CHAPTER 11
Parker waited out her hesitation. He didn't repeat the request, figuring she would call his implied dare, and she did. After a moment or two of consideration, she carefully picked her way across the distance separating them.
Her hair had been gathered into a makeshift ponytail that subtracted at least five years from her appearance. Her white shirt was tied in a knot at her waist. Her khaki skirt was short enough to show a couple inches of thigh. Smooth, shapely thighs that invited libidinous speculation.
"When this gin was first built," he said, "three sides of it were left open. The machinery was animal-powered."
"Animal-powered?"
"Follow me."
He wheeled toward the back of the building. As she followed him beneath the overhang, she reflexively ducked her head, causing him to smile. She had cleared the low, spider-infested ceiling, but not by much.
"I've never had that problem myself," he said.
He then pointed to the faint ring in the hard-packed earth. "If you look closely, you can see a circular depression there in the dirt. That's the path worn by the mules that turned the drive wheel that powered the gin stand."
"Up there?"
###"Right. When cotton was king, it was #####259
brought here by the wagonload. Long-strand sea island cotton. High grade. Silky in
texture and more easily separated from its seeds than other varieties."
"Therefore very desirable."
He nodded. "And the island's sandy soil was ideal for growing it. It was unloaded onto a platform outside and carried up to the second floor, where the gin separated the fiber from the seeds.
"The lint was then blown out, collected, and carried to an outdoor screw press, which was also mule-powered. Once it was pressed into bales, they were bagged and hauled cross-island to the dock for transport to the cotton exchanges on the mainland."
"It sounds very labor-intensive."
"You're right. From the time a cotton seed was planted in early spring until the last bale of the crop was shipped out, the process took a year."
"Was this the only gin on the island?"
"Right again. One planter, one gin, one family. The family that built my house. They had a monopoly that made them rich until the whole market collapsed. They tried to switch to oyster canning, which was being done on other sea islands, but they didn't know anything about it, went completely broke within a year, and cleared out."
"So this structure more or less chronicles the island's history."
"Nineteenth century history for sure," he said. "It's documented that in 1878 a little girl, a child of a worker, walked behind one of the mules turning the screw press outside. The ornery animal kicked her in the head. She died two days later. Her father put down the mule,
execution-style. The details of what he did to the carcass are gruesome. A duel between feuding brothers is also recorded. They shot and killed each other in 1855.
"Then there's a romantic myth about the love affair between a white overseer and a beautiful slave woman. It's told that their affair was looked upon with such vicious disfavor that they were cast off the island in a small boat. It's said they were bound for Charleston, but folks watching their departure through spyglasses reported that they saw them capsize and perish, which many thought was a befitting punishment.
###"However, years later, a colony of ##261
mulattos was discovered living peacefully on another sea island previously thought to be uninhabited. These people were believed to be the descendants of the mixed couple and the survivors of a shipwrecked slave ship. They were an incredibly handsome clan. Some had skin the color of café au lait and eyes as green as jade.
"A visiting French nobleman, who was deep-sea fishing in the area, sought refuge from a storm on their island. While he was there, one of the nubile young ladies caught his eye and captured his heart. They married and he took all her family back to France with him. Where they lived happ'ly ever after."
Maris drew in a long, slow breath. "You tell good stories, Parker."
"It's a fable. Probably untrue."
"It's still a good story."
"So you're a romantic?"
"Unabashed." She smiled, then said, "You know a lot about the gin. Was your family in the cotton business?"
"I think my great-granddaddy picked it by hand during the Depression. But so did just about every able-bodied person in the South. Women, children, blacks, whites, all struggling to survive.
Hunger doesn't discriminate."
"What did your father do?"
"Physician. Family practice. The gamut. From delivering babies to lancing boils."
"Is he retired?"
He shook his head. "He couldn't break a forty-year habit, and he couldn't heal himself when lung cancer caught up with him. He died long before he should have."
