CHAPTER TWELVE

Hamilton had a lot of time to think while he was gone.

Although he saw travel as a necessary part of his business, he didn’t enjoy being away from his family and seldom left his hotel if it wasn’t business related. He much preferred to stay in his room, order room service and work on his current project. In his years as owner of Corporate Revitalization LLC, based in Charleston, he hadn’t always been able to solve all his clients’ problems, but that was to be expected. However, the number was low enough that he remained one of the top turnaround experts in the country.

So why couldn’t he turn his own marriage back around?

Hamilton glanced out the window as the cab wound its way through his affluent, tree-studded neighborhood. Every two- or three-story house was immaculate with sweeping flowerbeds and lush St. Augustine grass. There were no junk cars rusting at the curb, no patches of dirt dotting sun-baked grass in the front yard, no faded, dingy curtains on dirty windows or pieces of mismatched furniture inside that no one else wanted. He’d worked hard to leave that life behind and take care of his family the way his parents never had.

Hamilton’s hand flexed on the knee of his charcoal Valentino trousers. Neither of his parents had had time for him. He was someone to cook the meals or a way to get government assistance, but never someone to love. He’d sworn that his children would never have to be ashamed of him or wear hand-me-down clothes or go to bed cold or hungry. He’d succeeded with the one woman who always had faith in him, the one woman he loved desperately. But now he wasn’t enough.

“Here you are.”

Hamilton glanced up and saw that the cab had come to a stop in the circular driveway in front of the house. He’d bought the spectacular two-story mansion with its gracefully arched windows and four fireplaces as a twentieth wedding anniversary gift. Lorraine had loved the house on sight, but had said it was too expensive. He’d put a contract on the house that very day and redoubled his efforts to grow his business. His family would not have to do without.

“Sir, this is the address you wanted, isn’t it?” the cabbie asked, his arm on the back of the front seat as he turned to look at Hamilton.

“Yes.” Hamilton got out of the cab and pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his double-breasted suit. He handed the driver the fare and a generous tip. Picking up his suitcase, he went up the three flagstone steps. Unzipping the side pocket of his smaller carry-on, he took out the house key on a gold chain with a picture of Lorraine and their children grinning at him. It had been a present when he went into business for himself and began traveling so much. They’d said they always wanted him to remember them waiting at home for him.

His hands closed over the picture. That had changed. The children were gone and if he wasn’t careful Lorraine would be also. He stuck his key into the lock and opened the double door. Usually Lorraine would be there, but now he wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d called her as usual, but both had been careful to skirt around the issue of her shop. In the past, they’d always talked over their problems, but he wasn’t sure about this time. Lorraine was displaying that stubborn side of her personality that he had forgotten. The same one that had allowed her to defy her parents to marry him. He just hoped and prayed she wasn’t beginning to regret that decision.

He stepped into the wide, white marble-tiled foyer, unaware that he was holding his breath. He paused, listening. She wasn’t there. The loss hit him hard. Head bowed, he slowly started toward the stairs.

“Hamilton.”

He whirled and saw her. His heart thudded with sheer joy. She was rushing toward him, her face radiant and happy. It wasn’t too late. She came into his arms just as she always had. His arms tightened as they always had.

He came to a quick decision. He’d bide his time and let her see for herself how foolhardy her venture was. He’d hate for her to fail, but she’d get over it. However, he didn’t think he would get over losing her.

“I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you.”

Tucking her arm through his, she started toward the kitchen. “I was in the garden cutting flowers for the table.” Picking up the basket overflowing with vibrant pink, yellow and white blossoms she’d left on the sofa table, she tried not to show her nervousness. She and Hamilton had to talk. “Have a seat. After I put the flowers in a vase, we can eat.”

“Let me wash up and I’ll help.”

She watched Hamilton loosen his tie, remove his suit coat, then wash his hands over the kitchen sink all the while trying to gauge his mood. Perhaps she should wait until after dinner to tell him about the store’s progress. Taking a diamond-cut crystal vase from the cabinet, she began arranging the roses, zinnias and cornflowers. “How did it go?”

