Snuggling deeper under the blankets, Elizabeth smiled. She stretched, luxuriating in the warmth along her back and the cloudlike softness of the mattress beneath her. Her heavy eyelids lifted partway. She blinked, then blinked again and stared across the unfamiliar room. Her smile collapsed into a frown.
Where in the world…?
Then it all came flooding back.
She tensed, still as a stone. Turning her head with extreme caution, she looked over her shoulder. Max lay on his back beside her, asleep. Oh, Lord, the warmth she had been enjoying had come from him!
The covers were pushed down to his hips, leaving him barely decent. Elizabeth’s wary gaze traced over the mat of hair on his chest, then followed the narrow line of dark hairs downward to where they swirled around his navel, then went lower still to disappear beneath the edge of the sheet, which barely covered his privates. One of his arms lay across his flat belly, the other was flung over his head. She stared at that tuft of dark hair in his armpit.
Elizabeth swallowed. He appeared to be naked. Oh, God.
As carefully as possible, she scooted to the edge of the bed, checking over her shoulder every few seconds. Inch by inch, she eased herself into a sitting position, swung her legs to the floor and stood up.
Quiet as a mouse, she gathered her clothing and tiptoed into the bathroom. Once inside, she leaned back against the closed door and released the breath she’d been holding. Whew. She’d made it.
Elizabeth was no innocent. She knew and accepted that the marriage would be consummated, probably sometime soon, but she’d rather the deed not be done in the harsh light of early morning.
Moving quickly, she stripped off her nightgown, gathered up her shampoo and shower gel, climbed into the luxurious glassed-in stall and turned on the multiple showerheads. Water sprayed her from two large rain showerheads in the ceiling and from numerous sprayers on three of the side walls. Elizabeth poured a dollop of shampoo into her palm and vigorously massaged the suds through her hair. By the time Max woke up she intended to be showered and dressed.
After washing her hair and body, she stood with her face turned up to the overhead spray, her eyes closed, relishing the soft shower of water running over her skin.
The shower door opened and Elizabeth let out a squeal, her eyes flying opened. She darted a look over her shoulder just as Max, stark naked, stepped inside the stall.
Instinctively, she hunched her upper body forward and crossed her arms over her breasts. “Ma-aax! What are you doing? I’m taking a shower.”
“I know.” His big hands settled on either side of her waist as he moved up close behind her. “I thought I’d join you.”
He edged closer still, his hands sliding over her wet skin to splay over her quivering belly. Exerting slight but insistent pressure, he pulled her back against his burgeoning manhood. Lowering his head, Max began to nibble on the tender skin just below her right ear. “Mmm, you taste good,” he murmured, running the tip of his tongue over the swirls in her ear. “And you smell delicious.”
Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath. “But, Max, I haven’t…I don’t…I mean…”
He chuckled, and she could feel his grin against her neck. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Haven’t you ever showered with a man before?”
“No! O-of course…not.”
“Not even with Edward?”
“Who? Oh! Uh, no. He…we…”
“Then he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought. And a stuffed shirt.”
“That’s true, but—Oh! Wha-what are you doing?”
“Furthering your education. Ssh,” he instructed as his hands slid upward over her slippery skin and cupped her breasts. “Just relax and enjoy.”
While his thumbs rubbed back and forth over her button-hard nipples, he nipped her ear, then slid his open mouth down her neck, across her shoulder, back up the other side. His hot breath skated over her wet skin, leaving a path of goose bumps in its wake.
“But, Max, this isn’t…” She caught her breath, then a sound, somewhere between a sigh of pleasure and a groan, rolled from her throat as his roaming right hand slid downward. His fingers winnowed through the triangle of feminine curls, then slipped between her satiny thighs. “We…we barely…know each other.”
“Can you think of a better way to get acquainted?” he countered with a note of laughter in his voice. All the while his fingers explored with a gentle sensuality that drove her crazy.
Elizabeth tried to think, but her brain seemed to be short-circuited. All she could do was feel.
She groaned again when his fingers found that sensitive nub that he’d been seeking. Whatever protest had been on the tip of her tongue was instantly forgotten. Like a wilting flower on a stem, Elizabeth’s head lolled back against Max’s chest. She could barely stand. Her breathing became heavy. Her eyes closed, her lips parted. Her whole body seemed to hum.