"And your mother?"
"Outlived him twelve years. She died several years ago. And before you ask, I'm an only child."
"So am I."
"I know."
After registering momentary surprise that he knew that, she said, "Oh. The article."
"Yeah."
Several strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail and were lying against her nape. The wheat-colored strands appeared slightly damp and curled from the humidity. He caught himself staring
#at them. ###########################263
He looked away to clear his vision. "Yeah, that article was chock-full of information about you, your father, and your husband. What's he like?"
"Very robust. Especially for a man of seventy-eight."
"I meant your husband. Is he also very robust?"
"We agreed not to ask any personal questions."
"That's personal? What don't you want me to know about your husband?"
"Nothing. It's not that."
"Then what?"
"I followed you here to talk about _Envy."
"Want to sit down?"
Apparently confused by his sudden shift of topic, she shook her head. "There's nowhere to sit." She glanced at the beams overhead.
"Besides, it's creepy under here."
He swept his arm toward the front part of the building and she preceded him from beneath the overhang.
Her attention was drawn to a circle of bricks in the dirt floor. They were stacked two deep, forming an enclosure roughly five feet in diameter. "What's that?"
"Careful," Parker warned as he quickly rolled his chair to her side. "That's an abandoned well."
"Why in here?"
"One of the more innovative patriarchs of the cotton dynasty decided to convert the gin to steam power. He began digging this well for the water supply, but died of diphtheria before the project was completed. His heir abandoned the idea as impractical. Rightly, I believe. It
wasn't economically feasible for the amount of their production."
She peered over the rim of bricks into the darkness of the hole. "How deep is it?"
"Deep enough."
"For what?"
After holding her gaze for a moment, he backed up, then wheeled past her. He hitched his chin toward an upended crate. "That'll do for a perch if you're not too particular."
After testing the crate's sturdiness, she gingerly sat down on the rough wood.
"Be careful of splinters," he warned.
"Although my picking them out of the backs of your thighs is a bewitching thought."
###She shot him a withering look. "I'll ##265
take care not to fidget."
"I'm sure I would enjoy extracting the splinters, but I'm equally sure your very robust husband wouldn't approve."
"Was that thunder?"
"Changing the subject, Maris?"
"Yes."
Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder toward the open door. It had grown noticeably darker outside as well as in. "Afternoon thunderstorms frequently boil up during the summer. Sometimes they pass over in an hour or less, sometimes they linger through the night. You never can tell." Overhead the first raindrops struck the roof with fat-sounding slaps.
She inhaled deeply. "You can smell the rain."
"Smells good, doesn't it?"
"Sounds wonderful, too."
"Um-huh."
The rain didn't cool the air much, but it had a definite effect on the atmosphere. It became closer, denser. He was aware of it. And so was Maris. She probably couldn't characterize this sudden change any better than he could, but it was distinctly felt.
Her eyes moved away from watching the rain through the open door and found his. They stared at each other through the deepening gloom. Oddly, it wasn't an uncomfortable exchange. If he'd been forced to use an applicable adverb to describe the way in which they were looking at one another, he would choose "expectantly," a modifier that combined curiosity with caution, wonderment with undertones of wariness.
He felt her gaze like a tug on his chest drawing him closer, and he was looking at her with the same level of intensity. Given the
electricity arcing between them, he was curious to know what she would say.
She played it safe by commenting on _Envy. "That was a rotten trick that Todd played on Roark."
"Rigging it so he missed his appointment with Hadley."
"You set me up perfectly. I didn't see it coming."
"That's good."
"Now what is Roark going to do about it?"
###"What do you think he should do?" ########267
"Beat the hell out of Todd."
He whistled at her vehemence.
"Well, isn't that what a guy would do?"
"Probably," he replied. "Fury would be his initial reaction, and he would seek a physical outlet. But let's talk about it.
Remember, Todd was only paying Roark back for the toothbrush stunt."
