Not Even if You Begged Read online

  “Well, let’s see,” Maureen said. Next to Traci, Maureen was the youngest of the widows. At fifty-nine she had a size-six body she ruthlessly kept trim. She also had a wicked sense of humor. “You all might tap-dance around it, but I miss the sex.”

  Amid the girlish giggles and laughter, Traci scrunched further down in her chair. That was the last thing she missed about Dante.

  Never at a loss for words and with a knack for living life to the fullest, Maureen continued, “While I was leaving the Crescent Hotel this afternoon this gorgeous man tried to pick me up.”

  All the women scooted forward in their seats, their eyes wide, their collective breaths held. Traci took another sip of scotch.

  “Well, don’t leave us hanging,” outspoken Ophelia said. “Details, and don’t leave anything out.”

  Maureen smiled. “You mean details like six feet plus of conditioned muscles stretched over a chocolate frame, sexy dimples, and a heart-pounding smile?”

  Traci barely listened. A man was the last thing she wanted to hear about. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  “He was so charming and sweet.” Maureen wrinkled her nose. “He almost made me forget I have my sixtieth birthday in two months.”

  “He was younger?” Nettie asked, her brown eyes twinkling.

  “Why else do you think I didn’t say yes and cancel tonight,” Maureen said with real regret, all teasing gone from her voice.

  Traci lowered her glass. Nothing and no one interfered with the Invincible Sisterhood meetings every two months. Their calendar was scheduled eighteen months out for that very reason. If an unavoidable engagement came up, you were still expected to get to the meeting as soon as possible. Their family and friends knew this.

  “You look great,” Traci said, meaning it. Maureen had the kind of trim figure Traci had once longed for, until she’d finally accepted that her C-cup-size breasts and child-bearing wide hips weren’t going to go away. “Obviously the man thought so.”

  “Thank you, but so do you.” Maureen, in peach-colored slacks and knit top, gracefully sank down on the arm of Traci’s chair and stared down at her. “You’re always so giving. That’s one of the reasons we want you to join us.”

  A furrow marched across Traci’s brow. Perhaps she hadn’t heard right. She gave to Maureen and the Sisterhood because they had reached out to her first. Traci thought herself the least giving or friendly person she knew. “I beg your pardon.”

  Donna, who had retired from teaching high school English after her husband died, leaned forward in the silk sofa in a fragrant cloud of X, one of the most expensive perfumes in the world. “We want you to be a part of us.”

  Traci glanced around at the other women. She was being given an honor, but, damn it, she was only … her mind did a quick calculation and she was stunned with the number she came up with. She couldn’t be. She took another swig. Thirty-seven.

  “You’d be the youngest member, but you’re so sensible and settled. You’d fit in perfectly,” Maureen continued.

  Traci looked at the group of gracious, well-meaning, perfectly dressed women—another thing the Sisterhood had in common was a love of shopping—and wanted to run from the room. Their life was settled. They’d had their great love and life. But she hadn’t lived, had tried and fallen flat on her face. Now there might not be another chance; she didn’t even really know if she wanted one.

  She was a coward. Worse, she didn’t live up to the Sisterhood creed. She hadn’t gone on to live life to the fullest. Dante’s betrayal had knocked her down hard and she still struggled with her anger.

  “I-I don’t know what to say,” Traci finally mumbled, which was the truth. She admired all of them, especially Maureen, she just wasn’t like them.

  The women traded worried glances. “We thought you’d be honored,” Nettie finally said.

  “I am. I just …”

  “Not ready to be over the hill yet,” Maureen said with a teasing smile.

  She wasn’t. She appreciated that they had welcomed her into their circle for the past four months. She wouldn’t have missed a meeting for anything. She had a lot of associates, but not friends outside of the Sisterhood. “I admire you so much.”

  Maureen patted Traci’s knee. “We were married for years before we lost our husbands. You had less than a year.”

