The Alibi

“Maybe he was having a Saturday afternoon rendezvous. Maybe he likes the dining room’s crab cakes. Maybe he took a shortcut through the lobby just to get out of the heat. There could be a hundred reasons why he was there.”

He leaned across the console, coming closer to her than he had been in years. “If Hammond met with Lute, I need to know it.”

“I don’t know if they met or not,” she snapped. That much was true. All she had done was give Hammond Lute’s note. She hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t said, whether or not the appointment had been kept.

“What would be the nature of such a meeting?”

“How should I know?”

“Had Lute caught you and Hammond together?”

“What?” she exclaimed on a short laugh. “Heavenly days, Rory, your imagination is truly running amok tonight. Where did you get that idea?” He gave her a hard look, the meaning of which couldn’t be misinterpreted. It pierced the tiny, fragile bubble of happiness spawned by seeing him again.

“Oh,” she said, her smile turning sad. “Well, you’re right, of course. I’m certainly not above committing adultery. But do you honestly think that Hammond Cross would sleep with another man’s wife?”

After a brief, tense silence, he asked, “What other reason could they have for meeting?”

“We don’t know that they did.”

“Has Hammond mentioned seeing anyone else in the hotel?”

“If he was there, I’m sure he saw the sweating hordes of people who are in and out of there every day.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“No, Rory!” she said with exasperation. “I’ve told you, he didn’t say anything.”

“Something is wrong with him.”

“With Hammond? Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it bothers me. He’s not his fire-breathing self these days.”

“He’s in love.”

His chin went back like it had sustained a quick, unexpected jab. “In love? With Steffi?”

“God forbid,” she replied, shuddering slightly. “I was almost afraid to ask about the depth of that relationship, but when I did, he said it was over, which I believe. His lady love is not the charmless Ms. Mundell.”

“Then who?”

“He wouldn’t say. He didn’t look too happy about it, either. Said it wasn’t just complicated, but impossible. And no, the lady isn’t married. I asked him that, too.”

Rory bowed his head slightly. He seemed to grow fixated on her bare toes while he ruminated on what she had told him. She had a coveted few moments to look at him—the smooth forehead, stern brow, rigid jaw, the uncompromising mouth which she knew could be compromised. She had felt it on her lips, on her body, hungry and tender.

“It’s a powerful motivator,” she said softly.

He raised his head. “What?”

“Love.” For ponderous, timeless moments they stared deeply into each other’s eyes. “It makes you do things you wouldn’t consider doing otherwise. Like marrying a man you hate.”

“Or killing him.”

A quick breath caused her breasts to tremble beneath the filmy fabric clinging to them. “I wish you had loved me enough to kill him.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and ran her thumbs alternately across his lips. “Do you, Rory?” she whispered urgently. “Do you love me that much? Please tell me you do.”

As though stretching across the years spent in heartache and yearning, she leaned over the console and kissed him. The first touch of her lips was as cataclysmic as a match striking flint. His reaction was explosive. His mouth devoured hers in a hard and greedy kiss that was almost savage in intensity.

But it ended just as abruptly. Reaching up, he forcibly removed her hands from his face and pushed her away.