Snowflakes on the Sea Page 8

  His tongue traced the pink hollow of her ear, flicked briefly at her lobe. Mallory shuddered with reflexive pleasure as he nibbled at the softness of her neck and kissed the tender hollow of her throat. She arched her back and cried out when the warmth of his mouth strayed over the rounded tip of her breast and then claimed the waiting nipple. With one hand, he cupped the breast he was consuming, with the other, he sought the very core of her womanhood. When he knelt, Mallory entwined both her hands in the thick darkness of his hair to keep herself from soaring away on the crest of her own fiercely undeniable need.

  Her release was so savage in its force that it nearly convulsed her.

  She was in a spell as Nathan turned off the spray of the shower, as they dried each other with soft, thirsty towels, as her husband lifted her into his arms and carried her into the adjoining room to the bed, where the final and most intimate sharing would take place.

  They lay facing each other, naked and still warm from the shower, and Nathan groaned as Mallory circled one masculine nipple with a mischievous tongue. She worked her own magic, loving him fully, savoring the responses she stirred in him.

  When the outer boundaries of ecstasy had been reached, she lay back to await his claiming. A low moan escaped her as he parted her legs with one knee and poised above her, and she saw the reluctance in his eyes, along with a fathomless need.

  “Mallory, if you don’t feel—”

  She shook her head, almost feverishly, and clasped his taut buttocks in her hand, urging him to her. She gasped with delight as their two bodies became one.

  Nathan’s control was awesome, his entry and withdrawal calculated to prolong the sweet misery for them both.

  When she could bear the waiting and the needing no longer, Mallory lifted herself to him, prevented his retreat with strong, desperate hands. The steady rhythm of her hips caused him to plead with her in a soft, ragged voice.

  Mallory’s passion flared within her like fire, compelling her on to a fulfillment she couldn’t have escaped even if she’d wanted to. In one glimmering moment, shattering release was upon them, flinging them as one beyond the charted regions and into a world of streaming silver comets and crimson suns. They drifted downward slowly, linked spiritually as well as physically among the fragments, their mingled cries of triumph echoing around them like music.

  The insistent buzz of the doorbell signaled their return to the real world.

  Nathan groaned, and Mallory laughed, soft and pliant beneath him, smoothing his damp hair with a tender hand. “Our public,” she said.

  Nathan swore, stood up and wrenched on a hooded maroon velour robe. “I’m coming!” he shouted angrily, and Mallory dissolved in a fresh spate of giggles.

  If Brad Ranner had any idea what he’d interrupted, he did an admirable job of hiding the knowledge. When Mallory and Nathan emerged from the bedroom, one at a time and as subtly as possible, he made no comment. Of course, he couldn’t have helped noticing that Nathan, now clad in jeans and a red T-shirt, had answered the door in a bathrobe.

  His shrewd blue eyes did catch, just momentarily, the flush in Mallory’s cheeks, before moving on to politely assess the silken lines of her pink-and-gold caftan.

  Brad was a short, stocky man, and the uninitiated usually took him for a serious young accountant or a budding corporate lawyer. In truth, he was a dynamic and innovative entrepreneur, noted for his skill, insight and artistry.

  “Mallory,” he began without preamble, raising his glass in a dashing toast, “we’re about to talk business, you and I. Big business.”

  Nathan folded his arms and raked the unflappable Brad with a scorching look. Then he nodded curtly in Mallory’s direction, as though they hadn’t soared in each other’s arms only minutes before, and muttered, “This is obviously private. Later.”

  The crisp words and his immediate departure for the study made Mallory blush slightly. She was still floating in the warm glow of Nathan’s lovemaking, though it appeared that her husband had already forgotten their brief, fiery union. Besides, she’d wanted him to hear the things she meant to say to Brad.

  Brad pretended an almost clinical interest in his drink. There was no love lost between the two men, but they usually managed a sort of cold civility. “If you’d told me Mr. Superstar was here,” he said softly, “I would have stayed away.”

  Mallory lifted her chin and offered no reply. When Brad offered, with a gesture, to make a drink for her, she nodded.

