| |
––––––––
“I HEAR YOU took the Gruber case.” Peter headed straight for the bar cart he’d had put in Francesca’s office. “Ambitious of you to take on the woman who alleges to have been battered for most of her married life by her husband and ultimately conveniently kills him. You know that’s going to be difficult to prove.” He tossed back Johnny Walker.
Francesca set the telephone down. “I’m a Thompson, and Mrs. Gruber is innocent. I’ve read the medical records, seen the photographs of the many injuries she sustained during their marriage. That bastard deserved what he got.”
“You’re indeed a Thompson, and your cynicism is...”
“Enlightening?” she finished. “It’s new to me. The cynicism, I mean. I guess it’s an occupational hazard.”
Peter nodded. “Cynicism tends to sneak into your thought process after a while.” He waved the glass in her direction in offer. Francesca shook her head. “Let me know if you want me to take second chair.”
“I was thinking of Robert Tunney as second.”
“Hmm, you want to do this without your old man.” Peter walked to the window, gazed at a blue, July sky drenched in sunshine.
“Something like that. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Peter admired Francesca’s tenacity. For a moment, he considered appointing her as his successor. She was a Thompson and would undeniably make an excellent CEO, but she’d never be taken seriously by her male counterparts. She was too pretty, too female. Peter was looking for a respected, influential man to take control of his company. What he needed was James Templeton III.
At sixty-five, Peter was ready to pack it in and move to an exotic locale to spend the rest of his days lounging by the pool and watching his young wife parade around those skimpy bikinis he liked. Peter’s plan needed to come to pass sooner than later.
If Katherine had given him a son, he wouldn’t be at an impasse, but he had no one but himself to blame. If they’d started a family when they’d first married as Katherine wanted instead of putting his ambitions ahead of his family, they would have had more children, and he’d have the male heir to take over his empire. By the time Francesca came along, Katherine was forty years old. Too old to bear him the boy he wanted. Turning to James was Peter’s last option, but he needed a successor, and James ticked all the boxes. He’d be the perfect husband to Francesca, the ideal son-in-law, and perfect CEO. It was the perfect plan.
“So, how was dinner with James?” Peter considered not raising the topic, but curiosity had the better of him.
“It was okay.”
“Just okay?” Peter perched himself on her guest chair, focused his gaze on his daughter. Her intelligent hazel eyes, the chestnut tumble of waves, the delicate face it was as if Katherine sat before him.
“Maybe better than okay. He was attentive and considerate. Not at all like the man I remembered or the arrogant one I saw in court.”
“So, you’ll be seeing him again?”
“Maybe,” Francesca said, surprising Peter. “I’m thinking about it.” She felt the twinge of guilt and betrayal for Tommy and found herself crossing to the bar to fill a glass with the brandy she didn’t want. “Why are you so interested in getting James and me together, Daddy?”
Peter’s eyes met his daughter’s with the straight-on gaze he set on his rivals in court. “I want you to be happy, Frankie. I want you to find the same happiness your mother and I shared. It’s been eight years since...”
“Tommy,” Francesca curtly finished when Peter couldn’t bring himself to say his name. “His name is Tommy Scott.”
Peter noted Francesca’s use of the present tense. Six feet under and Tommy Scott still had a firm hold on his daughter.
“You still can’t bring yourself to say his name. Why do you hate him so much, Daddy? Tommy is kind, caring, and he loves me. And I love him. He’s the only man I will ever love.” Francesca’s heart suddenly ached for him.
“I don’t hate him. I just knew him better than you.”
“You don’t know him at all, and still, you judge.”
Peter rose to close her office door. “I know him very well, Frankie. The man you claim to be kind and caring seriously injured a man who had to be rushed to the hospital. He would have ended up behind bars for years was it not for me taking on the case as a favor to his father. The boy was constantly getting into trouble. If you don’t believe me, have Jennifer draw his file from the storage room. It’ll be easy to find. It’s the thickest one down there.”
If Francesca was shocked by the revelation, she didn’t show it. “I don’t need to read his file. That’s in the past.”
“How would it look if my daughter got together with the criminal I got off?” Peter refilled his glass, drained half of it.
“That’s not the man Tommy is anymore.”
“Once a criminal, always a criminal.” Realizing his poor choice of words would fuel Francesca’s anger, Peter rushed to correct himself. “No father ever thinks any man is good enough for his little girl, and in my eyes, Tommy Scott, wasn’t good enough for you, Frankie.”
“And James Templeton is? Why? Because he has the right lineage, the right name, the right friends, the fancy manners, the right amount of wealth, and fancy education.”
“Yes, Frankie. Why is it so wrong to want my little girl to have the best in life? It’s why I’ve worked my fingers to the bone. To give you the best.”
