Ms. Miller and the Midas Man Read online

  “I’m not sure anymore.”

  “All right, then, what sort of person were you?”

  “Not a very deep one, I guess,” she said sadly.

  “Otherwise, I might have been better prepared when my life turned upside down.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “I don’t know. The rest of my life, I guess.”

  There it was again, that lost and confused quality about her that was so at odds with the plucky, independent woman she personified. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out to her, holding her near, then giving her a good shake to make her see what she had, what she’d accomplished, who she was to the people who cared about her. Like him.

  “What is it that you think you want from the rest of your life?” he asked, hoping there was room for him in it. “I asked you before and you said you weren’t sure anymore.”

  “I’m not. I just...” she said, then she went quiet for a long moment before she finished. She had to tell him the way things were for her. He needed to know. “I just don’t want to hurt or disappoint anyone ever again.”

  He shut his mouth and tried not to stare so hard at her dark profile, it was making his eyes water.

  “And who have you hurt or disappointed so far?” She might not appreciate his prying, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “The who hasn’t been list is shorter,” she said with a derisive snort. She walked slowly to the pillar on the other side of the steps, distancing herself on every level. She leaned back against it and spoke softly, half hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear her, and wouldn’t care enough to ask her to repeat it. “That’s what I do, Scotty. I disappoint people. I hurt them. I don’t mean to, but I do it. Regularly. I somehow convince people to invest their wisdom and expertise, their love and their hopes and huge portions of their lives in me, and then I let them down.”

  He couldn’t stand it any longer. Approaching her slowly, he reached out and put a hand on both sides of her face, angling her head into what little light there was to see it.

  “I tried to warn you,” she said, hoping he could at least see her sincerity. “I’m not good with people. I put on a good show but...but the people closest to me always... He was going to kiss her. He was strumming her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin prickled and tickled back to her ears and down her neck, across her shoulders. “I’ll disappoint you too. Eventually. I will.”

  “How could you possibly disappoint anyone? You’re talented. You’re smart. Beautiful. You’re sweet and compassionate when you want to be. You’re funny. Clever. Strong. I don’t understand.”

  “Please don’t touch me,” she said, ducking out of his reach, her heart beating so hard it ached. “I’m trying to explain so you will understand. I...” She took a deep breath. “Every teacher I ever had thought I could be a world-class violinist, that I had something special. For hours, months, years they worked with me. Day after day,” she said, holding her hands out to show the vastness of the time involved. “They taught me everything they knew. They sacrificed their time and energy for me, and I was never...I was never anything but good. Not great. Not phenomenal. I frustrated the hell out of them,” she said, her voice going low and flat with her own defeat. “Every time one of them would finally admit that there was nothing more they could teach me, they’d pass me on to someone else, thinking they’d let me down somehow. Disappointed that they weren’t the one with the key to open up that special something in me. My father got out early, knowing what it would be like. But my mother never gave up. She hired an agent and a publicist.” She put both hands behind her. “But I wasn’t a ten-year-old savant or a legendary virtuoso. I was just a really good violinist. Really good and really ordinary. She had to settle for Carnegie Hall and first chair with the Philharmonic. And I worked my butt off to keep it because—surprise, surprise—I wasn’t the only really good violinist in town.”

  “But that’s nothing to spit at. That alone is an accomplishment very few—”

  “No no. Stay away. I want to finish. It gets better,” she said, staying just out of his reach. “See, after a couple of years I gained some respect with my peers. I was one of the youngest people ever to join the orchestra. I was never late, never missed a rehearsal or a performance. I worked hard, I wasn’t temperamental. After a while some of the pressure eased away, and I found five minutes to fall in love with this really cool saxophone player, Nelson Forge, who believed in freedom of expression and taught me that being a classical snob was beneath me. He showed me how to have fun with my violin and explore different types of music. We were on tour in Europe and he took me to all sorts of little pubs and taverns where saxophones and violins made totally different kinds of music than what I was used to...” she hesitated, “...made my father’s kind of music, actually. Everything was so romantic. My first trip to Europe. My first love affair.”

  He didn’t like that she’d gone suddenly silent thinking of this saxophone player, didn’t like it at all.

  “What happened?”

  “We came home. My five minutes were up. The tour was over. Europe was gone. I tried to keep up with him. I really did. But we were out most nights, all night, and my wrist was starting to hurt...It was September already and our season lasted from October to May—until August if you include the stadium concerts. I couldn’t...I was a huge disappointment to him.” A short, harsh laugh. “I played with the pain in my wrist for as long as I could, until the slightest movement made me want to cry.” This was the hard part, the part that involved him. She had to tell him she couldn’t satisfy a man, he needed to know. She took a deep breath and blurted it out. “And let’s face it, you sometimes have to move around when you’re having...you know, an affair. I...I couldn’t keep him happy, I couldn’t satisfy him, I couldn’t...I...I caught him with another woman.” She went silent, waiting for the vivid mental pictures, the heartache, the tears to overwhelm her. But they didn’t. She felt nothing, and she sighed with relief.