Max’s hands roamed leisurely over her, as though he were a blind man, committing her shape to memory. “Damn, you have a beautiful body,” he whispered in her ear. “I thought you might be skinny, no more than you weigh, but you’re gorgeous. And perfectly proportioned.”
“Skinny? Skinny? ” Elizabeth retorted, latching on to outrage to momentarily subdue the embarrassment and sensual fire that threatened to consume her. “I’ll…I’ll have you know—”
“Take it easy, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Max drawled. “That was supposed to be a compliment.”
Chuckling, he reached around her for the tube of shower gel. “And just to show you what a sport I am, I’ll wash your back.”
“I’ve…I’ve already showered. I was about to step out of the stall when you…uh…” She waved her hand in a vague gesture.
“Barged in on you?” he finished for her, unabashed. “In that case, you can wash me.” He gave the gel back to her and turned around. “You can start with my back.”
“Wa-wash you?” Elizabeth turned around, then stood stock still with the tube of gel in her hand. She stared, dumbstruck, at his broad-shouldered, muscular back and the tightest buns she’d ever seen. His arms were muscular as well. So were his long legs. Both were sprinkled with short, dark hair that lay plastered to his skin by the shower sprays.
Max glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “What’re you waiting for? C’mon, squeeze some gel into your hands and lather up.”
Except for the trembling that came from deep within her, Elizabeth didn’t move. She stared, dry-mouthed, at Max’s magnificent male body. Finally, unsure of how to extricate herself from the embarrassing situation and still retain a shred of dignity, Elizabeth complied and squeezed a blob of gel into her hand.
When she had a mound of thick lather in her palms, she hesitated, staring at the expanse of bare skin, just inches from her nose. Rivulets of water streamed down Max’s back. His skin was several shades darker than hers and had an olive undertone, but it had a rosy glow from the warm spray. A dark mole near his right shoulder blade was the only blemish on that rippling expanse of golden skin.
Dear God, he was gorgeous, Elizabeth thought helplessly.
Sucking in a deep breath, she gathered her courage and placed her lathered palms flat against his spine. Slowly she ran her hands over his back and shoulders in a circular motion.
“Mmm, that feels good,” Max praised. “Now lower.”
He stood with his arms out to each side, his feet braced wide. Like some potentate waiting for his handmaiden to do his bidding, Elizabeth told herself, trying her best to whip up some indignation.
The effort failed miserably.
Staring at those tight buns, she felt a wave of heat wash over her from her toes all the way to her hairline. When she cupped her hands over the firm flesh she almost went weak in the knees. Hesitantly, her sudsy hands traveled over his slick skin, swirling, massaging, squeezing. They traveled over the hard mounds of his buttocks, the sides of his narrow hips.
Emboldened by the sounds of pleasure he made, she reached around him. Her fingertips danced over the points of his hip bones, the hollow just beneath them, edged lower…
Losing her nerve, Elizabeth snatched her hands back and retreated.
To cover her embarrassment, she quickly bent her knees and began to work her way down his legs, front and back, all the way to his toes.
“Hmm. Nice.” Taking her by surprise, Max turned, reached down and grasped her elbows, bringing her to her feet. “Almost done,” he said in a raspy whisper. His azure gaze burned into her. “Now wash my front.”
“Your front? Oh, but I could’n—”
“Just do it.” He took her hands and placed them on his chest. “Wash me, Elizabeth.”
Confused, aroused beyond all rational thought, Elizabeth stared up at him, unable to speak. Max’s tough face was flushed with passion, tightly held in check. His blue eyes had darkened almost to navy and burned with desire. She swallowed hard.
Hesitant and unsure of herself, she placed her hands flat against him. Almost of their own accord, her fingers threaded through the mat of hair on his chest. Max sucked in a sharp breath when her fingertips grazed the tiny nipples buried in the thatch. Instantly, Elizabeth jerked her hands away.
“Don’t stop.” His voice was harsh, almost guttural. Grasping her wrists, he pulled her hands back into contact with his body.