"But that was a prank," she exclaimed.
"Gross and disgusting, granted. But college boys do stuff like that to each other, don't they?"
"Did you know college boys who did stuff like that?"
"I attended a girls' school."
"Right, right, I read that," he said, as though just reminded of that part of her bio, which he knew as well as if he'd written it himself. "So it's safe to assume that you have no experience of college boys and how they act."
"No, it's safe to assume that my experience is limited to how they act on dates with girls, which is different from how they interact with each other."
"Is that how you met your husband? On a date during college?"
"Much later than that."
"How much later?"
"When he came to work at Matherly Press."
"Smart move on his part. He married the boss's daughter."
That irked her. So much so that Parker knew he wasn't the first to connect those two dots. It had crossed her mind, too. Perhaps too often for comfort. Her expression turned professional and peeved.
"Can we get back to your book, please?"
"Sure. Sorry for the digression."
While taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth a couple of times and absently fiddled with a button on her blouse. Parker wondered when those two insignificant, subconsciously feminine gestures had become so goddamn sexy.
"A prank is one thing," she said. "But Todd's joke had a meanness about it that was unmistakable. It wasn't harmless. It couldn't be undone as easily as buying a new
toothbrush. He was tinkering with Roark's future. This practical joke could damage Roark's grade, compromise his capstone,
#affect his writing ambitions, and #########269
possibly even crush them. He can't let it pass and do nothing."
"True. Roark won't fold. He won't easily forgive the experience, but it'll sure as hell motivate him."
"Yes, yes," she said excitedly. "This will fuel his determination to succeed."
"To reach a level of success that Todd will--was
"Envy," she said, finishing the thought for him.
He grinned. "Per your suggestion, I'll let him blow off steam, land a few punches, which Todd will concede he deserved."
"So they remain friends?"
"It wouldn't be a book if they didn't. If their friendship fell apart here, the story would be over."
"Not necessarily. It could be just as powerful if they became bitter enemies at this point."
"Wait and see, Maris."
"What?"
"Give me time."
Her eyes widened marginally. "You've got it plotted already, don't you?"
"For the most part," he confessed with a negligent shrug. "There are some details still to hammer out."
She tried, but failed, to look piqued.
"You've been stringing me along."
"To get you excited."
"I'm excited." Her animation proved it.
"May I make another suggestion?"
"I don't promise to take it."
"Agreed."
"Then fire away."
"Could we see Roark falling in love?"
"With the girl who went back to her boyfriend?"
"Yes. You told the reader that he fell in love, but we didn't get to see it. We didn't experience it along with him. You don't even give this girl a name. I think it could be very poignant, as well as useful toward developing his character. How he handles the disappointment. That kind of thing. And what if ..."
"Go on," he said when she hesitated.
"What if Todd were somehow involved in their breakup?"
Frowning, he thoughtfully scratched his cheek, reminding him that he hadn't shaved that morning.
"Wouldn't that be too much antagonism too soon? In those first few chapters, I'm trying
#to establish that these two guys are truly ##271
friends. Eventually the friendship is overtaken and then ultimately destroyed by their competitiveness. But if Todd interferes with Roark's love life, then screws him over with Hadley, that immediately makes him out the villain and Roark the hero."
"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? I think of them that way."
"You do?"
"You're surprised?"
"The story isn't over yet. By the time you get to the ending, you might change your mind."
Her eyes probed his, as though trying to see the denouement behind them. "I really don't have a choice, do I?"
"No."
"Okay. In the meantime, what do you think of my suggestion about Roark's love life?"
"I repeat, Maris, give me time."
She leaned forward eagerly. "You've already changed it, haven't you? There's more, isn't there?
Same girl?"
"Why don't you have your navel pierced?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"If you're going to wear hip-riding skirts and shirts that tie at the waist, why don't you have--was
"I heard you."
"Then why?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Too bad."
