Buch lesen: «In Hot Water»
“Fancy us meeting like this,” he said, his tone sarcastic. “I see it as one of those meant-to-be things.”
Maci glared at him. She’d be damned if she was going to let him stroll down memory lane. Their past was off-limits.
“Yes, fancy that.” She heard the defiant note in her tone as their eyes met.
The effect was galvanizing.
Maci sucked in her breath, and he cursed. Later she didn’t know who turned away first. At the time, she didn’t care. For her own self-preservation, she couldn’t have looked at him another second. “Look, I know this…us…is awkward, but—”
“I thought about trying to find you.”
Her heart skipped several beats and she tried to avert her gaze, but found that she couldn’t. “Holt—”
“Holt, what?” His tone thickened. “Don’t say what’s been on my mind for two years.”
“Stop it,” she muttered tersely, leaning closer as though fearing someone would hear their conversation. “I told myself I wouldn’t let you dredge up the past.”
“Too late, honey. The past has slam-dunked us both.”
In Hot Water
Mary Lynn Baxter
To Warren and Wayne Elledge
for all their invaluable help.
Thanks, guys!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Prologue
She knew she shouldn’t be dancing so intimately with a complete stranger.
And she shouldn’t be enjoying it, especially when there was no music. But she was. His strong arms and callused hands were like nothing she’d ever experienced.
Still, this was crazy behavior. She’d come on a mission to this Jamaican paradise, but it wasn’t to get involved with a man.
“You feel so right in my arms,” he whispered against her ear.
Each touch, each caress made her burn inside.
He chuckled. “Cat got your tongue?
“Yes.” Her breathing quickened. “I mean no.”
He laughed even as he pulled her closer, their bodies swaying in the light breeze. In the distance, she could hear the ocean raising as much havoc as her heart.
She had seen him the first day she and her three friends had arrived on the island. He had intrigued her immediately. He wasn’t classically handsome. His shoulders were broader and his arms more muscular than those of any man she knew. His abs were cut to perfection. Rugged was an apt description. She figured that was what had aroused such a wild streak in her.
Character lines had been etched into his tanned face by the sun and wind, and coupled with his blond hair and blue-green eyes, his looks were captivating.
When their eyes first met, she felt an electrified attraction between them. Whenever their paths crossed afterwards, that intensity made her stomach quiver.
Earlier in the evening at a cabana party he’d asked her to dance to a slow, erotic tune. She’d gone into his arms without hesitation. After remaining there through several songs, he’d grabbed her hand and said in a low voice, “Let’s walk.”
They had strolled barefoot along the water’s edge until he’d stopped and pulled her again into his arms. Now, as they continued to dance to imaginary music she was powerless to stop him.
“You’re not supposed to be thinking,” he whispered into her ear.
The warmth of his breath sent chills down her spine. “I’m not.”
“No,” he whispered again, stopping in the middle of the make-believe dance and pushing her to arm’s length.
She looked at him, held his gaze, and felt her heart beat loudly in her chest. “Why is that?”
“Because only feelings are allowed.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her in step with him. “It’s a night of magic.”
The raspy tone of his voice affected her as much as the touch of his hand clasping hers tightly.
“I don’t know you,” she said, her gaze resting on his profile.
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?” Her voice wavered.
He stopped, turned her to face him, then tipped her chin up. “Forget about the world. Just think about the moment and how you feel.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“If a name is what you want, call me Stan.”
“I’m Mildred.” She couldn’t believe she had outright lied, but then she didn’t believe his name was Stan either.
“Mildred it is,” he said in a low voice.
She shivered, though the ocean breeze was warm against her skin. “This…is crazy.”
“I’m crazy about you,” he countered.
In the moonlight she could see his chiseled features and his deep-set eyes, eyes that seemed to penetrate right through to her thoughts.
She licked her dry lips. “That’s not possible.”