  “I wasn’t even surprised,” she said when he made no comment. “Hurt, but not surprised. It was just part of the pattern. He wasn’t the first person I’d failed, and as I was soon to find out, he wasn’t going to be the last.” She hesitated. “My mother wept the morning I had surgery. I heard her. She told the doctor my whole life story and cried when he told her that with some effort I’d eventually play as well as I ever did.”

  Scotty was astounded by her thinking. He felt crushed inside, not by her story, but by the weight of the guilt she’d inflicted upon herself. He didn’t know where to begin. From the beginning, he supposed, when she first took on the responsibility of fulfilling other people’s dreams and wishes instead of her own.

  “The rest you know,” she said quietly, the tone of her voice as empty as her jar of self-worth. She walked to the railing, keeping her back to him. “I’ve told you all this to save us both a lot of time and pain. Obviously, we’re...attracted to each other.”

  “Obviously,” he said, able to agree with her at last.

  “If we don’t act on our impulses, these feelings will eventually go away.”

  “Gus,” he said, undaunted.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Scotty. I think I could fall in love with you, but knowing that I’d hurt you, too, is...”

  “Augusta.”

  “So, you see, it’s really much wiser not to start anything that’s doomed from the beginning.”

  “Ms. Augusta Miller,” he said, loud enough to get her to turn around.

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  SIX

  SCOTT HAMMOND WAS SUCH a stupid man. An idiot. A fool.

  Hadn’t she just told him what a mistake it would be to get involved with her? Hadn’t she just explained why she didn’t want to get involved with him? Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?

  The darkness between them was thick with desire—hers as well as his. But if he wasn’t going to listen to reason, then it fell to her to save them.


  “Come here,” he said again, his voice low and soft, sure and alluring.

  “Scotty...”

  “Come.”

  She swallowed hard and took a step forward. It was easy.

  “This is a huge mistake.”

  “A little closer.”

  “We’re going to regret this.” Once started, she took step after step. She had no will to stop herself. She didn’t want to stop.

  “Closer.”

  She could actually feel it when she broke into his personal space. It was warmer and charged with excitement, undercurrents of passion and consuming greed. She felt a hand on her waist, pulling her nearer. He palmed her cheek, his fingers at the back of her neck drawing her toward him.

  “You’re a very stupid man,” she said with her last normal breath, before the air caught in her throat, behind her heart.

  “Don’t you believe it,” he said, taking a firm hold about her waist, breathing in the sweet scent of her, enjoying the warm, soft texture of her skin. “I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

  He skimmed his mouth over hers, teasing, coaxing. Defying fate. She started melting away like the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “This is so wrong,” she murmured, trembling as she brushed her lips against his.

  “Then why does it feel so good?” He kissed her. “So right?”

  Good question. But she’d have to think about it later, when the earth wasn’t spinning so fast and her senses weren’t screaming to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.

  No, he wasn’t a stupid man. He drugged her hard and fast with long, deep kisses, depressing her thought processes, stimulating her nervous system, transporting her to a world where only he was real and only she could touch him. He got high as the feel of her, soft and firm, smooth and curvy, coursed through him, filled him, devoured him. He hungered for her. Got lost in the tiny impotent noises she made, in her unsteady breathing, in the fluttering of her heart beneath her breast.

  He kissed like a French whore’s tutor. Hot, deep, devouring. Then slow, erotic, demolishing. His hands fisted in the folds of her skirt, bunching the material, exposing a long shaft of shapely leg and softly round buttock. His skin was so warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. Her fingers were frantic to get at it. He pressed her pelvis tight against his, bent over her to touch the soft, smooth skin of her inner thigh from behind. He turned her abruptly, to prop her weakening weight against the house. His hand tangled itself in her panties, pulling the fine, silky material snug against her throbbing desire. The pressure was an excruciating delight.

  A muffled cry in her throat had him moaning with his own need. He’d found a whole new world in her mouth and didn’t want to leave, despite his temptations to wander far and wide into other unknown territories. God knew he wanted to, needed to, but he kept coming back to her mouth like a kid to a candy store, never pacified, unable to secure it all in one visit, enraptured by the endless diversity.

  Weak and barely able to stand, she was suddenly aware of being led gently by the hand, across the porch to the door. If more kissing was all he had in mind, the darkness would have provided them plenty of privacy. If he needed to sit down, there was always the swing...

  “Oh my,” she said.

  He responded with a light chuckle and opened the screen door, passing her in before him. Arguing with her would be useless, he knew. Her mind was made up. She was a failure, a disappointment. It would be quicker and easier—and a lot more fun—to spend the rest of his life showing her how special she was.

  It never occurred to her to tell him she didn’t want to go inside with him. It would have been a lie, and the way she was behaving, he wouldn’t have believed her anyway. They were destined to ruin, and she couldn’t remember being happier, or more optimistic. Or less afraid.

  “What about Chloe?” she whispered, feebly grasping at straws as his arms snaked about her from behind, his mouth sipping at her throat below her ear.

