Private Lives

“We have raspberries for dessert,” she said and served them with a dollop of whipped cream. “I bought them yesterday morning, so they’re still fresh.”

As he ate the berries, he looked at her, hoping for a hint as to the direction she wanted their relationship to take, but she looked everywhere except at him. He wished she wouldn’t be so nervous, that she’d feel comfortable with him. He figured that because she’d been married, at least long enough to produce a child, she should know how to hold her own with a man. He’d get to the bottom of that, but he sensed that she was not a worldly woman and he’d better tread with care. He took his plate to the kitchen, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he saw that Dudley had followed him.

“Can I clean my plate, too, Mr. Lightner?”

“Absolutely. Little boys should do everything they can to help their mother, and that includes obeying her.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood on tiptoe to rinse the plate and then put it in the dishwasher. “Will you come to see us again, Mr. Lightner?”

“If it pleases your mother, I will.” At that moment, he saw from his peripheral vision that she stood just behind him and made a snap decision to go home. He didn’t crowd women, especially if they weren’t on equal footing with him. He was in her house and he wanted her to know that he knew he didn’t belong there.

“Thanks for your hospitality, Allison. If you need me for anything at all, you have my cell-phone number.” To Dudley, he said, “Be a good boy and obey your mother. Don’t go out of this house unless she’s with you. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. I got that.” The boy hugged Jack and then looked up at him. He hunkered in front of the child and put his arms around him. “Thanks for inviting me to your picnic. I enjoyed it. Bye for now.” He stood, looked down at Allison, winked at her and left.

Brock left Allison in a dilemma. If he’d moved to Indian Lake at the behest of her ex-husband, would he make it impossible for him to get into her house without her permission, and would he have to remain in that tiny hamlet for eight or ten months in order to accomplish his mission? It didn’t seem likely, but she had learned that Lawrence Sawyer would go to great lengths to get what he wanted. Brock Lightner had a worldly, almost jaded, demeanor that fascinated and excited her. Young, strong, muscular and sensitive, too. What was it like to have that kind of man make love to you?

She’d married a man twenty-two years her senior. In her youthful innocence, their long and romantic walks in Washington, D.C’s Rock Creek Park had seemed idyllic. And his delight in reading to her beside her parents’ fireplace on cold evenings had seemed to her like domestic bliss. It had not occurred to her that his willingness to postpone sexual intimacy until after their marriage wasn’t necessarily a good thing; her married girlfriends didn’t discuss their sexual experiences with her. But once married, she learned that Lawrence considered sex his right no matter how she felt about it, and that in their bed, he took selfishness to the extreme. She bought some books on the subject and confirmed her belief that she wasn’t getting her due. He didn’t want children, and after she had Dudley, he showed no interest in her, other than to parade her at his social and business affairs. He had no patience with their son, and when Dudley should have been reprimanded or corrected, Lawrence abused him with physical punishment. Although she had long since stopped loving Lawrence and realized after little more than a year that their marriage could not last, it was for his treatment of Dudley that she divorced him.

“Mommie, can Mr. Lightner come to see us again?” Dudley asked her, interrupting her reverie of the past. “I like Mr. Lightner.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Right now, I want you to take a nap. After you wake up, you must read for an hour and then we’ll go to the post office.”

“All right, Mommie. Can you get me a book about dogs and puppies?”

She told him she would and watched in awe as he pulled off his shoes and clothes and started to his room. “Can I have a kiss?” she asked him. He turned back, kissed her quickly and said, “I have to hurry and finish my nap, so I can read.”

Was this her Dudley? Normally, he had a fit when she told him to take a nap. “Is Providence playing a joke on me?” she asked aloud. “Brock told him to obey me and look at him.” She threw up her hands and went back to her computer. Revising that book had become a chore, one that she wanted to finish as quickly as possible. The telephone rang. She saw her editor’s phone number on the caller ID screen and lifted the receiver.

“Hi, Layla.”

“Hi. You’re not going to like what I have to say, but it will make your book a top seller.”

Allison blew out a long breath and pounded her right fist on her desk. “What is it?”

“Best Bet Publishers just released a dessert cookbook almost identical to yours. We won’t be able to sell yours unless you include pictures of the finished products.”

