Banish Misfortune Read online

  Women had always responded to those looks, to Springer's immensely tall, wiry body, the distant, beautiful face and those dark, unfathomable, lost eyes. And Springer had always taken advantage of that response, taking what was offered with pleasure and irresponsibility and a complete disregard for commitment. Even his brief marriage hadn't curtailed his amatory activities.

  Only a reluctant maturity had done that, so that now, at age thirty-five, he'd gone for the longest period of celibacy since the discovery of his father's betrayal. It had been five months since he'd slept with a woman, and he was in no mood to remedy that situation. He was mortally tired of faceless bodies, of casual sex, of the ritual mating dance that ended before it even began, ended in a tangle of sheets and limbs and performances. Maybe he was more like his father than he wanted to believe.

  He'd promised Elyssa he'd stay for a month. Already the time loomed ahead like a prison sentence. He wouldn't get in till well past midnight—that would kill one day. Only twenty-nine after that. His strong, tanned hands clenched around the leather-covered steering wheel, and once more the large foot in the well-worn Nikes pressed down on the accelerator. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could be gone. And the Lotus sped along the Pennsylvania highway like an arrow, straight and true to the heart.

  Only a trace of redness marred the cool blue beauty of Jessica's eyes as she slid once more behind the empty desk and waited, waited for God knows what. It must simply be stress, she told herself firmly. Understandable stress, caused by the upcoming merger that depended so much on her initiative and her ability to charm X. Rickford Lincoln during the upcoming weekend. Not to mention the changes her expected success would wreak in her life. The vice-presidency was everything she had worked for, everything she had longed for. Peter Kinsey, charming, passive, clever, would propose marriage. It would be a good match for her, a sensible, advantageous mating of brains and blue blood and ruthless ambitions. They would both supply the brains—her determination would more than make up for her Scandinavian blood, which wasn't quite WASP-ish enough. In the past few months Peter had been devoted, charming and diffident enough to allow her to keep the relationship on a platonic level. But once the merger went through, the engagement formalized, she'd have no more excuses. None that he would believe, anyway.

  It was going to be a busy weekend, no doubt of that, and she'd have felt a lot better able to face it if she'd had more than a few hours of sleep every night during the past week, if she'd managed to eat more than a mouthful or two at her irregular meals. Rickford Lincoln was a recently divorced man in his late sixties, a big, powerful bull of a man eager to celebrate his new freedom. And Jessica had the distinctly uneasy impression that he wanted to celebrate that freedom with her. What had started out as sly glances and lubricious looks during the early part of the negotiations several months ago had quickly graduated to semiserious propositions, seemingly innocent touches that always managed to graze her flat buttocks or the gentle swell of her breasts. And Jessica had used that attraction, played with it with masterly cleverness, stringing him along to the point of agreeing to the merger with no more than a promising smile, just the right amount of reluctance in moving out of the way of his damp, clutching fingers, and the hint of wonders to come in her cool blue eyes.

  It had worked, as it had worked so often in the past during her climb up the corporate ladder. A smile here, a word there, always stopping just short of cementing it with an affair. Not that anyone had realized she did stop there—she had the reputation of being a cool customer, ready to sleep her way discreetly to the top. So far she had managed to avoid it with practiced skill, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could do so.

  Her priorities were clear, and sooner or later she'd have to pay the price. Her ambitions and talents had stood her in good stead, leading her to Jasper Kinsey's table, Peter Kinsey's side, a vice-presidency in Kinsey Enterprises, Inc., and a future as part of that wealthy, safe family. And if that future included trading her body for Peter's practiced caresses, then it could have been far worse. He was never rough, never inconsiderate in their restrained petting, and she was very skilled In simulating responses that left him convinced she would be a mass of passion when they finally made love, and that he would be capable of satisfying her as no man had ever had. And in a way, he would. She loved the holding part of sex, the gentle stroking that preceded and followed the act, the feeling of safety cradled in his arms. If her limited experience in making love had left her cold and removed, she knew well enough how to disguise that fact, could always disguise that fact with her actress's ability.

