Lust and Lies 04 - Pretty Maids in a Row

to and all the things that had recently taken place in her life. She still didn't think it would be wise to tell him about the Little Sister Society or their goals, and she certainly couldn't confide in him about David. Instead, she let him believe what he wanted. There didn't seem to be any harm in it.
    "Any plans this weekend?" he asked as she was leaving.
    As casually as possible, she lied. "I think I'll pamper myself a little. Get a manicure, read a good book, sleep a lot."
    "Call if you want company," he said, hope hanging heavily on his words.
    "I will," she promised, giving him a friendly hug. As his arms loosely circled her waist, she thought he felt rather frail and realized she was comparing him to another man—a younger, stronger, more sexual man. On impulse, she pressed her lips to Philip's, hoping to find the spark of passion that had failed to surface in all their years together, wishing that he could be the one whose kiss had the power to take her to heaven.
    Philip inhaled deeply when she ended the kiss. "Are you sure you want to go home?"
    Her smile was neutralized by the sadness in her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

Chapter 13

    "Good morning, Pop. What's cookin'?"
    "If you hadn't called within the next ten minutes, it was going to be your bottom."
    "Sorry I'm late. I slept in. You okay? Mom?"
    "Mom's also sleeping in this morning, but we're fine. And we'll soon be even better. I'm going to take her on a little vacation next weekend, maybe up into the Poconos."
    Holly thought he sounded lighthearted—not at all disturbed as her mother had described him. Maybe she hadn't told him the name of her attacker after all. "What about the restaurant?"
    "Got it covered. Anyway, Mom needs a break. She's been... a little down lately."
    "Oh, no."
    "It's okay, baby. I think she just needs a change of scenery. The doctor recommended that rather than a new prescription, so I'm willing to try."
    She considered asking about what her mother had said about him being preoccupied with thoughts of revenge but figured it might cause problems between them.
    "Then I guess Mom's invitation for me to come home for a weekend is postponed?"
    "Since when do you need an invitation to come home? Why not make it the next weekend? And bring Philip. We could have a marathon pinochle game."
    Holly forced herself to sound pleased with the idea, but she was already thinking up excuses to avoid a weekend that would include her parents' not-so-subtle hints about marriage. She didn't think she could laugh it off under the present circumstances.
    "I've got to run, Pop. Why don't you give me a call when you return from your little getaway and I'll let you know then how the following weekend is shaping up."
    "Sounds good to me, sweetie."
    "Take care of Mom. I love you both."
    * * *
    At ten minutes before six on Saturday evening, the lobby security guard/doorman buzzed Holly's apartment. "There's a David Wells here to see you, Miss Kaufman."
    "Tell him I'm not quite ready, Pete. Make him wait until six o'clock, then let him up."
    She was ready and waiting but it wouldn't do to let him know that. As she had guessed, it hadn't been necessary to give him her address.
    At exactly 6:01, there was a knock at her door. She opened it, certain she was in control of all her faculties. The sight of him, handsomely clad in his black tuxedo, holding a single pink rose, rearranged the circuits in her brain. She told herself he probably chose the symphony because he knows how great he looks in a tux. She took the rose, sniffed it then walked to the kitchen. He didn't need to be invited in.
    "I'm partial to pink roses. Did you research me?"
    He came up behind her and kissed the bare curve of her neck as she filled a bud vase with water. He smiled when he felt her shiver of response instead of the usual flinch away from his unexpected touch. "Didn't need to. It's how I think of you—beautifully delicate, yet complicated, with lots of layers, like a rose, but also innocent—pink."
    Turning, she smiled up at him. "Why, Mr. Wells, you should consider a career in writing. You definitely have a way with words."
    He stepped back and scanned her from head to toe. The dark-blue beaded sheath she wore fit as if it had been designed for her—except for the scooped neckline: More of her appeared to be out of it than in. A thin diamond choker complemented her stud earrings, and he promised himself he would see her wearing nothing but the diamonds before the evening was over.