“What? You’re suggesting that I make all the desserts again just to photograph them? I’m not even using the same oven and that means—”

“I know. I know. And it isn’t in the contract, but if you want the book to sell, this is what you have to do. Go along with us on this and we’ll advertise it and support it to the hilt.”

What choice did she have? “All right, but you’ll have to push back the publication date.”

“We’ll give you three more months.”

She hung up and would have screamed in frustration if screaming would have helped. She put the manuscript aside. Who was going to eat the desserts she had to make? Previously she sent them to the church for their Sunday morning coffee hour, but she hadn’t been to church in Indian Lake. She made a list of her immediate needs and when Dudley awoke, she told him that their afternoon plans had changed and took him to the supermarket.

“This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” the deep masculine voice said. She turned around knowing she’d see Brock. “Say, why so glum?” he asked before she could greet him.

“That’s not the half of it. You’re a writer. How’d you like being asked to redo your book before your editor even saw it?”

“Don’t you have a contract?” She told him about her editor’s request and her reasoning. “I can see her point, but that’s rough.”

“I don’t have a photographer, my oven’s just so-so and who’s going to eat all the desserts I make?”

“I can get you a first-class photographer and I sure can eat whatever you cook that’s got chocolate in it.”

“I can, too, Mr. Lightner,” Dudley said and went to stand beside Brock, who smiled at the boy and patted his shoulder. “I don’t think Mommie is happy, but I love chocolate.”

She tried to keep her eyes away from his long, muscular legs. Her eyes disobeyed her and roamed up his body until her gaze settled on his face.

His knowing expression did not match his words. “Why don’t you make this easy on yourself and get a decent stove.”

“Where? The general store carries two woodstoves. I need a gas stove.”

“Why don’t I take my SUV and drive us down to Lake George. You’ll definitely find one there.” She asked him how far it was and when he questioned her, he realized that she hadn’t left Indian Lake since she arrived there in late April. When she hesitated to accept his suggestion, he said, “All right, you go without me, but how are you going to bring the stove back in that Audi of yours?”

If she let him drive her and Dudley to a big town where she didn’t know her way around and could easily become confused, how much of a risk would she be taking? At her hesitation, his shrug said she could do as she pleased. Sorry for what may have appeared to him as her discourtesy, she put a hand on his bare arm and jerked it back when she felt the electricity emanating from their contact. He grabbed her hand.

“You and I had better get used to this,” he said. She looked beyond him to a safe object.

“Let’s go get in the SUV. I can sit in the back with Jack,” Dudley said.

Brock gazed steadily at her until his expression changed from accusing to awareness and bored into her like a hot dart. Without thinking, her right hand rubbed her breast and he took a step closer to her. She realized what she did and, embarrassed, she swung around, putting her back to him. For the first time, then, she felt his hands on her, strong and possessive, kneading her shoulders.

“Brock. Please!”

He released her at once. “I’m not sorry, Allison. I had to touch you. Shall we go to Lake George or not?”

“All right,” she said, hating to give in but wanting to accept his offer. “I’ll leave the Audi at my place.”

Later, as he strapped Dudley in the backseat, Jack jumped into the front passenger seat. “Look here, buddy,” Brock said to the dog, “You can’t deprive a guy of an opportunity to sit with the object of his affection.”

“I’ll be comfortable back here with Dudley,” Allison said.

“At least you acknowledge one fact,” he said, grinning at her. “Move over, Jack.” He motioned for the dog to move and he did.

“Come on and get in,” he said to Allison, holding the front passenger door open. “No way are you sitting back there behind me.”

During the one-hour trip to the city of Lake George, he noticed that she didn’t object to the occasional pressure of his leg against hers—he didn’t do it intentionally—but seemed comfortable with him. So he was taken aback when she asked him, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

If he had been a man to show his hand at every opportunity for one-upmanship, he wouldn’t have been so successful as a private detective, so he opted not to give her a straight answer. “Dudley couldn’t possibly love chocolate as much as I do and he can’t eat as much of it either.”

“Well, you’re certainly going to have to eat a lot of it. Half the recipes in my book use chocolate.” She didn’t pursue the question and he’d known she wouldn’t.

He let a grin float over his face. “How good a cook are you? My dad and my brother are certified chocaholics, so not to worry.”

“How big is your brother, Mr. Lightner? Can he come to play with me?”