  Or at least she had been up till now. Her one experience a few years earlier had been unpleasant and undignified, but her partner, a self-satisfied lawyer named Philip Mercer, had been convinced of his prowess. She could convince Peter just as easily. But X. Rickford Lincoln might prove to be a different matter.

  "Jessica, are you in there?" Jasper Kinsey's bluff tones were unmistakable, and for a brief, mad moment Jessica considered diving under the desk. Jilly was long gone, no longer able to run interference for her, and Peter must have failed in his bid to distract his father's attention.

  Quickly she ran a nervous hand across her dry face. Just what she needed—a confrontation with old Jasper's far-too-observant eyes.

  Of course she had no time to duck. She dropped her hand, raised her head and presented her cool, Snow Queen smile to her future father-in-law and current boss as he strode into her office.

  "There you are, Jessica," he said in an accusing voice. "Peter was trying to tell me some nonsense about you being tied up. This is an important weekend; I don't need to tell you that."

  "No, Jasper, you don't need to tell me that," she said evenly. "I'll be coming out to the Hamptons tomorrow morning, definitely before noon. I have a few things to clear up"

  "Rick Lincoln is coming out tonight."

  A small shiver of distaste ran across her backbone, but her face was impassive as always. "I know, Jasper. And he'll be there for the entire weekend. I'm sure I won't be missed for the first night."

  "I wouldn't be sure of any such thing, Jessica. You've handled this merger very nicely, very nicely indeed. Lincoln is ready to be landed like a fish on a line, and we need to be certain you don't let him wriggle off."

  Jasper gave her what passed for a benevolent smile, but Jessica wasn't fooled, even for a moment. No one had said a word, not even the slightest hint had escaped that anything more than corporate wheeling and dealing was expected of her. But somehow, somewhere she had gotten the uneasy feeling that she was the sacrificial lamb to be offered to Lincoln's aging libido, with Jasper and Peter Kinsey the benevolent bystanders. And the idea was destroying her almost nonexistent appetite, robbing her of her sleep, and stringing her nerves out until she was ready to scream.

  But damn it, it wasn't their decision. It was her body, it had always been her choice how she used it. And it still would be. She wasn't going out to the Hamptons until she decided how she was going to handle things if push came to shove. After all, what did one night mean when balanced with millions of dollars' profit, security and power for the rest of her life? She was more than adept at turning her mind into a peaceful blank when the situation called for it.

  "I know what's expected of me, Jasper," she said in the cool, tranquil voice that was one of her greatest assets, not sure of any such thing. "And you can trust me to handle this. Have I ever let you down?"

  "No." He granted her that. "But what the hell's keeping you from coming out to the house tonight?"

  Jessica's thin fingers clenched around the paperback book, and sudden inspiration struck. "I promised lilyssa I'd see her," she improvised quickly, always a nifted liar when the situation called for it. "Of course, I can always call her and cancel…"

  Jasper Kinsey had two ambitions in life. One, to found a financial empire beyond his most avaricious dreams. The realization of that ambition was tantamount to impossible, given the scope of his greedy fant
asies, and his second goal was just as farfetched. He wanted to marry Elyssa MacDowell, a woman he'd coveted for almost thirty years. He was no closer to her bed than he had been when he first met her, when she was the child-bride of Hamilton MacDowell, but he never gave up hope. His almost doglike devotion hadn't interfered with his voracious sex life, but Elyssa was still a weak point in Jasper Kinsey's stalwart defenses.

  "No, no." It was an immediate about-face. "You go see Elyssa. But be with us in time for lunch, Jessica. I'm going to have a hard enough time making excuses to Lincoln about tonight."

  "Have Peter make them for me," she suggested.

  Jasper gave her a sharp, suspicious look, but she merely continued her distant composure. "I'll do that," he said finally. "By eleven tomorrow, Jessica. I'm depending on you."

  "You know that you can."