  There was a short stiff silence, broken only by the clink of crystal, as Brad poured Mallory’s customary white wine. Cinnamon, fickle to the end, had left the room with Nathan.

  Mallory sighed as Brad handed her her drink and sat down on the sofa beside her. “So what’s the big news?” she asked without any real interest, wondering how he was going to take her announcement that she had no intention of renewing her contract with the show.

  Brad grinned and took a slow sip from his whiskey. “Cable,” he said.

  Mallory frowned. “Cable?”

  “The show is being picked up by a cable network, Mallory, and they’re opening with a two-hour movie. It will mean more money and extra exposure.”

  Mallory tensed, staring at her producer. “Exposure is certainly the applicable word. Brad, have you seen those cable soaps? Everybody is naked—”

  Brad’s eyes moved almost imperceptibly to Mallory’s fine bust line, and then back to her face. “You don’t have anything to worry about on that score,” he said. “If you’ll pardon the expression, love, you’d stack up against the best of them.”

  Mallory shot to her feet, and some of her wine sloshed over the rim of her glass and fell onto the rug. “My God, Brad—I can’t believe you’re asking me—do you really mean—I wouldn’t—”

  As usual, Brad was totally unruffled, absorbing her outburst without evident effort. “Calm down, Mall. It’s true that cable soaps have nude scenes, but they also have some really challenging scripts. This is your chance to grow as an actress—”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Brad asked reasonably, raising one eyebrow. “Think of it as an art form.”

  Mallory was pacing now, her glass clasped in both hands. “Art form! Bull chips, Brad. My God, Nathan would—”

  Brad set his drink aside and folded his hands casually around one knee. “There we have it, don’t we, Mallory? Nathan. Couldn’t Mr. Macho handle the competition?”

  Mallory stopped her pacing, too stunned to move. She gaped at Brad, who was watching her implacably, and then snapped. “This is my body we’re talking about, Brad. Don’t try to shift the blame on to Nathan. I’m the one who doesn’t want to flash for America!”

  Brad sat back, sighing a little. From his manner, they might have been discussing some mundane, everyday matter. “Bull,” he said pleasantly. “You’re afraid of what Nathan will say—or do.”

  Mallory’s heart was pounding with anger, just as it had pounded with passion such a short time before, and her breath burned in her lungs. “Damn it, Brad, I wouldn’t do what you’re asking even if I were single!”

  Brad stood up, walked to the teakwood bar, and set the drink he had just reclaimed down with a thump. When he turned to face Mallory again, his eyes were snapping, even though his voice was low and evenly modulated. “Mallory, we are talking about big, big money here—millions.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Damn it, I do!” Brad retorted. “If we have to recast your part, production will be delayed.”

  “Then production will be delayed!”

  “Mallory—”

  “No. Damn it, Brad, no. I wasn’t planning to renew my contract as it was—”

  Brad swore roundly. Then, without another word, he grabbed his overcoat and stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the doors behind him.

  Having been wrenched, in just one morning, from one emotional extreme to the other, Mallory folded. She sank into Nathan’s chair, set her drink on the table beside it and wept softly into b
oth hands.

  She caught Nathan’s clean, distinctive scent just as he drew her up out of the chair and into his arms.

  “What did that bastard say to you?” he wanted to know, but his tones were infinitely gentle.

  Mallory could only shake her head and cry harder.

  “Okay,” Nathan conceded softly, his hand warm and strong in her hair, his lips brushing her temple. “We’ll talk about it later. But if I see that guy again, he may have to order new knees.”

  Despite everything, Mallory giggled into the fragrant warmth of Nathan’s red T-shirt.

  Her husband caught one hand under her chin and tenderly urged her to look up at him. Briskly, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe we were conducting a rather interesting reunion before we were so rudely interrupted.”

  Sniffling and smiling through her tears and already warming to the hard, insistent nearness of this man she loved so fully, Mallory nodded.

  Nathan laughed softly. “I’ll be with you in a minute—just let me make a sign for the front door.”

