chapter Three
Once away from Steel’s charismatic presence, Althea could think more clearly. Oh yes, she’d consider it. For about thirty seconds. Dump Brandon for him, indeed. She’d never been one of those women who ditched one guy because a more promising one showed up. Besides, Steel was hardly more promising.
A fling with Steel would be just that—hot, intense sex in the short term. Brandon would be the far more suitable choice, in the long term.
The wise decision here was obvious. And it had the advantage of being the right thing do.
Satisfied—and feeling a bit guilty that she hadn’t done it yet—Althea returned Brandon’s call. She got his voice mail, which was a relief. She didn’t want him to detect any of the uncertainty Steel’s demanding eyes and hands had evoked in her. Using her best perky skills, she left Brandon a message saying brunch at his mother’s would be delightful and how about dinner tomorrow night?
Not that Steel’s remarks about her dating life bothered her. Being busy was not a weak excuse. And her relationship with Brandon had been perfectly satisfactory up till now.
On Saturday, she and Cheri both worked the gallery. The steady flow of foot traffic and touristy shoppers meant keeping an eye on the crowds more than anything. In their few quiet moments, Cheri treated Althea to an exhaustive run-down of how she’d spent the past several days in bed with a saxophone player who, she reported in devastating detail, could work his lips on a woman’s body with finesse that would leave her fainting. She’d clearly forgotten she’d bought some of that time by claiming the hangover.
Either that or she figured Althea wouldn’t call her on it. Which she wouldn’t. She never did.
Still, the ongoing monologue of the new interest’s many charms—and exceptional endowments—did not help keep the newly discovered lustful thoughts out of Althea’s mind. Steel had flipped some kind of switch in her. Hopefully Brandon would enjoy the benefits. They just needed a little spice to shake things up.
Brandon, however, declined her invitation via voice mail, citing a Board of Directors dinner. He’d be by in the morning, though, to pick her up for brunch and looked forward to seeing her.
Althea told herself she wasn’t watching for Steel’s tall form to walk through her door. If she was, it was only to be ready to tell him to leave her alone.
Nothing quite as deflating as being ready to tell someone to go away who never shows up in the first place.
By the time Cheri took off—fifteen minutes early, because she had a date—and Althea closed up the gallery, a silence that should have been restful fell over the building. No throbbing rock beat from the basement. He might be sleeping. Or not there at all. Not letting herself look out back for Steel’s motorcycle, she went up through the internal curving staircase, sliding her hand affectionately along the graceful sweep of the wooden handrail. A quiet evening would be just the thing.
There was nothing to be disappointed about.
* * *
In the morning, Althea dressed carefully in a pretty pale lemon chiffon dress with tiny pearl buttons all down the front. She curled her hair and left it down, thinking it complemented the neckline of the gown better and looked nice with the wide-brimmed matching hat. She looked forward to seeing Brandon for a lovely Sunday outing.
Never mind that she’d spent a nearly feverish night thinking of Steel’s lurid promises. She had no intention of breaking up with Brandon. Steel could hang himself from his own sculpture for all she cared.
She clipped through the gallery as a quick check that all was well, then let herself out through the front and rearmed the alarm. Brandon hadn’t arrived yet, so she busied herself with deadheading the impatiens and lobelia in the window boxes.
“Don’t you look a picture.” Steel leaned against the wall nearby, decked out in his motorcycle leathers. He wore mirrored sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his intrusive gaze consumed her nevertheless.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Taking in the sun, seeing the sights.” He grinned at her. “Gallery’s closed today, I see. Wanna go for a ride on my bike? You’d have to change, though—that skirt would be up over your head in no time. Not that I would mind. In fact the image of you offers some interesting—”
“I have a date,” she snapped.
He raised his eyebrows. “Let me guess—Sunday brunch. How…sweet.”
“I happen to like brunch.”
“And did you like staying home alone on Saturday night?”
“I had a long day, working,” she emphasized. “I preferred some time to unwind.”