  Jasper specialized in abrupt departures. Jessica sat there, watching the empty doorway, listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing down the deserted hallways of Kinsey Enterprises on a late Friday afternoon.

  The reprieve made her almost dizzy with relief. She leaned back in her chair, weakly grateful that fate had allowed her that last-minute inspiration. Elyssa had already told her she was spending the weekend at her ex-husband's town house. Her calm, good sense and undemanding warmth would soothe away Jessica's rough edges, and Hamilton's acerbic wit would brighten her up again. And she could continue out to the

  Kinseys tomorrow morning feeling far more able to face the decisions the coming night might or might not bring.

  She picked up The Slaughterer again, smiling fondly at Hamilton MacDowell's bearded photograph on the back cover. Matt Decker's creator would provide the perfect haven of rest and reflection that she so badly needed. Tossing the novel in her purse, she pushed away from the desk and headed out into the dubious freedom of the weekend.

  Chapter Two

  Hamilton MacDowell was a big, bluff, hearty bear of a man, with a mane of thick gray hair, a full beard, a stomach that attested to a life of enjoying good food and the wit and soul of a bon vivant. He greeted Jessica with an exuberant hug, crushing her against his body, which towered over her Nordic height, held her away and clucked his tongue.

  "You looked starved, my girl. Doesn't Kinsey let you get anything to eat? I'm all for pleasures of the flesh, but food is one of them. Woman cannot live by sex alone." He released her, long enough to turn to his ex-wife with the same welcome, tinged with a melancholy sadness that always seemed to edge his dealings with Elyssa MacDowell. "Elyssa, my love. You look absolutely ravishing, as always."

  Elyssa smiled faintly, used to Ham's hyperbole, returned his kiss and settled comfortably against him as he flung one beefy arm around her narrow shoulders to lead her into the compact little town house they had shared for more than fifteen years. Though in this case, Hamilton's words were no exaggeration. Elyssa MacDowell was quite simply stunning, her fifty-three years sitting on her with a grace and beauty that magically seemed to increase with time. She was small, fine-boned and slender, with silver-gray hair, cropped close to her head, that had once been silky black. Her eyes were a dark, liquid brown, her faintly lined brow serene, her mouth gentle, her nature solid as a rock. She smiled up at her ex-husband with real, uncomplicated love.

  "I hope we didn't disrupt any plans, Ham," she said in the low, well-modulated voice that was part and parcel of her charm. "But Jessica has a case of terminal gloom, and I decided it was our duty to try to cheer her up."

  "My pleasure, darling, but how will young David feel about losing your company?"

  "He'll survive," Elyssa replied dryly, pulling out of his embrace with a grimace. "As long as old Johnson doesn't mind."

  "Touche," Hamilton said lightly. "It's your business if you choose to become involved with a man not much older than your son."

  "Yes, it is," she replied, matching his lightness. "Just as it's your business if you choose to become involved with a man old enough to be your father."

  Ham let out a short bark of laughter. "Don't let Johnson hear you say that. He prides himself on his youthful appearance."

  "Is he here?" Elyssa looked about her with distant curiosity.

  "Heavens, no. Have you forgotten that Springer is due sometime in the next few days? I have no intention of rubbing salt into old wounds."

  Jessica looked up, startled, from her perusal of the Picasso that adorned one wide, white wall of the eclectic town house. "Your son is coming? I had no idea,

  Elyssa, or I never would have intruded. I know how seldom you see him."

  "Hush, hush, little one," Hamilton murmured, the only human being who could call her that and get away with it. "If he does happen to show up an added presence will only ease matters. Springer and I have never gotten along, despite Elyssa's best efforts, and he's only here under duress. I don't really expect him for another day or two, anyway. In the meantime, your presence this evening will be a delightful respite. But you must promise to eat. When Elyssa called to tell me you were coming along, I became positively inspired, and I won't have you insulting my boeufen daube."

  "You know perfectly well I don't eat boeuf in any language," Jessica replied tartly, her first real smile of the day taking the sting out of her words. "I'll have to settle for cottage cheese and canned peaches."