  Mallory lay in bed, looking up at the black velvet expanse of the skylight. The snow was melting, leaving shimmering beads of water in its place. Beside her, warm and solid, Nathan slept the sleep of the exhausted. Tenderness welled up inside Mallory as she turned to look at him, to gently trace the outline of his strong jaw, his arrogant chin, his neck. He stirred but did not awaken.

  Mallory smiled. Nothing would disturb his desperately needed sleep—nothing. If need be, she would have fought tigers to see to that.

  Gently she kissed the cleft in his chin. “I love you, Nathan McKendrick,” she said softly. Then, snuggled close to him, she slept.

  The bright warmth of undiluted sunshine awakened Mallory the next morning, aided by the cold, wet nuzzling of Cinnamon’s nose in her face. The dog whimpered as Mallory sat up, wriggled impatiently as she crept out of bed without awakening Nathan.

  “Shh,” she ordered, raising an index finger to her lips. “I know you need to go outside.”

  Cinnamon whined as Mallory scrambled into her clothes, again wishing that she’d left the dog behind on the island. Keeping the poor creature in a penthouse was inexcusable.

  In the outer hallway as Mallory and Cinnamon waited for an elevator, Mallory made up her mind to correct the mistake that very day. Provided the ferries were running again, she would take the dog home.

  Outside, the glaring brightness of the day greeted them, as did the inevitable clamor of a big city. Horns honked, boat whistles whined and cars rushed helter-skelter through the glistening slush on the roads.

  Cinnamon was terrified.

  In a grocery store some blocks away, Mallory bought two cans of dog food, having left Cinnamon to wait bravely on the sidewalk.

  Because the weather was so beautiful and Cinnamon seemed calmer, Mallory decided not to go directly back to the penthouse. Even though Nathan would be there, the blue and gold day was simply too appealing to be abandoned so quickly.

  They walked, woman and dog, back toward the waterfront. On Pike Street, where the road was paved with worn red bricks and merchants offered every sort of fish, fresh vegetable and pastry from open stalls, they bought bagels and cream cheese.

  On the Sound, a passenger ferry sounded its horn, as if to remind all and sundry that no storm could stay it for long.

  Mallory drew a deep, salt-scented breath. “We’ll go home today,” she said, as much to herself as to Cinnamon. “All of us.”

  Cinnamon yipped, as if in celebration, and then strained at her leash as a tame sea gull ventured too near, waddling over the brick street in search of scraps. Mallory was restraining the dog when she felt a hand come to rest on the sleeve of her Windbreaker.

  She turned, smiling, expecting a friend or someone who had been following her misadventures on the soap. Instead, she met the snapping azure gaze of Diane Vincent.

  After a moment, Diane allowed her eyes to sweep contemptuously to the dog, who still wanted to investigate the intrepid sea gull foraging nearby. “Hello,” she said, her voice trimmed in sweet malice. “Out walking your—dog?”

  “Obviously,” Mallory replied.

  Diane smiled acidly. She did look splendid, though, in her casual tweed blazer, yellow silk blouse fetchingly open at the throat and tailored designer jeans. “Let’s have coffee, Mallory. How long has it been since we really talked, you and I?”

  Not long enough. Mallory managed a stiff smile, though she couldn’t have said why she made the effort. “I really don’t have time, Diane.” She patted the shopping bag resting in the curve of one arm, still holding Cinnamon’s taut leash in the other hand. “When Nathan wakes up, he’s going to be hungry, and—”

  Diane tossed her head, so that the sun caught in her magnificent hair. “He’s still sleeping—well, after last night, that figures.”

  Mallory visualized headlines in her mind. SOAP OPERA VILLAINESS MURDERS REAL-LIFE RIVAL….

  “Diane,” she said at length, and with commendable control, “if you’ve got something to say about last night, why don’t you just say it?”

  Nathan’s beautiful press agent shrugged, and a hint of a malicious smile curved her lips and then shifted to her eyes. “We’ll get together another time, Mallory,” she said. “Give my regards to Nathan.”

  With that, the woman turned and walked away, leaving Mallory to stare after her, all her questions unanswered.

  5

  When Cinnamon began to tug anxiously at her leash, probably bored with the sea gull and ready for breakfast, Mallory, stunned, snapped out of her mood and started off in the direction of the apartment complex. When she reached the building, her earlier high spirits still tarnished by the encounter with Diane, Mallory found that the lobby was uncommonly crowded.