He chuckled at that. “Princess, I have no doubt that you could use some unwinding, but I could suggest a dozen more interesting ways to do it. For example, we could start with—”
“I’m not interested.” She cut him off again and turned back to picking off the dried and wilted blossoms.
“You don’t act like a woman who’s not interested.”
“I’ve decided to stick with Brandon. I’m declining your…offer. Not that I seriously considered it. At all.”
“Brandon?” He drew the name out, baaing on the “a” sound like a sheep.
“Oh stop. It’s a perfectly fine name.”
“You think so? Brandon? Sounds like a Momma’s boy to me.”
“Not every guy has a noun for a name.”
“Not unless he’s bold and manly like me.” He winked and she laughed before she caught herself, but with her face still turned down to the window box, he might not have heard. “I notice you never say my name.”
“Sure I do. Steel refinery. Stainless steel silverware. Calphalon steel pans. I say it all the time.”
“I want to hear you gasping it out while I’m riding you,” he spoke from just behind her, in a quiet, intense voice.
She whirled around and had to take a step back, he was so close. “I don’t want you talking to me that way.”
“I think you like it.”
“I don’t.” But her voice faltered.
“I think Brandon treats you like a lady. I bet, when he bothers to pay attention to you, that he ‘makes love’ to you. All clean and polite-like. Sunday brunch sex. Am I right?”
She focused on the prominent Adam’s apple in his tanned throat. He was all over stubble again. She wondered how the scratchiness would feel.
“There’s nothing wrong with love-making.”
“No,” he agreed, and he smiled when she glanced up in surprise. “There’s a place for that too. Long afternoons, lace curtains and taking each other in long, luxurious, slow licks of pleasure.” He stroked her cheek. “I can be into that too. But I’m offering something the Brandons of the world won’t. I think there’s a very dirty girl under all that lovely lady exterior. The one who gets juiced just looking at my art. Who wants it hard and hot and maybe just a little rough. Tell me, has any man dared to tie you up with your legs spread wide, so he could have his way with you?”
She gaped at him and he leaned in. Whispered in her ear.
“I would. One word from you, princess, and I will.”
“Is this your idea of luring me?” She tried to sound indignant, but it came out breathless.
“Absolutely.” He flashed her his wicked grin. “And it’s working too.”
“It is not!” She huffed and took a decisive step back.
“So—is he late or what?” Steel asked in a conversational tone, glancing up and down the street, quiet of traffic except for a couple of ladies strolling by with a walking map.
“Ah—” Sheesh, for a moment she couldn’t imagine what Steel was talking about. Definitely dangerous to get even this close to him. She looked at her wrist, but had forgotten to put on her watch.
“Fifteen after,” Steel informed her. “What time was he to pick you up?”
Althea opened her mouth to excuse him—not that Brandon needed defending—when his silver convertible whipped around the corner. Saved by the BMW.
“Here he is!” She turned to Steel and held out a hand. “Thank you for keeping me company. Bye!”
He ignored her, eyeing Brandon, debonair in his white linen suit, getting out of the car with a bouquet of pink tulips.
“Althea, sweetheart!” Brandon presented her with the bouquet and a bow. “My apologies that I couldn’t see you last night. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Of course,” she replied lightly, cursing inside at the smirk on Steel’s face. Brandon flicked a politely inquiring glance at Steel. “Ah, this is an up-and-coming artist—Steel. I’m renting him the basement space on a temporary basis.”
“Steel, is it?” Brandon pumped his arm, flashing his best toothy politician’s smile. “Glad to have someone around this old place to look after Thea, here. I worry about her on her own.” He winked and slung a possessive arm around her.
Something like contempt hardened Steel’s face as he scratched his bristly chin and framed his response. Althea pushed her photo-sensitive glasses down her nose and widened her eyes at Steel, though the light stabbed at them. He took in her stern warning, then flashed a dangerous smile at her.
“Athea looks all fragile and ethereal,” he said to Brandon, “but she’s like tempered metal inside. Strong. Flexible, too, I’ll bet.”
