Dark Salvation Page 19

  She laughed, and the shadow lifted from her features. "What did I ever do to deserve a man like you?"

  You angered the gods, he thought, but didn't say it. She wouldn't understand his bitterness. Instead, he asked, "Are you finished with your calls? Lunch should be ready soon."

  "You're staying for lunch?"

  "Yes. Didn't Mrs. Waters tell you?"

  "No." Rebecca frowned, then forced a smile. "I'm sure it just slipped her mind."

  "Rebecca, what is it?"

  "What is what?"

  "Why were you upset that Mrs. Waters didn't mention it?"

  "I wasn't upset." She stood up and started for the door. "Are you coming?"

  "Not yet." He placed a hand on her arm to stop her, and turned her to face him. "Tell me why she upset you."

  Rebecca tilted her chin up, prepared to fight him, but almost immediately her shoulders drooped and she lowered her head again. "Mrs. Waters doesn't want me here."

  "What? How can you— "

  "She barely talks to me, won't let Gillian near me, and constantly reminds me that I'm not worthy to so much as speak your late wife's name."

  Desmond stiffened. Scraps of images cascaded through his mind, projected by Rebecca's distress. She might have exaggerated a little, but he didn't doubt that his housekeeper had gone out of her way to make Rebecca feel unwanted and unwelcome.

  "She's wrong. And from now on, she's going to treat you with the respect and courtesy you deserve. Or she can find another job."

  Chapter 13

  HAVING DESMOND home for lunch was an obvious treat for Gillian, and she monopolized him throughout the luncheon conversation. She insisted on telling her father everything about how lunches were normally prepared and eaten, and reminded him several times that she'd helped set the table. Each time, Desmond agreed that the napkins were folded wonderfully, each one under the knife just so, or that the water glasses held just the right amount of water, or that she was extremely clever to have remembered both the salt and the pepper.

  Rebecca was glad when the meal was finally over. Desmond had occasionally tried to draw her into the conversation, but between Gillian and Mrs. Waters, he'd rarely had the chance. And Rebecca wasn't sure how to behave around Gillian. She'd never had much experience with kids.

  When the other girls had been playing with dolls, Rebecca had explored the woods and creeks. They'd baby-sat to get pocket money. She'd delivered papers and helped after school at the library. Although some people claimed parenting was an instinct, considering what a mess her own mother had made of it, Rebecca wasn't willing to bet too heavily on that.

  So she sat quietly, smiling occasionally at Desmond and Gillian, and avoided looking at Mrs. Waters. Gillian frequently asked the housekeeper for confirmation as she spoke to her father. Each time she did, Mrs. Waters darted a smug look at Rebecca. Rebecca wasn't sure what game Mrs. Waters thought they were playing, but the housekeeper clearly believed she was winning.

  After lunch, Desmond took Gillian away to get cleaned up, and Mrs. Waters started gathering up the dishes.

  "You'll want to be getting back to your phone calls, then?" Mrs. Waters asked over her shoulder as she carried the plates to the sink.

  Rebecca slapped the table and shoved herself upright. "I've had as much of this as I can take. I don't know what your problem is, but you better tell me now."

  Mrs. Waters added soap to the water and swirled the bubbles over the dishes. "Or what?"

  "Or when Desmond puts Gillian to bed for her afternoon nap, he's going to ask you the exact same thing. And if he doesn't like the answer, he's going to fire you."

  A plate slipped from the housekeeper's fingers and crashed into the stack of dirty dishes. Mrs. Waters gripped the counter with soapy fingers.

  "You're lying. He wouldn't do that."

  Rebecca stopped and counted silently to ten. She'd lost her temper and rushed into this confrontation, but she could still get control of the situation. And that's what she needed. Picking a fight with Mrs. Waters wouldn't accomplish anything, other than forcing Desmond to get rid of someone his daughter clearly adored. A chill washed over Rebecca as she drew the parallels between her wish for a peaceful homelife by getting rid of Mrs. Waters and her own father's banishment. She couldn't hurt Gillian the same way she'd been hurt.

