Текст книги "Native Affairs"

Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

She watched as he stood, unbuckling his belt and stripping off the rest of his clothes. When he joined her again he held her in the curve of one arm and tugged on her panties impatiently. When the material resisted he ripped the briefs free of her limbs with one tight motion and tossed them aside, mounting her.

“I’ll buy you another set, all silk,” he said into her ear.

“I don’t care,” she replied, sighing as she felt him, full and ready, against her. He lifted himself off her with one arm and ran his free hand between her legs. Marisa moaned and closed her eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraining himself.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, gasping as he stroked the sensitive flesh. “Please, I’m sure.”

He settled into position and she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips.

“This... it may hurt,” he gasped.

Marisa pulled him tighter.

When he entered her Marisa stiffened and he stopped immediately.

“All right?” he said hoarsely.

She said something in a low tone, her voice muffled against the side of his neck.

“What?” he whispered.

“More,” she said.

He gave her more.

* * *

When Jack awoke a few hours later, the fire was dying and Marisa was gone. He got up, slipping on his jeans, and added a couple of logs to replenish the blaze. Then he padded barefoot into the kitchen where he found Marisa, seated at the deal table and sipping a cup of tea. She was wearing his plaid bathrobe, which reached to her ankles and came down over her wrists.

With her wavy blonde hair and oversized outfit she looked like Shirley Temple in Little Miss Marker.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Never been better.”

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asked anxiously.

“Already found it. This,” she indicated the robe, “was hanging on the back of the door.”

“And you’re okay?” he repeated.

Marisa smiled. “Jack, I’ve been deflowered, not shot. I assure you, I’m fine.”

He bent over her and lifted the trailing hair off her neck, kissing her nape. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He slipped into a chair across from her, sliding down until he was resting on his spine.

“I was enjoying the sleep of the satisfied. I wasn’t sleeping so well before tonight.”

“Were you tormented by thoughts of me, poor boy?” Marisa asked teasingly.

“I was,” he said seriously, holding her gaze.

The silence lengthened between them as Marisa felt her mouth going dry.

Jack got up and took her hand.

“Want to try the bed this time?” he said.

Marisa rose and followed him to the stairs.

* * *

The telephone rang at seven-thirty the next morning. Jack fumbled for it with his free hand as Marisa raised her head from his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he growled. He listened for a second and then handed the phone to Marisa.

“For you,” he said and fell back on the pillow.

“H’lo,” Marisa said.

“News flash,” Tracy announced. “That creep from the Indian Affairs Bureau is back again, and he wants to see you. Today.”

“Randall Block?”

“The very same.”

“How did you know where to find me?” Marisa asked, her head beginning to clear.

“Wild guess,” Tracy replied dryly. “I got the number from Ben Brady. After a struggle, I might add.”

“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can make it.”

“Did the big event take place?” Tracy asked eagerly.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Marisa replied.

“Spoilsport,” Tracy observed. “I’ll see you soon. And I mean soon. I can’t handle this guy alone. ‘Bye.”

“Goodbye.” Marisa hung up the receiver and collapsed onto Jack’s chest.

“Don’t tell me. You have to work today.”

“Right the first time.”

“You grab a shower and I’ll make the coffee,” he said, sliding out of bed.

“I’ll have to sneak past the doorman. I’ll be wearing the same clothes I wore last night,” Marisa observed, wrapping herself in the sheet.

“Not to mention no underwear,” he replied, grinning.

“That’s right, it’s in shreds,” she groaned.

“The doorman will have a treat.”

“I don’t think so. He’s gay.”

“I’m not.” He pulled the sheet off Marisa and tumbled her onto the bed.

“I have to hurry,” she protested. Feebly.

“I can hurry,” he answered, pressing her back into the mattress.

“What about the coffee?”

“We’ll pick it up at the convenience store on the way into town,” he murmured, nibbling her neck.

“Oh, all right.” She sighed deeply and surrendered.

