Let's Do It Again

Off Like a Prom Dress: Let’s Do It Again Copyright © July 2010 by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-60737-536-4 Editor: Judith David Cover Artist: April Martinez Printed in the United States of America

Published by Loose Id LLC PO Box 425960 San Francisco CA 94142-5960 www.loose-id.com This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Dedication To MHB (1947-2004) and RHC, who inspired this story. I will always admire the way you played the hands you were dealt. And MHB, one thing I know for sure: You are not one to rest in peace, so I’ll just ask, Where’s the party?

Chapter One The applause, aided by the acoustics in the small auditorium, rose to a thunderous crescendo and washed over Dyanne as she watched her sons inducted into Birmingham University’s Premed Honor Society. The building was one of the oldest on the campus, but the school only dated from the 1960s, and so the theater had all the modernist hallmarks of that era. It looked like a huge concrete egg had been laid smack in the middle of downtown Birmingham. The shape made for some killer sound, though. Pride rose inside her in an effervescent wave that made her almost giddy. It was all she could do to remain seated as the protocol for the event required, but she somehow managed it. The twins, Owen and Anderson, finishing their junior year, had worked hard, especially Anderson, who had initially struggled with the strict regimen in premed. Dyanne had no idea what had finally inspired him to focus and buckle down, but she was delighted with the outcome. Apparently thinking along the same lines, Jack, her ex-husband, leaned toward her. “I can’t believe the turnaround A. has made this year. I was seriously starting to think the boy would end up mooching off us for the rest of his life.” Dyanne smiled in agreement even as she inhaled a lungful of Jack-scented air. Somehow, he always smelled…green. Like sea grass and the ocean breeze. His smell was the first thing she had noticed about him all those years ago, and it never changed. It wasn’t cologne or aftershave; it was just Jack. She was so distracted by the memories the scent evoked that she missed most of the rest of what he said. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

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He gave her an enigmatic smile. “I think the ceremony is over. Think we can get a table at the Highland Grill for an early dinner before we hit the road back to Huntsville?” “For the legendary Dr. Jack Wilder, I’m sure anything is possible,” Dyanne said, smirking at him. They rose from their seats as the new inductees proceeded off the stage. Before long, both their sons joined them in the foyer of the auditorium. The young men weren’t identical twins, but they both looked so much like their father, with long, lanky bodies, square jaws, and even the matching dimples in their chins, that people often assumed they were identical. Their only likeness to her was in their large, slightly tilted eyes and their skin color—though they were both lighter than she. Their eye colors differed—Anderson’s—a soft spaniel brown like his father’s, while Owen’s were almost crystal gray and reminded her of the ocean on an overcast day. Her father’s eyes, she thought with a slight pang. It had been more than five years since his death, and at times like these, she missed him desperately. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she said after giving each of them a hug. Anderson pointed to the honor-society pin on the lapel of his navy blue jacket. “Not bad for an old beach bum, huh, Dad?” he asked in a snide reminder of an exasperated comment Jack had made the year before. Anderson’s love for the beach and all things water related was one she shared—a legacy from her father. She had had both boys on boogie boards before they could walk, and Anderson was notorious for taking off to his father’s condo in the Florida Panhandle on a moment’s notice. Jack gave his son a playful punch to the shoulder. Dyanne smiled at the heartwarming scene. No matter how bad they had been at being married—and they were really, really bad—she and Jack had somehow pulled off an excellent divorce and raised two fabulous sons.

*** Dyanne leaned back in her chair, enjoying her second glass of wine and the conversation with her sons. “Are both of you still planning on med school?”

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Anderson nodded. “Yeah, I’ve decided I want to go into surgery. Maybe neurosurgery like my old man.” Jack puffed up with so much pride he was almost comical. “I’m leaning toward public health,” Owen said. “Maybe a joint MD/PhD program. I’ve had some really interesting classes. We’ve got some real live rock-star virus hunters right here at BU.” “Virus hunter? That sounds dangerous,” Dyanne said. Owen shrugged. “Or maybe defensive biological warfare. With all these terrorist groups running around, that field is getting hotter and hotter. The government is pouring a lot of money into it, so I’d be able to do some interesting research.” “Both of those sound fascinating. Who’s the rock star they have on staff here?” Jack asked. “Dr. Koss. You know the one who discovered the Rissa virus? He did a seminar on electron microscopy. Absolutely stellar.” “That does sound interesting,” Dyanne said with a nod. “Speaking of viruses, have you two been sick? Unless you’ve both stopped eating—and I know that’s highly unlikely—I need to know why you both look like greyhounds. I just saw y’all at Easter, and you’re rail thin now.” They both rolled their eyes on melodramatic sighs. “No, Mama, we’ve just been really busy,” Owen said. Anderson spoke up. “Besides, what did you expect? You haven’t sent us cookies in forever.” “He’s got a point,” his twin agreed. “It has been a minute.” Despite knowing she was being manipulated, Dyanne felt a bit of guilt. Even though they were grown men and perfectly capable of feeding themselves, she still felt responsible. She’d been working really hard lately. The real estate market was on life support. Selling a house these days was harder than making bricks without

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straw. Even though she knew a setup when she stepped into one, she grinned anyway. “I can’t have y’all fading away from lack of my triple-threat chocolate-chip cookies. Expect some care packages early next week.” The boys high-fived each other across the table. “Scored,” they shouted in unison. Dyanne automatically shushed them. The restaurant was a family favorite but was one of the most upscale in the city. Fortunately it wasn’t as crowded as usual on a Friday evening, but then again, they were eating fairly early. Later, anyone without a reservation would be totally out of luck. Jack shook his head, laughing while he mouthed sucker at her. Dyanne joined in the laughter. The meal continued in that vein. She should have been used to it by now. After all, they’d been divorced for five years, but she was still surprised by how comfortable these situations were. It probably helped that Jack was still devastatingly attractive, especially with his eyes lit by the sense of humor she’d always loved. Amazing. She thought the attraction between them had died long ago, but she could see the awareness on his face as his eyes met hers for just a little too long. That had been happening a lot lately, and she knew that there had been times he’d probably seen a similar expression on her face. When had she started seeing Jack as a man again, and not just her fellow parent? And what on earth was she going to do about it?

*** The drive back to Huntsville wasn’t a long one, especially with Jack driving. He was notoriously lead footed, but like everything else he did, he seemed so competent that she didn’t have a moment’s discomfort. They always traveled together when they went down to Birmingham for something at the boy’s school. It made more sense than taking two cars, and they liked to make the point to their sons that, despite their inability to live together, they would always be united in their love for them. All in all, it had always been a comfortable arrangement— except that lately there was an undeniable sexual connection.

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She watched as his hands tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel to the beat of Wilco’s “Should’ve Been in Love” and imagined them cupping her breasts. Her breasts tingled; her nipples suddenly became even more erect with arousal. She glanced down to ensure that they weren’t visible. Though she wore a lightweight linen shirt, the weather was still cool enough in April for her to add a soft jacket, especially in air-conditioned buildings. She looked up to meet Jack’s eyes and quickly realized he knew. The air was thick with sudden tension between them. Needing to distract herself, she leaned forward to change the music, though she really hadn’t been listening. That effectively snapped the tension, and he turned his eyes back to the road. This was crazy. Why on earth did she suddenly have the hots for her exhusband for crying out loud? It made no sense. She couldn’t stand to live with the man, and now it was all she could do not to jump his bones—in a speeding car, no less. In the back of her mind, an insistent voice kept saying, Just because he wasn’t a good husband doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a good lover. She tried to push the thought away, but it came back stronger and more insistent each time. Really, she had nothing to lose. Hadn’t she proved she wasn’t a scared girl anymore? She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted in bed or anywhere else. She could have a casual fling if she wanted to, and who better to have it with than Jack? Pregnancy wasn’t an issue. Jack had had a vasectomy years ago, and she knew that he was too fastidious to risk contracting any diseases, though she’d still ask. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was simply rationalizing something she’d wanted to do for a long time, but before her better angels could get the best of her, she spoke up. “So, Jack, are you seeing anyone these days?” A pair of wheat-colored brows formed a surprised arch on his forehead, probably because, aside from polite pleasantries, she hadn’t expressed any interest in his personal life since the divorce.

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“No. Things have been hectic at the hospital, and I’ve started teaching a few classes too.” She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been rather busy as well.” He didn’t say anything more, and the silence stretched on while she struggled to figure out how to do this subtly. Finally deciding there was no way to do it artfully—at least none she could think of—she decided to go with the direct approach. “I’ve been thinking about us quite a bit lately.” “Oh?” Just a single brow arched this time. “And since I’m not seeing anyone and you’re not, I thought maybe we could get together. You know a strictly casual, no-strings-attached type thing.” She rushed the last few words so quickly that she would have been amazed if he understood her. From the way he suddenly swerved the car off the highway and onto the shoulder, he clearly had. Despite the initial urgency of the moment, Jack took his time setting the flashers and parking brake with deliberate motions. The amber hazard lights glinted their warning into the pitch-black darkness, an omen if she’d ever seen one, but one she planned to ignore. “Let me get this straight. You’re propositioning me for sex?” His tone suggested he doubted his hearing…or her sanity. Dyanne raised her chin, determined to brazen this out. “No strings.” “Right. No strings.” He echoed her words in a noncommittal tone. She forced herself to stop licking her lips when she realized it betrayed her nervousness. Then too, he was avidly following the movement of her tongue. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be now…” Maybe he wasn’t interested, and this would be a way out of this insanity. Maybe with time, he would forget. “Oh no. Now is good.” He stared at her for several long seconds, then smiled, his masculine dimples giving him a mischievous look as he started the car. As he

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pulled back onto the highway again, he chuckled. “You’re a woman of many surprises, Dyanne. A woman of many surprises.” If she’d thought he was driving fast before, it was nothing compared to what the small sports car was doing now. Dyanne thought they might become airborne at any moment.

*** They pulled into the driveway of the home Dyanne had shared with Jack for seventeen years, and she shifted in her seat when he killed the engine. She was amazed that at some point, this had seemed like a great idea. A declaration of independence. Or something. Now she didn’t have a clue as to what she was doing. Too late for that now. She glanced down at her watch. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock. “You want to come in for a drink?” There’d be no going back now. Jack nodded, then climbed out of the low-slung vehicle and walked around to open the passenger door for her. They entered the house, and she hurried through the living room into the dining room to the small cherrywood bar. She picked up the nearly full bottle of Bowmore. He was the only one who ever drank it. Jack came up behind her and took the bottle from her hand. “I don’t think I want to indulge in anything that might impair my performance.” Dyanne laughed. “You do have a point,” she said as she turned to face him. He lowered his head to capture her mouth under his while she was still laughing. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. Yes. This was exactly what she’d been wanting. Totally enveloped in his aroma, Dyanne shivered as her arousal increased exponentially. Her breasts swelled and pressed almost painfully against the confines of her bra, and she pulled closer, paradoxically to relieve the pressure. He raised his head. “Upstairs?” he whispered in a voice made husky by desire.

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Dyanne nodded, eagerly reaching for his hand. Then she remembered. “There is just one thing. Actually two things.” She rushed to get the words out before she panicked. “I’m drug and disease free. Are you?” Jack let out a bark of laughter. “Of course I am. I’ve only—” Dyanne quickly placed her hand over his mouth. She really didn’t want to hear the details. “Okay, and the other thing is I’m going to tell you what I like. If that bothers you, we probably should stop now.” Jack gave her a bemused smile. “I’m willing to cater to your every desire, baby. In fact, I insist on it.” She took his hand to lead him upstairs to her bedroom. She directed him to take a seat on the queen-size four-poster bed. After the divorce, she’d redone the room in what turned out to be a very feminine style. There wasn’t any lace or loads of flowers, but she’d chosen the soft colors found on the inside of a shell, and the wallpaper itself even had a slight iridescence like mother-of-pearl. The colors and gentle curves flowed together in a way that was undeniably feminine. She thought he should look out of place in such an unmistakably feminine room; instead, it accentuated his masculinity and made him even more appealing. Turning her back to him, she took her time slipping her jacket off her shoulders. When she turned to face him again, color had risen high on his cheeks, and his full lips looked as though he’d been licking them. She paused with her fingers on the top button of her crisp white blouse. “I’ve always wanted to do this—a striptease, I mean.” “Why haven’t you?” “I didn’t want you to think I was a freak.” “I happen to like freaks.” Dyanne slid the first small shell button from its hole, then moved to the next one, gradually revealing a decadent white lace bra that framed her breasts and put them on display for Jack’s consumption. Jack’s breathing grew more rapid, and as

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she revealed more flesh, he was visibly shaking. Dyanne paused to lick lips left dry by nerves and to give the butterflies in her stomach an opportunity to quiet. For a moment, she feared that she couldn’t go through with it. Just when she’d decided to stop, he raised his eyes to hers, silently pleading as though he’d die if she didn’t continue. Dyanne closed her eyes. In that moment, she wanted him so badly she could barely stand it. The power of being able to make him beg for it was an almost unbearable aphrodisiac. Even so, she still wavered uncertainly. Well-raised Southern girls didn’t do stripteases, especially not for their ex-husbands. That thought was enough to push her over the edge. I’m not a girl anymore. She opened her eyes again and locked her gaze with his. One by one, she slipped the remaining buttons from their holes. The pace of Jack’s breathing intensified with her every movement. By the time she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, he was definitely panting, and she was almost light-headed with erotic power. She smiled, then realized she’d forgotten something important: music! Unwilling to disturb the seductive spell she’d been weaving, she began a slow grind as Dave Matthews growled the lyrics to “Crash Into Me” in her head. Her hips undulated as though they’d suddenly been unleashed with only one purpose: to lure the man before her. She slowly turned her back to him as her fingers found the zipper of her conservative navy pencil skirt. Still moving in time to the music only she could hear, she lowered the zipper inch by sensuous inch, anticipating his reaction when he saw what she wore underneath. When she finally reached the end, she took her time shimmying the skirt past her hips with a motion designed to make him crazy. When it pooled at her stiletto-clad feet, she turned to stand proudly in front of him in nothing but the bra, matching lace panties, and thighhigh stockings. “Oh my God,” Jack whispered with the reverence of a prayer. “Come here.” She walked over to stand between his widespread legs. He wrapped his arms around her waist while he buried his face between her breasts. His five-o’clock shadow abraded her tender flesh. The prickly sensation coursed through her body

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and directly to her clit, already throbbing in response to the empowerment she felt from the intensity of Jack’s reaction. Then his tongue slid across her skin in a silken caress, and Dyanne gasped in pleasure. Jack pushed the bra up and took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking on it strongly. Her legs were suddenly too weak to support her, and she found herself straddling his thigh as he arched her back over his arm. He sucked her breast until she all but lost her mind, as she began grinding her clit against his heavily muscled thigh. Her impending orgasm coiled in her lower belly like an ever-tightening spring. She ground against him harder and harder, desperate for release. When it finally struck, it hit her so hard she grayed out for a moment. Black spots filled her vision, and she collapsed against him, fighting for breath and consciousness. She lay against him until suddenly, with a sound that sounded more animal than human, he lifted her off his lap and flung her to the bed. Then he stood and began shucking his clothing at a frenzied pace. When he was naked, he rejoined her on the bed. Dyanne reached to pull him to her, but he stopped to yank her panties off in two impatient movements. His fingers found her wet, willing, and open, desperate for his possession. He didn’t disappoint. He kneeled between her parted thighs then raised her legs until they draped over the crooks of his arms, and her hips tipped off the bed to give him total access. He pressed his thumb against her clit in a steady rhythm. “So tell me, Dyanne. Do you like it like this?” His strokes on her clit were soft, feathery, almost imperceptible, which made her crave more contact. “Or like this?” He increased the pressure even as his rhythm slowed, leaving her pressing her hips with increasing urgency toward him, desperate for more. “Hard but faster,” she gasped. He responded, immediately giving her exactly what she needed. As she teetered on the edge of another orgasm, he pressed the head of his cock against her, rubbing it up and down her opening. “Now, Jack, now. Fuck me now.”

