Dance: Dance of the Seven Veils Read online

  Lyssa was pleased to hear his voice had turned hoarse. “Yes, I’ve changed. Thank heaven.” A smile playing around the corners of her mouth, she sidled over to where Robert Savidge stood, his stance tense and expectant, as if ready to come to her rescue should the need arise. She positioned herself in front of him, her back to his chest, then reached behind her to place her palms on the firm butt cheeks she loved to squeeze, and slowly began to gyrate her hips.

  She was gratified to hear Savidge’s quick intake of breath. For a moment he stood statue-still. Her breath came quicker as she felt his cock swell inside those linen trousers. She leaned back until her whole body brushed against him, thrusting her breasts out in invitation.

  It didn’t take long for Savidge to accept it. From behind, he placed his large hands on her waist, splaying his fingers until their tips encountered the undersides of her breasts. He caressed the curved flesh, nudging his fingers underneath the Lycra strips, edging upward to her nipples, which had tightened to unbearably hard points. He dipped his head to nuzzle the back of her neck, then her ear. She felt the scrape of his teeth on her lobe and let out a soft, involuntary mewling sound.

  She closed her eyes and reveled in the wickedness of it, the handsome, formidable man arousing her in full view of the ex-husband who’d convinced himself she was sexless and frigid. She felt Savidge’s fingers tweaking her nipples, heard his breath quicken as he rubbed his steel-hard cock against the small of her back.

  Lazily she opened her eyes and looked at the man who’d spent nineteen years not bothering to discover who she was. She pulled off the scrunchie and threaded her fingers through her blonde hair, letting it sift down to her shoulders in a slow waterfall. “Go home, George. Go to your nubile young bride and see if she can satisfy you. Thank you for giving me Michelle. As for the rest…”

  Deliberately she turned her back on George Markham and lifted her face to Robert Savidge. Standing on tiptoe, she invited his kiss. Savidge’s arms came around her, clamping her to the hard length of him, his hands stroking up and down her naked back. His lips claimed hers in a fiery kiss that she welcomed openmouthed.

  And all thoughts of her ex fled.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, Lyss, I thought his eyeballs were going to burst!”

  Lyssa smiled at her friend’s exaggeration but admitted, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him speechless before.”

  Still, the thought of George goggling at her uninhibited actions made Lyssa’s mouth curve upward even more. Seeing him stalking off the patio and around the side of Kat’s house prompted the thought, good riddance. His ridiculous behavior had provoked her to shock him, and she wasn’t the least bit repentant.

  The remaining threesome had dined on Kat’s excellent lamb stew and now sat at her dining room table finishing that superb Merlot. She still wasn’t comfortable baring her all in front of mixed company, so she’d convinced Kat to join her in donning shorts and tees.

  Lyssa swirled the wine around in her glass, took a slow sip, and gazed over the rim at Robert Savidge seated across from her. His penetrating stare sizzled all the way through her body and made her bare feet curl into the soft carpeting.

  “Thank you for going along with the flow,” she said.

  “My pleasure.”

  The silk in his voice made her eyelashes flutter downward. Just how much pleasure, she’d already experienced. Several times. She felt the telltale heat of a blush creeping up her neck. And she wanted more. How could this one man have transformed her, in less than a week, into an insatiable, wanton woman when she’d had only occasional, mildly satisfying sexual encounters over the past many years of marriage?

  She realized she was stroking her throat and down to her shoulder inside the neckline of her tee. Her body language must be sending a vivid message. With an effort she lowered her hand to her side. She would not beg. She was not a nymphomaniac. This wasn’t a lifetime commitment; she was just trying out her wings. She simply found Robert Savidge…irresistible, and had subconsciously wished for his hand, his lips, to be stroking her.

  “He’s one of our more difficult clients, I’m told.”

  Lyssa snapped her attention to Savidge’s comment.

  “He was pretty difficult to live with the past few years, too,” Kat offered. “I can’t tell you how many times Lyssa came over for coffee and a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” Lyssa’s voice was subdued but forceful. Savidge did not need to know all about her failed marriage. “I’d like to look toward the future, not the past.”