  "You're right. He wouldn't fire you. At least, not until he'd tried every other solution. But how can we find a solution if we don't know the problem?"

  "The problem? The problem is you." Mrs. Waters steamrollered over Rebecca's indignant response. "Nothing personal, you understand. It's been over two years since Mr. Lacroix's wife passed on. I don't blame him for moving on. But whatever's between you should stay between you. You don't belong here, and you don't belong with Gillian."

  "You think I'm having an affair with him?" Rebecca smiled, anticipating the look on the housekeeper's face when she learned the truth.

  Desmond walked in before Rebecca could deliver her coupe de grace. He sized up the situation as soon as he entered the room, and turned to her with a frown. "I see you entered the fray without waiting for me."

  "Did Gillian go down for her nap all right?" Mrs. Waters asked.

  "Perfectly. She's more well-behaved than the so-called adults around here. Care to explain what you were fighting about?"

  "She said I was sleeping with you!"

  Desmond smiled, a slow indulgent smile that drove everything from Rebecca's mind but his presence. He was so near, she could feel the heat radiating from him. She stepped toward him, drawn to him with a single-minded desire to lose herself in his fire. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer still.

  "You are sleeping with me," he whispered to her. When he turned aside to speak to Mrs. Waters, the separation caused an almost physical shock. "You've mistaken the nature of our relationship. Rebecca and I are going to be married."

  "Married! But...that is...I mean...Congratulations," Mrs. Waters finally stammered out.

  "Thank you. This isn't how I intended to tell you." He favored Rebecca with an irritated look that dissolved into another indulgent smile.

  She grinned back at him. "Years from now we'll look back on this and laugh, right?"

  Mrs. Waters interrupted them. "When will the ceremony take place?"

  "This Saturday," Desmond answered.

  "Saturday?" Mrs. Waters pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slumped into it. "So soon?"

  Rebecca snuggled closer to Desmond. "We didn't want to wait."

  "Besides," Desmond added, "you've already agreed to spend the day with Gillian."

  "I'll miss her," Mrs. Waters said.

  "Miss her?" Rebecca asked, just as Desmond asked, "Why?"

  Mrs. Waters looked at them in confusion. "Well, I just naturally assumed..."

  "Good grief, you didn't think I wanted to take care of her, did you?" Rebecca couldn't help laughing. "I mean, she's a nice kid and all, and I really like her, but I don't know the first thing about caring for children. And when would I have time to learn? I'll still be traveling a lot for my stories."

  "You will?" Desmond quirked an eyebrow.

  "Uh, yeah." This seemed to be her day for blurting things out. She'd meant to present her future plans to Desmond in an orderly, rational way, outlining why they'd both benefit from her career, and why her career would be improved by traveling. Instead, she'd handed him a fait accompli, like it or lump it.

  "Why don't I leave you two alone to discuss your plans," Mrs. Waters suggested, heading out the door.

  Desmond sighed and settled into one of the chairs. "Rebecca, your independence is one of the things I admire most about you. But there's such a thing as being too independent."

  "Meaning what? You don't want me to have a career?" She balled her hands into fists, and glared at him. "I'm like your sister— I'm a girl so I don't count?"

  "Not at all!" His eyes darkened with anger, but he kept his voice level. "Being a reporter is part of what defines
you, it's part of who you are. Taking that away from you would be destroying part of what makes you so special. I'm not an idiot. I can see that."

  "Then what's your problem?"

  "Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. You're making decisions that affect both of us without any input from me."

  Rebecca stared at him in disbelief. "And how much of what you do every day do you ask for my input on? I bet there's a lot of things you never told me about."

  He didn't answer.

  "That hit a nerve, didn't it?" Rebecca snarled. The sudden chill of fear warred with the heat of her anger, and she lashed out to keep the fear at bay. How serious were his secrets? Would he end up betraying her after all?