“Anything’s possible tonight,” he rasped. “Don’t fight yourself. Don’t fight me.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to get control of her wayward emotions. If only she hadn’t had that last drink. Perhaps, then, she wouldn’t have left her friends partying at the cabana and taken a midnight stroll on the beach with a perfect stranger.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re thinking again.”
She felt his finger trace the line of her jaw before running it along the inside of her lower lip.
Her breathing became erratic. His touch left her feeling hotter than she’d ever been.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, his hand now trailing down her neck and onto her collarbone.
Her head lolled back like a flower on a weak stem as his hand found its way to a breast. “Please.”
“Please what? Kiss you? Touch you?”
“Yes to both.” Her words came out in a gasp.
His hand slipped under her halter top and rubbed her breasts. She couldn’t breathe or talk.
“Perfect,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.
His lips gently cajoled hers, but then she whimpered; his kiss belied such raw, aching hunger that she nearly collapsed against him.
As his mouth continued to cover hers, he sank to his knees and took her with him down onto the wet sand.
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” His voice was so hoarse she could barely understand him.
His words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of his hands removing her top, his mouth suckling her breasts and his teeth gently nibbling at her nipples. Locking her hands on his head, she held him close, reveling in every sensation he aroused.
“I want to see all of you,” he said, pulling her upright.
He removed her shorts and panties and cast them onto a dry, sandy part of the beach.
Standing like a dazed nude statue drenched in the moonlight, she watched as he peeled off his own clothes. She gazed upon his flat, muscled stomach only a moment before looking downward.
He was big and hard.
Desire spread throughout her body. She must have made a satisfactory sound in her throat because he made a strange sound of his own before grabbing her and kissing her again.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?”
She could only moan.
And anticipate.
And soak up the frantic need escalating between them.
“Answer me,” he demanded in a guttural tone.
“Yes” was all she could manage, especially after his hand cupped her hot mound and two of his fingers pressed and probed her insides, making her wet.
Again she felt like collapsing, and again they sank to their knees. Using the wet sand as a bed and the water lapping around them as cover, he lowered himself over her, then spread her legs.
Unable to utter even the smallest of sounds, she reached for his throbbing erection and guided it into her. With a deep groan, he penetrated her.
Her eyes widened as she realized how large he was inside her.
He paused long enough to whisper, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, oh yes,” she said through gritted teeth, clutching at his back, beckoning him to come more fully inside her, to invade her, to fill her, to give her all to him.
Now.
As if he could read her mind, he ground into her and began pounding her with a force akin to the surf pounding against the beach. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks and felt the silent screams of pleasure bounce around her head as her heart begged for more. She wanted more.
He didn’t know when he’d been this tired. But then he’d worked hard at beating up on his body this morning.
First, he’d run five miles on the beach, which was like running in a straitjacket, then he’d lifted heavier weights than usual in the compact but ample sized gym onboard his sailboat.
Now as he made his way into the outdoor café at the luxury hotel, he realized that his stomach gnawed from lack of food. His overzealous workout had used up what energy he’d had stored.
Still, he shouldn’t be here. He should have already set sail. He hadn’t planned on hanging around the island another day, because he had other places to go, other fish to fry, and because a buddy of his had agreed to meet him in a couple of days for some deep-sea fishing. Yet here he was pulling out a chair in a crowded corner of a café.
So why was he lollygagging?
Her.
He was hoping that he would run into Mildred. He smirked at the thought of her name. It was no more Mildred than his was Stan. But he wasn’t complaining.
He’d take her any way he could get her and under any name, too.
She was a little hottie.
“May I take your order, sir?”
He’d ordered and the waitress hurried off. Holt perused his surroundings. Instantly, his stomach clenched and he sat up straighter. He couldn’t believe his luck. There she was, though not alone. She was with the same three women who had accompanied her to the party. His stomach tightened as he realized his luck had just ended.
