Southern Belle. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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was reelected and the funds were in, things might be different. Or they might not, he recognized ruefully. There would always have to be men like Brock around, until he was absolutely sure of his own power base. They were, after all, a necessary part of an up-and-coming politician’s entourage.
He sighed, then yawned and, giving Teresa’s butt a friendly slap, sat on the edge of the bed.
“Time to leave, baby.”
“Leave?” She frowned.
“Yeah, you know, bye-bye, adios. But not for long. I’ll call you on your mobile.” He pointed to her cell phone lying by the bed next to her handbag. “Sexo, muy bueno,” he added in his minimal Spanish, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.
Teresa laughed, threw back her long black hair and flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “Muy bueno,” she agreed, arching her tits toward him provocatively.
“Oh no, hon, no more today,” he said, shaking his head sadly, then grinning. “Mañana.”
Teresa pouted and nodded and let her hand play with her breast, eyes holding his. For a moment he was tempted to fuck her again, but then thought better of it. It would mean he’d be late for the Historic Savannah Preservation Society dinner. Leaning over, he gave her nipples a quick pinch and a taunting lick. Then, straightening, he motioned to her to get dressed before moving toward the bathroom.
Hmm, he pondered, if it weren’t so damned inconvenient for other reasons, Elm’s absence was something he could definitely get used to.
The next morning Elm woke to a bright day peeking through the drapes, and the delicious smell of freshly baked croissants and strong Italian coffee floating up from the dining room. She stretched, realizing something was vaguely different this morning. Then she recalled the night before and smiled sleepily before jumping out of bed and pulling back the drapes. Sunlight burst into the room, settling in a puddle on the duvet. A knock on the door made her look up.
“Come in.” She turned, rubbed her tousled hair and smiled at Gioconda, who had popped her head around the door.
“Good morning, bella. Have a nice evening?” Gioconda glided into the room, already dressed in her sleek black-and-white Prada ski suit and a crimson sweater. “I’m joining a group on the glacier today. We’re going up in the chopper. I’ll be gone all day. So, tell me—” she sat down on the edge of the bed and studied an errant nail as Elm slipped on her dressing gown and slippers “—how was your dinner last night?”
“Great.”
Gioconda stretched out on the bed, long, lush and feline, and propped her chin thoughtfully in her hands, her mischievous eyes black as two ripe olives. She let out a husky low laugh. “Is that all, just great? From what I heard, you came in late enough.” She quirked a well-groomed brow.
“Umberto,” Elm said darkly. “Back to his old tricks, I see.”
“He’s worried about you being out late with a strange man. I told him Johnny wasn’t strange, that you’ve known him for twenty years. He felt happier about it.”
“Gee, thanks! Anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
“No, but before I leave I want to know what happened.” Gioconda sat up straight, glanced at her Chopard diamond watch and moved her hands impatiently.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing? Not one itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny kiss?” Her hands dropped in patent disappointment. “Madonna mia, I had a better opinion of Graney than that.”
“Gio, don’t be ridiculous. We had a nice, pleasant, civilized evening, that’s all. Stop trying to make this into something it’s not.” Elm tried to sound convincing. It was true, of course. It had been a delightful evening. But to deny the undercurrents would be to fool herself.
“Are you going to see him today?”
“He said he’d call.” Elm glanced at her friend doubtfully. “But perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see him, Gio. I don’t need problems right now. I’ve got enough to cope with already, and I didn’t intend to—”
“Ah!” Gioconda rose from the bed, triumphant. “So nothing happened, but you know very well that it could happen if you let it, right, cara?”
“Lordy, I don’t know.” Elm threw up her hands in despair. “It’s too early in the morning to be talking about all this. Can’t I at least have a cup of coffee?” she countered. But as they made their way down the wide staircase and approached the dining room, Elm came to a sudden halt on the last step. “You know what Aunt Frances would say about all this, don’t you?” she asked.
“No, tell me.”
“That Johnny Graney has trouble written all over him and that one should always avoid what’s bound to end up in tears.”
“Va bene, I’ll say no more.” Gio shrugged, cast her eyes heavenward and mumbled in Italian as she led Elm into the dining room and poured her a large caffe latte.
“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Elm continued, “I do. In fact he’s—well—terrific. I just think I should back off a bit,” she murmured after the first long sip, “before he gets any ideas, you know…” She threw her friend a pregnant look.
“I know exactly what you mean.” Gio wiggled her black brows expressively and laughed. “Loosen up, Elm, you’re on vacation. You came here for a break, to get away from that idiot paranoid husband of yours and have fun. Let this be a fresh start. A little flirtation can’t do you any harm. Quite the opposite, I should think. Now, instead of blushing like a Victorian virgin, you should be thinking when and where you’re going to get him into bed.”
“Gio! It’s not like that,” Elm exclaimed, setting the large blue-and-yellow china cup down in the saucer with a bang. “We’re just old schoolmates. I mean, he hasn’t even kissed me.”
“Who are you trying to fool, bella?”
“I…” Their eyes met, Gioconda’s filled with wicked understanding and laughter.
“Go for it, Elm. You’re young, beautiful, single—nearly—and it seems to me it’s about time you caught up with all you’ve missed while you catered to Harlan Machiavelli MacBride. Why, you’ve about as much idea of men as you had when you left school. And Dio, that wasn’t saying much,” she added with feeling. “Besides, I’d be willing to bet Harlan was selfish as hell in bed.”
“Really, Gio,” Elm sputtered. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be discussing this over breakfast.” Somehow discussing her husband didn’t seem right, even if he was out of the picture.
“Really, cara? And when, exactly, do you consider it an appropriate time?” Gioconda asked, spreading her tapered, scarlet-nailed fingers on the table, eyes brimming with affection.
“Oh, I don’t know! Why don’t you go skiing and leave me be,” Elm complained. “If Harlan was, well, not the world’s most exciting lover—though as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have much room for comparison—I always thought it was well…okay.” She shrugged. “It could have been my fault, too, you know,” she ventured. “After all, it takes two to tango.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Gioconda jumped up, hair flying. “You’re not going to take the blame again. No way, bella.” She wagged a finger firmly. “All these years I’ve heard you convince yourself that everything wrong in that marriage was your fault. I didn’t say anything at the time because it wasn’t my place. But now, basta. No more. You’ve got more guts than that. Elm, recognize the truth,” she implored. “Harlan used you, just as he uses everybody, for your money, your father’s position and anything else he thought he could suck out of you.”
“You’re right. Though I like to think that, at least at the beginning, we were…well, I guess ‘in love’ seems like a big statement after all that’s