"The thought of it gives me the willies."
"A small loop. A tiny diamond stud.
It'd be sexy. Er. _Sexier." His eyes moved up from her midsection to her face. "Those glimpses of your belly button are already a major turn-on."
She squared her shoulders. "Parker, if we're going to have a professional relationship, you cannot talk to me like that."
"I can talk to you any damn way I please."
She gave a stubborn shake of her head. "Not if you want to work with me, you can't."
"You're free to go."
But she stayed seated on the crate, as he'd known she would. As he'd hoped she would.
Thunder rumbled and rain pelted the roof, but the racket only emphasized the strained silence between them. Parker rolled his chair closer to her until his knees were only inches from hers. "What did you
#tell your husband?" ##################273
"About what?"
"Being here. I assume you called him."
"I did. I left word that things were going well."
"Left word?"
"With his secretary."
"He doesn't have a cell phone? See, he strikes me as the kind of guy who would have one of those damn things practically glued to his ear."
"He was having lunch with the editor of our electronic publishing division. I didn't want to interrupt them. I'll call him later."
"As you're going to bed?"
"Possibly. What difference does it make?"
"I was just wondering if you'll be wearing a nightie tonight. Or do you always sleep sans raiment like you did last night?"
"Parker--was
"What'll you talk about?"
"None of your damn business."
"That good, huh? Or that bad?"
She drew a deep breath and said tightly,
"I'll tell him that I've discovered an extremely talented writer who--was
"Please, I'm blushing."
"Who is also the crudest, rudest, most obnoxious man I've ever met."
He grinned. "Well, that would be the truth."
Then his smile gradually faded. Giving the wheels of his chair a small push, he rolled another inch or two nearer to her. "I bet you won't tell him I kissed you," he said in low voice. "I bet you omit that part."
She stood up hastily, knocking the crate over backward. She tried going around him, but he moved equally fast and used his chair to block her path. "Get out of my way, Parker. I'm going back to the house now."
"It's raining."
"I won't melt."
"Melt down, maybe. You're angry. Or afraid."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Then sit back down." When she failed to move, he motioned toward the door. "Fine.
G. Get drenched. Which will mean making explanations to Mike. It'll get messy but if that's what you want ..."
###She glanced outside at the downpour, ##275
then reluctantly upturned the crate and resumed her seat on it, primly and looking pissed.
"Tell me how you met your husband, Maris."
"Why?"
"I want to know."
"What for?"
"Call it creative curiosity."
"Call it nosiness."
"You're right. Euphemisms are a crutch.
I'm nosy."
Gauging her expression, he expected her to clam up and refuse to continue their conversation, but she folded her arms across her middle--no doubt to hide her navel--and said, "Noah came to work at Matherly Press. But long before that, I knew him by reputation as the brains behind a rival publishing house. When he joined us, I was thrilled at the opportunity to be working with him.
Over time, however, I realized that my feelings ran much deeper than admiration for a colleague.
I was in love with him.
"At first my father was concerned about my entering into an office romance. He was also worried that Noah is ten years older than I. He
encouraged me to date other men and even dabbled in some blatant matchmaking with sons and nephews of his friends and associates. But Noah was the one I wanted. Luckily he felt the same. We
married." She bobbed her head for punctuation.
"There. Satisfied?"
"How long have you been married?"
"Almost two years."
"Children?"
"No."
"How come?"
She glared at him and he held up a hand in conciliation. "You're right, that's too personal.
If you're sterile--was
"I'm not."
"So it's him?"
She was about to come off the crate again, but he patted the air between them. "Okay, okay, the topic of children is taboo. I won't go there."
He paused as though realigning his thoughts. "So you were seeing Noah every day at work and fell head over heels in no time."
"Actually I had had a mad crush on him even before I met him."
###"How's that?" #####################277
"I had read his book."
"_The _Vanquished."