“Well, I think.” Opening the oven, Hamilton took out the standing rib roast and placed it on the waiting rack on the countertop. “They finally believed me when I said now isn’t the time for expansion, not with the tight economy. There’ll be some layoffs and they’ll have to tighten their belt, but they should be able to stay afloat and after the next six months begin to see a small profit.”

Lorraine placed the bouquet on the table with hands she had to force to remain steady. “But aren’t some companies expanding and doing well?”

Hamilton wasn’t fooled. He paused in slicing the roast. “There will always be certain businesses that will flourish, but they’re in the minority. You’ve seen and heard about the biggest companies in the world going under because they tried to expand too quickly.”

She picked up the serving dishes and filled them with new potatoes and fresh snapped green beans. “Wasn’t that also due to greed, bookkeeping problems, and poor management?”

“In part, but the problems started when some very business-savvy men made the wrong decision and refused to admit their mistake and get out. Instead, they stayed until it all crumbled.” He set the white porcelain dinnerware on the table. “It takes just as strong a person to concede when they realize it’s the only way.”

He was talking about her. “It also takes a strong person to stick to their convictions,” Lorraine countered.

“But they have to count the risk.” Turning away from her he placed the flatware beside the plates, pleased with the weight and the polished sheen of the Waterford stainless. The table was perfect and a far cry from the chipped plates and jelly jar glasses he’d grown up using. “This looks good. You always make coming home such a pleasure.” Leaning over he kissed her on the cheek, then pulled out her chair.

“Thank you,” Lorraine said and took her seat.

Hamilton took his seat, said grace, then placed his crisp linen napkin in his lap. “Your skin felt a little warm. You’re all right?”

“Yes, why?” She served him the potatoes, then the fresh snap beans.

“Just wondering. One of the executives mentioned that his wife was having a difficult time going through menopause and she’s about your age.”

Lorraine stared at him in disbelief then seriously thought of dumping the dish over Hamilton’s head. The only thing that saved him was that she’d have to clean up the mess. “Why do you insist that I’m going through menopause?”

“I only asked because I’m concerned. I didn’t mean to make you angry,” he quickly said.

Her mouth tightened. “So, in between discussing the company, you discuss your wives.”

Apparently her sweet tone didn’t fool Hamilton. The wary look in his eyes remained. “You may not like what the facts and figures are telling you, but you can decipher them,” Hamilton told her cautiously. “Women are different. Loving them is not always enough to understand them.”

The anger that had been building died in Lorraine. Hamilton had no idea she’d harbored the idea of having her own shop for so many years. She’d just have to give him time to get used to the idea. “And what did you say to the executive?”

“That if he loved his wife as much as I loved mine, he’d do whatever it took to keep her happy.”

Lorraine studied Hamilton. Maybe he was trying. “Right answer.” She casually picked up her wine glass. “I was thinking about asking your help in testing a new concept we’ve come up with.”

“I don’t know anything about bath and body products.”

“But you do know about pleasing a woman,” she said and watched Hamilton’s head snap up. “We’re going to have a limited supply of products we’re going to market as making a woman feel BTS after applying them.”

He fell hook, line and sinker. “BTS?”

“Better Than Sex,” she practically purred, then set a jar of Jasmine Crème Brûlée moisturizing cream in front of her. “Since I’d hate for us to be sued, I thought I should test the products out.”

Hamilton put his knife and fork down, came around the table and picked up the jar. “Why don’t we go find out?”

“Don’t you want to finish your dinner?”

He pulled her to her feet. “Later.”

Smiling, she let Hamilton take her upstairs.

*   *   *

John couldn’t believe it. But the sudden cessation of noise, the hard thump in his heart and the uncomfortable fitness of his jeans said otherwise.