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As though he’d been waiting for her command, suddenly he thrust inside her, filling her almost to overflowing. It felt so good that for a moment she thought she was the one talking. But it was Jack saying over and over again, “So good. So good. Oh God, so goddamned good.” Then as though some force within him had been unleashed, he began slamming in and out of her in an increasingly frantic pace. The muscles in his arms bulged, and droplets of sweat slid off his forehead as he strained toward completion. She watched in awe as his orgasm forced his face into an almost painful grimace, and with one last powerful thrust, he collapsed on top of her. She must have dozed for a while, because she gradually became aware of the discomfort of trying to sleep with him on top of her. With a groan, he rolled over to her side. Dyanne hesitated for a moment, still shaken from the encounter, then rose from the bed and made her way to the bathroom. As she washed up, she studied her image in the mirror, stunned by the magnitude of what she had just done. There was nothing for it. She looked—and really there was no other word for it—well fucked. And with good reason. Jack was the only man she’d ever been with, and she’d never been the aggressor in their relationship. Not only had she pursued him, but she’d also followed through with a striptease, no less. Although she had to admit she was terrified of what she’d done, she was more than a bit proud too. Besides, everything was on her terms for a change, and if tonight was anything to go by, the terms were damned good. She grinned at her reflection, then returned to the bedroom and climbed back into bed. It had been a long time since she’d slept with anyone, and it was very comforting. Almost instantly, she fell into a slumber so deep she later decided she must have dreamed that Jack had leaned over and said, “I’ve got you, baby, and now I’m going to keep you.”

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Chapter Two Six months later

“We can’t ever do this again,” Dyanne said as she rose from Jack’s bed. The distinctive sound of metal meeting metal rang out in the quiet, sundappled bedroom. “If that’s the case, do you mind unlocking these handcuffs before you go? I’m on call tonight,” Jack said. Dyanne looked down at the beautiful man who was sprawled indolently on the bed, his long, lightly tanned limbs a blatant invitation to return to what they’d been doing all afternoon. “I’m serious, Jack. This is absolutely insane,” she said, straddling his hips as she reached over him to unfasten the handcuffs. “You might have a better chance of convincing me of that if you didn’t have the most gorgeous pair this side of the Mississippi in my face—not that I’m complaining.” Having finished her task, Dyanne sat on the edge of the bed. “I realize this was my idea—” “Again, not that I’m complaining,” Jack interrupted. Dyanne couldn’t help but be distracted by the way the afternoon sun glinted off his curly blond hair. It had always been a distraction, though he kept it cut ruthlessly short these days and it had darkened from the almost white blond of his youth to a deeper wheat gold. When they had first started dating, he had worn it much longer—as was the fashion then—and she could remember spending hours

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playing with those ringlets. Apparently he’d missed his weekly haircut, because it was now curling riotously, and it was all she could do not to run her hands through it again. Of course, the fact that he was stark naked wasn’t helping either. He’d filled out some from the tall, lanky wide receiver she’d fallen in love with as a fifteen-year-old cheerleader. His square jaw and the dimple in his chin hadn’t changed over the years. Despite his best efforts and several breaks, his nose was still remarkably straight. There were lines now to punctuate his frequent broad grins, but his puppy-dog brown eyes were still impossibly soft and even more mischievous. Like most very blond men, Jack had never been particularly hairy, except for a sparse patch on his chest that wound down his torso to his—For the love of God, was the man becoming aroused again? “Jack, would you mind putting on some clothes or something?” she asked impatiently. Jack threw back his head on a bark of laughter, but he did sit up and slip into his boxer briefs. “Amazing the effect you have on me, woman, and I’m not a kid anymore.” “That’s just the point, Jack. We have kids.” “I’m sure they know we’ve done it before.” “Yeah, but we’re divorced. We’re not supposed to be doing it now.” “Why the hell not? You’re my wife.” His voice held irritation. “We’re divorced. I’m not your wife.” “A technicality,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. Dyanne turned away from him and began putting on the clothes she’d removed so hurriedly hours before. “We’ve been divorced for five years. Why are you choosing to be difficult now?” She gritted her teeth in frustration, but she had only herself to blame. How had she managed to mess up this badly? They’d had a lovely divorce. No muss. No fuss. Textbook actually. They’d even co-parented their kids without drama or angst. Then one day, she’d clearly lost her mind and made the boneheaded

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decision to come on to him, thus turning their nice, amicable divorce into… Really she couldn’t think of a word for it, but she knew now, as she’d known at the time, this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. So why was she practically salivating at the prospect of getting naked with him again? Was she too young to blame it on menopause? “Hey, you’re the one who chose to take advantage of my vulnerability and use me for sex,” he said. Then he gave her a sweeping glance. “I always loved you in leather. Is that Versace?” Dyanne looked down at the bustier that made the most of her limited cleavage. “Yes. Yes, it is.” “And that thong—let’s just say it’s a good thing you already had me handcuffed before I saw that.” Dyanne stood and adjusted her skirt. “Where on earth did this randiness come from? Did your last girlfriend bail on you?” “We’re not having this conversation. You know I don’t have any girlfriends. I wouldn’t be fucking you if I did.” Dyanne pulled on her jacket. She checked her appearance in the mirror before she turned to leave the room. “Don’t forget to deposit your share of the boys’ tuition payment.” “I told you I would pay—” “Just your half, Jack. That’s all we need.”

*** Dyanne’s cell phone began to ring as she unlocked her back door. Distracted by her thoughts about Jack and with trying to find a way out of the mess she’d created, she bobbled the shopping bag and tote she was carrying. As they dropped to the floor, she had a momentary concern about the laptop that was in her tote. But when she saw who was calling, that concern was forgotten. She flipped it open, delighted by any opportunity to hear Anderson’s voice.

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“Hi, Mama. How’s it going?” “Things are great here. What’s going on down there?” she asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Nothing much. Have you seen Dad?” The phone almost joined her bags on the floor as an embarrassed flush swept over her. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?” How ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and the boys were almost two hours away in Birmingham. It wasn’t like they had any way of knowing the scandalous activities she’d been up to with their dad. “Uh…because he lives across your backyard,” Anderson replied in a dry tone. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of him all afternoon. He’s not answering the phone.” There was a significant pause before he added, “And oddly enough, neither were you.” Dyanne distinctly remembered both of their phones ringing several times that afternoon. Her embarrassment deepened, and she struggled to control the timbre of her voice as she continued in a forced casual tone. “Well, you know your dad. He’s always busy. What’s going on? Is something wrong?” Worry pushed every other thought out of her head; she just hoped the emergency didn’t require money. She hadn’t sold a house that month and would be mortified to have to go to Jack for money after she’d insisted on splitting the boys’ school costs. As a top pediatric neurosurgeon, he made far more than she did, and argued quite logically that it was only fair that he should pay more. But she’d been dependent on others for too long. She’d carry her own weight or die trying. “Well, we thought y’all might be interested to know that we’re on track to make the Dean’s List, but if you’re too busy…” Anderson drawled. She could just see the playful grin so like his father’s. Cheeky brat. “Omigod, Anderson. The Dean’s List. That’s wonderful.” She paused. Though just as capable as his twin, Owen, Anderson had a tendency to slack off academically. “Both of you?”

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“Yes, Mama. Both of us.” She could hear his irritation. “I know you boys have been working hard. I’m so proud of you, and I know Jack will be too.”

*** Anderson flopped back onto the narrow bed in the tiny dorm room he shared with his twin. “They are so totally doing it.” He couldn’t help but be amused by his mother’s obvious embarrassment. She was always such a lady. He couldn’t imagine how his dad had talked her into this. She’d been right pissed when they broke up— not that she’d ever say anything bad about their dad in front of them. She was much too responsible for that, and he appreciated her efforts. Most of his friends had divorced parents, and he’d heard some horrific stories. Still, he could tell that she had been angry and hurt. Every now and then he could see it on her face when she thought no one was watching. Unlike most of his friends’ divorced parents, his mom and dad were almost friends. Or apparently more than friends—friends with benefits. Owen covered both his ears as he perched on the edge of his bunk. “I’m not hearing this.” “Oh for God’s sake. We have to be mature adults about this,” Anderson said, enjoying his brother’s discomfort. Owen lowered his hands until they were just below his ears. “That makes no sense. They’re divorced. Why would they bother to start having sex now?” He grimaced as though simply saying the words was enough to make him queasy. “Divorced people do it all the time. I’ll bet it’s like makeup sex.” He knew his brother would understand that. Owen was in a tempestuous relationship with his first real girlfriend. Makeup sex was probably the only reason they were still together. Owen gave him a speculative look. “You’ve been talking about this forever, but I still don’t know what gives you the idea that they’re doing it.”

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“That’s because you haven’t been listening.” Owen shrugged in response. Anderson continued, “Haven’t you noticed how Mama reacts anytime Dad’s name is mentioned? I asked if she’d seen Dad, and she acted as though I’d asked if she’d murdered him and planned to serve up the grisly remains at the Junior League luncheon. And it’s just recently too. She didn’t used to do that, and they’ve been divorced for a while now. Something’s happened. Something’s different.” Owen’s face contorted into a frown of disgust as he fell back on the bunk with a groan. After a pause, he groaned again and then pulled his pillow over his face. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.” “Would you grow up already. They’ve known each other since high school. She probably has him wearing her panties by now.” The football Owen threw at Anderson’s head missed—but not by much.

*** Dyanne unlocked the door to the house, then stepped aside so the couple could enter. “As you can see, there are hardwoods throughout the first floor. When we get upstairs, you’ll see there’s Berber in all the bedrooms.” She led the couple into the kitchen. “Stainless-steel appliances and quartz countertops.” The woman paused and looked at Dyanne with a frown. “Quartz is not granite.” Dyanne gritted her teeth to keep from using one of her Anderson’s favorite phrases: no shit. “It’s very high-quality quartz. It certainly adds as much value as granite.” “But we told you the countertops were nonnegotiable.” “Of

course.”

Dyanne

somehow

smiled

over

her

still-clenched

teeth.

“Unfortunately, Sharon, we’ve looked at every available home in the neighborhood you wanted.” All fifty-six of them, she added silently.

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Walter Sondren, Sharon’s husband, spoke up. “You’ve repeatedly shown us houses that don’t meet our specifications.” Dyanne struggled to keep from sounding defensive. “As I explained, this is a very desirable neighborhood, and inventory goes fast. Every house I’ve shown you met most of your specifications.” “Most is not all. You showed us ten houses yesterday,” he said. Dyanne nodded in agreement. “And all of them had granite countertops,” she said with a smile. “Yes.” The trophy wife said. “But only a few had fenced backyards.” Dyanne scrolled through the listings on her phone. “Actually, all but one had fenced backyards.” “Yeah, but one had that awful culvert.” “Beyond the fence. I think I explained that parts of this neighborhood are in a floodplain. Would you like to look at the rest of the house? It has everything on your list.” “Except granite,” Walter said. “I was told you were the top agent at your company.” His frown indicated he doubted that could be true. “I’m the top seller and have also won awards for customer satisfaction. I understand this is a difficult process, especially with you transferring from out of town and only able to come for short visits. You’ve seen a lot of houses, and I know you’re on a tight deadline. Why don’t we have lunch? We can sit down and go over all the houses we’ve already seen. Inventory here in Jones Valley is always tight, and the houses are snapped up quickly, but I think maybe, with just a little flexibility, we can get you in a house you’ll be happy with. For instance, if you find everything else you want, it’s quite easy to replace countertops. I know several contractors who are top-notch. Or you can expand the neighborhood choices—” “Why? So you can sell us something we’ve already told you we don’t want?” Sharon asked with a toss of her impossibly red mane. She turned to her husband. “I

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think we’re wasting our time here. I told you we should have switched to another agency.” If they’d only done that fifty houses ago. “Of course. I understand. Let me take you back to your car.” And good riddance.

