”

 
He splayed his hands on the table and leaned toward her.

  “You excite me, Savanna. You excite us both. Why do you struggle against the passion inside? Why do you hold it at bay, hold me always away from you?”

  She shook her head, but he continued. “You bind all your emotions, anger, fear. I’ve seen you feel jealousy. It was written on your face when you looked at the neighbor’s daughter.”

  His voice dropped. “You speak of me as a project because you must. You are afraid of the feelings I arouse in you, the part of you which you accidentally have revealed to us both. I make you afraid that together we might release this passion and the fire it ignites might consume you.”

  Savanna stood, tossing her napkin on the table. “Don’t be absurd. The only thing you arouse in me is disgust. You’re a highway construction worker, for heaven’s sake, a man with little education and no background. You blew into this house off the road like an insignificant cloud of dust.” She waved her hand. “I didn’t invite you here to be my lover. You came with your hat in your hand, like a beggar, and I took pity on you.”

  Lines of anger cut Peter’s face. “I was not a beggar, although you may turn me into one. Nor am I one of your charities. You cannot throw your money at me and write me off on your income tax. What do you tell your tax consultant? Do you say, Peter Rivera is my gigolo, a man I pay for his company? Is that what I am to you, Savanna, a man bought with money, old family money that will go to strangers or to charity when you die because you don’t have the courage to invest in the boldest adventure in life, in loving?”

  Her throat burned. “My gigolo? You flatter yourself. A gigolo at least has some self-respect. He earns his money for services rendered. I could have bought the services you’ve rendered around here for a song compared to what I have invested in you. I have done all of that for your sake, you ungrateful…”

  He moved toward her, interrupting. “Not for my sake, but to salve your own conscience. You are empty, a rich bitch trying to buy a soul she does not have. You pretend to be someone you are not.” His eyes flashed green fire. “Do you truly believe people admire you, Savanna, for your personality, your charm, your winsome ways? They do not. They worship your money. Most of the people you call friends are false. They do not bother to know who you are because they do not care.”