Trembling so hard she was afraid her knees would give way, Elizabeth washed hard pectorals, bulging biceps, hairy underarms. Her gaze still held by his hypnotic blue stare, she ran her hands over his ribs, his diaphragm, her fingers swirling around his belly button, dancing over his hip bones, caressing every inch of him except for that most intimate part.
“Touch me,” Max ground out. Taking her hands in his, he placed them on his aroused member. He groaned and gritted his teeth as her slender fingers closed delicately around him.
Elizabeth’s eyes closed, only to snap open again when he growled, “Look at me.”
Again her gaze was caught by his, and as her fingers gently washed and caressed him, the very air between them seemed to pulse and shimmer, like heat waves rising off the desert floor.
Elizabeth felt as though she were melting from the inside out, her body on fire with an intense longing that she’d never experienced before.
All at once, as though unable to tolerate the exquisite torment a moment longer, Max removed her hands from his body. “Time to rinse,” he announced, and supporting her with one arm around her waist, he turned to allow the shower spray to hit him.
Mounds of lather sluiced down their bodies and disappeared down the drain. When the water ran clear again Max turned Elizabeth to face him. “You set me on fire,” he whispered. “Did you know that?”
Incapable of speech, she shook her head.
“I’ve wanted to do this from the first time that I met you. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when I learned you were married.”
Putting his hands on either side of her waist, Max lifted her above his head, as easily as he would a child.
Instinctively, Elizabeth clutched his shoulders for balance.
“Put your legs around me,” Max ordered in the same sensual whisper, and she obeyed as he turned and pressed her back against the inner tile wall of the shower stall.
Holding her gaze, he lowered her, letting her slide slowly down the slippery tile. “Oh!” She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened when she felt his sex nudge that most sensitive part of her. The part that burned and throbbed with need. Unknowingly, she dug her fingernails into Max’s flesh.
He continued to let her slide down the wall, entering her with excruciating slowness. All the while his gaze remained locked with hers. Elizabeth could feel herself stretching, his rigid shaft filling her until at last she was seated to the hilt.
For a moment neither of them moved or spoke. Breathing hard, they simply stared at each other, locked in the most intimate of embraces. Finally Max leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “Hello, wife,” he whispered against her lips.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first, but with each thrust of his hips the rhythm grew stronger, faster, more insistent.
Elizabeth was so completely out of her depth all she could do was curl her arms around Max’s neck, bury her face against the top of his shoulder and hold on. Their mating was the most unconventional, most erotic, most intensely pleasurable experience of her life. She’d had no idea that sex could be like this. So wild and free. So acutely pleasurable. So perfect.
Awash with so many sensations, Elizabeth felt as though she might explode from sensory overload. All at the same time, she was aware of the slick, cold tiles at her back, the warm spray of water coming from several directions, the heat and hardness of Max’s body, the hairiness of his chest abrading her nipples, the satiny friction of their slippery skin sliding together.
Vaguely, Elizabeth heard the sounds of water spraying, their labored breathing, her pulse thundering in her ear. Mostly though, she was so caught up in the ever-building pleasure that conscious thought or reason was beyond her. A prisoner of her own desire, she could do nothing but experience the heavenly sensations roaring through her slender body.
Max was in no better shape. With single-minded purpose, he drove into her again and again, following that age-old instinct to mate. To seek the ultimate physical pleasure. His hands cupped her bottom and a small guttural sound tore from his throat, punctuating each thrust of his hips.
The feelings pounding through Elizabeth were so blissful, they were almost pain. The pleasure was too intense to last, yet their bodies kept striving, and striving, driving for that pinnacle that beckoned.
The end, when it came for Elizabeth, exceeded anything she’d ever experienced. She could not have stopped the keening cry that escaped her throat had she been aware of it. The exquisite pleasure pierced her to her very soul.
Her climax seemed to trigger Max’s, and he pressed hard into her, a low growling sound rumbling from him.
They collapsed against each other, wrung out, used up, too exhausted to move. Arms and legs still wrapped around Max, Elizabeth was limp as a cooked noodle.
He leaned heavily against her, pressing her back to the cool tiles. His ragged breathing rasped in her ear.