The blood rushed to her face, the image of herself tied up with her legs spread for him making her feel just a little faint. She glared at Steel and he regarded her steadily, glanced at Brandon and back at her, the question obvious.
“Well!” She turned to Brandon, who seemed slightly bewildered. “Shall we go? Your mother will be expecting us.”
“Have fun, kids,” Steel said. “You look lovely, by the way, Althea.”
“Yes.” Brandon glanced at her. “You do. But then, Thea always does.” He unhooked his arm from her shoulders and shook Steel’s hand again. “Nice meeting you. Send your portfolio round to my offices. I like to support young artists. You never know who might make you money someday.” He winked at Steel and tucked Althea’s hand in the crook of his arm.
Steel stayed watching them, leaning casually against the rusty brick building, thumbs through his belt loops. She glanced back as they drove off and he gave her a little salute. Confident and assured. He thought she’d come crawling to him. She caught her breath at the thought, arousal flooding her as she imagined crawling naked across his studio floor, her hair swinging loose to the ground.
And him, watching her with those lustful eyes. Dirty girl.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“What?” She startled. Second time in the last fifteen minutes she’d entirely forgotten about Brandon’s existence and here they were already arcing over the Cooper River Bridge, sunlight glittering on the water. No wonder the scholars warned of the dangers of animal lust. It did drive all else from one’s mind. She’d never quite understood that idea.
But then, clearly she’d never felt animal lust before.
“You seem preoccupied.” Brandon glanced at her. “Is the sun too strong? I can put the top up.”
“I’m not going to burn up,” she snapped. Then touched a finger to her temple. Steel had a way of churning her up. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
Brandon cast her a sympathetic look. “The gallery still? You know, with the lending rates where they are, you could look into refinancing the building. I saw a fascinating analysis the other day that showed…”
She didn’t want to think about the gallery right now. She let the words blur into the rush of warm air from the salt marshes. Her chiffon dress caught the breeze, fluttering up over her thighs, so white, even against the pale yellow. Of course she wore sunscreen, but the sun felt hot on her skin. A welcome burn, melting her. The skirt climbed higher, flipping up, giving those glimpses Steel had teased her about. In a moment, Brandon might see the matching yellow lace panties she wore. She wriggled her bottom a little, letting the fabric ride up.
“Sweetheart,” Brandon said, and she glanced coyly at him from under her hat brim, “watch your dress there.”
She shifted a little, letting her thighs part slightly and smiled at him. “Maybe we should pull over, find a little private beach spot and you can have your way with me.”
He laughed and wrinkled his nose. “It’s not like we’re teenagers, Thea. Can you imagine if someone saw us? We can use a bed like grown-ups.”
“Okay,” she agreed, putting a hand on his linen-clad thigh. “Let’s go to your place.”
“What about brunch?”
“There will be tons of people there—your mother will hardly notice if we don’t make it.”
“Oh, she’d notice.” He sounded glum.
Feeling daring, she slid her hand up to his crotch, which was disappointingly without substance. That could be changed. “Come on. Let’s play hooky.”
He stared steadfastly at the road, flicking her only one nervous glance. “That’s dangerous behavior. What’s gotten into you?”
She smiled and stroked him through the cloth. “Just having fun. We haven’t been together in a while. I’ve missed you.”
But he hadn’t missed her, failing to rouse beneath her touch. Maybe she was doing it wrong. Wouldn’t be surprising, since she usually waited for the guy to make the first move.
“I’ve been busy.” Defensive.
“I know. I didn’t mean anything by it.” With a sigh, she sat back in her seat. It did sound like a weak excuse.
He reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just not in the mood right now. You understand. It’s this economy. With the lending rates the way they are…”
She stopped listening again. And tugged her dress down, tucking it demurely under her thighs for the rest of the drive over the Sawyer Swing Bridge and onto Sullivan’s Island.