  Nine months and eighteen days too long. Traci had known from the honeymoon that it wasn’t going to work. She’d been analytical instead of emotional in choosing a husband and still ended up making the wrong choice. She raised the glass to her lips and found it empty.

  “Regrets?” Maureen asked.

  Traci had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting “More than you know.” She averted her gaze. Maureen was too intuitive. “A few.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Donna asked gently. The mother of five had had a lot of practice listening to problems.

  I’d rather roast on a spit. “I just don’t know what all the fuss is about sex,” Traci blurted, then went still. Not even with Maureen had she discussed that side of her marriage. She placed the empty glass on the side table. That was her last drink for the weekend.

  “Blame it on the man,” Maureen said with that straightforward attitude of hers that Traci admired and, at times, envied. Maureen wouldn’t take crap from anyone. If they tried, she’d tell them off so fast their heads would swim.

  She would have set Dante straight from day one. Or would have been smart enough to see through that handsome face and polished charm. With her knack for reading people she probably surmised that Traci had blamed herself for her failed marriage. Frigid was one of the nicer names that Dante had called Traci. She shrugged as if throwing off the old hurt. “It was a long time ago.”

  Maureen sighed dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

  Traci blinked and laughed with the other women. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “If I were, I would have let Simon pick me up at the hotel.”

  “Simon’s a good, strong name,” Betsy said, knitting another pair of booties for the premie nursery where she volunteered once a week.

  Maureen sighed again. “I bet the name fit.” She stared down at Traci. “He might be too young for me, but he’s just right for you.”

  Shock raced across Traci’s face. Her nice buzz evaporated. In the six months since Traci had moved next door to Maureen in Charleston, the other woman had tried to fix her up a couple of times, but had quickly gotten the message that Traci didn’t want to date.

  “She’s too young to be by herself,” Nettie commented.

  “I agree,” Ophelia said.

  “So do I.” Maureen gently grasped Traci’s arm and brought them both to their feet. “Perhaps he’s still there.”

  “Maureen, we had this conversation before,” Traci said, realizing she had to talk fast. Maureen would steamroll over your objections if she thought it was for your own good.

  “That was before I saw the gorgeous hunk at the hotel,” Maureen said.

  “I could care less,” Traci said, trying to free her arm. Maureen’s hand tightened. She might be forty-five pounds slimmer and twenty-two years older, but she was strong.

  “You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen him.” Maureen turned to the other women. “My car is out front. Let’s go find out if he’s still there.”

  Drinks, knitting, and chocolate were hastily cast aside. In less than a minute the women were assembled with their handbags, ready to leave. They’d done some crazy things in the past and usually Traci was as game as the next person, but not this time. “Maureen, I’m tired. I’ve had a hard week at work.”

  “You’re also stalling.” Maureen handed Traci to Nettie and Ophelia. “Hold her until I get my keys. We’re going man hunting.”

  This is for Traci. No regrets.

  Maureen repeated the words over and over as they piled out of her BMW 750 in front of the hotel. The soft evening breeze from the nearby sea teased her nostrils. Couples,
hand in hand, strolled by. A soft yearning stole through Maureen.

  A smiling young valet rushed past his counterpart to reach her first and take her keys. She usually smiled at their playful antics, but somehow couldn’t tonight. She glanced around as Ophelia and Donna practically dragged Traci out of the backseat.

  Maureen tried not to sigh. No regrets. Traci needed this. Since she had moved into the Georgian mansion next door, she hadn’t been out on one date. Maureen wasn’t a nosy neighbor. Traci had told her as much.

  Traci was too serious and settled for someone so young. Maureen’s son, Ryan, a noted OB-GYN, might have a serious and grueling profession that he loved, but he also enjoyed having a good time. Too much at times, Maureen thought with a shake of her head. She’d be eighty before he made her a grandmother.

