Facets. Part 23

"You can, Cutter. I want you to."

"You don't know what you want."

"I want you to kiss me."

His eyes came open, dark and dangerous. "I want to do more than that."

"You can."

Suddenly his hands were against her scalp, immobilizing her head while his heat immobilized her body. "Listen to me, Pam. We're not playing games here. Making love is serious business."

"I know. Lots of my friends have-"

"Have you?"

"With the guys at home? No way!"

"So you're a virgin."

"I want to do it with you."

"No."

"Why not?"

"No!"

"It's okay, really it is."

"No!" He took a breath. "No. And if you can't accept that, we won't be able to see each other. Is that what you want?"

She felt teary. "You know it isn't."

"Then I don't want to hear any more about it. We've discussed it. We've decided. It's done." He looked at her for a minute longer, then, swearing softly, hugged her hard. "You're enough to drive a sane man mad, Pam."

She didn't answer. She was too busy breathing him and feeling him, storing up memories for the time when she was back home.

Those memories came in handy in the weeks that followed. Seeing no way out of her predicament, Pam spent more time at home than ever before. Her room became her haven. She talked on the phone some with her friends, but the frivolity of it was gone. She slept some, daydreamed some, brooded some. Mostly she studied. John had put the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, and she felt it keenly.

She didn't see him much at first. True to his word, he seemed to have stopped playing watchdog. He had told her the rules and was doing whatever it was he did with his time while she abided by them. If anyone was her guard, it was school. Her midterm report would be telling.

Her grades rose dramatically. Pam was relieved to know she could do it, and in that sense the pressure eased. It didn't go away, though. John wasn't satisfied simply to know that she could do well; he wanted her to do it on a regular basis. He made it clear what would happen if she didn't.

He also made it clear that he was pleased with her progress. She suspected it was his own cleverness that pleased him most-he had effectively, and painlessly on his part, brought her to heel-but the fact that he was less odious than usual was some solace. He took her to dinner at the Ritz when she received those first improved grades, even invited her to several business functions. He took to stopping by her room when he came home from work, then again before he went to bed, and while she told herself that he was just checking up on her, there seemed more to it. He was actually being pleasant.

"How's it going with Mrs. Ditmar?" he asked one night. Mrs. Ditmar was the American-literature teacher with whom Pam had locked horns at the start of the year.

Pam was propped against the headboard of her bed. A pencil was in her hand, a notebook on her lap, a textbook beside her. Wary as ever at John's appearance, she held the pencil more tightly. "Not bad. She's mellowed, I think. Or maybe I'm just getting used to her style."

"That was a nice paper you wrote for her last week."

"You read it?"

He nodded. "You left it on top of your books in the kitchen. I always liked Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath was long-all my friends complained-but it was my favorite."

"I liked it, too."

"That came through in the paper. You write well, Pam. Clear and concise. You organize your thoughts nicely."

She nodded her thanks and looked down at her notebook. She felt awkward, not quite sure if he was being patronizing and in any case not knowing what to say or do.

"I got a call from Jennifer's mother before." As Pam looked up at him, he went on, "She wondered if we'd reached a decision on spring break. You didn't tell me they invited you to their villa on Nevis."

"I didn't tell you because I don't want to go. Jennifer started mentioning it last fall, and she won't let it rest. I've given her every excuse in the book."

"So I gathered. Her mother said that if I was worried, she'd see that you put in some time every day studying so you'll make the honor roll." He arched a brow. "That's going a little too far, don't you think?"

"I guess, but I didn't know what else to say."

"Why don't you want to go?"

She began to doodle on her notebook. "Jennifer's been getting on my nerves lately. She's so silly sometimes and we're not that close anymore. It'd be pretty hypocritical of me to use her to get to the Caribbean, when I wouldn't even want to go on a weekend trip to New York with her."

"How about a weekend trip to New York with me? I thought I'd go down to see Hillary. We could do some shopping, maybe take in a show. What do you think?"

Pam didn't know what to think. He'd never offered to take her away before. She searched his face for some sign of teasing or sarcasm or even treachery, but he looked perfectly sincere. "Uh, won't I be in the way? I mean, you'll want to spend time with Hillary."

