Free Strange Bedfellow by Janet Dailey

lips parted willingly, succumbing to the rapturous mastery of his exploration. The dream world of sensation seemed almost enough. She slid her fingers through the springing thickness of his hair, the scent of him earthy and clean.  
    As if tired of bending his head to reach her lips, Blake tightened his arm around her waist to lift her straight up, bringing her to eye level. It was another indication of his increased strength, that he should carry her weight so effortlessly. At the moment, Dina was oblivious to this example of his change.  
    His mouth blazed a moist trail downward to explore the pulsing vein in her neck. “Did Chet ever make you feel like this?” An attempt to exorcise the memory of Chet's kisses from her mind? Had it been motivated by nothing more than that? She pushed out of his hold, staring at him with wounded pride.  
    “Did he?” Blake repeated, a faintly ragged edge to his breathing.  
    “You'll never know,” she answered in a choked voice. “Maybe he made me feel better.”  
    He took a threatening step toward her, his features dark with rage. There was nowhere for Dina to retreat. She had to grand her ground, despite its indefensibility. Just then there was a knock at the door. Blake halted, casting an angry glance at the door.  
    Who is it?” he demanded.  
    The door opened and Chet walked in. “I'm a bit early, but Deirdre said you were in here having coffee. She's going to bring me a cup.” He stopped, as if sensing the heaviness in the atmosphere. “I didn't think you'd mind if I joined you.” But it was something of a question.  
    “Of course not.” Dina was quick to use him as a buffer.  
    “Come in, Chet,” Blake continued the invitation. “Speak of the devil, Dina and I were just talking about you.”  
    “Something good, I hope,” Chet joked stiffly.  
    “Yes.” Blake's dark gaze swung to Dina, a considering grimness in their depths. “Yes, it was.” But he didn't explain what it had been.  
    She started breathing again, her hand sliding up to her throat. She became conscious of her partially clothed state and used it as an excuse to leave.  
    “If you two don't mind, I'll leave you to have coffee alone,” she said.  
    “I hope you aren't going on my account,” Chet said, frowning.  
    “No,” Dina assured him quickly, avoiding Blake's mocking look. “I was going upstairs anyway to dress before Deirdre serves brunch. I'll be down shortly.”  
    As Dina left, she met Deirdre bringing the extra cup for Chet. The housekeeper's composure was under admirable control now and she was her usual calm-faced self.  
    Once she was dressed, Dina slipped Chet's ring into the pocket of her dirndl skin. At some point during the day she hoped to have the chance to return it to him while they were alone. But it was late afternoon before the opportunity presented itself.  
     
    THE PRESS HAD LEARNED of Blake's return and the house was in a state of siege for the greater part of the day. Either the doorbell or the telephone seemed to be ringing constantly. Blake had to grant interviews to obtain any peace, but his answers were concise, without elaboration, downplaying his ordeal. As his wife, Dina was forced to be at his side, while Chet adopted the role of press secretary and spokesman for the Chandler company.  
    Finally, at four o'clock, the siege seemed to be over and a blessed quietness began to settle over the house. Norma Chandler, who had insisted that coffee and sweets be served to all those who had come, was busy helping Deirdre clear away the mess.  
    The ringing of the telephone signaled a last interview for Blake, one conducted over the phone. Dina had started helping the other two women clean up. When she noticed Chet slip away to the library, she excused herself, knowing she might not have another chance to speak to him alone.  
    As she stepped inside the library, she saw him pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter over ice cubes in a squat glass.