“Hello, John. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

John slowly straightened from under the hood of the Mustang he was giving a tune-up and watched Brooke saunter toward him in what looked like giraffe-print mules trimmed with the exact rose color of the Chanel bag hooked over her shoulder. The short black jacket and hip-hugging pants she wore today covered her body, but only fueled his imagination because he knew the lush curves and silken skin underneath and how good she felt when he touched her. “This is a restricted area.”

“This won’t take long.” She pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the calf leather bag shaped like a bowling bag. “We need your signature before we can put the pictures up on the site.”

“You’ve seen them?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Her answering laugh stroked his body in ways he didn’t want to think about. “Of course. I am head of the marketing for Bliss.”

John studied her face, trying to read if she was as affected by the almost erotic photos as he had been. When she appeared unfazed, he could have shaken her. He’d felt her, tasted her, he knew when a woman was aroused, and she certainly had been. “Which ones do you plan to use?”

“The ones that epitomize that, with Bliss, a woman doesn’t need a man.”

His head snapped back. “I beg your pardon?”

She sighed as if he were a dingbat and reached inside the bag again for a pen. “Bliss products make a woman feel pampered. After seeing the photos I decided on the perfect way to use them. We’re marketing a special line called BTS. Better Than Sex.”

His mouth dropped open. He couldn’t help it. Around him he heard the shocked and outraged comments and affronts from the other men in the garage who had halted work the instant Brooke had walked into the work area. The unnatural quietness was what had caused him to look up in the first place, to see what had caused the oddity.

She would make him look like an ass. He could go off on her for her affront on his manhood or he could be just as blasé as she was. Or he could be as smart as his parents always thought he was. “Maybe you should do a line of BTS products for men and use the same photos?”

Her beautiful black eyes flashed. Dead hit. The men hooted.

“That’s an idea.” She glanced around the shop. “Would any of you like to consider doing a photo shoot with me in a bikini to prove that point?”

Tools clattered on the concrete floor as the men rushed toward them. Smiling she reached into her purse again and took out a pad. “It’s a bit hot in here. Could you please hold my jacket while I write down the information I’ll need?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled it off and handed it to him.

There was a great intake of breath as the men saw the sheer blouse over the white, low-cut lace bra. John felt lightheaded.

“If you could please give me your name and contact information for—”

“Enough! Get back to work.”

Shoving her black jacket back at her in hopes she’d put it on, John grabbed the release, scrawled his name on the bottom and handed it back to her. “You got what you came for.”

Taking her time, she replaced the release, the pad and pen back in her purse. “I always do for as long as I want it.”

She walked off, and John knew she knew that there wasn’t a man watching her who wouldn’t give his soul to be walking off with her. Including him.

*   *   *

Brooke was fuming. Not even the frigid blast from her air conditioner vents could cool her down.

Arrogant, egotistical ass. And those were his good points. She whipped around another car with steely precision and nerve. Her father and four uncles had taught her how to drive and how to play hardball. John would think twice before he messed with her again.

She shot through a tiny opening between two cars and took the road to Sullivan’s Island. Claire needed the release to finish designing the Web site. Brooke had volunteered to get John’s signature because she had wanted to be the one to tell him he wasn’t “all that.” She pulled up next to a motorcycle cop at a stoplight and had the nerve to smile at him.

Another thing the Dunlap men had taught her: never flinch. The policeman smiled back and pulled off ahead of her. Since Brooke had learned on her own when not to push her luck, she eased off the brake and gently pressed the gas pedal. While rushing to a sale at Saks was perfectly justifiable, letting her irritation at John rule her actions and getting a ticket was not.

Use the pictures for Bliss products for men—her Aunt Fanny. As if to say she had no sex appeal. She’d shown him, and afterwards left him staring after her, wanting something he couldn’t have. She’d practically felt the heat pouring off him.

The only thing she hadn’t quite been able to do was remain unaffected. She twisted in the seat as her body remembered and wanted. “Damn your hide, John Randle. I’m going to get the best of you yet.”