“Daddy, we both know you’ve worked your fingers to the bone to satisfy your ego.” Anger had Francesca absently taking in most of the brandy in one swallow. She winced at its pungent taste and the sting at her throat. “Besides, I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. I’m a woman who can make her own decisions.”
“I know you’re a woman. It’s just hard for me to accept you’re not my little girl anymore.” A wistful expression came over Peter’s face. “All I want is for you to be happy, honey. Don’t you think you deserve to be happy? It’s been almost eight years since you’ve allowed anyone into your life, someone into your heart. Don’t you think Tommy would want you to be happy?”
A storm of emotions blew through Francesca. Her heart wouldn’t allow her to let anyone take Tommy’s place. She’d tried, maybe not hard enough, but she’d tried to let others in. But Francesca had compared them to Tommy, and no one ever measures up to him. There were times when Francesca wondered how she could be so in love with a ghost because that was what Tommy was becoming as her hope of ever seeing him alive evaporated.
“You argued your case well, Mr. Prosecutor,” Francesca said. “If it means so much to you, I’ll call James. I’ll go out with him again and see where it takes us.”
“And I promise I won’t bring the topic up again.” Peter rose, crossed to the door. “Whether James Templeton or someone else, Frankie, ultimately, it’s your choice. It’s your life. I just want you to be happy. Okay?”
Always the statesman, she thought giving her father a silent nod.
––––––––
IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED, FOR her father’s sake, Francesca accepted James invitations to the opera, the theater, the symphony, and the many dinners. A couple of Fridays, after a draining day in court, needing to unwind, they closed The Blue Note. At the end of the night, James drove Francesca home, walked her to the front door, and like a perfect gentleman, pecked her on the cheek before driving away. The following morning a bouquet with a thoughtful message always found its way to her desk.
Slowly but surely, James was slipping into Francesca’s life.
Peter couldn’t have been more proud when Francesca, draped in a red silk gown and James in a tuxedo, walked into the Lawyers Association Gala arm in arm. After dinner, when the music began to flow, Peter’s lips ripe with a smile watched Francesca and James flawlessly circle the dance floor. His work was done.
James slid into the driver’s seat of his Jaguar, loosened his bow tie. “Are you tired, Frankie?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Going back to my place for a nightcap?” James dared to say what he’d wanted to for weeks.
“All right,” she said, surprising him and herself and wondering where tonight was heading.
Once home, James led Francesca into the living room. Shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it over the back of his leather sofa. “Please make yourself at home while I make my famous martinis?” he said, crossing the expanse of his living room to the bar. “I make the best dry martinis this side of town.”
“You do, do you?” Francesca darted eyes around the room. “You have a lovely home.”
High ceilings, dark wood floors, two luxuriously long, ivory leather sofas were the highlight of the room. Colorful abstracts decorated tan walls. A crystal chandelier collared with a medallion spilled light as did the two Tiffani lamps on the Ashley console table flanking the sofa. Russet curtains were drawn open to expose the colorful garden lit by the beams of floodlights.
“I’ve always thought it needed a woman’s touch.” James poured dry vermouth, set the lid on the cocktail shaker.
“It’s perfect as is.” Francesca watched James shake the martini before pouring into glasses. He’d looked handsome in his tuxedo, but now with jacket and bowtie shed, the top buttons of his shirt loosened, he looked doubly so, and she couldn’t help but stare.
“Are you all right, Frankie?”
“Yes, I was just ... admiring the Bertram Brooker piece behind you.” Francesca sunk herself into the buttery soft sofa.
James handed her the martini glass. His rich brown eyes never left her as she crossed long, shapely leg that widened the slit of her gown to expose a creamy, white thigh. Whether intentional or not, he appreciated it nonetheless. “You know your artists.”
“Some,” Francesca said as James dropped the needle on Ernie Birchill’s album, and Dream A Little Dream of Me flowed. “This is a good martini.”
James dimmed the lights before sitting beside her. “I’m glad you like it.”
The silence that followed was the type that stirs up emotions. It made Francesca feel vulnerable, and she began to regret being there. Francesca knew full well where tonight was headed when she’d accepted James’ invitation to his home, but until now, she hadn’t regretted her decision. What was she thinking? She couldn’t slide into James’ bed and betray Tommy.
Francesca rose, walked to the patio doors to put distance between them. “Your garden is lovely.”
“You’re lovely, Frankie, and you look stunning tonight. You were the most beautiful woman at the ball.” James breathed the words reverently as she felt his arms go around her when he met her at the door. “I want to make love with you, Frankie. I want to touch you, and kiss you, and taste you,” he said, kissing Francesca’s bare shoulders then, spinning her around, so they were face to face when he offered her his hand.