“Are you all right?” he managed to say after a while.
“I—I think so,” she whispered back, not moving.
With care, Max eased back and looked at her. He smoothed a strand of wet hair off her face. “You sure?”
As the pleasure faded to memory, embarrassment began to seep back in. Elizabeth could feel it gathering heat and rising up over her chest and neck. She ducked her head. “Yes. You…you can put me down now.”
Max complied, but when her feet touched the shower floor she was so wobbly her knees would have buckled if he hadn’t kept his arm around her.
“Here, let me help you wash again,” Max offered, and before she could refuse or object he washed first her, then himself, thoroughly. He did the chore so casually and efficiently, as they rinsed off Elizabeth wondered how many other women he’d showered with before her. The sobering thought brought her back to earth with a thump.
Glad to escape the intimacy of the glassed-in stall, Elizabeth stepped out and grabbed a towel from the warming rack and made quick work of drying her body, all the while keeping her gaze averted from Max. When done, she slipped into one of the thick terry-cloth robes that the hotel provided and tied the sash tightly around her waist.
While Max followed suit, she picked up a large round brush and the hair dryer and began to style her hair, with perhaps more vigor than normal. The sound of the dryer produced a barrier that shielded her from conversation, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Shaken by her response to Max’s lovemaking, she wanted nothing more at that moment than to escape somewhere by herself and think.
As though the powers that be were listening to her thoughts, at that moment the telephone rang.
“I’ll get it in the sitting room,” Max said, raising his voice to be heard over the dryer’s blast and gesturing as he strode out of the bathroom.
Elizabeth hurried to finish styling her hair. When she turned off the dryer she peeked out of the bathroom door. There was no sign of Max, though she could hear the murmur of his voice coming from the next room. Taking advantage of his absence, she slipped out of the enveloping bathrobe and donned her panties and bra and the long skirt and sweater she had chosen earlier.
Feeling more confident and a bit calmer now that she was clothed, she sat down at the dressing table in the bedroom. She had just started applying her makeup when Max returned.
“That was Troy,” he informed her. “He’ll be here in ten minutes or so. We need to go over our strategy before we leave for the two o’clock meeting with our client.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said, still not looking directly at him. She could not, however, avoid seeing his reflection in the dressing table mirror.
Without one iota of self-consciousness, he took off the robe and tossed it on a chair. Elizabeth told herself to look away, but she could not drag her gaze from his reflection. She caught her breath at the sight of him striding naked across the room. He pulled a clean pair of jockey shorts from the dresser and stepped into them.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and shivered. Lord, he was an impressive male specimen. The man could have posed for a Michelangelo sculpture.
But it was more than just his physique that was so mesmerizing, she realized. With every move that Max made—the way he walked and gestured, his posture and bearing, the way he spoke—he exuded an aura of self-confidence and command.
“I know this isn’t much of a honeymoon, but this deal is important,” Max said. Oblivious to her scrutiny, he pulled on his trousers. “I’ll do my best to wrap the meeting up early enough to take you to dinner tonight. And if you’d like, I’ll see if the concierge can get us tickets for a play. How’s that?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
He looked up at her ultra-polite tone. “You sure you don’t mind me leaving you on your own?” Before she could answer he picked up his wallet from the dresser and pulled out a plastic card. “Here’s my credit card. Use it to go shopping.”
“Max, I don’t need your credit card. And don’t worry about me, okay? I’m a big girl. I can entertain myself.”
He didn’t know it, but he was handing her a lifeline. She needed time to herself to think, something she couldn’t seem to do when he was around. It was as though he gave off a highly charged magnetic field that interfered with her thought processes. He was just so…so dynamic and forceful. Whenever he was near her she felt edgy and her body seemed to hum in the most unnerving way.
“Anyway, I’d rather go to the Metropolitan Museum. They have a new exhibit there that I haven’t seen. And I may give my cousin Quinton a call and see if he’ll meet me for lunch.”
“I didn’t know you had any cousins. I thought your mother and father were both only children.”
“They were. Quinton and Camille Lawrence are my second cousins. Their grandmother was Mariah Stanton. She and Great-aunt Talitha were twins and my grandfather’s sisters. Although being late-in-life babies, they were closer to my father’s age than to Grandpa Pierce’s.