*   *   *

He usually gave very little thought to women.

Gray leaned back in his chair in his office on the fourth floor of the Livingston Catalogue Company and knew that had been his philosophy before his marriage. It had changed when he met Jana Carpenter, a vivacious, beautiful, well-educated and accomplished woman who spent a great deal of time working with various charities in Virginia. Her wealthy father owned several thoroughbreds and she was an exceptional equestrian. He hadn’t learned until three months after their marriage that she’d used her exceptional riding skill with a few of his business associates. Gray had come home unexpectedly and caught her and one of the men in bed.

Throwing both out of the house hadn’t released his anger, nor had tossing the bedding. By the time Gray had tossed the mattress out the balcony window onto the front lawn, she and her lover were gone. Naked, the man certainly hadn’t had his key on him so Gray reasoned he must have had a spare hidden under the fender of his Corvette.

An observant policeman had stopped them a few miles away when he noticed the woman with a sheet draped around her. Gray couldn’t believe she had actually called from the police station for him to come get her and bring her some clothes or the lie that Allen had forced her.

Not in the position he’d caught them.

After the phone call he’d gone to her closets and gathered up an armload of clothes and hadn’t stopped until her closet and lingerie drawers were bare. The lawn under the balcony had been littered with clothes. Since her adultery had barred any claim for alimony, and Gray had owned the house before they were married, she had no claim to community property.

Filled with rage when it became clear to her and her greedy lawyer that she wasn’t going to get anything remotely close to the millions she’d expected, she’d sued him over the loss of her designer clothes. His lawyer had argued, and the judge agreed, that as a young husband Gray had been too emotionally upset to deal with the situation and simply tried to provide Jana with a way to clothe herself. How was he to know that in an affluent neighborhood such as his that people would come onto his property and help themselves?

Outside the courtroom she’d gleefully told him every sickening detail about the affair. “That wasn’t the first time Allen and I had had sex. And he wasn’t the first. I’ve slept with more men than I can count, before and after our marriage, and in every imaginable position. There’s nothing I won’t do to a man to get him hard. It doesn’t matter who they are as long as they can pleasure me.” She had laughed nastily. “The night of our engagement party an old boyfriend was waiting for me at my apartment. We were at it all night. Every time you flew back here while we were dating then engaged I had a man waiting. The pool boy on our honeymoon I did for kicks just to see if I could. He was better in bed than you could ever be.”

He’d wanted to choke her. Instead he had walked away without looking back.

He’d been such a guileless fool, but he had learned his lesson about women. They were for casual flirtations, nothing more. So then, why was he gradually becoming involved with Claire?

Getting up from his desk and his daily mountain of paperwork, Gray stared out the window. From this vantage point he could see the warehouse and loading docks. He and his grandfather before him had chosen this office location on purpose. Neither wanted to forget what Livingston meant to them, to forget that with the wealth came the responsibility of maintaining the high standards of the products they offered and taking care of the backbone of Livingston, their employees.

So why was he thinking about Claire instead of the reports due out by the end of the day? The women he usually dated were beautiful, sophisticated, and well connected. Claire was pretty, painfully shy, and teetering on the brink of financial disaster.

But she wasn’t giving up or looking for some man to bail her out. She was doing that herself, fighting to get her life together with guts and determination. He had to admire her even if he didn’t understand why her refusal to go swimming with him had hurt him.

Just as he didn’t understand why her quiet admission that she didn’t look good in a swimsuit should make him want to hug her. He knew she’d made the admission because she’d sensed him pulling back. He also realized how much it must have cost her to expose herself that way.

She wanted them to be friends. He felt in his gut that she hadn’t had many in her life.

But what did he want from her? She couldn’t hide any better now than she had as a teenager her shy worship of him. He had no illusions that many women were after him because he was wealthy and successful. He dated them for the same reason. He was as shallow as they were, but he was becoming increasingly tired of the pretense.

Maybe he needed a friend as well.