He’d been a widower for six months, sufficient mourning time in Justine’s opinion. Now he was faced with the most painful tragedy of his life—the loss of his son and only child.
Yes, it was her turn. Her ultimate purpose was at hand. He would see that he needed her more than ever. No more putting her off or setting her aside. Now she would take her rightful place in society.
One of the two towering doors swung inward and a disheveled Granville stood peering out at her over his askew reading glasses. “Justine?”
“I’ve been out of town all day.” He didn’t need to know that was a fabrication, that she’d actually waited, giving him plenty of time to slip deeper into his anguish. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I came as soon as I heard.”
“My boy is gone.” His lips quivered on the frail words.
Dear Lord, he was practically a ghost of the man she knew him to be under normal circumstances.
“Gran, honey, have you eaten? You look exhausted.” Confusion lined the face that looked weary and uncertain rather than commanding and powerful.
“You shouldn’t be alone.” She walked in, ushering him aside. “Let’s get some soup into you.” She closed the door. “And a little brandy.”
Perhaps the brandy first,she mused, considering his current state. She ushered him to the parlor on the left, the men’s den, he liked to call it. He smoked his cigars there, kept his fine liquors and whiskeys there.
Becky’s tail thumped against the floor as her master and his guest entered the room. The dog’s big old soulful eyes followed their movements, but the lazy hound didn’t bother getting up.
“You sit. I’ll get you something to take the edge off.” Justine hurried behind the bar and selected the brandy he liked best. As she poured a hefty serving, she kept an eye on him. He hadn’t taken a seat as she’d suggested, but she saw why. There were photographs spread over every available surface.
Pictures of his poor, dead family.
Well, he’d forget about them soon enough. She would see that he forgot. She would stand beside him, hold his hand and anything else that needed holding, and when this investigation into Keith’s death was over, Granville Turner would be all hers. And she would finally have the life she deserved.
She crossed back to where he stood staring at the mess he’d made with the family photo albums.
“Here, honey, drink this.” She pressed the tumbler into his hand. “I’ll straighten up for you. We wouldn’t want any of these precious memories to be damaged.”
She bent this way and that, picking up photos, stacking them neatly in the designer boxes, probably the highest-quality acid-free and photo-safe products available. But she could care less about that. What she cared about was how much of her legs showed each time she crouched down to gather a pile of photographs. Or how nice her bottom looked with the black silk pulled tight across it whenever she bent this way or that.
She’d selected this dress just for him. She knew how much he loved short black dresses that fit as tight as a smooth layer of youthful skin.
“There.” She stood back and surveyed what she’d accomplished. “You ready for another, Gran?” She smiled, sugary sweet. He needed her and she wanted to be there. She’d waited a long time for this moment.
The tumbler was empty, but he wouldn’t be needing another drink, she realized. His gaze had riveted to her breasts the moment she’d turned back to face him.
“Here, let me take that.” She slipped the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Moving closer ... close enough for him to smell the fragrance she’d selected, his favorite, she murmured, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Gran?”
Those pale, watery eyes lifted to meet hers. “You’re the only one who ever really understood what I needed.”
“Of course I understand.” She smoothed her hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn’t even shaved today. So unlike the Granville she knew. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take real good care of you.” She drifted down to her knees and smiled lovingly up at him.
His broad chest rose and fell rapidly as the excitement of seeing her in that submissive position coursed through his veins. Yes, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. That was her one true gift; she could please a man like no other woman could hope to. Her entire adult life she’d been blessed with the ability to induce a full erection with just a look ... a near climax with a mere touch. Time for all that skill to pay off.
The metal-on-metal scrape of his zipper lowering, inch by inch, echoed in the deathly quiet room. His strangled gasp encouraged her, made her all the more determined to ensure he never forgot who had taken care of him this tragic night.
By the time her fingers closed around him, he was more than ready. That she could so easily bring a man of his age to this state of arousal made her better than the little blue pill and far less dangerous to his health.
She cupped his weight, let the feel of her fingers drive him nearer to the edge. He groaned as she moved closer, close enough for him tofeel her warm breath on that tender, intimate flesh that quivered and pulsed helplessly in her hands.
Justine had always tried to make the best out of every situation, good, bad, or indifferent. Always saw the glass as half-full.
Well, her glass had just filled to overflowing.
42
10:15 p.m.
