True Colors. Diana Palmer
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what your mother wants,” she replied, playing the only card she had left. She hoped that it would divert him, because her body was betraying her. It had been so many years since she’d been with Cy. She wanted him until it hurt, but she didn’t dare give in.
He hesitated, and she pulled back.
“Remember your mother, Cy?” she asked coldly. “Nothing’s changed. She still hates me.”
“She doesn’t have to love a woman I sleep with,” he said, resorting to cruelty as frustration and pain gnawed at him.
“But I’m not sleeping with you, Cy,” she said, holding her purse protectively over her sensitive breasts.
He stood there, towering over her, struggling to breathe normally. It was just like before, just like old times. He was falling headlong into her web, and he wanted her so much that he couldn’t even save himself. He looked at her and ached like a boy.
“Tell me you don’t want me, Meredith,” he said mockingly.
She moved toward her door, fumbling in her purse for the key. “What I want doesn’t enter into it,” she said. Wearily, she unlocked the door and turned, her eyes big and sad in her tired face. He looked only a little less worn himself. “I don’t want that madness again, any more than you do. Go home, Cy. I’m sure your mother will be glad of the company.”
“She didn’t come to see you, did she?” he probed. “That was a lie.”
“It amazes me,” she said, searching his face. “Even now, you automatically think that if someone’s in the wrong, it must be me. Myrna should be proud. She’s taught you that the only truth is hers.”
“At least she’s capable of it,” he replied.
She smiled. “Once I thought you might love me,” she said. “But I knew the minute you sided with your mother that it was only desire. Love and trust are both sides of the same coin. One is nothing without the other.”
He clenched his teeth. “You can’t accept the fact that my mother has any virtues, can you?”
“You don’t know what she’s cost me,” she replied coldly, “because you don’t want to know the truth.” She smiled again. “Someday, you’ll have it. I swear you will. And when you know what she’s cost you, you’ll wish to God you’d listened to me. Good night, Cy.”
She was inside with the door locked before he had time to reply. She wasn’t at all surprised to find that she was shaking.
Outside, Cy strode back to his car, bristling with temper and frustration. As usual, she had him weak in the knees. She was just as much woman as she’d ever been, and his response to her was powerful, immediate.
He fought himself out of the sensual fog by the time he got home, but something Meredith had said was disturbing him. You don’t know what your mother has cost you, she’d said. He frowned as he went into the house. Did she mean money? Or was it something intangible? Perhaps she meant her love. But he knew how treacherous she was. She’d betrayed him. Or had she?
That was a thought he didn’t want to entertain. He passed the living room, still deep in thought.
“Oh, you’re home,” Myrna said, rising from the sofa. “I waited up. You’ve been very preoccupied the past several days. I thought…you might want to talk.”
“About what?” he shot at her.
She swallowed. “About whatever’s bothering you.”
He moved into the room, his dark eyes threatening. “Did you go to see Meredith?”
That was a question she hadn’t wanted to answer. She could have lied, but what if one of the neighbors had seen her? It would be a risk to lie.
“I…did,” she said finally.
He scowled. “Why?”
“You know I don’t approve of Meredith,” she said quickly. “I was only trying to convince her that bringing back old memories won’t help either of you. I asked her to go away.”
“I gave her a job,” he reminded her.
She twisted her hands together, her face tormented. “Oh, Cy, she’s not for you! Don’t make it worse.”
“Make what worse?” he demanded. “What do you know that I don’t?”
She actually paled. “Cy…”
He moved forward, determined to get it out of her. Just as she panicked, the telephone rang, diverting him. Fortunately it was someone on business, and she excused herself quickly with a rushed “Good night.”
By the time she got upstairs, her heart was beating her to death. It was like a nightmare. Why hadn’t she realized the implications of what she’d done all those years ago? Her chickens had come home to roost, now. She didn’t know how she was going to survive if she didn’t get Meredith out of town fast.
CHAPTER SIX
BLAKE WAS ANGRY when Meredith phoned Chicago.
“Why won’t you come home?” he demanded. “You said a few days, didn’t you?”
“It’s taking longer than I anticipated,” she defended herself, sick over Cy’s rekindling of her physical needs and the slowness of her progress. “Blake, don’t push. You know I’d be home if I could. I have to support us, little man. I have to work.”
He sighed. “I know. But I miss you, Mommy.”
Her eyes closed. “I miss you, too,” she said, and it was true. She missed him more every day. Seeing Cy was like looking at a mature image of Blake. The pressure of trying to conduct business from a long distance, missing Blake, and dealing with the Hardens kept her nerves on end.
“Tell you what,” she said after a minute. “My secretary reminded me earlier when I phoned in that I have to go to a banquet Saturday night in Chicago. Suppose I fly up Friday night and spend the weekend? How about that?”
“Oh, Mommy, that’s radical!” he exclaimed.
Already, she thought, he sounded like a typical boy of the nineties. She laughed. “I hope that means you’re glad I’m coming. Now, put Mr. Smith on, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I gather that you’re coming home?” Mr. Smith asked with droll humor.
“For the weekend,” she emphasized. “I need to pick up some more diskettes for the computer and conduct a few personal visits to clients I seem to have been neglecting.” She added that last bit because her secretary had mentioned that those clients had reacted to some comments of Don’s that Meredith was taking a working holiday. How like him to forget to mention that it was on company business. He’d made it sound as if she were off enjoying herself to the company’s detriment. “Have one of the jets pick me up at the Rimrocks at six sharp Friday night. I’ll get off from work early.”
“Can’t get much work done on the weekend,” he murmured.
“Stand back and watch me. Or don’t you remember that Henry did most of his plotting at cocktail parties?” She grinned to herself. “The Harrisons are having that banquet for Senator Lane Saturday night, and Don promised to tag along. We can discuss the new computer operation and the personnel shift at the same time. Remind Don.”
“Will do. How do you plan to manage this project, the acquisition, and hold down a full-time waitressing job at the same time?”
“Don’t fuss,” she replied, although it touched her that he was concerned for her health. “I’ll see you Friday.”
She hung up before he could argue. It would be a lot of pressure. But, then, she’d had nothing except pressure since Henry died—and even before. She was young and strong and willful. Besides,