Chapter 6

“So what’s up with Randall Blockhead?” Tracy greeted Marisa when she entered the hotel suite that afternoon.

Marisa dropped her briefcase on the bed and shook her head. “He’s very displeased with me,” she said dryly.

“Do tell.”

“I am not winning the case, that’s clear, and what’s worse, I have not reached an ‘accommodation’ with the Seminoles.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means he wants this over, that’s what it means. It’s dragging on forever, much longer than anticipated. Ben Brady is throwing up every obstacle he can concoct which is costing the feds a fortune. All of this I heard from Mr. Block’s lips, as if I didn’t already know it.”

“What does he expect from you, a miracle?”

“Evidently. I told him if they had found someone who could do a better job I would be happy to turn over all my materials to that person and go home, humming all the way.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing, of course. The problem with this situation isn’t the lawyer, it’s the case. We haven’t got one, not one good enough to snatch that burial ground from people who’ve had it for hundreds of years. Block knows it. He’s just taking out his frustrations on me. I let him do that for a while and then I came back here.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” Tracy said gloomily.

“But there is good news,” Marisa said, grinning suddenly. Tracy looked at her and brightened.

“How did it go with Jack?” she asked, favoring Marisa with a sly, sidelong glance.

“Marvelously, stupendously, sublimely. And aside from that, it was wonderful.” Marisa sat in a chair and sighed blissfully.

“I’m jealous,” Tracy announced.

The telephone rang. Tracy answered it on the first ring, listened, and then held it out to Marisa.

“Guess who?” she said.

Marisa leaped up and snatched the phone from Tracy’s grasp. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“How’s my girl?” Jack asked.

“Happy.”

“Glad to hear it. Are you finished with your lawyer stuff for the day?”

“Looks like it.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What are we doing?”

“Oh, we’ll think of something.” The line went dead.

“Well?” Tracy inquired expectantly, as Marisa moved to hang up the phone.

“He’s coming for me in a couple of hours.”

“I guess I won’t be seeing a lot of you in the evenings now,” Tracy observed.

“Well, once we go back into court next week I won’t have much free time. I thought I’d take advantage of the chance to see him while I can.”

“Oh, don’t explain, I understand. It’s just...I don’t know anybody in this burg and I’ve appreciated your company.”

“And I’ve appreciated yours,” Marisa replied warmly.

They regarded each other in silence for a minute.

“Okay,” Tracy said briskly, “before we burst into tears here, I’m going down to the pharmacy for toothpaste. Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“See you later.” Tracy went out and Marisa walked over to the closet to see what she had to wear for that evening.

* * *

When Marisa left her room to meet Jack she found him waiting outside the elevator on her floor.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, laughing, as he swept her into his arms.

“I got impatient waiting in the lobby, so I thought I’d come up, but then I didn’t want to burst in on you with Tracy there. So I compromised with this.”

“You’re very silly, do you know that?” Marisa murmured into his collar.

“All part of my charm,” he replied, holding her off to examine her intently.

“What?”

“I wanted to see if you looked any different,” he said teasingly.

“From this morning?”

“It’s been ten hours.”

“Ten hours, twenty-two minutes and thirteen seconds,” Marisa corrected him.

“Ah, you’ve been counting too.” He drew her back into his embrace and said in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

It was a quiet drive out to his house. They were both thinking the same thing. Once they arrived they went wordlessly up the stairs and into Jack’s bedroom. He took the receiver off the hook and smothered it with a pillow.

“Come here,” he said. He unbuttoned her blouse and took off her slacks, smiling when he saw the lace teddy underneath them.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“One-piece underwear,” she replied. “Very efficient.”

“Why wear any at all?” he said huskily, separating the garment from her skin.

“Juries might find it a little peculiar,” she replied.

“Not to mention stimulating.”

“And the judges? They’re usually men.”

“I’m sure your win rate would go up.” He bent to mouth her breast and then picked her up and put her in the bed. She lay back against the pillows and held out her arms.