What had he expected? A woman with her assets wouldn’t be alone. If she hadn’t been with other women, she would’ve been with a man. No matter. Who she was with or what she was doing was certainly none of his business.
He told himself that last night had been a one-time fling.
She had been lovely in every way imaginable with striking black hair, blue eyes and alabaster skin that was enhanced by a dusting of natural color on her cheeks. Of course, he’d been in the company of more beautiful women than he cared to name. Yet none had affected him like she had.
One look at her and he’d been down for the count.
Had it been her lush, tantalizing lips or her huge eyes that had danced with secrecy when she’d looked at him that had completely unsettled him? Or had it been the whiff of perfume he’d breathed when she’d first passed him? Or her traffic-stopping smile? He decided it had been her entire body, the way all her curves connected in just the right places.
“Can I get you anything else?”
The sound of the waitress’s voice brought him back to reality and after answering no he gazed back at the woman, leaving his breakfast untouched.
He’d never been married to anyone or anything except his work, but he’d slept with his share of women. He’d never quite had as cursory a one-nighter like last evening. But that woman had turned him on faster and more furiously than anyone he’d ever known.
She still did. Just looking at her made his insides burn. He shifted his position for fear someone might see his obvious hard-on.
Fearing, too, that she might spot him staring at her, he forced himself to eat a few bites of the omelet he’d craved moments ago. Now his craving lay elsewhere. His appetite for food gone, he again stared at her.
This morning she was dressed in another pair of shorts and a different halter top that exposed the lightly tanned cleavage between her well-endowed breasts. Remembering how it felt to touch and taste her, he could hardly remain in his seat.
So he stood up. Telling himself he had nothing to lose he took two steps toward her when his cell rang. Cursing, he reached for it at the same time she turned and spotted him. Their eyes locked and he sucked in his breath and held it, waiting for a sign of acknowledgement.
Nothing.
She looked straight through him as if she’d never laid eyes on him. His blood turned to ice. He had figured she was too good to be true. Now he knew it. His cell rang again and, turning away, he barked into the receiver.
One
Two years later
The disinfectant smell of the O.R. seemed more tainted than usual with the metallic odor of blood. Added to the normal tension surrounding a difficult surgical procedure was an almost tangible panic among the assistants to Seymour Ramsey, the tall, silver-haired doctor who alone appeared unaware of the frantic beeping of various monitoring devices. The only visible sign that he might be concerned was the profuse amount of perspiration that saturated his surgical cap and face.
“Doctor, are you all right?” A nurse’s voice broke the tense silence.
Seymour swore under his breath and turned a glassy-eyed look at her. “Yes, dammit. And don’t ask me that again.”
The nurse muttered, “Yes, sir.” But the rigid set of her jaw and the sudden flush in her cheeks revealed her desire to say much more, especially when she stole a glance at the other members of the surgical team.
No one responded to her silent plea. They all continued with their assigned jobs.
A few minutes passed before the anesthesiologist announced, “His blood pressure is dropping, Doctor. He can’t afford to lose much more blood.”
The assisting surgeon glared at Seymour, “What the hell—”
“Just shut up, Chastain.” Seymour’s tone was as harsh as his words. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Silence once again reigned over the room as the nurse mopped Seymour’s wet brow. She jumped slightly when he growled, “I just need one more minute.”
“Better make it a fast minute,” the anesthesiologist countered as he watched the rapidly falling blood pressure of the man on the table. “I’m doing all I can here,” he added with a horrified look on his face.
Moments later, Seymour stepped back and jerked off his mask. “There. It’s done.” He cast a glance toward his fellow surgeon. “Sew him up.”
Seymour stalked out of the O.R. into the doctor’s lounge where he immediately leaned over the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. He sensed rather than heard someone approach from behind him. He looked up and saw Chastain’s face in the mirror. Seymour whipped around, slinging droplets of water on the other doctor. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be closing my patient.”
