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There was Mr. David, carrying his wife up the stairs. He’d done that the day he’d brought her home from the rehabilitation center, but this…oh, this was very different.
Mrs. Adams’s arms were tightly clasped around her husband’s neck. They were whispering to each other, and laughing softly, and halfway up the stairs Mr. David had stopped and kissed his wife in a way that had made Mrs. Timmons turn her face away. When she’d dared look again, the Adamses were gone and the door to Mr. David’s bedroom was quietly clicking shut.
Now, at almost ten in the morning, the door to that room had yet to open. Neither of the Adamses had come down for breakfast and Mr. David had even foregone his daily run.
“Never happened before,” Hollister said, dipping half a donut into his coffee.
“Of course it has,” Mrs. Timmons said briskly, “it’s just that you weren’t here at the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
“I’ll bet she means when they were first married,” Ellen said with a giggle, “when they were still newlyweds. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Timmons?”
Ellen blanched when the housekeeper fixed her with a cold eye. “Isn’t this your day for organizing the clothing for the dry cleaner?”
Hollister came to Ellen’s defense.
“She was only picking up on what you’d just said,” he began, then fell silent under that same stem gaze.
“And you,” Mrs. Timmons said, “are supposed to be polishing the silver.”
Hollister and Ellen looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and pushed back their chairs.
“We can take a hint,” Hollister said with quiet dignity.
Mrs. Timmons began clearing the dishes. “Good,” she said grumpily. But after the door had swung shut and she was alone in the kitchen, she stood still.
She had worked for David Adams for many years and she’d come to respect him. She supposed, if pressed, she might even admit she’d developed a certain liking for him.
“Damnation,” she muttered.
The truth was that she’d come to think of him as if he were a kind of son. Not that she’d ever let him or anyone else know it. That would not have been proper.
But if Joanna Adams, who had broken his heart once, had somehow got it into her head to break it twice…
The coffee cups clattered against each other as Mrs. Timmons all but jammed them into the sink.
No. It was just too impossible to contemplate.
Not even fate could be that cruel.
* * *
Upstairs, in the master bedroom suite, David stood gazing down at Joanna, who lay fast asleep in his bed.
The weekend, and the night they’d just spent together, had been wonderful.
His gaze moved slowly over his wife. She was lying on her belly, her head turned to the side so that he could see her dark lashes fanned down over her cheek. The blanket was at her hips, exposing the long, graceful curve of her back. Her hair, black as night against the white linens, streamed over her shoulders.
He loved her, he thought Lord, he loved her with all his heart.
If only he dared tell her so.
Joanna sighed. She stretched lazily, rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Her face lit when she saw her husband, standing beside the bed.
“David,” she whispered, and without any false modesty or hesitation, she raised her arms to him.
He came down to her at once, his freshly pressed suit, crisp white cotton shirt and perfectly knotted silk tie be damned, and folded her tightly into his embrace.
“Good morning,” he said softly, and when she smiled, he kissed her.
It was a slow, gentle kiss but almost instantly he felt his body begin to react to the warmth and sweetness of hers.
“Mmm,” he whispered against her mouth, and he moved his hand to the silken weight of her breast. His fingers stroked across her flesh and then he bent his head and drew her nipple into his mouth.
Her response was swift and exciting. She made a soft little sound that was enough to drive him crazy all by itself but when she arched toward him, murmuring his name, her hand cupping the back of his head to bring his mouth even harder against her, it was almost his undoing.
With a groan, he lifted his head, kissed her lips, and drew back.
“I can’t, darling,” he said softly. “My meeting is in less than an hour.”
Joanna smiled and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
“I understand.”
“I should have told Morgana to say I couldn’t make it.”
“No, you shouldn’t. It’s OK, David. Really. I do understand.”
David took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She sat up, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered.
He stroked his hand down her cheek. Then he stood, straightened his clothes and headed for the door while he could still force himself to leave.
This Joanna, this woman he’d fallen in love with all over again, couldn’t be a temporary aberration. She had to be real, and lasting.
He could not suffer her loss again.
Not even fate could be that cruel.
* * *
Morgana picked up the papers on David’s desk and squared them against the blotter though she’d done the same thing only moments before. She looked at the onyx desk clock.
David was late. Twenty minutes late. That wasn’t good.
He was never late. Not for the past couple of years, at any rate; not since he’d stopped being cutesy-cozy with his adoring little minx of a wife.
Morgana’s sculpted lips pressed together with distaste. David’s marriage had almost marked the end of all her plans. Until then, it had only been a matter of time before he’d have realized what she, herself, had known from the first day she’d come to work for him.
She and David were meant for each other.
One look, and she’d fallen deeply in love. David…well, he was a man. It took men longer to realize such things. For a long while, it had been enough that he’d found her the best P.A. he’d ever had. Morgana had taken each compliment on her efficiency, her dedication, and clutched them to her heart.
Soon, she had told herself, soon he’d know.
Instead, he’d been captivated—seduced—by a common piece of baggage from out of nowhere.
Morgana shot a look of pure venom at the photo of Joanna that stood on the corner of David’s desk.
“Just look at her,” she muttered under her breath.
The hair, blowing in the wind; the oversized denim shirt tucked into tom jeans. And that smile, that oh-so-innocent smile.
Morgana smiled, too, but her smile was as frigid as a January night.
At first, it had seemed an insurmountable problem. It had been bad enough that David had gotten married. But when he’d begun spending less and less time at the office, Morgana had suffered in silence, watching as her plans for a future with him began to fall apart.
Until one day, she’d seen her chance.
David had made a comment, a light one, really, something about not wanting to overwhelm his bride with the pressures of her new life. But Morgana had sensed real concern behind his words.
All smil
es, she’d offered to befriend Joanna.
The girl had been so young. Stupid, really. She’d swallowed everything Morgana fed her, hook, line and sinker.
“I’m so happy for you,” Morgana had purred. “It must be so wonderful, up there in Connecticut. Why, David’s missed several important meetings because he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t tell you? No? Oh, dear, I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” Joanna had replied, “no, I’m glad you did. I surely don’t want to interfere in David’s life.”
After that, it had been easy. A few woman-to-woman chats about things like David’s status. His position. His importance on the national and international scenes. His need to entertain, to network with his peers.
“But why hasn’t he told me these things?” Joanna had said pleadingly, each time Morgana worked around to the topic, and Morgana sighed and said, well, because he loved her and he was afraid of making too many demands on her too soon.
“Perhaps if you were the one to suggest that you’d like to make some changes,” Morgana had said in her most kindly way. “I mean, if David thought you wanted to move back to the city, mingle with his old crowd, if he saw you beginning to adapt yourself to his sort of life…that would please him so, Joanna, and he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about asking you to change for him, do you see?”
Morgana’s heels tapped briskly across the Italian tile floor of David’s office as she headed out the door to her own desk. It had been as simple as striking a match to start a fire. Joanna made changes, David reacted with disappointment, Joanna—the stupid girl—reacted by making even more changes, and the fire grew larger.
It had been difficult, watching David’s growing distress, but it was for the best. His marriage was an error; it was up to Morgana to make him see that.
Finally, he had.
He’d come in one day, called Morgana into his office. Grim-faced, he’d told her that he and Joanna would be getting a divorce.
Morgana had made all the right sounds of distress and concern, even though she’d wanted to throw her arms around him and shout for joy. But she’d told herself she had only to bide her time, that once the divorce was over, she could carefully offer consolation.
