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Before she could answer, he’d grabbed the pillow next to her and shoved it under her hips.
“What—”
“Be quiet.” Bracing his knee on the edge of the bed, he caught her thighs in his hands and pushed them apart. For a moment he gazed at her, then he sat on the edge of the bed and opened her with his thumbs.
Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head. She felt the abrasion of his beard on her inner thigh. He took a nip of the soft skin there.
“Now I’m going to please you,” he said.
And then, because he hadn’t been able to exert his mastery over her with the strength of his will, he conquered her another way.
In the end, there had been no other decision for Suzy to make. It had been nearly a month since Way Sawyer had issued his horrible proposition, and she’d been able to think of little else. He’d finally returned to town a week ago, but he hadn’t called her until yesterday. Just the sound of his voice had panicked her, and when he’d announced that he was entertaining some business associates in San Antonio and he wanted her to serve as his hostess, she’d barely been able to respond.
As soon as she’d hung up the telephone, she’d tried to reach Bobby Tom, not to tell him what had happened—she couldn’t do that—but merely to hear the familiar sound of his voice. He hadn’t been at his house, however, and she’d learned when she talked to Gracie this morning that the two of them had been in Austin.
As the chauffeured Lincoln drew away from her house for the trip to San Antonio, a bubble of hysteria rose inside her. She felt like a menopausal Joan of Arc about to sacrifice herself for the good of the people. But she wasn’t foolish enough to expect the people to be grateful. When her relationship with Way became public, she would be universally condemned for consorting with the enemy.
Way lived on the top two floors of a beautiful old white limestone residential building that overlooked San Antonio’s famous Riverwalk. She was admitted by a maid, who took her overnight bag from the chauffeur and informed her that Mr. Sawyer would be arriving shortly.
The duplex had an airy, tropical feel. Vanilla walls with chalk white trim set off the comfortable furniture upholstered in bright yellow and geranium red. The bottom halves of the tall, narrow windows were covered with black iron grillwork, and lush greenery filled the corners, giving the room a soothing atmosphere that was at odds with her pitching stomach. The maid directed her to a small bedroom on the same floor, where she could change into her evening clothes. The room was obviously set aside for guests, but Suzy had no idea whether the maid had put her there of her own accord, or whether Way had ordered it. She clung to the hope that she would sleep here alone tonight.
She changed for dinner into a peacock blue silk dress with a row of domed mirrored buttons running across one shoulder. As she slipped into a pair of gray pumps, she heard voices from the living room and knew that Way had returned. She took as long as she could with her makeup, trying to compose herself with the familiar female rituals of mascara and lipstick, then stared blindly at a magazine that had been left on the nightstand. When she could avoid it no longer, she forced herself to make her way to the living room.
Way stood at the windows looking down on the Riverwalk. He wore formal evening dress and turn
ed slowly as she walked in. “You look lovely, Suzy. But you’ve always been the most beautiful woman in Telarosa.”
She wouldn’t pretend this was a normal social encounter by thanking him for his compliment, and she remained silent.
He took a step toward her. “There are three couples dining with us tonight. Are you good with names?”
“Not really.”
Ignoring the chilly tone of her response, he smiled. “I’ll give you a head start, then.” She found herself listening out of habit as he proceeded to list the guests and tell her something about each one. Just as he finished, the elevator delivered the first couple to the door.
By the time the gathering had moved to the dining room, Suzy realized that she was actually enjoying herself. She had been afraid that Way would publicly humiliate her by making certain everyone understood she was his mistress, but he referred to her only as a longtime friend and did not insinuate anything more.
He was a considerate host, and she noticed how skillfully he managed to draw the wives into the conversation. She thought of the number of gatherings she had attended where the women sat like mutes while their husbands went on and on about business. This was also the first social occasion she could remember attending in years where she hadn’t been introduced as Bobby Tom Denton’s mother. Instead, Way mentioned only her work with the Board of Education, and she found herself addressing the challenges of running a small public school system instead of answering questions about her famous son.
When the guests began to leave, however, her anxiety returned. So far, she had refused to torture herself with mental images of the two of them alone in a bedroom, but as the time approached, she found it increasingly difficult to keep those thoughts at bay. She remembered Hoyt’s hearty laughter, his lusty appetites, and open display of emotion. In contrast, Way was cool and remote. She couldn’t imagine anything ruffling him, anything making him laugh hard or cry or give in to the normal range of human emotions.
Way shut the door after the last of the guests and turned just in time to see her shudder. “Are you cold?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” She used to dread the end of her own dinner parties when she was faced with a kitchen full of dirty dishes. Now she would have given anything for that cleanup job, but a pair of efficient servants had already taken care of it.
He clasped her arm lightly and drew her back into the living room. “How’s your golf game?”
Golf was the farthest thing from her mind, and the question startled her. “The last time Bobby Tom and I played, I beat him by a stroke.”
“Congratulations. What did you shoot?” Releasing her, he sat down at one end of the couch and unfastened his bowtie.
“Eighty-five.”
“Not bad. I’m surprised you can beat your son. He’s a fine athlete.”
“He hits a long ball, but he gets himself into a lot of trouble.”
“You’ve played all your life, haven’t you?”