"You know it? Oh, of course, the article again.
It referenced Noah's novel."
"Yes, but I was already familiar with it," he said. "I'd read it when it came out."
"So did I. About fifty times."
"Are you kidding?"
"No. I love it. The main character, Sawyer Bennington, became the man in my romantic fantasies."
"You have fantasies?"
"Doesn't everyone? It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Maybe not for you. But I've had some fantasies that were pretty shameful. Want to hear them?"
"You're irrepressible."
"That's exactly how my preschool teacher described me to my mom."
"When ...?was
"When for three days straight she caught me in the boys' restroom test-driving my new favorite toy."
"I won't even ask."
"You'd be better off not to. Anyway, what were we talking about?"
"Sawyer Bennington."
"Right. Your hero and the object of your romantic fantasies. Which strikes me as strange."
"Why?"
"Wasn't he a criminal of some sort?"
"A thief and a murderer."
"Generally considered criminal."
"But his crimes were justified because of what was done to his wife and child. When he discovered their bodies, I cried buckets. I still cry every time I read it." Her expression turned dreamy and wistful.
"Sawyer is such a hard man. With everybody except Charlotte. They loved so
passionately, and it was the kind of love that even death couldn't destroy. When they hanged him for his crimes, he was thinking about ..."
Her voice trailed off. Embarrassed, she gave a slight shrug. "Forgive me, Parker.
I guess you can tell how much I love that novel."
###"You talk about the characters as though they're ##279
real."
"Noah did such a fantastic job of drawing them that sometimes I forget they're fiction. I actually start missing them. When I do, I open my copy to any page and read a few
paragraphs, and it's like I've visited them."
"Didn't they make a movie?"
"It was junk that didn't do the book justice.
But to be fair to the movie makers, I don't think any movie could have. Some critics touted _The _Vanquished as the best historical novel since __Gone with the _Wind."
"Strong praise."
"But, in my opinion, warranted."
"So what'd he follow it with?"
"He didn't." Her exuberance waned considerably. "Noah got very involved with publishing _The _Vanquished and decided that his calling was in that arena, not writing. And, I suppose, when your debut novel receives such critical and popular acclaim, the thought of following it with something equally good is daunting.
Even terrifying. He never wrote again. Not until recently."
Parker's gaze sharpened. "He's writing again?"
"He's set up an office specifically for that purpose. I'm very pleased."
But she didn't look very pleased, or even moderately pleased. A shallow but distinct vertical line had formed between her eyebrows.
Parker doubted she realized how revealing her facial expressions were or she would school them better.
After a quiet moment, he asked, "What other fictional characters have played key roles in your fantasies?"
"Several," she admitted with a light laugh.
"But none to the extent of Sawyer Bennington."
Parker leaned forward in his chair and spoke only loud enough to be heard above the pounding rain.
"Maris? Is it remotely possible that you fell in love with the character and not the author?"
Her expression turned angry, but the anger came and went with the speed of a lightning flash. She smiled with chagrin. "Considering the way I've carried on about Sawyer, I suppose that's a fair question. I've had authors tell me that readers frequently superimpose them onto a
#character they've created, and that when readers #####281
meet them at book signings, they're disappointed to find that they're ordinary people. They don't live up to the larger-than-life image the reader had formed of them."
"Good discourse, but it didn't answer any question."
Her irritation returned. "Don't be ridiculous. I fell in love with my husband.
His talent first and then the man himself. I'm still in love with him."
He stared at her for a long moment. "What was he thinking?"
"Who, Noah?"
He shook his head. "The hero of the book.
Sawyer. You said when they hanged him he was thinking
..."
"Oh. He was thinking about the first time he saw Charlotte."
She hesitated, but Parker motioned for her to continue.
"Noah wrote that passage so vividly, with such detail, that I could see the orchard, smell the ripening fruit, feel the heat. Sawyer had been traveling for days, remember? He comes upon Charlotte's family's farm, where he hopes to get water for himself and his horse.
