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“Let him.”
“No way.”
“Maybe it’s time.” Tessa’s face clouded, and she gnawed on her lower lip, the way she had whenever she’d been uncertain or confused as a little girl. “I’m tired of lying, Randa. This was a mistake.”
“No! It’s too late to change anything.” Miranda shook her head vehemently. “We’ve got to stick to the story.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s worked so far.” Restless, Miranda walked to the sliding glass door and leaned against it.
“Has it?”
“Just hang in there.” Miranda stared at the vista that was the Pacific Ocean. Green and murky, stretching to the horizon, the sea shifted restlessly, as if it, too, had secrets too deep and tragic to reveal.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Tessa said. “It’s Claire who’s going to be the problem.”
“Claire?” Miranda repeated. Claire didn’t even know the real story. “Why?”
“Because she’s getting herself involved with Kane Moran.”
“No.” Miranda hoped that Tessa was making this up. Sometimes Dutch’s youngest daughter fantasized, other times she was just plain confused.
“I’ve seen them together.”
“Is she out of her mind?” Fear caused Miranda’s heart to pound a quick, irregular cadence.
“You know what a romantic she is. Always has been. A fool for men. She was involved with Harley and he died and within months she married that jerk Paul. I only met him once—around the time of the wedding, but he was already looking at other women. Including me!” She sighed and flopped back on the couch. “Claire’s an idiot. Always has been.”
r /> “Moran’s just using her.”
“Probably.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“A lot of good that will do. No one could talk her out of seeing Harley Taggert, could they? And then Paul—Jesus, I told her he’d been coming on to me and she wouldn’t believe me. You can talk to her until you’re blue in the face, Randa, but, trust me, it won’t do a bit of good.”
For once, Tessa was right. Claire had never listened to anyone when her heart was involved. This was worse than Miranda had thought. She felt as if she’d just stepped into the quicksand of the past and there was no escape. Sooner or later she, her sisters, her father, and her damned career would be dragged under.
God help them all.
He had to forget about her. That was all there was to it. But Weston never was one to let a willing woman pass him by, and from the breathy telephone calls he’d been getting from Tessa Holland, she was more than willing to pick up where they’d left off so long ago.
Shit. What was he going to do? He floored the Mercedes and the convertible sped down the highway, tires singing, engine purring, wind whipping by. An expanse of gray-blue ocean stretched to the west, breakers rolling inland in frothy waves, and to the east a bank of forested hills rose high enough to brush the sky. But Tessa was on his mind, and he couldn’t shake her image.
He’d seen her in town, walking into the liquor store, her round rump swaying beneath a short, tight, red skirt, her luscious breasts straining against a white shirt tied just beneath her bra. She hadn’t aged much, though her hair was a little shorter and more spiked than he remembered and her cheekbones were more defined with the added years. Her eyes were still round and blue and he imagined her tongue could still work its special kind of magic.
Christ, what was he thinking? If he got involved with Tessa, or any of the Holland girls again, Kendall would kill him. Besides, each of the Holland sisters had her own ax to grind with him and would be the worst possible candidate for a quick affair. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of the possibilities. Miranda had always gotten under his skin. More so than Tessa, but then Tessa was available, or so she’d led him to believe when he’d answered his cell phone last night.
“Guess what I’m doing?” she’d cooed, and he hadn’t been able to speak as he had been with his wife and daughter in the family room watching television.
“I’m touching myself. Do you want to know where?” Her voice had been low and smoky.
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ve licked my finger until it was wet and then touched my nipples. They’re wet now, too. Hard. And now I’m going to go down a little farther and—”
“I’ll talk to you later. I never discuss business at home,” he’d said, loud enough for his wife to hear, though he’d turned his back on her to hide the evidence of his erection straining against the fly of the slacks she’d bought for him just last week.