  “She’s upstairs sound asleep.” His hands made quick work of the first few buttons on the front of her dress and then his mouth moved to her shoulder.

  “What if she wakes up?”

  “She won’t.”

  “But what if she does? What’ll you do?”

  He turned her around to face him. He held her face in his hands, kissed her tenderly, then said, “If she wakes up, I’ll go to her. I’ll give her a glass of water and tell her a story. I’ll wait for her to fall back to sleep. What’ll you do?”

  She smiled and gave him the only answer that came to mind.

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  There was not one inch of her that didn’t feel as if it had been touched by something magical, something mysterious and powerful that could come back at any moment and seize her again. Carry her off. Devastate her world.

  She could hear birds chirping and feel the heat of the sun on her face, but if she opened her eyes, the dream she’d had the night before would be over.

  She was warm and comfortable. Her body was weighty and sluggish with satisfaction, her muscles aching sweetly when she stretched.

  “Don’t move.” The words came in two firm syllables from the man beside her. She managed to lay perfectly still for several seconds before she started to laugh. He groaned and rolled, looping one arm across her chest. He nuzzled and cuddled, muttering, “Go back to sleep.”

  Turning her head toward him on the pillow, she found him half-awake, his eyes warm and affectionate, still clouded with the passion of their lovemaking.

  “I think I should go,” she whispered, touching her nose to his playfully. “Chloe’ll be awake soon.”

  “She’ll watch cartoons till eight. You can leave then.” He pulled her close and closed his eyes.

  “She’ll see me then.”

  His eyes opened and narrowed to study hers. “We’re going to have a secret love affair?”

  “Don’t you think we should? At first? For a while? To make sure it works?”

  He grinned. “I gotta tell ya. It’s working great for me.”

  She laughed softly and Eskimo kissed him again. “Me too.”

  “Then why worry?”

  “I just don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up, and then disappoint them later if it doesn’t work out between us.”

  He pulled away to get a clearer look at her face.

  “Are you hoping it works out?”

  Taken aback, she wondered if he thought she’d be in bed with him for any other reason.

  “Actually, I am,” she said softly, hesitating only a moment before she exposed her heart’s desire.

  He gave her a quick reassuring kiss. “Me too. I’m dying to see you as one of those tall, bony, super-proper old women with your mouth all puckered up in disapproval, scolding me for carrying my teeth around in my shirt pocket at our youngest son’s wedding and...”

  “With my mouth all...Our what?”

  “Son. Our youngest son.” He raised up on one elbow to look down at her. “I should probably tell you now that I want sons. As many as you’ll give me. I’m in dire need of male companionship.”

  “You want them right away?”

  “As soon as you can arrange it.”

  “You couldn’t just join a baseball team for this male companionship?”

  He curled one leg over both of hers and lowered his head to her breast. Her heart beat steady and strong. He’d gotten the answer he wanted. He’d seen it in her eyes—that strange soft glow that women get when they think of babies. She wanted one.

  “It’s not the same,” he said, making a huge to-do of sticking his arm under the covers to touch her soft, warm belly. “I need someone who doesn’t already know how to stand in front of a toilet or how to shave. Who doesn’t already know the significance of overtime or the distance between home base and the pitcher’s mound. Someone who doesn’t already know how great duct tape is. I want someone I can teach all that stuff to.”

  She was grinning. “And you can’t ver
y well teach Chloe how to make those disgusting noises with your armpits, can you?”

  “Well, no. I guess I shouldn’t have,” he said, and when she started to laugh, he wrapped his arms around her. Cradling her head in his hands, supporting himself with his elbows, he said, “So you see my problem?”

  “I do. You have a very serious problem.”

  “I know. And I’m very serious about it,” he said—though he didn’t really need to when the amused sparkle in his eyes died away to reveal the somber thoughtfulness behind it. “So, tell me this. With my hopes as high as they are, and with you actually hoping things work out between us, who do you think will be more disappointed if they don’t? You and me? Or everybody else?”

  It seemed as if he was trying to make a point; she just wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Us, of course. I only meant that we should consider Chloe and my mother and—”

  He kissed her to silence her.

  “I know what you meant and you’re probably right about Chloe. She’s already learned the lesson about grown-ups not getting along sometimes, and we probably shouldn’t rush it. The two of you have just met, you need time to get used to each other,” he said, his gaze lowering to her mouth, her chin, her neck, her chest. She was so beautiful to him. Then he looked up suddenly. “But beyond that, beyond the three of us, it doesn’t matter what anyone feels or thinks about us being together or not. We’re the ones with the most at stake here. We’re the ones who’ll pay the price. And...” he said, laying a finger against her lips when they opened. “And we’ll pay it in equal portions. Understand? You won’t hurt less than I do or be happier than I am. Our dreams are equally important here. Okay?”

  She agreed, but she didn’t really understand. He brushed his lips against hers. Playful and enticing. But maybe it was him who didn’t understand. What did he know about disappointment, anyway? The Midas Man. Who had he ever disappointed? She hadn’t even begun to disappoint him—and yet...