Сандра Браун: Fanta C

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I like wearing feminine clothes. Besides that, it's good for my business."

"That's right, you sell lingerie in your shop, don't you?" At her surprised expression, he explained, "One day when I was in the Cavanaugh, I saw you through the window of Fantasy."

"Oh."

Her first reaction was surprise that he knew about her business. The next was to wonder what had brought him to the Hotel Cavanaugh. The third was to chide herself for being so naive.

Scores of discreet affairs went on in the well-appointed rooms every day. Why else would a man as attractive as Thad Randolph be walking across the lobby of the Hotel Cavanaugh in the middle of the day? And it had to have been during the day because she wasn't open late. The hotel restaurants were good, but there were others in the city that were just as good and less expensive for lunch. Chances were that he'd gone to the hotel to satisfy another appetite.

"Before I knew the name of your shop, I'd always wondered what significance your license plate had."

"My sister's idea," Elizabeth told him absently.

Had the woman he'd met at the Cavanaugh been hired for the afternoon? Or was she a housewife hopelessly in love with the wrong man? Or a career woman looking for kicks to relieve the pressure of her job?

What difference did it make to her? Piqued at her own curiosity, she said, "The next time you're in the hotel, drop in and say hello."

"Thanks. I will. I might even buy something. Your merchandise looked… interesting."

Was it a trick of the wavering shadows or did his eyes move down to her breasts once more?

"Well, thanks again for helping me out of the tree."

"My pleasure."

Again, his words caused a warm tide to spill through her. For that very reason she gave him a verbal cold shoulder. "Good night, Mr Randolph."

"Good night, Elizabeth."

He had deliberately used her first name after she'd avoided using his. Nodding brusquely, she quickly crossed his yard into her own. At the sycamore, she retrieved her shoes but didn't even pause to put them on as she made her way toward her back door. Only when it was safely closed behind her did she breathe a sigh of relief. But the respite didn't last long. She heard her children coming through the front door.

"Mom?"

"In here." She dropped her shoes on the floor and padded toward the refrigerator. Thank goodness Mrs Alder had remembered to take a pound of ground chuck out of the freezer. It was thawed.

"What's for supper?" Megan asked as she came through the door connecting the kitchen to the rest of the house.

"Hamburgers."

"Can I light the grill this time?" Matt asked.

"No, I'm frying the meat tonight."

"Aw, Mom, they taste so much better when you cook them outside."

"Not tonight."

"How come?"

Brother! Did she ever get sick of that question. "Because I'm the mother and I said so. Now go wash up, then come back and set the table."

They slunk out, muttering about her unfairness. Elizabeth's mouth watered at the thought of meat cooked over charcoal, but she wasn't about to go back outside tonight. All summer, she had been uncomfortably aware of Thad Randolph sitting on his screened back porch watching TV until late every night. Each time she had to go outdoors, she debated with herself. Should she call out a greeting, as she did to all her other neighbors? Should she give him a tentative little wave? It was nerve-wracking, this never knowing what to do.

If he hadn't seen her, she didn't want him to think she was trying to attract his attention. And if he had seen her, she didn't want him to know that she knew he had. So it had always seemed prudent just to ignore him.

Her behavior was juvenile at best and rude at worst, but a widow couldn't be too careful with her reputation. At the risk of being unfriendly, Elizabeth had been unapproachable to the opposite sex since her husband's death two years earlier.

She had waved John good-bye on his way out the back door that morning, never suspecting it would be the last time she would see him alive. In fact, she'd been distracted by Megan, who had just remembered that she needed a spool of thread and a paper plate for an art project at school. Elizabeth hadn't even noticed what shirt and necktie he had on that day. She hadn't realized that he needed a haircut until she'd gone to the morgue to identify his body, which had been pulled from the wreckage of the freeway pileup. It took her days to recall their last private conversation. Their last kiss. The last time they'd made love.

What she would always remember was his smile and his laugh, his kindness and caring, his sweet lovemaking and his dreams for their future. He had been a darling man who had given her two beautiful children and a great deal of happiness. His death had left a vacancy in her heart that would never be filled.

That gaping wound was bothering her more than usual tonight. That's why when she tucked in Megan and Matt, she drew them to her and hugged them so tight they became embarrassed by her emotion and squirmed free.

Her ardent hugs represented more than her love for her children. They indicated her desperate need for human contact, for intimacy of any kind. She missed being on the receiving end of someone's love and affection. A grownup's love and affection. A man's. Sometimes her body and soul were so hungry for it, she thought she'd die.

Once the lights were out in the rest of the house, she entered her own bedroom and switched on the floor lamp. It stood beside her bed on a brass pole and had a glass shade shaped like a lotus blossom. She'd redecorated the bedroom several months after John's death because it held too many poignant memories.

Now, it was arranged just the way she wanted it, but she could find no joy in it. A beautiful room should be shared. Her boudoir might just as well be a cloister. Lilah was right. Living a nun's life was no fun unless you were a nun. Going to bed alone every night was nothing to look forward to. She missed the comfort of having a warm body lying against hers while she slept.

But what could a decent widow with two children looking to her for moral guidance do about her celibacy? Nothing. Contrary to Lilah's advice, she couldn't rush out and net a man just to cool the fevers of her body. Would that one could take a pill to eliminate sexual urges the way aspirin staved off fever.

Thanks to Lilah's half-baked psychology, her mind had run amok today. She had behaved like a total idiot in front of Thad… Mr Randolph… this evening. He was probably over there now laughing at how flustered she'd become when he rescued her from the tree.

Impatient with herself for acting like such a simpering ninny over a nice pair of shoulders and blue eyes that would give Paul Newman's competition, she turned off the lamp and got into bed. But she couldn't resist the temptation to peep through the slats of her shutters to see if his lights were still on.

Yes. She could see him through the screened walls surrounding his porch. He was slumped in an easy chair, staring into the silver, flickering TV screen. He was alone too. And she wondered if his solitude was by choice, or if he hated loneliness as much as she did.

"And then what happened?"

"And then he had to reach up there and lift her down."

"Mr Randolph did?"

"Uh-huh. He put his hands… here."

"But that was after her petticoat got torn."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that."

"Her petticoat got torn? You skipped that part. Go back to that."

"Good morning."

Three heads turned at the sound of Elizabeth's sleepy-hoarse voice. Knotting the belt of her chenille robe, which was way past retirement age, she shot her sister a poisonous look and headed for the coffeepot.