  “What’s going on, George?” she asked of the harried doorman, who was scowling at the bevy of reporters and photographers milling about.

  George’s suspicious glance turned to one of worried recognition. “Ms. O’Connor—they’ll recognize you—” Before she could find out more, Mallory was being shuffled into the building manager’s cluttered office, out of view, Cinnamon following cheerfully behind.

  Inside, Mallory frowned and set her shopping bag down on the desk usually occupied by the woman Nathan retained to look after the building. “Where’s Marge? George, what in the world—?”

  “They’re after Mr. McKendrick, from what I gather,” George confided, looking very much like a beleaguered general barely able to stave off attack. “Marge is upstairs, talking to Mr. McKendrick.”

  Annoyed, Mallory reached for the telephone on Marge’s desk and punched out the number for the penthouse. Oddly, it was Marge who answered. “Yes?” she demanded coldly.

  “Marge, this is Mallory—I’m downstairs. Will you put Nathan on, please?”

  “Are you in my office?” Marge blurted after a sharp intake of breath. “For God’s sake, stay there—” For a moment, the middle-aged woman’s voice sounded farther away as she spoke to someone else. “Yes, she’s here—I don’t think so—”

  A moment later, Nathan was on the line, and the strange timbre of his voice frightened Mallory. “Mallory, listen to me. I want you to stay inside that office until I come for you. All right?”

  Something shivered in the pit of Mallory’s stomach. “Nathan, what’s happening? There are reporters and—”

  He broke in brusquely. “I’ll explain it all in a few minutes, Mallory—just don’t leave that office.”

  “But—”

  “Mallory.”

  “Nathan, you’ve got to tell me—”

  “Do I have your promise or not?”

  Even more alarmed, Mallory sighed in frustration. “All right, damn it, I promise.”

  “Good,” Nathan snapped, and then the line went dead.

  Just then, the office door burst open, and an avid-looking man was standing there, his small eyes raking over Mallory as though she were some curious museum piece, meant to be tho
roughly examined. “Did you know about the girl, Mrs. McKendrick?” he blurted out, as an angry George lumbered toward him. “Has your husband admitted to an affair with her?”

  Mallory could only stare at the man, and the office spun around her as George pushed the man out and quickly locked the door. The doorman was grumbling as he turned to face the woman he had so wanted to protect.

  Apparently alarmed by the sight of her, he sputtered, “Now, Mrs. McKendrick—Ms. O’Connor—don’t pay any mind to that scum! He’s probably with one of those papers they sell in the supermarket—”

  Mallory couldn’t answer; her head was full of echoes. Did you know about the girl, Mrs. McKendrick? Has your husband admitted to an affair with her?

  George caught her arms, thrust her gently into the chair behind Marge’s desk and brought her a plastic cup brimming with hot, strong coffee. Five minutes passed, ten. Mallory managed the occasional sip of coffee, but only because George looked so worried. The stuff was like bile in her mouth.

  Suddenly, she heard an unmistakable shout of annoyance in the area outside the office, followed by a terse invective that the reporters would probably choose not to print. George opened the door to admit a livid Nathan.

  “Will you get rid of those creeps?” snapped Mallory’s husband, addressing the doorman.

  “I’ll try,” George promised somewhat uncertainly, making a hasty exit.

  Nathan swept Mallory’s trembling frame with dark, furious eyes, and then turned to lock the door again. Her hand shaking, she set aside what was left of her coffee and braced herself.

  After a rather drawn-out battle with a very simple lock, Nathan turned to face his wife. “Are you all right?”

  Mallory could manage nothing more than a nod. If he didn’t explain what was happening, and fast, she would explode in a fit of shrieking hysteria.

  Pale beneath his tan, Nathan took a newspaper Mallory hadn’t noticed before from under his arm and thrust it at her. Despite what the reporter had said to her, cold, sickening shock turned her stomach as she read the headline. SINGER NATHAN McKENDRICK NAMED IN PATERNITY SUIT.