"No one is around, the place seems deserted. But as he makes his way toward the water trough, he spots Charlotte sleeping on a pallet of quilts in the shade of a peach tree. A baby is sleeping beside her. Sawyer assumes the child is hers." Maris smiled and added softly, "He's glad to learn later that the child is her baby brother."
Parker was entranced by the cadence of her voice.
He felt himself being pulled into the scene.
"Charlotte is the most beautiful woman Sawyer has ever seen. Her long hair was unbound. Descriptions of it, her complexion, her lips, go on for paragraphs. Because of the heat, she had raised her dress as high as her knees, and she's barefoot. Sawyer is a lusty young man. Seeing her bare calf and foot inflames him. She might just as well have been naked.
He's fascinated by the breathing motion of her bosom. And yet, there's a reverent aspect to his admiration of her, as though she were as untouchable as the Madonna.
"He should have been a gentleman and politely
#withdrawn the moment he saw her. Instead, ##283
he stays and gazes at her until he hears a wagon approaching, announcing the return of her family, who had gone into town for supplies.
"Charlotte never knew that Sawyer had watched her sleeping that day. He never told her, which I think was particularly dear of him. It was too special a memory to share even with her. It was so special that he called it forward on the day of his execution. He was reliving it when the trapdoor of the gallows dropped open beneath him. Because it was the most pivotal day of his life, he died reliving his first sight of Charlotte."
Parker had listened. Motionless. Intent on every word. For several moments after she stopped speaking, they just looked at one another. Neither was capable of dispelling the mood, or willing to.
When he finally spoke, his voice was
abnormally husky. "You should have been the writer, Maris."
"Me? No," she said, shaking her head and laughing softly. "I envy the gift. I can recognize it in those who've been blessed with it, but I'm a facilitator, not a creator."
He pondered that for a time, then said, "Do you know what made that scene so erotic?"
She tilted her head inquisitively.
"It was his having that much access to a woman, his having cerebral intimacy with her, without her knowledge."
"Yes."
"His eyes and mind had touched what his hands and lips wanted to. He hadn't seen much, but he felt guilty for looking at all."
"The forbidden."
He nodded and said in an even lower voice,
"The strongest sexual stimulant of all. What isn't good for us. What we can't have. What we want so badly we can taste but can't touch."
Maris drew in a shaky little breath and exhaled it slowly. For the first time becoming aware of the loose strands of hair on her neck, she raised her hand to them, but repair seemed beyond her. She lowered her hand back to her lap, but not before it made a brief stop at that button she had fiddled with before. This time, she merely brushed it with her fingertips as though to reassure herself that it was still there. But Parker's gaze fastened on it and remained.
Suddenly she stood up in the narrow space separating them. "I'm going back now. The rain has stopped."
###That wasn't altogether true. It had ######285
stopped coming down so hard, but it was still raining lightly. Parker didn't argue, however. He let her pass.
Almost.
Before she could take a full step, he reached out and stopped her with his hands. They clasped her just below her waist, the heels of them pressing her hipbones, his fingers curved back toward her hips. He was eye level with that alluring strip of bare skin between blouse and skirt. Slowly, his eyes moved up.
She was looking down at him, startled and apprehensive. Her arms were raised, her hands in front of her shoulders as though she were unsure where to place them, what to do with them.
"We know why I kissed you last night, Maris."
"To frighten me off."
He frowned. "That doesn't even merit an argument. I kissed you because you braved Terry's and showed up everybody in the place, including me.
I kissed you because just looking at you made me ache. I kissed you because I'm a rotten son of a bitch and your mouth looked so goddamn kissable.
Simply put, I kissed you because I wanted to. It's something I admit and you damn well know. But there is one question that's driving me fucking crazy."
His eyes focused harder on hers and, by doing so, penetrated. "Why did you kiss me back?"