Francesca’s weary gaze rested on his face for a long moment. She wanted to be touched, held, and be loved. She wanted to feel a man’s touch on her, feel his naked body pressed to hers. Francesca wanted to bond with a man in the way love brings two people together, to share in the tender moments, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so with anyone other than Tommy.
But Tommy wasn’t there, hadn’t been for eight years. With that thought lingering in her mind, she reached for James’ hand and let him lead her up the winding staircase to his bedroom.
It was a manly room, Francesca thought when James threw the door open. Walls were washed in brown. A solid four-poster bed was covered in creamy, silk sheets. A thick, Persian rug in reds and blues lay in front of the marble fireplace, which tonight wouldn’t be lit. It was September, and the night was too warm for a fire.
While Francesca freshened up, James set the mood in the room. He lit candles and dimmed lights. He slid the window up to let the warm night air flow, and with it came the rich scent of sweet alyssum and lemon verbena from his garden along with the sounds of the night. Crossing to the record player, he dropped the Duke Ellington record.
In the darkened room dancing in shadows under the flicker of candlelight, the soulful strains of In a Sentimental Mood filling the silence, James walked up to Francesca when she stepped out of the bathroom.
“Are you sure about this, Frankie? I don’t want you regretting tonight or me in the morning.” James ran his hands through the hair that shimmered under the glow of candlelight.
James’ touch and Duke’s breathy voice had her pulse jumping, and she nodded. “You’ve been so patient with me and wonderful these past weeks. I want this, James. I want to be with you.”
She looked nervous, James mused. He liked that. Nothing like a woman’s flustered insides to inflate a man’s ego. “God, you’re beautiful.” James laid butterfly kisses on her forehead, nose, and cheeks. Tenderly he trailed a lazy line of kisses down her neck and shoulders while breathing her in. “And you smell great. You always do. It’s been driving me crazy all these weeks.”
James lifted his mouth to press it against the kissable lips he’d been dreaming of kissing. His mouth on hers was quick, experienced, and full of energy. While their lips brushed, his hands busied themselves sliding the zipper down on her dress and slipping it off her body. James’ gaze skimmed over the red, lace bra and panties beneath the silk.
Watching Francesca’s face, his hands skimmed over her body. He liked it when her body quivered under his touch. He loved the feel of her warm, silky skin, and his hand roamed.
Under his touch, her body churned like an overheated engine and tossing caution and logic to the wind, her fingers tore at his shirt, unsnapped his pants. His body was toned with a long smooth line of muscle. His arms were muscular, and his shoulders broad. Unlike Tommy, there were no scars anywhere on his body. It was a perfect body. Francesca hated perfect, but she wanted this right now, and when he led her to his bed, she willingly let him.
Limber muscles rippled when James got on top of her. “I want to make love with you all night, Frankie. I want to feel you under my touch.” Eye to eye and mouth to mouth, she could feel the heat of his breath on her face “You’re shaking. Do I make you nervous?”
Francesca forced herself to concentrate on forming a coherent sentence. “I’m not, ah, very experienced.”
“That’s very sexy.” James didn’t think women like her existed anymore. Francesca was twenty-six and inexperienced. But then, women all professed to be pure simply because society dictated they portray themselves as white doves. When it came down to it, James had yet to meet a woman that wasn’t a tigress in bed.
“Really? I figured you’re used to experienced women.”
“I am, but I don’t want them. I want you.” James traced the edge of red lace that covered her breasts with his lips before unhooking her bra and letting his mouth feast on her breasts. He lingered there until she bucked under the waves of pleasure he shot through her.
Her shuddering body thrilled him, aroused him, and needing to claim more of her for himself, he slipped his fingers under her panties, into the heat. She was wet, and he let his fingers slide until her body shuddered.
“You like that?” he murmured.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her breathy voice was like music to him.
There was a satisfied smile on his face. “Stay with me, Frankie. Let me enjoy you for a while,” he whispered, letting his fingers sink deeper into her.
And she did, and when he felt her self-control slipping, he drove her first orgasm to burst with long flowing waves of unexpected delight.
“Do that again for me,” he murmured. “Let me hear you when you come this time.”
When Francesca came that time, she let out a loud orgasmic moan that made James feel like a king. “Do it one more time for me, Frankie. This time cry my name out. I want to hear my name on your lips,” he said, tearing her panties off and claiming her with his mouth.
When the wave of heat struck her with the intensity of a geyser erupting after its long slumber, James’ name shuddered through her lips.
Hearing his name moaned as the orgasm tore through her body, his need to be insider her became urgent, and rolling on top of her, he spread her legs and plunged deep into her.
Francesca watched James sliding in and out of her, the pleasure deepening in his face with each quick thrust. His groaning sounds growing louder, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back to the creek and Tommy as he made love to her for the first time in her life.