  Kat chortled. “Yeah, like going back to work tomorrow.”

  Savidge focused laser-sharp eyes on her. “Tomorrow? Sunday?”

  “The real estate market hums on Sundays. Lots of open houses, lots of browsers. I’m low man on the totem pole,” she explained ruefully, “so I had to promise to work the next three weekends in exchange for getting a high-demand vacation week to get Michelle off to school. My license isn’t even a year old.”

  “Yeah, she had to wait until after that prick took his fat thumb off her and she was actually able to take the course,” Kat finished for her. “Passed the exam first time out, too.”

  Lyssa shot her friend an annoyed look. She didn’t want anyone airing her dirty linen in public.

  “What does George do for a living?” Savidge asked. “I don’t remember seeing anything in the file.”

  “He’s an investment counselor.” She named the Philadelphia office of a nationally known brokerage firm. “He always bragged how he conned this one or that one to buy some stock or other, then convinced them to sell shortly thereafter, gloating that he got a hefty commission both buying and selling.”

  “Sounds like a churner.”

  She tossed a questioning look at Savidge.

  “A churner is someone who buys and sells other people’s stocks too quickly, for just that reason. Even though the client might make a small profit on the sale, the only sure thing is that the broker gets his commission.” Savidge poured the last of the wine into his glass. “Maybe someone in the SEC would be interested.”

  “Oh no, I don’t want to make trouble for him. I just want him out of my life.”

  Savidge aimed a devastatingly sexy smile at her. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  They lingered over coffee, the three of them. Lyssa was loath to make the first move to leave. On the one hand, she enjoyed the company, the conversation, especially his expertise on a wide range of subjects. As the saying went, he’d been there, done that. So many things, so many places, that she was jealous. Sailing the Atlantic coast in an 1840s schooner, hiking the Appalachian trail, white-water rafting the Colorado River, cross-country skiing in Vail, the kinds of things she’d wanted to try but George had insisted on spending vacations at Cape Cod, vegetating in a beach chair with his cell phone glued to his ear.

  On the other hand, wasn’t she waiting for the teeniest hint that Savidge would invite her to his home for a night of mind-blowing sex?

  Somewhere in the house, Kat’s prized grandfather clock chimed. Lyssa counted the strokes silently. Dismayed, she thought, midnight already? She had to be at the real estate office at ten, and she was still exhausted from her frenzied week of getting Michelle off to college. Why hadn’t he said anything, hinted his desire with a look or a word?

  Lyssa finally pushed her chair out and stood. “I think I’m going to turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get home soon.”

  Savidge stood as well. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The sudden heaviness in her legs made walking an effort. She was going to go home alone. Amazed at how disappointed she was, she picked up her dirty plate and silverware and brought it to the kitchen. Her eyes met Kat’s. “Thanks for everything. It was delicious.”

  Kat acknowledged the compliment with a nod. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she tossed a glance to Savidge.

  Abruptly Lyssa’s stomach took a dive. That secret look…how could she
have been so stupid, so blind? Both of them had been waiting for her to leave before they could jump each other’s bones!

  Well, of course. After all, Kat and Savidge had known each other for years, had been in the same sex club together, had coupled who knows how many times before she, Lyssa, had even entered the picture. And who wouldn’t want Kat—tall, willowy, sophisticated, experienced Kat?

  Shoulders squared, Lyssa said to him, “It’s okay, you don’t have to bother. It’s right at the curb.”

  “It’s no bother at all.” The low timbre of his voice reached down into Lyssa’s core and made her tingle. And made her furious that he could still affect her that way, even though right now she felt like a fifth wheel. Okay, so she’d allowed strangers to paw her, and yes, excite her, but Robert Savidge had touched something deep inside her that made her feel like a tightly budded rose about to blossom.

  But now, all she could feel were the thorns.

  Seemingly unperturbed at her sudden cool attitude, he took her by the elbow and walked her down Kat’s hallway. He opened the front door for her and followed her down the steps to the curb, where her Honda was parked. She pulled the keys out of her purse and felt them being tugged out of her hand.

