Danielle Steel - Malice

“Is this my cue to jump up off the warm sand and drag you back to our room by the hair, leaving your crutches behind us?”

“That sounds pretty good.” She made him feel so young, and in spite of her serious history, she made him laugh all the time, and he loved it. It was so different from his time with his first wife. She'd been so intense, so self-involved, and so nervous. Life with Grace was completely different. She was relaxed, intelligent, giving, caring. She had been through so much, and yet she was still so kind and so gentle. And she still had a sense of humor.

“Come on, you, let's go back to the hotel.” He pulled her up off the sand, and they made their way slowly back, and then stopped for ice cream.

“Do you like banana splits?” she asked him casually, as she licked her ice-cream cone, and he smiled. She was like a kid sometimes, and a woman of the world at others. He loved the contrast and the combination. It was the advantage of her youth, and with it came endless possibilities, and a most appealing future. He wanted to have children with her, a life with her, make love with her … but first, she had to eat her ice cream.

“Yes, I like banana splits,” he said, with a grin. “Why?”

“Me too. Let's have one tomorrow.”

“Okay. Can we go back now?” It had taken them four hours to get to the Hamptons in the traffic from New York, and it was almost midnight.

“Yes, we can go back to the hotel now.” She smiled at him, mysterious and womanly again. It was like watching different creatures appear from behind clouds. He loved her playfulness and the fact that she wasn't quite grown up yet.

Their room at the inn was done in rose-patterned chintzes and Victorian furniture. There was a sweet marble sink in the room, and the bed was canopied and very pretty. Charles had asked for champagne to be left cooling in the room, and there was a huge bouquet of lilac and roses, her favorites.

“You think of everything.” She kissed him as they closed the door to their room.

“Yes,” he said, proud of himself, “and I can't even ask my secretary to do it.”

“You'd better not.” She eyed him happily as he poured the champagne and handed her a glass, but she only took a small sip and then set it down. She was too excited to drink it. This was like a honeymoon, and the expectation was terrifying for them both, particularly since they didn't know what ghosts would join them.

“Scared?” he whispered as they slid into bed, he in his shorts, and she in a nightgown, and she nodded. “Me too,” he confessed, and she nuzzled her face into his neck and held him. He had turned off the lights. And there was a single candle burning at the far end of the room. It was unforgettably romantic.

“What’11 we do now?” she whispered in his ear after a minute.

“Let's go to sleep,” he whispered back.

“You mean it?” she asked, looked startled, and he laughed.

“No … not really …” He kissed her then, almost wanting to get it over with, but not daring to yet, not sure which way to turn or what to do, and he didn't want to hurt her various injuries either. It was all a little more difficult than he'd expected. But as they kissed, he forgot about her broken bones, and the ugliness of her past slipped slowly from her. There was no memory, no time, no other person, there was only Charles and his incredible gentleness, his endless passion and love for her, as he moved ever so gently toward her, and they moved closer and closer, until suddenly they became one and she could feel herself melt into him and she could bear it no longer. It was all so exquisite, and then suddenly they both exploded in unison, and Grace lay in his arms in complete amazement. She had never known anything even remotely like that. There was no similarity at all with what had happened to her before, no memory, no pain, there was nothing but Charles now and the love they shared, and a little while later, it was Grace who wanted him, who teased him and played with him, until he could bear it no longer.

“Oh God,” he said afterwards, “you're too young for me, you're going to kill me … but what a way to die.” And then suddenly he wondered if he had committed an awful faux pas, and looked at her in horror, but she only laughed. It was all all right now, much to their joint amazement.

She forced him to buy her a banana split the next day, and they had a lovely weekend. They spent much of it in their room, discovering each other, and the rest on the beach, in the sun, and when they got back to New York on Sunday night, they lay in her bed and made love again, just to make sure it had the same magic in her apartment. And Charles decided it was even better.

“By the way,” he rolled over sleepily afterwards and whispered to her, “you're fired, Grace.” He was half asleep but she sat bolt upright. What was he saying to her? What was this all about? She looked frightened.

“What?” She almost shouted the word in the darkness, and he opened an eye in surprise. “What do you mean?” She was staring at him.

“You heard me. You're fired.” He smiled happily.

“Why?” She was near tears. She loved working for him, especially now, and she was due to go back that week. This wasn't fair. What was he doing?

“I don't sleep with my secretaries,” he explained, and then he grinned as he lay there. “Don't look so worried. I have a new job in mind for you. It's a step up, or it could be, depending on how you see it. How would you like to be my wife?” He was wide-awake now, and she looked stunned. She was shaking when she answered.

“Are you serious?”

“No. I'm just kidding. What do you think? Of course I'm serious. Will you?”

“Really?” She still couldn't believe it as she sat looking at him in disbelief and he laughed at her.

“Of course really!”

“Wow!”

“Well?”

“I'd love to.” And with that, she leaned down and kissed him, and he grabbed her.

Chapter 13

Grace never went back to work, and they were married six weeks later, in judge's chambers, in September. They flew to Saint Bart's for two weeks for a honeymoon, and she moved her few belongings to his apartment. He lived on East Sixty-ninth Street in a small, but extremely elegant little town house. They'd been home for exactly a week when they had their first real fight, and it was a lulu. She wanted to go back to do volunteer work at St. Andrew's, and she was horrified that he wanted to stop her.

“Are you crazy? Do you remember what happened the last time you went there? Absolutely not!” He was adamant. She could do anything she wanted, but not that. And he wasn't budging.

“That was a fluke,” she kept insisting, but Charles was even more stubborn than she was.

“That was no fluke. Every one of those women has a dangerous husband. And you're down there advising them to bail out, and the guys are just as liable to come after you as Sam Jones was.” He had plea-bargained himself into a lighter sentence with parole by then, for his attack on Grace, and the murders of his wife and children. And as far as they knew he was already in Sing Sing. “You're not going. I'll talk to Father Tim if I have to, Grace, I forbid it.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do with myself?” she said, near tears. She was twenty-three years old and she had absolutely nothing to do until he came home at six o'clock. He wouldn't let her work at the law firm either. She could have lunch with Winnie once in a while, but that was hardly enough to keep her busy. And Winnie was talking about moving to Philadelphia to be close to her mother.

“Go shopping. Go to school. Find a charity you like and sit on a committee. Go to the movies. Eat banana splits,” Charles said firmly. He was trying to come home to her every day for lunch, but sometimes he couldn't and when Grace turned to Father Tim for support he turned her down too. In spite of himself, and how good she was at the work, Father Tim supported Charles in that decision. She had already paid too high a price for working there, and it was time for her to stop paying for other people's sins. She had her own life to live now.