  "You are like my sister, but not the way you meant," Desmond said slowly. He toyed with the salt and pepper shakers, avoiding Rebecca's gaze. "She was also very independent. Whenever the confines of family duties became too much for her, she'd head for the city. I never knew what she did, or how long she'd be gone."

  Rebecca's anger drained away. He was just as scared as she was. She pulled out another chair and sat beside him. They sat in silence, punctuated by the clink of the salt and pepper shakers touching, until she reached out and folded his hands in hers. He looked up, into her eyes, and she saw the sad and frightened little boy he'd been.

  "I never knew if she was coming back," he whispered.

  "Desmond." She tightened her grip on his hands. "I'll always come back. I love you. And every time I leave to go out on a story, it'll rip me up inside. But to stay here, to be no more than an extension of you, that would tear me up worse. I have to go."

  He straightened, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head with his customary confidence, and she knew he believed her. He gave her fingers a light squeeze, then favored her with a crooked grin.

  "Well, that was particularly maudlin, don't you think? Can we try and keep these little scenes to a minimum after we're married?"

  "Sure." Rebecca stood up and grinned back at him. "Don't disagree with me."

  Desmond rose to join her, sliding his arm around her waist. "Good advice. If I pick a fight with you, I'll probably lose."

  "You can count on it."

  AS THE WEEKEND, and wedding, approached, Rebecca worked to get her affairs in order via long-distance. She wanted a minimum of loose ends left to take care of in person, so that she didn't have to spend any more time away from Desmond than necessary. She'd suggested he might want to return with her and help close things up, but he'd merely smiled his enigmatic grin and assured her she could handle it.

  She sighed and hung up the phone, placing a check mark next to "Cable company." Only two more calls and she'd be finished. She'd accomplished more this afternoon than she'd expected.

  A glance at her watch revealed the reason she'd accomplished so much. It was after eight o'clock. Desmond was late, again.

  She gathered up her notes and placed them in the desk drawer she'd garnered for her use. As late as he stayed in his office, Desmond would still put in some time at home, working on files. She didn't know where he got the energy.

  Or rather, she did. He used the energy that otherwise would have gone into their lovemaking. Sighing, she admitted her concern was not just that he was wearing himself out. She was jealous of his work.

  To his credit, he hadn't ignored her. His kisses and caresses transported her to heights she'd only dreamed about. But it wasn't the same. She wanted to make him happy, too.

  The study door opened and Desmond entered. She rose to meet him, exchanging a soul-deep kiss and crushing embrace. They broke apart when lack of oxygen or the nearness of Desmond made her lightheaded, and even then, they only separated enough to draw breath.

  His eyes sparkling with merriment, he said, "I've got something for you."

  "Oh?" Rebecca smiled, hoping he meant he had more energy. Instead, he pulled a plastic card from his jacket pocket.

  "It's one of the Institute's keycards. You're in the system now, so I can find you wherever you are."

  Rebecca took the card and examined it. It was laminated plastic, with a magnetic stripe on the back. On the front, plain black letters printed across a pale blue background read, "Rebecca Morgan Lacroix."

  A warm glow settled over her. Desmond had merely appended her future married name at the end, not replaced her maiden name. He understood how important a separate identity was for her.

  She turned the card over in her fingers, then glanced over at Desmond. He looked even paler than usual, and his face had become disturbingly thin. He was wearing himself out past the point of exhaustion. If he didn't take time to rest and recover soon, he'd make himself sick. Maybe she could distract him from thoughts of business. She moved closer.

  "How's it work?"

  "The keycards? You remember— "

  "No. I mean using them to locate people."

  "Oh. Every time you run the card through one of the scanners, the change in your position is recorded in a computerized database." He walked over to his desk and flipped the power switch of his personal computer. "Then you just use the Access program to locate the person's last known position."

  Rebecca came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. The computer blinked quietly, prompting for a password.

  "I can't use the program if I don't know your password," she reminded him.

  Desmond chuckled. "It's SERAPHIM."

  She watched in disbelief as he sat down and typed the letters, and the computer screen sprang to life. "Seraphim? Like the angels?"