"I could take a suite at the Pierre. If you want, we could even go down to Palm Beach from there. I can always drum up some business while you lie in the sun."

She wavered. The last person she had imagined vacationing with was John. But she loved New York. And she loved Hillary. And she loved the idea of working up a tan. She had hoped to spend part of the vacation in Maine, but only part. Being with Cutter, while necessary to her survival, brought an odd kind of torment now. It might be nice to have a diversion from that.

"You have two weeks," John pointed out.

"I really should study," she pointed out right back.

"You're studying plenty here."

"But if I don't make honor roll-"

"Going away for spring break won't affect that. It's not like you'll be partying all night and waking up every morning hung over." He seemed to catch himself, and for the first time his expression darkened. "Unless you think you'll be bored."

"Of course not. John, I don't live to party, and I've never once been hung over."

The darkness eased. With its pa.s.sing, she almost imagined he had been hurt to think she might not want to go. Given that they hadn't been a family for years, it was a fanciful thought.

"I'd like to go to New York," she surprised herself by saying. "And Palm Beach. I've never been there. It would be fun."

A good deal of Pam's fun lay in antic.i.p.ating the trip. In a school as private and elite as hers was, everyone went away for spring break. Most went with their families, and Pam had always envied them. This time, she was looking forward to a family trip of her own. "My brother and I are going to New York, then on to Palm Beach," she told whoever wanted to know. It didn't matter that her brother had been her enemy for most of her life; there was something right about being with family.

She almost imagined that John felt the same way. In the weeks preceding the trip, he was uncharacteristically affable. He asked questions about school, not in the grilling way she hated but as though he were truly interested. He engaged her in discussions about the business. He complimented her on the way she looked. He even came home with a pair of gold bangles that he had had one of Facets' designers make especially for her.

"It's weird," she told Marcy the day before she and John were to leave. "All this just because I started studying?"

Marcy carefully wiped the corners of the window she was cleaning. After a thoughtful silence she said, "He's proud of you."

"He's never been proud of me before."

"But he puts store in school marks. They mean something to him. The pictures you draw don't."

Pam knew that, which was why she didn't show him the things she showed Cutter. "Still, he's been so polite. He actually held my coat for me when we were going out last week. There has to be a reason."

Marcy considered that while she cleaned another pane. "He's getting older. Maybe he's tired of the fighting."

"Maybe."

"And you're getting older. Maybe he sees that."

No doubt he saw the physical growth. But he hadn't relented on his threat, which Pam thought he'd surely do if he trusted her as an adult. Of course, Marcy knew nothing about that threat, and Pam had no intention of telling her.

"Maybe." She took a deep breath. "He's probably thinking that when I turn eighteen I'll be able to control my own stock in the company. I'll be attending shareholders' meetings. I could make things tough for him. Maybe he's scared." It was a lovely thought, to have a little power for a change.

Moving to another pane, Marcy wet it with her sponge. "Don't jinx it, Pammy. The peace is good."

Pam agreed, which was why she stopped asking questions and left with John the next morning for New York. Even more so than she had expected, he did things first cla.s.s. The suite at the Pierre was large and sumptuous, the restaurants they ate at were lavish in food and decor, their theater seats were front and center. Although Hillary spent the weekend with them, John never left Pam alone, and while one part of Pam felt guilty about that, the other enjoyed the attention.

Monday morning, Pam and John flew south. Again their accommodations were without fault, and although John did leave Pam by the pool while he saw to business, she was happy enough there not to mind. The sun was bright, the water warm, the lifeguard friendly. She was feeling grown-up and attractive when John took her out to dinner, particularly when he kept her winegla.s.s filled. He smiled at her with what she could have sworn was true affection, brushed a long wisp of hair from her bare shoulder, even put an arm around her as they left. She felt sheltered and cared for, warm and content, when, muzzied by the wine, she fell asleep on top of the covers.

She didn't know what time it was when she woke up. The room was dark, and she was on her stomach, but John's voice came to her quickly. It was low and gentle. "You're still dressed, honey. That's no way to sleep." She felt her zipper open, felt the air whisper over her back.