Jack doffed his clothes in seconds, kicking off his jeans so hard that they flew into a corner.

“Take it easy,” Marisa said, giggling.

“Not a chance.” He dove on top of her, flinging the sheet to the foot of the bed.

“Ah, that’s better,” she said, sighing. “You feel so good.”

“And soon I’ll feel even better,” he said in her ear, and proceeded to prove it.

* * *

Marisa snuggled into the solid warmth of Jack’s shoulder and looked around the dimly lit room. Books were piled on makeshift shelves in two corners, stacked randomly and leaning crazily against one another. A portable television sat atop a cabinet which stored a set of free weights and a tape deck with a pile of tapes wedged in next to it. Jack’s toiletries in the bathroom, his clothes in the closet and the computer on the first floor were the only other personal items in the house.

“You must get tired of setting up camp in places like this for a few weeks or a few months at a time,” Marisa said. “Don’t you ever want a more permanent home?”

“I guess that’s Oklahoma, if where my family lives is home.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five. How old are you?” She could tell by the sound of his voice in the dark that he was smiling.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Now that we have exchanged that important information, is there anything else you want to know? What diseases I’ve had, what I’ve been inoculated against, the number of my caps and crowns?”

“Don’t make fun of me. I was just thinking that all this has happened so fast. I don’t really know that much about you.”

He propped a pillow behind his head and sat up, pulling her with him. “What else do you want to know? What I did on my first date?”

Marisa sighed, recognizing that she was encountering a familiar male attitude: the past is over, why talk about it?

“You could start there,” she said.

 “I went to the movies with Mary Beth Reynolds,” he said. “We saw Love Story at the Rialto, ate two tubs of popcorn and a box of Milk Duds candy. Mary Beth cried so hard during the death scene that her contact lenses washed out of her eyes.”

“Sounds like a dream date.”

“Actually, except for the contacts, it wasn’t bad. Mary Beth and I hit it off and wound up going together for the next couple of years. She was living at a neighboring girls’ school and we saw each other almost every weekend.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, her parents broke it up. Cochise was not exactly what they had in mind for their little princess. Six years later she married an orthopedic surgeon and had three kids. I just heard a few months ago that he recently left her for his college age receptionist.”

“Sounds like you’ve kept up.”

“She saw my picture in the paper when I spoke at a college near where she lives and she wrote me a letter through the NFN.”

“Trying to fan the old flame?” Marisa suggested.

He shifted position to look at her. “Why Miss Hancock, I do believe you’re jealous.”

“Would it be so strange if I were?” she replied, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him.

“I think I like it,” he said against her mouth, pulling her down into the bed with him.

And that was the end of the conversation.

 * * *

When Marisa awoke the room was as dark as a cave. It took her several seconds to identify the sound she heard as running water, and then she realized that Jack was taking a shower. She lay there, pleasantly satiated, until the door to the bathroom opened, revealing a yellow slip of light for a second before Jack snapped off the switch. He came out, barefoot and silent, toweling his hair, moving carefully so he didn’t have to turn on another light.

“What time is it?” she asked drowsily.

“Ah, you’re awake. It’s ten-thirty.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“You smell wonderful,” she said, reaching her bare arms up to encircle his neck.

He laughed. “It’s soap.” He turned on the bedside lamp.

“Soap and you, that’s different.” She hugged him for a long moment and then said as an afterthought, “I’m hungry.”

He grinned. “I’m not surprised.”

“Is there anything downstairs?” Marisa asked, rolling over and feeling on the floor for her clothes.

“I don’t remember. I’ll take a look.” Jack slid off the bed and into his jeans as Marisa headed for the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in a couple of minutes,” she called after him.

The bathroom had a modern stall shower, obviously a recent addition, and as Marisa adjusted the nozzle and stepped under the spray she examined the shampoo and other items stashed in the hanging mesh rack. It did not seem odd to be in Jack’s house or his bed. She didn’t know what that meant, but it was true.