  "Why not? It's easy to remember, the right number of letters, and I can guarantee you wouldn't have guessed it."

  The computer hummed and beeped for a minute, finally displaying a dark blue screen filled with pictures used to start various programs. He pointed to a picture of a compass.

  "That's the Access program." Tapping keys, he selected and started the program, filling the screen with a map of the Institute.

  "I didn't realize how big this place is." Rebecca traced her finger across the four topside buildings and the three levels of the complex underground. "No wonder taking care of it is using up so much of your time."

  He lifted her hand away from the screen and pressed a brief kiss into her palm, but didn't comment on her thinly veiled reference to his recent added hours. He described the map of the Institute, instead.

  "It's color coded. The research areas are white. Common areas are yellow. Residential areas are blue. High security areas are pink."

  "High security?" She leaned closer, resting her hand on his shoulder for balance. One of the topside buildings and half of the lowest level of the complex glowed pink.

  "The generators, communications and air filtration systems," he elaborated, tapping the topside building. With his other hand he reached up and covered her fingers in a light embrace. "The pumps, water, and computers are down on the bottom level."

  She cuddled closer to him, resting her cheek against his thick mane of hair. The information he'd just given her was detailed enough that anyone she gave it to could shut down the Institute, but Desmond wasn't the least bit concerned. He trusted her. Completely.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders in a soft caress, but the rough weave of his jacket interfered. Not to be deterred, she slid her hands around to the jacket's open front. When she reached inside to stroke his silk clad chest, he closed his eyes and let his head tip back against her breasts.

  "Mmm," he sighed. "That's nice."

  "I don't want to be nice," she whispered back, stroking his chest in rhythm. "I want to be wicked."

  He laughed. "And you do it so well."

  She reached inside his shirt to tease his hardened nipples, her own breasts swelling in sympathy. The weight of his head against her tender flesh was a delicious agony, and she leaned closer.

  He reached back and guided her around the chair, sitting her on the desk before him. With excruciating patience, he unfastened the buttons of her blouse and pushed it aside, then cupped bo
th her breasts in his warm, capable hands. She leaned into the caress, her eyes closing as she exhaled in a soft whimper. His touch excited and inflamed her until she could barely think. And yet, she wanted more. She wanted him.

  He reached inside her bra, freeing her breasts to the gentle torture of his thumbs flicking across her nipples. When he replaced one hand with his mouth, she grabbed his head and forced him closer, aching for the union they could achieve if only he wasn't so exhausted.

  She closed her eyes and tipped back her head, overcome with a rush of desire. A broken sigh escaped her lips as he pulled her from the desk into his lap, and she felt the strength of his desire for her. He nuzzled the tender underside of her jaw, his warm breath steaming across the sensitive skin of her throat and making her quiver with need. He tightened his arms around her and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss on her pulse point, overloading her already straining nerves.

  The world turned black and fell away, leaving only the blazing trail that ran from the fire between her legs to the miniature inferno at her throat. She lost herself in the raging wildfire of emotion burning through her, a fiery cataclysm she'd never experienced in anyone else's arms and that seemed to grow stronger each time they embraced. It seemed impossible to contain so much passion and pleasure within one person, yet Desmond's every touch only stoked the fires higher.

  When she gradually drifted back to awareness, the telltale soreness in her breasts and neck reminded her that this bout of lovemaking had gone the way of the others. He had given her more pleasure than she used to dream existed, and she hadn't given him anything. She opened her eyes to find Desmond smiling down at her. He didn't seem as drawn and peaked as he had before. Maybe their lovemaking had been just what he needed, after all.

  Desmond shifted his hold on Rebecca so that he could better see her face. He loved watching that sated expression she had after making love, her eyes barely half open, shining with a glint of starlight, a slumberous smile weighing on her lips. Reaching out, he brushed back the lock of hair that never stayed where she wanted it, letting the soft strands float across his fingers. So fine, like a chestnut cloud.