"I can do it," she murmured, but she was too groggy to move.

"I've got it."

He slipped the dress down past her hips, rolled her over, and took it off. When he started on her stockings, she made a slurred protest. "John, really-"

"Let me. It's my fault. I should have known you weren't used to drinking."

Exhausted, she lay back and let herself be taken care of. It had been a long time since anyone had catered to her quite so intimately. The luxury of it sent her off into a dreamy state. She imagined that Cutter was with her, that he was the one rolling down her stockings, unhooking her garter belt, removing her bra, then her panties. She imagined that his hands were the ones touching her body lightly and sweetly, making her moan.

When she opened her eyes, though, Cutter wasn't the one looming over her. "John?" She fought for clarity. It was dark, hard to see. "John? Oh, my G.o.d!" She tried to scramble away, but he held her to him.

"No, no," he whispered. "Don't be frightened. You liked what I was doing."

She twisted away. "You shouldn't-we shouldn't-" He followed the twist and took her breast in his hand. "Don't, John!"

"It'll be good." His mouth was against her throat. "I'll make it good."

"No!" She writhed against the arm that restrained her, bucked against the one that slid down her body. "G.o.d, John, don't do that!"

"If you fight, it'll hurt."

Fully awake and aware that she was a poor match for his strength, Pam clawed at the hand that had slipped between her legs. "G.o.d no, G.o.d no, G.o.d no," she whispered. She twisted and turned, tried to get a foothold on the bed and push herself away, but he was half on top of her, his semiclad body large and hard as a rock. "You're my brother. You can't do this, John! Don't, oh, please don't!"

"Lie still, Pam," he warned.

But she had no cause to listen. There was nothing he could threaten her with that would be worse than rape. That realization brought her a burst of strength. "Get your hands off me!" she screamed. When he covered her mouth, she bit his hand, then took advantage of his surprise by bringing her knee up against him. Her aim was off; the angle wasn't right and she didn't have enough room to put force into the blow, but she startled him enough to buy a minute. That was all she needed. Scrambling out from under him, she scurried to the edge of the bed, fell to her knees on the floor, then staggered to her feet. A split second later, she was in the bathroom with the door locked.

It seemed an agonized forever before she caught her breath. Then, wrapping her hands over her head, she slid down the length of the door, huddled in a ball, and began to cry. Nausea, revulsion, fear, horror-she suffered them all. Soft, tortured sobs shook her. At some point, feeling chilled to the bone, she swaddled herself in a bath sheet, but that did little to help. She had no idea what to do.

"Pam?" His voice came to her after a time, low and somber.

She didn't answer.

"You can't stay in there all night, Pam."

For lack of a viable alternative, that was just what she planned to do.

"You'll have to come out sometime."

The thought of looking him in the eye after what he'd seen and done sent a new wave of nausea through her.

"I'll call the concierge if I have to." He knocked hard on the door. "Are you all right?"

"I feel sick."

"That's the wine. Open the door. I'll give you an ice cube to suck."

"It's not the wine," she murmured, but for a minute she wasn't sure. What had happened was horrendous enough to have been unreal. She would have given anything to believe she'd been hallucinating.

The hallucination, though, was all that had come before-the attentiveness, the compliments, the seemingly genuine interest-and in that, John had been at his cruelest. He had led her to think that they might be a family, when all along he had other things in mind.

He was sick. She had to get away from him. But sitting in a locked bathroom wasn't going to do it.

Leaning heavily against the sink, she rinsed her face with cold water. Then she tied the hotel's thick terrycloth robe around her, picked up the shoes.h.i.+ne machine, and opened the bathroom door.

John was sprawled in the bedroom chair looking dark and disheveled. His head was low, but he was staring at her. Holding the makes.h.i.+ft weapon at the ready, she flipped on the nearest light.

"I want to go home."

"We have reservations to stay for two more days."

She gave a rigid shake of her head. "Tomorrow. I want to be on the first flight out."

"It's not necessary."

"I think it is."

"I won't touch you."