When she was through, she dried off on one of Jack’s huge bath towels and dressed haphazardly in her slacks with her blouse tied loosely at the waist. Then she followed him down to the kitchen, blinking in the harsh overhead light.

“I feel like a Morloch,” she said.

“A hungry one,” he replied, opening the refrigerator.

“Yes. What have we got to eat?”

“Well, let’s see. In here we have ketchup, pickles, three grapefruits, an onion, and a bottle of mineral water.”

“Mmm.”

He turned and pulled open a cupboard above her head. “And in here we have crackers, mayonnaise, potato buds and oatmeal.”

“Yech.”

“I have been eating out a lot.”

“So it would seem.”

“There’s a Chinese place about three miles away that stays open late, and delivers,” he suggested.

“Oh, good. Then I won’t have to get dressed up.”

“I’m in favor of that,” he replied, rummaging in a drawer. He held out a takeout menu for her to see.

“I knew I had this someplace,” he said triumphantly.

“Shanghai Sam’s?” she said, reading the heading.

“Despite the name, the food is good.”

“What’s that interesting stain on the edge of the menu?” Marisa asked, laughing.

“Moo goo gai pan?” he said.

“Don’t ask me.”

“Probably chicken lo mein,” he amended. “That’s always been a favorite of mine. What would you like?”

“Anything. I’m in no mood to be particular.”

He lifted the receiver of the wall phone and frowned. “It seems to be dead.”

“It’s off the hook upstairs,” Marisa reminded him.

“Oh, right. Would you go up and replace it?”

Marisa did so.

“Do they know you at Shanghai Sam’s?” Marisa asked, grinning as she reentered the kitchen.

“I am the best customer of Shanghai Sam’s. Also of Bay Point Pizza, Mabel’s Lunch, and Uncle Morty’s Subs.” He tossed the menu back in the drawer and slammed it shut.

“Not to mention Leduc’s, and that sawdust wonderland we patronized the other night.”

“Correct.”

“I gather you don’t like to cook.”

“I can’t cook, there’s a difference. I have tried. Everything always winds up burned, dried, flattened, or whatever it’s not supposed to be. I gave up a long time ago.” He extended his arms invitingly and she walked into them.

“I suppose you can cook, of course,” he said, nestling his cheek against her hair.

“A little. I’m no chef.”

“I ordered shrimp in lobster sauce with saffron rice and sauteed string beans.”

“Sounds good.”

“Low sodium, no MSG,” he added.

Marisa drew back to look at him.

“That’s what it says on the menu,” he said, shrugging. He undid the knot at her waist carefully and pulled back her shirttails to reveal her bare midriff.

“Jack,” Marisa said warningly.

“Yes?” He bent to plant a kiss on her skin just above the button on her slacks.

“Someone is going to be delivering that order in about five minutes,” she said.

“Ten.”

“What’s the difference? I need sustenance, Jack, I’m not used to this pace.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m wearing you out?” he said.

“If I faint it’s your fault,” she said impishly, slipping out of his grasp.

“Oh, all right, I suppose I do have to feed you.” He got a couple of glasses out of another cupboard and rinsed them under the tap.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder at her.

“What’s going to happen when all this is over?” she asked.

“All what?” He put the glasses on the table.

“The case, you know.”

“We’ll go on as before,” he said lightly, not looking at her

“But I live in Maine, for heaven’s sake.”

“So what? It’s not the moon. There are planes and trains and roads that go there, right?”

“Do you mean that?” she said quietly.

“Of course. Did you imagine that I would leave here and forget you?” he asked, taking napkins from a box on the counter.

“I... I didn’t know.”

“Come here,” he said, putting the napkins down.

Marisa stepped into his arms again.

“What do you think, that this is a casual fling for me?” he said gently, stroking her hair.

“I was hoping not.”

“But you were still willing to take the chance?”

“I wanted you, Jack. But I knew you must have done this sort of thing before,” she said lamely.