“I never knew Aunt Mariah personally. She and her husband were killed years ago in an avalanche while skiing in Switzerland.”
“I see.” Max walked up behind Elizabeth, looking into the dressing table mirror while buttoning his shirt. She felt his body heat all across her back and gave an involuntary shiver. “So how did that branch of the family end up here in New York? It’s a long way from an 1800s plantation on the Brazos River in Texas to Manhattan. Both in distance, culture and lifestyle. Even as recently as fifty years ago.”
“Yes. You’re right. Mariah and her husband had only one child, a son named Colin. He inherited what was left of her inheritance, which included a lovely five-story brownstone in New York. That branch of the family has called it home ever since.”
Leaning in toward the mirror, Elizabeth applied a touch of pale brown eyeshadow to her eyelids and blended it outward. “These days Quinton lives alone in the brownstone most of the time, but he loves to travel, so he’s gone a lot. Camille moves in and out periodically, usually between husbands or during prolonged separations.”
Max chuckled. “How many husbands has she had?”
“Four. As for separations, I’ve lost count. Camille is a volatile person.” She slanted Max another dry look. “As you can probably tell, she and I don’t get along all that well. Quinton and I, on the other hand, are great pals.”
“In that case, I think you should give him a call. And take the card, anyway, in case you change your mind about shopping,” he insisted, and stuffed the credit card in her purse.
Elizabeth made good her escape before Troy showed up. In the cab on the way to the museum she debated about calling her cousin. She wasn’t in the mood for company, but it seemed incredibly sad to be all alone on her honeymoon. In the end she placed the call.
Though he had returned home just the day before, Quinton was packing to leave on another trip and couldn’t go museum-hopping with her, but they made arrangements to meet for lunch at a charming little bistro that he recommended.
The talk of food made Elizabeth realize that she hadn’t eaten anything solid since the wedding buffet the day before, if you counted the few bites she’d had as eating. She stopped at one of her favorite cafés for breakfast, then, despite the freezing temperature, she walked the rest of the way to the museum.
For the next few hours Elizabeth roamed around the various exhibits. Museum-browsing was one of her favorite things to do, but by the time she left she could not have told you what she had just seen.
No matter how much she tried, she could not get Max and the sizzling sex they had shared out of her mind.
What was it about him that had produced such a reaction? she wondered. She had never behaved so…so wantonly with anyone in her entire life. And with a man who was almost a stranger, for God’s sake.
She had entered into the marriage expecting to endure their sexual encounters much as a Victorian lady would, to grit her teeth and bear it as a wifely duty. Instead, Max had merely to touch her and all sense of decorum and propriety went flying right out of her head.
She didn’t understand it. Sex with Edward had been pleasant enough. At least in the beginning of their marriage. But at no time had their lovemaking rocked her world. The physical part of their marriage had been something she could take or leave.
She arrived at the restaurant before Quinton, which was typical. She’d never known her cousin to be on time in his life. Seated at one of the fireside tables, Elizabeth was sipping hot tea and looking over the menu when he rushed in, full of apologies and oozing charm, which was also typical.
“Hi, doll. So sorry I’m late. The traffic was hellish. I hate driving in the city. Then I had the devil’s own time finding a parking place.” Quinton grabbed both her hands and bent over and kissed her forehead. His hands were icy and he smelled of expensive cologne and the cold crispness of the New York winter. “You look fantastic.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied with a warm smile. Looking up into brown eyes that held a perpetual devilish twinkle, she was suddenly glad that she had called him. If anyone could lift her spirits it was Quinton.
Her cousin was always good-natured and courtly and he had the knack of knowing exactly how to make even the homeliest of females feel as though he found her fascinating. With his blond hair, brown eyes and well-defined features, he was an attractive man. Elizabeth had often wondered how he’d reached the age of forty without marrying. Women were crazy about him and he never lacked for female companionship. A single, heterosexual male, he was the darling of society matrons.
Even as he sat down opposite her, other women in the restaurant were casting covert glances his way. A natty dresser, Quinton wore a camel-colored sweater, jeans and black suede blazer, striking just the right note of casual elegance.
