Silent Masquerade

He handed her one of those small packages of tissue that were sold at checkout counters. Cara took one and blew her nose into it, handing the packet back to him.

“Keep it. I suspect the waterworks aren’t over yet.”

A fresh flood of tears proved him right. Cara leaned against the window and wept quietly.

Beside her, Bill Hamlin sat quite still, not touching her, not pretending to understand her pain or attempting to talk her out of her distress.

Cara wiped her eyes and nose and turned to him with a look of wry reproach. “You’ve done this before,” she said accusingly.

“You mean waited for some damsel in distress to get over the boo-hoos?”

Cara grinned in spite of herself and then nodded.

Bill stretched his legs, slouched on his spine and turned his head toward her. “If you ask a woman why she’s crying, she invariably either says she isn’t or that it’s nothing. If you try to comfort her, you can’t possibly find the words that will make any difference. And if you try to touch her, you either get shrugged off, punched, or drenched from the tears. I’ve learned it’s better to wait it out.”

Cara laughed. “Thanks.”

Bill smiled. It was a strangely gentle, compassionate smile, Cara thought.

“It’s okay. We all have periods when we want to go into a corner and bawl.”

“Not men,” Cara said firmly.

“Oho! You don’t know much about men, apparently.”

Cara studied her seatmate with renewed interest, her own loneliness forgotten. He certainly didn’t look the type to cry. But then, what would that type look like? Effeminate? The man beside her was hardly that.

“I ate all your food,” she said.

“I hoped you would,” he replied.

“It... I...”

“You were hungry.” Bill nodded. “It’s okay, I understand. I’ve been there a time or two myself.”

Cara was grateful that he’d relieved her of the awkwardness of having to explain her limited finances, but she didn’t want him to pity her, either.

“I could use my money for food, but I need it more for something else.”

Again Bill nodded. “Sure. Don’t worry about it. And if you’re a good seatmate and don’t snore while you sleep, I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning as a reward.”

“I don’t snore,” Cara said indignantly.

Bill folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. “Good,” he said, smiling wearily. “Then you’re a shoo-in for the superdeluxe ranch steak and eggs special.”

Cara laughed and made herself as comfortable as she could beside Bill. What a nice man. And without any hint of flirtatiousness. He reminded her of her father, though he was younger than her father had been when he died. Come to think of it, he must be about Doug’s age, halfway between her mother and herself.

But she mustn’t think about the people at home; if she did, she’d start crying again.

She decided to think about breakfast with Bill, instead. She smiled at the thought. She’d use the ladies’ room and change into jeans and her pink long-sleeved knit shirt. Jeans held up better for travel. And she’d put on a little makeup and fix her hair. She wasn’t going to give him a single reason to regret inviting her to breakfast.

She was almost asleep when his head slipped onto her shoulder. Cara held her breath, her body rigid, but then relaxed. It was nice having him there, she decided; familiar and not at all threatening.

* * *

DOUG HARVARD fought for control as Beth Dunlap paced the floor, wringing her hands and weeping noisily.

“I can’t believe she just took off like that, sneaking away in the dark of night without even telling me she was leaving.”

“She did leave a note, darling,” Doug reminded her gently.

“Maybe I should notify the police, report her missing.” Beth’s voice had strengthened, the teariness giving way to resolve.

“Darling, the police would say she left on her own, that she isn’t really missing.”

“What about a private detective, then?”

It was time to bring Beth back under control. Doug went to her and enfolded her in his arms, holding her head against his chest, soothingly rubbing her back. “Listen, my dear, Cara is a grown woman, not a runaway child. Why don’t we give her time to get settled wherever she’s gone, and then, if we don’t hear from her in, say—oh, a month—we’ll talk about looking for her? Meanwhile—” he lowered his voice seductively and lifted her chin so that he could gaze into her eyes “—why don’t we take advantage of our newfound privacy and get married right away.”

Beth gasped. “Right away? You mean—?”

Doug nodded and gave her a practiced smile, heavy with promise. “I mean tomorrow. We already have the license, and with Cara gone, we don’t have any family to cater to. Let’s just go off by ourselves and exchange our vows privately.” He brushed her lips with his own. “It would be so much more romantic, my love,” he whispered.

“What about my friends?” Beth protested weakly. “They’ll be so disappointed.”

Doug’s hands moved from Beth’s back to just under her breasts. He held back a smile of satisfaction when Beth gave a tremulous gasp of excitement. “I’ll be even more disappointed if I have to wait one more night to make you my wife,” he said, making his voice rough.

“We don’t have to wait,” Beth said, moving closer, rubbing her pelvis against Doug’s. “I’ve always told you I’d be willing to make love with you before the wedding. After all,” she added archly, “I’m a woman of the nineties.”

Damned near, Doug thought. But he said, “No, darling, as I’ve told you so often before, I need to know you’re all mine, entirely committed to me, and I to you, before I can accept that last, most wondrous gift from you.”

He let his fingers graze her nipples, almost as if by mistake, and had the satisfaction of hearing her moan of desire as she ground her hips against him in desperation.

He drew away, his expression one of deep regret. “Don’t make me wait any longer, Beth darling, please. I need you so.” He put his hand to his fly and clutched himself in seeming pain. “Please, darling, say you’ll marry me tomorrow, and let’s start our honeymoon now, tonight.”

He could see she’d had all she could take of his sexual game of cat and mouse. His offer to put the honeymoon before the wedding was the clincher. She fell into his arms, almost tearing his shirt open, and agreed to marry him the next day.

Doug called on his favorite fantasy in order to prepare for the night ahead. Cara Dunlap might have gotten away from him in fact, but in his mind he could still have his way with her, and visualizing breaking her to his will was exciting enough to allow him to perform like a passion-crazed bridegroom.

Hours later, as Beth slept beside him, Doug lay in the darkened master bedroom and eased himself into sleep by working out the details for making Beth Dunlap’s fortune his own.

* * *

“WE’RE HALFWAY THERE,” Bill said as he slid into the booth across from Cara. “The driver says we’re right on schedule.”

Cara put down the menu she’d been studying. “Are you going to be staying in San Francisco for a while?”

Bill gave her a strange look. “No,” he said, in a tone that prohibited further questions.