  Giving the keys to the valet, Maureen grasped Traci’s arm, personally taking charge of her. “Smile.” A creed of the Sisterhood was to help the other members even if they didn’t want it. Traci might not be a member yet, but they all loved her. “You’ll thank me if he’s still here.”

  Traci grunted.

  “Wait a minute, Maureen.” Nettie opened the purse dangling from her arm and took out a comb and a tube of lipstick. “We need to make a few adjustments.”

  Traci’s unpainted lips curled, but Nettie just stood there. Traci blew out a breath, uncurling her lips. Nettie rewarded her with a smile.

  Traci might act tough around others, but she was really a softie, Maureen thought. Traci respected and loved the older members too much to appear ungrateful. Maureen suspected that a man had hurt her. One bad apple doesn’t mean the entire bushel has worms, Maureen’s mother had always said.

  A picture of a tall, chocolate-skinned man with teasing midnight-black eyes flashed into her mind. Maureen’s teeth gritted. No, you’re for Traci.

  Nettie put away the lipstick and comb. “Now, you look pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Traci mumbled dutifully, not sounding at all pleased.

  “Let’s go.” Entering the hotel, Maureen went straight to the bar on the far side of the lobby, which was filled with palm trees and milling people, some with conference badges.

  They were barely inside the crowded, laughter-filled bar before Maureen saw him. Her heart thudded. What a man, what a man. Her fingers tightened on Traci’s arm. She swallowed before she could speak. “That’s him.”

  Maureen hardly recognized the husky whispered words as being hers. Despite her best intentions she couldn’t help but wish that the man looking directly at her with such interest could be for her.

  Slowly he came to his feet. He wore a wheat-colored sports coat, white shirt, and chocolate-colored slacks. He was tall, athletically built with broad shoulders and a wide chest. His muscular body would make most women’s heads turn, their bodies hum. Maureen’s body certainly was.

  “Come on.” Before she weakened, Maureen skirted the tables and people, heading for Simon.

  “I—” Traci began.

  “This is for you,” Maureen said, cutting her off. She didn’t know if she said the words to bolster Traci or to chide herself. She didn’t stop until she stood in front of Simon’s gorgeous body. She barely registered the three other men at the table.

  Damn it, he still made her heart beat like a drum. But he was too young. People often said she looked fifty. Simon looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. If she added ten or even fifteen years to what she thought his age was he’d still be too young.

  “I’m glad you came back,” he said softly. “You ready for our dance?”

  Shocked pleasure raced through Maureen before she could suppress the emotion. He hadn’t forgotten her or even glanced at Traci. Her silly heart skipped in joy. “I—”

  “Please,” he said, his voice a deep baritone that made her nerve endings stand at attention.

  Maureen’s grip on Traci’s arm loosened. Yearning curled through her. What would it feel like to be held against that broad chest, held securely within his muscular arms?

  “Enjoy the dance.”

  Caught off guard, Maureen watched as Traci took the opportunity to escape before Maureen could stop her. Traci quickly went to the table in the round booth just inside the door, from where the Sisterhood was watching them. Helplessly, Maureen turned back to Simon, a man who made her remember too much about being a woman.

  Simon smiled, showing perfect white teeth and the most gorgeous dimples. “My name is Simon. Simon Dunlap, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  She hadn’t forgotten one thing about the incredible man standing in front of her. In fact, she had thought too much about him. She liked tall men and he was at least six inches taller than she was even in her three-inch heels. Maureen’s heart beat so fiercely she felt light-headed. Since Ryan had insisted she have a thorough checkup, including a complete cardiac workup, a month ago, she knew Simon caused the anomaly.

  But that wasn’t the only thing he was causing. The sexual thoughts that had been plaguing her lately returned with a vengeance. Her clinging to a man while he loved her until she was weak with pleasure, their bodies locked in passion. She had a healthy sex drive that was apparently tired of being repressed for four years.