“So…” he began, casting her a teasing look while he shook out his napkin. “What the hell are you doing having lunch with me when you just got married yesterday? Is this new husband of yours stupid? I was hoping he’d be an improvement over Edward.”
“Max had an important business meeting that couldn’t be delayed. And I thought that you liked Edward.”
“I thought he was a jerk. But I love you, so I made nice whenever I was around him. You ask me, he did you a favor by running off with Natalie Brussard.” Quinton’s mouth twisted with distaste. “I don’t like to speak ill of women, mind you, but that one’s been around the block a few too many times for my taste.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Anytime. I’m glad to be of service. But let’s forget about Natalie and your jerk of an ex-husband. I want to hear about the new man in your life. I gotta tell you, sweetheart, this meeting he’s attending, it must have been damned important to let it interrupt a honeymoon with a gorgeous creature like you. What kind of business is he in?”
Elizabeth toyed with her water glass. “Max is in investments. Finance. That sort of thing,” she replied vaguely. “He puts together deals and investors.”
The waiter came and took their orders. When he left, Quinton grinned at her. “So tell me, is he rich?”
“Quinton! What a thing to ask.”
“Well? Is he?” he returned, not one whit abashed.
“You’re terrible,” she mumbled, and looked down at the menu, trying to ignore him and at the same time bite back a grin. Both efforts failed miserably.
“I know,” he agreed cheerfully, and when she looked up he waggled his eyebrows at her. “But you love me, anyway, don’tcha. Now, answer my question.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yes. He’s filthy rich.”
“Hey! Way to go, cuz!” He clinked his water glass against hers then raised it in a salute. “May your life be full of happiness, love and hot sex and your bank account full of dough.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, clinking her teacup to his glass. “So, how is Camille?” she asked, mainly to be polite.
“Ah well, you know my sister,” Quinton said. “I just returned from visiting her and Leon. They’ve been married three years, and the bloom is definitely off the rose. She was making noises about divorcing him the whole time I was there.”
“Oh, dear. How does Leon feel about that?”
“He doesn’t have a clue, poor devil. He worships at her feet, which is probably why she’s bored with him.”
“So do you really think she’ll divorce him?”
“Trust me, sweetie. I expect her to come swooping down on me any day now with enough suitcases to fill the basement. One thing I’ll say for my sister, though. Every man she has married has been richer than the last. She’ll get a healthy alimony out of Leon.”
Throughout lunch their easy banter continued. It was as though it had been days, rather than months, since they’d last been together. Usually Elizabeth saw Quinton only three or four times a year, whenever she and Mimi came to New York for the fashion shows, or occasionally when he came to Texas to visit, yet he was one of her closest friends and confidants.
She had told Quinton about Edward’s theft of her assets, not in any great detail, but enough for him to know that she was in financial trouble. She was tempted to confide how her marriage to Max had come about, but something held her back. It seemed somehow disloyal to Max to reveal something so private to anyone other than Mimi.
After lunch Elizabeth walked a block and a half with Quinton to where he’d parked his car. The minuscule back seat of his sports car was overflowing with suitcases. He was leaving immediately to drive down to Miami Beach to visit friends.
The wind was raw and biting, dank with the feel and smell of coming snow. Shivering, Elizabeth huddled deeper in her mink-trimmed long swing coat, and when they stopped beside his little fireball of a car, she stood on first one foot then the other, trying to ward off the penetrating cold.
“Well, cuz, it was great seeing you again,” Quinton said. Giving her a warm smile, he reached out and smoothed a strand of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “All kidding aside, sweetie, I do hope you have a long and happy life with your Max. And you tell him for me that if he doesn’t treat you right, I’ll personally come to Houston and kick his ass.”
Elizabeth chuckled. She had a sudden vivid mental picture of her lean, elegant cousin and her husband butting heads. In any sort of physical confrontation Max could and would wipe up the floor with Quinton.
“I’ll tell him,” she agreed. They hugged and Quinton climbed into his car. Waving goodbye, Elizabeth watched him drive away.