“Not this sort of thing,” he replied quietly.

The doorbell rang.

“Saved by the bell?” Marisa said.

“Don’t make light of it,” he said soberly, releasing her. “I meant what I said.” He went to answer the door and when he returned he was carrying two brown bags and a newspaper.

“I forgot to take this off the steps,” he said, putting the paper aside and diving into one of the bags.

Marisa went to join him, postponing the subject of their relationship until later.

“Can you use these?” he asked, indicating the set of wooden chopsticks included with his order. He took the mineral water out of the refrigerator and filled their glasses.

“Hold one stick like a pencil,” Marisa said, demonstrating.

Jack sat down, opened a carton, and attempted to imitate her. A shrimp slid into his lap.

“Thank you,” he said, staring down at his jeans.

“You asked.”

“Stop showing off,” he added, as she manipulated the chopsticks dexterously.

“I’d advise you to get a fork, Jackson,” Marisa commented, grinning wickedly.

He went for some silverware and sat again, saying, “It must be genetic. Native Americans aren’t meant to use those things.”

“I’m no more Chinese than you are.”

He used his fork as a slingshot and sent a string bean flying in her direction.

“That was mature,” Marisa said.

“My specialty, maturity.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Marisa opened the newspaper and riffled through the pages.

“You’re not reading the newspaper tonight,” he said, around a mouthful of rice.

“It says here that Deception is playing on the movie channel at twelve o’clock.”

“You’re not watching television tonight,” he added.

“Oh, come on! It’s a great movie, Bette Davis at the top of her form. Terrific music, too.”

“I can’t watch that—those shoulder pads she wears are too distracting.”

“You’re thinking of Joan Crawford.”

“I am not. Crawford is the one with the bug eyes and Davis is the one who’s always spinning around, flipping her skirts. And smoking.”

“They’re both always smoking. I can see you’re really a fan of forties movies.”

“They’re so dated, aren’t they? And the dialogue, so corny!”

“That’s part of their nostalgic appeal, something a writer should be able to appreciate. And Davis is really good in this one.” Marisa popped the last string bean in her mouth and chewed industriously.

“I feel I should warn you that if you’re addicted to Bette Davis weepers, the future of this relationship is in doubt.”

“Watch out or I’ll tie you down and force you to watch Dark Victory with me.”

“Which one is that?”

“Bette is a playgirl with a brain tumor who falls in love with her doctor.”

“Spare me. I thought you didn’t like television.”

“I don’t, not today’s television. I like old movies, pre-nineteen-sixty, preferably.” She smiled invitingly. “We could build a fire and watch it together on that old console TV in the living room.”

“How about the portable in the bedroom?” he said, grinning.

“Not a chance. I want to see the film, Jack.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be better than the programs on the tube. The only television I really watch is CNN and sometimes the sports channel, anyway.”

“Liar. You’re probably addicted to Saturday morning cartoons.”

“Well, I am partial to Scooby Doo.”

“I knew it!”

He scraped the bottom of the rice carton and tossed the empty container in the trash.

“But in all honesty I’d have to say I’m equally fond of Spiderman,” he added, smiling.

“Hah! And I’ll bet you watch the shopping channel all night and buy onyx rings at three o’clock in the morning.”

“I confess that when I’ve been up late with a manuscript I’ve had it on occasionally. Some of those people who call in during the wee hours really do bear watching.”

Marisa looked at the wall clock pointedly. “I rest my case. Bette’s waiting.”

“You owe me one.” He rose, grumbling, and Marisa heard him laying a fire in the living room as she straightened the kitchen. By the time she joined him the movie was on and he was using the bellows on the fire to get it going.

“Isn’t that the guy from that Ingrid Bergman flick?” he asked, gesturing at the screen.

“That’s Claude Rains. He was in every Ingrid Bergman movie. And every Bette Davis movie too, I think.” Marisa settled on the couch and turned up the volume slightly.