  Hamilton shuddered theatrically. "Try it and I'll force-feed you, and I have little doubt Elyssa will help. Have you ever heard of anorexia nervosa, darling? It's looming on the horizon if you don't watch yourself."

  "Yes, I would love a drink," Jessica said firmly, flinging her exhausted body down on the white sofa that somehow never seemed to show a mark.

  "Dubonnet Blonde?" At her nod Hamilton bustled off in the direction of the kitchen. He already knew Elyssa's taste from their years of marriage. "And I've made a nice little mustard chicken for you, darling. Nothing to compromise your high morals." With a little wave his burly figure disappeared into the kitchen.

  "Why the stricken face?" Elyssa questioned softly, ever observant.

  "Just Ham's choice of words," Jessica replied, giving herself a tiny shake. "My morals don't feel very uncompromised right now."

  Elyssa nodded, used to Jessica's frank speaking, knowing full well that she spoke so openly to no one else. They had become friends when Jessica had first arrived at Kinsey Enterprises, a cool, determined Snow Queen, just out of college and ready to conquer the world. Elyssa was a major stockholder and one of Jasper Kinsey's oldest friends, a warm, bright lady with capabilities far exceeding her limited social duties as the token woman on the board of trustees. For some reason Jessica's coolness and Elyssa's warmth had blended, and their unlikely friendship was the one real relationship Jessica could count on.

  "Some problem with the Lincoln merger?" Elyssa probed gently.

  "Not necessarily. Perhaps I'm just being paranoid," Jessica said morosely, then swiveled in her seat to look beseechingly up at her friend. "You don't suppose Peter and his father are planning to have me sleep with old Lincoln just to cement the deal, do you?"

  Elyssa hesitated, clearly torn between honesty and a desire to reassure her. That hesitation was answer enough, and her words did little to improve matters. "I don't really know. I think Jasper's capable of turning a blind eye if it helps business, but I don't know about Peter. I do think he really loves you, and I can't believe he'd want anyone to hurt you. But my opinion isn't the point. What do you think?"

  Jessica shrugged, the familiar black gloom and indecisiveness settling down around her. "I don't know. I suppose I'll find out soon enough. We're all going to be out at the summer house this weekend; things should be pretty obvious by the time we get back to the city. I don't suppose I could talk you into coming with me." It was a forlorn hope, and reluctantly Elyssa shook her head.

  "David's got all sorts of plans for this weekend, and you know how possessive he can be," she said apologetically.

  Jessica knew full well how possessive David Linnell could be, and not for the first tim
e she wondered how Elyssa could stand his petulant displays of temper. Of course, David Linnell was thirty-nine years old, arrogant and extremely attractive. And after Hamilton's dereliction Elyssa somehow needed that demanding possessiveness that Jessica found infuriating. She managed a tight smile. "Of course. But what about your son, if and when he shows up?"

  A small frown wrinkled Elyssa's wide, usually serene brow. "We'll work it out," she said vaguely, and Jessica repressed a disbelieving snort. If David had his way, Elyssa would sever all her relationships with friends and family, existing only for his selfish wants. He and Jessica frankly and quietly detested each other, he recognizing her as a msgor threat to his control, and she despising his petty demands. How the introduction of Elyssa's adored son into the ten-month-long relationship would change, it remained to be seen.

  Hamilton bustled in, his imposing paunch swathed in a white apron, bearing a tray of drinks with a silver frame tucked under one arm. Serving the drinks with a flourish, he whipped out the framed picture, setting it on the polished cherry end table with a fond swipe at an imaginary speck of dust. "Have you ever seen my son, Jessica?" he inquired with intense paternal pride.

  Jessica stared at the silver-framed photograph, her mouth hanging open. "That's Springer?" she inquired faintly. He was laughing at the photographer, the black hair ruffled by a brazen wind, the eyes crinkled against the bright sunlight, a warmth and light love in those immensely dark eyes. You could fall into those eyes, she thought dazedly, fall into those arms, get lost in that beautiful mouth