She was glad she’d made an effort to see Quinton. With his easy charm and “don’t take life too seriously” attitude he had a way of keeping her grounded while at the same time cheering her up.
Another blast of wind cut through her. She shivered and raised the fur-lined hood on her coat and stepped off the curb, raising her hand to flag down a cab. “Taxi!”
“Hey, watch out!”
The shouted warning came from behind Elizabeth. Instinctively she turned around partway toward the voice.
In the space of a heartbeat, though the scene seemed to play out in ultra-slow motion, she saw a car bearing down on her and the cold face of the driver, while from her left an elderly woman, her face twisted in a desperate expression, reached for her with both hands. “Wha—”
Everything seemed to happen at once. Several more shouts went up. The woman grabbed hold of Elizabeth’s coat and did her best to snatch her back out of harm’s way, but she wasn’t quite quick enough. There was a sickening thud as the sedan hit Elizabeth a grazing blow, and pain exploded in her right hip.
The next thing she knew, she was lying in the street, partially on top of the old woman who had saved her, and other people were crowding all around.
“Did you see that? That guy ran her down on purpose!”
“Yeah. He took dead aim, right at her.”
“Somebody call the cops.”
“Anybody get a license number?”
“I did!”
“Here comes a cop.”
“What’s going on here? Police. Stand clear. Outta the way.”
Elizabeth found herself looking up into the concerned face of a young uniformed police officer. “You okay, lady?”
“Ye-yes. Thanks to this lady. You saved my life,” she said to the older woman. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” Elizabeth disentangled herself from the woman’s grip and tried to stand up, only to cry out in pain.
The officer squatted down beside her. “Are you hurt?”
“Of course she’s hurt,” the old woman snapped, climbing to her feet with the help of some bystanders. “She was hit by a car. It’s a miracle she wasn’t killed.”
“Sí,” a Hispanic man in the crowd agreed. “It was no accident, either. The man, he tried to run her down.”
“You sure about that?” the cop asked.
“Sí, I’m sure.”
“Me, too,” another man agreed. “He was just sitting there with his car engine idling. The cab driver behind him was honking his horn for him to move—”
“That was me,” said the man who took down the plate number. “Damn fool was just sitting there, blocking traffic.”
“Yeah,” the first man continued. “But then the lady stepped off the curb to flag down this guy’s taxi and the driver of the black car gunned it and aimed right for her.”
“If this lady hadn’t pulled her back he would’ve run over her for sure,” still another witness claimed.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” the officer said.
“No, please. I’m fine, really,” Elizabeth insisted. “It was just a glancing blow. I’m sure I’m just bruised.” To prove her point she tried to stand again, only to catch her breath at the stab of pain that shot through her side.
“That may be, but if you’re in that much pain you need to get checked out.”
Within minutes Elizabeth was being loaded into an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, she worried about what Max was going to say. He wouldn’t be happy to have his business here interrupted, she was certain.
In the hospital ER she was examined and X-rayed, and the superficial scrapes, one on the heel of her right hand and the other on her right knee, were cleaned and treated.
While she lay on a gurney waiting for the doctor on duty to come tell her the results of the X ray, a man in a dark suit twitched aside the curtains and stepped into the cubicle.
“Mrs. Riordan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Gertski with the NYPD. Sorry to bother you, but if you feel up to talking now I need to get a little information.”
Detective Gertski appeared to be middle-aged, with thinning dishwater-blond hair and the beginnings of a potbelly. His manner was low-key, almost apologetic, but Elizabeth had a feeling that behind those calm brown eyes was a keen intelligence.
“Is it really necessary for the police to get involved?” Elizabeth asked. “This was probably just an accident.”
“Not according to our witnesses. In New York it’s unusual to get one witness who’s willing to get involved. To have four, especially four who agree on what they saw, makes us sit up and take notice.
“Also, we take hit-and-run cases very seriously. In this particular case, since all the witnesses say the driver deliberately tried to run you down, we’re classifying it as an attempted murder.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Elizabeth said in a shaken whisper.
“Can you tell us if there is anyone who would want to harm you?”
“No. No one. I don’t even live here. I can’t imagine anyone I know in Houston wanting to kill me, much less traveling all this way to do it. Besides, I saw the face of the man behind the wheel of the car. He wasn’t anyone I know.”