*** “Billye, please tell me I’ve got some sane clients to see today,” Dyanne said as she stepped into the mercifully cool office. Though it was fall, it was still incredibly warm, even for North Alabama. “Of course, Ms. Anderson-Wilder,” the office manager chirped. “It’s Dyanne. Just call me Dyanne,” she said automatically, knowing it would never happen. Billye was almost frighteningly efficient, and she insisted on a level of formality Dyanne hadn’t seen since her halcyon days as Debutante of the Year. Dyanne sat down in the chair next to Billye’s desk while the woman printed out Dyanne’s contact list. The office of Mecklenburg Realty took up the first floor of a historic office building in Huntsville’s courthouse square. The robin’s egg blue walls were accented by broad crown molding the color of fresh milk. It wasn’t plush enough to be intimidating to clients yet was still tastefully elegant and impressive. “I e-mailed it to your phone as well,” Billye said. “Thanks. I’ve been having trouble with my e-mail lately. I’ll check it, though,” Dyanne said with a sigh. It wasn’t even noon, and she was tired to her bones. She’d known from the beginning that the Sondrens would be a tough sell, which was probably why they had been assigned to her in the first place. She had a reputation for selling to even the toughest cases, but she’d never met anyone so unwilling to compromise. She always wondered why those types of people didn’t just build from scratch. Of course, she wouldn’t wish those two on any contractor in town. They would be impossible. At any other time, she’d have been glad to get rid of them, but right now, both clients and inventory were very low, and she hadn’t sold anything the entire month. Things hadn’t been this bad since her rookie year. She sighed

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again and checked her watch. Maybe she’d grab lunch before she started calling the people on her contact sheet. “Tough morning?” Billye asked. “I thought they would’ve bought by now, especially since they’re relocating from out of state. You’ve shown them some gorgeous houses.” “I know. I think they might be a bit upscale for us. Of course, there aren’t a lot of houses on the market right now; folks are staying put and waiting for prices to get better. I’ve been getting by with single sales for the past couple of months. I really need to make a sale, but I’m afraid we’ve lost the Sondrens for good.” “After you showed them a hundred houses?” Billye said. Her peachy complexion flushed with ire. Dyanne sighed. “Granite is a deal breaker.” She mimicked Sharon Sondren’s breathy, Marilyn Monroe-like tones. Surely no one actually talked like that for real, did they? She’d always been a credible mimic, and Billye laughed at her efforts. “Granite is a deal breaker. Damn HGTV!” “Yeah, and if they only knew that most of the stuff people have been slapping into these houses is just crap anyway,” Billye said. “Yeah, but you can’t tell people that. Granite and stainless steel are what’s in, even if they are made from subpar material most of the time.” Billye shook her head. A contractor’s daughter, she knew her building materials. “Well, a couple of those callers on the list I gave you seem eager. I think we’re beginning to see a real influx of those people from the military base closings in northern Virginia. I put an asterisk by the ones who are already preapproved.” “Thanks, Billye, You’re a doll. I think I’m going to the Po Boy Factory for lunch. Want to come?” Billye had been in the business for more than twenty years. Dyanne owed much of her success to the woman’s help and guidance. Billye’s smile softened what could at times be a rather harsh face. “Sounds good.”

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“Okay, let me check my messages, and then we’ll go.” Dyanne left Billye’s desk and walked into her office closing the door behind her. Just as she sat down, her cell phone rang. Jack. This was the third time he’d called this morning. For an exhusband, he was damned persistent. Why hadn’t he been this attentive when they were still married? They’d been divorced for five years, for God’s sake. Nicely. Amicably. Civilly. Sanely. D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D. Then she had to get stupid. She shook her head grimly. No point going down that avenue. Again. Definitely had to be menopause—at least that was going to be her excuse, dammit. If Jamie Foxx could “blame it on the alcohol,” she could most assuredly blame it on the menopause. With a sigh of resolution, she picked up the phone from her desk. “Good morning, Jack.”

*** He met the somnolent gaze of the sultry beauty down the long length of the hotel bar. Slim, but with curves that left no doubt she was a woman, not a girl. She was slightly above average height, with skin that glowed like burnished bronze. Her highly textured hair was pulled back from her high forehead and clipped into a chignon at her nape with a jeweled barrette. The severe hairstyle made her sharp cheekbones and dramatically arched brows even more prominent. Even from this distance he was drawn to the seductive pout of her lips, which shimmered under a layer of vermilion lipstick that matched the flower behind her left ear. The flower that told him she was his contact. The stylish glass, leather, and mahogany decor was the perfect setting for the woman, who exuded sophistication down to her perfectly manicured fingertips. “Mademoiselle, puis-je prendre ce siege?” Miss, may I take this seat? His French was smooth and unfaltering, but heavily flavored with a German accent. She looked up at him from beneath impossibly long lashes, a look that still made him catch his breath just as it had when he’d first seen it in Mrs. Weeks’s chemistry class decades before. She responded in the same language. “Madame. It is madame.”

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He frowned his disappointment. “How unfortunate. Where is monsieur, and what could he possibly be doing to abandon one such as you to her own devices?” She smiled with a sensuous curl of her lips that made his tingle in response. “He’s a man of business, and this is a business trip. I came along because lately I’ve been suffering from”—she lifted her lids to stare directly into his eyes—“ennui.” The code word. “Oh, then I suppose you wouldn’t be averse to a bit of…pleasure.” Thus far, she’d responded just as she was supposed to. He decided to press her. He moved closer to where she was perched on the leather bar stool. The bar was only moderately full, considering that it was a Saturday evening. Despite the amount of outrageously expensive liquor being consumed, the stylishly attired clientele spoke in hushed tones that suited the upscale furnishings, and most were couples having a few drinks before continuing on to dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. Even so, he noted that his companion was receiving more than her fair share of male attention. “I’m sorry. I forgot to ask your name.” “Colette, Colette Mignonne,” she said, her voice dropping to a tantalizing whisper. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Helmut. And your husband, will he be returning soon?” “Not for hours and hours,” she said with a delicious pout. Now her responses were running counter to the agreed-upon signals. Time to cut to the chase. “So you’re saying you don’t have the microfiche.” She gasped, looking at him in wide-eyed shock. After a brief pause, she shook her head emphatically. “Of course I do not. It was never supposed to come to me.” “Then I assume you won’t object if I subject you to a cavity search,” he said. She raised her delicately pointed chin. “I insist on it.” “Perhaps we can make use of my suite.”

***

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They had barely gotten into the room when he grabbed her hips and slammed her back against the door. His mouth descended on hers, and he took it ravenously. Her tongue followed his back into his mouth, and he couldn’t control the shudder that raced through him in response. He sucked on her tongue. God, he could never get enough. No matter how many times he had her, it was always just like the first time, and he was just a horny boy crazy in love with the head cheerleader. Her scent filled his nostrils, driving his arousal to a fever pitch. His hands automatically went to zip at the back of her slim black skirt. He pushed the skirt off her hips, then groaned as he realized her unbelievably long legs were encased in black silk stockings held up by a tiny garter belt. That and the cherry red fuck-me pumps would have been enough to make a lesser man come on the spot. To distract himself, he slowly unbuttoned her white silk blouse and slipped it off her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a black lace push-up bra, which made her rich brown skin look even more succulent in contrast. “Votre penchant pour la lingerie…um, la lingerie…la lingerie coquine va me donner un fétiche.” Your penchant for naughty lingerie is going to give me a fetish. He struggled to continue speaking in French. “Another one?” she asked with an arch of an elegant brow. Then she threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I’m amazed my nipples didn’t come right through my blouse, they were so hard.” He closed his eyes. He so didn’t need that visual. “Don’t say stuff like that.” He led her over to the bed. If he didn’t get inside her soon, he was going to lose it for real. Then goodness only knew when he’d be ready for another round. Amazing, the lust this woman inspired in him after all these years. His mind was so clouded by desire that it was all he could do to remain in character for their role-playing game—spy versus spy was one of their favorites. “Madame Mignonne, perhaps you would like to reconsider. I’m afraid that we both know what the results of this cavity search will be.”

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She tossed her head and gave him an enigmatic smile. “Do your worst, spymaster.” He carefully unfastened the clasp of her bra. Her breasts were small and tipped with large dark nipples that made his mouth water. He leaned forward to take one into his mouth, tugging strongly. She groaned softly in response. Her breasts had always been crazy responsive, and he enjoyed turning her on as much as possible with only attention to her sensitive nipples. He encircled the very tip with his lips, then teased it with his teeth as her hands moved up to grasp his shoulders convulsively. He gorged himself again and again, savoring her cries as he went back and forth from one breast to the other, lingering with passionate devotion to her pleasure. He squeezed one breast as he sucked strongly on the other, and she pressed her hips against his, grinding desperately in a motion that all but shut his brain down. His only coherent thought was to please her, as though his very life depended on it. Because it did. So he continued, slow circles followed by sucking and gentle nips. He knew how much she loved the feel of his teeth. Just so, not too much, though every now and then, he couldn’t help it and probably left marks. Right now, though, he knew she didn’t care. She was just as caught up in the fevered desire as he was. She held on firmly as she shivered in response to his every move. He felt like a conductor guiding an orchestra through an erotic symphony that could only come to one tempestuous conclusion. He played her body as only a maestro could, intimately familiar with every tone and response. He continued the soft bites on the undersides of her breasts while he squeezed her nipples in tandem to his movements. She was panting now, her grinding against his heavy erection becoming even more intense in a steady motion that promised delights to come. Suddenly, it was too much. Momentarily forgetting their game, he pushed her to the bed and quickly followed her down. He trailed his lips over the silkiness of her torso. The gentle bites became stronger. The scant panties she wore emphasized the curve of her hips and her slightly rounded stomach. He traced his tongue over the faint silvery lines left from carrying his sons. He carefully unfastened her garters and stripped the panties down her long, shapely legs. Her thighs quivered

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beneath his hands as she groaned again in response. Thrilled with his ability to arouse her, he pushed her legs apart, then separated the lips of her pussy with his fingers, and paused to enjoy the sight of her luscious pink flesh opening just for him like some exotic tropical fruit. He leaned forward, unable to resist having just a taste. That taste led to another, and then he was sliding his tongue up and down the length of her slit as she squirmed beneath him. Her juices coated his tongue and slid down his face as he took her clit between his lips and tugged gently, the movement setting off an explosive response in her as she arched off the bed and screamed his name. That did it. Without even bothering to remove his clothes, Jack rose from his knees. He pulled his cock through his fly. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to slow down long enough to regain a modicum of control. Otherwise, he wouldn’t last more than a stroke or two. She still wore those unbelievably erotic red pumps, and he raised her feet up to his shoulders as he parted her legs. Raising her hips to meet his, he slammed his cock into her almost compulsively. She gasped in response as her pussy automatically tightened against his invading force. He paused, taking his time to enjoy the feel of her silky walls surrounding his cock. He gritted his teeth and then pulled back, feeling her wetness slide against his sensitive cockhead. Almost immediately he thrust inside again, unable to resist the lure of her slickened depths. Again and again, as sweat dampened the white dress shirt and dinner jacket he still wore, he ground against her, pressing his pubic bone against her clitoris. The pressure quickly catapulted her into a second orgasm. Her nails bit into his forearms, and the sudden, sharp pain was too much for his overstimulated senses. He followed her into ecstasy, totally drained of all energy. He lay there for a long moment afterward, his body refusing to move as he kissed her, totally focusing on the feel of her succulent lips sliding against his. He slowly thrust his tongue inside, amazed as his cock jerked in response. He’d die if he tried to fuck her again, so Jack forced himself to withdraw and collapsed on the bed beside her. When his neurons

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started firing again, he reached over and stroked a finger down her damp cheek. “Okay, next time, I get to be Moneypenny.”

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Chapter Three Dyanne pulled into the driveway. She paused and leaned her head on the steering wheel. She really, really hated after-hours closings, and with this one everything that could go wrong… She climbed out of the car with a sigh. It wasn’t actually that late. Just past ten, but with a closing that began at six, and just now ended she felt as though she’d run a marathon. The cool evening air brushed the aroma of fallen leaves over her and delighted her senses even as it did nothing to revive her flagging spirits. The nice commission check in her purse almost made it all worthwhile, though. After getting married and moving directly from her parents’ house to one where Jack paid all the bills, she didn’t think she’d ever get over the thrill of making her own money. She really hoped she’d get a chance to take a vacation this year. She hadn’t been to the beach since the boys began college, and she really missed the ocean. Though she swam as often as possible, and never less than several times a week, nothing compared to the satiny caress of ocean waves washing over her. She grabbed her bag off the seat, then climbed the broad steps to her front door. As she crossed the living room, she paused to take in the neutral colors and the unexpected pops of vivid jewel tones. The house was more than twenty years old, though, and the decor was starting to look a bit dated. But there’d be no money for that until the boys finished school. Of course, by then she’d probably be in a sweet little town house over in the Village of Providence. She was halfway up the stairs to the second floor when she realized there was music emanating from her bedroom. She knew she hadn’t left any music playing when she left that morning. Briefly she wondered if the boys had come home unexpectedly, but Anita Baker was

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hardly their type of music. Even before she opened the door, she knew who was rocking out in her bedroom. So much for not changing the locks after the divorce. She was really in no mood for fun and games tonight. Jack looked so familiar standing next to her bed that she caught her breath. Suddenly, the exhaustion that made her shoulders sag left her body as though it had never been there. He turned around, a glass of champagne in each hand. “Hello, love. Bad day? That closing must have been a real bitch. Thought a little bubbly would smooth it out and help you celebrate at the same time. Or if you’d prefer, I’ve got chamomile.” He gestured to the small teapot that sat on a folding table he’d placed next to her bed. Dyanne shook her head, disoriented by the improbability of the moment. The Jack she’d been married to for seventeen years had never asked about her day or— Were those peonies? Since when did he even know her favorite flower? She numbly took the glass from his hand and sipped the beverage slowly. The bubbles danced briskly over her tongue, imparting a much-needed spark of energy. Before this night, he’d never used the key he clearly still had. At least not as far as she knew. “I’ve run you a bath. You want to take your glass with you? I’ve also got you a snack.” Dyanne blinked at the cheese-and-fruit plate he’d placed on the table as well. This was becoming almost surreal. With her back to him, she put her glass down on the dresser and paused to collect her thoughts. No way could she let him get away with this. Why was he doing this? She’d been as plain as possible. Sex only. She didn’t need him to take care of her. “Dyanne?” She could hear his amusement. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” She turned around when she heard the rustling sound of a plastic bag being opened. He had what looked to be at least six feet of fine jute rope coiled in his hands. The fibers looked strong and utilitarian, a stark contrast to what he planned to do with it—at least if his predatory facial expression was anything to go by.