“No, no, you know the one I mean, the famous one. Humphrey Bogart in North Africa, World War II?”

“You are referring, I believe, to Casablanca?”

“Right. This guy was the crooked police chief or something?” Jack put the bellows back on the rack and stood up.

“Yes. He’s a symphony conductor in this one.”

Jack sat next to her and folded his arms behind his head. “And how about the one where he’s a neo-Nazi married to Ingrid and Cary Grant is the government agent?”

Marisa stared at him. “Notorious. I thought you hated old movies.”

“I never said that. I said they were dated and corny but I’ve seen my share of them.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m a night owl. I do a lot of my writing late at night. If I get stuck I sometimes turn on the TV. That’s when they’re on, okay?”

“You would never be caught renting one, of course.”

“Of course.” He leaned forward to adjust the color knob. “I guess this one hasn’t been ^,colorized,”’ he said, when the picture remained black and white.

“Thank God. I saw the colorized version of Little Women and everything and everybody in it was sepia, like those daguerreotypes from the Civil War.”

He chuckled.

“Who’s this?” he inquired, as the screen featured a close-up.

“Paul Henreid.”

“Looks familiar.”

“Ingrid’s husband in Casablanca,” Marisa said dryly.

He snapped his fingers. “Right!”

Marisa shot him a sidelong glance as he settled back and fixed his gaze on the screen.

“What?” he said, looking at her.

“I thought you were enduring this for my sake.”

“Well?”

“Don’t look too much like you’re enjoying yourself or I might get the wrong impression.”

He reached out suddenly and yanked her into his lap.

“Forget Paul whatever his name is. He’s dead. I’m right here and I’m alive.”

“So I see.”

He untied her blouse and eased the sleeves off her arms.

“What about the movie?” she asked.

“We’ll just have to watch it another time,” he replied, unbuttoning her slacks.

The screen flickered in the background as they made love.

* * *

In the morning Marisa woke to find herself in Jack’s bed, having no recollection of getting there. She slipped into a shirt she found lying on the dresser and padded downstairs barefoot, to find him scrambling eggs in the kitchen as the delicious smell of brewing coffee wafted around him.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, saluting her enthusiastically with a spatula.

“I thought you couldn’t cook,” she said, putting her arms around his waist from behind as he stood at the stove.

“This is the limit of my repertoire,” he replied, leaning back into her embrace.

“How did I get upstairs last night?” she asked, opening the refrigerator to discover it stocked with new items.

“How do you think? I carried you.”

“And when did you buy all this stuff?” she asked, removing a carton of cream from the refrigerator and putting it on the table.

“I got up early and went to the store.”

“You must think I have a big appetite,” she said, laughing.

“I know you have a big appetite, darlin’,” he answered, grinning wickedly.

“Stop making fun of me. You started me on the path to destruction,” Marisa replied.

Jack turned off the burner on the stove and carried the pan to the table. It was already set with dishes and cutlery, and a plate of toast sat in the middle of it.

Marisa selected a piece and bit into it.

“Not bad,” she said optimistically.

“Liar. I burned it.”

“Only slightly. I hate pale toast anyway.”

“You won’t get that around here, mine is always charred.” He scooped the eggs onto her plate and then sat across from her, watching as she took a sample.

“Very good,” she said brightly.

He took a bit himself.

“Not bad, if I do say so,” he agreed, digging in with relish. “So, what are we going to do today?”

“Jack, I have to work.”

“Come on, you can play hooky for one day.”

“I don’t think so,” Marisa said. “I didn’t come to Florida to socialize with you, Jackson, I came to represent a client.”

“Socialize?” he said, raising his brows. “Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“If you’re going to take a double meaning from everything I say, I’m going to stop talking to you.”

“As long as you don’t stop sleeping with me,” he said, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

She kicked him under the table.

“Ow. You’re on a break from court now. Can’t whatever you have to do wait until tomorrow?”

Marisa hesitated, sorely tempted.

