Cathy Gillen - The Heiress

Harlan made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’ll start checking the airports and train stations, but my guess is she’s still driving your SUV.”

That was Jack’s theory, too.

“Less chance of her movements being traced.”

And more of a chance of being arrested and creating a situation embarrassing to both families. If there was one thing Daisy Templeton was interested in, it was payback. And Jack had the feeling she wouldn’t rest until she’d gotten it. Knowing how upset she still was and, Jack admitted reluctantly, probably had every right to be, he slid his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at the parking lot below. In retrospect, he knew he should have expected Daisy would pull something after they made love. He should have talked to her, tried to work things out verbally. Or at least try to discuss what had just happened between them. But like an infatuated fool, he had figured conversation could wait until morning and wrapped her in his arms and held her until she—they both—fell asleep.

Now, thanks to his lack of foresight, Daisy was out there somewhere, feeling the way he had for as long as he could remember—like no one had ever really loved her, or ever would. Like she was a source of shame, existing only to sully the family honor. And that was a miserable way to live, Jack knew.

“Eventually, though,” Harlan continued pragmatically, “she’ll start working somewhere and have to use her social security number, or she’ll have to start charging on your credit card.”

And that was how they would locate her. “I’ll check my American Express account daily for any transactions,” Jack promised, his customary confidence beginning to return.

“And I’ll start looking for her right away,” Harlan retorted with a narrow glance. “How fast I find her will depend on just how badly she doesn’t want to be found.”

PAULO LIFTED HIS LIPS from Grace’s breast, the frustration he felt evident on his face. “Why are you pretending?”

Grace’s skin warmed self-consciously. She shifted away from Paulo and tugged the sheet upward to cover her nakedness. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in the cool polite voice she used to keep people at bay.

“Last night. This morning.” Like a scientist in the midst of a perplexing experiment, Paulo stroked his hand across her belly. “You merely pretended to feel pleasure. Why?”

A shiver of revulsion ghosted over her insides. “What makes you think that’s the case?” Grace tried hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. And how was it this man knew what Tom had never once guessed in all their years of marriage?

“You moan, you sigh, you go through the motions, but you’re not wet here unless I wet you with my tongue.” Paulo gently caressed her between the thighs, and Grace felt…nothing. Except the wish he would stop touching her. “Your nipples bead when I touch them but you don’t tremble with arousal. Instead, you fake it. And I want to know why,” Paulo insisted. “I want to know if it’s me, if it’s something I’m not doing or should be doing to excite you, or if it’s just that you can’t relax the way you want to right now.”

Her body taut with equal parts frustration and embarrassment, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I think you should leave.” She didn’t talk about this. Never had. Never would. Her mother had been right. Sex was dirty. Meant for bringing children into the world and little else, except maybe a man’s gratification.

“Grace—”

“I mean it, Paulo.” Grace reached for her satin robe and shrugged the sensual fabric over her shoulders, loving the way it felt, the way she had never loved a man’s touch. Feeling more humiliated than she had when she’d been fired, she continued in a low, flat tone, “Being with you was a mistake. I was just too caught up with emotion to tell you, and that was wrong on my part.” Despite their failure to bring each other genuine pleasure, she was grateful to the sensual young man for trying, for being so patient with her, even when it didn’t work. She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she had even tried this, after years of abstinence, after being with no one but Tom. She looked her yoga instructor in the eye, knowing after what had just happened those lessons were going to have to end, too, because she would never be able to have his hands on her again without thinking about this. And she didn’t want to think about this, any more than she wanted to think about all the times she had put aside her dislike of sex and feigned enjoyment with Tom.

She swallowed hard around the tight knot of emotion in her throat, even as she yearned for a long hot cleansing shower, the kind that had relaxed her so much in the past. “If you think I led you on—”

Paulo shook his head. He stood and, taking her cue, began to dress, as well. “I knew when Tom showed up this morning what the problem was.” Paulo looked sad but not surprised. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

Grace didn’t respond. But then, she thought sadly as she put on her slippers and exited the bedroom, she didn’t have to. Everyone knew the answer to that, just as they knew their marriage never had, and never would, work. The problems she and Tom had had in the bedroom—with her not wanting him, and him eventually not wanting her, either—had only been the half of it. She had two things she could count on to make her happy—her kids and her work. And that was it.

GRACE SPENT the next week and a half immersing herself in her work. At the soundstage, she was overseeing the construction of the kitchen, bedroom and living-room sets for her new television show, when Amy came to see her. Grace knew immediately there was trouble—she could tell by the pinched look on her only daughter’s face.

“Mom, I’m worried about Dad.”

Grace did not want to talk about Tom, and especially not at the soundstage, with various grips, cameramen and set designers around. Grace put the fabric swatches for the sofas aside and regarded her daughter stoically. “Amy, I’m trying to work here,” Grace murmured with as much patience as she could muster, and it wasn’t a lot.

Amy took her mother by the elbow and led Grace over to a deserted corner of the warehouselike building, where At Home with Grace was going to be taped. Ignoring Grace’s wish they save this for later, Amy continued anxiously, “He hasn’t gone to the office for ten days.”

Grace smiled at Amy as if they were discussing something as mundane and happy as Amy’s imminent need of a shopping expedition for maternity clothes. “I suspect he’s probably long overdue for a vacation.”

Amy clamped her arms over her gently rounded belly and regarded Grace mutinously. “He isn’t taking a vacation.”

Grace put up a hand to ward off the approach of a staff member and continued talking to Amy. “Then what is he doing?”

Amy sighed, her blue eyes abruptly filling with unshed tears. “Not much of anything from what any of us can tell,” she said in a low, quavering voice.

Grace knew Amy was more emotional now—the hormones of pregnancy ensured that—but that didn’t mean Grace would change her feelings when it came to her ex. “Honey,” Grace said as gently as possible, “this isn’t my concern.” And she didn’t want it to be, ever again.

“Then who else is going to get Daddy off the yacht?”

Grace blinked. Amy had lost her. “What are you talking about?”

Amy drew a tremulous breath. “Apparently, after the party, Daddy didn’t leave the house for about three days. He didn’t shave or shower, he just sat in the library brooding and drinking. Theresa was concerned—she wanted to call a doctor. Daddy wouldn’t let her, so she called Mitch and he went over and found Dad. Not drunk but not exactly sober, either. Dad wouldn’t talk to him. So Mitch called Gabe and Gabe went over.”