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Okay, this was definitely more comfortable territory. For a moment there, he had been acting downright…husbandly. Not a good look for either of them. “This is nothing new, Jack. We’ve done the bondage thing before.” He grinned. “Not like this, we haven’t.” Dyanne’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She walked over to the cheese and fruit. “Here, take a seat.” He gestured toward her bedside chair. She sank into its cozy depths, and he immediately pulled her feet up onto the matching ottoman and slipped off her heels. He handed her the plate while he took up a seat on the ottoman. She almost melted into a puddle as he began to massage her feet. The fruit plate was irresistible, and she focused on feeding one appetite while another was being stimulated by his manipulation of her feet. She couldn’t stop thinking about that rope and exactly what he had in mind. “So do you want to tell me about this monster closing? Or would you rather not talk about it?” “Who told you where I was?” Dyanne asked. “Billye. I called the office to ask you out for a late supper after my surgery was canceled. Hope you didn’t mind my using the key, but I did call you several times.” Dyanne nodded. She didn’t take personal calls when she was in a closing. “So what do you want to hear about first: the bad inspection or the bad title search? How about the closing attorney who didn’t bother to mention he’d been disbarred?” She sighed heavily. “I know you don’t really want to hear me rant about this. You’d be bored out of your mind.” He grinned up at her as he slipped his hands up from her feet to her calves. Much more of this and she really would be a puddle of goo. “You’d be surprised at what I want to hear about, baby. Go ahead, humor me.” Baby? She really going to have to talk to him about using endearments, but his hands felt so good—and besides, she had a mouthful of really yummy cheese. She’d

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let this one slide and totally ignore the thrill the endearment gave her. If he wanted to hear about her closing, she’d tell him all about it. So she did and was absolutely amazed at how comfortable it was to just talk to him this way. Jack had checked out of their life long before the divorce, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed talking to him as a friend. After her meal, she continued on to the bath he’d run for her. Still very curious about that rope, she didn’t linger as long as she might have normally. Since they’d started sleeping together, they’d tried all kinds of kink. It was strange; when they were married, it had been strictly vanilla sex, but now it was like they had been liberated or something. Or maybe they just didn’t have any expectations and felt safe to explore. At least she knew that was how she felt. She wasn’t sure what was going on with Jack. Oh, he’d always had a very strong sexual appetite. Even when they’d been distant in every other aspect of their lives, their sex life had always been active. But nothing like this. Now she was starting to wonder if this had been bubbling under the surface all along. Why hadn’t he let his freak flag fly before now? And where had he learned all this freaky stuff anyway? Dyanne took another sip of the crisp champagne. She’d relinquished the right to know a long time ago, but still she wondered.

*** Jack stood over the bed where Dyanne lay. Her satiny brown skin glowed against the white sheets, and she looked so alluring that, for a long moment, all he could do was stare. Her breasts were a little fuller than when she was younger, and the curves of her hips and thighs all but made his mouth water. More than anything in the world, he wanted his wife back. He wanted to take care of her, but she wasn’t ready to hear any of that right now. He knew that if he hinted at reconciliation, she’d run as fast as she could away from him. She was skittish, and rightfully so. He’d been a right bastard the entire time they were married, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why. At the time he’d thought everything was okay. He had worked long hours, and she had always been there to take care of the kids. It was only after she’d asked for a divorce that he realized how much he’d neglected

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her. He’d learned his lesson, though. Five long years without his wife. Without his family. If he managed to pull off a miracle and get his wife back, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure she never regretted it. He’d seen that scared look in her eyes; if he hadn’t brought out the rope, she would’ve closed the door in his face and refused to ever see him again. He looped the narrow rope around her neck and brought the loose ends to the front of her. Then he carefully wrapped the cord hand over hand in a complicated figure-eight pattern right above her breastbone. Dyanne looked up at him, her lips pursed in mock concern. “I don’t know, Jack. It’s probably not a good idea for me to lie here while my ex-husband ties a rope around my neck. Wasn’t there a movie on Lifetime that started this way?” “Trust me, baby,” he said as he reached down to caress her neck. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting this gorgeous skin.” He crossed the loose ends of the rope between her breasts, then urged her into a sitting position so he could wrap them behind her back. When he brought them to the front again, she lay back down. He paused for a moment to admire his handiwork. Just as he’d thought, this was the perfect design for Dyanne. The loops of the rope formed a small medallion at her breastbone before branching under her breasts where the pressure from the rope pushed them upward, so that they practically begged for his mouth. Determined to get through this, he focused on the instructions he’d read about how to loop the cord into the intricate design. It was difficult to wrap it and get it placed properly so that it didn’t come undone. He glanced up at her, glad to see that she’d calmed down. That had been pure panic in her eyes when she had come into the bedroom. Of course, he’d known that would be her response, but he couldn’t help it. From the beginning she’d been using sex to keep emotions out of their relationship, but he’d been too husbandly tonight for her comfort. He wanted to be there for her when she had a bad day, and the distraction of the rope was enough to convince her that they were still playing according to her rules. Except that he wasn’t playing at all.

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Dyanne rose on her elbows to study what he was doing, then gave him a questioning look. “What are you doing? Macramé? That looks like a pot hanger I made for my mama in seventh grade.” “It’s Japanese bondage,” he said as he slipped the loose ends behind her back, crossed them again, and then brought them around to the front once more. “It’s called Kimbaku-bi. I bought a book.” “I’m sure you did,” she said drily, still watching him. “Are those knots?” “Of course not. Knots would bruise your skin. Besides, they’re totally against Kimbaku-bi protocol.” She pursed her lips and gave him a mystified look. “Goodness knows we don’t want to violate Kimbaku-bi protocol. The Kimbaku-bi police might come after us. For God’s sake, Jack, what on earth have you been reading?” “I told you I bought a book. And I am a surgeon. I’ve always been good with my hands.” He looked down at his handiwork, his masterpiece. The intricately twined cord stood out in relief against her flesh. He’d always wanted to see his baby bound and never thought he’d get the chance. She squirmed under him, which let him know that, despite her skepticism, she was turned on too. He loved the way her breasts pouted at him in luscious invitation. They were so sensitive, and he regretted not having given them proper attention when they were married. He shut down that line of thought immediately, focusing instead on giving her as much pleasure as possible now. The loops had formed another medallion right at her navel as the rope came together almost like crocheted lace. He looked down at her pubic mound, which was adorned by curly black hair with a few strands of silver standing out like delicate ornamentation. He reached down between her legs to pull the rope there, but when he saw the moisture collected on her thighs, he couldn’t resist. He pushed her legs apart to gaze down at the glistening pink petals of her pussy, open for him and too delectable to leave without a taste. He licked her with the flat of his tongue, and she cried out in response, encouraging him to continue. The scent of her arousal filled

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his senses, and he could think of nothing but getting more and more of her. He released his hold on the tails of the rope and began strumming her clit with his thumb while his tongue found the opening of her canal. He drove in deep, filling himself with her essence. Dyanne convulsed beneath him, her flesh slickening under his questing fingers. She was almost there; he could feel it. She was practically vibrating in his hands. He knew exactly what to do. With split-second timing, he slipped one finger, then two inside her while he took her clit between his lips and tugged gently. She pressed her clit against his mouth urgently and cried out her eyes closing in response to the unbearable pleasure. He answered her cry with an almost inhuman cry of his own. That’s all it took. The vibration against her clit sent her over the edge, and she came apart in his hands, her hips arching off the bed into an impossible position. He paused to collect himself, struggling to recall his plans. If he weren’t careful, he’d be balls-deep inside her pounding his way to bliss. He pulled away while he still could. Dyanne collapsed on the bed, her body shimmering with a sheen of perspiration, lax with the exhaustion of completion. Glad that he hadn’t totally undone his handiwork Jack paused to tighten the ropes, taking advantage of her slack position to take them between her legs, pressing against what he knew must now be unbearably sensitive flesh. She groaned, and her eyes popped open. “What are you doing?” “Raise your hips,” he instructed, bringing the cords up between her buttocks and wrapping them around her waist. Then he wrapped the loose ends several times at each hip to secure them. Dyanne looked down at the erection bulging against the fabric of his khaki trousers. “What about you?”

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“Believe me, baby. I’m going to get mine.” He finished what he was doing and stood up. Then he pulled the top sheet over her. “Sweet dreams, my sweet.” Dyanne looked at him in confusion. “You’re going to leave me tied up like this?” she asked in a dazed tone that made it almost impossible for him to leave. “If you’re very careful, they won’t come undone.” He showed her how to adjust the ropes between her legs for bathroom breaks. “If they’re still there when I see you tomorrow evening, I’ll have a very special treat.” “Tomorrow night?” she protested. “I’ve got to go to work tomorrow. I can’t go anywhere like this.” “The ropes are very thin. They won’t show under your clothes.” He raised his shoulders in a shrug meant to imply that he didn’t care one way or another. “Of course, if you don’t think you can do it…” Just as he’d intended, her eyes met his as she raised her chin defiantly. “Of course I can do it.” Dyanne never could resist a dare. “That’s my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” With a casual wave, he left before he started shouting his triumph. He had to be careful, or he would blow this. When she had first approached him about having a sexual relationship, he couldn’t believe his luck. Here was a chance—a slim one, to make up for the mess he’d made of their marriage. He’d waited a long time for this: an opportunity to get his wife and his life back.

*** Dyanne hurried through the doorway of one of Huntsville’s most upscale restaurants. Though housed in a strip mall, the decor was pure New York City, with dark woods and crystal, and loads of malachite marble. The waiters were professionals trained in the French serving tradition. The maître d’ gave her an appreciative glance, and she knew that she looked good in the sophisticated charcoal gray suit. The knee-grazing skirt made her legs look miles long, while the cobalt blue blouse brought out her skin tone beautifully.

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But all she could think about was what was under her clothes—little as it was. Though she knew no one could see the ropes, she’d checked every hour just to be sure. She couldn’t help but think that everyone knew, and that was undeniably arousing. The ropes were soft and surprisingly comfortable, but the feel of them against her bare flesh had left her in a continuous state of arousal all day. Jack stood to greet her as she approached their table, and she inhaled sharply when she saw him. It was all she could do not to jump him right there. The navy blue suit he wore brought out the gold streaks in his hair. His shoulders looked impossibly broad. He took her hand in his, and she looked up into his eyes. Instead of their usual soft brown, they had turned nearly black with pure lust. His face was rigid, color was high on his cheekbones, and his lips were vividly colored and fuller than normal. He was as aroused as she was, and knowing that almost sent her into orbit. He pulled her chair out so she could be seated. Their waiter came over almost immediately to take their drink orders. Unwilling to pour gasoline on an already raging inferno, Dyanne ordered sparkling water. Apparently sharing the sentiment, Jack ordered the same. “So are you still wearing our little secret?” His low, husky tone seared her nerve endings. “Of course.” She smiled into his eyes—which was a mistake, because the desperation on his face left her squirming in her seat, which only exacerbated her problem. “All day long that’s all I could think about. I was in surgery at dawn. I’m amazed I didn’t lobotomize anyone. At least, I don’t think I did,” he added ruefully. “I’m just glad I had so many appointments today. Otherwise, I would’ve spent the whole day with my hand between my legs.” “Oh God, I so didn’t need that visual,” he growled, looking at her hungrily. “I want you so bad right now. What are you wearing besides the ropes?” “Just the ropes,” she admitted on a whisper.

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Jack closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they glittered feverishly. “I think I outsmarted myself. I meant to draw out the dinner and tease you. I was going to play with you until I drove both of us insane, but if I sit here much longer, I think I’ll wind up banging you right here on the table.” Dyanne pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “I think I’ll just go to the powder room.” She gasped out the first destination that crossed her mind, then ran as fast as she could in her stiletto heels. She rushed into the bathroom and sighed in relief, as the cool marble interior had a slight chilling effect on her enflamed senses. She took her time using the toilet. When she finished, she stood at the sink, washing her hands and studying her flushed face in the huge venetian mirror. Even in the room’s low light, she could see that her pupils were dilated, and her pulse beat erratically in her throat. Her clothing still looked crisp and professional, but her face said, Do me now. Hard. She was just about to dampen a paper towel to cool her heated skin, when the door opened. She looked over her shoulder as Jack entered the room. He was even more intense than he had been when she left the table. His tie was slightly askew, and his hair looked as though he’d been running his fingers through it frantically. When his eyes met hers, she began to tremble with excitement and just a little bit of fear as well. Being stalked, no matter how much she wanted it, was scary as hell. He looked as though he wanted to eat her alive, and right now she didn’t necessarily object to his desires. Before she could open her mouth to ask what he was doing there, he was on her. He grabbed her waist and pushed her against the wall. The cold marble against her back was almost a relief from the heat of his body pressed against hers. He took her mouth with a desperation that was almost frightening, his tongue invading her mouth like a conquering warrior. She wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the kiss with everything within her. He pushed her skirt up above her hips, and she cried out as his fingers found the wetness of her pussy. He slipped a finger inside, and she raised a leg to rest against his hip, giving him total access.

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He fumbled with the front of his pants for a moment, and then he was there. He slammed his cock inside her so forcefully that her head snapped back. From this position, she could see their image reflected in the mirror. There was something downright dirty about the way the well-tailored lines of his suit contrasted with the bare skin of her leg. Watching his hips as he drove into her again and again was unbelievably erotic—like watching a porn movie in which they just happened to have the lead roles. He grabbed her other leg and pushed it up, until both her legs were dangling from the crooks of his arms. He pushed her legs up roughly, leaving her totally exposed and helpless to slow the power of his assault. Not that she wanted to. Her cheeks and neck were ruddy with beard burn, and his fiery kisses had left her lips swollen and begging for more. The knowledge that nobody would be able to see her tonight without knowing exactly what she’d been doing was an additional thrill that pushed her so close to the edge that she had to close her eyes against the intensity of it. He continued slamming his cock into her like a man possessed until, with a harsh shout, he collapsed against her his cock erupted stretching her pussy until it seemed that every nerve ending was alive in a way she’d never experienced before. Dyanne was totally lost in the moment, strung out, responding only to the feel of him so deep inside. Her orgasm took her in that instant as she wavered between pleasure and pain. For a moment their tortured breathing was the only sound in the luxurious powder room. Finally Jack backed away with a shudder. “I’m sorry, Dyanne—” “Why are you apologizing?” she asked, too lethargic from her release to do any complicated thinking. “I couldn’t wait until you got off.” “Believe me. You didn’t have to wait. A warm breeze would’ve been enough.” He handed her some paper towels, then turned away to tuck himself back into his pants. Dyanne looked into the wall of gilded mirrors. She probably should be ashamed of how wanton she looked, but the only thing she could feel was…relaxed.