“He’s in no hurry, Seymour.” Chastain’s tone matched the cold fury in the older surgeon’s eyes. “He died right after you walked out of the room. He lost too much blood.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Seymour pounded his fist on the edge of the sink.
“The family’s in the waiting room,” Chastain said in an accusatory tone. “You’d best go talk to them. They’ve already waited a long time.”
Minutes later, Seymour shuffled toward the waiting area where the three members of the Dodson family sat, their hearts registering in their eyes.
“Doctor Ramsey?” Michael Dodson rose, fear in his voice. “How’s Dad? Is he—”
Seymour forced himself to face the younger man. “There’s no easy way to say this, son. Your father didn’t make it. I’m sorry—”
“But what happened?” Michael asked in a screeching voice as his mother and sister broke into hysterical sobs and moans. Michael advanced until he was within touching distance of Seymour, his stance threatening. “You said he’d be all right.”
Seymour stepped back, then began trying to explain, but words failed him. He mumbled something about blood pressure.
“Sir,” Michael interrupted, “you’re not making any sense at all. In fact, you’re slurring your words. What’s wrong with you? You’re acting crazy.” he said incredulously. “Don’t tell me you operated on my father in this condition.”
Seymour rubbed his forehead. “I did no such—”
The sentence was never completed. Seymour’s eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor.
Two
The heat was sweltering.
Maci had taken that into consideration earlier when she’d slipped into a peach-colored sundress and a pair of strappy sandals.
Summer in south Louisiana was notorious for its combined heat and humidity, but this year both were setting records daily. She couldn’t seem to get cool no matter where she was.
Despite the cold air pouring out of the air-conditioning vents, Maci found herself perspiring. Maybe that was because she was upset. Since she and Seymour married a little over two years ago they had rarely disagreed.
That had changed after she had learned of her husband’s secret dependence on prescription drugs. Lately she’d been at her wits’ end as to what to do about it, especially after he’d lost a patient and friend on the operating table.
Only after that tragedy did Seymour admit he’d blacked out while talking to the family and that both he and the incident were under investigation.
Once she had gotten past her stunned horror, Maci hadn’t wanted to know the dirty details associated with his vile habit. Instead, she had pleaded with her husband to seek help immediately. She feared for his well-being as well as that of his patients.
During the past three weeks, Maci had thought he’d kept his promise, but then last night, for the first time ever, Seymour had come home on a drug-induced high. He’d previously hidden the effects of the drugs from her and the rest of the world, but now his habit was known, he no longer seemed to care about covering it up.
That fact alone caused her to confront him. “How dare you come home in this condition?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear.”
“You damn sure do,” she lashed back. “Now that I know what you’re up to, it’s obvious you’re high.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Don’t insult me, Seymour. I may have been gullible in the past, but no longer.”
He smiled a cherubic smile. “You’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing, my dear.” He paused, his grin still in place. “I don’t know about you, but I’m calling it a night.”
Maci’s insides shook with anger, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Once her husband dug his heels in, there was no way she could penetrate his steel facade.
She was now at a loss as to how to reach Seymour. Their personal relationship and home life would soon suffer. Maci feared that if Seymour continued down this destructive path, the man she’d married would be lost to her forever.
Again she knew he needed professional help.
Maci paused in her thoughts and peered at her watch. Seymour was due home from the hospital any time now to join her for a late breakfast. She hated to admit it, but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him.
“Mrs. Ramsey, Jonah’s about to go down for his nap.”
A smile transformed Maci’s strained features when she glanced at Liz Byford, her son’s nanny. “I’m right behind you.”
When Maci walked into the nursery, her baby, almost entering into the terrible twos phase, was bouncing up and down in his bed and grinning.
“Hey, big boy, what are you doing?”
“Down, Mommy,” he cried, reaching out his arms.
Maci gave him a bear hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “It’s time for your nap.”
He shook his head. “No, Mommy, no.”
