“Anticipating it is different from living through it.I’ve done a lot with the business since I took over, but it’s not easy.There’s always a risk that something unexpected will happen.I’m the guy in charge.It’s my future that’s on the line if something goes wrong.”
Her voice was closer, bolstering him in the irrationally effective way that neither his banker nor his lawyer nor his accountant, for all their facts and know-how, could do.“It’s a super idea,Facetsis, and it’ll be a huge success.You’ve done it right, John.You don’t need to worry.”
“Maybe not,” he said.He felt her hand on his shoulder, working tension from the muscles there.He couldn’thave taken it from another woman, but Hillary had just the right touch.
“You’ll see,” she went on in that same gently enthusiastic voice, “the profits will come rolling in pretty soon, and then you’ll be thinking of opening another store.Is New York next on the list?”
He’d been so embroiled in establishing the flagship Boston store that it had been months since he’d thought ahead.But New York was the one.“If all goes well.”
“So.You set up your New York store, and I’ll get a job with one of the papers there, and we’ll see each other the way we always have.”
Grabbing her hand, he hauled her around his body and onto his lap.“Dammit, you had that whole conversation planned.”
“I did not!”
“Then why did it wind up so conveniently in your favor?”
“Because it makes sense.Doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.The feel of her naked hip against his naked groin was arousing, as was the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the musky scent surrounding them both.So he kissed her hard by way of punishment for her good sense, then kissed her hard again by way of recognition of her sexiness, then kissed her hard a third time by way of expressing the unbridled desire that her sexiness sparked.His last thought before he tumbled her to the floor was that he would enslave her to keep her in Boston until he was good and ready to let her go to New York.
Four months later, when plans for the New York store were still in the dream department, she went.John supposed that he might have been more attentive during those four months, but a string of social engagements had kept him busy.He hadn’t had time for her.Weeks had gone by when he had been so engrossed in allFacetswas becoming that he didn’t think of her.Then, typically, when the pressure built inside him, when he found he needed someone to talk to, when he found himself hungering for the fire that only she had, he called.
She didn’t complain.She didn’t nag or whine or ask why he hadn’t called sooner.She gave him her all for the weekend that he spent at her apartment.Three weeks later, she moved to New York.
He knew that it was revenge, and it infuriated him.Pam had been the one—what pleasure she’d gotten from that—to hand him the new address.Hillary hadn’t even had the guts to tell him herself.
So he fought fire with fire.He didn’t call, didn’t try to see her, although he was often in New York buying gems.Two months went by, then a third and a fourth.He tried to fill the gap with other women, but no one excited him for longer than an evening.There were none of the prolonged orgies he and Hillary had, none of the wild, impulsive couplings where he could really let himself go and pour everything he had into uninhibited sex.That wasn’t part of the image.Nor was talking over his worries.He missed Hillary for that, too.When she had lived in Boston, she was his for the taking.When the mood hit, he could be at her apartment within the hour.He couldn’t do that now.Seeing her required forethought, which was an annoying imposition.
After stewing about that imposition for a good long time, he finally capitulated and called her, which annoyed him all the more—which in turn meant that when they saw each other for the first time in New York, he had a plethora of anger and frustration to slake on her.It made for hot, hard, heavy sex.
Hillary didn’t complain.She was as hungry as John was, which told him that she hadn’t yet met anyone to take his place.Buoyed by that thought and by the fact that she had received him with open arms despite the long silence, he returned to Boston feeling smugly content.She had been right after all, he realized.It didn’t matter where she was.They could still see each other.
In some respects, having her tucked away in New York was very convenient.It meant that he could move freely through the Boston social scene without worry that he’d be associated with her.No matter how sophisticated she became, she was still from Timiny Cove.She wasn’t part of theFacetslure.She didn’t have the sparkling clear shine that his future did.
She did take the edge off his hunger, though.Because she satisfied his wildest sexual needs, he was in greater control with other women.He could play the consummate lover, be gentle and considerate, put his partner’s satisfaction before his own.He could foster the gentlemanly image without worrying that the more earthy of his desires would be exposed.
Unfortunately, sex wasn’t as exciting that way, so he found himself cutting back.There were still a fewwomen—he had no intention of anyone thinking him queer, and his appetite was in no way diminished—but his playmates were chosen more for their social importance than for any physical satisfaction they might bring.
The tactic paid off.He came to be regarded as a slightly aloof, vaguely mysterious, but highly appealing and eligible bachelor.He rather liked the image.It had the scent of the upper crust—clean, controlled, dignified, genteel.It went a long way toward countering the image of the miner from Timiny Cove.
It also held an element of truth.Aside from those bawdy weekends in New York with Hillary, hewasclean, controlled, dignified, and genteel.As for aloofness, he chose to call it individuality.He wasn’t a groupie.He mingled with society’s cream, but only on a pick-and-choose basis.He wasn’t afraid to go his own way or to let people know that he did.It added to his mystery.
It also compensated for the fact that, despite his connections and the inroads he’d made, he remained apart from the Beautiful People.He went to their homes, entertained them at his own, but still he wasn’t fully accepted.No matter how elegant an appearance he made, how intelligently he spoke, how impeccably he behaved, he was still, somehow, an outsider.
He told himself that he was different, special, superior.But none of those arguments held much weight on the occasional nights when he was home alone and feeling restless.Occasionally he would hustle up a squash partner for a last-minute game or call a woman for a late dinner.Often, though, he stayed home, prowling the library,thinking aboutFacets,plotting the next step in his ascension to prominence.
But his restlessness remained.He didn’t understand it.At thirty-two, he had the world at his fingertips.He was already a man of substance and was becoming more so by the day.He’d become a patron for the Institute of Contemporary Art, had had his name listed at benefits for the Cancer Society, the Opera Company, and the Lahey Clinic in that year alone.Facetswas doing well, as was the St.George Company.The media were familiar with his name and face.What more could he ask?
He wasn’t sure.And the restlessness persisted.That was when he went looking for Pam.
Chapter 12
Pulling the car into the courtyard, Pam cut the lights and the engine, pocketed the keys, grabbed her books, and slid out.She’d been up late three nights running and was tired, still her step was quick and light as she trotted up the back stairs.Thanks to four cups of coffee, the adrenaline would keep flowing for another few hours, which was all she figured she would need.She had to read through one last chapter and her notes, then pack.She’d crash over the weekend.
Breezing through the front hall, she checked the table beneath the mirror for messages.Finding none, she swung around toward the stairs without breaking stride, only to bump into John.
She gasped.“Sorry.I didn’t see you there.”