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She was washing up in the sink when a coherent thought finally made it through the lust-fog that enshrouded her brain. “I know it’s not that crowded tonight, but don’t you think it’s odd that no one has had to use the bathroom?” “Oh, that,” Jack said with a rueful grin. “I gave the waiter my wallet if he kept everybody out for ten minutes.” Dyanne shook her head at him. “You gave him your wallet? What if he takes off with your credit cards?” “It would be worth every penny,” he said with a devastating grin that made a dimple flash in one lean cheek. “For God’s sake, Jack, I swear you need a keeper.” He gave her his best puppy-dog look. “I know. I used to be married to the best in the world, but I was such a bastard she left me. Are you volunteering for the job?” Dyanne couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think you can get these ropes off me without totally taking my clothes off? I’d hate to jump you at the table again.” “That’ll be my pleasure. I need to get it back anyway. I plan to have it bronzed.”

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Chapter Four Dyanne threw back the sheet in disgust. Obviously she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. She’d had a particularly frustrating day to cap off a frustrating month. How the hell would she ever sell houses if she kept getting shorted on the appraisals? For the third time this month, she had a buyer ready to make contract, but the appraisals were too damned low for the bank. All the properties were grossly undervalued, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She stopped to pick up her game console from her bedside table. The boys had gotten her the little gizmo for Christmas last year, and now she was hopelessly addicted. They’d definitely gotten their revenge for all the hours she’d spent yelling at them to stop playing video games and do their homework. Maybe some solitaire and a cup of tea would help her relax and get some sleep. She had new clients coming in tomorrow— out-of-towners, and they were always a challenge. In the kitchen, she rifled through her vast collection of tea before settling on an old favorite. Shortly, the kettle hissed its familiar tune, and she poured the hot water into the waiting teapot. She swished the water around to warm the pot, then tipped it out. After adding more hot water into the pot, she carefully measured the herbal tea into her diffuser before placing the lid back on and leaving the tea to steep. She smiled a bit at her careful attention to detail. She was acting as though she were a geisha performing a tea ceremony. But she’d always been soothed by careful and methodical, if mindless, tasks. Dyanne stood by the counter until the allotted five minutes of steeping time expired; then she poured the brew into her favorite cup and sat down at the large kitchen table to take an appreciative sip. She paused, studying the light and sunny

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decor of the kitchen, which had always been her favorite room. The French provincial furnishings were a bit dated but still delighted her as much as they had when she and Jack bought the house so long ago. They’d just got married, and both sets of parents chipped in generously to help them buy the house; Jack still had had years to go before he finished school. When he had begun medical school in Birmingham, they had a commuter marriage, and it was one of her biggest regrets. She hadn’t wanted to leave the security of having her friends and family nearby, especially when Jack was gone so much. He had agreed to the arrangement—but then what choice did he have with all the parents except his mother allied against him? He’d had a tiny apartment in Birmingham, and she had visited often—but four years of living in different cities had done irreparable damage to their tender marriage. The house was still lovely, but it really was too much for a single woman, and she’d planned to sell it and buy a smaller home when the boys went off to BU. Of course the real estate market had tanked shortly thereafter, and she tabled those plans. During their marriage, she and Jack had invested a fortune in rehabbing the dated house and had almost doubled the square footage. The notion of selling it at a loss gave her heart palpitations, though she knew better than most that it didn’t pay to get sentimental about real estate. Though she’d no longer get the kind of money she would have received a few years ago for the place, it would still provide a nice nest egg for times like these when the market just would not give her a break. Besides, the upkeep was murder. She forced herself to ignore the pang she felt at the notion of cutting the last tie to her former life. Rather than examine issues that were better left alone, Dyanne settled into a mindless game of solitaire. She was so focused on her play that she jumped when someone knocked at the back door. She turned to look and immediately saw Jack through the brightly lit panes of the double French doors. Obviously his presence had set off the motion sensors on her exterior lights.

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“Hi, Dyanne. I saw your light was on. Do you mind if I come in?” he asked softly. Dyanne paused, about to say something snide, but changed her mind when she noticed the way his shoulders were slumped and the lines of weariness around his eyes. Jack was unusually tall, well over six feet, and as a lifelong runner and former football player, he usually held himself with the physical assurance of an athlete. But tonight, it seemed he couldn’t be bothered. He was still in his scrubs, and she could smell the antiseptic on him, so she knew he’d just come from the hospital, probably from surgery. He wore long-sleeved scrubs because he said they kept the operating room colder than any meat locker, and the scrub tops had to be custom ordered because his arms were so long. She remembered ordering the set he was wearing. The forest green was particularly striking with his coloring. She stepped back to grant him entry, then automatically walked over to the cupboard to retrieve the cocoa. Only Jack and the boys drank it; she never touched the stuff. It was only after she removed the milk from the refrigerator that she realized what she was doing, and of course, it was too late. Making him cocoa was entirely too wifely for her comfort, and well outside the realm of a casual lover. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that. Still, she could hardly pour the beverage down the sink. She finished the preparation in silence, then handed him the cup. “Sorry; it’s skim. I never buy whole when the boys aren’t home.” Jack took the cup but didn’t taste the contents. “Thanks. I don’t drink whole milk anymore. Some things you have to give up with age.” Dyanne gave him a sharp look, wondering if there was a double meaning to his words, but the broad contours of his face were relaxed, even though he seemed distracted. “I don’t know why you worry so much about gaining weight,” he said. “You know you look great. I’ll bet you can still fit your wedding dress.”

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“Of course I can.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Actually it’s too big in the waist. I was four months pregnant at the time, but these days I have to work out twice as hard and eat half as much to keep it up,” she said with a rueful sigh. “You know it wasn’t the wedding I wanted anyway. I’m pretty sure I burned that awful dress.” Memories of being forced into a formal wedding when everyone knew they had to get married washed over her. His smile didn’t reach the velvety brown softness of eyes, and Dyanne knew something was seriously wrong. Jack was usually an open book. “Are you planning to tell me what has you at my house at this late hour?” Jack took a sip of his cocoa. “Oh, you know, the usual. Car accident, two-yearold crashed against the windshield. Car seat? Oh, we were just going down the street.” He said the last in a falsetto voice that she assumed was mimicry of the child’s mother. “Oh, Jack, did you—” “Lose him? No. No. We saved him, but he has massive head trauma and a couple of major brain bleeds. We’ve got him in a drug-induced coma now with cold IVs until the swelling goes down.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Dyanne reached out to put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Jack. You’ve given him the best chance he can have to be okay. Haven’t you always told me that if anyone’s got to have a brain injury, it’s better when they’re young because they stand a better chance of recovery?” “I just don’t understand what the hell is wrong with people.” She lowered her head to rest on top of his. Jack always took it hard when surgeries didn’t go well. Oddly enough, she knew it wasn’t ego. He felt genuine compassion for his tiny patients, and his anger and frustration on their behalf overwhelmed him at times. Despite her misgivings about the way they were blurring the lines of their relationship, she couldn’t help but offer what comfort she could. “Parents do stupid stuff sometimes, but kids are amazingly resilient, or so a

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really brilliant neurosurgeon keeps telling me. God knows if the boys had relied on our smarts to survive, neither would’ve ever reached puberty.” He raised his head to look up at her, his sudden mirth accentuating the laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. “Oh God, we were so stupid. Remember the time Owen slipped under the crib and you couldn’t find him?” “I still have nightmares about that.” “You were standing in the middle of the floor screaming at the top of your lungs. I’m amazed someone didn’t call the cops. It sounded like I was dismembering you or something.” “Cheerleading makes for strong lungs,” she said. “I crawled under the crib, and there he was, curled up on the floor, sound asleep.” “My hero. You were cool as a cucumber.” “I was so scared I only got down on the floor so I wouldn’t fall so far when I passed out,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. Dyanne chuckled in return. “I was just trying to figure out how we could explain that we had lost one of the babies. Our folks were already mad at us and thought we were idiots. Losing one of the kids would have surely confirmed it.” “God, our poor parents. Remember the night we went parking and fell asleep? Judge Anderson wanted to have us arrested for hip speeding. I started laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop. It was just too goddamned ironic. I’d spent hours trying to get you to put out, and it so wasn’t happening. And now I was about to get the hell beat out of me for something I hadn’t done.” Her father had been a federal judge in the area for many years and was referred to by his title by pretty much everyone. “I thought for sure Daddy was going to punch you. It would’ve been a preemptive strike, considering what happened a few months later.” Dyanne picked up her cup and walked back over to the microwave to reheat it.

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Neither of them said anything for a long moment, she suspected he too was lost in memories of the life they’d shared. Then Jack looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Do you regret it?” Dyanne lowered her eyes, unwilling to pretend to misunderstand his question. “How could I? What girl doesn’t dream of giving birth to premature twins and being married to a premed student at nineteen? No, seriously how could I regret it? I got my boys, didn’t I?” “Is that all? We were married for twenty years.” Dyanne rolled her eyes. “Seventeen.” “What?” “We were married for seventeen years.” “Whatever. I never was good with numbers.” “Scary thought, considering you’re a neurosurgeon. Not surprising you can’t keep up. You weren’t here for most of that time.” Where the hell had that come from? It had been a long time, and she thought she’d gotten past that anger and bitterness. “And who’s bright idea was that? Who was too scared to leave home with her husband?” he asked, his voice tight with sudden anger. Dyanne’s face heated. “I mean after you finished med school!” Jack rose from the table slowly. He picked up his cup and walked over to the sink. After rinsing his cup and leaving it on the drain board, he stood looking out the back window. Not that he could see anything. It was pitch-black outside. The silence stretched out between them for so long that Dyanne thought he would ignore her comment. She should have known better. Jack took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he clearly tried to calm himself. “You’re right, of course. By the time I finished my residency—” “It wasn’t just that, Jack. Most surgeons don’t work the hours you do.” “Did.”

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“What?” “You know I don’t work those hours anymore. I’m a workaholic, always have been. But I’d already lost you; I’d be damned if I was going to lose the boys too.” Dyanne couldn’t argue that point. She’d been amazed at how he’d picked up the pieces after the divorce and remained involved in the boys’ lives to the point of even buying a house across the back fence. He opened his mouth as if to defend himself. Then he shook his head as though he’d changed his mind. She could all but see his struggle to control his anger. Despite his affable demeanor, Jack had a formidable temper. She was surprised that he was even bothering to control it tonight. “We’re not doing this,” he said as he walked over to her. “What’s the point of rehashing those old fights?” His voice softened as he pulled her out of her chair and into his embrace. “Thank you for being there for me tonight. I don’t deserve it, but I appreciate it. The last thing I want to do is fight with you.” Then he lowered his head brushing his lips gently across hers. Dyanne shivered in response. His lips sought out her neck. and all her anger disappeared just as quickly as it had arisen. God, why was it that he could still do this to her? He traced the opening of her mouth in gentle query as though they hadn’t exchanged a million kisses over the lifetime they’d known one another. As though he didn’t know every intimate detail of her body. As though they hadn’t explored dozens of variations of sex in the past six months. Her lips parted just as they always did. No matter what, she could never deny him, even though deep down inside she knew this was dangerous. Far more dangerous than handcuffs and leather, because this was the path to her soul, and he knew it. He groaned against her lips and delved deeper, his tongue tangling with hers desperately, belying the fact that it had been less than a week since he’d last had her against a marble wall. He raised his head and looked down at her. His soft brown eyes had taken on a somnolent look that was both familiar and enticing. “I need to slow down. Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

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Dyanne pulled away. Okay, this had gone past dangerous and right into suicidal. Jack wasn’t playing anymore; actually, she was starting to wonder if he’d ever been playing. “I don’t think—” Before she could complete that thought, both his hands came up to capture her face. Those hands she’d thrilled to watch time and again making unbelievable catches on the football field, hands that had brought their sons to her for the first time. Now those hands cupped her face as though she were a rare artifact. His head descended to hers again, his lips capturing hers with a tenderness that left her breathless. She’d missed this so much that her soul thirsted for it like an aquiferabsorbed rain after a long drought. Thankfully. Joyfully. So desperately needy that it wouldn’t be denied. She pulled away from the kiss again, and they stood only inches apart staring at each other, panting with the force of desire between them. There would be no playing this time. If she went to bed with him now, they would cross a line. A barrier she’d intentionally erected to protect herself. Still, she only paused for a moment before she took his hand and led him up the stairs to the bedroom they’d shared for nearly half their lives. Now that they were in the room, they took their time. The urgency was gone. Their kisses were long and lingering, leaving them gasping and sighing in their wake. He pulled his shirt and T-shirt over his head, and she slowly, carefully traced the fine hair on his chest as though learning him for the first time and needing to imprint every trace of him on her memory for all eternity. She outlined one flat russet nipple and then the other. When she took one into her mouth, he shivered in response. Moving back up to his mouth, she rewarded him with a deep, carnal kiss. She stroked her tongue across the roof of his mouth. Then she sucked on his tongue in a deep, pulsating rhythm. His shivers turned into shudders as her hand followed the fine feathering of hair on his torso. She reached under the waistband of his pants until she found his erect penis. She grasped and stroked it in tandem with the

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way she was sucking his tongue. And the whole time, his eyes remained open, never moving from hers as his face contorted in a grimace of pleasure. Eventually she pulled away from his mouth. Wanting to taste and please him in the most intimate way possible, she followed the path her hand had taken until her mouth encircled his deeply plum-colored cockhead. She circled it with her tongue again and again, and even though the breath hissed between his teeth on a lurid curse of response, his eyes never closed. He was begging and urging her on with every breath. Loving the feel of his throbbing cock in her mouth, inhaling his masculine scent with every breath, she traced the thick veins one by one with her tongue. Then she moved up to the tip again, savoring the salty taste of his precum, which leaked out copiously in a harbinger of what was to come. Totally enamored with her power over him, she deep throated him again and again, the head of his cock meeting the back of her throat while he writhed on the bed beneath her, crying out incoherently with pleasure. “Fuck me, Dy. For the love of God, fuck me,” he growled in a tone so guttural that it didn’t even sound human. Dyanne grinned, slipped off the bed, and quickly pulled off her gown and robe. She straddled his hips, then carefully and methodically pressed the head of his penis against the wet opening of her vagina. She gradually lowered herself over his shaft. But apparently she was taking too long, because he suddenly arched up from the bed, grabbed her hips, and pulled her down forcefully while thrusting his hips up until their pelvises slammed together with an erotically wet sound. The movement was so sudden that she gasped as her body quickly adjusted to his girth. Her nerve endings sizzled, stimulated almost past bearing. She rode him slowly down and then up, lingering over every throbbing inch of him. Tension gathered in the pit of her belly in an ever-tightening knot, then spread up through her spine and all her extremities. Her body begged for release, but she held back, wanting to drive him, test him, and taunt him, push him to the edge and

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then over. She watched him and he watched her as they engaged in this sensual joust. Then it was there and couldn’t be denied any longer. The orgasm broke over her with the inevitability of the tide. Wave after wave coursed through her, leaving her open and vulnerable to the emotions she’d denied for too long. Suddenly she felt wetness on her cheeks. Tears rolled softly down. She wept. For the love they’d had. For the fear and anger that had destroyed it. For the scared kids they’d once been and never would be again. He brought his hands up from her hips to cup her face and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. He met her sodden gaze directly, unashamed of the tears that glazed his own eyes. They rocked together in a rhythm made more poignant by its familiarity, and then the unexpected happened—just as the tremors of her orgasm died away, she watched as his slammed into him. The pain and heartache that brought tears to their eyes also sweetened into joy as she watched as he was racked by ultimate pleasure. Exhausted, they eventually slept, but Jack woke her time and again, and they came together, their bodies meeting as though compelled to do so by outside forces. Until finally even the fiercest desire couldn’t rouse them, and they fell into a deep slumber, clinging to each other through the few hours left of the night.