  “Lyssa,” he whispered, spinning her around so her back was to the car. He pinned her between his warm, rangy body and the cool metal of the SUV. His mouth descended on hers in a bruising, feral kiss. Although it left her knees weak, she would not give him the satisfaction of showing it. Her arms remained at her sides, but her mouth softened, opened against his sensual onslaught.

  “Get in,” he rasped, pulling away abruptly and bending down to unlock her door.

  His kiss had made her eyes cross. She mentally shook herself, wondering how he could play two women at the same time, and how she could react that way even knowing he’d done so. Sliding into the bucket seat, she reached out with open palm for the keys and snatched her hand away as soon as they fell into her grasp. She pulled the door shut behind her and refused to roll down the window.

  It took her three tries before she was able to fit the key into the ignition. To make up for it, she floored the accelerator and laid down a trail of rubber behind her.

  Hours later, lying awake in her big, lonely bed, Lyssa stared at the dim ceiling and wondered when she’d become such a fool. It was only a fling, she kept telling herself. It wasn’t as though she was falling in love with him. She had no claim on him. None whatsoever.

  Then why did it hurt so?

  * * * * *

  The home that popped up on the screen was a brick-faced Tudor with an overhanging second floor and several roof lines. “Here it is. Twenty-seven Ashleigh Lane. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths, kitchen updated last year, new slate roof, professional landscaping.” Lyssa rattled off statistics to the woman on the other end of the phone, paused for a question, scrolled down to find the answer. “The taxes are fourteen thousand five hundred dollars.

  “Yes, that’s for a year.” She had a feeling that the woman was just window-shopping, but as the potential selling agent, she was polite and enthusiastic even though part of her mind remained with Robert Savidge. Had he spent the night with Kat? Had he made her scream when she came? How many times did they do it?

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  The woman, a Mrs. Peifer, wanted to see the home. “Let me call the owners to let them know I’ll be bringing a visitor. Is three o’clock good for you?”

  Reluctantly, Lyssa agreed to five p.m. at the woman’s insistence. She only worked to six, and hoped the woman wouldn’t take too much longer than that. Still, the possibility of a commission on a three-quarters-of-a-million-dollar sale could tempt her to work late. Anyway, it wasn’t as if she had someone to go home to.

  She rang off, then made the arrangements, and was setting the phone back in its cradle when the door opened. She couldn’t see who entered, because he/she was hidden behind an enormous vase of red roses. Someone must have paid a pretty penny to get a Sunday delivery, she mused.

  A head peeked out from behind the veritable garden. “Delivery for Ms. Lyssa Markham. Where do you want me to set it?”

  “For m-me?” She’d been sure it would be for one of the other two women behind their computers, the older one, whose husband was always surprising her with things, and the other, younger one, who changed boyfriends as often as she changed her shoes. Lyssa cleared her throat and scrambled to her feet. “Uh, here,” she said, hastily clearing a corner of her desk of its papers.

  The young man set down his burden and stood at her desk, shuffling his feet. Belatedly Lyssa realized he probably wanted a tip. And well he should, with such a delivery, she thought wryly. She pulled a few bills from her purse and handed them over the desk, then immediately forgot about him.

  There was a card.

  With trembling fingers she opened the envelope. In a bold, scrawling hand, it read, “They remind me of you. R.”

  “Robert,” she murmured.

  “Oooh,” the older woman squealed. “What did you have to do for that?”

  “Evann, hush,” the other reprimanded. “I’ll bet Lyssa has men falling at her feet all the time.”

  Fifty-year-old Evann would not be hushed. “Who’s Robert? What’s the occasion?”

  Lyssa reached her hand out to touch the velvety, blood-red petals, noting that the stems had been de-thorned. Several flowers were half open, some were in full bloom, and many were still tightly budded. Which ones reminded Savidge of her? The ones just unfolding, as she had done under his expert tutelage? The velvety texture of her slit that he’d felt with his tongue? The fully open welcome her body had given him?