“Yes, Jonah, yes.” She grinned. “How about I hold you and read you a story?” This was a tried and proven trick to get him to sleep.
His grin widened and his bouncing increased.
“Whoa, there, tiger. Mommy can’t lift you unless you settle down.”
“I’ll eat my lunch while you’re with him,” Liz said, blowing the child a kiss before closing the door behind her.
Maci lifted Jonah out of his bed, nuzzling him on the neck. He smelled so good, felt so good, she wanted to squeeze him into her. And she did for a second. Then he started squirming.
“Book.”
“That’s right,” she said, sitting in the rocker and grabbing his favorite nursery rhymes. “We’ll read this together, squirt.”
Five minutes later, Jonah was sound asleep, but Maci continued to rock him, loving the feel of him in her arms.
Her gaze rested on his perfect little features and tears misted her eyes. He looked so much like her it was uncanny. Yet he had the Ramsey build. When he grew up—she smiled inwardly at that coined phrase—Jonah would be tall and thin.
In her mind her son would make a statement in this world. She would see to that. He was the love of her life. And the purpose for her life.
She was blessed that Seymour felt the same way. He, too, doted on Jonah. Thinking of her husband removed the smile and tossed her thoughts back into chaos. How could she reach him? Holding her eyes steady on this precious child for whom they were both responsible made her grief and fear more potent.
Seymour had to get help. He had to beat his problem. It was imperative that he set an example for his son who would soon look to him for guidance and trust. A chill darted through Maci and she shivered. As though Jonah sensed her unrest, he jerked.
“Shh,” she said in a soothing tone, pushing a soft strand of wispy hair off his forehead. “It’s okay.”
Once he was sleeping soundly again, Maci wondered how she could have been so stupid or so incredibly naive. Both apparently applied.
Could his downfall partially be her fault? She admitted she hadn’t been Seymour’s mate in the true sense of the word.
She didn’t believe in trust, especially when it came to trusting men. Despite her warm, sunny personality and her love for people, Maci harbored a bitterness for the opposite sex fostered by her father and her ex-fiancé.
When Will Grayson had learned literally hours before their wedding that Maci’s father had lost his millions on bad investments, liquor and women, he walked out on her without a backward glance.
To this day, she saw no reason to forgive the man who had left her at the altar. Her father, however, was a different matter. She had tried to forgive him for his betrayal, especially now that he was dead. But she’d never been able to totally put that pain aside. Some days the hurt was as strong as the day it had happened during the summer of her sophomore year in college.
At the time, however, she had patched her broken heart as best she could and gone on with her life. She’d worked her way through school as an interior designer while taking care of her mother who had been stricken with Alzheimer’s.
During those years of hardship, her social life had been nonexistent. Only once had she agreed to attend a charity ball given by a client. There she had met Dr. Seymour Ramsey, a man twenty years her senior. He had been instantly smitten with her and wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, he had worn her down after promising to love, honor and cherish her while at the same time resurrecting her previous life of wealth and luxury.
That had been a deal she couldn’t pass up. While she hadn’t loved him with passion, she had loved him.
She’d certainly been bowled over by his attention. Seymour had turned on the same charm that had helped catapult him, a young man from the wrong side of the tracks, to the top of his profession. Maci had sensed he was a decent man who wanted to make a home with her.
Being “in love” was no longer high on Maci’s priority list. Seymour understood, having told her he’d take her any way he could get her.
Two weeks after taking a Jamaican holiday, Maci had married Seymour despite the teasing from her friends that she would be joining the “trophy wife’s club.” Maci had known better. In their own way, she and Seymour had formed a bond based on mutual respect and admiration.
She had signed a contract that entitled her to a certain amount of money for every year she remained married to him. Once that fact hit the gossip mill, her friends had upped the ante on their teasing.
She had taken it all in stride since that contract had been so important to Seymour, which she understood. She’d had no quarrel with him wanting to protect his investment and his pride. What no one knew was that she’d had no intention of touching the money for her own use. Instead, she’d put it in trust to care for her Alzheimer-stricken mother as long as she lived.