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Chapter Five Dyanne hopped on one foot, trying to get her shoe on when the doorbell rang again. Who could that be at—she glanced at her clock again—8:00 a.m. She hopped over to the window and looked down to the front porch to see who her visitor was. Maybe if she didn’t answer, they’d go away. She sighed and pressed her lips together over a string of swear words that would still make her mother wash her mouth out with soap. Her best friend, Carolyn, who lived only a few houses away, looked up at her and waved. So much for that thought. Carolyn wouldn’t be going anywhere, especially now that she’d seen her. It was bad enough Jack had kept her awake all night, and Lord knew Carolyn loved to talk. At this rate, she was going to be late for her first meeting. Well, she’d just have to tell Carolyn she’d talk to her later. Carolyn would understand. Her friend had a face so similar to her own that they had been mistaken for sisters since preschool. Of a size, they’d even always been able to share clothing. Even their coloring was similar, though Dyanne could detect Carolyn’s reddish brown coloration in contrast to her own golden tones. And Carolyn’s eyes were a lighter shade of brown—a changeable hue that had been entrancing males of the species since they’d reached puberty. An in-depth exploration of their family trees had found no blood ties. Still, the likeness was disconcerting. Opening the door, Dyanne didn’t even get a chance to open her mouth before Carolyn blurted out, “All right, heifer, you gonna tell me why I saw Jack Wilder leaving this house at five o’clock this morning?”

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“What?” she asked, left almost speechless with surprise. How had Carolyn seen Jack leave? If Dyanne had immediately responded with a denial, she might have gotten away with it. But by the time she recovered, it was too late to lie. Carolyn interrupted her thoughts. “Brew Junior got into a bit of trouble last night.” “What happened?” Carolyn’s son, Brewster, was a high school senior this year and had started sowing his oats in a major way. “Never mind. Suffice it to say I had to go pick him up before daylight this morning. As I came over the hill, I caught Jack in my headlights crossing your backyard. I slowed down because I thought he might be a burglar or something, but that blond hair is unmistakable. Now, just answer my question. By the way, are you sure you want to have this conversation on the porch? After all, you are a Junior Leaguer.” Dyanne sucked her teeth in annoyance at that old jab, but unable to see her way out of this one, she reluctantly invited her friend into her home. “Look, I’ve got a meeting—” “Yeah. Yeah. Just tell me what’s going on with the lovely and talented Dr. Wilder.” “I’m already running late,” Dyanne continued. “I’ll make coffee, but I don’t have time for a long chat.” “Oh, this won’t take a long chat. Either you’re getting horizontal with the old boy, or you’re not,” Carolyn said, following her into the kitchen. Dyanne ignored her as she measured the coffee. “Well, are you?” “I should think the answer would be obvious.” “You mean you aren’t going to claim he was over here for a late-night discussion of tuition increases or to fix the hot-water heater?” Dyanne refused to rise to the bait.

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“For God’s sake, Dy. You two have been divorced for five years—” Carolyn’s amber-colored eyes widened in shock. “You’ve been sleeping with him all this time.” Dyanne slammed the lid on the coffeemaker. “Of course not. We’ve only been doing it for the past six months or so.” As though her legs had suddenly lost strength, Carolyn dropped into one of the chairs that surrounded the table. “Dyanne, how on earth did this happen? Are you getting back together? Do the boys know? Your mama will be over the moon. She always hated that y’all got divorced.” Dyanne really didn’t want to think about her mama right now. Her father had died right before the divorce, and her mama was still convinced that, had he not died, Dyanne wouldn’t have left Jack. They’d had far too many circuitous arguments about the subject. She waved her hand in a slicing motion. Once Carolyn got wound up, it was hard to cut off one of her filibusters. “The answer to all those questions is no. It’s strictly sexual.” She refused to think about the tenderness of her all-night lovemaking session with Jack, but something must have shown on her face. “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure.” “How the hell did you let him talk you into that? Honest to God, that man can get you to do anything. It’s like a Vulcan mind-meld or something.” “Actually, it was my idea.” Dyanne was still proud of the way she’d taken the initiative, despite the now-disastrous results. “What?” “I wasn’t seeing anyone. He wasn’t seeing anyone—” “Far as I can tell, neither one of you has seen anyone since the divorce.” “I’ve been very busy. I had to study for my real estate license, then get on with an agency. I haven’t exactly been slacking for the last few years, you know. I’m sure Jack’s been dating.”

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“Yeah, right. A man buys a house in his ex-wife’s backyard because he plans to have a hot sex life. Now tell me. How the hell did you wind up kicking it with your ex?” Dyanne shrugged. Carolyn was like a pit bull with lockjaw when she was on to something. “We drove down to Birmingham together when the boys were initiated into that honor society. On the way back, I told him that if he ever wanted to give it a go—” Carolyn stared at her in amazement. “You did what?” “Well, I didn’t expect him to pick up on it.” “Excuse me. Have you ever met Jack Wilder? You know, the guy who’s been trying to get you naked for thirty years now.” “Well, I do have needs, Carolyn.” “And Jackson Scott Wilder is the only man in Huntsville? Forget I asked. He’s been the only man in Huntsville to you since we were fifteen.” “Besides, he’s already seen my stretch marks.” “Good thing, since he’s the one who put them there. Oh for the love of God, Dyanne. Is that what you’re telling yourself?” Dyanne slammed a coffee cup on the table in front of her erstwhile tormentor. “What do you mean?” “You’re still in love with him.” Dyanne choked on her coffee. You’d think she’d have learned by now not to drink anything while Carolyn was talking. The woman was prone to saying the most outrageous things. She rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. You know what we went through. Jack married me because Daddy threatened to keep him out of med school if he didn’t. Once the boys got grown, he checked out. Actually I’m not sure he ever checked in. We were living parallel lives. Might as well live them in separate houses.”

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“Interesting.” Carolyn gave her a considering look. “Seven sentences and not once did you say you didn’t love him.” Dyanne dropped into the seat across from her friend. “We did everything the wrong way. Getting pregnant on prom night is such a cliché. Maybe if we’d waited like you and Brew—” “Yeah,” Carolyn scoffed. “That’s why you’ve got two sons who’ll soon be enrolled at one of the most prestigious medical schools in the Southeast, and our son is trying to get on America’s Most Wanted. Besides, getting knocked up on prom night is an American tradition. Hell, most of the marriages in this country would never have happened without a shotgun. Things become a cliché for a reason. Plenty of marriages started that way and lasted too.” “Just because it happens all the time doesn’t make it right. I feel like I forced him to do something he didn’t want to do.” “What are you talking about? You and Jack planned to marry as soon as you finished school. Y’all had vows and everything. So you jumped the gun a bit. Surely you don’t think you were the only one who got naked on prom night? You were just the one who got pregnant,” Carolyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I just wish Jack and I had done like y’all did—finished college and then gotten married. I was just a girl, and Jack was mad because Daddy practically had him at gunpoint. I don’t think he ever got over it.” “Well hell, if he was going to be mad at somebody, he should’ve been mad at himself. It’s not like you got yourself pregnant.” “I know that. I think he knows that too. That’s why he’s so angry. But…” She looked up at the clock on the microwave and sprang to her feet. How could she have forgotten? “I’ve got a meeting at nine. I’ll see you later.” She rushed away from the table and toward the hall. She refused to stop even as she heard Carolyn’s laughter ring out. “You still didn’t say you didn’t love him,” Carolyn yelled after her.

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“And I didn’t say I did either,” she couldn’t resist yelling back. Oh yeah, that’s mature and convincing. How ridiculous. Of course she didn’t love him. Jack was just a habit. A habit she’d be getting rid of as soon as she possibly could.

*** Totally lost in thought, entering the reception area of Mecklenburg Realty, Dyanne barely acknowledged Billye. She’d just had a great meeting with some new clients who were so eager to buy that Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog could have sold them a house. That was a good thing, considering Dyanne was about as sentient as a hand puppet. It had been a week since she’d last seen Jack. Not that he hadn’t tried to make contact, but she was deliberately avoiding him. She’d even gone to the trouble of parking at Carolyn’s house so he wouldn’t know when she was home. Fortunately, he hadn’t used his key again, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Patience had never been Jack’s strong suit, and she’d given him plenty of ammunition. She could acknowledge—at least to herself—that she was sending him mixed messages. And she could no longer deny what she’d known all along: Jack wanted to get back together. Dyanne paused as she realized that Billye was frantically trying to get her attention. She stared in astonishment at the Sondrens, who were seated at the reception desk. What on earth were they doing here? She hadn’t seen or heard from them for over a month. Sighing inwardly, Dyanne walked over to Billye’s desk. She was so not in the mood for this. It took all her professionalism, not to mention home training, to smile and greet the couple as though they hadn’t dumped her after wasting weeks of her time. It wasn’t long before the couple disclosed that they’d found the services at their new agency less than satisfactory. That wasn’t surprising; many of the people who jumped ship for one of the larger firms quickly missed the personal attention her agency was known for. They eagerly followed her back to her office and went over the listings that were still available. She was surprised they didn’t want to see additional houses but quickly settled on a house they wanted to make an offer on. Now they had her undivided attention. Her 6

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commission

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would

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substantial; even if she had to split it with the listing agent, it wouldn’t be too shabby. She called the other agent to tender their offer, then had Billye draw up the contract, before Dyanne accepted their check for the earnest money. Dyanne smiled at Billye as the couple exited the office several hours later. That smile soon collapsed, as she now had time to deal with those insistent thoughts about Jack. Maybe it was the thrill of victory over a difficult client, but suddenly an idea—one so crazy and outrageous it was bound to work—occurred to her. When this little drama had first begun, she’d been in charge, but somewhere, along the way, she’d lost her game hand. Now she had a surefire way to get it back. She glanced down at her watch; it was after five. There was only one place in Huntsville to find what she needed, and fortunately, they stayed open late.

*** Dyanne grinned to herself as she found the key under the fake rock just where the boys had told her Jack stashed it. The man was notoriously absentminded about the mundane aspects of life and had to keep extra keys stashed around. In any other neighborhood, he would’ve been robbed a dozen times by now with such a lame hiding place, but here, he probably could’ve gotten away with just leaving it under the mat. She quickly let herself into his house. It was only a week before Thanksgiving. Though she had on a coat, she was wearing very little under it and had definitely felt the cold during her trek across the backyard. Jack had surgery and appointments and wouldn’t be home until later, leaving her plenty of time to set up a scene that would knock him back on his heels and give her back her hand. She slipped the coat off her shoulders and hung it in the foyer closet, then studied herself in the mirror on the wall opposite the closet. Her costume—and she couldn’t help thinking of it in those terms—consisted primarily of large fluffy white feathers. She giggled nervously, and not just because the outfit was so absolutely scandalous that even her alter ego Colette wouldn’t be caught dead in it. There were strategic clusters of feathers and very little else over

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her naughty bits. Like a refugee from a kinky Grimm’s fairy tale, she randomly scattered matching feathers to leave a trail to his room. With any luck, she’d definitely get eaten in the end. Jack’s bedroom, like the rest of the house, was stark to an absurd degree. It was as though he was living in an apartment and didn’t want to put any holes in the contractor beige walls. It drove the real estate agent in her insane that he had never bothered to personalize the home in any way. There were only three pieces of furniture in the bedroom: a bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair. The stainless-steel four-poster bed was massive, as befitted a man of Jack’s stature, and everything was almost clinically clean. Jack had a housekeeper who came several times a week. Dyanne folded back the pristine white counterpane and scattered the rest of the feathers over the bed and onto the floor. She dropped the empty bag they’d come in into her purse, then glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten. Jack should be home soon. After trying several poses, she found one she considered suitably seductive and waited. Almost immediately she wished she’d brought a book or her game console. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long before she heard Jack’s key in the lock. In her head, she could visualize what he was doing as he entered the house. He’d toss his keys into the basket on the table in the foyer. Then he’d carefully hang up his coat. She wondered how long it would take him to notice her feathers or if he’d notice them at all. She sighed in relief when she heard his familiar tread on the stairs. Arching her back in her chosen pose, she watched the feathers on her chest tremble in the air current caused by her erratic breathing. What was taking him so long? Normally Jack walked quickly, impatient to get to wherever he was going. Then the door opened, and he walked into the room. He paused in the doorway, and Dyanne held her breath in anticipation. He was wearing jeans and a dark green sweater, and he held several of her feathers in his large hands. “You always were a vision in white,” he said softly as he crossed the floor with a slow, deliberate steps. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. Before

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it could deepen, he stepped back. “I’ve had a helluva day. How about you?” He sat down easily on the bed and began removing his shoes. Dyanne paused; this wasn’t how she’d planned for things to go. It’d been a week since he’d last seen her. He should be all over her. Instead he was casually sitting on the bed, removing his shoes like Mr. Rogers while she sat there in something that looked as though it had fallen out of Lady Gaga’s closet. She leaned over to give him another kiss. He participated eagerly but again broke it off before it got interesting. “No more games, Dy. It’s time we got real.” And with that enigmatic statement he stood and walked into the adjoining bathroom. Shortly after he closed the door, she heard water running, an indication that he was washing up and brushing his teeth. Dyanne moved to sit on the edge of the bed, almost incoherent with anger. How dare he? He didn’t control this relationship; she did. Games were all they had, and he certainly had no right to say otherwise. She rose to leave, but at the same instant he returned from the bathroom. He was shirtless now, and the waistband of his jeans was unfastened, leaving them to hang low on his hips, revealing the firm musculature of his lower torso. “I know what you’re trying to do, Jack, and I won’t stand for it,” she said through clenched teeth. “You do?” He paused in the middle of the floor, brows arched in query. “You’re trying to get me to come back to you. You must think I’m an idiot. You treated me like crap, and I’d be a damned fool to take you back.” He nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he said affably. “I did treat you badly, and I blew our marriage to hell. And you would be a damned fool to take me back. I don’t deserve it.” Dyanne clenched her fists in an effort to resist the urge to hit him. “Damn you, Jack Wilder. Stop it. Stop it right now.”