Brunch was lovely, of course, with sparkling chatter and expensive champagne. Althea found herself on the fringe of the party, though, having wandered to one of the bay windows. The grand old house, with curving twin staircases down to the long expanse of formal lawn, sat back from the ocean, further separated from the beach by the dune break. On the other side, beach-goers frolicked in the gloriously sunny day, thronging the sand below with umbrellas and carnival towels.
For a moment in the car, she’d nearly asked Brandon to turn around and take her home. Two things had stopped her. First, it would have been terrible manners—a line she simply couldn’t cross. And then, she didn’t want to go running back to Steel, who would undoubtedly be waiting and watching, sure of his impending victory.
She hated to hand it to him on a silver platter. Herself, stewed in her own juices for several days, served up for whatever his dirty version of brunch might be. Picturing it that way, it sounded pretty damn fantastic, actually.
“What has you smiling so sweetly?” Brandon handed her another flute of champagne.
She sipped the icy wine, swallowing down the images that had made her smile. “I was thinking I haven’t ever played on the beach.”
“You can’t, sweetheart. You told me that.”
“I know—but maybe I could, with sunscreen and a cabana set-up.”
Brandon shook his head. “Skin cancer. Did you know the rates of skin cancer in the United States alone have increased by—”
She put a hand on his arm. “Brandon. I think we need to talk.”
He looked concerned. “What about? I know you’ve been preoccupied.”
“I think…I think maybe this thing between us has run its course.”
Brandon flipped back his suit jacket and slid his hands in his trouser pockets, a gesture so like Steel’s and yet a world apart. Oddly he didn’t look surprised. “You want to break up?”
“I think it’s best, yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to do it here.” She waved her glass vaguely at the party.
“Is this because of what happened in the car?”
“No.” And it wasn’t, she realized. Steel had simply awakened her, as if she’d fallen asleep without realizing it. “It seems like we both wanted this to work—and it’s been nice—but we don’t really have a spark, do we?”
Brandon clutched his chest in mock agony. “Ah, I got hit with ‘nice.’ The kiss of death.”
She giggled. This was the funny, charming Brandon she’d been attracted to. “I’m saying this badly.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s just that…I thought you liked how things were. You never complained, for sure. What’s wrong with nice?”
What’s wrong with brunch?
“Nothing at all. I want more than nice, Brandon. Don’t you? I want…” Something not pastel.
“Fireworks? Drama?” Brandon gazed down at the beachgoers. “Love isn’t like a romance novel, Thea. Real people don’t live that way.”
“The thing is—I don’t know that. I don’t know how people live because I’ve been playing it safe. I want to try some fireworks and see how it feels. Maybe I want to get a little sunburned. What’s the point of never getting skin cancer if I die an old woman who never played on the beach?”
He stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her, with the slow dawning of understanding. “This is about that Steel fellow.”
She shook her head. “It’s not. Not entirely,” she amended, not wanting to lie.
He laughed, casting his gaze toward the heavens. “What a cliché this is. You know, the bad boy is fun until he leaves mud on your white carpet and forgets to use a coaster on your antique furniture.”
She pressed her lips together, determined not to rise to his bait. And she owed Brandon at least that, a chance to inflict back some of the hurt she’d laid on him.
She was home by early afternoon. Brandon saw her off with a friendly kiss and a reminder to put the tulips in water. Steel was nowhere in sight. Good—that would give her time to collect her thoughts. Decide how she wanted to handle this affair.
Letting herself into the gallery, she checked that all was green on the alarm system. A few dust motes swam in the afternoon light. The cleaning crew would come tomorrow. The beat of rock music throbbed through the floor. So, he was down there. Working, most likely. Walking softly, she crossed to the door that led up to her apartment. A flutter of paper on the floor half under the door to Steel’s lair caught her eye. She picked it up. Scrawled on a torn piece of drawing paper was a single word:
So?
There went time to consider and decide. She could creep upstairs, see the kitties, pretend she hadn’t seen the note. But that would be hiding. He would know it too.
She tapped in the code, opened the door and descended into the flame-lit darkness.