The fact that shortly after they had exchanged vows Maci had found out she was pregnant had served to strengthen her and Seymour’s marriage. They had both been delighted. Her life then settled into a normal routine. She had thrived on her role as expectant mother and wife of Doctor Seymour Ramsey, convinced she had everything she’d always wanted.
And while she’d concede their marriage was far from perfect and probably unconventional by most standards, it had worked for them.
Until now. Until his abhorrent habit had come to light.
Maci’s heart faltered as she leaned down and kissed her baby on the forehead, holding him a bit tighter, careful not to disturb his sleep.
The consequences of what Seymour had done could be forever life-changing. They had already been life-altering.
If her husband failed to get control of his problem, then she… Maci refused to think about that. Seymour would mend his broken life and emerge a stronger, healthier individual. She had to hold on to that thought. Anything else was too painful to pursue.
Jonah stirred again prompting her to place him in his crib. That done, Maci glanced at the Waterford clock on the table and realized that Seymour should have already been home. She knew Annie, the housekeeper, had their brunch ready. And so did Seymour. Maci frowned, trying not to panic. Most of the time her mind was her own worst enemy.
Still, she couldn’t settle the disquiet that accompanied her downstairs. After passing Liz who was on her way back to Jonah, Maci made her way into the breakfast room. She was startled to find her husband.
No one would ever guess Seymour’s secret by looking at him.
His charming demeanor and handsome features persuaded many to believe in him.
He was tall and lean with silver hair that showed no signs of thinning. His deep-set green eyes seemed to smile when he did. But his pride and joy was his body. He kept it in tip-top condition by working in their gym at home as well as one at an exclusive country club.
“You’re just in time, my dear.” Seymour smiled and pulled out her chair. “Annie’s just about to serve us.”
“I didn’t know you were home,” Maci said inanely, feeling herself staring at him, looking for signs that he was using again. She couldn’t believe such horrible terminology popped into her mind much less applied to any part of her life. The idea seemed to sully everything around her.
If Seymour noticed her reaction, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled and asked, “How’s my son?”
Clearly he wanted to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even though they had had the sharpest disagreement of their marriage. Momentarily her temper flared, but she held it under wraps. Maybe his way was the best way. Holding a grudge definitely wasn’t the answer.
Maci released a sigh. “He’s great, as always.”
“I started to come up, but Liz told me you were rocking him.” Seymour shrugged. “I figured he’d be asleep.”
Maci sat down and the buxom housekeeper served their food. After taking a sip of almond-flavored tea, she glanced at Seymour. “How was your morning?” she forced herself to ask, still having difficulty pretending everything was normal.
Seymour touched his mouth with the white linen napkin, then smiled. “Fine. Another normal surgery day. One stacked on top of the other. How ’bout you?”
“Same here. I called on a new client who I think will turn into a gold mine. Shortly, I’m headed to Bobbi’s.”
“How’s that project coming?”
Maci played with her chicken salad. “Down to the wire, actually.”
Bobbi Trent was her best friend turned client. As a divorcée, she was trying to adopt a baby. Maci felt driven to get Bobbi’s house refurbished before the agency called her to say that they had located a child for her.
“I just wish you wouldn’t work so hard.”
“I know,” she said softly but with determination. “You also know how important it is for me to keep my independence.” Especially now, in light of the circumstances, she was tempted to add, but didn’t. There was no point in fueling an already simmering fire.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, my dear. There’s no point in my belaboring the point. Besides, I just want you to be happy.”
“I am, Seymour. Or at least I—”
The chiming of the doorbell aborted her sentence.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Seymour asked.
“No. Are you?”
He shook his head just as Annie appeared in the doorway, a perplexed frown on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” her eyes turned to Seymour, “but there are two gentlemen here who insist on speaking to you.”
