Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

“We’ve already made it. We’ve been over this a thousand times, studying it from every angle. We’ve discussed it for months. We talked it to death, and then talked it some more, and finally agreed it’s the right path for us.”

For you, she started to say but didn’t. “I know I agreed, but-”

“What?”

“I don’t know. In theory…” She let the sentence trail. What worked in theory didn’t necessarily translate well into flesh-and-blood reality. Particularly since it was her flesh and blood that would be affected.

“I’m only asking for one child,” he said, stroking her cheek. “If I could, I’d give you the three or four children we planned on. Before.”

Before. There it was, that giant qualifier. That six-letter word was weighty with its significance to them. It was the line of demarcation in their lives. Before.

His eyes moved over her face lovingly. “I still dream about making love to you.”

“You do make love to me.”

He smiled wanly. “Of a sort. Not the real thing.”

“It’s real to me.”

“But it’s not the same.”

She leaned forward and kissed him intimately on the mouth, then nuzzled her face into his neck. He held her close, smoothing his hands over her back. During her busy workdays, hours would go by when she would forget his condition and the drastic effect it had had on their lives, their marriage.

Mean reminders of it would strike her unaware, coming from nowhere like blow darts, giving her no warning, making them impossible to dodge. During a meeting, or while she was on the telephone, or when she was conducting a brainstorming session, one would hit, numbing her for a millisecond before the pain set in.

But these quiet evenings at home were the worst. When they were alone, like this, each remembered how it used to be, how they used to make love when the mood struck them, laughing at their passionate haste, collapsing in happy satiation afterward.

Now she occasionally went to the room where he slept in a hospital bed, rigged with every modern contrivance to maximize his comfort. She would undress and lie with him, her body pressed against his. They kissed. He caressed her, and sometimes just the intimacy of that was enough. Other nights, she would reach orgasm, which wasn’t really satisfying because she always felt selfish afterward. When she expressed this, he comforted her by saying that his completion was derived from knowing that he could still give her physical pleasure.

But if she left his bed feeling like an exhibitionist, she knew he must feel like a voyeur. Because it wasn’t mutually fulfilling, it was…well, as he’d said, it wasn’t the same.

They rarely talked about their life together before the night it was turned upside down. Memories of that first year of their marriage were indulged privately, neither wanting to cause the other heartbreak by reminiscing aloud. The memories were agonizing for her. They must have been even more terrible for Foster. She was still whole and healthy. He wasn’t. He didn’t seem to harbor any resentment or bitterness toward fate, or God. Or her.

But how could he not?

Taking her shoulders between his hands now, he eased her away from him. “Do you have any misgivings, Laura? About using Burkett or anyone else. Any hesitation at all? If so, we’ll call it off.”

Did she have any misgivings? She had thousands. But this was the way Foster insisted it be done, so this was the way it must be done. “I want to see the results of a complete medical checkup.”

“He promised to act on that quickly and mail us the report. As soon as we’ve looked it over, we’ll burn it.”

“I don’t think there will be a problem. He appears to be as physically ideal as we believed.”

“What about his character?”

She scoffed at that. “Less than ideal. He proved that five years ago.”

“His crime doesn’t concern me. What I meant was, do you think we can count on his discretion?”

“I think the money will be incentive for him to keep our confidence.”

“I made the conditions as simple for him as I could.”

He had explained to Griff Burkett that he was never to make any claims toward the child, never to contact them, never to acknowledge their existence. If Griff kept to those conditions, he would receive one million dollars a year.

Burkett had asked, “For how long?”

“For the rest of your life.”

He’d divided an incredulous look between them. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Regarding them as though they had both lost their minds, he said, “Having a kid, and keeping its conception a secret, is that important to you?”

The question sounded like a prelude to extortion. Laura wouldn’t have been surprised if at that point he’d demanded twice the amount they were offering. But when Foster said, “Yes, it’s that important to us,” Burkett chuckled and shook his head, as though finding such an ideal incomprehensible. Obviously he had never felt that strongly about anything or held anything that dear. Not even his career.

“Well, it’s not like I want a kid,” he said. “In fact, since puberty I’ve been damn careful to guarantee that I didn’t father one. So you can relieve yourself of the worry that I’ll show up someday to claim him. Or her,” he said, addressing that to Laura.

“What about the confidentiality issue?” Foster asked.

“There is no issue. I get it. I keep my mouth shut. We run into each other by accident, I look right through you with no recognition whatsoever. For a million dollars a year, I can lose my memory. Like that.” He snapped his fingers. “One thing, though.”

“What?”

“What happens if you…if I outlive you?”

“Laura would uphold our obligation to you.”

“What if she’s not around?”

That was one question they hadn’t anticipated. They’d never considered the possibility that he would survive both of them. She and Foster looked at each other, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. If Griff Burkett outlived them, they were leaving their child and heir vulnerable to extortion, financial as well as emotional. They had agreed that their child would never know how he came to be. They would let him assume, as everyone else would, that Foster had fathered him.

“That’s a scenario that hadn’t occurred to us,” Foster admitted.

“Well, now that it’s occurred to me, it needs to be addressed.”

Laura said, “By that point in time, you would be extremely well off.”

“You’re well off now,” Griff retorted. “You wouldn’t enter into a contract with a contingency as important as this left unsettled. Would you?”

He was right, but she was reluctant to concede the point. “I’m sure that over time we can work something out.”

“Un-huh. Not over time. Now.”

“He’s right, Laura. The timeliness is critical. I’m proof that our lives can change in a heartbeat. It’s better that we resolve this issue now, rather than leave it dangling.” Foster thought on it for a moment, then said, “Unfortunately, every solution that comes immediately to mind would involve paperwork, and it’s essential that we avoid that.” He spread his arms, palms up. “Griff, either you’ll have to trust me to come up with a workable solution, or-”

“When?”

“I’ll give it top priority.”

Burkett frowned as though that weren’t good enough. “What’s the or?”

“Or, what I’m reading from you is that it’s a deal breaker.”

Laura noted that he didn’t have to think about it for long. “Okay, I’ll trust you to work something out. After all, you’re putting your trust in me, and I’m the convicted felon.”

“I’m glad you’re the one who cited that, Mr. Burkett.”