  Feeling the start of a blush at her thoughts, Lyssa turned from her audience. “He’s just the friend of a friend.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Lyssa was prevented from responding by the entrance of another potential client. Evann took the caller to her desk, and that was the end of the prying. She hoped.

  At ten of five, Lyssa closed out her computer and straightened her desk. The client, a trim, stylish woman wearing a classic Dior linen suit, arrived right on time. She appeared to be, as the saying went, “of an age”, which could be anywhere from forty to seventy, but well turned out.

  As she escorted Mrs. Peifer outside, the woman asked, “Do you mind if I drive?”

  Frowning at the deviation from normal, Lyssa hesitated only a moment, feeling ridiculous to have briefly thought that the client might kidnap her, then followed the woman to a long, black Lexus.

  “I have this phobia, you see,” she explained. “I’m deathly afraid of the shotgun seat.”

  Lyssa bit back a smile. “There was plenty of room in the back seat of my Honda. We don’t usually have the client do the work.” Settling into the passenger seat, she glanced at the clipboard with her paperwork, intending to give Mrs. Peifer directions.

  The older woman apparently knew exactly where she was going, signaling with her blinker before Lyssa had time to tell her. But instead of stopping at twenty-seven Ashleigh Lane, she continued past it and turned right at the next corner. Several blocks and another turn later, she drove up a serpentine driveway bisecting a lawn as smooth and green as a golf course and edged with flowerbeds in full bloom, looking for all the world like an English nobleman’s country estate smack in the middle of Devon.

  “Mrs. Peifer—?” Lyssa started to question.

  “I hope you don’t mind, dear. I definitely want to see that house we discussed, and we’ll go back. But since we’re in the area, I thought you should see this house first. It’s going to be put on the market soon. Maybe you can get the listing. The owner is a dear friend of mine and he happens to be home this afternoon—just before I left, I called to make sure. You know, he’s so hard to pin down, what with all his business trips and the like. I’m a firm believer in making hay while the sun shines.”

  “Well, if he’s expecting us…”

  “Now didn’t I just say s
o?” Mrs. Peifer parked in front of an imposing entranceway to a three-story brick manor house, set the brake and turned off the ignition. She glanced at Lyssa and gave her a disarming smile as they got out of the car.

  Okay, Lyssa thought. All in a day’s work.

  They climbed wide front steps to a portico, and when they reached the massive oak door, Mrs. Peifer rapped the distinctive lion’s-head knocker. A tall, ropy man with Oriental features answered. “Good afternoon, Mrs. P,” he said. “Come in. He’s in the kitchen, overseeing my cooking, as usual.”

  “Thank you, Yuki.”

  Lyssa followed Mrs. Peifer into a wide front hallway with a spacious, richly appointed living room off to one side and dining room on the other. The aroma of something meaty and delicious wafted through an open archway and they followed the smell.

  They entered a well-equipped kitchen with leaded-glass inserts in the cupboard doors. Lyssa’s breath whooshed out at the sight of the man stirring the saucepan at the restaurant-grade range. It looked like—

  He turned. It was Savidge. Her knees threatened to give out. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Charlene.”

  “Hello, Robert.” He and Mrs. Peifer grasped hands like old friends.

  Lyssa’s head snapped from one to the other, as though she were watching a tennis match. She refused to take note of how attractive he looked in form-fitting black slacks and ice-blue shirt, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top two buttons casually unbuttoned to reveal a thatch of black hair. “What’s going on here?”

  “Isn’t he just the most devious character?” Mrs. Peifer cooed, relinquishing her hold on his hand. “He came up with the idea.”

  Lyssa could feel her blood pressure spike. Devious and then some.

  As though reading her mind, Mrs. Peifer continued, “He really is going to sell this place. His wife, well, ex-wife really, she was the one who wanted something sprawling and impressive. He only bought it to please her.” She gave an unladylike snort. “And then she had the nerve to insist on his chalet in Vail instead when they split. And Robert’s been too busy to unload it. Until now. And really, Ms. Markham, I do want to see that Ashleigh Lane home. Our place is simply too big now that all the children are married. We’re going to sell it to our oldest son and take back a mortgage. I’d like to be in a smaller home before Christmas.”