“You’re a bad influence,” she finally said.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied.

“What about you? Don’t you have writing to do?”

“It can wait.”

“We’re both going to wind up unemployed,” Marisa said gloomily, munching toast.

Jack got up and took her hand, leading her out of her chair and into his arms.

“Let’s use this time while we have the chance,” he said against her hair. “It may be difficult for us to get together in the future.”

Marisa felt a chill. What was he trying to say?

“We’ll find a way, won’t we?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course we will. But this interlude is a gift. Let’s take advantage of it.”

“All right,” Marisa said, looking up at him.

“I have an idea.”

“Somehow I thought you might.”

“My friend who owns the boat also has a beach house.”

“What is this guy, a millionaire?”

“He’s well off, yeah.”

“Why doesn’t he keep his boat at the beach?”

“You can’t dock a boat on the open ocean, it would get battered to pieces. Are you sure you live in Maine?”

“I forgot,” she said sheepishly. “So what about the beach house? And I think I should warn you that despite your recent swimming escapades, the water here is a bit too chilly for me.”

“So we won’t swim. The view is beautiful. We’ll walk on the beach, take a lunch along with us, okay?”

“Okay,” Marisa said, ducking her head against his shoulder and clutching him tightly.

It was sunny when they left the house. Twenty minutes later it was overcast, and by the time they got to the beach it was pouring rain. They trudged through the wet sand and climbed up the exterior stairs to the deck, and then Jack unlocked the sliding glass doors. They bustled through them and turned glumly to watch the rivulets of water running down the glass, obscuring the shoreline in a gray wash.

“So, this was a great idea, huh?” Jack said flatly, and Marisa laughed.

“I’m not a weatherman,” he said, shrugging. “Sue me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Marisa flung herself on him and they both tumbled onto the suede couch to the left of the door.

“Who needs sunshine?” he said.

“Not us.” They lay together and listened to the rain drumming on the roof of the A-frame house. “What does your friend do for a living?” Marisa asked. “This place reeks of money.”

“Actually, he doesn’t do much. I think he inherited most of it. His father invented something and it’s kept them all in the chips for about fifty years.”

“What did his father invent?”

“Some kind of aquarium cover.”

Marisa sat up, staring down at him. “An aquarium cover?” she said incredulously.

“I’m serious. It allows the fish to breathe, or be fed through it, or something. Pet stores and zoos use it. I’m telling you, the thing was a big hit.”

Marisa started to giggle, and then laughed out loud. “The house the fish feeder built,” she said, gesturing to the walls.

“This ain’t the half of it, honey. You haven’t seen the family house in Jacksonville, the co-op in New York, or the flat in Paris.”

“How did you meet this guy?”

“School,” he said, offhandedly.

“Oh. The prep school where you didn’t fit in too well.”

“That’s the one.”

“And he befriended you.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the other way around?”

“Well, he would have felt secure in that environment, so it stands to reason he’d be the one sticking up for you. Am I right?”

“You know a lot about human nature, don’t you?” he said, pulling her down next to him again.

Marisa shrugged, embarrassed.

“You’re right,” Jack said. “He did help me a lot. He was my roommate in college too. It was his wife you saw me with in the hotel dining room that night we...”

“Made fools of ourselves?” Marisa suggested.

He grinned. “You were jealous, weren’t you? When you thought she was my date.”

“I was not,” Marisa said indignantly, snuggling into his side and sighing contentedly.

“Tell the truth.”

“Maybe a little.”

He chuckled.

“Aren’t you pleased with yourself? That’s exactly what you were trying to accomplish, right?”

“I was having dinner with a friend, give me a break!”

“You knew what I would think, and that’s precisely what you wanted me to think. You could at least be honest about it.”

He threw his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, all right, all right. I was trying to make you jealous. Are you happy now?”

“Very childish of you, Jackson.”

“Yes, I know. But effective. I knew you needed a little push in the right direction and I supplied it.”