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The brows descended as he frowned as though puzzled. “Stop what, sweetheart?” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Stop agreeing with me.” She was just barely managing not to scream at him in frustration. “Fine. I didn’t treat you like crap, and I didn’t blow our marriage to hell. Is that better?” He spoke slowly as though dealing with someone who wasn’t quite sane, as if he wasn’t the one who’d driven her crazy in the first place. Dyanne threw her hands up in frustration and stormed to the door. Why was he being like this? For that matter, why was she being this way? Why was she acting like a fifteen-year-old? She reached for the knob, but before she could open the door, he spoke up. “Baby? Stay with me tonight?” His voice was soft and pleading in a way she couldn’t resist. “You know we need to talk, but I’m too goddamned tired for this tonight.” She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t open the door either, so he continued. “Much as I like that getup, baby, it’s probably not comfortable for sleeping.” She heard him open the chest of drawers. “This should be much better,” he said as he walked over to her. She turned around, still in anger’s grip. “What? You think I came over here for a cuddle?” He gave her a knowing smile. “Of course you did. Why else would you be here? Or at least a cuddle after—and believe me. I’d enjoy the hell out of playing with you in your feathers. But having just a taste of you isn’t enough, and I don’t think it’s what you want either. But after my pisser of a day, we’re going to have to table this discussion until tomorrow. I really need you to stay with me tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast and talk this out.” He did look tired. His face was drained of color, and his eyes were red rimmed from strain. She took the shirt from his outstretched hand. He was right. It was

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time for them to talk about this situation and put it to rest. Meanwhile, what was the harm in spending one last night in his bed? He turned her back to him so he could help her unfasten her costume. When she was naked, he slipped the fluffy white shirt over her head. She lay down on the bed, automatically taking the right side as she always had in their marriage. He walked around to his side, and after doffing his jeans, he joined her, wearing only navy boxer briefs. She turned to her side to sleep, and he moved behind her, spooning her. Dyanne sighed. This shouldn’t feel so good, was her last thought before drifting off to sleep.

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Chapter Six The light streaming into the room through the blinds announced that morning had arrived. Dyanne frowned. Jack was still a comforting presence against her back, and the scant light shouldn’t have been enough to awaken her. She raised her head from the pillow to look around the room and felt the breath halt in her chest. She met two pair of eyes remarkably like hers, staring at her from a face remarkably like Jack’s. Owen and Anderson. Their sons. Oh God. Her first impulse was to pull the comforter over her face and pray that they would disappear. Jack hadn’t stirred; he was even snoring a bit. She wanted to punch him. The man could sleep through anything. “Good morning, Mama.” Anderson finally broke the stalemate. Dyanne composed herself, determined to maintain her dignity. “Hello, Son. What are you two doing here so early?” They were not due home for Thanksgiving for another two days. “We took exams early,” Owen replied. “Hi, Dad.” She finally felt Jack moving beside her. “Morning,” Jack said in a sleep-husky voice. There was a long silence as both boys stood in the doorway, looking at their parents expectantly. Dyanne glanced over her shoulder to see Jack returning their gaze with a pointed one of his own. “Owen? Anderson?” “Yes, Dad,” they said almost in unison. “Get out.”

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“Sure, Dad.” They turned to leave. Then Anderson paused just outside the door. “I really hope you two used protection. It’d really be embarrassing for you to get caught again.” “Get out,” Jack roared, and their sons scampered away. Their laughter could be heard as they ran down the stairs. It wasn’t until they left that Dyanne realized there were still feathers on the floor and her costume was draped over the chair in their line of sight. Now she pulled the comforter over her head. Jack swatted her backside. “Come on, baby. They were bound to find out eventually. Let’s go join them for breakfast.” Dyanne kept the comforter over her head, aware that she was being childish— but damn it, she was entitled. “What exactly are you planning to say to them, and trust me, you’re going to have to say something. And what are you suggesting I wear for our cozy little chat? I didn’t bring anything with me besides Björk over there.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll head over to the house and pick up some things for you.” The bed moved as he rose to his feet. Then she heard the faint rustling as he slipped on his jeans. “Hey, Dy?” “Yes, Jack?” She sighed from under the comforter. “It’s déjà vu all over again, huh? I can’t believe we got busted again for not hip speeding. Think they’ll make me marry you?” That did it. Dyanne sat up, looking around for anything she could throw at him. Unfortunately, everything within reaching distance was made primarily of feathers, and she really wanted to hurt him, so she stuck out her tongue instead. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes at a time like this. They’re probably warped for life.” “They’re twenty-two years old. If they’re warped, we did it a long time ago.” He crossed the room to the bathroom. “Don’t forget we still need to talk.” Dyanne flopped back onto the bed. Yeah, and she was so looking forward to that.

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Soon, Jack came out of the bathroom and went downstairs. Shortly afterward, he returned with a change of clothes. He’d even remembered her favorite body wash. Having climbed out of the bed reluctantly, Dyanne took her time in the shower. There was no way out of this situation, but there was no need to rush it either.

*** Downstairs in the kitchen, Jack took his time making cocoa for his sons. “So, Dad, are you planning to talk to us about what’s going on with you and Mama?” Anderson asked. “Do you really need me to explain the birds and the bees to you at this point in your life?” Jack said as he took eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator. His boys ate like an army on retreat. Fortunately, he’d stocked up in anticipation of their arrival. He walked over to the stove to start cooking breakfast. “Maybe so, but I have a problem with you taking advantage of her this way,” Owen said forcefully. Jack turned to face his son. “Do you really think that’s any of your business?” he said in the calmest voice he could manage. Anderson jumped in before any real hostility could erupt. “No. No. Dad, he didn’t mean it that way. We’re just concerned about the situation.” He gave his twin a quelling look. Jack turned back to the stove. “You two have nothing to worry about.” Owen walked over to the refrigerator. After removing the orange juice, he began pouring it into glasses he’d taken down from the cabinet. “So are you two going to remarry?” Owen spoke in a more civil tone. “As far as I’m concerned, we were never unmarried, but I screwed up, so it’s up to her.” “Did you fuck around on her?” Owen asked bluntly.

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Jack turned on his son, but before he could reach him, Anderson stepped in again. “Jeez, O.,” Anderson said. “Do you have a death wish or what? You do know the old man can still kick your ass? Don’t make him prove it.” Then, to his father, he continued in a conciliatory tone. “What he was trying to say, Dad, is that when you broke up, Mama said you two didn’t love each other anymore—” “I’ve loved your mother since I was fifteen years old. I’ve never been with anybody else and have never even wanted to be. What happens next is up to her, and none of it is any of your goddamned business. And if you either of you say anything to your mother about this, I’ll put you across my back and crack you like a lobster. Got it?” Anderson gave his brother a pointed look, and both boys nodded their understanding. Anderson took a bowl out of the cabinet and began breaking eggs while Jack fried the bacon and Owen made toast. They worked silently for a while. Then Anderson grinned and pulled something out of his pocket. He blew on it gently, and the soft white feather wafted toward Jack. “By the way, Dad, I have a hot date tonight. Think you could lend me a few feathers?” “Give me that,” Jack growled. He struggled to contain his laughter as he grabbed the feather midair. He glanced at the door to make sure Dyanne hadn’t come down yet. God help them all if she ever got wind of what the feckless boy had just said. He quickly dropped the feather into the trash. “Remember what I said. Not a word to your mother.” They worked in silence until Dyanne joined them. She still looked flustered and as though she’d rather be pretty much anywhere else, but she seemed to calm down once she realized the boys weren’t going to ask any questions. Once he and his sons finished cooking, they sat down with Dyanne to enjoy their meal. The conversation turned to grades and the boys’ prospects for medical school.

***

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Dyanne removed the fourth pie from the oven. She had to make at least that many if she planned to get even a single slice. Anderson and Owen would each eat one, and they had invited their father to join them for dinner. She had no idea what had gone on before she came down for breakfast, but they were clearly in collusion. That’s all she needed: Jack and his two Mini-Mes conspiring against her. Cooking and baking for the holiday had helped her keep busy so she didn’t have to deal with Jack. She’d taken time off work to be with her sons, though she was never really unplugged and had done a couple of showings anyway. No way was she going to miss an opportunity to sell a house. The boys didn’t mind. Instead they spent most of their time with their friends who were home from school as well. She looked up as the boys came through the back door, escorting their grandmother. Evelyn Rutherford Anderson was a tall stately woman. Dyanne had never seen her without her girdle, heels, and hose and doubted she ever would. Evelyn’s eye for fashion was still apparent, despite her being in her midsixties, and the chic Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress flattered a figure kept trim by exercise and a very strict diet. Evelyn was fairer complected than her daughter, with a perfect oval face, wide-spaced eyes, and skin that was still remarkably wrinkle free. Dyanne knew that her mother was a staunch adherent to a stringent Pond’s-coldcream-and-Vaseline regimen, but Dyanne suspected that her mother had had a few judicious tucks here and there as well. Not that she’d Evelyn would ever tell; she would never be so improper as to discuss plastic surgery. “Hello, Mother.” Dyanne greeted her mother warmly. She did love her dearly, and they’d grown closer since her father died. Still, she was a daddy’s girl and would be forever. Her mother stepped into her embrace. “My goodness, Dyanne, those pies look lovely. You must have inherited your domestic talents from your father’s family.” “You were the best hostess in three counties, and you know it,” Dyanne said.

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“Hostess, yes. It was an important part of being married to the Judge. He always said that I earned him more political contributions with my smile than he could kissing a thousand babies.” “I enjoy it, but I don’t get to do it too often these days, what with the boys off at school.” Dyanne gestured toward her sons, who still stood in the doorway. “Dinner will be served soon boys. There’s a snack table set up on the breakfast bar.” The breakfast bar was an island that separated the kitchen from the dining room in an open-concept design. The granite top practically buckled under the weight of the food she had placed there. She’d learned long ago that if she didn’t provide snacks, she’d be interrupted every few minutes by their complaining of hunger. Evelyn had drifted over to the dining room, where the table had already been set. “Why are there five settings?” she asked. “Are you having company?” Dyanne lowered her head and turned back to the pies she was placing on racks to cool. “The boys invited their father to dinner.” Her mother pursed her lips. “Fancy that. Inviting their father to dinner in his own home.” Dyanne took a deep breath. Now it would begin. “Mother—” Before she could remonstrate, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Jack came in. A huge grin nearly split his face as he greeted his former mother-in-law. Dyanne restrained her sigh. The two of them had always gotten along like a house on fire. They chatted away volubly while Dyanne finished the meal preparations. Eventually Jack spotted the snack spread and broke away to fall on it as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks. “Sorry I’m late, Dy. Had an emergency call at the hospital,” he said around a mouthful of pita bread. “Oh, Jack, you work so hard,” Evelyn said. “You can’t even take a break for Thanksgiving?” “No big deal, Mother Anderson. It was just a consult.” He turned back to the breakfast bar and took a seat on one of the stools which flanked the bar. There he

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consumed his fill of the crudités and various other edibles as though he hadn’t eaten in years. “Anything we can do to help?” he asked after sucking down enough hummus to feed an entire tribe of Arabs. “No, the boys have been helping quite a bit. Everything’s done. If you’d help carry the dishes through, we can begin.” Soon everyone was seated at the long walnut table that anchored the room. The wall of windows let in the late-afternoon light, which made the crystal sparkle and the room glow as though lit by candlelight. She had planned to seat her mother at the head of the table while she sat opposite, but her mother claimed to feel a draft at that end, and Jack quite chivalrously offered to take her place. He automatically moved into place to carve the turkey before Dyanne had a chance to say otherwise, but she didn’t want to make a fuss. She thought she’d be able to make it through the meal with some modicum of decorum, but she should have known that Evelyn wouldn’t keep quiet. “Such a lovely meal, Dyanne. It’s wonderful to have Jack here where he’s supposed to be.” Dyanne gave her mother a death-ray stare, but she’d noted that lately her mother had developed an annoying habit of saying and doing whatever she pleased, regardless of how anyone felt about it. It was damnably disconcerting. Apparently today it pleased her to take digs at Dyanne. “I have no doubt at all that had the Judge lived, Dyanne never would’ve taken it into her head to do something so foolish. Imagine leaving a twenty-year marriage over a bunch of nonsense.” “I’m sure she did her best,” Jack said agreeably. “Seventeen-year marriage, and I’m sure we can find something else to talk about, Mother. Did you know both boys made the Dean’s List this term? More potatoes, Anderson?” She gestured toward the son who sat at her right. Anderson took the serving bowl, but she could see he was struggling not to laugh.

