Handful of Dreams by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

and … as soon as you’re out of my room.”
    “Oh,” she murmured, realizing where she was and determining to leave.
    She rushed past him, and he had to laugh. Although the towel quiet decently covered her front, it didn’t do a thing for her back. And as soon as she had shot out of the bathroom to pass him in his bedroom, she seemed to realize it.
    Surely his bemused, ironic laughter had something to do with that realization.
    She muttered out some kind of an oath.
    Feeling as if a strange and sudden void had swept through him, David found himself curiously following her.
    She didn’t run to the left, to his father’s bedroom. Peter’s old bedroom, he corrected himself painfully.
    She ran to the right of the stairway, to the guest bedroom. It gave him an even stranger and more grave satisfaction. And then he wondered why.
    He was well aware that people didn’t have to sleep with each other to be very involved. To make love. What was he hoping for? he wondered. Who was he trying to kid? He’d been signing those checks made out to her for months….
    He clenched his teeth together and started out of his room to the stairway. He’d stoke up a fire, put on some tea, call Jerry, see her situated, and then shower and change. He hadn’t been in the beach house in more than a year, but he knew his things would be in the closet just as he had left them.
    Peter wouldn’t have disturbed them. He had always expected David to return to Maine, even when he knew that David had been making excuses and urging him to come into the city instead.
    David clutched the banister for a minute, shaking with a quick resurgence of grief that took him unaware. Peter had lived a long and good life. Death was part of nature. The hard part was that he just knew he was going to miss Peter so damned much; a smile, a laugh, a word, a sparkle in the eyes. He was a grown man; he’d had Peter all through his youth; he had his memories.
    Memories. That was it; that was part of the present pain and confusion. He hadn’t wanted anything from his father; he’d wanted Peter to enjoy the fruits of a life of labor—spend every damn cent that he could. Only the beach house had meant anything to him, because it was a home filled with memories.
    And Peter had left it tied up in joint ownership with her!
    The door to Susan’s room opened suddenly. She was dressed in a long white terry robe that fell to her feet and belted at the waist. Even completely covered, she was incredibly sensual-looking. Wet hair slicked back from her face, only her tanned collarbones visible at the V of the robe.
    And her emerald-sea eyes were on him so strangely, with that touch of innocence that was so disconcerting.
    Such a lie! he thought, warning himself. And yet he paused as she did, staring at her, because he had no choice.
    At last she spoke, stiltedly, a little hoarsely, “I want you to know this at least, Mr. Lane. I—I was at least five feet away from your father when he died.” A flush covered her visible flesh, but she didn’t flinch or blink. “I don’t know exactly what you suspected, but having met you, I can imagine. We were out on a small launch. Peter was fishing from the bow.” She hesitated, swallowing, then added softly, “He died very peacefully.”
    David didn’t say anything. He just stared at her.
    “I wasn’t near him!” she repeated, almost desperately.
    He smiled. “What a pity,” he said as quietly. “I kind of hoped he’d gotten to go out with a bang.”
    She looked as if she were ready to hit him again, whether he had saved her life or not.
    “You—”
    He held up a hand. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything against you. Really. I believe you. Are you ready to go down?” He reached out a hand to her. She stared at it, and he knew that she was thinking about stepping back into the room and slamming the door in his face.
    He clutched her fingers, raising their hands between them. “Truce,” he said softly. “We’re cut off