  Simon looked as if he were just the man to fulfill her fantasies and create a few more to heat up the night. She felt her face flush with embarrassment and something else—hot desire. “Excuse me.”

  “Please don’t go.” The light touch of his calloused hand on her bare arm sent a jolt of excitement to her nervous system. What would happen if he touched her in more intimate, softer places?

  She licked her lips, watching his smoky black eyes narrow on her mouth, and wanted to taste him, savor him. Her hand tunneled through her short hair in desperation. Something must be wrong with her.

  “How about I buy you a drink and we can just talk?”

  Talk? She wouldn’t be able to get out a complete sentence for thinking of him naked in her bed to do to him as she pleased. Her face and body heated even more. Hurriedly she glanced away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” he said, unmistakable regret in each word. “At least tell me your name.”

  “Ashley,” she mumbled, then hurriedly walked away. She might change her mind if she lingered. She’d given him her middle name, in a way wanting to give him something of her, hoping he might think of her beyond tonight, as she knew she would think of him.

  “We can leave now,” Maureen said, stopping at the table. None of the women moved.

  “Traci said he asked you to dance,” Nettie said.

  “He was just being nice,” Maureen said, in spite of herself wishing it had been more than that.

  “From the hot way he’s looking at you he was being a lot more than nice,” Traci said, nodding toward Simon.

  Maureen ordered herself not to look, but she lost the battle in less than a second and got that light-headed feeling all over again when her gaze met Simon’s. Her eyes drifted to his well-shaped mouth. Her stomach quivered.

  “The naughty boy,” Ophelia said.

  “Go slap his face,” Donna told her. “A man would never be that bold in my day.”

  “Teach him a lesson he won’t forget,” Betsy urged.

  “My Samuel would have never acted that way,” Nettie said with a shake of her gray head.

  “Go give it to him, Maureen,” Traci urged. “We’ll wait here until you get back. Sock it to him.”

  Maureen saw through their outrage and loved them more for it. They were goading her to forget her age and just have fun. She wished that she could. From the smoldering look Simon had given her, he wished the same.

  “He’s still too young,” she said firmly. “The car is leaving as soon as the valet can bring it around.”

  “I’m comfortable here,” Traci said, leaning back in the booth. “We all are.”

  Maureen frowned at them. They were using the Sisterhood creed on her—the promise to help the other out even if they didn’t want it. She’d
have to fight dirty. “How about Godiva chocolate martinis for nightcaps?” That got them moving. One of the pleasures of the Sisterhood meetings was answering to no one and indulging themselves when the mood struck.

  Another thing the Invincibles did was know how to have fun. Maureen tried not to sigh as they piled back into her car. They just couldn’t have hot, glorious sex.

  C h a p t e r

  2

  Late Sunday night Maureen dropped Traci off in front of her two-story Georgian house in Charleston. Traci’s overnight case sat at her feet; her garment bag was draped over her arm. The Sisterhood had ended the weekend early due to the weather forecast of a thunderstorm for the Isle on Monday.

  With the exception of Traci and Nettie, who didn’t drive and had come with Donna, all of the ladies had driven themselves and none liked driving in the rain. Since Traci had dismissed the driver after she’d arrived at Maureen’s Friday night, she’d grabbed a ride back with Maureen.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Traci said through the open passenger door window.

  “Yeah, it was a big hardship since you live next door,” Maureen teased.

  “Smarty.” Traci picked up her overnight case. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Maureen waited until Traci entered her house and the lights came on in the entryway and the door closed before pulling away from the curve. Feeling tired and a bit off, she parked in the circular driveway of her two-story French-style house instead of going to the four-car garage in back as usual.

  Maureen got out of the car and removed her overnight case from the trunk, then went up the curved brick steps. Opening the double door, she stood in the sixteen-foot vaulted entryway and stared at the lyrical sweep of the Carrara marble staircase that curved to the master suite. The sense of home, of happiness that she usually felt, was missing. Loneliness hit her.