“Ever hear of a contract killer?”
Elizabeth gave a startled laugh. “That’s…that’s preposterous.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” the detective murmured. “I see you’re wearing a wedding ring. How about your husband? Would he have any reason to want you out of the picture?”
“I hardly think so. We’re here on our honeymoon. We were married yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh?” Detective Gertski looked around. “So where is he?”
“Oh, well, uh…Max had an important business meeting today.”
“Hmm. Have you called him, or had one of the hospital staff notify him that you’ve been injured?”
“Well…no. I didn’t want to worry him, since the injury isn’t all that bad.” In truth, her hip hurt like the very devil, but she didn’t want to be an inconvenience or a burden. Max had married her for business reasons, not because he cared anything about her.
“What about money? Would Mr. Riordan profit from your death in any way?”
“No. Not at all. I can assure you of that. Max and I signed a prenuptial agreement.”
“Really? What about insurance? Could he have taken out a policy on you before the wedding?”
“Detective, I assure you, you’re headed in the wrong direction. My husband is a wealthy man. An extremely wealthy man. He would have no reason whatsoever to marry me one day and have me killed the next.”
“I see,” the detective said, scribbling in a notepad. “All the same, I’m going to need his name and a number where I can get in touch with him.”
After the past week of calling back and forth, Elizabeth knew Max’s cell phone number by heart, but she wasn’t about to give it to the detective. She sighed. “Very well. My husband’s name is Maxwell Riordan. We’re staying at the Ritz-Carlton. You can probably reach him there sometime tomorrow.” And with any luck I’ll intercept the call or we’ll already be on our way home to Texas, she thought.
“Tell me everything you remember,” the detective probed in his deceptively easygoing way. Elizabeth had the feeling that beyond the almost-grandfatherly gentleness was a tough New York cop with the determination of a bulldog.
“There’s not much I can tell you, Detective. It all happened so fast. I don’t know what kind of car it was, just that it was dark and had dark-tinted windows.”
“That jibes with the description that the four different witnesses gave,” Detective Gertski said. “How about the driver? You said you got a look at him?”
Elizabeth shivered. “Yes. The side windows were tinted almost black, but not the windshield. I saw him for only a second, but I doubt that I’ll ever forget that face. It was cold. As cold as a dead man’s.”
By the time Elizabeth returned to the hotel it was almost five o’clock, and the pain medication the ER doctor had given her was beginning to wear off.
The capsules had made her sleepy. Between the medicine and the harrowing afternoon she’d had, she was almost out on her feet. As she let herself into the suite all she wanted to do was strip out of her clothes, take another painkiller and climb into bed. She hoped that Max hadn’t been able to get tickets to a play. If he had, he and Troy would have to use them. She was exhausted.
It was getting dark outside, but there was no sign of Max. Elizabeth turned on a couple of lamps in the sitting room and limped into the bedroom. She hung up her coat, noticing as she did so that the camel-colored wool garment had a tear and a grimy stain along the right front side and two buttons were missing. Too weary to care, she peeled out of her clothes and boots.
She pulled a fresh nightgown from the dresser, retrieved from her purse the prescription bottle of painkillers the doctor had given her and headed for the bathroom dressed in only her ecru bikini panties.
In the bathroom she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. She was pale and her hair was disheveled, but worst of all, the bruising on her hip had begun to turn an angry purplish-black color. The size of a dinner plate, the livid mark wrapped around her right hip, spreading almost to her belly button in front and to her spine in the back.
Elizabeth groaned. She was never going to be able to hide this from Max, she thought, examining the injury closely. She would have to tell him about the incident.
She hated the thought of that. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden to him right off the bat. Maybe if she broached the subject at just the right moment, then glossed over the whole thing as nothing serious, he wouldn’t be annoyed, she thought.
After taking another painkiller she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She was patting her face dry when the bathroom door opened.
Elizabeth gave a squeak and turned toward the doorway with the hand towel clutched to her breasts as Max strode in.
“There you are. Sorry I’m late. The meeting lasted—”
Max stopped in his tracks and stared at her hip. “What the hell!”