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“Jack, you were the absolute soul of patience dealing with this spoiled girl,” her mother continued with a melodramatic sigh. “Her father absolutely ruined the child. He was the one who insisted on taking her swimming all the time. No matter how much I complained about what all that water did to the child’s hair. Of course he wasn’t the one who had to keep her looking decent. The Judge was a good man, but he was totally blind where she was concerned. And you’re a good man too—” “Well, Mother Anderson, I certainly wasn’t perfect—” he began affably. “Oh, but you worked so hard, and you were a good husband and father. What more could a woman ask?” Dyanne gritted her teeth. “Owen, why don’t you tell us about that research program you think you’ll be working on over the Christmas break?” Just as she expected, her mother turned to her left to look at Owen. Dyanne took that opportunity to slingshot a spoonful of mashed potatoes at Jack, scoring a direct hit in the middle of his forehead. Anderson, who saw everything, doubled over and whooped with laughter. Evelyn, who’d missed the maneuver, gave Jack a puzzled frown. “However did you get potatoes on your forehead, son?” At this point Anderson was gasping for breath. Owen quickly caught on and began laughing as well. Jack calmly picked up his napkin and wiped his forehead. “My coordination isn’t what it used to be. Apparently I missed my mouth.” Even Dyanne had to laugh at his sangfroid. Fortunately for Dyanne, the meal eventually ended without further incident. Jack, Anderson, and Owen cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Afterward, Dyanne and Evelyn joined them as they migrated to the basement den to watch football, and again fell into place as though the past five years had never happened. The boys sprawled on the floor, and the two women perched on the sofa. Jack inquired as to everyone’s drink preferences, then left the den to return with two glasses of wine, for Dyanne and her mother; beers for his two sons; and a scotch for

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himself. Unfortunately, there was no SEC football on, but they watched the other college games until Evelyn said she was tired. Dyanne volunteered to take her home so the boys wouldn’t have to miss the rest of the game. She hadn’t planned to say anything to her mother, but once they were in the car, she couldn’t help it, and her emotions bubbled up. “Mother, it really hurts my feeling when you say things like that. You know I divorced Jack because we never really had a marriage in the first place. He was never at home, and we were living separate lives.” “A man can’t live a separate life from you if you don’t let him.” “What was I supposed to do? Load the boys up and camp out at the hospital?” “If necessary. Life was always too easy for you, Dyanne. You never had to fight for anything. I guess that’s mainly the Judge’s fault. He wanted his little princess to have everything.” The breath hissed between Dyanne’s clenched teeth. “I would’ve had no problem fighting for our marriage if it had ever been a marriage.” Her mother shook her head in a long sigh as they approached the home she had shared with her father for more than forty years. “I had to let my husband go. I didn’t have any choice in the matter. If left up to me, I would’ve kept him with me until I took my last breath. You’re deliberately throwing away a good man like a child throwing a tantrum. Your father’s death was hard on all of us. Lung cancer is an ugly death, and I think the whole horrible ordeal made you a little bit crazy.” “That marriage wasn’t our choice. You, Dad, and Jack’s parents decided that we had to get married, so it was never our marriage to begin with. We’re too old for interference from you now, and whatever we do will be our choice, not yours.” “Of course you’re right, dearest. I just want you to be happy, and I know Jack is the right man for you.” “He might have been the right man twenty years ago, Mother, but now? No. And again, whatever he is or isn’t, it’s my decision and nobody else’s.”

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Dyanne pulled into her mother’s circular driveway, parked, and got out to escort her to the door. She couldn’t have said anything else even if she’d had words, because in a way her mother was right. When her father died, Dyanne had realized she couldn’t live in an empty marriage any longer. After telling Evelyn good-bye, Dyanne went home. She assumed Jack would have left as well, but she should have known better. As soon as she came through the door, both her sons made an excuse to depart, leaving her there alone to face the music. Needing something to do, Dyanne walked over to the pantry to make tea. Jack sat at the kitchen table and watched her silently as she went through her elaborate ritual. He already had a cup of cocoa, so she didn’t bother to offer him refreshment. When her tea was ready, she sat opposite him. “Okay, Jack, what is it that’s so important that you and your unindicted coconspirators have worked so hard to engineer this meeting?” “It’s simple. I want you back. I want us back. I never wanted to let you go.” Dyanne took a sip of her too-hot tea. “You’ve got to be kidding. You certainly didn’t try to keep me.” Jack shrugged. “I guess I felt you were entitled. Everything you said was true. I had abandoned you and the boys. I promise I won’t do that again. You’ve seen the way I’ve changed my life so I can be there for them—and you if you’ll have me.” Dyanne leaned her head back and stared up at the whitewashed chandelier that hung above the table. “Oh, Jack, you don’t get it, do you?” “Get what?” he asked, a bit of irritation entering his tone. “Either you want me back or you don’t.” “It’s not that simple. I’m not convinced that you want me.” She held up a hand when he tried to interrupt. “Right now, things are great. The sex is fabulous. Everything is exciting while we’re running around the countryside playing spy versus spy. But what happens when things settle down, when the anger and resentment come back?”

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“Anger and resentment? What the hell are you talking about?” Jack dropped his pleasant demeanor as though it had never been there. Dyanne closed her eyes. “You were so angry when I got pregnant. You always resented me for that, resented that you had to get married before we were ready, had to change all your plans. That’s why you never came home. You were making me pay for being your wife, for messing everything up.” Jack sprang from his seat. “Have you lost your freaking mind? I’ve always loved you. How could I resent you for something we both did? You’re just making shit up now. I admitted that I worked too much and didn’t pay you enough attention, and then you hit me with this crap. Goddamn it, Dyanne, how much crawling and begging do you want me to do? That’s it. Forget about it. Just forget the whole fucking thing.” With that, he stormed out the door, leaving one of the French doors swinging on its hinge. Dyanne lowered her head to the table and wept.

*** Jack stormed across the backyard, anger rising with each step. “How dare she? She’s the one who bailed out on me. I didn’t ask for the divorce; she did. She acts like she caught me fucking a nurse in the cloakroom or something. Who the hell does she think she is? I gave up going to Cornell for her.” He kicked one of the crape myrtles he’d planted years before along the pathway to the herb garden in the back of Dyanne’s yard. Some of the bark scattered to the ground in his wake. “I gave up working in research.” Another kick. “I could’ve gone to Harvard Medical. I did everything for her. Gave up everything I ever wanted to be. Stayed here in this onehorse town instead of traveling the world. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant—” And just like that, it hit him with a force that dropped him to his knees in the middle of the path, unmindful even of the brutal assault of the pavers against his knees. Oh dear God in heaven! He had resented her. His head spun with the enormity of the revelation. Suddenly simply breathing was almost impossible, and his thoughts swirled as though caught in a sudden tempest. He had spent their

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whole marriage making her pay, making her pay… Making her pay for what? He wiped his hands across his face where he’d broken out in a clammy sweat. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he’d thrown it all away. He struggled to rise to his feet and grabbed one of the abused trees for balance. He swayed in the cool evening air for a long moment, fighting the need to return to Dyanne but knowing she probably didn’t want to hear anything he had to say right now. And what would he say? What could he say? Jack stumbled down the pathway to his home, and for the first time in his life, he really didn’t know what to do.

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Chapter Seven Dyanne knelt in her flower bed, her fingers deep in the cool soil. The earlyDecember air surrounded her, and the dew sparkled on the grass as though it had been kissed by fairies, lending an air of magic to the garden. She had carefully arranged the bulbs in order of their blooming time, and now she dug her first hole using all her upper-body strength to force the bulb planter into the rich black soil. There had been a hard freeze the previous week, making this the ideal time to plant her tulips. She shivered a bit in her light jacket. This early, it was still fairly cold, though she knew that she would soon warm up. There was a peace and tranquility in being in her garden alone in the early-morning hours, her hands covered in the soil she loved. As she continued working, she turned to place her jacket on the bench in the middle of the garden, and somehow wasn’t surprised to see Jack standing almost directly behind her. He stood at the edge of the garden, hesitantly, as though asking permission to join her. He looked a little haggard in a lightweight sweater and jeans. She nodded to indicate he should join her. He walked over and took a seat on the bench, and she returned to planting bulbs. She hadn’t seen him in two weeks— not since Thanksgiving night when he had stormed out of the house. For the most part, she hadn’t slept since. Would it have been better not to bring the subject up? She shook her head. No way could she go back to living a lie, no matter how much it hurt to confront the truth. She removed her gloves, then reached for the thermos and cup she’d brought with her. She poured him a cup and handed it to him, then poured another cup in the cap for herself. She took a slow sip of the bracing tea and stared off into the distance. Most of her plants were barren this time of year. Never fond of evergreens, she hadn’t placed many in her garden. She actually enjoyed the

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winter landscape with the browns and grays blending together almost like a seascape. She left the garden as natural as possible to harbor birds and other wildlife. Closing her eyes briefly, she focused on the soft symphony of sounds made by the ornamental grasses as their fronds swayed in the breeze. “You think you have enough bulbs?” Dyanne looked down at the dozens of bulbs still left to plant. It happened every year. She always got carried away when the bulb catalogs came. “I’m going to put the house on the market in the spring. This garden has got to knock their socks off. Every bulb adds to my bottom line, and in this market I need all the help I can get.” They continued drinking their tea in companionable silence for another long moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, sounding tired down to his bones. Dyanne tilted her head back so she could study the milky blue sky. The sun was rising higher and had burned off most of the morning dew. He was right; it was time to get real. “I was scared,” she said softly, embarrassment tasting like ashes on her tongue. “Scared?” he said as though surprise had forced the word out of his mouth. “I thought if I told you how I felt you would leave.” She didn’t have to add that that was precisely what he’d done. He’d remember that. From the way his mouth tightened, she could tell he did. “So you stayed with me all those years while I acted like an ass, because you were too afraid to do anything else.” Dyanne sighed wearily. “I’d gone straight from my daddy’s house to your house. I’d never taken care of myself. I didn’t know if I could. Actually, I was pretty sure I couldn’t.” She said the last sentence on a whisper, ashamed of her inability to care for herself.

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“I never doubted you could do it. It’s odd that you felt that way. You’ve got more backbone than anyone I know. More backbone than me. I was just a stupid boy who blamed you for my mistakes.” “Jack—” Dyanne reached out to him, unbearably torn by the raw pain in his voice. “No, I need to say this.” He took a deep breath. “I fucked up bad. I mean I knew it was bad, but I had no idea. I was acting like I’d done you some kind of favor by marrying you when you gave me my kids. You gave up everything for me and my dream of being a doctor, and I had the nerve to resent you for it. How fucked-up is that? I can’t believe I had the nerve to be pissed off at you.” “How could you know? I never told you how I felt. I acted like a silly girl scared of my own shadow. Afraid of my own husband.” “I understand why you were afraid. I was acting like a goddamned idiot, and you had the boys to worry about too. God only knows what kind of crazy shit I might have done.” He sprang up from the bench, clearly agitated. Dyanne rose to her feet and walked over to where he stood running his fingers through his hair. “So what happened? What made you decide to kick my sorry ass out?” Dyanne sighed and tucked her hands into the back packets of her heavy canvas gardening pants. “I think it was when Daddy died.” She smiled ruefully. “Mother was right, of course, but not in the way she thinks. When Daddy died, it was like, what am I so afraid of? The very worst had already happened. I figured if I could survive that, I could survive anything. I knew I didn’t want to live any longer with a man who didn’t love me—” Jack turned to face her. “Not love you? How could you even question it? I know I was an ass, but there’s never been a time in my life I didn’t love you.” “Yeah, I think I eventually figured that out. ” Dyanne took a deep breath before she continued softly. “But that wasn’t the only thing. You were still angry

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that we had to get married, and that made you treat me like…like I was your housekeeper or something.” Jack closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, they brimmed with tears. “I know, baby. I know. I didn’t know I was still angry and taking it out on you. I think I just stuffed all that down because I was really angry and ashamed of myself. I think I convinced myself that I just loved my work, that I was ambitious and all that. I wasn’t cheating. I took care of you and the boys. The way I was thinking at the time, that was all that was required of me. Like I said, an ass.” “Well, you are ambitious, and you do love your work.” “But I never stopped loving you. The question is, do you still love me? I don’t believe for one second that you would’ve come to me the way you did if there weren’t some feelings left.” “I do still love you, but you have to understand something. I’m not the same silly girl who suffered in silence all that time. I’ve learned to speak my mind. I pay my own way.” “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “I won’t give up my independence. It’s been too hard, and it’s taken me too long to grow up.” “I don’t want you to. Baby, I want you to have whatever it is you want. If you want to be a real estate mogul, I’m perfectly okay with that. Just let me come along for the ride, okay?” Then he dropped down on one knee on the garden path. “You never even had the honor of a real proposal, so, Dyanne, will you marry me…again?” Dyanne dropped to her knees as well. Her throat tightened as emotion overwhelmed her. She struggled to choke out a response. “Yes, Jack, I’ll marry you. On one condition.” “Anything,” he said promptly. “This time I get the wedding I always wanted.”

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Jack’s answering grin was almost incandescent. “No problem, baby. No problem at all.”

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Epilogue The waves crashed onto the rugged shoreline in a crystalline dance as though delighted to provide a sparkling backdrop for the celebration taking place just a few yards up the beach. The bride’s snow-white bikini showed off her womanly figure. Bright pink hibiscus blossoms perfumed her hair, and her bare feet dug into the sugar white sand. She faced the groom, who glowed as the rising sun highlighted his hair and sun-kissed form, which was clad only in a pair of white board shorts. Dyanne smiled as she looked over at their sons. The boys practically vibrated with excitement. Like their father, they wore only board shorts. Her mother, on the other hand, managed to make quite a glamorous show in her resort wear with designer sunglasses covering half her face. It was the wedding they’d planned as young, naive kids so many years before, and to get a second chance at love made it all the sweeter. Dyanne sighed as the priest, clad in a tropical print shirt, matching stole, and disreputable Birkenstocks, invited them to read the vows that Dyanne written as a young girl—vows that still rang true. They stood facing each other, holding tightly to both hands as she recited: “I promise to always hold your hand. I promise to always bake you cookies when you’re sad.” Then Jack began in a voice so choked with emotion that she struggled to keep her composure as tears rose to her eyes. “I promise to love you more than football—except when ’Bama plays in the SEC championship.” Their guests burst into laughter at that one, as they’d expected. Anderson’s infectious laugh made Dyanne giggle as well. Then Jack continued:

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“I promise to always kill the bugs—especially the furry ones.” Simple vows, but words that carried the weight of what they had believed a marriage would be as starry-eyed teenagers and knew a marriage should be now as adults. They’d just promised to take care of each other forever and on their own terms. And this time, nothing would ever tear their marriage asunder. When the priest declared them husband and wife—again—Jack grabbed her in a wild bear hug that was shortly joined by their sons. Then with a wild whoop of joy, all four of them ran into the ocean—a family again, forever.

Loose Id Titles by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Morning Star Off Like a Prom Dress: Let’s Do It Again Pussycat Death Squad Santa Baby Try a Little Tenderness Given Co-authored with Lisa G. Riley

Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Roslyn Hardy Holcomb was born in North Alabama and has had a disparate career and varied interests. Her lifelong devotion to needle arts led to a stint on the editorial staff of Oxmoor House, the publishing division of Southern Progress, Inc. Regular volunteer work and a passion for child welfare inspired her to leave that field to pursue an advanced degree and a career in social service. Shortly after her son was born, she decided to become a stay-at-home mother and pursue a writing career fulltime. Her first novel, Rock Star, is available in mass market, and Try a Little Tenderness is available in trade paperback.